Before the Storm

Well, here's the next one. Sorry it's so long, but I couldn't really find a good stopping point. I hope you enjoy!

The air is ice cold, piercing through my layers of clothing. The thin covering of snow reflects the light from the white sky, making me squint. The fir trees rustle in the faint breeze. Huge, snow-covered mountains loom all around.

We stumble out of the cave, our clothing ragged and torn, faces dirty, blood dripping from wounds.

“Wait!” Ralof suddenly orders, crouching down.

Shayn puts up no protest, slumping down against a rock at the mouth of the cave. A distant roar echoes, bouncing off the mountains. I peer over the rock to see the dragon flying past, disappearing into the mountain.

“There it goes,” Ralof stands again. “Looks like he's gone for good this time. But I don't want to stick around to see if he comes back.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. All the strength drains from my limbs, and I sway on my feet. “What now?” I ask. “The Imperials are going to be after us.”

Ralof nods, “Better clear out of here.” He rubs his hand against his face, “We're going to have to lie low.”

“What about the others?” Shayn looks up at us, eyelids drooping.

Ralof looks back toward the cave, “No way to know how many of them made it out alive. But I am going to wait to see if the others can catch up. I need to know if Jarl Ulfric survived.”

“I'll get him to safety,” I glance at Shayn.

A faint smile spreads across Ralof's face, “My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you two out.” After a moment, he asks, “Do you know where that is?”

I snort, “Of course.” Then I say, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” is his reply as he grips my hand. “I wouldn't have made it without your help today.”

“Talos guide you,” my voice is soft.

Shayn grabs a thick stick off the ground, using it to slowly haul himself upright.

Ralof turns to him, “Make sure that the Jarl of Whiterun gets a detachment to Riverwood. That village isn't safe if there is a dragon on the loose.”

Shayn nods, smiling faintly, “By your orders.”

I move over to him, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. But he leans against the stick for support, holding onto me more for balance. We begin making our way down the slope. Snow crunches beneath us. Progress is painfully slow – my limbs are stiff, and he limps heavily. The silence is strange. It feels like the whole world should be in turmoil after what had happened.

Shayn looks over at me, his twisted, “How did you get involved in all this.”

I shrug, “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He nods, “We all were, it would seem.”

The snow disappears as we go down farther. Ragged blades of grass sprout from the rocky soil. Ferns curl up between the fir trees. After what seems like an eternity, we come to a cobblestone road. Beyond that is a narrow river. Clear water flows through it, rushing softly.

“See that ruin up there?” Shayn points.

I look up at the mountain opposite the river. Near the top on one side I see an assortment of towering structures, crooked and not even quite symmetrical. Black pillars form crooked arches and strange buildings.

“When I was a boy places like that always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing.” His shoulders lift.

“Huh,” I shrug, looking down at the road. “I guess I never thought about it.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” his lips twist.

My brow furrows, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“The Dunmer deal with all that dark stuff better than the Nords,” he grins. “Yeah, I know what you are.”

Anger courses beneath my cheeks, making my voice soft, “You know nothing.”

“If you say so,” he shrugs.

An awkward silence passes over us. As time drags by, the sun becomes low in the sky. The light falls in yellow rays between the mountains. Shayn's face begins to go deathly white, and he cringes with every step.

“Almost there,” I say.

His voice sounds strained, “I could do this all day.”

As we round a corner, I see the town ahead, nestled in the trees. On a small island in the river is a sawmill, stacked with logs. At the front of the town, above the gate, is a wooden platform like a small watchtower. But no guards pace back and forth across it. I breathe a sigh of relief. If there were guards, they stop us for sure.

I hear a clanking from the blacksmith working beneath his shelter. Candles are lit inside the small, wooden houses. The sound of a lute comes from what must be the inn. A dog runs across the cobblestones, barking with its tongue hanging out. When I close my eyes, I see the houses aflame, collapsing as they had in Helgen into piles of ash.

 

We cross a small bridge across the narrow river over to the mill. The saw grinds back and forth. Men cut the logs up, moving about nimbly. When they see us, they stop to stare.

“There,” Shayn points toward a woman writing on a piece of paper resting on a table.

Her light hair is pulled back away from her kind face. She looks at us and frowns.

For lack of a better opening, I pant, “Ralof said you could help us out.”

She looks at us a long moment, eyes roving from my dirty face to Shayn's. Her voice holds a thick accent, “Ralof. How do you know him?”

“I think it would be better if we didn't talk out in the open,” I glance around.

“Answer my question first,” her arms fold.

My voice is a whisper, “A dragon attacked Helgen and destroyed it. Ralof and I escaped together.”

A look of disbelief spreads across her face. She shakes her head. “You better come inside.”

I nod.

She leads the way back across the river and down the road. Behind houses, small gardens produce bright, strong vegetables. She comes to the door of a large house opposite the blacksmith's workshop and lets us in. On one side, a large fire is built up on the hearth. Shelves hold books and vegetables that must have been harvested recently. Dishes are already set out on the table. A large pot is mounted over the fire, filling the house with a delectable smell that nearly makes me swoon. It must have the same effect one Shayn because he sways next to me.

Gerdur must notice it because she orders, “Onto the bed.”

“I'm fine,” he mumbles, hair hanging into his face.

She points at it, staring at him.

He limps over to the bed, grumbling, and practically collapses on it. The warmth makes the tension leave my limbs. I take off my shield and the weaponry weighing me down, dropping them by the door.

She gestures toward the pot, “Please, get yourself something to eat.”

“Thank you,” I grab a bowl of the table and ladle stew into it, slurping ravenously.

Gerdur grabs several towels and a bottle on the shelf, then seats herself beside Shayn. “Remove your armor,” she says.

He frowns at her, “Do what?

Her lips twist, “Don't flatter yourself, soldier boy. Now remove your armor so I can fix you up.”

Slowly, his eyes flitting about with suspicion, he removes his armor. His thin, cotton garments are in tatters. Several holes are scorched in the cloth. Under that, I see where his chain mail was burned into his flesh from the fire. But she examines the nasty wound in his leg first, beginning to clean it.

He makes no sound, lying there obediently.

“Now,” Gerdur glances at me. “Tell me what happened at Helgen.”

I give her a short account between mouthfuls of stew, my memory of it a little foggy with exhaustion.

“A dragon?” she shakes her head once I've finished. “It...It can't be. They've been gone for so many years. Although it would explain what I saw earlier flying down the valley from the south. I thought I must have just been seeing things.”

Shayn chuckles, “So did I until it just about set me on fire.”

“It was a dragon,” I insist. “Ralof will tell you the same thing.”

She glances at me, “Where is he? Did he make it out safely?”

“Yes,” I nod, pulling up a chair from the table. “He was waiting to see if anyone else made it out.”

She is silent for a long moment, focusing on the task of bandaging Shayn's leg. “I believe you,” her voice is soft. “You two have the look of someone who's seen a dragon.” She rolls her eyes, “Things just go from bad to worse. First the war, now dragons. What's this world coming to? The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can.”

Shayn sits up, “We should go now. Do you have a horse for me to borrow?”

She attempts to push him down. “Slow down. Morning will come soon enough.” Then she walks over to a table at the other end of the room. “Now I know I have a health potion here somewhere.”

Shayn leans back against the wall. He already looks a little better.

I walk over to Gerdur to refill my bowl in time to see her put a pinch of something into a small vial. “What's that?” I ask.

“Nothing,” is her soft reply. “Just something to make him sleep.”

I nod, taking another spoonful of stew. “I'll go to Whiterun tomorrow. Will you wake me at dawn?”

“Of course. You can sleep by the hearth,” she walks back over to Shayn. “I'll find you a blanket.”

He takes the vial and drinks from it without hesitation. Gerdur goes outside after handing me a blanket. I remove my armor from my sore body, feeling suddenly weightless.

“Hey, elf,” Shayn's voice is a bit slurred, his eyes only half open. “What's your name?'

I fold my arms, offering a wry smile, “I'll tell you so long as you stop calling me that.”

He nods.

“Myra,” I shrug, settling down next to the fire.

His head falls back against the pillow, eyes closing.

I lie down beside the hearth, drawing the thick blanket around my shoulders. The sound of Gerdur entering again to build up the fire sounds so distant. So distant...

It seems like only seconds later when I feel a hand on my shoulder, giving me a firm shake. My body feels stuck to the floor. The blanket is tangled around me. Surely it's not morning yet.

“Wake up,” Gerdur's voice is soft. “The sun is rising.”

I heave myself upright. “Okay,” my voice is thick with sleep.

Her footsteps thud over to the other end of the room, “I've packed you a breakfast to eat on your journey. Whiterun is nearby, but there is no time to lose.”

“Right,” I stagger to my feet, rubbing my eyes. The chain mail feels like ice, even through my shirt. Outside the window, the streets are dark and still. But there is a pink tinge on the horizon. Gerdur stirs something on the hearth, humming softly to herself. A piece of cloth is wrapped up on the table, bound with a small string. The home is silent except for Shayn's heavy breathing. He lies asleep on the bed, lips parted.

Gerdur glances back at him, “He's much better. The health potion did the trick.”

I nod, “Good.” After strapping my bow and quiver to my back, I take the small package on the table. “I best be off,” my words still sound a little slurred. “Thank you for your help.”

“Get a detachment of soldiers here and your debt will be paid,” she nods to me, her voice kind.

“I will,” I promise before heading out the door and into the chilling air. The mill and smithy is silent now. High above, a cloud shrouds the mountaintops, giving them an air of mystery. My clothing rustles, making it feel as if a thousand prodding gazes are fixed on me from the shadows. The horizon is lighter now, making the sky a deep shade of blue instead of black.

I make my way down the cobblestone path to the north. A stone bridge leads out of the village, providing safe passage across the narrow river. The water travels in a smooth stream, faint and dark. At the end of the bridge, the path forks. One follows the river going toward the north and the other leads up the mountain. I take the first one, following the sounds of the river. Rocks jut up beside the path. The air smells clean and wet, like the moss growing in the caverns beneath Helgen. I unwrap the bundle she had given me to find several thick slices of bread and an apple. The food settles in my stomach quickly, making my eyelids droop.

My legs ache as I make my way along the path. I shake them as I go along, trying to regain the circulation. My armor rattles against the weaponry strapped to me. As the wind howls through the high peaks, I glance up, half expecting the dragon to come flying down from the mountain.

The minutes drag by in the stillness.

Dew beads up on the scrubby blades of grass and drips from the fir trees. The path slopes to the left, heading downward. As the trees around me thin, I see a fork ahead going in three directions – west, north, and east. Through the hanging branches, I can make out the huge walls of Whiterun in the distance. I breathe a relieved sigh.

Thank the Divines it is so close to Riverwood.

The river changes from a swift trickle to roaring rapids. Several Imperial soldiers walk up the road toward me. I put my head down, hoping beyond hope that they will not recognize me. They pass slowly, conversing in low tones. I hold my breath, my heart pounding, until they are safely passed.

When I reach the fork, I turn to the west. The land around is barren of trees. Farms surround the city, separated from the grassy land by short fences. Whiterun looms up from the ground, the gates on the outside shorter than the towers and enormous palace inside. The grays of the stone walls and wood roofs blend together. Guards make their rounds on the streets around the city, faces covered with large helmets.

After passing the fragrant farms, I enter through the stone arch and make my way toward the gate. Guards stand behind the walls and on platforms around it, keeping a bored, relaxed watch. As I near the strong, wood gate, a guard starts forward, drawing his sword.

I tense, one hand going for my weapons.

“Halt!” he barks. “City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only.”

I swallow hard and speak with confidence, “I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack.”

The guard falters a moment, his grip tightening. Then he growls, “Fine. But I'll be keeping an eye on you.”

He bellows an order, and, after a moment, the gate creaks open. I enter the city, my footsteps clattering on the cobblestones. Inside the gate, guards drill soldiers, shouting orders. A woman to the left of the gate tans leather on a rack. Small homes on either side of the street are fashioned from aged wood, carved with intricate patterns. My breath comes in sharply at the beauty of the place. Ahead, carts line the road, vendors calling out over one another.

“Fresh meat!”

“Fine jewelry for sale!”

“Apples, two septims for three!”

Music drifts through the air from the inn beyond. A sign mounted out front reads “The Bannered Mare”. For a moment, I am not sure where to go. But when I look up, I see the palace, Dragonsreach, looming above the city. I hurry up the steps to the next level of the city. This must be the rich district. The homes are painted and carved with massive bulkheads, sitting high above the street. The people meandering about the street are dressed in fine clothes. A small stream runs through the city, carefully controlled by a trench dug into the stone. In front of Dragonsreach, a gnarled tree grows surrounded by trellises. Just beyond that is a statue of Talos, the hero-god that was outlawed by the Thalmor, the god that the Stormcloaks worship.

 

 

I pass by these and walk up the staircase to the palace. A circular courtyard surrounds it. Though the palace is built out of simple wood and stone, it is decorated with intricate pillars and arches. After I manage to get the guard to let me in, I walk into the cavernous hall.

Two large tables are set for several dozen people. In the center of the hall is a huge hearth. Orange flames blaze up from it. The room smells of a succulent breakfast, of bread baking and warm honey. Apple pies and perhaps sweet, glazed ham. Beyond the hearth, a man sits on a throne, arguing with a men dressed in fine silks.

As I approach, a woman comes between me and the Jarl. She is obviously a dark elf – her skin is grey, darkest around her black eyes. Her leather armor rustles as she walks. “What is the meaning of the interruption?” her voice is strangely deep. “Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

I fold my arms, “I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack.”

Her eyes narrow, thin lips pressing together, “Well that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then. The Jarl will want to speak to you.”

She leads the way for me to stand in front of the throne. The Jarl's lanky form is sprawled in a relaxed posture across the throne. One finger toys with his yellow beard. The firelight glints off his golden necklaces.

“So, you were at Helgen,” his eyes search my drawn, sleepy face. “You saw this dragon with you own eyes?”

“Yes,” I snort, the anger of the last few days surging beneath my cheeks. “I had a great view white the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.”

The Jarl looks faintly amused, “Really? You're certainly...forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now.” He leans forward, “What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen?”

I shrug, shifting back and forth, “The dragon destroyed Helgen, and last I saw it was heading this way.”

“By my spear, Irileth was right!” he gasps, glancing at the woman clad in leather armor. “What do you saw now, Proventus?” he says to the man who had been arguing with him before. “Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls against a dragon?”

Irileth steps forward, red hair glowing in the firelight, “We should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger if a dragon is lurking in the mountains.”

The man protests, pasty face scrunched, “The Jarl of Falkreth will view that as a provocation. He will assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack it. We should...”

“Enough!” the Jarl cuts in, voice stern. “I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my Hold and slaughters my people. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my Jarl,” she salutes and walks down the hall.

The man stares at the floor, “If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties.”

“That would be best,” the Jarl nods, heavy brow furrowed.

Proventus hurries away.

The Jarl looks at me, silent for a moment. “Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it.” He nods to a servant standing nearby. The servant comes forward, handing me a heavy bundle on bent knees.

I take it, feeling the weight of it. Armor, by the looks of it, and of very good quality.

“Take this as a token of my esteem,” the Jarl nods.

“Thank you, my Jarl,” I bow slightly.

He strokes his chin, eyes thoughtful, “Of course.” Then he continues, “There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” A faint smile spreads across his face. He stands, “Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter of these dragons and...rumors of dragons. I'll introduce you to him.” His eyes hold a mischievous gleam, “He can be a bit...difficult. Mages, you know.”

I follow him to a room on one side of the hall. Maps are laid out across a long desk along with several soul gems and spell books. On one wall, a circular alchemy lab casts a green glow about the small room. A cloaked figure pours over a book behind the desk, his face shadowed.

“Farengar,” the Jarl's voice intrudes on the silence of the room, “I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project.”

The court wizard looks up, dark eyes roving from the Jarl to me. I can't help but shiver and avoid his gaze. After a moment, he addresses me in a taut voice, “So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me.” He strokes his chin, “He must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.”

The thought makes my legs wobble a little, but I shrug, “How hard could that be?”

A smile twists his small mouth, “Well, when I say 'fetch' I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

I let out a heavy sigh, suppressing an eye-roll. But I would much rather help to solve this dragon mystery than leave now. “What does a stone tablet have to do with dragons?” I pick at my fingernails.

“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker,” Farengar speaks with a haughty tone to his voice. “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that is outside their experience as being impossible.”

The Jarl gives me a here we go again sort of look.

“But I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all these years ago? And where were they coming from? I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow – a “Dragonstone” said to contain a map of dragon burial sites.” He points at me, “Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”

I shift back and forth for a long moment, mulling things over, then nod, “Alright.”

Farengar grins down at me, “Well then, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you. The Jarl is not a patient man. Neither am I, come to think of it.”

I snort.

“This is priority now,” the Jarl nods, scratching his chin. “Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly, before it's too late.”

“Of course, Jarl Balgruuf,” Farengar nods. “You have given me a most able assistant. I am sure she will prove most useful.” He gives me a pointed look.

I nod, folding my arms.

The Jarl turns to me, “Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.”

The idea of compensation tips the scales. “Very well,” I say.

Then I turn and head down the hall. To Bleak Falls Barrow. To uncover the mystery.