Aggie neighed as we approached Windhelm Stables. The snow was coming down heavily and although the horses of Skyrim were a sturdy lot, I knew she was tired and cold. We had been riding hard since our departure from Ivarstead: I meant to get down to business with the Stormcloaks as soon as I set foot in the city. But now as I hopped off of Aggie's saddle and paid the Altmer horse master, I did not know what to do. How did Ivar manage it?
Ivar always had this certain knack for getting things done. Even if he did it horribly or almost got himself killed in the process. I had met Ivar whilst traveling in High Rock some years ago. After deciding High Rock wasn't as amazing as we thought, we began our journey back to Skyrim only to have our horses stolen by a thief in the Jerall Mountains. We tracked him for two days and two nights, until all three of us— me, Ivar, and the thief, Lokir— accidentally stumbled upon an Imperial ambush. That's when we were sent to the headsmen's axe in Helgen. That's where it all began.
I didn't have the guts to tell Ivar the real reason I didn't want to involve myself in the Civil War. It was too ridiculous to say aloud, even to my best friend. The issue was not political, it was more social than anything. The fact of the matter was that while we were in that ambush one of the Imperial soldiers smashed me atop the head with the hilt of their sword. Me, being rendered unconscious by the ordeal, woke up in a cart having spent the entire ride sleeping—if not drooling— on the bound and gagged Jarl of Windhelm. Suffice to say I was mortified and Ivar spent the entire rest of the journey laughing to himself. I moved away from the esteemed Jarl and pretended I didn't exist. If I were Paarthurnax, that would have been the time to say "Krosis!"
Social mortifications aside, I didn't know how to go about bringing the war to an end. I was good at planning but not good at acting. That was Ivar's responsibility. He had me act as bait for Draugr once in Folgunthur and I ended up tripping over a crack in the ground, dousing myself in oil. That oil was then lit by a Shouting Ivar.
I wasn't allowed inside Burial Crypts after that. It's a good thing I'm damn good with Wards and Restoration magic otherwise I wouldn't look this good. I chuckled to myself as I approached the mighty doors that led into the city. There were two guards stationed there at either side. The guard on the left approached me.
"Welcome to Windhelm. Before you go into the city I will need your name. Who are you?" The guard asked, retrieving a piece of parchment from his satchel.
"Edara Sun-Strider. Why does it matter, everything alright?" I inquired, placing both hands on my hips.
The guard sighed as he received an inked quill from the guard on his right. "There's a... criminal about. Keeps going after pretty young lasses like yourself. We need your name just in case anything happens. Identification and all that. But so long as you don't go outside after 10:00 at night, at least unaccompanied, you should be safe." The guard finished writing my name on the parchment. The other guard came over to me.
"You say your name is Edara Sun-Strider? You wouldn't happen to have any relation to the Dragonborn, would you? There are those in the city who say he has defeated the great dragon Alduin, and that a woman with brown hair and eyes of blue often accompanied him on his travels. Tell me, where is he?"
It wasn't like I could tell him Alduin cursed him. Or that he was drained of all power. Or that he was staying at High Hrothgar. Ivar had made many enemies and revealing his location could result in his death. So I did what any good friend would do. I lied.
"Alduin has been slain, yes. They battled on the very fields in front of Shor's mighty hall, in Sovengarde. But as Ivar Frost-Hand ran the World Eater through with this very weapon," I drew Ivar's sword from the scabbard at my hip, "Alduin, Bane of Kings, mighty claws outstretched, tore open his chest. The Dragonborn is no more: he is not here. He revels in the mead hall of Shor; he dines with Ysgramor."
Both guards bowed their heads in respect to the deceased. "By Talos' very bones he was a great man. The first into battle, the first to raise a mug in one's honor; filled with courage, valor, and truth. Or so they say. All of Skyrim mourns this loss. He was a true Nord, and there is none more worthy to walk amongst Shor's hall."
I bowed my head with them, pretending that he was not alive. The guard who asked my name turned towards the heavy doors and opened the one closest to him. With one hand holding the door, he reached into his coin purse with his other hand and handed me one hundred Septims.
"Room and Board for ten days at Candlehearth Hall. It is the least I can do. For the rumors say that you aided him in his battles, and healed him many times. Without you, Alduin could never have been defeated in the first place. You have my gratitude as well, Edara Sun-Strider." I took the money from his weathered hand and placed it into my own coin purse. I thanked him and gingerly stepped over the threshold of the city.
At a glance, Windhelm seemed massive. Made of stone and covered in snow, it was as if someone had taken Markarth, replaced all of the dwarven elements with wood or hay, and placed it here. There were braziers about, lighting the way through the city. In front of me was what I assumed was the inn, Candlehearth Hall. I approached the inn, only to realize there was a commotion to my right.
"Listen here, elf. We don't like your kind here. You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks." A Nord man with a cap and uneven mustache stood in front of a Dunmer woman, easily towering over her slim figure.
"It is not our fight, Rolff." The Dunmer woman sighed, putting her hand to her temple.
A man I hadn't seen before interjected on their conversation. Dressed in rags and a mace hanging at his hip, he accused her of being a spy.
"An Imperial Spy? You can't be serious!" The woman was exasperated, and a panicked look flashed on her blue face.
"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are." The man, Rolff stated, craning his head down to glare at her.
I briskly walked over. "You will do no such thing." I placed myself between him and the Dunmer woman.
"Oh yeah?" Rolff crossed his arms over his chest, leering down at me. The man on his left placed one hand on his mace.
"You really think the Dunmer are spies? You hate them that much?"
Rolff's mustache twitched. "They're parasites!" He spat. "They live in our city, under our protection, and they do nothing for us!"
"Last I checked," I scowled, "there is no sign here that says "Nord Only". If they do nothing to you I don't see the problem. And there are plenty of Nords who don't fight for the Stormcloaks either. So lay off."
Rolff uncrossed his arms and balled his fists. "Perhaps it's not the elf who needs to be taught a lesson. Perhaps it's you." Rolff let out a noise that sounded like a growl.
Within an instant Rolff had knocked me on the ground, blood beginning to drip from my temple. From my place on the ground I glared up at him. "Is that all you've got you bastard?"
Rolff drew back his leg to kick me. He aimed for my gut. He kicked me once. Then he kicked me twice. He proceeded to spit at me, and told me to stay down where I belonged. As he turned to walk away I staggered to my feet.
"The little one's got some nerve." Rolff growled through gritted teeth, cracking his knuckles. He drew back his right arm to deal another blow but as he flung his fist at me I caught it, twisted his arm behind his back, took him by his cap and slammed his head into the brazier nearby. I let go of his cap and allowed him to fall ungracefully to the floor. I stooped down by his side, checking for a pulse. He was simply unconscious and left with a nasty burn mark on his temple.
"Thank Talos." I muttered under my breath, drawing my face up in pain as my head spun. My stomach was surely bruised.
The Dunmer woman came to my side. "Are you alright?" She placed her hands on both sides of my head, inspecting the wound.
"I will be. He got me good." I frowned placing my hand to my temple, drawing blood. "Would you mind getting me a potion from my satchel? The little red bottle."
The Dunmer unclasped my satchel and fumbled around for the potion. "Here." I took it from her hands, untwisting the cork. I guzzled down the liquid, sighing at the taste. For me, it tasted like a sweet roll. That was one way an alchemist could tell potion form poison. The good ones generally tasted like what you loved. The bad ones tasted foul either way.
I placed my hand to my temple, feeling for any blood. My stomach felt fine, not a sign of bruising. Being an Alchemist sure did come in handy. The Dunmer interrupted my thoughts.
"My name is Suvaris Atheron. Thank you for what you did back there. Not many Nords would do what you did. You have my deepest gratitude."
I looked at Suvaris and smiled. "My name is Edara. Edara Sun-Strider." I stuck my hand out for her to shake it.
Suvaris shook my hand, returning my smile. "You must be new to Windhelm. I'd offer to show you around but my kind isn't exactly welcome in most parts of the city. We stick to the Grey Quarter."
I drew my brows in confusion. "Why not? You aren't harming anyone, are you?"
Suvaris sighed. "No, we aren't. The Nords don't like outlanders. Especially Elvish outlanders. It could be worse though, I could be an Argonian."
"What's wrong with the Argonians?"
Suvaris looked at me with something that resembled pity. "They're confined to the docks. They aren't allowed in the city at all. They are unwanted. I must tell you: It's been a long time since I've met any Nord in the city who questioned the practices of Windhelm. I should warn you though...such innocence will only reward you with more brawls with brutes like Rolff Stone-fist. It would be wise to stick with the Nords, Edara Sun-Strider." Suvaris turned to walk away. I caught her by the shoulder.
"Suvaris—"
Suvaris Arethon brushed me off, walking in the direction of what I could only assume was the Grey Quarter. I sighed, turning towards Candlehearth Hall and stepping over Rolff's unconscious body. He would be fine, his Nordic blood granted him a resistance to cold anyway.
I opened up the door to Candlehearth Hall. I was greeted by warmth and the faint glow of golden light.
"Welcome to Candlehearth Hall. Elda Early-Dawn at your service. If you're looking for a bed to rent just ask me. If it's the mead you're after try Susanna. She'll be upstairs. Just go up that staircase to your left and you'll find her."
I gave Elda a quick smile, walking up to her. "How about both?" Taking the hundred Septims the guard had given me from my coin purse, I asked Elda if I could rent a room for ten days.
"Of course! I'll show you to your room and then you can do whatever your heart desires, so long as you don't kill anyone, break anything or steal anything." Elda chuckled, motioning for me to follow her. She brought me down a hall and ushered me into a door on the left.
"Feel free to stow your belongings in any of the chests or closets here. They all have a lock on them, and you have the key! It will all be safe I assure you." Elda patted me on the back and walked out of the room. I placed my knapsack on the bed and closed the door. Rummaging through the knapsack I pulled out a change of clothes. My clothes were wet from the journey and I longed to take them off. Taking my satchel off and putting Ivar's sword on the bed, I peeled off my blue mages robes and swapped them for fur armor. The fur was warm and the sleeves went a little passed my wrists. The shawl warmed my neck. An amulet of Kynareth hung from my neck as my brown hair curled about my shoulders, framing my face.
"By Kyne that feels better." I whispered. After I grabbed my satchel and reattached Ivar's sword to my hip, I took the room key off the bed and placed it into my pocket. I walked towards the door, opened it and proceeded to go up the stairs.
The upstairs was warm and inviting. There were chairs about many tables and guests fluttered about the room. A large hearth was in the center of the of t all and a Dunmer sung in the corner. I sat in an empty chair near the bard. I motioned to who I thought was Susanna.
"Excuse me, are you Susanna?" I asked. The blonde woman approached me, her blue eyes scanning the room to see if any other patrons needed attention.
"The one and only. Tell me, what do you need?" Savanna put one hand on her hip, waiting for me to answer.
"Give me your strongest mead." I figured if I was to stay here, I might as well enjoy myself for one night.
"Not a problem." Savanna chuckled, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "It will only take a moment." Savanna hurried towards the bar, coming back with a bottle of cold Nord mead.
"Thank you." I uncorked the bottle and had one long swig. "Tastes wonderful." I gave her a tight-lipped smile.
Savanna smiled in return. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get home. My shift just ended. Enjoy your mead." Savanna walked away once more, only this time she didn't come back.
Some hours had passed. The fire was getting low and most of the guests had gone to sleep. I sat watching the fire in the hearth. I had risen to go to bed on numerous occasions but had simply ended up wandering about the hall each time. For some reason I couldn't sleep. Suddenly a noise sounded from downstairs.
"It's Susanna! The Butcher... he got her! Please somebody help!"
I ran down the steps of Candlehearth Hall, greeting the man in the rags once more.
"Where?" I looked at the man, demanding an answer.
"She's at the cemetery. Please, this way."
The man in rags ran out of Candlehearth Hall. I followed him, trying not to slip on the ice. The man dashed down a side street and down some more steps where I was greeted by the sight of a dimly lit, frozen graveyard. To the left of the steps, Susanna's naked body, riddled with holes, was strewn over a grave. Her heart, it seemed, was cut out.
"By the gods." I said and turned away in horror.