Sundas, 11th of Hearthfire, 4E202
Kodlak went through an adjoining door on the right side of the room—his bedroom?—and Vilkas, looking dour, exited out into the corridor. Deirdre found herself alone. And tired. She hadn't slept well, and her headache had been building in intensity since she'd woken up. She looked at her chair; it didn't have arms. The back wasn't high enough to rest her head against.
She sighed.
Several minutes passed before Kodlak emerged from his room. They looked at each other, Deirdre unsure of what to say. He was even more formidable now that he was groomed and fully dressed, and his overcoat was very nice for a commoner's.
Kodlak had a naturally intense gaze, and as Deirdre met it, the voice in her head suddenly said, Alone; you're alone with a man again. She felt a chill and looked away. She may have been duped twice before, but this time had to be different. Vilkas could be trusted, and Vilkas clearly respected and trusted Kodlak, and Kodlak was the leader of the honorable Companions. She had nothing to fear. Right?
Unless everyone is bad, the voice warned. Vilkas, Kodlak—maybe even that boy Leif, who'd seemed so harmless. What if they're all just waiting to pounce? What if you can't trust anyone?
No, she replied, shoving back at the encroaching fear. There have to be good ones. Don't you trust Hod? Faendal? Remember Ralof, and Ulfric Stormcloak, and how they helped you? There are good ones. These are good ones. We have to trust people or we'll never make it.
We wouldn't have to trust anyone if we were strong, the voice said. If we were strong, we could protect ourselves. We could have protected Gerdur and Hod and the children too.
"I'm sorry for all of this," Kodlak said, interrupting her thoughts.
He hadn't moved any closer since stepping out of his room, and it felt deliberate. Was he purposely putting as much space between them as possible now that they were alone? Had those keen eyes seen through her, and sensed her misgivings?
She felt guilty. Wasn't it ungrateful to entertain the possibility that she couldn't trust him? But then, she'd felt gratitude for Captain Kensley giving her a chance to "talk," so how far could she let gratitude go before it made her vulnerable again? Where did she draw the line?
She had no reply for Kodlak but an awkward nod, torn between wanting to trust him and wanting to protect herself.
You wouldn't have to be torn, her inner voice repeated, if—
The office door burst open, thrown with such force it ricocheted off the wall. Deirdre jumped. Into the room rushed a bristling storm with a crown of red hair sticking out at odd angles. She stomped halfway to Deirdre and came to a dead halt.
Vilkas rushed in behind her. "Clothes, Aela!" he reprimanded, because the woman was wearing only an oversized nightshirt and some drawers.
She ignored him utterly. Her bloodshot eyes, wide and blazing, fixed themselves on Deirdre's face.
Aela began to tremble. Her teeth gritted. She rounded on Kodlak with a sound like a snarling dog.
"How did this happen?" she bellowed, jabbing a rigid finger in Deirdre's direction. "How. Did this. HAPPEN?" She jabbed again with each word. Vilkas was glowering at her. Kodlak was unfazed.
"I'm going to talk to the Jarl about—"
"That's what I did last time!" she shrieked. "Balgruuf promised me that shit-licker wouldn't set foot in Whiterun ever again! He promised me!"
"And I'll talk to him about that too. But I didn't get Vilkas to wake you up just so you could throw a tantrum."
"TANTRUM?"
Aela exploded.
She spit curses Deirdre had never heard before—what language was that? She threw herself around the office, arms waving, fingers curling, hands squeezing around an invisible throat, invisible dagger slicing off invisible appendages. She kept using the word "castrate."
It would have been awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying.
Kodlak bore the tirade in silence until Aela stopped for breath, panting and red in the face. She grabbed an ornamental knife from a plaque on the wall, tore it free, and flung it across the room. It hit the wall point-first and lodged there, vibrating. Deirdre swallowed.
Kodlak remained neutral. "I want you to stay with Deirdre until I get back. If someone from the city guard comes looking for her before I get this straightened out, you need to be here to scare them off."
She could scare off a giant, Deirdre thought, as another burst of fire lit Aela's eyes.
"I'm coming to see the Jarl."
"You're staying here," Kodlak repeated. "If you set one foot in front of the Jarl like this, you and Vilkas both will be locked up by the end of the day."
They stared each other down. Deirdre glanced at Vilkas, who was watching them intently, and the three of them maintained such a precise, silent stillness, they seemed more akin to predators in the midst of a dominance dispute than people. It was unsettling.
Aela averted her eyes first. She balled her hands into fists and clenched her jaw.
"I know this is hard for you," Kodlak said.
Aela's tone was laced with venom. "Just tell the Jarl that if I ever see that monster again, I will make him the next Ragnar the Red."
She drew a thumb across her throat. Deirdre did not doubt the threat in the slightest. Kodlak too accepted this as a valid promise; his nod was grave.
Aela whirled to face Deirdre. She examined her before grabbing the chair next to hers and dragging it closer. Aela dropped into the chair and took both of Deirdre's hands.
"Are you all right?" she demanded.
Deirdre stared at her. Aela was the first to ask, now that she thought about it.
She felt her throat constrict as she pondered the simple question—but she was also aware of Vilkas and Kodlak watching her, and she remembered Vilkas's disgust in Riverwood when she'd teared up in the street because of Sven. She bowed her head to hide the fact that her eyes had gone misty, and nodded.
Aela did not accept this response. She scooted her chair even closer and drew Deirdre into a fierce hug.
This threw her. A hug was the last thing Deirdre would have expected from a Companion. She shut her eyes and bit the inside of her lip, her throat aching from the effort it took not to cry, as the warmth of Aela's arms wreaked havoc on her composure.
"Come on, Vilkas," Kodlak said. "We'd best be off."
They left without another word. Deirdre drew in a shuddering breath.
Aela procured her some breakfast from upstairs, a bowl of flavorless hot gruel that warmed Deirdre's bones and satiated the hunger she hadn't noticed gnawing at her stomach. Aela also tried to give her a healing potion that Deirdre declined, explaining that Kodlak wanted to wait in case the Jarl needed to see her bruise as evidence.
"That pisses me off," Aela grumbled. "I mean, I get it. But it pisses me off for some reason."
When Deirdre said nothing, Aela took her arm and pulled her up from the chair in Kodlak's office. "You look like shit. You should nap while we wait for the old man to get back."
Now that, Deirdre could do. By now her headache was making it difficult to think, and she was more than happy to be led into the darkness of Aela's bedroom and shown where she could promptly lose consciousness.
The next thing she knew, a fully-dressed Aela was shaking her awake.
"They want you at Dragonsreach," she was saying.
Groggy, Deirdre sat up, guided mechanically to her feet by Aela.
"Wait, can I—I haven't even washed my face," she mumbled, rubbing the crust from her undamaged eye.
"Oh, right. Washroom's this way."
The Companions' washroom was much bigger than the tiny closet attached to Gerdur and Hod's house, and had a water pump and its own fireplace with a little chimney extending up and out of the ceiling. The wooden tub was comically large—until Deirdre imagined Farkas trying to hunker down into it, and then it seemed comically small. She smiled at the thought in spite of herself.
She rinsed her face and neck as carefully as possible, trying and failing not to make her bruise twinge. The cold water helped clear her head. Pleading her case to Captain Kensley had been a waste of time, but Jarl Balgruuf was a different matter. She had the Harbinger of the Companions, as well as Aela and Vilkas, to back her this time. Surely the charges against Gerdur and Hod wouldn't stand.
Aela handed her a cloth to pat her face dry with, and some gritty powder for her teeth. Deirdre gratefully accepted both. Lastly, she untied her braid and ran dampened fingers through her hair, smoothing what had been mussed overnight. She tied the waves back without re-braiding it, not wanting to waste any more time, and hoped she didn't look too much like a bumpkin.
Aela nodded at her appearance. "Feel better?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Aela led her through the basement living quarters and back upstairs, where they saw Vilkas waiting for them by the front doors. A few other Companions were gathered in the sitting area beside the sparring pit; Deirdre recognized the scary bald one, the dark-haired young woman, and the skinny Dark Elf from the day before. They ceased their quiet conversation and openly stared at her as she and Aela approached Vilkas.
Vilkas ran a critical eye over Deirdre as he pulled open one of the double doors. "Kodlak is waiting with the Jarl."
Aela grabbed her by the shoulder before she could step outside. "Don't cower in front of the Jarl. Be humble, but Balgruuf respects courage."
Deirdre nodded, and Aela nodded back with a poor attempt at a stony expression—Deirdre guessed she was still raging, internally, at not being allowed to come with.
There were more people in the streets and the city was fully awake (she must have slept for about two hours), and Deirdre did her best to avoid noticing anyone who gawked at her face. She tried to mentally organize what she would say to the Jarl, but realized she'd never spoken to one before. After all, she'd been mute when she'd met Ulfric Stormcloak.
She tapped Vilkas on the arm. "How do I address the Jarl? What do I call him?"
Vilkas thought for a moment. "You should probably stick to 'my Jarl.' Or 'my lord.'"
"Which one do you use?"
Vilkas shook his head. "Don't take your cues from me. I get to be a little more casual with him."
"Because you're a Companion?"
"Because I'm part of the Circle."
They had reached the base of the steps that led to Dragonsreach palace. Deirdre evaluated him with new eyes as they began the walk up.
"You're sort of like the gentry?"
He glanced at her, one of those puzzled looks people often gave her when she said something odd.
"I wouldn't say that. The Companions just have a long history in Whiterun, and the Jarl knows how important it is to the people that he respect us. Whiterun was built around Jorrvaskr, after all."
She started. "Not around Dragonsreach?"
His puzzled look grew more pronounced.
"No. Dragonsreach was built much later. Legend says it was designed to trap a dragon inside it—hence the name." They reached the top of the steps and he pointed up at the looming structure before them. "I used to think that was just a tall tale, but after what's happened in the last year, I'm not so sure."
Deirdre pondered this while they crossed the bridge up to the enormous double doors at the palace's front entrance. As Vilkas addressed the guards posted there, she tilted her head back to see how high above them the building stretched. Then the guards were pushing against the doors, and the great hall opened before them.
The ceiling was so lofty its rafters were thrown into shadow. Tall, narrow glass windows lined both sides of the entryway, casting strips of sunlight across Vilkas and Deirdre as they walked between twin rows of carved wooden pillars. Deirdre had never seen so much glass in one place.
They reached a set of wide wooden stairs with braziers ascending on either side, and walked up to the heart of the hall. In the center sat a square, stone fire pit full of embers, easily big enough that Deirdre could have laid down in it. There were more windows in this part of the hall, soaring even higher than the first ones. To the left and right of the fire pit sat long, dark tables laden with gleaming pewter dishes, as if in readiness for a feast to begin at any moment.
And on the other side of the fire pit, beyond the far ends of the tables, there was another set of steps leading up to a raised dais and a throne. There was a man upon the throne.
Vilkas led Deirdre between the long tables toward the dais, and it hit her that she was really about to meet with royalty, and her family's well-being depended on her getting this right, and she was just some orphan with nothing to her name, and—
And the Companions are on my side, she reminded herself.
At the foot of the dais stood Kodlak, turned to watch them. On the Jarl's right stood a prim-faced, balding man with a quilted gray overcoat, and on his left stood a red-eyed Dark Elf female wearing leather armor and a scowl.
Vilkas stopped beside Kodlak and raised his fist to the opposite shoulder, bowing. Deirdre copied him, bowing more deeply to compromise with the nagging instinct telling her to curtsy.
"Jarl Balgruuf, I've brought the girl in question," Vilkas announced.
The Jarl gestured for them to be at ease, already looking at Deirdre. Vilkas relaxed into a casual stance. Deirdre stood up rigidly and folded her hands in front of her.
Jarl Balgruuf was not young, but neither would Deirdre call him old. He had blond hair and a blond goatee, with streaks of gray at his temples. His clothes were richly dyed, with a heavy white fur resting on his shoulders. On his brow sat a gem-studded circlet—it looked like gold. His build was more wiry than she'd expected, and his face more narrow, with pronounced cheekbones. Even so, his presence was palpable.
Deirdre accidentally made eye contact and just as quickly dropped her gaze. Then she remembered what Aela had said about courage and mentally kicked herself.
"I've heard quite the story from the Companions this morning," Jarl Balgruuf began. "I hope you understand that petty arrests are not usually my personal business. But this is a bit of an unusual case, isn't it, lass?"
Deirdre made her voice strong. "Yes, my—lord." She glanced at Vilkas and received a nearly invisible nod of approval.
"Let me get a good look at you," the Jarl said. He pointed to the open space before his throne, at the top of the steps. "Come up here."
Deirdre obeyed, making sure her movements were neither rushed nor timid. When she stopped before the Jarl, he leaned forward in his throne and scrutinized her.
"Closer," he ordered.
The proximity was uncomfortable, but she obeyed.
After a moment, the Jarl said, "I recognize you, lass. You were at my tournament yesterday."
"Yes, my lord."
To her surprise, he gave a small smile. It softened the harshness of his features. "What did they call you? The Ribbon Girl? That was the most entertaining tournament I've been to in years. My children were very impressed with your stunt."
Deirdre racked her brain for a reply. "I … thank you? My lord."
Without warning, the Jarl placed his fingers beneath her chin. She froze. Her hand shot up, about to knock his arm away, when she caught herself.
The Jarl's eyes flicked to her raised hand. Deirdre felt the blood drain from her face. She'd almost struck him.
She threw her hand back down. "F-forgive me."
The Jarl lightly turned her face to the side to examine her black eye. He frowned and released her. She retreated two steps, and luckily the Jarl didn't chastise her.
"That's quite the bruise you've got," Balgruuf said. He sat back in his chair, propping his elbows on the arms of the throne and threading his fingers together. "Tell me how this happened."
When Balgruuf had written to General Tullius to have Legate Kensley banished from his Hold, he'd thought that would be the last he heard of him. After months upon months of suspicions building, of rumors swirling, the Huntress's accusation had finally given Balgruuf an opportunity to oust the wretch. No one in Whiterun Hold would take the word of an Imperial over that of a member of the Circle of the Companions, after all.
But now, this.
He listened in seething silence to the stilted, painstakingly controlled voice of the young woman (just a girl, for Shor's sake) as she repeated the tale exactly as Kodlak had relayed it. It was a tale he'd heard too many times already. On top of that, to hear that Kensley had been sent barely outside his Hold at all, that he still exercised authority in the Legion, and that he had dared send his victim to Balgruuf's own dungeon—it was beyond the pale.
It was only through many years of practice that the Jarl maintained a stoic visage.
The Ribbon Girl reached the part of her story where the Companion had broken her out of her cell and removed her to Jorrvaskr, and her voice tapered off to nothing when Balgruuf turned his attention to the young man behind her.
He knew Vilkas, of course, not only as a member of the Circle, but as one of the more sensible Companions in general. It wasn't like him to act hastily or lash out against authority.
He sharply beckoned Vilkas forward. The young man stepped up next to the Ribbon Girl.
"You realize what you did was against the law," Balgruuf accused. "Otherwise you wouldn't have had the Harbinger come here to try and convince me not to punish you."
Vilkas didn't miss a beat. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But I didn't think Kensley had any legal authority to lock her up here. If he had, I would've taken it up with you first, Jarl."
There wasn't an ounce of remorse in Vilkas's voice. Good.
Balgruuf clicked his tongue. "Be that as it may. Consider the bounty you are owed for those bandits forfeited; it will serve as your fine. Bear in mind, Kensley's lack of authority in my Hold is the only reason you're not facing graver consequences today. In the future, don't make a habit of taking matters into your own hands."
"I understand," Vilkas readily agreed, putting on a serious, subdued face, trying to look repentant.
"And one more thing. I'm sure you've alerted the Huntress to what's taken place. And I'm equally sure that she is as furious as I am."
Vilkas nodded, the faint, vaguely amused twitch of his lip betraying what an understatement Balgruuf had just made.
"So, as I have been so lenient with you, I will require you to take this warning to her—she is not to seek out Otis Kensley. I will ensure he is properly dealt with, but I cannot do that if she, or any of you, once again goes over my head and enacts your own justice. Is that perfectly clear?"
Vilkas hesitated. His lip twitched again, and Balgruuf sensed an objection within him. But as the young man met his gaze, he sighed subtly and wiped his face blank.
"I will ensure she understands."
"See that you do."
Balgruuf waved him back to his original place. That left the Ribbon Girl, staring at him with eyes full of nervous hope. One of which was still swollen and bruised.
His ire surged. He snapped a finger at his steward. "Proventus, get this girl a healing potion. Now."
Proventus bowed and darted off in the direction of the court wizard's office. The Ribbon Girl's gaze followed him before coming back to Balgruuf.
Balgruuf assessed her. Her hair was curiously long for a commoner's, but other than that she could have passed for any other village girl in the Hold. He almost wished her account hadn't matched Kodlak's. But it had, and after hearing the details twice, Balgruuf had reached some inescapable conclusions. Conclusions which pained him, which in turn further stoked his fury.
Mark my words, General Tullius, he silently swore, I will make you regret not nipping this in the bud when you had the chance.
To the girl, and her damnably hopeful face, he spoke slowly. "Listen to me very carefully, Ribbon Girl—Deirdre of Riverwood. Otis Kensley no longer has authority to make arrests in my hold. Period. Even if he did, he has no proof that your caretakers had anything to do with traitors to the Empire, only speculation. Those charges will not stand, nor will the ones against you. I will personally ensure that."
The girl's good eye became shiny; her shoulders sagged in relief. She seemed about to step toward him before she caught herself, clasping her hands as if in prayer.
"Thank you, my—"
He held up a hand. "Don't thank me. You're about to take it back."
The girl stilled.
"The other charge—the accusation of Talos worship. It's not as easily dismissed." Balgruuf steepled his fingers, watching for minute changes on her face. "Neither the Legion nor I have the authority to clear your caretakers of that. There was a Thalmor agent at the arrest, wasn't there?"
She just stared, uncomprehending. Guilt pricked at Balgruuf's heart.
"Once I have them released from the Legion's custody, they'll be handed over to the Thalmor for interrogation. The Thalmor will determine if they are heretics, and sentence them accordingly. Only the Thalmor Justiciars have the authority to try those accused of Talos worship."
Some glimmer of understanding entered her eyes, and she gave a vague shake of the head. "But they … Captain Kensley made that up. He told me so. Gerdur and Hod threw away their amulets of Talos when the law changed, they—they don't worship Talos."
Balgruuf dropped his hands to grip the arms of his throne. "An accusation, once made, has to be investigated."
"But that's not—" She stopped herself. Her hands grew tight around each other. "Once the Thalmor investigate, though, they should be let go?"
Balgruuf hesitated. She saw him hesitate. A note of panic entered her voice.
"My lord, once the Thalmor know they don't worship Talos, they will let Gerdur and Hod go?"
Balgruuf closed his eyes.
He did not like the Thalmor any more than anyone else in Skyrim. No one liked them, not even other elves. He did not like that they had the authority to arrest anyone they suspected of heresy, and he could say no words against it. He did not like that maintaining peace with the Aldmeri Dominion hinged on allowing the Thalmor to terrorize his people. He did not like that the White-Gold Concordat had cut into his ability to govern and protect Whiterun.
But what he liked even less was the thought of another Great War. Or worse, of complete subjugation to the Dominion in the aftermath of such a war. The treaty had to be held until the Empire was in a stronger position to renegotiate and give Skyrim back its patron god.
So when he opened his eyes, he answered honestly. "If they confess to Talos worship, then no. They will not be let go."
The Ribbon Girl shook her head again, the motion harried. "But they won't confess! They wouldn't! So they have to be let go!"
Balgruuf met the eyes of Kodlak at the base of the dais, and saw that he understood what the girl did not. The pity on Kodlak's face mirrored Balgruuf's own.
"The Thalmor do not trust their captives to be honest," Balgruuf said. "They have ways of obtaining confessions. It is highly unlikely your Gerdur and Hod will be released."
He listened to her draw a breath, and waited for that breath to become words. When it did not, he looked at her, and she was still shaking her head, and her eyes had lost their focus.
"Why do you shake your head, lass? What do you not understand?"
Motion appeared in the corner of his eye. Proventus was approaching his throne with an opaque, stained-red glass bottle in hand.
"The healing potion, my Jarl."
Balgruuf motioned for him to give it to the girl. Unblinking, she lowered her head to look at Proventus's outstretched hand. She did not reach for the potion.
Proventus cleared his throat. "Ah, Miss—We have only the most quality potions in stock at the palace, I assure you."
They waited. The Ribbon Girl lifted her arm slowly, her hand only just skimming the potion. She paused there, making Proventus fidget uncomfortably, before she actually took it. Proventus stepped back next to Balgruuf's throne. They waited again as the girl stared at the bottle in her hand.
"No," she said.
Balgruuf's brow creased. "No, what?"
"No," she said again, voice rising. She gripped the bottle tightly, as if to crush it with the force of her fingers. "You're the Jarl. You can—make them set them free. You have to."
She met his gaze. The sheen in her eye had grown more pronounced, about to spill over.
"I can not make them set them free. Accusations of heresy are not under my jurisdiction to—"
"You're the JARL!" the Ribbon Girl shrieked, and the Companions froze, and Proventus jumped, and on his left Balgruuf's housecarl Irileth reach for her weapon.
The Ribbon Girl dropped to her knees, holding the potion in both hands in a posture that could have been pleading, or could have been threatening to smash the bottle at Balgruuf's feet; Balgruuf recalled an old memory, a heathen of the Reach kneeling before a bone-strewn altar with his own heart in his hands—
"If you can't help them, then who?" the Ribbon Girl cracked, her fingers taut around the potion bottle. "Who is more powerful than a Jarl? Who besides the Emperor himself gets to tell you what you can't do?"
Balgruuf blinked, recovering quickly. He threw out his voice like a lash. "Remember your tone, Ribbon Girl," he barked. "It is the Emperor's decree and the Emperor's peace treaty that I abide by in this. This incident, regrettable though it may be, is not worth breaking the White-Gold Concordat and risking the preservation of peace across this continent."
The Ribbon Girl's teeth gritted, and she bowed her head and brought the potion before her face, squeezing it so hard he was sure it would shatter at any moment, spill red potion over her little hands as the glass cut into them and made her bleed before his throne. To indict him further, she let out a frustrated sob.
"The Thalmor—the stories about them—You mean they'll torture them. They'll torture a confession out of them, and you'll just let them. You won't—do—anything—!"
Balgruuf rose to his feet, the pounding in his skull equal parts fury at himself and fury at her naivety, at her childish condemnation. A child. Only a child could speak so self-righteously, so blamelessly, so foolishly.
"I do not tolerate insolence!" he thundered, voice reverberating into the rafters. The Ribbon Girl flinched, not raising her head. "Contrary to what you seem to think, child, being a Jarl does not make me a Divine. It is not a matter of what I won't do for my people. I am not all-powerful; there are things even I cannot do."
Silence rang in the hall. The Ribbon Girl lowered the potion to her lap. Her grip on it slackened. When she inhaled, the sound shook.
"Fine," she said softly. "I understand now. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater doesn't have the power to help us." She set the potion on the floor, drawing her hand back as if it were poisonous. "Jarl Balgruuf doesn't have the power to stop the Empire or the Thalmor from taking people from their homes—and taking their children away, and stealing their property, and banning their gods—"
"You will curb your tongue—"
"And imprisoning them and torturing them!" the Ribbon Girl cried, and her head and her hand rose in unison, a finger pointing straight and accusing up at Balgruuf's face. "Let it be known that on this day, when Jarl Balgruuf's people needed him, he did not have the power to help them!"
"Deirdre!" berated Vilkas from the base of the dais, as Balgruuf's housecarl stepped forward.
Balgruuf threw out a hand, stopping Irileth in her tracks. The look he leveled at the Ribbon Girl had made grown men balk. Her own hand faltered, but did not fall.
"Ribbon Girl," Balgruuf said, deceptively quiet, "you are on extremely dangerous ground. I have never been thus spoken to in my entire reign. Drop. Your hand."
She obeyed. Balgruuf exhaled.
"I excuse your behavior this one time. On account of the stupidity of youth, and your obvious distress. One more word of disrespect, and you will find yourself back inside the cell from which you came. Do I make myself clear?"
The Ribbon Girl swallowed, the reality of her position seeming to dawn on her. She dropped her gaze and nodded.
"Yes, my lord."
"That should be followed by an apology."
Her voice was small. "I apologize, my lord."
Balgruuf let her sit there. He lowered himself onto his throne without taking his eyes off her.
"I am not someone you can trifle with, Deirdre of Riverwood. I advise you to choose your opponents more carefully in the future. Remember your place."
Again, they sat in silence. It wasn't until Vilkas called her name, another rebuke, that she replied.
"I will remember that, my lord."
Balgruuf nodded. "Drink the potion. I'm not having you leave my presence unhealed."
Her movements were stiff as she reached for the potion, pulled out the stopper, and raised the bottle to her lips. Still on her knees, avoiding looking directly at him. He watched the color of her skin fade from vivid purple to peachy paleness. The red left the sclera of her eye and the abrasion on her brow closed smoothly.
Mollified, and strangely drained, Balgruuf allowed himself a sigh. "That will be all, lass. You may go."
But now that her flash of bravado had passed, there was a frailness to her bent figure, and she looked at the empty bottle in her hand with an expression of daunted despair. Vilkas must have detected it; he ascended the steps of the dais and reached for her arm, pulling her to her feet. The potion bottle rolled from her limp fingers to the floor.
"You should thank the Jarl for his kindness," Vilkas said.
On her feet now, she still wouldn't look at him. Her eyes—a deep shade of blue, Balgruuf noticed—closed. She bowed low to him, placing her right fist against her left shoulder.
"Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf."
More defeated words had rarely been spoken. Balgruuf felt the brunt of his injured conscience bear down on him, and waved her away.