As he awoke, Do'Khar Astahe was greeted by the sight of Zayrina sleeping soundly next to him. He smiled, content to be with his love. Then, a knock at the door sounded. Zayrina stirred, slightly, but still asleep. Do'Khar got up, walked to the door, and opened it, slightly. On the other side was Gyrllon, standing with a raised eyebrow.
"I see you two had your fun," Gyrllon smirked, "it was quite the show the bards had, last night. I'm honestly quite surprised they had a song for me and—"
"You mean for me and Zayrina," Do'Khar said, not willing to put up with the elf's guff. He opened the door fully, and walked into the chilly hallway, closing the door behind him. "And I would suggest you don't go off getting some dangerous job in a far away province if you want to stay healthy."
"Are you threatening me?"
"That is a question I can answer in more certain terms, if you're that much of a slow-paw."
Gyrllon scoffed. "An overgrown house-cat such as yourself could not hope to best a glorious Altmer warrior—" Do'Khar cut him off by pinning him to the wall, exploiting a pressure point Hisveld had taught him. Gyrllon squirmed, outrage and shock in his eyes.
"Listen here you pompous bag of air, you will not continue to cause Zayrina suffering due to your arrogance, and this pressure point is but a sliver of what my teacher taught me about combat." He let that sink in, as he pushed his claws into the pressure point, making the Altmer gasp and struggle for breath, slightly. His eyes began to stream with terror. "And, I have a proposition for you." He let off, slightly, so Gyrllon could speak.
"What kind of proposition?"
"I am going to Skyrim, and by the eight, am I going to bring her with me. You accompany us, and receive fame and wealth, until the contract is over. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, now please let go!" He let off the pressure point, causing Gyrllon to fall to the ground, gasping.
"Pack your things, we're leaving soon." Without a word, Gyrllon moved towards his room. Do'Khar turned to see Zayrina standing at the door. A combination of a grateful smile and a smirk was on her face. "I'm sorry if he can twist that against you in the eyes of the She wrapped her arms around him, the cloth of her nightgown brushing against his bare chest. He embraced her in turn, before the two let go and entered their room to prepare to leave.
Bjørn awoke, the sun beating his eyes through the window. He began to sit up, but a sharp pain in his shoulder stopped that. He tried to stifle his grunt of pain, gritting his teeth, but the sound echoed through the house. His shoulder felt like an acid-tipped knife had stabbed him, and then he remembered. The bandages! He turned, using his right arm to do the work and sat up off the couch. He walked, quietly towards the bathroom.
Upon entering, he removed his shirt to see how bad the wound had gotten. From the looks of it, the wound clotted the previous night. But still, the wound was deep and long, a side affect of him fighting with that arrow still embedded in him. He sighed, letting the tension in his body drain out as he looked at himself in the mirror.
His Nordic face looked worse for wear, his short hair was oily and ragged from the stress of the previous two days, he had a bruise over his left eye, contrasting morbidly with his hazel irises, and even a tuft of his beard seemed to be missing. He looked at his chest, the necklace that had been a family heirloom for several generations glinting in the sunlight. The pendent was made of ruby, and was shaped like a perfectly symmetrical diamond, framed in steel. He also saw numerous bruises on his torso. He walked out of the bathroom, grabbed a set of clothes, and reentered the bathroom.
He turned a faucet to the bathtub, disrobed, and entered the warm water after a few minutes. The warm, encompassing feeling of the water was soothing, especially for his wounds. He didn't let the water touch his shoulder, but began to wash. After a couple of minutes, he then just rested in the near-steaming waters. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and began to speak softly to the air.
"Okay Bjørn, here's what you're gonna do: you're going to finish getting ready, go with Ji'ara to Skyrim, figure out what my parents were trying to keep you from, and make a home. Maybe even with Ji'ara..." those last words were near-whispers, and as he opened the drain and exited the bathtub, he grabbed a towel and dried, nodding his head to psych himself up. He dressed a bit, and started putting on his bandages, when the door opened. Ji'ara stood there, gasped, and covered her eyes with her face. Bjørn put a hand on his face in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she said, quickly. She did move her hand, briefly, and seemed to take a quick look before she shut the door. Bjørn was simultaneously flush with embarrassment and some level of flattery.
He quickly finished dressing and exited the room, saying, "Sorry, you have the room." Yep, I'm a first-class idiot, he thought. He tried to occupy himself with counting out their supplies for the journey, focusing particularly on their money. He guessed that they could individually carry about five-hundred septims at the maximum, but suspected that two-hundred would be a more clandestine number, while the horses could carry the rest. In fact, Bjørn was taking with him some 8,600 septims from selling the house, which had been left inside of Do'Khar's house in a litany of pouches. However, he knew that one hundred septims weighed about four pounds, and after a few calculations on paper, 8,600 septims would be well over 340 pounds. He sighed when he realized what they needed. The only way to bring all of the money was with a pair of pack animals, which Do'Khar luckily owned.
Do'Khar's pair of mules, Hassle and Harry, were cantankerous to say the least, especially since the pair absolutely hated Bjørn for no foreseeable reason, but we're fine with Ji'ara. He'd let her put most of the pouches on the mules' pack saddles, while he would put as many as he would calculate in the saddle bags of their horses. Luckily, they were both large breeds, with Bjørn's a Rivenian, and Ji'ara's Kartheron. After about five minutes of calculations, with the mules, they'd be able to take several days worth of food, all of the money, and still be able to ride their horses with full tack.
As he finished these calculations, he heard footsteps and turned his head to see Ji'ara, fully clad in traveling clothes. He felt simultaneously soothed and nervous, and she had always had that affect on him. He scooted on the couch, saying, "Would you—Ah—like to sit here?"
She walked to him, sat next to him, and asked, "Hmm, what're you calculating?"
"How we need the terrible two to bring all the money and supplies." She laughed a bit at this, and rested a hand on his shoulder. He knew that he wanted to tell her his feelings before they left.
"Hey, um, about last night. I—I really like being with you like that. I felt safe with you, and really only you and Do'Khar understand me. I want to be with you, and I—uh—hope that you feel the same way." He had moved slightly closer to her, moved a hand close to hers on his shoulder. He cursed his stupidity, saying the words like a nervous wreck, in his eyes. His train of self-deprecating thoughts was stopped by one sentence.
"I want to be with you, too." He felt warm, and ecstatic, like he had just saved the world. He moved his hand atop hers, feeling her soft, thick fur of her hand. He inched closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. She did the same, and they leaned against each other as they just sat in each other's arms. He felt... happy, of all things. He felt that he could start a new life in Skyrim with Ji'ara, if she agreed to go through with it.
The growling of Bjørn's stomach drew attention to the fact that they hadn't even had breakfast yet. He smiled, slightly embarrassed. He softly moved back and got up, asking, "So, what do you want to eat?"
"Hmm, maybe your 'glorious honey nut-butter sandwiches.'" They both laughed, remembering the time Do'Khar had first tried Bjørn's cooking, and exclaiming, in a rather hammy way, that the sandwiches were glorious. He grabbed a bread loaf, some honey nut-butter, and some honey. He mixed the honey nut-butter, cut the loaf, and set up a pair of sandwiches for themselves. He then noticed, through the kitchen window, that a bunch of people were in front of the house. He noticed Sven, Makna; Lond, a kindly blacksmith; lormaster Saash; Junius the Elder, now nearly eighty; and even the town mayor; among dozens more people.
He took the sandwiches over to Ji'ara, handed her one, and said, "it seems they have a spectacle for us." A moment later, the door opened to the sound of a lute, flute, and various other instruments; as well as the town eccentric, Theodor Gorlash.
"Ah, young ones, come enjoy the festivities, the music, the cheese!" His enthusiasm brought a chuckle out of Bjørn, and a smile from Ji'ara. Bjørn decided, What the heck? The three walked out to enjoy the party. The festivities were a nice blur of music, dancing, a bit of awkward flirting between Bjørn and Ji'ara, and various cheeses, and by midday, they were calming. Bjørn walked to the stables to see that the mules were already prepped, the packsaddles even seemed full. The mayor, named Emile Chatillon, was standing at the fence, his back to Bjørn. He seemed to know Bjørn was there, as he waved for him to stand with him. Bjørn leaned against the fence, looking to his left at Emile.
"Y'know, your parents were a major part of this city," Emile started. "In fact, if it weren't for them, I likely would've perished on the way here, twenty years ago. When the White-Gold Concordant was signed, I was on the run as an Imperial Blade." Bjørn was surprised at this, but said nothing. The Blades were the best imperial spies, the "eyes and ears of the Empire," before they were hunted down by the Aldmeri Dominion. "They saved my life from Thalmor agents, and they helped me rebuild this town when it was ransacked. They were great people, and the best way I have of showing my trust in you is this—" he handed him a slip of paper. "Read it after you've reached Skyrim, and keep it hidden at all times. You'll discover a few things, but that's all I can say."
"Thank you, Emile," Bjørn replied.
"Keep the knowledge of this as limited as possible. I can understand you telling it to Do'Khar and Ji'ara, but only them."
"Yes sir."
Emile straightened, began to walk off. "Good luck, and Divinespeed."
He turned, and saw Ji'ara walking over to him.
"The horses are all ready, so we are all set to leave, if I'm right," she said.
"Let's do this," Bjørn said, trying to cover his slight nervousness. He knew that the political situation of Skyrim was... less than ideal, and now that they were about to trek in there... he just hoped that they could steer clever of any danger. Ji'ara opened the gate, grabbed the lead ropes of Hassle and Harry, and led them out. Harry, as usual, pinned his ears and very clearly tried to bite Bjørn as he passed.
"Yeah, right back at you," he said at the asinine equine. He followed the trio to the stables, and opened the gates to their horses. Bjørn's Rivenian mare, Tempest stepped in front of him, her eyes soft. He put a foot in a stirrup and vaulted himself atop the saddle, stroking Tempest's black coat. Ji'ara had already tied the mules' pack strings to the saddle of her Kartheron stallion, Quicksilver, and was already atop the saddle. Bjørn heard the sound of the outer gate opening. The set of two gates served as the only way in and out of the stone-walled city of Snowcrest. "You good?" he asked Ji'ara.
"I'm okay with this," she replied. "Are you okay with this? Going to a new home, meeting family you've never met..." She sounded more worried for him than anything.
"I... honestly don't know. The only two things I know for sure right now are that I'm going there because my dad wanted me to, and that you and Do'Khar are the two people that I care about most." She smiled, obviously despite her own worries. "Anyways, shall we get moving?"
She nodded, telling Quicksilver, "hup!" and pushing her legs on his sides to move. The stallion, and the ornery pair of mules, trotted along, towards the gate.
"Well girl, let's do this," Bjørn said to Tempest. "Ha!" He pressed his boots against Tempest's sides, and she started to trot along. From behind he heard various farewells from many people of Snowcrest.
"Goodbye, friend!"
"Good luck!"
"May your journey be swift!"
"Moons will light your path!"
He turned, looking upon his neighbors and friends one last time. "Goodbye!" he shouted. Then, they passed through the gates, and the stone walls of his home came into view, and as the minutes passed, they faded into the forest. The next hours were long, interspersed with conversations between Bjørn and Ji'ara. The road was clear up to when the Jerall mountains were in view. Bjørn reached into a saddle bag, grabbed a pair of fur-lined cloaks, and put one on and threw the other to Ji'ara. Their traveling cloths were thick, with Ji'ara's being various blues, greys, and an indigo cloak, and Bjørn's was several dull greens, black, a bit of yellow, and a deep green cloak. As the hours passed, the only misfortune was the bitter cold, biting at Bjørn's fingers even through the padded gloves. Eventually, they reached a walled city, Bruma, if Bjørn remembered correctly. From here, we can rest and leave at first light, and probably get to Skyrim before even seven in the morning, he planned internally.
They reached the walls, and a guard looked at them, then specifically called for them. "You two!" he said. "I need to ask you a question."
"Yes?" Bjørn replied. He had no idea what could be the issue, but he hoped to the divines that there wasn't anything.
"Do you know a Khajiit named Do'Khar Astahe?" Now Bjørn was worried.
"Yes, he's my brother," Ji'ara said quickly, "is he okay?"
"He's doing okay. I saw him earlier this morning as he was leaving for Skyrim. He wanted you to know he's okay, and that he's paid for a couple of rooms in Jerall's View inn for you. It is also a pleasure to meet another descendant of my old friend, Jasrin." Bjørn raised an eyebrow. He knew that Frejya, his four-times great grandmother had adventured in Morrowind with Jasrin Astahe and a Dunmer man named Ronearas. "I'll pay for your horses and mules to go to the stables, you two go and have something to eat."
"Thank you," Bjørn said. At this moment, he was too confused and tired to really ask many questions. The rest of the night was rather uneventful, they had gotten their rooms, had some food and drink, and Bjørn less fell asleep and more passed on the bed. He awoke the next morning to knocking on the door. Groggily, and still in his traveling clothes, he opened the door. Ji'ara stood there, already prepared. He yawned, smiling, and then asked, "What time is it?"
"About six in the morning," she replied.
"We should be able to make it to the border by sunrise, then." She smiled at his groggy, likely haggard-looking face, and walked with him up the stairs into the main part of the inn. His items were still with the horses and mules, so he hoped no one had gotten any ideas the previous night. He asked the barkeep, who seemed to have been up for only a few minutes, "Do you have coffee, by any chance?"
"Yes, for a septim," the lady replied. He set a septim on the table, and got his coffee after a minute. He drank the invigorating black liquid after pouring some sugar and milk in the cup.
"Thank you," he said as he rested the cup on the bar and walked out with Ji'ara. The pair went out, Bjørn noting that Rondearas wasn't in sight, though he was probably just sleeping after the night shift. The two opened the stable gates, mounted their horses, and rode off without much ceremony. They were mostly silent for the thirty minutes as they rode on, until the mountainous border showed itself. "There we go!" The sun was still barely peeking out, leaving the landscape cold and dark. As they reached the gates, the sun was starting to leave a glow on the region.
A man waved for them to approach him, and as they neared he said, "Morning travelers! What's your business in Skyrim?"
"Morning," Bjørn replied. He grew somber when he explained. "My... parents died two days ago, and they wanted me to move to Skyrim and make a new life."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, kid," the man replied. "You'll find good people here: they can be brutally honest, but they'll have your back when you need it." He waved at a man above, and the gates opened. "Is the lady with you?"
"Yes," Ji'ara replied.
"Okay. I hope your stay in Skyrim is a good one!"
"Thanks," Bjørn and Ji'ara replied.
After that, they rode on for a bit, about a mile, until Ji'ara asked, "Are you okay?" Before he could reply, they heard the sound of a scream, bloodcurdling, like a tortured animal. Bjørn knew that the sound was near the road, surrounded by trees.
"Stay with the horses; I'll check it out," he said, dismounting Tempest.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He didn't want the horses or mules to be stolen, and he didn't want Ji'ara to get hurt, though he knew that she was more than capable. He heard blades clashing, arrows striking, and he unsheathed his ebony sword. He eventually saw an imperial soldier being attacked by a pair of men in chainmail and helmets, one with a spear, the other with an axe. He sprung into action, attacking the back of the unprotected leg of the spearman. The man fell at the slash, yelling curses he didn't care to listen to. Grabbing the spear, he dodged the heavy swing of the axe-wielder, and hit him in the face with the spear shaft. It stunned the man long enough for Bjørn to throw the blunt end at the man, hitting him square in the face and knocking him out.
The soldier, bleeding from his side and breathing heavily said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Bjørn replied. "What's happening?"
"We found a bunch of Stormcloaks, and sprung into action. The camp is a half-mile up the road, and I chased some Stormcloaks trying to escape." Bjørn was chilled to the bone when he knew that an active battle was happening in the vicinity.
"Are you okay?"
"Just a bit winded, though my injury is more than a flesh-wound."
"I have a friend near here, we can help." He helped the man onto his feet and walked with him out of the forest.
When Ji'ara saw, she asked, "What happened?"
"The guy is part of a raid against Stormcloaks. He got hurt, and a helped him fight off the Stormcloaks, but we need to get out of here. I say we go on the nearest byroad to a town, and don't look back." He helped the injured man onto Tempest. He then heard a pandemonium from up the road, and knew exactly what was coming. "Get in the forest!" Ji'ara sprinted into the forest with Quicksilver, mules in tow. He shouted, "Ha Tempest!" She bolted after Ji'ara. Then, he turned and saw a collective stampede of people, all in chainmail and cloth, running with panicked shouts. He didn't have time to move out of the way, and was thrown bodily by the horde of Stormcloaks. Some even ran over him on the confusion. After he heard the mass of people running off, he started to get up, coughing. He then heard another cacophony, and saw imperial forces charging in angry formation.
"There's another one!" he heard a man shout. An arrow whizzed past him, causing his eyes to go wide.
"Oh damnit!" He ran, faster than he had ever gone in his life. Half of his breaths were filled with words of prayer for the Divines to get him out of this situation, and the other half was desperate pleas to the men. "I'M NOT A STORMCLOAK!" he screamed in his racing breaths and fear. After what felt like a small eternity, he saw the conglomerate of Stormcloaks, on their knees, surrounded by imperials. His legs felt of being punched a thousand times, and being shot up with poison. He knew he couldn't continue running, and turned to see the numerous enraged men rush him, sword, spears, and halberds pointed at him. He sheathed his sword and raised his hand, saying once more, "I'm not a Stormcloak!"
"Shut up, scum," a burly man said. He tried to punch him, but Bjørn instinctively dodged and grabbed his hand, twisting it at an angle to put the man at his mercy. The man shouted in pain, and Bjørn let go, eyeing the legionaries with panic. Then, he saw the man he had helped riding up on Tempest.
"Wait, that man saved my life; he's innocent!"
"Oh please, he's a Nord, and he's even dressed like a Stormcloak."
He could make out a white figure in the trees, and knew Ji'ara had gone after him. He then heard a voice he hadn't expected.
"Bjørn!" It was Do'Khar. Bjørn turned to see his friend clad in armor, a soldier at his side, and both confused. He was just as confused, for multiple reasons.
"Do'Khar!? What are—" he started, only for him to feel a heavy pain in the back of his head, and the world cut instantly to darkness as he lost consciousness.
Author's note: well, things don't look so good for Bjørn, do they? In case you're wondering, yes, this is right before the point where the game starts, and the Stormcloaks that were caught include Ulfric Stormcloak himself. The reason that Do'Khar was with the imperials, and what in the exact heck is about to happen to Ji'ara and the others will be shown in the next chapter. Already, some of you may be asking, "What side of the civil war will Bjørn and the others take?" Well, you can debate and guess who and why, and I'll reveal it soon enough. And, expect more than one major antagonist to be revealed in the next chapter. Have a good time, y'all!