Chapter II: A Morning in the Moor

The sound of a chirping nightingale rang through the brisk, chilled air of the Hjaalmarch. Morthal, the capital of the hold, was hardly a city; it was hardly a village. Filled with mudcrabs and the spawn slaughterfish, Morthal did not have much to its name. The nightingales dived through the willows, passed the blooms of purple deathbells, and circled the Nordic camp. Light snow collected on the tents in the early hours of the morning. Bjorn was first awake – if he slept at all. In two days, the party made their way across almost all of Skyrim, and Bjorn could barely sleep at all. Sacks of ash, which looked as though it was from the Red Mountain itself, hung from his eyes. His hands had a slight shake to them, and his pale-blue eyes nearly turned red with the blood. The young Nord was petrified, ashamed, worried, depressed. What if Hinde really needed him? What if she was in danger? He was tearing himself apart, truly; it was severely affecting him. As he looked out into the early mist, which covered the moist, fresh swamp, he was lost in thought. Not just of Hinde, but his mind drifted to more political matters. Recently, Bjorn had been questioning his alliance and his motives. Why was he doing this? What did the elves do to deserve to be eradicated? Are they not at just as much fault as the Mer? Both sides killed, destroyed, and tortured the other. Why – he was interrupted by Valof throwing a pillow at the back his brother's head.

"Did you get any sleep?" Valof started. "Any?"

Bjorn answered, "What do you think? What if she really needed me?"

Valof, seeing how distraught his brother was replied, "We will be back soon. We'll go to Daggerfall, it'll only be a few more days, stay for a night, and then we will head back to Windhelm. It's as simple as that, Bjorn. She's fine." He could tell Bjorn was slipping; the last time he was like this was when mother died. She passed when Bjorn was eleven, Valof fifteen, of Ataxia. Bjorn was especially close with mother; they did everything together. In the spring, when Bjorn was very little, they would plant snowberries along the walls of the palace. At eleven years of age, Bjorn ran away. He found himself in a nearby cave for two whole days; his father found him finally after that time. No one knows what happened in that cave. Maybe he just say and sobbed. Whatever did happen, Bjorn has never spoke to anyone about it despite countless efforts to help him. Bjorn recovered quickly though. Never did he show signs of sadness around others, and never did he cry again.

Valof reassured his little brother, "Try not to worry about her, alright? You need sleep. Jon and I are going into the town to restock. I'll find you some of your favorite salted roast, yes? Take a nap, we'll take our time." And with that, Bjorn finally rested his eyes and drifted asleep.

Jon, one of the two guards accompanying and close friend of the two sons, and Valof made their way into Morthal. Very few souls walked about; they couldn't tell if it was just too early or if simply little to no people lived here. Either way, they waited till the general store opened. At eight hours before mid-day, Jon perused the shopkeeper's goods. The shop was lined with cheap armor, flimsy weapons, split arrows, and low-quality food. Unfortunately, it was all the party had. Once they reached Wayrest, they would have substantially better food. While he bought the necessary water, ale, mead, and food, Valof waited outside leaning on the damp wood of the shop. He watched as the villagers emerged from their homes and began to roam the town. Such a pitiful place, truly. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a small, peculiar, Argonian woman in long, black robes.

She hissed, removed her hood, and handed Valof a letter while saying, "Gaius, Gaius, take this. Tell Erus that he and his legion must leave and never come back. Please, Gaius." And with that, she took off into the fog of the marsh.

"Wait! I am not Gaius! I am Valof, son of Harke! I am not an Imperial!" Valof shouted at the fleeing lizard, but she did not turn back. The Nord examined the note. Written in slimy, fresh, black ink – maybe it was ink, was 'They know'. Once more Valof tried to inform the green, scaly Argonian he was not who she thought he was but to no avail. As he took a final examination of the note, he set it in his sack. However, when he looked up, two men approached him.

One of the hooded figures initiated to Valof, "Son of the King of Skyrim? What do you think, Tanis? Probably got some pretty coin on him, eh?"

His Bosmeri partner answered, "I'd say so. Pretty clothes too. They look warm, expensive. I sure would love to trade. These leathers only go so far during winter."

"Listen, how about I give each of you three gold pieces and you be on your way." Valof returned.

"Three gold pieces? Surely you could spare more 'Prince of Skyrim.'" The first man argued.

"No. Sorry, mates."

"Right, come on Tanis, just as we practiced."

Valof informed them, "Touch me and, as Akatosh as my witness, I will slit both of your throats, watch you bleed profusely, take whatever coin you have on you, and be on my merry way. Try me, I dare you, this trip has been nothing but a bore. Come on, elf. Do it." He continued, "Come on… take your dagger. Try it. You wanna be rich right? You wanna get some quick coin? I'm carrying forty gold-pieces. Tempting right? Go for it. Please."

The wood-elf, successfully intimidated, backed away urging the other hooded man to join him. But the other stayed.

"Tell me, Nord. With what weapon would you be using? Your nails? Pardon me, but you seemed to have misplaced your Khajiiti tail." The hooded man retaliated.

"You're right. I have no weapons. All the easier for you, no?"

Tanis chimed in suddenly, "Crendal, let's go."

"Crendal? You're a Breton, hmm? Why are you thieving then? Were you a disappointment to your house? Did you fail your studies of magicka? Are you just a good-for-nothing piece of Covenant filth with nothing to your name but your three pieces of gold, your rugged hood, and your broken, iron dagger? Piss off."

Enraged, the Breton unsheathed his blade and said, "You know nothing of me…" And with that, he struck at Valof. With a grin on his bearded face, Valof caught Crendal's arm mid-swing, unsheathed a dagger from the front bulge of his trousers, and proceeded to follow through with a clean cut across the Breton's throat. As the thief fell to the ground, gasping for air and choking on his own blood, Valof knelt down and whispered, "I know you are worthless, and you have died as a nothing."

Tanis did not move. He only watched as his partner was murdered in front of him. Crendal's blood seeped through the wooden cracks of the Morthal pathway. Valof then knelt down once more, wiped his blade on Crendal's apparel, and placed it back into his pants. He then removed three gold coins from the thief's pouch and then handed them to Tanis.

"Go get a drink; it's early, but I think you could use one. Farewell." Valof happily said to the Bosmer. Moments after, Jon exited the store, stepped over Crendal's body, and went back to the camp with Valof.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" Jon asked intrigued.

"Oh, nothing. Was just saying good morning to the residents of Hjaalmarch. We should be on our way, now." Valof returned. They made their way back to the camp, packed everything up, and set off further west to the border of High Rock and Skyrim.