Chapter Text
Bright, happy laughter rang out over the open meadow where the village children often came to play. “Wait up, Katel, quit running so fast,” Thonrir yelled as he gave chase to the laughing blonde-haired girl that lived in a small house down the road from his. The day her family moved in five years ago was the day he lost his heart. At five years old he hadn’t known that; she was just a girl with braids and missing her two front teeth.
Over those five years, things changed. He noticed her parents didn’t stay in town but left her with a woman who spent more time at the tavern than she did taking care of Katel. When Katel’s parents were home, they were always busy and planning their next adventure to find their fame and glory.
Katel made it to the large tree that was their favorite spot to look out over the small village they called home. Thonrir soon caught up with her and they laid on the cool grass looking up into the sky. White clouds floated overhead, and they talked about what their life would be like.
“A few more years and we can get married. I’ll take care of you, I promise. Better than the old hagraven you have now. We’ll buy a house and have a store where everyone will come from miles around to buy and sell goods to us. We’ll have three kids and they’ll all be happy,” he said to her as he held her hand and smiled at the sky. He turned his head toward her, “You can tend the garden and grow the best vegetables and frost wheat in Skyrim. You’ll never be hungry or lonely again, I promise.”
She smiled at him and imagined everything Thonrir told her.
Time flew by and they realized they would be late returning home. As usual, she ran as fast as she could just in case her parents were there, or if Ingrid had food in the house so she could eat that day. She didn’t see the steel leg trap a careless hunter had put down.
Thonrir heard the scream and saw Katel fall. He ran faster than he ever had. When he saw what happened he threw up before he could stop himself.
“You- you have to be still, Katel or it will get worse,” he said and looked around hoping to see a branch he could use to force the trap open.
“Thonrir… help me,” Katel said weakly then her eyes closed, and she stopped moving.
“Katel? Katel?” he cried. “I’ll be back. I promise.” He ran the rest of the way into the village yelling as loud as he could for someone to come help.
It was Thonrir’s father who released the trap from Katel. It was his mother who used leather strips to slow the loss of blood from the mangled limb. They used cloth and bits of wood to hold the leg as still as they could to keep the girl’s foot from moving until they could get her home.
Thonrir banged on the door over and over calling for Ingrid to open it. There was no answer. He pushed the empty flowerpot over and picked up Katel’s key which she always put there so it wouldn’t get lost and opened the door to the cold house.
His father ran for several of the women to come and help tend the child while Thonrir gathered firewood. The women murmured and whispered among themselves, “no hope… gonna lose it… where’s Ingrid… her parents…”
Finally, his father returned and started a fire in the long-cold hearth. “One of you go to the tavern, that Ingrid woman is probably there. Hopefully, she isn’t too drunk to tend Katel.”
Thonrir watched as his father opened a tiny bottle. He knew it was a healing potion, but it contained only a few drops. It wasn’t nearly enough. He watched as the blood stopped, but the wound didn’t close. The broken bones still jutted completely through the skin.
The woman returned thirty minutes later with another woman who could barely stand, she smelled like stale beer and sour sweat.
Thonrir watched his father give Ingrid a look of disgust then turn to him, “Thonrir, I need you to be brave. Run down to the old woman Hrefran, tell her we need healing and to hurry.”
Thonrir shook like a leaf at the thought of going to that old mage’s house, but it was for Katel so he’d do it. He promised to take care of her, so far he hadn’t done a good job, but he’d make it up to her.
The other women left before Thonrir returned. Only his father and a bleary-eyed, weaving Ingrid remained.
Hrefran frowned and examined the child’s leg. She shook her head. “Not going to heal right. Bone’s too broken. I’ll do the best I can, but the girl’s gonna need good care and herbal remedies to heal. She’ll need rest and plenty of nourishing food.”
“But you’re a mage, can’t you use a spell and heal the girl?” his father asked.
The woman tutted and pushed the man aside as she set the leg as best she could, “I’m not a mage you fool, I’m an apothecary. I make tonics using herbs, not magic.”
Thonrir was grateful Katel didn’t wake up as the old woman worked.
“I don’t know if she’ll make it, but I did what I could. Come by the store and pick up the tonics in two days, I’ll leave the ones I brought with me. Payment is due then,” the woman muttered as she headed for the door. “One tonic a day until she heals, if she survives the next two days.”
Ingrid forced a potion down Katel’s throat and dropped the bottle to the floor. “You stupid girl. Now, look what you’ve done. Your parents will not keep paying me after this.” The woman stared with hatred at the child lying so still in the bed; her hair lank from sweat and still wearing the same bloodstained clothes from the day before.
A knock came at the door and the woman put on a fake smile and moved to answer it. She opened it wide enough for her to see out.
“Skyrim courier. I have a letter and package for Katel Winter-Song.”
“I’m her guardian, she’s sleeping just give it to me,” she said, and the courier thrust the items at the woman and left as soon as they were in her hands.
Ingrid lit one of the few candle stubs remaining in the unkempt house and read the letter.
“Katel Winter-Song,
In the name of Jarl Igmund of Markarth, it is with great regret that we inform you of Jathel and Mikash Winter-Song’s deaths.
The deceased has bequeathed unto you a measure of inheritance in the amount of 600 gold pieces.
The Jarl’s court has levied an amount of 50 gold pieces from the sum, as the lawfully and honorably due tax. The remainder has been commended unto the care of a trusted courier for deliverance.
While all of the Jarl’s court grieves with you on this day, we rejoice in the knowledge that the deceased was in possession of dear family and wealth to communicate unto them.
May this lawfully bestowed inheritance prove as a reminder of your enduring faith in one another, and of the Jarl’s beneficence accorded unto you all.”
Ingrid tore open the box and found a leather pouch inside. It was heavy and clinked with the sound of coins hitting each other. She opened the pouch and spilled the gold into her hand.
Ingrid left within the hour, taking the pouch of money and everything she had stashed away that she hadn’t drunk away. Money which her parents left to care for the worthless brat. Her idiot parents hadn’t known or cared that the house was only cleaned the day before they arrived home, they always sent a courier ahead of time. Ingrid always made sure there was food in the house, wood for the fire, and the sheets were boiled and hung up to dry. And every time they would tell her how good of a job she was doing and leave her another sack of coins before they left.
Ingrid conned a ride to the neighboring town by saying she needed to pick up special tonics from their apothecary since old Hrefran was out of the ingredients. She watched from the store’s doorway until the farmer’s wagon was out of sight then walked away from town.
Walking was thirsty work, Ingrid thought, and when she reached the next town decided it was time for a mead. One mead became two then three. Within two hours she was no longer careful with hiding the big purse of gold from the prying eyes of others. One pair of eyes, in particular, shone with avarice as the clinking of coins reached his ears.
It was the guard who found the body the next morning. Her throat had been slit. One of the other guards recognized the woman as the drunk from the tavern the night before, but no one knew her. No one cared. They put her on the pyre with the week’s bodies and lit the fire.
Thonrir hadn’t seen Katel for two days, his parents told him that he needed to let her rest. The other villagers hadn’t seen Ingrid in the tavern so they all assumed she was tending to the child, but Thonrir worried about his friend. He knew Ingrid didn’t like Katel.
Just before dawn on the third day since the accident he snuck through the window of his room and hurried down the road to Katel’s house. No smoke rose from the chimney and there was no sound from within.
He gave a timid knock on the door. No one answered, so he knocked again, louder this time. No one answered. He jiggled the door handle, and the door swung open. A putrid smell hit him and he covered his nose before he walked in.
“Katel?” he whispered and approached the corner where her bed was. “Katel are you awake?”
He screamed when he saw her and thought she was dead. Her pale flesh sunken in, the leg no longer red and bloody, but blackened with the wound still gaping open and green pus dripping from it. It was from her leg that the smell was emanating from. He ran from the house screaming for his parents.
Old Hrefran took pity on the girl. After the no account Ingrid ran off and left the child to die she stepped in and tended her.
Katel had barely been alive when they had summoned her. It had taken all her herbal knowledge to help the girl survive. It had been several days later one of the women taking turns cleaning the disgusting home handed her a partially burned letter she found. Hrefran read it over and snorted, “Well that explains everything, she took the gold and left.” She let out a sigh as she struggled to stand.
“Help me get her to my place, a pig sty is still cleaner than this house, no matter how much soap we use and scrubbing we do.”
“Katel, come outside, it’s a great day and not too cold,” Thonrir said as he stuck his head through the window of Old Hrefran’s house.
“I can’t Thonrir, I’ve got to finish sweeping and dust the ingredient jars,” Katel said as she limped across the floor careful to make sure she got all of the dirt and mud out of every corner before sweeping it toward the door. Her foot dragged across the floor and she stumbled before she caught her balance.
It had been four years since the accident. Four long years of healing and learning how to walk with what remained of her leg. Sometimes her limp wasn’t too bad, other times she needed a crutch to walk because she couldn’t put any weight on it without incredible pain. Today was a good day.
“I doubt if Old Hrefran would mind if you took a break,” he grinned at her and his dark blue eyes twinkled in merriment as he tried to get her to shirk her work.
Katel laughed and shook her head. “No, I have to finish this.”
He sighed in resignation and sat on the outside bench to wait until she finished her chores. Several of the other village children their age called out for him to come and join their game. He shook his head at first, then saw how long Katel would be and he changed his mind.
“Katel? Some of the others want to play a game, I’ll be back before you’re done with your cleaning and we can spend time together, I promise,” he said and waited until she nodded before he took off running and shouting for the others to wait for him.
Katel sat on the bench waiting for Thonrir to return until Hrefran called her in for dinner. He didn’t return that night like he promised.
A stone hit her window and Katel jerked awake and wondered what had woke her to begin with. Another plink as a stone hit the thick glass. She lit the candle stub and opened the window a few inches to see Thonrir standing under it.
“Come outside,” he whispered harshly.
Katel shook her head, and he made the come on motion and frowned up at her. His long blonde hair blew in the gentle breeze and the linen of his shirt molded to his muscular frame. She sighed with reluctance and closed the window.
She slipped out the back door and made her way over to where he waited for her under a pine tree growing close to the house.
He leaned forward and kissed her gently, “You know what tomorrow is right?”
“Yes, Thonrir, I know tomorrow is your eighteenth birthday,” she said.
“That’s right and I’ll be of age to marry you like I promised.”
“We can’t get married yet, Thonrir. What are we going to do for money? You work in your father’s mine and I make no money in Hrefran’s store. She lets me stay with her and provided all the tonics for me, she kept me alive. I can’t ask her to pay me.”
He waved a hand to the side, “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve been saving up gold for the last four years. We’ll have plenty to live on. If we leave now, we can be in Riften and married just after dawn. Then we can move to one of the big cities, like Windhelm. We’ll find good jobs there; well-paying ones.”
“I don’t know, Thonrir. I don’t feel right sneaking away in the middle of the night. Why can’t we leave in a day or two after we tell your family and Hrefran we're leaving to get married?”
“Because they’ll stop us from leaving. They’ll want to go with us to see us married, and they’ll hound us to return here. We’ll be stuck in this small village forever. You’ll be working in that dusty apothecary, and I’ll grow old before my time working the mine day and night.” He kissed her cheek then her lips again, “We deserve our own lives not just following in their footsteps.”
He kept kissing her until she sighed and as usual gave in to what he wanted.
She tried to dress as quiet as she could and after throwing some clothes in a pack she closed the door behind her. Thonrir helped her up on an old nag that belonged to his family and was long past her prime. The horse plodded its way East toward Riften and the Temple of Mara.
The coldness seeped into her bones and her leg ached fiercely as the blowing snow partially blinded her. She limped her way up the dirty path of the Gray Quarter in Windhelm toward the Sadri’s Used Goods store where she would try to sell one of the useless and expensive pieces of junk Thonrir had spent some of their hard-earned coin on.
Times were hard, they’ve been hard since they left their home. His savings didn’t last long. Not with him buying fripperies he thought she needed, and she kept saying she didn’t want.
When they made it to Windhelm they barely had enough for rental of a one-room flat in the slums. Not to mention jobs weren’t all that plentiful and none for someone who was lame.
She held the small pouch of coins in her hand, she was sure Sadri had given her much less than the candlesticks had been worth, much less than what Thonrir had paid for them, but she couldn’t argue with him anymore and took his offer. She walked to the markets and purchased two days worth of food and put the rest of the coins into her purse then tucked it in her corset.
“Katel, my love, guess what?” Thonrir said as he walked through the door into the tiny flat.
She didn’t turn around but continued to watch the stew so it wouldn’t burn, they couldn’t afford to waste anything. She tried to contain the sigh she felt trying to force its way past her lips.
“What is it, Thonrir?”
“Jarl Ulfric posted an announcement in the square today. It said Skyrim belonged to the Nords and as Nords, it was time we stood up and took it back. He called for all able-bodied men and women to join the rebellion and push the interlopers out. He said since by Nord law when he had challenged the High King to a duel for the crown and won that he had become High King. The Imperials, Bretons, those elves, and beasts need to leave. When he puts the crown on he will once again assure that Skyrim will be for the Nords alone.”
Katel at first paid little attention to what Thonrir said, it wasn’t the first time he had come home spouting the rhetoric about the Jarl and how Skyrim should be only for the Nords. But the more he talked the more she picked up on his fervor and how excited he became. How something didn’t sound quite right in the way he was just telling her about what he had heard. She didn’t notice when she slowed her stirring of the stew or how her hand began to shake.
“He promised that our selfless service to the reclaiming of our country wouldn’t go unnoticed. As High King of Skyrim, he promised to take care of the troops and their families. He promised gold, roofs over our heads, and plenty of food to eat once the other races left and was not taking it all.”
The stirring stopped, and she was deathly afraid of what he would say next.
“He gave everyone who joined the militia free gear, and an advancement on their pay, and promised free training. He promised monthly stipends to our families. He said as soon as he took the throne those who have proven themselves will earn a place as castle guards and their families will live like Highborns.”
Katel let go of the stirring spoon and closed her eyes for a moment before slowly turning toward Thonrir. When she opened her eyes he stood before her in the shabby, ill-fitting uniform of a Stormcloak soldier.
“What have you done now?” she whispered.
“I told you we would have a house, plenty of food, and children. The Jarl promised the war would be over quick, that those Imperial dogs wouldn’t last against good, strong Nords. I’ll be nowhere near where the fighting is since I have to train and by the time I finish the training the war will be over. Then all I have to do is prove I’m a good soldier and do what I’m told. Then we can move out of this slum and into one of the nice houses and have our family. Just like I promised.”
How she hated that word. Promise.
“Go back to the castle and tell them you’ve changed your mind. Tell them your wife needs you here more than to be gallivanting around Skyrim pretending to be a soldier. Return the armor and the money.”
A flush crept over Thonrir’s face. “I can’t. I signed the form. And I spent the money already.”
Katel paled and limped over to the chair. “You spent all of the money he gave you? How could you have done that so quickly?”
Thonrir grinned like a little boy and held out his hand. Laying in his palm was a small silver ring. “I didn’t buy you a wedding ring when we got married, but as soon as I got the coin I hurried to the shop and bought it.”
“Take it back, maybe they’ll give you back the money. I don’t need a ring, Thonrir. I need you here, we need food, we need the ingredients to make the tonics. That’s more important.”
The smile left his face, “I can’t. They said all sales were final because they were closing for a time to get more ores.”
Katel didn’t even have the energy to snort at the lie they told Thonrir. Everyone knew the jeweler’s son owned the local mines, and they had workers to mine the ore and send it to Windhelm. Their store never closed unless the owner was too drunk to open it.
Katel sighed and held out her hand. The grin came back, and he slid the ring on her finger. He kissed her cheek just as a thundering bang came at the door.
“That’ll be the others, it’s time for me to go. Don’t worry, I’ll write often and the Jarl promised we would be back with our families soon.”
“You’re leaving now? But you only signed up a few hours ago,” she said just as another bang on the door sounded.
“I know, my love, but it’s a long walk to the training camp. I’ll be home before you know it.” He kissed her cheek one more time before he hurried to the door and picked up a small pack with a ratty looking bedroll hanging on it, opened the door and turned back for a second to wave at her before he left.