Chapter 46: Finding Your Feet
Through the ink of night and the shadows cast by the surrounding woodland, the Guardian stones loomed over the small, circular stone platform between them like ancient, ominous sentinels; ready to judge me, to crush me if I chose the wrong path. The rush of the river as it churned over the rocks in the valley below echoed through my mind, filling my chasm of grief with a buzzing, numbing white noise.
I stood in the centre of the platform and faced the Mage stone, extending my hand to trace the symbol on its surface.
Music is a type of magic, when made by the right person.
I wanted to weep as I recalled Hadvar's words, spoken when we had stood together at this very stone, months ago on the first terrifying day we had met. But the tears didn't come, and I smiled a bittersweet smile as the memory of his soothing, pleasantly accented tones lent me some strength.
Was I the right person? By Farengar's logic, the Divines had made me Dragonborn for ancestral reasons, not for any skills I had now, or potential I carried within me.
You're kind and brave, and you saved me. Maybe you're the kind of Dragonborn that people need?
Closing my eyes, I pressed my palm to the Mage's etchings and remembered little Lucia's kindness from yet another moment in another day that had passed what felt like a lifetime ago. As I stood there with my eyes closed and my mind quietened, more words that Lydia, Kodlak, Vilkas, Farkas, and the Jarl had spoken to me in quiet confidence at various points of my unexpected journey suffused me.
Save them; save those who you love, I told myself. Whether you are capable of the task before you or not; you must give your all to save them.
I opened my eyes and lowered my hand. Whether the Mage stone had delivered me a blessing or not, as with the first time I had placed my hand upon it, something had centred my will. I didn't feel happier or lighter about Alvor's death or having to leave everybody I loved behind, but those feelings were no longer at the forefront of my mind and dragging me back. My spirit felt less weighed down than it had a moment ago, and my determination stepped up as though it were separate from me and offered a hand to lead the rest of my weary, aching frame along the path I had to take.
I turned my back to the stones and continued along the ascending roadway, which was littered with scattered patterns of shadow and light as the moonlight filtered through the leaves.
At this time of my life, I could not face saving all of Skyrim. The task was too great and incomprehensible; the enormity brought me to a veritable, shivering standstill. But without hesitation, I would put everything I was and had into protecting my friends; those who I considered family, who trusted me and believed that I could do this.
I had failed Alvor, Kodlak and Ria, and in a sense I had even failed Skjor. I understood that I had failed my sister too, long ago, when I had merely accepted the wedge she had driven between us. I should have attempted to reach her; to question her, but instead I had shrugged and exhibited only apathy in the face of her snobbery.
If I failed again, which my mind insisted on telling me that I certainly would, I would ensure that it was not for lack of trying.
The further I walked, the duller the sound of the cascading river became. In its place rose the common sounds of night; the dim rustle of leaves, the mournful hoot of an owl. A warning growl; distant enough, but still unmistakably a wolf, encouraged me to unsling my bow and nock an arrow, ready to fire should an ambush come.
A flickering, bobbing torch on the road ahead coaxed me into the woods, to hide behind the tree line. I waited, watchful and silent as the light grew nearer, and the sound of booted feet crunching against the gravel road joined the other night time noises soon enough.
The pair looked to be hunters; they were dressed in hide and both wearing bows over their shoulders. The smaller of the two men carried the torch I had seen, and the larger carried a doe over his shoulders; her glassy eyes catching the flames. I was unable to suppress my shudder, not only at her unblinking glare, but at the reminder that I was in the wilds, on my own, and at any moment, I might be attacked.
Once they were gone, I decided that I would stick to the trees, as I had done each time I had needed to travel between Whiterun and Riverwood, on my own. I did not want to be ambushed by the Aldmeri Dominion again, or anyone else for that matter.
I withdrew my map from the side of my pack, squinting through the dim light as I tried to determine exactly where I was, and which way I should travel. Until I had seen the torch, I had vaguely thought to follow the roads and road signs, but was yet to see any of the latter.
I grimaced when I compared my map to my surrounds, and determined where I was. I had recently passed the Guardian stones, and Lake Ilinalta was to the north, which meant that I was in Falkreath Hold, and close to Helgen; a place that I had no wish to return to for the rest of my days. I flushed as I realised that I had even been walking the wrong way, for a time, consumed by my thoughts. I would have to back track, but if I skirted just north of Helgen, I might be able to use the winding, mountainous pass to the east to make my way to Invarstead.
It was the start of a plan. I folded the map and tucked it into my coat pocket for ease of access. I had a feeling that I would need to refer to it many times over the next few hours.
Picking up my bow, I glanced around, and then pushed on in what I thought was an easterly direction. Every step took me closer and closer the last place in Skyrim I had hoped to lay eyes on again.
–
It was clear, even as pre-dawn muted the lines and colours of the structure in greys, that Helgen was occupied, though minimal effort had been made to repair that which the dragon had destroyed.
Men and women in rough leathers and furs patrolled what remained of the high walls. I paused, watching them with interest, wondering if they were hunters as well, until a terrified scream tore through the night, then was swiftly muffled.
My blood turned to ice and I froze as those patrolling the walls turned nonchalantly toward the centre of the settlement. The one I was nearest to even laughed. The sound of somebody pleading for their life and sobbing drifted to me on the winds.
Those on patrol had their backs to me now, so I took my chance, and bolted. Guilt swept through me for leaving whoever was being attacked to their fate. As I hurried away from the former township through the woods, wondering if I would be shot in the leg and dragged into Helgen myself at any moment, I wondered furiously how a large troop of bandits could have been allowed to take up residence in a settlement without the Empire doing anything to stop them. It must have been on account of the war; the Imperial Legion's resources were simply spread thin and committed elsewhere.
Eventually, as my heart continued to hammer in my chest and spur me forward, I found the small pass that led through the mountains. It was with a sigh of relief that I stepped around the large boulders that partially obscured it and commenced my ascent, slowing from frantic run to a brusque walk. I had to remain on this road, for the walls either side of it were sheer and unscalable, but it was more like a goat track; I doubted a cart would be slim enough to fit between the rocks, and I told myself that I was far enough from Helgen now that its inhabitants would not pursue me.
As the sky above paled, the air grew drier. My eyes stung as I blinked, both from the cold and my mounting fatigue. I had not slept since that night in the tent at Rorikstead. Every breath I took wheezed through me and ached as icy prickles hanging in the very air gushed in to burn my lungs.
I resolved that I would not, did not deserve to rest, until I had reached Invarstead. Invarstead stood at the base of the seven-thousand steps; it was the place where I would recover, before I climbed them, as countless pilgrims before me had done.
As the sun's rays topped the highest mountains with burnt gold, I saw that it was dirty snow clumped below the snowberry bushes, and not earth. The craggy grey boulders of the mountain pass were interspersed with patchy snow as well, wherever it could find purchase, along with dried out, snaking creepers; most of which had lost their leaves; either dormant or dead.
A shudder rippled over me as I passed a cave, which as with Helgen, showed signs of recent and nasty habitation. There were supply barrels clustered around its entrance, which would have convinced me that it was an active mine had it not been for the splattered blood stains at the cave's entrance and outer walls, including what was unmistakably a human hand print that left trails along the rock wall, as though the owner of the hand had been trying to cling to the rock as they were bodily dragged into the cave.
Relieved that I had not stumbled by this ominous place in the dark, I doubled my pace. Whether the occupants were bandits or cultists of some kind, I did not want to cross paths with them. I could always FUS and run, but if I ran, I would be chased.
It wasn't long after I had left the cave behind me that the pass began to descend and the rock walls either side of me grew taller, curving over me for spans at a time. From underneath one of these overhangs, I heard the crack and rustle of movement from some distance back; an echo almost, of running feet.
Pursuit, I realised suddenly. Darting to the side of the pass immediately and pressing my back to a boulder, I slid down its face into a crouch behind a snowberry bush and searched the direction I had come with wide, fearful eyes.
Perhaps the occupants of the bloodied cave had heard, or smelled me. My stomach lurched sickeningly at the thought.
Then why do you try to hide? If they can smell you, they will find you.
No matter how I stared, I saw no lights, no people; no obvious signs of pursuit. I could no longer hear what I had taken for running footfalls, either, and as time ticked away, I told myself that I must have imagined it.
Telling and believing myself were two separate matters. I leapt back onto the path at a run and bolted down the pass, sliding whenever my feet landed on a particularly icy rock. Somehow, I managed to keep my balance.
When the pass levelled out and the scenery gradually changed from jagged and icy to autumnal trees and carpets of dried leaves and spiky-looking brush, I slowed down.
The Rift, I thought with some incredulity as I leaned over and grasped my knees, gasping. As my breaths came easier, I staggered toward one of the many tall, speckled trees and leaned against its trunk.
Glancing up to the dappled light filtering through its multitude of orange-hued leaves, I laughed at myself through a wheeze; at my idiocy, my unpreparedness, and in relief that I had made it this far, even if I was jumping at the slightest sound.
When I pulled my map out of my pocket and glanced over it, I felt a warm prickle of joy join my tumultuous emotions; I was so close to Invarstead that I might be there, I might be able to sleep, within the hour.
Map tucked away and bow at the ready, heartened by the thought of a warm bed at the inn, I pushed myself off the tree.
"There's a bear ahead."
My heart leapt into my throat and I whipped around, lifting my bow and staring in horror at the speaker.
He frowned, clearly bewildered by my reaction. His silvery eyes flickered in confusion to my weapon, aimed at him. "You all right, shield-sister?"
"Farkas!" I hissed, lowering my bow as I clenched my eyes closed in an attempt to steady myself; steady my thumping heart. "What in Shor's name are you doing here?" I bit out.
"Keep your voice down," Farkas grumbled in a lowered tone, then booted feet crunched through the leaf-litter, growing louder as he approached. "I can take a bear, but I don't want to, after the chase you've led me on this morning."
My eyes flew open. Farkas had come to a halt in front of me. I stared up, and whispered accusingly, "Did Vilkas make you come after me?"
Farkas' frown persisted as he shuffled on the spot. "Nah. Well, not really. It was all Lydia's-"
"Lydia?!" I spluttered, aghast. How? I had left Lydia in Riverwood the previous night.
"Uh," he tilted his head in a considering manner. "Yeah, sort of. I could hear what she said to Vilkas," he seemed a little on edge. "Through the walls, you know?" the corner of his mouth quirked uncomfortably. "Vilkas asked me to come find you, after she left."
I nodded hurriedly as my mind knitted together the fragments he was telling me. Lydia must have gone to Whiterun during the night, straight to Vilkas, and told him that I was leaving for High Hrothgar. "Okay, sure, but Farkas," I squared him with a hard look, "I can't come back with you. It is my duty to -"
"She said you'd start on about your duty," Farkas cut me off as he cast a glance around us. Uncrossing his arms, he placed a large hand on my shoulder, and guided me out from under the tree with a flick of his head.
"Can't talk here, shield-sister," he grumbled. "C'mon."
Sighing, brimming with frustration, not to mention mortification as adrenaline continued to surge through my veins, I trailed after him.
Farkas led us on a winding path north and said nothing more. I stared at his huge, armoured form, wondering exactly why he had come? I had to admit that along side my exasperation over whatever Lydia had said to Vilkas, and my confusion over what Farkas' purpose here actually was, I felt relieved to see him, for a part of me had believed that I would never see my shield-brothers again.
The woodlands grew sparser the further north we walked, and soon I could make out a small bridge before us as we rejoined the road. Beyond that I caught the first signs of dwellings that I had seen since Helgen; a dull brown roof made of thatch.
Farkas drew to a halt, letting go of my arm to cross his, and I stepped up beside him, looking over the bridge. The building was wrought of stone and in good repair, and the wooden sign hung below it, while too distant to read, told me that it might be the town inn or local store. Beyond it were a few more buildings of similar construction, but Invarstead seemed to be even smaller than Riverwood, which came as a bit of a surprise.
"Are you guiding me to High Hrothgar, brother?" I asked Farkas quietly.
Farkas huffed a laugh, and I felt his attention flicker to me, though mine was still on the hamlet before us.
"You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
I glanced to him. While he was turned toward the village, his eyes were on me, as ever glazed by the curse of his inner wolf. Beyond that, there was amusement, and a secret; the source of which I could only guess at, until he decided to explain himself.
If he decides to explain himself.
"I don't understand," I told him plainly. "You mean to remain at High Hrothgar?" my brows furrowed.
"You lead, I'll follow," Farkas smirked. "Whatever road you tread and wherever you lay your head. Those were Vilkas' orders."
I stammered hastily, in disbelief; "But – why? You will have nothing to do most of the time, if the Greybeards even allow it, and Vilkas needs you."
"Hmm," Farkas half-shrugged, then started to cross the bridge. "Lydia said you'd say something like that, too."
Sighing at his reticence, I fell into step beside him, and shook my head in bemusement. "She...knows me well," I murmured.
Farkas chuckled as we mounted the stairs to the inn; the Vilemyr, according to the sign. "Come on, sister. You need food and sleep before we take on the seven-thousand steps."
I widened my eyes as I nodded, sighing as I let myself actually feel my tiredness. Accepting that our short and quite confusing conversation was likely to be all the explanation I would get from Farkas, I determined that I would write to Vilkas for the full story, when I was at liberty to. My muscles ached and protested, and my feet dragged as I clomped toward the inn's front door.
"And a bath," Farkas apparently wasn't finished. He turned the handle and pushed the door inward before adding, "I can smell Hadvar all over you," in a teasing murmur.
I staggered on the landing, meeting Farkas' eyes, stunned at his implication as blood rushed to my cheeks. He chuckled and walked into the inn before me.
Any reply I could have mustered was silenced by embarrassment and I slunk in after my shield-brother. I was at once grateful for the dark emptiness of the common room. I glanced around the interior of the Vilemyr to try and distract myself from the knowledge Farkas' werewolf senses gave him about me; about Hadvar and I.
The small hearth was low with only a few dull coals stubbornly glowing at its centre. It was early; the inn was unlikely to see much, if any patronage until later in the day, aside from Farkas and I obviously. There was a well-established bard's station near the entryway; a lute of average quality rested on a chair which was draped in beautiful red and gold cloths, decorated with sprigs of snowberry leaves and surrounded by bunches of tundra cotton at its base. Taking in the careful preparations, I wondered who the resident bard was, and how many tips this tiny, out of the way village brought them? The rest of the common room was clean enough, and a few beams of sunlight filtered through the high windows, creating more light than the fire did but giving the inn a certain sense of disuse.
The common room was empty and it was difficult to take much detail in while my heart hammered wildly in my chest. While Farkas left to locate the publican, I told myself sternly to calm down, but as I leaned against one of the tables and stared up to the dust motes drifting through the rafters as the sunlight caught them, I wished, rather unfairly, that Vilkas had come instead.
Vilkas was not adverse to teasing me when the opportunity presented itself – far from it – but he would not have been anywhere near as forward as Farkas.
Seriously? He had no hesitation in teasing you about making Hadvar's babies, when you were at Mixwater. Vilkas would have drawn this out for days. Farkas has taken the first chance he got to mention it, but will move on now.
I made an effort to shrug my discomfort off as I smirked at the truth. Farkas did not mean to invade my privacy, and wasn't blessed with the wit and tact of his smaller brother. But at least that was likely to be all I would hear from him about it.
"...expected at this time of day," a low voice sounded from the hallway, and I turned my attention toward it in time to see a tall, balding Nord wearing a night shirt hurry into the common room and make for the bar. Farkas was striding behind him and glanced toward me with a triumphant grin, tilting his head; his wordless signal that I join him.
I couldn't suppress a small smile upon seeing his open, unfaltering grin – and hurried over.
The publican pulled a large, heavy book out, and thumped it open on the bar. He cast me an idle glance as I approached, and I smiled encouragingly in wordless greeting. He did a double take, and his eyes were suddenly awash with very evident fear as they flickered over me, rife with caution.
"Oh," Farkas picked up on the change in him, of course. "She's not who you're thinking she is," he murmured blithely. "This is Celeste Passero – the proper Dragonborn."
Farkas' words didn't seem to alter him. The publican hazarded my shield-brother a more wary glance before his eyes were swiftly back on me. "If you say so, sir. But, I don't want any trouble, ma'am."
Internally sighing, wondering what Giselle had done here, of all places, I dipped my head respectfully. "I swear, I have never met you before," I tried for open honesty. "You must have crossed paths with my sister, who has, for some time now, been masquerading as me. I'm sorry about that."
"Sister?" he muttered, somewhat aghast.
Giselle, I cursed again, then nodded as I lifted my head. "I sincerely apologise if she caused you any trouble."
The large Nord man tittered a nervous laugh.
Farkas shifted a little closer to me, and leaned on the bar in effort to draw the publican's attention back to him. "We're bound for High Hrothgar," he cleared his throat. "We need the room for a couple of hours."
The publican turned his eyes back down to his book hastily. "Yes – of course," he cleared his throat. His eyes glanced back up to me, as though he couldn't help but stare. "But I'll need your word, ma'am," he swallowed nervously.
"My word?" I questioned quietly. I put my hand on Farkas' arm to still him, for I felt that he was about to growl at the man.
Nodding, the Nord tapped his book idly; a nervous motion if ever I had seen one. "Yes, your word that you'll leave our Lynly alone," he frowned. "She's a good girl. She's not done anything wrong, and I can vouch for her on all accounts."
"Lynly?" I blinked in surprise. "I have never heard that name before in my life, but all right. I swear to you that I will not speak a word to Lynly...whoever she is."
"I'm not making fun of you, ma'am and I'd appreciate if-"
"I'm not suggesting that you are, sir-"
"Wilhelm, ma'am."
"I'm not suggesting that you are making fun of anybody, Master Wilhelm," I lowered my head again in belated introduction. "You obviously care a great deal for this Lynly and I apologise if my sister took it upon herself to antagonise her."
Though curiosity now piqued within me, Wilhelm chose to say no more, and turned his eyes down to the log book. He was still clearly on edge as he exhaled a long breath and widened his eyes. "Celeste, was it?" he asked in a distracted manner.
"Mm hmm," Farkas supplied before I could. "Room and a bath. Won't be needing any food, at this time."
Wilhelm wrote in his book for a moment as he shook his head. "Bath water won't be ready for hours," he nodded toward the hearth as though it explained everything.
"That's all right," I replied hurriedly, flickering Farkas a glance. Whether he was here to see me safely to High Hrothgar or further, I could certainly speak for myself. "We will make do."
It wasn't long after that Wilhelm took my forty gold – I had a feeling that he was overcharging me, but at that moment I truly didn't care – and led Farkas and I to a small room, furthest from the common room at the back of the inn. With another small frown, he opened the door for me.
"All yours, ma'am. Mind you keep the noise down, least for a couple of hours, if you please," he flickered Farkas a hasty glance.
Refusing to speculate on what he must have been assuming about Farkas and I, I thanked him and stepped into the room. It was a thin space, with a small double bed covered in layers of thick furs pushed to one wall and a chest of draws opposite it. This left a small gap that I doubted Farkas would be able to walk comfortably through, to a permanently sealed window at the back of the room with frosted glass and thick, dark brown curtains, under which a plain wooden table and chair had been shoved.
Farkas followed me in, closing and locking the door behind us. "Hmph," he hmphed. "You'd better get your sleep now," he grumbled.
I turned to him, confused by his manner. "You don't think he believed I am not Giselle?"
Farkas tilted his head uncertainly. "Can't be sure of what he believes, but he doesn't want us here. So, get your sleep while you can, hey?" he nodded to the bed beyond me.
Sighing – of course Giselle was going to continue to crop up in my life no matter where I roamed to make it more difficult – I turned back to the bed and collapsed onto it on my front. "I still want you to tell me why you are really here," I mumbled into the covers.
It sounded as though Farkas laughed, though it was little more than a bark. His hands fell to my shoulder straps, and I felt him tugging my backpack off. "To make sure you don't die."
"Ugh, get off," I pushed myself up, shrugging off my pack and bow for myself. "I'm not a child," I muttered to him as I placed both on top of the chest of draws opposite.
"Doesn't mean you can't die," he took a step back. I could feel that his eyes were still expectantly on me.
I refused to meet his gaze as I slipped out of my boots. "Farkas," I started quietly, fumbling with the tiny chain links that secured my left boot to my leg. "I am glad you are here," I felt compelled to say, though I knew that he would have been able to sense as much. "But you should never have come. I am the Dragonborn that Akatosh chose for Skyrim, whether you believe me capable of completing whatever that means I must do, or not."
Finally meeting his eyes at this last, I saw more confusion in his silvery depths. "Why do you think everything is about being Dragonborn?" the corner of his mouth turned down as he spoke. "You swore an oath to Kodlak that you are a Companion, didn't you?" he asked in a drawl.
I rolled my eyes as I looked back down to focus on removing my other boot. That was how he, and Vilkas and Lydia, were going to justify his presence?
"Don't roll your eyes," he shook his head, almost chuckling in response. "C'mon, Celeste – a promise you made by choice has got to mean more than some otherworldly skills that the Divines pushed onto you without your consent."
I said nothing as I tugged off my armour, and didn't miss how he chose his words. Of course he was referring to their curse, as much as he was mine, if being Dragonborn could even be likened to a curse. When I was done, I flopped back onto the bed in the tunic and leggings I'd worn underneath, to stare at the ceiling. I said nothing while my mind ticked over his – their – reasoning. Farkas didn't expect me to turn around and go back to Whiterun with him. He had already told me – in his way – that he was going to stay with me, for the long haul – however long that ended up being, and whatever that time required of me – of him.
With the weight of Alvor's death fresh in my mind, it was not difficult to understand that my frustration, and discomfort at his appearance, stemmed from the responsibility that I felt toward my friends, and the keen losses we had endured while I had been busy with other tasks. I feared that despite Farkas' experience and stature, and yes despite his presence more than tripling my chances of survival; if he remained with me on wherever this Dragonborn journey led me, he might die if I made a wrong choice somewhere along the way.
I couldn't bare it. The prospect of losing him – particularly as travelling to Ysgramor's tomb was out of the question for the time being – clenched at my heart like a vice. If Farkas died, his soul would be condemned to Hircine's realm; a fate that I knew the twins feared. If Farkas died while accompanying me, Vilkas would never forgive me for losing him, or himself for making him follow me.
Farkas shifted in the corner of my eye, back toward the table at the end of the room. "Vilkas...told me to ask you something," he murmured, more quiet and hesitant than before.
Arching my back and turning my head around on the bed so I could see him, though his form was upside-down from where I lay, I waited for him to continue. What had he picked up from me? Had he sensed that I had been thinking about his brother, or about their curse and what it meant if they died before I was able to free them?
Farkas eased down onto one of the chairs by the table; the wood creaked in protest under his bulk. "He asks if you can bring me with you...for him. Because," he sighed, shaking his head with a bit of a bemused smile as he settled against the back of the chair and crossed his arms. "Because being with you will make it easier for me too, you know? That's what he asks you to do."
I regarded him for a moment, but his eyes were on the floorboards between us. Vilkas had sent Farkas so that he could protect me, and so that I in turn could appease his wolf. Of course he had. There was always more to Vilkas' schemes than met the eye. It was never, as he was wont to remind me constantly, all about me.
Eventually, I had to reply. "And what about your brother's struggle, with his wolf? Is he to endure it alone, while you find your peace?" I asked quietly.
I felt wretched and cruel as soon as I had uttered the words, for while Farkas half-shrugged, he seemed quite uncertain when he spoke. "He said..." he faltered. The large Nord shifted in his seat as though he was uncomfortable sitting, and the flicker of sadness that crossed his face made him seem smaller and younger than he was.
The urge to hug him coursed through me, but I didn't give into it as Farkas found his voice.
"Vilkas said that...knowing you were alive was enough for him. Said that was how it worked, when he went to Falkreath."
I could have argued the point with him. I could have reminded him that Vilkas had no idea of how my influence over their werewolves worked – none of us did, for that matter. I could have reminded him of what Vilkas had told me about their journey to Ysgramor's tomb; about how his wolf had tormented him, the further he had walked away from me.
But I couldn't do it to him, I realised. Farkas trusted his brother's judgement – no, he relied upon Vilkas' word; Vilkas' confidence. And I would be a beast to take that from him.
I found myself nodding as I relaxed and turned back to face the ceiling once more. "Okay," I murmured, through a quiet yawn. "Thank you, shield-brother. I am glad that we will be able to help each other, in the days to come. I am only sorry that Vilkas can't be with us."
The simple act of accepting his company seemed to unknot some deep-seated despair that I hadn't realised I'd been carrying, and as though they had been waiting for this moment, my eyes gratefully slid shut.
Farkas murmured something by way of reply about somebody needing to be Harbinger, but I barely heard it as I sank into unconsciousness.
–
Farkas let me sleep for most of the day, and when he begrudgingly woke me late afternoon to sheepishly ask what I wanted to do, I told him that we had better stay on at the Vilemyr until morning.
"I don't think it would be wise for anybody to climb the seven-thousand steps in the dark," I murmured blearily as I sat up and reached for my boots. "Whether the Greybeards have summoned them or not," I added in a murmur.
"Stay here. You should sleep some more," he pushed past me, making for the door. "I'll get us some food-"
"No, I'm all right," I insisted, yawning as I eased one foot into the leather. "I'm rested. I'll come with you."
Farkas was quiet, but when I glanced up to him through my tousled hair, I saw that he wore a worried frown.
"That Wilhelm won't be happy to see you again."
I tugged my boots tight and stood; the last of my lingering weariness vanishing as anger flashed through me. "I will not hide in this room because of something my sister did. Wait for me – please," I insisted, tight-lipped.
I could feel Farkas watching me closely as I dug around in my bag and extracted a plain, warm, knee-length tunic. I threw it on over my undershirt, but he said nothing and did as I asked, and waited for me to be ready.
Tugging my fingers through my hair in an attempt to untangle it, then shoving it back from my face into a hasty ponytail that I secured with a strip of leather, I grasped my coin purse in my fist and nodded toward the door. "Let's go."
Farkas sighed as I shifted past him. "Whatever you think is best," he drawled uncertainly.
I couldn't hear my footfalls as we walked toward the common room; the inn was a mite busier than when we had first come upon it that morning. Interspersed between the rumble of conversation, the clank of tankards and cutlery, and the crackle of hearth fire, came a strain of lute music, and a sweet, soft melody.
"Oh minotaur, oh minotaur, A beast of rage and ignoble glaring. Oh minotaur, oh minotaur, None can deny your noble bearing."
I smiled and wrinkled my nose at the bard's choice of song – Ode to Minotaur was more often sung by children than trained bards; it was exceedingly plain.
Perhaps it was not her choice at all, I offered. A tavern bard was at the mercy of their audience, of course, and often could not simply sing as they liked. I had been spoiled with the Companions, with regards to my own performances.
Farkas and I entered the common room and the sounds became clearer and louder all at once. The publican's eyes rested on me, but then his gaze hastily darted away and across the room from the bar he stood behind.
My shield-brother sighed, obviously having seen or sensed the reaction, and pushed past me, making directly for Wilhelm. "I'll go order something, and pay him for another night," he grumbled. "You find us a seat, hmm?"
I nodded, feeling perplexed, but let him go. We didn't need to pay Wilhelm any more for the room – we had not spent a single night in it yet – but if money would ease the discomfort caused by whatever my sister had done, it was a price worth paying.
Drifting to a seat close to the hearth, for despite my added layer, I felt a little cold, I settled into a chair around an empty table, and glanced around the inn idly, vaguely interested by the types of people it attracted.
They all appeared to be locals. There was a group of miners at the table opposite the hearth; the six had clearly finished work for the day, and were deep in their cups and a friendly card game. A tall Nord woman and a thin Bosmer male sat at the next table, agonising over something, from the looks of their expressions. I crossed my brows at them, glancing toward the bard at the end of the room as she wound the Minotaur song to its close. She was a very pretty Nord woman with short, honey-blonde curls brushed back from her face, wearing a white shirt that gathered over her shoulders to leave them exposed, and a rather demure, dark brown skirt and sensible boots. I couldn't reason her costume; was she going for sensual, or coy refinement? She seemed to exhibit an odd mixture of both, but then, perhaps she had been resident in the Vilemyr for long enough to understand how to get the most out of her regular customers.
Three more miners were seated at the table closest to her; their eyes raking over her as they nodded and clapped. The bard smiled at them and lowered her eyes in appreciation. One of their party, an Orc, rose and slipped her a coin, muttering something to her as he did – doubtlessly their next request.
Though the bard intrigued me, for it was always interesting to see how others of my profession operated, I dragged my eyes away from her. At the table closest to the one I had sat at was young woman about my age who was taking dinner with another woman who looked old enough to be her mother. There was little conversation between them. The young woman had an air of defeat about her, and her doe-eyes drifted sadly to the door every now and then, as though she hoped somebody would join them, but understood that they never might.
So many lives and stories, I mused, all existing outside of the dragons, and the war.
My musings were cut off suddenly as the bard struck up the much-hated opening chords of Ragnar the Red, in what I had to admit was an amateurish vein. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth in an attempt to block out the loathed tune, I startled as Farkas thumped noisily into the chair beside me.
"Here," he pushed a cup of wine toward me, then placed a tankard three times its size of what smelled like cheap ale down in front of himself. "You don't have to drink it, if you don't want to," he shrugged. "Food's on its way," he added, crossing his brows a little at me.
I had just been staring at him. "Oh. I mean, thank you," I shook myself out of my stupor – my mind had still been focussed on fazing out Ragnar. I offered him a small smile. "Did you manage to appease the worrisome Wilhelm?" I whispered as I wrapped my fingers around the cup and brought it closer. I would take a sip, since he had gone to the trouble of ordering it for me.
Farkas half-shrugged. "For now, I think."
Without ceremony, he gulped down what looked like half of his ale in one chug. I watched him in vague bemusement; though I had seen him do this before in the mead hall, the sight never failed to astonish me. Why anyone would want to drink anything so quickly baffled me, but the mechanics of the action were just as perplexing.
When he lowered his tankard, he glanced toward the bard, who was still in the process of murdering Ragnar. "Haven't heard that one for a while," his eyes drifted back to me. "How come you never sing it for us?"
Brought at once back to the song, I groaned and leaned down, thunking my head against the table top. "Because some songs deserve to die and be forgotten," I said through my teeth.
Farkas laughed. When I lifted my head to observe him again, for I had expected him to say something more, he was still grinning and about to take another drink.
This is Farkas, I reminded myself pointedly. He would not speak for the sake of it. Just watching him contentedly drinking his ale opposite me left me feeling somewhat separated from myself, as though I had stepped out of my reality and into some surreal alternative where I didn't have to leave those I loved to complete whatever the Divines had in store for me.
Despite all that had passed and all that was ahead us, he seemed so...so happy. Kodlak had written of Farkas' tendency to neither dwell on the past nor worry about the future, and at the time of reading, I had wondered if it would be to his detriment, for how could one grow if there was no learning from one's mistakes, or goals to push one forward?
But here and now, he seemed so calm and in control of his life, his world, and even his beast. Perhaps there were some life lessons I could learn from Farkas; lessons that would help me to bear the enormity of the task ahead.
Vilkas' doing, my mind chimed in pointedly. I sighed a laugh and realised it had to be the case, as mercifully, the final notes of Ragnar were strummed.
Farkas' eyes travelled from the bard's station to me again; his brows furrowing as he met my eyes. "Do I have something on my face?"
The innocent way in which he asked made me grin, and I sat up a little straighter. "Well, sure, your makeup is running a bit around your eyes, but-"
"Makeup?" he choked out. "This is warpaint, sister."
Shrugging smugly, I glanced away and observed as one of the three miners requested another song. "Kohl is kohl, brother," I murmured loftily, just as Wilhelm arrived bearing two plates of food.
The publican dipped his head uncertainly toward me in greeting, but said nothing as he put our dinners in front of us; small bowls of some kind of stew, roasted chicken and grilled leeks. "You be needing another mug of that, sir?" he glanced towards Farkas' tankard.
"It's Farkas," he told the publican, dragging his slightly narrowed eyes from me.
I laughed quietly at my food, unable to suppress my glee at getting some payback for his smelling of Hadvar comment from earlier.
"And yeah," he added as he gulped down the last of his first drink. "Keep 'em coming. This might be the last ale I see for a while."
Wilhelm collected his empty tankard and stood tall as he turned back to me. "Is the wine not to your tastes, Lady Dragonborn? I have other vintages in the cellar that might-"
"Please. Call me Celeste," I was still smiling cheekily when I regarded the publican. "And the red is perfectly to my tastes," I told him. I hadn't tried it yet, but didn't want to cause him any trouble. "But I'm afraid I can't keep my shield-brother's pace," I flickered a smirk Farkas' way.
"You don't try hard enough, milk drinker," Farkas mumbled under his breath through a narrow-eyed smirk of his own.
I rolled my eyes at him as I turned back to Wilhelm. The publican was frowning at me still, but I felt it was more a tilt of confusion, than the wary uncertainty he had worn until now. The thought that I wasn't behaving as he expected of me, or rather, of my sister, made me inexplicably happy.
"Shield-brother, you say? So...you're a Companion, Lady Dragonborn?" his eyes flickered over me swiftly.
I nodded as my smile persisted. A grandiose reply wound its way out of my lips. "Companion of Jorrvaskr, Thane of Whiterun, and bard of the College of Solitude at your service," I told him.
"And the Dragonborn," Farkas added dryly through a half-smile. "You forgot that one."
Wilhelm didn't seem to hear him as his gaze momentarily drifted across the common room. "A bard as well, hmm?" he murmured thoughtfully, crossing his arms as his eyes lingered on his own bard.
I was somewhat surprised that he made nothing of my being Thane of a Hold, but it would have been haughty of me to say it again. Instead, I settled for widening my eyes at Farkas pointedly.
"You really are a different woman, aren't you?" Wilhelm shook his head as he turned, but not toward the bar. Instead, he sauntered toward his resident songstress.
I watched him leave with some amusement as Farkas tucked into his dinner. Duly reminded that a plate of perfectly good hot food was before me, I took up my spoon as my smile persisted.
My brightness of mood was Farkas' doing; of this I was certain. Had I been alone with only my thoughts for company, I might have retreated into my loneliness and grief, and already commenced my ascent to the Greybeards in the cold dead of night, mourning Alvor's loss, keenly feeling Hadvar's absence, and certain that I was not adequate for the task ahead. But with my shield-brother by my side to both lend me perspective, and make me keep going, I had the sudden thought that...well, maybe I could do this?
Maybe I could be the Dragonborn that Skyrim deserved?
Wilhelm wandered by us again, making for the bar this time, and his bard struck up a tune that I didn't recognise. I ate and listened, intrigued as the simple notes travelled around the room, warming it.
Then she sung: "Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart; I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes."
I choked on my food and spun around to face the bard in incredulity. Her head was downturned; she was focussed on her hands as they drifted across the frets and plucked the strings, as though she was still in the process of learning the tune for herself.
"With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts; Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes."
"Gods," I turned back swiftly, staring at my meal as my eyes widened and cheeks flamed. There was a new song being sung in taverns, about the Dragonborn. A song about...me. Had this bard written it, or was it already in circulation at other inns as well?
"Oh, I like this bard," Farkas' chuckles resounded between my ears. "We've gotta remember this one for the mead hall. You could sing it, right?" he grinned wolfishly at me.
Grasping hold of my wine cup, I took a gulp and sent him a withering look.
–
As it eventuated, the bard was the Lynly that my sister had somehow frightened. Lynly sang on tirelessly throughout the night, interspersing the requests of the miners near her with songs about the Dragonborn, including the legends, the current strife, and deeds that I was yet to achieve.
But as the night wound on, I found myself relaxing, despite being lumped as the hero Lynly's songs painted. I had to admit; the wine helped to this end, and also allowed me to enjoy the night for what it was, rather than think about what was to come.
Farkas must have seen or felt the change in me and understood how it had been possible, for he asked Wilhelm to bring the rest of the bottle for me, and then another when I had eventually finished it. Rather uncharacteristically, I allowed it, and told him that it was possibly the best idea he had had all day.
By the time the common room closed up for the night and Lynly had sung her last song, I had spent a very merry evening with my shield-brother, and was blissfully warm and fuzzy, giggling as I refuted Farkas' claims that I was drunk. I let him tow me to our room, where I crashed down onto the bed fully clothed, and sank into a black, dreamless sleep; at that moment, without a care in the world.
I woke with a dry mouth and a thumping headache, and when my vision cleared I was able to focus on the low buzz of Farkas' morning greeting and a meaty fist holding a water skin in my line of sight. Looking further up through my messy curls, I saw my shield-brother looking down at me with the corner of his mouth turned up in a knowing smirk.
"Drink," he insisted, reaffirming his offering. "We need to get moving."
Groaning, I sat up, and my stomach churned threateningly. I took hold of the water skin, but only took a couple of small mouthfuls. "Oh Gods, Farkas," I croaked, clutching my belly as I blindly passed the water back to him. "What have I done?"
Farkas chuckled as he took it. "First hangover?"
I palmed my eyes and begged my nausea to abate; I had to climb mountains today. "This is not a hangover – I'm going to die," I moaned. "The Dragonborn is dead."
"You're not going to die," Farkas scoffed. The bed creaked and shifted, and I glanced through my hair to see that he'd sat on the edge. My pack was on his lap, and he was rifling through it.
I watched and wondered what he was looking for, but didn't open my mouth in case my stomach took its chance to vacate its contents.
When he pulled a couple of red bottles out of my bag, my eyes widened and I leapt toward him, grasping desperately for them. In part, I regretted the sudden movement at once, but my need for a potion outweighed everything else.
Farkas held the bottles up and out of reach as he fended me off with his free hand. "Sit down – I don't want your sick all over me."
Once I had obeyed he relinquished the potions. I drank greedily, ignoring the foul taste for once. They would fix everything.
"Go easy, all right?" he rose, moving toward the table by the window. "You might need some of those, on the road."
I nodded quickly as I upended the second potion and swallowed the thick, bitter liquid, watching my shield-brother as he took a seat. He was dressed in his armour – though I doubted that he had undressed, for he wouldn't have slept – and his pack was on the table top, closed up next to his swords. He was ready to go.
Feeling guilty, for many reasons, I pushed myself off the bed. Yes, I had experienced a ridiculous number of highs and lows and all manner of stress in between over the past few days, and yes, Lynly's songs about the Dragonborn had made me uneasy at first, but I shouldn't have kept drinking the way that I had.
Can't change it now, I told myself as I steadied myself on my feet. Best get on with your day.
Gratefully, my head didn't explode when I took a step toward my armour. "Don't ever let me drink that much again, okay?" I murmured as I chucked off the thicker tunic, and wiggled my tasset up over my hips.
I could hear the grin in Farkas' reply. "Can't promise you that, sister. You are really funny when you're drunk."
Flushing as I tugged the chestpiece over my head, I flickered him a wary glance. "I am?"
"Mm hmm. Some people get angry when they drink, but you get all...floaty, and relaxed," he waved his hand toward me. "And talkative," he added with a laugh. "Wow," he shook his head in reflection. "I thought you talked a lot before."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," I murmured as I pushed my hair back and rapidly braided it. "I don't think I want to know what I said," I added.
Farkas and I left the room soon after, and while my shield-brother still wore a rather smug look on his face, he said no more on what I had said and done the previous night.
After bidding farewell to Wilhelm, who seemed to be in a much better mood that morning, we stepped out into the fresh, crisp morning. As the cool air fanned my cheeks, it managed to somehow slough off the last of what Farkas had assured me was my first hangover.
I faced the beautiful, clear day, closing my eyes and breathing in a deep breath of sweet, cold air. It wasn't as though I had ever been able to keep any secrets from my shield-brothers, not really; they seemed to know more about my desires and needs than I did, at times. Whatever I had said to Farkas the previous night – and it was odd to acknowledge that I had no memory of it – he probably already knew the whole intrinsically, as it was.
My shield-brother and I walked down the main street past the small farms and shops, all of which showed signs of activity. The people of Invarstead got to work early, it seemed. I recognised a few faces I had seen at the inn the night before, though everybody was too busy to pay us any mind.
My small smile faltered as Farkas and I approached the stone bridge that led out of Invarstead, towards a snaking mountain path that would lead us up to the Greybeards. Stepping onto a different bridge in Riverwood with Hadvar had changed the course of my life. Crossing this bridge now before me would change it again.
Because when I crossed this bridge, my commitment to my Dragonborn duties would be real. I felt a little stupid for thinking it, because I had left Hadvar and his family, already determined to do what was right. But travelling towards High Hrothgar with the best intentions, and actually treading the seven-thousand steps, were two very different matters.
"Second thoughts?" Farkas asked in his low tones.
I blinked, glancing toward him, and realised that I had come to a halt. One more step, and my boot would meet not packed earth and gravel, but the solid stonework of the bridge that led toward a fate I could barely fathom.
Don't fathom it, I internally encouraged. Remember your vow. Protect those you love, and think of nothing more.
"No," resolutely, because I would feign resolution even if I was wracked with uncertainty, I shook my head in answer to Farkas' question. "Merely...saying good bye," I took a deep breath.
I don't like good byes.
My heart twisted and I blinked back tears as my mind, my heart flew to Riverwood; yearning to be there by Hadvar's side instead of here. I wanted to help him and his family through their grief, but ached at the possibility that my presence might have made coping with Alvor's loss more difficult for Sigrid and Dorthe.
"This isn't good bye," there was a crunch as Farkas' boot pushed off the gravel, and then a more solid thud as he stepped onto the stone bridge before me. "C'mon. One step at a time, sister," he murmured kindly. "I'm with you, all the way."
Nodding shallowly, I took a fortifying breath and stepped onto the bridge to join my shield-brother, and face my destiny.