CHAPTER I - IN MY TIME OF NEED

The sharp cold of the morning breeze struck my face as I walked out of the city from my slumber, forcing me to wake up and face this new reality.

Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t continue ignoring the daily thunder-like shout from the top of High Hrothgar. Folk were making bolder comments and it was getting even more attention to this whole ‘Dragonborn’ issue than I was ready to endure in silence. By now I was sure the call could be heard for miles around the mountain.

After delaying this "appointment" for a whole month, it was time to accept it: They were not going to stop until I paid them a visit.

I started early that morning to prepare for my travel back to the little town of Riverwood, located in the southern outskirts of Whiterun, the city I was currently referring to as home.

Renting a horse was tempting but it would only bring more attention to me... few had the coin to pay for a mount in these times.

The plan was to reach Ivarstead in a couple of days, an isolated village where climbers initiated their journey towards the tallest mountain in the province, and by first traveling south from Riverwood I had a good chance of finding a safe route to it.

I had several close encounters with danger when I tried to travel by the northern roads during the last month and had been warned by the locals that the path was plagued with criminals, wild animals and worse.

After Whiterun became an enemy of the nearby hold of Eastmarch, the roads between them had turned into a deathtrap... it was a more frequent occurrence as the civil war in Skyrim took hold of everyone’s efforts.

The journey from Whiterun was peaceful and filled with friendly faces, however It wasn’t a cheering prospect for me. As my identity became known in this hold my chances of making a living as a thief became slimmer. It didn’t help that my kind stood up like a sore thumb in this cold and bitter land.

I came to Riverwood within a day of travel, just as the hour of Lady Azura bathed the sky in strange colors and the cursed thundering sound from High Hrothgar could be heard traveling through the land, calling. ‘Calling me’, I reminded myself. They had started to repeat their call after two weeks of my feigned deafness.

Shivering and not from cold, I moved quickly to the only Inn in town, the ‘Sleeping Giant’ and rented a room.

My attendant was a middle-aged woman in a blue dress who seemed to be in a permanent bad mood. She had the townsfolk calling her Delphine; ‘If that’s your real name, “bar-maid”...’ I thought, watching her order my meal to the brutish cook, Orgnar.

But this wasn’t the time for conspiracies, so taking the dinner she offered I sat by the darkest corner available to ponder on my journey.

However… hours later, as the only movement in the Inn came from the keepers and some patrons, a familiar figure came into the building poking around and asking questions to the angry woman. My ears perked up at the mention of the word ‘corner’ and the man came walking to me.

“Dar’Aldair? Is it really you?” He asked hesitant, trying to peer into the gloom. I sighed to myself and praying no one else came I gestured the wood elf to sit with me. His tension dispersed when he recognized my slitted pupils reflecting the Inn’s low fire.

It was Faendal, a worker in the town's wood mill and one of the few friends I had made in this place.

He greeted me warmly and one long conversation later he had offered to take me to Ivarstead all by himself, first hour in the morning. I argued briefly with the elf, not wanting to put him at risk again... but he insisted:

“I’m tired of hiding behind the guards. Now I have a family to protect and a man has a right to defend himself... I’ve been training since we delved into that ruin.” He didn’t lie. I could see Faendal had gained weight since my last visit and it wasn't exactly fat. “Even if I don’t go with you now, the journey to Ivarstead is one I’ve been delaying for too long.”

It seemed his union with Camilla, one of the co-owners of the general store, was working quite well. He looked capable of accomplishing this and an unexpected feeling of relief was present as I went to sleep minutes after he departed: even if at the end of this travel my worst fears were confirmed, I wouldn’t have to go there alone.

The next day while the sun was still hiding we departed towards the mountains. My companion explained himself further as the chilly wind tried to strangle our torches:

"I used to travel to Ivarstead once every three months, a job culling the bears near Riften made me some extra coin. But when Helgen... burned, I was a week away from making my trip and haven’t since." Faendal explained, stuttering a bit on the Helgen incident.

I suspected that by now word had traveled from Whiterun saying poor Aldair was implicated in the ‘event’. I was glad he didn't mention anything and wanted it to continue that way, so I led the conversation away:

"Bears? This one knew they were useful for their skins but aren't bears uncommon to be... hmm... ‘culled’?"

"Uncommon?! Don't say that when we reach Ivarstead! Specially not to Temba Wide-Arm, that woman hates bears and she'll have your ear about 'how uncommon they are' " He laughed merrily at the idea.

As dawn light started to return color to the world I noticed there was a War axe hanging from my friend’s hip. A short time ago it was a simple wood cutting tool. ‘War is really getting to everyone in Skyrim.’, I silently worried in my head.

"No friend, bears are abundant in the province and from what I've heard our breeds are much tougher than the ones you’ve got back in Cyrodiil! Just a week ago, Delphine and me had to chase down one that was killing her chickens at night!" Faendal related, apparently forgetting the brief gloom the memory of Helgen brought him.

"Delphine? You don’t mean the one at the Inn, do you?" I remembered the haughty woman serving me drinks last night with the same manners I would expect from an annoyed orc blacksmith. A very convincing ruse she had going on.

"Don't let the act fool you, that woman is fierce. She mostly keeps to herself but try to start something in the Inn and she'll beat you up worse than big Orgnar. Sometimes I think Delphine is just a bodyguard and he is the ugliest bar-maid in all of Skyrim!" We cackled about it on our way through the forest.

Faendal took the chance to show off his ability with a bow as we moved, by landing an arrow on a lone rabbit that I could barely see in the distance. I was impressed and we started to boast about our best feats. I kept to myself the tale about the dragon, but still had enough to tell without it.

It had been a much happier trip than I expected when departing from Whiterun… until we reached the burnt husk of Helgen.

Now that I knew more, a pang of guilt washed over me at the sight. The broken doors were wide open, collapsed buildings and rubble piled up in all directions. There was no movement and birdsong was dimmer here, as if the fauna wanted to avoid disturbing the dead.

Faendal spoke in a lower voice, all the laughter from our journey gone "I had no idea it was this bad. Can't imagine what these people suffered, may Arkay embrace their souls."

I repeated the prayer, mostly in respect of Faendal’s customs... But if the Jarl was right, I knew there were no souls left to feel sorry about. He spoke again after finishing:

"We have to cross the city, the path I use is one that leads off from the western gates. It's nearby and we’ll have look at much of the destruction, but otherwise we’re using one of the old green roads and only the gods know what took home there after all these years, I’d rather avoid it."

I assented to my friend and we made our way inside the ruined town. Both of us were weary and tense, but I wasn't completely sure why. The place looked desolated, however stories about ghosts were already running in the hold’s capital.

My fur bristled as we marched inside and my ears debated between gluing to my skull or standing alert, looking for sounds.

Charred bones were strewn everywhere. Some were sticking off the ground, giving the impression their owner was crushed or melted into it. I started shaking as the memories flooded in my head; and I wielded my bow to hide it all.

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Faendal noticed the weapon in my hands and took out his own then, looking in disgust at the desiccated remains of what was a living person just a bit more than a month ago. It was odd how not even crows had feasted on the corpses.

"We are halfway in, Aldair, the gates are visible from here but it looks closed. That’s going to be a problem." Faendal mentioned sourly.

We were near the middle of the town, very close to the spot I stepped down from a prisoner cart, awaiting death.

"If it's really closed we can still climb the rampart and drop to the other side, don't worry." I answered him absently. Something didn’t feel right.

Faendal moved towards the western gates when my ears perked at the familiar sound of something hissing through the air. I instinctively jumped towards him and pushed us down. The lodging sound of a projectile striking the ground was all the confirmation I needed.

"We are being attacked, get up!" I told the elf, standing up myself and knocking an arrow. I glanced at the projectile on the floor briefly and my eyes traced the direction back to the execution plaza. ‘There!’ A figure was atop the tower, hard to see from this distance but surely aiming for another shot.

The sound of metal crashing and a door slamming made me realize this wasn’t just a lone archer. We were being ambushed by an organized group.

"You're going to make a fine rug, cat!" The rough bellow came from a nord in tattered fur armor that could barely contain his size, running towards us from the ruins of a building and with a crude Battle-axe in his hands. As he rushed to us, three more bandits followed behind.

Faendal was still getting to his feet behind me and the threat of the unseen archer loomed over us. I had to move quickly or one of us would die soon.

Aiming towards the charging man, I realized a normal hit wouldn't stop that much bulk. So I aimed lower and loosened an arrow, holding my breath for success... and it pierced deep in one of his shins with the subtle sound of bone being split.

The bandit growled in pain and tripped into the ground, close from us. His weapon came flying in our direction but I managed to deflect it with a swing of my bow, glad the elven metal resisted the impact.

As the bandit cursed by my feet I readied a second arrow and shot towards the other approaching thugs while slowly retreating out of the tower’s vision. A skinny man caught the projectile in his chest and fainted right there, making another one stop to dodge the body.

The hissing sound returned and I crouched while jumping to the side.

Thud!

The arrow of our attacker hit a wooden column behind me. As long as it didn't strike Khajiit or friend, we had a chance.

The hysterical scream of a woman came from the distance and I looked for it while getting up. A figure was falling from the tower and I saw Faendal expertly pelting the location with arrows. The archer was probably dead.

Hope lasted a short time and I paid the price of distraction: The wounded bandit had crawled towards me and pulled down with the strength of a mountain troll.

"I'm going to crack your neck with my hands you damn cat!" The man roared with anger and I believed him. His muscular arms bulged with veins and power, eager to turn this one into a memory.

Desperate, I tried to pull a dagger out but the bastard grappled me down to the floor and using me as leverage propelled his own body on top, pinning me under his mass.

"Oof.. Faend-" My call for help was cut short as a foot impacted my head with enough force to make the morning sky almost turn black.

They laughed, victorious. I could smell the rancid breath of my captor ordering the other to end me while he held my arms against the floor.

I didn't want to die. Not like this.

The horrible sound of a dagger being unsheathed made me lose my wits.

I wanted to scream to Faendal, to the Jarl, to my mother, to anyone who could help. I opened my mouth to scream a last time before these savages slitted my poor throat.

FUS

The nord brute seating on top of me was pushed away by the force of the word and into his companion’s legs, a rat-like old coot who crumpled down beneath the weight.

Of all the things that could save me, the cursed magic “voice” that had turned me into a wanted criminal was almost insulting. Seated on the ground shakily recovering my breath I heard the man yell “Your magic won’t save you outlander!”

The uncaring behemoth was already getting up, using his companion, who moaned in pain, as support when a wooden stick sprouted between his eyes and the giant finally dropped dead to the floor with a loud slam, making a cloud of dust rise.

I panted, not believing I wasn’t choking in my own blood this very minute, the events associated with that horrible curse the dragon inflicted upon me returned to my memory, mocking and taunting.

A shrill supplicating voice interrupted the incoming blankness that was taking me:

“Please! I... I was only trying to survive. He forced us... have mercy!” Barely visible through the dust, I could see the old man. He was crawling away from me like a shriveled, hairy worm. One of his legs had been broken and the bone jutted up from the pierced skin.

Hasty steps by my back shattered the little calm I was gathering, but it was just Faendal.

"Ugh, That looks painful… let the old man go, I feel bad for him.” His attention was fixed on the groveling bandit’s leg as he assisted me.

He offered a bloody hand and that removed the bandit from my head, Faendal got hurt? Still stunned I grabbed it, asking: “Are you alright, is that blood yours?”

He shook his head. "One of the bandits got to me and sent my bow flying. Had to wrestle him until I could grab my axe. What about you? When I finally got free I saw you had dealt with two of them!"

That last part calmed me, ‘He didn’t see the curse in action.’ I thought.

I studied our surroundings and saw the last bandit that came out of the building was face down in a pool of red. Faendal's Steel axe was deeply embedded in his neck.

"Khajiit is fine… he thinks." I answered, thanking Azura this didn’t end in disaster. ‘That was close, far too close.’

The old one had finished dragging himself inside the building from where they came out and his loud sobbing could be heard from here… but if experience had taught me anything I suspected we were not done yet. I tried to make my friend see reason:

"We got lucky, if there are more around we are still in danger. This one still has to deal with the last bandit.”

Faendal’s indignation widened his eyes.

“What?! It’s just an old man! Wouldn’t be surprised he is a Helgen survivor turned criminal due to his need, it’s not completely his fault… He isn’t a threat with that leg anyway.”

He didn’t understand… he hadn’t seen what I did, living in the tranquility of Riverwood.

I started answering him when my whiskers tingled violently and my eyes darted to a blue glow in the distance.

“DOWN!” I screamed.

Faendal and I crouched in time to avoid a large spike of shimmering ice impaling either of us.

It shattered near in a nearby piece of a building, showering us in cold shards... and ahead of me I could hear the tremulous crackle of ice forming out of thin air... another was being prepared.

When I looked up the deceiving old bastard was leaning against a wall while standing on one leg, unsteadily wielding the broken half of a staff and a large soul gem in his hands.

I pulled my dagger and growling at my own carelessness, I rushed towards the new threat.

The traitorous old man cast his spell, directing it at my legs and no doubt trying to replicate what we did to his boss. The expression of fear in his face had been replaced by a mad hate, fueled by this newfound grace of magic.

I sidestepped the spike by jumping on my left foot and using the returning motion from the right half of my body I launched the dagger into his face.

It lodged in his eye and screaming in pain he dropped the staff in the middle of another spell only to have the soul gem explode violently and blast off his arm. Shortly after, Faendal finished the job with a shot to his heart.

The last outlaw sagged against the wall, impaled by the arrow... and finally there was silence.

“...Well, you were right.” The elf said in a gloomy voice behind me.

"Let's get out of here." I muttered, glancing around to find my bow and my heart sank when I found it beneath the body of the big nord. The weapon was bent by his fall and It was useless now.

‘Wonderful’, I thought while wrestling with the frustration. ‘That had been a gift.’

"Wait! Let's check what they had in the building, if they have robbed more travelers there’s bound to be some good stuff in this place. I bet that staff wasn’t the only magical thing here." Faendal called while pulling his axe from the corpse, the meat gushed bloody as he released the weapon.

I caught myself already leaving for the exit.

Not risking to look further like a senseless fool I agreed with this new courageous Faendal; he would look into the building as I stood guard outside.

My companion rushed inside now holding the stout axe ready. I silently thanked Azura he didn’t notice what happened between the bandits and me.

I didn’t need this man to think like so many, that I was a freak as we faced a road with so many hidden dangers.

"He noticed, fooling yourself won’t change reality.”

That little voice whispered in the back of my head, teasing and inopportune. It had not talked for a while.

‘No! He would have mentioned something otherwise.’ I thought back to it.

But only silence answered.