Okay, Journal, I’ve got a lot to cover, and I’m in the back of a wagon, so let’s just get right to it.
So after Lydia and I took out the Alik’r at Swindler’s Den, I went back to The Bannered Mare, where I encountered a man who was sitting and drinking with Uthgerd The Formerly Unbroken. He looked up at me and said in a gravelly voice, “Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?”
This caught me off guard, so I said, “What?”
He took another sip and grumbled, “Got stones in your ears? I asked what side you’re on.” No you didn’t. “Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?”
I recognized him as one of the men who’d been harrassing the old lady, but his line of questioning annoyed me, so I played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
He wasn’t impressed by my response. “New in town, huh?” Actually I am new, relatively speaking. “Whiterun’s got two clans. Both old and both respected. Difference is, the Grey-manes turned their backs on the Empire and we Battle-Borns stayed loyal.” Why must every conversation become political? Also, shouldn’t it be Battles-Born?
“So I’ll ask again: Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?” said the member of clan Battle-Born. No pressure.
“I’m not picking sides,” I said diplomatically.
“Sooner or later, we all have to choose a side.” Then I pick later, thanks.
Having run out of things to say to me, he said, “Long live the empire,” and then got up and left, leaving a seat open in front of Uthgerd, who was munching quietly on a loaf of bread. I decided to sit down, but as soon as I did, she immediately stopped eating and just stared at me silently. Okay then. I got back up, and she resumed eating. Perhaps she was one of those people who didn’t like it when people watched them eat. Which is most people, I suppose.
I went back up the stairs to Saadia’s room to give her the update on the Alik’r situation, as the bard meanwhile started up his decapitation song again. He really needed more variety in his repertoire.
Saadia was sitting alone in the dark, drinking mead. When I came in, she asked me, “Any news of the Alik’r?”
“The Alik’r won’t trouble you any more.” As far as I knew.
“At last,” she said with a slight smile, unless it was a trick of the light, “I can rest safely. You have done me a great service, Warrior, I cannot thank you enough.” You’re right, you cannot. Did you know I died out there? Literally? But I said none of this, of course.
“Take this reward. I managed to sneak some of my wealth out of Hammerfell when I left. It’s the least I can do.” She handed me 500 gold, which was worth more than everything the Jarl had given me thus far. Unless you counted Lydia the permanent bodyguard. Though she was arguably priceless.
“For now, I will maintain my ruse here.” Then why did I do all of that? “You’re always welcome in the Bannered Mare.” Though considering that put me in the same company as town drunk Brenuin, that wasn’t saying much.
“It’s been a pleasure,” she said, and resumed drinking heavily.
I went back downstairs and sat down to count out my new gold, across from Uthgerd, still diligently eating the same piece of bread, or possibly an identical piece. “It’s always good to see someone I can count on,” she said for reasons I could not fathom. As I stood up, she said, “I wish I could be out there with you.” I wondered what was stopping her. Granted, I hadn’t asked her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be out there, nor would I forbid her from following if she chose.
As I left the tavern, I noticed that all the market stalls were doing business except for the jewelry stall, which was decidedly bereft of old ladies. Could she still be waiting for me at her house? Because that would be unfortunate.
I went up to ask one of the other stall owners, who greeted me with “Life’s hard enough with all these men propositioning me, but that bard is the worst.” I agreed he really is the worst, though not for the same reasons.
I asked, “Someone giving you trouble?” And I cringed at my own wording, because she’d just gotten done saying it was the bard. It’s not like the place was lousy with them.
“That bard Mikael is begging for a dagger up against his throat.” I didn’t heard him ask for that. “The way he goes on about me.” Oh. I mostly just heard him singing about decapitation. “I heard him boasting at the Bannered Mare, saying he’ll ‘conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.’ Hmph.”
Okay, that was messed up. Wait, was this the same man who wrote that creepy book A Gentleman’s Guide to Whiterun? I doubled-checked the author of the book. It was! Yet another reason to dislike him. Admittedly, it could be another Mikael, but I somehow doubted there could be two creepy Mikaels in Whiterun.
“What if I talk to Mikael?” I asked her.
She shrugged and said, “If you wanna try, go right ahead. I don’t think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though.” Then, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be selling things, she blurted, “Remember, fresh fruit and vegetables every day!” Then mumbled, “Mostly.”
I went back into the Bannered Mare, hoping Hulda wouldn’t get upset with me for coming and going so frequently. It also wasn’t helping disprove the Khajiit stereotype that we can’t decide whether we want in or out.
I walked up to Mikael to reason with him, and he said, “If it’s a lady you’re looking for, you’d best look elsewhere. Once Mikael gets them, they’re got.”
Okay, that was a bit sleazy, as greetings went. I calmly said to him, “You need to leave Carlotta Valentina alone.” Hopefully that was her name. I hadn’t asked.
Mikael made a face, presumably his own, and said, “Carlotta put you up to this, didn’t she? I’m sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.” So her husband died, and you won’t leave her alone? That’s even more despicable. I considered smacking some sense into him.
Instead I tried a dose of reality. “She’s not ‘yours’. Stop this nonsense.”
He cranked up the cockiness, saying, “What did you just say? All I heard was the sound of jealousy.”
Son of a Barenziah, this guy was full of himself. I turned up the intimidation a bit and growled, “Leave her alone, or else.”
Predictably, Mikael got indignant, and said “I don’t have to take that from you!”
He raised his fists, and a fairly short, one-sided brawl ensued. There was no doubt that he was a lover, not a fighter.
As Mikael doubled over, Lydia said from behind me, “Who taught you to fight? Keep those hands up?” Um, whose side are you on, Lydia?
I waited for Mikael to catch his breath, while Lydia shouted “Fight, fight!”
Mikael said, “You know how to throw a punch, I’ll give you that.”
Behind the bar, Hulda said “Don’t let him get away with it!” I wasn’t sure who she meant then, either.
Finally I said to him, “You leave Carlotta alone, or this gets worse.” I didn’t know why this mattered to me so much, but for some reason it suddenly did.
To his credit, Mikael gave in. “You win. On my honor, Carlotta won’t have to worry about me ever again.”
I nodded my satisfaction, and once again left the tavern, with Lydia trailing behind, possibly feeling like a second wheel. If that made any sense.
On the way out, I bumped into Ysolda, and because my brain has a mind of its own, I asked her, “You’re looking to become a merchant?” I vaguely remembered our conversation on the steps a day or two earlier.
She then proceeded to tell me her life story. “Before my ma and da passed, I told them that one day, I’d become the best trader in Skyrim.” I idly wondered if this was right before they died, or just some point in their lives. I wisely refrained from asking.
She continued, “I met one of the caravan leaders, Ma’dran. He said he’d help me get started if I could bring him a mammoth’s tusk. Easier said than done.”
I nodded. “Good luck with that.” It was a weird contingency.
“I’ll do my best,” expertly hiding any disappointment she might have felt at my not volunteering to produce a mammoth tusk for her. Some people need to solve their own problems. Besides, you don’t become a business person by having other people’s noses in it.
I went back to Carlotta to tell her the news. Before I could, however, she said, “I’ve got a hungry daughter to feed. So selling my produce is really the only thing I care about.”
Resisting the urge to point out that the produce/hungry daughter situation could potentially solve itself, I said “Mikael won’t be bothering you any more.”
She seemed surprised. “Really? You convinced that lute player to stop chasing me? I’d thank the gods, but I’ll settle for thanking you. Here’s some coin for your help.” She handed me 250 gold, which was also more than the Jarl had given me. The hoi polloi of Whiterun were far more generous than its fancy-pants rulers.
I felt guilty about taking the money and running, so I stumbled at a bit of conversation, asking “You get a lot of attention from men?”
This really set her off. “You’ve got no idea. Half the men in Whiterun have proposed to me. Some where even single.” Hah.
“They’ll never understand.” Of course not, they’re men.
“No amount of flowers or honeyed words are going to change my mind. Right now, all that matters is my daughter Mila. No man’s going to get between me and my little girl.”
At that moment, her daughter Mila ran by, and I inadvertantly got between her and Carlotta. But then I am no “man.”
I then remembered I was supposed to go look for the old Grey-Mane lady. I went to a house that I sensed belonged to the Grey-Manes – another quirk I’d have to ask a magic user about – and tried the door, but it was locked. No big deal, I could just pick the lock. Here in broad daylight.
Luckily it was an easy lock; I should advise them to get a better one. As soon as I walked in, Fraila was standing near the door, seemingly unphased that I’d just broken in, and greeted me, saying “Welcome to our home!”
Another man was with her, and he did not look as welcoming, judging by the axe he’d just drawn. “Mother, what’s the meaning of this? Who have you brought into our home?”
Fortunately before he could kill me, Fraila said “Avultein, put that down! He’s here to help us find Thorald!” Actually, I was just here to give her a book about him. But, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.
Ovaltine was not convinced. “How do we know he’s not spying for the Battle-Born? This was foolish! We can’t trust anyone! Who knows what they’ll do if they find me here.”
Frail calmed him down by saying, “I can’t take any more of this. No weapons, please let’s just talk.” Sounded good to me.
“All right, mother,” said Awfulteen, and spun me around and asked, “So, you’re here to help?”
Not wanting to commit to anything, I said, “I’m not even sure what’s going on.”
This was a mistake, as he took this as a cue to rehash what I already knew. “My brother, Thorald. He was fighting for the Stormcloaks, and went missing. Everyone assumes he’s dead. But he’s not, I just know it. The Imperials captured him, and they’re holding him someplace. The Battle-Borns know where.”
I nodded knowingly, waiting for him to continue.
“I’d go and search their house for proof, but they want me too. I’d be captured, and then we’ll never know what happened to him.”
I continued nodding patiently, waiting for my moment.
“So I need someone to find that proof for me.”
And there it was. I unveiled the book and announced, “I have proof that Thorald lives.”
Avlustein shouted “I knew it!” Wait, how could you know it? You thought I was a spy moments ago.
“Let me see, please,” he said. I handed him the book. He glanced through it quickly. “The Thalmor? By the Nine, it’s worse than I thought.” I wondered what he’d thought it would be.
He sat down the book and said, “So… Northwatch Keep. Then we know where to hit them.”
Um… hit them? We? Just for clarification, I asked “You’re going to assault Northwatch Keep?”
He nodded. “I’ll do anything if it means saving my brother. You’ll join us, won’t you? Thorald can’t be left to those… monsters.”
I didn’t want to see him run off and die, so I offered, “Let me see if I can bring him back on my own, without bloodshed.”
He scoffed. “What? You, alone, reasoning with the Thalmor? That’s madness, friend.” When I didn’t blurt out “Just kidding!” He stared and said, “You’re serious, aren’t you.” Honestly? I’m not sure any more. “Very well, I’ll give you a chance. But if you can’t do it, I will.”
Fair enough, I thought, and walked out the door. As soon as the door closed, I thought, “What did I just do?” How did I propose to bring back his brother without bloodshed? I sometimes had a way with people, but not enough to convince them to release a prisoner to me.
I felt like Whiterun was getting to me. I was too caught up in the people’s problems, to the point where I felt like I was losing part of myself. Or something. I mean, I was their Thane, for crying out loud. And I had only been here, what, a week? If that? I needed a change of scenery. Without telling Lydia what I was up to, I exited the gates of Whiterun and went to my horse Skype. Then I realized it wasn’t fair to Lydia, so I instead walked over to the guy with the wagon.
“I can take you to any of the hold capitals,” he said, as if reading my mind. I looked at my map. Which was the furthest away? Both Markarth and Riften looked far-flung. Heads, we’d go to Markarth. Tails, Riften. I flipped a septim. Tails, so Riften it was. I handed the man twenty coins and he said, “Climb in back and we’ll be off.”
I had to admit, I was a little nervous about riding in a wagon again, after my last encounter, but this guy seemed a lot less murderous. But you could never tell. I mean, you wouldn’t know from looking at me that I’d killed 28 people, though mostly in self defense. (And don’t look at me like that, Journal. If you were capable of killing people, you’d probably remember how many, too.)
While I got situated and ready to climb in, the driver said, “I can’t wait here forever.” I beg to differ, sir, seeing as how I appeared to be the first bit of business you’ve gotten this past week.
Okay, I’m getting motion sick writing while riding, so I’m going to put my journal away for now and enjoy the rest of the trip to Riften. I’ve not heard anyone mention the city, so it must be a boring, uneventful one. We will see, though. - Steve
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