Chapter Text
12th of Sun’s Height, 4E200
It wasn’t easy, and I’m still not sure entirely why I did it. But I’m here, finally, in Skryim.
I can’t tell you what an amazing rush I felt and what a weight off my shoulders it was to step out of the smuggler’s pass, see the early evening sky, and know I was free.
Even now as I sit here in Helgen’s inn, dirt poor with only my bow and sword and the clothes on my back, I can’t recall a time I’ve ever felt so light. There’s certainly been others that’s come close… seeing Tori speak for the first time, teaching her to use a knife... crafting my first piece of jewelry own my own…
Sneaking through Alyid ruins with Julius and coming out alive, stargazing in the court of Cloud Ruler Temple with a story I could never tell...
First Planting. I think that’s when it all went and spilled over for me, actually. Everyone making their silly plans and promises for the new year… Even then it took too long to finally get away. I spent the months learning about any weakness in the border, then weeks bartering a deal with smugglers for safe passage. With the family frantic in the days leading up towards Merchant’s Day, it was easy to sneak away in the bustle as long as I got my share of work squared. Come the morning itself, it still probably took well into the day to realize I was gone… I can imagine everyone assuming I was simply helping with something else until it was all too clear I wasn’t anywhere I was meant to be… and by then I was deep within the mountains. Possibly even through to the other side, the light of Magnus breaking over the horizon and providing what little warmth it could bouncing off of the snow.
Iron-Heart is a good man. I may not agree with the civil war… but I hope he can get himself and his family safe here one day too.
I’ve already worked it out with the innkeeper and his husband to be able to stay here and clean for my keep. But I don’t think I’ll be doing that long. I know I’m a good hunter, and I’m sure I can find a smith that needs an extra pair of hands.
With the Stormcloak uprising going on, I know Skyrim isn’t the best place to be. But I also know it’s the best place to get lost in. And that’s what I really need right now.
I’ve given up my old name for something new, an island of paradise I heard in an old story. Avalon.
There’s several short entries over the next month and a half. Being introduced to townsfolk in between scrubbing the inn from top to bottom. Confirmation on the blacksmith needing hands, but not giving any meaningful tasks in her opinion. Just more busywork. Still Avalon was right about the hunting, and spends as much free time as possible gathering and selling local game. She makes several notes before deciding to get a separate journal to log it alongside her foraging. Notes about the history of the country, the local fauna and flora begin to collect before she makes note of moving that to her secondary journal as well.
3rd of Last Seed, 4E200
I pestered Vilod for the chance to deliver his latest batch of juniper mead to Riverwood for him this time. The last courier was lost to the civil unrest, likely a member of Ulfric’s rebels now. After assuring the boss I’d stay safe, I got the go-ahead. I’ll be able to hunt on the way and sell some things of my own there as well, and meet some of the locals. Once I get back there’ll be more than the usual amount to put in my new strongbox from Bridgett.
5th of Last Seed, 4E200
Riverwood is beautiful. While not so far away, it’s significantly lower and thus warmer than Helgen, and situated in such an incredible spot. I’m assured by my new friend Camilla that it’ll still get snow as winter fully sets in and spring isn’t the most enjoyable time with the occasional flooding from the river… It’s small, but happens to get a lot more foot-traffic from travelers than places this size usually do because of it’s location. I can admire it’s self-sufficiency, and though not as fertile as the southern reaches of Bruma it’s similar enough.
After I settled Vilod’s delivery I didn’t manage to sell off all of my kills like I’d hoped. They weren’t as needed here, since they’ve already got a local hunter. A wood-elf, even! I’d like to meet him and perhaps have some friendly competition in archery, but I’m sure he’d win.
(Apparently he’s one of the young men here vying for my new friend’s hand. Camilla seems wonderful, and I’m not sure she’ll ever allow herself to live our meeting down. But I think being called a ‘handsome young man’ was the highlight of my month so far.)
The local inn is nice enough. The bard can carry a tune, and the large hearth is comforting. Perhaps I’ve been in Helgen too long and grown attached, but I think Vilod’s is nicer. Mundi at least has some infliction in his voice when he greets the customers.
Tomorrow before I have to leave, I hope I can meet the blacksmith.
8th of Last Seed
So tired was I after my trip that I didn’t even write when I got back! Immediately to bed once the boss got his wagon back and paid me.
Mind it wasn’t tired in a bad way… it felt as wonderful as coming back from a good long hunt, or a successful market trip to Bruma. Like I finally did something useful, and saw something great.
Riverwood’s blacksmith was wonderful. He’s not warm in the same way that Bridgett is, but kind and patient with his daughter in a way that made me think of my da and Tori. He said there wasn’t much work to be done there that wasn’t for the war effort one way or another, as in these times practicality wins over artisinal pieces, but agreed to supervise me teaching Dorthe to craft a nice bracelet or set of earrings next time I was in town. I hope that can be soon.
The next two week’s entries are filled with short day-to-day stories of traveling the eastern area of the Falkreath Hold, and up into Riverwood. Continuing to live in Helgen most nights, but spending some at the Sleeping Giant’s inn or cautiously camping near the lake. She talks about making good and quick friends with Camilla, the sister of the general goods dealer in Riverwood, despite their differences.
Avalon even divulges some particularly interesting drama that unraveled in which two men tried to convince her to give Camilla fake and hateful letters from their rival to her. They didn’t care for either of the imperial ladies once Avalon gave them both up to her friend as liars.
Dorthe end up good company more than once – eventually happy to listen about crafting jewelry and the importance of nails as much as knives, and even happier to be secretly taught a little how to wield a dagger – but Avalon is more distant after the child’s mother makes a few harsh comments within earshot on the expected behavior of ladies.
She also ends up making a short trip to the hold’s capital for another delivery of Vilod’s, admiring the graveyard and the old Altmer priest of Arkay, seeming almost nostalgic describing the hall of the dead. Avalon writes a place like Falkreath – untouched by seasons and so obviously touched by the divine – to be marvelous, but ultimately not a fruitful place to stay. Not big enough, not busy enough, to get lost in.
28th Last Seed, 4E200
I thought Mundi was going to cry when I showed up late last night, hoping to sneak in without anyone noticing. I know I told him I would be back before the celebrations started, but how could I tell him after last night that I was lying? After he made such a fuss thinking I was dead for being gone twice as long as promised… I tried to placate him with stories of a huge buck I couldn’t let get away (in truth I was lucky the beast stumbled out on me where I was fishing, and deserved to die for making me loose my pole), but he told me he didn’t care about the game I brought back as much as me…
Next I tried to joke that it had been too short of a time for the two of them to truly become reliant on me sweeping their floors and bringing back rabbits for stews, but based on the look he gave me it wasn’t the right thing to say either. Luckily Vilod came to my rescue, walking in complaining about the fuss and reminding his husband that I was an adult and had the right to do as I damn well pleased…
It was strange. I think the last time someone cried for me was Mar grandm Mar-ma Eoinola when I was twelve, coming to her with scrapes from sliding down a hill and bursting with stories about the bandits I’d spied moving around a nearby cave. Even then, she hadn't shed tears as much as scared me with the way her eyes watered, her voice thick with emotion.
Mother lectured me for days after she heard about that adventure. Mundi… he said was just sad that I’d missed the holiday I’d come to dread more than most in recent years, and… was just afraid he’d never see me again.
Vilod finally offered to teach me “a thing or two about swinging that fancy sword”, which was terribly exciting. Julias showed me the basics when we’d get away from the stead, but his education was purely theoretical before I started dragging him into places he needed to actually it, and Demarcus only got to show me how to wield a dagger before we both got in trouble for it, never getting around to the axes I knew he also could use. The old man is an actual warrior, even if he is retired he can show me more than anyone else ever did.
As I went to my room I could hear Mundi lament that didn’t give him back the lost time celebrating together, and Vilod reassuring him there was always next year. I’ve been sitting here this whole time trying to decide how that made me feel.
I think…
(The rest of the entry is scribbled out beyond being able to read. It’s not much to begin with.)
A few more short entries. Two indicate training days where Vilod admitted Avalon had a decent start – if stiff and formal – and gave her more drills to do on her own. He mentions killing people casually enough you might tell Avalon is slightly offput by it, but dutifully logs his tips for fighting them in her log. She brags that he says her dagger throwing and bow skills are so impressive, and is only slightly contrite in her recount of Mundi’s upset at the damage caused by showing those off those talents on the backside of the inn.
3rd Hearthfire, 4E200
Anja asked me today while I served her dinner what my plans were for life. I said I honestly didn’t know, but I was still young and wanted to see the world and continue to be a hunter. Maybe taking on bigger game as I learn to defend myself better, maybe help make the roads safer for others. (Apparently they do not have minotaurs here, but there are other creatures that can make the roads unsafe. Bears seem universal across Tamriel so far.) To one day retire, not famous and hunted myself for one reason or another but surrounded in comfort.
Despite the chuckles and skepticism from others, it was nice seeing the old woman smile and tell me I had a good heart. Sad at the same time though, to hear how her story used to be one similar to mine. Apparently she never actually ended up setting out, scared to leave when she had something stable to keep her safe. She said she doesn’t regret having a family, but that hopes I can live my big dream.
I don’t think it’s big to want just a little more out of life, to see the hidden parts of nirn that most don’t.
Now it’s late, and I can see how ending up like Anja could be so easy. For the longest time back home I wanted to leave. I’d stare at the White-Gold tower in the distance and think about how far south I might make it if I just started running. I’d imagine the docks of Anvil, and how I might stowaway or convince a captain to take me on as a deckhand. I’d look up at the Jerall mountains and wonder if my simple flames spell would be enough to keep me alive long enough to climb over.
And then I’d remember my warm bed. I’d remember how many people I thought depended on me, and how I thought I depended on them. And I’d stay another day.
I didn’t have a plan when I got here, relying just on instinct and the need to get away. Catching my breath in the first place I landed, without a thought of my next step. But I know I need one now. It could be too easy to get used to this warm bed and these warm people.
There are several more entries, most less than a page, notes about trips into the surrounding woods or work at the inn, but a few excitedly detailing the lessons from Vilod on using a sword and shield. Avalon complains about the size of nordic shields, only saying they were at least better than the even more cumbersome legionnaire ones she’d seen, before daydreaming about a significantly smaller style that might remain strapped to the arm for longer without being in the way of other actions, doodling several designs while she’s climbing a tree or firing her bow, and one with a sharp point over the back of the hand, being used in childish drawing of her wearing it to punch a bear. Notes beside it say “better than that buckler of Julian’s”, and “Bridgett says I might as well just wear a reinforced vambrace. I say that’s not the same”.
13th of Hearthfire
I’ve hunted the surrounding lands, gotten a feel for the local game. Learned about the few flora from the people of this city that differ from the south. Snuck onto the walls and strained my eyes to see the towers and mountains in the distances and wonder what’s out there. I’ve spoken to the guards and soldiers and learned what I can through them about the other holds. But none of it is the same as actually going there. There’s still so much I need to learn, to see. My fingers itch every time I see a ruin in the distance, or spy a cave and wonder what’s inside it. I camped on the edge of the lake admittedly half-panicked the entire time, but feeling the same sense of freedom I did spending the night without anyone knowing at Cloud Ruler.
Part of me feels two months shouldn’t be long enough for me to have become as restless here as I did over twenty-eight years back in Cyrodill. But the rest of me knows I was restless for a very long time before I actually left Cyrodill…
My fortune and future isn’t in this city. It’s a silly thing to want, but I’ve… never lived alone. I’ve never had something that was mine. I don’t want to have people call on me, but being well-off enough to help the ones I chose, when I can, would be amazing. Building something for myself. And it’s just not possible here, spending every evening getting dishpan hands.
Uncle Demarcus wasn’t the best man – besides teaching me how to broker a great deal and pick a number of different lock styles in under a minute, he told me more than a young woman probably needed to know about the thieves guild. Since before I was born it’s become splintered and weak, the leader’s location currently unknown. But I know there’s a comfortable faction in The Rift, the county to the east, and if I can get there I know I might find a different niche than here. People like my uncle that don’t mind how soft-footed I am on the hardwood, who don’t look at me strangely when I can correctly guess how much is in their pockets just by the sound. People to teach me more and give me reason to get me out into this country.
That’s my next goal.
16th of Hearthfire, 4E200
I finally went and told the bosses about my plan to move to Ivarstead, and then Riften, now that I’ve saved some coin. My hands are still shaking a bit… Neither of them like it, saying I should wait until Sun’s Dawn at the earliest to travel the way I planned – directly thru the mountain pass – but after a fair bit of convincing they managed to loosen their worry and wish me well.
The cold was fair point I suppose, especially coming from local nords, but I don’t think I can handle waiting any longer. I know M people here care for me but it’s gone past a comfort and straight into the same feeling I know now that if left to sit will grow into a resentment that can’t be cured. I have to leave.
Not only that, but with frankly such a mild winter so far, my own history with the cold, and the added hired help of Seddran, who knows the way well, I’m confident I’ll be fine.
Still it was... illuminating I suppose, to see how much they cared for me already. I’ll miss them in turn, and promised to visit when my travels bring me back and send letters from wherever I find myself.
Along with promising the same to Camilla, after talking her out of coming with me for this first trip, I suppose I’ll be spending a fair amount of coin on postage. More than I ever expected to, at least.
The pages in this journal are beginning to add up. I think, for my next chapter in my travels, I’ll make a new one. The foreword of this book lingers on my mind every time I open it… and I know I still wish to keep it close for now. Maybe one day I’ll have it safe in whatever home I make for myself. I’d have a will in place instead to distribute my belongings, then. Maybe, in a few or many years, I’ll send it one day back to Tori. It’d be something to get back in touch and see her grown…
Till then, I’ll keep writing.