Chapter 4. Rainy Days

The day had been a horrid one, even though barely anything had happened. Milly was sleeping in between Ralof and her father on bedrolls in a small room next to the Dragonreach kitchen in Whiterun. The room was rather smoky and lacked fresh air and made Milly deeply uncomfortable.

Her father was snoring carelessly and Ralof was trashing around. Milly was surprised if he would not have caught ill in the morning... not considering how most of this day had passed.

They left in the early morning from Riverwood. Gerdur had given them brown bread to eat on the way and water in leather skins for drinking. The first hour the three of them walked in silence under an overcast sky, but then, before mid-morning, it began to rain. Gallons of water poured down from the sky in a steady stream, straight down in the absence of wind. The quantities were such that it restricted most of their view and it was hard to find the road sometimes. Their clothes weren't oiled, and in minutes they were soaked to the bone, freezing away. There was nowhere they could escape from the rain. There was no cottage or cave they could hide in, and the foliage was of no use to filter the rain. There was nothing more to it than to endure it, put one foot in front of the other and find their way to the promised city. They didn't rest much, only to eat some of the sodden bread Gerdur had given them, as they all agreed they wanted to reach Whiterun as quickly as possible.

The rain only intensified the gloomy atmosphere of the party. All three of them were lost in thought, lost in a world of their own and troubled so much, Milly was almost glad of the rain to wash away some runaway tears from her face.

The conversation between Milly and her father they had the previous day had left it shadow. Milly might be stubborn, but she didn't get that trait from a stranger. Her father could be a stubborn as he, and if he wanted something, there was nothing you could bring against it. Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting Milly back to Mournhold. So, that was it then.

It wasn't just that being send back to Mournhold made Milly sad. What made her most sad was the realisation that she would soon needed to say farewell to her father. Some part of her was glad to see her sister again, but the fear of a reunion with the city was bigger. When they arrived in Whiterun, it was only a matter of days before they found a carriage to put her on, and then it would be goodbye father, goodbye Skyrim, and goodbye Ralof.

Holgers gloominess was much the same as Milly's. While he wanted her to be safe, he dreaded their farewell. Somehow, he felt they had drifted apart since their conversation, and he feared that Milly would turn out to obtain a grudge against him for deciding her fate. He didn't want to part from Milly on those terms.

Ralof too, was feeling down, but for a whole different reason. It was always joyous to meet with his sister and her husband, to see how much Frodnar had grown, but his farewell was always so leaden. He led a dangerous life, what certainty did he have that he would see them again? His farewell to them might very well be a farewell for good. And at the same time, he was worried for Ulfric. While he said confidently that he was sure Ulfric was still alive, deeply down he wasn't too sure. Anything could have happened, and until he next saw his Jarl, he couldn't be sure about the particulars.

It was around sunset that they arrived at the gates, though it was long dark and there were no pretty skies to behold. The guards at the gates were being an extreme bother.

"There are no visitors allowed in the city," the left guard stated. "The city is closed. Only official business is allowed."

Father sighed. "Official business, you say?" he repeated, tiredly. They were all hungry, cold and groggy and didn't feel like dealing with guards.

"We bring news from Helgen. About the dragon," Ralof began.

"About the dragon?" the other guard repeated. "That's what I would have said, if I wanted food and shelter. You go to the stables, they will take care of you."

"So you do know about the dragon?" Ralof tried. "We do have news about it. In fact, we were there when it first appeared and need to warn the Jarl about the danger."

"I've seen no dragons, but you're not the only one claiming to have seen it," the first guard replied. "Alright, we will let you in. The Jarl is in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. If you move fast, you might get an audience today."

It took them three quarters of an hour to find their way through the city and go to Dragonsreach. In their tiredness and in the dark rain, they hardly appreciated the city or the view or the beautiful castle at the top of the hills. Hardly anyone was seen on the streets, and those who were, either scurried along under a hood, or were homeless to begin with and sat down under what shelter they could find. A few guards walked along, cursing their jobs to keep an eye out on the streets. Light shone behind the windows, indicating candles, fire and warmth, but their eyes didn't fell on them, as they kept focused to the road ahead, to the top of the hill.

When they were finally at the top of the stairs, the guards stationed at the door stopped them.

"No one enters the keep," he said sternly.

"Please," Ralof said, failing to repress his shivers and a cough. "We have news for the Jarl about the dragon. The guard at the gate already let us pass. And anyways, you should offered shelter to frozen travelers."

Seeing truth in those words, the guards opened the tall wooden doors for them.

The beauty of the room was mostly lost to the trio, as their view was obscured by an elderly woman whom greeted them.

"Good evening travelers. How can I help you?"

"We have news for the Jarl," Holger said. "We were at Helgen where the dragon attacked. It flew north and we fear Whiterun is in danger."

"O dear, I believe the Jarl is in a meeting concerning just that on the moment. You might have something to add. Proceed in the hall, the Jarl is just at the back."

And indeed, as they climbed some short stairs, they saw a man sitting on a big wooden chair, surrounded by several people. The moment the assembled people noticed them getting near, they stopped talking.

"Pardon, my Jarl," the lady said, bowing down in respect. "These three travelers might have some news for you."

It was silent for a while. Milly stared at the people in meeting. The Jarl was a middle aged man with a crown on his head and a look of authority. Next to him was a female Dunmer that looked at them disapprovingly, and at the other side, a Breton man with rich clothing and a man wrapped in a hooded cloak. Somehow, even if the Dunmer looked so reproachfully, her grey skin and red eyes calmed Milly. It was silly and irrational, but she was surrounded by Dunmer most of her life. Living all this while among less familiar faces estranged her from the dark-skinned Elves, and she was happy to see one again. Oh, how shallow people could be sometimes.

Holger did the speaking, tired as all of them were.

"Good evening, dear sirs," he began with a polite bow. Milly was observant enough to join his bow and made a curtsy. Having lived as a noble once had made sure she has her manners, after all. The gathered people looked like they meant business, and the female wore a rather ferocious looking sword at her side. It was best to be polite to such people, and at the very least, it wouldn't hurt to do so.

"We have news from Helgen," Holger continued. "And also from Riverwood, if you would oblige me."

The Jarl nodded. "You were at Helgen?" he asked. "Did you see the dragon with your own eyes?"

"We did," Holger replied solemnly.

"Gerda, fetch these travelers some stew and a drink," the Jarl commanded his servant. She bowed and retreated and they were invited to sit at the table in front of the Jarl's pedestal. It wasn't long before the housekeeper brought them bowls of food and a mug with hot milk with honey.

Meanwhile, Holger told the story of Helgen. It was pretty short, as he omitted the part where they were sentenced to death. He made it sound as if they just happened to be there and the dragon just arrived and destroyed the city.

"Last thing we saw, was the dragon flying north," he concluded. "For all we know, Whiterun, and possibly Riverwood, could be in grave danger."

The Jarl observed his accomplices.

"We shouldn't trust on the strength of walls in regards of a dragon," he said in earnest.

"My Jarl," the lady Elf said. She sounded like she meant business, too. "We should sent a delegation of guards to Riverwood. It needs some extra defence."

"Yes," replied the Jarl. "You are right, Riverwood is in need of more protection. If Helgen is destroyed, Gods forbid... Make sure the guards you sent are good archers, and sent a small delegation and a healer to scout for survivors and write a missive about the status of the city."

"Right away, sir." The Dunmer bowed down. "And I shall order the remaining guards to practise their archery skills. A dragon flies, after all."

"Good thinking. Thank you, Ireleth," the Jarl replied as she turned around.

"May I be so forward to ask all you know about these dragons?" Holger asked. His curiousity was such that he could hardly stand not knowing any longer. The man in front of him was a Jarl, surely he or someone else at this court could offer him some answers.

"You may," the Jarl replied. "But I am afraid I'm not the right person to oblige you in this. My court wizard, however, has made a study of these dragons. But... He can be a bit difficult. Mages, you know," he said as an inside joke.

Milly gave a stifled cough. Mages, difficult? She was a mage!

"He is not to be disturbed after his dinner. I'll offer you a place to stay for a few days, and you are free to ask Farengar Secret-Fire all he knows at the dawning of a new day. Good night."

They bowed in courtesy before Gerda, the housekeeper, led them to a guest room. Unfortunately, this was not a lofty room as one might expect in a castle like this, but something that looked like a store room. Well, it was hot down there due to the kitchen being next to it, and it was dry. It might be smoky, but they weren't feeling very picky on the moment. Without going through the bother of undressing, they laid themselves down in the bedrolls and slept within minutes.

Ralof was ill. That much was clear. It was dark in the room, as there were no window, but Milly asked a candle from the kitchen servants as soon as she heard sound next-doors.

Her father was still snoring, but Ralof was sweating and breathing heavily. He had thrown his blankets off and his clothes were sticking to his skin. Milly's knowledge of illness was enough to know that this one was really nasty, if she was right on the origin.

With shaking hands, she unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Looking at the wound on his shoulder made her wince. Her guess was confirmed: the wound had infected because of the bad weather they had yesterday.

"That doesn't look well," she heard her father say. He had woken up and was bowing over Ralof, examining his health.

"We need to find a healer," Milly replied. "Or, I could make him something myself if I can borrow the equipment."

"Well, we can catch two flies in one go, then," her father said. "I need to see the court wizard, and my guess is that he is best man to cure Ralof."

"Well, let us find him, then."

Farengar's room was on the other wing of the Castle. They found him a small room filled with maps, books, soul gems and strange equipment that could only be magical.

"Good morning," father began, carefully. The Jarl had warned them he was difficult, so it might be wise to approach this mage with caution.

"You must be Holger," the mage replied and turned away from the big map he was studying. "The Jarl told me I could expect you today."

"That is correct," father replied. "And this is my daughter, Milly."

She curtsied.

"Pleased," Farengar replied. "That is quite a flourishing bow so early on the day."

"I'm sorry, sir, I need to ask you for your help," she said. "Our friend – he's really ill. I wondered if you could help him. I mean, you are a mage after all."

The mage studied her. "That is correct," he said. "Fact is, I am neither a healer nor a alchemist. I might have the equipment," he pointed behind him, to a table cluttered with alchemy devices. "However, there lives a great alchemist in this city, Arcadia's cauldron, you can find her in the market area. She might be able to help you out."

"Sir, might I use your table, if I get the ingredients I need?"

"You're and alchemist, then?" Farengar replied, surprised. "But sure, you may use my equipment. Now, for your father, what might he use me for?"

"I understand you know a lot about dragons," Holger began. "I find myself curious about them, and wondered if you could tell me more."

Farengar sat down in his chair. "It is true," he answered. "I know a lot about dragons. It is a lot you ask me if you want all my knowledge. I have an offer to make you. I am in search of an object that is hidden not far from here, in Bleak Falls Barrows. If you can retrieve me what I look for, I will tell you what I know."

Farengar told what it was he was searching for, and how Holger could recognize it.

Gerda offered them breakfast and told she would move Ralof to a sickroom and give him a sponge bath.

As they finished their meal, the Jarl stopped by them.

"I heard Farengar sent you on a mission," he replied. "While it might not even be dangerous, we can lend you one of the guard armours and a horse to ease the road. It is still raining today, perhaps not so much as yesterday, but enough to be a bother. A horse will make it a lot quicker."

"Thank you," Holger replied. "It would be much appreciated."

He turned to his daughter.

"I'm going to Arcadia's," Milly said to him. "You – you'll be fine, won't you?"

"I still know how to fight," Holger replied. "I'll be back before you know it, and you will have nursed Ralof back to health by then."

And there it was – suddenly. She and her father would part ways. While Bleak Fall's Barrow, where her father was heading, wasn't far away, the point was that he would be going alone. They hadn't been separated since months like this – and what if her father truly ran into danger?

She hugged her father, willing the tears in her eyes to vanish.

"Now now, It'll only be a few days," father replied softly, patting her head. He grabbed something from his pocket and gave Milly the little pouch of money they had.

"Keep safe, princess," he said as he turned around to follow the Jarl to fit him into a breastplate.

Princess? It must be over ten years ago that her father called her that. Gwyneth had always been Lady and she had been Princess. She was of a half mind that her father had forgotten about it, but clearly he cared more than she gave his credit. She followed him with her eyes until he disappeared around a corner. Trying to ignore the curious stares from Farengar, Milly wiped away the tears on her cheeks and headed to the door. Well, time to find the market district, then.

Whiterun was a lot more pretty in daylight. While it indeed was still raining, it was more of a slow drizzle that still allowed for sunlight to filter through. The light shone on the wet roofs of the buildings, bathing them in pale golden light. As she started her descent from the many steps towards the lower parts of the city, her eye fell on a building with a wooden roof that seemed to shine gold. It seemed old, older than the keep itself, with beautiful carvings on the roof, that was shaped like an upside-down ship.

As she walked on, she wondered what the building might be used for, and how she could have missed it yesterday. It sure had been dark, but they still must have noticed a building like that, right? She concluded that it must either be a library or a very old church or temple. If a building looked the way this building did, there were only two options in Milly's mind: either it was a house of prayer, or a house of learning. And as there was a temple across the square, it must be the second.

After descending several more steps, Milly entered the market district. It wasn't hard to see she was at the right place, for there were market stalls all around, with harvest produces, meat, cheeses, fabrics, clothes, wicker baskets, flowers... Even in the rain the place was crowded, with children running around, mothers calling after them, maids doing hurried shopping to return to their rich families.

There were only a few shops located indoors. It wasn't hard to miss the right shop, for there was a huge carving of a cauldron on the front of the roof.

Inside, it was rather dark, a contrast to the brightness of daylight. The scents were calming here, with the familiar scent of sage incense, of bundles of lavender on the wall, but also unfamiliar plants, or plants that used to be rare, like the thistle she had seen on the road as a prisoner.

"Hello dear," the lady behind the counter said. "What can I help you with?"

"My friend is ill," she replied. "He has a bad wound that has infected during the night."

"O dear, o dear," the replied, and started rummaging through some cabinets. "I might have just the right salves for you."

"O," Milly replied. "I appreciate your help, but I am an alchemist myself. I'd like to make it all myself."

"You don't see a lot of young ones with such an alchemical ability. Are you from the College in Winterhold?"

"Actually, I am from the Arcane University in Mournhold," she confessed, while she browsed through the ingredients that were in display. She selected what she wanted and Arcadia started to wrap them.

"That really is far away. On a holiday, then? Do you have a warm, dry place for your friend to rest?" Arcadia asked.

"He rests up at Dragonsreach, in the castle," Milly replied. "He's well taken cared for now."

"Dragonsreach?"

Milly wasn't surprised that Arcadia was surprised. She was still wearing Gerdur's old dress that didn't really fitted her, and she had slept in it too. Come to think of it, she hadn't brushed her hair in the morning either. The rain must have made sure it was an explosion of tangles.

"If you so me a favour, I'll give you these for free," Arcadia suggested. "I needed to deliver something to Jorrvaskr, and that will be just on your way. If you make my delivery, you can take your ingredients along. It is already been paid for, so no worries on that account."

"Sure," Milly said, taken aback. She didn't have much money and was glad with every coin she could keep. "It's only, I don't know what building you mean."

"First time in Whiterun?" Arcadia asked. "Don't worry, dear, you cannot miss it. Have you seen the big wooden building, apart from the other houses? That is the Companions mead hall, a guild of fighters. They're always in need of salves against sore muscles. I don't fancy walking all those stairs in this sort of weather, but they have paid for the delivery today."

Jorrvaskr, right? So, it was not a library, but a fighter's club!

"Consider it done," she said, and took the glass pot from the elder lady, together with her own wrapped ingredients.

"Thank you. And good health to you friend," she said as Milly left.

"Good day, and thank you," she smiled.

The market was still busy, but she refrained from taking a look at the stalls – she could hardly take a large detour while Ralof was ill! And she needed to safe all the money she could and was very glad she could take the ingredients for free in turn of a little favour. Climbing the stairs, she kept an eye on the roof of the building. As she was in front of it, it was clear that it was rather imposing. It seemed old, older than any of the structures in the city, while it was still huge. Milly braced herself, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the hall was even more imposing. The entire building was made of wood, the massive roof resting on huge wooden beams that were decorated with carved knots. On the walls were round shields with coat of arms, stuffed animals, and faded tapestries that told stories of eras before living memory.

In the middle of the roof was a huge chandelier, positioned above pit of fire. Surrounding the fire, was a long table.

However, there didn't seemed to be anyone in the hall. As she stepped a little further, she noticed a tune. It was an odd tune, a tune so familiar to her she hardly noticed it at first. When they were young, they used to have a Dwemer music box that played music from perforated sheets of paper, and this tune was her mother's favourite. It was so contrasting to the utter Skyrim-ness of this room that Milly wondered at first if it hadn't been a memory, triggered by the melancholic state of the very room.

When it stopped, she knew she couldn't have imagined it. From one of the dark corners of the room emerged a Dunmer, carrying a flute. Another Dunmer, here in Whiterun? She hadn't even seen one in the marketplace. Well, at least he could explain the presence of Morrowind that lingered in the melody.

"I know that tune," Milly said.

"You do?" the Dark Elf replied, wonder in his voice.

"It's a pavane, a variant that is very popular in Morrowind."

There was a vision in her head of a ballroom in one of the mansions when she was little, where she stood overlooking the dancing couples, of dancing lessons and her sister's wedding.

"Are you lost here?" the Dark Elf asked, a little uncertain what this redheaded girl was doing here.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Milly replied, just as another person walked into the room. "I'm Milly Greenthorn. I just came from Arcadia, and she asked me to deliver this to you."

The second man turned out to be a lean Nord man with dark hair and light eyes.

"That is right," the man replied. "We did place an order." His eyes shone silver, even in the golden firelight.

Milly took the jar and gave it to him.

"It's muscle cream, she told me. And she said it had already been paid for."

"These things are too bloody expensive," the Dunmer said, shrugging. "But they're necessary for a group like us."

"The companions send their thanks for the delivery," the Nord added.

"You're welcome. This hall really is astonishing," Milly said as she lingered to take one last look. "Goodbye," she said with a smile when she felt she'd lingered long enough.

The men bid her goodbye too as the Dunmer hold the door open.

As she climbed the remaining steps to the keep, she cursed to herself how she could have entered a place like Jorrvaskr, looking like she did. She knew her hair turned horrid in this weather, one big fluff of orange framing her face, while the state of her dress was worse to wear. As she entered the castle, she forgot her worries. For the next one and a half hours she was busy in Farengar's alchemy study. She infused water with blue mountain petals, mudcrap chitin and juniper berries. She added some spirits and reduced the mixture by a third. Then she strained the water, making sure nothing of the ingredients was left behind. She dissolved honeycomb and beeswax in pine oil, allowed it to cool some and poured it slowly on the infused water to make a cream.

She took the strained flower petals, berries and chitin, added rooibos leaves, and made a tea. After it had infused sufficiently, she strained it again, pouring the liquid into a big cup and added honey. Storing everything away and putting her brews on a tray, she felt confident of herself.

"Impressive work from such a young lady," Farengar commented, and it was only then that she noticed that he was still in the room, in a corner with a book. "I really had figured you out more of a girl of dancing and music, than wit and knowledge. If your brews work and you still have something left, I would pay you for all the leftovers. We really need to replenish our stock of healing concoctions."

"I'll let you know if it worked," Milly replied, a little bashful of his words.

Well, time to work on her patient. Ralof was transferred to a room upstairs, a sort of small infirmary room with two beds. On his bedside table was a bowl of hot water and some blankets to sponge his head.

It was quite a difficulty to make Ralof drink the tea, but he managed without spilling too much. She unbound his wound and worked some more of her magic into him. She willed the small specks of light into the wound, lift out the infection, and clean everything when they left. She applied a generous amount of her cream onto the reddened skin and bound it again.

The rest of healing must come from Ralof himself – and with a bit of luck, his body would agree to the medication soon.