True to his word, Ralof left his home for Windhelm the next morning; the night had been restless, the entire village was on edge after the dragon's attack. The Nord had assured his sister and Nephew, before taking a horse and riding as quickly as he could to the High King's hold.
He thought as he rode, of tangled skeins of thread and the peculiarities of fate, of the words Mercy had said when he'd first met her and how her new position would likely juxtapose her words.
"'Don't act like I can change the minds of men. I can't. I doubt even the gods could.' you said. Well, Mercy, I think the gods intend to prove you wrong." He mumbled, spurring his horse back to a gallop from its leisurely trot. The wind was starting to bite, and he wanted to reach Windhelm by nightfall. Too many had died in the frozen nights of the Reach, most preferred to have their camps set by dark, or to be safe in their beds when the stars came out.
Ulfric Stormcloak was brooding on his throne as Ralof entered the hall. The Usurper-King clearly had other things on his mind, and Ralof waited silently for the passage of whatever thoughts the Jarl of Windhelm entertained.
"Ralof! I was worried you'd been caught by wolves or Imperials on your way here; it is incredibly late and the winter is unforgiving." Galmar boomed, a hint of humor in his eyes. Ralof nodded, wondering if Mercy would take his advice, as she had said she might.
"We had a young Khajiit here earlier today, said you'd pointed her to us. Maurie, I think her name was?" Ulfric rumbled. Ralof swallowed, and nodded.
"Mercy, my lord?"
"Yes, that was it. Mercy. Galmar sent her to the Serpent Stone; she should be back at some point in the next few days, if she comes back at all. Might I ask as to why you would send her here?" Blue eyes stared through Ralof's very soul, or so he felt.
"She was at Helgen, sire. She was the cat that helped me and several others escape." Ralof answered, breaking the staring contest. He heard an acknowledgement from the would-be High King, who then proceeded to ignore him.
"Come, then. I've places for you to be, no matter if you sent her to us or not." Galmar interjected, pulling Ralof into the map-room.
Ralof shivered in his new position, staring down into the ravine towards the entrance of the barrow. He was honestly getting sick of snow; memories of the relatively warm, green forests surrounding Riverwood taunted him, and he could practically feel the sun on his back-
An Imperial dropped, an arrow sticking out of his back. Another dropped seconds later. Ralof was up in an instant, and caught a glimpse of shadow before he could draw his battleaxe.
"By the Nine! Had I known Unblooded was an archer, I would've sent her elsewhere!" Galmar growled.
"You mean, that's Mercy? Gods, I'd known she was more skilled than when I saw her in Helgen, but I barely even glimpsed her in the brush." Ralof responded, surprised by the commander's frustration.
"Aye, but can she avoid hitting us when she shoots? We'll see." Galmar rumbled, charging down into the crevasse. Ralof followed with the others; he saw Mercy drop from her perch, sheathing her bow and loosening a gleaming sword and matching dagger in their scabbards as she merged in with the other soldiers. He swore he heard Galmar growl again.
In the commander's debrief to them, Ralof took a moment to glance at Mercy from the corner of his eye; she wore Stormcloak armor that had obviously had a bit of extra tailoring done (it allowed for her tail, and fell a bit longer at the shoulders and bottom hem), and still she wore no helm. One black-rimmed ear cocked toward him for a moment, then flicked back to Galmar as they filed into the barrow.
He and the other Stormcloaks crouched among the rocks, watching the Imperials as they paced in the entrance hall; Galmar told each of them to pick a target, and Ralof heard Mercy's bow creak quietly. He glanced at her again; she was still as stone, bowstring drawn back fully and an arrow trained on one of their enemies. A moment later, Galmar gave the signal and her arrow took flight.
More and more, Mercy appeared to be proving her worth. In one room, Galmar sent her ahead in search of another entrance, and they'd entered the chamber to find one imperial dead and the others jumping at shadows.
"Where did you learn all this, Mercy?" Ralof asked her, taking the chance provided by a narrow passage. She gave him a tight-lipped smile.
"This one must have a few secrets, Ralof. Suffice it to say, little Mercy made a few friends in placed high and low, since Helgen." She rumbled in reply, darting ahead to scout when Galmar stopped to inspect a Draugr. They caught up to her in the Hall of Stories, inspecting the walls with the curiosity she had displayed on the road from Helgen. Galmar had growled at her again, far more loudly this time; she'd responded with an odd chirp, before walking down to inspect the puzzle-door. Moments later, the door was open.
"You're too good at this, cat. I'd wager you've done this before?" one of the female Stormcloaks sneered. Mercy hesitated before responding.
"This one has explored tombs before, yes. This one has had to; various people of good repute have requested items which were buried with their owners, and there was no way to get those items but to weave down through the various puzzles and traps within the tombs."
"Pah. so in other words, you're a thief. No surprise there." The Nordic woman scoffed. Mercy stiffened, and Ralof saw her tail twitch angrily, but she said nothing more. He started to defend her, but Galmar beat him to the punch.
"That's enough! We're raiding a tomb now, aren't we? Most of these poor bastards can't do any good with their spoils now, and sometimes the living benefit from artifacts more than the dead ever could. That's the last I want to hear of that!" the old bear roared; the Nords cowed under his glare, though Ralof reacted less than the others did. Mercy didn't react at all, her expression closed and her back stiff.
She didn't draw her bow again, instead hanging back and looking on as Ralof and the others searched. She nodded when Galmar handed her the Crown and ordered her back to Windhelm; she left without a word as they explored the rest.
Ralof noticed she kept to herself more and more after that; in small groups she said little or nothing, preferring to complete the task as quickly as possible. Even as they camped outside of Markarth, Ralof saw her isolating herself. When Galmar sent him with a team to scout ahead, he silently prayed to the gods that she would have luck with whatever the old man had planned.
That Mercy wouldn't tell him what had occurred in Markarth said volumes. She looked gray-green under her fur, and her normally immaculate aim was off half the time. He tried to ask, but she shook her head and said nothing.
"Seems blackmail doesn't sit with her." One of the other soldiers had commented, once he was back in camp. he'd gaped at her (her name was Greta, as he recalled) as she explained how Mercy had had to get the information out of the Jarl's Steward.
He hadn't been able to look at the Khajiit without biting his tongue for a week, which he knew had hurt her more.