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SPOILER INFO
This fanfic novel is largely based on the events that occurred in an actual game of Skyrim I played. Therefore, it's inevitably a spoiler.
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previous day
4-202-01-25 05:38
Uthgerd's House, Hviterun, Whiterun, Skyrim
Lucia is still sleeping. I leave the house on tiptoes. There's time until the shops will open, so I talk to the guards and innkeepers asking them if they know anyone in the city who could be called an artist. I need it for that girl's ghost in that underworld realm Blackreach. They haven't heard anything of the kind. Neither am I having any luck in the temple and in the Hall of the Dead. Frankly, I wasn't expecting much to start with. I rather have the feeling the "artist" is no longer among the living and I ought to search for him in sewers and under bridges and such.
It's still raining cats and dogs. Looks like all the water I missed by not sailing away with that ship in Solitud is now being poured down on me from the sky. That doesn't keep Heimskr from his preaching. I keep him company for a while and let him tell me about his work, and then the shops open. Lucia accompanies me, braving the awful weather.
About noon, the rain ceases. My followers who slept elsewhere have joined me by now. We hear there's a dragon in the eastern suburb. I sternly order Lucia to run up to the palace and stay inside until the danger is over. Me and my followers hurry out the eastern city gate and help the guards kill the beast.
On my way back to the city proper, I run into Mikki and use the opportunity to ask her about the triple murder in Jorrvaskr. She says the Companions are keeping very quiet about it. Mikki hoped to find out something from the old cleaning lady, but she is clearly terrified of the topic. The others are even more tight-lipped, to the extent that Mikki herself became increasingly afraid of bringing the incident up. I suggest her to let it go. If the Companions want us to mind our own business, we will. The last thing I want is for Mikki to get murdered too.
This grim story has totally failed to ruin my mood. It's hard to put it into words how much I enjoy being in Hviterun. Frankly, my reaction to walking from place to place and talking to the people astonishes myself. I feel a connection to this city unlike to any other location in the world. I don't even miss Falskaar anymore. Or maybe I do just a little bit.
Most amazingly, I succeed in making up with my ex-boyfriend Yourg. He agrees to talk to me this time, and I apologize for having broken up with him. Actually I didn't do anything wrong, but apologizing costs nothing and I don't want him to feel bad. His anatomical shortcomings are not his fault. I'm not going to be with him ever again, but now we can at least look each other in the eye and say hello in a civil manner.
But enough of this. Paarthurnax is waiting for me and the Elder Scroll up on top of Mount Nexus. I leave some money with Carlotta. After all, we're practically one family. I mean, we don't sleep together, but she takes care of Lucia, and it's better when she handles the money. Lucia doesn't mind. She realizes it's safer that way.
Just as me and my followers are running south towards the crossing southeast of Hviterun, we see balls of fire flying from the eastern bank of White River in the general direction of the Honningbrew Meadery.
We hurriedly cross the river and find two mages in a fierce fight. Evidently this has nothing to do with the meadery, they are aiming their magic at each other and occasionally it flies somewhere else. They pay no attention to us as we crouch well hidden and observe them.
Our tactic is clear – wait until one mage has killed the other and then kill the survivor. But the combat lasts so long that I get impatient and when I get impatient I start having stupid ideas. I figure I can just as well make use of the time and sneak up the slope, so that by the time one of the mages is killed, I shall have the additional advantage of elevation.
That has the result that both mages notice me and decide to attack us instead of each other. With horrible-looking fire and ice things flying at me and past me, I have to fight them both at the same time. They're not too difficult for the four of us to defeat, but I should have just remained in my perfect shooting position behind that rock on the roadside and waited (or at least shot one of the mages in the back while they were not seeing us).
That's the fire mage:
That's the ice mage:
That's the city:
And that's the road to Riverwood:
Without wasting any more time, we cross that very bridge and head south.
Whenever the weather is good (as it is now), Riverwood is utterly adorable. We do some shopping and say hello to old friends. I wonder if Rudelphine is there. No, the secret room is empty. I guess she went with that old man to reestablish the Blades organization or something. Come to think of it, just because she and I found out some stuff about dragons doesn't mean the thalmors are no longer after her. Considering all that's happened, she can hardly expect to be safe in Riverwood any longer.
I, however, feel I really ought to take a break for a couple of weeks or at least days in this region. I mean, take some time off and enjoy hanging around in the city doing nothing. Be together with my stepdaughter. Maybe take her on a trip to Riverwood or even Blackmoor.
Whatever. It's getting late and we need to hurry. We must at least reach the Falkreath Stormcloak Camp before complete darkness. I know, I have that Circlet of Night Eye, but it only affects my eyesight, not that of my followers, so it's only for emergencies.
The weather is nice and everything on this route is so familiar that I barely pay attention to anything. Not only do we reach that stork camp, we even get through the mountain pass in pretty decent light, so we go and pay a visit to the Rift Imperial Camp as well.
We reach Ivarsted at half past 7 in the evening.
I'm pleasantly surprised to see that Marni's shop is still open. I also bring Temba, the owner of the sawmill, the bear pelts she wanted. She's incredibly haughty. Instead of being grateful, she treats me like a maid who has been good enough to be spared the daily beating today. I should kill Temba, but the village needs her.
After some walking around and gossiping, we retire for the night at the inn.
I can hear my followers falling asleep rather quickly. (As I've told you, Lydia and I sleep in separate beds at inns, to avoid being accidentally seen in an awkward situation.) My thoughts go onto our tomorrow's visit to High Hrothgar, then the soothing peacefulness in the Whiterun Hold and how we must do everything in our power to keep the war away from Skyrim's last stronghold of safety and sanity.
As my thoughts wander backwards along our yesterday's route, past Hviterun to Dragonbridge and Solitud, the ghastly sight of Montaigu's mutilated corpse emerges in my mind's eye, and those executioners with axes one can see walking around in Solitud from time to time. It reminds me of the bloody head of that Stormcloak soldier on the ground in front of me when I was kneeling at a chopping block in Helgen, from which my thoughts jump to the vile murder committed in Amber Creek by Svegard on Agnar's order a week ago. I just can't put it out of my mind. The prisoner said that he was afraid that if he'll tell Agnar where Jalma and Wilhard were taken to, Yngvarr will have him killed. Observe what Agnar replied:
Obviously, "I'll kill you if you don't," implies "I won't kill you if you do." Any sensible person would understand it like that. This means Jarl Agnar shamelessly broke his implied promise. Think about it: would the bandit have given Agnar any information on the hostages' whereabouts if he had known that as soon as he has done so, he'll be stabbed to death? Hardly, unless tortured to the point where he would have wished to die. He did not wish to die at that moment. He was ready to do anything to stay alive. But Jarl Agnar had a man who did him an enormous service killed without a second thought, casually as if smashing a mosquito. He is no better than Yngvarr.
Undeniably, Agnar has committed fewer crimes than Yngvarr, but that's because he is the king of Falskaar and thus can get his way simply by ordering people to do what he wants. Were he in Yngvarr's shoes and vice versa, things wouldn't necessarily be much different.
Wait. In fact, Yngvarr has so far only shown himself ruthless. He has not shown himself dishonorable. Not before my eyes, at any rate. I have only heard horrible things about him. My instinct tells me very strongly his word is to be trusted not a bit more than Agnar's, but I have no hard facts yet.
Stop, Laura, I tell myself. Enough of this crap. You need to get some sleep.
I force my thoughts back onto the sunny marketplace in Hviterun. I imagine how Lucia and Mila are running errands for Carlotta, how Anoriath and Fralia are praising their wares behind their adjacent stalls, how Jon is chatting up young women passing by. Then I imagine Corianna at her cookshop in Riverwood, her husband sitting on the pier, fishing, listening to the birdsong and watching the water in the river flow by... I begin to sink into sleep.
next awakening
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