(AN: I've noticed that a lot of my chapters end with 'and they blacked out and knew no more' only to have them wake up and be kidnapped. So this time there is a bit of a shake-up to that tired trope.)
(Also something that doesn't make sense: i've heard a lot of Skyrim fans criticize the Greybeards for keeping out of the affairs of the civil war, but no one has really put the Companions' feet to the flame over the same issue.)
Ysgramor's End
Jonna had not been knocked unconscious, but was being lifted up off the ground and carried away by strong arms. Panicking by reason of the terrifying words and madness of Jarl Nelkir, Jonna kicked as fiercely as her legs could. But they did not respond to her attempts to free herself. Outside she could hear loud noises rising up around her, the sounds of shouting and chanting of protest. Little of what was being said she actually understood, for those who carried her did not wait long enough for her to catch any hint of words. Suddenly there was the sound of a door slamming shut and the noise of the crowds became somewhat less loud. Those that carried her continued to carry her, and she felt herself descending and the noises outside becoming more and more distant. At length she was placed down upon the stone cold floor and the sack removed from her head.
She was inside a room somewhere underground: there were no windows, the walls were made of stone, and the chief source of light came from torches hanging upon the walls. It was not a dungeon, but certainly seemed as grim. Beside her she saw two large Nords, both dressed in armor and carrying axes upon their belts. Before her stood two people, a man and a woman. The man was about average height for a Nord, a touch on the thin side, with his long beard and dark hair streaked with many strands of gray. The woman was about the same age as Mjoll, but was of lighter frame. Red was the color of her hair, which flowed in long, bloody rivulets down her back and shoulders.
"Where am I?" Jonna asked. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Jonna Jordisdottir, I presume?" the red-haired woman asked. "By Ysgramor, you look exactly as you were described. You will pardon my methods of rescuing you, but these are difficult times. The Fighters Guild have sent many spies into our midst, and we've only caught three of them; therefore I must be cautious."
"Answer my questions!" Jonna retorted, in no mood for pleasantries.
"Quite a temper on you!" the woman said. "I like that. They said you wouldn't be very cooperative."
"Who said that?"
"Your mother," said the woman.
Jonna gasped. "How do you know my mother?"
"First things first," the red-haired woman said. "I am Aela, called the Huntress and Harbinger of the Companions. That should also answer where we're at. As for what I want, we received a letter shortly after you left Whiterun the first time. Your mother had gotten wind of your departure and wanted us to watch after you."
"To take me back home, I wager," Jonna returned.
"Vilkas, read her the letter," the woman said to the man at her side. He removed from a desk nearby a letter, from which he read.
To the Harbinger of the Companions,
My daughter Jonna has left home in search of glory and honor. It would be a great honor if she could join the Companions. Let this letter be an introduction for my daughter and a tale of her skill in combat.
"The rest," Vilkas said. "Describes your stature and appearance, as well as your skill with sword, axe, and shield."
"My ma wants me to join the Companions?" Jonna asked, her voice catching.
"Vilkas," Aela said to the man. "We will begin the training tomorrow before first light. For now, find this newblood a place to sleep, if there are any empty beds left to fill."
The man nodded, then ordered for Jonna to follow him. He led her back down the hall into a small room with two beds on either side. The man whose name was Vilkas gestured to one of the beds.
"This one's yours," he said. "Your bunk-mate is a dark elf named Galmis."
"Where is he?" Jonna asked.
"Currently on an errand for the Companions," Vilkas stated. "He won't be back for another day or two. Even errand-runners are being waylaid in the streets of Whiterun."
"Waylaid?" Jonna asked. "Waylaid by what?"
"Enemies," Vilkas vaguely stated. "They seem to come from all over these days. We thought our worst days were behind us when we drove the Silver Hand out from the eastern holds. Now it seems that they've survived, hiding in some vermin's nest, outliving their day. But they're not the only threats we face."
"What other threats?" Jonna asked.
Vilkas sighed. "Perhaps it's best that I tell you this, that you know what you're getting yourself into by joining us. The new Emperor has been eager to bring the Fighters Guild to Skyrim. This goes against years of tradition which the Empire has previously respected, even the Medan Emperors respected the tradition of the Companions!"
"Competition threatens tradition?"
"If it were only a matter of pride," Vilkas continued. "We would not be alarmed. The Companions are well established in Skyrim, and the people would support us. More than that, our names and the names of those that have gone before will outlast us. The problem is that the Fighters Guild is under the protection of the Empire, and we have another tradition of non-involvement in political affairs."
"Why is that?" Jonna asked.
"Long ago, the Companions fought in which ever cause, many times pitted one against the other. Mryfwiil the Withdrawn, one of our Harbingers of old, recognized that this would destroy the order, and so ordained that we would never be involved in political conflicts."
"So because the Empire protects the Fighters Guild," Jonna stated. "You're not even going to try to defend yourselves against their attempts to drive you out of Skyrim?"
"If we act," Vilkas stated. "It will destroy centuries of political non-involvement. The flood-gates would be opened and we would become sell-swords for everyone's political agenda. It would destroy the future of the Companions."
"Well, pardon me for saying this," Jonna returned. "But if half of the things I've heard about this Emperor are true, if you don't act, there won't be a future for the Companions."
"That may be," Vilkas returned. "And when the end comes, we will meet it with the same bravery that we have faced all the days of our lives." He nodded, bade her goodnight, then left. Jonna did not sleep, for the memories of her encounter with Jarl Nelkir were still fresh in her mind, and she distrusted every shadow in her chamber.
Some time before dawn, Jonna was overcome with a wearisome, fitful sleep, and slept long. When she awoke, she found that there was some commotion about; small groups would gather just outside the door of her room and mutter in worried tones among themselves. As Jonna's senses became more aware, she noticed that the topic of conversation was something going on just outside the doors of Jorrvaskr. She rose up from her bed and quickly dragged a comb through her messy hair before stepping out into the hallway to see the commotion. Even as she stepped out, the group before her door dispersed, heading up the stairs back into the main hall.
Just as she was looking about, a tall Nord with long, light brown hair came walking up to her. He seemed thoroughly average in appearance, despite his brown hair and beard, but as soon as he approached, Jonna's eyes doubled in size. The Nord man had not stepped too close to her, nor had he made a threatening gesture, nor issued words of insult, nor drawn a blade, nor even glared at her with his eyes, yet suddenly Jonna found that her blood was rushing, her eyes were nervously looking around as if for an escape, and her hand grasped nervously at her back for the haft of her axe.
"Hail, Companion," he greeted pleasantly. "Can you imagine all of this excitement?"
"What's going on?" Jonna blurted out in one breath.
"Something happening outside," he returned. "It's gotten everybody nervous..."
"I see," said Jonna. She spoke swiftly and curtly, as if to tell him that she wanted only to know an answer to her question and nothing more. She would broker no further discussion.
As soon as she had spoken, she turned her eyes away from the Nord and hurriedly made her way up the stairs along with the others. As she walked up the stairs, she wondered why she had suddenly behaved as such. The man who spoke to her had done nothing wrong, and she could not even use the previous night as an excuse, for he looked nothing like Jarl Nelkir. Yet she had suddenly and abruptly behaved with rudeness towards a fellow kinsman and Companion.
Up the door she went and heard a loud rushing of crowds just outside the hall. Turning towards the doors, she saw that there were armed guards behind the doors, with their hands upon their weapons, standing at the ready as if they were expecting a battle. Jonna made her way out the doors and saw there, before the hall of Jorrvaskr, nothing short of a stand-off. There were armed Companions standing guard outside the door, just as those who stood guard within the doors. Before them were Imperial soldiers, the only others in the city permitted their arms. Each had their shields raised up, as if to push back advance from the other, and stood within arm's reach of each other. Behind the shield wall of the Companions stood Vilkas and Aela the Huntress, while behind the Imperial lines stood a group of men bearing the colors of the Fighters Guild. In their midst was the Altmer that Jonna had seen when she had returned to Whiterun. Like before, he was speaking to any who would listen to him, as well as turning to address the leaders of the Companions.
"These stand in defiance of the laws of the Empire," the Altmer said. "Every day, in your town, among your children, they walk, bearing arms. How many more incidents like the one at Fendral's farm must we have before these lawless Nords bow to the laws of the Empire?"
"What's happening?" Jonna asked those Companions nearest the door.
"The Fighters Guild has been trying for months," Vilkas reminded her, raising his voice above the din of the crowds. "To drive us out of Whiterun."
"What is he talking about?" she asked. "What happened at Fendral's farm?"
"A knife-fight broke out," Vilkas said. "A boy was killed."
"Were the Companions responsible?"
"No," Vilkas returned. "But we've been blamed for it, as we never obeyed the Empire's weapon ban."
"...they think themselves above our laws!" the Altmer continued. "And what are they but a pack of mercenaries? Filthy sell-swords. They do not defend your people from threats, only insomuch as their hands are well greased. And now we hear even worse things than these! We hear that they will not even send one Companion to hunt down werewolves in the wilds! How can they be trusted to protect us from threats when they won't even carry out their purpose?"
"He speaks falsely!" Aela shouted in retort. "The Companions have always defended Whiterun, and all of Skyrim, from any threats to her people, especially from wild beasts."
"Ah, the red b*tch speaks!" the Altmer returned. "It is good that she speaks. I'm quite sure that she has other things to say for herself. Surely she will put to rest the rumors that have been reported in our ears, and the ears of our great Jarl Nelkir and the Imperial Legate."
"You talk a big game, elf," Aela said, turning towards the Altmer. "But you're a poor chooser of words. Best you watch your tongue."
"Behold!" the Altmer said, turning back to those assembled behind the Imperial soldiers. "How she threatens a member of the Fighters Guild! Such threats are to be expected of savage Nord clansmen, but not of loyal subjects of the Empire. Need I remind you all that the Guild is under the protection of the Empire, while the Companions have a long-standing oath of political non-involvement? An oath, I remind you all, that the Companions imposed upon themselves? Here then is a marvelous thing! A Nord's honor cannot abide threats, and yet the Companions dare not raise a hand against those under the protection of the Empire, be they the Fighters Guild or the Thalmor."
Jonna saw that the crowd seemed to regard his words with dull interest. The guards remained almost shield-to-shield with the Companions.
"Alas," the Almter continued. "It is an unfortunate truth that the Companions have no honor, being nothing more than a gang of brigands, extorting money from the good people of Skyrim to conceal the wicked pact they've made with the Daedra!"
"Vilkas!" Aela shouted. "Get the young-blood inside now!" Vilkas approached Jonna and placed his hand upon her shoulder.
"Get your hand off me!" Jonna shouted.
"Come now," Vilkas said. "There's nothing more to be heard here. Just more lies."
Vilkas led her back into the main hall, and sat her down upon one of the seats at the table, then took a seat across from her and sat down with her.
"I am sorry to inconvenience you," Vilkas said. "But you don't need to hear any of that."
"Excuse me?" Jonna asked. "First off, you were more than willing to share secrets with me right off when I first joined just last night. Remember that? I should know the worst that's in store for the Companions? What happened to that?"
"Things have become different very quickly," Vilkas reasoned. He then groaned. "Gods, I don't remember young-bloods being so damned entitled!"
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Jonna retorted. "I think I deserve to know what's going on..."
"What do you deserve to know, hmm?" Vilkas asked, rising to his feet. "You haven't proven yourself to us, you have no name. For all we know, you could be an Imperial spy."
"Just what are you saying, sir?" Her utterance of 'sir' dripped with insubordination.
"What I'm saying," Vilkas replied. "Is that you need to show some patience and respect. You aren't owed anything, whether by reason of your sex or your kinship. You owe it to yourself and to your brothers and sisters in the shield to prove yourself. As for our secrets..." He heaved a heavy sigh. "...as for our secrets, there may come a time when you will have to be told just what those secrets are; maybe a time soon coming. But for now, you must be content. Our enemies are everywhere, as you saw just now; and they are eager to bring us down. Our secrets must remain hidden." He then turned to those other Companions gathered inside the door of the hall.
"Don't you have things to do, now?" he demanded. One by one they began to disperse, each heading their own way. Vilkas then called for one of the other Companions to approach him. He then turned to Jonna. "This kinsman will take you outside and test your skill with a sword..."
"No!" Jonna exclaimed. "Uh, I mean, I'd rather not, sir. I'd rather have a woman to fight with, if it's all the same."
Vilkas sighed. "Very well. I'll see what I can do."
Jonna followed an Imperial woman about a year younger than her out to the training courtyard behind the hall. For three hours they practiced with various weapons: first with the axe and shield, then the sword and shield, then the long-swords, and finally with single-handed short-swords. In each test, Jonna proved to be more than a match for the smaller-framed Nibenese woman. All the while, like a grim curtain to conceal the beauty of the outside world, the chanting of the mob and the long-winded speeches carried on.
As a fighter, Jonna knew better than to let herself be distracted by anything. However, after a particularly vigorous bout and the two of them rested upon their weapons to take wind, she would perk her ears in the direction of the mob and listen to what was being said. Though the din was loud, several words floated in amidst the hub-bub which her ears picked out: some of the words were known to her, such as Fighters Guild, Empire, Emperor, and Jarl Nelkir, but there were some words that were strange to her.
"Cato," Jonna said to her sparring partner. "Do you know who 'the Circle' is?" This had been one of the words she had heard, in reference to the Companions.
"The strongest and oldest members of the Companions," Cato replied.
"Who are they?" Jonna asked.
"Vilkas," Cato listed off. "Torvar, Arngorm, and Thorvald Grey-Mane. I think the Harbinger is part of the Circle too."
"Aela?" Jonna clarified. Cato nodded. "What do you know about them?"
"Well, Vilkas is quite well-spoken, for a Nord," Cato began. "Most new recruits go through him first, before being approved of by the Harbinger. No one quite knows much about Torvar, save those who know him. Spends most of his time drunk, as far as I know, and is a terror if ever roused from his stupor. Arngorm..." She whistled. "They say that he must have been part giant. Grew up in the Dragontail Mountains fighting Orcs as a child. Thorvald, on the other hand..." She hesitated.
"Yes?" Jonna asked.
"Far be it from me to speak ill of the most elite members of the Companions," Cato said, lowering her voice somewhat. "But there are some who say that the Companions' are nothing more than bandits; certainly they are not all so, but it is clearly the case with Thorvald Grey-Mane. The man is a traitor, from a family of traitors. They sided with the Stormcloaks during the Civil War, and he joined the Companions to escape the retribution that befell his family after the rebels lost."
"I heard his family was betrayed," Jonna retorted.
"One ill turn deserves another," Cato replied. "Now then, you've proven yourself well enough. Let's go find Vilkas."
In the end, Vilkas had little else for Jonna to do, and so she was allowed to wander about Jorrvaskr on her own. By now, however, the day was almost over and the crowds had dispersed. She overheard some of the Companions say that there was never a moment without the crowds of protest, and that the silence was unnerving to them. As for herself, she began to notice the sense of melancholia that had befallen her after her previous separation from Sigrun. She wondered where she was in all of Skyrim; possibly somewhere north, near Dawnstar, returning the sword. She hoped that, when morning came, she could negotiate with Vilkas to give her an assignment in the north, where perchance she might have the opportunity to find her.
Late that night, she returned to her room to find that her bunk-mate, the Dunmer Galmis, had not yet returned. She fell into her bed, uneasily with all the shadows in her room. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but all she could manage was to lay in bed for countless hours on end. No matter how much she tossed and turned, sleep continued to evade her. As she lay in bed, unable to sleep, she heard soft feet upon the stone-tiles of her bed. Turning around, she saw a figure approach the bed in the light of the little candle that rested upon the table nearby. Carefully she rose to her feet and clenched her hands as for a fight.
"Who's there?" she asked.
"No one," a male voice drawled.
"Are you Galmis?" she returned.
"Aye, sirrah," the drawling voice returned.
"You're back early," she noted. "Where have you been?"
"Nowhere," he cryptically replied.
Jonna sighed and prepared to return to bed. But as she was crawling back into her bed, she heard a commotion far above, as though something was being broken. Curiosity got the better of her, and, as quietly as she could, she left the room and made her way across the hall. Up the stairs she went, and pushed open the door into the mead hall above the living quarters.
The roof was on fire. Fires had been started upon the outer hull of the roof, and in some parts it had been broken in and torches had been thrown into the hall, and were now catching fire to those things within. Outside faintly came cries and jeers of a mob.
Jonna was stunned for a brief moment at the sight, but something within her caused her to act. She ran back down the stairs and began crying in a loud voice "Fire! Fire!" The living quarters were angrily roused from their sleep, and Jonna quickly told them what was amiss. Some dismissed her warnings and returned to bed, while some curious ones investigated the hall and came running back in a panic, shouting for Vilkas or Aela. In a few moments, everyone knew that the upper hall was on fire.
At last Vilkas was roused and began to organize everyone, so that they would not be lost in the chaos of the fire. He gave orders for 'the Axe' to be brought with them, then had everyone leave the hall in groups of five, telling them to find a door and open it, with swords and axes if it were locked. Jonna barely had time to take up her things before she was swept up in a group that was rushing back up into the fire. By now, the hall itself was on fire; large burning planks had fallen down and caught the rest of the hall aflame. It was only a matter of time before the roof of the hall collapsed in on itself, burying the Companions inside the burning hall.
Five small groups were the first to make it out, with Jonna's being the last. Some tried to flee into the Wind District, but soon encountered the mob. There was a sound of weapons being drawn and cries and shouts, then they came fleeing back towards the reare of the hall. Two more groups exited the burning hall and came out into the training courtyard, where a small group of about thirty now gathered, some of them coughing from the smoke, others with hands on their weapons, and others looking to Vilkas to guide them. Aela was nowhere to be found.
"Everyone," Vilkas suddenly spoke up. "Follow me!"
Vilkas led the group around the back-side of the courtyard, up to the great Skyforge: it was a forge set atop a great stone plateau, at the foot of an ancient stone formation in the shape of an eagle. At the bottom of the plateau there was a small door set in the side that went into a chamber beneath the Skyforge. Into this chamber Vilkas ordered the Companions to enter. It didn't take long for the mob to notice them, and they attacked them with all ferocity. At Vilkas' order, a shield wall of those who were armed and armored enough to properly defend them arose, protecting the fleeing Companions. Jonna was among the press that was hurrying into the stone chamber, while at their left hand their shield-brothers were defending them from the mob. Even as Jonna entered into the stone chamber, she cast her eyes behind her as a great crashing sound was heard. The burning, blackened skeleton of the mead hall collapsed in on itself. Jorrvaskr had fallen.
The chamber was not very wide and soon they were all huddled in together, with no chance of escaping back out the way they had come. At the very last, Vilkas and two shield-bearing Companions came back through the entrance, weapons aimed forward in case the mob should try to take the tunnel. Outside they could hear cries of "Burn them out!", "Burn the dogs!", "Roast the monsters alive!" and other such calls.
"What do we do now?" one asked.
"There's a tunnel at the back of the chamber," Vilkas said. "It leads out of the city. Go, now! We don't have much time!"
There was in fact no time at all. Already the entrance to the chamber began to fill with light as torches and pieces of the burned hall were thrown before the chamber in a great heaping pile. Slowly, far too slowly, the stuffed Companions began to shuffle about, feeling for the tunnel. Smoke was already starting to billow into the chamber by the time the passage was found: the mob certainly fanning the smoke into the chamber with all their murderous vigor. By now the urgency was great, and people were pushing and shoving their way through the tunnel, trying to escape the smoke. Jonna must have trampled on at least two people in her way through the tunnel.
At last they emerged, coughing and sputtering, into the cold night air on the outside of the city wall. Above them, atop the great hill of Whiterun, they could see the light from the burning ruin and the smoke rising up therefrom. Vilkas tried to bring order to what was left of the survivors of the burning of Jorrvaskr: of the thirty that had escaped the fire, only seventeen now remained. Some had fallen to the mob in defense of the chamber passage, some had been trampled under foot, and, worse yet, some might have never made it out of the chamber.
Vilkas did not give them long to recover their breath before he ordered them to gird their loins and make their way eastward. He took the lead, with the last of the armed Companions about him. Jonna quickly made her way to his side, a few choice words coming to mind for him.
"So you wanna start telling me what that was about?" she asked. Vilkas did not respond. "My d...my step-da told me about that hall. It's been up ever since Ysgramor's day, and now it's nothing but ashes? Do you wanna tell me what's happening? I heard some of what those rioters were shouting, particularly about you and 'the Circle.' 'Kill the dogs', 'Roast the monsters alive'? What does all this mean?"
Vilkas made an angry sound that almost seemed like the low, threatening growl a dog makes against a threat.
"We've just escaped with our lives," he sighed. "Our purpose is to head east and then south, towards the Rift. Even with the new Black-Briar jarl, we should be relatively safe there."
"Safe?" Jonna asked. "What about the slavers in Eastmarch?"
"You forget," Vilkas said. "We're still the Companions. And we have Wuuthrad, the Axe of Ysgramor. No elf could stand before it."
"And what else do we have?" Jonna asked. "Dogs? Monsters? That's what they were calling us..."
"I can't tell you, dammit!" Vilkas returned, stopping and turning around to face Jonna.
"Why not?"
"Because..." he paused for a moment, then lowered his voice. "Because I don't know who I can trust. What you heard those people saying, none of them should have known. Someone has betrayed us, and for that, I can't tell you anything."
Jonna was about to protest that she hadn't told anything to anyone, but then into her mind came the craven face of Jarl Nelkir. What if he really did know all the secrets in Whiterun, and decided to let this secret slip into the ears of the mob? What if he knew because of her entry into the Companions?
These thoughts and others drifted through Jonna's head as they continued to walk. Their pace could not have been any faster, for they were weary without sleep and some of them were not trained in long forced marches, and others still were not accustomed to the cold nightly weather of Skyrim. They were moving too slow for Vilkas' liking, and every word out of his mouth was to urge them onward and faster. So they passed for several hours, slowly leaving the foot of the hill of Whiterun and passing over the farms and homesteads upon the plains. At last they came to the bridge that forded the White River. It was still dark, and the moons only gave off a little light. But in that light they noticed that somebody was upon the bridge before them.
More than one person, it seemed like a small company awaited them on the bridge, with several on horseback. Torches were lit by those upon the bridge, and in their light they caught the glint of steel-plated armor and the red of Imperial soldiers. The Companions halted at an order from Vilkas, refusing to make a move unless these newcomers moved first. They remained at a silent stand-off for several heavy minutes, until one of the horsemen from the other group slowly brought his horse forward to meet the Companions. Vilkas put his hand upon his sword hilt, but did not draw.
"Hail, sir," he greeted. "What is your business here?"
The rider did not speak as yet, but led his horse at a slow trot until he was now a spear's throw away from Vilkas.
"I have no business with you, good sir," Vilkas added. "But your company stands in our way. What would you have of us?"
"Jonna Jordisdottir," the mounted man spoke. An Imperial without mistake.
A couple of paces away from Vilkas, Jonna the name being spoken and gasped. But what made her even more incensed was when Vilkas walked back to her, taking his hand off his sword.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Jonna asked. "He's an Imperial soldier!"
"Yes, he is," Vilkas said. "And you know that we don't get involved in politics."
"But what about Thorvald Grey-Mane?" Jonna asked. "Didn't you shelter him?"
"That was the old Harbinger," Vilkas said. "And that is the reason he is no longer Harbinger. Now, then, if you please..."
"No!" insisted Jonna. "I'm a member of the Companions! You can't just let them take me!"
"The Companions do not get involved in affairs of state, woman," the mounted soldier, who was within earshot, stated. "If the Empire demands that we take one of your number, we can do it and we most certainly will. Now come along peacefully, or would you see your fellow shield-brothers slain on account of your insolence? There are Colovian knights in my company, as well as battle-mages. You would not last long."
Jonna made an angry noise. It seemed that fate was not kind to her; perhaps this was her punishment for how she had treated Sigrun and sundered herself from her. But threats from Imperial soldiers were not to be taken lightly, and unfortunately, it seemed, the Companions were not able, or not willing, to do anything. Nevertheless, she would have some fierce words with Vilkas if ever she got herself out of the hands of these Imperials.
"One condition," Jonna spoke up. "You will not lay a hand on these others while I'm with you. Once your business with me is over, you will release me back into their care. Agreed?"
The mounted man scoffed. "Stupid Nord, that's two conditions, not one! And I am under no obligation to agree to either of them."
"Agree to my terms," Jonna said. "Or fight me."
Again the mounted soldier laughed. "You would fight all of us by yourself?"
"Yes," Jonna returned, placing her hand upon the hilt of her axe and sword.
"You would die," the soldier stated.
"And speed my way to Sovngarde," Jonna replied, trying desperately to appear more threatening and intimidating than she felt inside. "But I say that if you wanted me dead, then would I not be dead already? I don't think you'll risk a fight. Now agree to my terms or fight me, what's it gonna be?"
The mounted man looked back at the Companions in the light of the torch he bore aloft. Vilkas shook his head, while the others stood there in a loose group. He then cast his eyes behind him, then turned back to Jonna.
"Our errand is dire," he said. "Very well, we shall agree to your terms. Come along, now, Jonna."
Slowly Jonna made her way toward the mounted man. He waited until she was beside him before falling in line behind her, walking his horse behind her, leading her forward towards the rest of his group. In the dim light, she noticed several other horsemen, standing at attention around a large carriage drawn by two horses. The horses of the carriage were clearly from Cyrodiil: scrawny things fit only for running fast. But she noticed also that some of the horsemen were knights in full plate armor: a humorous sight in Skyrim on any other day of less danger. These, however, were not riding the tiny horses of Cyrodiil, but the much larger, bulkier Skyrim horses. Presently, one approached from the carriage and before Jonna could speak a word, a black shroud was thrown over her head and she lost all sense of direction.
(AN: Kind of a cheat, but it will be significant in her next chapter.)
(Some big things happening in this chapter, but at least now I'm somewhat back. It's been hell, being away from writing for this long. Sickness and you know the lot, blah blah blah, "we just wanna read your stories." It was difficult, getting back into the swing of writing and trying to remember all that i normally only commit to memory. The ideas for where this story is going to end up are getting crazier and crazier, and, in a manner, reflect my own journey into the Elder Scrolls lore.)