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Estrid felt the comfortable warmth of a soft bed and soft sheets about her as she slumbered. The most pleasant feeling of half-remembered mornings suffusing her with a sense of peace she hadn't felt in years. And then as if in mockery of the half-thought that had stirred within her mind a cool breeze tugged her a touch further towards wakefulness. Just far enough for the soft sheets to be replaced with hard metal, though the warmth that suffused her did not flee nearly so swiftly.
Still, the sensation dragged her eyelids open to see beams of sunlight falling through a shroud of unfamiliar red leaves upon white branches far above her head. She drew in a deep breath of cool air through the vertical slit of her helmet. It smelled of wood, moss, and earth. The smells of a forest. Her brows pinched above her forehead as she tried to remember how she found herself here and came up with nothing. A tug of her gut told her that she had been doing something incredibly import…
"Alduin!" She roared to herself in a mixture of fear and shock that drove the warmth from her limbs even as said limbs lept upright. Fear of failure, and shock that she could have trouble remembering something so important.She had been fighting Alduin! The battle to decide the fate of Nirn! She cast her gaze about in confusion as one of her hands grasped at her side, finding the hilt of her sword in its sheath and gripping it tightly.
This was not Sovngarde. She found herself in the center of a large grove, surrounded by towering trees white as birch with leaves of a vibrant red in a shape similar to that of maples. At head height of each massive tree was carved an equally large face, some smiling in pure joy, others pinched in pain or anger and some seeming to weep red sap in sorrow. All of them appeared to be watching her as she spun in a circle beneath them.
"What…" She trailed off in confusion. She was alive, that much was certain. Or if she was dead she was not in Sovngarde, as she had seen no such tree's there and the air did not thrum with the power of Aetherius here. It felt fresh and clear, some of the purest air she had ever tasted of, but Aetherius was the realm of magic and creation itself and the air was both intoxicating and invigorating in ways nothing in the land of mortals could match.
And if she was alive, in the land of mortals, breathing mortal air, then surely Alduin could not have succeeded… Suddenly she felt a flash of memory that doubled her over, of her sword buried near to the hilt in the eye of a black dragon as her body screamed in protest. An echo of broken ribs, stone grinding against bone in her leg, and a shoulder pulled from its socket, then just as quickly it was gone, but the memory itself lingered.
Estrid looked down to assess herself quickly. Where she had felt the pain in her leg only her whole ebony greave met her sight, her breastplate that should have been dented and scarred by a thousand blows incurred in the time she had worn it was unmarred and gleaming, light shining over a rippling inky blackness darker than the day it had been forged . A quick stretch of her torso held none of the pain of broken ribs, nor did a roll of her shoulders elicit any pain at all.
"What in Oblivion…" She trailed off again, none of this made any sense. How was she whole? Where was she? What happened with Alduin? Had Tsun sent her here? Shor himself? Kyne the wind-mother of the sky? When, Where, How, Why, What. So many questions, and so few with apparent answers that it made her head ache. She reached to her chin and unbuckled her stylized ebony barbutte, pulling it off to loose her ruddy blonde braid that it might hang across her shoulder.
She lowered herself to her knees, much as the greybeards sat when they meditated, closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath of the pleasant air, and then another, and another until she lost count and her mind quieted. After a few minutes she opened her eyes again to more closely examine her surroundings. 'Maybe Valenwood. Never heard of tree's like this before, but that's the province of weird trees.' She thought, before another bubbling thought suggested it could be Black-Marsh and they could be Hist trees. But Blackmarsh was supposed to be dreary, and swampy, where this place was nothing like that.
She was startled from her thoughts by the flapping of wings and a loud, "Caw!" behind her. She spun to her feet, finding a large crow perched in the lower branches of one of the white trees. It was watching her with one beady eye that spoke of intelligence beyond what a simple animal should possess. It gave Estrid an uneasy feeling, but she discounted it. She cast one more look about her. Wherever she was, this was obviously either a sacred, or sacrilegious place. The kind of place one might find themselves beset by Spriggans if they tarried too long..
"Wait! I remember trees like this… the Eldergleam! The tree of Kyne!" She stated loudly to herself, though after a moment she did have to admit the tree's weren't identical. That one's bark had been a pale brown, not stark white. Still, they bore an uncanny resemblance. It couldn't be a coincidence that she would find herself surrounded by such trees could it? As far as she knew the only other trees like it had been the Gildergreen, whose shade she had rested in as a child, and the sapling she had helped plant after it had been killed by lightning. There had to be two dozen about her now, all as large or larger than the one at the heart of Whiterun had been, though far from as large as the Eldergleam itself.
She took another deep breath to forestall the nearly renewed tide of questions from spewing forth. She was alive, whole, and apparently guided by Kyne, Mother of the Nords, and wife of Shor. That should be enough. Though she could still use guidance, some manner of direction…
"You wouldn't happen to know where I am supposed to go, would you? She said, turning back towards the only animal she had seen, the oddly intelligent crow. Birds were children of the Sky-mother as much as Nords after all. Surely she had sent it to guide her… though she was most commonly associated with hawks, not crows, carrion birds that they were.
"Caw! Caw!" it replied. It continued to squawk as it took wing and circled about her before passing from the grove through a larger than normal gap between the trees. 'Good enough for me.' She thought as she draped her braid across her crown and pulled her helmet back on to follow it into a forest proper. After a moment she hesitated, her shield hand closing on air as she noticed its absence. Another glance showed no shield to be found however, and another caw from the bird spurred her to follow it.
As she exited the grove she was greeted by green leafed trees rather than more red ones, grown thickly together and wild. The Crow kept its distance, flying from one bough to the next and then waiting for her catch up, only to fly onwards when she neared. Occasionally she would lose sight of the bird, and when that happened it would start cawing incessantly until she found it again. The temptation for a sarcastic remark was quashed by her respect for the goddess. It wouldn't do to scorn one's savior after all.
After what must have been more than an hour of following the bird through the forest it began to thin, and she quickly found herself along a breathtakingly beautiful shore of gleaming sand above crystalline blue-green waters. It reminded her of Lake Ilinalta in Falkreath, though the trees were not pine as they were there. Perhaps more like Lake Geir, near Ivarstead, though this expanse was so wide she couldn't see the far shore. She knew that it was a lake, she would have smelled the scent of the sea long before she had stumbled across the body of water. This had to be fresh.
"Caw!" The bird crowed again, from its roost on a small tree that overhung the waters before taking flight, circling her head, just out of reach and then flying above the lake towards the far shore. 'Hmm…' Estrid cast her gaze about the shoreline, but found no sign of a boat. Such things might be inconsequential for goddesses, but most mortals needed a form of transportation to cross large bodies of water, especially mortals wearing the weight of a child in metallic armor that had a tendency to sink.
Still, The Dragonborn was not most mortals. After ascertaining there was indeed no conventional means of transiting the expanse of water before her she reached into her pack with a sigh. 'I hate doing this..' She thought to herself as she pulled out a shimmering silver and sapphire ring. The small gemstone was fashioned in the shape of a raindrop, while the silver of the band itself seemed to ripple with a faint yellow light if she concentrated on it. She unbuckled the lobstered ebony over black leather of her left gauntlet, exposing her bare hand long enough for her to slip the small ring onto her middle finger. She pulled the gauntlet back on and tightened it to her arm before taking a bracing breath and walking out onto the water.
Thank the Divines the wind was calm and there were no waves breaking against the shore as she strode slowly and purposefully out onto the water. The enchantment would save her from drowning, but walking on water was still a risky business. It was slick as ice, but unlike ice it moved. Trying to walk on a wave was an indescribably terrifying experience. As if the ground itself were trying to cast one off. The enchantment made water impermeable to a person, which also meant if one were struck by a wave it would be like running into the wall of a crumbling castle and being buried under falling rubble.
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Slowly and purposefully she plodded along across the glassy surface of the lake, following the damnable black bird overhead. The sun had been high overhead when she had begun her march, it had been perhaps midday. After a few hours had passed she was telling herself how stupid an idea this had been, following a bird out onto a lake that she couldn't see the end of. She had stopped when the green shore she had left was almost faded behind her but the damnable crow had circled around her head cawing until she resumed marching to its direction.
If Kyne had brought her here she could have deposited her anywhere, and not needed a damn bird to show her the way. It was certainly not a normal bird, but that didn't mean it was a friendly bird either. Still, her sinking gut was ameliorated somewhat when she began to see smoke on the featureless horizon. Smoke meant fire, which meant land. So the crow wasn't leading her to a certain watery grave... that the didn't mean it wasn't leading her to her grave though..
The Sun was closer to the ground than the peak of the sky when she finally caught sight of land ahead. A faint green smudge that resolved itself into trees as she grew closer, a forest behind a village of white buildings that hugged the shore, where the lake fed into a river. On a small hill above the village a lone pale tower stood, reaching to the height of the trees. At the center of the town walls twice the height of a man marked a fort. Still, the village unsettled Estrid somewhat. The smoke came from further west, on the other side of the river, none came from the village itself, nor were there any boats about fishing the waters. In fact there was no sign of people at all. 'Abandoned? Why?'
She increased her pace from a purposeful walk to a plodding jog, years of experience with Skyrim's winters allowing her to move across the slick surface of the lake with reasonable sure-footedness. And she was damn thirsty. One couldn't drink when under the effect of a water-walking enchantment. Well, one could, but it wouldn't do anything pleasant.
As she approached she took note of the empty docks and a large building built on piles overhanging the water, much like some of the buildings in Riften were. Still there was not a soul to be seen, though she did catch a glimpse of some animals wandering about, and none of the buildings were particularly worn down. If the town was abandoned, it happened recently. Perhaps something to do with the smoke she had seen? A wildfire? A war? But beyond any other question, 'Where am I!' reverberated most loudly within her skull.
"Hello?" She called when she finally set foot on the shore, already pulling her left gauntlet off to remove the damnable ring. Not a single sound answered her call. Pursing her lips she realized that she hadn't heard a peep from the crow since she had spotted the village. A glance about and the bird was nowhere to be seen. "Damn bird." she muttered to herself as she slipped the ring in her pack, pulled her other gauntlet off, and doffed her helmet. She settled the metal on the ground as she kneeled next to the lake to draw a handful of water.
She sucked down one handful and then another before splashing some of the water over her face. It was warm and refreshing after her long walk. She waited for the waters to still again so she could see herself. When they did she started back, hands reaching for the scar she had long borne below her right eye. They found nothing but smooth skin, to match what she had seen in the waters. She quickly flipped her hands and found them also bare of the scars she had earned in her life as a warrior. There was not a mark on her to suggest she had ever been injured by anything. 'Are they all gone?' she wondered to herself. It could be a blessing, could be a curse. Scars marked the worth of a warrior's battles, to see them all gone, it was like she had never lived at all. And yet it was also as if life had never marred her, Divines knew there were battles she wished to forget…
Perturbed, she stood, gathered her armor and backed away from the lake. It was evening now, perhaps a single hand left of light. The village had no shortage of options for shelter, but she still had no idea why the people had fled. She pulled her gauntlets back on and hooked her helmet on the pommel of her sword before resting a hand on it. She made her way to the inn overhanging the lake, for the wooden sign bearing a painting of a mug could only mean that it was, and wrapped on the door. No one answered so she pushed lightly and the door swung open gently. The hinges were not rusted. Whomever had left had done so very recently. No more than a moon past judging by the lack of dust on the empty tables and benches of the building.
A saunter behind the bar revealed many of the bottles to be missing. Many, but not all. Estrid grabbed one and opened it, a sniff proving it to be some manner of alcohol. Probably not a prime vintage considering it was left behind, but if it could be drunk it would do. The larder was a treasure to her the moment she opened it. It too had been combed over, but the innkeep had obviously prioritized his liquor stock over his foodstock, as she greedily began to gnaw on the salted jerky she had found. It wasn't the best she had ever had, but it was a blessing after her long walk.
She had thought of leaving a few septims behind, but like as not the place would be looted again anyway, and the coin stolen. 'Maybe that's where all the coin in abandoned places come from.' she thought idly, foolish adventurers who felt bad for their looting, or perhaps paid it as penance to the Gods.
Her explorations next took her to the fort at the center of the town. The walls were perhaps ten feet tall, and rough. More rough than many of the abandoned forts in Skyrim. A small postern gate stood open to her as she walked inside to find a large courtyard with a big open faced barn to one side and a sturdy low structure along the other to serve as a shelter. The walls were perhaps half a man's height thick, but a wooden causeway twice that in width was built along the interior at a level to the top of her head. This place might be enough to shelter from bandits, but it wouldn't withstand a proper siege. Across from her postern stood the main gate, a pair of great oaken doors eight feet tall and banded with metal.
It was equally as abandoned as the rest of the town had been, but she could bar the gates and shelter in the barn if need be. Though she wasn't particularly tired. Her enchanted necklace saw to that. Her shieldbrothers and sisters had scorned enchantments, but she could run all day and stand watch half the night. She could train well past when others would have dropped from exhaustion. Sometimes they saw only the glory of the battle, but when the fate of the world hung on you, winning the war was just as important as a glorious and worthy death. Besides, they had their own unnatural sources of endurance… pointing that out to Aela had led to quite the argument.
She shook her head, she could think of home once she found out where she actually was. Which would be easiest if she could find someone to tell her. She climbed a set of wooden steps to the top of the wall and took another look about the village. It was a fairly sizable town. Perhaps a bit bigger than Ivarstead. Big enough to have its own Land-Thane if nothing else. And nobility always wanted to look down, no matter who they were or where they came from… her gaze turned to the tower on its small hill to what the low hung sun told her was west. She vaulted the wall and landed with easy grace as the metal of her armor clacked about her.
A few minutes later she was standing at the tower's base. It was the spitting image of the watchtowers of her homeland, except in white, and the door was on the second level rather than at the base, with a sturdy oaken ladder propped up against the stonework to provide access. It was also far better maintained than the crumbling masonry that was the central fort of the town. Nobody would be able to climb this tower as if it were a rock face.
She was pulled from her examination by the sound of hooves. Someone was approaching on horseback at a canter. Estrid deftly plucked her helmet from her pommel and strapped it back to her head. She leaned easily back against the base of the tower while she waited for the source of the hoofbeats to make itself known.
She didn't have to wait long before a lone horseman appeared from the whitewashed buildings. He was dressed all in black, though time had faded the clothing to the edge of grey. His thick, matted beard and long hair were an even darker shade. Ten years past they might have matched his clothes. He slowed when he saw her standing there. He was stooped somewhat in the saddle, one shoulder lower than the other. Over his clothes he wore a shirt of blackened maille and at his waist hung a sword and dagger.
"You one of the lord's?" he asked with a nod towards the tower. His was a foriegn tongue, that much she could tell, but she knew it as she knew all but the divine languages. His eyes were hard and deep-set in his lined and none-too pretty face, while his voice was deep and raspy. His teeth were stained dark from some manner of chewing-leaf that gave him an even more grotesque look when he spoke.
"No, I'm just a lost traveler looking for directions, but nobody seems to be home." she answered in the language he had spoken, as she motioned with her own head towards the tower. "You?"
The man spat a gob of something to the side while watching her with his dark eyes. He seemed to consider for a long moment before replying, "Yoren, of the Night's Watch. Taking a band o' recruits to The Wall."
Estrid narrowed her brows. She'd never heard of any 'Night's Watch' before. Nor any particular place called 'The Wall.'. The Redorans in Solstheim had a large wall that they called 'The Bulwark' to protect against Ash Spawn. She supposed this man's wall could be something similar.
"You wouldn't happen to have a map would you? I fear I'm quite lost." She said, as she reached up to remove her helmet now that she was fairly certain she wasn't about to be attacked. At least not immediately. When her eyes rose to meet the man's again his had narrowed. He shifted in his saddle, casting a glance over his twisted shoulder to look down the path he had come before turning to face her again.
"You checked the tower yet?"
"No, I was just about to when I heard you coming. I decided to wait." she replied matter of factly, watching him as he slowly chewed his leaf before he dismounted and approached the ladder himself, no longer watching her. She noticed that he was nearly a head shorter than her when he cast a glance her way before he started to climb, though the shoulder that left him slightly stooped likely didn't do anything to help his height
"Best 'do it then, just in case." As he climbed the ladder she stood vigil at the bottom, watching for more men, while also casting glances up the tower where "Yoren" as he called himself had vanished into the structure. She could hear some muffled shouts from the town now. The man's recruits must have been searching it just as she had. Evidently this place wasn't supposed to be abandoned. Or they were bandits looking for a new lair and the man had been playing her.
She waited and watched as the fading sunlight raced up the side of the tower, leaving the town proper wreathed in shadows. It reminded her of abandoned towns in The Reach, inhabited only by Forsworn and their pet abominations. Or perhaps the Forsworn were merely pets of the abominations. Thinking of them made her blood burn. She shook her head firmly to rid herself of those thoughts, leading a few strands of hair to fall into her eyes. She swept them aside as the ladder beside her began to move. A glance up showed the black-clad man descending, a rolled up parchment in one of his hands.
"Nothing much of use. Here." he said gruffly, handing her the parchment. A quick unraveling however left her with no answers. It was too dark to clearly read it, though she could tell it was a map, and it didn't look at all familiar. She raised her head again at the sounds of the man heaving himself back onto his horse and heading off down the path he had come from. After a moment Estrid followed. Manners aside, he was the first person she had seen since she had woken up. She had questions. Besides, his men were searching the town. Better to be with him lest a search party stumble upon her and make a fatal mistake.
"If you're gonna follow me, might want to put that bucket o' yours back on." He said as she reached his side. "Safer that way."
"I'll be fine." She replied, matching pace with his horse as he headed for the center square, where the fort's decrepit walls stood in the gathering gloom. A grunt was his only reply. She saw others gathering about the gate, perhaps a dozen. Some were men, others only boys who had perhaps seen twelve namedays. Many of the men had a shiftiness about them that set her on edge, and more than one looked hungrily at her when they saw her face. She returned their stares with a hard one of her own and one by one they looked away. Ever since Helgen few had been able to meet her gaze without flinching.
"Nobody around, no horses or pigs. Saw some chickens though. Geren found a trap in the barn, he's following it now." One of the more decent looking men told Yoren as they approached. He had a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, with a large knife and horn on his belt. A hunter most likely.
Hmm, well catch some of the birds then, could do with some fresh meat. Urreg, go get the wagon's, we'll stay in the holdfast tonight." The wiry-haired man replied before leading the rest of the party toward the lakefront. She didn't like having them behind her where she couldn't watch them, but she kept her place beside Yoren. Her ears were pricked all the same for the first hint of anybody behind her trying anything.
They met another group of scouts at the waterfront. A stout older man, a well built younger man with a sword on his belt and his own helm hanging from it, and a trio of younger boys who gazed at her intently. She put her back to the wall of one of the white stone buildings, pulling the rest of Yoren's men back into her periphery as Yoren mentioned a war to be the likely cause for the empty town.
"The boats are gone." one of the young boys stated. "There's a rowboat with a rotted bottom." another countered. One of the men that had followed Yoren spoke up, suggesting they could patch it.
"Might do for four o' us." Their leader stated, contempt dripping with his words.
"There's nails, and trees all around, we could build us all boats." That was one of the younger boys. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the naivety. Nords had a healthy naval tradition dating all the way back to Ysgramor's day, but she had been raised in Whiterun and had no more idea on how to build a boat than a farmer would.
Yoren obviously had a more gim view of the world even if his thoughts followed the same vein. He spat another gob before replying scathingly, " You know anything 'bout boat building dyer's boy?"
"A raft. Anyone can build a raft, and long poles for pushing." the young man spoke up at last which gave Yoren pause. He had a deep voice for one so young, and was well built and tall for his age, standing only two hands shorter than her. Yoren reached up to stroke his black beard thoughtfully for a moment.
"Hmm, Lake's too deep to pole across, but if we stayed to the shallows near shore… It'd mean leaving the wagons. Might be that's best. I'll sleep on it." He decided at last, turning his horse toward what he had called a holdfast when one of the children interrupted.
"Can we stay at the inn?" Estrid wondered if it was the one she had visited earlier, and then her thoughts turned to the ale in her pack, and then further to the thought of food. A hand snaked down to grab another piece of jerky from her bag. She was pulled from her food-induced reverie by a near shout from one of the other young boys
"We shouldn't stay here! The people didn't. They all ran off, even their lord."
"Arry's scared." the one who had wanted to stay at the inn announced, laughing loudly. This particular naivety did not draw a smile to Estrid, instead a more forlorn feeling pulled at her stomach. The boy didn't know what true fear was, it seemed.
"I'm not. But they were.'' The boy named Arry shot back. It was hard to see in the dim light but it was fairly evident that he was glaring at the dyer's boy, as Yoren had called him.
"Smart boy," The grisly leader of this ragtag band replied, "Thing is, the folks who lived here were at war, like it or no. The Night's Watch takes no part, so no man's our enemy." That caused Estrid's gut to twist and her mouth opened before she could stop herself.
"The thing about being part of a neutral order of warriors, is you only stay neutral until somebody decides you aren't." Her comment was met with murmurs from the men who followed Yoren, one even stated, "she speaks!" loudly enough for her to hear.
Yoren had fixed her with his hard eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but a rotund boy who stood beside the dyer's boy spoke first. "You're just a woman, what would you know of war?" Estrid felt the blood drain from her face and ice shoot into her veins. To have a man question her in such a way would have resulted in blows, to have a fat little...
Her voice was deadly quiet when she replied, her eyes fixing the boy like a roasting pig on a spear. "I have seen more battles than you have years to your name, boy." The fat one seemed to quail under her gaze. In truth she had probably seen thrice as many battles as that, and a hundredfold skirmishes and brawls.
"Stop that, 'fore he pisses hisself. Get to the holdfast, all of you, we've work to do 'fore anyone gets any shut eye!" Yoren said loudly, finishing his horse's turn and marching the band of men down the street. Looking away from the boy with a shrug she followed the Night's Watchman. The town was almost pitch black now, with only a thin ribbon of pale blue clinging to the horizon. While her gaze was on the sky she noticed something that she had not noticed earlier. A glowing red streak seemed to hang suspended in the sky above, brighter than any star against the twilight. A moment later she was shocked into halting when she saw the moon. The Moon. Where was Secunda? And the moon that hung in the sky was far too small to be Masser for that matter. 'Where am I!'
When they returned to the fort a series of wagons were being pulled through the gates, each by a pair of pack-horses. The last was not a standard cart, but a prisoner wagon, with wooden floor and roof, and bars for sides. Inside were a trio of men, one sitting by himself in a corner and two other, larger men, thought in the gloom it was all but impossible to see anything distinguishing about them aside from size. One kept muttering curses and threats at the nearby men while the other made sounds more suited to a beast than a man.
Yoren was shouting and directing what had to be more than a score of people about as they set up camp inside. A trio were sent away towards the tower, likely to form a watch from on high. Her attention however was drawn to a lone child that couldn't be more than four years of age that sat huddled, weeping, near the hold's shelter.
The child looked up at her approach and flinched backwards. It was a girl, thin as a reed with terribly matted hair that was some shade of brown, though it was hard to judge in the well-faded light. Her clothes were ragged and she had no shoes for her muddy feet. "Shh, it's okay." she muttered as she turned to sit beside the girl a few feet away, giving her space. The girl flinched again at the clangor of her armor as she sat down. The girl eyed her suspiciously for a few more moments before curling back into a ball and weeping once more.
"Did you really fight in battles?" Estrid looked up to see one of the younger boys watching her from a short distance away. It was the one who had spoken against staying… Arry, That was his name. He was a small boy himself, perhaps ten, with ragged cut dark hair, the high voice of childhood, and a plain face. At his waist however, a thin shortsword hung in his belt.
"Yes, many. Far more than my years would suggest. I was training to be a warrior before I was even your age. What happened with this one? Does your Night's Watch really recruit this young?" Estird tilted her head towards the softly sobbing girl.
"I don't know. Yoren found her in a burned out holdfast a fortnight ago. He also found a woman who had her arm cut off and would only say 'please.' but she died that night. Weasel doesn't do anything but cry. She won't tell us her name, so Lommey named her Weasel." Estrid's heart twisted in her chest, childhood memories of hiding under her parents' bed, clutching her father's dagger as her mother screamed tore into her, but that beast's claws were old and dull now and she shook it off quickly with a gout of flaming anger that narrowed her brows.
Before the boy called Arry could ask her anything else a shout from Yoren called him away to a small gathering of other boys and men, one of whom held up a brace of chickens in one hand and another bird in the other.
Estrid turned her attention back to the crying girl, letting her features soften in sympathy. She pulled off her right gauntlet and reached into her pack. She drew out another piece of jerky she had liberated from the abandoned inn and held it outstretched towards the girl. "Weasel?" she asked softly. The little girl continued her quiet crying unabated.
"Are you hungry?" That caused the orphan's head to tilt up. She eyed the proffered meat warilly for a moment before snatching it, swift as a viper, and beginning to munch rapidly. That earned a soft laugh from Estrid. One could always depend on an empty belly to soften even grief and fear.
She sat there for a time as the last light faded from the sky and a cookfire was rapidly built by the group Arry had been dragged away to join. The young man was chopping wood for it while Arry and another two boys helped a different man defeather the birds. She saw the stooped black shape of Yoren approach her, but she let him have the first words.
" 'Bout the only time that child ain't crying is when she is eating." He stated gruffly eyeing the orphan called Weasel. "If you're gonna be staying with us the night you should help."
"I'll keep my own watch. When you aren't busy I have questions. Answer them, and I'll see your group safely through this war, even if half your band look to be brigands." She replied coolly. The old man gave her a skeptical look at that and grunted before turning away to the growing cookfire. A glance to her right showed that the child was still occupied with her jerky.
Estrid reached into her pack and unstoppered the bottle of ale she had taken from the inn. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed when she took a swig. It was far from a fine vintage, though she had tasted worse. The emerald ring on her right middle finger tingled a bit as she drank, perhaps even less than it should. The ale was probably watered to be sold to the poorest of the commons. Oh well, she'd make due.
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It had been nearly an hour more before everyone had eaten and been assigned their roles. Yoren was having the men hold three watches through the night, in addition to the men he had put in the tower. A few minutes after the last bite had been eaten the little girl had gone back to her spot and resumed crying. Yoren had intercepted her on her own return to have what was sure to be an enlightening chat.
"So. I have no idea where I am, how I got here, or why. I haven't looked closely at your map yet, but I have a sinking feeling that I won't recognize a thing on it. So... where am I?" Estrid questioned as they sat by the burned down embers of the cookfire. The sentries on the walls had no torches. It was better to rely on night-eyes than eyes blinded by light anyway.
"Wasn't my map, was the lordling's. You're in a town on the southern shore of the God's Eye, in the Riverlands." he replied as he ran a whetstone gently over his dagger.
"And where are these Riverlands?"
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and spat some juice onto the ground away from her. He seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to humor something he didn't believe in the slightest. "You speak Westeroesi well enough to know damn well where that is."
"Ah, is that what we are speaking? Funny thing about that. I once did a favor for the God of Madness. Well, a servant of the God of Madness really. He tried to send me off with a staff, but I'm no mage so he decided to give me a different boon. I can speak any language, provided I am talking to a person who knows it. Damn nuisance since it gives me a headache when I try to speak my own tongue to those who don't know it." The man stopped stropping the blade to look at her fully. Before spitting again.
"Well. He certainly picked the right woman."
"Fair I suppose. Look, all I know is I woke up on an island out there in the middle of the lake surrounded by a grove of sacred trees with faces on them. And then I followed a crow to shore that led me here. Trust me, it isn't the most insane thing I have ever done." Though Estrid conceded to herself that it may have been one of the more stupid ones.
"You were on the Isle of Faces?" That had gotten the old man's attention. Now he was looking at her with an intensity in his eyes rather than dismissive contempt, though she could still detect a hint of lingering suspicion. A movement in the corner of her eye caused her to turn on the bench the men had pulled from the inside of the building to set by the fire. Realizing they had been caught, the small shadow moved forward into the wan light. Arry again.
"Can I borrow your stone?" He asked Yoren, his other hand was on his small sword at his side, but the boy kept casting furtive glances at her. He had been listening for a while, that much was certain. Not that it mattered if the boy thought her a madwoman she supposed, it was Yoren who she would need to convince.
He tossed the stone to the young lad and sheathed his dagger, turning more fully towards her. "Here. Your watch is in two hours, so if you don't sleep it's no hair off my beard." The man was silent as the boy reluctantly departed. He cast a gaze after him to make sure he had entered what was serving as the bunkhouse.
"More curiosity than sense, that one." He said before rounding more fully on her and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together a handspan below his chin. "No one goes to the Isle of Faces, and no folk leave it neither."
"Well, I am full of surprises. Pray you never have to see any of them. Where are these 'Riverlands'?" She countered, assuming a similar posture to the grisled man. He was hard, but she had dealt with harder. Talos, she had been practically raised by harder. Skjor at least, not Kodlak.
He spat another gob of leaf juice, this time into the fire where it crackled and sizzled, " Middle o' The Seven Kingdoms, continent of Westeros. Then you have Essos to the east. Some other continent south o' that, and nobody's ever come back from westward."
"Hmm. I hail from the harsh mountains of Skyrim, in northern Tamriel." She provided in counter, it was only polite after all. "What's this about a war now? Who's doing the burning and pillaging?"
"Lord Stark's wife kidnapped the Imp, Tywin Lannister's son. Said he tried to murder her crippled boy. She's lady of the north, but she was born down here, Her father is the Lord of the Riverlands." He snorted before continuing. "Dwarf seems a decent sort. Doubt he did it, was probably his sister, the Queen. She's a cold bitch. Anyways, Lannister is a proud and ruthless man. Reckon he decided to burn her birth home until he got his son back. Doubt he'll stop there, being honest."
"Well. Shit." Estrid replied, eyes falling to the ground as she tried to piece things together. It all sounded so petty in her head. She felt she was missing half the puzzle and the other half was upside down.
"It'll get worse. The stupid little shit who's on the throne now killed the Lord of the North. He was Hand o' the old king who died few moons past. Northmen won't stand for that, lot of them loved Lord Stak. They'll want blood."
Estrid sighed, rubbing her eyes with a bare hand, her gauntlets were lying next to her on the bench. "So it's a civil war then. The Starks? As you say provoked it, at least officially, but the other one is the one doing the burning and pillaging?"
"I doubt old Tywin is doing any burning or pillaging. He lets his dogs do that so he can seem t' keep his hands clean. He's Warden of the West. His colors are crimson with a golden lion." Yoren reached behind himself for a bottle. Estrid had the sense this was the most the man had talked to anybody in a long time. "Then you've got the Starks, honorable sort, though like to be cold as ice when they're mad. They're a gray wolf on white. And then the Tully's, the Riverlords. They're a silver fish on blue over red.
She leaned back, letting her head fall back as she stared into the sky. None of the stars were familiar. She couldn't see any of the constellations she knew up there, not even her birth stars of The Warrior. She sat in silence for a long time letting the cool wind brush against her face as she smelled the fresh air seasoned by a twinge of smoke from the low burning embers. Yoren just watched her as he drank while she stewed.
"You said there were seven kingdoms?" she asked after a time, letting her gaze fall from the foriegn heavens to the dirt replete with shadows flickering in the wan light.
"Used to be, long time ago. Just one kingdom now, the seven were all conquered by the Dragonlords, few centuries back." he replied, taking another swig as her eyes widened and her blood chilled. Dragonlords? Could that really be a coincidence?
"Dragonlords?" she inquired aloud
"Dead, the lot of them. Last one was killed by his own guard during Robert's rebellion 'bout sixteen years past. Robert was Lord of the Stormlands, one o' the seven lords. He was good friends with Stark. He was the last king." So. The King had died, and his heir had killed one of the major lords, whoes wife had kidnapped his uncle for trying to murder her son. The picture was a bit clearer, but no less mad. It was no wonder Sheogorath was one of the most powerful Daedra.
"Right, enough politics then, who are the Night's Watch? what do you do?" The man was clearly tiring of conversation, but he deigned to answer
"We're the watchers on The Wall, protectors o' the realm of men. Not that anybody seems to care anymore. Used to be we were feasted and honored and knights and lord's sons would all flock to serve in The Watch as a matter of honor. Now we're lucky to get pick of a lord's dungeons. Half this lot are poachers or thieves or rapists who's only other choice was losing a hand, or their cock. The rest, orphan boys who just want a damned meal and a bed to sleep in."
Estrid's eyebrows rose. That explained why he advised wearing the helmet. Not that she would, any fool who tried to take advantage of her wouldn't live long to regret it.
"And those are the ones walking free? What did the ones in the cart do?" She said, motioning with her head toward the prisoner cart that was stored in the large barn along with the others and the group's animals.
"The pretty one killed a lordling's son, confessed readily enough too. Might be the one I would trust most of the three. Cold killer he might be, but the other two are little better than animals. Can't swear to what they've done but if they were to be let out… they'd try to kill in a heartbeat. The one don't speak, just hisses and growls like an animal. The other does naught but threaten anyone goes near. Best you stay away from them. Shoulda left them in the black cells. More fool me."
"And what are you going to do if you decide to raft? You can't exactly roll the wagon onto one and expect it to float?"
"Might be I'll just let them out. They try anything, I'll gut'm and be done with it. Enough talk, I'm gonna get me some shut eye." At that the disfigured man rose from his seat by the firepit and walked off towards another corner of the square fort.
((( )))
She had left the dead fire and elected to instead stand on the walls above the gatehouse. In the faint light of the single moon the ghostly town below stood empty. How had this happened? The last thing she could remember was her sword buried in Alduin's eye. Then a feeling of falling… or was it floating?
She cast a glance up at the lone silver moon high in the sky, neither the large red Masser, nor the smaller Secunda. Wherever she was, this was not her world. Not Nirn at least. She had to be in Mundus somewhere though, this place was far too structured to be outside of the mortal realm, and if it were the realm of a Daedra she would doubtless have already been confronted or propositioned. The Dragonblood attracted Daedra like flies to a corpse.
And a Civil War. Of course there was a Civil War. She had only just ended a Civil War naught but a year ago. Now there was another to deal with. And they were burning, murdering, looting, and raping with abandon it seemed. No such thing had happened during Skyrim's war. at least not on a large scale. Red or Blue, both sides were still mostly Nords, and it was still their Homeland. Only the Forsworn committed such atrocities back home.
The thought of it made her blood boil. It was as much her duty to involve herself as it was to abstain. She knew the words to the song that churned in her blood. 'Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by her honor is sworn, to forever keep evil at bay.' Evil. it didn't call for her to fight Dragons, it called for her to fight evil. And man, while perhaps lacking the semi-divine power of the Dov, had no shortage of evil.
But she possessed that power too, and if she wasn't careful, if she involved herself too much, she would become the evil she was sworn to protect against, like Alduin, like Miraak. She shuddered at the thought of them, the firstborn Dragon and the first Dragonborn. If all she had to deal with was another war, she supposed she was grateful. Perhaps Kyne had seen Mora's manipulations and carried her here to free her? few things frightened her anymore, but he was one of them.
For now at least, she had a purpose. She would see Yoren and his band safely through this war as she had sworn. By then she would hopefully have enough information to make a better judgment. She had been hasty in choosing her allegiances in the past, and that had led to some regrets.
A wolf howled in the distance, sending a savory shiver up her spine as her hand fell to the helm that still adorned her sword's pommel. It reminded her of home. She had never taken the wolf's blood as the rest of The Circle had. She was proud of that choice, if only because she could see that Kodlak had been proud of her. The old man had practically raised her as his own after he saved her life all those years ago.
Her night eyes narrowed as she spotted a tell-tale glow to the south. Either there was a large fire, or a host was approaching in the dark. With cold purpose she wrapped her braid around the crown of her head and slid her helmet on as the glow resolved itself into a column of torches, moving too fast to be foot soldiers. Riders. Probably raiders.
"Laas," she whispered quietly. Her blood swelled with the energy of life before her vision shifted and now she could see all things living laid bare before her. The brilliant auras of the approaching men were contrasted sharply against the faint backdrop of the trees and grasses. A quick survey didn't show any others skulking about. The column was alone in its approach.
She had one gauntlet on and was calmly strapping the other when the watch in the Tower blew their horn, sending the others in the holdfast into a panic. Had they really not seen the approaching forces? The column had reached the village now and were busy lobbing torches onto the thatch roofs of the homes. Another horn blast sounded from the tower. She could see the men there pulling up the ladder as horsemen approached. The recruits for the Watch were pouring onto the walls beside her. In the light of the fires she could see an old man with a staff, the stout man from the shoreline, the younger man who now had his helm, artfully crafted in the shape of a bull's head, adorning his brow. A handful of younger boys were there as well, including Arry, who had to stand on his tip-toes to peer over the battlements.
She could hear Yoren yelling commands down below when a force grabbed hold of her leg. She tensed and her hand flew to her sword hilt. A swift glance down however only showed her the form of the tearful young girl clutching at her greave, staring up with wide blue eyes full of fear. She bent down on her other knee, ruffling the girl's matted hair, such as she could, before saying in her softest voice "It's going to be alright. Go into the haven, okay?" The little girl looked hesitant, loosening her grip, but not releasing her. "I promise, now go along." Estrid encouraged, running her hands down the girl's shoulders before gently prying her from her armor.
The raiders were speaking to others atop the gatehouse now, demanding that they open in the name of the king, though she couldn't see them herself, the wall eclipsed her sight. She nudged the girl encouragingly and after another hesitant moment the little girl called Weasel ran off to where she had been directed. Yoren had climbed the battlements, waving his gray-black cloak affixed atop a staff in a makeshift banner.
Estrid let the momentary softness in her heart re-harden. Those men below had orphaned that girl, and like as not raped her mother. Her blood demanded a reckoning. She rose from her kneeling position to gaze down upon the assembled host of reavers.
A single man wearing plate sat astride a warhorse closer to the gate than the rest. His helm was adorned with a spike in the center, and in a hand he held aloft a banner of rippling crimson that bore the likeness of some manner of gold-coated cat. Her lips pursed, Lannister men then, if what Yoren had said was true. At least two-score more mounted men sat upon their horses behind the envoy, who insisted that they open the holdfast gates because apparently one of their enemy's banners was also black. At least another hundred more were still riding about the town around them, setting alight the remaining buildings.
Another man rode forward to join the parley at Yoren's insistence. He wore plates engraved with fancy scrollwork, with a generous belly to his armor. He had small narrow-set eyes and a full face that gave him the look of a human pig, stuffed in a suit of metal. Slung over his horse was a heater shield painted with the look of some manner of insect. "Ser Amory Lorch, bannerman to Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, the Hand of the King. The true king, Joffrey." The man had a voice to match his appearance. "In his name I command you to open these gates."
Estrid cast a glance at Yoren. He obviously didn't buy the crock of shit this man was selling either, but he tried once more to diffuse the storm she saw as inevitable. "Don't see the need. Do what you want to the town, it's naught to me, but leave us be. We're no foes to you."
"If you are no traitors, open your gates. We'll make certain you're telling it true and be on our way." the man lied through his teeth. She'd heard more than enough as her eyes traced the flames of the town burning around them. She intervened.
"He wasn't telling it completely true," She shouted down. Yoren's eyes snapped to her in a warning look. "There is one foe to you in this holdfast. Me! Now these men profess neutrality and they are under my protection. In that spirit I will not slay you and your band of rotten bastards where you stand. leave this place, and never return!"
The pig faced man looked at her from where he sat astride his armored warhorse before casting a glance over his shoulder to his host of men. More had gathered now that the town was well aflame. His force looked to number more than a hundred at least. But Skjor and Kodlak had once slain a hundred orc berserkers by themselves, and they had not possessed the Thu'um.
A laugh went up from those arrayed before her. A few at first then a raucous thing that had the whole host, including their pig faced commander in fits. She was surprised he didn't oink instead of laugh. After a few moments the man regained his faculties long enough to call up a reply. "You are but one knight and I have three-hundred swords with me, who are you to so boldly claim you could slay us?"
"Three swords, three dozen swords, three hundred or three thousand, it makes no difference to me! I am Estrid Flame-Hair, Shield-Thane of Skyrim, Harbinger of the Companions of Ysgramor. I warn you again, leave this place and trouble these people no further, or I shall see to it that you all burn!" She had scarcely uttered the words when a hard gnarled hand seized her pauldron and attempted to spin her around, but she held fast. She knew it was Yoren.
"The hells you doing girl!" He whispered through his clenched red teeth when she deigned to look down at him. Before she could reply however she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Her head snapped back, and she plucked the thrown spear from the air as easily as a dog might catch a thrown stick. In one fluid movement she brought her knee up and snapped the thick ashen shaft over her armored thigh as if it were a dry twig.
"FAAS RU MAAR!" The fear rose within her, batted aside easily by her iron-walled anger, but not so for the horsemen down below. Their steeds reared in terror as men were thrown, or cast aside their weapons to hold on as the beasts took flight. Some of those thrown from their horses then had their life crushed under hoof as the panicked animals fled the burning village. Some lucky few rose from the ground to chase after their mounts, but none stood unmoved by the shout. In a matter of three words where there had once been a force of three hundred hardened soldiers, all had turned to rout, dancing through the burning streets that denoted their fiery work.
She turned her head to look upon the recruits of the Night's Watch. They had not been the targets, nor borne the brunt of her shout, but they too had doubtless felt its effects. She could see it in their pale faces illuminated by the burning buildings, and in a few of their breeches in the form of rapidly growing wet stains. Even Yoren was not unaffected from where he had retreated from her, his hand clenched white about the hilt of his shortsword.
"It seems you got to see one of my surprises after all. I am going to rest, call for me if they should return and I will make good on my threat." She lept nimbly from the catwalk to the moist earthen circle of the inner holdfast and let herself into the makeshift bunkhouse. She could hear Weasel crying again and felt a stab of guilt. Even inside, she doubted the girl had been spared all of the ripples of Dismay.
She found her curled up into a ball in the back corner of the low-ceilinged building. Once more she sat down next to her, closer this time than before. "I'm sorry if I scared you little one…" looking down on the poor girl made Estrid's heart ache. It wasn't right to do this to a person, but the girl deserved a night of rest if nothing else. She took off her helmet, lowered her head closer to the girl, and whispered in her ear, "Kaan drem ov."
The girl's sobs quickly quieted and she looked up from her ball at the ebon-armored warrior beside her. A moment later she was pressed into Estrid's side like a cat curled up against its master, causing the woman to tense in surprise and awkwardness. After a moment she tentatively rested an arm over the little one's back, pulled her feet up in front of her and closed her eyes to meditate.
