Chapter Twelve- Prayers Answered

The next morning, Laurelin carefully walked down the steps, circled the tree she had serenaded earlier, and seated herself next to the woman sitting on the bench there. The woman, Whiterun's priestess of Kynareth, had her head tipped up, a sad, searching look on her careworn face as she scanned the branches. "It's a shame, isn't it? I come out here, and I pray to Kynareth for the Gildergreen to breathe again, to grow green and bloom once more. Every day I hope to see the swell of a leaf bud pushing into the light. Every day-" she shuddered to a halt.

Memory spoke softly through Laurelin's lips. "I remember people used to come and pray to the Goddess of Winds when she bloomed. I remember the way the light would sparkle and dance when the leaves shook in the breeze. There is always a breeze here in the Winds, aye, Danica Pure-Spring?" Laure turned her gaze up, and such was her memory that she could almost see an overlay of leaves and blooms hanging overhead. "I would like to help restore her to herself. I have a few ideas, but I thought I should consult with you first."

Danica was naturally delighted. She detailed her belief that sap from the Eldergleam, the Gildergreen's parent tree, might perhaps revive the husk to it's previous glory. She then revealed the location of the only weapon cursed enough to harm the Eldergleam tree, Nettlebane. Nothing else could damage the sacred tree enough to draw forth the sap.

"You would go to Orphan Rock and retrieve Nettlebane for me? That would be wonderful! Please be safe, and the blessings of Kynareth upon you." Danica stood, smoothing the brown robes she wore, and moved into the temple, where she was needed to heal the illnesses and wounds of the people she cared for.

Laure sat on the bench a moment longer, listening to the sounds of the day. Heimskr enthusiastically preached the word of Talos, as he did every day. Calls of merchants floated up from the Plains district, and the metallic clang of hammer on hot steel resounded all about-Eorland at his forge. She stared absently at the cuffs of her leggings. Everything she had to wear was too small now, but she liked being taller. Maybe at some point she might try to shrink herself back to her original size. Right now the novelty of not needing a stool to see over the bars of some inns when ordering a drink was too refreshing.

Finally, Laure arose and trotted back up to Jorrvaskr. Eventually she would get all her clothing and gear moved into Breezehome, but not today. She figured it might take her a day or so to travel south around the Throat to Orphan Rock, retrieve this blade, then a day back. Easily done.

She could hear Farkas out back, training with Torvar and Njada. As much as she wanted to run around and jump on him, she went through the front doors and downstairs. She slid into some simple leather armor she had picked up, hoping Eorland would be finished modifying her wolf armor soon. Her Nightingale blade went to her waist and bow over her shoulder. A few items she needed went into her pack, then she twitched the furs into a semblance of order and picked up a book she had borrowed from Vilkas. She would return this to him and be off.

Laure skipped lightly down to the twins' rooms, book in hand. Vilkas's door was shut but not latched, so she tapped lightly as pushed it open. "Vilkas, I brought back this—oh, sorry." She stopped, for Vilkas was just wrapping a small towel around his narrow, bare hips. She didn't even try to stop her interested gaze as he turned to face her, a small smile twitching up the corner of his lips.

He was incredibly lean, muscles corded tightly around his body. His broad shoulders and chest tapered to his slender waist, dark curls of hair drew her eye inevitably down for a moment, then back up. He was smirking at her, she standing there like a maiden, cheeks pink suddenly, book forgotten in her hand.

"You can just set in on the table there." Laure swallowed, and set the book down, saying nothing. "Well, you're a talkative one aren't you?" he teased lightly. He stood there, damp from his bath, hand gripping the towel. "Was there something else I could do for you?" His gray eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Ah, no. I just wanted to return your book; thank you for lending it to me. I'm heading out to Orphan Rock for Danica, I'll be back in a few days." She shifted her gaze from the interesting hollow where his hip curved down under the towel and met his gaze, a small smile of her own playing across her lips. "Hope to see more of you when I return!" With that she whirled away, chuckling softly.

"Oh, there's more to see, should you desire." Came his loaded reply from the door.


Orphan Rock was not a pretty place. Oh sure, the scenery was still pleasant enough, but the stink of a certain taint lingered on every blade of grass and breeze. Some places just felt wrong to Laurelin, and this was one of them. Heavy, gray clouds hung overhead, promising a good soaking. Laure used her senses to fullest advantage, sniffing the location of the four hags lurking around the pillar of stone. From high up, Laure sighted down her shaft, the point of her arrow leading in front of her target, watching the steps; the pattern followed. The hag she was shadowing came to a stop, turned her back to look out into the trees. Peripherally, Laure was aware of scents and sounds around her, but her focus was on stripping away the distractions all about, bringing the heart of her target to the point of her arrow. She exhaled, her fingers loosened around the bowstring at her ear, a soft twang of the string and her target crumpled to the ground. A second body followed immediately, a few yards away, taken swiftly by her next shot.

She dropped back down into a hunch behind a tumble of boulders and scrambled quietly away as the first few droplets of rain pattered down. Two down, three to go. She notched another shaft as she crept through the trees, circling higher in the valley to the west hillside. Her sharp ears brought her the outraged cries of two of the remaining witches. Smoothly, the Bosmer shot the cone of a fir tree from where it hung. The hags rushed to investigate the noise, hands glowing menacingly with magics. Laure was able to drop one to her knees with one shot before the remaining witch swung about and began hurling bolts of fire. Laurelin was already on the move, ducking behind a tree, shouldering her bow. As she moved to another tree, she drew her sword and dagger, spun around the trunk and shouted "Wuld!"

The witch had enough time to scream a strangled "What?" Before Laurelin raced by, stabbing cleanly into her opponent's throat, moving far too swiftly to be blocked. The pale-haired mer sprang to the other injured witch, who was just gaining her feet, and quietly opened her throat. Four down...

Laure zig-zagged her way up the hillside, doing her best to dodge the fireballs now pelting down on her from the top of Orphan Rock. It took several moments of frantic dodging as she wove her way up the hillside. She tucked her dagger away and enacted a simple ward spell as she slid carefully over the fallen tree that served as a bridge. She could still feel the heat and impact of the fireballs as two smashed into her ward, but now she was over the makeshift bridge, closing with a gaunt, snarling hagraven. Her next shout of, "Fus Ro!" stunned the hagraven to its knees, which was just where Laurelin wanted it. Her dagger punched into its side and back out, just under the left armpit; her sword cut across horizontally, neatly cleaving the creature's head from her scrawny neck.

A growl of triumph rolled from her throat—usually she wasn't able to make it out of a fight like this without at least some injury, but she had planned ahead well-and she bent to search for the weapon she sought. She didn't find it anywhere on or near the hagraven, so she looked around. There was an enchanting table to one side of a lean-to, a few tree stumps, and little else. She found a large, locked chest in the hagraven's little lean-to but couldn't find a key.

Searching through her pack, the elf found a total of three lockpicks. "Fuck me sideways, some thief I am. Okay, Lady Nocturnal, guide my hand, please. Three picks, one for each of your Trinity. It would keep me from other business if I have to lug this whole chest all the way back to town." Pushing the hair from her eyes, Laure focused on listening and feeling the lock. Whether it was a cheap lock to begin with or her mistress was smiling on her today she wasn't sure, but the locked clicked open within seconds. "Ha! Thank you, Lady."

Laure furrowed her brow as she looked inside the chest. A few scattered coins, a pair of battered steel gauntlets, and a blue potion bottle were all that were inside. Where was the weapon? Laure sniffed around, and she could tell it had been stored in this chest; the sense of it was near. Outside the tent, she searched around, but it was nowhere on the hag, not on the ground. She finally found it down at the base of the rock pillar, where it had been hurled by the power of her Thu'um. She tucked the primitive blade into her pack, unable to help a wrinkle of her nose. Its pocked surface stank of dead spriggan. Laure then lugged everything the hags had into a pile and gave the afternoon one last taste of her voice as she set it on fire. "Yol!" The pale Bosmer warmed her hands by the flames, ignoring the stench of burning witches and hagraven. When the blaze had died down, so had the rain. Laure walked away from the ash pile after gathering up her pack and the meager items looted here. She moved swiftly down the trail, heading back around the ruins of Helgen, alert for danger as she trotted away.


Laure traveled the rest of the afternoon, arriving in Whiterun before moonrise. Deciding to get some rest and take Nettlebane to Danica in the morning, Laure stepped gratefully into the warmth of Breezehome and leaned against the door with a tired sigh. Lydia came down the stairs, fingers peeling apart a sweet roll.

"Honor to you, my Thane," said Lydia brightly around her pastry. "Is there anything you need?"

"A bath and man for my bed sound nice around now. I guess I'll settle for a bath and something hot to drink." Laure dropped into a chair and stretched her feet toward the fire, while Lydia rolled the small, wooden wash tub by the fire. Aye, a bath and a man...Farkas would come running, she knew, but something still stalled her from making the final move with him. Brynjolf's face smirked at her from the shadows of her mind, seeming to ask why she truly refrained. Why indeed? She kicked her boots off, waiting for the water to heat up. Maybe a good soak would take some of the tension away, but she didn't try to fool herself. She was either going back to Riften soon to have her way with Bryn, or she was going to end up in bed with a werewolf. At this point she didn't care which one.

The next morning was cold and rainy, soaking Laurelin's hair and shoulders as she splashed through town on her way to the temple of Kynareth. She stopped at Belethor's general goods store, selected a pair of boots, a few items of clothing that fit better, and every lockpick he had in stock-a grand total of four. Belethor was as disgustingly oily as ever. When she finally shoved her way through his door, she felt like rolling around in the mud-it would be cleaner than she felt after dealing with him.

Danica greeted the Bosmer with a relieved smile. "You made it! Honestly I wasn't sure if I had sent you to your doom! The Goddess must have smiled down on you to make it all the way there and back so swiftly. But my apologies. Did you retrieve Nettlebane?" Her eyes were wide, excitement thickening her accent even more. Laure held out doeskin-wrapped bundle she carried.

Danica stepped back, a look of revulsion on her face. "I don't actually want to touch that foul thing, if you don't mind." She looked down embarrassed, then back up to meet the Bosmer's pale eyes. "I have a further request of you, child. Could I send you to retrieve the sap from the Eldergleam? I'm afraid I can ill afford to be gone from my duties here at the temple; there are so many sick and injured to care for..."

Laure smiled, wrapping Nettlebane back up, sliding it under her arm. "It would be my honor to assist you. I'll leave today." At that moment a man sidled up next to Laurelin, plucking at her sleeve for attention.

"Did I hear you say you were going to the Eldergleam Sanctuary? If it isn't too much trouble, may I join you? Two may journey more safely than one in these dangerous times."

Laure eyed the brown-haired Breton. "Who might you be, then?"

"My name is Maurice Jondrelle, I am a pilgrim, following the the voice of Kynareth where ever it leads me. I could help protect you on the road, my lady."

"You're not from around here, that's for sure. Fine, gather your things and meet me here in an hour." She stepped out and jogged up to Jorrvaskr. Sniffing, she caught no recent scent of Farkas. He was not inside, nor outside. Vilkas stood by the fire inside though, wearing long, soft, buckskin trousers and a snug linen tunic, reading a thick book in the flickering light. "Too cold and wet for you, brother?" She asked with a grin. He looked good enough to eat just now, with his hair falling into his face a little, feet bare, no warpaint. Laure tried to haul in those thoughts before Vilkas caught on.

Vilkas looked up, thumb holding his place in the tome. "It's drier in here, less damage to valuable books than out there. How fares your day, sister?"

"Wet. Is Farkas out? I was wondering if he wanted to go with me to Eldergleam Sanctuary on an errand for Danica."

" He took a job to rescue a woman abducted by the Forsworn; I imagine it will take him a few days at the least to make it back here as he only left yesterday afternoon. Would you like some company?"

"I would love it. Seems I'm escorting a pilgrim as well. Another sword and pair of eyes would be welcome. When can you be ready?"

"I'll be up in a few moments. I'll let Kodlak know where we are heading as well." He turned away, setting the book on the table behind him. Laure warmed her hands, then leaned over to see what he had been reading. She was expecting a treatise on some heroic Nord warrior of old, or something along those lines. So she was surprised and a little amused to discover he had been reading a collection of Third Era Cyrodillic poetry. It was a collection Laurelin had not read, so she thumbed through it while she waited, noting the worn pages, some dogeared down. She wondered if these were favored passages of her shield-brothers. Soon he was clattering up the steps, in armor once again. Fresh paint glistened around his eyes.

"Oh sure, make me feel bad for not putting mine on!" she sniped playfully.

"Makes me prettier." His smile showed an interesting amount of teeth.

"Aww, Vilkas! You don't need makeup to be pretty!" She swung around, gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Vilkas gave her behind a playful slap. "Age before beauty." Chortling, Laure shoved through the doors. The two Companions stopped at the temple long enough to collect the pilgrim Maurice, then once more at Breezehome to get Laurelin's pack.

"Lydia, hold the fort! I'll be back in a few days." She called up to her room where she knew her housecarl liked to sit.

"Do you want company, my Thane?"

"I have plenty, thanks. If you need anything, there is a bag of gold in the small kettle. Get yourself something pretty if you want."

"I don't need anything pretty! I did see a shield Adrienne has next door, though."

"Fine, get a pretty shield. Keep it under a thousand if you can." Vilkas snorted behind her, but other than that waited quietly. "See you soon, Lydia."

"Safe journey, my Thane."


Laurelin, Vilkas and Maurice picked their way carefully down the long, sloping passage into the Eldergleam Sanctuary. When they finally emerged into the large cavern, all three slid to a complete stop. Laure felt a peculiar singing in her heart as she gazed in wonder at the magnificent Eldergleam tree that dominated the cave.

"By Ysmr, that's impressive!" exclaimed Vilkas, his eyes gleaming in the pink-tinted light. Maurice moved on, drawn forward deeper along the path winding around the edge of the limestone cavern, muttering softly in wonder. Laurelin and Vilkas stood drinking in the peace of the place. Everything smelled like a fresh spring breeze laden with blossom and nectar. Birds wheeled in and out of the shafts above leading into daylight, crying out strident, sweet songs. Water falling over stones thrummed quietly in the background. Breathing in the clean air somehow seemed to lift pain, to smudge the jagged edges of it, at least a little. It was enough.

Slowly they followed Maurice, who stood gazing about in wonder by a slender stream. Eventually, Laurelin steeled herself, not much caring for this part. It seemed a shame to mar the smooth dove-gray bark of the Eldergleam tree. A massive tangle of roots stretched across the path. Even for the nimble, tree-loving Bosmer, there was clearly no way around. The roots only shifted and twisted until she lost her grip and fell to the ground. Drawing Nettlebane, sending up a quick prayer begging forgiveness, Laure gingerly nicked the massive root before her and watched it writhe away as if horrified. She wished the whole mass would just roll up out of the way, but she had to nick each and every one that tangled across the path.

Maurice charged up behind the two Companions as they neared the top, red-faced, sputtering. "I had no idea you were a woman of violence!"

"What exactly did you think I was?" Laure asked, her brows lifted archly.

"Oh I don't know, I guess the swords and armor should have given it away. What exactly are your intentions in this blessed place?"

"I need sap of the Eldergleam to help Danica restore the Gildergreen tree. You seemed concerned for it when we met in Whiterun. I rather thought you might be pleased. I must have been mistaken."

"You would violate this marvel of Kynareth's glory, for that-that half breed stump in Whiterun?"

"I don't like it any more than you, but this is that 'half-breed stump's mother. All mothers willingly bleed and endure unimaginable pain for their children. You would know this if you were a woman."

"This is barbaric! I'll have no part of-"

"Do you perhaps have a better idea?" her irritation with this pilgrim's fussiness growing by the second.

"I will pray for guidance under her sacred tree's branches." Maurice turned and knelt before the luminous tree and began a fervent prayer to his goddess.

"Branches you may now kneel under because of my barbaric act," she muttered so low, only Vilkas could hear. Laure snooped around a bit while the monk prayed, finding a chest deep in a tangle of roots. Before she could investigate further, the sound of wind chimes rose behind her and she whirled about. A line of light trickled along the outstretched roots before Maurice, spiraled up, pulling a green and silver shoot up, topped by a trio of rosy leaves. "Aye, aren't you a lovely thing?" she whispered to the little sapling before her. Out loud she declared, "Well done, Maurice. I think this will be just what we need. Thank you for your help."

Maurice bowed, "It was an honor. Now I think I will bask here in the beauty of this peaceful place a while longer. Tell Danica that true blessings lie in renewal, not slavish maintenance." He wandered away at that, interest absorbed back into his goddess.

Laure had no intention of telling Danica anything like it, but she nodded and bent to scoop up loose mulch and soil to pack around the pale roots of the tiny tree. Vilkas had gone down the trail, bought a small sack from another wanderer, and come back up by the time Laure had finished carefully loosening the sapling. The Bosmer lined the sack with moist leaves and moss, then carefully crumbled the soil she had raked up until it had a uniform texture, mounded that in the bag, then just as carefully arrayed the bare roots over the cone of soil. She had Vilkas hold the sapling upright while she used both hands to carefully tamp soil over the roots until she judged there was enough and the roots properly set. She wiped her filthy hands together with a smile. "That should keep it happy." She lifted the little tree in her arms and cooed to it. "You're going to a brand new home! You'll live in the middle of town and be the wonder of the hold. Yes, you're so pretty!"

Vilkas walked by, biting his lip, trying not to burst into gales of laughter. Fruity mer, no wonder she doesn't eat plants. It would be like eating her own children, he thought to himself.

"Oh look, there's grumpy uncle Vilkas. Don't worry, he's more bark than bite." Laurelin sang to the little tree with a merry grin to her shield-brother. "Let's go get you a drink of water, little tree."


Vilkas and Laurelin walked back into Whiterun early the next day, the Bosmer having chatted cheerfully to the tree nearly the entire way back, crooning little songs to its rosy leaves. They drew bemused stares from everyone they passed in the streets. The tall, dark-haired Vilkas parted ways with her at the circle in the Winds District under the bare branches of the Gildergreen tree.

"Thank you for your help and company, Vilkas; I appreciate you coming along. I'll see you soon."

"It was my pleasure, Laurelin." They embraced warmly, he continuing on up to Jorrvaskr, she turning into the temple of Kynareth.

Danica greeted Laurelin warmly as always, her gentle voice excited. "Wonderful, you have returned! Did you get the sap?"

Laure grinned as she replied, "I have something better. Maurice prayed to Kynareth for guidance and she blessed us with this sapling!"

Danica's excitement waned. "But I need the sap to restore the tree; I'm not sure about replacing the Gildergreen with this tiny thing."

"Actually, I have an idea about that. In my homeland we have a technique called grafting that allows us to-in a way—stitch a branch of another tree onto an existing one. If it works, the sapling would become part of the old tree, and we wouldn't need to cut it down."

"How would you know if it would work? I'm not at all sure about this."

"I would need to examine the tree a little to see if it has enough life in it to accept a new branch. Given that the sapling is full of the magic and life of Kynareth, I suspect it would work."

Danica stared at her hands for a moment, then nodded. "Do what you think will work best. With Kynareth's guidance, may your hands be successful."


Laurelin sat back on her high perch, pushed a lock of sweaty hair from her eyes. A few last tugs on the wrappings around the graft point to make sure they were snug, then she nodded. Everything seemed to be working well. The grafted sapling had locked into place almost as if by design. A tiny, warm glow seemed to be slowly seeping through the bark of the Gildergreen, which pleased Laure immensely.

"You look like a monstrously huge, self satisfied squirrel up there," Vilkas called up from the ground. He had wandered back down after stowing his gear to watch her working. "You'd better come down before someone tries to shoot you and put you in a stew pot." He caught the satchel of tools she dropped to him, then held out a hand to help her down. Laure laughed her musical laugh, slid back on the tree branch until her behind was clear. With a whoop she flipped over backwards, spun, and landed easily on her feet.

Danica thanked her profusely again, then sat herself on the bench, as if waiting for the magic to happen instantaneously. Laure deeply hoped this worked. As she headed back down to Breezehome, Vilkas accompanied her, though he was quiet. Laure invited him in, and they settled down in front of the fire.

Vilkas glanced around. There were no feminine fripperies in this house. In fact, other than the furnishings she had purchased with the house and few dozen books on the shelves, there was nothing personalized about her house. Of course, she had just moved in. He sighed and announced, "Aela has come out of her room finally. It seems she was looking for you while we were gone." He smiled briefly as he accepted a cup of mead from Laurelin. "Thank you. If I know her, she has some half-cocked notion of vengeance for Skjor's demise. I just want to warn you of the heat of the blood-although I'm sure you know by now how it can cloud your mind. Just-don't let the beast become you."

Laure sipped her own cup. "Vilkas, that almost sounded like you care. It's touching-"

"Aye touching, but I'm not jesting. Don't underestimate your wolf spirit. Those who do end up dead." He noticed her curl up into herself, crossing her knees in front of her breasts, elbows hooked around her knees to clutch her cup. Normally she didn't look at all vulnerable, always with a cocky or silly smile on her face, a jest or curse on her lips, entrancing eyes sparkling with some mischief. Not so now. Now he read uncertainty in her posture and scent like it was written on the pages of a book.

"Don't worry, after a few turns of the moon, the overall bloodlust subsides. Not completely, but with time it becomes more like an argument that you can walk away from. You are able to choose what you do with the blood. Whether you use it every day or never." He shuddered a little at this.

"Would you recommend never changing?"

His voice came hoarse and low. "No. Not if you value your sanity and your friends." He stared morosely into the fire.

She stirred, unfolding her now-long legs to push her toes toward the fire. "Would you like to stay for supper?"

Vilkas thought for a moment then regretfully tried to decline. "I should get back up to the hall. Farkas will be back soon, and he'll want his pay-"

Laurelin scoffed loudly. "You know he'll stop here first; you might as well just stay and have a meal with me. Or would you rather we went to the Mare again?" She smirked her knowing little grin at him, and all he could see was her knocking the shit out of Uthgerd again.

"Ah no, here would be fine, sister."

Laurelin hummed to herself while she sliced thin curls of raw beef from a joint, skewered them on long wooden sticks, doused them with pepper oil and set them over a bed of coals. While she worked, Vilkas amused himself at her bookshelves.

Flipping through her scant collection, he smiled. "Looks like you've been borrowing from my little library for a reason."

"Oh, I have a few more upstairs in a chest, the ones I really like or learned a lot from. I keep those separate. I keep a few extra spell tomes on the shelf in the lab too." She noted his confused expression. "It was an option when I was purchasing the furnishings. I figured I might as well. Maybe my healing potions will get better—if I'm ever home long enough, that is."

Vilkas gave a little grunt of understanding and flipped the skewers of meat. Together they quietly made up plates of delicious seared beef, cheese, and fresh bread Laure toasted up with butter for her guest; and they ate in front of the fire, sipping their Nord mead from clay cups, waiting for Farkas. They were both pleasantly full, feeling the numerous bottles of mead, warm and tired. Neither of them had much felt like resting on the journey back from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. Both felt a residual lightness emanating from the sapling Laurelin had cradled in her arms, as if aches and stiffness had been eased away for the time. They chatted quietly at times, then just as easily lapsed into their own thoughts.

Now, that lightness slowly faded to a languorous, restful, easiness of spirit. Even their wolf spirits seemed quiescent for the time being. Laurelin was just rolling another log onto the fire when they both picked up Farkas's scent nearing the gates. Laure opened the door before he could knock, a welcoming smile on her face.

"Welcome back stranger. How fared you-" She was interrupted by the big man exuberantly folding her into his muscled chest and lifting her high into the air, spinning her about. "Wow! Miss me much?" she gasped when she had her breath back.

"Of course! How could I not? The woman I had to rescue was completely helpless, cried the whole time, and when I got her back to Rorikstead, she acted like she'd done it all herself. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Arms getting tired, dear one?"

Farkas realized her feet still dangled a few inches over the floorboards. "Oh, yeah." He dropped her lightly the rest of the way and she stepped back, ushering him in.

"If you're hungry, there are some leftovers on the table." She pulled him over to the fire.

Vilkas raised his cup, a small, lazy smile uncharacteristically pulling his lips upward. "Good to see you again, my brother. Sounds like you were successful; here is your cut. Well done." Vilkas tossed a purse to his brother, who caught it adroitly and tucked it out of sight.

Farkas wandered over to the table, clapping a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder on the way, and sniffed at the spicy aroma coming from under a large, inverted blue bowl. "Smells great. So what have the two of you been up to while I was away?"

Vilkas chuckled. " Our sister should tell you about that, I think. I'm afraid I haven't her voice."

Laure pressed a cup into Farkas' hand. "It's nothing really. There was a tree. And some singing."

"Why am I not surprised?" The big man asked his cup with a smile.

*-*-*
Ok, before you all send out a lynch mob or anything, let me say to all of you-this is all made up! I know grafting a sapling onto a nearly dead tree won't bring it back to life. Unless it's a magical, goddess blessed tree and sapling. My game glitched out pretty badly for this one, I still have the old Gildergreen posted up in Whiterun, with the branches of the new sticking randomly out of the old. To me, it looks like they were just stuck on, so that's where the grafting idea came from. It works and Laure gets to play tree doctor!