A Stranger in Skyrim 9

Chapter Nine: Whiterun

In which water runs downhill.

She walked into the city, looking around. She smelled the tang of hot metal in the air; to the right, she saw a smithy.

“I just can't fill an order of that size on my own!” A woman's voice protested. The voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to a female. She wore a heavy leather apron over a dress – why was it every woman wore a dress? She promised herself then that she would avoid the damn things at all costs. “Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?”

Mariah didn't catch the rest of the conversation, though; she was already on her way uphill, past the smithy.

The rain finally abated as she passed a sign that read it belonged to the “Drunken Huntsman.” She was still soaking wet, but at least now there was a chance she'd dry off. Damn, but she was already getting chilly. She'd have to warm herself, and dry off, by a fire.

The high pitched ringing was not going away. Picking that plant felt more and more like a bad idea.

Her legs did not appreciate being forced uphill after her earlier pace. She thought happy thoughts at them, as she had on excessively long walks in the past. Picturing a well of green energy at her core, she let that power trickle down into her legs, soothing the pain. Meditating that way had always eventually worked, but this time, it worked almost instantly. She blinked, blinked again. Hu-uh. She knelt in the middle of the market square, feeling the hard calf muscles. No pain. That was a relief, but ….

It was strange.

She felt the burns on her arms with her fingertips. Willing that same power towards her arms, she felt the throbbing pain dissipate.

She marveled at her hands. Mind over matter?

No.

Magic. Magic over matter.

A soft grin lit her face. She continued up a long, open stairway towards Dragonsreach.

A large, dead tree dominated the next tier of the city. She walked up to it, resting her hand on its smooth bark, sadly. She liked nature.

“I know your family's honor is important to you, but we can't afford it!” A woman's voice spoke up behind her, and she turned to look at the speaker. She had crossed a small bridge to get to the tree. Another such bridge seemed to lead towards a residential area, across which two … well, they wouldn't be African-American, or even African, because neither Africa, nor America, existed in … what had the Khajiit called it? Tamriel?

Regardless, two brown-skinned people (Gods all forbid she call them 'black'), were talking. The woman had her arms folded.

The man responded, clearly frustrated. “It took me weeks to find that thieves' den! I can't stop now, and I can't get the sword on my own!”

“So you're willing to starve your wife and daughter to reclaim some rusty old sword?” She didn't sound impressed.

He shook his head, hands outstretched. “I just need to hire one, maybe two good men. You won't starve!”

“I'll put it plainly. You can claim your sword, or you can keep your wife,” she said, harshly. “If you set foot outside the gate, I won't be here when you return.”

The man walked a few steps towards the woman. “Saffir! Wait! I ….”

She leaned on the railing. It wasn't her business, but … no. She wasn't some kind of hero, she didn't know the man, it didn't make sense to –

He walked towards her, sighing, dejectedly. Without seeing her, he nearly tripped over her. “Oh – ah, I'm sorry. Did you hear that?”

She nodded quietly. “You were arguing.”

He shook his head slightly. “My Saffir doesn't like that I've been spending so much time looking for my father's sword. He fed his whole family with the money he made using that weapon! I'm not going to let it gather dust in some thief's trophy room!”

She frowned slightly. “Do you need help finding the sword?”

“I tracked it to a group of bandits nearby. But I'm no fool. I'd need the Whiterun guard, or maybe the Companions to get it.” He looked her over. “I don't know why I'm saying this, but … if you find it out in your travels, I'd be grateful.”

She tilted her head. “Where did you say it was?”

“A little cave, not far from here. It's called 'Redoran's Retreat,' and it's filled to the brim with bandits. If you go there, be careful. I don't want your blood on my hands.”

She smiled, a little uncertainly. “I'm not sure I'm the one you want,” she admitted. “I'm no kind of warrior … If I do find it, I'll bring it back, though.”

He nodded. “That's all the more I can really ask for.” He continued on his way, and she on hers.

She passed the tree, and a small hand tugged at her still-damp sleeve. “Lady – could you spare a coin?”

She frowned slightly, looking down.

It was a girl, a small child, really, with short-cropped brown hair. She was wearing a dirty, green skirt, with a poorly-mended rip in it. Shaking her head, Mariah shifted her backpack around, sliding it off her shoulders. That done, she fished around in it until she found the coinpurse. “Why are you begging?” She asked it conversationally.

“It's … it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one who's been nice to me since mama … since she died. My aunt and uncle took over the farm, and they threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything.” She felt the frown deepen. That wasn't right … that wasn't the kind of thing anyone should say to a child. “I wound up here,” the girl continued. “But I … I don't know what to do. I miss her so much ….”

She really didn't have much money, herself, but she counted out five coins, and handed them to the girl. “Here. It isn't much, but I hope it'll do.”

The girl's eyes widened, and she threw her arms around Mariah in a hug. “You're the best!” Pulling away, the girl looked up at her, seriously. “Could you be my mama?”

Looking down into those wide, innocent eyes, she swallowed heavily. She had to force herself to shake her head, quietly. “I'm sorry … I don't have anyplace for you to live.” Would Alvor be willing …? He was a blacksmith; surely he could afford to feed one extra mouth? She'd have to ask, after she returned to Riverwood. She just couldn't let the poor girl starve. “If I get more money, I'll make sure you get some of it, okay?”

“I … okay.” The girl sounded slightly disappointed.

She smiled, encouragingly, reaching out to pat the girl's shoulder. “Now … I've got to go talk to the Jarl, but afterward, I'll come see you again, all right? I'll be at the big old dead tree, and we can talk some more.”

“Okay!” The girl brightened considerably at that. “Thanks again.”

She nodded, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “No problem.”

The staircase up to Dragonsreach was a long one. It passed a large waterfall – in fact, the entire city seemed to be decorated with channels for waterways. It was pretty.

Eventually, she managed to ascend to the top of the staircase, huffing and puffing. She felt like she was going to fall flat on her face.

Ugh.

She trudged across the latest in a series of bridges, to a massive set of double doors. Opening them, she stepped inside.

Dragonsreach was impressive. From the outside, it had been a massive castle.

From the inside, it was a massive castle with a tall, arched roof, supported by pillars carved with intricate designs that resembled Celtic knotwork. A long, patterned rug led from the entryway to another set of stairs. She looked up – and up. Light poured in through a massive, circular window. Two chandeliers hung from central arches. She suspected these would light the keep at night, but how anyone lit them was a mystery for the ages. Maybe magic. She actually kind of hoped it was magic.

A man's voice echoed from the far end of the keep while she stood, hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. “– there's no telling … my lord, please ….”

Her lungs slowly stopped burning. She looked over, to see a woman with a broom looking at her oddly. “Your hair,” she explained. “It's blue.”

“I'm aware.”

She set off towards the far end of the throne room. At least she'd dried some on the long, mostly-vertical walk; she wasn't dripping all over the fine carpets.

“What would you have me do then?” A man's heavily-accented voice demanded, echoing from the walls. “Nothing?”

Another responded, sounding worried. “My lord, please. This is no time for rash action ….”

As she walked up the stairs, she saw a woman coming towards her. The woman's skin was ashy-gray, she noticed that much first, along with the severe, angular features. She was a redhead, with brilliant crimson eyes, and under all that hair, Mariah noticed pointed ears. That would be an elf, then. She tried not to stare.

The woman also had a sword drawn, and it was pointed at her. “What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

Oh good, she was in the right place after all.

“Alvor sent me,” she explained once more. “Riverwood is in danger.”

The woman frowned, eyes narrowed. “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now, explain yourself.”

“A dragon has destroyed Helgen, and last I saw? It was heading this way.”

The woman's eyes widened, then, she took a sharp breath. “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach.”

So she did, walking down a large banqueting hall that was lined with tables. A massive firepit sat at the center of the hall, warming it with an open bonfire.

She couldn't imagine that passing a the fire safety inspection. The floors were wooden. Still, the heat was nice, and the firepit was lined with stone. It would probably be all right, although she would still not be surprised to hear the whole keep burned down in the night.

All of this helped to distract her as she walked up to meet with Whiterun's most important man.