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Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions	By : NoLoreMaster Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 3241 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Bethesda Softworks is the creator of the The Elder Scrolls Universe, so logically, this isn't mine. This fanfiction is non-profit and fan-made. Hope that covers it. Don't eat me D=

Chapter List
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The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 2
Once the two Nords had parted ways, Ralof, Ganir and Cirilonde continued their way through the Imperial fortress, which was being shaken at its foundation as the dragon wreaked havoc on the building from the outside, tearing at the stone with its maw and ramming down on its roof and battlements where he couldn’t set it ablaze.

“I’m glad we ran. There’s no stopping to that…that thing.” Ralof said as they ran down the steps to the armory. Hadvar had given them quick instructions as to where to go.
They had all anticipated that they would come across Imperials, but apparently, other Stormcloaks had escaped into the fort ahead of them. Three Nord men looked up from the Imperial Legionnaires they’d just killed after a brief skirmish.
“Ralof!” One of them exclaimed, but the burly, red-haired Nord’s excitement was replaced with suspicion upon seeing the elves and looked past them as if he was expecting more people. “Where’s Jarl Ulfric?”

“He’ll be here shortly with Wulf and Igritte. He wanted us to clear a path ahead of him.” Ralof answered. “Don’t worry about these two, Eswold. The High Elf actually saved Igritte’s life.”

When Eswold nodded at the three other Stormcloaks, they sheathed their weapons. “That’s good to know. We’ll stay here and wait for the Jarl. You should go on your way and clear the path for us.” Eswold pulled his bow and quiver with an odd dozen arrows or so off his shoulder that was obviously in his way as he wielded a battle-axe himself.
“I’ll take it,” Said Ganir and so they went on their way, finding an old escape tunnel that led from Helgen Keep to god knows where. They ventured further with caution, but all they came across were frostbite spiders (Arachnids about the size of a dog that ice-cold, burning venom) and a bear that Ganir took out with his bow and arrow.
They were greeted by the icy winds and squinted their eyes as the sun glared them in the eyes and was reflected in the snow as well. A sudden, overhead roar had them duck for cover, back into the cave, and watched how the enormous, black dragon flew overhead, before flying off into the distance, to the mountains.
After waiting a few minutes, they emerged, Ganir with his bow at the ready. “It’s clear,” he said after looking around and Cirilonde and Ralof joined him, who immediately looked around to get his bearings.

He turned to the two elves. “I don’t know what got you to Skyrim in the first place, but we were lucky when that dragon came when it did.”
“I’m not so sure yet.” Cirilonde said. “They will be looking for us.”

“She’s right. Where are we, even?” Ganir asked.
“Well, over there, is Bleak Falls Barrow.” Ralof pointed to the mountain in the distance, where they could see the vague silhouette of a snow-covered ruin in the mountain. “Helgen and Riverwood aren’t far apart…I have family there.”
The sudden realization that Helgen had just been ravaged by a dragon and that Riverwood was nearby, deeply troubled Ralof.

“We should head there.” He decided. “You can come with me, if you like. My aunt, Gerdur and her husband, Hod, run the sawmill. We can lay low there.”

Ganir looked at Cirilonde. They were glad that they had escaped and survived, but now they had another hurdle to face. “They will be looking for us. They are expecting me at the College. I just…I don’t know.”
“We could use the food and rest if we aren’t a burden, sera.” Ganir said to Ralof. “We will leave for the College and part ways.” When Cirilonde cocked a brow at Ganir, he turned to her. “No offence to you, but I don’t deem it wise for you to travel alone. I will be escorting you.”

“Then it’s settled.” Cirilonde then looked back at the cave. “What about Jarl Ulfric and your comrades?”

“If we wait here, we could risk getting caught by the Imperials, lass.” Ralof said. “Besides, he’ll be fine. He’s always managed to survive. Let’s go.”

And so they went on their way with Ralof taking the lead. After a while, Ganir joined Cirilonde, who had been rather occupied with her mind and tried to enjoy their surroundings to get her mind off things.

Skyrim was a land of raw, cold beauty, with pine trees, birches and mountain flowers dotting the landscape where the snow hadn’t fallen or where icy, cold rivers made their way through the land. The terrain was uneven, and it showed in the roads, which were rarely paved, as they curled their way around rocks, hills and other obstacles.

“I don’t mean to pry, sera, but why would the Thalmor be after one of their own?” Ganir obviously had been meaning to ask this for a while.

“Given that you’ve saved my life twice now, I suppose an explanation wouldn’t do any harm,” she smiled at him as he pulled his hood back up. “Thank you, for everything. I appreciate it you’re even willing to escort me to the College of Winterhold. I don’t think I’d last long out there.”

“No need to thank me, but you ought not to underestimate yourself, but indeed, Skyrim is dangerous. Nowadays, however, nowhere is safe with those Thalmor slithering around.” Ganir spat the word ‘Thalmor’. It was such an unusual contrast because back home, Cirilonde only heard their name in praise and deepest of respect.

She herself, wasn’t sure what to think. Granted, she agreed that her kind held superior in a variety of matters, but having been taught by masters in the arts who were friends of her mother, who had studied at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil, she was taught to not be adamant about her superiority, because human-kind had shown remarkable resilience and proficiency where most elves would have died or given up. For the rest, her father was but an ambassador and she had lived a peaceful life that let her pursue her ambitions and her parents seemed relieved she had no interest in joining the Thalmor, who they felt rather conflicted about.
“Tell me your story, Cirilonde.” Ganir said to her. “We have quite a journey ahead of us.”

“If you tell me yours,” she grinned. There was something about Ganir that made her feel at comfort as she reminded him of a tutor.

“Very well, sera. Go ahead.” His chuckle was raspy and deep.

Cirilonde told him briefly about her home, how she had grown up, tutored by friends of her mother who were part of the College of Whispers and Arcane University, which she had even visited. Tiring of the political games, she returned home aside from being summoned home by her father and she told Ganir how she had intended to travel to Skyrim for the College, when her father intended for her to be wed.

“Seems like such a savage practice. Then again, my people practiced slavery.” Ganir said dryly.

“It’s all about political ties. I had no problems getting married as long as it meant I could keep pursuing my academics. I love studying the schools of magic. I was about to delve into the arts of destruction and conjuration when I was summoned home. From the conversation we had, I thought Taurmillan understood, but …” she sighed, trying to figure out how to explain. “Courtship amongst my people is … complex, often loaded with underlying, political motives. Love is rarely involved but sometimes blooms like it did with my parents. His offence most likely stems from politically involved matters. I don’t know.”

Ganir was quiet for a bit as he processed all the information. “And…your parents?”

“I feel terrible. If I had known this would happen, I wouldn’t have even pondered going to Skyrim.” Cirilonde felt nauseous as she thought of home and her parents.

“Will they be…all right, though?”

“Knowing the games played, they will be fine. Disgraced and humiliated, maybe, but they will play their game. It’s probably why the Thalmor awaited me here, so they could blame it on the civil unrest.” Cirilonde grit her teeth, angry about the whole situation now.

“We all have our demons, sera, but I wouldn’t let them control you. You’ve survived and I will see to it that you make it to the College of Winterhold.” Ganir then smiled at her. “And you’ve got company.”

Cirilonde smiled back at him, and was about to ask the Dark Elf about his own past, when Ralof called for them. He had been listening to their conversation, but had not mingled because he’d been on the lookout, just in case. His mind was also trying to wrap around all the events that had transpired. Right now, though, all he wanted was a warm bed and a belly full of mead.

“Look, we’re almost there and for so far, it seems we’re the first to actually escape.” He pointed at the village in the distance down the road. The creek that had been along the path from their escape tunnel, had been winding down the path into the river that streamed past Riverwood, where they could see the sawmill beyond the simple, wooden city gates.

“Let me do the talking and try to not attract unnecessary attention. Don’t talk to anyone.”

They nodded and followed Ralof into Riverwood. The sun had begun to set and most villages made their way home for dinner and it helped them avoid attracting too much attention. A woman in about her sixties was sweeping the entrance to the Sleeping Giant Inn, caught Ganir’s attention, for her discreet, keen stare was more than mere curiosity.

They crossed the rickety, wooden bridge that led to the little islet where the mill stood; powered by the river’s stream. An enormous, Nordic man worked the saw, loading logs before sawing them into pieces. “Uncle Hod.” When the man, obviously deafened by the racket the saw made as it cut its way through the wood, Ralof raised his voice. “Uncle Hod!”

“What the…Ralof!” Hod turned to see the odd trio, furrowing his bushy brows. “What are you doing here? Gerdur, come look!”

“I swear, if Sven has been taking a ‘nap’ again….” Gerdur came from behind the mill, where she had been cutting wood. She was as tall as Cirilonde, but also twice as broad and tough, with thick blonde hair bound back, sweat beading her forehead. “Ralof!” she exclaimed, wiping her dirty hands on her apron.

“Keep your voice down!” Ralof hissed, but heartily welcomed his aunt’s embrace.

“By the Divines, boy, you look like you took a beating!” Gerdur exclaimed. “What happened?!”

“Not. Here.” Ralof pointed to behind the sawmill and so they went there so they could talk discreetly.

“What are you doing here?” Gerdur asked, trying her best to keep her voice down. “You look like you lost wrestling a bear.”

“We’ve wrestled something far worse, but I need this kept quiet.” Ralof continued telling them all that had happened. They had received a tip of an important, Imperial supply caravan they had meant to raid, but instead, were led to an ambush where Cirilonde and Ganir had been dragged into by accident and how they got to Helgen which then was burned down by a dragon.

“A dragon?! Are you sure you didn’t get roughed up too badly, Ralof?” Hod shook his head in disbelief.

“I assure you, sera, we were all there, and there was a dragon.” Ganir said. “We barely made it out alive.”

“I know it is a lot to ask for, but these two have saved my life and that of Jarl Ulfric and his men. They need but to stay for the night and will be off. I’m afraid I have to lie low myself a tad longer, however.”

Gerdur raised her hand. “You know I have no problem with this. However,” she then turned to Ganir and Cirilonde. “If you leave tomorrow, I need you to go to Whiterun and inform the Jarl. I still find it hard to believe, but if a dragon is out there on the loose, we need protection from the Jarl’s men.”

“Jarl?” Cirilonde cocked her brow, trying to not mis-pronounce the odd word.

“Jarls rule their Holds across Skyrim,” said Ralof. “Jarl Balgruuf rules this region, the White Hold. He’s a decent and honorable man who looks out for his people rather than his own interests and has tried to remain neutral despite this Civil War.”

Ganir nodded. “Very well, I promise you that when we leave tomorrow, we will drop by the Jarl’s… Where do we even find him?”

“You are truly new to Skyrim, aren’t you, Elf?” Gerdur couldn’t help but laugh. “When you enter Whiterun, go to Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s palace. You will find him there. Make sure only he receives the word to avoid causing panic.”

“Let’s get inside,” said Hod. “I’m starving.”

They walked to Gerdur and Hod’s home, which had them cross the bridge again and they walked between the General Trade store and the Sleeping Giant Inn, down the path to a wooden abode with a straw roof that was larger than most houses. Gerdur set out the table and served them a thick, delicious mutton stew that had been simmering through the course of the day and they devoured all else she served, starving as they hadn’t eaten in two days.
“Thank you very much for your help and hospitality, Gerdur.” Cirilonde said as they sat at the fireplace in the evening and watched Frodnar, Gerdur’s son, play with wooden, carved figures. “It’s most appreciated.”

“No worries, lass.” Gerdur drank mead from a mug. Cirilonde had tried and did absolutely love the taste but having had two mugs, she felt sleepy. “Go rest some, I’ve prepared a bed for you. Frodnar will sleep with us tonight. And no, it’s not a hassle.”

“Thank you, once again.”

Ganir and Ralof had been talking downstairs, where Gerdur had laid a pair of bedrolls. Tired, Cirilonde had the mind to join them for a chat, but instead, crawled into Frodnar’s bed not too far from the fireplace. It took but a fraction of a few minutes for her to fall asleep.

Ganir woke her the next early morning. She wasn’t sure if he’d slept at all, because his face still showed he seemed weary. He dismissed her concern. “We should be going.”

After grabbing some quick food and washing up, they left Gerdur and Hod’s home, leaving a note of thanks. As early as it was, everyone was already up, however, these weren’t villagers, but merchants who were on their way to the cities of Skyrim.

This was a good thing, because it helped the two elves blend in, who had been given some clothes by Gerdur and Hod. Cirilonde wore one of Gerdur’s dresses, which slumped over her shoulders as Cirilonde was slender, but as she wore her own robes below, she was comfortably warm. Ganir, on the other hand, looked incredibly odd as she couldn’t imagine him without the dark, leather armor, which he wore underneath his tunic.

They made their way down the road from Riverwood, across the bridge, to Whiterun according to Ralof’s directions.

“What’s bothering you?” Cirilonde asked when they were out of earshot of the merchant carts up ahead. “You’ve heard them talk. Helgen was destroyed and ‘no one could possibly have survived’.”

“We should be cautious, still.” Ganir said. “When we get to Whiterun, I need you to stay and try to blend in with the crowd while I deliver my message to the Jarl. After that, we will leave right away to Winterhold. The further away from here, the better.”

Whiterun was but an hour of walking and as they came walking over the hill, they saw the city, protected by a stone and wooden wall. Small farms and their fields surrounded the city and was overlooked by the enormous, wooden building that stood tall above all other buildings in Whiterun. That had to be Dragonsreach.

When they got closer to the city’s gates, however, they were surprised to find that the merchants and their carts came to a halt. Over the swearing and frustrated muttering, they could hear a commotion up ahead at the city gates and Cirilonde and Ganir made their way towards it.

“I have goods to deliver for the market!” said a farmer, clearly frustrated. “If this food will rot whilst I wait here, Nazeem will have my head!”

“Look, the Jarl’s orders were clear. No one gets into Dragonsreach while we look into the whole dragon attack business on Helgen.” Said the guard. He donned a tabard over his armor with the flag of Whiterun: a white steed’s head. “So go home, or anywhere, but just stop bothering me. I’m just doing my work.”

“Looks like we have a problem.” Cirilonde made to look at Ganir, and saw that he had disappeared from her side. “Where the hell-…Ganir?”

Jarl Balgruuf sat on the throne in his palace, which stood higher than the long table with many seats ahead of him and he watched the nobles walk down the steps to the entrance of the palace. He removed the golden, gemmed band on his head and ran a hand through his thick, long, dark-blond hair before tugging at his beard in thought before he looked at Hrongar, his brother, who was bald and clad in armor, but looked much like him otherwise.

“So the rumors were true and a dragon has been sighted over Helgen,” Balgruuf sighed and looked at the Dunmer woman at his side; Irileth. She was like a fierce sabercat; quiet and deadly.
“My Lord, please, surely you don’t believe this nonsense of dragons returning. They’re a myth!” Proventus Avennici…Balgruuf tried to contain his annoyance. Granted, he needed an advisor, but he had little patience for the Imperial snob who knew little to nothing of his land or people at this moment. Proventus, a bald man in his sixties, noted his Jarl’s annoyance. “My Jarl, we cannot rush into action and gather more information before we act. I just…”
“Would you rather have me do nothing?” Balgruuf snapped, but then looked at Irileth, who had unsheathed her sword.

Before them, at the fire, stood a Dunmer, with pitch-black hair bound into a high, elven-style ponytail and golden earrings. Even though clad in ragged, filthy clothes, Irileth’s eyes narrowed. There was something about him she didn’t like…
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here, stranger. How did you even get in here?” Irileth growled.

“Let’s skip past those details,” said the Dunmer. His voice, though rough, held an underlying smoothness. “I’m but here to relay a message from Gerdur of Riverwood to the Jarl of Whiterun.”

When he made to step closer, so did Irileth, her sword at the ready.

“Irileth,” Balgruuf warned. “Let him come closer. Tell me, what does Gerdur of Riverwood want?”

“She calls for the Jarl’s men to come protect Riverwood. Helgen was attacked by a dragon and it was last seen flying over the mountains near the village.” Ganir looked from Irileth to Balgruuf.

“See, what did I tell you, Proventus?” Balgruuf turned his head to Proventus, who seemed rather unnerved by this sudden stranger’s appearance. “So much for your ‘caution’. Would you rather have my hold burned to the ground by a dragon than the damned Stormcloaks or Imperials?”

“Sir, if you were to send your men to Riverwood, the Jarl of Falkreath could assume-,”

“Enough!” Balgruuf snapped. “First rumors, then the nobles, and now this stranger here. I will not ignore this. Irileth.”

Irileth, who had been watching Ganir like a hawk, snapped her head to her Jarl. “See to it that some of my man are dispatched immediately.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” Irileth reluctantly sheathed her sword but kept her eyes on Ganir as she walked past him to follow her Jarl’s orders.

“As for you.” Ganir had been waiting for a pointed moment to get out and leave, not intent on staying any longer than needed, but he had no intention of offending the Jarl either. “You have snuck your way into the city while it’s on lockdown and came warning me even if you are foreign to these lands.”
When Ganir cocked his brow, the Jarl laughed. “Don’t mistake me for a lazy, old fool, elf. You are wearing armor below your clothes, I can tell. And no common peasant would manage to sneak past my guard so easily. Let me reward you, and ask you for your aid. Come.”

“Balgruuf.” Hrongar grabbed his brother by the shoulder. “Are you sure we can trust this…outsider?”

“He would be a fool to try anything and he could have.” Balgruuf whispered back to his brother and then walked to Ganir. “You see, stranger, when the rumors of the dragon’s sighting, my court wizard, Farengar began delving into his tomes or whatever his lot does. He seems to have stumbled upon a hurdle, and perhaps a man of your skills could help him.”

“I would be honored to help, mutsera,” said Ganir. “But it is urgent I be on my way to the North by carriage.”

“I will have to disappoint you there, friend,” Said the Jarl. “The roads are dangerous nowadays and after a series of raids on our carriages, we’ve taken precautions. The first carriage to arrive next, will be here in two or three days with a caravan from Solitude.”

Ganir tried to hide his dismay in regards to the news and they walked to the other room, left of the throne room, where a table stood littered with soul gems, flasks, scrolls and books. On the other end of the room, stood an alchemy table and an enchanting table, where a robed figure stood, scribbling away at a large, wooden board with a map of Skyrim on it.

“Farengar,” said Balgruuf to the robed figure, who looked up, rather annoyed as his concentration on his work was bothered. Farengar was a young man with an unshaven, long face and blue eyes.

“What is it, my Jarl? I mean no disrespect, but I am really occupied with my research.”

“I have found someone who may be able to aid you with your research on the dragons and the rumors about dragons.” Balgruuf gave Ganir an approving pat on the shoulder. “Go on, fill him in.”

Farengar regarded the Dark Elf with a sceptic look. “So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me on my research? I could use someone to fetch something for me, and by that, I mean delving into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient, stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

“How exactly is there a relation between stone tablets and dragons?” Ganir cocked a brow.

“Let me do the thinking, friend. You see, my research led me to a variety of resources and connections, who taught me about a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow, a ‘dragonstone’ of sorts, containing a map of the ancient, dragon burial sites. If you can retrieve this for me, it would be of great help to my research.” Farengar turned around from his map, where he had pointed out the location of Bleak Falls Barrow but to his annoyance, found that the Dark Elf had disappeared.
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Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions