A Tale of Could-be Heroes Book 1: Hero, Dragon, Elf

Whispers in the Snowbound Spire: part 1

The remainder of the journey to Winterhold was nothing short of miserable for Aeyrie. Each step Sterling took jarred her fever-ridden body, the biting wind cutting through her cloak and burning against her fevered skin. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she found herself swaying in the saddle, holding on more out of habit than strength.

Behind her, the sound of hoofbeats grew louder, the rhythmic pounding breaking through the haze of her thoughts. "Aeyrie!" Jenassa's sharp voice called out over the wind, but Aeyrie ignored her, urging Sterling forward with a weak nudge of her heels.

Jenassa's irritation was evident as she called again, her voice more commanding this time. "Aeyrie, stop! You need to lie down in the wagon. We won't make it to Winterhold like this—not with our healer sick as a mongrel lying in the street!"

The words hit Aeyrie like a splash of cold water, cutting through her fevered stupor. Her pride stung at Jenassa's bluntness, but deep down, she knew the Dunmer was right. Her body was failing her, and every moment she spent in the saddle risked not only her life but the safety of the group.

Reluctantly, Aeyrie loosened her grip on the reins, allowing Jenassa to ride up beside her. The Dunmer's gloved hand shot out, gripping Sterling's reins with practiced ease, bringing the great stallion to a halt.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Jenassa muttered, her crimson eyes scanning Aeyrie's pale, sweat-slicked face.

Aeyrie managed a weak smile, though it quickly faltered. "It's not stubbornness," she croaked. "It's... determination."

"Call it what you want," Jenassa said, dismounting with a fluidity that made Aeyrie's aching body ache even more in comparison. "But you're going in that wagon, whether you like it or not."

Aeyrie opened her mouth to protest, but her words dissolved into a ragged cough. That settled the matter. Jenassa looped Sterling's reins over her saddle horn and reached up, steadying Aeyrie as she slid awkwardly from the saddle.

"Easy," Jenassa said, her tone softening slightly as Aeyrie's legs nearly gave out beneath her. "I've got you."

With Jenassa's help, Aeyrie stumbled toward the wagon, her head spinning and her limbs heavy. Loche was already there, having noticed the commotion and stopped the horse pulling the wagon. He hopped down from his seat and hurried over to help lift Aeyrie into the back.

"She's burning up," Loche muttered, concern etched into his face.

"I know," Jenassa replied, her tone brisk. "Get her settled. She'll need rest and water—and keep that arm clean. We're too far from help to risk more infection."

Loche nodded, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with grim determination. Together, he and Jenassa made sure Aeyrie was lying as comfortably as possible on the furs piled in the wagon bed.

As the wagon began moving again, Aeyrie stared up at the gray sky, her thoughts swirling like the clouds above. The fever dulled her senses, but even in her haze, she couldn't shake the lingering image of Balgruuf's outstretched hand from her dreams.

"Just a little farther," Jenassa said from somewhere nearby, her voice a steady anchor against the storm raging in Aeyrie's body. "Hold on, Aeyrie. We're almost there."

But as Aeyrie's eyelids fluttered closed, she couldn't help but wonder: would almost there be enough?

The next time Aeyrie opened her eyes, the world around her was a blur of light and sound, swimming in and out of focus. She blinked sluggishly, trying to make sense of her surroundings as the voices of those gathered near began to filter through the haze of her fever.