Search and Resist
Brom had been able to sleep through all sorts of horrible conditions - rain, sleet, snow, and even in a downed tree log as a sabercat hungrily scratched at the outside.
This however, was pure torture.
What gave these flies such amazing bravery? If the Holds of Skyrim had employed these flies as guards, there would be no crime at all within any of the major cities. Brom also noted that each time he rolled over on one side, a fat scout would come and bother him at the nose, diverting him from dealing with the smaller ones which then perched atop his head while he battled with the bigger fly. Strategic planning, coordinated attacks, and a surprisingly agile and brave team all were synonymous with traveling warriors fitted in dragonplate armor - not pesky insects.
Brom waited carefully for the fat fly to land on his nose. Taking the bait, it settled peacefully on the edge of his nostrils, clearly still alert and waiting for the prompt swat.
It never came.
Brom had begun to think strategically. Instead of swatting it away, he calmly waited for a few seconds, deluding the fly into a sense of comfort as it confusingly jittered on his nose. Then, as quickly as possible, he swung his fist as hard as he could into his own nose.
This came with a piercing pain as Brom felt soft flesh crumple underneath his fist, but felt better after also feeling the tiny insect be crushed under his middle knuckle.
"YES! VICTORY IS MINE! TO SOVNGARDE YOU BASTARD!" he roared.
Immediately he wished he could take that line back. The cool night darkness was suddenly interrupted by the angry, tall frame of Skulvar thrusting open his door. He stood irritated and half-dazed, bright yellow lantern clutched sleepily in hand.
"BE QUIET YOU FOOL!"
Brom bit his lips in shyness and turned his face away from Skulvar, who had retreated back into his home. He waited several moments before peeking furtively above the stable's wooden posts, making sure the Nord was well inside and listened hard for creaking as Skulvar's heavy frame laid down on the aging bed. Brom had advised him to get a new one many times, even offering a few septims of his own at one point, but the Nord's dogged refusal to change anything about himself lead the boy to give up the effort early on.
But more pressingly, Brom realized that he was in fact losing his battle against the flies. Despite their leader now decorating the outside of Brom's fist, they fought back with a re-energized buzzing that Brom had not seen before. Worse, his nose had begun to bleed profusely as the warm liquid pooled horribly in his own palms. Exasperated and defeated, he jumped to his feet and stepped out into the misty black darkness while holding his head upright to keep the blood flow downwards. He pinched the nostrils firmly with a hand, hoping to stem the worst of the injury. Unfortunately, his fiddling was not left unnoticed, as the older horse behind him began to neigh and stir its head in frustration.
Thinking quickly, he motioned towards it and soothed it by rubbing its head and relieving the muffle. "Shh, Shh, it's all right now..."
The horse seemed considerate of his words, again drifting into sleep.
Brom moved away from the stables and shivered as the stronger breezes made their way past him, battering him with fierce gusts. Wrapping his free arm around his torso, Brom made his way atop a ladder fixated behind the stables and climbed on top of the roof - out of the fly group's vicious reach and high enough to not disturb the horses, or Skulvar for that matter.
He smiled as he hugged himself more tightly and blew warm, inviting air into his hands then rubbed them to increase the effect.
It was on midnights like these that he was perfectly capable of lucid thought - daytime was too filled with activity and work, and early nighttime and dawn had too many people lurking about to be able to think about anything. Met by the freezing hostility and unforgiving coldness of night, Brom could also plan out tomorrow - or think about yesterday. Midnight to him was a unique precipice of time - neither today nor tomorrow, but somewhere awkwardly stuffed in between, waiting for the next event to arrive and the current day to end.
"Should have joined the Bards College..." he whispered under his breath.
As usual, he spent his time scanning the vast landscape for sources of light. It was oddly therapeutic for him, and this scenario also gave him an opportunity to keep the blood flow in his nose moving constantly.
The Honningbrew Meadery shone more strongly than the ruined tower in the distance, the colossal giant's fire even more so, with the stables providing an odd type of blinking beacon in contrast to the other two.
He took particular joy when his gaze moved to shimmering Whiterun - devoid of activity for the most part - but still swimming in a sea of odd noises and people grunting as the beggars and drunkards lazed about in darkened segments of the city. These sorts of sounds were only audible at night, when the commotion of life had died down.
As usual, Dragonsreach intrigued him the most. Practically bursting with light and commotion that could be heard even from down in the stables, the castle appeared to sway and move along with all the inferior light sources that reflectively cast their presence on Dragonsreach itself. Even the stars seemed to be desperate to donate a portion of their light to it.
They can't even compare, Brom thought. Comparing the stars to Dragonsreach was like comparing rotten apples to a single, golden, very soft sweet roll.
. . .
"This is, without a doubt, the worst sweet roll I have ever tasted in my life."
It was entirely true. Of all the Holds she frequented in Skyrim, Whiterun was notorious for producing sweet rolls with tastes reminiscent of dried troll fat. It was so horrible in fact, that she felt no fear in telling this bit of information to perhaps the only person in Whiterun who would dare oppose her word.
"Nonsense," Jarl Balgruuf replied, taking a meaty chunk out of the roll himself and stuffing it into his face. "That's just Elvish rumors. Our sweet rolls are no better or worse than any other Hold's, surely you know that by now, Dohvakiin."
The Dragonborn of note laughed heartily before wiping bits of sugar and bread off her still shining ebony armor. "It's Lydia. I think we've known each other long enough for - "
"Again all nonsense you speak," Balgruuf cut her short. "I can't give up formalities just yet. I'm only half drunk... and the environment still hasn't been disrupted by Proventus' intoxicated rages yet."
Lydia nodded in agreement. True to form, Proventus Avennicci was downing his third or fourth mead in perhaps two hours – and clearly hadn't learnt from the past. And, like Balgruuf had mentioned, the splendor of Dragonsreach still remained untouched and unbroken - tall walls draped with fine golden banners, the room buttressed with strong cylindrical pillars, and even the elegant silverware had remained mostly unscathed. All of the gathering's members - Lydia included - would occasionally stop all the movement and gaze intently at the flickering fire. Most of the residents of the reception were dressed in posh clothing with ornate trims, but a few remained stubbornly in heavy armor.
"So you might wonder why I'm here talking to you in this 'welcoming reception' instead of - let's say, anyone else?"
Lydia turned to face the Jarl once more, who was waiting for a reply. Smirking, she chose sarcasm. "Anyone else meaning - Irileth?"
Balgruuf chortled. "I have more friends than just Irileth."
"Name three - "
"Easy! Fa-"
"- who are not part of your court or the Whiterun defense."
The Jarl gulped another glass of wine in defeat, choosing not to answer her question. With a triumphant smile, she prodded him with an armored finger.
"How sad," she quipped, mock-frowning at his aged eyes. "The Jarl of Whiterun has no friends, nor family, or - "
"Be gone with you woman," Balgruuf spat. "I have many acquaintances. Besides, are you not the one still dressed in full armor with just your helmet off? You clearly look like you don't want to be here."
Lydia opened her mouth in shock, realization flooding to her.
"Is that why you came yapping to me?" she inquired, playfully punching Balgruuf on the shoulder. "Because I seemed lonely?"
"I went here because you seemed like you needed it," Balgruuf answered, rubbing his shoulder ruefully. "I know that those Riften orcs took many of your companions with them to Sovngarde."
Lydia felt a surge of discomfort and tried to hide it behind a quick smack of the lips and drinking more wine.
"You couldn't have done anything," Balgruuf whispered, offering a weak smile of comfort. "They were too far away to receive the reinforcements in time."
"Yes, I suppose so..." Lydia mused, scratching at her nose and brows before again speaking. "So you can understand why I'm not in the mood for celebration right now."
"I figure then that all of these preparations - " and Balgruuf gestured to the entire room full of singing, dancing, or otherwise active people.
"-was a complete waste of time." Lydia finished for him. "Yes. I'm sorry."
Balgruuf shrugged it off. "No matter. Some days are better than others. Trust me, the pain of losing close warriors will pass."
Lydia agreed for the most part, but this did nothing to quell the deep-seated feeling of guilt again raging away at her insides.
Balgruuf, visibly discomfited by Lydia's silence, attempted to change the subject. "So, when will you be leaving us?"
She felt even more miserable upon the thought of leaving her most trusted Hold and perhaps location of her closest allies, but responded anyway. "In a week's time. We would leave sooner, but we need to find a horseman experienced enough to come along with us."
"Why is that?" Balgruuf inquired.
"I've received word of a particularly large Frost Dragon terrorizing the citizens of Solitude," Lydia stated. "The entire city. Not even a small farm or mountain crevice. And it seems resilient to even daedric arrows."
Balgruuf looked confused. "What's the use for the horseman then? Seems like a very basic task..."
She raised her eyebrows in equal amusement. "Basic?"
"...for you."
Lydia smiled, then continued. "Apparently some new tax in Solitude has made citizens more distrustful of the Empire and some avoid paying it entirely... and as a consequence, the roads, buildings, even the markets suffer."
"The slow death of Solitude..." Balgruuf remarked.
Lydia shook her head. "And this dragon thing is not making life any easier. All the other Holds are losing faith in the city."
"As they would," Balgruuf announced. "As I hear this, even I become wary."
"Don't breathe a word of any of my thoughts to anyone Balgruuf," Lydia cautioned, pulling the older man gently by the beard. "If word gets out that Solitude is unstable, the Empire might become unstable as faith runs low."
Balgruuf narrowed his eyes and moved his beard out of her grasp. "You... support the Imperial cause then?"
Lydia clenched her jaw in frustration. She wasn't entirely sure what was the purpose of the question was, and Balgruuf was never one to belie intentions then ask a harmless but actually quite serious question. To her discontent, the Jarl remained unreadable once more.
"I'm for order and stability," she let out eventually, remaining neutral in expression. "I don't care whether it's Tullius or Ulfric who ends up on the proverbial throne, as long as it doesn't break down as soon as they sit on it."
Balgruuf nodded in agreement. "So you were saying about the horseman?"
Lydia seemed grateful to return to this topic. "Well, yes. The roads are horrible and dangerous to traverse, and half of my current group are too young and inexperienced to effectively ride in such harsh conditions. They'll need tutelage - "
"- on their way there," Balgruuf completed for her. "I'd imagine you'd also need someone experienced enough with horses to navigate the safest path to travel."
Lydia smiled and complimented the Jarl. "Exactly."
"I see," Balgruuf continued. "Why not a carriage for the lot of you? Surely you, of all people, can spare some septims."
Lydia again shook her head. "I need someone experienced with horses and navigating pathways exclusively for horses. We can't travel on foot. The carriage-rider would need to be a horseman to be of much help to us."
The Jarl twitched his eye in annoyance. "I don't understand. What's the need for someone who specifically works with horses? You just need to cross safely, right?"
"Balgruuf," Lydia began, looking the Jarl straight in the eyes. "From the edge of the mountain to Solitude are roads. Roads that are simply now in far too poor of a shape to actually use. Nature has retaken most of the routes to Solitude. Crossing it by foot would take at least twice the time."
"And you don't have that time?"
Lydia chuckled. "Not at the moment. I have something to attend to afterwards. I'll talk about it somewhere more private.
Balgruuf slowly nodded his head in understanding then coughed, and set down his fifth glass of wine. Lydia had noticed that throughout the whole conversation he seemed to subconsciously go for more wine, despite being completely engrossed in her stories.
"But wouldn't this mean the survival of your entire group would remain on the decisions taken by the horseman?" Balgruuf queried.
Lydia sadly nodded. "It would. Which is why I don't expect to leave for some time. I need to trust the person completely before leaving. I will not lose more lives under my watch."
Balgruuf blinked twice, noting Lydia's guilt-ridden face reappear.
"That's enough serious talk," he stated, nudging Lydia lightly on the arm to have her look four paces to her right. "Look, Proventus has started."
Lydia grinned broadly as she saw the lean but quivering form of Proventus, hurling glasses and goblets at anyone who dared to cross him. Several guards had unsuccessfully attempted to escort him into his quarters, but Proventus had merely taken their hands and danced rather poorly with them until they forced themselves away from him.
"He's quite good," Lydia breathed out between tight-lipped giggles, keeping an eye on Proventus as he pirouetted carelessly and knocked patrons over. "Where did he learn that?"
"Truth be told, I have no idea," Balgruuf responded, scratching at his temple in mock thought. "Maybe as you're the Dragonborn, he is the Bardborn."
Lydia cackled wildly, unwillingly knocking over two glasses next to her. "That doesn't even make sense!"
"What do you mean? Of course it do-"
The Jarl's speech was cut short however as Proventus suddenly charged towards Lydia from across the room, just narrowly escaping the reach of the fire as he slammed both his fists on the table, staring at her intently.
"YOU! ARE! DRAGONKIIN!"
With that, Proventus collapsed to the ground, drunkenly clutching at her feet before she moved it away. A moment of shock ensued for all the patrons, before they burst into laughter. Proventus, even under his inebriated state, understood he was being made fun of and limped away to the stairs leading to his quarters.
Lydia felt her mouth go agape for a second, feeling an odd sense of recollection pass as the image of laughing citizens and an embarrassed person had seemed to strike her twice in the same day.
"What is it?" Balgruuf inquired, standing up and extending her hand towards her.
Lydia frowned. "Nothing, my Jarl." She grasped it and stood up as well.
Seeing her smile return, Balgruuf snickered. "I suppose we're even now."
. . .
"Get up boy!"
"Wha – what – what?"
"Get up right now or I shall tear your limbs off one by one!"
Brom felt a sharp, broad pain hit him on the side of the face as smooth palm flesh crashed against his sensitive cheek.
"And what happened to your nose, you idiot?"
Brom got up with a start, rubbing the dirt and hay out of his eyes as he struggled to adjust to full daylight now. The last thing he could remember was perfect, still darkness – and now he was being forcefully awoken by Skulvar, who seemed to entirely ignore Brom's injured nose.
He stood up. Brom noted two things: one, he was no longer on top of the roof anymore, and two, Skulvar seemed very agitated. He adjusted himself, fixing his armor more centrally to his torso as a lengthy line of people – packets of papers clutched in their hands – suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere as his eyes gradually focused in front of him. He blinked again to make sure he was not imagining things, then felt shock to realize that the line had extended much farther than what he had initially seen – all the way from the Meadery to inside the city gates. He could have sworn that he even saw some people wrapped around the cliff leading to Dragonsreach.
"What's wrong sir?" Brom meekly whispered. "What's going on?"
"Be quiet and pack all the legal documents fool!"
Informative, Brom joked. He turned to see Skulvar randomly dash from his house to the stables, then back to Brom again. The Nord stuffed papers into the boy's hands, articles of legality and professional certificates qualifying Skulvar's stables as authentic and well-trusted. Skulvar was even bringing his good luck charm, a partially degraded rabbit foot that seemed partially eaten and decomposed.
Brom winced suddenly as his nose began to throb once more, but chose to hide the reasoning for this to not further upset Skulvar, who was now madly dashing for his house to the front of the city, yelling at everyone who crossed him.
Brom flipped through all the papers that were being shoved into his hands, one particular one standing out because of its clear gold embroidery and Imperial crest embellishing its center. He pulled at it, reading the slanted, hastily written letters.
By order of Jarl Balgruuf,
To all able-bodied men and women of Whiterun, and perhaps Skyrim: The Dragonborn seeks help in the form of a horseman. The horseman must have significant experience traveling treacherous terrain, and a willingness to teach others. A reward will be offered to anyone who is strong enough to complete the journey with her and her fellow companions.
-Whiterun City Guard and Court
That's hardly believable, Brom thought to himself. There was absolutely no point bringing along a horseman with the Dragonborn – no matter how experienced he or she was. Fundamental horse-riding could be taught within a few days, maybe even less for someone as well-learned as Skulvar. And why was there no destination mentioned in the letter? Was the Dragonborn going to hop across mountains for fun?
"Skulvar..." Brom began, sighing as the Nord ran again into him bringing a large stack of horse possession papers.
"Silence!" Skulvar screamed, clearly uncaring about the line of onlookers staring at them. "Do not even think about discouraging me from this! I won't have anymore of your complacency in life boy!"
With another forceful shove of papers into Brom's hands, Skulvar roared again. "Serving the Dragonborn! Do you not see how amazing that would be?"
Brom snorted and grasped the papers tighter to keep them from falling. "She isn't that different from us."
"Not very different from – just hold your rebellious tongue boy, before I cut it out!"
With another shove of papers into his hands, Brom took his turn to begin appearing angry. "So where do we wait, sir?"
Skulvar appeared mildly happy to see the youth's newfound obedience, even if it was insincere. "Fortunate for us, I have a favor owed to me from a guard at the city gates. From there, it should only be eight to nine hours wait until reaching Dragonsreach."
"EIGHT TO NINE - " Brom began.
"What did I say!? Silence!" Skulvar shouted over him.
Biting his tongue hard enough to almost cause a cut, Brom followed the older Nord up the winding path of steps leading into Whiterun's gates. Skulvar turned back while walking and issued another command.
"And don't drop any of those papers!"
Brom felt a burning desire to become an extremely powerful mage – powerful enough to conjure a giant right on top of his head and send him right to Sovngarde.
A/N
*More lore tie-ins and references incoming!
It may not seem like it, but the cast will be expanded as time progresses. It's very early into the story, and virtually nothing of consequence has occurred... yet. I'm biased against exposition, and find it quite distracting from the narrative if used improperly – even if I may be guilty of doing the very same thing. Hopefully it doesn't come across as that way. And as always, R/R always appreciated. Thanks for the view and your support!
~TWa
P.S: I'm getting better at proof-checking, but there's always errors that can be made. Mercy, please! :) It'll hopefully also get better with time.
