Along the White River

The whistling winds were… different somehow, this far north. Down in Bruma, which I naively thought couldn’t be that different than Skyrim, the air felt fuller, more layered, as if on it all the peoples, lands and cultures it passed through from the south added to it. The air here was pure, open, like it had not been in existence before, and originated here.

“Is that the Throat of the World?” I asked, pointing towards the highest peak I saw.

“It is,” Hod answered. “You know the stories?”

“A little,” I said. “My father was a true Nord, he told me about his homeland. My mother was born in Bruma.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Father died in the Great War,” I said. “Mother in the sickbed.”

“I’m sorry,” Hod said.

The wheels of the cart rattled on the cobbles of an otherwise quiet road.

“They say Kyne breathed the Nords into the world on the Snow Throat,” Hod said, after a while.

“I thought we came from Atmora,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. Fact remains that it is the highest peak on Tamriel, and to me it is enough to know that Kyne watches over us from there.”

“You mean Kynareth?”

Hod scoffed. “I thought your father was a true Nord! Kyne is her name, war-wife of Shor, Kiss at the end!”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed. “Seems like I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“That’s one thing you’re right about,” Hod grunted.

The White River descended, roaring down endless waterfalls as we followed it down the mountains. When the sun set, the trees parted to yellow hills, in an endless plain of rocks, streams and farmlands. This was the hold of Whiterun, crowned by a large hill on the banks of the White River, upon which a shining city stood reigning proudly over the tundra.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped.

Hod chuckled. “Sure is. I didn’t expect a girl from Cyrodiil to be impressed by a city.”

“That’s not like Bruma,” I said. “Or even like the Imperial City.”

“Good to hear,” He said. “But it’ll have to wait. The descent will take us a couple of hours, and from there a couple more to the city. We’ll have to make camp soon.”

We found a decent spot on a bluff overlooking a thunderous waterfall on one side, and the sea of lights called Whiterun on the other.

“Tell me of the gods,” I said, as we sat by the fire, roasting a leg of goat.

“Are you sure?” Hod asked. “They’re nothing like the Imperials have taught you, girl.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Well, there’s Kyne, of course, the mother of all Nords, but her husband is Shor, the chief of the gods.”

“Is he like Akatosh?”

Hod looked stumped. “Incredible. No, not at all. Shor is no dragon! He is the true god of man. The one you call Akatosh is an abomination, a combination of Alduin and god knows what.”

“Alduin?”

“Yes,” Hod shuddered. “Best not speak his name loudly, for when he awakes, he’ll swallow the world whole. Anyway, there’s Mara, handmaiden to Kyne, and Dibella, goddess of beauty. Jhunal, the clever man, and the brothers Stuhn and Tsun. The first is the god of ransom, and the other guards the whale-bone bridge to the Hall of Valor, where Shor resides over Sovngarde.”

“Ah, the afterlife.”

“Exactly,” Hod said. “Where all true Nords go to fight, drink and… eh you know, other stuff.”

“Father left that part out.”

Hod chuckled. “Yeah, we don’t tell the young’uns that until they’re old enough.”

Hod offered to take first watch, and I fell asleep staring at the twin moons crawling across a clear sky.