[A/N] Surprise update! I know this is a really short chapter, but I'm not sure if I'll have time to update this weekend, 'cause I have to work... and it's cold and flu season, so my poor immune system is working overtime. Not much action in this one, as it's rather introspective, but I'd love critique on it anyway because it was a PAIN to write.
[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). However, Kajsa Red-Blade is my original character and she belongs to me. I also don't own the terrific poem "The Layers" by Stanley Kunitz.
CHAPTER XIII - Days Come and Gone
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
"The Layers," Stanley Kunitz
"Why do you worship Talos, Da?"
The man with the graying, unkempt stubble and the bulky, muscled shoulders tugged at a leather cord around his neck, digging out an amulet that had been resting under his patched shirt. "Do you see this?"
Eyes squinting, the lanky girl with the sharply-angled face examined the charm. It was an old wooden Amulet of Talos, the carvings in the stylized hammer etched deeper by age. "Yes."
"This amulet was given to me by my father when I left home. He got it from his father – your great-grandfather, who made it for himself as a young man." He tucked it back under his shirt, out of sight. "My family has always honored Talos, like any true Nord would. This amulet has always been passed down the male line of my family, but someday, I'll give it to you."
"That doesn't answer my question," the girl persisted. "Why do you worship Talos? Why not one of the other Nine Divines or Nocturnal, like Mum?"
"Your mum and her damned Daedra." The older man shook his head. "I can't tell you why she worshipped them, but it was probably for the same reason that I worship Talos."
"What's that, then?" She leaned over her knees, glancing sidelong at him, ignoring the slight against her mother.
"Because we need help with our lives sometimes: finding love, being lucky or happy, needing strength. Your Mum prayed to Nocturnal to aid her in her –" he swallowed, but continued on "– work, to aid her in bringing in enough coin for us to live on. I pray to Talos because I needed and still need the courage and fortitude to support my family, through the good and the bad.
"Talos is the greatest of the Nine Divines. He was born a man, became a conqueror, and ascended to godhood upon death. He was Dragonborn, but most importantly, he is the ideal for all Nords to strive for."
"Should I worship Talos, Da?"
Her father laughed. "I can't tell you who or what to worship. In fact, no one should, even though some think they have the right to." His aging, rugged face sobered.
"Do you mean the Aldmeri Dominion?" The girl thought back to warm winter nights by a fire in a real hearth, in a snug little house – when her mum was still alive, just not there – listening to her father spin ancient legends and tell stories about their family history and his service during Great War.
"Aye. That's why I hide my Amulet of Talos whenever I go into town; even though it's Windhelm, you can never be too careful. Those damn elves have spies everywhere, and they don't hesitate to arrest anyone who they deem an enemy."
His daughter nodded quietly, and then asked hesitantly, "What about – what about Jarl Stormcloak?"
The man's eyes, suspicious and wary, snapped over to her at the mention of the name. "What about the jarl?"
"Doesn't he refuse to support the –" she scrambled for the unfamiliar name "– the White-Gold Concordat? He wants the worship of Talos to be legal again."
Letting out a heavy sigh, the man turned to face her, putting both work-calloused hands on her bony shoulders. "Well... I'm of two minds about Ulfric Stormcloak."
The girl's brow furrowed at the foreign expression. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I like some things about him, but not others. On one hand, he's making it his mission to blacken the Thalmor's eye by openly worshipping Talos and pushing for Skyrim to become independent of the Empire, and I can hardly fault him for that.
"On the other hand... he's racist. Thinks that only Nords should be able to live in Skyrim." His voice broke, but he went on anyway. "You weren't born yet, so you can't possibly remember this... but when he took control of Markarth, Jarl Ulfric had countless innocents – mostly Bretons – put to the sword because he believed they were agents of the Forsworn. Fortunately, your mother and I managed to flee to Solitude before he arrived in the Reach, but others were not so lucky. Your mother's family – even the women and children – was slaughtered by his Stormcloaks."
Eyes darkening, the girl bit her lip. "So... if he took control of Skyrim... would all other races be... driven out?" Imprisoned? Enslaved? Killed?
"I don't know. I can only pray that that day never comes." Her father smiled in an attempt to reassure her. "From now on, I'll go into Windhelm when we need supplies. No sense worrying you with all that muttering about politics, eh?"
"Aye," she agreed hastily.
"Just remember this, my girl." The man's eyes met hers: his blue ones to the dark brown ones she'd inherited from her mum. "People like us – the simple hunters and farmers just trying to make a living – we're the ones with the most power in this world. A jarl may have money and land and titles, but he's nothing without the support of his people. Of course, the sad truth is that many think they are obligated to support their jarl, so they follow him blindly without thinking about what'll be best for them.
"You're an exceptional child, my dear, and I have no doubt that when you're older, many people will want to possess you and your abilities. Stay strong, and keep your mind free, Kajsa. If you do that, you'll be your own woman and no one will ever be able to control you."
Eyes opening slowly in realization that it was a dream, Kajsa stared blankly at the ceiling for a few moments before sitting up in bed and drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. It was a strangely childlike, unfamiliar position to her, one she had not found herself retreating to since her first night alone in the world all those years ago – yet comforting.
Damn Vaermina. She rested her forehead on her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. Thanks to her beastblood, she was unable to sleep restfully, but it seemed that the Daedric Prince of nightmares could still play her cruel little games with her mind. Out of all the Daedric Princes I could have pissed off, it had to be her...
She hadn't thought about her father for several months, not since joining the Companions, but she recalled the memory that had served as her dream. It had been a few months after they'd left Riften behind for the wilderness of northern Eastmarch, starting a new life far from the reach of the Thieves Guild. Somewhere where no one would ever find them: a run-down cabin in the thick of the woods, by a small trickle of a mountain stream. It wasn't much by anyone's standards, but it had been home for a short while.
If Da was alive, he wouldn't have approved of me joining the Stormcloaks. The realization stung slightly. He may have admired Ulfric for upholding the worship of Talos, but the Markarth Incident... even if he'd entertained the thought of joining the Stormcloaks before, he would never have followed Ulfric after that.
Against her better judgment, she found herself longing for the jarl's embrace: his strong arms encircling her waist, his fingers running through her hair, his deep voice murmuring that he missed her. She'd felt the same, so alone and isolated after Alduin's death – even when surrounded by scores of people that loved and respected her – so she succumbed to sentimentality.
How easy would it be? she wondered carelessly. His chambers are just down the hall. He'd be sleeping right now, of course, but if I just slipped in the way I am now – wearing nothing but a shirt and my smallclothes – I'm sure he wouldn't mind being woken up...
"No," Kajsa said out loud, her voice breaking the silence of her room. It's only the wolf in me talking, the part of me that indiscriminately longs for the hunt and the warmth of blood and the pleasures of the flesh...
She thought about what it had been about Ulfric's touch that made her want him so. How long has it been since I was held by another man, anyway?
A year. A year since – since it happened. The last time we... we... Her throat constricted, seeming to wind itself up into a hard lump. She hadn't thought of him, her beloved, for an even longer time.
He's my reason for joining the Stormcloaks, she realized, brushing her hair back rhythmically with her fingers and taking a few deep breaths to keep herself together. I do want Skyrim to be free, but it's like with my da and the Companions... I'm doing this for him. I didn't want to a year ago... but so much has changed since then, and so have I.
In the midst of her silent mourning, the beast within her howled for the moons and the snow, for the shadows of night, for the thrill of the chase. Instead of ignoring it like she had moments ago, she welcomed it now. I'm not like Vilkas or Farkas or Kodlak. Hircine's blessing is not mine to tame.
Kajsa grinned, surprising herself with the unexpected gesture, sliding out of bed and grabbing for her knapsack to dig out her extra change of clothes. Let's see if I can sublimate some of my urges into killing Galmar's pesky ice wraith...
[A/N] Please review! And coming in the next chapter (because I have it outlined and ready to be written): the Jagged Crown. *Dun dun dun DUN*