(AN: As I was working on the last few chapters, i made some decisions about the sisterhood between Sigrun and Jonna. So I decided then that this had to happen, where we saw how they would react without the other. So now we see just how strong, or vulnerable, they are on their own.)
(Also, i wouldn't just start "counting chickens" before they've come home to roost. Someone who seems a friend might turn out to be an enemy, and an enemy might just be more helpful than you may think.)
Separated
The dusk of night deepened as Jonna continued walking down the road. The snow fell as thick as rain, and soon there were thick drifts covering the path. Jonna's feet were heavy as lead and she had long lost any sense of feeling in her nose and fingers. Though she was a Nord and more at home in the cold than an Argonian or an Imperial, she was unfamiliar with the harsh, ever-cold climate of Winterhold. Jonna wished all the more that she had managed to convince Sigrun to come with her. As strong as she was, Jonna knew that she could face any hardship or danger with the one as dear to her as a sister at her side. No one knew her better, no one else knew how she fought and could fight in concert with her: therefore there was no one Jonna would rather have at her back than Sigrun.
But she had not prevailed, and hoping for otherwise was useless in the cold. There was nothing for it but to push on ahead. She had to reach the Nightgate Inn, someway and somehow. Each step, however, grew more and more difficult than the last. Now she was almost doubled over, barely keeping herself on her feet. The night was deep, for clouds covered the moons and there were no stars in sight. She could scarcely see anything before her, and had to periodically stray off the path to the right, with one hand held out, to feel for the cliff wall. It was the only way she could keep to her path in this darkness.
There was a howl afar off in the mountains that set Jonna's nerves alight. Every last ounce of strength was roused to the defense of her person. Despite the anger, her first act was to seize the enchanted sword and draw it from its sheath. Her numb hands fumbled ineffectually against her thigh, unable to draw steel. Her knees protested against the cold and were starting to buckle. She feared that the cold would claim her before whatever waited for her in the darkness. She had hoped for a swift death in battle, but the idea of being immobilized by cold and mauled was not particularly inviting. Therefore she shouted at the wind, eager to let her enemy know that she wouldn't go down quietly.
"Here I am!" she shouted. "Come and take me!"
There was no answer. She spoke a similar challenge again, but received the same answer. Looking this way and that, she saw a small globe of light bobbing just above the ground. Jonna's eyes, starved for light in the darkness, could not make out who or what was holding the light; what she could discern was that it was not the light of a torch, but reminded her of the magical light-spheres she and Sigrun had seen in the College. Her heart sank as she feared the worst: Sigrun had been captured and now the mages were on their way to catch her.
"Stay a while, Jonna!" a voice called out from the darkness. It was the voice of an old man; though the bearer of the voice knew her, Jonna could not recall ever meeting any man older than Eirik or Sori. The accent, however, was not strange.
"Who are you?" Jonna asked. "What do you want?"
The figure did not speak, but the light grew nearer and nearer. It grew slightly, shedding some illumination on a figure clad in a robe as black as night, with a staff in one hand and a ball of mage-light in the other.
"You've been following us, haven't you?" Jonna spoke. "What in Oblivion do you want?"
"You must reach the Nightgate Inn, Jonna," the old man said.
"How do you know my name?" asked Jonna.
"I know many things, Jonna," the old man replied. "For your part, you must survive to reach the Nightgate Inn. If you go this way alone, you will surely die."
"I don't need anyone's help," Jonna sighed.
"I have seen how events carried out," the old man stated. "You will freeze to death in this cold dark. Accept my aid and you will be safe for the moment."
"What help can you give?" Jonna asked.
"I have spent many years," the old man said. "Traversing the realms of Oblivion, learning many things: things known to mortal men, things forgotten, and some things that should never have been. My magic will allow you to travel to the Nightgate Inn."
"Is that so?" Jonna returned. "Well, I don't trust you. A strange man appears out of nowhere and offers help of the magical kind? What price do you want for your services?"
The old man hesitated at four yards away from Jonna. "I have paid a great price already for this knowledge, and a greater price will yet be paid. Now I must make amends for the price I paid, by helping you and Sigrun as I can."
"If you're truly helpful, and know so much," Jonna said, fighting off the shivering cold. "Then maybe you can give me something first, hmm? A pledge of good faith; you trust me with some of that knowledge you know, and I might trust you and your magic."
"This is ridiculous!" the old man protested. "You will surely freeze to death if we don't go now!"
"No!" Jonna retorted. "Give me a reason to trust you first, then we'll see."
The old man sighed. "Very well. What is it you wish to know?"
"The wolves at the standing stones," Jonna began. "Did you send them after us?"
"I chased them away," the old man said.
"Why are you following us?" Jonna asked again.
"To help as I am able," came the reply.
"'As you are able?'" asked Jonna. "But if you're a sorcerer, why can't you just help us all the time and openly?"
The old man sighed. "I am not bound to Mundus any longer, and my time here is short. I can stay in this plane for only a short while before I must leave. If I remain overlong, I will die: and I cannot die until I have made amends in full."
"Hmm," Jonna murmured: the cold or her inexperience with magicka left the old man's response a little over her head. "Okay, you s-said you know many things. Does that mean you know the future?"
"I know many possible futures," the old man said. "But they change with each action taken at this moment and every one to follow."
"Can you tell me what will happen at the end of my journey?" Jonna asked.
The old man shook his head. "You are not ready to know what the future holds for you. Only after you have seen and heard many things more will you know the fullness of your fate."
"I don't think you're in any position to tell me when I'm ready to know my future or not!" Jonna retorted. "It is my future, after all!"
"The answer to your question will cause you and your sister much grief," the old man cryptically said.
"How could that possibly cause grief?" Jonna asked. "I just want what Sigrun had her whole life. Is that such a terrible thing?"
"More than you know," said the old man.
"Why?" she retorted. "What do you know about my father?"
"I cannot tell you," the old man repeated. "You are not ready."
"I say when I'm ready or not!" Jonna retorted. "Not you! Now if you're really pressed for time, tell me who he is right now! No games, no tricks, and no riddles. Or I won't accept your help, and then we'll both die out here in the cold."
"This is most unwise!" the old man replied.
"I want the truth," Jonna stated. "And I'm not taking no for an answer. Now who is my father?"
The old man sighed. "Much grief will follow if I give you this secret out of time. Sigrun's life will fall into the hands of chance..."
"Answer the question, dammit!" Jonna retorted.
"Very well!" the old man grumbled angrily. "I will answer if this final warning does not dissuade you: that knowledge is dangerous, and more people than you know will be endangered for their lives by the giving of this secret out of time."
"I'm willing to accept the risk," Jonna selfishly stated. "Now who is my father?"
Again the old man heaved a weary, sorrowful sigh. "Your father is Idolaf Battle-Born, the fool of Jarl Nelkir, purchased from the court of Count Edvald of Bruma by his father Olfrid Battle-Born."
"Th-That's in Whiterun!" Jonna exclaimed. "Gods! We were just there a few days ago! How could I have missed him! A-Alright, fine, take me to Nightgate Inn."
The old man held up his staff and suddenly Jonna felt sleep wash over her. With a start, she awoke again moments later: only this time, she was not lying in the snow, but in a warm bed in the candle-lit room of an inn. For a moment she thought that she had dreamed everything from leaving Dawnstar. Then she noticed that she was still clad in her traveling clothes, still fresh with snow, and the enchanted sword was fastened to her belt. The old man was nowhere to be found.
Jonna did not go to sleep. Instead, she found herself unusually wakeful than she normally would be at night. Her mind went back to the old man, and she found that, despite having her questions answered, more were now springing up in their wake. The old man hadn't told her who he was, or much else about him. It bothered her that he had expected her to trust him: though he apparently knew her, he was a total stranger to her.
It reminded her painfully of her mother. Though growing up in Eirik's household Jonna had a relatively good life, there were some things that plainly separated her from Sigrun and Bjorn. For one thing, it could not be hidden that they had both a mother and a father, whereas she only had her mother. Jordis had never told Jonna who her father was, and refused to even entertain the subject for any amount of time. As a child, she often wondered what kind of man her father had been: maybe he had died in the Civil War, fighting against the Empire, or maybe he had been a brave, adventurous warrior like Eirik. As she grew older, her thoughts began to change: perhaps there had been a falling out between him and her mother, and they had separated on account of that. These thoughts plagued her more and more with each passing year, and it had come to a point where Jonna was no longer placated by her mother's refusal to answer her questions. Now the refusal was both an annoyance and a point of tension between them. Therefore she had resolved to learn the truth for herself.
As to the name the old man had given, it sounded familiar. She had recalled that name being mentioned in the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, but hadn't given it much thought at the time: there had been the issue of the little brawl that had erupted. Now she wanted to go back and learn all that she could: had she spoken to him at some point and never knew him?
But she would not go alone, not without Sigrun. There was no one in all of Skyrim that she trusted more than Sigrun. It was not merely a matter of sharing secrets with each other, but of a true and profound kind of trust. Even though Sigrun seemed at times a little overwhelmed by their journey, Jonna knew that she had her back. She could throw herself into the thick of battle, knowing that she had someone who would be at her side with a sword in hand to defend her.
Therefore she decided that she would wait until Sigrun arrived at the inn. She feared that she might also be wandering alone in the snow, but then recalled that she had remained with Arvyn. She was still unsure about him, as she was about everyone; but if he was as true as he claimed to be, she hoped that he would help Sigrun arrive at Nightgate Inn in short order. Perhaps if he did, she would think better of him.
The night passed slowly and sleeplessly for Jonna. Half-expecting to hear Sigrun knocking at the door of her room, she remained awake all through the night. The morning came, but Sigrun was nowhere to be found. At dawn, Jonna dragged herself into the common room of the inn, where she had a few words with the innkeeper. He had been there all that evening and told her that she had arrived with an old man in a dark, snow-covered cloak and hood. He hadn't seen a face, but the old man had paid for her room and provided a bit of money for board, with the promise to return if anything was over-spent.
As she ate breakfast in silence, Jonna wondered more about the old man. Who could it be? Though Jordis had been tight-lipped on the matter of Jonna's parentage, she told of her own family to her daughter's heart's desire. Both of Jordis' parents had died before she had reached the age of fifteen, and the rest of her training had been in the Blue Palace as a huscarl. Both Eirik and Mjoll's parents were dead and buried: Eirik's father, after whom Bjorn had been named, had succumbed to illness and the wounds he received after fighting in the Great War, and Mjoll's father had died of age before she left on her adventures.
Perhaps it was someone on her father's side, someone she had yet to meet. She would have many questions once she returned to Whiterun.
The morning began to dawn, and one by one, people began to appear at the Nightgate Inn. Some were traveling to Winterhold, others leaving from the same. Jonna relocated herself to a place where she could see the people as they walked into the tavern. With each creaking of the door, she turned her gaze to the door, expecting to see a snow-covered Sigrun slogging through the door; exhausted and freezing, but otherwise alive and well. But each time the door opened, Sigrun was not there.
In the meantime, Jonna decided that she would pay attention to anything the visitors might say while they were present. So far the news from Winterhold was reassuring: no news of a robbery from the College had been heard, and Jonna took this as a sign that Sigrun hadn't been discovered. But there was scarce other news from Winterhold; the years hadn't been kind to it, which had been little more than a ghost town for almost forty years.
As for news from the south and west, Jonna paid little attention to this, for it did not concern her greatly. But what little she did hear was troubling. In the Reach, the tombs of the ancient Nords had all been plundered and the bones exhumed and burned, so that even the memory of Nords living in those parts was to be erased. South, Bravil and Leyawiin were all but lost: the Count of Bravil, a fat man by the name of Ciprius Cantillius, had died thirteen years ago without an heir, and the Caros of Leyawiin were in exile after a Khajiit riot had left the city in ruins. The eyes of the Emperor, however, seemed to be turned to the east rather than the west. Despite the mistrust between the Empire and the Houses of Morrowind since the Red Year, Emperor Crixus was doing his best to restore friendly relations with the Great Houses: and there were rumors of an Imperial expedition to Black Marsh.
About noon, the inn saw the most activity of that morning. A messenger from Jarl Kraldar on their way to Dawnstar, a group of mage-students on their way to Winterhold from High Rock, and an Orc sellsword: an actual Orc and not a half-Orc. Jonna was amazed at the largeness of the Orc, who seemed to dwarf even Eirik in height and strength of body. Upon his back was a large axe whose staff was as long as Jonna was tall. The Orc seemed to be a bit learned and chatted endlessly with several others at his table. He seemed to be rather amiable and would willingly talk with anyone who offered him a drink.
Though she was not very trusting, Jonna hoped that she might get some news out of this Orc. She left her table and joined that of the Orc and his sellsword companions. She offered him a drink and at that was allowed to join them. As the ale began to flow, she wheedled the Orc with questions, eager to know just how much he knew. From what she gathered, he had been in the eastern holds since before the Civil War. The Orc hold of Narzulbur had been his home until he was driven out; his brothers had not wanted his competition when they challenged their father for hegemony of the stronghold. Aside from that, he had traveled much and fought in many battles as a mercenary; always going where the money was greatest.
"Have you been in Winterhold often?" she asked.
"Not much to tell," the Orc replied. "Unless you're part of the College."
"I have a friend who was there just yesterday," Jonna stated. "Was expecting her return today, but she hasn't appeared yet."
At this, the Orc seemed to pay further attention to Jonna's story. "And who is your friend? A woman like you?"
"I don't know exactly what you mean by that," Jonna returned. "But yes, she is a young woman, like me, if that's what you mean."
The Orc grumbled. "It's not safe for young women, being alone in the eastern holds of Skyrim."
"Why is that?" Jonna asked. "I mean, I know it's not safe to be alone anywhere, but why here in particular?"
"Too close to Eastmarch," the Orc replied. "There are slavers roaming the borders of that hold. They capture unwary travelers and carry them away to Windhelm, which they have called New Gnisis."
"Slavers?" asked Jonna. "Isn't slavery outlawed in the Empire?"
At this, the Orc laughed grimly. "The Dunmer have never regarded Imperial law, even when they were part of the Empire. After the Red Year, those Dunmer who were within the Empire continued to live according to their own traditions. Even before that, the Dunmer's god incarnate, the fabled Nerevarine, did nothing but stoke the flames of hatred for the Empire, and their allies, the Great House Hlaalu."
"And the Empire has done nothing about this?" Jonna asked, though she guessed that she knew the answer without asking.
"Morrowind is a source of great wealth to the Empire," the Orc stated. "Neither Emperor nor Elder Council would dare risk losing the favor of the Great Houses."
"Well, my friend wasn't alone," Jonna said, shifting the conversation back to her initial concern.
"Who was she with?" the Orc asked.
"What is it to you?" Jonna retorted.
"There are some in Winterhold," said the Orc. "Who cannot be trusted. The steward, Elsa Raven-Lock, is one. Arch-Mage Nirya is another. Whether she is in league with the Thalmor or merely regards all non-Altmer unworthy of learning magicka, or serving the Emperor's hatred for Nords, no one truly knows. Master Hlas is another: openly a servant of the College, a liaison to the people of Winterhold, but he has an ill-name in Riften."
"Wait a minute, Hlas?" Jonna asked. "As in Arvyn Hlas? What do they say about him?"
"Many things," the Orc said. "The nicer things they have said is that he is a shill for the Thieves Guild, connecting their criminal empire like a single thread in a great web stretching across the entire Empire. But there are things not so nice that people say about him: they say he is a kidnapper, gaining the trust of strangers, then abducting them to sell them into slavery in the east."
"What!" Jonna exclaimed. She had a feeling in the depth of her stomach that Arvyn Hlas was more than he put on, but this was even worse. "But he said..."
"Oh, so it was he who your friend was with?" the Orc knowingly replied. "In which case, I fear you will never see your friend again."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Jonna retorted, fear turning swiftly into anger.
"It means," the Orc replied, unperturbed by Jonna's outburst of rage. "That if your friend truly was in his company, it is likely that she has been sold as a slave. If that's the case, you will never see her again. Those unlucky ones to be enslaved by the Dunmer of Eastmarch are never seen or heard from again."
"We're going after him," Jonna stated.
"'We?'" the Orc asked.
"I have money," Jonna returned. "I'll pay you what you want. But we have to find her!"
"And where do you suppose we begin?" the Orc asked. "Winterhold? He will not return there, not for many days, after 'doing his business' there."
"You know something about him," Jonna returned. "Perhaps you can put all that knowledge to good use and we can find him together."
"I only know the rumors I have heard," the Orc replied. "And that is not even half of what there is to know about him."
"Still, we are going to find my friend," Jonna insisted. "If I have to search every nook and cranny from here to the Velothi Mountains in the east, and battle fucking Vivec himself."
The Orc and Jonna then fell to haggling over his price. The Orc, whose name was Garbag gro-Luhg, gave a fair but steep price. Jonna deposited a few gold septims, unsure if this was sufficient. Garbag agreed to the price, but not to Jonna's desire to leave immediately. He was hungry from a long journey and had a mind to finish eating before going to battle. So Jonna was once again obliged to wait impatiently for her bodyguard to finish eating. She was too frustrated and eager to be on her way to talk with him in the meanwhile, and waited quietly until he was done.
Once the Orc had finished eating, Jonna went back to her room, took her things, and joined him as they left the Nightgate Inn. As they left the inn, the Orc unhitched from the post outside a large black horse, which he compelled Jonna to mount. Once they were both a-horse, Garbag urged the horse southwards, down a path that led down from the shelf upon which the inn was built, and into a wide forested plain covered in snow.
"I thought we'd be going back to Winterhold," Jonna stated.
"As I said before," Garbag stated. "Master Hlas would not return to Winterhold after capturing his prize. He would go east, towards New Gnisis, or south towards the slave camps along the Black River. If we went back towards Winterhold and searched every inch of that mountainous land, you will surely never see your friend again."
"Why?" asked Jonna.
"That land is rugged and perilous," Garbag replied. "One could spend a year searching all of that land and never find what they sought. Whether Master Hlas seeks to go to New Gnisis or farther south, our best choice will be to go steadily southeast from here. There is a bridge just northeast of the abandoned fort of Morvunskar; there we will be able to see if they go east or south."
"What if they go another way?" Jonna asked.
Garbag scoffed. "You haven't been this far east, have you?" She shook her head. "There are only two ways to reach New Gnisis from Winterhold: the road or by the coast. The coastal path is open to the cold winds from the sea; mer do not go there, and even Orcs never built settlements in that icy bay. The road, therefore, is the path they will take."
"But they're slavers," Jonna returned. "Won't they try to leave the road, in case someone tries to follow them?"
The Orc laughed. "Who would follow them but us? Eastmarch has become quite dangerous to all folk who are not Dunmer since the end of the Civil War. That was many years ago, and the Dunmer in New Gnisis think themselves quite secure. They own all the roads going in and out of Eastmarch; they will not think twice about taking the roads, since they feel safe going to and fro upon them."
For a long while they continued going through the snow-clad woods in silence. On their left they could see, through the trees, the gray outline of a wide lake, partially covered in ice. To their right the hills rose up into mighty, snowy tops, obscuring all view of things to the south. Directly ahead and over the tops of the trees continued the line of hills, running roughly straight eastward, but little could be seen any farther. In the sky to the east wisps of gray smoke floated into the sky, ominous and threatening.
"What is that smoke?" Jonna asked.
"The smoke of Eastmarch," the Orc replied. "Ever since the hold came under the power of House Sadras, there has been a great work therein. Whole forests are cut down and burned, lakes, rivers and ponds drained and dredged, beasts and birds hunted and left out to die. It is their purpose, some believe, to remake Eastmarch in the image of Vvardenfell as they remember it."
"Does Arvyn Hlas work for House Sadras?" Jonna asked.
"Arvyn is a liar," Garbag stated. "He will say anything to anyone to get what he wants. What he truly believes, no one knows. He does not keep company with anyone outside of Eastmarch, and if he is ever seen in company, they will always defend whatever new story he has lately invented. House Sadras, on the other hand, is the most aggressive of the Great Houses. They would claim ownership of any land where Dunmer are, whether the Dunmer owned that land or not. No, I do not believe he is a retainer of House Sadras. At the very least, he would serve them if it would be profitable to him, but no further."
"What else do you know about the Great Houses?" Jonna asked.
"Only what most others know," Garbag replied. "But of House Sadras, only a little. As a rule, they are secretive towards outsiders; but I have seen what they have done. The five Great Houses are these: Redoran, Indoril, Telvanni, Dres and Sadras. Redoran's primary business is in preserving the traditions of the Dunmer people. Indoril is the house of the New Tribunal, though they have lost some support since the Red Year. Telvanni is the house of mages, and, like the mages of Winterhold, have little regard for anyone or thing outside of their own business. Dres is the slave-house, and while they were greatly weakened when the Argonians invaded Morrowind, their former strength has grown in the many years since then."
"And Sadras?" asked Jonna.
"For many years," Garbag said. "No one knew of what Sadras' true intentions were. Most simply believed that they were an obscure house, elevated when House Hlaalu was disgraced after the Oblivion Crisis and the Red Year. In fact, they had made such little impact in Tamriel in the past two hundred years that many discounted them altogether. But now we see that it is different."
"How so?" Jonna asked.
"The annexation of Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil," Garbag stated. "And Eastmarch in Skyrim. These are not isolated incidents. Athal Sarys, the author of 'Dunmer of Skyrim', was a retainer of House Sadras. That book of his was a call to arms, one that few regarded. The learned were more often than not Imperial sympathizers, and ignored his writings. Those that might have done something about them were not learned, and wholly disregarded as ignorant savages or rebels."
"You seem to be quite learned," Jonna stated.
Garbag grumbled. "I taught myself to read. In my travels, I became distinctly aware that things were being hidden from me. So I endeavored to learn what they meant, that I might not be deceived by flattering words. Orcs are honorable folk, but those we may have dealings with can be duplicitous. I reasoned that if I learned how to read and write, I could never be deceived."
Jonna let out a barely audible grunt, then cast her eyes around them for any sign of Sigrun. She didn't expect to see her immediately, but she was still uneasy. The news that she may have been kidnapped and quite possibly sold into slavery was almost as bad as though she had been slain.
The day wore on, growing still colder and darker. It seemed also that the farther east they went, the darker the sky grew before them. Down from the high mountains to the north clouds that heralded the coming of a great blizzard could be seen billowing down into the valley, while before them the line of smoke became thicker and darker. A rumbling of thunder was heard in the mountains, and Garbag brought the horse towards the edge of the hills.
"What's wrong?" Jonna asked.
"See those clouds?" Garbag said. "There will be a storm soon. It will not do us any good to travel in the dark and rain. We may lose our course in the darkness."
Jonna grumbled. "I do not fear the darkness."
"The rain will hinder our progress," Garbag returned. "We will travel much faster with rest."
Reluctantly, Jonna agreed to the rest. Worse yet, there was no better resting place than under the trees around them. Beneath the bole of two trees growing close together Garbag brought the horse to a stop. The Orc then proceeded to tear off four leafy branches from off the trees and then throw them to the ground. Jonna knelt down beside them to start a fire, but Garbag forbade her. Then kneeling down at the base of the trees, the Orc began to clear away the snow around the trees with his huge arms. Rather than simply throw the excess snow away, he made a small wall of packed snow out of it. Into this he fit the bottom end of the branches, then slowly built up more snow around them until a small domed wall had been built.
"What's that for?" Jonna asked.
"To keep out the wind," Garbag replied. "Most of the coldest winds will be coming down from Mount Anthor and the heights of Winterhold. We should be safe from them, and anyone chancing to look this way from the road will only see snow."
"What about the horse?" Jonna inquired.
"He'll be fine," said the Orc. "He's been through worse weather than this. Also, if he's cold, I can throw a blanket over him, or he can kneel down and be protected in our little shelter."
Once the little shelter was built, Garbag removed a horse blanket from the saddle and covered the horse with it. Then he himself curled down beneath the tree and inside the shelter, wrapping up in his cloak. Jonna did likewise, though she insisted that Garbag turn around and that they sleep back to back. He was a mercenary, and Jonna did not trust anyone larger than herself being so close to her, be they Nord or Orc.
Around them the night deepened, until the shadows enveloped the forest and darkness was all they could see. About midnight an icy, biting rain began to fall upon the earth. Ever and anon there would be a brief flash of lightning and a distant roar of thunder: sometimes towards the mountains, and other times towards the east: never close enough to threaten striking their little shelter. Jonna, however, found that sleep had abandoned her throughout the night in calm as well as during the storm. She lay awake all night, sometimes lying as still as possible and sometimes squirming uncomfortably, trying to find a spot that would bring sleep upon her sooner.
"Go to sleep," grumbled Garbag. He hadn't gotten much sleep either from Jonna's constant shifting.
"I can't," she replied. "I keep thinking about Sigrun, in chains or worse, out there in this rain."
"Is she really that important to you?" Garbag grumbled. "Sounds like a lover more than a friend."
"What? Ew!" Jonna retorted. "We were like sisters, okay?" She sighed, her frustration at the Orc's comment dying down as she thought about long, emerald summers on the shores of Lake Ilinalta in Falkreath. "To tell you the truth, it was I who convinced her to leave home with me on this little adventure. I don't know why; I knew she wasn't as ready to leave home as I am. I guess because we always did everything together, it didn't feel right going off without her, somehow. Still doesn't feel right, being away from her. Like fighting without your weapon, you know?"
The Orc grumbled. "I know you're not paying me for advice, but, from an experienced traveler and one who has fought and survived many battles, such attachment is a weakness. One that you cannot afford to have, for your enemies will exploit it. Only a self-sufficient man, or Orc, can truly survive in this world. Now get some sleep, or you'll have no strength for the journey ahead tomorrow."
Garbag went back to sleep almost immediately; Jonna did not. A strange desire came over her to look north, across the lake and back towards the road. Though she knew the direction from when there was light, she knew there would be nothing to see in this darkness. For the moment, there had been only the growling of thunder and no lightning: what could there be to see?
Peering out from the edge of their snowy shelter, Jonna saw afar off, faint and distant, a tiny speck of light. It was not starlight, for the sky was covered with the clouds of storm, neither was it mage-light or some phantom will-o-the-wisp: it was the clear, plain light of a tiny, distant, flame, unaffected by the wind and rain. She wondered who that light belonged to, and if they had any news of the whereabouts of her beloved Sigrun. She continued to watch the little light speck bobble along, until it was lost amid the shadows and could be seen no more.
Morning came with a rude shove. Sometime in the early morning, before the rising of the sun, Jonna had fallen asleep and was hoping to go on sleeping, had it not been for Garbag rousing her from sleep. It was time to move on. The second day of the search dawned overcast and dreary. The two mounted their horse after eating a light breakfast of dried meat, and continued on their way eastward. They soon learned that it was good that they had taken shelter beneath the trees, for beyond the little glade there were few trees on this side of the river. There would have been no protection from wind or snow, had they carried on the previous night.
Their path led them now onto the very bank of the river. Here the road on the other side was so near that they could see any that might be seen upon it. Jonna kept her eyes frequenting the road, eager to see any sign of the light she had seen last night. Yet the day wore on, the snow continued to fall, albeit gentlier than last night, and their path along the river rambled onward, but there was no sign of anyone upon the road. By and by there came a sound of rushing from the river. Their path started to slant downwards, and the river at their left-hand fell down into a frothing, roaring white fall. At the bottom of the fall were the ruins of some small buildings on the other side of the river, as well as a broken mill-wheel. Further on down, the river snaked away out of view; but upon the other side of the river, the mountains seemed to open up and reveal the remnants of a sad, crumbled city seated between the delta of the river and the bay of the sea.
"Where are we?" Jonna asked.
"An old mill-house," Garbag stated. "The dark elves destroyed it years ago and slew the inhabitants. That ruin you see below is all that remains of Windhlem, the City of the Nord's hero Ysgramor."
"What happened to it?" Jonna inquired.
"The dark elves," Garbag said. "They've renamed the city New Gnisis, slew or enslaved all the Nords, and tore down the walls. The stones they've used for their own buildings in the hold, and the graves they've disturbed and burned the bones."
"That's terrible!" Jonna exclaimed.
Garbag grunted. "My people have been driven out of Orsinium time and time again. What is it if a few humans are driven from their homes as well?"
"Don't you have any care for the suffering of these people?" Jonna asked, surprised at how much she sounded like Sigrun in her ears.
"I'm not paid to care, I'm paid to fight," Garbag replied. "And you don't have enough money to make me fight all the battles the Nords get themselves into." Jonna frowned, then looked back northward, towards the road. "You've been looking that way every few minutes or so. Expect to see something over there?" Jonna then told of what she had seen the previous night.
"That light could be anyone," the Orc said. "Whoever they were, they were foolish to try to travel by night in this snow."
"Well, you seem to know much about tracking people," Jonna returned. "Where do you think they could have gone?"
"Don't know," Garbag cryptically replied. "We're here, not on the road."
"Make a guess, then!" Jonna snapped, getting angry at Garbag's dismissal of what she felt was extremely important.
Garbag grumbled angrily. "If they weren't buried in snow or frozen to death, then we need not go out of our way to search for them." He pointed further downstream. "The road crosses the river at a bridge only a stone's throw from here. They would have had to cross there, bringing them into our path. Whoever they are and wherever they are, we're on their trail."
"Then let's go!" Jonna urged. "If we hurry, we might catch them!"
Garbag brought the horse down the slope at a trotting pace, then urged it on faster once they were at the bottom of the hill, where the falls crashed noisily into the river. Now they rode along the river at a swift pace; but not swift enough. Garbag did not let the horse go at its full pace, for the snow could hide many a fox's den or rabbit's hole into which the horse's legs might fall, breaking its legs and putting them in more trouble.
At length, they came to the bridge. Now under the horse's hooves was firm cobble-stones, and they could really go at speed. This leg of their journey seemed to go on swiftly and without any hindrance. The snow also seemed to lessen the farther east they went, though now the air was thick with moisture, yet still cold and biting with winter. The mountains began to open up and they could see more and more of the great ruin of New Gnisis, that had been Windhelm.
Suddenly Garbag brought his horse to a halt. Before them the road forked in twain: the right hand path hugged the flanks of the mountains along which they had been traveling, still relatively sheltered by some trees and outcropping of rocks. Meanwhile, the path that went straight forward went over into a wide plain that sat at the delta before Windhelm. At the end thereof a bridge of stone stretched across the river and ran up to the very gates of the city.
"What now?" Jonna asked. "Why are we stopping?"
"We're in Eastmarch now," Garbag replied. "We're not supposed to be here. Well, your kind certainly aren't allowed here. I've heard rumors that they've burned some of the strongholds and chased out my people by force."
"But which way did they go?" Jonna asked. "Sigrun or the bearer of the light?"
"Who knows?" Garbag replied. "If your friend was enslaved by Arvyn Hlas, then our journey is at an end."
"What the fuck do you mean 'our journey is at an end?'" Jonna demanded.
"She could have been taken to New Gnisis," Garbag stated. "Or the slave-camps in the marsh-lands, or farther east into Morrowind. If that's the case, you'll never see her again."
"Why not?" Jonna asked, anger rising within her breast.
"I told you before," Garbag grumbled. "Those enslaved by the Dunmer of Eastmarch are never seen again. She will be fortunate enough to die at the hand of her slave-masters. The life of a slave of the dark elves is not a pleasant one."
Jonna looked this way and that, hoping to find some indication that Sigrun was still somewhere about; that this search had not been in vain. But every way she looked revealed nothing, no hope for her. She bit her lower lip as her eyes welled up with hot tears.
"What will they do to her?" she asked, trying her damnedest not to cry.
"If she is strong, they could put her to work in the fields," Garbag stated. "Tending the scrib nests, gathering guar shit. If she is less strong, she could be a house-slave. Then again, there are some dark elves who are not as picky as House Redoran when it comes to women. But even if she is sent to work in the fields, her virtue will be gone within her first day. Of course, there is always the chance of being swiftly killed, or being purchased by a cruel master who will make your friend suffer..."
"No!" Jonna firmly stated, shaking her head. "No, there's got to be something else."
"But..."
"No buts!" Jonna retorted. "I refuse to give up on her like that! There's got to be something we haven't tried yet!"
At this, Garbag was becoming rather uncomfortable. He had already been paid for his work, and yet here he was, in enemy territory, with a young woman in great denial in his care. Part of him wanted to punch her in her plain, boring, perfect little pale face and drag her back to civilized Skyrim as fast as his horse could take her. Instead, he found himself saying something completely different.
"There's another bridge farther south," he said. "If they were making for the slave-camps in the marshes, that's where they might have gone."
"Then that's where we're going," Jonna insisted. "Now. Right now! Come on, hurry up!"
Garbag turned his horse right and made his way down the southward road. He didn't know why he was leading her on. Perhaps he reasoned that it would be easier to take her back if she didn't know she was being pulled away from the futile search.
They followed the road southward for a long while, hidden from view by the mountains on their right and the large rocks on the left. Further away they could hear the river rushing along the road, beside their path. There was no other sound, whether of bird or beast, upon hill, valley, path, or in water. In only a little while, they had passed the wide plain before the gates of New Gnisis. Here the snow ceased altogether, but the ground and the air were wet and cold. The smoke which they had seen from afar they could now see as a great haze, rising up to the gray, sullen sky to blot out the sun.
Suddenly, they saw something lying on the side of the road: something large, like a body, was lying beside the road, aside the ruin of a wagon. Garbag would have passed on without so much as a second glance, but Jonna, upon seeing the wreckage, leaped from the saddle and began to examine the wreckage.
"What is it?" Garbag asked. "There's no time!"
"Get off your horse and come take a look," Jonna stated. "You're the tracker. Maybe you can read something about this."
Garbag looked this way and that. There was no sign of anyone abroad. "We're in the open. If we're discovered, we'll be in trouble. I cannot fight off all the Dunmer of Eastmarch by myself."
"We're looking for Sigrun, aren't we?" Jonna asked. There was something about the way she said those words that seemed to suggest that she knew, or guessed, something of the Garbag's duplicity. "This could be a sign that she was here."
Garbag grumbled, dismounted and walked the horse over to the wreckage. He was unwilling to offer further assistance, as they were in danger here in Eastmarch, and was certain that Jonna's friend had been taken away to New Gnisis and would never be found again.
"What makes you say that?" he asked.
"See those bars?" she gestured to the cage that sat in the back of the wagon. "You said Arvyn Hlas is a slaver, right? This could be a slave-wagon."
"It's possible," grumbled Garbag in a low, dismissing tone.
"Can you see anything else?" Jonna asked, moving to examine the wagon thoroughly.
Garbag walked over to the body that lay beside the wagon. It was the body of a horse, large and sturdy, such as were common in Skyrim. It's front leg was broken, but it appeared that great chucks of flesh had been cut or torn off of its body, which was damp and stank.
"See here?" Garbag said, pointing to the horse's broken leg. "This might have caused the wagon to crash."
"I've heard," Jonna stated. "That they cut the horse's neck if his leg breaks. What kind of person would leave the horse crippled, lying here to be torn apart by wild beasts?"
"These marks," Garbag replied, prodding one of the gashes with his boot. "Were not made by any beast. All such beasts native to Eastmarch were hunted down and wiped out once the dark elves took over."
Jonna turned away, as a revolting thought came into her mind and the sight of the bloated horse corpse and those rotting, festering wounds made her sick to her stomach. As she turned, she noticed something crushed beneath the cage. She reached through the bars and tried to pull out what remained beneath, but it could not be removed. She called for Garbag and pointed at the crushed thing.
"Looks like a lantern," the Orc replied.
At this, Jonna's face lit up with excitement. "That ball of light I saw last night. It wasn't a torch, it was a lantern! That's why it could survive the storm without going out."
Garbag cast his eyes skyward: the clouds were moving by rather fast and a low, deep rumble was heard across the sky.
"What is it?" Jonna asked.
"Damn Skyrim weather!" Garbag grumbled. "It's always changing. First snow, then rain. We need to get to shelter, it's going to rain soon."
"No," Jonna shook her head. "No, we have to Sigrun. We're so close, I can feel it."
"We're not going to find anything!" Garbag insisted. "Listen, that wreck could very well be a slave-wagon, maybe even the one carrying your friend. But there's no path to follow."
"What do you mean?" Jonna asked.
"Look!" Garbag took her by the arm and led her over to the wagon, and with his other arm pointed at the ground. "The rain has washed out any footprints there might have been. This is another dead end: there's nothing more to look for!"
"I refuse to believe that," Jonna replied firmly. "And I won't give up on my friend that easily." With that, Jonna made her way towards the river."
"What are you doing?" Garbag asked.
"I'm wading across this river," Jonna retorted.
"I can see that," groaned Garbag. "But why?"
"I'm looking for my friend," Jonna answered, her eyes fixed on the river. "If you won't help, then I'll do it myself."
"This is mad!" shouted Garbag. "You'll be caught in the storm, or captured by slavers yourself."
"Good," Jonna replied. "Maybe then I'll find Sigrun, and we can plan our escape together."
Garbag swore in the harsh, guttural language of the Orsinmer, then mounted his horse. At first he made as though he would leave her, then turned around and, before Jonna knew what was happening, picked her up and set her on the back of his horse. Then he urged his horse into the river. Icy cold water splashed about their feet, sinking deep into their boots. For a few chilly minutes they were treading nothing but water; suddenly the horse leaped out of the river and onto the opposite shore.
"What are you doing?" Jonna asked, once they had forded the river.
"The storm will find you before you find your friend," Garbag stated. "With me, you will find shelter before the storm breaks."
"I thought you weren't going to help me," Jonna retorted.
"Do you see the smoke?" he said, pointing to the many pillars of black smoke trailing up into the sky. "That is the work of the dark elves and their slaves. Doubtless we may be seen, and you will need my help if they decide that you're an escaped slave that needs to be returned."
Jonna made no reply, but quietly thanked the Divines that the Orc was still with her.
The ground was bare and damp, and there were many ash-pits upon the ground. Some were new, others only scars of old blazes. The great smokes filled the sky and air around them, blocking any sight farther than near at hand. Suddenly a drop fell upon Jonna's face, and then another one. At this, Garbag urged the horse even faster. The horse was now going galloping hard, over stone and bare earth. Soon a light rain began to caress the earth, but the speed of the horse made its cold droplets bite upon the faces of Jonna and Garbag.
But soon their situation was growing dire. The rain kept on falling, but no matter where they looked, there was no shelter to be found: not even so much as a tree under which to pass the oncoming storm. Garbag swore under his breath, then brought the horse into a narrow ravine that was on the right-hand side of their path. It did not offer much protection, but it was better than lying out in the open. But no sooner had they entered the ravine when the rain came down in full measure, pounding relentlessly through the harsh, cold winds, soaking through to the bone with each drop.
Garbag and Jonna huddled against the cliff, wrapping themselves in their cloaks. Yet even this seemed powerless against the onslaught of the storm. Worse yet, there came now flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder in the sky. Ever and anon, a flash would illuminate the sky and the area around the ravine, dispelling for a moment the sullen darkness of the grey storm clouds. In that light, Jonna kept watch on both sides of the ravine, and saw nothing.
Hours passed, the dark deepened, but the storm raged on. Garbag seemed unperturbed by the dark or storm, but Jonna was now shivering in her thoroughly soaked cloak. Furthermore, she found herself wishing that she had never left Lakeview Manor. Because she had done so and convinced Sigrun to come with her, they had come out into the cold and wet wilderness, and Sigrun had been captured and taken as a slave. She repented of her decision and begged the gods that, if she lived or, Divines willing, she found Sigrun again, she would spend the rest of the trip back to Falkreath apologizing for the danger she brought upon them both.
It was now deep in the hours of twilight. The only light at all were the flashes of lightning, which still raged on. Jonna wondered how Garbag could sleep through the booming thunder-clashes. They kept her wide awake: or perhaps it was the rain, causing her to shiver and shake where she crouched, or maybe it was fear.
There was a flash of lightning, and in the tense, pregnant moment before the boom of thunder, Jonna caught sight of a shadowy figure standing at the southern end of the ravine. The thunder roared, and the horse gave a frightened neigh. Jonna gave Garbag a sharp jab, pointing back towards where she had seen the figure. It was still dark, and neither of them could see anything. Another flash lit the sky, and in the split second before darkness consumed their world again, the light glinted off two blades. Jonna's heart was in the depths of her stomach: they had been caught, just as Garbag feared they would be. In this dark downpour, they could not see their opponent in order to give battle.
"Stay where you are!" Garbag shouted. "Or I'll rip your arms off!"
Their opponent made no answer. Or perhaps the answer it made was so soft as to be unheard, drowned out by the pounding rain and crash of distant thunder. Lightning struck again, and the face was, for a moment, illuminated: covered in blood smeared by the rain-drops. The blood-soaked foe was drawing nearer: the last flash revealed that it had come down into the ravine with them. A groaning noise came from the enemy, as they tried to speak. But it was now so close that even a softer voice could be heard. After a lengthy silence, in which Garbag drew his axe and readied for a fight to the death, the stranger made a noise that was loud enough to be heard, even in this storm.
"Jons..."
(AN: Two big twists dropped in this chapter. The consequences of Jonna's choices will be revealed in time, as well as who the old man is. In the mean-time, any guesses?)
(The opening scene came out of the blue [as most of my writing does, since i rarely ever write outlines for my work], but i liked it as it is a setup for a major counter-critique of the criticism often given to the teacher-student relation in epic fantasy settings [like pre-Disney Star Wars or Lord of the Rings].)
(I've been binge-watching Smallville from the beginning on my brother's Hulu account. I will admit that it has plenty of cringe-worthy soap opera moments, is more ashamed of its comic book origins than the DC Cinematic universe, and is in nowhere an accurate depiction of real life [or even Kansas: seriously, what drugs were those Canadians on to think that Midwestern people would be listening to nu metal and alternative rock instead of country music?]. But one thing that bothers me to no end is mary sue Lana Lang. The entire world of Smallville and everyone in it seems to revolve around her and her wishes, she's perfect, never does anything wrong, has men [and women] tripping over themselves for her, and is successful at everything she does, despite not finishing high school or going to college. But probably her biggest flaw, which is never recognized as such, is being so damn nosy! The way she is fixated on figuring out everyone's secrets is the stuff of stalkers, and yet she expects a wide berth for her own secrets: it would make sense if Smallville were a proper, small Midwestern town with nothing going on, but that's not what the show depicts at all. Thinking about how someone can possibly rationalize being so damn nosy probably worked its way into this chapter [hence the lengthy explanation to get to that point]. Also she founded ISIS!)