When Kathryn woke, she was in a bed in an unfamiliar room. She could hear voices nearby, loud voices, raised in merriment or anger. She couldn't tell. Things still had a fuzzy, surreal edge to them, making it hard to discern exactly what was going on. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle on a table on the far end, but she knew from the feel of the bed, the sounds and the smells that she should know where she was. She just needed a moment to think about it.
She tried to sit up, and was surprised to find that she could. It was strange, but she had expected pain from such a simple movement. She raised her hand, looked at it, squinting through the dimness, frowned. It wasn't wrapped. She had a feeling it should be, and couldn't explain why it perturbed her that it was alright.
As the dreams started to slip away, and her mind began to focus on what had happened, she scrabbled at the covers. Her side was not unmarked, but it didn't hurt much. A clean, white linen bandage wrapped around her torso, but it was smaller than she expected from the blood she'd seen on Roliand.
Roliand! Where was he?
For that matter, where was she?
A door opened, allowing more light to spill into the room. The sounds grew louder; merriment, laughter from upstairs. It was then that she recognized it as the Jorrvaskr barracks. So that answered one question. The figure that entered was that of Roliand, which answered her other question.
"Hey," she croaked, her mouth dry.
"Hey," he lifted a mug of something, and handed it to her.
Kathryn smelled it first, which was both a blessing and a curse. It smelled herbal and bitter, which told her that it was something a healer or an alchemist had cooked up. She steeled herself for the sip, knowing that these things often smelled better than they tasted. And she was right. It was awful, a cacophony of herbal and other flavors assaulted her tongue. But she made herself swallow it, and ultimately it did serve to moisten her mouth and throat.
"How long?" She managed.
"About a day," She opened her mouth to ask another question, Roliand held his hand up. "No, I think I know what you're going to ask. Healers patched you up as best they could. You've some stitches in your side, and they had to re-set your hand. I didn't mention that it had already been broken, but I think they guessed. I'm not quite sure how I got us here. It's a bit of a panicked blur.
"You gave me a helluva scare out there, princess.
"The Jarl has heard you're in town, and wants you to come by Dragonsreach as soon as you're able. Said they sighted a dragon and he's interested in your assistance as soon as you're able."
"Oh," Kathryn managed, examining her hand and flexing it experimentally. It ached a little, but not as badly as it had. She twisted slowly, felt the pull of stitches in the soft tissue of her skin, but again no pain. She hadn't realized how much pain she'd been dealing with until it was gone. "This healer did a better job."
"They ah-" Roliand hesitated. "They had a bit more incentive this time. Threat of ah... death if they couldn't fix you."
Kathryn quirked a brow, and the big Nord shrugged casually and looked away. It was a bit too casual, and left her wondering what, exactly, he was telling her. Or trying not to tell her, as the case seemed to be. She wanted to poke him and pry for information, but she'd only known him three days at this point, for all that he'd been in her thoughts for months.
"Oh?" She quirked a brow at him, but he was steadfastly refusing to look at her face. His head was turned just far enough that she wasn't in his direct line of sight. Something was going on here, she just couldn't decide what.
"I ah," he stumbled, and she was even more intrigued. Could this mean? "I took another job."
Her heart sank. Of course he had. He was a mercenary, and gold was important to him. She'd offered him enough septims to get him here with her, but after that, he had to keep going, and she couldn't afford to keep him on her payroll endlessly. After she'd nearly gotten them both killed, she wasn't sure she wanted to try. She wasn't sure if he wanted to try either, considering how good a job she'd done of leading him into a trap.
Sometimes, it was best to know when to let go, and she had a feeling this was one of those times.
The longer they were together, the harder it would be to admit that it was a mistake, and the harder it would be for her to let him go. The thing about mercenaries is that they were hard to pin down. She knew. She'd spent so many months wandering that she knew dozens of landmarks, but she still didn't have a permanent home, or permanent friends.
Part of her had wished this time would be different. That he could become a fixture in her life, her first friend in this strange land. But it was not to be.
It seemed like she never did a very good job of making or keeping friends. There had been others that might have become friends, if she'd spent time and effort on the endeavor.
When she'd left Roliand all those months ago, she'd been out in the far west of Skyrim. She couldn't remember precisely where she'd been at the time, and she wasn't sure it had mattered. She'd been close enough to Riften that she'd gone there. And then she'd found a job that took her across the country to Solitude.
She was on her way there when she'd run into the Stormcloak "High King" Ulfric and his men near Darkwater Crossing. They'd said something to her, had tried to convince her that she wanted to join their cause. Trying to convince her, an Imperial from Cyrodiil that she wanted to join their rebellion. She'd listened politely, prepared to tell them off when the Imperial Legion had sprung their trap. It didn't matter that she was from Cyrodiil, didn't matter who her father was. Her presence in the midst of the rebels had been enough to seal her fate.
She'd been up on the headman's block, prepared for the end of her life when the dragon had interrupted her execution. There had been so much smoke. So much noise. She'd fallen, and the dragon had landed on her, its talons ripping through her clothing like it was nothing. She remembered her shriek of pain, remembered someone pouring a healing potion down her throat and dragging her away.
That someone had turned out to be Hadvar of Riverwood, a friend of sorts. She suspected that he saved her out of guilt, knowing that she had no place in this civil war, understanding that she was a bystander caught in the crossfire. She'd seen how conflicted he was as his captain had told him that she was to be executed.
Hadvar had saved her. Had brought her back to Riverwood and patched her up. Then he had asked something of her, knowing that it was impossible, but that she had the best chances of succeeding, and could travel to Whiterun. He might have gone himself, but he was a soldier, and had his orders.
She'd gotten to Whiterun, and had gotten sidetracked by the Companions who were fighting a giant. She'd helped them fell the creature, and then she'd been caught up in everything and ended up in Jorrvaskr. She had never made it to Dragonsreach, had never asked the Jarl to send troops to Riverwood. Instead, she'd taken a job that had led her to Windhelm. A simple job, sure. Smacking some guy around because he'd angered the wrong client, but it wasn't helping the citizens of Riverwood.
That was a week ago. Now the Jarl was requesting her presence and she was wondering if she'd ruined any chance at friendship by failing them as she had.
Hadvar had saved her life, and this was how she repaid that. By gallivanting around Skyrim with a reluctant mercenary at her side. She'd joined the Companions, found the closest thing to a "home" she'd had since she left her family in Cyrodiil, and hadn't said a word to the Jarl about the dragon problem.
As she thought, she stared at Roliand, her gaze not quite focusing on him. He was so handsome, so strong, so good to her. She wanted him to stay with her, wanted him to be her anchor amidst the chaos, but she wanted him to want that, too. She couldn't force it, and in the end, she didn't want whatever happened between them to be about the septims. She wanted him to stay because he wanted to.
And if he'd taken another job, he must not have wanted to stay very badly.
Roliand stood, his movements awkward.
"Kat," he looked down at her. She wished she could see his face, but the light was behind him and all she could see from this angle was his silhouette. "Be careful."
She nodded mutely. This was where "careful" had gotten her. She wondered if he understood that. He hovered expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for some words of farewell.
"You-" emotion choked her voice. "You do the same. I still have that contract on you." Her laugh was bitter. "So no letting anyone else kill you. That's- that's my job."
And then Roliand was gone, and Kathryn was sagging back into the bed and pulling the covers back over her head. Her eyes burned, her stomach twisted, and she was pretty sure her heart was going to shatter. She just needed a few minutes to deal with the pain, and then she would deal with her responsibilities. Just a few minutes, and then she would move on.