Chapter 1: Falkreath's Forests
Summary:
Jorika completed a small task in Falkreath and after a night's speel takes on a new short contract.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Runil,
I got your journal back.
I'll be in the inn.
- Jorika
She placed the note onto the green booklet.
“Time to go,” she whispered to Lydia, her housecarl.
They left the Hall of the Dead and went into the Dead Man’s Drink, the local inn.
The two warrior’s had no trouble gaining access to a table, mostly from the reverence awarded to Jorika as a member of the venerated Companions as evidenced by her donning the armor of the organization.
A serving girl, scantily clad and with fiery hair, appeared soon after they took a seat.
“Anything I can get you?” she asked.
Jorika looked the girl in the eyes.
“Venison stew and a good chop of roasted venison for me. And mead, Honningbrew if you have any.”
“Valga keeps that stocked. And what can I get you?”
“Roasted rabbit and bread. Same drink.”
The girl nodded and disappeared again.
“Gods, it’s good to get a real meal again,” Jorika said to Lydia.
“After experiencing roasted spiders… I absolutely agree.”
“Yeah. That’s an experience not to be repeated. Beats starving though.”
“Not by much,” Lydia chuckled.
Their drinks were served first and the two women toasted to each other. Soon their food arrived too. Jorika was pulling some of the meat from her knife when the serving girl appeared again.
“Would you mind if I have a little chat with you?” she asked.
“Not at all. Come, have a seat,” Jorika replied and moved on the bench.
The server smiled and placed herself next to Jorika.
“You’re a Companion, right? Could you tell me about your latest adventure?”
Laughing Jorika answered: “Our latest deed is no adventure. But I could tell you how I became a Thane of Whiterun.”
“You’re a Thane as well? You’re going to have the men around here wrapped around your finger in no time.”
Both Jorika and Lydia laughed.
“Well, let’s start at the beginning…”
“And that’s how I was made Thane of Whiterun and gained my loyal housecarl here.”
Lydia toasted her and took another swig of her mead.
“Companion, Thane and Dragonborn. You are a fascinating woman indeed,” the server said with reverence.
Jorika’s laugh turned into a yawn.
“It’s getting late. Do you have spare rooms by any chance?”
“Last I know we do, but you’ll have to speak with Valga.”
Jorika nodded, she paid the barmaid what was owed for the meal and got up from the bench.
“I’ll have our belongings ready,” Lydia said and ate the last piece of bread.
The inn had emptied significantly over the course of Jorika’s retelling and she was expected by Valga.
“It appears you have managed to impress Narri,” she greeted the Companion.
“So it seems. Do you have any free rooms for the night?” Jorika asked.
“Just one left. Do you want it?”
She smiled at the innkeeper, a little drunk and tired.
“Depends, what does it look like and what’s the price?”
The innkeeper gestured for her to follow and she led Jorika to a big room with a double bed.
“And you really don’t have another room?”
“Sorry, I can’t offer you more. 45 septims and it’s yours for a day.”
“For a night it will be good enough,” Jorika mumbled. “We’ll take it.”
She pulled a coin pouch from her belt and counted out the coins, handing seven Quintus to Valga. The innkeeper nodded in acceptance and left Jorika alone.
Shortly after Lydia leaned against the doorframe.
“Decided to splurge a little I see. Do I get a room just as luxurious?”
“Sorry, this is the only room,” Jorika admitted. “We have to share the bed.”
“We’ll make it work,” Lydia answered and closed the door.
After helping each other take off their respective armors each woman claimed one side of the bed for herself. Lydia had taken a spare blanket from a chest and both women soon fell into a restful sleep.
Upon waking up Jorika first stretched herself and brushed her long blonde hair out of her face. Lydia was still sleeping next to her, wrapped up in a blanket. Getting out of bed Jorika walked to the bar.
“Good morning. I assume you have slept well?” Valga greeted her.
“I’m feeling well rested, thank you.”
Jorika placed her elbows on the bar.
“Got any posca? I’m feeling thirsty.”
“Sure, I should have a bottle around here somewhere. Anything else?”
“Something to eat. Surprise me.”
Valga smiled at her and went to search the shelves for some posca. Jorika meanwhile dipped back into her room and gathered up some coins.
“What are you doing?” Lydia asked.
“Organizing breakfast. Slept well?” Jorika asked back.
“Surprisingly good. And what are you buying?”
“Posca and surprise.”
“Surprise, eh?” Lydia rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
On the bar Jorika found an open bottle, a cup filled with posca and some apples and bread.
She downed the cup's content in one swig and refilled.
“What will this be?” she asked Valga.
“Ten septims.”
Jorika handed her the coins and asked for another cup for Lydia.
“You know… we have been on the move for a week now. Do you have anyone waiting for you back in Whiterun? Family, friends? A lover?” Jorika asked Lydia, in between bites.
“A couple friends. But not that many. Why do you ask?”
“Just wanted to know if there is someone you miss dearly in Whiterun. We could’ve kept the time we’re away from the city shorter then.”
Lydia emptied the bottle.
“I don’t think that would be necessary. I expected a lot of travel when I agreed to become your housecarl.”
“If you want to go somewhere feel free to ask,” Jorika swallowed the rest of an apple. “I’m sure a little detour here or there won’t hurt,” she added with her mouth full.
Lydia just shook her head and laughed a little.
Wearing their armors again they left the inn and Jorika bumped into Narri.
“Oh gods, I’m sorry,” she apologized and offered her hand to help Narri back up.
“Nothing’s happened. I’m fine,” Narri replied, dusting off her clothes.
“Good to hear you’re fine. I would have been mortified if I had accidentally hurt a pretty lass like you.”
Narri blushed a little but resumed her work.
“Blessing of Arkay upon you,” Runil announced himself, commanding Jorika’s and Lydia’s attention.
“Thank you for finding my journal. I hope you encountered not too much trouble.”
Thinking back to the ghosts and draugr of Halldir’s Cairn, Jorika lied: “Not much. It was easy.”
“Thank Arkay.”
Fumbling in his pockets he added: “I promised you payment. So here, please take it.”
He handed her a small bag with a hefty weight.
“Glad to be of service,” said Jorika as she tied the coin pouch to her belt.
Determined, she approached the Jarl's longhouse and entered.
“Hello, I'm the steward. Can I help you?” an Altmer woman greeted them immediately.
“Indeed you can. I wanted to know if you have any work like a bounty.”
“Jarl Siddgeir had me put a bounty on the bandits from Bannermist tower.” The steward pulled a note from her pockets. “Here, look at this decree for details.”
Reading the note Jorika learned where the tower was located.
Facing Lydia Jorika asked: “Ready to head out again?”
“Always ready, my thane.”
After an hour of walking they reached the bandit’s hideout. Hidden within the foliage they observed the brigands.
“Appears to be just the three,” Jorika mumbled, as she set down her backpack.
“And no archers,” Lydia added. “Shall we just take them head on?”
“You read my mind. Should be easy enough.”
Jorika gripped her battleaxe tighter and Lydia unsheathed her sword.
“On your command.”
Grabbing her amulet of Arkay Jorika gave a short and silent prayer for the god of life and death.
With a terrible roar Jorika stormed forward, Lydia close on her heels.
The first bandit had not even realized what was happening when Jorika’s battleaxe nearly cleaved him in half. Lydia entered the tower while Jorika pulled her weapon free again.
Parrying the hasty strike from the second bandit with ease Lydia opened the man up for a counter attack and thrust her sword into his neck. Bashing him with her shield he stumbled backwards, blood spraying from the fatal wound. The bandit desperately grabbed at his neck to stop the bleeding.
“I’ll mount your head on my wall!” the trio’s leader shouted, swinging a massive mace from the stairs.
Lydia sidestepped his swing knowing that her sword would be incapable of piercing the man’s armor without finding a gap first. Jorika entered the fight, a thrust with her axe’s pointed tip deflected by the chief’s armor. Swinging his mace at them again both women dodged his attack. Jorika’s axe making her more dangerous the man focused his attacks on her not noticing how Lydia slipped behind him. Taking advantage of his unawareness she rammed her sword into the unarmored back of his knee and pushed him forward. Screaming and cursing the man fell to the floor. Drawing her dagger Jorika quickly knelt beside him and thrust her blade underneath his helmet ending the man’s life. Drawing her dagger out Jorika took a deep breath.
“Looks like that was all of them,” Lydia said.
She grabbed a nearby rag and wiped the blood off her blade.
Taking the rag from her housecarl, Jorika cleaned her own weapons while Lydia started looking around. She removed a small satchel from the leader’s belt and emptied the content on a table. Underneath some empty skooma bottles she found a silver ruby ring. Pocketing the ring and some septims she turned to Jorika who was padding down the second bandit.
“A couple of lockpicks. Might come in handy,” Jorika mumbled as she let go of the dead man.
She turned her attention towards an iron gate she had seen earlier, a chest inviting her inside. Rattling the gate she found that neither the lock nor the hinges would give up to brute force quickly. Remembering the just acquired lockpicks she applied some tension to the lock and tried her luck at picking it.
Lydia went up a flight of stairs and started searching the second floor. A weapon rack held a dull and thoroughly rusted iron sword, some food was present, most of it old and dry, some already grew mold. Not wasting more of her time Lydia balanced back to the stairs and she found a chest, nestled behind some barrels. Opening the lid she found some equipment.
A quiver filled with steel arrows, two hide helmets and a steel sword in much better condition compared to its counterpart on the weapon rack. Underneath one of the helmets was a small flask containing a red liquid, clearly identifying the content as a health potion or tonic. With some string she bound the small flask onto her belt.
“Yes!” Jorika said triumphantly as the gate swung open. Her first action was opening the chest. Much to her, expected, disappointment it was not filled to the brim with riches, instead only having three coin pouches and a small box placed inside. Swiping up three jewels from the table next to the chest she opened the pouches to see what they had acquired.
“Got anything good?” Lydia asked, stepping through the gate.
“About 150 septims and-” Jorika fished the jewels from her pocket- “and two garnets and an amethyst. And whatever is in his box. And you?”
“A quiver of arrows, two helmets and a sword. Oh and a health potion.” She pointed at the flask.
“We should have that checked. Don’t want the bandits to have the last laugh.”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to drink it,” Lydia replied.
Thankfully their way back to Falkreath was uneventful, save for a deer jumping away from them fleeing into the woods.
“Have you seen a dog out there?” the guard standing at the edge of town asked them.
“Dog? We have seen no dog,” Jorika answered.
“Lod, the blacksmith, asked me to keep a look out for one. Well, I better return to my post then.”
“That was strange,” Jorika commented as they entered the town.
She patted the satchel containing the jewels.
“Anyways. I’m going to see if I can’t get a pretty sum for these, will you sell the helmets?”
Lydia nodded and went to the blacksmith while Jorika entered Gray Pine Goods.
“Well met, Companion,” the proprietor greeted her.
“Greetings.” She pulled out the jewels, both the ones from the table and from the small box. “What will you give me in exchange for these?”
The merchant's eyes grew wide and gleamed as he saw the treasure.
“I can offer you an authentic werewolf pelt cloak together with coins.”
Jorika laughed. “Werewolf pelt? Are you trying to rip me off?”
“Have a look for yourself,” he defended his merchandise. “Last year a hunter brought one of those beasts down, unfortunately he met his end before the cloak was finished.”
The cloak was magnificent indeed and had been crafted from a single piece of fur.
Running her fingers through the soft hair Jorika could imagine how well it would provide warmth and protection from the elements.
“I don’t know if it’s from a werewolf or not but I can see it is of a high quality,” she said.
“Of course it is. Falkreath has some of the best leather and pelt workers in Skyrim,” the merchant boasted.
“Let’s say I’m taking the cloak. How much else would I be getting?”
“I would add another 150 septims.”
“200,” Jorika said, a smile on her lips.
“150.”
“200.”
Sensing that Jorika would not accept just 150 septims the merchant raised his offer.
“170 septims. Not one more.”
Jorika thought for a moment.
“Deal.”
She took the cloak from the hook and affixed it to her armor. The fur indeed was warm and soft all around and extended into the cloak’s hood. She counted the Decimus and was happy to have received the promised seventeen. Pocketing them she wished the merchant farewell.
“Hey, Narri,” she greeted the serving girl from the inn.
“Oh, you know my name?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a pretty name, for a pretty woman.”
Narri blushed at the comment.
“Oh, you’re telling this to every girl you come across, I’m sure.”
“Even if I did, would it be any less true?” said Jorika as she leaned against the railings.
Narri giggled and blushed some more.
“What are you trying to achieve here?”
“Can’t two beautiful women just talk to each other?” Jorika joked, knowing full well that her intentions are clearly understood. “Tell you what: How about we get a bottle of mead, we go to your room and I’ll explain to you what I want.”
She offered her hand.
Narri laughed softly and took Jorika’s hand.
Having watched the scene unfold Lydia rolled with her eyes and decided to have potion tested now rather than later.
Jorika bought a bottle of mead after Narri vanished into the room she had rented the evening prior. Locking the door behind her she looked at Narri who had taken a seat on the bed.
She placed the bottle on the bedside table and sat next to the serving girl.
“Just to make it clear: I'm not looking for something long term here,” Jorika explained, holding Narri's hand. “I hope we're on the same page there.”
“So, you really just want to talk?” Narri asked seductively.
Placing a finger beneath Narri's chin to guide her head, Jorika said: “I plan to do a lot of things,” before she kissed her.
Breaking their kiss Jorika wanted to check on Narri but a hand on the back of her neck pulled her into a kiss again.
Happy to relinquish control for the moment she untied her gauntlets before tossing them aside. Fingers now bare she buried one set in Narri's fiery hair and intensified their kiss while letting the other hand roam across her lover's body.
Narri pulled out of the kiss.
“You need to get out of this armor,” she said breathlessly.
With a laugh Jorika started undoing the clasps of her armor, soon it shattered to the floor with her aketon and boots following quickly after leaving her in her shirt and pants.
Pinning Narri to the bed she pushed the other woman's clothes aside exposing her breasts. Licking her nipples with the tip of her tongue Jorika elicited a sweet moan from Narri.
She grabbed the hem of Narri’s dress and pulled it upwards over her head. Seeing the other woman completely naked made Jorika practically jump atop of her.
Narri for her part enjoyed the undivided attention, pressing her leg into Jorika’s groin causing her to gyrate her hips. She shoved her hands underneath the warrior’s shirt and clawed and scratched at her back.
Pulling her shirt off Jorika kissed her way down, mindful to pay attention to the barmaids breasts, plastering them with kisses. She placed kisses and licks further down until she reached Narri’s nethers, heavily scented with arousal. Kicking off her pants she placed fluttering and tormenting kisses on Narri’s inner thighs until the other woman was panting with pure need.
“Please,” Narri begged.
Jorika crawled up again.
“Do you think I’m just going to let you come without having some fun first?” she whispered in the barmaid's ear, taking Narri’s hand and placing it on her groin.
“You’re mean,” Narri panted, but she started to massage Jorika’s clit regardless.
“Yes,” Jorika moaned as she melted into Narri’s inexperienced yet lustful touch.
Narri entered her, causing Jorika to groan and kiss the other woman with passion.
She felt her release approaching fast.
“Don’t stop, please,” she begged as she rode her high.
Narri gently bit Jorika’s neck, sending her over the edge.
Her walls clenching around Narri’s fingers she coated the other woman’s hand and arm as her climax took Jorika. Panting without drawing air she collapsed into the barmaid.
Slowly regaining her breath she murmured: “Time to repay the favor, huh?”
Again she kissed her way down, not stopping anywhere until she reached Narri’s heated sex and gave her a delicate lick.
Whining with pleasure Narri bucked her hips.
Jorika smiled, holding onto Narri’s thighs she continued.
Licking, sucking and kissing her cunt, folds and clit Jorika made the other woman whine, moan and cry out.
Narri tensed up, arching her back. With an exhale she collapsed and Jorika climbed up.
Circling senseless patterns on her stomach she kissed Narri.
Drawing a ragged breath the barmaid looked the warrior into the eyes.
“That was… that was intense,” Narri gasped.
Jorika uncorked the bottle of mead and took a hearty swig.
“Had fun?” she inquired and offered Narri the bottle.
The redhead grabbed the mead and took a small sip.
“It was nice being pleasured for a change.”
Jorika had to laugh and took another gulp.
“Can we repeat this?” Narri asked, sitting up cross-legged.
“If I’m ever in the area again? Perhaps.” Jorika drank more of the mead and handed the bottle over again. “Just don’t expect me to suddenly fall in love with you.”
“I won’t,” said Narri, finishing the bottle. “You made that clear, but still… I would love to feel this good again.”
“Let’s see what the future will hold. I think we should freshen up a little now, no?”
Jorika got up and took a rag laying next to the wash basin. Dipping it into the water she started rubbing off the thin layer of sweat from her arms she had worked up. Narri joined her after stretching herself.
Jorika was careful and diligent as she helped Narri wash, especially as she cleaned her brests lingering with the rag just a little longer than expected.
When they both looked presentable, Jorika helped Narri put on her dress. In return Narri held up Jorika’s armor allowing her to easily put it on.
Grinning brightly Jorika found Lydia downing a mug of mead.
“Satisfied?” Lydia asked.
“Very much,” answered Jorika and flashed Narri a smile.
“Where did you get the cloak from?”
Lydia placed the mug down and took a bite from a bread roll.
“Traded the gems for it.”
“All of them?” she asked while chewing.
“No, I still got money from it,” Jorika said, shaking her purse making the coins inside rattle. “And it’s time to make some more. Let’s collect the bounty.”
Across from them lounged the Jarl on his throne, nursing what was clearly not his first drink of the day. Ignoring the embarrassing behavior Jorika went directly to the steward.
“The bandits of Bannermist tower are no more. I’m here to collect the bounty.”
“Splendid, you did us a great service. Here is your reward.”
The Altmer handed Jorika a bag of golden coins.
“Nenya!” called the Jarl from his throne. “A Companion deserves a proper reward. Double, no, triple what you just paid. I won’t have you be so disrespectful in my court.”
“As you wish Jarl Siddgeir,” the steward bowed.
“If you would follow me, please? I need to collect your reward from the coffers.”
Nenya led them into her locked room upstairs. She unlocked a sizable chest and handed Jorika two additional purses. Weighing the bags she gave one back.
“Let’s not bankrupt Falkreath just because the Jarl has no mind for money,” she said.
“You have my thanks,” replied Nenya and dropped the purse back into the coffers. “Should you require my services, I’ll be here in the hall.”
Nenya escorted them out of her room, locking the door once more.
“Well,” Jorika said as they stepped outside, “time to go back to Whiterun I suppose.”
Notes:
I have decided to restructure the work and have combined the old chapters 1-5 into this new chapter.
Chapter 2: Back in Whiterun
Summary:
Upon her return to Whiterun Jorika gets an unexpected offer, but things will not go according to plan.
Chapter Text
“You were gone longer than expected,” noted Skjor as Jorika entered Jorrvaskr.
“We stayed a night in Falkreath and took a bounty for some bandits.”
As Skjor raised his eyebrow Jorika tossed him a bag of coins.
“Don’t worry, here’s the cut. Quite the handsome reward for just three men.”
Weighing the bag, Skjor asked: “Just three? And you got this much?”
“Siddgeir pays well. Just a matter of time until his coffers run dry.”
“This much?”
“He was drunk and insisted I get paid more. Not going to look that horse in the mouth,” she shrugged. She raised her hand as Nadja walked by, the other woman ignored her greeting.
“Did you manage to finish your actual assignment?” Skjor wanted to know as he placed the bag on his belt.
“Sure,” she boasted. “Put him down, he’s food for the skeevers now.”
“Well done, you continue to bring honor to the Companions.” He tossed her a small bag of coins. “Here is your share of the reward. And I have an offer for you.”
“An offer?” She affixed the bag to her belt. “About what?”
“I can’t say it out in the open. Meet me by the Underforge tonight.”
“I’ll be there,” she affirmed.
Skjor left the two women alone again.
“And what will we do in the meanwhile?” Lydia wanted to know.
“You’re free to decide that for yourself. I’ll stay here for the time being. I want to train getting past an enemy’s shield.”
“If you so wish. I’ll see myself out then,” Lydia announced.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to fetch you when I leave the city again.”
Out in the training court Jorika grabbed a wooden training weapon before she seeked out Nadja.
“What do you want?” Nadja Stone-Arm asked, annoyed that she saw Jorika heading towards her.
“What a sunshine you are,” Jorika muttered.
“I wanted your help,” she explained herself. “I want to get better at bypassing shields. You’re the best with a shield.”
“Honeyed words won’t make me go easy on you.”
“Never expected you to. Ready when you are,” Jorika said and raised her axe.
Nadja and Jorika were evenly skilled with their respective gear. Nadja managed to parry or block Jorika’s strikes just as often as she managed to land a hit on her Shield-Sister. By late noon Lydia appeared again and trained together with Athis, refining her sword techniques.
Feeling her muscles burning Jorika was satisfied and decided she had to take a bath, but first she would get out of her armor.
“You should join me,” Jorika offered as she stowed her gear. “You must be as sweaty as I am. I’ll pay even.”
“I can pay on my own, thank you very much,” Lydia retorted, “but a hot bath sounds heavenly.”
“Then come along,” Jorika said as she locked the chest and hung the key around her neck.
Wearing simple tunics and carrying their bathing utensils in a basket both women made their way to the bathhouse.
The Battle-Born’s had two bathhouses in the city, one for men and one for women.
A couple of women sat on the outside, clad in robes, one brave enough to weather the cold in just a towel, chatting and gossipping happily among each other.
A bouncer collected their entrance fee and let them in.
After they had gotten undressed Jorika put her clothes into her basket.
“Easier safekeeping,” she explained upon receiving a questioning look from Lydia.
“Why have I never thought of that?” the housecarl asked herself.
Jorika groaned as she lowered herself into a steaming bathtub. Tilting her head back she sighed contently as she felt at ease, ignoring the girl selling overpriced soap for the Battle-Born’s.
Societal boundaries were much less strict inside the bath and nobody paid much mind to the Thane.
“What I’m saying is that this feud our men are fighting is ridiculous,” she overheard a conversation.
“You say it Alfhild. We should focus on what’s best for our families and for Whiterun, not pay mind to some distant war,” Olfina Grey-Mane agreed.
“But men are idiots,” they said in unison and laughed.
For another minute or two Jorika just soaked in the hot water, let it seep into her skin.
She wetted a rough cloth and stood up. Draggin the rag across her back, Jorika scrubbed herself clean.
In the tub across from her’s, she saw Ysolda sitting down and washing her hair.
Jorika gave Ysolda a playful wink and wave. The other woman blushed and giggled.
Maids carried buckets of used water outside, bringing hot and fresh water back inside.
Clad in her armor once more Jorika walked down to the market. On the stairs she heard the final remnants of an argument.
“For the last time: I. Am. Not. Interested!” she heard Carlotta shout.
Hands clasped in front of her face the vegetable vendor groaned in frustration.
Jorika leaned on the stand's counter and asked: “Someone giving you trouble?”
“Yeah, that accursed bard from the…” she was not able to finish her sentence as Jorika's face turned into a scowl.
“Looking fine today,” the man who had slapped her on the ass proclaimed.
Before Lydia could react Jorika had turned around and in one fast motion struck the man across his face with a hammer fist. She jerked her knee into his groin before he could do anything. Eyes bulging he wanted to collapse but Jorika held him up by his tunic's neckline.
“Yeah! Serves him right,” Olfina laughed.
Jorika flashed the other woman a smile and turned her attention to the man again.
“If I catch you doing this to me or any other woman ever again,” she hissed, “you're going to lose something irreplaceable. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he squeaked and Jorika let him fall to the ground.
The man curled into a ball as he cupped his injured manhood.
She gave him a last disdainful look and focused on Carlotta again.
“You would think being Thane would award you respect. Too bad worm-heads exist, right?”
“You can shout that from the roofs, I have a similar problem,” Carlotta admitted.
“Who’s giving you trouble?” Jorika asked concerned.
“Mikael,” Carlotta laid out her grief. “He just can’t respect my rejections. Says he will ‘tame me as any true Nord would conquer a fiery beast, make me his’. Says he ‘will take great care of me’. As if that philander would stay loyal. His behavior disgusts me.”
“Can I talk to him or teach him some manners, if you want,” Jorika offered, shooting a glare at the man who had harassed her just moments prior as he waddled away.
She grinded her teeth at the bard’s insolence. She herself was by any stretch of imagination not opposed to flirting with and seducing women but always respected any rejection she had received and never promised any lie. And not once had she felt entitled to just grope them.
“You would do that?”
Jorika simply nodded.
“Just wait here,” she told Lydia.
Inside the Bannered Mare Mikael was busy looking at Saadia, the Redguard barmaid, no doubt imagining himself with her.
Jorika just stepped into the view.
“You’re going to leave Carlotta alone.”
“Can’t you see that I’m busy,” the bard complained about his view being blocked.
“Can’t say I didn’t try to be nice,” she mumbled to herself and kicked Mikael between his legs.
Clutching his family planning Mikael went down and groaned in pain.
Having acquired everyone’s attention in the inn, Jorika squatted next to him. Grabbing his hair she turned his head.
“I’m not in the mood for obscene bards. You’re going to apologize to Saadia, right now.”
“I’m sorry,” he squealed loud enough for everyone to hear.
“And you will stop harassing Carlotta. If you don’t you will be missing that pain. Do you understand?” Jorika demanded.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She let go of his hair and left the inn again.
“Should he ever dare to bother you again, just tell me,” she said to Carlotta.
“Oh, I can’t thank you enough,” Carlotta said and wanted to hand some coin to Jorika.
She simply placed the money back into the vendor’s hand and closed it.
“Keep it. You and Mila need it way more than I do.”
“You’re too kind,” Carlotta replied.
“Good, you’re here,” Skjor greeted her. “It’s time to initiate you into the Circle. We will talk further inside the Underforge.”
“Alone,” he added, eyeing Lydia.
Not knowing what to expect, Jorika followed Skjor into the Underforge. Against her protests Lydia was forced to wait outside.
Inside Jorika instinctively reached for her axe upon spotting the werewolf but Skjor placed his hand on her arm.
“There is no need for this, sister.” He let go of Jorika and approached the werewolf. “I had hoped you might recognize Aela. She has agreed to be your forebear. This pitiful ceremony you have experienced is not warranted for a warrior's heart like yours.”
Trying to decipher what would be happening next, Jorika came after Skjor. She eyed the water basin in the middle of the cave while listening as Skjor continued his speech.
“Kodlak thinks we have been cursed, which is why we're doing this in secret, but how can power like this be a curse? To join the ranks of the Circle you need to join the ranks of the wolf blood.”
Understanding Jorika asked: “You want to turn me into a werewolf?”
Skjor nodded.
“We do. You can refuse of course, but to join the Circle you need to share our blood.”
Jorika felt drawn towards the power offered. She felt the need to acquire it.
“Let's proceed, Shield-Brother,” she said.
Smiling Skjor cut open Aela's wrist. For a few moments her blood spewed out, tainting the water in the basin before the wound closed again.
“Drink, Shield-Sister. Drink and become one of us.”
With both hands Jorika scooped some of the mixture out of the basin. As the liquid ran down her throat she felt becoming hot.
She felt her blood boiling.
An unbearable heat spread through her body. Gripping the edge of the basin to keep standing, Jorika had to vent the fire raging inside. Shouting fire into the basin the liquid boiled and evaporated as she collapsed having a seizure.
Lydia waited outside feeling like a caged animal. She had a very bad feeling about this ritual and had voiced her concern but Jorika had refused to listen. Pacing outside the Underforge Lydia found it impossible to calm herself. Her sense of duty and her worry for Jorika's wellbeing screamed at her to just enter the Underforge.
“Lydia?” Kodlak asked. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
Before she could answer they heard Jorika's Thu'um.
Throwing caution and respect to the wind Lydia entered the Underforge, Kodlak following her.
Jorika laid on the floor, body contorted and twitching. Lydia, paying no attention to the transformed Aela, kneeled next to Jorika, desperately trying to come up with an idea to help her Thane.
Furious Kodlak shouted at Skjor: “What are you doing? If this lass dies it is all on you!”
Before Skjor could answer Jorika shouted again, scorching the ceiling. Smoke came from her mouth and nostrils, tears streaming down her face.
“We initiated her into the Circle as tradition demands it,” Skjor defended his action.
“And not once has either of you meatheads thought about her being the Dragonborn might cause an issue? Because this-” Kodlak gestured at Jorika- “Is not what is supposed to happen!”
Jorika shouted again, the power of her voice pushing Skjor and Aela against the wall, shaking the cave. Lydia cradled her Thane’s head in her lap, not caring about the danger. Gently she stroked Jorika’s hair hoping it might alleviate some of the pain.
“We need to do something,” Kodlak murmured. “We can’t just let her suffer.”
Aela, having transformed back into a human, spoke up: “Per… Perhaps Danica can help?” She gathered up a cloak to cover her nakedness. “She will at least have something for the pain.”
Jorika shouted again, her Thu’um reverberating in the cave, ringing everyone’s ears.
Kodlak picked her up and carried her outside. Lydia punched Skjor giving him a bloody nose before following Kodlak and her Thane. Holding his nose, Skjor waved Aela away, fully aware that he deserved the injury as he tried to staunch the bleeding.
Holding Jorika in his arms Kodlak carried her through the streets when Jorika shouted again, a plume of fire illuminating the night sky. The flames charred some of the branches of the old Gildergreen tree and alerted most likely every guard on patrol. The first few came running as Danica peeked out the door of the Temple of Kynareth to see what the commotion was about. Seeing Kodlak carrying Jorika she hurried to them.
“What is going on?” she asked.
“We wanted to initiate her into the Circle. Something must have gone terribly wrong,” Kodlak explained, as guards surrounded them.
“I can see that.”
Jorika shouted again, knocking two guards off their feet.
“Wait here,” Danica demanded and ran back into the temple.
Soon she came out again holding a small vile. She poured the liquid down Jorika’s throat.
The Dragonborn coughed before going limp.
“Bring her inside,” Danica said.
“What have you done to her?” Lydia demanded to know as she saw Jorika laying limply in Kodlak’s arms.
“I gave her a sleeping potion. The poor lass doesn’t need to suffer more than she already has,” the priestess explained herself.
Gently Kodlak placed Jorika on one of the beds arranged around the central water basin of the temple. Smoke continued to pour from her mouth and nose as Danica applied an ointment to Jorika’s forehead.
“Does she have a connection to one of the Divines?”
“Arkay. She always carries an amulet of his,” answered Lydia.
“Then go fetch Andurs. This might not be a funeral but having him pray over her will help nonetheless.”
Lydia did as she was told and sprinted to the Hall of the Dead. The door was unlocked and Andurs had evidently retreated to bed. Entering his room she woke the priest up.
“What’s the meaning of this disturbance?” he wanted to know.
“You’re needed in the Temple of Kynareth. Jorika has fallen very ill,” Lydia explained.
“Ill?” He asked, getting out of bed. “Shouldn’t Danica be able to handle this?”
“She sent me to get you, because Jorika is a believer in Arkay.”
Andurs put on his boots with worry on his face. Usually Danica only asked him to come to the temple if she suspected one of her charges would be needing their funeral rites soon.
Despite Lydia’s insistence he walked over to the shrine of Arkay and knelt down.
He took a deep breath.
“Mighty Arkay,” he prayed, “Lord of Life and Death. Please grant both me and Jorika the strength to whether this test.”
Lydia could swear she saw the orb in the middle of the shrine glow in a soft red before going inert again.
Andurs got up and hurried after Lydia to the temple.
Jorika had her armor and clothes removed and was only covered with a white linen blanket, a foul smelling sweat pouring out of her skin. Her amulet of Arkay had been placed on her chest, smoke still came out as Jorika exhaled. Andurs stood to her left and Danica to her right and the priests began reciting prayers as an acolyte continued to apply ointments, placing holy relics around and on Jorika.
Unsure what to do with herself Lydia joined Kodlak in silent prayer.
The priests stopped with their prayers and Lydia looked up. Andurs took Jorika’s amulet of Arkay and placed it again around her neck. She stepped next to the priest.
“Will she survive?” she asked.
“She is strong. I’m sure she will be alright again. But when, is up to the Divines.”
“Thank you,” Lydia whispered and knelt next to Jorika, softly stroking her hair.
She felt an immense heat radiating from her Thane.
“Lydia?” Danica spoke gently. “I think you should go to bed. You can have one here in the temple. And here.” She handed Lydia a flask. “This will help you calm down. Drink it if you want. But we should let Jorika be now, give the Divines and the medicine time to act.”
Gentle but determined she pulled the housecarl on her feet and led her to one of the guest beds.
“Try to gain some rest,” she said and left again.
Feeling exhaustion wash over herself Lydia took off her armor. Sitting in her underwear on the bed she opened the flask and downed its content. Pulling the covers over herself she tried to fall asleep.
Waking up Lydia first checked on her Thane but Jorika was still fast asleep, breath going calm and steady, the terrible sweats and smoky breath having stopped. Fearing she might unleash terrible curses in this holy hall, she went back to her bed and got dressed. Stepping outside she clenched her fists. Having to work through her tension and anger the housecarl grabbed a woodcutter’s axe and started chopping wood. Imagining she was lobbing off Skjor’s head with each strike she made good progress.
Feeling like having squalled her rage for the moment Lydia cleaned herself up and returned to Jorika’s side. She placed a chair next to her Thane’s bed to keep an easier watch over her.
Jorika groaned in pain as she opened her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked, her mouth terribly dry, her voice rough.
“Thank the Eight, you’re awake,” Lydia expressed her relief.
She handed her Thane a cup of posca. Greedily Jorika gulped the liquid down not caring that she exposed her breasts as she sat up.
“What happened?” she asked again.
Danica took a seat on the bed.
“I think I can explain, but not in present company.”
Lydia looked offended but Jorika spoke before she could.
“I’ll tell her anyway. She won’t say a word.”
Danica nodded solemnly.
“Kodlak told me the Circle’s secret. I suspect that your dragon blood revolted against the blood of Hircine. It burned and purged the daedric influence from you. Befitting for a child of Akatosh,” the priestess gave her reasoning.
“That would explain my dream. A dragon hunting werewolves, immolating them, tearing them apart, killing them by the dozens,” Jorika recounted. “But I recall shouting. Did I hurt anyone?”
“I gave Skjor a bloody nose but that’s it,” Lydia conceded. “You did nobody harm.”
Jorika sighed in relief.
“You should get dressed. This is a temple after all,” Danica said, alluding to Jorika’s nudity.
Still feeling weak, Jorika leaned on Lydia as they entered Jorrvaskr. The hall was unusually quiet but cheer erupted as soon as Jorika was spotted coming through their doors.
Kodlak walked over to her and asked: “How are you feeling, lass?”
“Exhausted,” she replied, a smile on her lips.
She noticed that Aela and Skjor looked like kicked puppies.
Turning around Kodlak saw who she looked at and explained: “I gave them a piece of my mind for what they have done to you and for going behind my back. They don’t like being reminded that they can make mistakes.”
“Let’s hope I never disappoint you,” she joked, still relying on Lydia for support.
“I doubt you will, lass.”
“Can I get something to eat?” she asked.
“That’s more like it,” Kodlak laughed.
Jorika took a seat at the feast table and grabbed the bowl of vegetable soup Tilma handed her.
“I’ve made it stronger for you. You need to get back on your feet.”
“Thank you,” she told the maid and began eating while Lydia ladened her own plate.
She managed to eat more than she had expected given her still upset stomach.
“How are you feeling?” Farkas asked her as she put the still half full bowl away.
“Better already. It’s good to be back home.”
“And it’s good to have you back,” he said resting his hand on her shoulder.
That night Jorika again had a dream about a dragon hunting werewolves. Feeling less rested than hoped she woke up. The queasiness of her stomach had disappeared but she chose not to push her luck and restrained herself during breakfast. While she ate she answered questions her Shield-Siblings bombarded her with together with expressions of gratitude about her wellbeing. Even Nadja who was usually very dismissive of her said she was glad to see Jorika up and about again.
Exiting Jorrvaskr she was glad to be breathing fresh air, but something within herself told her that she was not ready to start training again that day. So she decided to conduct some maintenance on her gear.
She was sitting outside shaded from the afternoon sun and sliding a whetstone over her axe when Kodlak came to her.
“I see that you are still feeling better.”
“I do but I would feel even better if I could train with my Shield-Siblings,” she confessed. “For now I have to keep myself busy with the upkeep of my gear.”
“A well cared for sword may not save a shoddy warrior but a rusted sword can kill the best fighter.”
“I know a variation: Your gear might eclipse your skill, but your skill can never eclipse your gear,” she said and kept honing her axe.
Suddenly Kodlak appeared uncomfortable.
“There is something else I want. Would you answer me some questions about what you have experienced last night? In private.”
Jorika watched the Harbinger curiously and agreed.
Sitting in his study with two bottles of Honningbrew mead on the table, Jorika waited for Kodlak to formulate his first question.
“Do you feel as if Hircine has any hold upon you?”
She had to ponder on the question for a while.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m merely feeling slightly exhausted now, similar to how I felt a day after slaying the dragon near the old watchtower.”
After a moment she asked: “Do you feel his presence?” and raised her bottle to take a drink.
“Every moment. My senses are more… pronounced. My heary even in my old age is better than it ever was. I can see…”
Jorika nearly spat out her drink and had to laugh.
“What is so funny?” Kodlak demanded to know.
“I’m sorry,” she tried to conciliate him. “I’m sorry. You said ‘heary’ instead of ‘hearing’ and I don’t know why I find that so funny.”
She tried to stifle another laugh and failed.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated herself. “You wanted to have this sincere talk and I’m laughing.”
Focusing on her breathing she took a couple deep breaths and calmed herself.
“Alright,” she announced. “I’m ready again.”
Kodlak looked at her mildly annoyed but he picked up where he was interrupted: “As I was saying… My hearing is more acute. My sense of smell is more pronounced. My vision is sharper. I can see, I can feel a stag from further away than the most skilled hunter but yet everything I experience is dulled. As if I’m wrapped in cloth or looking through a thick fog.”
After suppressing another laugh Jorika tried to imagine what Kodlak had described.
She found it hard, outright impossible to imagine having her senses enhanced and dulled at the same time.
“How did the ritual go for you?” she continued their talk.
“After I drank from the fountain I lost consciousness and woke up outside of Whiterun as a werewolf. I tore my way through some poor farmer’s cattle before running off into the night. Now with hindsight on my side I should be glad that I only killed a couple of cows and sheep.”
“Did you experience something during the ritual?” he asked after Jorika remained quiet.
“My veins burned as if fire flowed through them after I drank the blood. It felt as if I was being immolated. The heat, it was unbearable. At some point I started dreaming,” she laid out her experience. “I dreamt of a dragon being attacked by werewolves. It fought them off and turned the table, it hunted them without mercy. I had the same dream the previous night.”
Kodlak thought about her answer. Jorika took another sip from her bottle.
“I fear that your experience will be of no help to me,” he solemnly voiced his disappointment.
Placing her bottle on the table Jorika inquired: “Are you looking for a cure?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Came up with something so far?” she probed further.
“Most of what I managed to find is fragmentary and contradictory. But raising questions to the priests or mages would raise too many suspicions,” Kodlak confided.
“Didn’t you tell Danica?”
“That was an act of desperation. She swore she would not bring it up ever again after healing you.”
“It must have been hard. I presume you originally swore an oath of silence on the matter?”
Jorika emptied her bottle.
“I did,” he confirmed. “And breaking it is among the hardest deeds I have done.”
“Breaking an oath should never be easy.”
“Never,” he agreed and took his untouched bottle.
“Hey Ria,” Jorika greeted her Shield-Sister. “I want to go hunting. Interested in accompanying me?”
“Are you feeling well enough for this?”
“It has been three days. If I stay in the city for much longer I’m going to sprout roots,” Jorika laughed. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had doubts.”
“Will Aela come with us?” Ria agreed.
“No, she declined the offer.”
“Too bad. I would have loved to see her hunt. Observe her technique with her bow.”
“It sure would be a sight to behold. Meet me by the stables,” she told Ria. “Lydia will have horses ready to carry our kills back.”
“Horses?”
“I’m not walking back to Jorrvaskr with a deer hoisted on my back.”
“Not if I can avoid it,” she added with a smirk.
Together they went into the plains of the tundra surrounding Whiterun. Lydia followed them at a considerable distance, they wanted to prevent the horses from spooking away their quarry.
Ria was the first to spot some prey. Nocking an arrow she took aim at the rabbit and let her arrow fly. She let out a satisfied chuckle as she saw the arrow piercing the animal's ribcage, killing it instantly and pinning it to the ground.
“Good shot,” Jorika commented as they walked to their first kill.
“Thanks. I’ve been training,” said Ria and pulled the arrow loose. She tied the rabbit to her belt.
They continued stalking the plains until Ria spotted a fox.
“See, over there by the bushes?” she pointed the animal out.
Jorika needed a moment but she saw the fox.
“Gorgeous pelt,” she acknowledged.
“That’s what I thought.”
It was Jorika’s turn. She took aim and let her arrow fly and missed the mark. The arrow buried itself next to the fox who scattered in an instant and was gone from sight.
“Damnit,” Jorika cursed and went to retrieve her arrow.
Pulling the arrow from the ground she saw a partridge in the brush. Nocking the arrow again she took aim at the bird.
She returned to Ria with the dead fowl strapped to her belt.
They continued hunting, bagging several more rabbits and a variety of fowls until they spotted a doe grazing at the edge of the plains.
“Too far away,” Jorika said as she gauged the distance.
“I can get her,” Ria countered and nocked an arrow.
Jorika remained silent not wanting to break her companion’s focus.
Letting her arrow fly Ria struck the doe in the chest. The animal jerked and collapsed.
“Yes!” Ria shouted triumphantly and started running toward her kill.
Jorika waved to Lydia to come closer and followed Ria.
Her hunting mate knelt next to the doe. She turned the animal’s head, exposing the veins of the neck and cut them, ensuring the death of the deer.
“I’m impressed you hit at that distance. I couldn’t have done that,” Jorika told her companion.
Ria laughed and wiped her blade clean.
Lydia came with the horses.
“You appear to have been successful?”
“Quite successful indeed,” Jorika confirmed and placed the deer on Lydia’s horse and bound it tight.
Ria sat on the second horse and Jorika got up behind her.
“Thanks for asking me to accompany you,” Ria said and began riding back to Whiterun.
“If you want to hunt again, just ask,” Jorika replied.
Back at Whiterun’s stables Jorika hoisted the deer on her back, letting Ria carry the other kills and Lydia took care of their bows and the horses. The two Companions took their kills to the Drunken Huntsman and traded them for some already aged meats and coins for the pelts and feathers.
“Tilma will be able to make a feast that we will remember for a long time,” Ria commented as they returned to Jorrvaskr.
Notes:
I have decided to restructure the work and have combined the old chapters 6-10 into this new chapter.
Chapter 3: Gallows Rock
Summary:
After Vilkas had been ambushed Skjor and Aela decide to take on the Silver Hand to restore their honor after they botched Jorika's initiation into the Circle.
Chapter Text
The day after the hunting trip Vilkas returned from a mission with a fresh scar on his cheek.
“What happened, brother?” Farkas wanted to know.
“The Silver Hand. Come the Circle will have to come together,” Vilkas growled and Farkas and Jorika followed him.
After they had gathered in Kodlak’s quarters Vilkas spoke first.
“We need to do something about the Silver Hand. They’re becoming bold. Attacking us in the open, on the streets.”
“Here in Whiterun?” Jorika asked.
“No, this-” he pointed at his cut- “happened out on the road. But it’s just a matter of time until they feel they can strike us here.”
“What did you do to them?” Alea wanted to know.
“I walked away from our confrontation. They didn’t.” He stated and pulled a bloody note from his armor.
“They’re operating from Gallows Rock. We should strike them now, before they move.”
Kodlak placed his hand on his chin and thought before he spoke: “Vilkas is right. We need to strike while the iron is hot. Skjor, Aela," he looked at his fellow Companions. "I believe this is a fitting task for you to restore your honor. Go and wipe them from the face of Nirn.”
“We will let none survive,” Skjor gnarled.
“I will go with them. Make sure they accomplish their task in honor,” Jorika added.
Kodlak looked at her, a flicker of pride in his eyes as if he had hoped she would say that.
Prepared for their mission the four of them set out, renting two horses at the stables to make haste. They rode in silence, passing the Silver Hand members that had been foolish enough to assault Vilkas and Valtheim towers, the place he had initially set out to clear.
Jorika quietly recited the Law of Arkay as they rode past both sites, hoping that her short prayer will be enough to prevent any necromancer from raising the corpses in place of a proper burial.
“Why are you doing that? You have done that at Bannermist tower too,” Lydia asked, following Skjor and Aela in front of them.
“Invoking the Law of Arkay prevents a body from being resurrected. I think it’s important to deny those who practice the dark arts access to corpses.”
“Where did you learn all this?” Lydia pried further.
“Before I turned to a life of adventure I was an acolyte of Arkay. But I will not speak on this for now. We have a mission at hand.”
In Jorika’s tone Lydia heard that thinking back to that time hurt her heart and she swallowed any follow up questions she had.
Near Gallows Rock was a small settlement called Mixwater Mill, but the only person left was the mill’s owner.
“Greetings!” Skjor called, gaining the woman’s attention. “Would you mind if we were to leave the horses here?”
“Sure, I wouldn’t mind, for the right price. I’m all alone here and still need to run my mill.”
“Why are you alone? Shouldn’t you have workers?” Jorika asked, dismounting her and Lydia’s horse.
“I had six of them but they left to fight in this stupid war. Oafs with mead in their heads, took their families with them. It gets lonely here since they left,” the woman explained.
“I’m Gilfre, by the way. You’re with the Companions, right?” she continued, taking the reins of the horses.
“Yes, we are. We have a contract for a group of mercenaries. They’re hiding in the mountains,” Skjor explained, lying about having a contract.
“Those Silver Hand fellows?” Gilfre asked. “They’re a bit rough but I would have never thought someone would hire the Companions to deal with them.”
“Do you have any dealings with them?” Skjor pried for more information.
“I wouldn’t say dealings,” Gilfre explained. “Every couple of days some of them come down the mountain and chop some wood. I get one half, they take the other. Listen, I’m just glad to receive just a little help. Even if they could be nicer.”
Skjor seemingly decided to leave it at that and they went their way up to Gallows Rock.
Taking position in the foliage surrounding the ruined fort they discussed their strategy.
“Aela and I should go in first. We are the ones in need to prove ourselves again,” Skjor said.
Aela agreed, as did Jorika and Lydia.
“From what I can see we have one on the roof and two patrolling the ground,” Skjor carried on.
“I can take the one on the roof, no problem,” Aela replied and readied her bow.
“And I’ll deal with the ones on the ground.”
“Sounds like a plan, Lydia and I will help if need be,” Jorika chimed in.
Skjor looked like he wanted to reply but chose not to.
They waited for Aela to kill the lookout and stormed forward once the man fell over.
Skjor easily took care of the two remaining Silver Hands.
The way into the ruin cleared they ventured inside.
“We need more firewood for that,” they heard a woman say.
“Then we send Thorsten and Kewlas down to the mill. The two idiots should be happy they can be useful for once,” an orc replied.
The Companions not considering a stealthy approach very honorable Aela got the attention of the two who drew their weapons and charged them.
Jorika saw for the first time how well Aela and Skjor functioned as Shield-Siblings.
Skjor parried both weapons allowing Aela to get behind their opponents, taking out the woman with a swift slice into her neck she freed up Skjor’s sword. He used the orc’s short moment of surprise and sliced off his right hand. Now opened up he drove his sword into the orc’s armpit, Aela grabbed the orc’s head and stabbed her dagger into his spine.
Within moments they had taken on two opponents and killed them. Jorika could not help it but feel impressed by their efficiency and synergy.
Aela turned her head to a werewolf who had been hung up in a closet.
“Not one we know. Not least by the smell,” she commented at the flayed carcass.
“Some get lost. Can’t differentiate between themself’s and the beast anymore,” Skjor agreed. “Poor fellow could have been anyone, but shouldn’t have ended like this.”
More members of the Silver Hand awaited them and with the same ease and brutality they were taken down by Skjor and Aela. Jorika and Lydia were entirely just accessories to the pair of Companions who slashed, stabbed and bashed their way through the mercenaries.
“Well, this is a new low. Even for them,” Aela said looking into a cell.
Jorika had to gag. The man hanging from the wall by nails driven through his wrists had been disemboweled, his entrails hanging from his cut open abdomen.
In the next cell a woman hung in a similar fashion, both her eyes ripped from their sockets, scars from burning over her exposed body.
Silently Jorika prayed that Arkay had granted these poor souls a quick death.
“And they claim we are the monsters,” Skjor scoffed, his words dripping of venom.
“This is absolutely vulgar. Repugnant. Disgusting. I can barely put it into words,” Jorika stammered as they found more of the Silver Hand’s victims maimed and battered bodies.
A man sat unmoving in a chair his back towards them, as they approached him they found him strapped into a torture device. His bloodied hands were clamped down to the table, three of his right hand’s fingers having been cut off.
“Kill me,” he begged them with a shallow voice.
Aela complied with his wish and cut his throat.
“Thank you,” the man gurgled before he slumped into himself. Again Jorika invoked the Law of Arkay and wished the man’s soul a peaceful rest in Aetherius.
The next larger room was even worse, the thick smell of blood hung in the air.
Skjor and Aela showed the Silver Hand not a shred of mercy, cleaving, stabbing and slicing them apart. On tables and racks were a werewolf and several people, all cut open and by the amount of blood, vivisected.
Jorika took a glance at some pieces of paper.
Meticulous notes detailed the process, describing how these poor men and women have been desecrated.
She gathered up the notes, not wanting to leave them to any Silver Hand that might return and even if their creation had been gruesome, the anatomical knowledge within these notes could be used for good or be properly destroyed if they proved to be worthless.
Lydia was heaving trying to keep herself from throwing up. Aela gripped ehr dagger so tightly that her entire hand turned white while Skjor appeared to not notice much of anything around him.
In an improvised smithy more Silver Hands awaited them. The brute of the group swung a large battleaxe, the blade splittered Skjor’s shield. He threw it aside and fought on, shoving this sword down the Redguard’s throat.
“Focus Skjor,” Aela chided him. “I’m just as angry at the fucks as you are but you need to keep it together. Krev will not be an easy foe.”
Skjor growled something unintelligible in response and pushed further into the Silver Hand’s lair.
They entered a large round chamber, pelts and skulls from werewolves lined the walls.
“And so the filth approaches the cleansing fire,” Krev the Skinner said, wielding a greatsword and wearing a variation of plate armor.
“Come and get me!” Krev shouted at them and Skjor charged in.
“Skjor! Wait!” Aela and Jorika shouted but it was too late.
In one motion Krev parried Skjor’s strike and sliced off his sword arm.
Skjor yelled in pain and surprise but got cut short when Krev shoved his sword through the wound into his chest and out of his neck.
Aela had moved so fast it was as if she had teleported. His greatsword ineffective against Aela’s dagger, Krev grabbed the small blade with his armored hand and twisted it out of Aela’s hand. He went to deliver a finishing blow on the disarmed Companion but Jorika catched his blade with her axe.
“And I thought you would just watch,” Krev mocked her.
They locked eyes and Jorika shouted.
The unrelenting force staggered Krev, pushed him backwards. Jorika utilized the opening and cleaved one of his lower legs off. Even in his gravely wounded state he fought on, swinging his sword at her.
Jorika catched his blade with her axe again and Lydia gave The Skinner a strong kick from behind against his elbow. The shattering of bones and the tearing of ligaments was audible and Krev had to let go of his sword. Jorika swung her axe at his helmet, her blade burying itself in Krev’s head getting stuck halfway. She ripped her axe free and The Skinner fell backwards dead.
Jorika chopped into his body and head at least a dozen more times venting her anger and grief before she had enough.
Aela had gathered Skjor’s lifeless body in her arms and was openly wailing.
Her words made no sense as she gave voice to her grief.
Having worked through her immediate emotions Jorika sat next to Aela.
She placed her hand on the other woman's shoulder but said no word. She knew that nothing could lessen Aela's pain right now.
Not wanting to present Skjor's dead body to everyone they had wrapped him and his severed arm tightly within some blankets they had taken from the living quarters. Aela was still beside herself so Jorika and Lydia carried Skjor.
Aela held the door when a terrible roar resounded across the land. They put Skjor’s body down and ran outside.
A dragon circled above the ruined fort. Aela shouted a string of obscenities and launched a volley of arrows at the beast. Evidently she garnered the dragon's attention as it turned around and blanketed the area in fire. They spread out, ducking behind rubble and walls as the heat washed over them, forcing the dragon to attack them one at a time.
“You’re foolish to fight me!” the beast growled as it flew overhead, shouting more flames at Lydia this time.
Aela launched more arrows at the dragon. Lydia grabbed one of the bows from the dead Silver Hands together with a quiver and shot at the dragon too. Their arrows had no discernible effect on the beast as it laughed at their pitiful attempts to hurt it.
Jorika, armed with only her shout and battleaxe, had to bide her time, wait for her moment to strike.
Again the dragon tried to douse them in flame and again they evaded the inferno, the smell of the burnt corpses of the fallen Silver Hands assaulting their nostrils.
“Slippery bastards!” the dragon cursed them. “I have more ways to kill you!”
The earth shook as the mighty beast landed. Swiping its clawed wings and wielding sharp teeth it tried to tear them to pieces.
In her grief filled fury Aela made herself the dragon’s focus of attention with her launching arrow after arrow into its scaly hide.
By less than a finger she dogged its maw filled with gnarly teeth, the arrow she tried to stab the beast’s throat with snapping as it made contact with its scales. Aela now out of its sight the dragon switched focus to Lydia.
The dragon swiped at the housecarl as she swung her sword at its armored wings, but the woman ducked beneath the leathery wing and stabbed her blade into it causing a large tear.
The dragon howled in pain: “Trying to pin me? You dare, worm? I will take great pleasure in annihilating you!”
With a swing of its armored tail the dragon hit Lydia and the housecarl shattered against a wall, going limp and unconscious. It prepared to unleash its fire on Lydia but Jorika commanded its attention when she hit it with the unrelenting force of her Thu’um, knocking the dragon’s head off target sending its fire breath into an empty corner of the court yard.
Running away from the retaliation the Dragonborn hid behind the crumbing outer wall of the fort but instead of the expected stream of fire roaring around her the wall itself appeared to explode as a terrible thunder raced across the sky.
“This pitiful wall will not stop me!”
With its sheer weight alone the dragon collapsed more of the wall as it pushed against the stones, climbing over the wall.
While Jorika left her ruined cover the dragon snapped at her. She escaped its jaws by so little she could smell the fire, the power, reverberating within the dragon.
Even in her full sprint running along the edge of the fort Jorika had no chance of outrunning the dragon crawling after her, let alone its fiery breath and without an idea of what to do she prayed that Aela would save her.
Standing atop an uncollapsed section of the outer wall launching her last remaining arrows at the seemingly unstoppable monster, Aela called out to the dragon: “Hey! Up here!”
The beast turned its head towards her and she jumped onto the dragon’s head and stabbed at its eye with her dagger. Roaring in pain, shouting fire into the sky it shook her off exposing its neck, allowing Jorika to cleave it open. Bucketsworth of blood spew forward coating the ground a slippery crimson red.
Writhing it collapsed and Jorika swung her axe down, splitting the roof of the beast’s skull splashing more blood and viscera. She felt the dragon’s soul enter her, felt how she absorbed its memories, its strength, its pain from its last moments. She suffered through burning up from the inside, the experience forcing her to her knees. Gripping her axe’s handle with white knuckles as if it was the only thing still anchoring her to reality.
Standing back up she drew a ragged breath.
Infuriated Aela kept stabbing at the dragon as its flesh dissolved until she got her dagger stuck in the bones at which point she continued to punch and kick the skeleton, screaming and cursing at the world.
Jorika meanwhile staggered towards Lydia to check on her housecarl.
Lydia was awake again. She groaned in pain and held her head.
Jorika knelt next to her and loosened a potion from her belt.
“Here, drink it,” she said as Lydia downed the potion. The housecarl got handed a second potion and like the first one it was greedily consumed.
Leaning against the wall she let the alchemical concoctions take effect while Jorika stayed by her housecarl.
“Are you feeling better?” Jorika asked after a while, eyeing Aela who had laid down sobbing.
“A little,” Lydia answered, drawing her feet closer. “Can you help me get up?”
Jorika nodded and grabbed Lydia underneath her arms. Pulling her up Lydia suddenly demanded to be put down again.
“What's wrong? Nausea?”
Lydia nodded as she fought to keep her stomach's contents.
Jorika had trouble keeping her thoughts together. The entire situation was beginning to overwhelm her.
Taking a couple deep breaths she focused herself. First step was getting everyone to Mixwater Mill.
“Aela?” Jorika tapped her friend on her shoulder. “I need your help.”
Aela looked at her, eyes reddened and swollen devoid of their usual happy and mischievous glint.
“Just leave me be,” she said feebly.
“We need to leave. Skjor deserves a proper burial. We can’t leave him here.”
At the mention of Skjor Aela got up slowly. She sniffled and pulled her dagger from the dragon’s skeleton.
Lydia grunted as they carried Skjor back to the horses, the pain in her back was still strong.
Gilfre helped secure Skyjor’s body on the horse after Jorika had practically pleaded with the woman. Sitting on the horse Lydia followed Jorika who shared her saddle with Aela who was crying against her fellow Companion’s shoulder.
Jorika herself had problems keeping her emotions under control. Anger, exhaustion, grief and frustration coursed through her veins.
When they arrived at Jorrvaskr everyone was surprised at Skjor’s absence.
“Where’s the old man? Gone out for a hunting trip? Catching us a feast?” Vilkas jokingly asked.
Upon receiving no answer and reading their expressions it dawned on him.
“No…” he whispered. “Tell me this is a sick joke!” he demanded, slamming his fists on the table.
“It is not, Vilkas,” Aela replied somberly. “It is not.”
On her thane's earlier insistence Lydia entered the Temple of Kynareth.
Noticing housecarl's pained expression Danica greeted her.
“Lydia? I had hoped to not see you again so soon.”
“And I had hoped to never get hurled against a wall by a dragon. Not every wish gets answered.”
“A dragon?” Danica asked surprised. “Nearby?”
“No, in Eastmarch,” said Lydia and took a seat on one of the beds. “Damned beast was flying overhead when we left a ruined fort.”
“And now you want me to check you for major injuries,” the priestess deduced.
“Jorika,” Lydia corrected. “Jorika wants me to do this.”
Danica chuckled.
“Your thane appears more concerned about your health than you. But first we need to get this armor off.”
Together they worked quickly to remove Lydia's scaled armor. The housecarl remained stoically silent during the procedure only hissing in pain once when she pulled her right arm out of the scaled sleeve.
Lydia also removed her shirt and laid face down in one of the beds.
“Any trouble breathing?” Danica asked and pressed onto Lydia's ribs.
The housecarl winced and groaned, having lost the willingness to appear strong.
“Not really. Just hurts.”
Danica continued to examine Lydia, checking each rib for a fracture.
“You're lucky. Just severe bruising. It will heal on its own,” the priestess told her. “Take it easy the next couple of days and don't wear your armor. The weight will only lengthen the healing process. And no training either.”
Pulling her shirt back on Lydia grunted in agreement.
Exiting the temple Lydia felt how the effects of the potions Jorika had given her were wearing off. Her entire upper back slowly enveloped itself in a strong dull pain.
Clenching her teeth she went to Arcadia’s Cauldron.
“Lydia, good to see you,” the Imperial greeted her.
“Hello, Arcadia. I need a potion of healing,” Lydia told her, her need, placing her armor and weapons on the counter.
The alchemist pulled on from beneath her counter and handed it to Lydia. The housecarl immediately uncorked the small flask and downed the content.
She felt how the pain in her back subsided, making way for a feeling of soreness.
“Thanks,” she said. “I need three more, a potion of regeneration and something to help me sleep.”
“Are you suffering from sleeping troubles?” Arcadia asked rummaging through her supplies to craft a sleep potion.
“No, “ Lydia explained. “But with Skjor’s death the Companions will be holding a feast in his honor and I need rest.”
“Skjor died?” Arcadia asked surprised as she mixed the different ingredients.
“Yes. He died with a sword in his hand,” Lydia told, opting to leave out the more gruesome details.
Arcadia remained silent for a moment, focusing on creating the potion.
Bottling up the liquid she said: “This should help you. Just drink the mixture when you go to bed. - I can’t believe Skjor is dead. He has always helped me gather some more hard to comeby ingredients.”
“Never figured he had an interest in alchemy.”
Arcadia had to laugh and stepped back behind her counter.
“Oh, he had none but he loved to fight. Especially for a pretty woman like me, he said. When he slew a Hagraven or Spriggan he’d gather ingredients for me from them.”
Lydia was surprised to learn that there had been more to Skjor than just being a warrior.
Arriving back in Jorrvaskr the Companions were all drinking and telling stories about Skjor.
Lydia simply informed Jorika that she was going to the quarters and will be getting some rest.
“I hope we’ll not keep you up for too long,” Jorika told her and went back to drinking.
Down in the living quarters Lydia stowed her armor before drinking the sleeping potion.
She pulled the blanket over herself and was soon dreaming.
Skjor was to be cremated as he had requested in life.
Jorika was assembling the funeral pyre in the Skyforge together with Torvar and Athis.
“I wonder who will replace Skjor in the Circle?” Torvar questioned himself.
“Really?” Athis retorted. “You’re going to reach for Skjor’s position before he is even buried?”
“What’s the harm?” Torvar wanted to know, taking a gulp of his ale. “It’s not like he’s coming back.”
“You really are a heartless bastard, you know that?” Jorika replied, placing down one of the larger logs with Athis’ help. “And stop drinking and help us instead.”
“You’re both no fun,” Torvar complained and put his bottle away.
“Well excuse me, for not feeling like a jester while constructing a funeral pyre,” Jorika snided back.
“Talking about jesters, have I…”
“We don’t want to hear it,” Athis cut Torvar off.
He grumbled something and they kept working.
Besides the Companions, a small crowd of other people were attending Skjor's funeral at the Skyforge.
Arcadia the alchemist made a showing, as did Hulda, the innkeeper of the Bannered Mare. Surprising was the appearance of Anoriath, no one had known he and Skjor were close. A whole slew of people Jorika did not recognize attended too.
Aela and Kodlak ignited the pyre.
“Before the ancient flame…” he said.
“We grieve,” the crowd replied in unison.
“At this loss…” Aela continued.
“We weep,” the crowd finished.
“For the fallen…” Kodlak spoke.
“We shout.”
“And for ourselves…” said Aela.
“We take our leave.”
The crowd waited until the flames had engulfed Skjor’s body and retreated into Jorrvaskr.
Lydia took a seat next to Hulda at the feast spread out on the tables.
“What is your connection with Skjor?”
Hulda chewed the piece of bread she had just bitten off and looked at Lydia questioning.
“He is… was… a friend. The evenings in the Bannered Mare are going to be less cheerful without him.”
“I never knew that he had friends outside the Companions,” Lydia admitted.
“Skjor… was not the most open man,” Hulda explained. “But once you got to know him he could show an incredible warmth. I’m going to miss him.”
“As will everyone,” Lydia agreed and took a look at the crowd. She recognized some of the faces as members of the guard.
She saw that Aela was sitting away from the others and nursing a mug of mead wanting to get drunk enough to forget the day.
Jorika took a seat next to Anoriath.
The Bosmer gave her a shy smile. They had little to do with one another, whenever Jorika brought her hunted kills to Whiterun she sold them to Elrindir, Anoriath's brother, and traded them in for already cut meat.
“I’ll be honest: I have not expected to see you,” she started their conversation, not knowing how better to begin it.
“I get that. Not many know about my friendship with Skjor. He was never a man to tell much about himself.”
“No he wasn’t,” Jorika agreed. “Would you mind telling me about your friendship?”
The elf took a hearty swig of mead before he spoke: “It started when Skjor had set out to bring down a sabre cat. Unbeknownst to him I had set my eye on the beast too. It was driving away game from my favorite hunting grounds.”
Jorika opted to simply listen and nodded to signal Anoriath to continue.
“When he attacked the cat from his hidden position I let an arrow fly from my position. We never figured out who had landed the first strike but both would have been lethal. Ever since we would hunt them together when one turned up to cause trouble.”
Anoriath reminiscenced for a bit and took a gulp of mead.
“Skjor was always so silent despite his armor. I never built up the courage to ask him how he managed to do that.”
“So you helped him get the pelt for his bed?” Jorika asked.
“He has never told you?” Anoriath sounded hurt.
“I never asked him, but you mentioned hunting sabre cats, so I assumed.”
“Yes, I helped him with that. It was a pair, beautiful animals, very big. I kept the other pelt. It has kept me warm for all those years.”
Jorika could imagine how warm one would be wrapped in a sabre cat’s pelt.
After the funeral and some additional days of rest for Lydia they packed their bags to finally make their way to High Hrothgar.
“I’ve put this off for way too long already. I need to see what the Greybeards want from me,” Jorika explained upon being questioned by Aela on her leaving so soon again.
“Stay safe, Shield-Sister,” Aela wished her farewell, the pain of Skjor’s loss still clearly audible in her voice.
Notes:
I have decided to restructure the work and have combined the old chapters 11-15 into this new chapter.
Chapter 4: The 7000 Steps
Summary:
Jorika finally go to High Hrothgar to learn more about the Voice or the Thu'um.
Chapter Text
Ivarstead was unremarkable, dozens of similar villages dotted Skyrim's landscape.
They entered the local inn to get some rest before attempting the arduous climb before them. Above a roaring fire a spitted goat was roasting and stews were bubbling in their pots. The bard performing a lute play catched Jorika's eyes and she clapped at the song's end.
Upon hearing her clapping the bard looked at her horrified, pure fear painted on the woman’s face, framed by reddish blonde hair.
Worried, Jorika asked: “Did I somehow offend you? I’m clapping because I think the song was lovely.”
Collecting herself the bard muttered: “I just think I’m not that good. You simply startled me.”
“I’m sorry to have scared you.”
She let the bard be and took a seat waiting for Lydia to rent two rooms. While they were eating dinner, which included some of the lovely smelling stews, the bard catched Jorika's attention again. She overheard the other woman talk about having seen a ghost near the old burrow which roused Jorika's suspicions. She got up from the bench and, upon receiving a questioning look from Lydia, explained that she just wanted to ask a question.
“I’m sorry to intrude but what was that about a ghost in the burrow?”
The bard and innkeeper, a slightly older man with graying hair, looked at her mortified.
“The burrow at the edge of town is haunted. You should stay away from there,” the innkeeper warned her. “I’ve seen one of the ghosts with my own eyes. When they look at you they pierce your soul. Luckily they don’t stray far from the burrow.”
“Sounds like something I should investigate,” Jorika replied.
“Don’t! You won’t come back,” the innkeeper begged.
“I have defeated two dragons. I can handle a few ghosts,” Jorika boasted.
Lydia got up but Jorika waved her down.
“You can stay here. This won’t take long.”
“Leave this place…” a disembodied voice called out to Jorika as she descended into the tomb. “Leave this place…”
“Well, someone’s here,” she mumbled to herself.
The tomb was mostly in ruins and looked thoroughly looted. Iron portcullises blocked one of the gates. Entering the accessible room she found four levers. Deciding to test her luck and knowing that Lydia would be coming to search for her should she take too long she pulled the first lever on the left. Another portcullis shattered down, trapping her in the room. Jorika flipped the lever back up. Ancient machinery started to work and pulled the portcullis back into the ceiling.
“That’s a relief.”
The next lever she turned was the first on the right. Again the portcullis came down but the one’s opposite from the room she stood in started moving. Thinking for a moment Jorika pulled the first lever again and she was free again with the way deeper into the burrow unblocked.
“Leave. Leave. Leave,” the voice called out again.
Jorika was by now convinced that she would not be running into any ghosts but just a squatter who scares the locals away from their home.
She culled on a chain and another set of Portcullis got out of her way, but the second set on the bottom of the stairs remained in place. Looking for another mechanism spears sprung out of the wall of the stairwell and the second portcullis vanished into the ceiling.
“Someone was a little paranoid building this,” Jorika mumbled to herself.
Arriving at the bottom of the stairs Jorika was assaulted by a ghost. Blasting her with a painful lightning spell Jorika drew her axe and swung it at the ghost. Red blood spewed forward and the ghost collapsed, losing his ethereal glow revealing to be just a simple Dunmer.
“Alright, this just got interesting.”
Cleaning her axe she entered the room the elf had come out of and Jorika found rather worldly possessions. A variety of food stuff, a bedroll, a spare pair of boots and a small booklet. Grabbing it Jorika flipped through the pages learning the history of the mer.
The diary detailed how the mer was a treasure hunter that wanted to loot the burrow and came up with the ghosts as a way to keep the locals of Iverstead from interfering with his plans. He even managed to create a potion that would make him look like a ghost. As the entries continued though the slipping sanity of the Dunmer became apparent. The sentences got less coherent and the dates were all over history one was even dated to the fifth era that had not even begun yet. In the end the mer became convinced that he was, Jorika found the diary did not explain the next part well, which, given the state of mind of the elf, was not unexpected, one of or the guardian ghost of the burrow.
After having read the diary of the crazed elf Jorika knelt next to him.
“Lord Arkay,” she prayed, “please accept this soul that I had to send to your realm. Grant his spirit and body your eternal rest that in death he may never bring harm to anyone. Welcome him into Aetherius so that he may experience by your side the peace he was denied in the last moments of his life.”
She placed her hand on the mer’s chest, feeling how she served as a conduit of the Divine’s power.
Upon her return to the inn the innkeeper looked surprised.
“You came back,” he said astonished.
“I did,” Jorika answered with a smile, “and you’ll want to read this.”
She handed him the journal. Both he and the bard read it together.
“So it was just a ploy by this Wyndelius character?” the innkeeper muttered to himself.
“I feel like an idiot to have fallen for it,” the bard confessed, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Fear is a powerful tool,” Jorika explained. “I still wouldn’t venture into the burrow. It’s laden with traps.”
The innkeeper sighed with relief.
“I’m just glad to have peace of mind.”
“Wilhelm, I think a reward is in place,” the bard said, revealing the innkeepers name.
“You’re right, Lynly,” Wilhelm responded. “Let me get you something.”
He disappeared into the inn’s cellar.
“If I can offer you something, just ask,” Lynly said.
Jorika looked at the bard seductively.
She looked back with fear in her eyes and slightly shook her head, asking, begging to be let alone.
Jorika understood and with calm eyes she nodded.
Wilhelm came back out of the cellar carrying an ornamental dragon claw.
He was completely unaware of the non verbal talk Jorika and Lynly just had.
“Here. I may be lacking in coin right now, but this relic should fetch you a nice price and should you decide to stay in the Vilemyr Inn you can do so for free.”
Appreciatively Jorika took the claw, suspecting that it might be the claw Wyndelius had been searching for.
“Thanks for the free room and board. Can you have us woken up by sunrise? The way up to High Hrothgar is long.”
“Sure, I or Lynly can do that.”
By first daylight Lynly woke them up as Jorika had asked. After equipping their armor they had a light yet nourishing breakfast and bought some provisions that would hopefully last them until they would have descended the mountain again.
Standing on the bridge leading to the 7000 steps was a man.
“Are you going up to High Hrothgar?” he asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” Jorika wanted to know.
“I’m supposed to take the trip myself, deliver some supplies for the Greybeards but my legs aren’t what they used to be.”
“Do you do this often? Giving them supplies?”
“About once a month, but I fear I will have to find someone to take over for me,” the man explained, sounding genuinely sad about the matter.
“Are you paid for doing this?” Lydia inquired.
“Paid? For some salted fish and dried vegetables? No, it’s… an understanding between the Greybeards and me. Not that I have ever seen lest spoken with one.”
“If you want we can take the supplies up,” offered Jorika.
“You would? Thank you. I can pay for your help once you return.”
He handed over a small knapsack and Jorika shouldered it. The bag was lighter than she had expected.
At the bottom of the steps was a shrine, a small bowl at the foot of the shrine filled with some amulets. Jorika decided to take one, but instead of having a third amulet around her neck she placed it in one of her pockets. She pulled her werewolf pelt cloak close and they began their ascent. At the second shrine they came across a hunter.
“Walking the 7000 steps?” he asked.
“Indeed. Up to High Hrothgar,” Jorika answered.
“Well good luck then, I tend to say lower where I can still bag some game. Farewell.”
“Good luck with your hunt,” said Lydia as they passed the man.
As they ascended the mountain the winds picked up, tearing at their cloaks, blowing snowy needles onto their skin.
“How did you end up as a housecarl?” Jorika asked.
“I was a member of Whiterun’s guard before I got the assignment,” Lydia explained.
“Did you want to become a housecarl?”
“I’ve dreamt of adventure,” Lydia replied, stepping over a fallen tree branch.
“That’s no answer to my question.”
“I wouldn’t be your housecarl if you were some weak spined noble woman who sat around her manor all day,” Lydia called out over the winds.
Jorika laughed. “That’s the spirit!”
“Want to know more?”
“Tell me how you grew up. What did you do before we met?”
“Ain’t much to tell about my childhood. I was my parent’s fifth child and third daughter,” Lydia elaborated as Jorika waited for her. “There was nothing to inherit for me, not that I would have wanted to stay in Golden Fields all my life.”
The wind bit into their faces.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and siblings but spending my existence as some farmer’s wife, tending fields, bearing children, never leaving the village - it filled me with dread. In my seventeenth summer I decided that I had to leave. I bid my family farewell and started to wander. I ended up in Rorikstead and worked as a farmhand and barmaid.”
“Hard to imagine you as a barmaid now,” Jorika admitted.
“Yeah,” Lydia chuckled. “It wasn’t really the life of glory I wanted but it was exciting anyways for a young and naive woman like me back then. Rorikstead isn’t even that far from Golden Fields. Reminds me that I should check in with Mralki the next time we’re there.”
Her cloak’s hood became loose and she readjusted it, careful not to slip on the icy steps.
“One day a merchant caravan passed through on their way to Solitude. For some reason their leader agreed to hire me as a guard. I had no armor, just the clothes on my back and my weapon was just a cudgel. More like a glorified big stick in hindsight.”
“He must have seen something in you,” Jorika tried to cheer her housecarl up.
“A dumb girl he can stifle out of her money, that’s what he saw in me. Because that’s what he did, damn bastard,” Lydia cursed. “But I had made it to Solitude, the biggest city in all of Skyrim. I toiled away as a dock worker, slept in the open street, barely ate until I could afford some armor and a real weapon. Nothing fancy mind you, just a used aketon and a cheap iron sword, but it was enough to get hired again as a caravan guard. I still remember what we transported: Spiced wine. Destination: Whiterun. Once there I actually got paid but I was out of work again.”
The last remnants of closed vegetation vanished leaving only snow and ice covered rocks, snowberry bushes and the occasional crippled pine.
“Never knew you were in Solitude before,” Jorika said.
“Never a reason to bring it up,” Lydia shrugged. “Anyway… My first night in Whiterun some petty thief stole my purse. I was furious. That was my money! I managed to track the little weasel down. He hid out in a brothel, whoring and drinking away my septims! I dragged him out of there and gave him a thrashing. Some guard broke us up. First I thought I was going to jail but after I explained the situation he told me to speak with Commander Caius. Caius hired me as a guard. Been doing that until I became your housecarl.”
“You led a more interesting life than I had anticipated,” Jorika disclosed.
“Why? Did you think I just manifested into existence after you became thane?”
“Now that would be a story all on its own!”
Both women laughed heartily.
Before Lydia could ask a question of her own they spotted a woman sitting further up the path.
“Hail, fellow pilgrim!” Jorika shouted, rousing the woman’s attention.
She looked back at them and raised her hand before letting it vanish underneath her cloak again.
“Up on your way to High Hrothgar?” Jorika asked, squatting next to the stranger.
“No, just walking the steps. Meditating on the emblems.”
“Is this your first time doing this pilgrimage?” Lydia wanted to know.
“I try to do it every few years. I’d prefer to leave it at that, if you don’t mind,” the woman said.
They nodded, respecting the stranger’s wish for privacy and went back on their way up the mountain.
Shortly after their encounter with the strange woman, a troll jumped down from a ledge above them, its impact echoing from the walls. Bones buried in the snow were silent witnesses to the troll's successful strategy.
Both women readied their weapons as the white furred beast charged them. Reaching out for them Jorika managed to evade its clawed hands but Lydia was not so lucky.
The troll grabbed Lydia by her shoulder, her sword bit into its thick hide but the beast remained unrelenting. With a swing of her axe Jorika chopped off its hand. Screeching the animal flailed its stump and remaining hand at the Dragonborn. Lydia ripped the severed limb away from her and went back into the fray. Slashing the troll’s back open the creature swung around splatting blood from its stump and new wound over the snow. Jorika’s axe buried itself into the monster’s flank. Howling it yanked the axe out, tearing open the wound. Blood streamed forward, the snow melted where it fell. Flailing in blind rage the troll tried to kill the women.
One of the troll’s strikes connected and sent Lydia flying backwards. On impact she saw stars and felt disoriented. The beast went after the housecarl.
Splitting its head from behind Jorika ended the troll’s life, it slumped over and remained motionless. Letting go of her axe Jorika ran to her friend.
“Lydia! Are you alright?”
She looked over Lydia, searching for signs of bleeding.
“My head hurts,” the housecarl admitted.
“Do you need a potion?” Jorika asked.
“No. Just… Just give me a moment.”
With a slight groan she got up.
“I need to stop doing that,” she grumbled to herself, shaking the snow off her cloak.
“If you mean getting hurt… Yes. Please stop doing that,” Jorika told her housecarl. “I always fear you might die.”
Lydia felt herself blushing at her thane's admittance.
Danica had been right, Jorika was more concerned about her wellbeing than Lydia herself.
Jorika and Lydia finally reached the monastery. They felt exhausted after their climb.
High Hrothgar towered over them, the stony walls appearing uninviting, hostile even.
They shook the snow off their cloaks before entering. The monastery’s insides were just as icy as the outsides.
An elderly man greeted them: “Not many would dare to enter High Hrothgar. What is your purpose here?”
“I’m answering your call, I’m the Dragonborn.”
“Then let us taste of your voice,” the man demanded.
Jorika looked at him unsure.
“Don’t worry, you can’t hurt me. Shout at me.”
Taking another moment to check for any signs of the man Jorika shouted with unrelenting force at him. He stumbled a step backwards but appeared unfazed otherwise.
“Dragonborn. It truly is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar,” he said with a much friendlier demeanor.
Jorika was honestly surprised at how little effect her shout had on the man.
“I’m Master Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me: Why have you come here?”
“I’m answering your summons,” Jorika answered. “I wish to learn more about what it means to be the Dragonborn.”
“The Greybeards have always seeked to guide those of the Dragonblood in the Way of the Voice. You have already shown the first step in focusing your voice into a Thu’um, a shout, but now let’s see if you can learn.”
The Greybeards training lasted into the late hours of the day.
They taught Jorika different ways to meditate, how she can listen to her inner Thu'um, ingrained in her to never let her power outmatched her wisdom.
Feeling as if she had frozen solid during her latest lesson on meditation outside in the snowy winds she entered High Hrothgar again. Squatting before a fireplace she let the warmth push the cold out of her bones.
“Was that your final lesson?” Lydia asked, looking up from the book she had started reading out of boredom, the barren monastery offered little in regards of entertainment.
This dreary book about an ancient line of kings and its every member was the best she had found to keep her mind occupied.
How the Greybeards could live like this was beyond her.
“For today,” a shivering Jorika answered, while her housecarl put the book on a table. “Tomorrow this continues.”
“Do you want me to fetch you a meal? We still have lots of supplies.”
“You would do this?”
“I'm sworn to your service,” Lydia replied and started to rummage through their bags.
“Thank you,” Jorika said upon receiving the food.
She placed her bread and mead next to the fire to heat it up.
They placed their bedrolls before the fireplace to keep warm in the frigid monastery.
The Greybeards having refused to offer them beds even after being asked if they had some to spare.
“What was your upbringing like?” Lydia asked, after placing additional wood in the fire.
“Why do you want to know?” the Dragonborn asked back, turning on her bedroll to face Lydia. The three blankets she covered herself in rustled.
“You asked me on the way up here,” the housecarl replied, laying down on her own bed roll. “Only fair for me to ask too, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I guess,” Jorika said. “What do you want to know?”
“You know the rites of Arkay. How come that?”
Jorika sighed and looked at the crackling fireplace. The warmth a welcome feeling.
“I was an acolyte of Arkay for some years. I left before I got the sanctifications to become an official priestess but I still carry Arkay in my heart and soul.”
“You sound like it was a hurtful time,” Lydia noticed.
“Initially it was. My parents gave me away to the priests. At first I hated being away from them, they were all I had known my entire life. I cried a lot but one night I felt the warm embrace of Arkay. He welcomed me into his arms and soothed my sorrows. This revelation changed my outlook,” Jorika explained. “I became more attentive to the teachings, cried less and less until I found solace, a family with the priests again.”
“Mind telling me where that was?”
“Dawnstar, but I was born in Iron Hill.”
Jorika waited for a moment before continuing.
“I stayed with the priests for seven years. I was nineteen when I left them.”
“Why?” Lydia wanted to know.
“One of my sisters had run away. She had run away three years before I even had learned she was gone. I had a massive fight with my parents, we’re still not on speaking terms, likely never will be again.”
“I’m sorry,” Lydia wanted to console her thane.
“Don’t be. My parents aren’t saints. They’re far from it, they beat us up over nothing. Once my oldest brother got a beating for ‘breathing too loud’. Looking at it now with the benefit of hindsight: Being forced to become an acolyte was the best that could have happened to me. The priests were good to me. I had food, a dry bed and I was loved. I was allowed to be a child and a young woman.”
“A young woman?” Lydia inquired, sounding amused.
“My parents weren’t happy with my interest in women. When they found out I received beatings for three days. I have many reasons why I haven’t seen them in the past eight years,” Jorika explained coldly.
While Lydia did not regularly take interest in women, the thought of getting beaten for just loving who one loved sounded horrible.
“Sounds like they don’t deserve you to even acknowledge their existence,” she reassured her thane.
“Don’t plan to. Reminds me of a saying: ‘Every child preserves parents. Not all parents deserve children.’ Mine certainly didn’t.”
“What did you do after you left the priesthood?” Lydia changed the subject.
“I became a wanderer. Traveled across Skyrim, that’s how I learned to be a warrior. I had to protect myself. Spent about two years in High Rock too. Had my first real girlfriend there. I had to leave when she had to marry some guy. Too many bad memories. Went back to traveling.”
Jorika shifted on her bedroll, turning away from Lydia to hide her tears.
“I then came to Whiterun about a year ago and joined the Companions. You know the rest.”
Her tone indicated she wished to no longer speak about the subject.
< hr />
The Greybeards kept Jorika an additional four days in the monastery during which they taught her a second word of power for the Unrelenting Force.
She had to learn a wholly new shout too, the Whirlwind Sprint, before Arngeir decided that she was ready to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.
Jorika and Lydia gave Arngeir their goodbyes and began their descent from the Throat of the World.
Weather and wildlife were far more agreeable and they managed to quickly pass the slightly gnawed on and frozen carcass of the frost troll that had attacked them a few days prior.
They encountered a few pilgrims walking the 7000 steps, all were rather serious and talked little. With the beginning of dawn they reached the village.
Entering Ivarstead the man that had given them the supplies for the Greybeards ran up to them.
“Thank the gods you returned. I had feared I had sent you to your death by accident,” the told the reason for his relief.
“I told you they would return, Klimmek,” a Bosmer called over.
“Yes, you were right Gwilin.” Klimmek turned his attention back to Jorika and Lydia. “Why were you gone for so long? The way should have taken at most two days.”
“We spent the time in High Hrothgar,” Jorika explained.
“Well, that’s something I have never heard of, that the Greybeards had visitors.”
“I was invited. I’m the Dragonborn or Dovahkiin as they call me.”
“Dragonborn? Like in the Legends? Sorry, but I find that hard to believe, esteemed Companion.”
“Believe me or not, it is true,” Jorika answered, not caring whether Klimmek accepted her explanation or not.
“Well, you did deliver the supplies. Here,” he handed Jorika a small coin purse, “I have promised you payment.”
She tied the bag to her belt.
“Are you an adventurer?” a young woman suddenly asked Jorika.
Surprised Jorika looked at the woman for a moment before answering.
“Yes I am a Companion. Why do you ask?”
“Would you tell me a story about one of your adventures? I’d love to learn more about the world outside of this little village.”
The woman had a gleam of hope in her eyes.
“Sure, I could tell you a couple of stories. How about how me and a fellow Companion went to hunt down a troll in the Pale? One mighty bastard that one was…”
Night fell over the small village and the young farmer thanked Jorika for sharing one of her adventures. Lydia and her thane went into the Vilemyr Inn.
“Hello Wilhelm,” Jorika greeted the innkeeper. “Does your offer of a free room still stand?”
“Of course it does. You were gone for longer than I had expected. Did you and your companion camp outside of High Hrothgar?” the innkeeper wanted to know.
“No, we spent the past few days with the Greybeards. I’m still feeling cold from the frigid air. Do you still have something warm to eat?”
The next morning they replenished their supplies. Bidding the innkeeper and bard farewell they chose to take the same way they had come, down south some lesser known paths.
They were approaching Valtheim Towers, still deserted after Vilkas had cleared them, when two masked strangers stopped them.
“You there! You’re the one they call Dragonborn?” the one in front asked, the hostility in his voice apparent.
“Yes. I am Dragonborn,” Jorika answered unashamedly.
“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver. The True Dragonborn comes… You are but his shadow.”
The two strangers casted mage armor spells and spew flames from their hands.
Lydia and Jorika dodged out of the way of the flames with Jorika shouting Fire Breath at their attackers, one blocked the fire with a ward but the other got set ablaze, screaming and flailing as he went to the ground and burned.
The remaining man focused his fury on Jorika, leaving his back open. Lydia used the opportunity and drove her sword through the spell into his back, killing him.
“Who were they?” Jorika asked more of herself than Lydia and sheathed her axe.
“I don’t know, maybe they have a note on them?” Lydia said. “Something that explains this odd behavior.”
The man killed by Lydia had nothing on him besides a fat pouch of coins and the second one was burned beyond recognition, any note he may have carried had been turned to ash.
Together they pulled the corpses to the side of the road and Jorika invoked the Law of Arkay once more, shielding their attackers bodies against necromancy.
Notes:
I have decided to restructure the work and have combined the old chapters 16-20 into this new chapter.
Chapter 5: Return to Whiterun
Summary:
Returning again to Whiterun Jorika and Lydia decide to get the cold out of their bones.
Chapter Text
“Hey, lass,” Vilkas greeted her outside the stables.
Jorika was surprised at his jovial tone.
“Didn’t expect you to be in such a good mood,” she said as they grabbed each other's forearm as a greeting..
“My heart still grieves and aches but the world does not stand still for me. I need to look forward. A word of advice tho: Aela has been in a terrible mood the past days. You’d do well to avoid her. But she is away a lot anyways.”
“Thanks, Shield-Brother, I’ll remember that.”
They refused to let go for another moment, enabling Jorika to see the hurt in Vilkas’ eyes.
He was yet to really overcome the death of Skjor despite his cheerful appearance.
Inside Jorrvaskr Torvar cornered them and said: “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the past days. Skjor’s death made me look too deep into the bottle.”
“All’s forgiven, Shield-Brother,” Jorika replied and slapped Torvar on his shoulder.
She herself had wanted to drink the pain away.
“Thanks. I’ve already apologized to Athis, before you ask. But I need to go now, have to rough some bandits up.”
“Good hunting, Shield-Brother,” she wished him farewell.
Ria and Farkas were glad to see them return safely and greeted them warmly, even the ever distant Nadja gave them a rare smile and toast.
Jorika threw her pack onto a bed in the whelp’s quarters.
Never had she been happier to be back there, in a place with warm beds and friends around.
“Damn, am I glad to be back. There is a bathhouse here. And fresh food. And it’s not fucking freezing!”
“It will be good to have a hot bath,” Lydia agreed.
“Ain’t that the truth!” Jorika said and started gathering her towels and soap.
The bathhouse was fuller than usual, in the crowd Jorika saw Carlotta washing the hair of Mila and another girl she had not seen before.
“Hello, Carlotta,” she said as she stood next to her friend.
“Oh, hey, Jorika. I haven’t seen you the past few days,” the vegetable vendor replied, rubbing soap into Mila’s hair.
“I was with the Greybeards. I just arrived back in Whiterun.”
“I’m glad to see your safe return.”
Carlotta placed her hand on the other girl’s shoulder, a skinny thing with blonde hair.
“This is Lucia. I took her in yesterday.”
“Took her in?” Jorika pried for more information. Lucia looked at her frightened.
“Yes,” Carlotta explained, pouring some water over Mila. “I know that I don’t have much money but I can’t just let her live on the streets. Not after she had gotten kicked out of her home by her aunt.”
“You’re a good soul, Carlotta. You know where to find me should you need help. Please, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Carlotta looked a bit ashamed as she seemed to contemplate the offer. She had always been proud to take care of herself and Mila on her own, but with a third mouth to feed she may need to accept charity from now on.
“Auntie Jorika?” Mila called out to her. “Can you tell me what you did with the Greybeards?”
She felt her heart grow as she was addressed as Auntie.
“Of course but later. Your mother isn't done with you and I want a bath myself.”
Mila beamed at the promise.
“See? I told you she is awesome,” the girl said to Lucia who looked at her still frightened.
Sinking into the tub Jorika sighed as the hot water washed away the grime of the past days.
She let the heat disperse the last reminders of the frozen air in High Hrothgar.
Tilting her head back and looking at the wooden ceiling she listened to the conversations around her.
Lydia was quizzing Arcadia about the plants in Hjaalmarch and if she wanted some of them for potions.
Tara, one of the bathhouse’s attendants was complaining about the amount of work with her coworker Ila.
Olfina and Saadia chatted about their work in the Bannered Mare.
She heard Rega and Vesta, two weaveresses, talking about a blanket they were working on and faintly underneath all these talks she could hear Mila telling Lucia an embellished story about Jorika.
Jorika sat on one of the benches wanting to relax a little longer, enjoying the time in the bathhouse where she had no responsibilities, where nobody wanted her to go and slay bandits or dragons, before leaving the little pocket of tranquility.
“Hey,” Ysolda greeted her and took a seat next to the Companion.
“Hello, good to meet you,” Jorika said, appreciatively eyeing up Ysolda who was just as naked as the Companion herself.
“Back from one of your adventures?” the redhead asked, fluffling up her hair a little.
“Indeed. Finally managed to go see the Greybeards.”
“You visited the Greybeards? What are they like?” Ysolda asked excitedly.
Jorika thought for a moment, for the time she had spent in High Hrothgar she had not gotten to know the Greybeards very much.
“Reclusive. I only really ever spoke with a single one of them, their master Arngeir. They're a pretty peaceful bunch but they have this aura of power around them.”
Ysolda let her fingers trace along one of Jorika’s arms.
“Sounds a bit like you,” she teased. “You have this ambience of power too.”
Jorika smirked, it would not be the first time she and Ysolda had sex.
“You’re not just here for small talk, are you?” she asked, placing her hand on the redhead’s knee, judging the other woman’s reaction.
“Perhaps not. It’s been a while since we had spent time together.”
Closing the door behind them Jorika pulled Ysolda into a hungry kiss.
Her lover responded in kind, gripping Jorika by the waist and pulling her closer.
They continued their kiss for a few more moments before Jorika decided she could not wait any longer and she tore her shirt off. Immediately Ysolda switched her attention to Jorika’s breasts, sucking on her nipples, eliciting pitchy whimpers from the other woman.
Growing weak in her knees the blonde let herself fall into Ysolda’s bed, breaking their contact for a moment.
Ysolda had a devilish smile as she undressed and hooked her fingers in the hem of Jorika’s pants. Lifting her hips she allowed Ysolda to pull them off.
Realizing how needy she was for another woman the Companion spread her legs, exposing her glistening groin.
“Just lick me already,” she demanded.
Ysolda was happy to comply, giving Jorika's pussy a broad lick bottom to top making sure she gave Jorika's clit a little flick with the tip of her tongue.
Jorika moaned and gasped at the pleasure, arching her back as she melted into Ysolda.
She felt her climax building up as Ysolda kept licking, sucking and softly biting at her clit, labia and inner thighs.
Ysolda’s fingers circled around her entrance, drawing out juices and moans in equal measure.
Curling her fingers into the Companion Ysolda quickly found that special spot against her walls, fingerfucking Jorika’s cunt as she kept sucking on her clit.
With ragged breaths Jorika gripped the bed sheaths as if they were the only thing anchoring her to reality, they very well might have been given the amount of bliss she was experiencing.
“Fuck!” Jorika cried out as she became undone, locking Ysolda’s head in place with her strong legs.
Her orgasm slowly subsided and she released her friend. Ysolda placed a final kiss on Jorika’s sensitive clit before crawling up to her and snuggling with her.
Taking a few minutes to regain her composure Jorika heard Ysolda softly whimpering and feverishly working between her own legs. Slipping her hand between the merchant's legs she replaced Ysolda's hand. Running her fingers between the wet folds she coated them before letting them dance on Ysolda's swollen clit.
“Can't let you do all the work,” she whispered as the redhead gasped for air.
Soon Ysolda began shaking, swatting Jorika's hand away, clenching her legs together, riding the crest of her climax.
“I wish we could do this more often,” Ysolda confessed in between deep breaths, having become mistress of her thoughts again.
“Are you asking for more sex or a relationship?” Jorika inquired.
“Perhaps both? We’re having fun here. I know I have,” Ysolda explained. “Why not make it permanent?”
Jorika shook her head.
“Sorry. But I’m not interested in anything long term at the moment.”
Ysolda sighed in defeat, knowing that pushing Jorika would only result in her lover drawing away.
“Can we still have sex more often?”
“That,” Jorika said kissing Ysolda, “I have nothing against.”
After they had left Ysolda’s cottage and had another bath Jorika bid her friend farewell and made her way over to the Wild Stallion, Whiterun’s most popular brothel.
An easy position to have after the Red Flower, the other brothel, closed.
Gislod, the bouncer, gave her a small nod of acknowledgement as she entered, she returned the nod.
Jorika was glad that Hrotod had hired him, Gislod’s wife used to be a prostitute making him far more aware of the dangers and a lot more willing to act.
The brothel was still closed and preparing for the coming evening and night. The women working as prostitutes were busy cleaning the dark wooden floors and cups.
There were barely any windows and the few that were there had been placed in a way that let in precious little light, making stained lamps and red candles the primary light sources.
In the soft red glow of the lamps hanging from the rafters Jorika spotted a familiar face among the ladies cleaning the bar counter.
“Bormir,” she greeted her friend, “is everything alright?”
“Does the contraceptive potion taste horrible?” the unofficial leader of the brothel answered with a chuckle. “Yes, dear. Everything is good. After your last round of roughing up, the idiots seem to have learned their lessons and Gislod remains vigilant as ever. Even Glelid doesn’t receive any more dumb comments.”
Jorika remembered that the Bosmer had been tormented with racist comments the moment she had started working in the brothel half a year ago and was happy to hear that people now kept their mouths shut, even if they still despised her. She gave the mer a friendly smile as she was stitching the yellow fabric of an armchair.
“Jorika! Good to see you,” Hrotod greeted her as he made his way to the counter. “Can I help you with something?”
“No. I’m just making sure nobody causes trouble.”
“You know I won’t let someone cause trouble,” the brothel’s owner replied, light reflecting off his balding head.
“Because you were a prostitute yourself once?”
“And because I don’t want to get on your bad side.”
Joriak and Bormir gave an amused laugh. Hrotod was not completely wrong, Jorika had given the previous owner a good thrashing after learning how he had treated the people working for him.
“I think Gislod would deal with you before I ever had to get involved,” Jorika conceded.
“That he would,” Bormir agreed with a chuckle readjusting her blonde hair.
Jorika felt good knowing that nobody was causing trouble for the women and men of the brothel.
Thinking for a moment she said: “You know, I think your lack of trouble is a reason to celebrate. Give me a Ride-out, will you Hrotod?”
“Hearing this really lifted your mood, eh?” he replied and poured the liquor.
Toasting him with her cup she said: “Oh, yes it does.” and downed her drink.
Handing back the cup she asked: “Do you need help here with anything? Any furniture to be rearranged? I mean if you got a strong woman here already, anyways…”
“You could help me get the kegs of mead ready. I’m not the youngest anymore,” Hrotod answered and tapped his bald head.
“Sure. It’s not two dozen, though, right?”
“No, no. Just four. Lately Sabjorn had problems meeting our orders,” Hrotod explained leading Jorika to the storage room. “It’s almost as if someone is plotting against him.”
“Who would plot against him?” Jorika wanted to know, lifting the first keg.
Maneuvering around the softly padded chairs and footstools, Jorika placed the barrel in its rack.
“If I would know. Didn’t hear anyone talk about it either, drunk or sober. Quite the mystery.”
“Maybe just a streak of bad luck,” Jorika offered as an explanation. “Heard Hulda has problems getting enough mead too from other breweries. Probably just a low honey harvest.”
“You’re right,” Hrotod agreed. “Far more likely that’s the cause instead of some sabotage plot. My mind goes to wild places at times.”
“Just make sure to not get lost in these theories,” said Jorika, patting her friend on the back.
During the afternoon of the next day Kodlak asked Jorika into his quarters. Intrigued, she followed him.
Opening two bottles of mead he offered her a seat.
“Tell, me lass,” he started, “What did you do with the Greybeards?”
Jorika laid out her experience, recounting her training.
“Are you planning on becoming a Greybeard?” Kodlak asked her after she had finished her retelling.
Jorika had to think for a while.
“I doubt that. Just the short time I have spent there made me feel restless.”
She took a couple gulps of mead.
Kodlak laughed. “I saw that, you have trained for three warriors today.”
Feeling the burn of her body Jorika felt proud of herself.
“But don’t overexert yourself like you did today. Know which fights to pick. It’s more honorable to run away than die a fool’s death.”
She was surprised at his words. She had trouble seeing the logic in running away being more honorable than fighting.
“You will need to explain that, Kodlak.”
“I get it, lass,” he said with a smile, “why fleeing or surrendering can be more honorable than death in combat is not always easily understood.”
The Harbinger poured himself some mead into a cup.
“Think about it: Where is the honor in suicide?” he asked her.
Waiting for a second he answered himself: “There is none. Running into an unwinnable battle is foolish. Needlessly throwing your life away brings no honor, only sorrow.”
Jorika thought about his words, weighted them against his other advice and her own sense of honor.
“I believe I understand. A warrior needs to be both strong in her arm, her heart and her mind.”
“I’m glad to hear you possess intelligence, with enough time it will turn to wisdom,” Kodlak took a swig of his mead. “But I wished to ask more questions: Do you plan on returning to High Hrothgar?”
Jorika nodded.
“I do in fact but the Greybeards want me to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller first, but I'll remain a Companion at heart first and foremost.”
“Aye. We can drink to that,” Kodlak said.
They toasted to each other and Jorika was glad as ever to have found a family amidst the warriors of Jorrvaskr.
Notes:
I have decided to restructure the work and have combined the old chapters 21-24 into this new chapter.
Chapter 6: Job in Solitude
Summary:
Jorika gets a contract in Solitude, but the job turns out to be much more important and dangerous than she initially believed.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jorika sat outside in the training area focusing on her breathing and her memories of Dustman's cairn as she recalled the feeling the large black wall there caused within her. Now she understood that it was one of the ancient word walls from which she could gain knowledge, words for her shouts. She suspected she had gained her ability to breath fire from there as in her memory the wall emitted heat.
“Jorika!” Farkas called out for her. “I heard you're heading north to Morthal?”
Facing her Shield-Brother she saw the bloody bandages around his left leg.
“A bear. He tried to turn my calf into a chew toy. I showed him what for.” He sounded like his usual happy self. “Anyways: Are you still going to Morthal?”
“Yes,” Jorika answered, having trouble taking her eyes away from Farkas’ wound.
She was both worried for his well being and upset at having to see a wound this early in the morning.
Sitting down he took a swig from a mead bottle before speaking further: “Met a courier outside. Poor lad was scared to deliver his message.”
Chuckling he continued: “The Jarl of Solitude is asking for our assistance. Usually Vilkas would take these contracts. He has a way with these nobles unlike me.”
Unintentionally proving his point Farkas readjusted his bandages, staining the pieces of paper as he handed them to Jorika.
Skimming over them she quickly comprehended their content.
“Sounds easy enough, just her wanting to meet up beforehand is a bit weird.”
“Nobles can be strange,” Farkas affirmed, wiping his bloody fingers clean with a rag.
“Will you take the contract?”
“Yes,” Jorika confirmed, “when I have to go up north anyways, I might as well earn us some coin.”
“Good. I don’t feel like dealing with nobles and their protocols and pretentiousness.”
Filling a mug with ale Farkas signaled that he considered the talk finished.
Jorika left her Shield-Brother to pack her belongings for the journey.
She entered the Temple of Kynareth before noon.
Danica spotted her immediately.
“Please,” she sighed defeated. “Please don't tell me you or Lydia got hurt again.”
Jorika raised her arms in a placating manner.
“No, I'm not hurt,” the Companion calmed the priestess. “But it's not far from the reason for my visit.”
Eyeing Jorika cautiously Danica gestured for her to continue.
“I want to learn a couple healing spells. Just enough to mend the worst to ensure we can make it to a healer.”
Danica had to smile upon hearing those words.
“My pleas didn't fall on deaf ears, it seems. I can teach you some basic spells.”
“Let’s hope I have the aptitude to learn them.”
By nightfall she left the Temple knowing two basic healing spells, one for herself, one for healing others but she would need to practice to become reliable in their usage.
Waking up Jorika clenched her jaw when she felt the pain. A telltale sign of her menstruation but unusually strong this time.
“Fuck, totally forgot that,” she cursed under her breath holding her stomach.
Curled up into a ball she just wanted to go back to sleep to no longer be aware of the pain but the same pain kept her awake. She wished she had remembered to take a potion before going to bed.
“Are you alright?” of all the people in Jorrvaskr, Jorika had not expected Nadja to be the one asking that question.
“No,” she pressed forward.
“Menstrual pains?”
Jorika grunted in affirmation.
“Do you want a potion for the worst?” Nadja wanted to know.
Jorika grunted again, her face pale and a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.
Nadja opened one of the bottles from the shelves and handed it to her suffering Shield-Sister.
“Drink up. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Thank you,” Jorika breathed after she had finished the potion.
“Do you get potions from Arcadia?”
Jorika nodded.
“I’ll inform her you’ll be coming by later. Let the potion take effect.”
A while later Lydia sat down by her side.
“Nadja told me you're having cramps, my thane?”
Jorika mumbled an affirmation.
“Come, let me help you get up.”
Lydia reached beneath her thane's arms and gently pulled her into a sitting position.
Closing her eyes to suppress her nausea Jorika remained seated for a few moments before moving to the bed's edge.
“Do you help?” asked Lydia, genuine worry audible in her voice.
“No,” Jorika waved her off. “I can walk on my own. See?”
Pushing herself off the bed Jorika stood before her housecarl, her stance uncharacteristically wobbly.
“I'll be accompanying you,” Lydia stated in a tone that indicated that her thane would not be able to overrule her.
“Probably for the best,” answered Jorika, shuffling towards the door.
When they reached Arcadia's Cauldron Jorika could walk normally again.
“Hey, Arcadia,” she greeted the alchemist, Lydia standing close by her just in case she needed support. “This time of the month again.”
The other woman gave her a sympathetic look.
“Don't worry, I got you covered. Nadja told me everything already.”
Arcadia got a couple of bottles from underneath her counter.
“The usual four?”
“Yes, that should be enough. Thanks Arcadia,” Jorika replied and paid. Arcadia always sold her potions for menstrual problems for cheap, a fact Jorika, Lydia and every other woman and girl in Whiterun was very fond of.
Returning to Jorrvaskr Jorika found Nadja sitting at the grand table, finishing a bowl of soup.
“Hey, Nadja? Thanks for telling Arcadia,” she voiced her appreciation.
“My mother had horrible cramps every time she bled,” Nadja explained the source of her unexpected kindness. “We might not be friends, but I don’t wish to see you suffer.”
“Cramps?” Athis inserted himself into the conversation.
“Women’s things. Get lost,” Nadja retorted, voice dripping with hostility and the Dunmer immediately retreated.
“Your period isn’t this bad usually,” Nadja observed, her voice much more friendly.
“Yeah. Don’t know why it’s so bad now. Maybe it’s just the stress from Skjor’s death.”
“Maybe. Take care,” said Nadja less caringly and left her.
The carriage drivers had developed a genius system for showing where they were heading to next. They simply displayed the banner of the hold on their carts. It was rare that someone got onto a wrong cart thanks to this system.
After giving the driver, a redguard man that looked old enough to have witnessed the Oblivion Crisis himself, enough coin to cover the journey they got into the carriage and waited for their departure.
Jorika felt exceptionally awful during the carriage ride, the potions, while effective, took a long time to actually take effect.
“I wish I had remembered sooner,” she lamented her pain.
“It will get better,” Lydia tried to ease her.
But a distant, if assured, comfort was not helping with the immediate pain Jorika was experiencing.
In the small town of Dragon Bridge they had to make a stop to let the horses rest and a courier came by handing out leaflets.
“A new museum is opening up in Dawnstar, the owner asked me to hand out these pamphlets,” the courier explained himself after handing every passenger a piece of paper. “Safe travels,” he said and went on his way.
After skimming over the pamphlet Jorika decided that a museum about the Mythic Dawn sounded not very interesting and shoved the paper into the pouch on her belt. She also would rather not visit Dawnstar and run the risk of seeing her parents again, even if she missed the priests there dearly.
The first thing they noticed on their approach to Solitude was the smell of the ocean and the cries of seagulls. On the last stretch from Dragonbridge to Solitude Jorika finally regained her appetite and had a very delayed breakfast consisting of fresh bread and dried blood sausage with a drink of posca.
Solitude was Skyrim's largest, most influential and wealthiest city and it showed. Long before they reached the first tower, guards wearing heavy crimson red armor patrolled the streets and alleys of the outskirts. Burly, tattooed sailors mingled with the poorer of Solitude’s citizens, making the streets even this far away from the harbor exceptionally busy. Carts transporting goods and soldiers made everything even more chaotic.
“Just as busy as I remember,” said Lydia watching the streets.
“I’ve never been here actually,” admitted Jorika. “There are so many people. And I thought Whiterun was populated.”
“It’s calmer inside the gates,” assured her housecarl.
“I’m not anxious. Just fascinated,” replied Jorika and gazed upon the crowds.
The carriage stopped near what the driver called Sky Tower. Hanging from all its walls was a red Haafingar banner with the wolf head of Solitude. They disembarked together with the other passengers, collecting their belongings before making their way to the city proper.
Among the crowd both women kept a close eye and hand on their valuables, wary of pickpockets and other unsavory characters.
A Khajiit caravan was offering their wares just outside the Squall Gate, promising good prices on exotic goods. From the looks of it they were successful in peddling their wares.
Behind the impressive Storm Gate laid the actual city of Solitude.
Right behind the main was the execution site, no unfortunate soul was currently meeting their end, but a couple bodies hung from the gallows, wooden plaques around their necks telling the crimes they had committed ranging from murder to treason by fighting for the Stormcloaks.
Jorika wanted to go straight to the Blue Palace but Lydia got distracted by a merchant selling bows, quivers and arrows.
Browsing for a moment she started haggling with the man about a bow and bought it after a short negotiation, together with a quiver full of arrows and a couple of replacement bowstrings.
“Taking up archery now?” Jorika asked her housecarl.
“Just remembered the trouble that damned dragon gave us at Gallows Rock. I don’t want to be totally defenseless against a dragon again,” Lydia explained her reason for buying the bow. “While out on the road I could also hunt for some food.”
Contemplating for a second Jorika nodded.
“Good thinking,” the Dragonborn said, “maybe I should get a bow myself, but I don’t know how to transport it with my battleaxe already on my back.”
“Don’t know where it says you need to be doing everything,” Lydia replied.
“Food for thought nonetheless, but we have an audience to attend to for now,” said Jorika.
The Blue Palace was a lot different to Dragonsreach. Where Dragonsreach would easily tower over every building in Whiterun the Blue Palace was by far not the tallest building in Solitude, that particular honor belonged to the windmill. Standing before the massive stone building it nonetheless conveyed an aura of authority.
Three guards blocked the entrance.
“What do you want?” the man standing in the middle wanted to know.
Unlike the other two guards his armor was adorned with gold and he wore a red cape hanging over his left shoulder.
“I got a letter from Jarl Elisif,” Jorika explained, fishing the paper from a pouch on her belt to hand it over.
“This is a pamphlet for a museum,” the guard simply stated.
Jorika's cheek grew as red as her armor, taking the pamphlet back and handing over the correct letter.
Reading the letter the guard kept it.
“It bears her Lady’s seal,” the man said. “Alright you are permitted entry, leave your weapons with my men, I will escort you inside.”
Carefully Jorika unhooked her battelaxe and handed it to the man on the right of the captain together with her knife and dagger, while Lydia gave the guard on the left her sword, shield, knife and newly acquired bow and quiver.
They were led through an inner courtyard, decorated with a myriad of different flowers and plants. The amount of time it must take to keep it in its state of perfection had to be astonishing.
That the palace could afford a garden like that was a statement to Solitude's wealth.
After being lead through the courtyard they entered the main building through another heavily guarded door. The two men standing watch saluted and hailed the captain escorting them.
The insides of the palace were no less luxurious than the outsides. Finely woven tapestries and carpets gave the stone halls a more warm feeling. Servants were busy sweeping the floors, watering potted plants and replacing burnt down candles.
Standing before Jarl Elisif, Jorika realized why she had the epithet the Fair. She found Elisif simply gorgeous.
“Jarl Elisif,” the guard announced them, “the Companions have sent a representative to answer your request.”
“Very well,” a man with an orange beard answered. “Captain, you may return to your post.”
The man gave a short bow and left the court. Not that his presence would be necessary, there were six other guards posted across the room and a man in fine plate armor who was most likely the Jarl’s personal housecarl.
Jorika assumed that the man who had answered was the steward and waited for him to speak again.
“You may approach the Jarl,” the man said, marking him as the steward.
Standing before Elisif, both Jorika and Lydia gave a short bow to signify their respect.
“I welcome you to my court,” Elisif greeted them. “Please tell me your name, honored Companion.”
“I’m Jorika, Companion and Thane of Whiterun, the woman next to me is my housecarl Lydia.”
“I welcome you both to my court. As you inferred from my letter, I sent for you to investigate a certain Wolfskull Cave in my hold. A trusted member of my court, the Legion battlemage Tribune Lyria,” she waved at the woman sitting next to her, “will be accompanying you for I believe you will encounter users of magic.”
“My Jarl,” the steward spoke up. “I must protest this measure. Lady Stentor has found no indication of anything residing within said cave. A group of guards would have been enough.”
“Lady Stentor might have not detected something,” the battlemage replied, “but I am certain I have felt ripples in the magicka.”
“And be careful who you raise your voice at, steward,” the battle mage said more sternly. “This isn't some tavern but the court of Solitude and the future High Queen is present.”
Jarl Elisif chuckled. Her laugh was soft and melodic. “My, oh my,” she said with an amused grin. “Always ready to protect me, aren't you my dear?”
“Always, darling,” the battlemage answered, a slight hint of red on her cheeks.
“Falk,” Elisif spoke, her voice firm, “I have made the decision to employ the Companions to deal with whatever is making its home inside Wolfskull Cave. Your protest of my decision has been noted, steward. Make sure that adequate compensation will be ready upon the esteemed Companion’s return.”
“As you wish, Jarl Elisif,” the steward replied, a good amount of shock audible in his voice, as if he had not expected a reprimand.
The mage led Jorika and Lydia away from the court while another envoy took their place presenting their case to the Jarl or delivering some message.
Stepping outside the palace with their weapons back in their possession Jorika asked the mage: “Protocol appears to be an important part of the court here in Solitude.”
“It is, Falk the steward, insists on it, a security measure he calls it. With the Stormcloaks running rampant he worries they might send an assassin.”
“You called the Jarl darling,” Lydia noted. “Why is that?”
“We are engaged,” the mage explained. “We are both aware that it may seem very soon after Torygg’s death but love sprouts when and where it pleases.”
“Isn’t the Jarl worried? About you accompanying us?” Lydia pried further.
“I’m sure Elisif is,” the tribune answered, “but she can also be assured that my skills in the magical arts will be sufficient to guide us through whatever awaits us at the cave.”
A group of guards followed them until they reached the city gate.
Wolfskull Cave was a short ride away from Solitude. Thanks to Lyria accompanying them, the royal stables just let them take three horses.
Lydia recognized the animals as Whiterun Plainrunners.
“I would have thought the royal stables would only be home to Palominos,” she said following the mage and her thane. “Haafingar is famous for them.”
“They usually are, the Plainrunners were a gift from Jarl Balgruuf,” Lyria explained, as birds chirped in the forest around them. “For the wedding of Torygg and Elisif.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” the housecarl apologized.
“It's not your fault. How were you supposed to know?” Lyria accepted the apology.
“Let us talk about something else,” the mage switched topics. “What do you think we will find at Wolfskull Cave? I'm guessing at a couple of rogue mages, having moved in to conduct experiments without prying eyes.”
In between the trees she saw a fox hunting after a rabbit.
“I'm not sure. Could be anything really,” Jorika chimed in. “Let's stay prepared and vigilant.”
“My guess is vampires,” Lydia said. “Those bloodsucking fiends like their magic tricks.”
“We will see,” Lyria replied, steering her horse up a hill. “Best case would be some novice mage just practicing enchanting. But it rarely is that easy.”
Outside the cave two reanimated and snow covered skeletons attacked them, spooking their horses. Fighting to stay in the saddles neither of the three women could deal with their attackers, but the kicks of their horses destroyed the skeletons anyways. Scattering their bones around them.
It took them a good while to calm the animals enough to safely dismount.
Tying the horses to nearby trees Lyria casted a cloaking spell. Anyone who would walk by would simply see and hear nothing noteworthy, she even masked the scent of the horses. Only a magically attuned individual would be able to sense the presence of the Illusion spells but would need to search what they were masking.
“That doesn’t bode well,” mumbled Jorika, feeling a cold shower running down her spine. She took hold of her amulet of Arkay and offered a quick prayer to the divine.
“I can feel great energies being manipulated,” said Lyria. “We must be quick. Prevent whatever ritual is being conducted from completing.”
“No it doesn’t,” agreed Lydia to her thane's statement.
“Smell that?” Jorika noted. “A fire. Someone must be nearby.”
A scream echoed through the cave putting the trio on edge.
Jorika and Lydia gripped their weapons tighter in anticipation of an attack while Lyria had readied a spell. Small electric discharges were running along the mage's forearm, arcing between her fingers.
They went deeper into the cave and they started to hear a conversation.
“...funny,” a man said clearly amused.
“How nice,” another man replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “for you. You're supposed to be on guard here, not play stupid pranks on me.”
“Nobody will come,” the first man complained. “The skeletons outside will scare any would-be adventurer away.”
“Says you. Now get off your ass and make sure the runes are still in place.”
“Killjoy,” the first man bemoaned.
The trio assumed positions. Jorika and Lydia flanking and in front of Lyria giving her free range for her spells but both warriors a short distance.
Suddenly Lyria raised a ward, much to the surprise and confusion of her two companions.
The ward absorbed a Lighting bolt aimed at the three.
The air exploded when she released a Thunderbolt, completely disintegrating her opponent as it connected, leaving behind only a pile of ash and a charred skeleton.
She focused a second spell. The other man appeared with a sickly green skull painted on his robes and she let her spell go but aimed at the ceiling. Hitting the rock it arced downward behind the hostile mages ward. The lighting strike made the man lose focus and twitch uncontrollably. A swift strike of Jorika's axe cleaved his face in half and ended the man's life.
A draugr stumbled at them. His old armor in tatters, the bonewalker swung his sword at them with reckless abandon, laughing with his dried voice.
Jorika easily deflected the strike, opening up the draugr for Lydia. The housecarl’s blade cut through the leathery skin and brittle bones and lobbed the draugr’s head clean off.
“Necromancers,” seethed Lyria. “Scourge of Nirn. We better not leave any of them alive.”
“Agreed,” said Jorika and Lydia in unison.
Going through a narrow corridor behind a door they came into a larger cavern. Light shone inside through a fissure in the ceiling. Reflecting off the snow covered ground it was far more illuminated than one would have expected. Another draugr attacked them, his icy spells absorbed by Lyria’s ward. The mage launched a bolt of fire at the walking dead, his dry skin catching fire like paper. Uncaring about being set ablaze the draugr continued his assault until his charred remains lost their integrity and he collapsed to the ground falling through a large hole in the floor.
“I hope we don't have to go down there,” said Lydia peeking over the edge, seeing how the impact had mangled the draugr's remains.
“Looks like we need to. That's a dead end,” observed Lyria, standing before a large recess left of the small corridor they had entered the cavern through.
“We can't just jump down, we'd break our legs,” stated Lydia in return.
“Perhaps there's a ladder or some rope here? If there are more necromancers down there, they had some way to go there. Let's have a look around,” said Jorika and went back into the corridor while Lydia and Lyria searched the snowy cavern.
“There's a hook driven into the ground,” announced Lydia her find.
“Found a rope ladder,” called Jorika and soon arrived carrying their means of descending.
They walked through unlit tunnels, Lyria providing illumination with spells.
“I can feel we're getting closer,” she said.
“Like ice water trickling down your spine,” commented Jorika.
“I feel nothing,” added Lydia.
“We can discuss this later,” cut the Tribune it short when she saw purple tendrils of magic weaving through the air.
A ledge gave them an overview of the giant cave before them. The tendrils culminated atop the tallest tower forming the figure of a person.
“I don't like this. I don't like this at all,” whispered Lyria.
“What are they doing,” Jorika wanted to know.
“Some sort of summoning ritual. I can't tell you more,” answered the mage.
As if on cue a voice boomed across the cave: “Wolf Queen. Hear our call and awaken. We summon Potema!”
“We summon Potema!” a choir of voices answered.
“Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema,” the booming voice continued. “No longer. Hear us Wolf Queen! We summon you!”
“We summon Potema!” the choir answered again.
With haste Lyria descended a slope, her lighting spell thundering as she disintegrated another necromancer.
Running after her Jorika asked herself: “I've heard that name before, but where?”
“Potema instigated the War of the Red Diamond,” explained Lyria, not slowing down. “She was a powerful necromancer. We need to stop this ritual before it's too late.”
The air smelled like a rainless thunderstorm was raging around them as they climbed and fought their way up to confront the necromancers and stop the resurrection of Potema. Slashing and blasting apart draugr and sorcerers they ascended the ruins. After putting a draugr back to rest on the top floor of a tower they took a moment to rest.
Peeking from the doorway Jorika saw yet another draugr with bow and arrow standing guard at the ramparts.
“Lydia?” she roused her housecarl's attention. “Time to use your bow. I'd rather not get showered with arrows.”
Taking a look at the situation herself the housecarl replied: “Looks doable. But no guarantees.”
“There are no guarantees in combat,” said Jorika, cementing their plan.
Lydia took aim at the draugr while Lyria and Jorika stormed forward. Letting the arrow fly she saw how the draugr fell over and she ran after her thane. Lyria shattered her opponents ward and her second thunderbolt turned them to ash while Jorika nearly bisected the man she was fighting. The Dragonborn yelled in pain as an arrow lodged itself into her arm. The draugr was less defeated than initially believed. Lydia's arrow sticking from its face, it launched another attack at them. Raising her shield to protect her thane Lydia saw how Jorika pulled the arrow from her arm and pressed on the wound.
The draugr's second arrow hit the shield boss, the aged shaft snapping and falling to the ground harmlessly. Golden light shone from underneath Jorika's palm and her expression changed from pained to uncomfortable.
Lyria destroyed the draugr with another spell. The characteristic smell of lightning spells hung in the air mixed with the scent of blood, irritating their eyes.
Moving her arm, Jorika gave a satisfied smile about the absence of any severe pain and nodded.
The next necromancer anticipated them and had placed a rune but one of the draugr ran into it. Draugr and rune defeated the trio charged forward. Lydia reached the warlock first and drove her sword into his guts. Twisting her blade as she pulled it free, spilling blood everywhere she gave the man a punch in the face and ran after her thane and Lyria who had pressed forward.
Jorika rammed one of the mages from the platform they stood on and with a dull thud the woman impacted the ground dying immediately. Only one flight of stairs remained.
“Something is wrong. There is an intruder,” the leading voice echoed through the cave.
Running up the stairs another wizard stood in their way. Jorika chopped off his legs and Lyria immolated the man.
The smell of his burnt flesh assaulting their noses.
Atop the tower Jorika wasted no time and charged at the first summoner she spotted. Driving her axe into the woman's shoulder she forced her on her knees. With a kick to the woman's head she snapped the mages neck and ripped her axe free. Lydia cut down an elderly woman leaving a single man at their mercy. He raised his hand to cast a spell but with a single strike Jorika decapitated him, his head rolling across the floor, a shocked expression frozen on his face.
A roar thundered through the cave as the ritual was interrupted. Lyria tried to cast a banishing spell on Potema but the former queen evaded her and disappeared through an opening in the ceiling.
“Damnit, she escaped,” cursed Lyria. “We need to get back to Solitude. Right now!”
“What do you mean she escaped? Potema's spirit?” asked Jorika.
She and Lydia immediately began cleaning their weapons from the necromancers blood.
“Yes. It's not that hard to understand! We prevented this filth,” the Tribune explained gesturing at the corpses, “from binding her but Potema is already strong enough to persist in this world. We need to find her and send her back into the halls of Oblivion where she belongs before she gains more power. A resurrected Potema is the last thing Skyrim needs in these times.”
Pacing back and forth it was obvious that the developing situation was putting the mage under a lot of pressure.
“I need to get back to Solitude and come up with a plan,” Lyria muttered and started running back to the entrance.
Following the mage Jorika recited the Law of Arkay, hoping that her impromptu prayers and blessings would be enough to prevent any returning necromancer from raising the corpses they were leaving behind.
“I feel Potema’s presence intensifying. She must be close to or within Solitude,” Lyria shouted over the wind and galloping of their horses.
“But where is she?” called Lydia back.
“Probably somewhere within the old crypts, sewers and catacombs beneath the city. They’re as old as the city itself. Supposedly lost to time.”
“You’re saying Potema has a secret crypt underneath the city?” shouted Jorika. “How will we find it?”
“Her reconstituting herself summons strong magical flows. Me and Sybille can feel those and lead us to her hideout and put a stop to Potema before she regains her power,” the mage explained.
Jorika wondered if her recently learning some restoration spells made her sensitive to these flows of magic too, because she noticed strange sensations within Wolfskull Cave as well.
As they got closer and closer to Solitude the more people were still out on the streets and roads despite the late hour of the day. But it was different, there were less merchants, less priests, less ordinary city folk. Instead the streets were populated with drunks, prostitutes, soldiers and sailors on leave seeking the services of said prostitutes and other shady characters that preferred to lurk in the dark. Skooma dealers and addicts, thieves, murderers and vampires.
They tried to weave through the masses but they rode down more people than they liked, hearing outcries and curses hurled after them as they neared the city with the occasional bottle tossed after them.
Instead to the stables Lyria rode directly to the main gate before dismounting her horse. The animal drawing labored and loud breaths from having galloped the entire way.
She ran through the streets Jorika and Lydia and two gate guards on her heels.
“What's going on?” one of the men asked Jorika.
“Potema?” Jorika asked back. “Do you know that name?”
“The Wolf Queen? What does… By the gods, she has not been resurrected, has she?”
“She is resurrecting herself,” Jorika explained, impressed by the man's guess.
“Divines help us,” the man pleaded and Jorika followed him in prayer.
“Lady Lyria, it’s…” the captain tried to greet the mage.
“Gather some men,” she interrupted him. “We need to move fast.”
“Yes, my lady,” the captain replied, thumping his fist over his heart. He hurried towards Castle Dour.
Without question the two remaining guards let the trio into the palace, escorted by the two guards that had followed them from the main gate.
Purposeful steps carried Lyria through the hallways, Jorika and Lydia feeling strangely useless without an immediate objective.
“Falk!” she woke the steward, slamming the door to his room open.
Scrambling in his bed the man looked at the intruder wide eyed.
“What's the meaning of this?” he demanded to know.
“Potema is returning to this world,” Lyria told him.
“Falk, there is no time for explanation,” she added when he looked as if he wanted to ask more questions. “Go inform Elisif. I'll be taking Sybille with me. We will stop this, but there isn’t much time.”
She closed the door again, not waiting for the stewards answer and made her way to Sybille Stentor’s room, the official court mage of Solitude.
Once more Lyria opened the door without knocking but unlike Falk the court mage had not yet retreated to bed and was casting a spell.
“Why are you barging in my room?” Sybille spit at Lyria. “There is a disturbance and I need to locate its source.”
“Potema,” Lyria stated. “It’s Potema.”
Filling a goblet with wine she downed the drink before continuing: “She is trying to come back into this world.”
Shock and surprise washed over the court mages face as she processed the information.
“A powerful necromancer like her would certainly explain the ripples in the magicka I experienced,” the Breton agreed.
“I have gathered the men,” the captain announced, half a dozen guards behind him. Most were armed with the basic round shield and sword of the guard but one man carried a large two-handed mace in addition to the captain's greatsword.
“Good,” said Lyria. “We start at the Hall of the Dead and make our way from there.”
One of the men grabbed a bucket of paint and a brush.
“To mark the way back,” he explained himself.
“Good thinking,” complimented Sybille.
The group made their way from the Blue Palace to the Hall of the Dead. Three guards were at the front breaching a way through the people whenever they made way not quickly enough.
Together they rallied in front of the Hall of the Dead to gather courage. Jorika took hold of her amulet of Arkay, praying for protection for everyone who was about to partake in the dangerous task at hand.
They were quick to leave the well-kept Hall of the Dead behind. Sybille dispelled an illusion disguising an alcove that contained a ladder. The ladder descended into an unused tunnel that allowed them to push deeper into the bowels of Solitude, into catacombs and corridors long forgotten.
The way was dank and cold. The torches illuminated each puff of breath as they descended into the depths. At every crossing they left behind a painted symbol to mark the way back. Rats and Skeevers scurried away when they noticed the lights of the group approaching.
Much to everyone’s relief, the abandoned sewer tunnels they had to traverse to reach Potema’s catacombs had long since dried up.
“Now even the rats have disappeared,” one of the guardsmen remarked, as they followed Sybille and Lyria's lead.
“It’s eerily silent down here,” another agreed.
No one else said a word. The only sound that carried was their nervous breathing, and the rhythmic knocking of their boots on the stone.
At the end of a set of stairs was a large door, of fine wood but now discolored with age and damp. One of the men tried to open it. It refused to budge. It took two of them hurling themselves against it to shear the great slab off its hinges. After crashing down to the floor in an awkward heap, the two men quickly got up and dusted themselves off.
They were in a room full of moldy, rotten furniture, laced all over with cobwebs and caked in dust. Every step kicked up a small cloud. They prepared themselves, knowing their entry would have attracted attention.
Sure enough, they had company. A draugr attacked them, swinging his rusty sword at the nearest guard. It was a sloppy strike. The man raised his shield and blocked it. Pushing the draugr away, he opened the undead up for retaliation. With a swing of his sword he cut the draugr’s arm off, slicing through dried skin and brittle bone. Before the reanimated corpse could register what had happened, the guard with the large mace swung his weapon at the draugr’s head. The skull shattered as it ripped from the shoulders, and the decapitated body remained standing for a moment before it crumpled on itself into the ground.
They ventured further into the unknown.
Before them was a door wide open. A curtain of cobwebs evidence for its prolonged disuse.
Jorika swatted the webs away entering first. It was a two-story room, a staircase leading down opposite the door and a balcony to the right. Beneath them they heard shuffling. She gripped her axe tighter, her leather gloves creaking.
Jorika went down the stairs first. Her axe was poised and ready to strike, but she found no indication of who or what had caused the sounds they had heard.
Suddenly, a feral, starving vampire jumped at Jorika, sinking his fangs into her shoulder before she had a chance to react.
She screamed out in pain and elbowed the crazed vampire trying to shake it off. She dropped her cumbersome battleaxe and grabbed the vampire in the face, desperate to remove the bloodsucker from herself.
One of the guards pulled the bloodsucker off the Companion. He drove the sword through the vampire’s chest, ending its existence.
Lyria was instantly by Jorika’s side, closing up the wound with a spell.
“You'll need to see a healer when we're done,” she advised. Her magic was slowly stopping the bleeding as flesh reconnected.
“Thanks,” Jorika told the guard who had saved her. The man simply nodded in acknowledgment.
“And thank you, too,” she said, facing Lyria.
After fighting more draugr they reached a small hall, two thrones facing them upon entry. One empty, the other occupied by a draugr’s husk, unmoving, unbothered by their intrusion. Its eyes were dark unlike its more lively counterparts.
A man stepped into view. Everybody readied their weapons upon the strangers entrance.
“I have to thank you for disposing of the weak ones,” he said, surprisingly cordial. “You’ve ensured they pose no threat to my ambitions.”
He was thus far unexpectedly friendly but they expected that to change soon.
“He's a vampire,” Sybille remarked.
“What gave it away? The dashing looks, or that I'm in this crypt?” the stranger laughed.
“The smell of death,” she replied coldly.
“A final act of defiance before you die. You amuse me.” The vampire laughed. “No matter. Time for you to perish.”
The draugr behind the vampire rose from his throne.
This draugr was different from the ranks they had encountered before. It was wearing heavier, more ornate armor. This specimen of the undead wielded a large battle axe. The ebony it was forged from shimmered darkly in the torch light.
“Destroy them, my loyal servant,” the vampire commanded, but the draugr instead advanced upon the vampire himself.
“Nikriin, Zu'u Aam Hi Ni,” the draugr said. “Zu’u Aam Grohiik Jud.”
“I order you to obey me! I am your master!”
The vampire shouted in desperation, but the draugr swung his axe at him, splitting the vampire neatly through his uncomprehending head.
Ripping his weapon free, the victorious undead turned to face the group of intruders.
Shouting a Thu’um, the draugr ripped them from their feet, scattering them around.
Laughing dryly, it came at them, cleaving one of the fallen men in two.
The next man managed to raise his shield. The axe bit deep into wood, steel and flesh. The draugr tore the axe and shield away, raising his weapon for another brutal blow. The man was saved by a fellow guard who bravely deflected the follow up strike.
The mace wielder came hollering and swinging at the draugr's head. The blow connected, but it was not a killing one. The undead’s head hung on by his broken neck.
The crippled draugr attacked his latest assailant, who only barely managed to dodge the slice of the axe head.
With a thundering boom, a spell from Lyria found its mark. Ripples of electricity danced over the draugr's body as he raised his axe for another swing.
Thrusting his sword forward, the captain attempted to decapitate their enemy, but his sword was deflected by the draugr's helmet.
He did, however, successfully divert the draugr's attention away from his man. Only now, he was the focus of the draugr's ire.
Coming up again at the draugr’s flank, the mace wielder swung low this time, and the crude, smashing weight connected with the draugr's knees. Thousand-year-old bones shattered into splinters as the undead was swept from his feet.
Jorika aimed for the neck, her axe biting deep into the leathery flesh. A second chop finally disconnected the head and body, and at last, the draugr was defeated.
They gathered around the man the draugr had killed. His eyes had already lost their shine.
“Damn it,” the captain cursed. “Aganor was a good man. May you rest and feast in Sovngarde.”
One of the guards knelt next to his fallen comrade and closed his eyes.
“I will never forget you, my friend,” he whispered. “Never.”
The others stood silently in a circle around the dead body.
“Let me say a short prayer to send him off to Sovngarde,” Jorika stated.
She recited a brief prayer, the others following her words. The man’s body was now shielded against necromantic influence.
“We will come back for you, my friend,” the kneeling guard said as he rose up. “You will have a proper burial.”
They kept fighting through the crypts and tunnels, some draugrs more challenging than others, until they reached a round room filled with ancient corpses.
Jorika and Lydia entered first. Their weapons raised, ready to strike whoever might be waiting beyond the room, only to have hidden portcullises crash down at both entrance and exit, trapping them. In an instant two of the guardsmen attempted to lift the iron gate blocking the passage. Jorika and Lydia, meanwhile, were shocked to see the corpses rise up.
Some rose up into the air, lifted by magical forces others pushed themselves up by their dried up limbs. Ancient weapons held in their leathery hands.
In the confined space, Jorika’s battle-axe was far too dangerous to wield, limiting her to kicks and punches until she was able to scrounge up a club from the ground. One of the draugr wrestled the shield from Lydia’s grip, only to get his head bashed in by Jorika.
Unbeknownst to both women, a vampire had awoken in an unlit alcove nestled into the wall, hungry eyes leering on the fresh prey.
The vampire bit into Lydia’s hand. Fangs penetrated the thick leather glove, drawing blood. Enraged, the housecarl punched the bloodsucker, ripping open her glove and the wound.
Jorika struck the vampire’s head with the club Lydia finished it off by ramming her sword through the vampire’s chest. Mysteriously, killing the vampire lifted the portcullises, and they all hurried to the other side, where Lyria tended to Lydia’s wounded hand.
“You will need to see the healers too,” Lyria told the housecarl upon closing the wound with a spell.
Lydia grimaced as she closed her fist around her shield’s grip, pain still radiating from her hand.
“We should take a moment to rest,” the captain announced once they had regrouped. “Who knows how much more will be coming.”
“A wise idea,” Sybille agreed and the guardsmen unbuckled flasks from their belts.
They drank up greedily, the water or mead refreshing their tired limbs and spirits.
“Let me see your shoulder,” Lyria asked Jorika.
The Companion removed some of her armor giving the mage access to the wound underneath.
She casted another spell and Jorika felt her flesh knitting itself together tighter.
After resting up for a while they ventured deeper into the necropolis.
More draugr threw themselves in their way. Each one swiftly defeated.
“Potema - She’s close,” Lyria disclosed, sensing the undead necromancer nearby.
They gathered before an iron door, the metal strangely not rusted in the slightest.
“Prepare yourself, this is likely her final stand.”
Opening up before them was a large hall, thrones and sarcophagi lining the walls and steps.
Draugr were seated on the thrones, weapons in their laps or leaning against the armrests.
“Let's see how you will measure up against my inner Circle,” Potema announced, her spirit floating in the middle of the hall.
The sarcophagi opened up. Some of the draugr stepped out, while others immediately fell to the ground, their desiccated husks unmoving.
Lyria and Sybille each cast their spells, sending Potema's ghost reeling and screaming when they connected. Again, one of the draugr shouted. Sybille raised a ward and the Thu'um was absorbed.
Jorika swung her axe, cleaving a draugr in half from shoulder to hip in a clean diagonal line.
With his sword, the captain caught a draugr’s axe aimed at Jorika’s back. The deflection broke the undead fiend’s balance, and a broad stroke of his greatsword removed its head from its shoulders.
Lydia pilfered a draugr’s spear to thrust it into another draugr. Using the disarmed undead’s momentum, she swung her sword upwards, severing the neck. As the first draugr’s head fell to the floor, she grabbed the spear still embedded in the second draugr and pushed it further in, finally nailing it to the wood paneled wall.
They all kept fighting until the final draugr fell to the floor.
The Inner Circle finally defeated, Potema retreated, taking on the form of a ghostly skeleton near an old throne. Her first lightning bolt struck a guard, and the man screamed as he went down. His limbs contorted as lingering sparks danced across his body.
Sybille knelt by his side, casting spells to lessen the pain, while Lyria shielded everyone with a ward. Shooting thunderous lighting bolts in quick succession, the battlemage reduced Potema to a glowing puddle of ectoplasm.
She ran forward and picked up a skull wearing a circlet.
“You two!” She pointed at a pair of the guards. “With me. We need to bring these remains to Styrr at once. While Potema is still weakened.”
The captain turned to his men. “You heard her. Go! We’ll come after you.”
With a coordinated nod of assent, they followed Lyria. The mage was already running ahead, carrying the skull in her arms.
Notes:
The final part in the underground of Solitude was beta-read by literary_mafioso (https://archiveofourown.org/users/literary_mafioso).
I want to offer them my heartfelt thanks for their help and suggestion on how to improve the passage they have beta-read for me.
Especially considering that they expected nothing in return. This public thank you note is the least I could do.
Chapter 7: Recovery, Bards and Dragons
Summary:
After dealing with Potema Jorika and Lydia take much needed rest and time to heal.
Notes:
I'm not 100% happy with how this chapter turned out but I just wanted to be done with it and focus on the coming chapters.
Chapter Text
She woke up and gave a hearty yawn. The room she had slept in was unfamiliar. A lamp on a dresser illuminated her surroundings. She checked for her amulet of Arkay and found it still hanging around her neck. Her armor was on a table together with her axe.
She tried to push herself up from the bed, pain in her shoulder made her wince. With a grimace she pulled her shirt away revealing a bandage. Luckily it was unbloodied.
Feeling returned to her body she felt the aches caused by the past days. She moved her legs and sat up on the bed and noticed how parched she was.
A jug next to the lamp promised water. Had her mouth not been so dry the view would have watered her mouth. She shuffled to the jug and finding it filled with water she ignored the cups situated next to it and she lifted the jug to her mouth, gulping down the water with unmitigated greed. A gush of the refreshing liquid spilled down onto her shirt but she could barely care less about that. All that mattered in the moment was quenching her thirst.
Only her body’s need for air stopped her imbibing.
She coughed as the last remaining gulp went down the wrong pipe.
The door of the room opened and a woman stuck her head inside.
“Ah, good. You’re finally awake. We have become worried,” the stranger told her.
“Where am I?” the Companion asked.
“In the Temple of the Divines. The royal consort had you brought here by the guard so that you can heal in peace.”
Jorika vaguely remembered Lyria being engaged to Jarl Elisif.
“The past day is hazy,” she said, holding a hand to her head. “I don’t even remember leaving the catacombs.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about any catacombs,” the young priestess informed her. “Let me bring you something to eat, perhaps that will help your memory.”
The priestess wanted to leave but Jorika grabbed her arm.
“My housecarl was with me. Where is she?”
“Miss Lydia?” the woman asked, a bit stunned. “She is well. I’ll inform her about you being awake.”
“Please do that,” Jorika requested and let go of the priestess’ arm before sitting down at the table.
She examined her armor. The fabric of the gambeson had been thoroughly washed but she could still make out bloodstains. The padding inside her helmet had been completely replaced. Scratches, dents and tears have been professionally repaired by the first look.
“I’ll need to have Eorlund take a look at my armor,” she mumbled to herself. But it was an issue for a later time.
She placed her bracers next to her boots on the floor and picked up her werewolf pelt cloak. Much to her delight the cloak was undamaged. She smiled as she trailed her fingers through the thick fur.
The door opened again and the priestess entered again with Lydia close on her heels. Jorika breathed a small sigh of relief upon seeing Lydia.
“Here,” the priestess said and placed a tablet on the table. “Vegetable stew and some bread. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Thank you,” replied Jorika. She felt her stomach grumbling at the sight of the food.
“My thane, it is a relief to see you awake again,” said Lydia, pulling out the second chair.
“I'm glad you're alive and well too,” responded Jorika.
After some spoonfuls of stew she continued: “Do you remember how we got out of the catacombs? I fail to recall anything after we had defeated Potema.”
Lydia nodded.
“The priests said something about the exhaustion fogging up your memories. Your injuries were also more severe than mine, adding to the exhaustion.”
The housecarl grabbed a piece of bread and began eating while she proceeded with her retelling of events.
“In short: We followed Lyria who... You do remember her, right? The mage who accompanied us? She was running ahead to have Potema's remains sanctified. On the way back we picked up the remains of Aganor, the guardsman who was slain by that powerful draugr. We headed back to the Blue Palace where the steward and Jarl Elisif thanked us profusely and instructed us to not speak about the events we have witnessed.”
Lydia poured herself a cup of water.
“After that we went here, to be tended to by the healers and priests and that's when you collapsed from exhaustion.”
“I don't have any recollection of anything you have just told me. Having amnesia is disturbing,” Jorika admitted.
“It's easy to believe that, my thane.”
“I think I recall the steward asking us to return to him once we regained our strength. I'm not just imagining that, right?”
“Yes. He did ask that of us. I think that's good,” reasoned Lydia. “Maybe your memory is returning.”
Before they could make an appearance at the court of Solitude both Jorika and Lydia needed a thorough bath.
Together they approached the high priest.
“Could you tell us where a bathhouse is?” Jorika asked. “The steward asked us to appear in front of the court but we can’t show up reeking of sweat.”
“There is no need to visit the bathhouses,” the man explained. “We have a room for washing up in the temple. You can use that. I’ll have everything arranged for you. Please just wait in your rooms.”
“Oh, thank you. You’re too kind,” said Lydia to express her gratitude.
The priest offered them a smile and nodded before disappearing.
A temple acolyte came to get them from their rooms.
“I’m Silana. Mistress Freir tasked me with assisting you and to reapply the bandages after your bath,” the woman introduced herself to her two charges.
The bathing room was similar to the rest of the temple. Dark stone walls, with lighter tiles as flooring. Small windows high up on the already high walls provided illumination together with candles. A couple of big tubs stood in the room, three gave off steam.
“Three?” Lydia asked curiously. “Are you planning on taking a bath, too?”
“Indeed I do,” Silana explained.
“After you both are finished,” she added quickly.
Silana helped Jorika with removing her clothing and the bandages around her shoulder, while Lydia required no help with her comparatively minor wound.
Freed from the fabric the Companion moved her hand over the wound. The newly formed skin was still tender to the touch.
Jorika winced as she lowered herself into the copper tub. Her shoulder was far from fully healed and straining it too much shot pain through her body.
The hot water loosened up her aching muscles.
Pouring the hot water over her shoulder she cursed out loudly.
“Language please,” Silana reprimanded her as she prepared a salve. “These are still holy halls.”
“Apologise. I didn’t expect the pain,” Jorika expressed her remorse. Silently she asked the Divines for forgiveness for her outburst.
She had hoped for the bath to be as relaxing as they usually were but it was clear that there was going to be little relaxation if any at all. Not with how angrily her shoulder throbbed and hurt.
Jorika rinsed her hair and washed out the grime and dirt of the past days returning her hair from the grayish blonde back to its usual vibrant gold.
Unable to move her arm without hurt she needed Silana to help clean her back and good arm.
“Does everyone get this special treatment?” she asked, a slight flirty undertone in her voice, as the young woman scrubbed her back.
“Every person receives the help they require,” explained Silana, deliberately ignoring Jorika's attempt at seduction. “To assist those in need pleases the Divines.”
She continued to help Jorika clean herself, dutifully ignoring any flirting Jorika extended towards her a couple of times until she realized that Silana was uninterested and stopped.
After she helped Jorika to dry off Silana took the bowl with the salve.
“I’m going to apply it to your wound. It will burn but it helps with the healing process,” she explained.
“I can’t be worse than how I got the wound in the first place,” Jorika bragged.
She flinched as the cream got smeared over her shoulder and the feeling of icy fire spread everywhere the salve got.
“By the Eight. What is this stuff made from? Fire and frost salts?” she asked, her body cramped up from the painful sensation.
“No, it is not. The pain should subside soon,” the acolyte explained and continued to rub the irritating ointment over Jorika's injury.
Clenching her fists and jaw Jorika endured the burning feeling until it changed into a prickly sensation.
Later that day they made their appearance at the court of Solitude.
The steward guided them into a side room.
Even this minor room was well decorated, the chairs and tables exquisitely crafted and craved. Tapestries in orange and yellow gave the otherwise chill room a warm feeling.
Jorika guessed that the room was used for negotiations of lesser importance.
They each took a seat and waited for the steward to speak. Some of them eyed a small wooden chest placed on one end of the table.
“I want to express my condolences about not being able to honor your brave efforts in public,” the steward began his speech. “But in the interest of the people and preventing a panic the Jarl has decided to keep the foiled resurrection of Potema a secret. This need for secrecy however does not mean that you won't be rewarded.”
He opened the mysterious box.
From it he pulled out a necklace made from solid silver, the wolf of Solitude engraved on one side, the sigil of Arkay on the other.
Inscribing or engraving the Arkayn sigil into talismans was a common practice to pray for a healthy and long life. Other times the sigil was used by people to protect themselves from harm, primarily from necromancers and vampires.
The steward handed each of them an amulet. They were made from silver and rubies.
Holding it in her hand Jorika felt Arkay's presence within. It pleased her to know that the deity that has shown and provided her with warmth and love was being honored.
“These amulets have been crafted and blessed in order to give you thanks for your service to Solitude,” the steward explained. “They can hardly be called adequate for your achievement but they remain the only reward the court can offer.”
Jorika still had trouble with the mobility of her shoulder and struggled to put on her necklace. She had to move the latch to her chest to close it before she pulled the necklace into the correct position again.
Next to her amulet of Arkay she felt the Divine's presence and energy radiating off the amulet from the steward.
They spent more time in the Temple of the Eight to heal and rest. A sorely needed respite for their battered bodies. While she tried to focus on her meditation and breath Jorika noticed again a lute being played underneath the balcony she used to meditate. After a couple of days of hearing the pleasant tunes she decided to figure out who the mysterious bard was, even if it was just to fight the boredom she was experiencing.
Rolund, the head priest, inquired where she intended to go as she put on a pair of shoes.
“Just a short walk around the city,” she answered. “I'm feeling restless being confined here. I promise not to strain myself.”
The priest let out a sigh, he knew his chance to sway the Companion’s mind was slim at best.
A short walk down a hidden path Jorika found the bard. A young Redguard. He stopped his play once he noticed her.
“Ahem… Hello?” he had clearly expected to be alone here.
“Don't mind me, I just wanted to know who kept playing the lute.”
“I'll be going,” he said hastily.
As he tried to push past her she grabbed his arm.
“Why are you playing here of all places?” she asked. “Shouldn't you want a crowd to cheer you on?”
“I was just practicing. - Can you let me go? Please?”
Jorika loosened her grip on the young man.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn't mean to spook you. I just heard you playing the past few days and got curious.”
“How did you hear me? I came here to not bother anyone.”
“My housecarl and I are staying at the Temple of the Divines to heal from wounds. Up there,” Jorika pointed out a balcony that was hidden from view. “Is a balcony. I spend my time there meditating and that's how I noticed you playing.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you…” the young man began to apologize.
“You didn’t disturb me,” she cut him off. “Hearing you play was actually quite nice.”
He looked at her surprised.
“Thank you,” he mumbled weakly.
“You’re with the Bard’s college, aren’t you?” she questioned. “How would you like it if I went to tell you all how I learned I’m the Dragonborn?”
“You’re the Dragonborn?” the young Redguard asked.
“Let me tell you the story of how I became known as the Dragonborn,” Jorika said. “It all started a few weeks after the destruction of Helgen. Farengar, Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard had been researching the dragons, scouring his books and scrolls, probing the magicka for an explanation of their sudden return. Finally he learned of an item of great importance: The Dragonstone. A map marking the burial sites of dragons defeated in ancient times.
Farengar petitioned the Jarl to send an expedition but with the threat of dragons and the civil war raging on the Jarl could not spare the men, for he had to protect his hold and his people.”
Jorika paused for a moment, taking in her audience's reaction. Both students and teachers were paying her undivided attention.
“Knowing that he needed the Dragonstone Farengar came to the Companions, asking for our help.
After hearing his plea I agreed to retrieve the Dragonstone from Bleak Falls Barrow for him.
The barrow was in the Brittleshin Hills south of Whiterun, not even a day's march away. I rented one of the famed Whiterun horses from the stables and rode to Riverwood, a small village close to the barrow. I decided to ask the townsfolk about the barrow and learn more about it.
While in Riverwood I found out about a group of bandits having set up camp in the barrow, just recently the fiends had broken into the local Riverwood Trader. The thieves have gotten away with the sculpture of a dragon's claw made from pure gold. As I was already headed for Bleak Falls Barrow I agreed to keep a look out for the claw.”
Jorika noticed one of the students being particularly enamoured by her story, a young woman with night black hair.
“The path up to the barrow was easy enough, as was fighting the bandits which were guarding the way. The outlaws never stood a chance against the might of a Companion. Without breaking a sweat I cut them down until I stood before the massive iron doors leading into the mountain itself.”
In reality Jorika had struggled in her fights against the bandits but she kept that to herself.
The students were scribbling down notes, taking in Jorika’s retelling to put it into their eddas.
“Inside were two more bandits talking about how one of their own had taken the claw again and ran deeper into the barrow, never to be seen again. Following the traitorous bandit’s footsteps I heard him calling out for help.
I found him stuck in a spider’s web and what a beast that spider was. Easily towering over me, fangs dripping with venom long enough to pierce through any armor or shield. The monster lashed out at me, swiping its legs at me, trying to pull me in for a deadly bite. I fought the beast, cutting and crushing its legs until an opportunity presented itself and I swung my axe down in its head, ending the spider.”
One of the teachers grimaced at the mention of the spider. Jorika understood. Frostbite spiders were not the most pleasant adversaries or prey.
“The bandit with the claw begged me to cut him down, to free him from the net. Taking my knife I carefully severed the silk, thinking that the man might be grateful for the rescue but bandits stay bandits and he ran off, deeper into the barrow. I followed him and saw him being killed by a draugr. Not keen on my summary intrusion, the undead attacked me together with more draugr. I defeated the dusty bonewalkers and searched the bandit, finding the golden claw and a journal. I flipped through the latest entries, learning that this had been the bandit who stole the claw in the first place. It also contained a phrase meant to help with the door in the Hall of Stories. ‘When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.’ At first I didn’t know what that meant but I soon found out, not my own hand was meant but the claw. In its palm were symbols of animals, now all I had to do was figure out where to use this knowledge.”
The mentioning of the symbols piqued the interest of one of the teachers and he wrote something down.
“Venturing deeper into the tomb I came across more draugr and traps, swinging blades, a spring loaded spike wall, spears thrusting out of the wall, you name it it was likely there. I had to fight more draugr until I reached the Hall of Stories. It was beautifully carved, telling long forgotten legends of ancient times. But I could not stay there, I had a mission and if the Dragonstone would help in fighting the dragons, even more haste was only adequate.
A large door blocked my passage, its dark stone an unspoken and looming threat. Animal symbols were carved into the door, checking the claw I saw that they didn’t match so I had to figure out a way. My first thought was that I could remove the disks with the carvings and perhaps flip them over but as I put pressure on the first symbol to pry it out an entire part of the door spun around, revealing a different disk. I pressed on the new carving and again an entire ring of stone turned, revealing yet another carving. Having figured out how to open the door I turned the rings until the carving on the door and on the claw matched up. Finally came the moment of truth, would I succeed? Well, given that I’m here telling you this story, you can guess I did, right?”
After she received no reaction Jorika assumed that her comedic approach had failed and she continued to tell her story.
“Behind the door was a large cavern, larger than the entire college and it must contain the Dragonstone I thought for I had not found it anywhere in the barrow yet. A half circular wall stood in the chamber, the black stone seemingly absorbing the light. I approached the wall, thinking I had found what I came for, all that remained was copying the writing carved into the stone and returning to Farengar. As I was transcribing the strange symbols a sarcophagus behind me burst open and yet another draugr appeared. I thought that it would be easy but I fell to the hubris that caused so many warriors’ downfall. Charging at the undead I expected an easy victory but instead it shouted at me with a Thu'um. It felt as if an unrelenting force was trying to rip me off my feet. I barely managed to keep standing.”
The fight against the Dragonstone’s guardian recaptured her audience's attention.
“The draugr fought well. Relentlessly it swung a sword, ice crystals falling from the blade. Parried my strikes with a shield. We fought on and on until it made a mistake. I made the mistake of underestimating my foe before and almost paid the price in full. Now it was on me to demand payment for the draugr's mistake. - I struck it with my axe. Shattered ancient bone into a thousand pieces, severed its arm from its body. Robbed of a weapon I kept on attacking the undead until I was victorious and the draugr laid defeated to my feet. But at last, I had not found the Dragonstone yet. The very reason I had ventured into this dark and damp tomb in the first place.”
The young bard with black hair was completely enraptured by Jorika's story.
“I searched the chamber. Behind the ominous wall, inside a rotten and rusted chest, through shelves abandoned ages ago. Finally I found the Dragonstone within the draugr’s sarcophagus. It was large and heavy but I managed to dislodge it from its resting place. Now came the task of bringing the stone back to Whiterun. Luckily I had cleared the crypt on my way in and met no resistance on the way back. I was glad to have my horse again and I bound the Dragonstone to the saddle. During my return I made a quick stop in Riverwood to hand over the golden claw to its original owner. He compensated me for my troubles very handsomely.”
The reward had just been three dozen septims but Jorika felt no idea to break the illusion of her grand heroics.
“Farengar was so overjoyed to have received the Dragonstone that he barely acknowledged my presence and he directed me to speak with the Jarl for a reward and you would think that the story ends here - but it goes on. Irileth, the Jarl’s housecarl, burst into the room and demanded Farengar’s attention. A dragon had been sighted nearby. They would have to coordinate their next action with Jarl Balgruuf. At this point I had thought that my work was done and all I would have to do was reap my reward but instead the Jarl hired me to go with Irileth and a detachment of guards to the watchtower the dragon had destroyed to look for survivors and drive away the dragon. Kill it if possible. With utmost haste we made our way to the nearby watchtower, smoke still billowing into the sky. We swarmed out to search for survivors. That was when the dragon returned.”
Everyone was listening to her every word.
“It swooped down and grabbed one of the men only to let him fall to his death seconds later. Everybody grabbed their bows and started firing arrows, with Irileth instead launching lightning bolts at the beast, for she was a spellsword and not a mere swordswoman.
We kept close to the walls and the tower to avoid being grabbed like the first man and evaded the dragon’s fiery breath forcing it to confront us on the ground. If you thought that a dragon would be easier to fight on the ground you’d be wrong. They are still formidable opponents with their claws, jaws filled with dagger-like teeth and their fire breath.
It killed two more men before we managed to defeat it.
And what a mighty foe that dragon had been. Scales the color and strength of bronze. Two large horns growing the back of its skull. Large spikes decorated the beast's spine and spikes on the end of its tail used as a club.”
Jorika catched a glimpse of Ataf’s sketch of the dragon.
“As the dragon laid before us dying, its soul visibly left its body and entered me.
I experienced its last moments. The anger, the pain, the feeling of humiliation about having been bested by mere people. By mortals.”
Jorika leaned against the low wall separating the college’s courtyard from the streets.
“I'm just not that popular,” Illdi, one of the younger students said and watched the going ons of the city.
“You shouldn't sell yourself short,” said Jorika in an effort to uplift the young bard’s spirits. “I’m sure you’re more popular than you think.”
She turned to place her hand on her bard’s shoulder.
Illdi gave a shy smile in return.
“I wish I had your confidence, your bravery. Telling your story to everyone was brave.”
“That wasn't brave of me,” Jorika cut the young bard off. “I wasn't afraid or anything. Looking adversity in the eyes and marching onwards. That is brave. You learning to become a bard is brave of you.”
“Why do you say that?” Illdi inquired.
“It is clear that becoming a bard is a dream for you,” she responded. “But it also scares you. It is brave of you to face that fear and keep on with your studies.”
Suddenly all the bells in the city started to ring. A cacophony of noise assaulted their ears.
“What’s going on now?” Jorika had to scream over the noise.
Illdi gave no answer, instead she just stared into the sky.
“Dragon!” she shouted all of a sudden and ran.
Looking up Jorika saw the dragon. A magnificent beast of bronze and green flew overhead.
Jorika wished she had put on her armor or carried her weapon.
Guards launched volleys of arrows at the dragon, mages casted their spells of fire, ice and lighting in defense of their city.
“Faas Zu’u,” the dragon shouted as it set yet another street on fire.
The screams and wails of people set on fire mixed with the roar of the flames reverberated through the city. They nearly drowned out the bells.
Smoke filled the city as citizens fled the devastation and guards and soldiers valiantly fought back.
“Hin Viik Los Dez,” it bellowed across the city.
The dragon reveled in the chaos it caused, smoke and ash providing cover for its next attack.
Jorika ran up to a guard.
“Pin it! You must pin it to the ground!” she shouted at the man, hoping he would understand.
He took a moment to focus on her.
“Pin it?” he asked as he processed the new information.
“The ballista,” he understood.
“Tell the Legion to prepare their ballista! We need to ground the beast!” he bellowed and one of the men ran off towards Castle Dour.
The dragon perched atop a house. The timbers aching and groaning under the creature's weight.
“Lirre!” it shouted. “Hi Kriist Ni Dez Wah Dii Aali!”
A group of legionnaires appeared with a ballista and fired it at the beast. The heavy bolt pierced through the dragon’s thick hide and scales, lodging itself deep within the monster’s flesh.
Shouting fire in pain the dragon reared up.
“Pull!” an officer shouted and a dozen men grabbed the rope attached to the ballista bolt and pulled with all their might. The dragon fought against them and in the end the roof of the house gave way before either the soldiers or the dragon did but the result was all the same.
Crashing to the ground the dragon thrashed around wildly.
It set more buildings on fire and incinerated four men with its shouts. Guards and legionnaires worked together throwing ropes over the monster binding it down as bricks and roof tiles rained down among them. Another ballista bolt with a rope buried itself into the dragon’s flesh, limiting its options even more.
They came over the dragon with spears, thrusting them deep into the creature’s flesh, retreating before fire, teeth or claws could rend them apart.
The unlucky ones were thrown against the walls, broken and dead.
Jorika grabbed a large warhammer that had once belonged to a charred corpse.
She ran up to the distracted and dying dragon and swung the weapon’s thick spike into the monster’s skull.
“Dovahkiin! Ronaaz Ko Dii Sleni!”
the dragon gnarled, looking at her with unbridled hatred in its eye.
“Dur Hi,” it shouted and flashed its teeth.
She ripped the warhammer free and crashed it into the dragon’s skull a second time.
“Dir Aan Faaz Vol Dilok,” were its last words before its scales began burning, sealing the beast’s death.
Jorika was unceremoniously forced to her knees as she absorbed the dragon’s soul. The feelings of pain, anger and humiliation were overwhelming. She was down to her hands and knees and heaved for air. Tears filled her eyes. She experienced the full amount of the dragon’s undiluted hatred towards her and the emotion burned in her veins. Her stomach’s contents were burning in her throat.
Jorika hated public functions like these.
She always thought of them as pretentious but attendance was inevitable for her.
“At least I’m dressed for the occasion,” she mumbled quietly to herself and looked at the dress the tailors of Radiant Raiment had gifted her in exchange for protecting their business.
“For the heroic deed of vanquishing a dragon and protecting our great city,” announced Elisif, “it is my great pleasure to name Jorika Fair-Shield, member of the Companions, thane of Whiterun and the Dragonborn, a thane of Haafingar.”
She bowed her head to allow Elisif to close the necklace.
“I hereby declare you thane of Haafingar. You may rise now.”
Jorika stood up and faced Elisif. Jorika held her head high.
“Thank you, my Jarl.”
Jorika struggled with her urge to rearrange the teeth in Bryling and Erikur's faces. Both were arguing about aspects of their businesses. A topic Jorika found mind numbingly boring. She would be able to tolerate the talk had the two thanes not started shouting at each other.
She grinded her teeth and felt the angry heat swell in her chest.
Exchanging pleasantries with dignitaries was ranked very low on the list of things Jorika considered enjoyable. Having to listen to them hurling insults at each other was even lower on that list.
She was glad to steal herself away for some quiet time unbothered by dull and pretentious nobles.
“Isn't it a bit weird to hide from your own celebration?” a woman's voice asked her.
Jorika turned around to face the stranger and found herself more intrigued than annoyed. The woman was young but her hair was already white as snow.
“Don’t mind me. I’m merely making an observation,” she continued.
“I don't dislike the party. It's the attendants,” Jorika explained, believing to have found a kindred soul. “I know nobody here and they're so boring.”
“Nobles talking about politics and trying to impress with their wealth?” the woman guessed and walked over to Jorika, carrying a bottle of spiced wine. She carried herself with confidence, as if chatting up a thane was second nature to her.
“Correct. There is hardly something less interesting,” the Dragonborn answered and took a drink from her cup of wine.
“I can drink to that.” The stranger raised her cup in a toast. “What would be interesting to you?”
The woman’s perfume had a noticeable scent of cinnamon which Jorika found pleasant.
“What would I find interesting? Stories, good stories about adventure. Food and drink.”
She raised her own cup again and took another drink. “Spending my time with a beautiful woman…”
The stranger chuckled. Jorika found her chuckle endearing.
“Well, I’m a bard,” the stranger responded and brushed some hair behind her ear. “I have wine and I’m a woman. Perhaps we can make the evening more enjoyable for us?”
“An enticing offer. An offer I accept,” said Jorika and uncorked the bottle.
Lisette brought Jorika into her room she rented out at the Winking Skeever. She threw her clothes to the ground and revealed that her pubes were just as white as her snowy hair. She had trimmed and styled them into the shape of a heart. Jorika felt her arousal building up.
“Like what you see?” she got asked, Lisette's voice sultry.
“Very much,” she growled back and tugged at her jacket.
She tossed her own clothing away and approached Lisette. With calloused hands she held Lisette by the waist and planted a hungry kiss on her lips. Moaning slightly Lisette's fingers roamed over Jorika's body, traced her muscles, combed through her thick blonde pubes.
“Like that?” she was questioned as Lisette pressed on Jorika's clit.
She pushed her slim body against Jorika’s muscular frame.
Jorika felt hot as their bodies collided.
“Very much,” she replied, her hands busy groping Lisette's ass.
Jorika lifted Lisette up. After a yelp she locked her legs around Jorika's hips, her left arm keeping their chests pressed together while her right hand kept fingering Jorika. She carried Lisette effortlessly.
She let Lisette work and occupied herself with kissing the bard everywhere her lips could reach be it mouth, cheeks, neck, breasts or shoulders.
She felt an orgasm approaching fast and got weak in her knees.
“Drop me in my bed,” Lisette huffed as she kept rubbing Jorika’s nethers.
Lisette let herself fall into her bed. Splayed out she beckoned Jorika to follow her into bed.
She crawled on Lisette. She latched onto Jorika’s breasts, kissing, sucking, groping and gently biting them as her fingers again massaged Jorika's wet lips and clit. Jorika propped herself up on her elbows and knees to give Lisette space.
A snake coiled itself in her stomach ready to pounce as Lisette kept circling her clit.
She pushed her mouth onto Lisette’s as she came undone. Her arms gave out and she collapsed onto the bard.
“You needed this, didn’t you baby?” Lisette whispered in her ear. Her fingers kept playing with Jorika’s wet and silky folds.
“I did,” said Jorika. “But we’re not done yet.”
She slithered down Lisette’s toned body and latched onto an awaiting clit with her mouth.
“Wakey, wakey,” Jorika was roused from sleep.
“What?” she mumbled and kept her eyes closed.
“Time to get up,” a smooth voice told her.
A finger pressing on her clit made her open her eyes.
Lisette looked at her with a smirk.
“I suspected I’d get our attention that way.”
She placed a kiss on Jorika’s lips.
“My shift starts soon, but I want one last go before we need to part ways again,” she whispered and playfully nibbled on Jorika’s ear.
Jorika let her hands wander over the bard’s fit body.
“I’d like that,” she replied and got to work.
Arvanion on Chapter 4 Wed 05 Feb 2025 04:09PM UTC
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Mattes508 on Chapter 6 Sat 19 Apr 2025 09:00AM UTC
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StarfieldMori on Chapter 7 Wed 02 Jul 2025 04:22AM UTC
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Mattes508 on Chapter 7 Wed 02 Jul 2025 08:40AM UTC
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StarfieldMori on Chapter 7 Thu 03 Jul 2025 12:51PM UTC
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