-A Meeting at Midnight (Skyrim Fanfiction)-
Ergun awoke from a brief but welcome sleep to the sound of hooves trudging through the dirt road. He was wrapped tight in his cloak and cowl leaving only a small opening in front of his eyes. There was little to see except the night air filled with large flakes of snow being tossed around by the chill winds. The powder blowing off the mountains created a thick mist through which it was nearly impossible to see clearly. He moved a bit closer to the lantern beside him feeling some of the warmth that the flame was giving off. Looking over, he noticed the carriage driver drinking from a large bottle; probably ale of some sort. He didn't begrudge the man some drink; it had been a long, cold, lonely journey with little company except the howling of wolves and the occasional traveler offering greetings. Ergun removed the covering from his face and asked the driver "How long 'till Winterhold?"
"So you're awake back there?", he laughed. "We should be there shortly. It's not far now." He offered his bottle to Ergun, who would not pass up a free drink. It was West Weald Wine. He took a few sips.
"I'm impressed! This stuff is hard to come by! Can't even remember the last time I saw it!"
The driver laughed. "I got a few bottles awhile back from a cousin of mine who came to Skyrim by way of Cyrodil. He owed me some money, but gave me a few of these instead! How could I refuse?"
Ergun took a few more swigs, corked the bottle, and handed it back, thanking the driver.
"There's no way I'd go on a trip this long up here without a bottle of somethin'!", the driver cackled back.
Looking ahead past the driver and the faithful horse, nothing could be seen but snow and as much of the road as could be seen by the cloud-covered moonlight. After a short time, however, they soon caught sight of small pin-pricks of light, probably torches. Winterhold was just up ahead.
As the carriage pulled nearer to the town, a few buildings came into sight and, just barely, one could make out the looming presence of the College. The driver slowed and stopped just outside the first house on the right side of the main road. The structure was in ruins from some calamity that passed who knows how long ago. Ergun had remembered the stories of the Great Collapse from his youth and how it destroyed most of the city here. Growing up in Morrowind, it was impossible to not learn about the destruction of Red Mountain, the disasters that followed, and the events that profoundly changed the lives of his people. Now that he was standing here in this place where so much history had been written, he began to understand why so few were willing to rebuild and repopulate the area. There in the darkness and cold it felt like a place outside of normal time where things were simply meant to exist until their eventual decay.
The driver interrupted these thoughts, "Well, we're here. I got to stop here 'cause there's no place to turn around properly if I go further in. This is the end of the main road, traveler."
"There's no way further West?", Ergun questioned.
"There's roads you can take on foot or on horse. But it's a long way to get anywhere. If you want to take a carriage, we got to go back around the mountains through Windhelm."
They both got out of the carriage; the driver tended to the horse and began unhitching him from the cart. A female guard from up ahead came down to meet them, piercing the blanket of night with a torch held high.
"You shouldn't be traveling this road at night! It's awful in these parts! But at least you made it here, I suppose. You folks traders or something?"
Ergun disliked having to deal with town guards. They were always asking questions and assuming that their small amount of given authority meant they could throw their weight around in any situation. In many places they were also extraordinarily corrupt, making travel even more complicated. But he knew that dealing with guards was part of being a member of Thieves Guild; it simply had to be done. Often times it was impossible to enter a town or city without being noticed, and in a place as isolated and tiny as Winterhold, he had no choice. This place was different. The Guild had no respect here. The Mages College dominated everything and the last time the Guild try to entrench themselves in Winterhold, things got too complicated and messy.
"I'm not a merchant, I just have some business with the College.", Ergun tried to dissuade the guard.
"A conjurer of some sort, perhaps? Just be sure to keep your spells under wraps in town, eh? Well...they won't let you in at the College right now anyway. You better just rest up at the inn. It's just up the road. On your right. You'll see it."
"Thank you. I could use some drink and food after that road."
"Certainly. Be seeing you."
The guard walked off and returned to her rounds before Ergun could clarify that he wasn't a Mage. He looked over at the driver who gave him a sort of knowing nod. He probably had his suspicions on why they had come here, but like any smart person in Skyrim, he kept his thoughts to himself and pocketed whatever coin he could make.
"I'm gonna take care of the horse for now. I might see you later if you're staying here for a few days. If you need a ride anywhere, just tell me. But if you're still here when I leave, it might be awhile before another carriage shows up."
Ergun acknowledged the driver and then headed up the road towards the inn, fighting the icy wind as he went. He knew he would have to meet his Guild contact at some point in the next day or two, but wasn't sure who it would be. As he got closer to the building he noticed the sign: The Frozen Hearth. Appropriate, like so many other inn and tavern names. He headed up the stairs and opened the door.
Once inside, Ergun was immediately struck by the wonderful heat coming from the large fire pit in the middle of the room. He had gone so numb from the climate that to be immersed in such fulfilling warmth almost caused his body physical pain. He stood at the threshold, closed the door behind him, but found himself unable to go further for a few moments until he adjusted. As he removed his hood and cloak, he noticed that, over at the bar, a man was passed out, slumped over the counter.
Suddenly, a voice leapt out from a darkened corner; "Don't mind him. He's harmless. Just can't hold his ale lately."
Ergun turned and noticed a Nord woman on her knees cleaning something on the stone floor. She stood up, straightened her clothing a bit and came over towards him.
"Did you just get here?", she asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "It's pretty rare we get visitors these days, and even more so here in the dead of night. You should sit and relax."
He wasn't sure how to respond, so he simply followed her advice and sat at a table, feeling empty from exhaustion and finding himself strangely fixated on a small candle in front of him.
"Get you a drink?", the woman asked.
"Mead, if you have any."
She laughed a hearty, healthy laugh that filled the inn then caught herself and quieted down looking a little embarrassed. "If we have any? You must be joking. This is Skyrim, mister. You could be deep inside a Dwemer ruin and you'd still only be a short walk away from a barrel of mead."
She went behind the counter, dug around a bit and emerged with a bottle, giving a disappointed look at the man sleeping on the bar as she came over and left it on the table. Ergun took out a few Septims and put them on the table where they sat for only a few seconds before they were swiftly pocketed by the woman. She walked back over to the bar and started doing some busy work, but continued to talk.
"I take it you're here to apply at the College?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You're Dunmer. I never see a Dunmer here who isn't a mage or potion maker of some sort."
Ergun laughed a bit to himself, "No. We're not all mages. I'm not much for that sort of life."
It was a casual bit of Nordic racism that he had grown used to and found almost humorous. In the same way that Khajit's were all assumed to be shadowy agents on some nefarious mission, Dark Elves were usually assumed to be sorcerers with delusions of grandeur or necromancers living in a fetid cave somewhere. Still, he could tell she didn't mean the comment to offend.
As he sipped on the mead and began to feel more at ease, he continued conversing with the woman.
"So, what's the story behind him?", he motioned at the man sleeping at the bar.
"This? This is Ranmir. He's what you would call a regular here. Although I'm thinking that unless he starts paying his debts, he can go be a regular somewhere else."
"Does he often take his nights passed out in a bowl of snowberries?"
"He's been through some rough times. And drinks to push it away. If I try to stop him, he gets mean, so I figure I should just let him do as he pleases. His sister should take better care of him, but it's not my place to lecture her. But, I'm probably saying too much."
Ergun smiled, nodded, and went back to sipping his mead. Behind him, he heard the door open and close letting in a burst of cold, wintry air. He turned to look and saw a large, imposing Orsimer dressed warmly and carrying a lute on his back. The Orc pulled back his hood and walked over to the bar.
"Evening, Haran." , he greeted the mistress warmly.
"Evening, Ghamul."
"Looks like I missed the crowds.", he chuckled.
"Actually, this is a special occasion. We have a traveler here for once." Haran motioned over towards Ergun's table.
"A stranger?"
Ergun smiled weakly at the both of them then turned away, getting back to his drink, hoping they would simply leave him in silence, but the sound of the Orc strolling over to him was a clear sign he was to be the object of attention for the moment.
"It's nice to see visitors here.", the Orc sat down on a bench near the hearth, not far away. "You have to understand, this place isn't exactly filled with life and laughter like most taverns, so we treat any visitor like a special guest. Or at least, I do."
"What's that supposed to mean?", Haran chimed in.
"Let's just say that I'd offer our friend here a free song before I started asking for coin."
"I was just about to offer him somethin' fine to eat at no charge, I'll have you know."
"I'm sure.", he laughed. "Mind if I ask your name, stranger? As you probably already heard, mine's Ghamul."
"It's Ergun. I'm just a courier. Here to deliver something to the College."
"Ahh, the College. And I'm sure once you give whatever you've got to whoever is expecting it, you'll receive the fine reward of an angry scowl from some old mage buried in a mountain of books."
"Well...that's the job I guess."
"My philosophy exactly, Ergun! Which is why I am here in this little place called Winterhold. I'm a Bard, as you probably guessed, and I figure it's my job to bring the art of the song to even the distant, dark corners of Tamriel even if the pay is lousy. Which it frequently is."
"Good to meet you Ghamul. And good to meet you as well, Haran. Sorry I didn't get your name before!" , Ergun shouted over in the direction of the bar, but Haran was nowhere to be seen.
She popped up from some business or other behind the counter, "Oh, nevermind! I didn't give you the chance to properly ask!"
"Allow me to play you a song while we sit here."
Ghamul pulled the lute from his back, made himself more comfortable, and began tuning the strings a bit.
"I think I'll play one of my favorites.", he gave a strange, knowing sort of smile at Ergun. "It's called 'The Call of the Nightingales."
Ergun's eyes widened as the Orc began playing his song and the realization came to him: this was his contact!