Dark Wings in the Cold

4: The Road to Whiterun

I wound my fingers together anxiously. "I will go to tell the Jarl, but I have nothing once I arrive at Whiterun." I paused, embarrassed. "I do not yet have a way to support myself or a place to sleep. Wuunrik had the plan to come here, but we have been separated, and I cannot change it, whether he is alive or dead."

Gerdur reached forward and took my hand. "Do not worry. When you tell the Jarl of the dragon, he will be grateful. As a Jarl, it is his duty to see that people of importance and service to him are rewarded. That will give you the money to return here, where you may work in our mill, or continue to search for your cousin and earn your way. It is up to you to decide whether you want to speak of your connections to the former High King through the diplomat." She gave me a squeeze, then dropped my hand. "We will rent a cart to take you to Whiterun. Best to rest your feet as much as possible until they are fully healed."

I waited as she gathered her cloak and the one Ralof had disguised me with. She stepped forward, sweeping the cloak over my shoulders and fastening it gently. I followed in silence as we left the confines of the cabin.

Outside, guards in yellow tunics and dull iron armor leaned against the wooden fences. Two children ran through the street chasing a dog, laughing. The hold seemed quiet and secure in the sunlight.

I followed Gerdur up the steps to a large tavern with a soaring roof. The Sleeping Giant Inn smelled of wood, hay, and spilled mead with a faint hint of salted venison. A few Nords lingered about, nursing pints lazily, leaning forward at their tables.

Without hesitating, Gerdur strolled up to the counter and dropped a small handful of gold coins in front of the dark-haired nord wiping counters. "We'll take a loaf of bread, a slice of Eidar cheese, and an ale."

He nodded, setting down his rag promptly and disappearing into a back room. When he returned, he set them all in front of her and returned to quietly wiping counters.

Gerdur turned and beckoned to me. She pulled a small cloth from her apron and wrapped the bread and cheese together. "This is for the road." Then she looked back to the nord and leaned forwards, frowning. "Orgnar, has the carriage stopped through today? We have urged need of a ride to Whiterun."

He set the rag down and leaned forwards on his elbows towards her. "It arrived just half an hour ago. The carriage driver is still eating - why the hurry?" His hushed tone was equally serious, but curiosity shone in his eyes.

"My cousin happened to be traveling outside of Helgen, and witnessed something dreadful. I'm not at liberty to say, but this news must reach the Jarl's ears quickly."

Orgnar pursed his lips and frowned at her, leaning back. "You can't tell me, Gerdur? You know me."

Gerdur merely smiled a thin smile at him as she turned away from him. "I know all too well how you like to share gossip. Perhaps next time, a less serious matter."

He grumbled as we stepped away. I couldn't help but grin and look down.

I lingered by the fire pit a moment longer to warm my hands as Gerdur fetched the carriage driver. Together we stepped outside, the afternoon sun settling into its descent near the mountain peaks.

"Take care, Aldria Wolf-Spear." Gerdur handed me the wrapped provisions and stepped away from the cart. "You are capable of more than you think. Go find your way, cousin."

"Thank you. Take care, Gerdur." The carriage lurched forward with a jerk.

I drew the cloak around me, watching in silence as we rolled away from the town. The song of birds and rhythmic creaking of the wagon's wheels replaced the quiet murmur of the town.

Afternoon sun dazzled the snow drifting from the peaks of the mountain peaks. We traveled up the foothill for a time, following the path at a slow but jarring tread. Pretty, if I were able to enjoy it without a carriage rattling my bones.

At least I didn't have to walk.

Two hours later and my jaw ached from grinding my teeth together.

I hate wagons. Once more I'm stuck behind a horse on a hard wooden seat heading somewhere I didn't decide to go.

The weight of my irritation and lingering fear and anger from Helgen dragged my shoulders down, stiffening me and making every moment of the ride unbearable.

I closed my eyes and groaned in frustration. The carriage driver heard and turned to look back at me.

"Miss, we're almost to Whiterun. You'll see the bridge in a moment. If you look between the peaks of these trees, you'll see the walls of the city."

I twisted around. Gray rock walls surrounded the city, which rose up in splendor above the farms and meadows around it. Whiterun, the trading capital of Skyrim.

The river swirled beneath the bridge near the edge of the forest. As we crossed, I noticed two carriages stopped a bit further up the path.

"Whoa!" The driver pulled the reins hard, causing the horse to nicker and flick its nervously.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Merchants don't linger outside of the city without a good reason. It's dangerous to stay in one place, even along the road. There's something wrong."

I stared out at the farms, searching for trouble. No bandits or stray cows. "Perhaps an injured horse?" I guessed.

"I don't think so."

A rumble and a shudder shook the ground. I ducked down into the carriage instinctively.

Mara, preserve me!

A scream and the crash of splintering wood echoed as a huge mass of brown fur charged through a fence near the closest farm.

"It's a Mammoth! Stay back!"

It thundered past the fence, thrashing wildly. A large gouge dripped blood from its side, staining the brick path red.

"Get out of the cart!" He hurried down from the cart and stopped behind the cart to offer a hand. I took his hand and jumped to the ground.

To my disbelief, a small group of guards wearing the yellow tunics of the hold flanked the mammoth, raising spears to urge it away from the path to the city. The mammoth reared back, startled, but lunged with its tusks at one of the guards. It caught him solidly across the chest and knocked him backwards to the ground.

The guard didn't move.

The men recoiled, stumbling back from the angry mammoth. It trumpeted as it charged forward. I shuddered as several of the men were trampled in its path, with wretched screams of pain from another who was thrown across the road and landed on his axe.

"Watch out! GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

From the outfields of the farm across the path, a rider in warrior's armor thundered past the stopped wagons toward the rampaging beast. Two more riders emerged from behind the tattered fence.

The first rider, a muscular swordsman, pulled hard at the reins. His horse galloped obediently towards the mammoth, sides heaving. With little time to stop the chase as they approached the city walls, the man slashed at its leg and pulled back quickly. His comrades followed his lead - a woman with short brown hair and a thin man with dun skin, both wielding shortswords.

Another round of slashes, and the mammoth faltered, dropping heavily forward onto its front legs. It grunted in pain as the warriors buried their swords into its sides until its eyes rolled.

"Who are those warriors?"

Returning to the cart, the driver squinted against the afternoon sunlight. "They are the Companions."