[[ previously on Miri and the Wolf | start from the beginning ]]

The next few days are the headiest days of Miri’s young life. Hasteinn picks bounties from the bounty board or from Hulda, and they head out to one bandit hideout or the other. In spite of its wealth or because of it, Whiterun is absolutely infested with bandits.

Almost by accident, or so it seems to Miri, the pair settle into a rhythm. Hasteinn does the fighting, with Miri supporting him from the back. Sometimes, her restoration magic makes the difference in the fight. Most times, it isn’t close enough to matter. And after, it falls to her to rifle through the belongings of the dead for any portable wealth. 

At the end of the day, back in town, Miri pays the sellsword his daily fee. Some days she comes up short, but she’s always able to make good on the debt by the next day. His daily pay usually leaves little for herself, but Miri doesn’t mind that too much. Hasteinn can have all the gold he wants (though she doesn’t say this to him, for obvious reasons). She’s in this for the adventure.

She spends her downtime reading books they find in their adventures, and studying spell tomes. Oakflesh. Aura of Might. Clairvoyance. She’s learning more in a week than she did in a year, cloistered in the abbey.

She even tries her hand at music, playing a flute she found at Valtheim Keep, but only once. Not everyone has the talent for music, alas.
 

Hasteinn spends his nights drinking heavily. Most nights, he staggers in drunk and collapses onto the bed they share, snoring. 

Despite Mikael’s sly insinuations, they really do just share a bed, and nothing more, though there is a part of Miri that finds the innuendo exciting, in a seedy sort of way. Sometimes, she wonders what it would be like to have Hasteinn as a lover. She thinks back to the tryst she peeked on earlier in the week, and imagines herself in Uthgerd’s place.

Hasteinn, on his part, remains steadfastly indifferent. He has not yet mentioned the incident from last week, though it is surely (surely!) on his mind. If he has any romantic designs however, he keeps them to himself.

+++

It’s not all smooth sailing, of course. When looting a bandit fort one day, she accidentally springs another magical trap. She pleads with Hasteinn for help, but as expected, the blackguard won’t do it for free. 

Miri knows he won’t budge on this, so she merely nods, hands over the septims… and asks nicely.

Only this time, Hasteinn lets out a bark of laughter as the yoke unlocks and falls aparts. Miri’s hands fly to her throat when she realizes there is still an iron ring, intact around her neck. Fumbling around, her fingers run over a smaller iron ring welded to the front.
 

It’s a slave collar, she realizes with dismay.

Hasteinn only shrugs when she protests. “It’s not part of the yoke, technically. I’d have to use another key.”

Miri tugs at the iron collar, uncomfortable. “I’m not a slave. Please, can you remove this for me?”

“I can. My terms, you know.”

Miri does. She considers whether to pay another fee to unlock the collar. It’s humiliating, but it’s not really impeding her movement. Besides, she’s out of coin. She decides to put up with the collar for now.

Hasteinn seems to approve. “It’s a good look on you,” he says. There is a hungry, intent look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing Miri in a whole new light.

Miri feels her face flush. Is that desire in his gaze?
 

Miri can’t decide if it’s a good thing.

On the road, Miri occasionally tries to pick the lock of the collar, but to no avail. The only thing she gets out of it is fatigue, frustration and the mocking laughter of Hasteinn.

The collar feels like crude iron, but there is potent magic in it. Every time Miri tries to cover it up with her cowl, the iron seems to warm uncomfortably, as if it wants to be seen. She gives up on covering it after the third attempt.
 

Back in civilization, Miri soon discovers that the collar attracts attention, and not the good kind. Even the people who are polite enough not to comment on it get a hooded look in their eyes.

But all that simply falls away when Miri and Hasteinn are on the road and adventuring.
 

It surprises Miri how quickly she gets used to the feel of iron around her neck. Sometimes, she forgets it’s even there.
 

One night, falling into bed after another long day of adventuring, Miri notes with a jolt that it is the month of Hearthfire now. With everything that’s been going on, she had missed the end of summer altogether. Looking back, she realizes that she hadn’t prayed nor thought about her old life for over a week.

+++

The next morning, returning to Dragonsreach, Hasteinn and Miri chance upon the Dunmer captain of the Whiterun guard, who reports that a dragon is attacking one of their forward watchtowers!

Hasteinn immediately volunteers to tag along and help. He doesn’t ask Miri, but she would have said yes regardless.

When the dragon comes, Miri is not much use. She tries her best to provide healing and succor to the fighting men, but she can’t help but flinch and duck whenever the dragon flies by above. 

It doesn’t matter. Hasteinn fights enough for the two of them - he is a tempest, landing a flurry of blows at the dragon’s head whenever arrows force it to land. It is he who lands the final blow on the beast, driving the point of his sword into the dragon’s eye.

Something remarkable happens upon the dragon’s death. As the dragon lets out its last breath like a sigh, it starts to disintegrate before their eyes, as its life force appears to flow from it to Hasteinn.
 

Some of the guards call him “Dragonborn”. Their Dunmer captain seems initially skeptical, but a powerful shout - no, a Shout - from Hasteinn that knocks her off her feet dispels all doubt, though the show of force does little to win her favor.

Back in Dragonsreach, upon hearing Hasteinn’s account of the events at the watchtower, the jarl names him a thane of Whiterun, and bequeaths upon him a wicked two-handed battle-axe as his weapon of office.

Miri is happy on Hasteinn’s behalf, but underneath, she feels a stirring of unease. What if being thane means his sword is no longer for hire?

The thought brings a knot to her throat. Truth be told, Miri wouldn’t know what to do without him. In the couple of weeks or so that they’ve been traveling together, she had come to rely on the Nord. It’s not just his fighting prowess, though it is considerable. As a native Nord Hasteinn is also her guide in this strange land, putting locations to place names and providing invaluable local context. And of course, he’s a friend... perhaps Miri’s only friend in, all of Skyrim.

When Hasteinn tells her, later, that he will be upping his daily fee going forward, Miri agrees, perhaps a little too quickly.

“You understand. As thane, I have a certain lifestyle to maintain.”

“I know,” Miri says, turning away to hide the giddy grin of relief spreading uncontrollably over her face. “You need your fair share too.”

+++

Miri wakes at the hour of the wolf, excited at the prospect of exploring an ancient Nord barrow. She’s somewhat surprised to find Hasteinn already awake and fully kitted, sitting in a chair propped up against the door.

“Just making sure you don’t run off and cheat me of my fee, like other adventurers.”

His naked distrust barely dents her good humor. He considers Miri an adventurer! She is thrilled to realize that she is an adventurer now, more or less.
 

Miri and Hasteinn set out for Bleak Falls Barrow at the break of dawn. They encounter brigands on the approach to the barrow, but yet again, the sellsword proves to be an unstoppable force of nature in combat. He makes short work of the brigands, with only minimal assistance from Miri.

The inside of the barrow is no different. Draugr, giant spiders or duplicitous rogues alike, Hasteinn cleaves through them with ease.

The Wolf in his element.

The barrow is rich with undisturbed loot. Ancient burial urns, dusty chests, even mummified remains. Miri was worried that Hasteinn would object to what could be construed as grave-robbing, but he laughs it off. “They’re nothing to me. Loot as much as you want, I don’t care, as long as I get paid.”

Hasteinn himself shows little interest in rooting around for treasure. He is getting paid for his time, after all. But Miri soon discovers another reason for his circumspection.
 

Something is triggered when Miri lifts the lid of an ornate chest. With a blinding flash of magical energy, she is knocked on her ass, and suddenly she feels cold iron around her neck and wrists.

Hasteinn seems unalarmed - in fact he seems rather amused by her predicament. “Magical traps,” Hasteinn explains with a grin. “To deter grave-robbers, like you.”
 

“This is ridiculous. Can you help me with this device?”

“Yes,” came the laconic reply.

Miri wants to scream at him. “Well… would you?”

“Sure, for a fee. As you know, my services aren’t free. I’ll add it to your debt.”

Miri is staggered by her companion’s brazen profiteering. But she has no choice but to acquiesce.

“Fine,” she hisses. “Just get this thing off me.”
 

“Ask me nicely,” he says. Miri is so exasperated by his smugness that she starts to tear up a little, to her great chagrin. But she does what she’s told.

“Good girl.” Hasteinn produces a key of strange design. As he reaches a hand behind her to sweep aside her hair, his thumb caresses the back of her bare neck.

Miri’s breath catches in her throat, but the moment passes as he sticks the key into the lock on the back of the device. With a turn of the key, the device falls apart, useless, but so too does the key.

Miri is mortified by the whole strange interlude. But even so, flaring in the pit of her stomach is a secret warmth that she doesn’t quite know what to make of.
 

With the yoke no longer around her neck and restraining her hands, they delve deeper into the barrow. The draugr in these depths are tougher - older, says Hasteinn, and closer to whatever magic animates them - but they all fall under the fury of Hasteinn’s lupine assault - aided, of course, by Miri’s magic.

The wall inscribed with the old dragon tongue transfixes priestess and sellsword both. There is an undercurrent of... Power here that Miri struggles to understand. Hasteinn, too, is pensive.

Their reverie is interrupted by a draugr rising from its grave, a terrible great-axe dripping with frost clutched in its hands. It shouts with bone-rending ferocity and rains frozen blows on Hasteinn’s shield, but Hasteinn’s methodical counterattacks drive it into a corner, where it is finally slain.

Miri helps too, sustaining Hasteinn with her healing magic while taking cover behind him. After, Hasteinn even admits, if a bit brusquely, that he could not have done it without her help.

It’s the smallest thing, but that little concession makes Miri unreasonably giddy, though it may have just been the adrenaline of the battle.

+++

They return to Whiterun after stopping at Riverwood to return the claw to Lucan Valerius, who is none the wiser about the claw's true purpose. His reward, plus the rest of the haul from the barrow, is enough to cover Hasteinn’s back pay.
 

In Whiterun, flush with coin and success, Hasteinn celebrates by getting well and truly drunk. Miri wouldn’t have minded a celebratory drink or two with him, but the brute ignores her entirely, eyeing instead the scowling woman in full plate in the corner.

Miri leaves him to his revelry, and nurses an ale while talking to Hulda, the innkeeper. Her hands are always moving, doing this thing and that at the counter, but she is no less interesting a gossip for that. Miri finds herself drawn deep into conversation with her. By the time her drink is finished, she has lost Hasteinn.

She finds her sellsword by the ragged grunting coming from the back of the inn.

There, on a bed of rough straw, Hasteinn and the surly Nord warrior woman from before are naked and entwined in a savage struggle… only neither seem to be in pain, and their grunting and moaning seem to emanate rather from… pleasure.

Miri is reminded of a book she once saw Brother Nestor reading - “The Beast With Two Backs”. Brother Nestor had hurriedly put it away when she approached, but she’d snuck a glance at it, later, when the brother was in his cups. The beast was no mythical creature at all, but two people, entwined in passion, with descriptions that were at once florid and unspeakably coarse.

Entranced by the sight, Miri realizes dimly that she is grinding her hips against the doorframe, in imitation of the Nordwoman.

“You, by the door,” the Nordwoman barks, suddenly. “Join in, or get out.”

Hasteinn’s head snaps towards the door. He makes full eye contact with Miri for a brief eternity, and for an instant Miri is frozen, a rabbit caught in the sightline of a predator.

Then Hasteinn jerks and tenses, gripping the Nord woman by the hips.

Miri turns and bolts, almost stumbling over her own feet and falling on her ass in her haste.
 

Her dreams that night are filled with beasts - spiders, dead things… and especially the two-backed kind, writhing and tumbling over a bed of rough straw.

+++

In the deepdream, a girl doesn't remember who she is. For a moment she senses an infinite vista of possibility, but they soon collapse into clarity: Miriam from Colovia, in the snow. The death rattle of a fat man with dried wine on his lips and skin the pallor of death. A wolf in iron, circling.

Sister Miriam’s journal
21 Last Seed 4E201
Chapter I: “Ends and Beginnings”
 

Brother Nestor died on the morning of the third day, breathing his last under the furs beside the embers of Angi’s fire from the night before.

Despite Miri’s best efforts, she had been unable to save him. The injuries he’d sustained on the brutal passage through the Jeralls went beyond anything her rudimentary healing spells could mend. But for Miri, he was the last of the party of pilgrims that had entered the mountains at the beginning of Last Seed. Terrentius, Caelor, Sister Juliana, and the rest had perished in the crossing, swept into a deep ravine by a sudden avalanche.

With Angi’s help Sister Miriam of Castor Abbey stacked a sorry cairn for Brother Nestor among the snow, along with a bottle of the Colovian red he loved so much.

When it was done Miri asked the Nord woman if she would take Miri to Helgen. Angi had been helpful and more than accommodating in taking in the remnants of their sorry party, but this request she flatly refused. There were bandits in the foothills, she warned. And beyond, Imperials. It was hard to say which group she named with more disdain.

It was only after that that Miri turned to the man known as Hasteinn “the Wolf”. A hardened Nord sellsword with flowing golden hair and an air of menacing competence about him, he had come with the party of pilgrims as a caravan guard. Miri didn’t know him that well, despite having spent more than two weeks on the road together. Brother Nestor had kept a wide berth, and advised her to do the same.

But Brother Nestor was gone now, and there was no one left to turn to but the Wolf.

He’d snorted when Miri asked him to take her to Helgen. When she reminded him that he had been contracted to escort the party all the way to Whiterun, he replied that he had a contract with "that toad" Terrentius… and Terrentius was dead and gone with the rest of them.

In the end Miri had to bite her tongue and promise to pay him for his trouble. In truth, she didn’t have all the coin she promised him. But all she had to do was reach Helgen. Hadvar would cover the rest, surely.

In truth, she did not know if Hadvar would. They had been friends… acquaintances back when Hadvar commanded the legionary quad attached to the convent. But that was more than a year past, before he was transferred back to his native Skyrim.

The priestess-in-training shakes the doubt out of her mind. That’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

+++
 

The novice sets off for Helgen, under the Wolf’s protection. Angi seems reluctant to see them go; she offers to teach them archery. Miri turns her down, but thanks her profusely and bids her a heartfelt farewell.

There are bandits, like Angi says. But even surrounded on all sides, Hasteinn is an artist who paints in red, weaving and bashing, his axe biting this way, then that way in a savage, fluid flurry. Miri tries to support him from behind with some healing, but it is Hasteinn’s fight.

Afterwards, he tosses his crude war axe aside, in favor of one of the bandits' steel sword.

"Now that's a proper weapon," he says.

The walls of Helgen come into view sometime after noon… but something is terribly wrong. Helgen is burning, and with a giant roar, a dragon! bursts into the sky. By the time Miri dares to look again, the terrible beast is gone.
 

Helgen is a burnt-out husk. All over the fort, they find corpses… most charred beyond recognition by dragonfire, but one particular corpse has intact legionary tags, still clutched in his hands. Miri’s heart sinks when she makes out the name on the tags: Hadvar of Riverwood.

Out of force of habit, she performs the rites and says the words for Hadvar and the rest of the unfortunate souls, but the presence of the Divine is absent.

It isn’t long before Hasteinn confronts Miri. They are at Helgen - where is his pay, stupid girl? Reluctantly, Miri has to admit that she does not have the septims to pay him. Miri is surprised to see that the look that passes into his eyes then is calculating rather than furious. But perhaps the Wolf is simply restraining his anger. 

Hasteinn suggests (in a tone that brook little disagreement) heading for the nearest town, which he says is Riverwood.
 

At Riverwood the town blacksmith, who turns out to be Hadvar’s uncle, tells them to head to Whiterun and tell the jarl about Helgen and the dragon.

She steps into the village shop to sell off the precious few books that survived the passage through the Jeralls. It barely fetches any coin. She makes a half-hearted attempt to pay what she can, but the Nord sellsword rejects it contemptuously. “You have nothing,” he says, bluntly. “This is not enough.”

It’s not a total loss, however. The shopkeeper there has lost a precious totem, some sort of claw. Hasteinn is eager to pursue this lead, but Miri is insistent - they should go on first to Whiterun, to warn the jarl.

Hasteinn agrees, but warns that he expects to be paid for his time; this is getting added to Miri’s tab, along with any interest accrued. Miri does not try to push her luck by arguing the matter.
 

They help fell a frenzied giant on the outskirts of Whiterun. The other fighters, the “Companions”, speak directly to Hasteinn. Miri might as well have been invisible for all the mind they pay her. Miri is slightly peeved by this, but she is too awestruck to protest. First a dragon, and now a giant!
 

In Whiterun, the jarl is suitably grateful, and gifts Hasteinn a fine suit of steel-forged armor. Even though they only came here on Miri’s insistence in the first place, Hasteinn has no problem taking credit for the gallant act.
 

Miri is mistaken if she thought the armor would count towards clearing her debt.

Later, over a roaring fire at the Bannered Mare, they agree to go to Bleak Falls Barrow on the morrow. Well, really it is Hasteinn insisting in no uncertain terms that they go to the barrow. But Miri, too, is eager. She is intrigued by what the wizard had said about dragonstones and ancient Nord language.
 

It is far too late in the day to venture out again, so they rent a room at the inn.

Miri says a prayer to Arkay before bed, but again only silence answers. She wonders if Arkay has abandoned her. Or perhaps it is her that has abandoned Arkay.

She had been training to be a priestess of Arkay for most of her life, but not by choice. Truth be told she never would have been a good priestess of Arkay - too eager for adventure, too prone to flights of fancy, or so the abbess had said, despairing.

Perhaps the events of the past few days had been a sign that there was another path she was meant to follow. The thought should be a sobering one… but in truth it fills Miri with boundless anticipation.
 

+++