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.

 

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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.
 

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