Author's Note:
Anyone else kind of forget chapter titles the second they've finished reading them?
Sometimes I like to give my chapter titles double meanings or make them sort of punny. So, you can eat stew, but you can also stew over something. Words are fun.
Morndas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E201
After the day he'd had, Ralof was resigned to being content with his current situation. The sun had begun its gradual descent behind the mountains by the time he and Ulfric returned from the woods, and Hod had put on a stew that filled their house with a savory aroma. Gerdur had set out a couple of clean undershirts for them so he hadn't had to don his ash-and-mud-covered cuirass, and he was slouched at their table counting the seconds till he could get some food in his stomach, drifting in and out of a doze. All things accounted for, he'd survived an Imperial ambush, a legendary beast, and his sister. Life could be worse.
He heard a door open beyond the house's curtained section.
"Let's get you something to eat and get to hearing this story of yours," he heard Gerdur say.
Gerdur swept aside the curtain and allowed a second person to pass her, and Ralof blinked, and dropped his hand from under his chin, and blinked again.
The young woman—and she was certainly a young woman, he realized, eyes darting in shock over her hourglass figure—had cascades of thick flaxen hair that fell all the way down her back and then some. Clean, her skin was fair and unblemished except for a scrape under her chin and a fading bruise at her hairline. She'd regained some color to her lips and cheeks, and when she looked over at him and gave the most tentative smile, his jaw dropped.
"Gerdur, what did you do?"
The young woman faltered. Gerdur put an arm around her shoulders.
"What do you mean, 'what did I do?'"
Ralof pointed an accusing finger at the girl—the young woman.
"That's not the kid who came here with us!"
Gerdur rolled her eyes. "Of course she is. Don't be ridiculous." She directed the girl into the chair she'd occupied earlier, on Ralof's left, and patted her delicate shoulder. "If you're going to comment on a lady's appearance, the least you could do is say something nice. Or don't you think she looks nice?"
The girl—young woman!—cast her long-lashed eyes down at the table and avoided looking at him, as if embarrassed at the question. Ralof sputtered without making any actual words, looking across the table for backup. The Jarl crossed his arms and raised a brow as if he hadn't also just sat up straighter in surprise.
Betrayed by his own commander, then.
"I—yes, she looks—she looks—"
Startlingly beautiful, if he was being honest, and a lot older than he'd assumed, given her stature, but she'd been so covered in mud—But he'd carried her a significant way, so how had he not noticed that she was—
"She looks fine," he finished lamely.
Gerdur scowled at him. She clicked her tongue and walked to where her husband was stirring a pot over the hearth, touching his arm and saying something quietly to him. Ralof threw an injured look at the Jarl. He wasn't sure, but Ulfric might have fought off a grin.
A minute later, Gerdur gently set a wooden bowl of stew in front of Ulfric, and dropped a second bowl before Ralof, tossing a spoon into it as if trying to ensure it splashed. He thanked her anyway.
"Right, let's hear it then," Gerdur announced, after handing a third bowl to the girl. She slid onto the bench next to Ralof while Hod took the chair adjacent to her at the head of the table. Frodnar clambered up onto Ulfric's bench, sitting as far away as possible while staring at him.
Ralof swallowed a bit of potato and cleared his throat. "We were at the border to Cyrodiil, trying to make it to an Imperial camp without drawing Falkreath's attention. If it had gone right we would have grabbed a piece of the hold. But it didn't go right."
He recounted everything from the ambush to their escape through the tunnels under Helgen. Ulfric pitched in a comment when necessary, and of course, the girl stayed silent. Hod got up to refill his and Ulfric's bowls partway through. Uncharacteristically, Gerdur didn't berate him for speaking between bites.
By the time he was finished, Frodnar had laid his head on his arms and begun to drift off, while his parents had never looked more awake.
"A dragon," Hod repeated. His face was ashen beneath his goatee.
Gerdur appeared dazed, lowering her head into her hand. "This is … But dragons are only a legend."
"Legends are based in truths," Ulfric said. They all looked at him. "Years ago, when I was still a boy training with the Greybeards, they told me the Voice was a power handed down to mortalkind from a dragon, thousands of years ago. When I Shout, I speak in the dragon tongue."
Ralof heard an intake of breath. The girl had gone still, looking at Ulfric with widened eyes. She glanced at Ralof then down at the table, brows furrowing as if in thought. Strange.
Her reaction had also drawn Ulfric's attention. "What I still can't explain is why the Imperials tossed you into our wagon before taking off for Helgen. What were you doing near the border? By yourself?"
She went stiff. She refused to look up at them, curling into herself as they all sat in the expected silence. Ralof took pity on her.
"Well, whatever happened, I'm sure there are people wondering where you are right now. I bet we could get you back to your family."
Far from putting her at ease, however, his words brought an emotion to the girl's face that immediately made him want to take them back. She gave a halting shake of the head, eyes flitting between each person at the table before dropping again. She looked almost as trapped as when the captain had offered her up to Tullius. Ralof backtracked.
"Or—maybe you don't want to go back?"
That did it. In the blink of an eye, she went from cornered to tearful, her face scrunching up. She pushed away from the table and beat a hasty retreat for the back door. It had shut behind her before Ralof could blink, and he turned to see the others all staring at him in various states of disapproval.
"What did I say?"
Gerdur made an aggravated noise. "Did you even bother to wonder if that was a sensitive subject? For Shor's sake, she's obviously been through something."
"I thought I was being helpful!" he protested. He made as if to rise. "Should I—Gerdur, you should go get her."
"I doubt she'll go far," Ulfric said. He nodded at the door. "Let her alone for a minute. She'll come back."
Ralof sat down. "What are we supposed to do with her? We can't just abandon her without any place to go."
Hod shook his head. "That girl has something to go home to, I don't doubt. She comes from money." He exchanged a look with his wife, who nodded.
"You picked up on that?" Ralof asked.
Hod shrugged. "It's obvious."
"She's too soft to be a laborer," Ulfric said. He started counting off details with his fingers. "Skin too pale, hair too long. No idea how to handle herself outside a safe environment. Too dependent on others."
Gerdur propped her elbows on the table and twined her fingers together. "That gown of hers used to be a fine one, and her hands aren't rough like a common girl's. But even if she is a rich man's daughter—" She squeezed her hands tighter and rested them against her mouth. "I don't think she can go back to where she came from."
"What do you mean, love?" Hod asked.
Gerdur inhaled. She checked to make sure the back door was undisturbed before leaning in and lowering her voice. "When I was helping her in the bath, I saw a lot of bruises. I think she's run away from home. From a father, or maybe even a husband."
"Cha! A husband, at her age?" Ralof dismissed. "There's no way she's sixteen!"
"You don't know that. You can't judge age just by stature."
"And the marrying age in Cyrodiil is only fifteen, anyway," Ulfric supplied. He propped his chin on his thumb, looking thoughtful. "If she did come across the border, then it might be that she ran away from home. But bruises can come from anywhere. The Imperials could have done it during the ambush."
Gerdur shook her head. "They were too old to have come from the Imperials. And they definitely came from a person. She had fingerprints here," she grasped her upper arm, "and—and a big shoe print on her back. Clear as day."
The men processed this. Ralof didn't like the feeling it gave him. A girl that size posed literally no threat, so for anyone to leave that kind of mark on her …
"You're right. She can't go back to whoever did that."
The four of them swiveled at the sound of the door opening, and there stood the girl, sheepish and silent, as she gently closed it behind her. Gerdur rose to her feet.
"It's getting to be that time, everyone. After all this excitement, I'm willing to bet you all would like some sleep." She waved at the girl. "Wait there a minute, lass. Let me grab this one and show you where you can bunk down for the night."
She rounded the table to where her son was still asleep and gently shook him awake. He raised his head groggily, body mechanically obeying his mother's prodding to stand and maneuver toward bed. Gerdur kept a guiding hand on his shoulder and waved for the girl to follow them through the curtain once again.
"I hope you don't mind sharing with Frodnar," Gerdur said on the other side.
Ralof turned to Hod and cut him off before he could do something unnecessary, like offering his and Gerdur's bed for the Jarl. "I'm sure we'll be plenty comfortable in the barn loft tonight. There are worse places to sleep when you're at war."
Hod, seeing his game, simply nodded. "If you're sure."
Ulfric rose to his feet. "It's more than enough. As I said, I understand what a risk it is to do even this much. I'll not forget your family's generosity."
Hod rose as well, and Ralof, as Gerdur reappeared from behind the curtain. Ulfric acknowledged her with his gaze. "I don't want to overstay our welcome and put you in any more danger, so we'll be leaving at first light. I need to get back to Windhelm as soon as possible. Skyrim needs to know that I'm still alive."
Gerdur crossed her arm over her chest and pressed her fist to her shoulder, dipping her head. "Of course. And don't worry about the girl, Jarl Ulfric. Hod and I are more than able to help her."
She threw her husband a look as if to belatedly ask for confirmation. He also touched his fist to the opposite shoulder. "Aye. We'll do what we can for her."
Ralof felt a moment of pride for his family. This was what the revolution was all about. Good, dedicated people who deserved more than the casual disdain of the Empire, and a High King who wasn't too proud to respect them. Even if all they had to offer were a few bowls of stew and a barn.
Tirdas, 18th of Last Seed, 4E201
The girl woke to the sound of low voices. It took her a moment to orient herself, Frodnar sprawled behind her with an arm stretched over her neck. She gently lifted his wrist and set the arm down beside him, before crawling stiffly out of bed. Her muscles felt like they'd been overstretched and shrunk too tightly back into themselves.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and walked out into the kitchen, finding Gerdur handing over a small sack to Ralof, Ulfric standing by the back door.
"Please don't get caught in another ambush," Gerdur was saying.
Ralof tied the sack to his belt and drew her in for a tight hug. "Wouldn't dream of it."
They separated, Gerdur noticing the girl. She waved her over.
"I was going to let you sleep, but since you're awake," she began, "you can say farewell."
The girl threw Gerdur a quizzical look. Gerdur smiled. "You're not a Stormcloak, so Hod and I don't see any reason you need to leave too. We may not look it, but we do pretty well for ourselves with our lumber mill. You can stay as long as you need."
A bubble of emotion welled up in the girl's throat, and for once she was glad to be speechless. She couldn't have replied without betraying the hitch in her breath.
Gerdur's eyes crinkled warmly, and Ralof had a knowing look on his face.
"Well, lass, I suppose this is it." He offered her a hand and she took it, only now realizing this meant they were parting. The first person to ever exist in her memory would be gone. This did not abate her emotions in the slightest.
She threw herself forward to hug him, and after a moment's hesitation and a short laugh, he returned the gesture. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said above her, "but I'm glad you were the one in our prison cart. I think I owe you my life at least twice over."
The girl shook her head and drew back to point at herself and then at Ralof, meeting his gaze with a firm look. He grinned. "Let's call it even then, hm?"
She could allow that. She nodded. He tapped under her chin with his knuckle and gave her one more smile before breaking away to join Ulfric. The girl followed him and stood in front of the Jarl, the two of them assessing each other in silence. It was both different and the same as when they'd been standing at the block—he seemed to understand what she couldn't say.
She wasn't sure what came over her, except that it felt automatic to shift one foot back and descend into the lowest of curtsies, nearly to the floor, and bow her head. Having already done so, it was too late to consider the oddity of the action. Gerdur hadn't done it; what was she thinking?
She rose as gracefully as she'd gone down, the motion feeling practiced. The look on Ulfric's face was further evidence that she'd done something strange. She felt herself flush.
"I haven't seen anything like that in years," he remarked. "But thank you. I wish you well."
She nodded, briefly meeting his eyes before stepping back next to Gerdur. The woman placed an arm around her shoulders.
"Talos guide you both," she said. "We pray for your success every day."
Ralof pressed his fist to his shoulder, and Ulfric did the same.
"Talos guide you," they replied.
And with that they left, stepping out the door into the watery light of a new day. The girl watched them go with an unprecedented sense of loss. She wondered if she would ever see them again. If Ralof would live to the end of the war, or if Ulfric's rebellion would succeed.
She didn't know exactly why they fought, or why it mattered, or even if they were justified. But she recalled Hadvar, and why she'd chosen Ralof and Ulfric over him, and how terrible it had been to see all those men and women in blue lined up to die while their leader watched. And she also prayed for their success. If for no other reason than to see those two alive again, she wanted them to win.