A continuation of a story that began in Cryodiil. Same title, and I promise it will make sense. I will try my best to update regularly; I hope you enjoy. Comments are much appreciated.
"Still chopping wood, eh? I'd think her arms tired by now."
"Still at it. The lass is tireless," Ralof replied to his sister's husband.
"The coin helps, too. I paid her fair for the pile she brought in this morning. She's stronger than she looks. The wood was split even, through and through." Hod swigged at his tankard, still watching the girl.
"You should have seen her in Helgen. Leapt down a full story with her hands bound. I thought her leg broken for sure. But then we ran for the keep and she was right beside me." Ralof left out that he had waited for the girl while hiding beneath a displaced thatched roof to avoid the Imperial soldiers from whom they'd barely escaped with their lives.
"Aye, I believe it. Gerdur likes her, I can tell," Hod said.
Ralof was surprised, but pleased. The pillar of Riverwood, his elder sister owned the mill that served as the small village's lifeblood and which supplied most of the lumber for Whiterun hold. Gerdur was well respected throughout the hold—no small feat for a Skyrim woman—for both her business sense and judge of character.
Ralof watched the girl set her axe in the tree stump and begin collecting the fresh logs. They'd spent the first few days holed up in Gerdur and Hod's home when the threat of an Imperial raid was greatest, or so Ralof had assumed. After three days with no activity on the roads, he and the girl emerged from his sister's cellar filthy and squinting, but free. Still clad in his Stormcloak cuirass, he'd quickly changed to simple farmer's garments so he could leave the house without drawing undue attention to his sister's family. Riverwood lay in Imperial territory, although many in the hold were sympathetic to the rebels' cause.
Silently, he'd wondered about the girl's political loyalties but she never offered an opinion. At Helgen, when the terrible monstrosity had attempted to kill everything in its path, she'd donned the Stormcloak regalia Ralof threw at her without hesitation, her prisoner's garb in charred tatters. But later, escaping through the bowels of the keep's prison, they stumbled across the tortured body of a young mage. Before he could ask if she'd known the man, she'd stripped him of his robes and potions. Later, emerging from a sewer grate into the harsh sunlight, she covered herself with the robe, pulling the hood tight around her face. Ralof wasn't offended; he assumed she understood the dangers of wearing Stormcloak armor outside friendly territory. Both covered in dirt and blood, they made it to Riverwood by sunset. Gerdur, overjoyed to see her only sibling, immediately took to the quiet young woman standing behind him.
Privately, she'd asked Ralof about her, of course, but her brother had little more information than the obvious, which was that she'd been caught and imprisoned during the ambush that had sent his garrison and their king to the Helgen execution yard. Now, weeks later and without cause to believe the Imperials were searching for Helgen's fugitives, he wondered how long she would stay in Riverwood.
She knew she needed to leave; most importantly, she needed to separate from Ralof. He'd saved her life, it was true, but he was dangerous—a fugitive, and a rebel. When she was first taken prisoner with the Stormcloak garrison at the Cyrodiilan boarder, she assumed there would be a fine and perhaps a short jail stint—all she'd taken was some game and a single Legionnaire's coinpurse—but very quickly it became clear that they saw her as one of the rebels, as a traitor. She'd spend the first and last night of her capture in terror, kept awake as much by the knowledge of the penalty for treason as by the insidious remarks from Legion soldiers who promised to make her last night on Nirn one she wouldn't forget. She sat up all night, her hand clenched around a shard of rock. At dawn, it was a crushing relief to be ushered onto the prison wagon and away from the lecherous soliders, even knowing its final destination.
"You're going to put me out of a job, Siri," came a newly familiar voice from behind her.
Faendal strode up beside her with an armful of lumber. "Hod paying you a fair price, I hope?" He set the logs down with a thud.
"Aye. Maybe too much," she replied. "I'll be making my way out soon, though."
"Well, not too soon, I hope. I'm sure Gerdur is overjoyed to have Ralof home."
It took the young Nord woman a moment to realize the Bosmer believed she and Ralof were traveling together. Or, even worse, that they were tied together.
"I've no doubt she is. I don't know Ralof's course, but in any case, I shan't overstay my welcome." Before Faendal could respond, she flashed him a quick smile and hurried back to Gerdur's house.
That night, Gerdur approached her as she bedded down by the hearth. The woman's kindness was a small miracle to Siri, both for its quiet sincerity and lack of judgment. She hadn't asked about the girl's crimes, even knowing she was no Stormcloak. In the weeks since she'd been the woman's guest, Siri had come to appreciate that the respect her host commanded in Riverwood was not derived from intimidation or wealth, but from moral consistency. Gerdur was the type of person Siri both resented and longed to be, and was therefore always somewhat ashamed to be in the woman's presence.
"We'll miss you here, Siri. Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Gerdur asked softly. Hod and Ralof were still at the table, merrily entertaining the couple's young son.
"Aye, I should be moving on. I don't want to bring any more trouble to you or Riverwood." Before Gerdur could protest, Siri quickly added, "And I have commitments to which I must attend."
The older woman nodded, too polite to pry. "You are always welcome back. We'll never forget what you did for Ralof."
Siri smiled again, her eyes cast down. Ralof's exaggerated insistence that she'd saved his life in Helgen was troublesome—she wondered if he meant to use it against her in some way. In truth, he had saved her life and they both knew it.
Not used to thanking others for unmitigated kindnesses, Siri cleared her throat. "Gerdur, I owe you and Hod…so much… I don't know where I would have gone had you not opened your door to me. So…thank you."
"No need to thank me, lass. You are as welcome here as my own kin." She paused then, causing Siri to stiffen. "There is something I need to ask of you, though. I wouldn't ask it unless there was no other way, but I fear for the people of this town. We are totally unprepared for any kind of attack, especially…especially like what happened at Helgen." Although Siri was sure everyone by now knew what had occurred, no one spoke it aloud. It was too incredible, too horrific.
"What can I do?" Siri asked softly to Gerdur, and to herself.
Gerdur's pale blue eyes locked on the girl's own. "Go to Whiterun and tell the Jarl we require additional guards for protection. News of Helgen must have reached the city by now; you won't need to reveal why you were there. I would send Ralof, but his face is known to Legion spies. His ranking in the Stormcloak army is…higher than he may have let on." Having witnessed Ralof's prowess in battle, Siri was not surprised by this. "I am sorry to ask this of you, Siri."
The Nord woman's sincere confliction shamed Siri more than she could have imagined. Here she was, a fugitive and a nomad, being asked by a respected citizen to carry forth a duty that might save lives. She wanted to tell the woman that anyone else in the town would be better than her, even the milk drinking pretty-boy bard at the Inn, or Gerdur's own young son for that matter. But she didn't. With all of the meager courage she possessed, she held the woman's gaze.
"I'll get the message to the Jarl, Gerdur. You have my word."
Gerdur's relief was plainly visible. "Thank you, lass. I knew I could count on you."
The next morning, Siri stood on the mill dock watching dawn's first light creep over the mountains. Hod had given her a map and good directions to Whiterun; she was fairly certain she'd make the journey by nightfall. So lost in thought was she that she failed to hear Ralof approach until he was beside her.
"All packed up?" he asked quietly.
"Aye. Your sister insisted I take this knapsack." She grimaced. "Your family is too generous."
"Aye, that they are. But they are glad to know you." He paused and looked at her seriously. "Gerdur told me what she asked you to do. Will you be safe in Whiterun?" Like his sister, Ralof was too good to ask what crimes had led her to Helgen. Siri knew this was another reason she should trust him, but for some reason she feared his intent.
"I believe so. If news of Helgen has reached the Jarl, no doubt he'll be more concerned with that than with one lowly fugitive," she joked.
Ralof smiled but didn't laugh with her. He glanced back toward the river, where the sun's rays flashed against the rushing water. "I'll be making my way back to Windhelm as soon as I'm able. I hope you'll think about doing the same."
She paused, thinking about the man for whom the entire rebel cause took its name. The man whom, it was said, had killed the previous High King by shouting him to pieces. A man who, equally revered and loathed for his unapologetic nationalism and disregard for any culture other than the Nord way of life, had been with them at Helgen. This man, considered the true High King by his followers and a traitorous insurgent by the Empire, had fought the unimaginable horror without hubris or a seeming second thought right alongside the besieged villagers. But what Siri would never forget was his order to Ralof to take her through the escape tunnels to safety before even his own soldiers. Holding her stunned gaze with a single piercing glance, he'd simply said, "Be sure this one lives."
She had no doubt Ulfric Stormcloak had made it out of Helgen and back to Windhelm without harm.
Looking over at Ralof, she attempted to respond to his entreaty. "I don't know that I am Stormcloak material—"
"I think that you are."
She knew he meant this as a compliment. She nodded, appearing grateful. "I will keep it in mind, I promise."
Ralof smiled again and nodded, though they both knew that she was not going to Windhelm. "Well, I had to be sure to remind you."
Siri laughed, making a move toward the steps. "Ulfric Stormcloak could always use more recruits, eh?"
Ralof smiled, but his eyes were serious. "Yes, but that's not why I think you should join us." Siri looked up at him, questioningly.
"If you don't go to Windhelm, how else will I ever see you again?"