The thing about all those poorly-sung bard ballads in Skyrim is they always tell of the epic deeds, of how the hero was eight feet tall and bursting with muscles, killing seven trolls and a giant before breakfast whilst taking half the women of a village to his bed after evensong. They never describe the wiry, half-starved female type like myself, scared to death and running from fate. The sleepless nights, the fear, the leaving your loved ones and trying not to talk about how you’re not sure you’ll be home that night. Oh no, that stuff gets glossed over. I suppose it wouldn’t make a very good song otherwise. I’m not proud of those days while I ran away from everything being Dragonborn was about, but as I reflect upon it now, I can see that it was necessary – that indeed even my fleeing was a part of my wyrd. And so, for the first time, I’ll tell a stranger about that time, about all of it. I’ve only told two souls in all the world these words, so heed them – and may each take what they will from it as they like.
I had fled High Hrothgar and after waking the following morning in a rented room, I realised my coin was running low. If I really was going to earn enough to sail back to Valenwood, I needed a job. And the best work I could get in Whiterun was either to run odd jobs for the Jarl or to find someone who needed some work done. That brought me to Jorrvaskr, the hall of Companions which I had been told about. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting – something rigidly regimental perhaps.
Well my fears were assuaged; I strode in the door and immediately saw two people at the table – a Nord woman and a Dunmer man – surge up and charge at each other, raining down a hail of blows upon each other. A red-haired woman with streaks of woad-paint on her face merely grunted and drained her mug. ”They’re at it again,” she sighed, and a heavily armoured man with longish hair just shrugged and reached for another slice of boar-meat. I blinked, and studied them both, realising I had seen them before, but I couldn’t remember where. Some would say this was hardly the scene for a highly respected group of fighters – they looked and acted more like mercenaries. But then, that was more in my line anyway though I wasn’t exactly a heavy-plate fighter. If there had been a thieves’ presence in Whiterun, I would have followed it up, but this would have to do.
A housekeeper, old as old but with gentle eyes, came up to me - completely ignoring the brawling beside her. ”I’m Tilda, I’ve been tending the halls here as long as I can remember. What can I do for you, dear?” So…these people knew nothing about the Bosmer who had been summoned by the Greybeards. No Dovahkiin stuff here! I actually felt relieved. Perhaps this would be a sanctuary from all that nonsense about wyrd. If so, I’d take it gladly.
“I’m looking to sign up, actually,” I replied, giving my best smile.
“That so?” said a bald Nord who strode up to us both. He was heavily scarred, and one eye was blind, but he moved with the smooth gait of a man that knew his way round a fight. There was also something slightly…I couldn’t put my finger on it then, but there was something almost wrong about him. About the way he moved. Like a hunter, or a beast of the forest. It set me on my guard but I was desperate for some help at this point.
“Should I bring him to Kodlak, Skjor?” Tilda asked.
The bald man sized me up, then grunted and shrugged. “Seems we’ll take anyone these days,” he grunted rather dismissively. ”May as well let the old man decide then.”
Tilda gestured toward the stairs while the woman and Dunmer continued to pummel each other. ”Don’t mind them, dear,” Tilda said gently. ”They’re like that to all newcomers. You’ll be fine. Kodlak is this way.”
She led me through the living quarters below the hall – rather well provisioned actually, which was good to see. Things were definitely looking up for me if that was the case; I could do with free room and board, and didn’t mind hard work to get there. She pointed toward the far end of the hall, and then got back to her cleaning, while I steeled myself and opened the door. Before me, seated at a round table, were two men. I stared at the younger one, as I could have sworn I had just saw him upstairs – it was the same man, surely! But…no, not quite. The hair was shorter on this one, and his armour was different; a small scar over his painted eyes. The other man was large, even in old age, his hair and beard completely white. He sat in full armour with his arms folded.
“But I still feel the call of the blood.”
My ears perked up as the younger man spoke, resting his hands on his knees as he gazed down upon the floor, and the old man tried to comfort him best he was able.
“We all do, obviously. But we can overcome it. We must.”
I had obviously just stumbled in onto something, and using my people’s ability to stand quiet and unobserved, I did just that – not exactly hiding per se, but also not drawing attention to myself. Old habits…perhaps I’d learn something useful.
“You have my brother and I, obviously, but I don’t know if the rest will follow along so easily.”
“Leave that to me, Vilkas.”
So…all was not fair and rosy here either. Granted I could tell that just from entering the place; a group of ragtag rabble. Just what I needed, then. All I wanted was a job, and a place to sleep. I didn’t need or want friends, or so I thought.
With these rather self-serving thoughts, I cleared my throat and alerted both men to my presence. They startled, looking up at me – the young man called Vilkas glaring at me distrustfully – I could almost see him wanting to ask how much I had heard. The old man, Kodlak I assumed…his face was stranger to read. For he stared at me with wonder, almost recognition. I winced, thinking perhaps he recognised the one who the city knew had killed a dragon. But the moment was gone, and he was master of himself once more.
“So, you wish to join us, I take it,” Kodlak said, leaning back in his chair. I nodded, my voice quiet and measured and hoping there would be no mention of Dragonborn.
“I do. I have a blade and a bow and I know how to use both.”
“What…her?” Vilkas burst in, unable to keep his mouth shut. I frowned at him, and we glared back – I could already feel the mutual dislike in the room; probably one of those Nord-purists then. This was going to be fun.
“We still have room in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire in their hearts, Vilkas. But let’s see, hm? How are you in battle, girl?”
“I can handle myself well enough,” I replied. I wasn’t going to say anything about Shouts. If I had my way, I was never even going to use them here.
“Hm…well, only one way to be sure of that. Vilkas, test her. See how she does.”
“Yes, Kodlak,” Vilkas responded – and I could hear the eagerness in his voice and see the gleam in his eye. Fun indeed. Cursing my luck under my breath, I stumped after the armoured Nord, who kept shooting a glance over his shoulder at me.
“Whatever you heard….you didn’t. Understand?”
I gave him my most infuriating grin, and rather enjoyed the irritation on his face when I did so. ”Heard what?”
He grunted and stamped his way toward the courtyard. The brawl was over, and the Dunmer was nursing a black eye. The mirror-image of Vilkas looked up from polishing his blade, and I studied his somewhat dullish eyes; not the brightest spark, that one, though his face had a somewhat kinder set to it. ”Where are you off to, brother?”
“Going to spill a bit of this outsider’s blood,” Vilkas grated. ”I’ll be back shortly. Very shortly by the look of her; a strong wind could blow her away.”
I bore the brunt of all this abuse, just letting it go in one ear and out the other. I had learned some time ago that if you let people talk and swagger about, it gave you time to watch and to study. Spend enough time watching, and you learn more about an opponent than they probably wanted you to know. I was in my fighting mode now, and I needed all my wits and skills about me. I needed this job, I needed this to work..there was nothing else now. So by standing behind him and watching him move, watching his exchanges and surveying him more than he bothered to do with me, I had learned a lot: Vilkas moved in the same somewhat-wrong way that Skjor moved, for all his armour. It should have been impossible for anyone in fur-lined skins to move the way he did, but he walked with an almost feral grace. He’d be fast. The way he wore his huge dual-handed sword meant he’d be coming at me leading with the right. He also probably expected me to use my bow and just dance around him out of his reach, trusting that I’d be a light-weight in close quarters. But I knew a trick or two, and I’d use them to my advantage.
We were in the dusty courtyard now, with the red-haired woman watching. Vilkas drew his blade and, point downward, drew a large circle in the dirt. “No stepping outside of that,” he said tersely – and I was glad that I had come to the conclusion of him assuming I would use distance and bows first. He thought to handicap me before I started. “No magic or any of that tricky stuff either, outsider. It’s blades and muscle here.” He flexed, grinning fiercely. I shrugged, and removed my bow and quiver and placed it on the table before I stepped into the circle and hopped a bit in place to loosen up.
“Not exactly a fair fight, Vilkas, but I’m sure you won’t be drawing any blood this time,” the redhaired woman called out cooly – although there was also a bit of an edge to her voice.
“I know what I’m doing, Aela,” Vilkas growled back, but he didn’t look at her – he stared right at me, and I could tell by the look on his face if he could make me bleed, he’d do it.
“She doesn’t even have a blade, man,” the woman called as he strode forward. She moved with the same wrong-ness…what was going on here? In any event, after she sized me up, she drew her own short sword from its sheath and presented it to me across the back of her forearm, hilt first. ”Here. This should even the odds a bit.” I was a bit surprised, but I nodded my thanks, and she turned on her heel and disappeared back into Jorrvaskr without looking back.
Vilkas looked momentarily annoyed, then focussed again, rolling his shoulders as he grasped the hilt of his sword more firmly. Fine…if that was the way we were going to play it. I held my sword at my right leg, point downward – it was barely half the length of his own – and faced off, gesturing with a hand and again giving Vilkas my most provoking smile. ”Well?”
He took the bait – it was very easy to push his buttons. His lips curled back from his teeth, and he aimed a scything blow with his two-handed blade. But the man moved like a cat, even in armour and skins – yes, he moved very quick, and I almost caught the tip of the thing across my chest. A sword that large is really hard to get going, and even harder to stop, but he recovered faster than most would do. I was still the quicker: I ducked down under his guard and aimed a flat-of-the-blade whack against his ribs under his arm. I wasn’t going to blood him, but I could hear the grunt as it bruised him pretty good.
Now, I pressed the attack – I knew what he was expecting me to do, so it was a matter of doing the opposite; I trusted to my speed and to the ability to get under that huge sword of his to rain blows on his armoured chest and wrists. The surprise and fury on his face was clear to see – but there was something else as well, something that surprised me. He wasn’t at the top of his game, he was holding back. I didn’t know what he was kerbing, or even why…but he was. And it only made him angrier that he couldn’t give me the proper come-uppance he wanted to. And, of course, anger only made him more sloppy.
In frustration, he finally dropped his blade into the dirt and just came at me to try and wrestle me to the ground. So much for training, now we going to brawl. But again, I’ve been a underweight Bosmer facing up to various guards all my life – I knew a trick or two. To try and tackle me, he was going to have to come in low, and so he did – and being a lowlander, he didn’t understand that those of the Treesap don’t just fight on the ground; we know how to fight in branches, in canopies, in air if we have to.
So, on he came, an armour-plated onslaught, and up I went, taking a running leap into the air, my knees up to my chest. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried – he literally passed right under me in his charge and I slammed my feet down on his back, sending him sprawling into the dirt and well out of the circle. Using the momentum from my kick, I rolled forward, landed on my feet and turned round, panting, but still standing. Vilkas groaned and rolled onto his back. He’d bitten his lip when he fell, and blood dripped down his chin and over his armoured chest.
“First blood to me, Vilkas!” I said, trying not to sound too self-satisfied and failing utterly. “We’re done, yes?” I said, grinning rather smugly.
Vilkas just glared at me, growling as he wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. “We’re done,” he grunted, refusing to take my hand to stand up, just as I knew he would. Proud man. Cursing and muttering under his breath, he stooped and picked up his blade, then glared at me again. We weren’t going to get on, I knew that immediately, but I’d earned my place, even though I knew he’d be sure to enforce his higher rank due to seniority.
“Fine. You’re in.” Roughly, he shoved his blade toward me. ”Take this up to the Skyforge to be sharpened – don’t complain about doing odd jobs here and there, you’re new and you’ll do as you’re told. Be careful with that, it’s probably worth more than you are.”
The menial task didn’t bother me – it was still a victory and both of us knew it. I left him to go into Jorrvaskr to nurse his lip and his pride, and tucked the sword under my arm. I could hold my own here, no problem. I’d manage; I always did. And who needed Shouts of Dovahkiin to do that? Feeling as if I had dodged an arrow to the heart, I whistled through my teeth and almost danced up the steps to the Skyforge, taking two at a time and finally feeling as if my luck was starting to turn.
