Chapter I: A Night to Remember
The Bullfinches begin to sing as dawn breaks. Their loud, constant, annoying chirps echo throughout the empty dinner hall riddled with plates, cups, flagons, and residue from the exciting night before. Several Nords are still sound asleep each with an empty pint in their grips. One is actually in such a peculiar position with his legs rested on the table and his back hard on the wood floor. Another has his arm situated in the supports of a chair. What an exciting past night! A must fills the air and is visible as the rays of sun pierce through the cold, stone windows. Spring time is a lovely time in northern Skyrim. The snow is light; the temperature is brisk, and the elk can be seen roaming the hold. A cool wave of air rushes through the hall and wakes the youngest son of Skyrim in the room. Bjorn. He wakes with quite the pounding headache, and as he brushes his long, blond hair away from his crystal blue eyes that look almost like the water Iliac Bay itself, he struggles to remember a single moment from the night before. The Nord struggles to even find his shirt. Did he even wear a shirt last night? No one else in the hall even showed a glimpse of waking, he noticed. He arose and struggled to stand; he couldn't even remember the occasion.
Eventually, Bjorn finally makes his way into his chambers. A strange letter lays still upon his pillow. However, the letter is accompanied by a man not much older than Bjorn. On the bed is Bjorn's blood-brother, Valof. By no means does it appear Valof will be waking any time soon, so Bjorn simply takes the letter from under him. The letter is stamped with the crest of the Andemoors.
"Hinde…" Bjorn lets out in a sigh. He proceeds to break the seal and read the letter. Thoughts rush through the Nord's head. Is she upset? Did he touch another woman last night? Did he embarrass her? Was she even at the party? Bjorn took a breath and opened the letter frightfully.
'See me. Six hours past mid-day. The alley.'
Bjorn broke into a sweat as he read the letter for it did not reveal the cause for concern. Just as he finished reading the information, Valof smacks the letter out of Bjorn's hands.
Valof grunts loudly and says with eyes still shut, "I already read it… I'd be worried if I were you."
"You didn't read it. The seal was still intact."
"Oh, little brother. How many times have we read father's letters and resealed them? You know I'm the master of it." Valof exclaimed in return.
"Mind yourself, please. Was Hinde even here last night? I cannot remember a thing, and my head is crushing. Do you remember anything?"
Valof sat up and cleared is eyes. Specks of sand fell from the corners similar to the sand of the Alik'r Desert. "No, I do not. Now can you please put a shirt on."
"Fine, yes. Hand me the tunic there. Do you even know what time it is?" Bjorn asked with interest.
Before Valof could answer, their father, Jarl Harke of Windhelm intruded into Bjorn's chambers and answered. "It is Morndas, thirteenth of First Seed, Second Era five-hundred-eighty-three, six hours in the morning." He added, "What are you two boys doing up so early? I expected you two to sleep through mid-day! Bjorn, put on a shirt."
The older son fell back into Bjorn's bed as he realized how early it was. It would seem that Valof had enjoyed the night even more than Bjorn did. His chestnut-brown hair lay sprawled out upon his brother's pillow, and his shear-blue eyes, matching Bjorn's, were covered by tired eyelids. Bjorn, now turning red, quickly hid the letter away in his trousers after realizing his father was in the room. Jarl Harke severely disapproved of his son being with an Andemoor. The last time he caught them together, he prohibited Bjorn from having mead for two whole weeks. In order to appease his father, Bjorn simply told him that they were no longer seeing each other and that they were not on good terms by any means. Whether his father believed him or not was neither here nor there, however. He seemed satisfied to not see them together nonetheless.
"Father, were any of the Andemoors at our gathering last night?" Bjorn sheepishly asked.
His father glared at him and let out a puff of air, "Why would there have been…?" He returned with a harsh tone.
"Simply curious, father."
Jarl Harke scoffed and left the room. But he soon turned back, peeked his head through the doorway and said, "Hinde was here last night. She left after that alcoholic Dunmer poured his pint on her. Now get some rest and start your daily training in due time."
Bjorn did not reply to his father. He was trying with all his might to remember a single incident from the night before. A Dunmer? How did one even get in? Many of the Nords in Windhelm had strong bigotry towards the Dunmer. The only reason they were allowed in the city walls was because of the leniency of Bjorn's father as well as the ongoing alliance known as the Ebonheart Pact. Bjorn nor Valof had any issues with the Dunmer though. Valof was even previously involved with an intimate relationship with a Dunmer woman – up until she was arrested and discovered to be an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, of course. A shame really. They were a decent match indeed.
The young Nord awoke Valof and interrogated him more. Bjorn was determined to find out why Hinde left the letter for him, and he was most eager to see her later in the afternoon.
"Valof, come on. You don't remember a single thing? Why was a Dunmer here? Why did I see Volll with a terrible black-eye in the dining hall? Surely, you remember something!"
"Bjorn, let me sleep. My head hurts just as much as yours. I do not remember anything. I don't even remember Hinde being there. Maybe father is just toying with you." Valof answered.
Bjorn, frustrated, replied, "Fine, but go to your own bed, dammit. I'm tired and would like to sleep now. Now, Valof."
Valof, disgruntled, threw the pillow at Bjorn in amusement, subsequently got up, and went to his own chambers. The young Nord lied down in his own bed finally, but he couldn't sleep. He had too much on his mind, another twelve hours before he could find out why Hinde left the letter. So nerve-wracking. Bjorn clutched his hair in frustration and tried to sleep. Nothing. How unfortunate.
Fresh snow piled upon the windowsill of Bjorn's room. The rays of mid-day sun peered through the glass directly into the young Nord's eyes. He had lied still, staring at his wood and stone ceiling, thinking. A servant knocked on Bjorn's door suddenly, most likely sent by the Jarl.
"Yes? What is it?" Bjorn answered the knocking.
The servant explained, "Sir, your father wishes to speak with you. It is of utmost urgency he says. He has summoned Valof as well."
"Very well." And with that, Bjorn made his way off of his bed, across the hall, and into the main hall. The entire court was assembled. The Jarl's advisors, thane, sons, housecarl, and servants were all around in every seat. Bjorn, still in his mead-covered, torn clothes from the previous night, felt slightly unprepared and slightly out of place. Nonetheless, he sat by his father's side on the opposite side from Valof.
Bjorn leaned to his father and whispered at the lowest tone, "Father, why are we all here? Why are Valof and I here namely?"
His father swayed his hand towards Bjorn to silence him. The court room was large and warm. A grand fire-pit was positioned in the center on the hall, large enough to warm the entire room. All of the people sitting were waiting with eagerness. Why had they been called? The last time a meeting such as this took place was when the new thane had been chosen. In other words, it must be an important matter to attend to.
"Men and women of my court," the Jarl started, "I have called you all here today… to inform you… of a makeshift agreement… between the mighty, strong, noble Ebonheart Pact… and the Daggerfall Covenant. Yes, we have been at war. Yes, we are still vying for the Imperial Tower and the mantle of the Empire. Yes, they are our enemy. However… the Nords of Skyrim… the Dunmer of Morrowind… and the Argonians of Black Marsh… shall join forces with the races of the Covenant in Cyrodiil… to drive out the damned elves that so fiercely hold the bulk of Imperial lands. I am sending my two sons… Valof… and Bjorn… to seal this grand alliance… and to begin the extermination of Mer from our Tamriel! They set off to the city of Daggerfall today… in six hours from now, mid-day. May the Divines shine their faces upon my sons, but more importantly, may they shine upon the Ebonheart Pact and all for which we stand for!"
The crowd was silent. No one necessarily disagreed. Everyone despised the Aldmeri Dominion. But to join forces with an enemy that which has spilt so much Nordic blood? Bjorn and Valof were eager to set out. They thanked their father graciously and returned to their chambers to pack. Daggerfall – such a beautiful city. With castles all around and knights in shining armor roaming the grounds, it truly is a marvelous place. Bjorn was excited, even more than Valof perhaps. The older Nord would be able to see an old friend of his – a Breton. This Breton went by the name Daric, and has known Valof from a very young age. Daric was born in Skyrim, after all; his parents were on a diplomatic mission in the Rift. They loved it so much, they decided to stay in Riften itself. Daric and his family would always travel north to Windhelm for a winter retreat. It was here where he would meet Valof and Bjorn. All three children were around the age of six perhaps, and now, seventeen years have passed since they last met. But, when the war broke out, Daric stayed true to his heritage and traveled to his racial home – High Rock. Valof has not seen Daric since, and he refuses to imagine Daric's death. Valof is determined to find his friend. Daric and Bjorn never really got along. For some reason, Valof and Daric just clicked when together. In other words, Bjorn was not looking forward to seeing Daric, if he was even still alive.
The two Nords rushed to pack their extra clothes, their tents, supplies, armor, and weapons. Bjorn had his clean, new, shining steel sword, able to cut down a Mer in one swing. Valof, however, carried a large, formidable battle-axe, capable of doing who-knows-what to an elf. In due time, it was nearing time of departure. They were ready to ride all the way across Skyrim, which would not be an issue at all. The carriage could make it to Solitude and from there Daggerfall within a week. All the while, they would be in amiable territory; the weapons were certainly not being brought to be used. The hour then came, and they set off. Six hours past mid-day, the two Nords, two royal guards, and the horseman all journey west.
It was not until eleven hours past mid-day when each of the passengers were sound asleep. They had already entered the Pale and even passed Dawnstar, a frozen city indeed. Situated on the Sea of Ghosts, Dawnstar is one of the smaller cities of Skyrim, with only a mine or two and an old, unused, nearly destroyed garrison. Bjorn shot awake. His pale-blue eyes widened, and he broke into a cold sweat which would almost be able to freeze on his face.
"Hinde…" He regrettably let out in a sigh. Bjorn almost ordered the carriage to turn around. Almost. He knew he couldn't jeopardize this mission of peace. However, he would go the whole rest of trip with the constant feeling of rage, stupidity, uncertainty, and regret gnawing at him. How unfortunate. And so, the five Nords continued their journey, their destination Daggerfall, where they would forever change Tamriel, into a land where no white and gold eagle banners fly. They would purge the mainland of Aldmeri Dominion… or so they hoped.