AN: Unedited, not proofread, fresh off my keyboard. I'll get around to it tomorrow (on Sunday)
"In the name of Skald the Elder, you are surrounded, Blacktyde! Surrender, traitor, and face the Jarl's judgment!"
Wulf saw the blood drain from Thoring's face. Helping a man escape after an unjust accusation was one thing, but to go against the Jarl's orders was probably punishable by something nasty. The innkeeper took a step back and Wulf swung himself into the saddle.
Wulf did not need to face Skald again to know the Jarl's judgement was as crappy as the old man's underwear.
A Thane could be prosecuted only after a trial and by no other than the Jarl he served, not without raising a shitstorm large enough to fertilize the fields of the entire hold – or to drown them in blood, as it might easily be taken for an act of war.
Wulf grasped enough of the political situation to guess that Skald would welcome a war with Balgruuf, and his actions would in turn force Ulfric to act or to abandon one of his supporters, something the Jarl of Windhelm could not afford if he wanted to maintain enough power to oppose the Empire.
And Wulf couldn't care less about any of it, since a gut feeling told him he wouldn't be alive to see it happen anyway.
Outside, he could hear the Jarl's housecarl order his men to spread out and dug his heels into his horse's side, pulling at the reins. He'd need a fast start. The innkeeper shoved open the barn door for him and ran back into the house. Wulf hoped the man had enough presence of mind to blame him with threatening his...daughter or livestock, seeing as his situation couldn't get much worse anyway and Thoring's act of defiance had endeared the innkeeper to him by a long way.
He had no time to fret over the other Nord's fate though, as his horse sprang forward, through the opening and shoved aside a startled soldier. Wulf clung to the reins with on hand, to the animal's mane with the other and kicked it to go faster.
A surprised shout went up from the soldiers and Wulfryk prayed there were no archers amongst them. The guard had formed a loose half-circle around the inn and some drew near, only to jump back again when he showed no intention of slowing down at a few calls of 'halt!' The warrior chose a gap and went for it, wishing only he was good enough a rider that he could pull his sword and have a weapon to keep the soldiers at bay.
Something was swung at him and he swerved hard to the right, feeling the blow glance off the shield that hung at his side. Then he was past, the distance between him and the soldiers growing with every leap his horse took. Most likely, they had expected to catch him flat-footed and for the Nord to come with them without putting up any fight.
He wasn't out of danger yet, though. The street he was racing along was leading him in the wrong direction, into town and the greater part of Dawnstar's guard was following close on his heels. Wulf cast a glimpse back, thanked the Divines that there was nobody shooting at him since they'd have a pretty clear shot right now and when he looked ahead again, a heartbeat later, a Nord was standing right before him, cursing vividly and shaking a fist. Wulf had a brief glimpse of a bald head and then the man went down with a spray of snow, his string of obscenities cut off abruptly.
Wulf felt his horse groan with the collision; it stumbled over the fallen Nord, righted itself and ran on.
With a sinking feeling Wulf watched the Jarl's prone form lying in the snow. Any moment now the guard would find him and now he actually would have a crime to answer for.
Kyne's stormy cunt, he had ridden down the old codger. Because he just had to place himself right in the way of a borderline out-of-control, galloping horse.
The road was curving to the right and Wulf saw light ahead – the mob the housecarl had mentioned. They were screaming something and he thought he could discern a few pitchforks that were brandished in his direction. This was like some bad adventure novel that he had never wanted to find himself in and he would have laughed his ass off at the protagonist, except that it just happened to be him.
Wulf swerved left, rode through a narrow alleyway, slowing down when he heard his horse's hooves clatter over stone. He couldn't risk the animal twisting a leg. The warrior emerged near the market, crossed it and took the next broad lane. He cursed when he realized it seemed to double back.
There were shouts ahead of him now. That was bad. Some of his pursuers must have taken a shortcut. He should have paid more attention to the village's layout. Another turn, right this time and he saw an opening between the houses and raced for it.
Suddenly, Wulf was out in the open and a guy dropped a torch in shock, fumbling for something that the warrior did not recognize in the brief flash as he passed. There were more people ahead, he realized – damn, didn't these folks sleep – and when he saw the archer, Wulf blew the unsuspecting farmer and his buddies straight into Sovngarde...or wherever it was belligerent cattle ended up.
His horse cleared the laughable barricade they had hastily erected at the town's entrance with one powerful jump and Wulfryk did some impressive dodging all the while trying not to steer them into a tree. One branch managed to catch him and though he turned his head away, he felt it rip a gash from the corner of his eye to the temple.
Horse and rider burst into a clearing and the Nord stopped his panicked, neck-breaking flight, one hand checking his eye for damage. He did not think there was any, and quickly let the wound be. He had bigger problems right now than an unsightly scratch.
After hearing the explosion this place would be swarming with soldiers any minute, but he would regret it if he ran in the wrong direction. Over the treetops Wulf saw the silhouette of some tower, dark against the bright light of Silfir. The Nord remembered the gloomy fortress that loomed over the town.
He cautiously picked his way through the light forest, avoiding the deeper pools of shadow. True to his course Wulf found the main road without having to search for it. Beneath him, his horse was snorting, happy with the impromptu opportunity to stretch its legs. It wanted to run some more, but its rider allowed no more than a brisk trot. He couldn't continue on the main road forever, but tonight it was the fastest way to put some distance between himself and Dawnstar.
Later, as couriers were sent out he could no longer risk running into patrols. He'd worry about that when the time came. Behind the warrior the sounds of pursuit had faded, and lived up again with the echo of dogs barking.
Unless the Jarl was an expert breeder of horses they stood little chance at overtaking him. On the upside, he knew where they were searching for him and they were losing ground fast.
Wulf slowed down some more, sacrificing speed for endurance and thought back to the first hurried departure in his life that he could recall. He had been ten years old when he had buried an axe in a man for the first time. The Imperial swine had deserved it, too.
With some other citizens standing witness to the crime, he had done the only thing he had been able to think of: get his father. Garmr usually was very good at getting himself into fights, but it turned out he was even better at escaping them; and with all their meagre belongings bundled up under one arm, his son clinging to the same, and two guards cut down further along their path, he stole them a horse and butchered the remaining ones – Bruma had been a small town in the mountains and there had been only the one stable – and the protesting stable hand right alongside them.
Wulf had been unceremoniously lifted in front of the saddle, and with the bells tolling in their wake, they had left, riding hard south.
Wulf recalled being heartbroken when his father sold the horse when they had come to the Imperial City.
He had returned to Bruma more than fifteen years later, kept his head low and only swiped a meat pie from a stall when the vendor wasn't looking – for old time's sake. He had discovered that Garmr and his bastard had become something of a local legend.
Apparently dad knew how to make friends wherever he went.
Wulf could have done without inheriting that particular trait.
He rode through the night, with short breaks in which he lead his horse. The black had lost its enthusiasm over the nightly trip hours ago. Wulf couldn't blame it. He didn't fancy being rousted either.
Colour was bleeding back into the world when the Nord arrived at a crossroads. Wulf closed his eyes and tried to recall all the maps of Skyrim he had seen so far, with rather limited success. He thought he remembered this place, though. He had slept in the vicinity on his way to the accursed town.
The Nord could not ride back the way he had used to come here. That would take him throughout the hold. The sooner he got out of the Pale, the better. Likewise, going north was not an option. If he steered west he'd have to hit the coast and from there he could go south.
Somewhere in that direction lay Hjaalmarch, and beyond that Haafingar. But Haafingar and Solitude were the centre of the Imperial operations and Wulf did not want end up on the chopping block again if he ran across somebody who had not forgotten 'Brynjolf of Dawnstar'.
Fuck Dawnstar.
The warrior chose to follow the road on the right.
For the most part the ride was uneventful. Wulf was keeping ahead of the news and encountered no trouble, the one patrol that he missed until it was upon him nearly stopped his heart, but none of the soldiers paid the weary traveller any notice.
A week later the weather began to change. The clouds became heavier, and the smell of snow was in the air. A few more days and wet, heavy flakes were swirling through the air, a light dusting of white at first that thickened by the hour. The mountains to his left that Wulf had been able to see until midday disappeared first, and then the forest did. He spent the night in a tower that looked like nothing he had ever seen before: it had not been built by the Nords of now, of that he was sure, but neither did it bear any resemblance to their ancient tombs. The structure was solid and it provided him with a roof over his head and that was all he needed. A huge door, its wings made from some metal that gleamed like copped, led inside, but it was shut and Wulf didn't feel particularly adventurous today.
He wished for Athis' cloak as he curled up in his tent with only his oil lamp for warmth and listened to his horse paw at the snow in an attempt to get to the frozen grass hidden beneath until sleep overtook him.
The snowstorm abated during the night, but picked up ferocity again a few hours into the day. It became a problem only after they left the woods behind him, where the road was obviously the swathe that had been cut through the trees. Out in the open the landscape was drowning beneath a blanket of white; dusky and muted.
At first Wulf could make the road out by the sound his horse's hooves made, the firm thump against packed earth, but it was all too soon replaced by the soft, gritty crunch of fresh snow and then he could only hope he was heading in the right direction. The sun did not show herself through the day, but just like before it cleared up enough at night that he caught a glimpse of the stars and corrected his course; he had strayed too far west.
One day was much like the other, and they blended together into a misery of wet, cold, stiff and hungry. For once though Wulf was not complaining. He had gotten away unscathed and there was no way the Jarl's men were going to find him in this weather.
The Nord had put roughly half the distance between Dawnstar and Morthal behind him when the blizzard stuck, for good this time. Wulf could practically watch the snow pile up inch by inch, the former snowfall seeming laughable by comparison. It wasn't cold – not by Skyrim's winter standards at any rate, and not after his stay atop the Throat of the World, but the visibility dropped to a few feet. Wulf cursed, torn between what he should do.
The decision was taken from him when the ground suddenly opened beneath his horse's hooves and they almost broke both of their necks falling into the hole.
'Dustman's Cairn', flashed through Wulf's mind before he remembered that he had to be a good two hundred miles further north.
The structure was identical, though, a wide circular opening in the ground that was well concealed beneath the snow. A few stones stood around it, their shape barely visible through the blinding white. After dismounting Wulf managed to coax his horse down; the stairs that ran along the outer perimeter having turned into a slide. It was as good a place to stay as any and they found shelter beneath the stairway. It was better than nothing, at any rate.
Wulf tried the doors and they turned out to be barred or frozen shut. With luck the fact that he could not get in also meant that nothing from the inside could get out. The warrior rid his horse of its saddle and unfolded the saddle rug to cover the animal with it. Up until now it had found enough grass to feed itself, but he noticed its ribs were protruding more than was healthy. Wulf gave his brave beast a pat on the nuzzle and almost got his fingers bitten off for the gesture.
He did not sleep that night, only dozed fitfully and awoke earlier than usual to see that the weather pattern had held. If he started out now he would maybe have a couple of hours before he would be forced to seek shelter again. Something pulled at his thoughts, had invaded his dreams; a strange call he did not understand and did his best to ignore. Wulf shook his head, rubbing at the temples to rid himself of the headache. The gash he had acquired during his mad dash through the wood had healed without giving him any difficulties.
The Nord put his horse back into tack, something he could do with his eyes closed by now. He had a hurried breakfast of half-frozen leftovers while he jumped up and down to work some warmth into his limbs. Wulf was in the middle of taking a leak on one of the standing stones – showing his general dislike of tombs and giving the wolves something to puzzle over simultaneously, when he heard the groan behind him.
Bad timing, if there ever was one. An unkempt man shuffled up the steps, face red with blotches and puffy eyes scrunched closed against the light. He had a mostly empty bottle of ale in one hand and the other on the laces of his breeches and took his position a polite distance away from Wulf.
The other Nord moaned with relief at his early-morning piss and guzzled the rest of the ale, tossing the bottle away. "Morning", he grunted.
Wulf grunted back. He had made notice of the patched leathers and fur, and an axe topped in rust. Or dried blood and willed his bladder to hurry up. Some things could not be rushed.
It was then Wulfryk's horse tossed its head, impatient with its rider's tardiness and snorted. The other man's head shot up instantly. Wulf kept an eye on the guy at the same time the other stared at him, slack-jawed with surprise.
"-'the fuck are you?", the Nord slurred, the hand that wasn't holding his cock rubbing his eyes.
Awkward. Necessity taken care of, Wulf did up his pants in record time. "I was just leaving." He backed away and jumped into the saddle, taking off before the stranger had gathered enough wits to go for his weapon.
He could not believe he had slept right on top of a bandit hideout.
'What's next?', Wulf thought sourly and glared up at the heavens. He was due a break, dammit!
The gods were not listening, probably too busy setting in motion events from Wulfryk's bucket list of things he did not want to do. By midday, he was disoriented and almost certainly off-course. When evening fell, he was hopelessly lost.
On the bright side, he had found water. It wasn't the sea and it smelled boggy. Hjaalmarch, then. The thin crust of ice he had not noticed he was riding on broke and his horse sank in right up to its knees. The black shied back from the unwanted bath and pranced nervously, unwilling to take one more step forward.
There was no going that way, Wulf knew. What he did not know was how far into the bog he had already managed to stray. From that point on he was forced to test the ground, poking at it with a stick to determine whether he was walking over solid land or over ice.
On the downside, he was hearing voices.
It took him the better part of an hour to figure out that he really was hearing voices and almost twice as long to find the source. The camp was well hidden, low tents forming a ring between the stones of a small dale. Wulf did not even need to announce his arrival. His horse neighed loudly and shrilly and several other horses answered. Immediately, soldiers poured out of the tents, first and foremost a hefty Nord who made up for the lack of hair atop his head with his beard. He had a war hammer he held in both hands, but it was not him Wulf was worried about, but the two or three soldiers with bows.
Running away would only make him look like he had a reason to run, and besides he needed the shelter, had almost run out of food and his horse was not in a good shape either. They weren't attacking on sight and that was a good sign.
Wulf broke the silence. "Vestu heil. I got lost in the snowstorm. I would seek shelter."
The leader nodded, unblinking eyes trailed on him. "Tell us first, frændi, whom do you serve?"
There was nothing to give him a clue of their alliance, nothing, but for the stripe of blue cloth tied over the bicep of one of the men in the back who had not thrown on a cloak in his hurry.
Wulf took his chance. "The one true High King of Skyrim: Ulfric Stormcloak."
The Captain broke out in a smile. "Aye. I'm Arrald Frozen-Heart, the Captain of this camp."
Wulf did his best not to show his relief and continued, "I am friends with a man named Ralof of Riverwood."
Arrald nodded, shouldering his hammer, his men dispersing, eager to get out of the storm and back into their tents now that their commander obviously had the situation well in hand. "I know Ralof. Come, friend. There's food and a warm fire."
Wulf dismounted and led his horse to the corrals where Arrald ordered their farrier to take care of its hooves and irons and to feed it properly. The soldiers still out were huddling around a fire and moved closer together to make space for the two men. Wulf sat down between a brunette woman and the Captain. The others introduced themselves, mumbling their names over the brims of their cloaks and one of the Stormcloaks filled a bowl for the newcomer. Wulf smiled at her, grateful for the hot food, but still weary. They let him finish his meal, before the officer once more turned his attention to their guest.
"So, why are you not with your troop, soldier?"
An innocent enough question on the surface, but he knew it was laced with more than friendly curiosity.
"I am on leave after I was shot twice", Wulf replied, wiping the empty bowl clean with snow before he handed it back. "Went to visit my family." It was even partly true. Wulf pulled down his shirt a notch to reveal the scar from the arrow wound the Silver Hand had given him.
He received a few winces and a clap on his shoulder for an impressive scar from the lass next to him. The commander regarded him with one eyebrow raised.
"I'd have to drop my pants to show you the other." Wulf grinned and the soldiers chuckled, one of them refilling his mug with some spicy brew.
"Whom did you serve with?"
Wulf had to give the Stormcloak officer credit for his gentle interrogation. Give him food and drink and hope he'd slip something.
"Gonnar. Oath-Giver", Wulf replied, thanking Ralof for being, well, Chatty. He smiled and continued "Only thing I've ever heard him swear by is Dibella."
Arrald snorted, draining his mug. "That's Gonnar, alright."
As much as the company was welcome, Wulfryk sensed that he was intruding. Additionally, the less he said the less likely he was to blurt out something he should not. He did not even have to feign tiredness. Arrald showed him where he could spend the night, curled up between supply crates. It was dry though and out of the wind and he slept like a log and woke slightly disoriented to the ring of iron being beaten.
He didn't have any money left, so he traded his moderate skill at healing for supplies, staying with the soldiers for a total of three days, being greeted by a clear blue sky and sunshine of the morning of the fourth. It was time to move on.
"This is still the Pale?", Wulf asked Arrald in the Captain's command tent.
"Yes."
Wulf doubted that it was. If these soldiers were watching the border, they wouldn't do it in a camp that looked like it was built for maximum defence and could be torn down within minutes. He nodded, not letting his thoughts show and sighed. "Ugh, Talos' balls, I got completely turned around."
Arrald did not call him out for the blasphemy, but proceeded to show him the fastest way to the highway that linked Morthal with Solitude, pointing out all the landmarks he should look out for. He did not pull out a map, though, so as not to show him where exactly the camp was. It only served to confirm Wulf's suspicion: he had left the Pale behind him. At least that meant Old Skald could get lost.
"Morthal is south-west of here", the Stormcloak said. "After you find it, stick to the road and you can't miss it. But I have to warn you, Hjaalmarch is Imperial territory."
"I know. What is the Jarl like?"
"Idgrod?" The warrior ran his fingers through his blonde beard. "They say she has visions and such. Crazy old crone, if you ask me. But she seems less sympathetic to the Imperial cause than other Jarls. More of an opportunist, that one, so you should do fine as long as you keep your head down and your wits about you."
"Thank you." Wulf meant it.
He found Morthal without any further difficulties.
It was a non-descript settlement, built on the only dry patch in the bog that was this hold. A poet might call it rural or even charming. Wulf did not think much further beyond the fact that it smelled of mould and wet wool and the marshes, a festering reek of algae and stagnant, brackish water. It was far too similar to the Waterfront for his comfort. Fishing boats were docked to Wulf's right, bobbing gently with the waves, small chunks of crushed ice floating between them. He passed the Jarl's hall, and the apothecary, where an elderly woman was leading a child by the hand. Wulf left the pier, the road becoming paved once more and looked around for an inn when the boy stopped as if rooted to the ground.
None of that was exceptional, except that then he lifted his arm to point a finger at the warrior and loudly asked, "Mama? Why is that man a dragon?"
Wulf's heart missed a beat, he could not believe just what he had heard. What-?
The elderly woman at his side that he would have mistaken for his grandmother spared a glance at the stranger. Something flared up in her eyes that were as black as her hair.
"Hush, Joric", she told the child. "Don't you know dragons eat foolish boys?"
She then straightened like nothing unusual had occurred and spoke, "So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see." The crone laughed at her own words before her voice dropped into a throaty alto that in her younger years must have been quite seductive. "Greetings, traveller. You are safe here."
Wulf had been toying with the thought of just riding on and ignoring their weird behaviour, but those words brought him up short. "Why would you say that?", he asked, tone friendly and keeping his face blank with only a hint of curiosity.
"The sins of our fathers are not ours to answer for", came the knowing reply. "You are welcome to stay in Morthal."
Wulf found his mouth dry and his heart in his throat. "Thank you, but I have filled my quota of crazy earlier this month." He kicked his horse, eager to get away from the lady and her shrewd, far too-knowing eyes. They did remind him of a raven's, beads of black – curious and clever and without pity.
"I'm afraid I must insist." She gave the boy at her side a small push and he ran to disappear into the apothecary.
Wulf was going to ask just on what principle the hag wanted to do that when she answered the unspoken question.
"I am, as you are most likely unaware of, Jarl Idgrod. Ravencrone they also call me."
How fitting. He could not afford to get on the bad side of another Jarl. "I'm-"
"I know who you are, Dragonborn", she interrupted him with a wave of her hand, "For I have seen your coming."
Wulf felt cold and it wasn't from the weather. Somehow he knew that playing the ignorant dolt would only serve to amuse her. "How did you know?" Balgruuf had been very strict in his instructions to keep his identity a secret.
Idgrod chuckled. "You stand in the sun, yet in the shadow of black wings."
That was it. So far only Paarthurnax and Wulf knew of Alduin's return."Have you foreseen my going?", Wulf asked, more harshly than he had intended to. She was giving him the shivers and he was not ashamed to admit it. "No? Because that's happening now."
She made no move to stop him, only softly said, "I would not go that way."
"Why?" He did not even know why he let himself be drawn into any more talk.
"Because that's where Jarl Skald's men are searching for you." She raised her eyebrows. "It is you they are looking for, I take it?"
Wulf barked a laugh that had nothing to do with amusement and everything with desperation. "How do you know that?" He was willing to blow up another Jarl to keep his hide intact. For her own sake he hoped she had seen that.
"Because I sent them there", Idgrod replied, no longer smiling. Maybe she indeed sensed his intentions. "This meeting was fated to happen. I need to speak to you." When Wulf showed no sign of listening, not moving to dismount, she added, "Your secret is safe with me."
Wulf inclined his head. He had heard, but he after recent events he did not believe one word of it. "Why should I trust you?"
"I do not think you would be as foolish as to do that", the Jarl replied, aghast. "Ek-heit", and then, "Come, the fire is warm in my hall and once you thaw I am sure you would welcome a bath."
Wulf dismounted. He wondered whether she had cast some spell to compel him to do to her bidding, because he felt powerless in the presence of an old woman that he could have knocked down at the age of ten. He speculated whether he would slit his own throat if she asked it of him. The thought bore no fear, no disgust, just a certain tang of inevitability and sadness. Wulf mused whether she sensed his distress.
"I feel it", Idgrod sighed, head tilted back to face the sky. "It is doom. Yours, to be precise, but our lives are tied to yours", she explained. "Skald is an idiot for not realizing what is at stake here."
Other than the fact that she was speaking in riddles it made perfect sense. Idgrod called for a man named Gorm and he appeared from around the corner and Wulf handed him the reins. He smiled at the housecarl, who in turn handed his horse to another man, and followed him into Highmoon Hall. The warrior tried dragging his feet, to resist, if only for a brief while, but to no avail. He gave up and wearily complied with the force that was guiding his step.
"Make sure our visitor is comfortable and his horse looked after", the Jarl said, to their backs.
Wulf was shown to a room where servants filled a bathtub with hot water and clean clothes and towels were laid out for him. "Clean up after yourself", the housecarl grunted before he left. "We're not an inn."
Wulf did as he was bidden. His mind was curiously blank, all worries gone. He let his feet dangle over the tub's brim and leaned back, floating in the water he was at peace, enjoying the relaxation the hot water brought him. He bid his time.
By the time Wulf clambered out of the tub, the spell had worn off. He felt a faint pulse at his temples, a sure sign that the crone had indeed cast a hex on him, and he had to admire her subtlety. The Nord had never noticed her weave the magic. He plastered on a happy smile and a blank look and exited the room.
Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was sitting at one head of the table, her husband at the other. Her housecarl was seated at her right, and Wulf at her left. There were other people present, the court mage and the Legate stationed in Hjaalmarch, who was currently trying to convince the steward of the threat the Stormcloaks posed.
"Who is our visitor, love?", Aslfur asked his wife, ignoring the Imperial.
"A distant relation", Idgrod answered. "His mother and mine were cousins."
Wulf smiled politely. He was not sure whether the witch was aware her spell had worn off, but it was better if she thought so. He felt a brief stab at the mention of his mother that he had never known, but even so the Jarl's words were most likely just another carefully woven lie.
The Imperial soldier went back to lecturing the brown-haired Nord. "I tell you, they are close. We received reports of movement-"
"Ah, Legate Taurinus", Idgrod drawled, interrupting his tirade. "Maybe this young man here can set your mind at ease, if my husband's word is not enough."
Wulf smiled at the Imperial. His face was beginning to ache.
"You said you came from the north?", the soldier enquired. Wulf had said nothing the like. "Did you come across any Stormcloaks?"
'Yes', Wulf thought. 'They fed me, gave me shelter and did not chop off my head for being in the wrong place at the wrong time by accident.' "No", he answered. "Sorry." He wasn't.
The Jarl hid her smile behind her cup.
Wulfryk was asked to join Idgrod in her private chambers and he found no way to refuse without raising suspicion. Thankfully the crone only served him a tea that she was drinking as well, so he felt it was safe to sip the liquid.
"You can drop the act now", the Jarl told him after a few minutes of sitting in silence. "I am sorry for what I did I felt was necessary."
Wulf grunted in answer. He was way out of his league here and he knew it. And he never fancied being manipulated.
"Idgrod went on, "But I sensed you would have run and I could not allow that to happen. Please, understand that I bear you no ill will." Suddenly she slumped in her seat, just an old, weary woman.
"Are you alright?", Wulf asked tentatively. There was something about her that made him want to believe it.
"I will be", Idgrod replied with a small smile. "I don't know what you have been told, but they take their toll. The visions", she explained. "Looking at you is like looking at the countryside, when you spin really fast."
"I make you want to throw up?", Wulf enquired sceptically.
"Oh my dear", the Jarl chuckled. "Nothing quite as drastic, I assure you."
"What do you see?", the warrior asked, intrigued. He had only known Khajiiti mystics and those usually made their predictions when high on skooma and fumes, not stone cold sober in their bedrooms.
"Many things", Idgrod replied elusively. "I see-" Her eyes went wide. "Oh."
"What? Tell me." He should not order around a Jarl, but that small exclamation of surprise made Wulf sit upright.
"Now, dear", the Jarl chided as she would her child. "That would only spoil the surprise. Don't fret, it is a good one."
Wulf wasn't happy, but he sensed he would not get anything else out of her. "So, Imperials, eh?", he asked. It seemed the topic of the war was a safer one than the one of his persona. It was not a thought that cheered him up.
"For the time being."
"So you are not on their side", Wulfryk concluded.
"I am on the side of Morthal", Idgrod replied simply, stirring her tea.
The warrior snorted and saw her brow wrinkle. "Now you sound like Balgruuf."
"I wish more people did. He is a wise man, not to get involved with this war. Skyrim's future is hidden from me, alas, as is the fate of the Jarl of Windhelm. Events spiral towards their pinnacle and amidst chaos ancient forces wake." Idgrod tilted forward, her head lolling against her chest.
"Jarl?", Wulf asked, but she droned on as is she could not hear him.
"The World-Eater's wings darken the sky and in the shadows the Sun's Foes stir. First and Last, and so the Cycle is complete." Her head snapped up, suddenly, as if yanked on by a string and she stared at him unblinkingly with those beady eyes. "Watch out for the past. When it catches up to you, you will know the time has come."
Wulf felt the sweat tickle as it ran down his back, cold in the stifling heat of the room. How was he going to explain the Jarl had lost the last shreds of her already tattered sanity and that his presence was a mere coincidence? Before he came up with something plausible, like blaming the herbs in the tea, Idgrod grunted, shook her head and blinked.
"I'm sorry dear. I must have dropped off", she said. "Happens more often at my age than I am comfortable admitting to at out stage of acquaintanceship."
Wulf nodded, wide-eyed, still spooked by her behaviour.
"Gorm!", the Jarl called weakly for her housecarl. "Help an old woman!"
"I need to get back to Whiterun", Wulf whispered. He couldn't get out of here fast enough.
Idgrod regarded him with those unsettling black eyes of hers. "Don't go through Labyrinthian", she advised. "Ride for the Eldersblood Peak, then take the Cold Rock Pass. Turn east, go past ruins of Rannveig's Fast and ride along the mountain range. You will approach Whiterun from the north-west. Have my husband show you the maps."
Wulf nodded his understanding and rose. "Do you need anything?"
"No, thank you. Dragonborn-", she called and seemed to want to say something, but rethought her decision. Idgrod settled for, "This is goodbye. I am afraid I'm going to be indisposed tomorrow at the time of your leaving."
The warrior showed himself out, not meeting the furious gaze of the Jarl's housecarl. It was not his fault she had insisted on seeing him. He could breathe a little easier when the doors closed behind him.
Idgrod watched her visitor leave with a heavy heart. She had almost warned him of his future; it was dark enough without him falling into the webs spun around Whiterun and the Companions.
Beware of the child. Beware of whispers in the dark, the sweet seduction of betrayal. Beware of Whiterun, for it is ripe with it, rotting from the very inside.
"I am sorry", the Jarl whispered, a tear trickling down her wrinkled cheek and then, more resolutely, "It is for the best."
In the corridor Wulf met the Jarl's husband. Aslfur grabbed him by the upper arm, fingers surprisingly strong for a steward. "Whatever she told you, you better heed it", the man said intently. "I know what the word is about my wife, but more of her predictions have come true than not. And I have been keeping a tally for over thirty years."
Wulf nodded at the man. There was just no way Idgrod could know about all those things – either her gift was genuine or she was a master actress and her spies travelled on wings. He was given back all his belongings and a room to stay in for the night, and set out again before the sun had risen.
xxxx
Athis spotted the rider first. "Is that- ?"
Ria shielded her eyes with one hand and waved with the other, drawing the attention of the rider. He stopped for a brief while before he turned his horse from the road and towards them.
A few more minutes and there was no mistaking the familiar figure. "Wulf!"
Their fellow Companion raised a hand in greeting, a tired smile playing around his lips. "Hello, Ria", he greeted when he was close enough. "Athis."
The Imperial girl had stepped forward, but when he did not dismount to greet them properly and she had a good look at his face, she almost did a double-take. "What happened to you?"
He looked terrible, dirty and almost as shaggy as his horse that she remembered once being a noble half-blooded steed, not the mass of snarls and tangles it was now.
Wulfryk grimaced. Things had not gone as smoothly from Morthal on as they had before. Apparently the snowstorm he had been caught in had not raged across the entire countryside, and in addition to that Wulf had learned the hard way that Skald didn't care one whit about hold borders.
He now had a squad of dead soldiers to add to his tally.
The encounter had forced him to travel at night, and go into hiding during the day. He had no longer been able to light a fire to keep him warm and slept on the ground, ready to travel at the slightest notice of pursuit, and never for longer than he needed to.
More memories of a life he had thought he had left behind, and that was without the ambushes he had been forced to dodge. At least the guards were bloody unimaginative. His younger self would have rolled with laughter at their attempts, but then not everybody had the experience he did.
The success tasted bitter.
"Lydia came back months ago!", Ria berated him, confused and with more than just a little ire. She thought they were friends, and here he was barely acknowledging his shield-siblings, behaving towards them as a stranger would. It hurt. "You had us all worried!"
At that Wulf perked up. "How is she?", he asked, surprisingly warmly.
"She has married Farkas and given birth to twins", Ria replied in an accusatory tone. And you were not there.
"Skíta!" Wulf cursed vehemently enough for the two Companions to take a step back. "I tried to make it", he said with an odd self-disparaging smile.
He sure did look like he had not stopped anywhere resembling an inn on his way here. Ria wondered if those really was grass in his hair and if he had a pair of black eyes, or just signs of extreme exhaustion. When he'd last shaved. Or bathed.
As if he had read her thoughts, Athis asked, "When did you last sleep?"
"In Morthal", the warrior replied, unaware that his answer made no sense and cast a look over his shoulder. He was nervous and weary, and not at all the laid-back, charismatic man she remembered from – almost a year ago. A lot of things must have happened to change him like that.
"Ran into trouble, did you?", Athis remarked wryly, glancing in the same direction.
"For once in my life, I am innocent", Wulf sighed. He looked like he wanted to break down and weep and then in the same instant the expression was gone and he grinned, a flicker of his old self showing. "All bad things start with 'd'", he drawled, as if citing some great wisdom. "Dragons, draugr, Daedra, Dawnstar."
Athis was snickering. Wulf shot him a filthy look and added "Dunmer."
The elf bent over laughing and Ria shook her head. Boys.
"Thank you for the cloak, by the way", the elf wjeezed. "It is absolutely lovely."
Something flared up in Wulf's eyes, a joke none of them was privy to. "Glad you like it. Sorry I'm...", he made a vague motion with his hand, not even trying to come up with some outrageous lie to make up for his behaviour. "But, I really need to talk to Balgruuf."
"More trouble?", Athis enquired with his usual dry humour, but he and Ria exchanged troubled looks.
Wulfryk sobered up in an instant. "Like you don't know."
You knew things were bad when not even the Nord found something to joke about. "This might be a bad time", Ria cautiously began. When she only received a blank look in return, the Companion explained, "The Jarl's son is gone."
Wulf did not appear fazed at the news. "Again?" He sounded as tired as he looked.
"Yes." On Athis' face there was no trace of the laughter from before. "But this time it's been six days since he last was seen."
It had been quite the scene, and all of Whiterun was talking about what had – allegedly – happened. Most stories agreed that the boy had shouted at his father – something about his mother. Ria was actually glad she had not been there to see the look on Balgruuf's face.
She told Wulf none of that.
"Anyway, half of Whiterun is looking for him. Balgruuf is sick with worry. He did not put out gold for finding the boy, afraid it might draw the wrong kind of attention, but everybody knows he'll break eventually."
"What about the other Companions?", Wulf enquired, although the Imperial sensed that his attention was wavering.
"We haven't found as much as a hair from his head", Athis admitted. "Irileth has most of the guard out, scourging the countryside. Nothing", he finished quietly.
Wulf nodded and rubbed his eyes. "I'll help", he muttered. "I just really need to talk to Balgruuf first." He felt sorry for burdening the Jarl further, but it was also a matter of his life. Things were about to get so much worse.
xxxx
Wulf bid Ria and Athis farewell and good luck, promising to join them soon and urged his horse on. The black now had a lean hardness to it, same as its rider. In a distant corner of his mind Wulf felt sorry for being so cold to his friends, but this was not the time for a heartfelt reunion. He'd apologize and buy drinks for everybody at the Bannered Mare later. For now reaching the Jarl was all that mattered. And then he'd get some sleep. By now the deprivation was bad enough he no longer felt it. Wulfryk knew he was running on his last reserves, but he'd always been able to pull himself together when it really mattered.
There was that churning feeling in his stomach, and not just from hunger. He had cut cross-country from Dustman's Cairn to gain some time and expected it to get better the closer he was to Whiterun, but instead it only got worse, up to the point where he felt physically ill. He would usually have run, but that was not an option now, seeing as had nowhere to run to. So the warrior ploughed on, the miles between him and the city dwindling and his unease growing.
The sun was setting, a huge ball of orange, and through his drooping lids Wulf could see the city when the man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, blocking his path.
Wulf knew him, by name even. Brand. Shit, if this was retribution for killing his buddies at Bleak Falls Barrow-
Wulf never got to finish that thought. He might have reacted faster if he wasn't dead tired, but that and the fact that he had let down his guard, seeing as he was maybe two hour's ride from Whiterun made his response too slow.
The bandit had brought his friends, and they stepped up from behind the sparse rocks that were strewn around the tundra.
"That's him, boys", was the last thing Wulf heard before he was knocked off his horse and landed hard, skidding a few feet and bruising his ribs against stone. Even so he tried to roll to his feet, one hand fumbling for the hilt of his sword while the world around him reeled. Funny, that his last thought after his face made close acquaintance with one of the bandits' shields, was of Idgrod.
AN: This one's to Idgrod. Because she totally deserves being an awesome, crazy doomsayer.
Ek-heit: I promise