Chapter 11
Winterhold
After spending a chilly but peaceful night in the bowels of the mines, Vahkiir and the others departed the tunnels the next day to resume their journey north towards Winterhold. Ilga was noticeably withdrawn and refusing to speaking with anyone. The night before, she had insisted upon digging graves for the fallen warriors of Windhelm, but when asked how she wished for their graves to be marked, she did not answer. Vahkiir assumed that she still had not worked out her own feelings towards her kinsmen – she was clearly furious about how they had threatened her, but she also still accepted them as her kin –so he simply left her be, instead spending his time keeping watch at the rear of the caravan with Brevyn.
The snow that had fallen the night before had almost completely covered the path, but thankfully it was not deep enough to impede their travels. Their wheels did occasionally lose their grip in the slick snowdrifts, but aside from nearly careening off the path and tipping over once or twice, there were no major incidents. Much to Vahkiir's surprise, the guar did not seem particularly bothered by the snow, and the horses were covered in a thick layer of fur, so there were not even any issues with the animals struggling against the cold. If anything, it was the Chimer who seemed to be having the most difficulty. Only Emari and his guards had refrained from voicing their complaints about the freezing weather, and Vahkiir soon became accustomed to Brevyn's constant shivering as they walked together, with the elf vainly clutching his fur robes tightly around his body to ward off the cold. Vahkiir, for his part, would have preferred it if the weather was a bit less windy, but he was otherwise not particularly bothered by the temperature. Of course, he knew better than to remark on it aloud, especially since if they ever returned to Veloth, he suspected he would have far more trouble with that realm's heat, and he did not wish to give Brevyn cause to torment him about his own difficulties with Veloth's climate.
Eventually, the path through the mountains leveled off, and as they left the peaks behind them, the ground settled into a sort of plateau. It soon became evident that the flat ground they were standing on was elevated, as they could see for miles in any direction and the horizon line was clearly somewhat below them. Vahkiir eventually came to wonder if they were walking over an entire mountain range that had been buried beneath the layers of ice. Sadly, while he relished the fact that there was so much open space, there was also very little scenery to enjoy. The snow-covered plain seemed to stretch endlessly before them, and while there was occasional movement in the distance, nothing came near enough to threaten them. He soon found trekking across the frozen wastes to be a dull experience, as there was nothing to break the endless monotony of trudging across a vast expanse of white. They also could not tell how far they had traveled, and how much distance remained until they reached Winterhold.
For two days, they wandered across the frozen tundra, struggling through the deep snow. The path had completely vanished under the latest snowstorm, which had evidently fallen more heavily to the north. For a time, Vahkiir wondered if the Chimer even knew where they were headed. Of course, he could navigate by the sun, and he knew that they were traveling in a northerly direction, which he assumed was where Winterhold was located. However, there were no landmarks to allow him to get his bearings, and he could not help but wonder if the Chimer had lost their way. He did not dare voice his concerns aloud just yet, however. Emari did not seem particularly bothered, and none of the merchants had voiced any concerns aloud. Vahkiir was forced to remind himself that though he was a skilled tracker and orienteer, he was also a stranger to this land, while the Chimer had presumably made this journey before. He needed to trust them. Besides, he thought wryly as he glanced at the wagons of food behind them, it was not as though they were likely to starve anytime soon.
By midmorning of the third day, the monotonous terrain finally changed. In the distance, Vahkiir could see a vast, frozen coastline, which they gradually approached as the day progressed. The ground ahead of them abruptly dropped off into steep, sheer cliffs, beyond which he could see a frozen sea, littered with ice floes and massive icebergs. Around noon, Vahkiir walked as close to the edge as he dared – stopping several feet short, as Brevyn warned him that the ground was likely unstable – and peered down into the half-frozen waters below.
Based upon how many icebergs were lazily drifting across the surface of the water, he had to begrudgingly admit that Brevyn had been right to suggest that they first travel to Blacklight and try to make their way to Winterhold on foot. Ever since they had chosen to travel to Veloth, he had wondered if he had made the correct decision – if it would have been wiser to ignore Brevyn's advice and instead sail directly for Winterhold. Now, however, he understood that they would have indeed likely met their end crashing into an iceberg, as he certainly was not a skilled enough sailor to avoid that much ice, and he doubted Brevyn was either. That knowledge, at least, put his heart somewhat at ease, though he did still find himself wishing that they had not been so delayed by the dragon and the uprising in Blacklight afterwards.
Emari and Llervu began directing the caravan along the coastline, keeping it on their right as their wagons trundled across the frozen plain. Fortunately, though the deep snow remained a constant hazard, it was solid enough to offer their vehicles some traction. The greatest danger came from a potential to fall into deep, hidden crevasses in the snow. To avoid this, Emari sent two scouts ahead, armed with staves, who carefully inspected the snow by jamming the wooden rods into the ground to ensure that it was still solid. More than once, the snow gave way, nearly sending them plunging into hidden chasms. Fortunately, the two Chimer Emari had selected had quick enough reflexes to steady themselves, and when they encountered a gorge, they took their time searching for another section of stable ground while the rest of the caravan waited. It was slow going, but far preferable to plunging to their deaths.
They traveled along the coastline for three more days, and Vahkiir quickly came to despise this leg of the journey. They were unable to light fires at night due to the risk of melting the precarious snow that they were camped on, and they spent their nights curled up tightly under their furs as the wind howled around them. Even he found himself becoming increasingly miserable as the days wore on and the cold worked its way into his bones. He considered it a small miracle that none of the Chimer had perished in the inhospitable temperatures. Every night, he could see Brevyn trembling and shaking from the sheer cold, and it was little wonder when some of the men began to suffer frostbite. Fortunately, Llervu had planned for the hazard, and had brought herbs grown in volcanic ash from Veloth, which they applied to the affected limbs. The warmth from the semi-magical plants managed to thaw their frozen limbs, though judging from their pained shrieks, it caused the elves immense pain. The only small mercy they were granted was that no additional snow fell while they were traveling across the frozen wasteland.
Finally, around noon on the fourth day, the scouts spotted structures in the distance. Perched atop a high peninsula overlooking yet more sheer ice cliffs was a city, though notably different from Windhelm. The stone that comprised its walls was more of a slate grey color, and Vahkiir also noticed that most of the buildings were made from pale white wood, with thick thatched roofs. From what he could see from their elevated position, Winterhold also was not divided into districts the way that Windhelm was, but instead seemed to be a single long rectangle that was precariously balanced on one of the high cliffs. Silently, he wondered if the builders of the city had found an outcropping of stable stone to build Winterhold upon, as otherwise, he feared it might plunge into the sea. That thought made him shudder, and he only belatedly noticed that Emari and the others were moving on ahead of him, making him once again hurry to catch up.
As they made their way towards the city, Vahkiir was once again able to see the road, which had been partially cleared of snow, likely by the inhabitants of the city. From where he was standing on the elevated plain, however, he could clearly see that only a few hundred yards of road had been cleared, while the rest was still buried under a thick layer of snow, suggesting that the laborers who had been tasked with clearing the snow had surrendered in the wake of the heavy storm. He began to wonder how much swifter their journey would have been easier if the snowstorms had not hidden the road. Of course, it was also possible that by traveling in a straight line across the frozen plain, they had actually saved time, even accounting for how much time it had taken to avoid the pitfalls in the tundra. Perhaps by the time they departed Winterhold, the rest of the snow would be removed, and he could compare how long it took them to reach their next destination.
An hour later, they were approaching the open gates of the city. A pair of guards dressed in thick fur armor and billowing white cloaks stared at them suspiciously as they approached, and their grip tightened on their bronze-tipped spears when they drew near, though they did not lower them. Emari approached them first, with Llervu riding in the wagon close behind him, as the guards appraised them warily.
"Halt," one of them ordered in a firm tone, while the other lingered beside the thick wooden door, resting one hand on it, as though preparing to close it – as if he could push the heavy door shut by himself, Vahkiir thought wryly. "State your business, elves." The guard nearly spat the last word, Vahkiir noticed, and one or two of the Chimer guards bristled in response, though Brevyn simply let out a soft, amused chuckle behind him.
"Trade, obviously," Emari replied drolly, motioning to the wagons behind him. "We have come to barter fine Chimer wares, and perhaps to purchase a few more while we are here. Tell me – is trade still flowing between your city and Veloth?"
"Do I appear to be a merchant to you?" the guard retorted curtly, craning his head to eye the wagons suspiciously. "You are not transporting any contraband, are you?"
"Not to my knowledge," Llervu replied sardonically, pausing to look over his shoulder at the wagons. "Unless pottery and textiles are considered contraband now."
The guard snarled at the mildly sarcastic response, then motioned to his companion. The other guard lurched forward and spent the next few minutes rifling through the goods in the wagons. Beside him, Vahkiir noticed that Ilga was tensing as the Winterhold guard drew near her, but before he could say anything, Brevyn leaned in and spoke in a low voice to her.
"Be at ease," he said softly. "They are more wary of us Chimer than they are of you. Since you have never faced either of them on the battlefield, you have nothing to fear, as they have no reason to suspect you of anything… so long as you do not give them cause to."
Ilga shot him a glare, but her shoulders noticeably relaxed at his words. Vahkiir smiled faintly, and when Ilga looked away, he caught Brevyn's eye and winked. Brevyn flashed a grin in response, then turned back around as the guard nodded to his companion.
"Nothing suspicious… save for the elves themselves," he said snidely. "But we have no reason to bar them entry into the city."
"Very well," the other guard sighed, making his way back over to the open door. "Do not cause trouble while you are within our walls. Or do," he shrugged, sneering at them. "It has been rather dull lately, and we could do with some excitement."
"You have nothing to fear from us," Emari assured him calmly as they walked through the gates.
"Pity," the guard responded drily.
As the caravan began to make its way into the city, Vahkiir took the opportunity to pause in front of one of the guards. The man raised an eyebrow at him as he asked, "Forgive me for asking, but are you familiar with a clan called Farwalker?"
The guard shook his head, then glanced to his companion. "They are merchant clan, I believe?" the other guard remarked uncertainly. "If I recall correctly, their house should be near the north end of the city, closer to the mountains. It's one of the larger longhouses, though I cannot say for certain which one." He shrugged indifferently. "If you ask around the market, someone should know.."
"Do you happen know what goods they deal in?" Llervu asked, pausing beside the guard when he overheard Vahkiir's question.
"Ivory, mostly, if I recall," the guard replied uncertainly. "I had heard that they were attempting to obtain ebony as well, though I do not know if they were successful."
"Good. That should at least give us something to look for in the market, then," Llervu said with a nod. "Thank you."
"Mm," the guard grunted noncommittally, before waving at Vahkiir. "Move along, then."
Vahkiir nodded, noting the way the guard was eyeing him suspiciously. Evidently, Nords who associated with Chimer were afforded little more respect than the elves themselves, he mused silently, as he followed the caravan deeper into the city.
As he had seen from afar, the city of Winterhold was a long, thin, slightly bent rectangle, and as they walked through the front gates, Vahkiir quickly realized that the main road was lined with longhouses that doubled as both shops and dwellings. Merchants sat outside the buildings at brightly-decorated stalls, hawking goods such as metalwork, leatherwork, and pottery. Judging by the similarities between the men, women, and children sitting outside the houses, Vahkiir presumed that each longhouse was owned by a single family or clan, which he suspected specialized in a specific craft. It was starkly different from Solstheim, as the Skaal were expected to learn a number of skills, from hunting and gathering to basic carpentry and weapon-crafting, without necessarily needing to master any one in particular. Brit was the master bowyer of the village, and they also had a coppersmith who worked finer metal than anyone else, but for the most part, the villagers were all able hunters, builders, and crafters. Vahkiir personally felt that it was simply wiser to be proficient in a wide array of skills than to master only one to the detriment of the others. Of course, he also did not live in a city as large as Windhelm or Winterhold, so perhaps specialists were more highly valued in a realm with so many citizens.
As they wandered down the main road, Vahkiir noticed that some of the citizens were stopping to stare at them, though most simply ignored them. If Winterhold was indeed visited fairly often by other merchants from Veloth, then it stood to reason that the citizens were more familiar with Chimer than those in Windhelm, though he could also sense that they were still somewhat unwelcome. The merchants would purchase their wares readily enough, but it was clear that the Chimer were still outsiders, and would be treated as such.
Ahead of them, the road opened into a central plaza, in the center of which rested a large marketplace. Dozens of stalls were set up in the middle of the square, with merchants calling out to passerby, offering a variety of wares. Vahkiir noticed that the road formed a ring around the stalls, which branched out into eight other paths that led to different parts of the city in each direction. The main road leading from the gates led to a large, wood and stone palace at the rear of the city, while the other branches led to other dwellings.
"Quite the mercantile city, isn't it?" Brevyn commented beside him. Vahkiir glanced at him as the elf folded his arms tightly over his chest to ward off the cold. "Though I suppose we should have expected as much, given the size of that port."
Vahkiir frowned as Brevyn nodded to the northeast. Craning his neck, he realized that there was another open wooden gate in the distance. Through the gap in the wall, he could see dozens of ships bobbing on the icy waters of a river, with merchants streaming to and from the docks and warehouses beyond the gates. Many carried nets full of fish, while others heaved barrels and sacks of goods over their shoulders, which they delivered to the merchant stalls in the center of the city. Brevyn grinned as he reached up and clapped Vahkiir on his shoulder.
"You were told that your relatives are merchants, correct?" he asked wryly. "It does not seem too difficult a task to find a merchant here. The trick is going to be finding the correct one."
Vahkiir shot him an unimpressed glower as the Chimer grinned mischievously at him, and he didn't bother responding as they wove their way through the market. Fortunately, the guard's hint about his cousins dealing in ivory gave him something to look for. He was familiar with ivory, as the Skaal occasionally carved horker tusks into decorations and totems, and a few even used it to craft weapons, though he personally favored stone and copper when he could obtain them. Furthermore, it quickly became obvious that few merchants dealt in the material, so at least he would not have to look long.
After browsing the stalls for roughly twenty minutes, he finally noticed a middle-aged woman sitting at a stall laden with jewelry carved out from ivory and semi-precious stones, such as garnet and amber. As Vahkiir approached her, she smiled warmly up at him and swept her weathered hands across her stall, inviting him to inspect her wares.
"Welcome!" she said cheerfully as she brushed her greying hair out of her eyes. "Does anything catch your eye, perchance? What do you think of this necklace?" she asked, holding up a simple amulet with an amber stone inlaid in silver attached to a strand of woven yarn. "This would make a lovely gift for your woman, mm?"
"This… is remarkably well-crafted, but unfortunately, it is not what I am seeking," Vahkiir replied. The woman's smile faded immediately, but just before she could dismiss him entirely, he quickly asked, "Are you familiar with Clan Farwalker?"
The woman blinked up at him, seeming surprised by his question. She leaned forward on her wooden stool to place her freckled arms on the surface as she replied, "That happens to be my family name. Why do you wish to know?"
Vahkiir felt his heart beginning to pound as he met the woman's curious gaze. "I… believe that we may be related."
To his mild surprise, the woman did not seem particularly affected by his proclamation. Her expression did not change as she asked, "And what makes you believe that?"
Vahkiir was almost disappointed by her lack of reaction – he had expected her to be surprised, overjoyed, or even suspicious. To barely be affected by his statement was… disheartening. "I am the son of the shaman of the Skaal, on the island of Solstheim," he explained, folding his hands behind his back. "I was told that my grandfather once ventured to the island in search of timber, and there he met my grandmother and became her mate. He left several months after she learned that she was carrying my mother, and he was never seen again." He glanced away uneasily. "I… was hoping that perhaps you might know his fate."
"I might," the woman shrugged. "Or I might not. What was his name?"
Vahkiir hesitated, racking his brain for the man's name. As his mother had rarely spoken of him, it was difficult to recall. "Shorhelm?" he asked uncertainly.
"Ah, him," the woman sighed, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes, I am familiar with the name. He is somewhat infamous amongst our clan." When Vahkiir blinked at her, she looked up and sighed. "According to the tales my mother used to tell me, he was among the most restless of our family. He rarely stayed more than a month in Winterhold at any one time, preferring to constantly take to the road in search of adventure and more goods to trade. From what I was told, one day, when he was about forty years of age, he attempted to sail to Solitude in a heavy storm, and he was thrown overboard. His crewmates managed to save him, but he had spent too long in the icy waters and contracted pneumonia. He perished three days later." She then frowned. "I was unaware that he had fathered a child, though. He never spoke of it."
Vahkiir felt a brief flare of anger, but he suppressed his temper. After all, it was not as though she was calling him a liar, just that she had never heard him mention that he had fathered any children. "As far as I know, my mother was the only one he sired," he explained.
"I see," the woman said evenly, before sitting back on her stool. "So? What do you expect of me?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I cannot be certain your claims, but even if you are speaking the truth… what of it? Do you expect coin from us? Lodging?"
Vahkiir's eyes widened slightly, taken aback by her suddenly hostile tone. At the same time, shame began to creep into the back of his mind. He had been told that he might receive aid from his relatives in Winterhold, but he suddenly realized how rude it would seem if he were to approach them and request they aid him based solely on their shared blood. He did not even have proof of their kinship – in truth, all he had was his mother's word. He trusted her, but if he was asked to prove that they were related….
"No… nothing of the sort," Vahkiir finally said with a faint smile. "In truth, I would just… like to know more about my Nordic heritage. I know very little of my grandfather, and my own connection to Skyrim, so I was hoping you and your family might be willing to share some tales with me. If you would be willing to indulge a stranger's curiosity."
The old merchant continued to scowl up at him, but eventually seemed to decide that he was being sincere. She let out a soft sigh and glanced away. "Very well," she muttered. "I must tend to my stall first, though. After the sun sets, you may join my family and I in our house." She pointed to one of the longhouses resting next to the southwestern road, near where it joined the market plaza. It was brightly decorated with red and green paint, and Vahkiir could see a pair of children playing a simple ball game while a woman closer to his age tended to a snow-covered garden and barked at them not to cause trouble. When Vahkiir turned back around, she added, "I shall tell them to expect you. Knock on the door four times, and then twice, so that we know who it is."
"I shall," Vahkiir said with a warm smile. "Thank you, madam…?" He trailed off, realizing that he had not yet asked her name.
"Agna. You?" she asked shortly.
"Vahkiir," he replied with a warm smile.
When she heard his name, her eyes widened slightly. "That name… sounds familiar," she said thoughtfully. "Did you not recently earn a bit of fame? Something about slaying a beast in the south?"
"A dragon, yes," Vahkiir replied, unable to keep a slight smile from his face.
Agna's eyes widened. "The Dragonborn…." she whispered. Abruptly, a shrewd look crossed her face, and she smiled faintly as she laced her fingers together while resting her elbows on the stall. The way she was staring at him suddenly made Vahkiir uneasy, and she began nodding thoughtfully to herself. "Yes… I think you may be very welcome in our household," she chuckled. "Very well. We shall see you tonight, Dragonborn. We shall have a meal prepared for you. Do not keep us waiting."
Apprehension gripped Vahkiir as he made his way to the Farwalker longhouse as the sun set below the horizon, bathing the city in a cold, deep blue shroud. The Chimer and Ilga had found lodging in the city, and he had asked them not to wait for him that evening. Brevyn and Ilga had both volunteered to join him, but Vahkiir had politely declined their company – partially because he had not told Agna to expect additional guests, and partially because he felt this was something he should see to on his own. While they had respected his decision, he could also tell from the looks on their faces that they had their own concerns. Thankfully, neither objected, instead merely wishing him good fortune, and to have a pleasant evening.
Vahkiir walked up to the longhouse and knocked on the door in the pattern that Agna had instructed him to. There was a brief pause, and then the door was pulled open. Immediately, he was greeted with the face of a Nordic man in his mid-forties, with a head of slightly thinning blond hair and a long, braided moustache. He briefly peered at Vahkiir, then grinned and reached out a hand to greet him. "So! You are our supposed relative, are you?" he asked cheerfully.
"Supposedly," Vahkiir replied, clasping his arm in greeting. "In my homeland, I am called Vahkiir the Wanderer."
"A fitting name if you've come this far," the man chuckled as he briefly gripped Vahkiir's arm in kind. "And since journeying all over Tamriel seems to run in this family, I'll presume that you truly are kin. I am Halstrom. Please, join us!" he added, stepping aside to allow Vahkiir into the house. "No sense letting the cold in."
Vahkiir nodded gratefully as he stepped through the doorway and looked around as Halstrom shut it behind him. The house was roughly as large as the chieftain's longhouse back in Solstheim, but even more richly decorated. The center of the room was dominated by a large, blazing firepit, with smoke curling upwards into the velvety sky above. Atop the fire was a copper rack, upon which were grilling several flanks of salmon, with vegetables roasting beside them, so that a fresh, pleasant aroma wafted throughout the dwelling. Seated around the firepit were almost a dozen men and women, ranging in age from infants to one so wizened that Vahkiir guessed he might have been eighty or ninety.
The rest of the longhouse was decorated in a rather exotic fashion. Rather than the expected fur pelts, Vahkiir noticed that the wooden floors were covered with richly woven rugs, one or two of which seemed to be of Chimer make, while the others were of an unfamiliar design, likely from some other far-off land that Vahkiir had never heard of. Trophies lined the walls, but rather than the heads of beasts, they were instead items such an ornate ivory horn gilt with gold, a rich tapestry of a figure in silver armor with a winged helmet and carrying a red, diamond-shaped shield, and a glowing aquamarine crystal that pulsed and throbbed with magical energy. At the rear of the longhouse were low beds covered in fine quilts, and Vahkiir would not have been surprised if the mattresses were stuffed full of soft feathers. Above the beds rested a round shield with a bronze rim, painted in quarters. Two of the quarters were blue and emblazoned with a white ship, while the other two were white with a blue foot that had wings attached at the ankle – likely the symbol of the clan, Vahkiir guessed.
As he stepped into the room, the chatter abruptly stopped, and every eye turned towards him, Halstrom grinned as he put his large hand on Vahkiir's back and led him towards the firepit, encouraging him to take a seat. "All of you, allow me to introduce Vahkiir, a kinsman of ours from the distant island of Solstheim," Halstrom explained as he settled beside the fire as well, taking a moment to adjust his crimson, velvet tunic. "Please make him feel welcome beside our fire."
"Well met, cousin," piped up a blond teenage boy, perhaps a few years older than Strunheim. "If I might ask, how far away is your home?"
"Quite a ways, yet closer than you might think," Vahkiir replied with a slight smile as he brushed his fingers through his red beard to smooth it slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious and under-dressed while faced with his more richly-attired relatives. "Well met to all of you as well. Forgive my intrusion, and thank you for offering me your hospitality this evening."
"Come now, if we turned away family, what sort of hosts would we be?" asked a young woman in her mid-twenties.
"Yes… especially when our supposed relative also claims to be the Dragonborn," added the man beside her. Vahkiir noticed a calculating look in his eye at the mention of his title – the same that he had seen in Agna's – and after quickly glancing around at the others, he realized that most had similarly cunning looks on their faces. Their expressions unnerved him, but he decided to ignore the foreboding discomfort he felt for now.
"So… with that being said, how is it that you came to join us here in Winterhold?" Agna asked. As she spoke, she used a copper skewer to pull one of the pieces of salmon onto a plate, along with some of the vegetables, which she offered to Vahkiir. In Skaal etiquette, as a guest, he was expected to be served first, and he presumed that the same was true of the Nords. A faint smile crossed his lips as he took the plate with a gracious nod. It seemed that some traditions did indeed remain the same between their divergent bloodlines.
As he ate, he regaled the clan with tales of his journey from Solstheim and across Veloth. The children listened intently, enraptured by his stories of facing dragons and bandits, while the adults considered his tales with more measured expressions. By the time he was finished, everyone else had been served as well, and he had nearly finished his salmon, though he was eating slowly to ensure that he was not the only one sitting with an empty plate.
"I must say, I am pleased to hear that you did not accept the Jarl of Windhelm's offer to join him," Halstrom commented around a mouthful of turnip. "After all, you should be fighting with Winterhold, not Windhelm."
"Hush, Halstrom," Agna chided him gently. "Did you not hear the Jarl announce that we are once again at peace?"
Halstrom let out an irritated scoff. "As though it will hold through the winter," he muttered irritably. "Besides, we have been at war for decades. Most of us cannot even remember a time when we had a High King, and too much blood has been spilled for us to simply forgive the other Jarls. Fellow Nords or no, we have all lost brothers and children to the blades of Windhelm, of Morthal, of Riften. To expect us to simply forget all of that…."
"Halstrom…." Agna growled.
"And as soon as the Chimer have been suppressed, you know we will simply turn our blades upon each other once more!" Halstrom added, raising his voice over Agna's warning. "Mark my words, if ever there was a peace that will not hold-!"
"Enough!" Agna said sharply. "The children do not need to hear your complaints! We are at peace for now, and that is that! Be grateful that we have a respite, and that we no longer need to point our blades at one another!"
"For now," Halstrom muttered bitterly. "And just because we should not fight one another does not mean we should not be wary of treachery."
Agna sighed and ran her hand over her eyes, then turned to Vahkiir with a faint smile. "In any case, it sounds as though you have had quite the adventure thus far. Even so… you still have not said why you have come here."
"As I told you before, I wish to learn whatever you can tell me about my grandfather," Vahkiir said simply. "My mother rarely spoke of him, and I am curious about the thread that binds our bloodlines together."
"I see," Agna said, sitting back and watching as the smoke from the firepit curled up towards the ceiling. "In truth, we know little about our uncle. As I said, he was always seen as an eccentric in the family – always restless, even for our family, and never content to remain in one place. And he was always looking for something new to trade. He tried purchasing an ebony mine in Veloth, but was refused by the governor of the region. He also attempted to woo the Alessians to the south, hoping to barter in rare Ayleid artifacts, especially their prized Welkynd Stones. The Alessians, however, declared such items profane, and did not allow him to extract them from their ruined cities." She then smiled slightly. "And yes, he went to Solstheim, hoping that the timber on that island would be superior to ours. That, actually, was one of his less wild schemes. As I said, though, we had never heard that he had sired a daughter."
"Perhaps he simply did not care to mention it," Vahkiir murmured. He was surprised to find that he was pleased by the tales of his grandfather. It was, in a way, comforting to know that his wanderlust was apparently an inherited family trait, rather than merely an obsession brought on by the dragon's soul that was twined with his own. "But it seems that I take after him more than I ever suspected," he added with a light chuckle.
"Is your mother the same?" one of the elder children asked.
Vahkiir shook his head and smiled faintly. "No… she is the shaman of our village. Unlike me, she is patient and wise, while I tend to see myself as impulsive and foolish. I certainly am not like how my father was either. He was a strong, stern, and stoic man who spent much of his life building. He constructed no less than six houses in our village over the course of his life, and he was often tasked with repairing the chieftain's longhouse whenever it was damaged after a heavy storm or snowfall. The villagers often found him difficult to talk to, but they valued him for his skill with his hands and his willingness to aid any who asked."
"It does not sound as though you got on well with him, though," Halstrom commented as he sipped from a clay mug of mead.
"Well… while I did not dislike him, I always felt as though I had disappointed him," Vahkiir sighed. "He, in turn, told me that he considered me too flighty, with my eyes ever on the horizon rather than in the village where they should be. However, so long as I was at least providing our household with food, he tolerated my restlessness." A faint, sad smile spread over his lips. "And at least I was able to say farewell to him before illness took him a few years ago. Though we rarely saw eye-to-eye, he was a good man."
There was a heavy silence following his remark, and then Halstrom cleared his throat. "Well… in any case, we are pleased to have met you," he said, injecting some cheerfulness into his tone. "You are welcome to stay the night with us, if you wish. We can certainly find an extra fur for you to sleep on."
"I have my own, so please do not fret on my account… but I would be honored to join you this evening, if you have space available," Vahkiir agreed with a slight smile. Unlike the invitation from the Jarl, he was more than willing to spend the evening with his relatives. He felt that there were still far more stories that they could share, and he was eager to know more about their past.
"In that case, there are more than enough open spots on the floor, so please, make yourself comfortable," Halstrom laughed, waving his hand easily towards the firepit. "With that said… in the morning, would you like to accompany me to speak with the Jarl?"
Vahkiir's smile faded slightly, and he tilted his head. "The Jarl?" he repeated.
"Indeed!" Halstrom nodded eagerly. "You already made the acquaintance of the Jarl of Windhelm, yes? I am certain that our lord will also wish to meet the Dragonborn. Especially once he learns that he is related to some of his citizens."
In the dim, flickering firelight, Vahkiir once again noticed a shrewd gleam in Halstrom's eye. He felt a slight shudder of worry run through him at the older man's expression, but he decided not to let it trouble him, at least for the moment.
"So long as we are not imposing upon him, then I have no objections," he replied slowly.
"Not at all! In fact, I imagine he will be quite pleased to meet you," Halstrom chuckled, his cunning grin broadening.
Vahkiir eyed him warily as he turned back to the remainder of his meal. Though the rest of the family was once again chatting pleasantly, he could not still the anxiety brewing in the pit of his stomach. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake coming to Winterhold, though he was uncertain what exactly had him so ill at ease… and that, more than anything, made him even more uncomfortable.
The next morning, Vahkiir woke to the sounds of chatter and laughter outside the longhouse. Groaning softly to himself, he blearily rose from the sleeping furs and peered out the window through half-lidded eyes. Much of Winterhold was already awake, it seemed, and he briefly wondered how late he had slept. After a few moments of searching the sky, however, he realized that the sun was only halfway up the horizon, suggesting that it was still quite early in the morning. It seemed that much of the city rose with the sun, and while he could understand the fisherman wanting to wake early, he was somewhat surprised that the merchants and artisans were also up. Especially since no one else in the longhouse was awake at this hour.
Vahkiir tried fruitlessly to fall back asleep for a short while, but eventually stopped when it became clear that the noise outside was only growing louder as the morning wore on. Fortunately, it was not long before Halstrom and Agna rose, and in short order, the rest of the clan was awake as well. Vahkiir dressed quickly as Agna heated some leftover bread over the fire to warm it, which she doled out to the rest of the family. As he ate, Halstrom walked over and took a seat next to Vahkiir, lightly nudging his shoulder as he did.
"Are you still willing to meet with the Jarl this morning?" he asked in a low voice.
Vahkiir quickly swallowed the hard piece of bread in his mouth, then took a few moments to swig a couple mouthfuls of tea before he answered. "As I said last night, I have no objections," he said in a low voice. "But are you certain that the Jarl will wish to see us? After all, I have not announced my arrival, so if he is not expecting us…."
"You needn't concern yourself with that," Halstrom assured him with a sly wink. "I already sent a message via courier last night, and a reply came this morning. The Jarl has assured us that he wishes to speak with us before noon."
Vahkiir gave Halstrom a strained smile, feigning that he was pleased with his cousin's initiative, while his stomach turned again. He was already worried that, having heard that he had met with the Jarl of Windhelm first, the Jarl of Winterhold would be insulted, and their initial meeting might now prove hostile. He also recalled that the son of the Jarl had claimed that he would send a message ahead to inform his father of Vahkiir's impending arrival. Was it possible that message had already arrived? If so, what had he written, and how would it color their meeting? Were his son's words positive, or had Vahkiir already been deemed a traitor for speaking with the Jarl of Windhelm first?
What concerned Vahkiir more, though, was Halstrom's demeanor that morning. He seemed almost giddy at the prospect of meeting with the Lord of Winterhold. What did he hope to gain from this audience?
Vahkiir forced himself to set those thoughts aside as they finished breakfast and Halstrom pushed himself to his feet. Vahkiir followed suit, taking a moment to brush his hands free of crumbs before slinging his bow across his back. Halstrom at first tried to protest that the guards would likely strip him of his weapons when they arrived, but Vahkiir insisted. After his experiences in Blacklight, he had no desire to be unarmed whenever possible – especially so long as the city-states in Skyrim were not at peace, truce or no. Until the war between the jarls was officially over, he intended to carry his weapons unless forced to surrender them.
As they stepped out into the crisp morning, Vahkiir immediately noticed that yet more snow had fallen the night before. The citizens, however, seemed not to mind the snowfall, despite the fact that it was making their morning errands more difficult by slowing their carts and making them stumble and lose their footing. When Vahkiir mentioned this to Halstrom, however, the merchant grinned at him.
"We are quite used to snow here," he explained as they skirted around an ox struggling to drag a two-wheeled cart through a deep snowdrift. "Especially at this time of year. After all, we are at the northern tip of Skyrim, so it would actually be more unusual if it was not part of our daily lives. Besides, we are Nords. As a people, snow hardly bothers us." His grin turned slightly malicious. "You clearly have been traveling with your elven friends for far too long, cousin."
Vahkiir glowered at Halstrom, who did not seem to notice as he led the way down the crowded street towards a large building in the center of town, halfway between the northern and southern ends of the city. Unlike Windhelm's palace, which had been carved of heavy black stone, Winterhold's palace was made almost entirely of wood. It was a long, rectangular building which, to Vahkiir, seemed to simply be an especially large longhouse. The low, sloping roof was covered by wooden slats, rather than thatch, and held up by ornately carved pillars, decorated with stylized animals, such as an owl, a moth, a whale, and a dragon. These were reinforced with bronze at the top and bottom, decorated with swirling, circular patterns that had been carved into the metal. The thick double doors that led into the palace were similarly decorated with the swirling patterns, and painted a deep crimson. The palace stood on a heavy granite base, with a flight of twenty stone stairs leading up to the palace. The stairs were flanked by stone carvings of wolves, their faces twisted into a perpetual snarl at anyone who dared approach the palace.
Vahkiir allowed Halstrom to lead the way up the stairs, where a quartet of guards stood stoically, watching them intently as they approached. When one of them stopped Halstrom, he simply reached into the rich fur coat he was wearing and withdrew a scroll, which he handed to the guard. The guard scowled at him as he unrolled it and briefly skimmed its contents, then sighed and nodded. He and the other guard nearest to the other door turned and pushed open the doors to allow them entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, Vahkiir noticed that Halstrom was smirking smugly as he strode confidently into the throne room of the Jarl of Winterhold.
Once inside, Vahkiir was hit by a wall of warm air. The wooden interior was brightly lit by a series of six braziers that were spaced evenly through the room, directly between the heavy pillars the held up the looming ceiling above them. The floor was mostly made of rich red wood, though the braziers were, thankfully, situated on stone squares to prevent a stray spark from lighting the floor ablaze. A long white rug stretched from the entryway to the other end of the hall, which was dominated by a wooden throne resting on an elevated dais of six stairs. The throne was beautifully crafted, with the armrests carved to resemble snarling wolf heads, and the seat itself padded with thick white cushions. Upon the throne sat a middle-aged man with shoulder-length blond hair and a thick, braided beard. His brawny body was hidden beneath a grey tunic trimmed with gold, and a white fur cloak rested heavily around his shoulders. The man sitting on the throne adjusted his silver circlet, which made the sapphires embedded in it glint in the blazing firelight of the braziers. He watched Vahkiir and Halstrom as they entered the hall, staring down at them imperiously as they approached, and when they were at the foot of the dais, he held his hand up.
Halstrom sank to one knee, and though Vahkiir initially remained standing, a sidelong glare from Halstrom prompted him to hastily do the same. The jarl gazed down at them silently, then almost lazily motioned for them to rise.
"My lord," Halstrom began as he climbed to his feet, keeping his eyes downward. "It is an honor to stand in your presence-"
"Undoubtedly," the Jarl replied drily, stopping Halstrom short. "You should consider yourself exceedingly fortunate, merchant. Under normal circumstances, you would never be allowed within my hall. I denied you the last eight times you tried, so why would I permit you in my presence now?" Halstrom flinched and glanced up as the Jarl smirked slightly down at him. "Yes, Farwalker, I am very much aware of how desperately you have been seeking an audience with me. Now that you have the opportunity, I suggest that you do not try my patience. Besides, we both know the only reason why I agreed to this meeting."
The Jarl turned to Vahkiir with a warm smile. "Well met, Dragonborn," he said in a far less hostile tone. "My son sent word of your impending arrival three days ago. Tell me – why did you not notify me immediately when you arrived in my city? I would have been happy to accommodate you?"
Vahkiir hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the Jarl's vastly different manner of addressing him and Halstrom. The latter was staring down at the floor, clearly seething with humiliation, but he was not daring to voice his obvious displeasure in the presence of the city's ruler. After giving him a momentary look of pity, he turned back to the Jarl and replied, "Forgive me, Jarl, but I was unaware that you had even received a message. Had you not, how would it have seemed if I were to approach your palace and demand and audience with you, claiming that I was the Dragonborn?"
"A fair point," the Jarl conceded with a nod of his head. "And I suppose it was wise of you to find someone to vouch for you. Very well – then allow me to formally welcome you to my city. I trust that you have found it to your liking thus far?"
Vahkiir shot Halstrom another sidelong glance, then replied slowly, "Rest assured that my kin have received me quite warmly and have been extremely hospitable, offering every amenity that I could imagine, and many I had not. They are models of generosity, and a credit to your realm."
Halstrom's eyes widened as he glanced at Vahkiir, while the Jarl let out a soft chuckle. "I see that familial loyalty is not dead, even in these troubled times. Very good." He sighed softly, then turned to Halstrom. "You have done well, and I shall see that you are to be rewarded, merchant." Ignoring Halstrom's pleased grin, he turned back to Vahkiir. "Now then, Dragonborn, allow me to ask you a question – what drew you to Winterhold?"
"In truth? Tales of my kin," Vahkiir explained. "I was told that relatives were living in this city, and I wished to take the opportunity to meet with them."
"Indeed? And do you feel a connection with them?" the Jarl asked.
"Of course," Vahkiir replied simply.
"How so?" the Jarl pressed. "You have never met them before now, no? And you were only told tales? How can you be certain these people have not been misleading you, telling you what they believe you wish to hear?"
Halstrom's eyes widened, and he began to let out an indignant protest, but he was silenced by a withering glare from the Jarl. Vahkiir, meanwhile, frowned in confusion. "They have given me no reason to doubt otherwise," he said slowly.
"Indeed? Are you so certain? It is not as though they would not have a motive to deceive you. There is much profit to be made off of a connection to the Dragonborn," the Jarl pointed out.
Vahkiir glanced at Halstrom out of the corner of his eye, watching the man subtly shake his head, his eyes wide. He let out a slight laugh, then turned back to the Jarl. "I do not believe so," he replied simply. "For one, while these people may be strangers, I do not believe my mother would lie to me. Moreover, the stories they have told me about members of their family reveal traits shared between both our lines. It is true, I suppose, that this could be an elaborate ruse, but… I do not believe Halstrom or the rest of his kin to be deceivers." He then frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Unless you intend to tell me otherwise?"
The Jarl smiled faintly and shook his head. "No. This man is indeed a member of Clan Farwalker. Whatever his relation to you, I cannot say, but he did share his true name with you."
"Then why question me about it?" Vahkiir asked, glowering.
"Forgive me," the Jarl replied, inclining his head. "I was merely testing you. As I am certain you know, these are troubled times, and treachery and deceit are traded as commonly as bread and salt. I wished to ascertain how you would react to someone who holds power attempting to sway your beliefs, and whether the fact that the figure speaking to you is sitting on a throne would be enough to sow doubt into your mind."
"Indeed?" Vahkiir snarled, narrowing his eyes. "Do you test all your guests like this?"
"Only the ones I feel should be tested – the ones that matter, and who might be useful," the Jarl replied coolly. "Nevertheless, I am pleased to see that you have a great deal of resolve and conviction. Those are rare traits these days, and quite admirable." He inclined his head. "Once again, I beg your forgiveness, Dragonborn, and I wish to propose something."
Vahkiir glowered at the Jarl, feeling rather disinclined to listen to any proposal he wished to offer, but he replied slowly, "Go on."
The Jarl smiled and held up his hand. "I did you a great dishonor by attempting to deceive you, and I understand that you have little reason to trust me. However, Winterhold would greatly benefit from your services. As this is the city where your relatives reside, you have a vested interest in aiding us. In exchange, I wish to extend Winterhold's hospitality to your homeland. We are merchants by nature, and I feel there is much we could offer this… Solstheim that my son spoke of. So… will you consider joining us?"
Vahkiir let out a soft, bitter chuckle as he shook his head. "No," he replied bluntly. Beside him, Halstrom narrowed his eyes, but Vahkiir continued, "Even if you had not attempted to turn me against my kin out of a mad desire to try my resolve, I already told every other Jarl in Skyrim that I do not intend to involve myself in your wars – either with the Chimer, or with each other." When the Jarl gazed at him silently, he added, "I presume that accepting your offer implies that you would conscript me as a warrior on Winterhold's behalf? To march against your enemies and aid you in obtaining the throne of Skyrim?"
"If necessary," the Jarl replied slowly.
"Then no, I will not accept your offer," Vahkiir replied curtly, pushing himself to his feet. He was barely able to contain the anger boiling in his chest, and only the laws of hospitality were keeping him from outright shouting at the Jarl. "In fact, I feel that we have nothing more to discuss. I already have a pressing matter elsewhere in Skyrim that I must still attend to, and I have already delayed seeing to it. I will not be dragged from it even further to serve as a thrall in your wars."
The Jarl tilted his head back slightly, his expression half-furious, half-amused. "Few would dare speak to me with such insolence, Dragonborn," he warned. "You do not want me as your enemy."
Vahkiir scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Yet you would attempt to make me think my own kin were my enemy," he retorted. "So what am I to think of a Jarl who sows discord simply to test one's resolve?" He narrowed his eyes. "Are we enemies?"
The Jarl considered him silently for a few long, tense moments as Vahkiir's face flushed with heat and his heart pounded in his ears. Every muscle in his body was taut, and he was warily eyeing the guards standing around the hall – though he did note that all still seemed relaxed, only loosely holding their weapons, rather than lowering their spears at him for his insolence.
Finally, the Jarl sighed and shook his head. "We needn't be," he replied softly.
Vahkiir stared at him levelly, his right hand gripping his left bicep tightly as his arms remained folded over his chest. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple as he fought to control his temper, and only after several long moments was he finally composed enough to let out a long, slow sigh.
"I will not fight for you, Jarl, but for the sake of the blood I share with Clan Farwalker, I also will not oppose you in any way," he said through clenched teeth. "It seems that there are enemies around every corner in this land, and I wish to make as few as possible."
"Are you certain that you will not fight for me?" the Jarl pressed. "You would be richly rewarded. I would make you a thane. Grant you whatever you desire – land, riches…."
"I have no… need for them," Vahkiir said. He nearly said 'desire' instead of 'need,' but he realized that he would be speaking falsely if that word escaped his lips. "And I do not wish to involve myself in this war, no matter the potential rewards that might come with allying with you."
"I see," the Jarl sighed. "Then-"
"In that case, would you consent to offering that title to my clan instead?" Halstrom piped up suddenly. Both Vahkiir and the Jarl turned to stare at him as he lowered his head in a deferential bow. "With respect, my lord… though Vahkiir may be too humble to accept your rewards, perhaps he would consent to your bestowing it upon his relatives? You could consider it a gesture of goodwill, and a promise to him that even if he does not wish to intervene in this war directly, you nevertheless support him in his endeavors. What's more, were you to grant us this honor, we of Clan Farwalker would be better able to secure for him anything he desires – supplies, information… whatever he needs to better complete whatever quest he is pursuing. Such a gesture would no doubt win you his favor, and I am certain that it would be repaid tenfold in the future."
The Jarl narrowed his eyes at Halstrom as he quickly bowed his head again. Vahkiir, likewise, stared at him in disbelief, and a tense silence filled the room. Finally, the Jarl let out a low growl.
"You would shamelessly use your tenuous connection to the Dragonborn to advance yourself, merchant?" he snarled.
"I would offer you a way to keep the Dragonborn as an ally," Halstrom insisted.
The Jarl sighed with disgust. "You are an opportunist. A skeever," he snapped. There was another long, heavy pause, and for a moment, Vahkiir wondered if Halstrom was about to be flogged, or worse. After a few moments, however, the Jarl then began to chuckle. "But your audacity is amusing. A healthy measure of ambition is not a poor trait for a Nord to have, and even if your skill is with coin rather than arms, I can appreciate your attempt to gain glory for your household." He let out a slow sigh, then motioned with his hand. "Very well."
Halstrom's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes wide with hope. "My lord?" he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.
"Henceforth, Halstrom Farwalker, I name you Thane of Winterhold. You and your family shall carry this title with honor and serve me with undying loyalty," the Jarl said imperiously. "As for your duties... you are to provide the Dragonborn with anything he requires, and you shall do everything in your power to see that he fulfills his quest." He narrowed his eyes pointedly. "Am I understood?"
"Clearly, my lord!" Halstrom cried, dropping to his knees and lowering his head to the floor. "We… this honor is-!"
"More than you deserve," the Jarl said drily. "But not unearned. Rise… and see to the Dragonborn's needs." Halstrom nodded rapidly and hastily clambered to his feet, while the Jarl turned to Vahkiir and lowered his head slightly. "As for you, Dragonborn… let none say that I am not generous to my allies. This is a mere taste of the rewards that await you as well, should you choose to align yourself with me."
"I shall bear that in mind," Vahkiir replied cautiously. The Jarl stared at him silently for a long moment, then turned to Halstrom.
"As for you, my new thane… I shall expect you in my court in three days. We have much to discuss," he said.
"Of course, my lord!" Halstrom replied, lowering his head deferentially. "As always, I am at your disposal."
"Indeed you are," the Jarl remarked drily. "Very well. If there is nothing else, I must ask you two to take your leave. I have other matters I must attend to."
"Yes, my lord," Halstrom said immediately. Vahkiir nodded as well, then turned to follow Halstrom out of the hall. As he walked beside his cousin, he noticed that the older man was all but beaming to himself.
"You seem quite pleased," Vahkiir said in a low voice.
Halstrom glanced at him, his eyes widening slightly. "Why should I not be?" he replied with a shrug. "The Jarl has bestowed a great honor upon my clan and I! For years I have dreamt of this…." He trailed off, then abruptly smiled. "And it is thanks to you."
"I did nothing," Vahkiir muttered. "If anything, I gave you trouble."
"Had you not arrived, the Jarl would never have spoken with me," Halstrom replied firmly. "Much less have granted me this title. I am in your debt, cousin." A sly smirk spread across his lips. "And perhaps we can achieve even greater heights together. Think what the two of us could obtain!"
Vahkiir felt a tremor in his chest at Halstrom's suggestion, and he hastily looked away. Silently, he could not help but wonder if this was simply the way of Skyrim – to constantly seek a higher station, no matter how it was attained. What was the end goal, though? The throne of Skyrim? To found an empire? Control of all of Tamriel? Nirn itself? Was that what children in Skyrim were taught to aspire to?
The thought momentarily made Vahkiir feel light-headed. If, as Tarius had said, his draconic soul gave him license to rule… and since Skyrim encouraged one to claim the throne if they were able…. Shaking his head, he ruthlessly banished that thought from his mind, while simultaneously wondering – of the Dragonborn that preceded him, how many were raised in Skyrim with the mindset that they should climb to ever greater heights, and how much of that contributed to their arrogance and pursuit of ever more power?
Perhaps its boundless ambition was what made Skyrim truly dangerous, both to its neighbors, and to itself, Vahkiir mused.
"For now, all I would like to obtain is a meal, if you do not mind," Vahkiir murmured.
Halstrom blinked at him, then let out a soft chuckle. "A fair response," he admitted. "Come. I believe Agna will have lunch prepared by now."