CHAPTER II - FIRE BE WITNESS
I insisted to Faendal that making a large campfire was dangerous but he was quick to argue back, saying there had been rumors of dark things wandering the forests and attracting bandits was safer than having some wild animal prowl near us in the dark. At the end we settled for making a medium sized fire but I prepared several tripwires in the trees around us. We nested beneath a jutting rock that formed a natural roof from the sky, the fire outlined our shadows against the stone.
Faendal had been right about the Helgen bandits, the building was a small treasure trove with several hundreds of coins and some interesting items the criminals probably took from unsuspecting travelers.
The elf had no experience with enchanted items but I did, thanks to my mother’s teachings. We found a pair of expensive looking leather boots that my novice’s skills determined were enchanted to endure against cold and a quiver full of arrows augmented with the essence of fire. We divided the gold in equal parts but he insisted I took all the items.“I’ve got the feeling you’re going to need them a lot more than me, Aldair.” He said with a hint of… excitement? Preferring not to ask I accepted the items and replaced my boots. They would be useful in the ascent to the mountain.
‘The mountain!’ Looking up into the unlit plains of nocturnal Aetherius I remembered the event just in time to feel the voices of god-like beings yelling to the skies from the top of the world:
DO-VAH-KIIN
A wave of air, unnoticeable from Whiterun, followed the shout making the fire shake and then settle. We were close to Ivarstead by now and had abandoned the hold to enter into the autumnal forests of the Rift. I said nothing, but Faendal was looking at me.
“Hmm… I don’t know how to say this but… I did see what happened in Helgen some hours ago. You… shouted, to the bandits and they were driven up into the sky, like magic!” He said, working to hide the growing excitement in his voice. My own stomach was turning in panic.
He continued despite my silence.
“That looked a lot like the tales of old, where men would shout down the gates of cities and break armies with their voice. Is that the reason you’re going to Ivarstead? To the Greybeards?” He asked, lowering his voice but leaning in across the fire, restrained emotion flourishing in every movement.
“I… I don’t know.” I told him truthfully. I cursed myself internally when noticing I spoke like a heartland citizen. ‘But were these precautions necessary? It is Faendal after all…‘
‘Yes, they were.’ I scolded myself while Faendal remained expectant.
I sighed and had the impulse of turning my back and telling him to stop asking, but that wouldn’t do. If I had traveled through Helgen alone I could easily be dead at this hour. He deserved an explanation. But even him just needed to know the necessary to not compromise myself. I choose the parts to tell him with care.
“After this one departed from Riverwood about a month ago, Khajiit made his way towards the city of Whiterun with the directions you and Alvor offered him and one task: Tell the Jarl that the town was requesting aid because of the… dragon.” I lowered my voice intuitively when pronouncing the cursed word.
An expression of amazement was slowly creeping into the elf’s face as I continued.
“When this one reached his destiny the guards at the gate barred the entrance, ‘No cat-folk allowed inside the gates’ they said.” Faendal opened his mouth in indignation and I gestured him to be patient. “Then this one told them he had news about the events that destroyed Helgen and that sure changed their minds…”
I told Faendal what transpired inside Whiterun that day, and the memories invaded my mind quickly, making me forget our current road...
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“Wait, you know something about that huge column of fire in the mountains? Better not be one of the tricks of your people!” One of the guards pulled his helmet off, revealing the gruff face of a middle aged Nord man with a stubble, looking at me with extreme suspicion. Racist, as the very last of them.
I steeled myself with patience, these two oafs wouldn’t respond well to complicated words or intimidation.
“Yes, Khajiit does know. This one was very close to Helgen when it happened and fled towards the town of Riverwood. The townsfolk noticed this one was a traveler and requested Khajiit to deliver a message to the city, as they had no guards in their steading. Alvor the blacksmith sent Khajiit here.”
A partial truth, there were no guards at all in the outskirts of this place, which was very odd for a supposedly wealthy hold such as Whiterun, however the folk in Riverwood weren’t very happy to let such a task in the hands of an outsider.
The men looked at each other and the second one talked. When he talked I noticed his voice was almost boyish.
“The Captain ordered to keep cat and lizard folk out of the city. We can’t let him in or that would be trouble for us.”
“Wait a moment Hroggir, if we come across some information about that huge fire and then learn it IS Helgen as Irileth suspected... letting it go would be stupid. She would have our hides.” The older man said to the other in a scolding tone. For one, I was glad the problem was solving itself and decided to remain silent.
After some seconds of decision that made the man sweat, he spoke to me again.
“Very well cat, you can enter the city.” He said, already seeming to regret it. “But be careful of what you put in your pockets. We’ll alert the The City Guard about your arrival so you’ll be under vigilance. Do no sneaky business and we’ll be just fine.”
With that he turned back and unlocked the gate, opening it enough to let me in. “You’ll find the Jarl at the top of the city, inside the castle on the hill, Dragonsreach.” The man turned to point to something over the city wall and didn’t notice how my fur bristled slightly at the mention of the word ‘dragon’.
“There’ll be no trouble. This one’s name is Dar’Aldair and he is only a traveler in the lookout for some honest work.” I said to him as friendly as I could manage. The familiar words resonated with the man and he relaxed a bit.
As I crossed the portal the sounds of a working city filled the air. There was nearby hammering of metal, people haggling and exchanging rumors, drunkards boasting, dogs barking and chickens cackling loudly. It was a respectable place, similar to the rural towns around my dear Bruma city, with rustic buildings made of rough wood and worked stone, their roofs were covered in hay to further isolate the inside from cold.
I sighed in relief, basking at the known feeling of a chaotic city brimming in front of me, specially one that reminded me of home.
Hundreds of fools waiting to be pick pocketed and their houses to be plundered. And even if I decided not to rob this place clean, it was noisy enough for a single cat to hide in. But not now… Today I could collect a large sum of money from delivering the news to the local Lord, they would hail me as a hero and I would go on my way.
From down here I could see a huge building also made from wood and stone sitting atop the hill and a single spiky tower loomed over the city with a thin crown of clouds surrounding it.
I walked towards it unsuccessfully repressing a smile.
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At this point I became tired of talking and told Faendal we could continue later. He agreed reluctant and started to clean up the rabbit he was supposed to when I started my story. We made turns to watch out the night while the other slept.
With the night over without any incidents we started moving towards Ivarstead with Azura’s luminous blessings of dawn, and my very impatient companion prompted me to continue, handing me a torch to deter the cold.
I talked all the road until we reached Ivarstead.
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Stolen novel; please report.
Despite the suspicious looks I got from the citizens and one snotty brat pulling at my tail, I managed to ascend the stairs towards the castle and one guard placed herself between the open entrance and me. ‘By Azura these Nords are too confrontational.’ I thought, watching the stocky woman.
“Halt! Who are you and what’s your business in Dragonsreach?” She was looking at me with an ugly eye and I didn’t fail to notice her hand rested on the sword hilt at her side. Behind her a long hall ascended into carpeted stairs and into another level, not visible from here. The rich interior had nothing to envy to the homes of nobles back at Cyrodiil.
Even if nords were isolated racists, that didn’t stop them from loving their sweet gold... I had to pull my mind from imagining the loot inside this place and back to the issue at hand; I readied my friendliest voice for her.
“Greetings, this one’s name is Dar’Aldair, a traveler with news to the Jarl of Whiterun, from the people of Riverwood.” I answered her request, but her face remained set. She didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth, so I offered a bit more.
“The guardsmen at the entrance of town allowed me in, as I was at Helgen when... that happened.” I pointed with my thumb over my shoulder to the mountains south of the city where a thick column of dark smoke had days rising from the burnt mess that was Helgen.
“Helgen?!” She exclaimed, now focused on my face and not my hands, but then her eyes darted behind me.
“That’s ridiculous. Why would someone like you know anything of importance?” The pretentious tone of a male voice at my back almost made me turn hissing in anger, too similar to a cursed nobleman that prevented me from visiting the city of Bravil in the light of day for years.
I turned with feigned calm to find a Redguard wearing nobleman clothes. His nose was raised and he looked down on me, like one looks at the filth a horse left behind.
“He’s trying to trick you Hilda, get him out of the Cloud District before he robs someone of their valuables.” He said with an almost palpable layer of disgust.
“Not now Nazeem, this might be important.” The guardswoman answered to the Redguard, respectful but impatient.
This Nazeem was the kind of rich bastard that made anyone beneath him in coin just miserable. I reigned in my anger just a bit more, breathing slowly. He was trying to taunt me into being kicked out of town but I wasn’t going to leave without my coin.
The man walked away from us into Dragonsreach, offended by my existence. I could hear him mocking me with someone inside as the woman, Hilda, spoke to me.
“You’re not the first one to come here and say they knew about the smoke, but claiming you were there… I don’t know, Khajiit. Wait here, I must check with the commander.” She started to turn when we heard loud voices from inside.
“Are you really going to believe any of that nonsense Irileth?!” The pasty voice of Nazeem was directed towards a dark elf woman that walked aggressively to us… but her red eyes were fixated only on me.
“Welcome to Dragonsreach, Dar’Aldair. Hilda, you’re dismissed from this charge, I have been notified of the situation.” She wore an exquisite piece of leather armor, engraved in places with silver. Her stance spoke volumes about her rank here.
Looking back at me she said “You’re now under Jarl Balgruuf authority, come with me.” Knowing better than to say anything I followed this woman.
The ascending steps took us to a wide dinner hall illuminated by a burning pyre located in its center and taller than me, It was embedded in the floor on a crevice made of rock. Two long tables rested at each side of the fire, their several yards of length covered in rich silver cutlery glinted invitingly and before committing any stupidity I snuck my hands inside my armpits praying I didn’t look like an utter fool.
As I looked around with my mouth hanging slightly the realization this whole place was made of wood and stone dawned in the back of my mind. That thing in Helgen would have a field day here.
“That’s close enough.” The thin elf stopped me with a surprisingly strong hand as we reached the dais and I looked in front of me.
An enormous wooden throne engraved with precious metals and gems was holding in its seat a man with fair hair and very expensive looking robes, made of perfectly tanned leathers and embroidered silk. A circlet shone in gold and red, resting on his head as he evaluated me with a cold gaze. Irileth left my side and placed herself beside the throne, protective and vigilant.
“What do you know of Helgen? Speak true and loud so you may be rewarded in coin.” That powerful voice was accustomed to years of command and this man was no fool. He had already decided what would be the best way to get what he needed out of me. And I was very happy to oblige.
I bowed my head slightly to him and mentally prepared to hear accusations of liar and madman before they loosened some reward:
“This one was at Helgen the day it happened. Imperials had brought a group of prisoners into town and were executing them in the plaza when…”
The Jarl interrupted “Prisoners? What kind of prisoners?” He straightened in his seat, looking at me with growing interest. I had not anticipated that.
“Eh, I think they called themselves ‘Stormcloaks’, my lord. But there’s nothing to worry about, they were few and their leader was with them!” I told him trying to communicate this detail was unimportant, but to my dismay his face became red in anger and Irileth briefly covered her own with one hand.
“ULFRIC! I knew he had something to do with this! That man is a disgrace to all of Skyrim!” The Jarl raged from his throne, voice thundering. He turned to his right and spoke to a short old man “Your reports were right Proventus, Ulfric must be back at Windhelm! I apologize for doubting your skills.”
“No offense taken, sir.” Proventus answered softly. “If I may be so bold, I suggest sending the news to our allies.”
“Not now, but soon. Now, I want you to listen to this stranger.” Balgruuf turned his gaze back to me. “Continue outsider, and do not call me ‘Lord’. I can see you come from the central province and we respect the customs of the empire, however... here we have Jarls and Thanes, so I ask you to respect our own traditions.”
A crowd was gathering around us and the great hall was deathly silent, only the burning logs made any sound behind me but I wasn’t feeling any heat from the fire. This wasn’t going as planned.
“O-Of course. Khajiit was looking at the executions when…” I wasn’t so sure anymore this was a good idea. They knew about the Stormcloak leader, what else did they know about? What if they knew about me too? This could be a ruse to get me to spit details about the event and then throw me into jail.
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Climbing the frigid mountain was a pain in the backside all by itself, but the skies darkened minutes after we started going up, making a previously warm day into another cold journey. Our luck was already looking grim just to discover we would be attacked by frost trolls... twice.
The enchanted fire arrows we found at Helgen came in handy in our ascent to High Hrothgar. Along the simple wooden bow Faendal had crafted for me in Ivarstead we had an easier time than expected dispatching the animals.
Seconds after we were out of earshot Faendal pressed me to continue talking.
A man in the town had warned us the climb could take several days to complete. We had plenty of time to finish the tale.
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Anxiety was creeping into my hands, making me shake, then I realized I had remained silent with these savages watching me. I looked at Balgruuf who was now completely focused on my face… and he was frowning. I could feel the pressure building up in the crowd, wishing to know and receiving only the sounds of the pyre back.
I tried to look away from this Jarl to regain my own wits... when I saw something large and familiar hanging above the throne.
Just like that day.... a gaping maw of sharp teeth loomed above my head, preparing itself to inhale air and breath back fire, killing everyone in the room and reducing the castle, the city and all of the province to ash.
“A Dragon. There was a dragon at Helgen and it killed everybody... It ate the guards, burned the homes and then flew off into the countryside.” I heard myself saying, fixated on the thing.
It wasn’t alive, it was just bones and shadows danced on its surface as the fire gave the skull an eerie glow, but it looked so real...
An arm shook me, bringing me back to reality. A tall nord had placed his hand on my shoulder and was looking into my eyes.
“My brother is asking you a question, we understand you’re under much grief, but answer him.” He said with more care than his rough appearance suggested.
I looked at the Jarl and the sight was unexpected. He looked years older than just minutes ago, his face wrinkled in preoccupation… and anger. “I want to know how you got out alive and why come here to tell us.” His voice had lost the welcoming tone. “And before you answer, you must know I’m aware you’re lying about something, choose your words carefully... you might not have another chance.”
A frozen knife of terror sank into the pit of my stomach and I was convinced for a second I was going to faint.
‘How much of the truth to tell him?’ By now they had surely joined all the dots together and knew what I was lying about in some measure: I was being chased by the Thalmor from another province and was supposed to have been executed. I would be thrown into jail to rot for the rest of my life and no one would hear about Aldair ever again. I gave up trying to craft a smart ruse, I was far too stupid for that and told him outright. If they knew... they knew, it was too late for me:
“This one fled from war-thorn Cyrodiil and fell into the hands of Ulfric’s raiding party while crossing the border, becoming their prisoner. When the Imperials caught them, they didn’t care who Khajiit was.” I related to the Jarl, ruefully. “This one would be executed alongside all of them and his name would be thrown into Oblivion as another traitor.”
Balgruuf didn’t blink and the crowd’s silence pressed further into my skull.
“An imperial soldier in Helgen took pity on this one but couldn’t cancel my execution. When the Dragon attacked he got to Khajiit and guided us underground, beneath their city and into an old cave system away from Helgen. That man is the only reason Khajiit is alive. He had family on Riverwood, and they asked Aldair to come to you for their aid."
I could feel the crushing weight of tens of eyes judging me. I couldn’t think, I didn’t want to think. And the shadow of Jarl Balgruuf became a giant, as he stood up from his Throne with a war axe in hand.