//------------------------------// // Even more pointless faffing about in Whiterun before anything actually important happens. (Seriously, you can probably skip this chapter if you want... I won't be mad.) // Story: Changeling Escapades: Skyrim // by Erised the ink-moth //------------------------------// The sun was just starting to come up, and the streets of Whiterun were a pale blue. Yet in a community surrounded by farmland, the people of Whiterun were natural early risers. Keeping in mind priorities, Stross made her way straight to Dragonsreach under the guise of Fenora to coordinate the defense of Whiterun with its Jarl. “Halt, who goes there?” a guard stopped her at the doors. “Fenora Tandis, Dragonborn. I’m here to speak with the Jarl about defending the city.” Stross told him in the firmest and most official tone she could muster. “Seems legit. Go on in.” the guard said and stood aside. Inside the palace, it seemed at first only the maids and servants were still awake, but a loud crash further in proved that notion false. “Arhg, you incompetent fool, do you know how valuable these dragon skeleton fragments are to my research?!” a familiar lisping voice yelled in outrage. “You are fortunate that these pieces are so resilient to damage. Now pick them up and place them on my examination table.” “Farengar, doing something in he- whoa…” Stross began, only to be caught breathless at the number of dragon bones filling Farengar’s study. If she had to guess, the court wizard probably had every remain piled into a cart and hauled up to the palace. Farengar noticed her staring and decided to give a greeting. “Ah, Miss Tandis, so good to see you again. I’m afraid that whatever it is you need will have to wait though, as I’m currently in the middle of a thorough examination of these fresh specimens.” “Are you going to find out their weaknesses?” Stross asked. “Among other more important things, yes.” Farengar said, turning a piece of dragon tooth over in his hands, “It is a pity we could not capture it alive. I would be able to gather much more data from a live specimen. But alas, desperate times like these do not often afford the luxuries we would like. Still, with my talent for this sort of thing, this skeleton should be more than adequate.” “Well good luck with that. And let me know what you find.” Stross said as she turned to leave. Farengar mumbled something in response, but was clearly too caught up in his examinations to care. It didn’t really matter anyway, Stross had a feeling Farengar would dig into researching actual dragons like nothing else. For now, she needed to talk to the people in charge. Coincidentally, on her way to the stairs that led to the war room, Stross was stopped by one of the people in charge. “Irileth!” Stross said happily to the dunmer blocking her path, both surprised and relieved to see her up and walking already. “How are you feeling?” “I shall manage as always.” Irileth assured Stross, her tone somehow colder than ever. “State your business here.” “I need to talk to the Jarl about setting up defenses for the city.” Irileth snorted stiffly at that. “I’m afraid the Jarl isn’t accepting anyone today… not even his own houscarl. If you’ll excuse me…” “W-whoa, wait a second. What’s going on?” Stross moved to keep up with her as she passed. Irileth stopped once again, and regarded her coldly before letting out a sigh. “Follow me if you must.” The two of them sat at one of the long tables, and Irileth poured herself a mug of some strong-smelling drink Stross didn’t recognize. “Where to begin.” She mused. “Well, I suppose you should know your little speech last night did little to inspire.” She began, “In fact, that coward Proventus has seen fit to advise the Jarl to take his family and evacuate to Solitude. They were up all last night talking about it, Proventus would state his facts as he always does, and Balgruuf would retort with shouting. Proventus wishes for us to take the path of least resistance and flee to safety, while Jarl Balgruuf refuses to uproot his people without a fight. He is a strong leader, but stubborn as an ox; he has never wanted to appear weak in anything. To him, running from the dragons rather than standing our ground would mean showing how vulnerable we are.” “And what about you?” Stross asked. “What about me?” Irileth asked in all seriousness, “I am Jarl Balgruuf’s houscarl; I go where he goes, and do as he commands. It has always been this way, and whatever decision is made, I shall abide by it.” “But what if you had a choice?” Stross scooted closer and looked her in the eyes, “What if you had to make the choice, because there was no one else that could?” “I truly hope you’re not insinuating anything.” Irileth warned, but closed her eyes in thought. Finally she spoke, “I do not know what I would order were the decision up to me. I do not know what would be best for the people. All I do know is that I have seen the destruction one dragon can cause first hand, and I would not wish it upon anyone, not even my most hated enemy.” Stross put a hand on hers as a sign of understanding, but she quickly jerked it away and hissed in pain. “Don't touch the arm. It still hurts.” Stross got an idea though. This was the perfect opportunity to test out her new healing spell. “Here, let me see.” Stross held out a hand, and remembered all he knew about casting the spell. Irileth was dubious at first, but allowed Stross to work anyway. Stross removed the layer of bandages to get a better look at the injuries underneath. It wasn’t that bad, but the scarring was still pretty evident, and there were likely broken bones underneath. Channeling her magic through the top layer of skin and into the scars beneath, Stross pictured what the arm was supposed to look like, and willed it so. Slowly, the arm began to mend back to its proper form, and about a minute later there were only small lines to indicate there was ever damage to begin with. “Hmm, not bad.” Irileth said as she inspected Stross’s work, flexing her wrist and elbow. “Skyrim could use more healers like you.” “I doubt I’ll be able to heal everyone in Skyrim when Alduin comes swooping down on us.” “With any luck you won’t have to.” Irileth said before looking up to the second floor, where the Jarl sat behind closed doors to ponder the fate of his people. “I think it’s time I had a word with my Jarl. I must bid you farewell. And good luck on your journey to those monks. Goodness knows why they would live on top of a mountain, so far away.” With Irileth going to speak to Balgruuf, Stross figured it wouldn’t be the best time to bring up his own concerns. So instead, the changeling left to find the next group of people on his list. “Dragonborn, bright and early I see! I like your enthusiasm. Us Companions have been restless lately too.” Farkas greeted as they walked into the hall. He’d actually been on his way to find Fenora when Stross bumped into him, and was thankful for the coincidence. “Welcome to Jorrvaskr. c’mon. I’ll give ya the tour!” Jorrvaskr was built like a giant canoe flipped upside down and turned into a house. On the inside, tables surrounded a large fire pit, and all across the walls were hung weapons, shields, animal pelts, and trophies won by generations of warriors. Farkas gestured outwards. “This is the main hall, where we eat, talk about jobs that need doin’-“ “GRRRAAAAAHH!” *Pow!* “And roughhouse on occasion.” He said as two members threw punches at each other, brawling it out like hated enemies while the others watched, egging them on and tossing out advice. “Step into your punches more! Really hit ‘em hard!” Farkas shouted out as he ran over to watch. “What’s going on? Why are they doing this?” Stross asked, concerned almost to the point of intervening. “Heh, do they need a reason?” Skjor, a balding man that looked as though he’d lived through many hard battles said stiffly as he watched. “The only way to improve is to either practice or to fight for real, and as Companions, we help each other get better. However…” Skjor trailed off as the lean dunmer threw a particularly nasty punch into the nord woman’s face. “Athis and Njada mostly just want to beat each other senseless.” “Is this the third time they’ve been at it this week or the fourth? I lost count.” Farkas asked “Seventh.” Skjor told him, his cold eyes never leaving the action. Finally the fight ended when Njada grabbed Athis by his arm and threw him over her shoulder onto the wood floor with a heavy thud. She let out a victory cheer as she held her fists towards the ceiling, and then took a moment to gloat over her opponent who was glowering disdainfully up at her. “Well, that’s finally over.” Skjor said just short of rolling his eyes. “So what do we owe the honor of having the Dragonborn as a guest in our hall?” “I need to talk to you about the dragons.” Fen-Stross told him. Stross wasn’t sure if they could actually kill a dragon like Fenora could, but they were still capable warriors, and possibly the best defense Whiterun had if one of those flying death-bringers attacked the city again. That would have to be enough until they got back from talking to the Greybeards. Skjor took a moment to look displeased, exhausted even. “Ah yes, the dragons. Forgive me if I don’t share the enthusiasm of the younger warriors when it comes to this matter.” He then paused to give a stern look to Farkas before turning back to Stross, “Your speech last night may have gotten people in a panic, and rightfully so; they should be scared. If what you say is true, and these dragons can’t be killed by normal means, then I see little the Companions or anyone else can do about it, and not for lack of wanting to.” Skjor sighed, “It’s a terrible thing to feel this weak against something that threatens what you care about, the Companions do what we do for that very reason. What are we supposed to do when we’re the ones who are helpless?” “I… I don’t know. I’m honestly trying to figure this out as I go along.” Stross admitted, wishing she’d had something better- more encouraging to say. But at that point, anything of the sort would have likely been a lie. “Well then I hope for all our sakes that you figure it out soon.” Skjor told the changeling bosmer. “If you’re looking for advice, you should talk to Kodlak. I have a lot on my plate to deal with right now.” With that, Skjor took his leave. As he led her down to the living quarters in search of Kodlak, Farkas told Stross not to worry. He told Stross that Skjor always meant well when it came to the rest of the Companions, but they’d been dealing with some rather troublesome people lately, and it had him on edge. Stross asked who it was that were giving them trouble, and why. “Bad people. Bad people that need to die.” Farkas answered tensely. Stross decided not to pry further. After passing through the rest of the living quarters, they made it to the backmost chamber; Kodlak’s. Before they even got close, Stross could pick out the muffled voices behind the door. One of them he recognized as Vilkas. The other he did not know, yet it sounded calm and wise. “But I still hear the call of the blood. Some nights I fear I can’t control the beast within me.” “We all do. It is our burden to bear, but facing it together, we can overcome.” “I know. You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily. They embrace their gifts a bit too eagerly.” “Do not worry about them. Leave that to m-“ “Kodlak, the Dragonborn is here. She needs to speak with you.” Farkas said as he pulled the door open and entered the room. “And it’s so important that you forgot to knock again.” Kodlak observed, much to Farkas’s embarrassment. Kodlak just chuckled and waved him off though. “This is good. I’ve wanted the chance to speak with you ever since you returned from saving the city. Come. Sit.” Stross pulled up a chair and sat across from them, waiting for Kodlak to speak. However, Kodlak stayed silent a moment while he looked over the bosmer before him. Then he turned to Farkas and Vilkas. “If you two wouldn’t mind stepping out for a moment, I’d like to speak to the Dragonborn in private.” Both the warriors exchanged a glance, and left with a shrug, knowing better than to question the wise old Harbinger. When the door shut, Kodlak waited a few seconds before continuing. “Now then, who are you really, and why have you chosen to hide your true form?” Kodlak asked in a cool, level tone. “Speak.” Stross’s eyes went wide. There was no way… how- “Wh- Excuse me?” she stuttered. There had to be some mistake. This was surely some kind of test. No one else in all of Whiterun had been able to see through his disguise yet. Kodlak closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he spoke. “You don’t smell like any bosmer I’ve ever met before, and I’ve become well accustomed in my years… to the presence of magic.” His grey eyes opened again and pierced into Stross’s own. “Now. Explain yourself.” With Kodlak sharing the small room, the two brothers outside the door, and even more strong-bodied warriors just upstairs, Stross knew she was well and truly cornered, and once again it was because she'd walking right into it. “Okay.” The changeling said with a sigh, “I’ll drop my disguise. But promise you won’t attack me.” “Not unless you give me reason to.” Kodlak answered sincerely. Stross got to work dispelling his disguise. Flesh and skin burned away in bright red embers, revealing black scale beneath. Long silver locks of hair became finlike membrane, gleaming fangs replaced flat teeth, and finally a pair of big blue eyes opened up anticipating the expression on the Companions Harbinger’s face. Surprisingly though, Kodlak had watched the transformation calmly, with an unflinching gaze. That was… good, Stross supposed. “Heyyy…” Stross said nervously, but with as much fake enthusiasm as he could manage. “My name is Stross, and I’m a changeling.” he introduced himself truly for the first time. “But you are not the Dragonborn, are you?” Kodlak pointed out, to which Stross found himself deflating. “No.” he admitted, “The real Dragonborn is still asleep in the Bannered Mare so I’m… filling in for her. I’m just really worried about everyone! That dragon would have killed everyone in the city, and there are more on the way. What if they attack when we’re not here? Fenora’s the only one that can stop them, but she seems annoyed with having to save the world more than anything else. And I don’t want everyone to die, cause then they’ll be dead, and I’ll starve to death and-” Kodlak raised a hand and shushed him. “Silence boy. Calm yourself.” He said firmly before leaning back in his seat again. He thought for moment, and then asked slowly, “Can I tell you about a dream I had one night, not so long ago?” “Uhh, sure I guess.” Stross didn’t know where the old man was going with this, but it didn’t seem wise at the moment to turn him down. Kodlak pulled out a small journal from his pocket and flipped about halfway in. “In my dream, I saw the line of Harbingers start with Ysgramor, the first of the Companions. I watched as each of them ascended to Sovngarde in turn, until we come to Terrfyg. He tried to enter Sovngarde, but before he could even approach Tsun at the whalebone bridge, he is set upon by a great wolf, who pulls him into the Hunting Grounds of the Daedric Prince Hircine. “Terrfyg seemed regretful of being denied the glory of Shor’s hall, but also eager to join Hircine as a beast of the hunt, as did every Harbinger after him as they turned away from Sovngarde of their own accord.” Kodlak told Stross, his face turning grim as he continued his dream. “Each seemed so eager to forsake the honor and glory of a warrior in favor of joining the eternal hunt. It was in that dream that I began to ponder my own destiny. Finally… it was my turn, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, beckoning me. I had a choice to make. I race towards the whalebone bridge, I wish for nothing more than to join the honored dead in Shor’s hall. But my fears are confirmed when I hear the snarling behind me.” “I dare to look, and the same wolf who dragged away Terrfyg bounds and leaps after me, wanting to drag me away to the Hunting Grounds as well. But then, as all seems lost… at my side appears a stranger who stands against the beast. As I look into their eyes, we draw weapons together and slay the wolf, denying Hircine’s call.” Stross sat there and listened to Kodlak’s tale with rapt attention, but he couldn’t draw the connection from the dream to the issue at hand. Finally he raised his hand and asked, “But why tell me this? How does this fit in with anything happening now?” “Because, changeling. The stranger that saved me from the wolf… was you, and not the form which you borrowed, but this one that I see now.” Stross felt his eyes bulge. He had been in the dream? Kodlak didn’t seem like one to outright lie. It was either a massive coincidence, or something far deeper. “And that is not all. Your elf friend, the one who really is the Dragonborn, she was there too.” Kodlak told him, and Stross was all ears once again. “It was after the wolf was slain that a fog settled over Sovngarde, making it impossible to see the way to Shor’s hall. A laughter echoed out, and darkness began to encroach. But before it could take hold, a great wind cut through the mist, and like a shining beacon she stood there, rallying all the soldiers of Shor’s hall against that darkness. You rushed to join her, and I followed as well. From the mist rose the form of a great black dragon... and that is where the dream ends. I dare say I do not know who won that battle, or even if it has yet to happen.” Kodlak smiled warmly as he finished recalling it all. “I realize this is only a dream, but a strong enough dream to inspire a man like me to take to writing, so it must be of some importance. And who knows, maybe there is something to this old man’s delusions of glorious battle after all.” he chuckled. “But I realize we’ve gotten far off track with all this. So tell me, changeling, why have you sought out the Companions?” Stross was still trying to internalize what the dream could have meant. Was it a vision? A metaphor? Both? He shook it off for now and focused on more immediate concerns. “Right, uh… Fenora and I are leaving today to go to the Throat of the World, and answer the Greybeard’s call. I’m guessing that they’ll have some answers for us, and maybe even a solution. But I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, and I don’t want to come back to Whiterun only to find it burned to the ground.” “And so you have come to us, hoping that we will act as stewards and protect the people while you are away.” Kodlak assessed. “Can you do it?” Stross asked. “I’ve always tried to focus the Companions into a force for helping all of Skyrim. This is a daunting task you ask of us, but one the Companions shall not shy away from. Should one of those beasts come here again, we shall be ready.” Stross was about to jump for joy when he heard that. “But…” Stross put his joy-jumping on hold. “But?” “But there is a danger posed to us, one that we have done battle with many times in the past, and I fear that should we focus our efforts to heavily elsewhere, it may leave us spread too thin… and vulnerable. If we are to help you defend Skyrim against these dragons, it must be dealt with permanently.” Kodlak told him. “Farkas told me about that.” Stross mentioned. “He said they’re bad people, but didn’t tell me any more. Who are they really?” “They call themselves the Silver Hand.” Kodlak said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m not sure where they came from; some say they were once Vigilants of Stendarr, but they have strayed far from that path if it is true. Where the Vigil slay Daedra, and other such monsters to protect mortals from their influence, the Silver Hand take sadistic glee in causing pain to the monsters they fight. You could say that in fighting monsters, they’ve become the worst kind of them all. A fate we all must fight to avoid.” “Believe me, I know what that’s like.” Stross nodded. He was forced to do bad things but tried to be good. They were trying to do good things but ended up bad. It was sort of the same… kinda. “But how can I help?” “Recently we’ve been notified of the location of a fragment of Wuuthrad, Ysgramor’s shattered axe. There is no doubt in my mind that this is a trap.” Kodlak explained. “They wait for us in Dustman’s Cairn, hoping to trap us there like beasts. We will go there and show them why we are not to be trifled with. Will you aid us in this?” “Show a bunch of corrupted ‘white-knights’ the error of their ways and show them what being a real hero is all about? Count me in!” Stross agreed. The look on Kodlak’s face said that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he didn’t voice it. Instead he just told Stross that they’d wait for him and Fenora to return before heading to confront the Silver Hand. Stross put on his disguise again and opened the door to leave, only for a pair of big burly men to fall through and land on their faces, of which Kodlak said nothing, but the changeling could sense that this had happened many times in the past. “Have… you two been here the whole time?” ‘Fenora’ asked Farkas and Vilkas. The brothers exchanged a worried glance at one another before looking back up at the ‘bosmer’ and slowly nodding yes. “And you heard everything I’m guessing?” Again they nodded yes. “But I can trust you both to keep this a secret right.” More nodding yes. “Alright, good. Thanks guys.” Stross said and carefully stepped over them. However, about halfway down the hall a thought occurred. “Even when you’re really, really drunk?” The brothers gave each other a look again, wordlessly debating before regarding Stross again, shamefully shaking their heads no. The changeling sighed. Based on what Stross had learned about Skyrin so far, she doubted the guards would be so kind as to only lock her up when word eventually got out. Fear of provoking the authorities would have to wait. For now, Stross had an appointment with a few seemingly harmless individuals who totally didn’t deal in illegal substances. After knocking twice on the door to Arcadia’s cauldron, Stross waited. A couple moments later the door opened, and Ysolda’s face peeked through the crack. It was odd to not see her with a serine smile on her face. “Fenora, come in.” she said with practiced yet forced cheerfulness and allowed Stross just enough room to squeeze inside. The second she’d shut the door Ysolda rounded on the changeling and pressed her back against the wood, blocking the exit. “Were you followed?” she asked. “Nope, just me.” Stross answered, “So… care to tell me what all you need?” “First things first. Why do you even care?” Ysolda asked suspiciously, “You wander into Whiterun from nowhere one day, and already you’ve slain a dragon and become a hero of the people. Now you’re snooping into everyone’s business… and you just want to help?” “What’s wrong with wanting to help?” Stross asked and took a seat. She couldn’t sense any kind of hostility or ill intent from Ysolda, but that steel-like shell around her soul seemed to have doubled in strength. “Hah, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help.” Ysloda said, “But no one just helps unless they want something in return. So what is it that you want; a cut of the profits, or maybe blackmail us by threatening to turn us into the guards? Do you just want the sap so you can sell it on your own or something?” “How about… if I do this, I get to be your friend.” Stross offered. Ysolda’s disbelieving stare only intensified. “And by 'friend' you mean…” “Like, we can spend time together when I’m not saving the world, I can ask you for favors when I need help, and you can ask me for help when you need it. You know, the stuff friends do for each other.” Stross explained. “Haven’t you had friends before?” “Wh- well yes but… I usually don’t make them during my ‘job’.” Ysolda said, pushing the tips of her fingers together. Finally she sighed, “Fine. So you’re in. If you really do just want to help us out, I guess it’s time to introduce you to the rest of the crew here in Whiterun. You can come in now girls.” “It’s about time. This is my shop we’re meeting in you know.” Arcadia said, appropriately looking very put out by how she had to wait outside. “I know Arcadia, but this is only temporary.” Ysolda told her before facing Stross again. “We normally meet in the temple of Kynareth. Only-“ “Only now we’re sheltering a small town’s worth of injured refugees from Helgen in the temple, and unlike my acolytes, none of them have been bribed to ignore our operations.” Danica Pure-spring finished for her. “Tell me outsider, what do you know of the Eldergreen?” Stross simply shrugged. She wasn’t even from this world, let alone Skyrim. “Ah then perhaps it’s time for a history lesson. You see, the Eldergreen is an ancient tree here in Skyrim, and it resides in a sanctuary to the east of here, near the volcanic hotsprings between Riften and Windhelm. They say it was a seedling back when the planet was still being formed by the gods, and that even being in the presence of the tree will make one feel at peace.” Danica told their newcomer. “They also say its sap can cure any ailment.” Added Arcadia, “I wouldn’t know of course, but these two have apparently been harvesting it from that giant tree in the city center for years now, selling it to gods know who. And I thought you only maintained it for worshiping Kynareth. Heh, shows what I know about being a priest.” Danica looked ready to slap her at that comment. “It is for the worship of Kynareth that many come here seeking guidance, hoping to hear her voice in its branches. They come to be healed by their faith. Who are you to judge if I prefer a more tangible way to heal? I’d be willing to wager the sap from that tree has healed more people in that temple than my prayers have.” “Um, hate to interrupt, but am I missing something?” Stross asked, “If you have a tree that gives you sap here in Whiterun, then what was all that I overheard about raven hags?” “Hagravens.” Danica corrected with a shiver, “Horrible, wretched bird women who wield dark magics and eat human flesh.” “Unfortunately, they also possess a blade that we need. They call it Nettlebane.” Ysolda explained. “You see, we were able to take sap from the Gildergreen in the past, but the last harvest we took the sap at the wrong time, and the tree went dormant.” “No, we took too much sap from the tree! That’s why it withered.” Danica argued. “We’ve been over this, Danica. With the Gildergreen’s size and the amount of nutrients it receives, one and a quarter pints every moon cycle would still allow it to replenish itself safely.” Ysolda explained for what could have been the hundredth time for her. “And I keep telling you that we were always taking too much from it. We should have skipped a cycle to let it recover!” “We were just too impatient, if we'd harvested a day later it would have been fine!” “Yes because it would have had time to heal! We took too much!” Danica shouted, getting in her face. “No, we just didn’t wait long enough!” Ysolda mirrored her. “I’m right!” “No I’m right!” “I’m right!” “I’M RIGHT!” they yelled at the same time. Ysolda and Danica glared daggers at each other until they both broke away with a huff. “The point is, we messed up and the tree isn’t fit to give us sap anymore.” Ysolda said, then quickly pinched Danica’s mouth shut. “I’m right.” “I heard the tree was taken by a lightning bolt that struck in the middle of a storm.” Arcida chimed in. “And did you also hear the tale of a boy and an old wizard using that lightning to travel through time in a dwemer carriage?” Ysolda snarked, “Honestly, we had to tell them something to cover ourselves. Being thrown in prison would be the least of our worries if anyone found out the truth!” “Alright so, Gildergreen is sick and this Nettlebane knife will help in some way?” Stross tried his best to follow along. Danica pulled her mouth out of Ysolda’s fingers and nodded. “Yes, it is the only thing that can cut through the Eldergreen’s bark in order to get its sap.” “So wait, just… hold on a second. You’re telling me you already killed one of these magic trees with your harvesting, and now you want to do the same to another?” Stross asked with a skeptical glance, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t help. I might even want to tell someone else about all this.” “N-no! No, please wait. You misunderstand.” Ysolda stammered and rushed to keep Stross in her chair. “We’re not going to switch to harvesting the Eldergreen, we’re going to use its sap to revive the Gildergreen here in Whiterun, to try and fix our mistake.” “The Gildergreen was originally a sapling grown from the Eldergreen when Whiterun was just starting out.” Danica told him, “With some of the sap from the parent tree, we might be able to revive it.” “Please Fenora, what we’re doing to the tree might not be… morally upstanding in the eyes of some.” Ysolda said hesitantly. “But a lot of people depend on that sap for its healing properties, and even more here in Whiterun live off the coin we make by selling it. You would be doing us a great service if you helped us to revive the Gildergreen.” “And you’d make sure the tree is kept healthy and safe in the future?” Stross asked, her tone making it clear that this would make or break the deal. “It would never come to harm again so long as I’m alive to protect it. I swear.” Ysolda promised. Stross held out her hand with a smile, and Ysolda shook it with hers. “So, where’s Orphan Rock and these raven hags?” “Thanks! We’ll have to meet for lunch when I get back!” Fen-Stross called as he left the alchemy shop behind. Ysolda had given him a map of Skyrim, with the location of Orphan Rock marked on it. Conveniently, it wasn’t far from the Throat of the world, just around the base of the mountain actually. He’d have to make a detour to get Nettlebane later though, likely after they visited the Greybeards. Helping Fenora save the world would have to take priority over everything else. He only hoped she wasn’t afraid about facing the responsibility that had been so suddenly dropped on her shoulders. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, what she had to be thinking. “Hey Lydia, can you pass the salt…” Fenora asked through a mouthful of grilled leeks as her houscarl nibbled through a piece of garlic bread. Lydia let out a sigh of defeat and picked up the tiny jar. “I am sworn to carry your burdens.” She rolled her eyes. Fenora raised a brow and cocked her head to the side, wondering what she’d just triggered. “I’m just asking you to pass the salt.” She pointed out. “Oh sure, it’s just passing the salt.” Lydia said sarcastically as she sulked. “It always starts with JUST passing the salt.” From this simple statement, and the resentment that accompanied it, a thousand questions bombarded Fenora’s mind. What childhood trauma had this woman been subjected to? What abuse had she suffered to make her so resistant to carry even the smallest of things for even the shortest amount of time? But above all, the one question that took priority over all else finally reached Fenora’s lips after nearly half a minute of silence. “So… can you give me that salt already?”