Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimers: see chapter 4.

Chapter warnings: none.

Enjoy the chapter!

Edited: 27-2-2020

A/N: Ok when was someone going to tell me I was writing marches instead of marshes throughout this entire fooking chapter? Literally two years after I wrote it? Aslhdafghdkhflah.

Last time…

Heh, who knows, perhaps there are boiled crème treats on the menu tonight.

Chapter 5 – Burning Ice

The Inn is stuffed to maximum capacity and then some, every seat taken and there are still people leaning against the walls or just standing around. I fear stepping on people's toes whenever I so much as shift my weight, and walking to a bar has never been more hazardous, I'm sure. Personal space? Nords have clearly never heard of it.

Forget the treats – It's far too busy.

"A bowl of whatever's on the menu tonight." I chuckle at the owner's haggard but happy appearance. What's on the menu ends up to be vegetable soup, and I swallow it down quickly, letting it warm my stomach as I observe the people around me making merry. Is… Was my uncle just like this when he went out in the evenings?

A stabbing sensation in my heart, and I take a shaky breath before moving on to safer topics. The Altmer ladies at the nearest table send me disdainful looks. "Mongrel." One whispers, just loud enough to raise above the conversations around them.

Not whispered at all, really. But as Ondolemar would say, to insult people to their faces like that would be beneath any Altmer worth the name.

I haven't seen him since I got here. He's at the Thalmor embassy, not in the city. Other than Beirand, I don't know any of the people here at all… It's kind of lonely, sitting in the corner watching everyone else. Back in Nchuand-Zel, Mellte would always drag me into the middle of the festivities, where he'd dare me to dance or drink or charm a lass into doing either of the aforementioned activities with me and Mellte. That often did not go as well as just having fun with the two of us. Sometimes alongside some other friends. Mellte…

Brother. Friend. Cousin. I wish you were sitting next to me.

So distracted I am by my quickly derailing train of thought that I barely take note of the person leaning against the wall close by. His bulk is enough to block the gazes of the two Altmer women, one of whom hisses something unpleasant. I glance his way, but don't expect him to speak. Why would he?

"Rough day?"

Of course, the human just has to be contrary.

I startle a bit, glaring at the burly man… Nord, carrying a giant war hammer across his back. He has bits of food stuck in his beard, but doesn't smell of dirt as a slob would – I suppose he just ate. "Not really. Kept myself busy enough." I answer vaguely, letting him fill in the blanks with whatever he may conjure. Probably thinks I got into a fight. Most of these people seem to find that a go-to activity to fight boredom… Heh, 'fight' boredom. I'm terrible.

He grunts, crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't we all? I'm Benor. Came here from Morthal since there ain't much to do there. No work to be done, no travellers willing to hire. No travellers at all, more like. War's been hard on everyone." I hum noncommittally, since I haven't seen much of the war's effects yet.

"I'm from Markarth. My name's Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. Most people call me Fjaldi."

Benor snorts. "More like most people can't pronounce that last name o' yours." I snicker along with him.

"You may be right. So, Morthal? I'm headed there." He stares at me incredulously.

"What in Oblivion are you gonna do there?"

I shrug, looking away from the man at a pub fight that breaks out and is just as quickly broken apart, courtesy of a stern-looking woman barking some threatening words. "I'm a blacksmith without a forge. So I wander." I eye him and his stupidly large weapon. "If you have nothing against a travel companion, I can join you on your way to Morthal. I need no protection, but a somewhat friendly face might go a long way at keeping the spirits up in the marsh."

A smith without a forge. A Dwemer without a home or purpose. I don't suppose anyone today would still recognize the phrase.

Benor laughs loudly, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to send a horse stumbling. As it is, I nearly fall flat on my face, only a quick grab of my hand against the wall preventing it.

Ah, his breath reeks of mead.

"Somewhat friendly, he says…" a pause as the Nord takes a long swig of his mead – I can barely see the label from this angle, but I can read 'black'-something. I wonder if it differs from Honningbrew. Would uncle have liked it? Maybe Ma. She preferred bitter over sweet.

"Fine. Don't expect me to have your back if things get tough, you ain't paying me after all. See you in two days, at the gates. Sunrise. You not there, I'm going alone." I nod along, before realising that he can't see that with how he is eyeing the… assets of one of the barmaids. That's… disgusting… Is it another one of those human things I don't get?

"Good enough."

Another bit of shuffling, ducking and weaving through the boisterous crowd and I make it to the stairs, Benor disappearing into the throngs of people. I paid ahead for tonight, and I'm glad I did. The room is plain, not like the more luxurious ones that are ridiculously expensive, but I have a bed at least.

I share the cramped space, two beds and a dresser, with an Argonian who's here in an errand from Windhelm – which I know because Vinius told me so, not because I exchanged words with the guy.

Even now, he's silent as he moves through the room, kicking a set of worn hide boots under his bed and crawling under the covers, facing away from me.

Well, his business is not mine. I lay down, the malachite dagger I made with Ghorza shoved under my pillow just in case. A habit I've been trying to cultivate, since I've been told that being murdered in one's sleep is not a rare commodity in these lands… Thanks to that curious Dark Brotherhood, who hail Sait'iss and call him 'Sithis', who listen to some woman's corpse rather than the Father of Death. They technically pray to one of the same gods I do… I wonder if I'll ever get to meet one of them. One that isn't trying to kill me, of course.

I close my eyes and listen to the commotion in the tavern below me. A thought for another day. Ma would have straight up hauled a Warhammer around to intimidate any would-be assassins away. Unfortunately I have to stick to my axes and my daggers.

The festival is… Something else. Something I'm entirely unused to. It's strangely informal, with stalls of food and goods and no solemn rites and rituals attended by scholars and the Elder Council alike. Not that humans have an Elder Council.

I spent most of the day walking along the streets, people not looking twice at my walking around armed and wearing leather armour, not even when I'm showing the Dwemer game of hopscotch using a piece of charcoal to the small gaggle of children around me.

My light greyish-blue colouring, pointed ears and golden eyes draw whispers and double-takes, though. The staring and gesturing tells me enough. Just another sign pointing at my people's… disappearance.

Not one that I want to pay any mind to right now.

Before long, an entire hopscotch-parkour is created, nearly every brat in Solitude hopping along the scribbled, wonky squares. They call the game 'hop-a-leg'. Close enough, I suppose, grinning at the exasperation of the watching vendor as I buy an apple to sate my stomach for the moment. Mellte would love this. Hanging out with children, teaching them games. I think that only playing tag all day gets boring really fast.

I take the time to chat with Beirand for a while after I manage to slip away from the children, meeting his wife Sayma. Now I understand why the poor man accepted my help so easily, just to be on time for dinner.

Sayma is a fierce woman indeed. Just like Ma.

The rest of the day passes in a flurry of sounds and sensations. The sweet taste of the mead, the vivid colours of the decorations fluttering in the wind, the laughter of the children, and the merriment in the eyes of the men and women... And still I feel so removed from it all. Watching them from behind a glass window, turning around and expecting Mellte to be there, grinning from ear to ear, but when I turn I'm still alone.

Deep breaths, Fjaldi, deep breaths. Alright. Now smile and bear it, there's a kid looking at you all concerned.

Speeches are held, the bards from the college make music that dances through the streets. It's nice, and the whole city gathers in front of the Blue Palace to count down to midnight.

I don't attend that particular part of the festivities. I don't think I could handle it if I went. I retire early - luckily still able to use the same bed since many choose to leave on the same day at the turning of the year – and spent my evening staring out the dirty window, sipping a glass of wine and reminiscing on the radical changes turning my life upside down. Like watching the rest of the world through a glass window indeed. Sounds are muffled, laughter and yelling and the beating of drums. The Argonian hasn't returned yet. I don't mind the solitude.

It'll get better. I'll learn, and it'll get better.

Despite everything, my spirit soars higher than it has in weeks, since the turning of the year is a symbolic mark of change – of starting anew, beginning from 'zero', the world moves on as it always has, and I will move along, and see where the world can take me, what it can offer. I blow out the candle, leaving me in the dark except for the fireworks outside.

It'll get better. I can't just curl up and hide. It'll get better.

A deep breath, a small smile and a prayer on my lips. An old blessing, from the very beginning of Dwemer society. Traditionally spoken by the King or the High Councillor, at the end of the speech that would mark the turning of the year. The ancient words roll off my tongue softly as if not to wake anyone even though I'm alone, spilling against the windowpane, the fog of my breath clinging to the glass.

Peace settles over me, the night reaching out for a hug after the fireworks fade from the sky. I bask in its embrace.

I'll get better.

Ma… Mellte… I don't know where your souls are right now, but I hope you're watching over me.

…

"And here I thought you weren't gonna show!" Benor calls jovially, waving at me with his hammer even as I pick up my pace to a jog to catch up with him.

"Sorry, had to say goodbye to Beirand and he didn't exactly appreciate being woken up." I snigger at the memory of the man's bedraggled appearance, bedhead sticking up in all directions.

The road to Morthal is fairly uneventful, and part of me is happy to leave Solitude behind. The city, I'm sure, has much to offer, but not for me, not at this time. Perhaps in a year I might return and find what I'm looking for. Would be a lot easier if I knew what I'm looking for.

Benor proves to be amiable company, and a good man, if a little…simple. Careless with his intake of mead and his… personal hygiene. Sweet forges, do these primitives even know what a BATH is? Not that these marshes give many opportunities, the waters reek of fish and fungi and… Honestly? I don't want to know what else is in there.

The city of Morthal is a sad little stump of a city. More a village, really – a few scattered houses on stilts, a mill in the distance, and the Jarl's longhouse the only place that looks structurally sound. Dreary as the marshes around it, the handful of people speaking in hushed voices, rushing as if scared to stay out on the streets. The smell of ash is heavy and disquieting in the early morning air.

I frown as I take a deep breath, seeing a plume of smoke rise above the sparse buildings. Benor starts talking with some of the guards around, eyeing another Nord as the stranger walks by with hunched shoulders. With a small wave goodbye, I wander off in search for someone who can tell me about the stink of smoke and fear.

"Not often we get strangers in the city." A man in guard uniform says offhandedly as I pass him by. I try to pay attention to him, instead of to the hunched man that caught Benor's attention. The guard reeks faintly of alcohol. Cheap ale.

"Aye. I just arrived when the smoke drew my attention – What happened?" I gesture vaguely at the aforementioned smoke billowing in the cold wind. The air here is heavy with moisture, but even if I wanted to, I couldn't ignore this perfectly clear example of why wooden houses are a bad and outdated idea… over three thousand years ago as well as now. Uncle would burst a vein.

"Ah yes, terrible, what happened." The guard seems happy for a chance to share some gossip even as I sense the pity wafting off him. He glances at the man that caught my attention earlier. "There was a fire last night, two people died, a mother and a child. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but that man that just walked past? Hroggar? Rumour has it he started the fire himself, since today he immediately moved in with Alva. Aint right, to move in with a new flame the day after your wife and child die horribly. The jarl wants someone to look into it, but everyone knows everyone here, so she probably won't get very far."

Somehow, I doubt the man set the fire. I don't know why. He seems dead on his feet.

With a shiver, I realize why Hroggar shuffling by upset me. His eyes. Empty eyes. Empty and dead like in my nightmares.

Something about this just… doesn't feel right. What would ma say..?

…I should probably stay out of other people's business, but as I thank the guard and move closer to the smoking remains of the house, I catch a whiff of burned flesh. People died in there last night. I bite my lip and turn sharply towards the Jarl's longhouse.

Children are the greatest good in Nirn, things like this would have seen immediate and thorough investigation back home. Damn primitive humans not even -

The doors open with an ungodly creaking courtesy of unoiled hinges, and I nod respectfully to the guard standing next to it even as I try to at least walk calmly to the throne at the other end of the room. My body is burning up with the emotions warring inside me. I'm curious, a trademark that I got from my father. Also frustrated. Angry. My preservation instincts tell me to stay away from this tragedy, but my mind and heart both agree that something about this is wrong, and I should do what I can to help, even if it means walking on thin ice with the locals and most likely running into danger.

Nobody knows why my people vanished. If they did, or if they all died. I want to know why. It's horrible to just… not know. Not to find the reason, the motive. The 'why'. The spirits of that woman and child deserve that peace.

I mean, I can't find my own. Might as well help others in the meantime.

There's already an ongoing discussion by the time I make it to the dais.

"I don't think we'll get very far even if we set every guard in the hold on this case." The woman sitting in it is telling a younger woman, who stands with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

"But Helgi died in that blaze, mother! A child! Barely nine summers! We cannot let this go unpunished!"

The older woman sighs deeply, rubbing her temples. Neither of them have noticed my approaching yet, so I stay silent and listen. "First there's the issues surrounding Falion, when the poor man did nothing wrong, and now this? I cannot arrest anyone based on rumours and hear-say, you know this!"

She catches sight of me then, and I nod, not bothering to show any more respect. I am a Dwemer. We only bow to our own.

"Madam. My name is Fjaldi. I recently came here from Solitude. I was told of the fire and came to see if there was anything I could do to help."

The human leans back, her head resting on one hand, the fingers of the other slowly tapping out a rhythm on the carved wooden armrest. The younger woman next to smiles beatifically at me, before clasping her hands together. "Perhaps the divines listened to my plea after all…" She says, "but honestly, what can a half-breed do?" The latter part is muttered under her breath, clearly not meant to be heard though my pointed ears are far more sensitive than hers.

Is she seriously saying that as if I'm the inferior one he… No. No. I shouldn't think like that, Da would be appalled.

But they make it so damned easy… Whispers a small voice in the back of my head as I try to tear my narrowed eyed away from the young woman. The one on the throne – uh, 'Jarl' is the word, isn't it? - speaks again.

"So, life has brought you here, to Morthal, and then to me. Strange accent and all. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. First of all, welcome to my city, stranger. You must be referring to Hroggar's house fire?" The rhythm she taps changes to something faster. "My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them? But yes. I could use someone to investigate. If you wish to try and cast light on the truth of the situation and prove whether or not Hroggar is innocent, be my guest." She gestures grandly to the room at large, nearly hitting the younger woman in the face.

"Should you prove anything, I will of course reward you."

Only managing another small nod I leave in a hurry, inwardly seething. How dare she think I'm only doing this for coin? A child's death cannot go unsolved. Mellte would punch her in the face, woman or not.

I stop at the inn to refill my supplies, adding more fresh fruits and dried traveller's biscuit. The knapsack I purchased in Solitude is apparently enchanted to hold more than one could originally put inside. It's very helpful, though it still baffles me that I could put an entire set of steel armour inside, if I wanted.

We didn't have these back in Nchuand-Zel. Imagine all the pranks Mellte and I could have pulled off… crap.

Not going there. Not. Going. There.

The house is still smouldering, and I decide to stay clear of the walls. They look like they might collapse on me any second.

Slowly, I approach, aware of the eyes of the guards and a passing villager as I enter the 'cursed' remnants of the home. I look around, before taking a step back in surprise at the – the – the ghost? The translucent, floating, blueish-white shape of a girl in a simple dress, her eyes glowing as if using the Calling even as she stares right at me.

"Hello..?" I ask cautiously when she doesn't make any moves to attack. That's it. This is the point where Ma would draw her weapon and start hunting down the responsible bastards, no logic required.

"Sorry, daddy says I'm not allowed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?" She asks, and then it comes to me in an unsettling realisation – This ghost-child must be the child that died in the fire, Helgi, was it?

"I'm… a friend. Do you know how your house burned down?" A rather insensitive question, I wince even as I listen carefully and am invited to play hide and seek with her and 'the other one'.

Now, I'm no scholar like my father was, nor was I the smartest child in class back in Bthardamz, but that 'other one' sounds like bad news… perhaps even the perpetrator. The one who really set the fire.

Well then. I need to play hide and seek with a ghost and possible threat in the middle of the night. I'd better catch some sleep now, since the journey here tired me out plenty. Maybe I'll have some time to sharpen my axes, though I haven't seen a grindstone around yet. Maybe the barkeep can help me out – to figure out what creature I might find, that only walks after the sun has disappeared below the horizon.

A/N: See y'all next time, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Feel free to tell me what you think! Also, barkeeps in Skyrim are terrible gossips, and I HATE that I cannot exploit that more by having them track down any misc. quests without me harassing every villager. What do you think, would it be a good idea to put that in a game, or do you rather search out every minor quest on your own? Might be a Mod idea.