The Aftermath | Chapter 6: Whiterun at Last

  • Morose and I set off at about 7 in the morning, as we said we would. I said a quiet farewell to Lenthil before exiting the cave, careful not to wake him. Morose and I walked for a bit, until a sign stood before us. Right pointing to Whiterun, and left pointing to Riften.

     

    “You choose which way we go.” Morose said gruffly.

    I covered my chin in thought. “Hmm, well, I guess Whiterun would be warmer…” I replied.

    “Whiterun it is, then.” he grumbled.

    “To Whiterun!” I exclaimed, thrusting my fist into the frigid air above.

     

    ~-----------~

     

    We continued on, following the path of stones on the ground. I was freezing once again, wrapping my arms around my shoulders in a desperate attempt to stay warm. A cold gust of wind came by and chilled my whole body, causing my teeth to chatter. Not surprisingly, Morose carried powerfully on in front of me once again. I won’t lie - I was jealous. He never has to worry much at all about his endurance.

     

    Suddenly, I found my feet landing in unfamiliar terrain. Grass! Finally! I thought excitedly. My gait transformed into a light stroll. As we went along, the sun began shining, casting down rays of light on the hills of green. I couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long while since I’d been anywhere that wasn’t cold. Then I realized how sodden my shoes had become from the snow. I removed them and picked them up, continuing on the last part of our journey barefoot.

     

    After walking for a little while longer, we reached the gates to Whiterun. I decided to put my shoes back on, seeing as they were dry for the most part.

     

    Whiterun was full of commotion when we arrived. What looked like hundreds of guards were standing outside, setting up spiked wooden barricades and assigning positions. What are they doing? Then I realized, I should have known that news of Winterhold would have reached Whiterun by now!

     

    “Hey!” I shouted towards them.

    “What’s your business?” a guard grumbled harshly.

    “Why are you setting up wooden barricades? That’s just going to make things worse! Winterhold was burnt down, not ransacked!” I scolded them.

    “Oh, and I’m sure you have a better idea?” The guard replied sarcastically. “Who are you, anyways?”

    “Actually, I do have a better idea! How about evacuating the city instead of keeping all of your citizens right in the middle of the town?” I shot back.

    “I asked who you are.” he said after hesitating for a moment.

    “I came from Winterhold! I must speak with the Jarl, unless you don’t want any information.” I told him firmly.

     

    Morose reached for his battleaxe. The guard hadn’t even noticed him before, but he did then.

     

    “Y-your friend here, too?” he said weakly.

    I nodded. “Right this way.” he mumbled, leading us into the gates.

     

    Loud conversations became quiet chatter when we entered. I saw people staring, some leaning over to others, whispering things in their ears. A Redguard man dressed in fine garments came up to the guard walking in front of us, his face twisted into a discontented frown. He was obviously wealthy.

     

    “What is the meaning of this?” he growled.

    “They have news about Winterhold.” the guard replied.

    “Not that!” the man clarified. “That.” He pointed up at Morose.

     

    Morose glared at him; a glare so harsh you’d feel like crawling in a hole and dying if it was directed towards you. Still, the man held his ground, though he did fidget a bit.

     

    “What in Oblivion is it?” scoffed the man.

    Morose took two steps towards him. “It would be wise for you to mind your own business.” he bellowed, only inches from the man’s face.

    “Oh, it can speak?”

    “Of course he can speak!” I exclaimed. “He’s a Dremora, not a wild animal, you uneducated-” I started.

    “Hey, hey! Stop shouting back there!” interrupted the guard. “You’re making people nervous.”

    “Out of the way, imbecile.” Morose extended his arm and pushed the Redguard aside.

    The guard looked over his shoulder at Morose. I could have sworn I saw a faint smile on his face.

     

    We went up the grand staircase leading to the giant castle of Dragonsreach. Someone who looked like a commanding officer of some sort stood to the right of the bridge.

     

    He turned towards us. “Hey, Kjaari!” he called to the guard.

    “Yes, sir?” he stopped.

    The officer started walking towards us. “Why are you bringing these two up here?” he asked. “Did they commit a crime?”

    “No, sir. They have news of Winterhold.” said Kjaari.

    He looked surprised. “Go ahead, then. Let them in.”

     

    I looked over and analyzed the officer’s appearance. His hair was black and quite short, and his eyes were dark blue. A regular Whiterun guard outfit covered his body and a steel warhammer was on his back. Definitely a Nord, I thought.

     

    Kjaari led us through the great wooden doors and into the fortress. We were led up the stairs to the fire pit where Irileth, the Jarl’s steward, guarded his throne.

     

    “More prisoners?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    “No, they have news about Winterhold.” he replied, sounding annoyed from explaining it so many times.

    “Oh,” said Irileth. “Speak to the Jarl, then.”

     

    We walked closer to the throne. No one seemed fazed by Morose’s appearance. They probably have a court wizard. Dremora shouldn’t be uncommon up here.

     

    “So, I heard you have news of Winterhold.” said Jarl Balgruuf.

    “Yes, we do. We were living on the outskirts of town when it happened…” I explained everything that we saw.

    “You’re quite lucky that you got out of there in time. Whole city was razed to the ground.” he said after I was finished talking.

    “Yeah, I saw that.”

     

    He was about to reply when the doors crashed open and someone yelled, “Jarl!’ I turned around. It was the black-haired guard that was commanding the others. He looked frantic.


    “Something’s attacking the city!”

Comments

10 Comments
  • Xeelus
    Xeelus   ·  October 6, 2015
    Yeah! I want my own personal Morose :( Curse you, reality!! @Idesto
  • Idesto a'Shinbira
    Idesto a'Shinbira   ·  October 6, 2015
    Everyone should have a Morose! 
  • Xeelus
    Xeelus   ·  June 30, 2015
    Yeah. It would be a disaster if something happened to Morose!
    But he's a tough guy. He's not gonna "die" anytime soon 
  • Lillithian
    Lillithian   ·  June 30, 2015
    Wait...
    If Morose is a permanently summoned dremora...he'd still be sent back to oblivion if he dies. And Oren says himself he couldn't cast that spell again if he tried...
    0_0
  • Lillithian
    Lillithian   ·  June 30, 2015
    So good. Much Morose. Wow.
  • Golden Fool
    Golden Fool   ·  June 29, 2015
    That decision making "I guess Whiterun would be warmer..."
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 28, 2015
    It's technically after the events in Skyrim, though my narrative runs into 202. You know me, I'm obsessed. 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 28, 2015
    Time lines don't mean much to me. The only timeline I'm aware of is at night me and Aela are bounding across the plains hunting deer and erm.. Then in the morning we head back.
    Whats so important about 4e204?
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 28, 2015
    I finally got around to reading this. Morose makes an impression everywhere he goes. 
    I'm still not quite sure what destroyed Winterhold, and I don't want to assume anything. I know you've put the narrative at 4E 204. 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 28, 2015
    There's nothing like walking straight into trouble is there. The question is, what trouble. 'looks up cautiously'