Several days later, the sun was already high overhead, casting long shadows from the walls of Whiterun. The bustling noise of the city was a familiar backdrop as Torin stood just beyond the main gate, his travel pack secured and Echo sniffing curiously at a nearby clump of grass.
Kodlak Whitemane stood before him, the old Harbinger having insisted on seeing him off personally.
A warm, paternal smile softened the warrior's weathered face. "To think," Kodlak began, his voice a low rumble. "The little pup I carried ho in a bundle of rags is finally ready to leave the nest on his own."
Torin rolled his eyes, though a fond smile tugged at his lips. "I'm not leaving the nest, old man. Let's not get dramatic. I'm just going on a trip. Still too poor to strike out on my own for good."
Kodlak chuckled, the sound rich and full. "Maybe so. But it's undeniable that you've grown faster and stronger than anyone could have hoped or expected. You are strong and wise enough to make this journey on your own. That much is certain."
Torin gave him a strange smile. "Is that a hint of fatherly reluctance I detect, old man? Did you enjoy raising that much?"
Kodlak's reply was an instant, gruff scoff. "Raising you was a burden I won't soon miss, boy. You've given more than enough headaches for one lifeti."
But his usually stoic expression betrayed a deep, unmistakable fondness as he added, "But... I can't say it's been all bad."
Torin chuckled, scratching the back of his head in a gesture of awkward affection. "Glad to hear I wasn't completely terrible." He cleared his throat, the mont of sentintality passing. "Anyway... I should get going now. The road won't walk itself."
Kodlak nodded, his expression turning solemn and proud. "Yes. Go, boy. Find your own honor. Make a na for yourself out there." A slight, knowing grin then broke through. "And try not to do anything too stupid."
Torin laughed, the sound bright and free in the open air. "Can't make any promises!"
With that, he turned his back to the city that had been his only ho. He gave the new leather belt at his waist a final, reassuring pat, feeling the solid weight of the three silver throwing axes tucked securely into their loops.
Then, he started walking, his boots crunching on the gravel of the road leading south. Behind him, Echo abandoned her investigation of the grass and fell into step, a furry shadow eager for adventure.
...
The journey south from Whiterun was smooth, if not exactly scenic. The road wound past sprawling, fertile farms and alongside the thunderous White River waterfall, the mist cooling the air. The only interruption was a pack of scrawny wolves that thought a lone traveler and his bear looked like an easy al.
The notion was quickly corrected when Torin introduced the alpha's skull to his warhamr with a sickening crunch. The rest of the pack scattered into the pines.
He'd lost about an hour skinning the beast—Aela would have his hide if he wasted a good pelt—but he still estimated he had a good two or three hours of daylight left when the wooden palisade of Riverwood ca into view.
As he approached the village entrance, however, he slowed to a halt. A scene was unfolding that was common enough in Skyrim, yet felt strangely out of place.
Three lithe, furry figures with twitching cat ears and tails stood before a weathered rchant carriage, engaged in a tense discussion with a tall, blonde Nord woman who stood with her arms crossed, blocking the path.
The Khajiit, their voices a blend of smooth persuasion and thinly veiled frustration, were clearly trying to gain entry to the village, likely to rest at the Sleeping Giant Inn.
The woman—her posture rigid and her expression a mask of forced politeness—was just as clearly explaining that they were not welco.
"…and it's not personal, you see? It's just… better if you make camp for the night. Further down the river, perhaps. Or try your luck in Falkreath. They're more… welcoming of strangers there."
The words were polite, but the aning was as sharp as a shiv.
Torin paused, but not out of surprise at the discrimination itself. That was as common as ad in a Nord's diet, especially after the war, with ugly rumors spreading that the Khajiit traders were cozying up to the Thalmor all over Tamriel.
No, what made him stop was the simple, jarring fact of their presence. In the ga, the Khajiit caravans only started appearing after the Civil War began in earnest, drawn by the unique opportunities that chaos provided.
For them to be here now, this early...
After a mont's observation, Torin just shrugged. This had nothing to do with him. His mories from the ga were hardly infallible, and these Khajiit were probably just early arrivals or a lone group passing through.
Their troubles weren't his problem.
He moved past the standoff, offering a polite nod to the Nord woman as he passed. Her stern expression softened montarily into a smile before hardening again as she returned her attention to the frustrated traders.
His focus shifted to the village itself, and a wave of surreal familiarity washed over him. Riverwood was both exactly like he rembered from the ga and infinitely more real. The scale was grander, the scents of pine and forge-smoke sharper, the sounds of the river more thunderous. But the layout was unmistakable.
The Sleeping Giant Inn stood to his left, its windows already glowing with warm, inviting light. The faint, lively tune of a bard's lute drifted from within. Delphine, he recalled. The forr Blade had settled here shortly after the war, hiding in plain sight.
His eyes then drifted to the building that should have housed the Riverwood Trader. Instead of a shop, he saw a simple, empty house with a boarded window. Of course.
Camilla and her overprotective brother, Lucan, were likely still in Cyrodiil at this ti. The absence felt like a small, personal confirmation of the tiline.
Across the way, a young man with a thick mop of blonde hair and a fledgling beard was dousing the forge at the smithy, his movents efficient and practiced.
Alvor.
He looked so much younger than the seasoned blacksmith from the ga, but the resemblance was undeniable.
Torin halted his steps, simply standing there for a long mont, drinking in the living, breathing reality of a place he'd only ever known as a digital backdrop. It was overwhelming.
A wet nose nudged insistently against his leg. He looked down to see Echo staring up at him, her head tilted in a clear, bear-like question: Why have we stopped?
Torin smiled, scratching her behind the ears. "Just got a little overwheld, girl. That's all." He took a deep breath, the mont of disorientation passing. "Co on. Let's go get a room."
With that, he straightened his pack and headed for the inn's entrance, his furry shadow padding faithfully behind him.
The mont Torin pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Sleeping Giant Inn, the lively lute music and the hum of conversation cut off as if severed by a knife. Every head in the common room turned toward the entrance.
A heavily ard and armored youth was an uncommon sight, but not an unheard-of one. A young bear, however, padding calmly at his heels like a loyal hound, was enough to make even the most hardened local put down their tankard and stare.
The silence held for a tense few seconds, a room full of people trying to decide if this was a threat or just the strangest thing they'd seen all month. Then, as if by unspoken agreent, they all slowly turned back to their drinks and conversations, though the stolen glances and hushed whispers continued.
Torin ignored the attention, his senses taking in the room—the smoky warmth, the scent of roasting at and cheap ale.
He was quickly approached by a woman who moved with an efficiency that bordered on abrupt. She had blonde hair tied back practically and the sharp, assessing eyes of an Imperial, likely in her mid-twenties.
"Welco to the Sleeping Giant Inn," she said, her tone neutral and businesslike. "Would you like a room, food and drink, or both?"
"A al and a room for the night would be appreciated," Torin replied.
The woman gave a single, curt nod. "Take a seat by the bar, then. I'll get you sothing warm."
As she turned to leave, she tossed a warning over her shoulder. "Don't expect anything fancy. Our als are warm, and that's the only expectation you should have."
Torin just chuckled and settled onto a stool, leaning his hamr against the bar. Echo flopped down beside him with a contented huff, imdiately drawing more wary looks from the other patrons. The bard, recovering his wits, struck up a new tune, but Torin could still feel the weight of the room's curiosity.
Soon enough, the blonde woman—Delphine, it has to be, he thought—returned from the cellar carrying a steaming wooden bowl filled with a thick, brown stew and a small, tough-looking loaf of bread.
She placed the food on the bar in front of him with a quiet thud, then produced a worn wooden spoon from beneath the counter, setting it down beside the bowl.
Torin inserted his spoon into the thick stew and raised it, peering at the contents. The chunks of at and vegetable were all rendered into a uniform, murky brown by the long cooking process.
After a mont of futile inspection, he gave up with a ntal shrug, dubbing the concoction 'Mystery Gruel' with a side of 'Stale Bread,' and began to eat. It was hot, and after a day on the road, that was enough.
The woman—Delphine—leaned against the counter opposite him, her arms crossed as she watched him with an unnervingly direct gaze. Torin ignored her, focusing on his al. When he was about halfway through, he figured Echo had earned a share.
He set the bowl on the floor for her. The bear cub ambled over, gave the stew a thorough sniff, and then her entire snout scrunched up in an expression of pure, undiluted disgust. She let out a soft huff and turned her head away with an air of profound offense.
Torin just chuckled. "Fair enough. It's an acquired taste." He dug into his pack and tossed her a piece of dried at, which she snatched from the air with considerably more enthusiasm.
Delphine took the exchange as her cue to speak. "I'm Delphine," she stated, her tone still neutral but now carrying a clear note of curiosity. "I own this inn. Who are you, and what brings you to Riverwood?"
Torin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered her a polite, easygoing smile. "My na's Torin. I'm just passing through on my way south. I might stay another day or two, though, if there's any work to be done around here."
Delphine let out a noncommittal hum. "Work, you say? Gerdur at the mill is always looking for able-bodied youngsters to help shift lumber. And if you know a thing or two about smithing, Alvor might have so work for you at the forge."
Torin shook his head, his smile turning a bit sharper. "Not that kind of work. I'm more interested in the kind that involves bandits on the road, or beasts lurking in the woods. That sort of thing."
Delphine just raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh?"
Torin chuckled at her clear disbelief. "I might look a bit young, but I'm with the Companions of Jorrvaskr. I know what I'm doing." He cleared his throat, steering the conversation toward a more imdiate concern. "On another note, I'd appreciate it if you could point to soone who'd be willing to buy a freshly skinned wolf pelt. I've got one taking up space in my pack."
Delphine gave Torin a slow, knowing smile, clearly understanding his intention. He didn't need to boast. "Alvor will be happy to take that pelt off your hands," she said, nodding toward the forge outside. "As for the other kind of work... I'll have to ask around. But I did hear so talk of a strange man who's made camp near the Guardian Stones, just south of here."
She crossed her arms, her expression turning pragmatic. "Folks have been anxious about him. They might be convinced to pay soone to... convince him to find another spot to rest his head."
Torin nodded, a plan already forming. "Sounds like a perfect way to spend a morning. I'd be happy to do it, and I'd be even more grateful if the townsfolk were convinced it was money well spent."
Delphine shrugged, her duty as an informant apparently fulfilled. "We'll see co morning. For now, I have other custors to tend to."
With that, she turned and moved away to refill a tankard, seamlessly blending back into the role of the innkeeper.
Left alone, Torin sipped his water. Delphine had probably been his least favorite character from the ga, all sharp edges and ruthless, single-minded purpose.
In person, she was certainly guarded and direct, but more... human. Pleasant enough, even, in a brisk, no-nonsense way. Not that he had any intention of getting chummy with a forr Blade.
So threads were better left unpulled, and Torin wasn't one to seek trouble.
...
I'm motivated by praise and interaction, so be sure to leave a like, power stone, or whatever kind of shendig this site uses, and more importantly do share you thoughts on the chapter in the comnt section!
Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my pat rēon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps a lot!
-> (pat rēon. / wicked132)
-> (disc ord..gg / sEtqmRs5y7)- or hit up at - Wicked132#5511 - and I'll add you myself)
Reviews
All reviews (0)