Author's note: Rhiannon, in this chapter, mentions some of the fanfiction stories hosted at Twisting the Hellmouth. All three authors involved have given their permission.
Five: #Dragonborn is trending
Rhiannon watched as the shadow on the sundial edged closer to noon. It wasn't a precise instrument, of course, but eventually she judged that the shadow lay exactly on the line that continued from the blade that stuck up; she couldn't remember the name except that, weirdly, it had something to do with gnomes. She clicked the crown home to restart the watch. Her initial guesstimate had been surprisingly accurate, she'd only had to alter the time by just over fifteen minutes, but now it was spot on. Assuming, that is, that the length of the day on this world was the same as it was on Earth. She'd already set the date to the 19th; the month, she had discovered, was called 'Last Seed', and she guessed that meant it was late summer.
Jenassa's eyes, that weird red that was typical of the Drow in Dungeons & Dragons and of the Dunmer here, were wide open as she stared at the watch. "I would never have believed that a mechanical timepiece could be made so small," she said. "The smallest I have seen before was taller than I am. Even the Dwemer did not possess such ingenious devices."
"The Dwemer?"
"The vanished Deep Elves," Jenassa explained. "The people under the mountain, master craftsmen, greatly skilled with all things mechanical. The Dwemer were sometimes called Dwarves, although history records that they were little if any shorter than humans."
"So why were they called Dwarves?" A thought struck Rhiannon. The people under the mountain… and the tale of Egbert Williams of Denbighshire, who had encountered a group of bearded fairy-folk, almost as tall as men, but had said they could be called nothing but dwarfs. "Did these… Dwemer have beards?"
"They did, as far as we can tell from statues and carvings left behind," Jenassa confirmed. "Why do you ask?"
"It's a long story," Rhiannon said, "too long to go into now, but it explains to me why they call them Dwarves." She strapped her watch back on her wrist. It was a Citizen Eco-Drive Titanium, tough and powered by light, and it should keep going for quite a few years. She thought she could remember the way to find north with your watch, at least in the daytime, and so she had something that would serve as a compass. "I've bought most of the things I need, and arranged for my clothes to be laundered, so I think we can eat now. After that we'll set off for Riverwood."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"…and Vincent McMahon, CEO of the WWE, has announced that he is offering a reward of fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the safe return of Rhiannon, real name Cerys Morgan, who has been missing since Monday. She was last seen on her way back to her hotel room, after a training run, on Monday morning. All of her belongings were left behind, even her identification and credit cards, and so far police have discovered no trace of her or any clues to her whereabouts. It has to be assumed that she was abducted…"
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Close the door," Delphine said.
Rhiannon obeyed. "I take it you want to talk in private," she said. "I remember you saying that you didn't want what you do in your secret identity to be public knowledge."
"Secret identity? Yes, I think I understand what you mean," Delphine said. She glanced at Jenassa. "I'm putting my life in your hands here… and in those of your companion. Do you vouch for her?"
"You recommended her to me," Rhiannon said, "and I'm really glad you did. I trust her with my life."
Jenassa gave one of her rare smiles. "I have sworn my swords to Rhiannon's service and I do not break my word," she said. "We are two of a kind, Rhiannon and I, and I am well content. If it is you that I have to thank for her choosing me then I am in your debt. Whatever secrets you have, sera, will be safe with me."
Delphine nodded. "I don't trust easily," she said, "but I believe I can trust both of you." She opened a wardrobe that stood against a wall. Rhiannon immediately thought of Narnia but there were no racks of fur coats inside. The wardrobe was empty, the open door revealing just a blank back panel, and then Delphine operated a concealed lever and the panel slid aside. Beyond it was a passage with stairs leading down. "Follow me," Delphine said, and led the way down the stairs.
The stairway led, not to a lamp-post in Narnia, but to an underground room. It was too dark to make much out, at first, but then Delphine went around the room and lit the lamps. The room turned out to be large, as big as the inn's common room overhead, and well equipped. A table occupied the center of the room and around the walls were cupboards, chests, weapon racks, two of the ornate workbenches used for alchemy and enchanting, and even training dummies.
"Quite a hide-out you've got here," Rhiannon said. "It's… the Batcave!"
"The what?"
"In my world," Rhiannon explained, "there are tales of a hero who fights… bandits… at night. During the day he's a rich businessman but at night he puts on a costume that looks like a bat, because bats are scary and it hides his face, and he goes out into the streets of Gotham City. That way his enemies don't know who he is so they can't attack him when he's off guard. A secret identity. He has a cave under his mansion where he keeps all his weapons and costumes and stuff. You're… Batman. Like I said in the barrow, 'by day, a mild-mannered innkeeper. By night… she fights crime'."
"Crime is not my concern," Delphine said, "but I see the parallel."
Rhiannon spotted something in one of the weapon racks. "Ooh, a katana, is it?" she exclaimed. "May I?"
"Well, you handle a sword well enough that you're unlikely to injure yourself," Delphine said, "so, yes, go ahead and try a few passes."
Rhiannon took the sword and, handling it with respect, ran through the only iaido kata that she knew. Then she replaced the sword in the rack. "I've had very little training with the katana," she admitted. "I did one weekend course on iaido but I've done four weekend courses, and one full week, learning European sword-fighting. Uh, that's fighting with swords like the ones I'm wearing," she added, as a puzzled frown on Delphine's face reminded her that the term 'European' might be meaningless here.
"I could train you," Delphine said, "but it would take time and probably it's best for you to stick to what you know." She tilted her head to one side, stared at Rhiannon for a moment, and then straightened her head and smiled. "For someone with limited experience, and not a great deal of training, you are very good indeed."
Something of a back-handed compliment, Rhiannon thought, but probably accurate. "Thanks," she said, and then moved on to more important business. "Here's the map, and the books, that Farengar sent for you," she said, putting the items down on Delphine's table. "What's the big secret about them?"
"It's the fact that I have a particular interest in dragons that I want to keep quiet," Delphine said. She glanced at the map, ignored the books for the moment, and read the letter that Farengar had included with the other items. "Hmm. That fits with what I'd guessed." She set the letter down and stared at Rhiannon again. "Now to my other guesses… about you. What happened yesterday? I've heard rumors that a dragon attacked Whiterun and was killed… by a stranger whose description fits you."
"That's… not quite right," Rhiannon said. "There was a dragon but it was at the Western Watchtower, not the actual city. And I helped fight it but I wouldn't say I killed it. We all did it together. Me, Jenassa, Irileth, and a bunch of guards."
"Rhiannon is too modest," Jenassa put in. "She deserves more credit than any of us for the dragon's death. She leapt upon its back and smote it mightily. It was her daring that gave myself, and my kinswoman, the chance to strike it effectively. If not for her… I do not know if we could have prevailed."
"Was it the same dragon that attacked Helgen?" Delphine asked.
Rhiannon shook her head. "No. The Helgen one was black and this one was sort of grey-green. And quite a bit smaller than the one at Helgen, it was."
Delphine pursed her lips. "I feared as much," she said. "Not just a dragon, but dragons. There will be more dragon attacks."
"Don't tell me," Rhiannon said, "I'll have to fight them, is it? I'm the 'one girl in all the world, the Chosen One. She alone will wield the strength and the skill to fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. To stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer' – or, in my case, the Dragonborn."
Delphine's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like a prophecy, but one unfamiliar to me," she said. "Where did you hear it?"
"On Sky One, and the complete DVD box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer," Rhiannon said. "It's from a… work of entertainment in my world, about a teenage girl, called Buffy, who finds out that she has a mystical destiny as a Vampire Slayer. It's just a story but what's happening to me sounds a lot like it. Except with dragons instead of vampires." She pointed a finger at Delphine. "And don't try to tell me otherwise. You called me 'Dragonborn' yourself, before it was trendy, when I saw that glowing word thing on the wall in the barrow."
"I only understood about half of that," Delphine said. "Are you saying that others have named you 'Dragonborn'?"
"The guardsmen at the Western Watchtower started it," Rhiannon related, "and then there was this cowing great shout of 'Dovahkiin!' and the Jarl said it meant that I am the Dragonborn. He told me I have to go to High Hrothgar to see the Greybeards. I'm on my way there now. I was just stopping off here to give you the things from Farengar… but you know more than you've told me, don't you? A particular interest in dragons, you said."
"I don't know all that much," Delphine said. "I have some ideas and I'm hoping that Farengar's research will shed some light upon them. I'll tell you what I do know… but first there are a few things about you I would like to clear up."
"I've already told you I'm from a different world," Rhiannon said, "and about that stupid wish that I made. What else do you want to know?"
"Camilla Valerius has been talking about you," Delphine said. "She says you had a painting on your back. A big picture of a dragon."
"Painting? A tattoo, it is," Rhiannon said. "What would be the point of a painting? It would wear off before long. Don't they have tattoos here?"
"Tattoos? Where ink is put under the skin with needles? I've heard of them," Delphine said, "but they're not common. The only people I'm aware of who use them are the Forsworn of the Reach."
"The Whiterun guards said something about the Forsworn," Rhiannon said, and she couldn't resist throwing in a quote from Zulu that seemed to fit with what the guards had said. "Bunch of savages, isn't it?"
"That's a fair description," Delphine said. "They hate the Nords, who they say stole their lands, and attack them whenever they get the chance. Raids, ambushes, murders… being linked with them, in the eyes of the Nords, would make you very unpopular."
"And did the Nords steal their lands?" Rhiannon asked.
"I suppose they did," Delphine admitted, "but it was hundreds of years ago. You would think the Reachmen would have accepted it by now. They'll never get the Reach back. They tried, twenty-seven years ago while the Empire was busy fighting the Aldmeri Dominion, and managed to capture Markarth for a while, but as soon as the Great War ended Ulfric Stormcloak and his men recaptured Markarth and drove them into the hills. Theirs is a lost cause but they won't admit it."
As a proud Welshwoman Rhiannon's sympathies were immediately with the Forsworn. She'd been brought up on tales of Dafydd ap Llywelyn and Owain Glyndŵr and, although she didn't really want Wales to become totally independent, she always voted Plaid Cymru. Delphine, however, sounded as if she was opposed to the Forsworn and Rhiannon decided to keep her mouth shut on the issue until she knew more of the background.
Delphine returned to her original topic. "So, why do you have a… tattoo… of a dragon on your back?"
"It's the national emblem of my country, Wales," Rhiannon explained. "In the kind of fighting I do, back in my world, we're expected to look… eye-catching, and we fight wearing clothes that don't cover much more than the underwear women wear here. I had the tattoo done so that I'd stand out from the crowd and show that I'm proud of my country at the same time."
"I suppose that makes sense," Delphine said, "but it might draw the wrong kind of attention, here, if there are more dragon attacks. It's made Camilla wary of you even after you helped her out by recovering that golden claw. And something else that intrigued her about you is that, according to her, you have no hair on your body at all. She wondered if you might be part Altmer, or even an Altmer disguised as a human."
"What's an Altmer?" Rhiannon asked. "Wait on, if a Dunmer is a Dark Elf, an Altmer would be some other kind of Elf, is it?"
"High Elf," Delphine confirmed. "Some of them are perfectly nice people, who just want to get on with their lives, but their rulers… the Great War was fought when the Aldmeri Dominion invaded, trying to wipe out the Empire, and they nearly succeeded. I was young then, maybe even younger than you are now, but… I lost all my comrades. Every one of them was hunted down and killed by the Thalmor. They'd kill me now, if they found me."
"That explains the secret identity," said Rhiannon. "As for the hair… I shave. We wore skimpy costumes, like I said, and tufts of hair sticking out wouldn't look good." She pursed her lips. "I suppose I'll have to let it grow out now, or perhaps just trim."
"I thought there'd be a simple explanation," said Delphine. "You don't look anything like a High Elf, or any other kind of elf, and if you had any links with the Thalmor you would have acted completely differently in Bleak Falls Barrow. Unless you're the world's best actress."
"I am an actress," Rhiannon said, "but nowhere near the world's best. If I was I would have been successful enough never to have thought of making that stupid wish. I'd have stayed where I was."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"I can't believe she'd have run away," Becky Lynch said. She ran her fingers through her mane of flame-red hair, sweeping it back from her face, as she spoke to the TV interviewer. "I know she was thinking of not renewing her contract when it expires, and going back to the UK, but she isn't a quitter. And she'd have taken her things with her. I don't think she even took any of her clothes. But it's hard to see her being kidnapped either. She's a really dangerous fighter. It would've had to be at gunpoint."
She stared straight at the camera. "But if she did run away… Cerys, if you're out there and you see this… come back. We all miss you."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
They left the ruins of Helgen at five in the morning by Rhiannon's watch. The sky was just beginning to grow light and there was a bitter chill in the air.
"I hate that place," Rhiannon said, as they went out of the southern gate. "It might have made a good place to camp but being in the place where so many people died creeped me out. I don't want to ever come back here again."
"I suspect that bandits will occupy the ruins before long," Jenassa said. "Once word spreads that Helgen is deserted bandits will flock here, first to loot the place, and then to use it as a base from which to prey upon travelers."
"Well, I hope we don't meet any bandits on this trip," Rhiannon said.
"I thought about becoming a bandit," Jenassa remarked, "but I decided I preferred clean clothes and fresh mead."
"I'm quite keen on clean clothes myself," Rhiannon said, "but not so much on mead. What I wouldn't give for a nice cup of tea…" She sighed. "I wish there was some way I could let the people back home know that I'm safe – well, for a given value of safe. Especially my parents. They must be worried sick."
"Did you leave a lover behind, sera?" Jenassa asked.
Rhiannon shook her head. "I decided not to get involved with anyone while I was in America," she said. "It was simpler. Also the only men I fancied were all involved with other girls." She noticed a signpost beside the road. "I think I'll check that sign out," she said, "just to make sure we're on the right road."
"I am sure we are, sera," Jenassa said. "The road to the right, as we left Helgen, leads to Falkreath. I have traveled that way before. This has to be the Ivarstead road."
Rhiannon looked at the signpost and saw an arrow pointing back the way they had come, labelled 'Helgen', and two pointing ahead labelled 'Riften' and 'Ivarstead'. And, in the woods beyond the sign, she saw a horse. She stepped closer, going off the edge of the road, and could just make out the top of a tent.
"Uh-oh," she said. "I think we might have just stumbled upon a bandit camp."
Jenassa nocked an arrow to the string of her new bow, which was made of some lightweight metal unfamiliar to Rhiannon, and scanned the surrounding area. "If so, and should they attack us, we shall make them regret it," she said.
"Hold, travelers!" a voice called. "Come no closer!"
"Not bandits, then," said Jenassa. "Soldiers, I think. We had best move away."
"Wait on," Rhiannon said, "I know that voice." She stepped a little further forward. "Ralof? Is that you?"
"Who… Rhiannon!" Ralof called back. "I did not recognize you with your clothes on."
"What…" another voice began, but Rhiannon didn't hear the rest of what it said because she had burst out laughing. All she was able to make out was that the second voice was female.
"We thought this was a bandit camp," Rhiannon called, once she'd managed to control her laughter. "Good to see you're all right, Ralof."
"And it is good to see that you too are all right, Rhiannon," Ralof replied. By now Rhiannon was able to see the Stormcloak warrior, partially concealed behind a ridge, and he moved more clearly into view as she spoke.
"I thought you said you were going to… Windhelm, is it?" Rhiannon said. "I didn't expect to meet you here."
"We met Jarl Ulfric on the road," Ralof explained, "and he ordered us to make camp here, and to keep Helgen under observation, to see if the Imperials reoccupied it. Shortly afterwards Thorygg Sun-Killer arrived with reinforcements, and supplies, and took command. Jarl Ulfric will be sending a relief from Windhelm before long and then I will return there."
A new male voice spoke up. "Who is this, Ralof?" the newcomer demanded. His voice was deep and had the same Scandinavian accent as Ralof and most of the inhabitants of Whiterun.
"She is Rhiannon, Thorygg," Ralof replied, "who escaped Helgen with us, as I have recounted."
"Indeed? Then I would like to speak with her," said Thorygg. He emerged into the open and approached. Ralof followed behind him.
Rhiannon opened her eyes wide and had to consciously check to make sure that she wasn't licking her lips. Thorygg was seriously good-looking. Tall, as muscular as any of the WWE wrestlers, ruggedly handsome of face, and with long blond hair that was braided at the temples in a style that reminded her of Orlando Bloom playing Legolas. He was wearing a style of leather armor that she hadn't seen before, which looked as if it would be flexible and easy to move in, and which left his impressive biceps uncovered. A bearskin cape hung at his back, with the front legs of the skin draped over his shoulders, fastened to the armor by paws that still had the claws attached. All very wild, barbaric, and – to Rhiannon at least – sexy.
After five minutes of him speaking, trying to persuade her to join the Stormcloak rebellion, she changed her mind about his appeal. He spoke with undoubted passion, certain that the cause of the rebellion was just, but Rhiannon wasn't convinced. It sounded as if the root of the rebellion was religion and that meant that it could get really nasty; she'd read the 'Ring of Fire' books, or at least those of them not written by Virginia DeMarce, and was well aware that the Thirty Years' War had killed a third of the Seventeenth-Century population of Germany. And she was sure that the Empire's side would be able to come up with just as good arguments to support their side of the dispute. Also some of what Thorygg was saying sounded suspiciously racist and the contemptuous expression on his face when his gaze fell on Jenassa tended to confirm that impression.
"Sorry, but I'm not going to get involved," Rhiannon told him. "I'm working for the Jarl of Whiterun now," which was more or less true, "and he's neutral in the war. That makes me neutral too."
"You are in the service of Jarl Balgruuf?" Thorygg's very blond eyebrows climbed. "Then why are you here?"
"He's sent me on an errand to High Hrothgar," Rhiannon answered.
"High Hrothgar? The Greybeards?" Thorygg's forehead creased and then his mouth dropped open. "I heard the shout of Dovahkiin. Are you… the Dragonborn?"
"Uh, so I've been told," Rhiannon admitted.
"Then I will not delay you further," said Thorygg. "May Talos watch over you… and may you see the justice of our cause and join Ulfric Stormcloak in throwing off the yoke of the corrupt Empire."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
THE PROMOTION THAT CRIED WOLF?
There have been so many contrived storylines involving fake injuries, disappearances, and even phony deaths in the wrestling entertainment business that one's first reaction, on hearing the announcement that WWE Divas Champion Rhiannon has gone missing, is to assume that it's just another angle. This time, however, it appears to be genuine.
The announcement was made without any of the usual theatrics, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley speaking entirely out of character, and the divas themselves have been breaking kayfabe all over the place. Becky Lynch seemed to be on the verge of tears when she talked about her missing real-life friend. And all of them, consistently, are referring to her by her real name of Cerys rather than using the ring-name Rhiannon.
The police appear to be baffled. There was no sign of a struggle, according to the official press release, and they're treating it as a Missing Persons case rather than a kidnapping. It's an open secret in the business that Rhiannon wasn't as happy in the main roster as she had been in NXT, and was considering going back to the UK, along with Wade Barrett, when her contract expires next summer, but no-one thinks she would just walk out; especially as reports say that all her belongings were left behind, even her phone. And surely she would have hung on at least until after WrestleMania 32.
With no explanation that makes sense forthcoming, so far, the whole affair seems to be shaping up to be the most mysterious disappearance of a Welsh celebrity since Richey Edwards of the Manic Street Preachers vanished in 1995. Let's hope that this one is resolved much quicker and with a happier outcome.
ThatCulture: WWE News
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Back where I came from I used to go for an eight-mile run every morning," Rhiannon told Jenassa, "to keep myself in fighting trim. I have a feeling that I won't need to do that here."
"I would occupy myself with weapons practice, at times when I had no patron," Jenassa said, "or spend time chopping wood for the fires of the inns and businesses. That had the advantage of being paid work as well as keeping my arms strong."
"There's clever, killing two birds with one stone," said Rhiannon, "but I'd probably get blisters." She looked up at the forbidding bulk of the mountain. "And now we have to climb seven thousand steps. Joy."
"I do not feel joy at the prospect, sera," Jenassa said.
"I was being sarcastic," Rhiannon said. She stepped down from the inn's porch and set off along the path, Jenassa close behind, and walked toward the bridge that separated the small town of Ivarstead from the winding path up the mountain. Two men were leaning against the walls of the bridge, in the middle of a conversation, but they broke off as Rhiannon and Jenassa approached.
"Excuse me, ladies," one of them called. "Are you going on the pilgrimage up the mountain?" He was a man of about forty, Rhiannon guessed, with hair cropped almost down to the skull and a neatly trimmed beard. His nose was large and the overall effect was to make him look extremely like Triple H; almost a twin, in fact, apart from being four inches shorter than Triple H and lighter by some eighty pounds of muscle.
"We're going to High Hrothgar, yes," Rhiannon confirmed, trying to stop herself from staring.
"All the way up to the monastery? In that case, I would ask a favor of you," said the scaled-down Triple H. "I have supplies to deliver to the Greybeards but I don't feel up to making the climb. My legs aren't what they were ten years ago. If you are going up anyway perhaps you could take the supplies with you? I'd pay you, of course, although I'm afraid I can't really offer all that much."
"That's not a problem," Rhiannon said. Her first impulse was to decline any offer of payment but she wasn't sure how that would be taken. "A few septims is fine. What sort of supplies?"
"Mostly food supplies like dried fish and salted meats; you know, things that keep fresh for a long time," the man answered. "The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning." He bent down and picked up a bulging sack. "It's very kind of you to help. Here is the bag of supplies. At the top of the steps, just outside the monastery, you'll see the offering chest. Just leave it in there and you're done. My name's Klimmek, by the way."
"I am Rhiannon, and this is Jenassa." Rhiannon hoisted the bag up to her shoulder.
"My thanks to both of you," Klimmek said. "Watch out for wolves when you're on the mountain. They don't often attack pilgrims but when they do…" he pulled back his left sleeve and revealed two long scars on his forearm, "it can get nasty. But you look like you shouldn't have a problem."
"We can deal with wolves," Rhiannon said. She'd managed before, after all, and now she had Jenassa as back-up instead of the seriously injured Hadvar.
"I have heard rumors that some of the pilgrims have seen a frost troll on the upper slopes," Klimmek went on. "I hope they're wrong but I can't rule it out. In all honesty that's another reason why I'm reluctant to make the journey myself. If you decide to call off your pilgrimage, or only go as far as the fourth tablet like the others I've spoken to, I'll understand."
A troll. Rhiannon hadn't managed to acquire a flaming weapon – Adrianne Avenicci's smithy had one in stock, but the price was beyond Rhiannon's current means – and a few questions to the local warriors had confirmed that, yes, trolls did regenerate from wounds not inflicted by fire. Not to the same extent as the trolls in D&D, they could be killed by normal weapons, but it took a lot of damage to put them down. She cast a quick glance at Jenassa, who seemed as calmly confident as ever, and gathered her courage.
"The troll will not deter us," she said. "We're going. Not snow, nor heat, nor gloom of night, shall stay us from our appointed rounds and trolls won't either." She added, under her breath, "But don't ask me about Mrs. Cake."
"Aptly phrased, worthy of a bard," said Klimmek, "but – appointed rounds? That sounds like something a courier would say. You're not a courier, are you? If you are, then I will of course pay you at the rate laid down by the guild."
"No, I'm not a courier," Rhiannon said. "It's the motto of a… courier service in a country where I used to live."
"Well, thanks again," Klimmek said. "Watch your footing up there. In these conditions the steps can be treacherous."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Kung Fu Panda!" Rhiannon exclaimed. "I knew this reminded me of something. I'm the Dragon Warrior, climbing up a very long stone staircase, going to a monastery half-way up a high mountain to be trained. Just like Po in Kung Fu Panda except that I'm not fat, and I'm not a panda, and I already know Kung Fu."
Jenassa stopped and stared at her. "I understood none of that, sera," she said.
"It's from a story in my world," Rhiannon explained. "About a panda – that's an animal very like a bear, except that it's black and white, not ferocious, and only eats plants – who is fat, and lazy, but who wants to be a master of Kung Fu – that's a style of unarmed combat – and who eventually achieves his ambition and becomes the legendary Dragon Warrior."
"You see parallels between this story and your own situation?"
"Some, yes," Rhiannon said. "It's not the only story that's relevant, though. We have a lot of stories in my world."
"Our stories are mainly about historical personages," Jenassa said. "Many of them contain a moral or a life lesson."
"Some of ours are like that," Rhiannon said. "In fact we have stories about… everything. We even have lots and lots of stories about girls from our world who are transported, by magic, into worlds that are like this one. Most of them are, frankly, dreadful but some of them are good. The 'Return-verse' stories, for instance, and the 'Courier-verse'. In that one a girl from my world ends up on another planet and supports herself there by becoming a storyteller, telling the natives our stories, and then she becomes a courier as well." She laughed out loud. "If I could get paid to tell the Courier stories here – how meta would that be?"
"I believe you would have to be accredited as a bard, by the Bards' College in Solitude, before you could be paid for storytelling," Jenassa said. "What is 'meta'?"
Rhiannon had to think hard before she could come up with a definition. "Uh, self-referential, is it?" The look on Jenassa's face implied that she was no wiser and Rhiannon gave up. "Don't worry about it," she said, and then saw something she could use to change the subject. "Oh, look you, that must be the fourth plaque up ahead. The woman sitting in front of it must be a pilgrim."
"No doubt," said Jenassa. "A warrior maid, I would guess, by the look of her."
Rhiannon sized up the woman, as they drew closer, and decided that Jenassa was correct. The pilgrim wore that nice scaled armor, without the ugly goat horns at the shoulder that decorated the armor of Hrongar of Whiterun, and a circlet like Rhiannon's at her brow. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, seemingly not bothered by the ice and snow, her eyes trained on the little shrine in front of her. The only sign she gave that she was aware of their approach was that her hand drifted, casually, closer to the hilt of her sword.
Rhiannon walked past her and looked at the shrine. It reminded her of the Chinese roadside shrines that she'd seen in a few wuxia movies, or the Christian equivalents that she'd seen in TV documentaries about Poland and Greece, but instead of religious icons it held a vertically-mounted etched stone tablet. This was the fourth she'd seen as they climbed the mountain and, like the others, it told of a long-ago war between men and dragons.
Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man
Together they taught Men to use the Voice
Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.
As the instalments were miles apart, and it had taken nearly three hours ascending the steep and winding path to get this far, reading the story was almost as frustrating as waiting for updates from some of the slower authors at Twisting the Hellmouth. And at least there she knew the characters. Who was Kyne? Who was Paarthurnax? She resolved to ask Jenassa, once they were out of earshot of this pilgrim, so that her lack of what might well be common knowledge didn't attract attention.
"If you are going further up the mountain, beware of the troll," the pilgrim woman warned. "It lurks between here and the fifth shrine. It had been my intention to climb all seven thousand steps, and complete the reading of all ten tablets to be blessed with the Voice of the Sky, but the presence of the troll forced me to change my plans."
She had one of those slightly husky, Scandinavian-accented, voices that sounded sexy to most British people. Her appearance didn't match her voice; she was thin to the point of being scrawny, and her face, although it had the classic Scandinavian high cheek-bones, was dominated by a long thin nose. Rhiannon would have put her age as late thirties, perhaps forty, but she'd been way off in her estimate of Delphine's age – she'd have said forty but what Delphine had said about the Great War meant that she had to be at least fifty – and she wouldn't want to put money on her guess about the pilgrim. She would, however, put money on the woman being an experienced fighter.
"We passed a dead… ice wolf… a little way back," Rhiannon said. "It was you that killed it, was it?"
"I did," the woman confirmed, "but a troll is a far tougher proposition. I would not want to face one alone unless I had no choice."
"We don't have a choice," Rhiannon said. "We're on a mission from…" she fought off the temptation to say 'from God', as no-one here would have heard of the Blues Brothers, "…Jarl Balgruuf. We have to go all the way."
"Talos guide you, then," said the pilgrim.
They resumed their journey along the trail. Not all the steps led upward, rather to Rhiannon's surprise, but instead followed the path of least resistance and sometimes this meant that the steps descended, in places where ravines cut across the trail, before rising again. There were several stretches where the road was level and, on one of those sections, they caught sight of the troll.
It didn't look anything like the trolls in Dungeons & Dragons. It looked a lot more like a Yeti or Bigfoot; built like an anthropoid ape, but more erect, and covered in shaggy white hair. It was lurking on top of a ledge that overhung the road, perhaps waiting to drop down on top of prey passing below, but that position silhouetted it against the sky and made it clearly visible at a distance.
"What do you think?" Rhiannon asked. "Start shooting it with arrows and change over to swords if it gets up close?"
"I suggest that you use your bow and I take up a position of concealment," Jenassa proposed, "and attack it from the rear as it passes."
Rhiannon pursed her lips. "You're a better shot than me," she pointed out, "and you have a better bow, too."
"Then it might be best if you stage the ambush," Jenassa said.
"And backstab the troll, is it?" Rhiannon said. "Right, I'll do it."
She found a place in which she could lurk, ready to spring out and attack, and readied her swords. The troll was out of her line of sight and so she watched, as Jenassa began to loose shafts, and waited. Before long she heard the thudding of heavy footsteps as the charging beast drew near, and its angry growls, and then she saw it go past.
She leapt out and thrust with both weapons. Her blades sank deep into the troll's back. It staggered, and for a brief instant she thought that she'd managed to kill it outright, but then it swung around, lashed out with an arm, and hit her across the jaw. She rode the blow, by reflex, but even so it hit her with numbing force and sent her flying. Her swords remained stuck in the troll.
Rhiannon landed in a snow-drift and lay stunned, her ears ringing, unable to move. The troll ignored her, perhaps thinking that she was dead, and resumed its charge at Jenassa. By the time Rhiannon was able to raise her head, and look that way, Jenassa was in dire straits. The troll had knocked away one of the Dunmer's swords and seized her by the shoulders and, ignoring Jenassa's attempts to stab with her remaining sword, was pulling her toward its fanged jaws.
Rhiannon began to clamber to her feet but knew she would be too late to help. But she was the Dragonborn… She opened her mouth and yelled.
"FUS!"
The wave of force from the Shout struck both troll and Jenassa. The troll was massive enough to withstand the thrust, and merely staggered a couple of steps, but Jenassa was torn from its grip and landed a few feet away. She slipped on the icy ground, lost her footing, and fell. Her sword slipped from her hand and skittered away across the snowy rocks.
Rhiannon managed to get to her feet and she fumbled at her belt for the Axe of Whiterun. She expected that the troll would turn its attention to her but it headed for Jenassa once more; perhaps it hadn't recognized the source of the invisible force that had just struck it. Jenassa was slow to rise and appeared to be dazed. Rhiannon, who wasn't in much better shape, knew that she wouldn't make it there in time to save her comrade. She tried to Shout but nothing happened; she must need to recharge. Could she throw her axe? She'd never tried, and suspected the weapon would strike flat on, or handle first, and achieve nothing. She drew back the axe to try a throw anyway…
And then, perhaps because she'd been thinking about Twisting the Hellmouth only minutes before, a phrase from one of the stories there popped into her mind.
What would Terawatt do?
It was obvious. The protagonist of Diane Castle's story The Secret Return of Alex Mack would fire a bolt of lightning at the troll. And Rhiannon had learnt the spell to shoot electric sparks from her fingers…
She thrust out her left hand, brought the spell into her mind, and extended her fingers. At once twisting lines of scintillating energy, just like those from a Tesla coil, shot out in the direction of the troll. And hit. The troll jerked convulsively and roared in obvious pain. Its advance on Jenassa was brought to a halt. It sagged almost to its knees…
And after a mere five seconds Rhiannon's magic ran out and the electric bolts fizzled into non-existence. The troll straightened up, turned, and made straight for Rhiannon at a run. It used its long arms as forelegs, knuckling along like a charging silverback gorilla, and it was an even more intimidating sight. It had a third eye in the center of its forehead, all three eyes as red as blood, and they were firmly fixed on Rhiannon. Its massively-fanged mouth gaped wide. It reared up, raised its right arm, and lashed out at her with a huge, three-clawed, hand.
Rhiannon ducked under the strike and retaliated with her axe. Her training with an axe had been far shorter than her sword-fighting courses, and had concentrated on teaching her to look as if she was striking whilst not putting the other actor in real danger, but the troll wasn't likely to know parries and counters. Simply hitting it as hard as she could, and trying to avoid its return strikes, should work. She struck it a solid blow to a leg, the blade biting deep and its electrical shock enchantment causing additional pain, and the troll's roars became a howl. It brought an arm down like a bludgeon, she side-stepped, and the troll's blow missed. She pulled the axe free, struck again, and this time didn't quite manage to dodge the troll's retaliatory strike. It hit her across the chest, the claws just catching her arm and making a shallow gouge across her bicep, and sent her spinning away.
She recovered her balance, raised her axe again, and tried to ignore the blood streaming down her arm. The troll roared and closed in for the kill.
"Talos guide my arm!" a voice yelled. "Your kind has no place here!"
It was the pilgrim woman. She rushed to the attack and plunged her sword home into the troll's side. The beast wheeled to strike back at her and Rhiannon seized the opportunity to attack. She delivered another solid stroke with her axe, cutting into its leg as if she was felling a tree, and that leg buckled underneath it. The pilgrim stabbed again and then Jenassa returned to the fray. She had not yet recovered her own swords but she grabbed hold of the hilts of Rhiannon's swords, still embedded in the troll's back, and ripped them free.
Troll blood splattered on the snow, just as red as that dripping from Rhiannon and Jenassa, and the creature slumped down. It kept itself up only by supporting itself with its front limbs, abandoning its attempts to attack, and all three women rained more blows down upon it until it collapsed. They continued to chop at the body until the troll was pretty much dismembered and there was no possibility of it rising to attack again.
Rhiannon stood for a moment, panting, and then the pain of the wound in her arm hit her. She thought her magic reserves – or magicka, as they called it here – had recharged enough to cast a healing spell, and she was about to do so, when she noticed Jenassa sinking to her knees and rubbing her head. A gash above her eyebrow was oozing blood.
"Let me do something about that," Rhiannon said, and she cast a Healing Hands spell for the first time. She poured healing energy into Jenassa, and saw the forehead wound close, but the power ran out after only three or four seconds.
Jenassa made a sound between a grunt and a snort. "I hope you're not expecting a 'thank you'," she said.
"Well, pardon me for trying," Rhiannon said, feeling somewhat hurt.
"Forgive me, sera, that was ungracious of me," Jenassa said. "Your voice magic may have knocked me to the ground, and given me a headache, but you saved my life. I should thank you, indeed, and I do so most sincerely." Her gaze fell on Rhiannon's bleeding arm. "And you healed me before yourself. My words were churlish."
"Don't worry about it," Rhiannon said. "Ratty I am, too, when I have a headache." She tried to cast a healing spell on herself but nothing happened. "Damn, my batteries must be flat. I'd better take a potion."
"What are batteries?" Jenassa asked.
"They're things for… storing electricity, back where I come from," Rhiannon said, as she fished a healing potion from her pouch. She turned to the pilgrim woman. "Thanks for the help."
"It was remiss of me not to offer my assistance earlier," the pilgrim replied. "It occurred to me, after you had departed, that a troll would pose little threat to three together and I should have offered to accompany you. I was on my way to remedy my lack of thought when I heard the Shout. You used the Thu'um, did you not?"
"Uh, yes," said Rhiannon.
"Then you are the Dragonborn," the woman said, awe evident in her voice. "I heard the Greybeards call of Dovahkiin as I was on my way to Ivarstead. I hoped that it meant that a Dragonborn had been called but could scarce believe it, for none such have been known in… centuries. These are exciting times."
"A curse, that is, where I come from," Rhiannon said. "Exciting times are nice to hear about, not so good to live through."
"Indeed so," said the woman. "I am Karita. I will accompany you higher up the steps, if you will accept my company."
"Glad to have you," Rhiannon said. "I hope we don't meet any more trolls."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Bloody trolls," Paige muttered, as she read the comments in the forum. One poster was insisting that Rhiannon's disappearance was just another WWE storyline, or a publicity stunt, and Paige wasted no time in posting a vitriolic reply. "I hope Cerys' mum and dad don't read these. They must be worried sick. I know mine would be."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Damn, that's quite a sight," Jenassa remarked, as she stood at the top of the steps, outside the monastery, and gazed out over the landscape below.
Rhiannon deposited Klimmek's sack of supplies in the offering chest and turned to look at the view. "Indeed it is," she agreed. "Higher than the top of Snowdon, we are, and there's a lot of mountain up above us still." She was tempted to launch into a rendition of Let It Go from Frozen, which seemed very appropriate to the setting, but suppressed the impulse. Instead she walked over to the tenth, and final, shrine and joined Karita in reading the tenth etched tablet.
The Voice is worship
Follow the Inner path
Speak only in True Need
A postscript only. The story proper had been told, although in cryptic form, on the previous nine plaques and had ended with the summoning of Tiber Septim by the Greybeards. But reading the tenth had its own reward. A barely perceptible stream of energy emanated from the tablet and entered Rhiannon and Karita.
"The Voice of the Sky," Karita said, in reverent tones. "For the next twenty-four hours no wild beast will attack us, or flee from us."
"We could have used that at the bottom," Rhiannon said.
"True," Karita said, "although trolls are not true beasts, being unnatural monsters, and I do not think the Voice of the Sky would deter them. Still, it will mean that I will not be troubled with wolves as I return to Ivarstead."
"You're not going in, then?" Rhiannon said. "The Greybeards don't have a visitor area with a café and a gift shop, is it? When I went up Snowdon I had a cup of tea and a toasted teacake before I went down again." She glanced at her watch. "And it's taken six hours to get this far. You could get up Snowdon and down again in that time, even if you didn't take the train, although, to be fair, you wouldn't have to stop to fight a troll."
Karita shook her head. "The Greybeards do not encourage visitors," she said. "Rarely is anyone admitted. The last, as far as I know, was Ulfric Stormcloak. He studied here, as a young man, or so it is said."
"That will be how he learned the Voice, the Thu'um, is it?"
"That is so," said Karita, "and with the power of that ancient Nord art he will free us from the yoke of the Empire and the Thalmor. I hope that you will aid us in our noble cause, Dragonborn."
"I… think that my task is to fight the dragons," Rhiannon said. "I don't think I should get involved in a civil war." She knew that a greater percentage of the British population had died in the English Civil War than in the First World War, the American Civil War had killed more American soldiers than both World Wars put together, and a more recent horrible example was the situation in Syria. No way did she want to be part of anything like that.
"I saw a dragon, high in the sky, as I made my way to Ivarstead," Karita said. "It seemed to be circling Bonestrewn Crest."
"I might go there after the Greybeards have finished with me," Rhiannon said, "but I have to report back to the Jarl first." Jarl Balgruuf hadn't given any such instruction, in fact, and it was Delphine to whom Rhiannon would be reporting. That, however, was something Delphine didn't want made public and using the Jarl's name made a good cover story.
"Talos watch over you, Dragonborn," said Karita.
"And over you," Rhiannon said in return, and she headed for the doors of the monastery.
There was no doorbell, and knocking produced no response, and so Rhiannon opened the door and walked in. Jenassa followed three paces behind. A short passage led into a huge hall, floored with stone flags, illuminated by candles and several braziers. Some of the flagstones were set at an angle to form a large square in the middle of the floor.
At first there was no sign of any inhabitants but then a grey-robed figure descended a flight of steps and approached.
"So a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age," he greeted them. He was an elderly man of distinguished appearance, with a short and neat grey beard, reminding Rhiannon very much of Sir Alec Guinness playing Obi Wan Kenobi both in appearance and in voice. At least he wasn't Master Shifu the Red Panda. Three other robed figures entered the hall and took up positions at three corners of the marked-out square.
"Uh, hello," Rhiannon said. "I'm Rhiannon, and they say I'm the Dragonborn."
"We will see if you truly have the gift," said the first Greybeard. "Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."
"What, Shout at you, is it? Are you sure?"
"We are trained to withstand the Thu'um," said the Greybeard. "Do not be afraid. You will not harm us."
Rhiannon took his word for it. "Use the Force, Luke", she muttered, under her breath, and then breathed in deeply and Shouted "FUS!" The Greybeard was driven back only by a single step. He had resisted it almost as well as the eight-foot troll.
"Dragonborn," said the Greybeard, sounding almost awestruck. "It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar." He stepped forward, back to his original position, and looked Rhiannon up and down. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"
"Uh, you summoned me, is it? At least Jarl Balgruuf told me that's what it meant when you called out Dovahkiin."
"Indeed so," said Arngeir. "We are to train you, and guide you in the Way of the Voice, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."
"Ah," said Rhiannon. "A training montage. Cue the power chords. Although in this world they'd be a cappella."
"Your words are strange to me, Dragonborn," said Arngeir, looking and sounding perplexed. "Do you wish to learn?"
"I am ready to learn, Master," Rhiannon replied, and she bowed in the style of a martial arts student to their Sensei.
"Then let us begin."
The other three Greybeards did not speak; Rhiannon learned, as the lessons progressed, that they kept silent because their voices were so powerful that they risked inflicting harm if they spoke. Only Arngeir had sufficient control to be able to carry on a normal conversation. Masters Einarth, Bori, and Wulfgar did, however, play a major part in her training.
Arngeir revealed to her that a Shout was made up, in full, of three Words of Power. With each additional word the Shout grew more powerful. The Word she knew already, 'Fus', was the first word of the Shout 'Unrelenting Force'.
Master Einarth Shouted the second word, 'Ro', at the floor and a glowing word symbol, like the one she had seen in Bleak Falls Barrow, took shape on the flagstones. Reading it gave her the basic concept but before she could use it Master Einarth had to bestow upon her the full understanding of the word; he projected this at her in the form of a mystical energy wave resembling the one that had streamed into her from the dying dragon. Unlike the dragon, however, Master Einarth did not burst into flames and crumble away.
The next step was for her to display her proficiency with the reinforced Shout. The three non-speaking Masters – Rhiannon almost got an attack of the giggles when she started to wonder if the non-speaking roles meant that they were paid less than Arngeir – took turns projecting intangible targets, rather like holograms, at which she had to Shout. It was difficult to tell for sure, as the targets had no physical bodies, but she had a feeling that the 'FUS RO' version of Unrelenting Force would be powerful enough that not even a troll would be able to shrug it off.
Next they took her outside, into a vast courtyard at the rear of the monastery, and Master Bori taught her the first word of a completely new Shout; 'Wuld', which she was told meant 'Whirlwind', and which would enable her to sprint a short distance at a headlong pace that would have left Usain Bolt trailing in her wake. Or even a cheetah; Rhiannon had no way of estimating the speed accurately but her rough guess was that the 'Whirlwind Sprint' shout propelled its user for about fifty or sixty feet at something like a hundred miles an hour.
That concluded the practical part of the lessons. Before the Greybeards could teach her any more, Arngeir told her, there was a task that she had to perform. Luckily they didn't ask her to bring them a shrubbery.
"You are now ready for your last trial," Arngeir said. "Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."
"This tomb wouldn't be full of the Undead, draugr, is it?" Rhiannon said.
"It is possible," Arngeir admitted. "There are obstacles that must be overcome, some of which are intended to be passable only by a true Dragonborn, and the ancient Nords may well have used draugr as guardians of the tomb."
"I thought as much," said Rhiannon. "Oh, well, I don't suppose I've a choice. But if you don't mind I won't set off straight away. It's getting dark."
"You are welcome to stay the night, Dragonborn," Arngeir said. "I will put beds at the disposal of yourself and your taciturn companion. And you may dine with us, shortly, although," he smiled, "I cannot guarantee much in the way of conversation over the meal."
What conversation there was concentrated on the history and ethics of the Greybeards. As well as the four Masters she had met there was one other, the chief of the order, and his name was Paarthurnax. He lived in solitary seclusion, at the very top of the mountain, and Rhiannon would not be able to meet him until she had progressed far enough in mastery of the Voice to be able to use it to calm the ferocious winds that made the upper trail hazardous to the point of lethality.
Paarthurnax. That was the name on the fourth of the etched tablets, the one who had taught mortals to use the Voice in the first place, and that must have been hundreds, even thousands, of years ago. So either he was a god – 'strong on his mountain' like Crom – or an Elf, or… a dragon.
Rhiannon strongly suspected that the last was the case. She wasn't totally familiar with the naming conventions here, as yet, but she knew enough to tell that 'Paarthurnax' wasn't a Nord name. The Imperials seemed to have names that resembled those from Ancient Rome. She'd only met a handful of Elves, so far, but none of those she had encountered had a name anything remotely similar to that of the Greybeards' leader. But 'Paarthurnax' would fit in perfectly as a name for a dragon, at least in the D&D game-world of Faerûn, and living alone on the top of a mountain seemed in character for a dragon.
And the idea made sense. According to the Greybeards all Shouts were in the Dragon language. So who but a renegade dragon could have taught them to mankind? Paarthurnax, who pitied Man, the tablet said, and that implied that Paarthurnax wasn't a member of the human race. It all seemed to fit.
"Paarthurnax is a dragon, is he?" she asked Arngeir.
The Greybeard froze part-way through taking a forkful of apple and cabbage stew to his mouth. "What makes you think that?" he asked.
"So he is a dragon," Rhiannon said, grinning, and she explained part of her logic – minus the bit about dragons in D&D – to Arngeir. "Can I meet him soon? It would be lush to talk to a real dragon who wasn't trying to kill me. I wonder what he'll think of my tattoo?"
"You seem eager to converse with Paarthurnax," Arngeir said, raising his eyebrows. "Most Nords would seek to slay any dragon, even one that does no harm, rather than look forward to a friendly meeting with one."
"I'm not a Nord," Rhiannon said. "As you may have guessed, I am not from these parts," she added, quoting John Cleese in Silverado. "I'm from a country called Wales and our national emblem is the Red Dragon. There are good dragons in our stories, like Idris, as well as evil ones like Smaug. I'd love to talk to a dragon."
"A pleasant change from the bloodthirsty attitude that many display," Arngeir said. "We never allowed Ulfric Stormcloak to meet Paarthurnax. By the time he had advanced far enough in his studies of the Thu'um he had begun to show signs that made us suspect that it might be… unwise. You, on the other hand… When you return here with the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller we shall teach you the Shout, Clear Skies, that enables safe passage to the top of the Throat of the World where Paarthurnax lives."
"There's tidy!" Rhiannon exclaimed. "I'll go after the Horn once I've gone back to Whiterun and talked to Jarl Balgruuf."
"We would ask you not to mention Paarthurnax to the Jarl of Whiterun," Arngeir cautioned, "or, indeed, to anyone else."
"I won't," Rhiannon promised. It might be best to keep the secret from Delphine, too, she thought. The Ninja Innkeeper did seem to be somewhat obsessed with dragons, and not in a fangirl way. Probably she'd expect Rhiannon to kill Paarthurnax rather than talk to him.
Later, in bed, Rhiannon couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about her parents and what they must be going through, and about the people she had been forced to kill, and about her colleagues in the WWE. She needed something to take her mind off those things and the options open to her back on Earth, such as checking Facebook and browsing Twisting the Hellmouth and the Baen Free Library, weren't available. She was forced to fall back on reading actual printed books by candlelight.
Luckily the monastery did have a well-stocked library. Rhiannon found a couple of short volumes that helped her get to grips with the geography of the area, and some of the history and politics, and then she stumbled across one that she found even more interesting.
The 'Madmen' of the Reach. This was an account written by a scholar who had investigated the motives of the Forsworn, including visiting a Forsworn encampment and talking with them face-to-face, and who gave what seemed to be a balanced and sympathetic portrayal of them. This book reinforced Rhiannon's initial impression that there were close parallels between the situations of the Forsworn and of the Welsh in the late 13th Century. She resolved to travel to the Reach, as soon as was practicable, and see for herself.
Before she could do that, however, she had to check in with Delphine and then go off in search of the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. If they set off down the mountain after breakfast they'd arrive in Ivarstead in the early afternoon. If they carried straight on to Riverwood it would mean they'd be in the middle of nowhere when night fell. She'd seen a cabin close to the road, in a state of disrepair and apparently abandoned, but it didn't have a door; that might mean waking up to find that they were sharing the shack with a bear. Not an enticing prospect.
If they stayed in Ivarstead for another night, and set off for Riverwood early in the morning, they might be able to make the journey in a single day if they pushed hard. If not then they'd have to camp in the ruins of Helgen again, not an attractive option, but perhaps the Stormcloaks would let her stay in their encampment overnight? It might be worth asking.
She'd have some time to kill in Ivarstead if she arranged her schedule that way, of course, and that little hamlet wasn't exactly packed with shops or sites of interest. Although there was that allegedly haunted barrow that the innkeeper had been rabbiting on about; it might be worth taking a look…
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Rhiannon and Jenassa emerged from Shroud Hearth Barrow after midnight. So much for using the exploration of the barrow to kill a few hours.
On the plus side Rhiannon had acquired several hundred septims in coin, an enchanted great-sword – unfortunately it was a Cold enchantment, which she already knew, rather than the Flame property that she very much wanted – and several other saleable weapons, and a new understanding that Real Life imposed Encumbrance penalties much more rigorously than even the strictest Dungeon Master. She'd been forced to leave several bows, swords, and shields behind. Jenassa had assured her that none were particularly valuable, and they weren't as good as their existing weapons, but Rhiannon would have taken them anyway if she could.
The items that she had taken included a spell-book of Oakflesh, which she presumed was the equivalent of Barkskin in Dungeons & Dragons, and another book that had magically bestowed upon her a basic knowledge of Illusion magic. Something which, in this world, meant more than just opening up a possible career as a rival to David Copperfield.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she'd found another Word Wall. This one bore a word for a shout called 'Kyne's Peace', which would calm wild animals and prevent them from attacking; a re-usable version of the 'Voice of the Sky' effect from the tablets on the steps up to High Hrothgar. She couldn't use the Shout, however, until she acquired another dragon soul; having to fight a dragon didn't seem a good trade-off for being able to avoid fighting wolves.
And she'd been forced to kill another human. He'd been insane, and homicidal, but still she regretted it.
Now she would snatch a few hours' sleep and then set off for Riverwood.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"I thought they might send you after the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, or something like it," Delphine said. "I'll come with you, if I may. A place that holds a relic like that might also contain dragon lore that I'd find useful and you might not know what to look for."
Rhiannon saw the frown on Jenassa's place and guessed that her Housecarl was worried about her place being usurped. "We'd be glad to have you accompany us," she said, slightly stressing the 'we' and 'us', and saw Jenassa's frown lift. She'd guessed right.
"I'm not quite ready to go yet, though," Delphine said. "I've heard a rumor of something down near Riften that I want to investigate first. Would you mind waiting a few days? A week at most."
"We could go with you," Rhiannon suggested.
"Hmm." Delphine pursed her lips. "No, that might not be a good idea. There are a couple of people I'll be talking to who might be somewhat close-mouthed in front of strangers. And Riften can be a dangerous place for those who don't have the right… contacts. No, I think it would be best if you spent the time in Whiterun. Sell the stuff you picked up in that barrow, get some sword-fighting training – there's a warrior named Amren who gives lessons, and he's said to be very good – or do some archery practice, or perhaps do a job for the Jarl. He might well want a bandit nest clearing out, or something along those lines. Come back here in, say, five or six days and I should be all ready to accompany you to Ustengrav."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"There's been a courier looking for you," Adrianne told Rhiannon. "He has a letter for you, apparently. You'll find him at the Bannered Mare, I would think, or he might have gone up to Dragonsreach to leave the letter with the Jarl."
"A letter for me, is it?" Rhiannon had no idea who could be sending her a letter. The Greybeards would just Shout. She'd parted from Delphine only three hours previously and the few other people in Riverwood that she'd met could have caught her there. Almost all the other people she knew in Skyrim were in Whiterun. Unless… Hadvar? Or his superiors in the Legion, trying to recruit her?
She concluded her business with Adrianne, selling off the surplus weapons, but found that, although she now had more than the price the smith had been asking for the flaming axe, in the intervening time Adrianne had sold the weapon to someone else. Rhiannon sighed, pocketed the cash, and then went to the Bannered Mare in search of the courier. Subconsciously she'd been expecting a young woman, perhaps because of the 'Courier' stories, but this courier wasn't Dawn Summers alias Mahaila alias Lady Arwen. It was a young man, of unremarkable appearance, who handed over the letter and departed immediately.
Rhiannon Dragonborn,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Siddgeir, and I have the honor to be the Jarl of the proud and ancient city of Falkreath.
The fame of your exploits across Skyrim has brought you to my attention. If you are interested in becoming a Thane of Falkreath Hold, I invite you to call upon me in Falkreath at the earliest opportunity. Aside from the honor that accrues to the title, my thanes are entitled to a personal Housecarl. I also can tell you privately that a choice parcel of land in Falkreath would be available for your purchase should your services prove useful to me.
I look forward to meeting you in person.
I remain,
Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath
"Siddgeir is a young pup, a poor excuse for a Nord, indolent at best, dishonest at worst," Jarl Balgruuf said, when Rhiannon showed him the letter. "No doubt he hopes that some of the glory of the Dragonborn will rub off on him. Or he hopes to make some political capital out of having the Dragonborn as a Thane."
"So I should ignore this, is it?"
Balgruuf stroked his beard. "Not necessarily," he said. "You may be able to get him to understand at least some approximation of the concept of honor. I don't hold out much hope, but it's possible. And he has always been jealous of Whiterun's association with the Companions, as Jorrvaskr is here, and if he has heard that I have appointed the Dragonborn as a Thane that will have made him even more resentful. Accepting his offer, so that he too can claim a link with the Dragonborn, will ease that resentment and improve relations between our holds. He might even be willing to let me do something about that bandit nest, just over the border, which he is too lazy or parsimonious to deal with himself."
Rhiannon thought for a minute. She had some time to spare; she had considered going to the Reach, to see if she could meet the Forsworn, but she had no idea how long it would take to make contact on terms that wouldn't get her attacked on sight. Falkreath was closer, and Jenassa knew the way, and they should be able to go there, see the Jarl and be made a Thane, and get back to Riverwood in plenty of time to meet up with Delphine. And maybe there'd be a flaming weapon on sale in Falkreath at a price she could afford.
"I'll go to Falkreath, then," Rhiannon said. "It's too late to go today so I'll set off tomorrow. For now I'll see if Farengar will let me play with his Enchanter's workbench. And then I have to pick up my laundry."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"Ri'saad has wares, if the lady has coin," the cat-person said. He was sitting cross-legged in the entrance to a tent, in the little clearing just outside the outer gate of Whiterun, as the three other members of his band busied themselves with completing the erection of the camp-site. It was obvious that he was the leader of these cat-people.
Rhiannon sat down in front of him. She remembered the phrase he had used when she had seen the cat-people before, when she had first arrived at Whiterun, and used it as a greeting now. "May your road lead you to warm sands," she said. "Will you tell me about your people?"
Ri'saad bowed his head slightly. "The lady is courteous," he said. "The Khajiit hail from a distant land called Elsweyr, bordered on the north by Cyrodiil, and on the south by the glistening blue waters of the sea. Elsweyr is an arid land of deserts and rocky canyons, where the sun shines warmly, always. There are cities so ancient, the sands have swallowed them whole. But now I will speak of this no more, for this Khajiit misses his home greatly."
"You are traders, is it?"
"We travel this land offering our wares for sale, and buying goods that we can sell," Ri'saad confirmed. "This caravan goes between Whiterun and Markarth. Perhaps you have encountered Ma'dran or Akhari? Both are sworn to me, and both have worthy goods to offer."
"I've only been in Skyrim a few days," Rhiannon told him, "and you're the first of your people I have seen." She would have liked to spend more time talking, as she found these… Khajiit… fascinating and extremely cute, but she had to press on to Falkreath. "Do you have any weapons for sale with a fire enchantment?"
"This one has an iron mace that bears such a charm," Ri'saad said. "It is a poor piece, no doubt used as a practice piece by a novice enchanter, and the enchantment is not strong. Worth perhaps five hundred septims at most. To you, courteous lady… three hundred and twenty-five."
"I'll take it," Rhiannon said. She made no attempt to bargain him down further; she would have paid the five hundred, if necessary, and she realized that she'd just saved herself a hundred and seventy-five septims simply by being polite and friendly. A useful lesson.
An iron mace wasn't much use to her in itself, as she'd never had any lessons in the use of that kind of weapon, but she could use it to learn the Fire enchantment and apply it to one of her swords. She considered going back into Whiterun, and up to Dragonsreach to use Farengar's workbench, but that would mean a considerable delay. Better to stop off in Riverwood, call at the Sleeping Giant inn, and use the enchanting equipment in Delphine's secret Batcave. She wouldn't be there now, of course, but she'd told Orgnar to allow Rhiannon access. Yes, that was a much better idea.
"Was there anything else, or is our transaction complete?" Ri'saad asked.
"I'll need a filled Soul Gem," Rhiannon said. The way they enchanted items in this world, using the trapped life energy of dying creatures, seemed a little creepy to her but she would just have to live with it. And she wasn't going to use the souls of sentient beings, even if they did produce more powerful results, but would stick to those of animals and monsters. "And… do you sell tea leaves?"