12-9-13:
Thank you for your reviews thus far! I am finding this takes way more time to write than I thought it would, so the going may be slower than I'd hoped. I'm looking forward to seeing how the character builds with the restrictions I've imposed on myself for Tharwen.
Please continue to let me know what I should improve! I've tried to integrate some description of Tharwen in here, but it is difficult to do and remain immersive. I'll also be deviating from the set script more and more - hopefully that is okay!
Tharwen had two more kills under her belt, another unlucky pair of wolves, by the time she reached the peak, and in the distance could see a great monument towering over a walled town, it's spires black against the night sky. She stopped at the top of the hill, to rest for a moment. The night air was cold, colder than Cyrodiil only a day's journey south, and much colder than any other place she had traveled. She rubbed her hands together, trying to loosen the tightness the chill had brought. A fur cloak from the coat of one of these hides would be high on her priorities once she could find an opportunity. Skyrim was not a friendly land, so she could not stop to make camp here, especially with her goal so visible.
"Whiterun." She breathed to herself, and approached at a fast-paced walk. She carefully made her way down the rocky slope. In the darkness, she could make out a small skirmish ahead. A giant had wandered too close to the town, and several warriors were there, slashing at its feet, while another stood further afield, shooting with a bow. Tharwen quickly surveyed the scene, then she sprinted toward them, and drew her bow, aiming for the behemoth. Her arrow met the giant's shoulder, causing a glancing blow to miss one of the warriors at the creature's feet. She let loose another arrow, and hit it's back. The warriors closed in and finished him off, while the archer approached her. The woman was tall and slender, with reddish hair and blue warpaint in long, uneven streaks across her face. She was not unlike Tharwen herself- she could tell this woman was an accomplished archer. The wood elf had to look up to meet the woman's eyes, Nords were usually taller than her, but this woman seemed taller than many of the other Nord women she had encountered.
"You handled yourself well. You'd make a fine shield sister."
The Nord's voice was friendly, approving. Tharwen paused, and asked "Shield-sister? What is that?"
The woman grinned. "An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? We're an order of warriors, brothers and sisters in honor. We take care of other people's problems – if they've got the coin."
The young woman clearly took pride in her work, and her brethren. Tharwen liked her attitude, and smiled. She wondered … "Could I become a Companion?"
The woman shrugged. "Not for me to say. You'll need to speak to Kodlak Whitemane."
One of the men joined them. "You look strong. Come to Jorrvaskr."
Tharwen, nodded, considering the possibility. It would be a good way to earn some funds and having a place to stay with food to eat, even for a short time, would allow her to figure out what to do from here. She doubted the Thalmor would track her to Whiterun, especially after the decimation at Helgen. Perhaps they'd even assume she was dead.
"I'll follow you to Jorrvaskr." She declared. The young woman nodded approvingly, and motioned for the Bosmer to follow. Tharwen walked behind them. As the made their way past the farms and stables outside the city walls, she took in the scenery. Beside the entrance to the city, a small band of Khajiit had set up camp. One seated, cross legged, on a rug caught her glance.
"Khajiit have the wares if you have the coin." The familiar, strange accent of Khajiit called to her. She obliged, and stopped in front of him. The cat eyed her, grinning with pointed canines.
"What have you got for sale."
"Take a look." He smiledtoothily, displaying his items. She looked over them, wishing she had more gold. She sold her extra gear, the Imperial armor, but still did not have enough to purchase the potions or poisons that would have been helpful to her. By the time she had finished her transaction, the Companions had disappeared, but she would find where they went easily enough.
Whiterun at night was lit prettily with torchlight and lanterns. The serenity of this town was a world away from the carnage in Helgen. It was late - only the guards were out, doing evening patrols. She passed an quiet forge, attached to a blacksmith's shop and a little ways further a quaint market square. Ahead she could see the Jarl's palace, and aside what appeared to be the hull of a ship turned upside-down. Between the two, an imposing statue of Talos, the slain snake at his feet, towered above her. A beggar-man was curled up at the feet of the shrine. It had been an age since she had seen a shrine to Talos. The worship of Talos had been banned by the Thalmor and enforced through the Empire, and most of his shrines had been hidden or desecrated. She could sense the Nords took this god seriously, especially to display the shrine so openly. It relieved her, and she thought to herself that the Thalmor must be spread quite thin to allow these shrines to stand. She would be relatively safe within the walls of this hold.
She also couldn't help but notice the large tree in the center of the circle, and wondered why it had died. Must be a temple of some kind nearby she thought to herself. She would check in the morning, Kynareth was one of the Gods she could relate to well. Lavender plants were growing both around the shrine and the decaying Gildergreen tree. As she glanced around, a guard stopped and interrupted her wandering thoughts.
"What is it, Elf?" He asked, pointedly.
Tharwen realized she had been wasting time, and remembered her goal. "Where can I find the Companions."
"Jorrvaskr" He pointed. "Up there. Stay out of trouble, Elf."
Tharwen nodded, and walked toward the strange building. She made her way up the stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden door of Jorrvaskr.
The warmth of the great hearth at the center of the building made her feel at once warmer. The smell of cooked meats and other flavored, well-prepared foods was heavenly. Her stomach growled. The shouting nearby pulled her out of her thoughts and She hung back, watching the Nord woman and Dunmer duke it out, as a group had congregating watching them.
"Watch the eyes!"
Tharwen approached gingerly, seeing a balding man, blind in one eye. The man took notice of her presence, and turned toward her, a scar evident on the left side of his face. His warpaint, two horizontal stripes on each cheek, was faded. His armor looked well-used, but sturdy, and the elf couldn't help but notice the fanged creatures ornamenting the metalwork.
"Don't mind them, just working out some issues," He motioned to the brawlers, adding "In the old way."
The man had an air of authority about him, and seemed to be a leader in a natural way. Tharwen cleared her throat. "I saw a few of your Companions taking down a giant outside of Whiterun. I feathered his shoulder, and I hope I helped in the fight. One of the women said to talk to Kodlak, if I'd like to join – is that you?"
His demeanor became more serious. "You think you have what it takes, huh? Lucky for you, I'm not the one who makes that decision. I'm Skjor – talk to Kodlak. Who knows. Maybe he's in a generous mood." He pointed her toward the other end of the hall. Tharwen nodded in thanks, and walked toward the staircase. Above it, she noticed a display, arranged in such a way it suggested the shape of a mighty war axe. She wondered if it might be a precious relic.
Standing in the stairwell were two of the Companions, the dark elf she'd seen earlier and a burly Nord with dirty blond hair and a beard. The dark elf appraised her, while the Nord seemed to be more friendly in his demeanor.
The Dunmer smirked. "Ah, fresh blood, hope you know how to handle yourself."
Tharwen gave a wry grin, he seemed to be rather forward despite having just lost a fist-fight. "I'll take my chances. Who are you? And can you point me to who is in charge around here?"
"Athis." He nodded, briefly introducing himself. "Soon enough it'll be me. Meanwhile, the Circle handles our daily routine, and Kodlak advises them as Harbinger."
The Nord stepped closer to them, his blue eyes honest and forthcoming. "Name's Torvar. Good to see a new face."
"Nice to meet you both. I'm Tharwen – will let you know more about myself after speaking to Kodlak. You have my thanks."
She hurried down the stairs, into the hall, and kept walking, checking the doors. A few other warriors were about, along with an elderly woman, who was sweeping with a gnarled broom in a corner. She was directed to the end of the hall, and came upon one of the men she had seen fighting the giant speaking with an older warrior, who she could sense was Kodlak himself. She hesitated outside of view, listening to the two men talk. The intonation of their voices seemed to imply that the conversation had taken a serious turn, and was perhaps something not meant for someone yet uninitiated.
"...I still feel the call of the blood..."
"We all do, it is our burden to bear. But we can overcome." The older man, reassuring.
"You have my brother and I, obviously, but I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."
"You leave that to me..." Kodlak looked up, meeting her eyes. There was a faint glimmer, a passing expression as if he had seen a ghost when he saw her, but he composed himself quickly, and addressed her. "A stranger comes to our hall."
Tharwen felt uneasy, and tried to make it seem like she had just walked up. There would be no fooling Kodlak, but perhaps the younger man hadn't noticed. She straightened herself, knowing the days without food and sleep made her looked haggard, less fit.
"I would like to join the Companions. I came across your fellows outside the city gates with a giant. I assisted. I've had training with sword and shield, but I excel as a marksman."
The older man smiled, glancing at the younger man. "Not unlike our Aela, though I am sure she'd be glad to teach you some things. Well then, let me have a look at you."
He stood, appraising her form. She wondered if the lack of sleep had harmed her chances. After what felt an eternity, he finally answered.
"Yes. Perhaps." he touched his beard, "A certain strength of spirit."
The younger man seemed appalled at Kodlak's response. "Master! You're not truly considering accepting her?"
Tharwen stood silently as the two argued. In the course of their conversation, she gathered that this group was fairly exclusive. And that Kodlak seemed strangely invested in her. He finally turned to her.
"How are you in battle, elf?"
"I am capable. I can handle myself." Tharwen didn't feel as though she looked it. The young man's' sour expression seemed to reflect that.
"That may be so. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm." He turned to the young man. "Vilkas, take her out to the yard, and see what she can do."
He took off at a quick pace, and she followed, exhausted. She followed him up the stairs, and out the doors opposite those she had entered. It was already dawn now, and the sun had begun to warm the land. She felt the early morning chill against her cheek, and placed her hand against it, watching as Vilkas stretched and prepared for her test. She approached him, and though he wasn't tense, she could see he was light on his feet, ready.
"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this." He drew his weapon, a short sword. "Take a few swings at me so I can see your form."
She drew the sword from her sheath, and grabbed a nearby hide shield, to parry. Training rarely involved live steel in her experience. He saw her hesitate.
"Don't worry. I can take it." His eyes burned, now excited for a little action.
Tharwen took an errant swing at him, glancing off the iron shield. A strand of dark hair fell across her face, obscuring her vision momentarily, but she ignored it, shaking her head to make it move. As Vilkas came toward her, she dodged, lighter on her feet than he. She took another good swing, this time hitting true, though he parried. She was about to swing again, and he sheathed his weapon. His demeanor toward her had improved.
"Not bad. Next time it won't be so easy though."
"Thanks." She muttered, catching her breath. She sheathed her sword, and tucked the tendril of hair into a loop of the braid on the side of her head.
"For now you're still a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you." He pulled the sheathe and sword from his belt, and handed both to her. She placed the hide shield down, against a training dummy. "Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. Be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."
As Vilkas turned away she sighed with relief. Currying favor, performing small tasks, was something she could do. If it meant a warm bed and a meal each night while she figured out how to remain undetected, it was well worth it. As she walked toward where she had been directed, Tharwen studied the blade. The steel sword was certainly of superior quality than her own weapon. She pulled it out of its sheathe briefly, and surprised, caught her reflection, though distorted, in the well-honed metal. Her complexion, darker than most of the Nords, was ruddy, and dirty from her travels. Her red eyes were darker than usual, and she looked quite unhealthy – every bit a vagabond. She was surprised they had considered allowing her to join the ranks.
She looked up as she started up the stairs to the forge, and opened her mouth in awe at the giant stone eagle. This is why it is called Skyforge...
At the top, a platform the forge itself, impressive and hot as she could feel the coals from far away. A man with long, greying hair had his back to her. Her mind raced at the possibilities. She would hopefully be able to make proper armor here, when the time came.
"Eorlund?" Her voice broke his concentration. He did not seem irritated though.
"What brings you here, lass?"
She held out the blade, bowing her head in respect. "Vilkas sent me with his sword."
"So I'm guessing you're the newcomer then, eh?" He looked her over, and she felt as if he was an honorable, warm man.
She nodded. "New blood, yes. I'm just doing as asked." She suppressed a yawn, and wanted badly to head back, hopefully to find a spare cot. "I have to be going."
Eorlund's voice stopped her from turning to leave. "I have a favor to ask."
"What is it?" She asked.
"I've been working on a shield for Aela, the fiery lass who excels with the bow. My wife is in mourning and I have to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me."
Aela, the archer woman. Yes. She first suggested I come here. Tharwen nodded, almost eagerly. "I'd be happy to help."
Eorlund handed her the shield, and she took it carefully, heading down the steps at a quick pace. His admittance of his wife's suffering seemed to indicate something unfortunate – she wondered if they had a son in the Civil War who had recently died. The impact seemed to be widespread - she suspected few in Skyrim had remained untouched by the conflict.
By now the sun had risen above the crown of mountains that surrounded the valley where Whiterun was located. It had been several days with such little rest, Tharwen felt as if she could collapse. She hurried herself to the quarters within Jorrvaskr, and approached the rooms that must hold the Circle. From outside she could hear Aela and what sounded like Skjor speaking in hushed tones.
"...that's not what I'm worried about."
"What then?" Aela insisted.
"They might get themselves killed."
"By you?"
"They should be so lucky," Skjor seemed to laugh as he said it. "Are you prepared for tonight's hunt?"
"I've been thinking we need to be more discreet..."
Tharwen didn't want to be caught eavesdropping twice in one day, and knocked on the door. Aela's face met hers as the door opened. Skjor stood in the background, looking stern as she had seen him earlier. "I have your shield from Eorlund, Aela."
"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this." Aela took the shield from Tharwen, then looked at her again. "Wait... I remember you. So the old man thinks you've got some heart, I guess."
"You know this one? I saw her in the hall earlier, then training in the yard with Vilkas."
Aela laughed. "Ah yes, I heard you gave him quite the thrashing. Do you think you could take him in a real fight?"
Tharwen nodded. Aela seemed easy to speak to. Forthright and with a good sense of humor. Tharwen, smirked slightly, but said "I don't care for boasting."
"A woman who lets her actions speak for themselves. I like that." She paused, and studied Tharwen. As if she had read the elf's mind, she said "Let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head."
Farkas walked up to them, and stood at the doorway. Tharwen could tell immediately that he was Vilkas' brother. "Did you call me?"
Aela rolled her eyes. "Of course we did, icebrain. Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep."
Farkas turned to Tharwen. "New blood? Oh, I remember you. Come on, follow me."
Unlike his brother, Farkas had an easy, soft way of speaking. He spoke of his superiors with admiration but did not act as if he were under them. "Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they are good people. They challenge us to be our best."
They stopped at the entrance of a room near the stairwell, with twelve cots in all. The furs, though scant, looked so appealing to her that Tharwen already felt the drag on her eyelids, and wanted to climb into one of them. She held her attention on Farkas, "Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. I do have a job here in Whiterun for you if you'll take it."
She nodded. "I'll take care of it."
He handed her the parchment, "Nice meeting you new blood."
As he walked away Tharwen approached the sleeping cot. Two women were in the chamber as well – the woman who had been brawling earlier eyed her with suspicion as she nursed her wounds, and the other woman looked at her more cheerfully.
"I'm Ria!" She approached Tharwen, with her greeting. Ria didn't appear to be a Nord, like the others. She was slender, with darker hair, darker skin, though not quite so rich as Tharwen's. She guessed Ria was from Cyrodiil. "It's nice to see an new face around here."
The other woman rolled her eyes, scowling. "That's just because you don't want to be the new face."
"Don't mind Njada." Ria said in a hushed voice, shaking off the insult. The young woman seemed exuberant, and untested.
Tharwen, wanting to be polite, asked "What brought you to Jorrvaskr, Ria?"
"Are you kidding? I've wanted to be with them since I was a little girl. Haven't you heard the stories of Kodlak and Skjor fighting off the hundred-and-one Orc Berserkers? Skjor says it was more like forty, but he's just being modest. Where else would I want to be but here? Learning with them, fighting at their sides…"
Njada made a face of disgust as Ria gushed about her admiration for the Circle. Clearly she wasn't as enamored. Njada was a Nord through and through - and she could sense the woman had more experience than the untested Ria. Tharwen decided to let her be - Njada seemed less inclined to deal with anyone at the moment, especially new blood.
Ria's excitement died down, and she noticed Tharwen eyeing the beds. "Oh, sorry! You look like you could use some rest. Will have to show you the ropes soon!"
Ria left the room, and Njada let out a sigh, still ignoring Tharwen. The Bosmer didn't care, and took off the leather boots before climbing into the fur-lined cot. The hide and wood contraption was not terribly comfortable, but after traveling for as long as she had, Tharwen was exhausted. She wondered what lay in store for her, and felt secure that for now at least, she was safe from the Thalmor. Tharwen shut her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.