Multi-chapter. Many characters! Annekke Crag-Jumper, Verner Rock-Chucker, Sylgja, Filnjar, Grogmar, Erandur, people of Dawnstar, OCs. Action, Angst, alternate storyline. NSFW due to graphic description of injury. Based off a tid-bit of canon in-game lore!

When appalling tragedy strikes Shor's Stone, Annekke Crag-Jumper prays to the gods that they'll spare her only child. It seems a hopeless wish, one that would take nothing short of a miracle – and then they get one. When her daughter's savior asks a favor in return, will she honor the promise she made to the gods?

Acts of Restoration: Part I

11 Midyear 4-201

Verner & Annekke

I wish I wrote with better news, but it's fallen to me to tell you that Sylgja's had a bad accident. She was walking down food into the mine this morning and took an awful fall – tripped and fell nearly from the top, and clipped some rigging.

I can't sugar it for you. She's real bad. She hit her head off the rigging coming down, and then landed feet first. Her legs are busted so bad that

Maybe I shouldn't say. She was knocked out from the fall but woke up screaming. We've got her as comfortable as we can manage now, and sent Odfel for a healer, but the closest one's in Riften. With her wounds, infection is all but a surety.

I'm sorry, but you both should come, and come fast.

-Filnjar

Annekke had recognized the silver jackdaw the second she'd seen it, and a prick of unease had swept down her spine. It'd only grown stronger when he landed on her arm, and held out a leg with a note attached, squawking harshly. Her hands had trembled as she untied the parchment to read.

Now she crushed that note in the palm of her hand, and started screaming for Verner as she sprinted toward the house, turning every head in her wake.

It was too late to set out by the time they'd packed and made ready, even with help from the others. It killed her to wait, but she knew Verner and Sondas were right; the road was too dangerous at night. She couldn't sleep a wink – how would she? – and opted instead to pace the house, checking and rechecking their packs, scouring her brain for any little thing they might need, going over every detail again and again. She'd have no food, and hardly any water, and by the time Verner begged her to at least lie down, she slid between the blankets feeling ill. With nothing else to focus on, she'd ended up sobbing into his chest.

The cock had hardly finished crowing, before they came bursting through the door and out into the pre-dawn, packs shouldered and boots tightly laced.

Tormir and Derkeethus were already up, with the fire going and breakfast cooking. They insisted that she and Verner take skins of hot tea and a packet of hard-tack, shoving them into their hands, and Annekke was grateful. The gesture made her feel like sobbing some more, so she straightened her back and went marching off instead. There was no time for tears.

'Annekke, slow down!' She could hear the fatigue in Verner's voice, and couldn't help but grit her teeth.

'We can't slow down now,' she huffed, and furiously swiped at the stray blonde hairs that had fallen into her face. Shaking her head, she turned to face her husband, leaning on his walking poles several steps behind, and gestured down the road.

They'd skirted southeast around the volcanic tundra on old Wulfharth's Crossing; pushing hard all day, not even stopping for food or water. They'd finally hit the Firecrown an hour ago. Now Sylgja was no more than a couple hours away, and he wanted to rest? She bit her tongue on tired, angry words and chose softer ones instead.

'I know you're tired. So am I. But she needs us, Vern. We can rest when we've made it.'

'You've been burning holes in your boots since we left,' Verner sighed, closing the gap between them looking stiff and sore.

'We'll be no good to her all worn out.'

'There's life in me, yet,' she answered shortly. And you, too. Her husband was only five years her senior. Sometimes it felt more like fifty. Briefly, blue eyes squeezed shut, before reopening and locking with his.

'Besides, I couldn't rest – not until we've done all we can. I packed all the belladonna, and the salve. Filnjar said screaming, Vern! We can't just sit around while she suffers!'

Her tone brooked no argument, and he simply sighed, dragging a hand over his weathered face before giving her a nod. Those sad-dog eyes she knew so well admitted defeat, and she turned around without another word. As she adjusted the straps of her pack on her shoulders, she glanced fleetingly up at the sky, and issued what must've been her thousandth silent prayer.

Loving Mara, Merciful Stendarr, please watch over my Sylgja. Keep the road clear, and keep her aloft. Please, please let her survive. I swear I'll do anything – only let her live!

The sun was setting on one of the worst days in Filnjar's memory when a familiar harsh cry from overhead caught his ear, and Skaven came flapping down to land on the porch railing. He could see the crumpled note tied to his bird's leg, and heaved himself up with a sigh right away, even though he'd only just sat down. Skaven gave him an affectionate nip to the knuckle, and he cursed without heat as he stroked the bird's head and retrieved the note.

It was his own paper, same as he'd sent that afternoon. Scrawled on the back in Verner's hand were three words in block: COMING AT SOONEST. He'd been around long enough to know 'soonest' likely couldn't be til' dawn tomorrow, and let loose another gusting sigh as he shook his head. He folded the note to slip into his pocket, and started down his porch steps.

Dasturn and Meiran met him in Sylgja's front yard, both of them sweating and pale. It was no wonder why – he could hear the agonized cries coming from inside the house before he set foot past the fence.

'No change?' he asked wearily, and Dasturn shook his shaggy black head, looking anguished.

'Not really. Grogmar shooed us out, said we were in his way. He's been trying to set the bones best he can, but...'

'But there ain't much left to set,' Meiran cut in grimly.

Filnjar cursed, and as another sobbing cry hit his ears, he gnashed his teeth in helpless anger. Shaking his head, he dove a hand into his pocket and yanked out the letter.

'They answered,' he rumbled, and slapped it lightly to Dasturn's chest for him to scan in the failing light.

'They're coming soon as they can – don't reckon it'll be til morning, though. They'll get here this time tomorrow, the earliest. Gods hurry them along,' he muttered.

Meiran spoke up again, looking almost like he was afraid to.

'D'you think she'll make it that long, Filn? I ain't never seen the like—'

The older man cut him clean off with a glare hard as stone, and then shook his head. Anger faded, replaced with gut-twisting doubt.

'No way to know, lad,' he murmured sadly. 'Shock wore off a while ago, and now she's in a world of hurt – no measure of rye will do much to cut it. If...' He huffed a breath, and forced himself to say it.

'If the pain doesn't kill her, a fever well might.'

Beside them, Dasturn made a sound of protest.

'But Odfel—'

'Is two full days away, at the shortest. It's a race against sepsis, at this point,' he cut in gruffly. Pity for the young man jabbed Filnjar, at his expression; it was no secret that he and Syljga were courting. He couldn't imagine being in his shoes, right now, and fought down a shudder. Gingerly, he put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed.

'Prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. We'll do all we can for her, you know that. We all love Sylgja.'

'Mardi doesn't even know,' Meiran piped up mournfully, and both men politely averted their eyes as Dasturn hunched his shoulders and turned away.

'She picked a hell of a time to go an' see her folks. If she'da been here, she could'a—'

'Done about as much as Grogmar,' Filnjar growled. 'She only spent a year with the priests, an' you know it. 'Sides, it would kill her to know what she was missing. Don't go laying blame.'

The little blonde was the youngest miner they had, hardly grown. And more importantly, Sylgja's dearest friend. He'd have to send out a letter to Solitude, come morning. But he feared it'd come too late.

The older man's flare of temper was enough to cow Meiran, a soft-spoken man, and he took a step back and nodded meekly with apology scrawled on his long face.

'You're right, Filn. You're right. M'sorry. It's just been...hell, in there. Hell.'

He knew it too well. Since he'd had a moment to stop, to breathe, to actually think, the images hadn't stopped repeating in his head – seeing Sylgja slip, hearing her shocked little scream. Then the terrible bang of her head on the beam, and the sickening crunch and thud as she hit the ground. He and Grogmar had been closest to where she landed, the first to see the result. He'd worked the mines all his life, and never seen anything quite so bad. They'd lost strong men in their prime over less.

No matter how long he had left, he didn't think he'd ever forget the sight.

His reverie was broken by Grogmar's gruff voice, calling out above the heart-wrenching cries.

'I need another set'a hands, in here!'

Dasturn was now steadily falling apart, grasping the fencepost to hold himself up, and Meiran blanched and went even paler, at Grogmar's call. The choice was clear, and Filnjar sighed as he shook his head.

'Relax, man. I'll do it.' Meiran looked at him mute and grateful, and nodded as he moved to comfort Dasturn. Filnjar took a shaky breath as he crossed the yard, and braced himself before he shoved open Sylgja's door.

He was met with a chaotic mess, awash in the flickering glow of a fire in the hearth and every oil lamp the young woman had, all burning bright. It made the sight that met him in the bed very clear, and no amount of bracing could've done him an ounce of good. He hadn't eaten at all today, and still he was nearly sick on the floor.

Sylgja was writhing in the middle of the bed, white as wax and slippery with blood, surrounded by red-soaked rags. The look on her face was pure anguish, and he could only glance at it before he had to look away. Grogmar was perched on a stool at the foot of her bed, looking tense and strained, and the shirt that he'd rolled to the elbows was a write-off – the orc was as soaked as she was. His arms were slick with dark, shining red as he worked near Sylgia's knee, and he beckoned Filnjar over with a jerk of the head, not looking away from his task for a moment.

'Filn, is that you? Grab a clean linen and pour a new bowl from the kettle.'

He did as he was told, trying his best to ignore Sylgja's screams, and it wasn't until he was turning back with the items that he saw what his friend was doing and blanched.

'Dear gods, man,' he shouted. 'Can't you put her out for this?!'

He could see that Grogmar had set the bones back into place from where they'd burst many times through Sylgja's flesh, leaving oddly-deflated looking puncture holes in their wake. They'd moved her from the mines with two tourniquets at the groin; Grogmar had been a medic in his time with the Legion, and thank every god for that. But after a few hours had passed, he'd announced they couldn't leave her like that, or she'd lose her legs. Now his stomach pitched to realize that the orc was sewing veins shut with needle and thread, digging around inside Sylgja's wounds to find them and clamp them shut – and he was doing it with her awake. He glared disbelieving daggers at his old friend, but the orc threw him back a pair just as sharp, and snarled.

'No, I can't. Com'ere, now. To my side!' Filnjar's legs carried him jerkily forward, and Grogmar gestured with another sharp nod for him to lower his head. He brought his mouth so close to Filnjar's ear that he felt the brush of his tusks, and he muttered more words.

'The head trauma's too bad. If I were to put her out now, we could very well lose her.'

Filnjar felt himself pale further, and his mouth fell open. 'Oh, gods.'

'What – what are you saying?!' Sylgja cried, and both men snapped back to look at her, where her tear-soaked face turned to them, looking frantic.

'Why are you whispering?!'

'No reason, dove,' Grogmar answered, low and soothing, and shook his head.

'We know you have enough to deal with – we're just trying to keep it down for you. Right, Filn?'

'Right,' Filnjar managed, and again he swallowed the urge to scream or vomit. 'That's right. You just breathe, Sylgja.'

'She's been so brave,' Grogmar said, more for her than for him, and she nodded once before flopping back onto the sweat-soaked pillow with another wrenching moan. Filnjar took the opportunity to bend Grogmar's ear.

'What do you need? More spirits?'

'No point,' Grogmar muttered. 'Not safe. Any more will thin her blood too much, and it's not doing enough anyway.' He grabbed the linen and bowl of warm water from Filnjar, tore it into thirds, and started soaking the cloth.

'Clean around the wound I'm working on, and then apply pressure above the knee.'

'Done.' He grabbed the wet rag, ignoring Sylgja's sharp cry as best he could as he started his task, staring hard at the knuckles of his own hand so he didn't have to look at what Grogmar did. The rag was finished before too long, and he discarded it onto a pile before grabbing the next. Grogmar had already done the wounds at her hips, her thighs and ankles – these were saved for last. The wounds he'd already staunched were clean and waiting, barely bleeding at all compared to the rush in the mines.

If it weren't for Grogmar's training, she would've already been gone. The thought had him barely suppressing a full-body shudder, and he silently snapped at himself to focus.

He lost track of time as he worked that way, just doing what Grogmar told him to do and blocking out the rest, and for a while there was nothing but action. Heating the kettle, ripping fresh cloth, pressing a wound, holding Sylgja's hand. Nodding along as Grogmar praised her in the softest tone he had. At one point she broke down with fresh fervor, and wailed.

'I want my Ma and Da! I want Dasturn! Where are they?!'

'They're coming, dove,' Grogmar crooned, and Filnjar nodded as he took her hand. He couldn't help but notice it was starting to grow hot, and winced when he noted two spots of high color in her cheeks, a shine in her eyes. Fever.

'He's right,' he said softly, nodding. 'We got the letter not an hour back. They're already coming. It won't be much longer.'

'And you've done so well for me, it won't be long until I'm finished here,' Grogmar added, finding a smile for her.

'As soon as I'm done, we'll get Dasturn in here to keep you company.'

'Alright.' Her voice was so tiny, it threatened to break Filnjar's heart, and he had to look away again. He retreated back into himself, and was grateful when Grogmar sent him into the little pantry for bandages. He was tasked with cleaning up the piles of bloody rags, while Grogmar wrapped his handiwork, and then brushing away the dark hair plastered to her face with sweat, so he could sponge it clean. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Grogmar sat back on his stool and cracked his back with a sigh.

'Alright, Sylgja. We've got you set up nice, and now we'll try to keep you comfortable while we wait. You can be alone for a minute – Filn and I are going to get Dasturn for you.'

The much younger woman nodded her consent, and the two men headed for the door. They weren't two steps beyond it, when Grogmar shut it and grabbed his arm, pulling him up short.

Meiran was hanging around by the fence looking anxious and lost, and he startled when he saw them come out, before starting toward them. Grogmar stopped him with a hand, and called across the yard.

'Where's Dasturn?'

'In the bunkhouse!'

'Well go and get him! She's asking for him!'

Meiran went scrambling to do as he was told, and Filnjar wasted no time, turning to look at his friend and grab him by the shoulder.

'Tell me the truth, Grog. How is she looking?'

Grogmar's face fell, and he let out an exhausted sigh as he scrubbed a hand through his greying hair. When he looked back at Filnjar, his expression was grave.

'It's not good, Filn. I stabilized the breaks, patched the wounds, but really I just bought her some time. And I don't know how much. There's marrow in the blood, I'm sure of it. And you saw the fever for yourself.'

'Is it going to be a problem?'

'A big one. We'll have to fight it, sponge her down and get her to drink honey-water with powdered arrowroot every hour. I'm hoping her body will make her rest, to spare her some pain. But we'll have to wake her every half turn, to make sure she doesn't slip away. The concussion is pretty bad.'

Filnjar frowned, his stomach twisting. 'She seemed not too bad to me. She was making sense, wasn't she?'

'Sometimes.' Grogmar grimaced. 'You missed some of it. Her brain is swelling. Nobody can survive, if that gets too bad.'

'Well, what can we do about it?' Filnjar asked, desperate. Looking downright forlorn, Grogmar shook his head and sighed.

'I'll watch her, and if it gets too much worse...I'll have to do a trepanation.'

Filnjar had no words, at that – he just stared at his friend, appalled, and Grogmar stared back, exhausted. The orc was the first to speak up again.

'So are her folks really coming?'

'Yeah...yeah. We expect them tomorrow sunset, if all goes smooth.' Grogmar nodded, staring sort of blankly off into the yard, and Filnjar piped up again, feeling anxious.

'You think she'll last that long?'

'If we break the fever? Maybe.' His expression crumpled at the edges, and he ducked his head, crossing his arms as he turned from the door.

'I've seen far more die than survive this sort of thing.'

Filnjar flinched, thinking of Annekke and Verner, and their bright little woman, too young to be snuffed out by a misstep.

'What about Odfel? What if he manages to bring a healer from Riften? Someone with magic?'

His friend sighed again, and something vital seemed to go out of his burly, imposing frame as he shook his head.

'You said it yourself, earlier – it's just too far away. It'll take days for him to bring someone back. For her to last that long...it'd take a miracle.'

The setting sun was just starting to brush the treetops, when Annekke and Verner spotted the roof of Shor's watch-tower. The muscles in her hips were aching now with every step, but Annekke ignored it, picking up her pace along the path. They'd left the Emperor's road behind a while ago, and she walked in the spot between two deep wheel ruts in the dirt, with Verner trailing behind.

No one called out from the guard-tower as they passed, and she found it strange. But she wasn't about to stop and investigate. If the guards on duty wanted to sleep through their shift, she wasn't going to stop them – she had bigger problems.

'I haven't seen that bear in about a half-hour, now,' Verner called to her.

'I think he finally gave up on us.'

'Smart of him,' she called back, and shook her head. Her bow lay unstrung over her shoulder; this close to their goal, she'd like to keep it that way. She stretched a crick in her shoulder as they marched, and resisted the urge to peel her sweat-soaked tunic away from her body – doing so would just feel worse. Midyear could be so fickle, and the heat was unforgiving today. Now it was starting to pass, and all the effect that had was to chill the sweat and make it sticky. Ugh.

She didn't give a word of complaint, out loud – there was no point, and Verner would only tell her she should slow down. Really, focusing on her aches and icks was just a way to keep herself from obsessing over Sylgja, instead. Imagining the what-ifs was like standing at the lip of a dark abyss – it was much too easy to fall.

To fall. The poor choice of words needled her, and she shivered, pushing the thoughts away. She poured all her focus and energy into moving as fast as she could, and trusted that her husband would keep up with her.

The sky above was shot through with pink, red and gold, when the dirt road widened and they caught a glimpse of the first house through the trees. Annekke couldn't help but gust a sigh of relief that felt like it came from her toes. Finally, Shor's Stone – they'd made it.

'Come on, Verner. They'll see us in a minute.' She pushed with the last of her resolve and forced herself to break into a jog toward the village, hearing the clattering sound of Verner following behind her. He hadn't put up much of a fight, once he'd realized her mind was made up, and for that she was grateful. Not many would march without a break from dawn to dusk. But your children changed everything.

She let out a shout as they cleared the last of the trees, as much a victorious sound as one to call attention. And almost immediately, she spotted movement on the porch of the bunkhouse. Arms waved in the air as figures rushed toward them, and she ignored the burning of her lungs as she pushed herself to close the gap. Nearness sharpened the picture, and soon she was staring at who she recognized to be Filnjar and Meiran.

But they didn't look how she'd expected. They were...smiling? Meiran gave a loud whoop as they closed in, a joyful sound, and Annekke's chest tightened as she yelled to the men.

'Where is she?!'

'Annekke, Annekke! Verner!' Filnjar shouted as they finally met, and scooped her up into strong arms to give her a twirl before setting her down. He was beaming, looking overjoyed, and Annekke couldn't comprehend it. A grinning Meiran grabbed Verner's hand and shook it as he joined them, and both men started talking incoherently over one another.

'We have news—'

'You won't believe it, we can hardly—'

'Came in the nick of time, and—'

'Never seen anything like it—'

Annekke lost patience then, and grabbed Filnjar by the upper arms to give him a shake, shouting over both men.

'What's happening?! Where is Sylgja?!'

Meiran piped down, and it was Filnjar who grabbed her with both massive hands and dropped the giddy news.

'She's been healed, Annekke! She's going to make it! Odfel found a priest on the road to Riften, and he came and healed Sylgja! She's going to live!'

The words took a long beat, to settle into sense. Then a cry of raw relief came tearing from her chest, and her legs buckled as she collapsed against Filnjar in the road.

This is the first section of a story that I think will be a two or three-parter! Stick around to read the next installment. And if you'd like, leave a review and tell me what you think!