It was a late afternoon of whispered rumours by superstitious guards and servants alike, that saw the great double doors of Dragonsreach swing open to admit the woman-warrior.
The Jarl's ancient hold bore that closed-in wood and straw feeling that heralded a change in the weather. Servants scurried about, sweeping and seeing to fickle needs. The great fire pit beyond the wide staircase to the throne smouldered, warping the air over it and sending wisps of fragrant woodsmoke languidly curling into beams of light from windows above. The newcomer was questioned briefly by the Jarl's Dunmer housecarl before being granted an audience. Balgruuf momentarily studied the leanness of her, seeing tension in narrow shoulders clad in ill-fitting Imperial leathers. Weariness was evident in her creased brows over guarded Nord ice-blue eyes. Her hair was an astonishing shade of red, wavy, matted and dirt-faded as it was. Her tresses appeared hastily tied away from her face with a strip of uncured wolfskin. Smears of dirt adorned her all over and a grimy cloth wound itself just above her left elbow, presumably to cover a wound. Her thin knees peeking above boots a size too large for her were both skinned and inflamed. A hunter's worn bow was at her rigid back, the tell-tale fletches of inexpensive iron arrows alongside. Two simple steel daggers were tucked into her broad leather belt, seemingly as an afterthought. Both blades showed darkened dry smears. All borrowed, scavenged, he mused, only partially listening to the arguments from his excitable steward at his right. What does she want?
"My Jarl, this… person… brings news from Helgen." Mild distaste was evident on his housecarl's features, but her crimson Dunmer eyes were inscrutable as always. Irileth. Battlebond. They'd saved each other's lives innumerable times in the field. Her deep loyalty to him was of course fuel for a different kind of rumour in court, but their relationship was forged with swords in hand, guarding each other's backs. She could be overprotective and over suspicious at times… Balgruuf sat up straighter at Irileth's words though, sudden interest showing in his eyes. He beckoned the stranger forward, waving his steward aside in mid-argument."What news from Helgen, stranger?" he encouraged neutrally. The woman stepped a pace closer and Balgruuf realised that she was probably a lot younger than she looked. Seventeen perhaps? But for the eyes… keeping too much in, guarding. Not trusting anyone.
"Alvor … Riverwood … " she mumbled. Balgruuf leaned forward to hear better. "Helgen … dragon… " For a moment he saw her battling memories, dark ones, before her eyes focused somewhat again. "… heading this way… " she concluded, her light contralto wavering. Balgruuf scowled; she had obviously lived a slice of Oblivion and still appeared somewhat strong. Appeared. There's more to it. To her.
"You were right, Irileth," Baalgruuf sighed at his Housecarl and if she was vindicated at his words, her stony Dunmer features never allowed it to show. "Send a detachment of guards to Riverwood immediately – Alvor is the blacksmith there and a solid fellow. He will not exaggerate something like this." The young warrior in front of him looked lost in remembrance for a moment. Alvor. The blacksmith. Kind words. Food. Shelter. Little girl offered her bed. Why? The Dunmer Housecarl flicked her closed right fist over her left breast and dipped her head in acknowledgement. She spun on her heel and left to obey, leaving the warrior alone in front of a pensive Jarl. What to do with you?
"You took the initiative and sought me out," he stated. His mild compliment did not register anything in her eyes as she waited blankly for him to finish. He signalled a servant who came forward with a tightly wrapped bundle.
"Please accept this as a token of my esteem." The young warrior took the proffered bundle automatically and he frowned in thought. She is here, but… not. "Will you be staying in our city for a while?" The girl shrugged listlessly and his frown deepened. She does not care. What happened to her? He'd seen similar before after bandit pillages and rapes – either hysterical outrage and sorrow, or this. A mind that has closed itself off into morbid reflection, the subconscious protecting itself from matters not dealt with properly. Is that it? He felt a brief and unexplainable pang of pity for her, but knew that he dared not voice it. Distraction perhaps?"If it sits well with you, I would like you to stay, if only for a day or two," he offered. Her slumped shoulders stiffened somewhat in suspicion and he hastened to add, "as you are our only link with what happened at Helgen. You might remember more details after a night of rest and food, and I would not see you further your travels in your current state," he smiled gently, fatherly, to soften his words. Slight puzzlement squeezed her dainty brows together for a split second. Why would he care? Why would I want to remember? Terror flickered for a moment across her youthful features before being brutally shoved away again. I will not remember. Then the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed resignedly and she conceded to his wish with a barely perceptible nod. She took his answering nod as dismissal and swirled about, stalking off with a creak and swishing of boot and leathers.
Balgruuf sat in the same position for quite some time, repeating the brief encounter in his mind. She seemed to be in her own numb world, lost in it maybe. Not healthy. He had children already, three, younger than ten, and had no real experience with young people. They were hormonally complex, driven at times in their frantic quests to find their places and purposes in the world. They were so very easily misunderstood. Oversensitive at times. Especially the girls, he smirked good-naturedly. Then his expression turned sombre. Especially girls that had lived through some immense trauma. Why did this woman-girl-child intrigue him so, and how could he explain this unbidden need to protect her? From herself, mostly... She would most assuredly not appreciate unwanted protection from him. Besides, to have survived the chaos of a dragon attack, she would have had to have some skill. He had seen moments of youthful pride during her sullen exchange and a deep strength that gave him pause now, reflecting on it. It was buried under deep layers of suspicion and hurt though. He'd noticed her eyes darting about, measuring distances to others, imprinting exits and shadowed corners. Skittish almost, a sabrecat surrounded by bears. But sabrecats had claws and tempers, especially wounded desperate ones… He suddenly slapped his open palm against his forehead, then cringed as the circlet he wore dug into his skin. He had not even asked her name! By the Nine, where was his own mind!
His self-recrimination was disturbed by more servants shuffling in with the fare for the evening meals. Lightning flashed brilliantly through the skylights, shortly followed by a far-off clap and dull rumble. He ordered more wood to be put on the fire pit. Winter is going to be early this year. Change; not bad in itself, except when dragons were involved... Dragons! Of all the things the gods deemed appropriate to drag from history again. Then to loose them unto the snow-covered peaks of Skyrim… and unto the people of this hold. Why now? Why here? He sighed unhappily, washed his hands in the bowl provided by a willowy Nord servant and sat down to eat. His court unhurriedly filled the dining areaaround him. He listened absently to drones of conversation and picked at his food, not really feeling any enthusiasm to join in or to eat. Hopefully the girl could at least sell the armour he gave her for a bed and a bite to eat at the Mare.
The girl absently picked her pack up outside the doors to Dragonsreach and slung it tiredly over one shoulder. She barely registered the brief flash of pain when the strap scraped over her dirty bandage. The top of the stairs going down toward the village gave her an unimpeded view over thatched roofs. Smoke curled into the rapidly darkening sky from stone chimneys. Were she so inclined, she would have noticed the dried-up Gildergreen reaching as if in the throes of a deathly thirst towards the rain-heavy clouds. A ring of benches, neat walkway and gently murmuring channel with decorated bridges surrounded the tree. A hooded priest stood gesticulating in front of a statue of Talos, his shouted message ambient noise. Mothers hustled about calling children back home. Home? Where's my home?
A guard bumped past her muttering an apology and she numbly descended the stairs, the next moment finding herself in a busy square. Merchants were frantically trying to sell the last of their wares before the impending rain would blanket the town. The rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil drew her further towards the entrance and she pushed through the door to Warmaiden's. As with most indoor spaces in Skyrim, the sudden gloom inside buildings forced her to pause and allow her eyes to adjust. She barely registered the proprietor's greeting, instead dropping her backpack and methodically placing scavenged pieces of armour and knives on the counter. For some reason, she hung onto the bundle given to her in Dragonsreach. The burly Nord behind the counter sorted uninterested through her items, named a price and she merely stuck her hand out to receive the clinking gold.
She noticed her surroundings again when a ponytailed Dunmer tried to interest her in freshly hunted meat. She stood with the gold still in her outstretched hand and blinked hard in confusion. How did I get here? Her eyes caught a sign leading to an alchemist's shop and she entered, the heat from the hearth and pungent smell of drying herbs washing over her. She ambled up to the counter, the woman behind it appraising her with a worried look.
"You're looking a bit sick. Maybe…"
"Something. To stop pregnancy…" Judiiz interrupted. The apothecary, Arcadia, frowned and pushed herself away from her counter. Why would the girl want to do that? Children were a gift from … unless … she squinted in the low light from the hearth and looked closer at the girl. Ah yes, listless eyes, absent expression, torn armour and scuffs, some weeping still, all over. It was not the first time that a survivor of men's brutality had stumbled through her door. The girl avoided her sympathetic eyes and waited, gently swaying in exhaustion. Arcadia rummaged through her shelves, at last producing a small stoppered bottle with a swirling dark liquid inside. The younger girl held a palm full of gold out at her and she shook her head, gently pushing the bottle over the counter at her. She wordlessly took it, faintly thankful but unable to tolerate the understanding in the apothecary's eyes. Outside again, she registered the weathered sign of the Bannered Mare and she slogged that way blindly. The pattering rain signalled the start of a night-long thundershower. She bumped shoulders with exiting patrons and entered the brightly lit interior. A bard was singing a tune and some patrons were cheering and swinging tankards about to the rhythm, drunkenly trying to sing or in some cases dance along. Others sat murmuring to each other at tables, picking from worn wooden plates and trying their best not to be noticed.
A Redguard serving girl saw her standing forlornly at the entrance and after dropping platters of food at a nearby table approached her. The girl froze, her apprehension apparent, and the Redguard stopped a few paces away from her, giving her some space. Nords were such a suspicious bunch…
"Bed for the night? Something to eat?" she offered brightly. The girl nodded almost imperceptibly. The waitress beckoned the girl to follow her and pushed rowdy patrons out of her way, the girl following meekly in her wake. She opened the upstairs room and lit candles, bathing the simple room in flickering amber before reaching gently to the girl's elbow to direct her inside. The young girl recoiled violently and looked on the verge of scampering down the stairs again and disappearing into the night. The Redguard frowned, mildly offended."It's all right. Please, come in and sit. I will bring a bathing basin with hot water so you can clean up," she tried to soothe and the girl reluctantly eased herself into the room and onto the edge of the fur-covered bed. Her pack slid from her hands and dropped with a thud at her feet.
"I am Saadia. I won't be long," she reassured the girl and hurried toward the cooking area downstairs. She returned shortly with a platter of thinly sliced roasted goat, baked potatoes and grilled leeks and set it down on the small dresser next to the bed. When she returned again with the large basin, the girl was still sitting on the bed in the same spot. Her food was untouched, blank stare directed at the wall. Saadia made several more trips hauling hot water for the bath. Done, she left a hard cake of lavender scented tallow soap on a drying cloth at the foot of the bed. She fished around in the front pocket of her apron, produced the key to the room and handed it on her upturned palm to the girl carefully. The girl looked at Saadia's hand and the foreign object upon it, then she looked up into Saadia's deep brown eyes with the first hint of acknowledgement and a brief flash of appreciation.
"Here's the key to the room," Saadia stated. "I will be in the kitchen should you need anything." The girl snatched the key off her palm and clutched it in front of her chest. Her eyes followed Saadia as she left and closed the door behind her. She darted over, locked it, then stood in front of the steaming basin as if unsure what to do next. As if remembering it for the first time, she rummaged in her pack for the small bottle from the alchemist. She unstoppered it and drank it down promptly, not even grimacing at the foul taste. The bottle clunked on the timber floor from her limp fingers and she stripped the grimy armour off, discarding it where it fell. She stepped into the basin, barely noticing the scalding temperature, sank down into it and reached for the bar of soap. I must clean myself. I'm dirty. They… made me dirty… No. Do not remember! No no no… With wide eyes she started soaping herself between her dirt-stained legs and a soft pained mewl escaped her lips. It quickly escalated into an anguished wail as she scrubbed viciously at herself, water splashing out the basin onto the floor.
Outside her door, Saadia stood lost in thought for a moment. The girl was obviously distressed, traumatised more likely, was her guess. She certainly looked like hell and could use the bath … she started when the girl's agony reached her ears through the locked door. She lifted a hand to knock, to ask her if she needed help. She paused when she heard the girl's anguished fury dying down to hoarse sobs a while later, the sound of splashing water ending abruptly. Maybe it was better that she left her alone. She turned and silently padded downstairs. Through the evening's merriment though her eyes stole to the closed room at times and she made sure the girl was not disturbed. It was the least she could do.