Chapter Text
“I wish you would see reason, Helvia.” Varnand pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to rein in his temper. “It’s not that I don’t want you to seek out a better life for yourself elsewhere, if one exists. It’s that we simply don’t have the means for you to undertake such a journey! I mean, really! Winterhold? On whose coin do you intend to get there, and aboard whose ship?”
“You needn’t worry about that,” I replied frostily. “I have no intention of further impoverishing our family. I will use what I’ve saved to make my way there. I have no need of boats or horses, either. I’m quite capable of traveling on foot.”
“Like Oblivion you are!” My brother exploded, stunning me. His reaction was quite a departure from his usually phlegmatic nature. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is! You wouldn’t even make it to the border on foot, alone! Helvia! Have you even the barest shreds of common sense, or have you managed to knock it all out of you fooling around with those storm spells of yours? You’ve never been outside of Stormhaven in your life. The worst adversaries you’ve ever faced are wild animals that chanced to wander into our garden. Do you have any idea how much worse, how much more pervasive threats to your life will become once you’re out of settled lands? What kinds of people camp out near main roads, just waiting for someone like you to make their day? It’s an ugly, vicious world out there.”
His words stung. I couldn’t deny he had a point—but he clearly didn’t understand why I felt it so important to put this place behind me.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Varnand, I’m not cut out for this. I’ve tried to conduct myself as Father and Mother wish, and it’s just… There are no real opportunities for me to seize, here. None to make, either. Everything is stagnant. You know this better than anyone! Why else did your foray into cider-brewing go so wrong? We have proof that these arrogant House-sponsored breweries encouraged orchards not to supply you, and the promotions they had to undercut your pricing were so terribly blatant! Everyone is so attached to maintaining the ‘natural order of things’ around here they never stop to think things might be better if there were more room for others to grow. There’s simply no waiting this out, no ‘pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps’ until the other Houses respect us again. It’s going to take a different kind of effort. And I will not allow myself to be married off to that end. I detest the very idea of being involved with someone who benefits from my family’s relative destitution.”
That seemed to have given Varnand something to think about as well. He sighed. “I understand your frustration, but it’s not so simple to just pick up and move to another province. Not to mention, our parents would all but put you under house arrest if they had even the slightest idea what you’ve been scheming up. I’m just… trying to look at this practically. You’ve no experience in trying to make a living on your own, nor have you ever, truly, had to fight for your life. I simply want you to be reasonable about this.”
“I know, and I appreciate your concern. But I must do something!” I exclaimed, begging him to understand my reasoning with my eyes. “The one thing I know I have going for me is my ability to spellcast. If I am given the chance to hone my skills, to learn to stand on my own, we all stand to profit from it, in the long run. It’s one less mouth to feed around here, and, if I do succeed, I would never leave you all in the lurch.”
“Then why not simply apply to the mages' guild in Sentinel City? Is that not more prudent—and much safer?”
“I would, if I thought I would be able to avoid being turned into another House’s lackey or stooge—or that it wouldn’t lead to me getting an ice spike through the back the second I happen to offend the wrong person or get in their way. Better for me to go someplace where magic isn’t quite so beloved by most major political factions.”
“Does that not place you in more danger overall? I don’t deny part of your reasoning, but I fail to see how Winterhold is any safer.” Varnand paused. “Be honest with me. This doesn’t have anything to do with Lorant, does it?”
I winced. “No, and I wish you hadn’t brought him into this. He made his own choice, quite some time ago. I think I speak for us both when I say I wish I knew where he was, but it would be foolish to go looking for him. …Look, Varnand, I don’t expect you to fully understand my reasons. The risks of my journey are incredibly apparent, yet I am more than willing to accept them. If anything happens to me, it is on my own head. I just cannot bear to watch things get worse for us, season after season. Please. You must understand that.”
My brother was silent for some time, brow furrowing as he thought over my argument. After a painful stretch of deafening silence, some of the fight went out of his posture. “Damn it all, I do. I do understand it. A part of me wishes I could blithely encourage you to go on your way, that I could believe you’d find your way to your destination with no issue. As it stands… I do not wish to trap you here.”
I stared at him for a few moments, then impulsively hugged him. As he returned the embrace, he said, “Just, please, promise me you’ll be careful. Stick to major roads; see if you can’t join up with a merchant caravan, if you come across a reputable one.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his overprotectiveness. “I will.”
“Now, if you’re serious about this, I’m afraid your best window of opportunity to leave is today,” Varnand frowned. “Mother and Father are due back tomorrow afternoon. That gives you a day’s head start.”
“I’ll make it work. Thank you, brother. I won’t forget this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Do it when you reach Skyrim—through a letter.” He gave me a wan smile.
“As soon as I’m far enough away that Father wouldn’t even think of trying to hunt me down himself, I will,” I agreed, the reality of my decision finally beginning to sink in.
I was finally going to make something of myself! Trying to suppress an alfiq-that-ate-the-canary grin, I took the stairs up to the second floor of our moldering manor house two at a time, eager to finish packing. I’d been working on it on and off for weeks, clandestinely squirreling away non-perishable foods and other items I thought would be necessary for my journey, but I hadn’t gathered everything I wanted to take with me yet. Not until I was sure.
Rummaging through the old ash wood chest at the foot of my bed, I pulled out a few thick wool blankets and set them aside on my mattress, intent on getting to the items I had stowed away in the very bottom. The money I’d put away from various birthdays and holiday celebrations, the map I’d purchased in town, and an old journal had been nestled away in it for safekeeping lay undisturbed. I removed them all, pausing when I took hold of the leather-bound book.
It was one of the few ‘fine’ things I owned, its cover a beautiful, deep shade of indigo, a simple but elegant geometric pattern engraved into its spine and covers that had been filled in with gold leaf. Its pages were gilt-edged, even after all this time. I had found it as a child, when my parents were clearing the attic of ancestral heirlooms and clutter to try and mitigate the damage done to our finances by a particularly bad growing season. For some reason, I had felt compelled to hide it from everyone, to keep it to myself, despite the fact I could not even open it. My fingers traced the odd, circular lock that held it firmly shut. Maybe someone at the College will know how to open this…
Dragging my thoughts back to the present, I picked up the objects I wished to take with me and laid them on my bed as well. Turning to my warped old armoire, I wrenched one of its wooden doors open, ignoring the mournful groan of its near-ancient hinges. After removing my canvas pack from it, I studied its remaining contents with a slight frown. It wasn’t so much difficult to decide what clothing I would be taking with me—it was more a matter of how many out of my three worn-out dresses would be worth bringing along. I grew frustrated with this rather quickly, grabbing the one that I thought I looked the least ridiculous in and drawing the piece of furniture’s door shut with an emphatic slam.
A resultant pop from the structure gave me pause. I noted that one of the panels I had previously thought to be decoration near the base of the wardrobe had popped out—it had been a drawer, all this time? Abandoning my dress on the bed as well, I went over to investigate. Something shimmered in the gloom of the partially opened panel, and, as I pulled the drawer the rest of the way out, I discovered it held a set of richly-hued royal blue robes with yellow-gold trim. There was no cowl included in the fabric, nor a sash to bind them for a more flattering figure, but the latter could easily be resolved with a belt.
“Whose were these…?” I marveled aloud, shaking them out and holding them out in the light of a nearby window.
I hoped whichever ancestor this gorgeous piece of clothing belonged to didn’t mind my use of it now—because I was certainly going to wear them. Not yet, though, as I didn’t want my departure to be delayed by unnecessary questions from my brother, who would doubtless wonder where I’d found them. The robes also went on my bed, and I finally began to put everything together. In short order, I had placed everything I intended to take with me in my pack, tying an extra blanket to the exterior of my pack just in case, as I had heard that Winterhold’s climate was not particularly hospitable to foreigners more accustomed to temperate weather. And, of course, I could not resist the temptation of taking just a few books along for the journey.
Opening the door to my room once again and stepping out into the hall, I looked over the place that had been my dearest refuge for eighteen years one last time. Goodbye, threadbare sheets! Goodbye, depressingly barren bookshelves! Good riddance, noises in the walls Mother obstinately reassured me weren’t rats! If I made it—when I made it—, I’d never suffer such indignities again.
As I once again made my way down to the building’s ground floor, I discovered Varnand hadn’t left the main hall. He looked up at my approach, locks of his sandy gold-brown hair bouncing as he moved his head. “You really are serious about this. But—Sister, you’re not taking a weapon?”
“…Ah.” I hadn’t thought about that.
As I admitted that, an idea came to mind. “I just haven’t gotten around to fetching it yet.”
I dashed to our dining room, my brother following behind me. Though the room was largely devoid of all the trappings and fineries that would’ve once designated it as a place for entertaining—it even lacked the grand furniture it once held, having been reduced to a modestly-sized round table and six wicker chairs—, my grandfather’s officer’s sword still hung over the mantle of our fireplace. I grabbed one of the chairs and stepped up on it, untying the leather cords of the plaque and liberating the sword and its scabbard from their grasp.
My brother’s brows furrowed, and he lifted a hand to them, rubbing them as if he was in pain. “Really, Helvia? Grandfather’s sword?”
“What’s wrong with putting it to good use?” I countered, suddenly defensive. I’d thought it wasn’t a half-bad idea. “It’s a sword, and it’s not like it’s doing anything other than collecting dust on our wall.”
“Aside from the fact Father’s going to go ballistic when he sees you’ve taken it? It hasn’t been used in decades!”
“Well,” I started, not sure how to counter that.
Luckily enough, Varnand defeated his own logic for me mere seconds after I spoke. “Then again… It’s not like I can suggest a better alternative. I can only pray you’ll never need to use it.”
We headed back to the main door to the house together. I belted the sword around my waist, thrown off by its weight as I walked. That would take some getting used to; it made me feel lopsided.
I stopped on the threshold, turning to look at my brother. Poor Varnand. Twenty summers old, cursed with stubborn, contrarian siblings and stubborn, traditionalist parents. The fact he remained so supportive of me, despite how brash I could be in trying to get my way, the fact he cared enough about me to let me take such a risk, yet also cared enough to make sure if I was going to, I would be setting out right, struck me full-force in that moment, seeing his tired, worried expression.
I hugged him again, tightly. “I won’t forget this,” I told him seriously. “You better not give up on yourself while I’m away, alright? You’re smart—a whole lot smarter than I am. Don’t give up on those business ideas of yours. You’ll find a way. Promise?”
“Of course, Helvia,” he sighed, pulling away. Despite his morose tone, he was smiling. “Be careful out there. You change your mind, please, come home. I’ll do everything I can to make our parents see reason if you do.”
“I believe it,” I laughed, smiling back. “I will. Take care.”
As I set out down the long dirt country road, I experienced the previously familiar sights and sensations of our farmstead anew. The air felt different: warm, but invigorating. A light breeze brushed against my bare skin, tousling my sable locks as it passed through them. The early autumn leaves had begun to shift to shades of yellow-green I felt as if I’d never seen before, seeming to be waving at me as I put them behind me. Taking a deep breath, I shouldered my pack and smiled, picking up the pace.
A new chapter of my life had just begun. I intended to make it one worth remembering.
I awoke to the sound of birdsong. Knowing full well that it was time to get a move on, I groaned, rolling over on my side before opening my eyes. When I sat up, a dull pain shot through my back; it seemed I hadn’t chosen a particularly flat sleeping spot. I’d be paying the price for that all day—I knew that from experience, by now.
“What I would give for a night at an inn… I’ve been out of touch with humanity for far too long,” I complained aloud as I got to my feet.
In the process of rolling up my bedroll, I realized that my lingering exhaustion might have another cause than merely an uncomfortable sleeping place. It hadn’t been one of my brighter ideas to try and reread A Minor Maze in one night. It had taken more than a bit of time away from valuable shut-eye. It was definitely worth it, though.
After packing up most of my things, I rummaged around in my pack to find something edible. I managed to find a whole loaf of bread and some goat cheese, as well as a few apples left from the initial provisions I’d packed less than a week ago.
“Should last me at least a few more days. I hope.” I muttered to myself.
Deciding to forego bread and cheese this morning, I repacked everything but one of the apples, slinging my pack over one shoulder as I started on my path towards the nearest Hold’s capital—Markarth. I didn’t know much about the place, but I figured it would be a good city to restock in and possibly get a much better map. ‘Bare-bones’ was the kindest way to describe it, as the only information the piece of paper had on it were the locations of all nine Holds. Though the terrain sketched on the map had been relatively accurate thus far, there were no markings for anything else. As it did not denote any smaller settlements or potential dangers on its surface, I could all too easily end up stumbling blindly into a skeever den, or worse.
I munched on the apple absently as I continued to walk, thinking about what I’d need—and want—to do once I reached my destination. I reached its core in seemingly no time at all and tossed the inedible remains of the fruit away haphazardly, wincing as a sharp pain in my left forearm flared up. I slowly and carefully let said arm fall to my side. The wolf that had clamped onto my arm just a few days ago had left his mark on me, and I grimaced at the reminder.
“Seems all that practice was good for something,” I whispered to myself, a self-satisfied smirk settling on my face. My ability to wield magic had saved my life. The wolf had been on the worst end of our fight, getting far worse than it gave. As unpleasant as the encounter had been, I had come away from it feeling more confident. Small mercies.
As I resumed following the dirt road to Markarth, I started humming a popular song from back home to break up the monotonous silence. I smiled, remembering quiet evenings at the farm that Varnand had livened up by getting out his lute and playing some family favorites. The song I’d been humming was one of his favorite pieces to play. I was struck by a peculiar pang of homesickness at that thought.
Get over it, I admonished myself sharply. Going back now would be humiliating. Besides, you’ll see everyone again in due time, and gods willing, under better circumstances. Don’t forget the reason you struck out in the first place!
Shaking my head to clear it of such negative thoughts, I suddenly got the feeling that I wasn’t alone. Looking around, I couldn’t see anyone in my immediate area, but I had this skin-crawling feeling that I was being watched.
It was probably only a rabbit, or something. As I tried to dismiss my concerns, it hit me how ironic my situation was. Though I was eager to reach civilization, I had no desire to run into anyone on the road.
Occupied with irony as I was, I was unaware of the not-so-quiet noises coming from behind me, the sounds of metal clanking against metal in the undergrowth.
Had I been paying attention, it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise when I heard someone say, “You picked a bad time to get lost, friend.”