Middas, 15th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202

After the Butcher incident, Yngve's day-to-day life largely returned to normal, back to what it had been before he stowed away with the militia the previous year. He spent his time with various tutors and observing the goings-on in the palace, all as ways of preparing him to one day take his father's place as Jarl. He even began training to fight with his off hand for a while, before his dominant hand healed, eager to keep training despite the injury. The eagerness to train had paid off, as he recovered his skill with his weapons quickly once the break had healed.

All the while, Yngve still had one important goal in mind: he had to prove to his father that he wasn't just a child anymore, that he was capable of protecting himself, and that he deserved to be a part of all that was going on – namely, the rebellion, which Ulfric had kept him completely shut out of. And, after Yngve's near-constant bombardment over several months of all the reasons why he should be involved and informed, it seemed that Ulfric was finally starting to relent.

"Fine, fine," he said, sounding weary of the subject. "You want to be involved with the war? You'll have to work your way up the ranks. Talk to Galmar about initiation. Your birthday is the 30th of the month; why not do it then." His voice had taken on a challenging tone, speaking of initiation.

He doesn't think I'll really do it, Yngve thought. He thinks I'll chicken out of this initiation task. Yngve smiled in satisfaction. He knew he wouldn't back down.

"Ah, so your old man is finally going to let you in on the action," Galmar said in his gruff voice, when Yngve sought him out later that day. "Fantastic."

"So what do I need to do?" Yngve asked eagerly.

"Well, before I can put you to use," Galmar said, "I need to know how much you can take." Yngve tried to maintain a confident expression, but it faltered.

"Are... are you gonna beat me up or something?" He had grown more competent in combat, but still, there was no way he could take Galmar in a fist fight.

"What? Of course not!" Galmar roared with a laugh. "I have a little test for you, that's all."

"What kind of test?" Yngve asked.

"On the 30th, Tymver will take you to Serpentstone Island. It's about a half day's journey there, so you'll leave early morning. If you complete the test by yourself, you pass. If Tymver has to step in and save you... you weren't going to be much use anyway."

"What's at Serpentstone Island?" Yngve asked excitedly.

"It's where men have tested their mettle for ages," Galmar said, almost reverent in his tone. "There's a strange rock formation, built by the ancients. Something about the place attracts the ice wraiths."

Galmar paused, and he seemed to be trying to gauge Yngve's reaction. Yngve kept his expression as still and even as possible, while he searched his mind for any information he already knew about ice wraiths. It wasn't much.

"You kill an ice wraith out there," Galmar went on, "and we'll have all the proof we need about you."

Yngve nodded solemnly and turned to leave, but Galmar called him back.

"One more thing: take this," he said, handing Yngve two bottles. "This one for your blade, to poison the ice wraith, if you should happen to land a hit; this one for yourself, to help you resist the cold. Don't lose them. That's all the help you're getting."

"I won't let you down," Yngve said, leaving the room and heading for the stairs.

The first thing Yngve did was check his personal collection of books for any information concerning ice wraiths. He was determined not to fail, so he wanted to go in as prepared as possible. Unfortunately, he had little to work with among his own collection. All he could find was a glancing reference to ice wraiths, in the form of an account that the old Nords would hunt them as a rite of passage in order to claim their status as citizens of Skyrim. That must be what Galmar meant about 'men going there to test their mettle for ages', Yngve supposed.

It wasn't terribly surprising that his own books were less than helpful – Yngve had always preferred to read fiction rather than reality. When it came to real-world subjects, he usually learned best by listening to someone more experienced and engaging them in discussion or demonstration. Maybe that's how I should approach this, he thought, wondering who he could ask. He didn't suppose that Galmar or his father would give him any extra hints about ice wraiths, since this was supposed to be a test. Anyway, he didn't want to ask either of them, worried that it would make him appear weak in their eyes. And, besides even that, their advice would probably have involved relying on brute strength, at least to some extent, and as much as he often lamented it, Yngve just wasn't built that way. He didn't have that heavy force to rely on; what he needed was strategy.

Ice wraiths are elemental creatures, Yngve reasoned, so... maybe Wuunferth would have some information I can use. With that thought, he snapped shut the book he was currently leafing through and left his room again, heading down the stairs and through the war room, across the main hall, and up the stairs again, to Wuunferth's door. He hadn't visited Wuunferth often before his injury, but doing so as much as he had lately made him absently wish that the two separate upstairs areas were directly connected. In any case, he made his way to the door and knocked.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" the old wizard said in his usual crotchety tone as he answered the knock. "Oh, it's you."

Wuunferth seemed surprised to see Yngve there, but beckoned him inside anyway, closing the door behind. He gestured toward a chair and Yngve sat down.

"Everything alright with your hand?" Wuunferth asked.

"Yeah, actually," Yngve answered. "I wanted to ask if you could tell me anything about ice wraiths. Specifically, how to fight one?"

"Ah, hmm," Wuunferth grunted, scratching his bearded chin in thought for a moment. "Carefully," he finally answered.

"...Huh?" Yngve asked.

"Fight them carefully," Wuunferth repeated. "If at all. They're tricky, and agile. Like to jump out and ambush a man. They dodge and weave. Hard to hit."

Yngve's expression faltered a bit. The way Wuunferth said it, it sounded nearly impossible for Yngve to even land a blow on one, much less kill it. Wuunferth seemed to read his thoughts.

"Come, now," he said. He seemed to be trying to sound reassuring. "You're perfectly capable of killing an ice wraith. My honest advice... you know how to cast a simple flames spell, right?"

"Sure," Yngve said, glancing down at his hands.

"If you're in a pinch, use it," Wuunferth advised. "Naturally, they're weak to fire."

"Of course!" Yngve exclaimed, looking dumbfounded and smacking his own forehead. "I can't believe that never crossed my mind," he said.

"Well, I'm sure Galmar and your father would frown on that method. I wouldn't go telling them about it if you do use it," Wuunferth cautioned. "You and I are of a different ilk."

Yngve nodded. It was true. As much as he looked up to his father and wanted to be like him, he was different. He couldn't rely on raw physical power because he lacked the mass and build for it. Yngve had always been slim, a little on the short side. By some people's approximations, he could be called downright slender, although he hated that descriptor. People like Yngve had to have finesse, and he did. He was highly dexterous and light on his feet. He had even taken to off-hand training easily, to his own surprise. All this was precisely why he favored the bow over the axe, hammer, or sword – it came naturally to him to keep his distance and make few, well placed shots rather than to fight close and messy hand-to-hand. Still, in Eastmarch and the other old holds, in a society of burly Nords, big, tall, and stocky, Yngve's natural skills had always been undervalued and Yngve himself had always been something of a misfit.

"Thanks for the advice," Yngve said, reflecting on this as he got up to leave. "I'm glad I asked you."

"Yes, yes," Wuunferth said. "My door's always open. Figuratively, that is. Close it on your way out."

Yngve chuckled as he did so. During the months Wuunferth had been treating his injured hand, he had gotten to know the old hermit better. Before, Yngve had always been somewhat afraid of Wuunferth, in his dark robes, with his cold demeanor. But now, he had a deep appreciation for the wizard.

As Yngve approached the door in the war room, to head back upstairs toward his own room, he caught his own name echoing off the walls and stopped short. His father and Galmar were speaking quietly in the main hall. Yngve strained to hear what they were saying, but the large open space and the stone walls had never been conducive to eavesdropping. He could make out only four words: Yngve, Tymver, ice wraith. He stopped, breathed quietly, and closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could to make out the words. By the end of their exchange, Yngve was sure that they were planning to have Tymver intervene somehow, so that Yngve wouldn't complete the initiation task successfully.

"Unbelievable," Yngve muttered, trudging up the stairs. He couldn't just let it go. He had to come up with a plan.

. . .

Loredas, 18th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202

Over the last two days, Yngve had been preparing. His only option, he had concluded on Middas, would be to run away again. He felt guilty for doing so, after the last time. Speaking to everyone who worked in the palace personally to apologize for his impulsivity had certainly made an impression on Yngve, and he genuinely liked and cared for those people, so he didn't want to worry them again. But he couldn't let his father take this from him. All of Skyrim was watching Ulfric now, and the people of Eastmarch would never respect Yngve as his successor if he always looked like a coward and a failure, locked up in the palace hiding from all the danger and responsibility. His father only wanted to protect him, Yngve knew, but it was maddening that he didn't see the detriment it would lead to. To many, Yngve already wasn't built like a "true" Nord, he didn't look like one or fight like one. He knew he had a lot to prove to his father's subjects to begin with, especially the ones who didn't know him personally.

Loredas was the best day to go – that had been a no-brainer. Loredas was wash day. Everything in the city, the palace included, tended to stop Loredas morning as, as a matter of culture, everyone was bathing. Even Tymver would be occupied. Yngve would have to skip it this week, so he could leave while everyone else was busy.

Surprisingly, when Loredas morning rolled around, everything went according to plan. Yngve woke early, gave his face and hair a quick, slapdash wash and around 5am he was out of the palace. The sun wasn't all the way up yet and the city was shrouded in a blanket of stillness, save for the wind whistling as it passed over the walls and rooftops. As he left the city gates, face covered in the shadow of a hooded cloak, he took in the cool air and looked up to the sky. Briefly, he wondered if he should have at least brought Hilde with him, but it was too late to walk all the way back and get her. It was probably better that he didn't, he supposed. He needed to do this alone.

Serpentstone Island was north of Windhelm, up toward Winterhold. Yngve supposed he could locate it after memorizing its location on a map in his father's war room, and figured that – at absolute worst – he'd go too far and end up in Winterhold, then figure it out from there. In any case, he marked it on his own map and brought it with him, folded up in a satchel strapped across his body and hanging at his side. Quickly and quietly, Yngve went into the stables, readied his horse, Clove, and set out, following the road west.

Outside the cover of the walled walkway between the stable and the city, the biting wind slapped Yngve in the face and made his nose sting. The winter snows had begun to melt in and around Windhelm, though it was still notably cold for the middle of Rain's Hand. Still, this wasn't terribly uncommon for the time of year. Much like in autumn, the water on the ground tended to freeze overnight in the spring, then melt under the sun during the day, then repeat until the warmer months, when the night temperatures were high enough to break the cycle.

Following the road toward Winterhold, however, Yngve would have plenty of cold to endure. After the road turned north, he noticed more piles of snow still on the ground the farther he traveled. Spring hadn't quite arrived there yet, and the air and wind only got colder. He was glad he'd decided to wear his fur armor, as it kept him fairly warm.

Yngve paused when he came upon a mine entrance. He could see the College of Winterhold from here, rising up from the distant fog. He looked out to the northeast, squinting in the rising sunlight. Serpentstone Island was out that direction, past several smaller islands and probably some ice chunks, he knew. He couldn't see it from here, though, and the land sloped downward to the coast. Will I even be able to find it? he wondered bleakly.

Just then, a Winterhold guard exited the mine cave and began to head toward Winterhold's namesake capital. Yngve walked Clove up next to her and asked her to wait.

"Trouble?" she asked.

"Can you tell me how to get to Serpentstone Island?" Yngve asked hopefully.

The guard looked him over. She seemed to be sizing him up. For a moment, he became nervous – but there was no way his father had time to realize he was gone and get word all the way to Winterhold by now, he realized. Enough time hadn't passed. Yngve took some slow breaths to remain calm.

"Got a map?" the guard asked.

"Sure," Yngve nodded, pulling the map from his satchel and unfolding it. The guard looked it over for a minute, then began pointing and gesturing as she explained.

"This is where we are now. If you go to this little stretch of coastline here, you should be able to find a boat. I don't suppose anyone will mind if you borrow it, so long as you put it back when you're finished," she said, as she gave him a pointed glance. She then traced a route between some islands on the map with her finger. "Weave through them this way and go around this one here," she continued, pointing to one in particular. "That's Serpentstone Island, but it's mostly cliff faces. You have to land on the opposite side."

She retraced her suggested route a few times. Yngve watched closely, committing each turn to memory and hoping he'd be able to keep it in mind after fighting the ice wraith, so he could retrace the same path back to the mainland.

"Oh, and about your horse," the guard added. "I can take it to Winterhold and stable it. You won't be able to take it with you on a little rowboat."

Yngve hesitated only for a moment. He hadn't thought of what to do with Clove, but the guard was right that he couldn't take her. He also couldn't just leave her standing alone out in the cold. He pulled a coin purse from his satchel.

"What's this for?" the guard asked. "You'll pay the fee to the stablemaster when you come to retrieve her."

"To see that she's escorted there safely," Yngve said.

"Keep it," the guard said firmly. "I'm paid well enough, and the stables is on my way."

The guard, only accepting Yngve's thanks as payment, mounted Clove and took her leave. Yngve turned toward the coast and began hiking toward where she said he'd find a boat. I really hope this wasn't just some crazy ruse to strand me and steal my horse, he thought, trudging over the snow covered ground. To his relief, there were indeed a few rowboats beached on the shore, just where the guard had said they'd be. He chose the sturdiest looking one and shoved it into the water, hopped in, and started rowing. It was slow going, with the wind. He would look at his map, then hold it between his knees while he maneuvered the boat, then pick it up and look at it again; he couldn't do both at once without it blowing away. When he arrived at Serpentstone Island, as the guardswoman had predicted, he had to skirt around it and land on the far side.

This is it, Yngve thought, pulling the boat up to beach it and gazing up the path that would lead him to the Serpentstone. He double checked his gear one more time. He had brought his bow, but really only for dealing with potential threats along the way; for this fight, he'd use his war axe. He considered using the potion and poison that Galmar had given him, but decided against it. He'd return them to Galmar unopened when he got back to Windhelm. He was going to do this himself, without a handicap. In his satchel, he also carried a small healing potion and an herbal salve, in case he left with injuries. If I leave at all, he thought nervously.

The wind picked up, howling as Yngve slowly walked the path, war axe in hand. He passed under a stone arch and, as soon as the Serpentstone itself was in view, an ice wraith sprang out from around it and attacked him. He cried out in surprise and swung his axe wildly, missing, as he was hit with a bitterly cold rush of air that left a sharp pain in his chest where it hit him. The ice wraith then bounded away, bouncing off of a rock and jumping back in for another attack. This one, Yngve managed to dodge.

As the ice wraith leapt around the Serpentstone, Yngve took a deep breath. He had to focus. This time, when the ice wraith came hurtling toward him, he swung his axe and batted it off to his left. He wondered momentarily if a mace or a hammer would have been a more effective weapon for this enemy, even though he wasn't trained in them, but it didn't really matter; he had what he had.

The ice wraith came back at him twice more, and twice more he landed a blow and sent it hurtling away. It seemed to be slowing down, at least, so Yngve figured he must be doing it some damage. On his third strike, the wraith rebounded off of a stone and came rocketing back at him, biting his left arm through his armor, just above the elbow. Its bite sent a white hot sting down his arm, and he recoiled, backing up so far he almost fell back down the sloped path toward the boat. The ice wraith had latched onto him, and he smacked it with the broad side of his axe head to make it release. Considerably more clumsily, it swooped back around at Yngve and he smacked it across the face in a direct hit, dropping it to the ground. After a moment of spastic writhing, it seemed to disintegrate on the spot; it was dead. Shivering and wincing from the pain of the bite, Yngve scooped its teeth up and put them into his satchel: proof he had done it.

The boat ride back to the shore was considerably more difficult. His left arm was left irritated from the ice wraith's bite, a sharp pain shooting down to his fingertips and a burning cold radiating from the wound. It was evening by the time Yngve had finally returned the boat to its place and hiked the rest of the way to Winterhold. He checked in with the stablemaster and arranged for Clove to be housed overnight; it was way too late now to make it back to Windhelm before dark, and too cold to be traveling at night. Plus, he really should do something about this bite.

Winterhold had only one inn, the Frozen Hearth. Yngve had been to the town before, but not too recently. The inn, like the town, was quiet and virtually empty. This suited Yngve just fine. Warming himself by the fire, he removed his gloves and armor and rolled up the sleeve of his tunic to look at the bite. He had about four smallish punctures, and the area around them was swollen and irritated. Simply warming up helped the pain some, although it still hurt. He opened his satchel and pulled out the herbal salve he had brought, spreading it generously over the immediate area. It tingled in a soothing way. Still able to control his left hand and satisfied that he would be alright at least until he made it back home, Yngve stood to go speak to one of the inn's proprietors about renting a room for the night.

As Yngve stood up and stretched his arm out before the fire, the door to the inn flew open, bringing in a gust of cold air. Yngve shivered at the sound of it, even though the air didn't hit him. The door closed behind the entrant. Yngve looked up and was suddenly faced with someone he knew: Korir, the Jarl of Winterhold. Before he could mask his surprise, his jaw practically dropped. Korir seemed to recognize him and looked similarly shocked to see Yngve there. After exchanging a long look, Korir sighed.

"Yngve, go home," he said.

Korir had always sounded weary, every time Yngve had heard him speak. The Jarl turned around, opened the door, and beckoned a guard to the inn. Yngve wondered if he'd be kept here, too, as he had been in Whiterun, but couldn't imagine why. Korir and Winterhold were allies of Eastmarch. Instead, however, Korir simply informed the guard that Ulfric's missing son was found and instructed them to have word sent to Windhelm. Yngve, somewhat embarrassed by the display of it all, quietly paid for a room and a meal, then retired for the evening.

. . .

Sundas, 19th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202

Yngve was out at the stables before first light. He wanted to be back in Windhelm as soon as possible. He was anxious about how his latest escapade would be received, but at the same time excited to come back in one piece and show his father and Galmar that he was perfectly capable on his own. After some rest, the ice wraith bite on his arm felt considerably better, now only a little sore around the site of the wound. After quickly readying Clove, he was off.

The early morning sun did little to warm the day, with the wind whipping all around. As Yngve left Winterhold, it began to snow. Winter weather was also not uncommon in Windhelm in the spring, though Yngve didn't hope for it.

The road was uneventful, and as it veered more east and Windhelm came into view in the distance, the sky cleared up. Still, the air didn't get much warmer. Yngve rode on, lost in thought, simply following the road toward home. He didn't feel any different after killing an ice wraith. He had sort of expected to. The fight had been a tough one, and that also made him wonder if he should feel different – but he didn't. He didn't feel that he had suddenly "become" a man, whatever that even meant. He was still just Yngve, almost fifteen, a man by some people's reckoning, sure, and yet a boy to others.

Clove kept up a good, steady pace, and Yngve was back in Windhelm by late morning. As he dismounted at the stables, a guard jogged into the city ahead of him, surely to notify the palace that Yngve was back. No hiding now, Yngve thought, certain that his father wouldn't be pleased.