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.
