Loredas, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E 201

Once Yngve had traveled a fair distance outside of Whiterun, he paused to organize the supplies in his backpack. Everything Yngve had asked for in his note was in the pack: a set of fur armor; a bow and a quiver of arrows; a war axe; a tent, with a bedroll; a lantern, with some oil; lockpicks; and a waterskin. In addition, Heimskr had thrown in several pieces of fruit, some vegetables, a wedge of cheese, half a loaf of bread, and a small amount of elk jerky – and he had returned the coin purse that Yngve sent to him for payment. At the bottom of the backpack was a simple note that read, Talos guide you. It gave him a boost of resolve to keep moving.

Yngve knew that traveling along the roads could be risky for him, especially traveling through Imperial territory, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way to where he needed to be if he didn't. He decided that he'd have to follow the roads and try to stay as alert as possible. In any case, he supposed, he should be able to stray from the roads periodically, in places where he knew he could easily keep track of where he was headed; he could cut around places he didn't want to be seen in – towns, guard outposts, fortresses, and the like. So long as he did that and didn't allow himself to get too lazy, Yngve figured he should be able to move even through technically "hostile" territory with minimal problems.

By sunrise, Yngve felt like he had hardly made any progress at all. Whiterun still loomed quite largely behind him. Luckily, everything had remained uneventful, but being unable to escape the idea that Jarl Balgruuf's men were right behind him was still unsettling. On top of that psychological horror, Yngve had interrupted his sleep schedule for the last several days in order to plan his escape. He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been traveling – at best, a few hours – and he was exhausted. He managed to pass a Whiterun guard outpost unnoticed, and when he came upon a run-down, abandoned house shortly thereafter, he didn't think his legs would carry him any further right then. He had to stop and rest.

The house was set a short way back from the road, and while it no longer had a roof, its walls could provide some shelter from the nearly constant wind blowing across the plains. While Yngve did have a tent, and would have appreciated some overhead shelter, he felt it may be risky to raise his tent in the shack. He didn't want to be visible from the road. Similarly, he didn't want to build a fire there either. Luckily, though it was the latter half of Last Seed, the warmth of summer had not yet completely faded from Whiterun hold, as it almost surely had in Yngve's home of Eastmarch. The days were still fairly comfortable, and the breeze was chilly at night, but not particularly unpleasant during the day. Yngve huddled into a corner of the ruined, weatherbeaten house, wrapped in a fur travel cloak and concealed from view by a crumbling wall, and fell into a light sleep.

Yngve's dreams were strange, filled with images that made no sense to him. He saw himself standing in the streets of Solitude – although he had never been there, and didn't know what it actually looked like, his dream painted a believable picture. He was surrounded by a massive crowd, stuffed in so tightly that he couldn't move or even turn around. On a dais, all lined up and bound as prisoners, stood his father, Ralof, his father's housecarl Galmar, and a number of others – all dressed in the Stormcloak militia armor – whose faces Yngve didn't recognize. High King Torygg's widow, Elisif, came onto the stage. Yngve didn't know what she looked like in reality, but in his dream she was beautiful and terrifying. She took a headsman's axe and prepared to swing mightily down on his father's head, when suddenly the dog Yngve was traveling with appeared in his dream, and jumped onto the platform. She bit Elisif's arm, causing her to drop the axe and flee the dais as the dog chased her. Throughout the scene, the crowd around Yngve only booed and jeered, screaming obscenities, and Yngve wasn't sure which part of the situation the people were for or against.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Yngve woke with a start. His heart was pounding and his skin was slick and slimy with a cold sweat. For a few minutes, he couldn't really do anything other than try to reflect on his dream. To preserve his own morale, Yngve had to decide that the premise of his dream was absurd and could never happen. But he already knew that his father had been captured and imprisoned – more than once, in fact – so it took some convincing. As Yngve slowly brought his mind back to the present, he decided now was a good time to slip out of his mage robes and put on the fur armor that Heimskr had gotten for him. But, rather than abandoning the robes in the ruined house, he decided to keep them with him, at least until he was free of Whiterun hold. That way, he wouldn't leave a recognizable trail.

After changing his clothes, Yngve took to the road again, and things remained uneventful for some time. After passing a fort near the abandoned house, he didn't see much, aside from the figure of someone walking ahead of him on the road. After a while, though, he realized that something about the figure and its position ahead of him didn't seem right. Then it hit him – the person walking ahead of him was a giant. Simultaneously curious and alarmed, Yngve veered a short distance off the road and hiked up a low rise in the terrain to get a better view. He couldn't see any other giants in the area; this one appeared to be alone, just walking along the road, leading... a cow?

This made for a curious situation, and one that Yngve wasn't really sure what to do with. His own gait seemed to be somewhat faster than the giant's, and he was slowly gaining on it as he followed along the road. He wasn't sure whether he should slow down and remain a distance behind it, or whether he should try to circle around and pass it – leaving a wide berth, of course. Yngve had never seen a giant in the flesh before. The talk he'd always heard was that they were both terribly stupid and terribly aggressive, and that their camps were death traps to be avoided at all cost. Yngve decided to slow his pace. He couldn't tell if the giant hadn't noticed him, or simply didn't care that he was there, so it seemed safest not to change anything about the circumstances, and a short while later the giant turned off the road and took its leave, allowing Yngve to quicken up to his natural pace.

Unfortunately, however, one less-than-ideal circumstance seemed to beget another, and not long after the giant left the road, the sky suddenly darkened and it began to rain. Yngve resolved to travel just a little bit further before he stopped to camp. He was still worrying about being followed, searched for, or captured. But no one would be expecting him to be traveling these roads at all, he figured, so maybe he should just relax. Sure, it was reasonable that he should try to keep his identity hidden in general, but he wasn't even sure that Balgruuf would bother trying to recapture him. After all, like everyone else, Balgruuf only saw Yngve as a child – not very capable, certainly not dangerous, and probably not heading in any direction but home. On top of that Yngve was sure he wasn't even a legal prisoner, and that Balgruuf would struggle to come up with a legitimate reason to have held him captive in the first place.

As he pondered those bizarre questions, Yngve carried on in the direction of Rorikstead. If he could just get as far as the next town before the storm got too heavy, he'd gladly find a place nearby to wait out the weather. But before he made it that far, he was completely soaked, his clothes weighing twice as much, his feet wet in his boots. The rain didn't seem to be letting up at all, so he carefully moved off the road and chose a spot behind a small ridge to put up his tent. To his mild surprise, even now the dog that had joined him as he left Whiterun was still at his side, and she stopped to camp with him. The tent he had was small, and they were a little bit cramped, but they managed to both fit inside, and while the tent was wet from being pitched in the rain, he set a fire close by and eventually the two both dried.

The rain carried on through the rest of the afternoon and into the night. Eventually, Yngve nodded off, and this time his dreams were less strange, if not any more comforting. He dreamed of his mother, as he often did when he was at home. Although he sometimes liked, in his waking hours, to imagine what she might look like if she were still alive, and how things would be if she were a part of his life, dreaming about her always made him feel sad and empty when he woke, like he was reliving a deep, deep loss.

Yngve awoke in the middle of the night, and the rain seemed to be coming to an end. He ate half of an apple and gave the other half to the dog, who was still right next to him in the tent. Then he began to pack up, and soon the two were on their way again.

. . .

Morndas, 25th of Last Seed, 4E 201

After an additional day of uneventful traveling, Yngve finally approached Rorikstead late Morndas morning. As much as he would have liked to stop, however, he still thought it best to skip the town, on the off chance that Balgruuf was looking for him there. He'd have to just make it to the next settlement before he resupplied. Instead, he kept his hood raised and his eyes cast down, and tried to walk through the town and out the other side as quickly as he could.

When he next came to a split in the road, he was met with a gruesome scene: a number of bodies, dead around a cart. Killed for their valuables, Yngve supposed, moving off the road to give the corpses a wide berth. He wished he had the equipment and the time to at least bury the victims, but he had neither.

As Yngve was moving around the bodies, he heard an arrow whiz past him, and the dog began to bark. Looking up in the direction it had come from, he found a woman standing up on a ridge above a cliff just off the road, pointing a bow at him. She was dressed in rough fur and looked unkempt, and if he had to guess he would think she was at least partially responsible for the fates of the travelers he had just encountered. Slowly, he raised his hands up in surrender. The dog growled.

"What do you want?" he called to the woman, trying to keep calm at least on the surface.

"Your possessions," she said nonchalantly.

"So take them," Yngve replied, slowly removing his backpack and laying it on the ground.

"Oh, I will," she said, "after I kill you."

She drew an arrow, and Yngve darted forward, getting close against the cliff she was standing on, breaking her line of sight and giving her a terrible angle at which to try to shoot him. Then he quickly readied his own bow and listened. He thought she would drop down to his right, and she did; he took his aim where he expected her to come around the cliff, and as soon as she burst around the rocks he loosed an arrow. It struck her directly – very directly, in fact. The bandit woman looked down helplessly at the arrow lodged firmly in her chest. Then she looked up at Yngve. He was almost as shocked. Blood seemed to leak endlessly out of her, and she went pale.

Yngve didn't know what to do. He was stunned. He had never taken a human life. Sure, he had hunted before, and he had certainly witnessed death, however much he never wanted to. He had cowered in Helgen – something he hoped his father hadn't noticed. But this was different. He had always had a glorified picture of death and killing, but now he knew what it really was – loneliness, and fear. The bandit woman died alone, and even though she had been robbing him, Yngve found that he wished he could take it back. He was too shocked and too afraid, too repelled by the death that gripped her to do anything to try to stop it. Or to try to comfort her, to do anything just so she wouldn't have to die alone. Maybe she wouldn't have wanted him to do anything for her. In any case, he gradually realized he couldn't stay. He whispered a small prayer – for the victims he had come across, and for the life he had ended – and gathered his things. Their awareness heightened, Yngve and the dog continued along the road.

The next stretch of road was lined with broken down fences and abandoned carts. It felt eerie, and after a short while Yngve couldn't take it anymore. He had to stop and rest, and try to deal with what had happened. He moved off the road and found a rock to sit on. The dog sat next to him on the ground and rested her head on his lap, looking up at him and whining softly. For the first time, he really questioned this plan. He asked himself what he was doing here, this far west, alone, heading in the opposite direction of home, trying to "prove himself"? Prove what, to who? He wanted to turn back, but then he remembered Thorald Gray-Mane – captive and alone; maybe he was afraid; maybe he had given up on being rescued – and his distraught mother. Yngve had come this far, and now it didn't seem right to turn around. Whether he wanted to see it through or not, he was in, and if he didn't want to die then he'd just have to find a way to survive.

After stopping to calm his nerves, Yngve traveled for another hour or so before he had to stop and set up camp. He was still mentally tired, as well as physically tired. And he was hungry. By the time he selected a spot for his campsite, pitched the tent, and started a small fire, the sun was setting. He used his war axe to cut a potato, a carrot, and an apple into chunks, and then skewered them onto an arrow and roasted them over his fire. When they finished cooking, and after they cooled some, he split them with the dog and, exhausted from his own thoughts earlier in the day, he went to sleep.

. . .

Tirdas, 26th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Just a couple of hours into the day's travel, Yngve found himself unable to shake an uncanny feeling. Something just didn't feel right, and hadn't since the previous night, and as he came upon a bridge crossing above the road attached to a rundown looking settlement, something else occurred to him: he hadn't run into any bandit camps at all. He supposed it was possible that the woman he had killed was working alone, but he didn't think it likely. He wasn't familiar with this area outside of major, on-the-map settlements, so he had no idea how likely it would be that her camp was just off the road somewhere. These thoughts lingered in his mind, and he didn't know what to make of the place he now saw looming ahead. There was only one thing about this place that he did know: surrounded by water on one side and cliffs on the other, it seemed impossible to go around it without backtracking considerably, losing more time than he already had, and possibly getting lost. And he was sure that this settlement's lookout had already spotted him, so he had to decide quickly how he was going to act.

The most direct way to get anywhere would be the follow the road, Yngve reasoned. And straying from the beaten path would significantly increase his likelihood of becoming lost. It would be best, he had to conclude, to stick to the road and pass under the bridge. Besides, he followed this line of thought, he wasn't just on some side path – this was a major cobbled road between cities; the western jarls wouldn't just allow a stretch of their roads to be held hostage by bandits… right? Even though the settlement looked rundown, it couldn't be a bandit hive. The more reason Yngve found to stay on the road, the less confident he felt about it, and thoughts that he wasn't cut out for adventuring and that he should just turn back and go home began once again to flood his mind. He pushed these thoughts back and steeled himself. Whatever happened, he would find a way to handle it.

Yngve began to approach the settlement slowly, unarmed, when something about it caught his eye. The two lookouts watching his approach were dressed in the same sort of rough fur garb as the woman who had attacked him along the road. He stopped short midstride, and a movement later the lookouts had drawn their weapons. Without thinking, Yngve also drew his. He didn't realize what had happened until it was done, but before the two lookouts could raise the alarm, both were downed, and Yngve, still unthinking, was running through the fort, following the road past several winds and curves before he stopped to catch his breath.

As if the universe were sending him trials on purpose, Yngve's problems still didn't end there. Shortly up the road, he could see a group of Thalmor – three of them. His blood boiled. He wanted desperately to end their lives, but he knew he couldn't do it on his own. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew he wasn't strong enough. Thalmor were dangerous, even for experienced soldiers. He kept his head down and they passed him without incident, though not without insult, and he hoped that the rest of the bandit camp he had run past might give them a bit of trouble, at least.

As the afternoon grew late, Yngve was becoming tired again. As much as he didn't want to stop, he knew that he needed to. If he overworked himself one day, he'd be completely useless the next. He still had some cheese and some bread left, and the road he traveled was now running along a river. Yngve fashioned a spear by tying an arrow to a stick and, with a little time and effort, caught two fish – one for him and one for his dog. She still didn't have a name, and he contemplated this as they ate.

"Adel, maybe?" Yngve said aloud. The dog snorted. "I guess not… what about Heidi?" he tried. She looked up at him and cocked her head. She didn't seem too enthused about it, but he was having fun at least, so he kept trying.

"Irja? Marta? Karin?" No, no, and no, it seemed, before at least he stumbled on something that she at least seemed amicable to.

"Hilde?" he tried. The dog barked playfully and licked his face. "Gross," Yngve insisted, laughing and pushing her mouth away from his face. "Hilde it is, then."

. . .

Middas, 27th of Last Seed, 4E 201

After naming the dog, the rest of the night had been uneventful. Yngve had slept heavily, so much so that he struggled to wake up even when he could feel the light shining on the other side of his eyelids. He knew he needed to keep moving, despite the cold morning air, so he eventually forced himself to get up and start packing up his camp site. Traveling on his own, with no one to share any of the work, was starting to take a toll on him.

Knowing that he was only moving deeper into Imperial territory, Yngve decided to leave the road. He hiked up a ridge to higher ground so he could keep the road in his sight, while also using the trees on the ridge for some cover. At one point, he hiked halfway up a mountain just to avoid the attention of who- or whatever might lurk inside a fortress that he passed by along the way, and in doing so he lost track of the road he had been following, and the road he rejoined wasn't going to the right place. By the time he was approaching the town of Morthal, it was too late in the day to try to turn back. He was too tired, too cold, and too unsure of what to do. He also knew that he lacked the necessary provisions to camp in the colder northern mountainous regions he was traveling into. On top of that, he was nearly out of food. He had no choice but to stop and regroup.

The Jarl of Morthal, Idgrod Ravencrone, stood with the Empire. She supported perceived strength in unity, Yngve knew, much like Jarl Balgruuf seemed to in Whiterun. However, given that this small capital of a small hold was less strategically valuable, and not being wooed by the Empire as Jarl Balgruuf almost certainly was, Yngve thought Jarl Idgrod rather more genuine in her steadfast dedication to do what she thought was best for the people of her hold. Yngve also knew her personally, and knew her to be kind, patient, and wise. He respected her, and for this reason he avoided her hall. As long as the Jarl and her family didn't get a good look at his face, they would never know he was in their hold at all; Yngve could remain anonymous, and Jarl Idgrod wouldn't have to deal with him.

Before heading to the inn, Yngve made a stop at the town's apothecary, where he came face to face with Idgrod the Younger, the Jarl's daughter and heir. So much for my plans of anonymity, he thought bitterly. Idgrod the younger looked just as startled as Yngve felt. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Then Idgrod spoke first.

"…Yngve? Is… that you?" she asked, as she leaned forward over the counter to peer under his hood.

"Uh…" Yngve stammered, searching for a response. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

"With that accent? No," she answered.

"Are you going to hand me over to the Empire?" he asked, unable to leave the answer in suspense.

"No," she said. "But what are you doing all the way in Hjaalmarch?" she asked gently. Yngve had always liked Idgrod. Like her mother, he knew her to be both strong and kind. What she seemed to lack in naturally gifted wisdom and visions, she often made up for in careful thought and consideration, always paying close attention to details. She would become a capable leader. Yngve didn't know how to answer her question.

"It's… a long story," he answered deflatedly. She had seemed to be contemplating him throughout their conversation, and suddenly her eyes brightened a little.

"But… you must be headed east, right?" she asked. Her tone sounded hopeful.

Damn! Yngve thought. He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't tell her where he was really going.

"Uh, yeah," Yngve said, trying to sound casual – a stupid move, he realized. Who's casual when they're deep in enemy territory in the middle of a war? "I will be, I mean."

"I hate to ask," Idgrod began, looking down at her hands sheepishly, "but could you take this letter to the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun? Please? It should be right on your way."

With every ounce of sensibility in him, Yngve tried to refuse. How could he agree to this? He wasn't even going east – not yet, anyway. And even when he did begin heading back east – assuming he didn't get himself killed first – going back to Whiterun would be a serious risk, and an unnecessary one. And yet, despite his intense recognition of it as a horrible idea, the answer escaped his mouth anyway.

"Yes," Yngve said, "of course." What in Oblivion is wrong with me? he thought. But at least, he tried to tell himself, if he was her courier, then he could be sure that she wouldn't tell anyone she had seen him.

"Thank you," she said enthusiastically. "I know I can count on you, Yngve."

The two said their goodbyes, and Yngve left the apothecary to head to the inn. After a brief line of inquiry with the innkeeper, he learned that Morthal housed neither a general store, nor a forge, nor many craftspeople at all outside of the apothecary. What a town, he thought bleakly. Mildly annoyed, he tried to reconsider his plans on this detour. He supposed he'd just have to set out early the following morning, cover as much distance as possible as quickly as possible, and find a town that did have a store. If he was careful and smart, he'd be able to make it.

Idgrod the Younger came to see Yngve later that evening in the inn. She didn't question him any further about how he got to Morthal, why he was there, or where he was going. When she left that night, she left him with a marked map and a small knapsack of food, potions, and remedies.

. . .

Turdas, 28th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Yngve left Morthal just before dawn, and travel was uneventful for the morning. Solitude was visible, looming in the distance, adding a foreboding edge to his mood.

Shortly along the road, Yngve and Hilde came across yet more death. Two bodies, apparently merchants, shot full of arrows along with their cart on the side of the road, their horse slain along with them. How could anyone do this? Yngve thought to himself, crestfallen. Hilde looked down on the woman's corpse and whimpered. Even worse, Yngve soon realized, this spot was within sight of a town. Even from here, he could see rooftops and chimney smoke, not all that distant.

Was this what life was like outside of his city, outside of his palace walls and the protection of his housecarl? Had he really been so sheltered all his life to not see it? He could feel his limbs start to shake. He was angry. These people must deserve better. Anyone deserves better. Even the bandit he had killed, even the damned Thalmor, he thought bitterly, deserve better than to be left this way, splayed out on the side of the road, wide-eyed, with arrows sticking out of their bodies. He couldn't stand it. He would have to take a detour into the nearby town, whatever the risks. Someone needed to find some peace for these people, even if they wouldn't be bothered to find justice.

Coming closer to the town, however, he realized he was already at Dragon Bridge, and he was no longer sure that he could risk entering the town. In most small towns this far west, Yngve would be unrecognizable. But Dragon Bridge would be a different story – Yngve knew it to be a major Imperial hub these days. How many Imperial legionnaires might know his face, or at least his description? He had no way of knowing if any of them would be here.

Quickly, Yngve turned around. He would pray for the merchants' forgiveness. In the hopes that they would be found, he set fire to a small group of shrubs near their ruined cart. Divines, don't let it spread; don't let the forests pay for my actions, Yngve prayed quietly. Once the shrubs were lit, Yngve left quickly, following a fork in the road and going around Dragon Bridge. Although he knew this would be the last settlement he would pass on his way, he didn't stop. He couldn't – not under the imposing gaze of Solitude in the distance, not with the town crawling with Imperials. He was still ill-equipped, but thanks to Idgrod's map – more refined than the one Heimskr had been able to provide him – he at least knew a little better where he was going. So he pushed on as much farther as he could go before moving off the road and setting up camp for the night.