Chapter Eleven: Perils of Travel
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios except my OC's. No profit has been made. Copyright peeps please spare me.
As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome!
19th of Last Seed, 4E 201, Middas
Gjolrik was humming. The birds were singing. And all Evelyn could do was sit in the cart and try to read.
Apparently, she could get seasick on dry land.
The carriage hit a larger bump and her stomach rolled, rearranging itself in the process. She dutifully covered her mouth - just in case - and peeked over the edge. I just need to let my body know that it's moving right now, then it should stop trying to get me to throw up. She watched the ground pass beneath the wheels for ages, her book abandoned near the blankets for the sake of survival.
The carriage rocked from side to side as the uneven axles spun along.
Another lurch brought her stomach all the way to her throat. She could taste her breakfast. Blandest porridge I've ever had.
It tasted like someone took one look at their undercooked oatmeal and said 'you know what this thing needs? It needs some flour flavoring.'
She scrunched her face up and swallowed back the bile.
And had to swallow again as the cart hit a particularly large stone. It rearranged the wheels so that the whole thing was leaning in the other direction.
Why does this box on wheels have to be so rickety!? I should have known when I saw it outside the Whiterun stables! Of course it was going to be cheaper than- "Trying to become an orc, miss?"
Gjolrik was talking to her again. Trying to start up some small talk? How was she acting like an orc? Is it a figure of speech or a saying I don't know? Her stomach rolled along with the wheels.
"Y'know that if you really wanted to, you could've just rubbed your face in some grass."
Oh. Just a really bad joke.
Evelyn heaved herself up onto the blanket pile and stared at the sky. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed in deeply.
Am I supposed to laugh or be offended? It's honestly too much effort to respond right now.
With a chuckle, Gjolrik turned back to steering the carriage. Evelyn returned to her thoughts.
I'm riding in what is essentially a glorified wagon. Bumping along the road, hitting every pothole there ever was... It's a miracle that the old thing is still in one piece. She exhaled.
And it'll be a miracle if I can survive this road trip.
She breathed in again... And then out again. Just a few more weeks. Then I'll be in Winterhold at the College.
And Gjolrik and his cart of doom will be far away, hopefully.
She breathed in through the nose... and out through the mouth. Don't throw up, don't throw up.
Evelyn continued to meditate, breathing as slowly as possible.
I don't remember Habel's carts being this uncomfortable.
But then again, Habel was traveling slower, and I did walk most of the way to Whiterun. Gjolrik is letting me ride the entire way, so at least my feet won't get blisters. Motion sickness goes away when you stop moving. Blisters stay a while longer.
It's best to ride on the cart - no blisters, no worries about where to step, no getting lost, no getting my shoes muddy...
...Why does it feel like I'm trying to convince myself?...
Her perch lurched sideways as one of the wheels fell into a divot in the road.
She rolled to her side and curled into a ball, hand over her mouth and feeling much greener than she had before.
On second thought, I might ask Gjolrik to let me walk some - Even if it slows us down. I don't think my stomach can handle much more.
Nursing sore feet, Evelyn laid in the back of the cart. With her eyes closed, she felt the sun fall lower and lower on the horizon. Eventually, the shadow from the side of the cart grew to cover her completely. With the warmth of the sun gone, she pulled out a blanket and dragged herself into awakeness. They should be arriving at a camping location soon. The sky had turned red on the western horizon.
She looked up front to see the old man rearranging his cap. She went back to watching the ground pass by.
Some rocks... Some grass... More rocks... A stump... Some flowers... and so on.
Such fun.
They arrived at the resting place for the day just as the larger moon - Masser, right? - began to rise. It was near a stream too small to justify marking on maps, and sheltered by a few large pine trees. Gjolrik began unloading his daily supplies. He shooed her away when she asked if he needed help, so Evelyn went to the stream to clean up for the day.
She pulled off her shoes and shook them, dumping numerous pebbles onto the ground. Dipping her feet in the stream, she started scrubbing. The dirt came off slowly, but eventually, she was satisfied with her work. She wiped her face and neck with the wet rag before rinsing and wringing it out. I still feel rather gross in these clothes, but there is no way that I'm going to be able to take a bath and wash my apparel while we're traveling. I just need to wait it out until we arrive at Winterhold.
She meandered back to camp. On the plus side, I don't think that I can get worse than Gjolrik. He smelled like hay before we even started traveling. Walking over to her corner of the carriage, she hung the rag out to dry.
"Oi, don't watch me while I'm cookin'! My recipes are a secret, y'know."
He grumbled on as Evelyn purposefully turned to face away from the cooking fire. "Can't be givin' away all of my best secrets, can I?"
Evelyn pulled out her phone as quietly as possible. Let's see if this works...
She held it out in front of her and angled the screen so that it reflected what Gjolrik was doing behind her.
She watched with a bored expression as the 'master chef' finished dropping lumps of dried bread rations into the pot.
I knew it!
She raised an eyebrow when he started stabbing into the pot. It could only be the stale bread chunks - Evelyn remembered them being difficult to bite into. He must not have broken them into small enough pieces at the start. A little bit of the liquid splashed onto his hand and he winced, sucking on the damaged appendage before resuming his attack on the rations. Ouch. Hopefully, that means that it was boiling - so I can rest easy about the water being safe for consumption.
She placed her phone in her satchel and walked back to the cart. Setting her things down, she sorted out the flowers she had collected over the course of her walk. Some lavender, mountain flowers, and a few handfuls of tundra cotton.
She spent the rest of her time waiting for dinner preparing her ingredients for storage.
She looked at the spoon. It held a pale milky liquid with a blob of soggy bread. Dinner did not look appetizing. Not that I was expecting it to be good after tasting breakfast earlier today.
"How do you like it?" The old man stuck a large spoonful in his mouth and chewed before swallowing. He smiled hopefully as Evelyn dragged the spoon up to her face.
She managed to only glance at the food once, and went right for it before she could think about it more.
With one bite, the stew was on its way to her stomach. That wasn't too bad. I just need to avoid touching it with my tongue for too long. The aftertaste can't get me if I don't taste it in the first place!
Time passed slowly on the road. Windswept plains bled into a thin evergreen forest, which thickened into freezing taiga. Temperatures dropped the further north they reached, and the evergreen trees thinned out, leaving bare ground and rocks as the dominant landscape feature. It was a steady uphill as mountains rose to the left. The winds were ever present.
3rd of Hearthfire, 4E 201, Turdas
The weather was only getting worse as time went on.
Just a few days ago they had passed into the land of eternal ice. Now, snowflakes flew by with the wind, and nearly every patch of ground was frozen solid and covered with snow of some sort. Every breath was steam in the frigid air.
I'm glad that Gjolrik is letting me hole up in my blanket burrito back here.
She ducked her head back into her nest of sorts and took a deep breath of warmer air. It didn't burn her throat like the outside air.
The blankets and furs were coated with a thick layer of snow that Evelyn packed solid every morning before climbing in. It's my own personal igloo. The animal furs outside of the blankets to keep the inside dry, and the blankets to keep me warm.
Evelyn watched as the carriage passed another bush of unripe snowberries. Besides the mountains to her left and the occasional cairn, the number of snowberry bushes were her only gauge of how far she had ridden. She added to her count for every ten bushes the cart passed. That one brings my trip total up to 34. Time to start counting again.
Just as she spotted another bush near the trail, a chill wind blew through the cart. She curled back into a ball. With only her eyes peeking out, she continued counting with a slight shiver.
Some time passed before Gjolrik called out from ahead, though he was muffled by all of the blankets and furs.
"Lookie here! We're at the fork - meanin' we'll be arriving at Winterhold within the week!"
Finally! An end date in sight! Evelyn grinned to herself and shuffled over to the front of the carriage. Sure enough, there was a split in the road ahead. A well-cobbled road was on the left, while a dirt path led to the right. Gjolrik turned the carriage left and started rambling about the locale. Evelyn wasn't paying attention for the most part, but she did pick up a few interesting tidbits of information. Hm. So the road on the right leads to some old nordic barrow. Twenty bucks says that thing is infested with draugr.
She returned to counting snowberries as Gjolrik rambled on. The fork in the road behind them dwindling into the distance.
The wind picked up again, blowing snow everywhere. Gjolrik grabbed his cap and pulled it further down over his head.
White flakes filling the air, Hilda the horse plodded on warily. Evelyn was hit on her nose with a small ice crystal and hunkered down further, resigning herself to another day of Skyrim weather.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Ondolemar stood in front of his new Justiciars.
"The first thing you must know is that the people in Skyrim have utterly no grasp of proper manners, and will happily let you stand nearby until sundown. Some officials might, in fact, become angered if you do so. You must become used to taking your own leave, and leaving without a dismissal."
He stared at his new recruits, imparting upon them the seriousness of his next statement. Agents Quarrennen, Adahl, and Larethorin were focused - good - while Agents Minuen and Trendil appeared distracted. Rimril warned me of their tendency to let their minds wander. I will have to keep an eye on those two. He focused on each one in turn, eyes narrowing.
"Of course, this does not give you permission to grow lax in your duties - you will follow all necessary protocol when dealing with fellow members of our organization. You are Thalmor, not members of an untrained rabble. Act accordingly." He then proceeded to update them on his expectations for the day's training, and answered a thinly veiled query from Agent Minuen on when they would be patrolling - which would be as soon as he felt they were ready. He carried on for another few minutes before he finished up his speech, turning around and walking into his office. Without dismissing them.
He stood in silence. Waiting. No noise came from the other room.
He allowed himself to smile briefly before he turned around, face as stern as before. Pulling out orders he finished writing just that morning, he reentered the room and stood stiffly. "Agent Quarrennen, take these orders to Ryaril Elsinihre." He handed the note to the young mer. "You are dismissed, soldiers. Resume your training."
They all nodded their heads before leaving. Agent Minuen was the fastest to go, seconded by Agent Larethorin. Impatience and eagerness, respectively.
Ondolemar stood until the room was emptied, then strode off to find Agent Athan. Hopefully, he would have an update on Agent Sanyon's status. The justiciar had not checked in for the past few months, which was worrisome.
xXxXxXxXxXx
He was back in that cursed town. The one with the staring eyes and grim soldiers. The one where good men and women died. The one where he almost joined them in Sovngarde.
He remembered his fear - he felt it even now - as he stared down that monster.
The eyes of death had been red - glowing embers stoked to furious fire.
It had been untouchable. Tail slamming down to crush flimsy bodies while its head turned to roast survivors into charred bones.
He could smell it - the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh.
Those terrible eyes. They saw him. They hated him. Those eyes hated everyone.
That thing was the harbinger of destruction, decay, and ruin.
There was no escape. He was going to die. He had to run.
A crash sounded and suddenly the sky was falling, leaving streaks of fire behind each shattered piece.
The sky was broken and the town was burning and he had to get up.
Smoke and fire and loud crashes.
Running. He made it to a building - it was on fire. They were all on fire. More running and he met some people. He couldn't remember their names.
Why couldn't he remember their names?
A tower and a long jump. More death and destruction. More fire. Death seemed to like fire. He looked around. The keep wasn't on fire. People were running but most weren't making it.
He needed to get to the keep. Maybe he could make it?
More running. He was so close...!
He woke with a start, sweat beading on his face and hands strangling the sleeping furs. A man was standing over his sleeping pallet, dented shield in one hand and dried jerky in the other. The man frowned down at him.
"Well, whelp. You're training with me today. Judging from yesterday, your strength is acceptable - for a novice. My shield siblings and I will fix that."