Author's Note: This chapter is going to be told from Edric's perspective. Also, no advancements in the main questline are going to happen in this one. It mainly serves to further establish Ivar and Edric's characters, and also hint at some of the future subplots I have in mind for them.
Also, it's the longest chapter yet. So strap yourselves in if you're still reading.
Chapter Four: A Day in The City
It had been a straightforward process. We delivered the Frost Salts to Arcadia, and she rewarded us with potions; Stamina, Invisibility, and Illusion. To me those seemed more valuable than coin, and would likely be useful to us one day. Ivar appeared to be in agreement.
After that, we went straight to the Inn. Ivar insisted that we take separate rooms, though I did not understand why. At least we had the coin to spare. Our evening meal had been a portion of beef and a slice of bread, with some ale to wash it down. Afterward, I retired to my room to study my spell tome.
I do not know how long I spent up there. I ignored the idle conversaton and clinking of tankards from downstairs, and was enthralled entirely by the tome. There was some sort of unnatural magic to these things; the words weren't just words. Through the mere act of reading them, the knowledge somehow became engraved into my mind, and I did not think I would ever forget it. Yet with each page I turned, the book's condition also appeared to be worsening, despite the fact that I had taken utmost care of it. I knew it would be unreadable by the time I was finished. My mentor had told me of these tomes; they were the quickest way to learn a spell, but also the most expensive.
Cheering from downstairs snapped me out of my focus. Curious, I closed the tome and wandered downstairs.
A crowd had assembled around the corner of the tavern, though I could not see what they were observing. "What's happening?" I asked the Innkeeper.
"That friend of yours is taking on Uthgerd the Unbroken. If you ask me, I think he had a bit too much to drink." She explained, cleaning the glass.
I shook my head. When Ivar drank enough alcohol, he became a completely different person. "Are you going to do anything about it?" I asked, concerned.
"Why would I?" She asked. "Brawls aren't illegal if both fighters agree to it, and besides, it entertains the patrons. So long as it doesn't spread to the rest of the tavern, I don't see the harm."
With a feeling of trepidation, I nudged my way to the front of the crowd, and witnessed Ivar facing down one of the strongest women I had ever seen, who I could only assume was Uthgerd. She had auburn hair, a rough-looking face, and was clearly a powerful warrior. Uthgerd's nose was already bloody, and Ivar had a nasty mark on his face which would surely lead to a bruise.
Shouting out a battlecry, Uthgerd threw her fist forward. Ivar somehow managed to catch her punch mid-swing, before retaliating with a counter-attack of his own. Uthgerd moved her head to the side quickly enough, so the punch only served to graze her ear. She shoved him away to disentangle herself from him, and he stumbled backwards into the crowd, who quickly pushed him back into the fray.
Uthgerd's fist came up to meet him, and he was knocked backward to the ground. Uthgerd smiled triumphantly, but then, blood streaming from his nose, my brother leapt to his feet with surprsing speed, and lashed out with several rapid blows. The unexpected assault pushed her onto the defensive. She managed to block or dodge the first few, but then one got through, catching her by surprise, which made her vulnerable to the ones that came afterward.
Soon she was backed against the wall. Ivar launched another punch, but Uthgerd managed to duck underneath it. His bare fist slammed into the wall, and he growled in pain. Uthgerd then grabbed him by the waist and tackled him to the ground.
Straddling him, a berserk fury seemed to come over her as she rained blow after blow down upon his face, and Ivar could barely fend them off. As she brought her arm back for another punch, Ivar took advantage of the shift in weight and rolled, throwing her off of him and allowing him to end up on top of her. He crawled forward, placing his knees on top of her shoulders and pinning her wrists with his hands. The sudden reversal of their positions seemed to snap her out of her rage, but she still resisted.
They struggled like that for a time, the crowd watching in shocked silence, before finally she gave up. "That's what I call a fight, you got me." She gasped, and Ivar was breathing just as heavily. Many in the crowd cheering and applauded.
Ivar and Uthgerd rose to their feet, both bloody and bruised. I realized he would probably expect me to take care of that. "I think I earned that gold." He breathed.
"You're no liar," came Uthgerd's equally weary response. "Best fight I had in years." I noticed a pile of coins on a nearby table - a wager? Based on the amount that was there, it seemed my brother had wagered a great deal.
By now, the rest of the tavern had returned to their seats. Ivar staggered towards me, and I noticed he was missing a tooth. One of his eyes was already starting to swell shut. "What were you thinking?" I demanded.
"She was boasting about her skills in a fistfight. I said I was better. She then wagered a hundred gold that she could beat me. It seemed like a good way to make money, so I accepted." Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke.
Frowning, I raised a hand over his face and cast a healing spell on him, slowly mending the damage to his face. After half a minute, he looked as good as new, though there was nothing I could do for the tooth, and he was still exhausted from the events of the fight itself. His knuckles were swollen and bruised, so I healed those as well. "I need to rest." He gasped, and then after giving me a share of the money he had won, he stumbled up to his room.
With nothing else to do, I retreated to my own room.
The next morning, I sat in the ground floor of the Bannered Mare eating my breakfast - a fried egg, a slice of buttered bread, and a cup of milk. Ivar stumbled downstairs, rubbing his head - no doubt he had some sort of headache. Alcohol was never good to him. He ordered his own food, and then sat down at my table.
"Did you know that 'milk-drinker' is an insult up here?" Ivar asked me.
"Milk is an essential part of the diet." I pointed out, somewhat perplexed, and suddenly feeling subconscious of all the other people in the room. Was I being judged for my choice of beverage?
Ivar nodded. "It's not that they don't drink milk. 'Milk-drinker' just means you only drink milk, because you can't handle alcohol. Could also mean that your mother never stopped breastfeeding you."
Of course. Even in Bruma, people who couldn't drink alcohol were looked down upon. Everyone knew Nords were fond of their drink, particularly mead. I took another sip of my milk. "So what's the plan for today?"
"I'll stop by an armourer, to get my armour refitted, or pick up some additional protection. I'll also see the blacksmith to get my sword sharpened."
"I'll find some camping equipment." I offered. As a mage, I needed no armor or weapons, and though I might be able to find someone who sold spell-tomes, they would be far too expensive for us, and the spells contained within would likely be rather basic anyway.
With that, we parted ways. Finding a store that sold travelling supplies wasn't too difficult - Belethor's General Store was just across the market from the Bannered Mare. The owner welcomed me in with enthusiasm, though I could detect the greed in his voice. Nonetheless, he did have what I was looking for; I purchased two bedrolls, some portable cookware, some fur cloaks to provide additional warmth, and a larger travelling pack. It ended up costing me most of my gold, but it would be worth it in the long run, I supposed.
I stepped outside of the shop, my new pack slung over my back, with my freshly purchased goods inside.
"Well met Kinsmen, what brings you here to Whiterun?"
I turned, and saw that the speaker was a blond-haired man leaning up against a post, clad in iron armour. I hesitated a second, before answering him. "My brother and I are just passing through."
He nodded, as if that was the answer he was expecting. "If you need a drink, or a place to sleep, head to the Bannered Mare. But mind the bard Mikael, poncy little milk-drinker that one."
"You don't like Mikael?" I asked. I had briefly heard him sing last night while eating my food. He wasn't too bad.
"We Nords have a proud history Warrior Poets, and I am proud to count myself among them. But Mikael... he sings only for gold and the affection of wenches. He dishonours our traditions." The man explained. "Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. Jon Battle-Born." He extended a hand.
"Edric Night-Flame." I took his hand and shook. "No, it's not a clan name, it was given to me."
Jon nodded in approval. "It's good to have a name that you earned and didn't inherit." I decided not to mention that I had 'earned' it by accidentally setting a tree on fire in the middle of the night.
"My brother and I met one of your kinsmen at the gate. He wore Imperial Armor, and the first thing he asked us was which Clan we preferred."
"Hmph, that sounds like Idolaf." Jon grumbled. "Best you avoid him, and this entire feud as well. The Civil War, too. You know what's wrong with Skyrim these days? Everyone is obsessed with death. Too focused on dying for a cause, or killing for it. I love a good sword fight as much as the next man, but there are finer things in life."
I nodded. That was a sentiment I could agree with. With little else to say, I said my farewells and took my leave of him.
I did a quick survey of the market, and spotted a stall which sold farm produce. It was manned by a rather attractive looking woman and what appeared to be her daughter. I stepped forward, and examined the produce that was on display. Eventually I settled on an apple, and handed over the necessary coin to purchase it. As I walked away, I heard her speak.
"Remarkable, you're the first man in this city who didn't try to flirt with me when he first met me." She said.
I turned around. What an odd thing to say. "You get a lot of attention from men?" I asked her.
She nodded glumly. "Yes, at least half the men in town have tried to make a move on me." She explained. "I tell them I'm not interested, but that just makes them try harder. That Bard Mikael is the worst, though. He won't give up, and I've heard him boasting at the Bannered Mare that he will 'conquer me as a True Nord conquers any beast.' Hmph."
That was the second mention of Mikael, and once again he was not depicted in a positive light. He was beginning to sound like a problem. "What if I talk to Mikael?" I asked her, partly out of a desire to see this supposed Scourge of the Bannered Mare for myself.
"If you want to try, go right ahead. I don't think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though."
"If it's a lady you're looking for, you best look elsewhere. Once Mikael gets them, they're got."
By the Eight, that was the first thing he said to me. Now I could already understand why Carlotta and Jon loathed him. "You need to leave Carlotta alone." I told him firmly.
His expression darkened. "Carlotta put you up to this, didn't she?" he demanded. "That fiery widow is mine; she just doesn't know it yet."
"She's not interested." I reasoned. "Leave her alone, and chase someone who is more receptive."
"What was that? All I heard was the sound of jealously." He taunted.
I frowned. Carlotta was right. He was indeed thick-skulled. Then another idea occurred to me. "You were watching that fight, last night." I remembered.
"What of it?" He asked.
"You do know that the man who won that fight was my brother, Ivar?" I asked. As childish as it was to mention my stronger older brother as an arguing point, it would be downright foolish to try to intimidate him myself, and there's no way I could fight him without resorting to magic. "He's not fond of your music, and he's itching for another fight. If he finds out you're harrassing people, that might give him just the justification he needs."
He glared at me, before finally relenting. "It's pathetic to hide behind your brother. But fine, you win. On my honour, I will never bother Carlotta again."
"Really?" Carloota blinked, surprised. "You convinced that lute player to stop chasing me?"
I nodded. "He said he would stop, at least."
"Well... I'd thank the gods, but I'll settle for thanking you. Here's some coin for your help." And with that, she handed me a few coins. The work of an adventurer was beginning to seem somewhat lucrative, if highly unpredictable.
Unable to think of anything else we needed, I decided to explore the city. On the way, I passed that pompous-looking Redguard from before, who sneered at me imperiously. Though Ivar had complained about the sad state of its walls, Whiterun had a lovely atmosphere to it. And from the sounds of things, before the war it had been a bustling trading center.
My walk took me back to the city's front gate, and I looked towards the blacksmith to see an unexpected sight. There, sitting at the grindstone and sharpening his sword, was Ivar.
"Ivar." I greeted him.
He stopped sharpening and turned to face me. "Edric," he said, "I'm just sharpening this blade. The blacksmith was kind enough to let me use the grindstone." He explained.
That made sense. Our father had been a blacksmith himself, and as a result, we had all picked up some knowledge regarding the trade, due to our time spent helping him in the forge. Beric, however, had decided he would rather follow in our mother's footsteps and become a hunter. Our father was fine with that; he had two other sons who could take on his trade, and Ivar had already been more interested in weapons. Unfortunately, it turned out his interest had more to do with wielding them than making them, and so he joined the city guard the first chance he received. That left me... but I discovered my magic only a few weeks later, and pursuing that study was more important taking up the trade of a blacksmith.
In the end our father was disappointed, but he had to accept that his sons had become their own men, and had chosen the paths best suited for them. I had great potential as a mage, Ivar proved to be one of the best fighters in the city, and Beric was an excellent hunter... though we suspected he had also taken on a significantly less legal occupation as well.
Ivar made idle conversation while he worked away. Soon enough, he was done, and admired his handiwork with a satisfied smile. "Bandits don't take the best care of their weapons," he explained as he returned the blade to its sheathe. "But I've put this one back into good shape. The axe, as well."
"You have talent." A female voice spoke up. We turned to see that blacksmith herself. "From what you told me, it sounds like you could have been a fine smith. Why did you become a sellsword?"
"And it sounds like you could have been a steward," Ivar countered. "Why did you become a blacksmith?"
What did that mean? She must have noticed my confused expression. "You think all the counsel my father provides the Jarl is his alone? Let's just say that I advise the advisor, and leave it at that."
"This is Adrianna Avennici. Her father is the steward." Ivar told me. He nodded towards her. "Thank you allowing me to use your equipment." He looked back to me. "Come on, let's go."
Based on the sun's position, it was past noon, though there was still plenty of time left in the day. Our main priorities had been dealt with, but alas there was not enough time to return to Riverwood without being stuck out overnight, and Ivar had seemed intent on spending the full day here. So we remained in the city.
We walked back toward the market, and stopped at the Bannered Mare to eat a lunch of bread and cheese.
It was then that an idea occurred to me. "It's well known that Whiterun is home to Jorrvaskr, the Mead Hall of the Companions." I recalled.
Ivar nodded. "And? You aren't the warrior type." He stated bluntly.
"No," I agreed, "but it's roof is made out of Ysgramor's longship. It's the boat that brought some of the original Five Hundred Companions to Skyrim in the first place. A sight worth seeing, isn't it?"
"I suppose." Ivar agreed. "We've nothing else to do. Let's go."
So, we made our way up to Wind District, and from there up to Jorrvaskr. There were only two things in the city which rested on a higher elevation - the Skyforge, and Dragonsreach itself. That alone spoke to the organization's importance.
The boat was... surprisingly underwhelming. It was finely carved, and the edges were adorned with shields, but there were a few holes in it. I felt no sense of awe. At the end of the day, it was just an old roof that had aged well, but still aged nonetheless.
We stepped inside to the warm interior - a large fire roared in the center, surrounded by well-made tables with the remnants of a hearty meal. We were immediately greeted by the sound of a brawl. A Nord woman fought with a red-haired Dunmer, and both had the look of warriors. Around them, other fighters stood in observence, cheering on one or or the other. We watched for a few moments; both were giving it their all, the Dunmer relying more on speed and agility, while the Nordic women relied on strength and used more direct attacks.
I looked up. The roof was just as unimpressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Strange. For some reason I had thought such a historically important boat to be more... inspiring? But in the end, it was just a boat. To be expected, I supposed.
By the time I had looked down, the fight had concluded, the Nordic woman the victor. Cheers were issued, and two strong-looking men pulled the Dunmer to his feet, and helped him to a nearby chair. A servant poured him a mug of ale. I had to admit myself surprised to see a Dunmer's inclusion in this ancient group; Nords were one of the less tolerant races of Tamriel, and it seemed odd that an Elf would join a group that was historically known for... well, killing Elves.
Meanwhile, coin was being exchanged between the other members. I suppose they had placed wagers. Suddenly, I coughed, and everyone glanced up at me.
"We've uh... we came to the city and decided to see Jorrvaskr for ourselves." I said.
"This is no place for mages." The Nordic woman who won the fight glared, spitting out a tooth. One of the servants frowned. No doubt they would have to clean it up.
"Don't be rude, Njada." The Dark-Elf spoke up, wincing in pain as he did so. "He had the courage to come in here, at least. And just because we don't let mages join doesn't mean we should ban their very presence."
The Elf's words were met with glares from most of his fellow Companions.
"Look," my brother stepped forward, pointing at the roof, "that boat is important to our people's history. My brother wanted to see it. Would you deny us that?" He glared at the woman.
"Are you even from Skyrim?" She challenged, evidently making note of his accent.
"Hold a minute..." One of the companions, a blond man with a long, thick beard, spoke up. He pointed to Ivar. "I saw this man at the Bannered Mare last night. He bested Uthgerd the Unbroken in a fight."
"You did?" One of the other Companions asked, noticeably surprised. Then, he smiled. "Good. She butchered my Shield Brother in cold blood."
Another Companion frowned. "That isn't what happened," she spoke with an Imperial accent. "They were sparring, and her temper got the better of her."
"You saw the madness in her eyes, Ria!" The other Companion protested.
"And afterward I saw regret, and guilt." Ria pointed out. "She didn't mean to do it."
"But she still did it, and we let her walk out without punishment!"
Then another man intervened. His head was shaved bald, and one of his eyes was a milky white. "We underestimated her, put her against someone who didn't stand a chance, and allowed them to sparr with live steel. Many warriors enter a rage to cope with battle, and even the most experienced can forget to turn it off. These things happen. In the end we denied her entry, and that's punishment enough, given the circumstance."
The other Companion said nothing. Instead, he simply rose to his feet and walked out.
Another woman stepped forward, this one in surprisingly revealing armour, with a bow and quiver at her back. "For all her faults, Uthgerd is a ferocious warrior. The fact that you brought her down is impressive. You might make for a decent shield-brother."
Ivar shook his head. "We have more pressing matters to attend to," He told her. The woman frowned.
The blond bearded man rose to his feet, and raised a mug into the air. "To the Defeater of Uthgerd!" He toasted. A few others raised their cups, including a rather large man with dark hair and even darker eye shadow, sitting next to someone who looked almost identical. Twins?
Either way, we did not stay to join them for their drink, and instead exiting the building. I could not say I was sad to leave.
We had almost made it back to the Bannered Mare, when someone stopped us in the market. "Pardon me," she said, positioning herself in front of Ivar. "But I heard that you two were travellers, or mercenaries."
Our eyebrows raised. Were our exploits already starting to become known? "What makes you say that?" Ivar questioned.
"I heard you two were seen entering Dragonsreach the day you arrived in town. I saw you beat Uthgerd. Carlotta told me your brother intimidated someone who had been bothering her." Ivar blinked in surprise at that, perhaps understandably, because intimidating was one of the last words he would use to describe me. Ysolda continued on, seeming oblivious. "...and I saw you enter the Companions Mead Hall. It seems to me that you're looking for work." She deduced.
Ivar nodded, and his gaze appeared to briefly wander up in down her form as he did so, but perhaps it was just my imagination. "We've found work. I take it you had something in mind for us, though?" He asked her.
She nodded. "I'm looking for someone who can find me a Mammoth's Tusk."
"Why do you need that?" I questioned. I was not aware of any potions which required such an ingredient.
"I'm trying to become a trader." She explained. "I buy items low, and I sell them high. The leader of one of the Khajiit caravans offered to teach me more, if I could find him a Mammoth's Tusk."
It was an odd request, but a perhaps a sensible one, in that context. A Mammoth's Tusk would be hard to find, and not an item that could be acquired easily. She would either need to locate a merchant who sold it, or pay a bold enough hunter to go acquire one for her. Both of which required sufficient wealth and negotiating skills. "I was hoping you could find me one." She continued.
Ivar stroked his chin. "As I said, we've already found work." He said to her, and a look of disappointment crossed her face. "But," he continued, "if we somehow do come across a tusk in our travels, I will bring it to you." He assured her.
She smiled. "Thank you." She said happily.
I looked at Ivar strangely. Ever since we had come to Skyrim, everytime someone asked him to perform a task which distracted him from his goal of finding Beric, he had been far from pleased. But here, he had just offered to do something while requiring no additional persuasion, before any sort of reward had been discussed.
Could he be...?
I recalled hearing at least one women in his life. There might have been more, but she was the only one I could recall. I had never cared to learn much about her, as I was never interested in that sort of thing; I had always been too focused on my own studies to truly care about what was going on with my brothers' personal lives. But as I recall, it had not ended well, and I did not recall him seeing anyone since. Why was this woman different?
I decided not to say anything. His business was his own. He noticed me looking at him strangely, of course, and responded with a perplexed look of his own, but neither of us spoke, and eventually we went back into the Bannered Mare. I needed to continue studying that tome, anyway.