Chapter Six

The trees were silent. The trunks made the darkness feel even closer than normal as Gaeolin and Inigo walked through them. They had handed their steeds off to Faendal. After exchanging some furs, and accepting provisions, they convinced him to take the horses to Riverwood for some rest. Inigo kicked a stone, still seeming to regret the choice.

“I miss Beast…”

“She’ll be fine. Faendal will treat them well. He watched Beast when we were staying at the Sleeping Giant.” Gaeolin looked back at him with a smirk. “You’re just cranky because you have to walk.”

The khajiit huffed to himself. Just as the sound escaped him, a few drops of rain fell through the branches. He threw up his hood, mood improving slightly. “This rain smells invigorating.” His stomach growled. “What do we have for food? I’m hungry.”

“You’ll have to wait,” the elf replied, “we only have enough to make it to Ivarstead if we try and ration the supplies.”

“But I’m hungry now…”

Gaeolin crossed his arms, cocking an eyebrow at his companion. “Are you really going to make a fuss? You’ll be more hungry about the time we get through the pass and run out of food.”

Inigo exercised his catlike features, giving the worst pout the bosmer had seen in years. “Please… Just a cheese wedge?” Gaeolin felt an involuntary twinge in his heart. He sighed, reaching into his knapsack.

As soon as Inigo accepted it, the pair heard the snapping of branches in the trees. They crouched, drawing their bows. Amid the pines wandered an elk, grazing without care. Before the creature took notice, Gaeolin released his shot, deftly skewering the eye.

Drawing his trusty trench knife, he began to skin their kill. “On second thought, Maybe we should make camp and have some early lunch? Elk stew?”

“Because I would ever say no…” Inigo rushed off, looking for shelter as his friend worked.

A few hours later, they sat around a crackling fire. They had built it back into a crag, keeping the rain off their backs as they cooked. The last of the meat on the fire, Gaeolin laid out his bed roll to sit on. Inigo laughed at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look like you’re trying to be an assassin in that hood.” He turned the spit. “So, which way do we go from here?”

Gaeolin thought for a while. “Though I don’t really like the idea, the fastest way would be to go through Helgen…” The very thought made him shiver. There couldn’t be anything left but ruins. How long had it been? 

Were there still bodies?

“What are our other options?” Inigo looked at their map. “The only other way would be to head to Riverwood, then around past Darkwater Crossing, coming down and up to the Rift from the Northeast.”

The elf shook his head. “That would take too long. We should be as direct as possible. Besides… The only thing that will be there is ash…” They fell quiet, even the rain stopping. Unnerved by the stillness, they packed up, setting off once again. Gaeolin Loosened his bow. If he needed it, he wanted to be quick on the draw.

The road began to slope upward, light snow beginning to over take the brush. The eerie quiet still gripped them. The air grew colder, though even it was stagnant. Inigo was about to suggest they take the long way, when he heard the sound of a scuffle. Gaeolin motioned for him to crouch. The two sneaked up, seeing the broken battlements of Helgen keep looming ominously above them. Gaeolin couldn’t see the commotion, but listened to the argument being cast between two bandits. The stone wall was as cold as ice on his back. Still, he dared not move.

“Listen here!” A man sneered. “I stole that sword fair and square! It’s mine!”

A woman responded, the sound of the sword in question being drawn unmistakable. “You think you can take it from me, Fulgnar? Come on and try…” Fulgnar, apparently, had no intention to argue further. “That’s what I thought. Now, go check the gate. So far Siddgeir has ignored Helgen, but he may send men to try and reclaim it. We don’t want that, now do we? I like the idea of having my own city…” Her footsteps betrayed her heavy armor, likely a standard steel chest piece and boots. The elf and cat stiffened as the shamed bandit approached their hiding place.

He came out of the arch that once housed the great doors to the city, passing them by mere inches. As the highwayman gazed out across the ocean of evergreens, Gaeolin snuck behind him. He stood without a sound, quickly wrapping one hand around his mouth. The man barely managed a muffled scream when his trench knife eased through his underarm, puncturing the heart with a sudden burst of blood. The struggle ended, the body going slack. Gaeolin eased the corpse to the ground softly. Quietly they crept into the walls, bows drawn and ready.

The female bandit emerged from a burned out house just before they could find cover. At first she seemed surprised. She then cracked a wicked grin. “Well, well… looks like I’ll get to try this out today after all.” She drew the sword, the metallic singing echoing off the stones. Inigo responded in kind, the midnight toned blade held in a defensive posture. Gaeolin rolled to the side as they ran at each other, readying an arrow.

The khajiit parried her blows, dancing lightly on his feet. She laughed, twirling the blade around as Gaeolin made his first shot. Miraculously, she had knocked the projectile away with the motion. The wood elf froze in awe. “You boy’s will have to try harder than that.” She rushed at Inigo, missing his side by a hair’s breadth. The cat countered, bashing into her with his shoulder. He immediately cursed this action, as it did him far more harm than their foe. Gaeolin fired once more, the head casting sparks off of her pauldron as it ricocheted. After this attempt, he threw down his bow, running toward the aggressor with no more than the knife on his belt. He dodged her attack, driving the short blade into the void in her armor and through her chin.

The shining sword fell from her grasp, the hand instead coming up to clutch her hemorrhaging jugular. Collapsing to her knees, she watched the bosmer as he picked up the blade. He tested it, swinging it around in a few flurries. Satisfied, he looked her in the eye.

“I know just what this sword was meant for.” And with that, he swung, her head rolling to the pavement.

Inigo sheathed his sword. “Maybe a bit too theatrical?” He smiled. “Don’t forget the scabbard.” He looked around as Gaeolin fastened the weapon to his belt. “So you were here when this all happened?”

Gaeolin looked up, nodding. “Yeah… This house here used to belong to Torolf.” He looked at the pile of rubble. “I escaped through here from that tower. Met up with Hadvar over there.”

Inigo stooped low, grabbing a bit of scorched metal that had once been a cup. “To think that so many burned here…”

The elf didn’t respond, instead walking through the house. “Come, we need to get as much distance in as we can.” Inigo placed the cup on what was left of the table. Before he followed, an ear fell back against his head. The sight of a child’s doll in the corner too much for him to bear. The friends made their way out of the gates, following the sign on the road to Ivarstead.