She examined Whiterun pensively from the trees lining the ridge at the foot of the mountains. A few tiny figures moved along the roads or in fields, guards or toiling farmers, but the land was quiet. The crumbling watch towers were abandoned. Soft gray smoke from fires stoked to ward off winter's chill rose silently into the sky to join the fog. It was still early, and the sun hadn't burned away its misty blanket.
As far as she knew, Whiterun was free of Stormcloak and Imperial influence. That was exactly why she'd chosen it. Work was scarce in the smaller holds, and her gear was in desperate need of repair. Satisfied, she trudged through the brittle snow toward the gates.
The ringing of a blacksmith's hammer greeted her as she paused in the wide gates to survey the scene before her. Wooden houses thatched with moldering grasses lined the cobbled streets. The smell of horses and hot metal filled the air. A large man wearing Imperial armor approached the blacksmith working at her forge right inside the gate, and Freja instinctively tugged her hood further over her face. He was demanding more swords for the Imperial army, and she quickly hurried by. Perhaps there was another blacksmith in town. She found herself in a small village center around a well lined with shops and stalls. After trading a few coins to a vendor for an apple, she thoughtfully munched on it as she wandered the streets, examining her surroundings. Much as she suspected, it was a rundown and forlorn hold occupied mostly by Nords, but it was a quiet place. The guards glanced at her but continued by unconcerned. High above the city towered Dragonsreach, stoic and imposing. Satisfied that she knew her way around well enough for now, she tossed aside her apple core and jogged up the steps into the Bannered Mare. It was dark inside, lit only by a dying fire in the center of the room. A few drunks hunched against the walls, and a bard was working at the strings on his lute. The woman behind the counter eagerly greeted her and offered her a seat. Tugging her hood off, Freja let her pale braid fall over her shoulder, declining the offer of ale.
"I'm looking for work. Have any leads?"
The woman rubbed at the flagon in her hands with a dingy cloth, her brow furrowed as she considered.
"No new bounties that I know of, but you could check with Proventus Avenicci. He advises the Jarl."
"Anything else?"
She wasn't stepping foot inside Dragonsreach.
"There's always the Companions. They don't often recruit but..." the woman looked her over with a more discerning eye than her appearance first suggested. "You look like you might fit in."
Freja nodded to her and tossed a coin onto the counter. It was always good to make friends with the innkeepers. They knew more secrets than was good for them and how to make a traveller's life miserable if they wanted to. The woman directed her to the Companions headquarters, and she stepped back out into the bright morning light.
Hello! This is my first fan-fiction, and I'm excited to give it a go! Critiques welcome. More chapters to come.