The Hitchhiker's Guide to Skyrim

Prologue

Emily looked up at the stone archway. It was rumoured to have once been a portal despite the fact that, to her knowledge and that of many who researched such curious natural structures, it had never actually been seen to function.
Tales and legends abounded but these were likely borne of mankind's natural desire for fantasy, a desire to prove that things existed outside the sphere of science and rationale.

The faint scent of alpine blooms: Jacob's Ladder and Alpine Catchfly, hung in the air as she sat down on a rock to sketch the formation. There were other stone structures like this, dotted across the globe. Many believed they acted, or once acted, as a kind of mystical transport system and their placement was not coincidental.
But then any learned man will tell you that wind buffeting relentlessly against a soft enough stone will sooner or later create an archway like the one she sat before.
The cool Norwegian sun was getting to its highest point, casting long shadows across the ground. Emily took out a bottle of water from her bag and took a long draught from it.

She looked down at the half-finished sketch. The perspective was off and she took an eraser from her bag and scrubbed out the bottom half. She found perspective to be the trickiest aspect of drawing and though she had improved, it still vexed her from time to time.
For another hour she sat and after a quick lunch of cucumber sandwiches she got up, tucking her sketchbook under her arm.
She got up and regarded the stone structure for a second. Then an amused smile came to her face as she thought of the old legends and skipped merrily through the stone archway.

Chapter 1:

Emily

From the moment she stepped through the archway what appeared to be a heat haze sprang up which was strange as the air around her seemed to be getting colder. It got to a point where she had to shield her eyes from the shimmering shapes.

Soon she stopped altogether, remembering that the stone archway was situated atop a cliff and she had no desire to go walking off it in her blinded state.
A cold brisk wind gambolled about her, raising goosepimples on her arms. She rolled down the sleeves of her hooded jacket and pulled the hood up over her head. She thought of the mug of hot chocolate waiting for her back at the café in the visitor centre which acted as a waypoint between here and the nearest town.
Presently her vision began to clear as the heat haze dropped. The cliffside looked different somehow. Underfoot where once had been reasonably flat granite was now rocky grey shale. Frost crunched underfoot. She bent and examined a patch of flowers with spindly leaves and stem, covered in small red blooms. She rubbed one of the frosty leaves between thumb and forefinger. The plant wasn't one she recognised. She couldn't identify it and she prided herself on her knowledge regarding things of a botanical nature. It looked a little like a ragged poppy but the leaves were all wrong. She stood up and looked around. She must've accidentally wandered into a different part of the mountain park. That was the only sensible explanation for it.

She turned back and looked at the stone archway she had come through. It too looked different, composed of the same grey stone that made up the rocks she was standing on and it resembled more the trilithons of Stonehenge in her native England than the natural stone archway.
She turned her attention back to the impressive vista. Before her stretched an expanse of mountains and valleys with a large river winding through them like a large glistening serpent. None of this made any sense to Emily. She couldn't remember seeing the distant valley before or the winding river. On the way up she'd seen a only mountains and beyond that had been the lake of Bessvatnet.

She looked up to her left and saw, not so far away, what appeared to be an old ruin. That didn't make any sense either. There weren't any ruins for miles. Stone eagles glowered down at her from what had once apparently been an entrance. It was blocked by a large pile of rubble. At the top she could just make out what appeared to be a statue of a woman that somewhat resembled the traditional depiction of an angel with great stone wings reaching imploringly toward the sky.
Shouldering her bag, Emily left the slope behind. She soon came to a cobblestone road. Cobbles, she knew, meant civilisation so she followed them.
What she saw before her, when she crested the next hill, could only be described as a medieval town. She saw several people milling about the streets. Had she somehow happened upon some kind of convention? It all looked very authentic.

One of those nearest to her paused with the firewood he was carrying and looked at her. Then he muttered something under his breath and continued about his work. Maybe he was dismayed that she had shown up out of costume, she wondered.

'Well, hard luck,' she thought, 'It's not as though I meant to wind up here.'
The first building on her right that she came to had a sign above the door, swaying gently in the breeze, that marked it as a tavern. A drink would be very welcome, she thought.

The air inside the tavern was warm and close. There were a few people seated at the crude wooden tables. A woman stood behind the counter, cleaning a metal tankard with a spotted rag. Emily sat down on one of the wooden barstools. The woman set down the tankard and tucked the rag into a band on her apron.

"You want a drink?" she asked. Emily noticed the way she eyed her, with what seemed to be a vague air of suspicion.
"Yeah, what do ya have?" Emily replied.

"We've got a fresh batch of ale in since yesterday," said the woman, "Some good mead and spiced wine in from Solitude."
"Mead then," Emily replied, "Will this cover it?" She fished in her jean's pocket and pulled out five coppery 20 kroner pieces. She handed them to the woman.

"Hey, what are you trying to pull?" she asked crossly, "What do you call this?"
"Where I come from, we call this money," Emily answered, affronted.

"Well, wherever you're from we don't take it here. Now, off with you."
She was taking her role rather too seriously, Emily felt.

"Hold on, keep your hair on," she said, "So, what do you take around here?"
The woman considered chasing the petulant young woman out with her broom but decided against it.

"Septims," she replied, "Gold septims."
"Know where I can earn some?" Emily asked. The woman rested the broom back against the wall.

"Horgeir usually needs some help at the mill," she said, "Speak to him." Her reply was curt and Emily decided not to press her further.
She left the tavern and followed the cobblestone path to a lumber mill which straddled the river just before where it fell from the cliffs with a tumbling roar. A campfire crackled merrily in its pit next to the mill and a cooking spit with a roasting joint hung over it.
A man she took to be Horgeir was busily chopping wood near the campfire. He had ginger hair and beard and appeared to be wearing an iron breastplate over a tunic, a pair of iron armguards and boots.

"It must be jolly heavy work chopping wood in that," she muttered as she approached him.
"Excuse me," she said, "I was told you'd be the man to talk to about earning some…septims." She remembered just in time what the woman had called them.

"You were told right then, traveller," said the man, "Tell you what, you help me with that woodpile there and I'll pay you sixty septims. Sound fair?"
"Will that get me a bottle of mead?" Emily asked, "I'm new here so I don't know the going rate," she added quickly.

"It'll get ya some good strong mead, a room for the night and maybe some food if you don't mind living a bit meagre-like."
"Sounds good then."

Horgeir handed her a wooden handled woodcutter's axe and they set to work.
It was hard going and soon Emily's arms and back began to ache but she pressed on. Horgeir was an amiable sort of man and they talked as they worked. He told her a little bit about Dragon Bridge, the town she now found herself in and about Solitude, a city that was a day and a half's travel up the road. He told her about the stone archway upon which it sat and the great windmill.

"Do you get many travellers through here then?" Emily asked.
"Not so many as we used to with this war on. Nowadays it's mostly soldiers," said Horgeir, wiping the sweat from his brow, "But I've been told it won't be long now. Ulfric's influence is dwindling. He hasn't done what he set out to do so his people are losing faith in him. He'll be brought to the headsman's axe sooner or later." Despite believing his whole tale to be pure fiction made to make the visitor's experience more immersive, Horgeir spoke so gravely that she could not bring herself to say anything.

"I've never seen a traveller through here like you before," said Horgeir, breaking in on her thoughts, "You're dressed outlandishly. Where are you from?"
"Somerset," replied Emily.

"Oh, the isle," said Horgeir. Emily had never heard it referred to as such before but she nodded.
"Just visiting then?" enquired Horgeir, "You heading for home soon?"

"I'm hoping to," Emily replied, "My visa expires soon."
"You'll want Captain Sunhawk when you reach Solitude then," said Horgeir, "Elf regularly makes trips to and from Summerset."

"Elf?" questioned Emily. Surely she could not have heard right.
"Aye, a bit stuck up like most High Elves but asks an honest fare," Horgeir replied, "He'll see you right."

Something had been gnawing at Emily since her heated conversation with the woman in the tavern or perhaps before but she felt she didn't dare address it. The notion was simply too terrifying.