It was all the caravan could do to trudge along the beaten road. Emaciated horses with bleeding harness sores pulled crude wagons at a snail’s pace, mere inches away from death. Their drivers, all gaunt and bony, no longer had the strength to whip them and were simply grateful to be moving at all. Behind them, a ragged carpet of villagers marched in columns of four. Their feet, many of them without shoes, had become hard and blistered, and could only dragged and shuffled rather than lifted. Their eyes were sunken and tired and their clothes were in rags. The men formed a tired front and rearguard to protect the women, while the children old enough to march formed the center. The babies and the youngest had to be carried as it was impossible for them to keep up. They could not ride in the wagons as there was no room and the villagers would sooner die than abandon them. Many of their friends and neighbors had done just that and this had created many new orphans for the rest to take care of. The few soldiers left to guard them were at their flanks. Their weapons and armor had become rusted and caked with black blood and their once-smart uniforms had been reduced to the same rags their charges wore. The golden yellow of their Whiterun tunics had faded to a light brown, their fur and leather trousers fading to grey, their once-shining leather boots now dull and peeling. Many of the soles had started to become undone and had to be secured with glue made from boiled fat. Their hair was matted, almost rotten and their beards had become long and unkempt. The guards from other holds and the mercenaries and volunteers that had joined them were in the same sorry state. The entire caravan sang folk songs in unison to keep from falling asleep.
The only things still in good order were the wagons themselves. Though their wooden wheels and frames were roughly cut and clearly built in haste they had remained sturdy through the entire ordeal. The wagons contained no personal effects, the villagers has cast aside such unnecessary ballast long ago, but every square inch was crammed with food. Apples, cabbage, carrots, leeks, potatoes, four, even livestock were all loaded and protected by large metal cages. These cages protected against the assaults of the dead and the frost enchantments placed around the cages kept the produce fresh and the livestock asleep. This was necessary as there was no extra food for the chickens or rabbits and the cows, which could not be carried, were given nothing. The caravan was nearing starvation despite this bounty. Everyone was thin and hungry, mothers no longer had milk to feed their babies and only the children were fed. Even they wept with hunger or slept on their parents’ backs to dull the pain as the bread that could be spared for them was never enough. This voluntary starvation was due to the cruel fact that, hungry as these people were, their destination needed it more. The fields of Whiterun, once the breadbasket of Skyrim, had become empty and fallow. The undead, the plague they carried and the needs of the citizens had either rotted, destroyed or consumed every farm between Helgen and Windhelm and the city of Whiterun was now literally eating through its reserves. Without this caravan the city would soon starve.
This ragged caravan, now almost as thin and filthy as the dead they fled from, was all that was left of the village of Rorikstead. The famous farming village had been instrumental in keeping Skyrim fed through the terror of Aldun, the rise of the Dragonborn and the war against the Stormcloaks and it had always prospered. But the village’s hardships had increased with every new crisis and the plague of undeath was what finally broke their will. They had been a safe haven for refugees from towns like Morthaal, Dawnstar, Falkreath and Karthwasten and had built a sturdy wooden wall to protect them. Their newfound laborers and soldiers had sold their lives dearly but as losses mounted it became clear that they had to leave. What was once hundreds of men and women had now shrunk to dozens and those fallen had all to often had to be put down again. Yet even in this darkest of hours the people of Rorikstead had held onto hope.
Elspeth was that hope. She was an Inquisitor of Stendarr, a holy warrior who wandered the Empire righting wrongs and defending against extraordinary threats. She’d been doing this for over a hundred years and fighting the undead was something she excelled at. She had welcomed the refugees into Rorikstead. She had rallied the defense of the village when it had survived attack after attack and she had led this caravan for eight days with no food and little rest. They had been attacked twice and lost many men. She had had to resort to rather distasteful mean of keeping order, even going so far as to kill two men who were trying to steal food from the wagons one night. The villagers were initially shocked that she would do such a thing when there were so few of them left but she did what had to be done. Discipline had to be maintained if they were to make it to Whiterun and when that discipline broke down restoring it took an iron rod, not a gentle hand. Everyone saw and understood her actions and no one tried to steal anything since. Her actions were harsh, and regrettable, but she had ensured their survival.
She now lead the caravan, her ebony plate armor a dull matte from days of marching but her wide brimmed hat as clean and proud as ever. She was just as tired and hungry as everyone else but her Flask of Eternal Purity sustained her. Its waters could heal even the most grievous wounds and restore vigor to even the weariest of travelers. Most important of all, so long as it remained intact it would never run out. It had given her the strength to both lead this caravan and she had shared it with many others when their strength faltered. What awaited them next would energize them more than the flask ever could. As they crested a tall grassy hill the walls of Whiterun came into the distance. Its once crumbling walls and wooden towers had been restored and replaced during the war by the Stormcloaks and those defenses had proven life-saving. New stone battlements were now patrolled by regular guards while archers in the new towers, similar in size and make to the old watchtower to the west, guarded against the dead. The old wooden gate had been refurbished with new planks and iron bars and was even guarded by heavy ballista and buckets of boiling oil. Elspeth knew the tension of the guards and the citizens mounted daily but at least, when compared to Rorikstead, they were safe.
Now she had to get these people to safety. The dead littered the fields directly around the city, as if they needed another reminder that Skyrim wasn’t safe. The villagers needed to be rallied or they may panic and stray. The sight of Whiterun’s gates would surely give them courage but she would help just in case.
”Everyone!” Elspeth shouted, turning to face her charges and stopping for the first time in days. “Our long journey is almost over! Whiterun, our refuge, is now in the distance! Our safety, our refuge is at hand! With your courage and stamina we have brought these provisions to the city and in their mercy they will take us in! The food and rest we have all wanted for eight days will soon be ours! The safety our children deserve is nearly upon is! We will rest and we will recover and then, once we have regained our strength we will rebuild our lives, rebuild our homes and rebuild our country! And over the dead who took our homes we will triumph! Onward! To Whiterun!”
A deafening cheer erupted from the caravan, a cheer loud enough to come from a victorious army even though they were less than a hundred. Parents and children hugged, young lovers and old couples embraced and kissed and horses and cows whinnied and mooed with excitement. The entire caravan was animated with new life as they crested the hill and saw the city and this new life carried them forward. To make matters better, the dead that should be assaulting them even in daylight were in still pieces, as if freshly hacked by another group that came before them. Elspeth knew of a large but contested exodus from Riverwood the day before after the dead took the city and it seemed they had reached safety. Whether or not they had made it, she was about to find out. The guards and villagers shared none of her reservations. Their renewed energy gave them a spring in their steps and the guards led them in a fresh verse of Ragnar the Red. Everyone, even Elspeth, joined in the singing and by the time they’d reached the gates they’d sung themselves hoarse.
“Halt.” One of the guards outside the gate commanded as
Elsepth stopped in front of him. He and his partner were tall burly men with slightly rusted Whiterun armor and kettle helmets and they wielded large steel halberds in addition to their regular swords and shields. Elspeth however was a tall woman of almost six feet and her armor and hat made her look taller. She was not to be intimidated. “State your business.”
“My name is Elspeth and I am in Inquisitor of Stendarr.” Elspeth said with her usual iron calm. “These people are all the remains of the villages of Rorikstead, along with refugees from all over western Skyrim. Rorik is dead but both Jarl Idgod of Morthaal and Jarl Sidgir of Falkreath are with us. Their towns have fallen as well.”
“I…see.” The guard said, taking a moment for absorb this news. “Shoar’s bones, it’s worse than the Jarl thought.”
“Other cities have survived.” Elspeth said, trying to comfort the man. “And you and I still stand. All is not lost.”
“I hope we can keep it that way.” The guard admitted. “Is anyone in your group from Riverwood by chance? A brave warrior named Beran led a few survivors here yesterday but it wasn’t anywhere close to the entire village. I was hoping…”
“I’m sorry.” Elspeth said with a frown. "We have no one from Riverwood. It was nothing but corpses and empty ruins when we passed it this morning, though I do remember seeing a young bosmer girl running out of the village. Perhaps she led more survivors here?”
“I’m afraid not.” The guard said. “She’s already arrived and she came alone.” He looked at Elspeth’s caravan and realized she had over a hundred people with her. Having so many new mouths to feed wasn’t going to make the Jarl happy. “Exactly how many people do you have with you Miss Elspeth?”
“Eighty-seven.” Elspeth said. “Thirty-nine are able to wield a sword.”
“That’s a lot of mouths to feed.” The guard admitted. “Food in the city’s starting to become short. Short enough to where we’ll have to close down the inn and market and start rationing. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to….”
“We can assist with that.” Elspeth said, gesturing to the carts. “We carry with us Rorikstead’s entire harvest.”
“You mean everything in those wagons is…food?” The guard asked, his mouth agape.
“That’s correct.” Elspeth said with a small smile. It seems their provisions wills be well-received.
“By the gods! There’s enough food here to last us for weeks!” The guard exclaimed. “Divines bless you Miss Elspeth! We’ll get the gates open for you.”
“Thank you.” Elspeth said. “Walk in Stendarr’s light."
The caravan flooded into Whiterun, amazed beyond belief that they were not only alive but safe. Once again they erupted into cheers and singing but also flooding Elspeth with thanks and gratitude for keeping them alive. Elspeth was too tired to do more than politely accept these accolades but inside she was warm with pride. She had given these people the strength to save themselves and now they could all rest. As if reading her thoughts a wave of exhaustion came over the caravan. There wasn’t enough room at the temple or the Bannard Mare for all of them so the guards allowed them to set up a makeshift rest stop against the walls. Some of them partook in their provisions now that they were free to do so and others started to unload them with some help from local volunteers. But most of them, especially the children and guards, simply sat against the inside of the walls and slept. Elspeth, feeling that this was an excellent idea, slumped against the base of the walls by the guard barracks and joined them, her hat shading her eyes as she drifted off to sleep.