Chapter 8 - Windhelm

The pleasant atmosphere around Riften had given way to a biting cold. The carriage, jolted by the uneven cobblestones, came to a sudden halt, jerking Hunfen out of his drowsiness. The few moments of sleep he had managed during the journey, amidst recurring memories of the previous day's events, had offered him little rest. Moreover, after his hasty departure and the long hours of travel, his stomach now cried out in hunger. The carriage had stopped at the foot of the majestic fortified bridge of Windhelm, an imposing structure spanning the river, frozen solid. At the other end of the bridge, the massive city walls stood ghostly, barely discernible through the snowy mist. Sharp, fine snowflakes whipped mercilessly against the young Nord's face, and the icy wind seeped through the gaps in his leather armor.

Feet numb from the cold, Hunfen followed the other passengers, advancing towards the city, leaving shallow footprints in the fresh snow. The wind gusts grew stronger and, despite the walls lining the bridge, swept clouds of powdery snow, forcing the boy to lean forward to withstand their onslaught. His eyes stung, his hands trembled, and he felt his strength wane with each step. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he reached the other end of the bridge. Hunfen paused for a moment, breathing heavily, his cheeks reddened by the cold and the effort. He cast one last glance back, contemplating the path he had traversed; the footprints had already vanished. With apprehension, he entered the city, passing under the large stone gate marking Windhelm's entrance.

The familiar sight revived the memory of his last visit, a time that now seemed so distant when he had stopped here with his father. Now alone, the city, which he had remembered as majestic, appeared oppressive, the tall stone buildings shrouded in the snowy wind, rendering the landscape monochrome. To top it all, his gut-wrenching hunger vied with his sleep-deprived eyelids, each clamoring for immediate satisfaction. Before him, a large, long building, made more inviting by the presence of a large brazier beside the door, caught his attention. Approaching to bask in the fire's warmth, he read the sign: "Candlehearth Hall."

Drawn by the promise of shelter and a hot meal, Hunfen hurried into the tavern. Contrary to its nearly all-stone exterior, the inn's interior was warmly adorned with wood. Dark beams, carefully carved, spanned the ceiling, imparting a sense of sturdiness and welcome. The warmth of the large central fireplace greeted him, chasing the cold from his reddened cheeks and warming his numb fingers. The flames danced joyfully, casting moving shadows on the stone walls and illuminating the space with a warm glow. Behind the counter, a smiling innkeeper served hearty stews and mugs of ale with cheerful generosity. The smell of spiced stew, fresh bread, and Eidar cheese, typical of Skyrim, tantalized the boy's nose and made his stomach growl even louder. A rustic wooden staircase led to an upper mezzanine where a second welcoming fireplace surrounded by comfortable chairs and armchairs stood. The soft melody of a bard resonated from this level, playing a tune in honor of the Stormcloaks, promising to drive the Imperial Legion out of the land. Hunfen approached the counter and timidly handed over some septims, asking, "I'd like some stew, please."

The innkeeper gave him a kind smile and served him a steaming bowl. He carried his meal to the fireplace, settling comfortably in an armchair to warm up.

After emptying his bowl, the fire's warmth and the feeling of fullness made him drowsy. However, his mind was too agitated to allow him to fully sleep. What was he going to do now? Did he have enough money to rent a room for at least one night? How could he find where Aventus lived? What if he couldn't? Was Ulfric Stormcloak back in the city? The jarl probably wouldn't recognize him anyway. He remained in his armchair, watching the comings and goings of people who paid him little attention.

Among the conversations he listened to distractedly, the word "dragon" caught his attention several times. People spoke not only about the return of dragons in Skyrim but also about the appearance of a "Dragonborn," who had been called by the Greybeards. The boy knew these were old hermits living secluded on Skyrim's highest mountain, but he couldn't grasp what their call might have been. Had they sent messengers? As for the Dragonborn, he had only heard about them in old legends. A being capable of slaying dragons, absorbing their souls, and using their powers. The image of Irileth appeared in his mind: it was she who had killed the dragon at the Western Watchtower. Was she truly a Dragonborn?

Hunfen stayed there until nightfall, enveloped in the gentle warmth of the fireplace. Several times, sleep crept into his eyes, offering him brief moments of respite from his incessant worries. However, every time he fell asleep, his slumber was too light, too fleeting, to offer the deep rest he so badly needed. He always woke up, his mind agitated by unanswered questions and gnawing anxiety. He couldn't help but think of his father, the comforting presence he would have represented in such a situation. Olfand, the sturdy adventurer who took life as it came, who didn't hesitate to travel from village to village to work, hunt, and fish, had always found answers, even to the most perplexing questions. He knew how to calm Hunfen's fears, ease his worries, and give him the strength to continue, no matter the circumstances.

Loneliness weighed heavily on him. He felt lost without the familiar paternal figure to guide him. Of course, he had always loved the idea of roaming Skyrim, discovering new places, and experiencing new adventures. But now that he was alone, he realized how much more fun it was with his father by his side. They shared the joys and challenges of the journey, appreciated the beauty of the landscapes together, and it was his father's presence that gave meaning to it all.

The inn's door flew open, letting in a gust of cold wind that pulled the boy out of his worried thoughts. A man in a Stormcloak uniform entered, scanning the room before his gaze met Hunfen's. It was Ralof. At the sight of the man, all weariness suddenly left the boy, and he rushed to meet him. The Stormcloak seemed momentarily surprised, then a smile lit up his face. He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.

"Hunfen? By the Nine, what are you doing here all alone?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. The boy hesitated, not knowing where to begin. Then, after a few seconds, it all poured out. He recounted his arrival in Whiterun, his meeting with the Companions, the dragon attack, his stay at Honorhall Orphanage, the shout that had burst from him, Grelod's fatal fall, his escape to Windhelm, his mission to find Aventus. His voice trembled as he described his fears and worries, his words tumbling out as if he feared they wouldn't suffice to express the magnitude of what he had experienced.

Ralof listened with a serious expression, nodding occasionally. When Hunfen finished his story, the Stormcloak turned to the innkeeper. "Elda, do you have a room for the boy here? Something not too expensive if possible; I'm not exactly rolling in it right now."

Elda nodded, a gentle smile on her face. "Of course, Ralof. The boy can take the small room at the back. It's the cheapest I have, but it's warm and comfortable."

Ralof turned back to Hunfen, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You've had a long day, Hunfen," he said, guiding him to the back of the inn, towards the room. "Get some good rest tonight. I'll see you in the morning, and we'll figure things out..."

Reaching the room's door, Ralof suddenly froze. Hunfen turned abruptly and saw a figure that had appeared just behind the man. A gloved hand was pointing a dagger at his throat. "Who are you, and what are you planning to do with this boy?" questioned a female voice, icy in tone. Ralof raised his hands in a gesture of peace, surprised by the sudden appearance and completely at the mercy of his assailant.

"Lydia?!" exclaimed Hunfen, recognizing the warrior.

Ralof turned slowly, striving not to provoke a reckless move. "I'm providing him a place to rest," he replied, his voice calm and assured despite the dagger's threat. "And you, may I ask who you are?"

Hunfen took a step forward. "Lydia, this is Ralof! He helped me escape from Helgen!" he quickly explained, hoping to calm the situation. "She's Lydia, the warrior who brought me to Riften!" he added for the Stormcloak's benefit.

Lydia slowly lowered her dagger, her eyes never leaving Ralof. After a moment of silence, she sheathed her weapon and turned her gaze to Hunfen. "Jarl Balgruuf tasked me with finding you and protecting you," she said. "Honorhall informed us of your disappearance by message. I rode to Riften, then your friends told me you were in Windhelm."

The boy felt his afternoon worries completely vanish, quickly replaced by new ones, albeit less daunting: Would Lydia allow him to search for Aventus the next day? How much did she know about the escape plan?

"I'll let you rest, Hunfen," she added after a few moments. "We'll talk about all this tomorrow."

The two adults left the room, leaving the young Nord alone with his thoughts. He watched the door close behind them, the room's silence making him feel isolated from the rest of the world. He let out a deep sigh, the day's fatigue weighing heavily on him. He quickly undressed and slid under the bed's thick covers.

oOo

As the evening progressed, the main room of the inn gradually emptied of its patrons. Lydia had taken a seat at a table in the back, near the rooms, but already too far from the boy she was tasked with protecting for her liking. Sitting across from her, Ralof held a mug of mead, taking a sip from time to time. She scrutinized him closely, trying to discern any trace of deceit or falsehood in his words and actions.

"Tell me, Ralof," the warrior began in a low but firm voice. "What did Hunfen tell you about his time at Honorhall Orphanage?"

Ralof hesitated, the mug halfway to his lips. He set it down slowly, his dark gaze drifting to the knot in the wood at the corner of the table. "He told me about how that Grelod treated them all like dirt," he finally said. "He said she tied him up, that she wanted to hurt him. From what I gathered, he shouted, it must have surprised the old crone, and she stumbled and hit her head."

"Shouted?" Lydia asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

"Yes, he told me he shouted very loudly, probably out of fear," the Stormcloak replied. "I've heard him shout like that before, when we escaped Helgen. An Imperial tried to kill him." A tight smile appeared on his lips at the memory. After a few moments, he added, "That time, he unleashed his magic to protect himself, a fire spell that was quite something! In a way, he's lucky that didn't happen at the orphanage. It would have made things even worse for him."

Lydia nodded, a sigh of relief escaping her. Ralof, apparently, suspected nothing, which meant he wasn't likely to compromise her mission. The Greybeards' call had echoed throughout Skyrim in the form of a great shout, "Dovahkiin!", spreading rumors and speculation across the province: for the first time since Tiber Septim, a Dragonborn had been revealed, and everyone wondered about their identity. In the message Balgruuf had received from Honorhall, detailing Hunfen's escape, it had been mentioned that a powerful shout had shaken the entire orphanage. The Jarl had immediately made the connection with the Thu'um. The strange incident at the Western Watchtower in Whiterun, where the dragon had inexplicably caught fire, had reinforced his suspicions: according to legend, the Dragonborn could absorb the souls of dragons, granting them an instinctive ability to learn the Dragon Shouts. Thus, it was possible, as absurd as it seemed, that Hunfen was the one the Greybeards had called, and that even while unconscious, he had been able to absorb the dragon's powers. Lydia had then received clear and precise instructions: find the boy and protect him at all costs, especially from the two warring factions that would undoubtedly seek to exploit him for their cause. Once Hunfen's safety was ensured, she would need to confirm or deny the abilities he was suspected of having, and based on that, either take him to the Greybeards or return him to Honorhall.

"And did he mention an Aventus Aretino?" she asked, changing the subject to divert the Stormcloak's attention.

Ralof sighed. "Yes, apparently he came to Windhelm to find him."

"And what does he know about this boy?"

Ralof shrugged. "Not much, really. From what he told me, Aventus is one of the kids from the orphanage, but he got away recently. Hunfen thinks he went back to Windhelm. He wants to find him and bring him back to the orphanage, now that Grelod's not around to hurt him anymore. The other kids asked him to do it, but he seems pretty set on making it happen."

"Great!" Lydia growled. "Another thing to handle..."

Ralof laughed, but his smile quickly faded when he noticed Lydia's grave expression. "Sorry," he said sincerely, "I know this probably wasn't what you planned. But if I can give you some advice, I'd say check the nicer parts of town, near the Palace of the Kings. If this boy got sent to the orphanage instead of being left on the streets, his family must've been known to the Jarl."

Lydia nodded, taking Ralof's advice into account. The haystack in which to search for the needle that was Aventus was already shrinking: they wouldn't have to scour the Gray Quarter nor the docks. On the other hand, being near the Palace of the Kings, and thus Ulfric Stormcloak, didn't particularly appeal to her.

"I've got to head to a Stormcloak camp tomorrow," Ralof continued with a bittersweet expression. "I won't be around to watch over Hunfen anymore. I'm counting on you to take care of him, Lydia!"

Lydia looked at him for a long time. Ralof seemed to genuinely care about Hunfen. She was momentarily tempted to reveal more about the situation but immediately reconsidered. Given his allegiance, the less the man knew, the better. One word too many, and the suspicions of Windhelm's Jarl could be aroused, and the regicide would then relentlessly hunt the boy. Even without that, the sooner they left the place, the better. And this quest to find young Aretino was already delaying their departure from the city too much.

"Don't worry, Ralof," she finally said. "I've been tasked with looking after him, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."