At Pale Pass.

• Posted by Nick Graham October 25, 2011 - 840 views

  (A chapter about my Dovahkiin, Valderich, before the events of Skyrim. Enjoy!)
  
  Evening fell upon the southern mountains like a brilliant blanket of dusky crimson and purple cast by the sun. A light snow swirled about the caravan on a calm breeze, and the small flakes of frost melted near Valderich’s feet where he’d built a fire. Pale Pass was the closest he’d been to Cyrodiil. It was a long and winding trail of ice and jagged rock, but this far away from the Old Holds, people barely regarded it as part of Skyrim at all.
  
  The Imperial, Degren, sat a fair distance away from him, shivering and wiping at his red nose miserably in the bitter cold. Protected only by a bearskin cloak, Valderich found a grim sort of amusement in it. The other races of Tamriel could seldom stand the frigid temperatures of the Nordic country, whose hospitality could be cooler still. Degren himself might have found Skyrim a bit warmer had he lost his superiority complex before crossing the border.
  
  The ranger was short, with the compact muscle of a brawler. In his leathers, he looked like a mean little Dwarf. Since the start of their journey away from Skarvold, Degren had made his opinions of Nords and Nordic culture abundantly clear. He thought them to be no more intelligent than thugs, and that was at their best. At their worse, he viewed them as pillagers and rapists, barely capable of conversation. The recent civil war had put a foul taste in the collective mouth of the Empire, and trade between the capitol province and Skyrim was taking a visible toll.
  
  Valderich had seen many good people go hungry in the struggle. One by one, they’d taken to the hills with t heir families, turning to banditry to assault Imperial merchants making passage into Skyrim. They thought it was more profitable than watching their loved ones starve in service to a broken Empire, and Valderich supposed that was true. But he would sooner die than resort to attacking innocent travelers just trying to make their way in life. The spirit of his people mattered more to him than that. Had they become just a band of brigands? Did those like Degren really have a point?
  
  Valderich sighed, and the burly Nord’s breath came out in a vaporous cloud. He believed Skyrim would rise to its feet once again as it had in the past. He wanted to see Skyrim as its own proud nation. He’d hoped he might never have a reason to join the bloodshed, but the raids against his city were becoming a greater threat in each passing week.
  
  Valderich couldn’t shake the ominous feeling in the pit of his gut. The sense that rose within him whenever times took a turbulent turn. The fighting had already turned the Nords against each other. Was their something worse on the horizon?
  
  The wind tossed his mane of red hair wildly about, causing his beard-braids to billow against the elements. His green eyes were hard. Resolute. But full of hope, and kindness. Rising, he trod across the powdered ground over to his grumbling employer. Degren’s teeth were chattering.
  
  Wordlessly, he unclasped his cloak of fur and draped it over Degren’s shoulders, taking a seat next to him. The ranger’s expression became only slightly less quarrelsome, and he instead narrowed his eyes at the Nord. A sleeveless tunic, leather trousers, and boots were his only clothing underneath, yet Valderich acted as if it were the heat of the day.
  Degren pulled the cloak further around himself. He wondered what manner of fleas were hiding in the thing, but it warmed him considerably.
  
  “What about you?” He grunted.
  
  Valderich shrugged. “it’s actually rather warm for summer.
  
  Degren couldn’t imagine what winter must’ve been like. The cold probably froze the wits straight out of the giant’s brain.
  
  He didn’t share the thought. “I don’t know how you stand it.” Was all he said.
  
  Valderich chuckled good-naturedly. “I am a Nord. Our mother’s womb is an icy tomb, and so we are born with fire in our hearts. To warm us against many rugged years.”
  
  Degren rolled his eyes. “You Nords. Always talking about a woman’s nethers.”
  
  Valderich blinked innocently. “What, you haven’t heard of the three B’s of Nord conversation?”
  
  The Imperial glanced away, clearly not interested. “…No.”
  
  Valderich gave a raucous laugh. “Battle, booze, and bitches! ‘Course, I never much cared for women. I’m more of a man’s man myself. If you follow me.”
  
  Degren wrinkled his nose. The Nords had a scandalous proclivity to strange, open relationships. In Bruma, they called it ‘the old way,’ and took it proudly. The sanctity of marriage was likely a foreign concept to the red-headed barbarian.
  
  He huffed. “Hmph. I won’t follow you in that way.”
  
  When the Nord grinned, it was cheeky and infuriatingly absent of restrain. “Not unless you’re offering pal.”
  
  Degren grimaced. “Northmen. Do your people lack all scruples?”
  
  Valderich’s jovial expression deepened into a scowl. Like a clear sky that suddenly threatened thunder.
  
  “You say that.” He rumbled. “But it’s we savages who’ll save your arse from all the dangers that are far outside your ‘civilized’ world.”
  
  That rankled Degren. He needed no saving from anyone.
  
  “Is that so?” The squat man snapped back. “The only ‘danger’ I see lies in freezing my balls off in this uncultured, godforsaken snow-hole you call a country!”
  
  Valderich jabbed Degren in the chest with one of his thick and callused fingers. “You’d be surprised just how forsaken you’ll find yourself with an attitude like that.” He said. “The Nine don’t take kindly to pompous bastards, and the Nords would sooner spill your refined brains all over the place than put up with your lip.” The large man set his jaw. “So you’d best watch yourself ranger.”
  
  Degren glared up at the man. Valderich was at least a foot and a half taller than him. “Or what?” He sneered.
  
  Valderich folded his brawny arms. “Or I’ll take back my cloak and leave you here.”
  
  The Imperial’s face reddened indignantly. “But I already payed you! You promised to guard me. So I own you until we reach our destination!”
  
  Valderich’s expression remained calm. “You couldn’t pay me enough to own me, Imperial. And that is my only promise.” He brandished a finger. “The North breeds free men. And if you don’t remember that, I won’t be here long enough to watch a raider slit your throat.”
  
  Degren had to resist spitting in the giant’s face. He settled for hocking a great wad of snot over at the nearby rocks. “Bah!” He exclaimed. “You said you were a man of valour.”
  
  Valderich’s eyes didn’t leave his charge. “I am. So you can trust that I’ll stick to my word if you insult my people again.”
  
  Valderich didn’t care what was said of his own honour. More than anything, he feared the direction his people were taking, and he defended them out of pride as much as avoidance.
  
  Degren shifted. He didn’t doubt that the Nord would strand him here, whatever else he thought about valour. “There’s no need for that.” He said.
  
  A warm smirk tugged at the corner of Valderich’s mouth. “Good.” He stated simply, his friendly tone returning.
  
  He unhooked a small horn from his belt, capped with a leather top. He held it out. “Care for a drink?”
  
  Degren took the horn, eyeing it like a snake that might bite. “…What is this swill?”
  
  “Goat’s piss.” Valderich said, deadpanned.
  
  There was a moment of long silence. Degren stared at him. Clearly he took Valderich at his word.
  
  The blacksmith rolled his eyes. “Drink it. It’ll send a fire down to your toes.”
  
  Degren gave him one last cautionary look before tugging of the leather cap and tilting the horn to his lips. He blinked in surprise. It was very good. But strong. A warmth flooded him instantly, settling with a pleasant buzz at his feet.
  
  “Hmm.” He murmured, smacking his lips. “It tastes like honey.”
  
  Valderich nodded. “My own brew.”
  
  Sheepishly, the other man scuffed his boot in the dirt. “Well, it’s good…..thank you.”
  
  Valderich chortled. “Manners, at last! And they said I’d never teach anyone anything.”
  
  “You don’t seem the type of person to give two swits about what someone else thinks.”
  
  “Some people aren’t very good thinkers.” Valderich bit at a fingernail. “Especially when they use their thoughts to put other people down.”
  
  Degren took another drink. “Are you saying that I’m one of those people?”
  
  Valderich nodded his shaggy head, unapologetic. “Yes. An intelligent man should be able to do much better.”
  
  “You don’t know me.”
  
  “Would you let me?”
  
  Degren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t tell if that’s a double entendre.”
  
  Valderich gave a boisterous laugh that shook the mountains and sent the birds flying. “So you have a sense of humour after all!”
  
  Degren hid a smile. “Yes, well. Don’t get too comfortable.”
  
  Valderich nodded sagely. “Oh, no. Comfortable men don’t make it long in Skyrim.” He winked. “And I intend to live for a long time.”
  
  “Hm. We’ll see.”
  
  “I hope you do.” Was the big man’s response. “I’d like to help make this world a place where comfort is natural. Where people don’t need caravan guards.”
  
  The Imperial rolled his eyes. “There will always be bandits.”
  
  Cynicism bothered Valderich. Men were capable of so much more than they allowed themselves. “There will always be bad kings and corrupt nobles. There will be monsters of legend and sorcerers to conjure them.” He put a thumb to his breast. “But I am not one of those people. All I can do is make sure there are as little of them in this world as possible.”
  
  “Well aren’t you just a do-gooder.” Degren finished off the mead.
  
  Valderich flushed. Everyone seemed to think he was naïve, like a little boy. Though his thirty-first name day had already passed.
  
  “I’ve a high respect for life.” He said. “Which doesn’t necessarily make matters good all the time.” With a hand he dug around in his pouch until he found his gnarled pipe and some tobacco. “I can only effect the end. And I’ll do what I need to in order to see a fair one.”
  
  Degren looked over. “You may lose yourself along the way.” He said it as if it were the only option.
  
  Valderich struck a flare and puffed his pipe to life. The blend he smoked was sweet smelling and earthy. He seemed to contemplate the man’s opinion for a long time before making a hammering motion with his hands.
  
  “in smithing, metal must be bent before it can be forged into a weapon great enough to win battles. I can’t avoid pain or mistakes. But I can embrace the strength that comes from learning.”
  
  “Quite the philosoph I see….” said the dry snark.
  
  “Not bad for a stupid savage, eh?”
  
  “I never said that.”
  
  “You didn’t have to.” Valderich stared at his companion.
  
  Degren shrugged. “I suppose not.”
  
  Valderich breathed a plume of smoke. “I should’ve brought more mead. If I had to continue this conversation I’d rather do it drunk.”
  
  The ranger’s tone was smug. “Only cowards run to the ale barrel for comfort.”
  
  Valderich only grinned, and it was wicked. “You can say that when we’re counting the bodies of your bandit friends. I’m sure they’ll disagree.”