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<\/p>\nDagnell rose early.\u00a0 As she walked through the inn\u2019s main room a sour-faced girl said \u201cOh great, another wanderer. Slumming it before heading to Windhelm?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, is Windhelm close?\u201d<\/p>\n
The girl snorted. \u201cJust to the north. I thought everyone knew that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks, that helps a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhatever.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was not a pleasant walk from Kynesgrove to Windhelm. The farther she went, the colder it got, until she had a bit more first-hand instruction on being in a Skyrim snowstorm.\u00a0 It was as ugly an experience as she had expected. And then there were the wolves. She\u2019d accumulated another good few pelts by the time the city appeared over the crest of a hill.<\/p>\n
Windhelm looked nothing but gray and unwelcoming.\u00a0 It sat at the far side of an enormous bridge over the river she\u2019d seen from Kynesgrove.\u00a0 The approach to the bridge looked icy, the wind was howling, it was snowing sideways, and yet a Nord carriage driver in short sleeves sat in his rig at the near end of the bridge, seemingly unconcerned, waiting for his next customer. She had to marvel at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeed a ride? I can take you to any of the hold capitals.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot right now, thanks.\u201d\u00a0 She would gladly have taken a ride to the south somewhere, but figured he wouldn\u2019t appreciate taking her for the pitiful few coins she had.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Windhelm proper was guarded by a pair of enormous, unforgiving iron doors \u2013 a far cry from just-wander-in Kynesgrove.\u00a0 \u201cNice,\u201d she muttered under her breath.\u00a0 \u201cBut here goes,\u201d and heaved at the heavy doors.<\/p>\n
There was a loud argument happening right inside the doors, an argument from which she stepped just far enough away to listen.\u00a0 Two Nord men stood face-to-face with an elegant Dunmer woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou come here where you\u2019re not wanted,\u201d said one of them.\u00a0 He was short, and red-faced, and clearly drunk. \u201cYou eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink.\u00a0 And you refuse to help the Stormcloaks.\u201d The other man nodded in agreement.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe haven\u2019t taken a side because it\u2019s not our fight.\u201d\u00a0 She didn\u2019t seem at all fearful, but there were two of them and only one of her.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d said the second Nord, \u201cthey don\u2019t help the Stormcloaks because they\u2019re Imperial spies!\u201d<\/p>\n
The drunk nodded, and stepped closer to the Dunmer woman. \u201cMaybe we\u2019ll just come out at night and follow you, little spy.\u00a0 We have ways to see what you\u2019re really all about.\u201d\u00a0 Both men took a step closer to her, the mouthy one weaving unsteadily.\u00a0 This was just about to get out of hand, Dag saw.\u00a0 It was quite enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey!\u201d she said sharply, stepping up to the ringleader, who looked at her in surprise.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t like your attitude.\u201d<\/p>\n
He frowned at her. \u201cYou.\u00a0 You a dark elf lover?\u00a0 Get out of our city, you filthy piece of trash.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dag\u2019s temper flared.\u00a0 She was tired, she was cold, and she was an outsider in a strange city but she wasn\u2019t and never had been filthy trash. She must have looked angry, too, because he swayed on his feet and continued belligerently. \u201cDon\u2019t like it? Too bad.\u00a0 This is our city. OURS.\u00a0 A hundred septims say I can punch you back to where you came from.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re on,\u201d she said. Bring it, you pitiful excuse for a Nord.<\/em><\/p>\n As short a fight as the one with Roggi had been, this one was shorter.\u00a0 The man was clearly out of his element, and hampered by his own indulgences as well.\u00a0 Dag was not in the mood. She punched hard, and it wasn\u2019t long before he was on the ground.\u00a0 He gasped for air for a few moments, then pushed himself up, still belligerent.<\/p>\n \u201cThat wasn\u2019t a fair swing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was fairly much better than yours, though.\u00a0 You lost.\u00a0 Give me my money.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he muttered sourly.\u00a0 \u201cHere.\u201d Dag found herself two hundred septims wealthier and, she realized with amusement, had managed to work out a few frustrations in the process.\u00a0 He stood swaying in place, shaking his head as if to settle his brains.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, you,\u201d she asked. \u201cWhy do you hate the dark elves so much?\u201d<\/p>\n He glared again.\u00a0 \u201cThey\u2019re leeches.\u00a0 They take our protection and do nothing in return.\u00a0 High King Torygg invited them here, but he didn\u2019t ask any of us what we thought about it.\u201d<\/p>\n Dag looked at him in disgust. Really?<\/em> The Dunmer\u2019s home island of Vvardenfell had been mostly destroyed in an eruption many years back, and the continuing eruptions choked the rest of Morrowind with ash. Even people far off in Stros M\u2019Kai knew that; the world wasn\u2019t that large a place. Torygg, so recently deceased, had simply been decent and humane to the Dunmer; and now that he was gone all of the scum felt safe to come out of hiding, it would seem. Why High King Torygg would have asked this man\u2019s opinion anyway was beyond her. Kings had advisors for things like that.<\/p>\n She watched in disgust as the pair shuffled into a brightly lit building directly ahead of her; the inn, it would seem from the noise that wafted out when they opened its door.\u00a0 The Dunmer woman approached her.\u00a0 Her voice was as elegant as her appearance, deep and cultured. \u201cDo you hate the dark elves too?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, not at all.\u201d Look at me, madam, she thought.\u00a0 I\u2019m nearly as dark as you in this pale, pale place.<\/p>\n \u201cWell Windhelm\u2019s not the city for you, then. The Nords here don\u2019t seem to like anyone who\u2019s not a Nord, and now that Ulfric is Jarl there\u2019s nothing keeping them civil.\u00a0 But that Rolff is the worst.\u00a0 Every night he gets drunk and wanders around the city shouting horrible things about us.\u201d She shook her head and walked away.<\/p>\n Dagnell hadn\u2019t relished the idea of spending time in this place from the moment she\u2019d seen the gate.\u00a0 Now she relished it even less, and was determined to leave as soon as possible.\u00a0 But first she needed to do some trading.\u00a0 She walked forward past the inn, and circled around the great plaza of which it was the center.<\/p>\n There wasn\u2019t anything about Windhelm that appealed to Dag.\u00a0 Grey, cold, and clearly ancient, each part of the city was on a different level, as though its architects couldn\u2019t be bothered to level the ground but had merely plopped new buildings atop whatever was at hand. Or perhaps there had been some great shaking of the land that caused parts of the city to subside. She had heard tales of parts of Skyrim\u2019s far north simply falling into the sea in times long past. Some of the stairways leading from the inn ended several feet short of the ground, dangling in midair like an unfinished melody. The great stone steps leading from one level of the city to the next were worn, broken in places, partially covered over with snow piles and the accumulated dirt of centuries.\u00a0 Why a city the size of Windhelm couldn\u2019t have repaired them was something she couldn\u2019t fathom.\u00a0 Even if the huge slabs couldn\u2019t be replaced, they could at least be repositioned so that a person could walk up them without risking a fall. All it would take would be some volunteers and a little time.<\/p>\n Everything seemed somehow weary to her, resigned, heavy with the weight of centuries and cold and decay. Past the inn was a great open gateway with plaques on either side, honoring Olaf One-Eye and Harald, two of Windhelm\u2019s great leaders from the First Era, many centuries past. It should have been an awe-inspiring entry to what was clearly the Jarl\u2019s palace beyond.\u00a0 Instead, even these great stone plaques were tired, covered in moss and worn to the point that some words were almost unreadable.\u00a0 Dag could imagine that this had once been a magnificent place.\u00a0 Now it seemed like an unwelcoming pile of rock.<\/p>\n She wandered toward the eastern side of the city and down into narrow, dim streets flanked by rickety stone and wood buildings that had an even more profound air of neglect than the main square.\u00a0 The people darting from building to building were almost exclusively Dunmer, and they all had a pinched, defeated look about them.\u00a0 And yet, she noticed, this was the only place in Windhelm with any color.\u00a0 Near the southern end of the neighborhood were businesses marked with tattered but brilliant banners, in vibrant shades of red and orange, an echo of the homeland of Morrowind from which many of these people had fled.\u00a0 Dag pondered going into the \u201ccorner club,\u201d the Dunmer inn, but wasn\u2019t sure what attitudes might be toward a Redguard woman in a place like this.<\/p>\n The distinctive clanking of an anvil in use caught her attention. \u00a0Climbing back to the main square and following the sound down a narrow street next to the city wall, she found a small but busy market area.\u00a0 The smithy was tucked up against a stone half-wall next to the marketplace. The smith, an older man, was pounding away at a soon-to-be sword. Dag approached him and hoped for the best.<\/p>\n \u201cCan I use your forge?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see no harm in it. Go right ahead.\u201d He then went back to arguing with a girl who was either his daughter or his apprentice, as far as Dag could tell. \u201cDid you use my good hammer again? Damn it, girl, I\u2019ve told you over and over; you have yours and I have mine.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl rolled her eyes, barely missing a beat from her work on a piece of iron armor. \u201cDid you look behind the forge?\u201d<\/p>\n He blinked and leaned away from his anvil to peer at a space next to the wall. \u201cOh. Um, yes. I forgot. Sorry about that.\u201d<\/p>\n Dag smiled to herself and set to work.\u00a0 There was a decent amount of leather after scraping down all the pelts, enough to make some armor in her size.\u00a0 Boots, helmet and bracers were next.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s some fine-looking armor you\u2019ve put together there,\u201d the blacksmith noted.\u00a0 Dag raised an eyebrow at him.\u00a0 It really wasn\u2019t.\u00a0 It was barely serviceable, just enough to get by with.\u00a0 Still, it was nice that he hadn\u2019t simply made fun of it.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks.\u00a0 I needed something that fit me better than what I had on.\u00a0 What do you have for sale?\u201d<\/p>\n She started haggling with him.\u00a0 While he was looking over her offerings, he nattered away about having the honor of making Jarl Ulfric\u2019s new armor.\u00a0 Ulfric was the leader of the rebellion, the man who had killed High King Torygg, and his father had been Jarl of Windhelm before him.\u00a0 J\u2019hall had talked a bit about him, and so had some of the soldiers they\u2019d met along the road. He had, supposedly, \u201cshouted<\/em> the king to death.\u00a0 With his voice.\u201d\u00a0 Dag loved a tall tale as much as anyone, and that tale was pretty tall, especially the way they\u2019d told it.\u00a0 Still, she had no urge to run across Ulfric Stormcloak. If nothing else, he was a dangerous man, and a powerful one.\u00a0 All the more reason to wrap up her business here and head south.<\/p>\n The blacksmith took Dag\u2019s old armor \u2013 not for much, but it was something.\u00a0 The warhammer was a trade for an iron sword and materials with which to sharpen it. A few minutes at the grindstone turned the sword into a respectable weapon; it wouldn\u2019t even come close to her scimitars but it would cut, and she wouldn\u2019t be worn out swinging it. A few more minutes at his workbench improved the fit of her new armor.\u00a0 It wasn\u2019t her old gear, but she felt more confident in setting out again.\u00a0 She wanted to go south, to Morrowind, or to the southern parts of Cyrodill, where it was warm.<\/p>\n Dagnell rose early.\u00a0 As she walked through the inn\u2019s main room a sour-faced girl said \u201cOh great, another wanderer. Slumming it before heading to Windhelm?\u201d \u201cWhy, is Windhelm close?\u201d The girl snorted. \u201cJust to the north. I thought everyone knew that.\u201d \u201cThanks, that helps a lot.\u201d \u201cWhatever.\u201d It was not a pleasant walk from Kynesgrove … <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/baakay.com\/FanFic\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/09\/1-1-3-3.png\")
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<\/p>\nPart I: Survivors<\/a><\/div>\nPrevious<\/a> \/ Next<\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"