Chapter 12

Wulfharth

After their meeting with the Jarl, Vahkiir returned to the Farwalker longhouse. In their absence, Agna had prepared a simple fish chowder and dark, slightly grainy bread, with horns of mead to accompany it. As they ate, Halstrom took the opportunity to boast about how he had been named a Thane of Winterhold. To Vahkiir's surprise, the reaction of the rest of the family was mixed. While the children seemed to be in awe of his new title, he noticed a sour look on Agna's face, and the four other adults looked uneasy. Vahkiir wondered if it was because they felt Halstrom had foisted another responsibility upon them without their consent, or if they were simply wondering who would inherit the title – if such a title could be inherited. Vahkiir abruptly realized that he did not even know if thanes' titles were hereditary, or if every thane had to be created individually by the jarl. As heavy as the mood was in the room at that moment, though, he decided that it was wiser not to ask.

Once they finished, Vahkiir announced that he should go find his companions. Halstrom offered to accompany him, but a withering glare from Agna silenced him almost as soon as he opened his mouth. Sensing that they were about to have a tense conversation, Vahkiir took the opportunity to insist that he could find them on his own. He did, however, promise to return by nightfall, to at least spend one more evening with them before they departed. Reluctantly, Halstrom agreed, and allowed him to depart the longhouse without further argument. Vahkiir thanked him and hurried outside. Just as the door closed, he heard Agna begin bellowing at Halstrom, her voice echoing out into the street and drawing the stares of a few passerby.

Though he had said that he would find his companions on his own, Vahkiir abruptly realized that he had no idea where they were staying. Fortunately, before he even began looking, he spotted a familiar figure hurrying towards him. Ilga was approaching him from the other side of the street, her red hair fluttering in the wind as she extended her arm out to him.

"Well met. And here I was worried that I would need to search the entire city to find you and the others," Vahkiir commented, clasping her forearm in greeting. As a thought struck him, though, he frowned slightly. "How did you find me so swiftly? Were you following me?"

"Waiting for you, more like," Ilga admitted as she lowered her hand and glanced away. "I… must confess, I saw you leaving the palace with your relative." She took a slow breath, as if bracing herself for something, then turned back to him. "And I feared that you might have agreed to aid him in some way."

Vahkiir gazed at her for a long moment, silently considering his response. "And were you concerned that I might take up arms against Windhelm if I did?" he asked pointedly.

Ilga flinched at the accusation, but did not look away. "The thought did cross my mind," she admitted softly. When he continued to stare at her, she added, "But rest assured, even if you did, my oath is to serve you. I just… do not relish the thought of needing to take up arms against my comrades again. Not after…."

"The mines," Vahkiir finished with a nod and a soft sigh. "Well, you can rest easy." Ilga's eyes widened slightly as he smiled faintly at her. "Yes, the Jarl did ask me to join Winterhold, but I refused his request. Admittedly my impression of him was quite sour, which influenced my decision, but I likely would have refused him either way. As I have said, I have no desire to involve myself in this war for the throne of Skyrim, nor for the fate of Veloth. I merely wish to discover who called for me, and for what purpose. As such, you needn't fear, as I have neither reason nor desire to take up arms against your home."

"I see!" Ilga exclaimed, then abruptly realized how cheerful she must have sounded, as she added in a more muted tone, "That is wise of you."

"So others keep saying, though I have yet to believe it," Vahkiir chuckled. "In any case, do you know where the others are? I was just on my way to find them."

"I do," Ilga nodded. "We found lodging near the docks. I can take you there now, if you would like."

Vahkiir motioned for her to lead the way, whereupon she led him through the city and out past the gates at the rear of the city. There, he had his first full look at Winterhold's dockyards, where over a dozen ships of varying sizes were bobbing next to the piers. There were small fishing vessels that were crewed by only a few men, mid-sized merchant ships with over forty oars, and three massive warships, with enormous square sails, bronze rams, and so many oars that Vahkiir silently wondered exactly how many men were needed to propel the gargantuan vessel.

Ilga led him along the docks, past merchants unloading barrels and sacks of goods, and fishermen hauling woven nets onto the wooden platforms. Near the end of the docks sat Emari, Brevyn, Llervu, and the two guards, chewing on hard, dried sausages while staring out over the ice-filled waters and speaking to one another in Elven. Brevyn spotted them first and waved at them cheerfully as they approached.

"Found our wayward Dragonborn at last, have you?" Brevyn asked Ilga as she moved past him to sit a short distance away from the Chimer. She responded with a slight shrug, whereupon he turned to Vahkiir and asked more seriously, "Did you enjoy meeting with your kin?"

"It was… enlightening," Vahkiir said slowly.

Brevyn raised an eyebrow as he slowly chewed the hard, spiced meat. "That does not necessarily mean you enjoyed it, though," he commented, extending a sausage towards him.

Vahkiir took the meat with a grateful nod and bit into it. It was salty and slightly gamey, but not altogether unpleasant, and chewing on it gave him a few moments to collect his thoughts. "They… did not seem interested in me personally, so much as what I could offer them as Dragonborn," he said finally. "While they were hospitable enough, I nevertheless felt as though they were treating me as just another ware. They were curious about how much value I had, and how much profit I could bring them, but they seemed to have little interest in who I was."

Brevyn winced sympathetically, while Emari sat forward and folded his hands in front of him. "That sounds painful," he said softly. "Do you regret coming here, then?"

Vahkiir hesitated, pondering the question for a few moments. "No," he finally decided with a shake of his head. "Had we not ventured here, I would have forever been left wondering who my relatives were, and what they were like." He smiled bitterly as he turned the sausage over in his mittened hands. "While I must confess that meeting them and learning their true nature left me somewhat bitter, I am at least grateful that I did get to meet them. I suppose that it is better to be disappointed by reality than to have questions left unanswered."

"An intriguing conclusion," Emari remarked, smiling faintly.

"Is that so?" Vahkiir asked quietly, before turning to the elves and inclining his head. "Nevertheless, I owe you an apology. My selfish desire to meet my kin has cost us a great deal of time and effort, with little to show for it."

Emari smirked slightly and glanced at Llervu, who waved his hand dismissively. "There is little to apologize for," the merchant insisted gruffly. "It is not as though we did not profit from this leg of the journey, and we still have plenty of supplies."

"Indeed," Emari agreed easily, tossing the butt of his sausage into the cold river before them. "With that said, though… is there another destination that you wish to visit?"

Vahkiir grimaced. "Are you certain you wish to ask me where to go next?" he asked hesitantly.

Emari and Llervu traded amused smirks. "While there are regions of Skyrim that we would like to travel to, we do not have a set destination," Llervu replied with a shrug. "There is a great deal of coin to be made in this land, no matter where we go."

"To say nothing of the fact that we have sworn to aid you. That has not changed," Emari added as he finished the last of his sausage and brushed his hands off. "So, if you wish to journey somewhere, simply name the place, and we shall see what we can do."

Vahkiir hesitated, but when Emari nodded encouragingly, he sighed in acquiescence. "Very well. As I said, I have delayed my true purpose in coming to Skyrim long enough," he said, his tone resolute. "To that end, I would ask that we next make for the Throat of the World."

"Ah. To seek out the one who summoned you?" Emari asked, though from his tone, the question was rhetorical. Nevertheless, Vahkiir nodded, and Emari turned to Llervu. "Do you still have that map?" he asked in a softer tone.

Llervu reached into his satchel and withdrew a parchment map, which he quickly unfurled. Emari leaned in, and for several moments, the two spoke to each other in low, hushed whispers, while Brevyn, Ilga, and Vahkiir stared at them. Vahkiir could only make out a word here and there, and from what he could hear, they were once again speaking Elvish. He glanced at Brevyn out of the corner of his eye, but when the elf caught his eye, he shook his head helplessly, making it clear that he could not hear what they were saying either.

"Very well then," Llervu said finally, looking up from the map as he rolled it up and stuffed it back into his bag. "I have no objection, especially since Whiterun is a very prosperous city in its own right. It is also in the heartland of Skyrim, where Chimer wares are much rarer, so there is likely a great deal of coin to be made there."

"That is a sound plan, for now," Emari said, nodding in agreement. A slight smile spread across his lips as he turned to Vahkiir. "Well done."

"I… did very little," Vahkiir said hesitantly, glancing between the two elves suspiciously. "What were you two discussing?"

"The route we should take. Nothing more," Emari replied simply. Before Vahkiir could press him, though, he pushed himself up and brushed his robes off. "Very well! We can depart tomorrow morning, if there is nothing else keeping you here," he said, before jerking his head towards the main city behind him. "Though I would recommend that you at least spend the night with your relatives and say farewell to them in the morning, while you have the opportunity."

Vahkiir smiled slightly and then nodded. While he was still annoyed that Halstrom seemed to be more interested in what he could obtain from Vahkiir's title than in who he was, they were, nevertheless, his kin, and this may be the last time he ever saw them.

"I intended to, but I am glad that I have your blessing," Vahkiir said softly. Emari smiled approvingly, until Vahkiir held up a mittened hand. "But before I do, I have an important question." Emari tilted his head, and Vahkiir grinned sheepishly. "Where are you staying?"

Emari blinked, then burst out laughing. "Ah… a fair point. The next time we arrive in a new city, we must make a point of finding lodging first, and ensure that everyone knows where to meet again if we intend to go our separate ways," he said, still chuckling. "There," he added, pointing to a building that was almost triangular in shape, due to how close the steeply-sloped roof was to the ground. "When you are finished with your family, meet us there and we can depart for our next destination."

"I shall," Vahkiir nodded, his expression turning much more serious. "In the morning, then."

Emari nodded as Brevyn clapped Vahkiir on the shoulder and Ilga gazed at him as she passed him by. "We shall eagerly await your arrival!" the captain said cheerfully.

"As shall I," Vahkiir murmured under his breath, before he turned and made his way back through the gates to return to the Farwalker longhouse.

When Vahkiir returned to the longhouse, the clan greeted him warmly enough. However, he could tell from the sidelong looks his relatives were giving him that they were beginning to wonder how long he intended to stay with them. Fortunately, he was able to allay any lingering worries they might have had by announcing that he intended to depart in the morning. While the adults made appropriate sounds of dismay, and Agna even made a point of insisting that he stay a bit longer, the looks of relief on their faces indicated that they were glad he would not be with them much longer

Vahkiir suspected that there were two reasons why they were eager to see him depart sooner rather than later. First, winter was fast approaching, and he suspected that they could not afford to entertain him for too long. While their larder was likely full after the harvest season, guests required special treatment, and the host often had to dig deep into their stores to provide them with a good meal that would not offend them, which would be a gross breach of the laws of hospitality. The sooner he was gone, the less food they would need to expend on him.

More than that, though, Vahkiir wondered if, now that their family had been given a title by the Jarl, they felt that they had little further use for him. After all, they were merchants, and thus were happy to entertain him so long as they profited from the arrangement. However, since he would not fight for Winterhold, and they had already received a title from the Jarl, there was little more that he could offer them. Most of the family was clearly grateful for the gift they had been given – though Agna still seemed irritated at Halstrom – but they also clearly felt that they had done enough to repay him. As those suspicions swirled in his mind, he felt anger start to simmer in his chest, though he decided not to voice his thoughts aloud.

That night, Agna boiled a rich horker and vegetable stew for the family, which she claimed would last them for at least three days. She did, however, insist upon giving Vahkiir the first and largest portion, with as much meat as she could reasonably put in his bowl while still calling it a stew rather than a roast. After they had eaten, Halstrom opened a barrel of mead that he claimed he had been saving for years, and he offered Vahkiir the first horn.

"We shall be drinking long into the night!" Halstrom declared merrily as he held up his own horn once everyone had been served. "But first, a toast! To Vahkiir, the Dragonborn!" He grinned broadly down at Vahkiir, who looked away, his cheeks flushing. "Truly we were blessed when you arrived in our city, cousin. Through your mere presence, you have elevated us and made us one of the most powerful families in Winterhold! We can never repay you for this boon, but please know that you are always welcome in our home. No matter what else happens during your journey, you have family here. Never forget that."

Vahkiir felt his throat tighten as he took a slow sip of the mead, partially out of embarrassment and partially because of how touched he was. Halstrom's declaration briefly made his mind wander back to Solstheim, and the corners of his eyes began to sting. "Thank you, cousin," he said thickly as he lowered his horn and inclined his head towards him. "You honor me."

The others chuckled as Vahkiir looked into his horn to avoid meeting their eyes. He was ashamed that he had suspected them of only seeing him as a means of profit. Perhaps that was partially true, but it was also clear that they still valued the bonds of kinship. He should not have thought otherwise, he chastised himself.

"No more than you have honored us, kinsman," Halstrom chuckled, holding his horn up again. "So, let us celebrate! Guthred, you have the finest voice here! Why don't you lead us in song? Vahkiir, do you know 'Ysgramor Sailed O'er the Waves' by any chance?"

He did not, but he heartily joined in on the singing as best he could, which carried on long into the night. The adults downed several more horns of mead as well, and after a while, Vahkiir's head was spinning, and much of the night was a blur. When he slowly woke the next day with a mild headache and a dry throat, the first thing he noticed as he blearily raised his head from the furs and peered through the window was that the sun was already rather high on the horizon. It was morning, but it was clearly late morning. That realization startled him fully awake, and he hastily began gathering his belongings.

While amused at his frantic pace, the other members of the Farwalker Clan – who were already wide awake – clearly understood his haste, and helped him pack his belongings. When he had collected everything, he hurried out the door, but paused on its threshold to turn back towards them a final time.

"Thank you once again for allowing me to stay with you," he said, bowing deeply to Halstrom and Agna, who stood near the doorway with faint smiles on his face. "It was… truly wonderful to meet you."

"And you as well, my boy," Halstrom chuckled, holding a hand up to wave farewell. "Safe travels, and please do find a way to return here someday."

"I shall," Vahkiir assured him. "If-"

"Go!" Agna huffed, shooing him along. "Before your companions decide to leave without you."

Vahkiir stopped mid-sentence, then grinned sheepishly and bowed again. He then turned and dashed through the street towards the docks, ignoring the indignant shouts of the pedestrians as he darted through the crowd in his haste to meet the rest of the caravan.

Fortunately, when he arrived, the others were still waiting for him, albeit somewhat impatiently. When Brevyn spotted him, he waved him over, though he did not bother hiding the irritated look on his face.

"Here we were just wondering if you had changed your mind and decided to make your home here in Winterhold," he remarked drily.

"Apologies," Vahkiir panted, putting his hands on his knees and bending over slightly to catch his breath. "I… had not… realized the time…."

"Yes, well, while you are not the first member of the caravan to have been late for a departure, please do not make a habit of it," Emari said coldly. "Especially when we are going out of our way to travel the routes you have suggested."

Vahkiir winced at the captain's barbed response, and he lowered his head contritely. "My sincerest apologies," he murmured.

Emari tilted his head back, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with his apology. "Very well," he said. He then turned to Llervu. "Do we have everything?"

"It seems so," the merchant replied, glancing over his shoulder at the laden wagons. "While we did not make as much coin as I had hoped, we shall have plenty more to sell in the heartland. Even so, we should be on our way, as there is little more we can gain here, and we should not wear out our welcome."

"Very good. Then let's be off," Emari said with a nod.

"I was wondering," Vahkiir said, hurrying forward to walk beside Emari as the wagons began to trundle through the town, heading towards the front gates. "You and Llervu were discussing the route we shall follow, yes? How do we intend to reach Whiterun, and how long do you expect it shall take?"

Emari folded his arms over his chest and tapped his fingers against his bicep, apparently deciding how to answer, before finally shrugging and pulling out the map. Once it was unfurled, he pointed to a city in the northeastern section of Skyrim and said, "This is where we are now. Whiterun, meanwhile, is down here," he said, pointing to a city in the center of the map. "No matter what route we take, it will be several days until we arrive, so it is better if you do not concern yourself with the length of the journey."

"Very well," Vahkiir said with a slight frown. "And the route?"

Emari briefly traced a path down from Winterhold, before abruptly turning west through a narrow mountain pass that led across a seemingly empty expanse of snow. "This is how we will begin," Emari explained, continuing to run his finger along the map. "Since we know that the main road has been covered in snow, we will take an alternate route that the locals assure us is swifter and less dangerous. This will take us within sight of the ancient city of Saarthal, which we must keep to our right. From there, we will travel west until we encounter the Dwarven city of Alftand."

"Dwarves?" Vahkiir repeated with a frown. "Do you expect us to find supplies there?"

"Unlikely," Emari admitted with a chuckle. "The Dwemer are notoriously reclusive, and no one has yet been able to decipher their language." He paused, an almost wistful look creeping into his eyes. "Though admittedly, if we could speak with them, I have little doubt that we could convince them to lend us their aid…."

Vahkiir stared at the captain for several long moments before clearing his throat. Emari blinked at him, then shook his head and returned his gaze to the map.

"Forgive me," he said softly as he resumed tracing their route on the papyrus. "Anyways, from there, we will travel south through this mountain pass – I believe the locals call it the Wayward Pass – and then we will follow the road until we reach this river. Once there, we will attempt to find a ferryman who will sail us downriver," he continued, tracing a river that ran beside Windhelm before snaking all throughout eastern Skyrim. He let his finger follow one branch of the river until it ended at the base of a mountain that was marked "Throat of the World."

"I thought that we were supposed to be headed for the city of Whiterun," Vahkiir commented, pointing to the city nearest to the mountain.

"You intend to scale the mountain, yes?" Emari asked.

"If the one who summoned me is at the summit, then I must," Vahkiir nodded.

"According to Ilga, unless you wish to attempt to climb the mountain from its sheerest side, it is wiser to approach it from the east," Emari said with a faint smile. "A path has been carved into the eastern face of it, while the western half remains a mass of jagged boulders and steep, nigh-impassible cliffs. Thus, we must approach it from the east."

"May I see that for a moment?" Vahkiir asked. Emari nodded and handed the map over to him. Vahkiir took a few moments to study it, then remarked slowly, "This… route takes us past Windhelm once again."

"It does," Emari confirmed with a simple shrug as he rolled up the map.

"Then… we truly did waste time coming all this way to Winterhold," Vahkiir said, chagrined. When Emari shrugged, he frowned and added, "Why did you allow me to suggest a detour that would take us so far out of the way?!"

"Because you wished it," Emari replied with a faint smile.

"But we wasted so much time!" Vahkiir exclaimed.

Emari chuckled lightly and folded his hands behind his back. "Are you in a hurry?" he asked easily.

"To meet the one who summoned me, yes!" Vahkiir growled.

Emari held his hand up in a placating gesture. "Yes, but that is not the ultimate goal of your quest, is it?" he pointed out. "You seek to return to your family, correct? Will meeting with the one who summoned you lift your exile?" Vahkiir's eyes widened with anger, but then he glanced away, unable to refute Emari's point. "Then there is no hurry, is there?" the elf continued calmly. He stepped forward and put his hands on Vahkiir's shoulders before squeezing them in a reassuring gesture. "So, do not fret about how long it takes us to reach our destinations. We will arrive when we arrive. Rest assured, none of us feel that you are wasting our time, so please do not feel as though you are wasting yours."

Vahkiir opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed before nodding reluctantly. "Very well," he muttered, more to himself than to Emari. The guard captain grinned and gave his shoulder another comforting squeeze, and then he turned back to Llervu, who had been watching them curiously.

"You know the route, then, yes?" Emari asked.

"As well as any non-native does," the merchant muttered as they left the gates of Winterhold. "Though it will not be an easy journey."

"It never is," Emari pointed out. "What would you rather risk, though? Difficult terrain where we are unlikely to meet any unfriendly patrols, or encountering bandits or a hostile army while following the road?"

"Is there no third option?" Llervu replied tartly as he snapped the guar's reins, spurring them into a quick walk down the winding road out of Winterhold.

Vahkiir quickly decided that the first leg of their journey from Winterhold was hardly any different from their journey to the city. After following the road for a short while – a few hours at most – the caravan turned to the west and began traveling along a much smaller, narrower path that could barely be seen under the fresh snow. The path led them straight through a valley formed by a pair of low, jagged peaks on either side of them. Vahkiir actually welcomed the mountains, as they helped block the biting wind, which continued to howl ominously over their heads, but hardly bothered them.

Though the first few hours of the journey were uneventful, Vahkiir eventually began to hear sounds up ahead – a distant roaring, matched by a much more human scream of fury. Vahkiir, Ilga, and Brevyn – who were taking a shift at the head of the caravan – traded glances amongst one another, then hurried ahead, drawing their weapons as they did. As they crested a mid-sized hill leading through the valley, Vahkiir noticed something in the distance. A pair of figures were in the middle of the road, entangled with one another. One seemed to be a massive beast covered in snow-white fur. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, which it was swinging wildly at its opponent. As it swiped at the figure squaring off against it, it let out a furious, frustrated roar, only to be knocked back a few steps as the man fighting it drove his shoulder into its chest before straightening up.

The man attacking the monster was gigantic – even from where he was standing, Vahkiir guessed that he was well over seven feet tall. His body was a thick mass of muscle, hidden under pale skin and deep brown hair, which covered much of the backs of his arms. Hair also fell to the nape of his neck from under a round bronze helmet, and a short, slightly curly beard covered his cheeks and mouth. Over his chest, he wore a bronze cuirass that left his arms bare, and a thick brown fur cape was draped over his back. Fur-lined leather trousers covered his legs, and his shins and feet were covered in thick fur boots. In both hands, he gripped a gargantuan axe, with a wooden handle over six feet in length, and capped with a thick, semicircular bronze head that split into a vaguely "E" shape near the haft.

It was this weapon that he swung in a wide arc and drove into the side of the beast. The head cleaved through its thick hide, and black blood erupted from the wound to spill out onto the snow below. The troll let out an enraged, furious roar as it grabbed the axe before the man attacking it could pull it back. The man growled and tried to yank the weapon out of the beast's grasp, but evidently even he was not quite strong enough to simply outmuscle the creature. Seeing this, the troll kept its grip on the handle with one arm, while it used the other to swipe at the man with its viciously curved claws. Fortunately, it was too far down the axe to land a clean blow, and the man simply swayed backwards to avoid the attack. He then took a deep breath as he planted his feet in the snow.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" the man shouted, his voice reverberating off the mountains surrounding him. Flames erupted from his mouth and engulfed the monstrous beast before him, which shrieked in agony and reflexively released his axe. As the fire seared its flesh, it threw itself into the snow and rolled around to extinguish the blaze, but its efforts were in vain. After a few moments, it lay still, much of its body singed and black, with piteous whimpers coming from its maw. The man stalked over to it and unceremoniously raised his axe, then in a single stroke lopped off the creature's head at the neck. Vahkiir felt bile rise in his throat at the sight, but at that point, he considered the act a mercy.

The man let out a soft sigh, then apparently realized that he was being watched. He looked up at the trio lingering at the top of the hill and smirked faintly before raising his hand in greeting.

"Well met!" he called out. After a moment, though, his smile faded as the other Chimer came over the hill. His eyes narrowed with disgust, and Vahkiir could see his grip tightening on his axe. Vahkiir's heart began to pound, and for a moment he considered nocking an arrow to warn the man not to attack. As the man's eyes flitted over the numerous Chimer approaching him, however, he apparently rethought his decision and relaxed his stance, though he continued to stare at the elves suspiciously.

"Well met to you as well," Emari greeted him as he descended the hill, his tone firm. It was clear from his stance that Emari could see the man was hostile, but while the elf rested his left hand lightly on the hilt of his own sword, he otherwise maintained a nonthreatening posture. "Thank you for dispatching that creature for us. Are you injured?"

The man let out a soft snarl at the question, but when Emari narrowed his eyes slightly, he seemed to relent. "I have not suffered any wounds that will not heal swiftly enough," he muttered. "And none that require your hands to tend to them."

"We are pleased to hear that," Emari answered with a faint nod, ignoring the insult. "Even so, the presence of that beast is troubling. Do you know if there are any other dangers ahead?"

The man shook his head. "The wilds of Skyrim are always dangerous, elf," he snarled. "If you expected safe passage, then you should not have come to this land in the first place." He then sighed and added, "But rest assured, the path has fewer dangers than other parts of this realm. After all, it is our sworn duty to keep it safe."

"Our?" Brevyn repeated.

Before the man could answer, Ilga's eyes widened. "Does that mean that you are one of the pilgrims traveling to Saarthal?" she asked.

The man's eyes turned towards Ilga, a pleased smile spreading under his thick beard. "That I am, sister," he nodded. "I am pleased that at least one of you understands what I am."

"A pilgrim to Saarthal?" Vahkiir repeated in a low voice to Ilga, frowning slightly in confusion. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Ilga glanced at him, then explained in a whisper to Vahkiir and Brevyn, "Saarthal was once the ancient capital of Skyrim. It was built by Ysgramor, who also founded Skyrim itself. To this day, he is revered as the model all Nords should follow, as a paragon of strength, wisdom, and ambition. While Saarthal itself has been long abandoned, it remains a holy site for many Nords. Many of those who to make a pilgrimage to it choose to comport themselves as Ysgramor did. They arm themselves with fine weapons and armor, and venture out alone towards the city. Along the way, they slay any threats that they might encounter so that they might earn their own tales of triumph and glory." She smirked slightly as her eyes fell on the charred corpse of the troll at the man's feet. "As a result, the roads near Saarthal are among the safest in Skyrim, as there are often at least a half-dozen armed pilgrims and adventurers in the vicinity eager to slay anything that might be considered dangerous."

"Does that include us?" Brevyn asked in a low voice.

Ilga gave him a sidelong look. "It might," she replied evasively.

"So then, does that mean that we are now near Saarthal?" Emari asked, his voice cutting through the conversation the trio were having.

The stranger's eyes narrowed as Emari spoke to him, but he kept his tone relatively civil as he replied, "According to my map, it is not far, no."

"I see. Then would you care to travel with us for a while?" Emari offered.

Vahkiir saw the man's eyes close as a look of disgust briefly crossed his face. Before he could spit out a response, however, Ilga spoke up.

"Usually, pilgrims travel alone," she announced, approaching the stranger and smiling warmly up at him. "However, they are also encouraged to escort those who are in need, yes? We would be grateful for your company, friend."

The enormous man stared down at her intently for a long moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Well said, sister," he replied reluctantly, before looking up at Emari, his smile instantly fading as their eyes met. "Very well. I shall travel with you a ways."

"We would welcome your company, then," Emari replied pleasantly, seemingly not noticing the hostile aura surrounding the young man. "What may we call you?"

The young man hesitated for a brief moment, before glancing down at Ilga, who nodded at him encouragingly. "Wulfharth," he replied shortly.

Something in the back of Vahkiir's mind stirred at the man's name. He knew that he had heard it somewhere before, but he could not recall exactly where. Emari, meanwhile, inclined his head. "Then please join us for a while, Wulfharth. Are you hungry, perhaps?"

"No," he answered shortly as he hoisted his bloody axe over his shoulder, scowling as the elves approached him. "We do not have far to travel anyways, and there will be plenty of food once I arrive, so there is no need to trouble yourselves on my account."

"It is no trouble at all… but very well," Emari replied easily. "Shall we, then?"

Wulfharth grunted and began trudging down the path ahead of the caravan. As he was already near the front of the column as well, Vahkiir soon found himself walking beside the man, with Ilga on his other side. Brevyn tried to join them as well, but when the young man shot him a furious glare from under his bronze helmet, the Chimer chose to linger several paces back, allowing the humans to travel alone for the time being.

Vahkiir couldn't help but steal glances up at the enormous man, who towered over them to the point that Vahkiir barely reached his chest. Unable to resist, he asked, "Are your parents as tall as you, perhaps?"

Wulfharth glanced down at him, then let out a soft chuckle. "Most in the land of my birth match my height, and many exceed it," he replied easily. When Vahkiir frowned, he explained, "I am not native to Tamriel. I was born in Atmora, a land far to the north of here. Many of us can easily reach nine or ten feet in height. In fact, I am still quite young, and it is likely that I have not yet finished growing."

Vahkiir was skeptical of that claim for a brief moment, until he caught another glimpse of Wulfharth's face under his helmet. Despite the thick beard covering his chin and cheeks, his smooth, unweathered skin suggested that he was indeed quite young – likely no more than his second decade, at most, and perhaps even younger than that.

"If you are not a native of this land, then what brings you to Skyrim?" Vahkiir asked.

"Well, admittedly, while I was born in Atmora, I was raised here in Skyrim," Wulfharth corrected himself. "This is my homeland. As for what I am doing out here, though? I am seeking what all good Nords seek. Adventure, fame, and glory! The only prizes that truly matter!"

"And why are you traveling Saarthal?" Vahkiir pressed.

Wulfharth smirked faintly, turning back around to stare at the road ahead. "I intend to pray for Ysgramor's blessing. He may not be a god, but as this beautiful lass here said, he is what all Nords aspire to. I am hoping that his spirit might see fit to grant me even a bit of his strength for the trial that is to come."

"Which is?" Ilga asked.

Wulfharth grinned wildly down at her. "Have you not heard? A call has gone out to all great heroes that Skyrim is to march on the elven lands in the east. I intend to join that host, to carve my name into the stones of history, and to begin my own legend."

"Is that so?" Vahkiir asked softly, pausing to glance over his shoulder at the Chimer following them about fifty feet back. "It might be best not to speak of your intentions too loudly so long as you are traveling with us, then."

Wulfharth scoffed at his warning. "As though any of those elves could possibly threaten me," he sneered. "Even if they all attacked me together, I doubt they would land more than three blows."

Vahkiir didn't reply, though he did privately note that while Wulfharth had initially seemed hostile, he had chosen to stand down when he saw just how many Chimer were in the caravan. If he was indeed that confident in his victory, he would have likely challenged them, rather than simply muttering belligerent threats under his breath. Rather than mentioning that, though, Vahkiir instead asked, "So, Ysgramor was the founder of Skyrim, yes?"

"He was," Wulfharth confirmed with a nod.

"I'd like to ask you something, then," Vahkiir continued. "As a pilgrim who seeks his blessing, what do you believe he would think of this current civil war? Nord fighting Nord, brother against brother…?"

Wulfharth raised an eyebrow as he looked down at him. "You speak as though you are a stranger to this land," he remarked, sounding surprised.

"I am," Vahkiir replied bluntly.

"Is that so…?" Wulfharth trailed off, and gazed up at the sky. He lightly tapped the handle of his axe against his shoulder as he considered Vahkiir's question, before asking, "Do you know why this war began in the first place?"

"It was something about the succession of the throne, yes?" Vahkiir asked hesitantly.

"Yes. Decades ago, High King Borgas was killed by the Wild Hunt, and the Moot of Skyrim was convened to determine the next High King of Skyrim. Most presumed that Jarl Hanse of Winterhold would be easily selected as his successor, but there was a dispute, which led to violence and bloodshed. Ever since, each Jarl has tried to press his or her own claim by right of conquest," Wulfharth explained.

"I see," Vahkiir said slowly. "And do you believe Ysgramor would disapprove of it?"

"Not at all," Wulfharth said with a shrug. "If anything, I believe he would be pleased."

Vahkiir frowned deeply, folding his arms over his chest. "How do you mean?" he asked. "Has this war not torn Skyrim asunder?"

"Certainly," Wulfharth conceded with a nod as he stepped over a boulder sticking out of the icy road. "But it is not as though blood has not been shed without cause. After all, Skyrim itself was not founded peacefully. Ysgramor himself won it by right of conquest, wresting control of it from the ancient Falmer, or Snow Elves. In doing so, he established a tradition – the High King of Skyrim should be the most worthy, not the most popular. To that end, I do not believe that the arbiters of the Moot that failed to elect Jarl Hanse are to blame for the strife that followed. In fact, I believe it was Hanse who was in the wrong, for presuming that he would simply receive the crown because he felt it was his right. Everything in Skyrim must be earned, often through bloodshed. As such, since every Jarl feels they have the right to the throne, then it is only fitting that they should prove it through war."

"And if we lose our empire in the process?" Ilga asked, frowning deeply.

Wulfharth chuckled grimly. "Then we have proven ourselves unworthy of holding it. And if we wish to reclaim our lost holdings, we must do so through force of arms once again. That is why I will happily march on the east – to prove that I am worthy of taking lands for myself, and to build a legend that will one day see me seated upon the throne of Skyrim."

Vahkiir's eyes widened. Something about his tone sparked a memory. "I know where I have heard your name before!" he exclaimed. "The nobles in Windhelm were speaking of you! They claimed that you were a Dragonborn!"

Ilga's mouth fell open, but Wulfharth simply let out a low chuckle. "Am I?" he asked. "I suppose it is possible. I do possess one of the most powerful Voices in Skyrim, and I have always found learning the tongue of the dragons to be a simple matter. However, since I have never faced a dragon myself, I cannot say for certain."

Vahkiir gazed at him for a long moment, then asked slowly, "Then did you too hear the voice calling from the Throat of the Mountain, demanding that the Dovahkiin meet with it?"

"I did indeed," Wulfharth replied easily.

Vahkiir frowned again, folding his arms over his chest. "So… then why did you choose not to answer it?" he asked slowly. "If you are indeed Dragonborn…."

"As I said, I do not know for certain if I am," Wulfharth pointed out. "Regardless, though, if I am the Dragonborn… well, why should I, who possesses the soul of a dragon, allow myself to be summoned at another's whim? Am I a dog? Am I at the beck and call of any who know my title? Who are they to demand that I grant them an audience?" He smirked confidently as he switched the hand holding his axe to rest it on his other shoulder. "And if I am not the Dragonborn, then it does not matter if I answer their summons or not. Either way, I choose my own destiny, and I say that my destiny lies to the east. Perhaps after I attain some glory for myself, I might deign to answer whoever called for the Dovahkiin… but until then, they can wait. If they are truly so desperate for my attention, they can make themselves known to me. Otherwise, they can be patient until I have completed my quests."

Vahkiir quickly looked away from Wulfharth to hide his scowl. Dragonborn or not, the young man's arrogance and pride set his teeth on edge. While he could not deny Wulfharth's obvious strength, both in arms and Voice, Vahkiir nevertheless felt his stomach roiling with anger. If this was the arrogance that was supposedly the doom of previous Dovahkiin, Vahkiir could certainly understand why their pride was their downfall.

"Ah… and here is where we must part ways," Wulfharth said suddenly, looking up and trudging forward across the snow at a quicker pace. Vahkiir and Ilga traded glances, then followed him as he rounded the edge of the valley they had been walking through. Once they were finally able to look beyond the low mountains, they were greeted with an awe-inspiring sight.

In a valley below was a sprawling network of broken buildings, mostly made of dark, heavy granite. The majority seemed to have once been houses, likely only able to hold a family or two at most – a stark contrast from the towering wooden longhouses the modern Nords seemed to favor. Most were in various states of disrepair, with only a few possessing four walls, and none had roofs, suggesting to Vahkiir that they had once been made of thatch or another soft material.

Beyond the houses loomed an enormous building that was likewise carved from dark grey stone. The structure was square-shaped, with oppressive watchtowers protecting a central portal that was barred by heavy wooden doors reinforced with bronze beams. Vahkiir immediately surmised that it was a palace that doubled as a fortress, which he supposed would be fitting for a warrior-king like this Ysgramor.

Though the ruins seemed to have been uninhabited for some time, that did not mean that they were abandoned. Even from where he was standing, Vahkiir could make out at least two dozen figures in the distance, milling around outside of the central palace. Most seemed to be armed, and many were clad in heavy fur cloaks or brown, woolen robes to stave off the cold. These, Vahkiir presumed, were yet more pilgrims, come to pray at the ruins of Saarthal.

Wulfharth's smile of relief faded as he looked over his shoulder at Ilga and Vahkiir. "I am afraid that you two cannot come any closer. At least, so long as you continue to travel with them," he added, giving the elves behind them a pointed glare.

Anger once again flared in Vahkiir's chest. "Why is that?" he growled.

Wulfharth raised an eyebrow. "You truly do not know our ways, do you?" he asked softly. "Either that or you're an imbecile." As Vahkiir opened his mouth to angrily retort, however, he explained, "It was elves that destroyed Ysgramor's greatest city. When Ysgramor first arrived in this land with his companions, they found it inhabited by the Falmer. Though the Atmorans and Falmer at first lived in peace, the Falmer eventually grew envious of our prosperity and fearful of our power. One night, while the citizens of Saarthal slept, the treacherous Falmer attacked the city. All but two survivors – Ysgramor's sons, Yngor and Ylgar – were slain, and the city was burned to the ground."

Vahkiir glowered up at Wulfharth, folding his arms over his chest. "These men and women are not Falmer," he said pointedly. "They are Chimer, and they had no part in the destruction of this city."

"It does not matter," Wulfharth snarled, narrowing his eyes and drawing himself up to his full height so that he towered over Vahkiir. "Ysgramor's spirit still carries a lingering hatred for all elves for their crime. It is forbidden for them to set foot on this ground. I have shown a great deal of tolerance and patience by allowing them to accompany me this far, but I will not allow their presence to desecrate Ysgramor's home."

"You allowed them to join you?" Vahkiir scoffed, matching Wulfharth's glare with his own. "They did not need your protection!"

"Those ash-bathing elves?" Wulfharth spat, pausing to glare at their distant figures over Vahkiir's shoulder. "They know nothing of Skyrim. Perhaps they can fend off a few beasts, but rest assured, the longer they stay in this land, the more likely it is that Skyrim itself will slay them. And if it does not, some Nord army out for elven blood will." A dark smirk spread across his lips. "Especially once our armies have gathered and we set out for their homeland. They should pray that they have made their way back across the mountains when our march begins. Of course, that will only buy them a few more days at most, but in the meantime, they can enjoy what remains of their short, pitiful lives."

Vahkiir had already prepared a sharp retort, but Ilga interrupted him by putting her hand on his shoulder. "No more," she said softly. "If this continues, you two will come to blows, and there is nothing to be gained."

Vahkiir glowered at her, but even in his simmering rage, he recognized that she had a point. He let out his breath in a long stream of mist, then looked up at Wulfharth again with a scowl. "Very well. In any case… thank you for traveling with us for a while," he said through clenched teeth.

Wulfharth smirked triumphantly down at him and inclined his head in a mock bow. "It was my pleasure," he said, though his tone suggested that it was anything but. "Though… before I depart, I will give you a word of warning: mind the company to keep. Those elves are not your people, nor your friends. They are treacherous, and even if they wear pleasant smiles, I am certain they are using you for their own ends. That is their nature, and it is how they are trained from birth."

"And the Nords do not?" Vahkiir shot back.

"Oh, the Jarls certainly do the same," Wulfharth admitted. "But at least they are open about their intentions. This is simply a friendly warning – think of those elves as your temporary allies if you must, but do not think them your friends." A sadistic smirk spread across his face. "And of course, once the war against them begins in earnest, you too will be considered an enemy of Skyrim should you continue to travel with them. It would be unwise of you to set yourself against the most powerful army in Tamriel."

"I have no intention of fighting for or against them, or you," Vahkiir snarled.

"Now that is wise," Wulfharth said in a low, dangerous voice. "Because if you did choose to ally with them, you would make an enemy of me as well… and I am the last person on Nirn that you would wish to count as an enemy."

"That is quite the boast," a voice remarked from behind them. "But while it is certain that you are powerful, it would be foolish of you to believe that your power alone is enough to conquer a nation."

Vahkiir looked over his shoulder to see Emari standing behind him, his arms folded over his chest, as he stared up at Wulfharth. The man stared down at the Chimer, his face a mixture of sardonic amusement and hatred.

"Is that a challenge? Do you believe you could best me?" Wulfharth taunted.

"I do not know," Emari replied easily. "Having never faced you in battle, I cannot say. However, there is no enemy that cannot be bested, even by the lowliest opponent. Is there not a tale about a skilled Falmer warrior who was felled by a child?"

"That was mere chance," Wulfharth scoffed.

"And yet mere chance cost the Falmer his life," Emari countered calmly. "One cannot know the outcome of a battle before it is fought, and those who declare victory before a blade is drawn are laying the foundation for their defeat."

Wulfharth stood up a bit straighter, glaring down at Emari furiously. "Then draw your blade, and let us find the outcome together," he whispered.

"Perhaps another time," Emari replied indifferently. "For now, do you not have a pilgrimage to complete?"

Wulfharth stared at him for a moment later, then spat on the ground at his feet. "Elves," he snarled, before turning back to Vahkiir and Ilga, and narrowing his eyes once again. "Remember my warning about the company you two keep." A sneer spread across his face. "And until then, may Shor watch over you."

He shot Emari a final venomous look, then turned and trudged off the path towards distant Saarthal. Vahkiir watched him with anger roiling in his chest, before Brevyn came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"An interesting companion, wasn't he?" the Chimer asked blithely.

"Mm," Vahkiir grunted. "Dragonborn or no, if I ever become that arrogant? I give you leave to beat me until I come to my senses." He then looked over his shoulder at Emari and the other Chimer. "Why did you keep your distance? Did you truly think him that dangerous?"

"Perhaps," Emari shrugged. "But either way, it was pointless to engage him in a fight. That one was thirsty for blood, and we saw no reason to indulge him."

"I see," Vahkiir said slowly. "That… was probably for the best, then."

"Indeed," Emari said, before casting a long look at Wulfharth's retreating back. "Besides… if that one truly intends to war against Veloth, then he will undoubtedly have the chance to test his theory about his own strength."

Vahkiir frowned deeply. "And if he is correct?" he asked softly.

Emari glanced at him. "If Veloth is indeed doomed, then it matters little. He shall have his victory, and he will remain confident in his own strength – and he would be right to." A sly grin then spread across his face. "But would it not be more interesting to see how his attitude might change if he were to be defeated?"

Brevyn chuckled softly as he folded his arms over his chest. "Indeed. The more arrogant they are, the more amusing it is to see their reaction when they fail."

"Then you intend to fight him?" Vahkiir asked slowly.

"Not without cause," Emari shrugged. "But if he gave us a reason… well… I was not merely philosophizing when I said that anyone can be felled by another, no matter the gulf in power. All one must do is discover a way to best their opponent."

"And for one such as him?" Vahkiir pressed.

"Ah… now that is the question, isn't it?" Emari replied with a soft, dark chuckle.

Vahkiir tilted his head as the Chimer turned to make his way back to the head of the caravan without answering his question. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched the elf, and though he wanted to say that it was due to the chill wind that blew across the plain at that moment, he could not say for certain that it was to blame.

A/N: I feel I should explain why Vahkiir and the others are taking such a convoluted route. Originally, I planned to have them travel directly to Winterhold, but I later discovered that the pass from Blacklight led directly to Windhelm, and since I had planned to have them stop in Windhelm eventually anyways, I saw no reason for them to pass it by. The sea route was too dangerous too. Thus, their journey will involve a little backtracking. Apologies for it not being as straightforward as I had intended.

For those wondering about Wulfharth's axe, look up "Epsilon axe."

Also, due to my personal life turning a bit hectic, releases might be a touch delayed from time to time over the next few weeks. I'll try to keep a consistent schedule, but I can't promise chapters won't be a day or two late from time to time. Thank you for your patience.