13th of Heartfire 4E 201
I have not felt up to writing in a long time. The war is won, and Ulfric is king in all but name. Skyrim for the Nords has come to pass, and my father hates me for it. Ulfric has no further use for me. The question that hangs over me like a pall is this: Have I any further use for myself?
I write this entry while returning to Whiterun with sap from the Eldergleam. Danica Pure-Spring asked me to bring some back to heal the Gildergreen, the great tree in front of the Chapel of Kynareth in Whiterun. I accepted the job because it felt right to heal one of the wounds I inflicted upon my city. I am accompanied by Uthgird the Unbroken, whom I met in the Bannered Mare. I vaguely remember a drunken brawl, and then waking up in bed with her the next morning. We’ve been traveling companions ever since. Perhaps I am hoping a little of her unbroken-ness will rub off on me.
We travelled for a while with a pair of Stendarr’s Vigilants. I listened to what they had to say and imagined living their life. They have a purpose, fighting against the daedra. I could get behind something like that. They never wake up wondering why they should get up that day. I could walk away from my memories and lose myself in an age-old struggle with no danger of eventually winning.
I asked; unfortunately while my resume is impressive, they aren’t recruiting new members at this time.
We had rounded the shoulder of the mountain and Dragonsreach was in sight when we saw a struggle on the side of the road. Both of us were itching for a fight, so we drew our weapons and raced forward to figure out who was fighting whom.
Stormcloak soldiers rained arrows down the bank of the river. While we watched, one of the soldiers was thrown back onto the road, skewered horribly by a spike of ice. That was enough to settle it for me. I threw myself down the slope like a shot from a trebuchet, and swung the Axe of Whiterun with all my strength at the black robed figure on the edge of the water.
My blade struck home, but my enemy grabbed the blade and pulled herself off of it, as though it were no more than a thorn. She snarled, revealing fangs like an animal’s, and reached out a ghostly pale hand toward me. I felt a wave of nausea and dizziness. I jerked back, stumbled, and found myself swept downstream in the fast current of the White River. That’s most likely what saved my life.
As I dragged myself dripping and gasping onto the western bank of the river, I hysterically thought to myself it was too bad the Vigilants had missed this battle, as the creature on the riverbank was clearly unnatural. The sounds of battle continued upriver. A stormcloak bowman stood silhouetted heroically against the sky, firing arrow after arrow at the creature in the water. The creature fell back with a splash. “Haha!” I said aloud. Then I realized the current was sweeping the vampire straight toward me, and hurriedly took cover behind the rocks.
I strung my bow, nocked an arrow and drew, but it was too dark to find the target. For a moment, I entertained hope it was dead, but then a flash of lightning lit the surface of the river, and the heroic bowman toppled.
The next bolt struck the rock next to me with a thunderous crash. I blacked out for just a moment and the next thing I remember, I was fleeing for the shelter of a farmhouse, with the taunts of the vampire behind me. Frantically, I circled the house, looking for the door, only to find it locked. I’ve never been a sneak thief, but like most people, I can jimmy a simple lock if I have to, and it took me only a moment to be inside, panting in relief.
Is it true that vampires can’t enter a home without the owner’s permission? I hope so. Of course, it’s problematic for anyone. “You’re not supposed to be here,” warned a woman’s voice. I turned to beg shelter, and found myself looking right in the face of Alfhild Battle-born, wife of Idolaf, my one-time friend. I couldn’t speak. Face burning, I ducked back outside and sprinted south, jumping fences, trampling crops and splashing across Whiterun Creek. I thought I heard the vampire taunting me, “Did you think I was just a pretty face?”
I had reached the road leading to the gates of the city, when a man running the other way suddenly jumped in my path and grabbed me. My hand went to my axe before I recognized him as a courier. “Hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said in a friendly tone. He rummaged leisurely through his bag.
Nervously, I glanced behind me. A female figure pounded up the road toward us. I dropped into a fighting stance, and would have reached for my axe, but the courier chose that moment to thrust a letter into my hand, and I recognized Uthgird’s face in the light from the watch towers.
As we walked the remaining distance to the city gates, my panic turned to shame. What had happened to me out there?
I posed the question to Uthgird in the Bannered Mare. Her advice was simple: “A true Nord never misses a chance to test his worth.”
I drew a long swallow of mead and glared at her. I put down my stein before I answered. “Do you suggest I might be less than a true Nord? The only time in my life I’ve ever run from battle was when the black dragon attacked Helgen, and I was unarmed and unarmored at that time.”
“I never said you weren’t a true Nord,” she placated me. “I’m making a real suggestion. Confront your fears. You can get past this. Go out and find the biggest, scariest thing you can, something that has scared you since you were little, and conquer it.”
The logic of that seemed so simple as to be irrefutable. But what was left that terrified me besides the unnatural woman out there in the darkness? We agreed to sleep on it and went upstairs.
Danika Pure-Spring was grateful for the eldergleam sap. She gave me coin, but I gave it right back in exchange for education in the healing arts. Seemed right, like healing the Gildergreen had. I spent the morning assisting her with wounded soldiers. There were enough of them, Stormcloak, Imperial and the old Whiterun guards. One of the latter grabbed my arm as we were standing up. “I know you. You’re the old jarl’s son,” he gasped. I expected to be cursed as a traitor, but what he actually said was somehow worse.
“You stayed to help us. You could have left with your father, but you didn’t. Bless you, bless you.” A chill settled over my heart.
I stepped out of the temple and stood in the sun, gazing at the Gildergreen. It was too early for the tree to be showing any new growth, but somehow, I think it seemed greener. I sat down on a bench in the plaza to think.
I had betrayed my father and my city, killed a man with whom I had trained, and indirectly caused all the wounds I had seen in the temple today, and yet, the common man didn’t even know. My dishonor was my dirty little secret. How could I walk around with that burden for the rest of my life? Somehow, I must repair my honor or die trying. The latter seemed more likely.
Uthgird found me a half hour later, staring into the distance and brooding. She sat down beside me, stretched her arms along the back of the bench, so that one arm draped across my shoulders, and said, “Isn’t it a beautiful morning? How went your temple visit?”
“Fine,” I said, distracted. “Uthgird, what was that you said about big scares, last night? Something about the thing that’s scared you since you were little?”
“Yah, that’s right,” she replied, “Did you figure out what it was?”
“I’m looking right at it,” I said. “I’ve been staring at it for half an hour.”
She followed my gaze. “The Gildergreen?” she asked, amused.
“No,” I replied. “I’m looking at what’s behind it.” I stood and began to walk toward Jorvasskr, the mead hall of the Companions.
She jumped up. “No! Wait!” She ran after me and grabbed my arm. “Not the Companions,” she snarled. “Screw those bastards. Find something else.”
“Why?” I asked, puzzled. “What have you got against the Companions?”
She dropped her eyes and blushed. "It wasn't my fault,” she muttered, angrily. “I told them over and over it was an accident.”
“Come again?” I asked. I had never seen this side of her. But then, I hadn’t known her very long. And if truth be told, I’d never really asked her anything personal.
“They wanted me to prove my worth,” she continued. “So they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. I guess they thought a woman wasn't strong enough to hurt him. I didn't mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just... lost control." Her voice tapered away to a whisper.
My eyes widened. I knew her pain. Gods, I felt it myself. I started to express sympathy, but thought better of it. That was the last thing she wanted.
“OK then,” I finally said. “Follow me.”
And I marched up the steps of Jorvasskr.
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Yes, Ricardo. I will be posting about all my characters, but only as interesting stories present themselves. I ... more