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ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017
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Songs for Nomads 8.5
Date: 2014-09-14 05:54 pm (UTC)“They wouldn’t give you to the Thalmor, surely.” Together with Thorald’s sister, the younger Battle-Born son Jon was one of Freyja’s close playmates, growing up.
“No, but they’d hand me over to the Legion.” His tone is bitter. “Which, apparently, amounts to the same thing. They know I joined up with the Stormcloaks – half of bloody Whiterun knows, going by Avulstein and Idolaf’s shouting when we left for Windhelm, and those that didn’t witness the third eruption of Red Mountain heard tell of it later, I’m sure. No – there’s a hidden pass in the mountains just east of the river, and I’ll wait for word there. You can bring it yourself, if all else fails. That’s the fastest road to Ivarstead from Whiterun.”
Freyja blinks, surprised. “I didn’t know there was a road to Ivarstead this side of Riverwood. Not before crossing into Eastmarch.”
“It’s not a road. Just a game trail, really. You can’t even lead a horse over – maybe a pony or a mule.”
The snow piling up on the slopes of the Throat of the World is a looming shadow at the back of Freyja’s mind. “By the Nine, that’ll save us time!” she bursts out. “How’d you find it?”
Thorald hesitates. “You can’t repeat this,” he murmurs. “You’ll start a war.”
She nearly laughs – there’s scarcely room for another war in Skyrim at present – but one look at Thorald’s face shows that he isn’t joking. “What is it?”
He hesitates again. “There’s a Stormcloak camp there,” he finally admits. “That’s where I’ll be waiting.”
Freyja feels her eyebrows leap towards her hairline. “Ulfric’s got men on this side of the Whiterun border?” she asks, incredulous. “Balgruuf would be livid!”
“It’s just a scouting force,” Thorald says, quickly. “Not nearly large enough to be a threat. They keep an eye on the road.”
“That’s a damned big risk to take if he wants to win the jarl’s support.”
“You see my point,” Thorald says. “But there’s a ford near the big bend in the White, just before the gorge. I’ll cross there and make for that pass.” Freyja purses her lips, watching the fire. She’ll have to get him to mark it on her map.
“I know that one,” Eitri says.
“Everyone knows that one,” says Thorald.
“Sorry – what?”
Thorald smiles, looking a little less shaken. “You hum when you’re thinking.”
“We’ve been counting the tunes that we know,” Eitri laughs, though he smiles at her to soften the teasing.
Freyja lifts an eyebrow, amused. “What was I singing, then?”
“That old drinking round about the seasons – Sell-Sword Song.”
Freyja nods. She knows it well; it’s a song for nomads, full of restless longing, and every tavern in Tamriel deals in that sort of coin. “Go on, then,” Thorald says, eyes glinting with mischief.