Chapter 3. Healing and Cleaning

It was still dark when Milly woke up. She was disorientated for a moment, not knowing where she was or how she got there. As her eyes got used to the darkness, her memory shot back.

A beheading. A dragon. Escaping via caves, going to Riverwood. She fell asleep at the table after dinner, and someone must have carried her to a bed. A look in the near darkness confirmed that Frodnar was now sleeping with his parents, and two shaped at the floor showed her father and Ralof.

Feeling awake, she felt around for her shoes. Pulling them on and using the blanket as a cloak, she sneaked outside.

The air was fresh and she stopped a moment to inhale deeply. The eastern skies were already starting to lighten. She sat down on the wall surrounding the garden and watched a rabbit that slowly hopped around.

She was enjoying the quiet moments as the sky turned orange. Shading over the entire village, was an enormous maintain to the east. It was very steep and the snowy top disappeared into the black skies. What would the view be from the very summit?

She turned around at the sound of footsteps behind her. It was Ralof, rubbing his eyes.

"Slept well?" he asked.

"Like a baby," she replied. "You?"

"My sleeps were haunted by that dragon," he confessed, sitting down next to her.

"I can imagine," she said quietly.

They were silent for a while, looking how a pair of rabbits hopped off in the distance, how the chickens awoke and the birds chirped.

"What will we do now?" Milly asked after a while.

"We spoke about that for a long time, after you fell asleep," Ralof replied slowly. "Your father said he would like to join the cause of the Stormcloaks."

"Do you know for sure that Ulfric survived?" she asked.

"I'm certain," Ralof spoke. "But first we need to warn the Jarl of Whiterun of the dangers of the dragon. We will leave tomorrow morning. From there, your father and I will travel east, to Windhelm."

"And I?" Milly asked, looking up at him, pleading. "Does my father intend to leave me behind?"

Ralof was silent for a moment. Perhaps he could anticipate the dangers of the girl exploding in the near future. "Windhelm is a dangerous city, the centre of the rebellion," he explained. "Your father doesn't want you to be in such danger."

She was standing now, but even as she stood, she wasn't any taller than the blonde man who sat on the wall.

"What am I supposed to do then? Stay in Whiterun? I don't know anyone there. I don't know the city, there is nothing for me!"

Ralof was calm. "Your father wants you to go back to Mournhold, to your sister."

She turned around, her back facing the man that brought her this dreadful news. She wanted to cry.

"Look, Milly," Ralof said, now standing and putting a hand on her shoulder. "This is between you and your father, but I just wanted to say I don't think he's wrong. It is too dangerous there for you."

Milly turned around. "If it's too dangerous for me, then it's too dangerous for him too!" she replied, fighting against tears. "I don't want to get back to that city, to Mournhold. You don't know what it's like there, it's not for me."

She jerked herself away from Ralof's hand, stomping off to the other side of the garden.

She was being unreasonable, stubborn, she knew that. But there was something about the thought of needing to go back to Mournhold that repulsed her, even scared her. Sure, it would be wonderful to see her sister again, but the high walls of Godsreach and even the beautiful temple courtyard seemed frightening. It wasn't for her to be locked up in a city, even if the city was as beautiful as Mournhold. There were certain people she would be happy with never to see again. And besides, where would she live? At her sister's?

As she turned around, she saw Ralof sitting on the wall, looking at her.

Suddenly she was ashamed of herself.

"I apologize," she said in a low voice, her cheeks turning red. "You don't deserve to be yelled at. You didn't decide this." She sighed. "It's just... I have lived through so much these two weeks, more than in the rest of my life combined. Perhaps it was scary, perhaps it was unpleasant, but nothing scares me so much as the thought of going back to Mournhold. Perhaps that's stupid. Perhaps I'm stupid. I think I just want a new life, and why not in Skyrim? I – I guess I could open an alchemy shop somewhere. I know that is something I can do, since I did it before in Cheydinhall. Who knows, perhaps I might find..."

Her voice trailed away, as she realised a few things. First, she was about to say 'love', but somehow, even that thought was ridiculous. Somehow, the whole love and marriage business was nothing for her. Having a family? She couldn't even form an image of herself in 10 years, in front of the fireplace, husband at her side and children surrounding her. No. Those were things for Gwen, her sister... Not for her.

And then she noticed she was blabbering all of this to someone who was basically a complete stranger.

He was wearing a smirk on his face. And as she observed him, another thing dawned to her.

"Gosh," she babbled. "I guess both of us still look like we came out of battle, don't we?"

Suddenly she was self-conscious, plucking at her torn dress, feeling her hair. It was loose now, one big, disarranged pile of orange curls. She picked a few leaves from it.

"If someone saw us now, they might think we have just been fighting," Ralof replied with a smile. "Let us go inside. I reckon Gerdur has breakfast ready, and she might even be filling a bath."

Both of those assumptions were right. As they went inside, they were greeted by the scent of cinnamon porridge.

"Good morning," Gerdur greeted them. "We saw you sitting outside, and thought you would come in as soon as you went hungry."

"Thank you," Milly said sincerely as she took a bowl from the older woman.

"Your father is cleaning himself now, and I'm making you a bath," she chatted on.

Hod was dressed, greeted them, and made his way to the sawing mill. Frodnar was hugging his dog next to the fire.

Father came from the back room, wearing clean clothes borrowed from Hod, all blood removed and his wounds tended to. Somehow the sight of wound on his forehead, that was healing and on its way to make a scar, made her happy. It was like a confirmation that her father truly was alive.

"Well Milly, seems like sleep didn't do you well," he said.

"Ha-ha," she replied in a bored tone.

As he stepped by her, he tugged her hair.

"We'll talk when you're cleaned," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going out to see the village, see if anyone else knows something about that dragon."

He left as she finished her meal, first and second helpings.

She walked to the back room, where Gerdur was filling the bath.

"I've added some lavender oil," she said. "You deserve to be clean as a flower after looking like that."

"You shouldn't have," Milly said. "Really, I don't want to be a bother..."

"Nonsense," Gerdur interrupted. "Come, turn around. I'll help you clean your hair."

Milly hesitated a moment. Did she mean she was going to stay here? She had always been an extreme prude, some leftover of once living as a noble. She didn't let anyone see her naked, she just didn't.

Gerdur ignored her, and helped her with the openings of her dress.

Well, at any time it was good to have someone helping her with her hair, and she didn't want to appear ungrateful. The way it was now, it would take a while to untangle it.

She swallowed her shyness and went into the bath tub. The water was divine on her strained body. Her hand was still red and ugly and stung a little, but she felt so good, being pampered in a fragranced bath, having the older woman work her hair, scrub her back clean.

As she washed the rest of herself, Gerdur came back with a bundle of fabric.

"This is an old dress of mine. It doesn't fit me anymore, so you can have it. It might be too long for you, but we can do something about that later. I think this is a very becoming colour on you. Makes your hair and eyes stand out. You really have exceptional hair." Gerdur smiled and put the bundle of clothes on the cabinet. "You can take it from here, can't you, dear? I'm going to find my husband."

"I..." Milly said, as the woman turned around. She looked back at her. "I just want to let you know this means a lot to me. Thank you. I mean it, you are a good person."

She meant every word she said. She felt good after this bath, and the care of this woman that was a stranger to her, meant the world.

"Of course," Gerdur said. "Don't be silly, girl. Please help yourself to some more porridge if you're still hungry."

She smiled as she left the room. She heard another door close as Gerdur left the house. Milly went out of the bath and dried herself. There was a looking glass, reflecting her clean face. There were still a few scratches on her freckled skin, but she looked otherwise decent. Her red hair was still wet, but it was shiny and clean. She prided herself for that hair. Her face was a bit non-descript, too round to be beautiful, her mouth and nose too small and cheeks too full to be pretty.

Her mother always said her red her was her beauty, and she had to wear it down. Gwynneth had always been the beautiful one, with big eyes and dark lashes. She took after her mother and had inherited her brown hair. Milly only got the green eye colour from her mother, and her red hair she got from her father, with the freckles were a by-product of her own.

The bundle of fabric on the cabinet consisted of some smallclothes and a somewhat faded turquoise woollen dress. It was simple, with a bit of white embroidery of berries alongside the collar. It was too big for her, both in length and width, given that Gerdur was a head taller. She could use the belt to make it tighter and tugged some of the fabric underneath it, so the dress wouldn't drag over the floor. The result wasn't too pretty, but it would do. She would ask Gerdur for a needle and thread to make it shorter.

Now, her hand. She needed to find some soothing cream and bandage it.

As she rummaged through the different jars on the cabinet, a loud bang to her left startled her.

Ralof stood in the door, dressed in nothing but a pair of casual trousers. He was wearing a shocked expression.

For a moment they looked at each other, an awkward silence between them. Ralof had cleaned himself, shaved, and looked so different, that Milly was mortified to notice he was actually a rather handsome man. While he was not overtly broad, there was no doubt he had an athletic body. There were several scars on his chest, showing past injuries.

It was clear that Ralof wasn't so affected by all of this as she was.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you had left with Gerdur."

No smart answer came to Milly's mind, so she kept on staring at him. He noticed her outstretched hand, and the jars on the cabinet.

"You also were to tend to injuries, weren't you?" he continued, as if Milly didn't look like a fool. "Let me help you with that."

He found the right jar and started working. Milly could only imagine what might have happened if he had come earlier, when she was still undressed. The thought that he might imagine the same thing – might imagine her naked – made her so incredibly shy she didn't know how to position herself. It unnerved her that Ralof was so unaffected by all of this. And even if he imagined her naked, he had already touched her everywhere. The sudden image of his hands running over her body to search for weapons, only two days ago, was sharp in her mind and gave her chills.

Then again, it was only her who was so overly prude. And by Azura, if only she was more like her sister. Gwen never had a problem around boys when they were young, and they were naturally drawn to her. When Milly had been a child, she had one friend, but as she grew older, after her mother died, she became a puddle of awkwardness wherever men were involved in something personal.

It bugged her, since she always wanted to appear in control of every situation. Somehow, it was important for her to be seen like that.

Ralof was talking to her. Talking about her wound, talking about what had happened yesterday.

"... will be healed in week."

What? What was he saying? Had he asked a question, that she hadn't answered because of her daydreaming? It didn't seem so, luckily.

After coating the cream on her hand and gently massaging it into her skin, he wrapped it in clean linen to keep the wound moist. He had done exactly this the previous day, and Milly wondered what had happened to make it feel so differently this time. Well, that clearly was because of a half-naked Ralof whom made her prude mind go limp.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice, looking up as Ralof was finished. He looked down with a smirk on his face, amused to see Milly being so shy all of a sudden.

When he was done, Ralof twisted around in front of the looking glass, trying to look at a wound on his upper arm. On it was an ugly wound, a big angry cut, surrounded by inflamed skin.

Milly awoke from her daze, gasping.

"Ralof, that's really bad!" she exclaimed. "You need to clean it out very well, disinfect it and bind it, or it might contaminate and result in fever."

Ralof wasn't impressed. "I've had worse," he said, still trying to get a good look of his arm.

"Are you sure?" Milly asked, worried. He might have, seen by the scars on his chest. "I don't think any of these balms will be quite good enough for that wound. Is there a healer in the city?"

"A healer?" Ralof replied with a scoff. "I don't need a healer – this isn't so bad."

Forgetting her shyness, she took his arm in her hands and gently touched the red skin around the cut. Ralof flinched and almost pulled his arm back in reflex.

"I guess this might have contributed to you sleeping so bad," Milly said matter-of-factly. "You are going to sit down in front of the fire, and I am going to clean that wound."

Ralof looked at Milly, and at the determined look on her face, he did what she asked and exited the little bathroom.

Milly rummaged around for a few minutes, filling a small kettle and heating water to clean out the wound. She cleaned the wound in silence, then hesitated for a moment. It had been a while ago that she tended to wounds at the college, and even there, it wasn't her main point of focus. She wasn't the best at healing spells, but every little bit she could do would help.

She swallowed, but put her hands around Ralofs arm with determination. She concentrated and collected magic in the palm of her hand. It was soothing magic, blue magic, or as she liked to imagine it, tiny fireflies that flew into the wound and knitted the flesh back together. She willed the fireflies to penetrate the wound, to eat out everything that might cause infection, to stimulate the body's natural abilities to heal.

She poured all she had into the wound, and when there was nothing left, she opened her eyes. The wound was less red, but it hadn't fully healed yet. In fact, she was a bit disappointed her own abilities couldn't do more. That is what you get when you spend all your time in the College on alchemy, and don't mix it up with some more restoration.

Ralof sighed, startling Milly.

"Did I... hurt you?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

Ralof looked at her. "No," he said, sounding relaxed. "It was rather pleasant, actually. I didn't expect you to do magic, but I could have guessed so after yesterday, with your little fire story."

The unguarded look Ralof gave her became a little too intense, and she quickly turned to the jar of cream and finished her work. She cursed her mind for the image it gave her of Ralof running his hands over her body again, and she doing the same to her with him. While she stored everything away, she was upmost gratefully that normal people couldn't read minds.

When she was done, she dropped down in a chair in front of the fire, sighing.

"Are you tired?" Ralof asked, walking into the room and buttoning a shirt. "You said you slept well."

"Well..." she replied. "I sort of sent all of my magic into you. That is always a bit fatiguing."

Ralof dropped down next to her, and she startled at a touch on her hands. She opened her eyes to find Ralof, leaning over to her with a hand on hers and a smile on his face.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

For a moment, she could truly appreciate that it Ralof next to her, someone who could speak his mind, someone who could be kind and considerate.

"Milly, do you hear what I am saying?" Ralof said, popping her daydream. He smirked. "I'm wearing a shirt now, so don't say you are still affected by my stunning good looks. Really, I hadn't taken you for the shy girl. What I said is, put your shoes on. I think it's time for you to find your father, and time for me to find my sister. Come on."

Wait. Scrap that last one. Perhaps not so considerate. Cheeks red, Milly put her shoes and a cloak on and followed Ralof outside.