Chapter Twenty

"You have got to be joking."

Skjor flashed me a grin at my toneless statement, as he led forward the broad-shouldered stallion on which I was to be riding. Stormy grey with dark ripples across his body, and with fiery earth-brown eyes, the horse tossed back his head restlessly and stomped on the ground with one heavy hoof.

"I've never even ridden a horse before," I protested.

"So you learn." Skjor softly laughed as he handed me the reins. "Go on. It's not that difficult."

"Says someone who doesn't know how to shoot a bow and arrow," I retorted irritably, as the horse swung his head around and nudged my chest with a velvety muzzle. Awkwardly I patted him, and heard Skjor chortle.

"You happy riding old Stormy?" he inquired. "Or...would you prefer a...more agreeable mount?"

I narrowed my eyes at Skjor. He grinned widely at my obvious irritation. "No. I'll stay with this horse," I snapped. "Go and get your...tamer mount."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'docile'," said Skjor, as he strode calmly away from the horse he had called Stormy, and towards the stables, where his own black horse was waiting.

I looked uncertainly at the horse I was due to ride. This would be a good point to say here and now that I had never ridden a horse before in my life. I hadn't even touched one before. But we had to reach Markarth as quickly as possible so it was the only way. Slightly unsure on how to get on the saddle, I half-glanced towards where Aileen and Derrick had already mounted and were walking their horses out from the stables and towards the cobblestone. As Derrick passed me on his russet-coloured mount, with Aileen on a palomino I recognized well even after six years, the Breton turned and flashed me a very smug smile, obviously saying wordlessly to me, Good luck.

They were pulling my leg. I glared at the horse, Stormy, as though he had committed a personal grudge against me. Then, finding somewhere to hold onto on the saddle, I gripped the saddle horns tightly, and then pulled.

My first attempt ended up with Stormy suddenly taking a few steps to the right, me slipping, and nearly losing my footing as I steadied myself. Stormy let out an indignant whinny which, to my embarrassment, carried so it attracted the attention of all those who were standing around nearby.

"You all right there, Huntress?" I heard Derrick call clearly. "Need a hand?"

"I'm fine," I responded, turning darkly back to the horse. Stormy snorted restlessly, pawing the ground with a hoof. Oh, so you want to mess with me, do you? Quickly, I grabbed the saddle again, seized the horns with one hand and put my other hand on his flank, and leapt.

I sort of got up. At least he stayed still this time; but I hadn't put enough force into my jump. Not wishing to have a third attempt, I threw myself forward, and ended up slumped right over the saddle rather stupidly. Gritting my teeth with the effort, I grabbed the reins stiffly with one hand, and awkwardly maneuvered myself until one leg was on one side of the horse, and I could push myself up into a sitting position.

Derrick was sniggering nearby. He had obviously been watching my less-than-graceful mounting. Stormy suddenly jerked back his head as I fumbled for the reins, and took a few sharp steps backwards, making me wobble dangerously in the saddle.

"Stay still, you rotten hide of hair!" I snapped frustratedly, grabbing the reins at last. But Stormy simply jerked back his head and let out an irritated snort, and trotted forward at a slightly alarming pace that made me grab the reins and hold on like hell. I yanked back the reins, bringing Stormy's head around to the right, and the horse quickly spun around, nearly making me lose my seating entirely.

"Gods—damn you—stay—still!" I managed to gasp out, as I finally got a firmer grip on the reins and pulled back as hard as I could. Stormy jerked back his head indignantly, but reluctantly stopped in his wild, uncertain movements.

"Good riding." I looked to my left, completely ruffled, to see Skjor sitting completely at ease on the back of a relaxed browny-black horse which was obviously his own. The Companion was grinning at me. "Not bad for an amateur."

For some odd reason, I felt anger sear through me. Nobody called me an amateur at anything! Before I could irritably respond, I heard a rumble of hooves clatter behind me and half-turned to suddenly see Orgmund race around the corner atop the back of a frisky young chestnut colt. With a shrill whinny Stormy leapt back, half-rising onto his hind hooves in his surprise and nearly throwing me off, and Orgmund clumsily rode past, trying to get a handle on his horse.

"Stay, you blasphemous little bugger-it-all!" Orgmund growled, as he heaved his weight back and brought the colt skidding to a clumsy halt. Indignantly the horse whinnied, jerking its head against Orgmund's reins. Skjor laughed, shaking his head.

"That's not the way to win Brumby's affection," he warned Orgmund.

Orgmund turned and glared at Skjor. "Do you have names for all the bloody horses?" he growled. "They're not even our own!"

"Figured it's be good for them to have their little nicknames," replied Skjor.

Myllasa appeared, riding on her dusky brown horse with almost perfect ease. "So what's this one's name, mister horse-master?" she asked.

Skjor nodded towards her mount and replied, "Dune. Figured you'd like her."

"You mean, like sand dunes?" Myllasa looked considerably more pleased as she looked at the horse, and I could only guess that the horse, Dune, reminded her clearly of the deserts of Hammerfell.

"Orgmund's got young Brumby," Skjor added. Turning to the Breton siblings, he added, "Aileen, that's Lavender you're riding—very sweet thing, I might add, so says the stablemaster—and Derrick, you're on Fox."

The russet chestnut Derrick had been given to ride tossed his head sharply at the mention of his name. Derrick looked at his horse, seemed to find the name to his standards, and patted his mount's neck.

"You've got Stormy," Skjor told me. "And I've got Eve." He patted his horse with obvious fondness. "And mind you take good care of your horses. They're not ours. If they die, you'll have to pay for them anyway, so try not to get your horses killed."

He gave his black horse a nudge with his heels and the black mare trotted obligingly forward. "Now, all of you, stay together, and don't let anyone fall behind," he announced. "Particularly not...our master rider back there."

Derrick chuckled. I glanced irritably at Skjor. "We'll see who's the master rider in the end," I said to him warningly, gripping the reins. Turning to my Companions, I added, "And don't forget who this mission rests upon. You want to come back to Whiterun alive, you'd best listen to what I say."

"Whatever," shrugged Derrick. "Let's just get going."

It wasn't actually pretty bad once we did eventually get going. More often than not, Stormy deliberately was difficult, but we managed to canter nonstop for about three minutes before he halted himself and refused to budge for about five minutes. I never had been one for horse riding and I don't think I cared too much for it; to me, horses—at least, this damned creature—were nothing but clumsy.

But the day's travel passed by pretty swiftly, and though I was aching from having spent so long in the saddle, and desperate to stretch my legs, we made it to the other end of the Hold by nightfall. Following the road, we rounded a bend...and I remembered, in a flash, where we were, and I slowed Stormy down as I realized, just up that road, was my old home.

Rorikstead.

"Shit," I breathed, so softly that only Skjor, who rode beside me, could hear me. He flashed me an anxious glance.

"You okay?"

I straightened up stiffly in the saddle. "Yeah. Fine." My arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets as suddenly Stormy bent his head down, and almost angrily I jerked his head up again and spurred him forward into a fast walk.

"Rorikstead," commented Orgmund from behind me. "Say, Aela, wasn't that your old home?"

I nodded, turning to frown at him for a moment. "It once was my home," I admitted.

"What happened?" asked Myllasa quietly, from near the back, where she rode alongside the Breton twins and Fang. "What made you leave?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said shortly. Why did the road to Karthwasten have to lead through Rorikstead? I didn't feel as if I was ready to face those I once called neighbours. Even friends. And my mother. What had become of her?

I wanted nothing more than to keep riding through the night. But it was too late and nearly too dark to see anything. We were all tired out from our day of riding, particularly me, awkwardly steering Stormy over the roads and occasionally experiencing what cross-country felt like. I knew that they would recognize me. The three marks of the hunter, of the evergreen warpaint, were still slashed across my face. A dead giveaway. Plus my Ancient Nord armour, a little battered now, but nonetheless still in excellent condition.

We neared the town, and I began to realize...there were changes. Subtle changes, but changes nonetheless. The fields were smaller, but nonetheless as bountiful as before. There were fewer guards. The streets...they seemed emptier. Or was it because I, at last, had grown up? And now I looked upon Rorikstead as a stranger would?

"I hope there's an inn here," grumbled Orgmund, "and the innkeeper has some good mead."

"There is," I said, almost irritably. "The Frostfruit Inn, a bit up the road." Vaguely I wondered how business had been for Mralki in the past years. Had there been enough travellers to keep the inn running? Then my eyes, out of habit, sought out my mother's cottage, and my heart sank.

The garden, the vegetable garden which once had been Father's pride and joy and talent, was completely forlorn and abandoned. Nothing more than a hotspot for weeds now. The cottage's walls were overgrown in ivy. The stonework was beginning to crumble; the roof roughly thatched, as though the inhabitant of the house didn't have enough time, energy, or dedication to properly weave the roof anymore.

My house had died. My old home had died.

I realized that I had stopped Stormy without realizing it, and was simply staring at the cottage. Beside me, Skjor had also reined Eve to a halt, and was watching me carefully. The others rode on past.

"This was your old home, wasn't it?" he asked. "The house where you grew up."

I nodded jerkily.

"A shame about your vegetable garden," Skjor continued, glancing towards the mass of weeds. "That was where we first met. We were riding horses past the garden. You were digging up carrots."

I spun around and glared at Skjor. "You're not helping!" I snapped.

Skjor was motionless, his face devoid of emotion. For my sake? Or was he stunned? I couldn't be sure. Abruptly I twisted and leapt down off Stormy. My legs buckled under the sudden expectation of trying to hold my body up, after hours on horseback, and I stumbled a little, but I straightened up at once and shook feeling back into my legs. "Take the horse up to the inn," I said shortly to Skjor. "I'll be along shortly."

Skjor didn't ask why. He just nodded, leaned over and grabbed Stormy's reins, then turned Eve and led both horses up towards where the others had already located the inn, had dismounted, and were now stretching their stiffened limbs. I waited until Skjor had rejoined the others. Then I turned and cleared the low fence, landing knee-deep in unchecked grass and weeds, and half-waded towards the front door of the cottage.

My hand went towards the handle. I hesitated, and drew it back. A hot feeling of shame swept over me. Was my mother even still here? Would she be willing to see her daughter, the child who ran away to fulfill her own ambitions instead of remaining behind where she was needed most? I sighed softly. Perhaps it would be best for my mother not to know that I was here.

"Aela? Is that you?"

I stiffened as I heard the familiar voice. I turned quickly. "Jouane?"

It was him. The town wizard who once had saved my life. He didn't look a day older than I last remembered him, though his clothes looked more tattered than before, and his eyes. They were older, paler, though they still flashed with the same sharp alertness and intelligence. He stood by the fence, his arms resting near her sides, his eyes wide with pleasure and surprise.

"It's so good to see you," he said quietly, as our gazes met. "How long has it been?"

"Four years." The number caught in my throat. I slowly walked back towards Jouane and said, "What's been happening to the town? It's...shrinking, almost."

Jouane nodded. "The ground's been growing less fertile around the edges of Rorikstead, and animals have been invading this place more often, trampling the barley and corn and the crops. So we've had to adapt."

Shame swept through me. "They're coming because they're no longer afraid," I said.

Jouane looked at me carefully, and then said, "Why did you leave, Aela?"

I hesitated. What was I to say? "I...I couldn't stay."

"Why couldn't you?" Jouane didn't sound angry or demanding. He sounded merely curious, and even a touch sympathetic.

"I..." My voice faltered, and angrily I drew it up again. "I had to leave, Jouane. I couldn't stay here, not in Rorikstead. I felt...I felt trapped."

Jouane looked at me, perhaps measuring my words, before he said, "You felt trapped? But the Whiterun Hold was all open to you. You hunted here every day. What made you feel trapped?"

"The work," I admitted, a little shamefully. "I hated the work I had to do, when I wasn't hunting. Working in the fields, I felt...frustrated. Trapped."

"You felt as if working in the fields wasn't where you rightly belonged," Jouane guessed.

I nodded. "Yes. Exactly that. But I didn't want to complain. I didn't want to say anything. So I let my resentment grow inside me. I mean, I couldn't just tell my mother how much I disliked working in the fields. My brothers were...were being difficult. Troublesome. And she was very stressed when Father died."

Jouane was quiet and listening. "So you felt resentful that you were working in Rorikstead as a farmhand than doing what you did best, and for the best."

I shook my head wearily. "I used to be all right with harvests," I said. "But each year, it was more difficult for me to give up hunting for a few days to bring in crops. Until I couldn't stand the very thought of it. I didn't want to work in the fields. And yet I didn't want to tell my mother."

Jouane suddenly looked at me very severely. "Was that why you suddenly disappeared, in the dead of night? Do you even realize of the strife you caused your mother?"

I was taken aback. The words, spoken aloud, lashed at my heart sharper than any sword.

"We all thought you had died," Jouane continued. "We sent guards to search the plains. There was no sign of you. We can't read tracks as well as you can."

"You didn't need to search for me," I snapped, letting my own shame channel into my voice as anger. "I didn't need to be found. I ran away because I knew that I would be no help in the harvest."

"You ran because your passion for hunting overruled the simple needs of your damaged family," Jouane corrected savagely. He waved an arm towards the garden. "Look at the state of your family's home. Look at what happened when you left."

"I wasn't going to be a farmer my whole life!" I said angrily. "I was old enough to leave home."

"But you didn't know the right time to," growled Jouane. "Do you even know what happened after you ran away?"

"You had a successful harvest, as you do every year," I predicted.

"Wrong. Your family's harvest was the poorest I had ever seen." Jouane leaned forward. "They barely had enough to survive the winter. As a result, they didn't have many seeds to sow when spring came. They had to borrow from the stores around Rorikstead to even be able to plant a decent crop."

"The harvest should...it should have been better!" I fumed, my guilt settling into my stomach like a lead stone. "What did Ulfgar and Lokir do? Did they even help?"

"Oh, they helped, but they let their resentment at helping show through, at least," Jouane snarled. "We all knew that they were going to leave Rorikstead the moment the chance came their way. But your mother's worry for you kept her distracted, and she could barely concentrate on the harvest, and without your help, most of it wasn't brought in before the sudden change of weather caused the crops to turn sour. To top off their misfortune, they had no meat to bolster their meals."

Now my guilt broke through. The feeling swept over me, stronger than the shame. I had deserted my family when they did need me most. What sort of person did that make me?

"The summer coming, your brothers left," Jouane continued. "Most of Rorikstead was glad to see them go. They were nuisances, troublemakers, complainers and thieves. They caused even more trouble that year, smashing a whole shelf of Mralki's ale, ah, 'accidentally', and your family didn't have the money to pay for the damages."

I looked back at the house. "How did they pay off the debt?" I asked quietly.

"How do you think?" Jouane said scathingly. His voice, I realized, was slightly touched with grief. "Your mother worked harder than ever. The brothers were forced into extra labour which definitely made them more mutinous towards their mother, even though they knew it was their fault. The cost was worth hundreds of septims. In the end, your mother had to start selling her possessions."

"Shit." I bit my lip. We didn't have much possessions to sell. Never had, and we never would. "What did she sell off?"

"Blankets from her bed. Jewelry. Clothes. Heirlooms." Jouane's voice was grim. "And still that wouldn't cover the costs. Then she fell sick."

Oh, Gods... "When?" was all I asked.

"Early last year," said Jouane quietly. "She contracted Bone Break Fever. Didn't even have the strength to leave her bed. She...wasn't strong enough. I did all I could, but..." His voice drifted off.

"No," I whispered in horror. My mother, dead? She was dead?

Jouane nodded slowly. "She died in her bed in the night. I had only closed my eyes for the briefest of moments. It had flared up and overwhelmed her when she rested, when for just a few minutes I couldn't tend to her. But she must have suffered nothing."

As if that was any consolidation to me. The guilt was so terrible that it was burning my entire body. Only one thought seared through my mind; what had I done?

"This is all my fault," I said, my voice hollow with shock, with loss, with a million other emotions I didn't even want to try and comprehend. Jouane said nothing. His face was expressionless.

"Do...do Lokir and Ulfgar know?" My tongue curled as I said the names of my brothers, who seemed to repulse me as much as I was repulsed with myself.

"I shouldn't think so," said Jouane coldly. "The two bastards made a runner in the night, disappearing from Rorikstead. Rather like you, I believe."

Numbly, I sat down. Amongst the weeds. I don't think I had the strength to continue standing. My mother was dead...

"Where they are, I don't know, nor do I care," Jouane went on. "But we haven't heard from them at all since they left. Not even one letter to their dear mother, who now lies in a grave beside her dead husband. She must be so proud of her children..."

His voice was scathing again, and before I knew it, before I could even hope to conjure anger to retort to Jouane...tears were falling hot and wet down my face, over the slashes of evergreen warpaint that suddenly felt like brands of guilt. I let the tears fall, finally succumbing to my shame of fleeing Rorikstead, my guilt of abandoning my mother, my anger that my brothers had disappeared, that my mother was dead. She was dead. And she was never coming back.

I didn't look up as I heard footsteps crunch over the grass. Jouane sat down beside me, and he murmured, "Promise me, girl, that you will never hide anything from anyone again."

Through eyes blurred with salty tears, I looked up at Jouane, at the kindly wizard who once had saved my life and nursed me back to health. There was earnestness glittering in his eyes, and slowly I nodded.

"Who were those strangers who rode alongside you?" asked Jouane quietly.

"My...my new family," I said shakily. "I...went and joined the Companions..."

Jouane's gaze, if I wasn't mistaken, brightened considerably.

"Then perhaps your mother may forgive you, in Sovngarde," he said.

"Why? I don't deserve her forgiveness." My voice was bitter.

"You went and joined an honourable cause," Jouane said. "You decided to devote your life to helping others, instead of leading a life of simply fulfilling your own private ambitions. So perhaps it isn't so bad that you left Rorikstead." He smiled. "I never believed you to have stayed put in Rorikstead anyway, Aela. I could see the unspeakable longing in your eyes whenever you let your gaze wander to the horizons."

"You could?"

"Oh, definitely. And you went and hunted for hours on end, trying to stay as long as you could away from Rorikstead, after your hunting mentor left," Jouane nodded. "It was only a matter of time before you would leave Rorikstead to find your fortune. But you should not have gone then. You should have stayed, and helped your mother, until she was strong enough to survive on her own—and you should have been there to keep an eye on your brothers."

"I...I know now." A sob rocked my shoulders, but I kept it down, forcing the tears to come out silently. It would do no good to wail my grief and my burning shame aloud.

Jouane paused for a moment, before saying, "And know for the future, Aela. Do not desert those who need you, and particularly do not vanish, especially when they need you. Does that mean you should be returning to your Companions now?"

I hesitated, and then rose to my feet, Jouane beside me. "Yes...of course. We need to leave early tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"The Reach. We're meeting Jarl Ulfric at Karthwasten."

Jouane frowned. "Ulfric Stormcloak, you mean? What do you want with him? What does he want with you?"

"There's trouble in the Reach. The Forsworn are on the move again; they plan to take back the Reach, reclaim Markarth and kill those at Karthwasten."

"And the Companions are going to help defend the Reach?"

I grimaced. "Yeah. Well, the other five are. Me, I...I have to find and kill their leaders."

Jouane didn't say anything for a moment. Then, he simply said, "I wish you luck in that, Aela."

"I don't need luck. I have my skill."

"When you face hordes of Forsworn alone, you need all the luck you can get." Jouane looked serious at this. "Take care, Aela the Huntress. I shall probably not see you in the morning, so I say farewell to you now. Protect the Reach and its people, Companion."

"Thanks." I wasn't sure what else to say. It felt as if another dear friend was leaving me too soon as I watched Jouane step over the broken, battered fence and walk up towards his cottage. The same pain of watching Panjor leave me filled my heart. Jouane had been a good friend to me. Was I ever going to see him again? Would he disappear from my life as my brothers and my mother had done to me? Once again, I would be alone, wouldn't I?

Wouldn't I...

I'd never be alone, I realized. The people of Whiterun were my new townspeople. They looked up to me and respected me with the same kind of respect that I had received when I was once a citizen of Rorikstead. The people in Jorrvaskr were my new brothers and sisters. They always would be. Farkas and Vilkas looked up to me as a teacher and mentor, even if neither were as passionate about hunting as I was. The Harbinger, Kodlak, had been so much like a father to me. He was like a father to everyone in Jorrvaskr.

And where would I be, if they all left my life, one by one?

Alone.

But I am a huntress; a solitary she-wolf with a feisty spirit, or so my mother had once called me. I was always going to be her she-wolf. But I am the huntress of the Companions. The huntress of Jorrvaskr, of Whiterun. Of Skyrim. I am Aela.

Looking up at the sky, I found myself murmuring a prayer, a prayer for my mother's forever safety in the starlit fields of Sovngarde.

"May the Divines look over you as you walk in the land of paradise, Mother," I whispered. "May you never know heartbreak, pain or suffering again. May you always be happy. I will make you proud of me, Mother. And...and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you when you needed me most."

The breeze tugged my voice away. But I hoped that she had heard.

Quietly I turned, and left my abandoned cottage, and headed up the road towards the Frostfruit Inn. I would never abandon those in my need again. And right now, my Companions needed me, partially to make sure they wouldn't drink themselves to the points of hangovers in the morning.