From the journal of
HrafngoelirHere I am again Ma. Ralof's sister asked me to go to Whiterun, to tell the Jarl about the dragon. I'd sooner kiss a horker, but she was a good host, offering me a place to stay after Ralof and I escaped from Helgen. Not that I spent the night there. There was only one bed, and she and her husband shared it. If there had been another bed, then perhaps Ralof would have…
Ma, how did you know Da was the one to tie Mara's knot with? Oh never mind. There are more important things to write with this damned goose feather.
I spent a day working with the smith, helping him in the forge. Da's lessons showed, and he was impressed with what I knew about iron and steel. His wife was less then pleased however, and I don't think I've ever seen a woman so glad to see my feet take me the other way when I left town next morning.
Ralof said that the Imperials wouldn't be looking for me. My name was not on their list, and no one was left alive who would know me. That was why I was the one to go to Whietrun. I wonder if I made the right decision, not going with him? Will I ever see him again? Or will I forever wonder what happened to that man?
Whiterun. Yes. It was a long walk north between the mountains, with only the wolves for company. But they kept their distance, and I respected their territory, so we got along just fine. On the other side of the mountains things changed. Lots of farms and even a meadery. I've never seen so many bees in my life! I was tempted to stop in for a drop, but I just wanted to get things over with, and be on my way home.
So up to the city I went. It's the only mound on the whole damn tundra. I swear Ma, I don't know how people can live there. The land is just flat and empty in all directions, and the wind never stops. No trees, no mountains, no ocean. The city itself is like big mammoth turd rising up on the plain.
The Jarl talked to me, after one of his damned huscarls drew steel against me. I thought I was going to have to kill her there in the hall, and had my axe and shield in hand. But cooler heads prevailed, and I made my report of the dragon to the bag of wind. When I told him that the Imperials tried to give me a shave, he called me a criminal, and said he did not care who the Imperials decided to execute. How can a man like that lead our people? How can a Nord look the other way when the Empire spills the blood of the sons and daughters of Skyrim?
Well, I was hoping to get myself out of there, but the damned blowhard dragged his court wizard into the mess, and the next thing I knew I was being sent on an official mission for the Hold. Finding some silly magic stone in one of the old barrows. I just nodded and said "aye". Then I remembered, Riverwood was just across the river from the barrow.
So I went back, wondering if Ralof was still there at his sister's house. He wasn't. But a wood elf named Faendal was. Normally I wouldn't have much use for a point eared bushwhacker, but he seemed a cut above most of his countrymen. He was a hard worker for one, I remembered seeing him chopping wood at the mill my first time through, and he was at it again when I walked in the village. Seems he has his eye on a certain Imperial lady in town. Trouble is so does some other fella. Sven was his name. He was tall, had muscles, blond hair, blue eyes, and rocks between his ears bigger than the mountain the barrow was sitting upon. A typical Nord man. Poor Faendal didn't stand a chance. So I helped out the wood elf, and now he has the lady all to himself.
Just to show his appreciation, Faendal lent me a hand with my own problem: Bleak Falls Barrow. I have to say, it was handy having him there. As you can imagine, he's good with a bow. Between the two of us, we dealt with everything that got in our way, be it bandits, frostbite spiders, or draugr. I am not proud of plundering a tomb of our ancestors. But we did it, and found that blasted stone. I parted ways with Faendal back in Riverwood, and headed back to Whiterun.
-Hrafn, north of Riverwood.