The sun shone through the trees as Fjorrod and Ma’osri walked near a patch of greenery sticking up among the grass, both travelers lost in thought. Fjorrod decided that their best option was heading off to Falkreath, where they could warn the Jarl about the dragon, if the Jarl believed him.
Fjorrod wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to speak to the Jarl though. From what he remembered, he was an old man, a devout Stormcloak. No doubt now that he saw the ‘error of his ways’, and probably saw the coins of the Imperials as well.
But no one, man or mer, Stormcloak or Imperial, no one deserved to die by a dragon, by a beast that could kill them with a swat of its tail. No one.
They had opted to take a more direct path to Falkreath than the old roads provided, cutting through where the land was mostly flat, aside from having to avoid a minor mound of dirt here and there, or having to cut through or go around a grove of trees.
Fjorrod was still very sore, but thankful. He didn’t pay much thought to how he survived, he lived, and that’s all that matters.
Suddenly, Ma’osri interrupted the silence.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. I know you’ll teach me how to hunt and everything, but I can teach you stuff too.”
“Like what?” Replied a dubious Fjorrod.
“Like how to fight unarmed.”
“Ma’osri”, Fjorrod began, “Why will I need to fight unarmed? When I get enough gold, I’ll have a bow, and an axe, and a shield. Surely those are enough to dispatch any foe I come across.”
“Oh really?” Ma’osri said, “What if you’re disarmed?”
“I have a dagger.” Fjorrod said defensively.
“What about if you’re ambushed?” Ma’osri said, climbing over a small fallen branch. “What if you have only your dagger, and they disarm you? What if-”
“Alright, alright, fine. You wouldn't be able to teach me anyway, I’d have to find someone else.”
“What do you mean I wouldn’t be able to teach you?” Ma’osri squawked indignantly.
“Well, come on. You’re not exactly an unarmed master or anything, now are you?” Fjorrod replied, hiding his grin at Ma'osri's indignation.
“I bet I can show you a thing or two!”
“Yeah, with your claws. I don’t have claws, it would be a completely different fighting style.”
“Hmmph!” Ma’osri replied. “I think you’re just scared I’ll show you up.”
“Like you could-” Fjorrod stopped suddenly, seeing a figure seemingly emerge from the ground’s grasp after climbing a hill previously obscuring their view of the individual. The person looked like a priestess, using a restoration staff as a walking stick.
As the priestess grew closer, she heard their footsteps and looked up. When her eyes fell on Fjorrod, she stopped and gaped, before regaining her composure. Fjorrod, seeing this, looked behind him and then down at himself, seeing nothing remarkable, forgetting about the lair of ash and blood that coated both him and Ma’osri.
As they met, the priestess stopped and looked at him. “You’re… You’re alive!” She stammered in amazement.
“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but do I know you?” Asked a confused Fjorrod.
“I saw you… At Helgen...” The woman said, her eyes seeming to gaze off into nothingness.
“You were at Helgen? I didn’t notice you in the confusion.”
“I saw you after the dragon flew off… Your body was lying broken on the ground, seemingly dead, before I walked by and saw you barely breathing. I tried my best to heal you, but it didn’t work. If your bones were set into place soon, you probably could have made it, but I didn’t even try. You didn’t just have physical injuries, you wouldn’t wake up, it was like a darkness was eating at your soul. I could tell you would die soon… Divines must smile upon you,… Forgive me, I haven’t even asked your name.” The priestess said with a false smile, failing to hide how unnerved she was.
“Fjorrod, Fjorrod’s my name. And not the Divines, but Kyne, her blessing.” Fjorrod had no idea how he knew that, but as soon as the words popped out of his mouth, he knew it in his heart to be right. Kyne…
Fjorrod recalled his days back in Markarth, when hunter after hunter would tell him about Kyne, the goddess that they claimed guided their every arrow. He remembered the days he spent thinking about the difference between Kyne and Kynareth, his young mind pondering the matter for years. He knew, in his bones, that it was Kyne who saved him.
“Oh, well then… Who is this?” The priestess looked at Ma’osri expectantly.
“My name’s Ma’osri,” She said before Fjorrod could say anything. “I found him after the… after Helgen.” She finished weakly.
“Oh, did you?” The priestess said distractedly. “Where are you off to now?”
“Falkreath,” Answered Fjorrod, wondering what made the lady so distracted, seemingly barely paying attention. “We’re heading there to warn the Jarl about the dragon, if he believes us.”
“Oh, they’ll believe you...” The priestess hesitated, before adding “They heard the roars and saw the flames from Helgen. The only thing is… It’s controlled by Imperials.”
“I know, I know,” Replied Fjorrod, waving the matter aside. “I was an unexpected capture, no word will have reached them yet.”
“Well okay then, I suppose I’ll be off to Whiterun… If you ever need me, my house is in Morthal.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that. Thank you for trying to heal me.”
“It was my pleasure.”
They then went their separate ways, with Fjorrod, Ma’osri, and the mysterious priestess all lost in thought, all failing to spot the dark clouds on the horizon, both in Mundus, and out.
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Comments
@Ben No, you're not alone. I also like to imagine that Nazeem died in Helgen, then was resurrected, so me killing him is a sacred task.
Nice chapter Lyall