11 Heartfire 4E201, Morthal
Perhaps Ivar felt predisposed to dislike everything about the Hold of Hjaalmarch. After all, most of its territory seemed devoted to wetlands and swamps, cold and shrouded with mist. Then he had spent most of the morning locked in battle with the place's least savory residents. When he arrived in Morthal itself, he found it a dreary little burg, full of furtive people in drab clothes, their gaze full of suspicion.
Even so, the jarl of Hjaalmarch was not at all what Ivar had expected.
A woman. An old woman, with a bony face, piercing dark eyes, a gravelly voice, and a habit of quoting old kennings.
At least the aristocratic slouch seemed much like that of every other jarl Ivar had met, thus far in Skyrim.
"So," she half-muttered, staring at Ivar as he stood before her high seat. "You have a great deal of fame running before you, for such a young man. Enough for both Jarl Balgruuf and that puppy Siddgeir to give you thane's honors. From one end of Skyrim to the other, men speak openly of a new Dragonborn walking the land. Then we have the matter of that nest of necromancers in the ruins of Fort Snowhawk."
Ivar started slightly, his eyes gone wide in spite of himself.
The crone in the jarl's seat cackled. "Have no fear, I have no spies on your track. When so many gather together in one place to abuse power, it spreads a stench of rot far and wide, for one who has the nose to smell it. Then, when someone comes to clear away that stench, replacing it with a scent of healthy flame and crisp mountain air, one can hardly avoid taking notice. I knew someone would present himself at my court, before the sun went down in the west this day."
Ivar decided on courtesy, and gave the jarl a courtly bow. "In that case, my lady, I will admit it. I found the necromancers on my path this morning. My housecarl and I dealt with them before continuing on to your steading."
"Yes." Idgrod's eyes flickered to the side, to take in Rayya where she stood silently. "A remarkable young woman, your housecarl. Great talent and great courage are rarely found in one person, as I have learned to my regret."
Rayya gave a sharp bow of her own, wrists crossed over her breast, fists clenched.
The jarl gave Ivar a rather alarming grin. At least she had retained all of her teeth. "I see that you are not reciting that line any longer. I must warn you, I would have found it quite tiresome."
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
The jarl's voice went high and querulous for a moment, a mocking sing-song. "By the Divines, I am only a smith. What do these matters have to do with me?"
Ivar only shook his head.
She must be a seer and prophet. When such a one examines your soul, there's no point in disputing what she sees there.
"Good!" Pleased, Idgrod shifted slightly in her seat. "So, thane and Dragonborn, what brings you to my Hold?"
"I seek the ancient ruin of Ustengrav," said Ivar. "There lies a relic of the First Era, if the lore of the Greybeards has not failed. I am to retrieve this thing for them."
"Interesting. The Greybeards do not normally send men out on such errands. I suppose they wish to see whose mantle you wear." The jarl shrugged. "No matter. Their concerns do not march with mine, but I may be able to assist you. For a price."
Ivar nodded gravely, keeping his thoughts to himself. "What price would you ask, my lady?"
"There is trouble here. A shadow in whose depths I cannot easily see. I suspect you can penetrate it, with the Voice in your throat and a sliver of the sun at your side." The crone watched Ivar for a moment, and then grinned once more. "Now you would like me to speak more plain, I've no doubt. Try this, then. A house burned down not long ago, belonging to a carl named Hroggar. Sad to say, his wife and child were in the house at the time, and both perished in the blaze. Such was the tenor of Hroggar's grief that he took up with another woman the very next day."
Ivar frowned, reaching up to stroke his beard.
"Aye, the tale does seem likely to have a simple ending, does it not? The carl, tired of his wife and his obligations to his child, sets a fire and makes it seem an accident. Free of ties to family, he can go and live with his new leman." Idgrod leaned forward, a gnarled finger stabbing at Ivar. "If that was the whole story, none of it would be hidden from my sight. Yet the shadow lies over all. There must be more."
"You want me to discover whether there is anything . . . other about this tragedy."
"For a mere smith, interested only in his work and the pleasures of the flesh, such a thing would be impossible." The jarl cocked her head, watching the play of firelight and shadow over Ivar's face. "For a man who would turn aside from his path to deal with violators of the dead, it might be another matter."
He thought for a moment longer, and then nodded decisively. "I will do what I can, my lady. With the understanding that you will help me find Ustengrav when the task is done."
"Oh, assuredly. Success and good fortune, thane, you and your sword-maiden both."
When Ivar and Rayya had gone, the old woman called for wine, mulled and spiced against the cold of the evening. She sipped her drink, staring into the hearth-fire, ignoring the few of her people who still moved about the hall.
"Success and good fortune," she whispered after a long time, so low that no one could hear.
"My lord King."