A city loomed above the estuary, crowning a large shelf of rock jutting from the mountain. Nora stared in wonder, drinking in the silhouettes of walls and townhouses, the white sails of windmills and palatial towers that shimmered like lapis in the fading sunlight. It was beautiful, something that belonged in a fairytale, or a dream...
"Hey. Quit lollygaggin' and help me with this, would ya?"
Nora turned from the vista to where Thorald was scowling from beside the boat. She smiled sheepishly and returned her attention to helping him roll up the furs into manageable bundles.
"So, what is that place up there?" Nora asked, nodding towards the lofty city.
"That's Solitude, capital of Skyrim," Thorald grunted. "It's crawling with Thalmor spies and Imperials. We'd be swinging from the gallows in the hour if we went up there."
"Oh." Nora dropped her eyes to the bundle she was rolling, before pulling it from the boat and dropping it on the rocks. "You don't think it's possible we could go up there and melt into the crowds?"
"Well, you might pass for an Imperial if you kept your mouth shut," Thorald shrugged. "But me? I'm a Grey-Mane. People know my family throughout Skyrim, and they know I'm a Stormcloak. Wouldn't be long before an agent came after me."
"And what about him?" Nora jerked her head to the lone figure sat on a nearby boulder, where the ice and rocks of the shore gave way to the yellow grass and dark shrubbery of swampland.
Nathaniel was hunched over, gazing off into the distance as he chewed on his rations.
Thorald shrugged again, binding the furs together with the mooring rope from the boat. "Don't know. He's not a notable person or anything, but he's still a Stormcloak."
Nathaniel's head turned towards them, and Nora turned away before she had to meet his gaze, grabbing the knapsacks that remained. Her own pack was weighty with the last of the potions and the rest of the bread and cheese. The second pack that Nathaniel had grabbed was much heavier, and clinked as she jostled it.
Frowning, Nora slung her own pack over her shoulder before opening Nathaniel's. Her heart sank.
The pack was filled with-
"Mead?" Thorald grabbed a stout amber bottle by the neck and pulled it from the bag. His weariness and fear seemed to melt away, his lips splitting into a grin beneath his beard.
The rattle of stones prompted Nora to look up as Nathaniel stumbled towards them with a lopsided smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I see you found our most important supplies."
Nora swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Her knuckles shone bone white, the leather creaking in her grip. As Nathaniel reached forward to help himself, she shoved the knapsack towards him.
"Your booze, your bag."
"...Alright?"
The second the weight left her fingers, Nora turned for the furs only to find Thorald had slung them across his own back - and was taking a deep swig of the mead, his eyes closed in sheer bliss. She huffed, turning to gaze again at the distant towers of Solitude.
The city's silhouette was lined in the soft gold of the fading afternoon, the sky beyond washed out in soft pastel shades that heralded the coming of dusk. She turned back to her companions when Thorald sighed happily, wiping his mouth on his arm. Nathaniel's previous good humour had evaporated, and he was watching her intently.
Don't look at me like that.
Aloud, she said; "We should get moving. It'll be dark soon."
"And where are we going?" Thorald asked.
"How should I know? You're the one who said we can't go to Solitude!" Her voice came sharper than she had intended, echoing through the wilds. She inhaled to try and cool her flaring temper.
"We'll head further inland for starters," Nathaniel suggested. "We can discuss what to do when we're less out in the open."
Thorald huffed. "Guess we don't have any choice, but I don't like the thought of being out in the swamps at night."
"Me neither, brother. But we don't have a choice."
Thorald heaved a sigh before chugging the last of his mead. He threw the bottle aside to break on the rocks. Nathaniel gave him a wry smile as he uncorked his own bottle. Nora pressed her lips in a thin line and started picking her way across the rocks towards the swamp.
He's not my husband.
As dusk descended over Skyrim, so too did fog shroud the swamp. It rose from the black pools and waterways, a sluggish phantom that crawled along the ground, rising in billowing clouds that shrouded the world from sight. It muted sound, though Nora could still hear the chorus of crickets, the occasional flutter of wings and cries of animals.
Initially the going had been treacherous. Now, it was dangerous.
Nora's boots sank into the soft grasses, imprinting each footstep on the earth only for swampwater to bleed into the indent. Ahead of her, Nathaniel was little more than a tall silhouette, picking his way with the aid of a long branch.
The sight gave her a painful sense of deja vu, old nightmares stirring where she had chased him endlessly through cloudy scenes, or through crowded streets. Always reaching for her husband, but never able to catch him.
It was almost strange to think she could reach her hand out now, grab a hold of his tunic… but he still wouldn't be Nate.
Violent splashes interrupted her thoughts and she froze, eyes darting as they tried to pierce the opaque clouds. Something bellowed and brayed, and Nora knew instinctively whatever the beast was, it was fighting for its life. The cries became a gurgle, the splashes weaker - and then silence.
"Don't like the sound of that," Thorald muttered.
"C'mon. We need to find a place to camp," Nathaniel whispered, turning to look at them briefly before moving on. In Nora's eyes, he looked more of a phantom than ever.
Darkness was drawing in swiftly, and just as the last light began to fade, Nora glimpsed a new shape in the darkness. One with straight edges, partially concealed by the skeletal silhouette of trees.
"What's that?" she whispered, causing both Nathaniel and Thorald to still. They followed the point of her finger towards the shape.
Nathaniel changed course, carefully finding his way towards it. The closer they drew to it, the more solid the shape became. By the time they crossed over a narrow stream, it had resolved itself into a derelict cottage.
Shrubbery crowded around its walls while vines crept over the stones, their serpentine forms creeping across the sagging thatch roof. The windows were boarded over, and no light emanated from inside.
The air around the house was fragrant, flowers blooming upon the shrubbery. And yet…Nora sniffed, her brow creasing. She was certain there was another scent beneath the cloying aroma of the flowers. Something familiar.
"Hello?" Nathaniel called. When there came no answer, he rapped his fist on the door. "Is anybody in there?"
The house remained still. It was then Nora realised the world had fallen silent. No chorus of insects, not even a whisper of wind…
She peered out into the thickening gloom, the fog swirling and flowing in its endless dance. Her nerves were singing beneath her skin, hair standing on end as she strained to sense… something. There was something there. She was sure of it.
A loud thunk made her whip around, just in time to see Nathaniel ram the door with his shoulder again to no avail. He jerked his head at Thorald. "Help me with this."
As the pair of them began slamming themselves against the door, Nora carefully unshouldered her pack and rifled through its contents, producing the bottle of torchbug treacle to provide some light. She watched the pair of them try a few more times before Nathaniel stepped back, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace.
"That door ain't gonna budge."
"Maybe there's another way in," Nora suggested, trying to shake off the eerie feeling as she began to circle around the cottage.
The shrubbery around the walls was thick, bristling with the sickly fragrant flowers and thorns. Even if she spied a way in, it would exact a toll in blood and scratches.
The few windows she saw were shuttered and boarded over, but by the light of the treacle bottle she spied a potential entrance at the back, where the boards were loose and falling away.
A few moments later she was stood to one side, watching as Thorald used the haft of his axe to lever the boards away while Nathaniel held the glowing bottle aloft so they could see. With a few swings of his axe, Thorald damaged the shutters beneath so they, too, could be pried open.
After a few minutes of work, the window was nothing but an open maw, lined with small teeth of broken glass. It was too small an opening for the men to get through, though Nora doubted she'd have much trouble. Well, no trouble except for the shrubs.
"I'll give you a boost," Thorald said, his axe already affixed to his belt.
"Be careful in there," Nathaniel added. "Only witches and worse would choose to live in a place like this."
"Be on the lookout for witches. Got it," Nora mumbled. "Let's hope she doesn't come ho- ome! " Nora's voice rose as Thorald grabbed her hips and lifted her up. The hem of her skirt still caught on thorns, but a moment later she was falling over the windowsill.
She landed on a table. Unseen items fell, smashing and rattling away in the dark. Nora cringed.
"You okay in there?" Nathaniel called, and the green glow of the bottle shone in the dark as he reached his arm through.
"Yeah. I'm fine," Nora lied, carefully sitting up.
Something's wrong here. She reached back for the bottle of treacle, grabbing it from Nate's hands to wield ahead of her in the dark. She expected to see eyes watching her, reflecting the light. But all she saw were the silhouettes of furniture.
The sense of watchful eyes did not abate.
The air inside the cottage was heavy and oppressive. Crossing the windowsill had felt like slipping into ice water…
"How's it lookin' in there?" Thorald demanded. "You gotten to the door yet?"
Nora swallowed, shaking herself as she pushed off the table. She remembered a conversation she had once had with Danse, of whether he thought the pre-war ruins were haunted by ghosts.
"I've seen a lot of strange things out in the field, soldier, but trust me when I say that ghosts and spirits are pure fantasy. The only thing that can haunt you is your memory. If you're seeing things, it's likely fatigue."
She stepped onto the floor and felt small, hard things under the soles of her boots. Probably what had fallen from the table. Holding her breath, Nora slipped towards the door with steps so light she made no sound.
The door was covered in locks. Stout chains, padlocks, bolts and latches. They were unlocked in the owner's absence, but the deadbolt inside the door still required a key…
A metallic thunk had her spinning around, and there, on the floorboards behind her, was a key. Nora stared at it, frozen in place as her heart hammered and blood began to roar in her ears. The key was large, the bow decorated into a leering skull and the wards like skeletal fingers.
Nora's own fingers were bone white and sweating as she picked it up. She kept her eyes on the room as she fumbled the key into the keyhole. She wasn't surprised when it fit, the bolt drawing back with a loud snap.
The door immediately swung open, and Nora barely managed to duck away before it hit her.
Thorald took one step in and stopped, casting his eyes about. "I don't like this."
Nathaniel pushed past him, but Nora could read the tension in his shoulders and posture, even if his expression was stoic and half hidden in his beard. His eyes darted around the room.
"Well," Nathaniel said after a moment. "It'll be safer than sleeping out in the wilds tonight."
Thorald looked almost longingly out at the clouds of fog and dark swamp, before closing the door and locking it. Nathaniel prowled about the room, investigating the shelves, and after a moment Nora and Thorald also began to explore.
Nathaniel discovered some candles and the means to light them, providing much needed illumination to the gloom. A large bed lay at one end of the room, an assortment of shackles and chains fitted to the posts. The ragged furs and sheets that remained were filthy, covered in leaves, mould and a large, dark stain.
There were more shackles affixed to otherwise bare walls, reminding Nora of the Thalmor dungeons. She shivered, the ice burns throbbing dully.
"How about a fire?" Nora spoke up, disrupting the heavy silence.
"Aye. Sounds like a plan," Nathaniel agreed quickly, as though unwilling to let the silence fall again.
They gathered the few stools and chairs they could find. Thorald set the furs they'd taken from the bandit camp in front of the hearth, and once Nora had cleared out old ash and ripped away the vines creeping down the chimney, they set the old furniture alight.
Nora divvied out some more of the rations, and Nathaniel rolled a bottle of mead to each of them. Thorald cracked his open immediately, taking a deep swig. Nora pursed her lips and returned her eyes to the fire, leaving her bottle on the floor.
"If you're going to survive in Skyrim, you need to learn to drink."
Reluctantly, she turned to face Nathaniel. "I told you before; I don't drink."
Thorald huffed and rolled his eyes. Nathaniel kept his gaze pinned to her. They seemed almost golden in the firelight.
"Look. Nords don't trust outsiders, alright? But folk who don't drink with us?" Nathaniel shook his head. "We'd never trust 'em."
"Can't trust a man, woman or goat who don't drink mead," Thorald agreed. "Means they got secrets to keep, or are hoping to get you so drunk they can rob ya."
"Or it could just mean they have a bad history with alcohol and don't want to touch it," Nora bristled.
"Don't matter," Nathaniel replied. "In Skyrim, if someone offers you a drink, you drink it. It's an insult if you don't."
"Besides, when was the last time you actually drank anything?" Thorald frowned, cocking his head. "Last drink I remember you having was a potion."
"Mead's the best medicine for anything," Nathaniel announced.
Thorald clinked his bottle against Nathaniel's.
Nora returned her eyes to the fire, leaving the bottle where it lay. The quiet settled once more, and Nora felt unease chase up and down her spine.
"So, where do we go from here?" Thorald asked abruptly, and despite the queasy feeling the question brought, Nora found it an easier topic to face than whatever was wrong with the cottage.
Nathaniel took another swig of his mead and shrugged, returning his eyes to the fire.
"I have to find my people," Nora said after a beat. She glanced at Nathaniel to find he was watching her again. "You said the Brotherhood of Steel were somewhere called Whiterun, right?"
"Aye. At least that was the last I heard of 'em. Though the gods only know how long I was a 'guest' of the Thalmor." His eyes darkened and returned to the fire as he took another deep gulp.
"My family hails from Whiterun," Thorald said quietly, his large fingers tugging at the furs beneath him. "What I wouldn't give to see them again…"
"So why not come with me?"
Thorald shook his head, his jaw clenched. "I can't. I'm a Stormcloak, remember? My family would be punished for protecting me. I won't risk it."
"Then where are you planning to go?"
"I dunno. But I can't stay in Skyrim." He took another swig of mead, then glared into the fire a few moments before saying; "think I'll head for the nearest Stormcloak camp, wherever that is. Make my way to the borders when I have the supplies and means to get out."
He turned to Nathaniel. "You should come with me."
Nathaniel frowned, taking another swig of his bottle.
Three knocks sounded on the door.
They jumped. All eyes turned to the door. They watched it with bated breath.
Other than the crackling fire, all was silent. Nora swallowed, warily turning to look at the others who were still watching the door, hands on their weapons. She parted her lips to speak when she spied a hooded shadow, leaning in through the window.
She leapt to her feet, drawing her blade. Before Nathaniel or Thorald knew what was happening, Nora rushed towards the window, cursing the cumbersome dress as the figure withdrew with lightning speed.
She arrived to find the windowsill empty, though she kept the blade angled up towards it.
"What'd you see?" Nathaniel whispered, already at her side.
"Someone was climbing in," Nora whispered back. "We should block it."
"Right. Keep an eye on the window. Thorald, help me move these."
As Nora stepped out of their way, keeping her eyes locked on the window, she felt the small things beneath her boots again and heard one of them crack. She spared a glance down, and at first she thought they were misshapen pearls, spilled from one of the jars she had broken upon entering.
Then, as Thorald and Nathaniel dragged the heavy wardrobe across the window, Nora realised she wasn't looking at pearls. She was looking at human teeth.