[Continued from the previous journal entry of the same name but without the (2)]
As soon as I entered Alvor’s cozy cottage, he shouted, “Sigrid! We have company!”
He was a scruffy-looking man who could almost pass for a Khajiit in the right light, were it not for the thick Nord accent. His walls were covered with various parts of dead animals, to an unhealthy degree. Or at least, to a degree with which I was unaccustomed. Perhaps this was how all houses were decorated in Skyrim. I’m just glad I didn’t see any feline pelts on the wall. As far as I could tell.
I sat down at his humongous oak table, which was littered with all manner of goodies. I was tempting to take something, but I had this sixth sense telling me that until they knew more about me, they would consider my actions stealing. So I bided my time until they either changed their minds about me or were looking the other way, whichever came first.
A woman whom I assumed was Sigrid came up from the basement, saying, “Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you!” Why, exactly? He was just doing his job, just a mile away from here. You could have checked on him if you were really concerned. But I said nothing, as usual. Then she added, “You two must be hungry.” Must we? “Come, sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.” I was already sitting without permission, but hopefully they didn’t mind.
As Hadvar took a seat, Alvor said in a weirdly stilted tone, “Now then, boy, what’s the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?” Hey now, we’ll have you know that we avoided any cave bear confrontations! It was a good thing they couldn’t hear my inner monologue.
Hadvar starting telling the story, while I waited impatiently for Sigrid to bring me some food. “We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked… by a dragon.” So apparently Helgen wasn’t where Hadvar normally hung out. I wondered if was one of the people who had captured Stormcloaks by the border. It still frustrated me that had no memory of those events. Perhaps I could ask him about it later. After we ate, of course.
Alvor responded like anyone would. “A dragon? That’s ridiculous? You’re not drunk, are you, boy?” My guess was no, as I’d confiscated all the wine I could see at the keep.
Sigrid turned away briefly from cooking and scolded Alvor. “Husband, let him tell his story!” Apparently she had difficulty keeping track of the weird names, too.
Hadvar told the story about the dragon, while I eyed the pot over by the fireplace, hoping to taste some of the stew soon. It smelled delicious. Then I heard him say, “I doubt I’d have made it out myself were it not for my friend here.” Again with the “friend” thing. I couldn’t tell if I’d just made that good of an impression on him, or if he’d just been feeling survivor’s guilt and combining that with the realization that he’d almost had me killed. Either way, it was probably in my best interests to go along with it, so I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly manner. It was hard to tell with Nords.
Hadvar continued, “I need to get back to Solitude and tell them what’s happened.” I didn’t envy him that job, showing up alone and claiming there were dragons. I know I wouldn’t believe him had I not had front row seats to the ordeal. “I thought you could help out. Food, supplies, a place to stay.” The bluntness of his request made me uncomfortable. We Khajiits always offered such assistance without being asked, and it was then the obligation of the other Khajiit to modestly turn it down once, saying they couldn’t possibly impose, at which point the offering Khajiit would insist, and then the other Khajiit would graciously accept the hospitality. It was more on ceremony than necessity, but it prevented awkwardness like what I currently found myself witnessing.
While Sigrid warmed her hands by the fire, clearly not bringing me any food, Alvor said “Of course! Any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of mine. I’m glad to help however I can.” Wait, wasn’t he talking to Hadvar? Then I realized he meant me. Though I had not heard him mention me. I was about to do the customary refusal of hospitality, when he immediately added, “Like I said, I’m glad to help in anyway way I can. But I need your help. WE need your help.”
What sort of turn of events was this? Not only was his nephew begging him, but now he was begging me for help? He barely knew me. Then he emptied out his pockets and said “Take a gift.” This was highly irregular, and I felt a bit put out, so I decided to make it worth my while. I passed by the spare tunic, the apple and iron ingot that he inexplicably kept in his pants, and instead took a gold necklace, a ring that I somehow recognized as being a magical ring of lockpicking, and some potions of healing. This was undoubtedly more than he’d intended to offer me, but it was his own fault for putting me on the spot like that.
“The Jarl needs to know there’s a dragon on the loose.” Er, I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough, yes? “Riverwood is defenseless!” I strongly suspected that when it came to dragons, most places were defenseless. I mean, was I the only one who saw an entire Imperial fortress and military contingent become reduced to ash and rubble in the span of five minutes? So yes, I felt Riverwood’s pain, but that was a pain soon to be shared by everyone, I feared. I looked up at the thatched roof of the cottage. Yes, they were in trouble.
“We need to get word to Jarl Ball-Gruff in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can.” So he went from doubting there was a dragon to wanting military protection rather quickly. “If you’ll do that for me, I’ll be in your debt.” Interesting. So that’s how things work in Skyrim: people beg for assistance and then offer to be indebted to you? I suppose I could get used to that. Just as long as not too many people asked for my assistance. I’m not sure why this Ball-Gruff person would listen to me, however. He wouldn’t know me. And if he did know me, that’d be all the more reason not to listen to me. I needed more information about the guy.
Ignoring my growling stomach, I asked, “What can you tell me about this Jarl?”
“Jarl Ball-Gruff? He rules Whiterun Hold. He’s a good man. Perhaps A bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times.” I couldn’t tell whether he genuinely thought that or if this was just your typical “don’t say anything too negative about the people who can have you executed.”
He continued. “So far he’s managed to stay out of the war. I’m afraid it can’t last, though.” Oh, great, so I arrived during a war? I’d thought that was over with. That would explain their eagerness to kill Stormcloaks.
I still needed more information, so I asked, “Which side in the war does he favor?”
Alvor looked vaguely pensive, and said, “I don’t think he likes Ulfric or Elisif much.” With an implied shrug in his tone, he added, “Who can blame him?” As if that made any sense to me, the newcomer. “But I’ve no doubt he’ll prove loyal to the empire in the end. He’s no traitor.”
Okay, so… “Who is this ‘Elisif’?” I tried to ignore Sigrid, who stood nearby with her arms folded and foodless.
Alvor gave me an apologetic look. “Ah, I forget you’re new to Skyrim. Jarl Elisif, I should say. But only because she was married to Jarl Torygg when he was murdered.” My ears pricked up at the word “murdered.” Who can resist a bit of juicy gossip, after all?
“Ulfric murdered Torygg, you know. Walked right into his palace in Solitude and killed him. Shouted him to death… if you believe the stories.” That must be ‘The Voice’ someone mentioned earlier, and why they covered up his mouth when they captured him. And why they captured him in the first place. A lot of things were starting to make some sense. Except perhaps for why I was dragged into any of this. It also sounded like Alvor didn’t believe “the stories,” but perhaps in light of the whole dragon business, it seemed more believable?
Alvor frowned. “That’s what started this whole war. The Empire couldn’t ignore that. Once Jarls start killing each other, we’re back to the Bad Old Days™.” Sounded ominous.
“Hadvar!” Said a little girl I hadn’t even noticed up to that point. “Did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have really big teeth?”
Sigrid scolded her, saying, “Hush, child, don’t pester your cousin.”
“Be safe,” said Alvor, who stood up from the table and walked out the door.
I had other questions, but they would have to wait until morning. Instead I borrowed a nearby bed, wrote some of my journal entries, and then drifted off to sleep, occasionally waking up to write more journal entries in the hopes of staving off nightmares, to no avail.
In the morning, I would be off to this “Whiterun” to meet Jarl Gruffball, or whatever his name was. I know I didn’t have to – after all, it wasn’t my village, so why should I care? But Hadvar did save my skin multiple times back in the keep, and he didn’t have to. So I figured the least I could do was make his uncle indebted to me.
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