Ransom wasn't sure how much time had passed since the dragon had attacked. She'd slept on and off in her opulent prison and there had been no windows. It must have been at least a day since the Greybeards had called however, because when the cart passed through the arches of Whiterun, the sun was high in the sky. Eyvindur was sitting across from her, watching her with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Balgruuf had offered them a horse each to speed their journey to Ivarstead, but Ransom wasn't sure she could ride on her own, and there was no way in Oblivion that she'd share a horse with Eyvindur. He didn't seem any more pleased with the idea, and so they'd hired a cart. Neither one of them tried to start a conversation, and so Ransom sat and watched the tower of Dragonsreach get smaller and smaller as they ascended the mountain path she'd come down from.
The bitter irony didn't escape her, and a red hot hatred for Frey came bubbling up. Repayment of their 'debt' seemed a pathetic recompense for the hell they'd just been through, especially since it was a line she'd heard before. Frey offered them a chance to clear their ledgers before, but each time there had been some sort of loophole that he'd weaseled out of. First it had been hitting up one of the wealthier families in Riften that owned the fishery, but it had gone south and she and Thiessen had spent a few months in jail. After they returned, Frey just told them that they'd made a laughing stock of the guild. At the time she'd been crushed, but nothing like Thiessen. He'd laid in their bed like he'd never be happy again. It took her days to rouse him, and for a little while she'd had to do her usual petty deeds alone. That was the only time he had let her down.
Their second chance had come when Maven had ordered an attack on Goldenglow Estate. Something about competition and an insult to the Black-Briars. That had gone better, they made it out with their skins still intact, but when they reported back, they were again a disappointment. Too many beehives burned, and killing a guard wasn't part of the job. It wasn't quite as hard for Thiessen to take the second time, but for Ransom it was no less infuriating. This time would be the same. Even if, by some stroke of magic or luck or divine intervention, she were able to find the golden claw, their near death experience and subsequent capture would no doubt be turned into a shortcoming. She ran her hands over her face, sighing quietly.
"You… you shouldn't fear the Greybeards," Eyvindur ventured, misinterpreting her discomfort. "They're men of faith and learning, they just want to teach you."
"What are you on about?"
"I promised I'd get you up the steps of High Hrothgar. Despite the fact that I would rather be doing it with anyone except you, I'd like it if this trip could be passed with some civility."
Ransom rolled her eyes. She wondered if he even heard the insult in his words. "We were being civil."
"Silence is not civility. When on a long journey, it's expected that those trekking together get to know each other. We know almost nothing about each other, I don't even know your name."
"It's Ransom."
"I mean your real name."
"That is my real name. It's not my fault it sounds a little strange!" she snapped in response to his quizzical look. "That's what everyone in Riften calls me. Except the Khajiit caravans that come by, they all call me Kri'sma."
"Does that mean something in their tongue?"
Ransom shrugged and leaned back casually. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. Tell me about yourself, and if I like the story, I'll tell you."
"Well, I am Eyvindur Jargenson of Windhelm-"
"That explains a lot."
"Don't interrupt me! By Talos were you raised in a barn!?"
"A sewer actually, but carry on."
"As I was saying, I'm the second son of Jargen Jargenson." He ignored her when she chuckled a little, "born and raised in Valunstrad, I was trained and taught the ancient history of my people. That of course could only last so long though, and I've spent just as much time out in the fields of Skyrim as the libraries of Windhelm. How does that interest you?"
"Absolutely not at all. Knights in smelly pelts aren't interesting."
"Feel free to one up me then."
"Well…" Ransom hesitated, carefully picking what details to give him, "I was born in Whiterun, but I grew up in Riften."
"Why would your family move to such a degenerate place?"
"That's my bloody home you're talking about! My family didn't move there, I came on my own. I met Thiessen there, and we found a way to make things work for us." Her hand slipped unconsciously over the guild symbol sitting nondescriptly on her shoulder. "We lived with a nord and a breton and did odd jobs for coin. Not much, but we made ends meet."
"Why did you leave Whiterun?"
"...There wasn't anything for me there. Life in Riften has been considerably more lucrative for me, and more welcoming. Not everyone there is a lawless deviant you know."
"Hmn, yes I've heard of some of Riften's more high born families. The Black-briars, for example."
Ransom couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. If there was a single family that she had to pick as the seed of degenerate inequity in The Rift, it would be them. Eyvindur asked what was so funny, and Ransom just shook her head. "If you're this knowledgeable about the rest of Skyrim, our dealings together are going to be most enjoyable," she chuckled. She leaned back against the wooden railing and rested her chin on her chest, closing her eyes. It was a survival skill she'd fallen back on in prison: sleep through as much of it as possible.
"Are you going to tell me what Kri'sma means?"
"Nope."
XxXxXxXxX
A bump in the road jostled Ransom awake just in time for her to see Ivarstead show up in the distance. She cringed a little at the sight of it, but Eyvindur seemed please to finally be done with the wretched journey. He jumped off the cart before it even came to a stop at the turn-off, and waited impatiently for Ransom to get up and dust herself off.
"Get a move on, dragonborn. It's bloody cold out here. The sooner we're inside the inn the better," he ordered, rearranging his furred cape against the dusk.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she grumbled, kicking up dust as she hopped off the back. Eyvindur paid the cart driver well and sent him on his way.
"Ever been here before?" he asked.
"No," she replied flatly, but he could see her unease as she glanced over her shoulder at the collection of squat, thatch roof houses. The guards were giving her long looks as well. She pulled her hood up higher and hid behind Eyvindur as they walked towards Vilemyr Inn. Ransom looked up. Looming high above her like a gravestone, was the Throat of the World. The blood drained out of her fingertips as she thought of the thousands of steps that lay before her. It would be a climb of at least two days, and Eyvindur would be pushing hard to make it to the Greybeards.
"A room for two," she heard him order through the open door, "and a hot meal."
"Of course," the inn keep replied warmly. She smirked at his pleasant demeanor, and stepped inside when Eyvindur beckoned.
"We'll be staying in the same room tonight," he informed her gruffly, "last thing I need is you running off in the night."
"I hope you requested one without a window," she chuckled in reply. He looked at her suspiciously, and she rolled her eyes. "I won't run. You heard Irileth, I run and Thiessen dies." She looked away on reflex as a maid came near to bring them their supper. Eyvindur wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking for it. Ransom glanced at the maid as she walked away to make sure she hadn't been recognized. Eyvindur's eyes narrowed.
"So you're a liar as well as a thief?" he snarled. Ransom furrowed her brow in confusion, but either realized what he meant, or decided not to bother keeping up her innocent front.
"You don't know the half of it," she replied bitterly.
"Anything I should be aware of?"
"You might want to pay a little extra for supper."
He glared at her in disgust and threw a few more septims on the table. He pointed angrily at the door to their room. It was a small inn, and as such there was only one private room large enough for both of them. The rest of the travellers would be sleeping on benches against the wall when the hour got late enough. Ransom was rather pleased with the arrangements, remembering the icey hole in the ground that she'd shared with Thiessen on her first trip through. It was a small space with two single beds in opposite corners. One bed was accompanied by a small table to the side, and a belongings chest at its foot. It was roomy enough, and the dunmer was quite pleased. Eyvindur looked around and sniffed, then grabbed the foot of the bed nearest the door and began to haul it forward. Ransom watched quizzically.
"What are you…?"
"Don't try anything funny tonight," he ordered gruffly. "I'll hear you-"
"Of course you will," Ransom snickered sarcastically..
"I'll hear you, and I've also asked the innkeeper to check on us during the night. If you slit my throat, you won't get far."
"I won't slit your throat!" Ransom snapped, as if insulted by the very thought, "I've never killed a man in my life... Thiessen takes care of that kind of stuff."
"I should have known," Eyvindur grumbled, stopping to admire his handiwork. He'd managed to move the bed so that it the door couldn't be opened without climbing over him.
Ransom rolled her eyes, but didn't reply. Instead she went about taking off the thickest and most uncomfortable sections of her armour. She appreciated his gesture, but in the end, the armour was worn in on Thiessen's body, not hers, and it couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in some places. She unbuckled and pulled off the chest piece, laying it carefully across her bed. She ran her hands over the old leather. Her fingers could just barely feel the symbols he'd stitched there. She smiled, knowing that they were the reason that he'd been so adamant about taking the armour. They were khajiiti symbols, each one bestowing some sort of religious blessing on the wearer. There was one for quiet feet, one for good fortune, several wards against evil, sickness and curse.
Nothing to protect against dragons, she noted glumly. He hadn't left her mind since he'd left her sight. Eyvindur was constantly assuming that he was the one in danger of a double cross, but Ransom was acutely aware of the fact that they could have just killed Thiessen as soon as she left Dragonsreach, and she'd have no way of knowing. The thought haunted her, and while Eyvindur snored peacefully next to her, she ran her fingers over and over the symbols until the sun came filtering through the latched window. She stayed still as she heard the nord rise and dress, fighting the seconds slipping away between her and the steps.
She ate in silence. Eyvindur was lecturing on about the Greybeards and the rich history of the region, but she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to him. He eventually noticed that she was picking at her plate of bread and cheese.
"You should eat as much as you can, the trek up to High Hrothgar will be very trying."
"I'm not hungry."
"You'll regret that later I promise you, eat!" He pushed the plate in her direction, and she begrudgingly took a hunk of bread.
"So… what exactly is going to happen when we get up the mountain?"
"Well, I can't be completely certain, but there will be a magnificent hall. When we enter, I'll announce you, and your Thu'um will be tested."
"Thu'um? Like The Voice? I... don't have that."
"Trust me, you do. You are Dovahkiin, when you absorbed the dragon's soul, some of its Thu'um would have been transferred to you."
"So now I can shout high kings to pieces?"
"Jarl Ulfric has been training for years. You'd be no match for him."
"Fair enough. So, let's say I can prove I am who you say I am, what happens next?"
"You'll need to be trained. I've spent my life preparing to be dragonborn, and you are woefully ill equipped for the position. After that, I'm not sure. It's been generations since they've summoned anyone."
"Have you ever been up there?"
"I've made many pilgrimages up the steps in my life, but I've never been allowed inside. It's a hard climb but it's beautiful, and we'll be stopping on occasion at the altars to pray. I hope you won't mind?"
"Nope, pray away."
He nodded gratefully, and Ransom didn't feel the need to tell him she'd be using the frequent breaks to keep from snapping in half. They finished the rest of their meal in peace, and all too soon they were out in the cold air. Eyvindur gestured down the path, towards an old stone bridge. As they approached, an older man nodded pleasantly.
"Morning, Eyvindur."
"Good morn to you, Klimmek."
"Off on another pilgrimage my friend? Or was the call of the Greybeards for you?"
"No on both accounts, I'm afraid. I am an escort to the dragonborn." He gestured to Ransom, who turned away nervously. Klimmek furrowed his brow.
"I see… Well, if you're going that way, could you possibly do me a favour? I normally take provisions up to the Greybeards but I would appreciate if you would take it for me."
"Of course, friend," Eyvindur nodded graciously, taking the bag and adding it to his own pack. Ransom rubbed her eyes in frustration. She would rather be doing anything than this pointless quest, but if she had to do it, she'd rather just get on it with it. Instead, she stood staring over the edge of the bridge as the two nords shot the breeze until her feet went numb. Finally, Klimmek wished them well and moved off. Ransom glared at Eyvindur.
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Announcing to the world that I'm the dragonborn. Every person that you tell paints another bulls eye on our backs."
"Let them come!" Eyvindur replied haughtily, placing his hand protectively on his sword hilt. "I'm more than a match for any fool that might come against us."
"That's all well and good for you, but I'm certainly not…" she grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing around instinctively. A paper birch nearby slid past her field of view, but something drew her eyes back to it. Hidden amongst the dark knots and gouges of the trunk, a small symbol was scratched into it: an upside down triangle with a circle on one end and a line through the middle. The guild symbol of danger. She looked straight up at the behemoth towering above her. A new sense of dread left her weak in the knees.