Chapter Six
Bone of my bones

I arrived in Whiterun late last night and I have yet to leave my house, but I'll be sure to write about that later. The journey was long and uneventful, though I did pass some pretty landscapes that I'm sure you would enjoy. We didn't have much trouble with the guards so our arrival has gone smoothly. The house is alright. I know I shouldn't complain but I'm not used to this lack of... richness? Breezehome is a lot smaller than Honeyside, but I guess it's decent. Everything is just so plain and uncharacteristic. It's not even cozy; it's just… a house.

My room is on the main floor and is the smallest. My bed is comfortable and this desk on which I write to you is sturdy, so I suppose it will do. The second floor has the other two rooms. Lydia's room is larger than mine, but simpler, with only a dresser, a bed and a nightstand. Mother and Belrand's room is nice, with a double bed against the back wall, double doors, a dresser, several chests and a small eating area in the right corner closest to the doors. It's simple, but I'm sure over time they will decorate. I will too, I suppose.

Elaira's book collection is surprisingly extensive. She says that they are books she has collected throughout her year with Belrand. There's many, some in different languages too. She has even shown me her collection of journals. Not her journals, but journals she has found all around Skyrim. It's insane to think they are real people's stories and thoughts and lives all stuffed into thin, leather bound books. There are studies as well. There was an entire shelf and a half filled with texts from the libraries of the Bards College, the College of Winterhold and all scholars in between. Evesa would die! When you come to visit, you'll need to bring some back for her to read.

Speaking of which, I hope you visit soon. There are quite a few people our age that I'm sure you will make quick friends with. I've yet to meet them because that requires leaving the house, but I'll fill you in on the details soon.

Alright, Lydia is calling me to go to the market stalls with her. I suppose I cannot avoid Whiterun forever.

I'll be back.

EVENING

Okay, I'm back again. I don't have long before supper but I'll try and give you as much detail as possible.

Whiterun is very domestic. It's not tall and crowded and pretty like Solitude, but it's not rickety and spooky like Riften either. People walk around with errands and lives and loves and it's like reading a boring book where the main characters just walk and walk and walk and do and do. I'm not sure if that makes sense.

My point is that there's nothing special about this town; not that I know of anyway.

My mother's work partner is called Ysolda, and she's lovely. She knows a lot about speech and I swear she could convince me to buy anything. Everyone's nice in Whiterun. I never thought that would be a bad thing. I reckon I've gotten too used to Riften.

There's this great big tree in the Wind District, and it's dead and ugly and I wonder what it's doing there. I'm sure I'll find out. I plan on spending some time at the Temple of Kynareth. I hope they'll let me learn from them.

The city is boring but there are many interesting people. You'd enjoy the rivalries, the ambitions, all that stuff. Belrand said you could visit soon.

I have to attend dinner with the Battle-Borns now. I'll fill you in if you care to know about it.

Write to me soon, please!

Love always,

Loralei

7th of Heart-Fire, 4E 207

Loralei,

I'm glad to hear from you though don't get the wrong idea. I still have not forgiven you for your complete and utter abandonment of me. Whiterun sounds nice, at least nicer than Riften. The books sound great; I'll make sure to tell Evesa so she can feel sinfully envious! That's strange that they wouldn't just cut down the tree if it's dead and ugly.

Also, you'll get used to your room. And your house and city and neighbours.

And since I've made that Segway, do tell me of your neighbours! All the drama, all the suspense! I'm desperate, old friend. Tell me everything! Also the Battle-Borns? I feel like I've heard of them before.

Anyhow, Riften is boring as ever. Maramal has returned to preaching at the Bee and Barb every night. The townsfolk are getting annoyed by it (me too). Not much else is new except Christian got adopted by some nice young Imperials. The woman was barren. That's so sad.

There's not much else to say except I already miss you.

Love,
Runa

8th of Heart-Fire, 4E 207

The lovely Runa,

The day you stop holding the grudge is the day the sun rises in the West and sets in the East.

And on the topic of my neighbours, the ones that do stand out to me are the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes. They have this whole rivalry thing going on. See, they are two of the oldest clans of Skyrim and have been 'close as kin' for centuries, all up until Ulfric's rebellion. Now the Battle-Borns are huge supporters of the Empire but the Grey-Manes support the Rebellion. So now, they apparently hate each other.

My mother has obviously sided with the Battle-Borns, but Belrand says the Grey-Manes aren't bad people. Elaira doesn't seem to agree.

Anyway, at that supper thing we had, all Mother did was talk about the war and politics with the BattleBorn clan. There's one boy called Lars who is only a year or two older than me. He's quite dreadful though, I don't think I've met anyone with such an ego. He wouldn't stop talking about his wealth and bragging about his 'beautiful' and 'big' and 'expensive' house. He didn't shut up until I told him my mother has three houses, plus the lodge in Winterhold and the Manor my father built in Falkreath. Except, when the 'competition' of wealth was over, he absolutely would not shut up about this girl that wouldn't stop harassing him. He told me "she has the real hots" for him. I tried not to cringe. I can't remember her name… Bridget? Betty? It doesn't matter I suppose. Hopefully I'll find some better company than this Lars character, and hopefully I don't run into Betty. I'll admit she sounds quite dreadful.

I haven't gotten to the Temple yet, but I will eventually. I've been taking Bam Bam and Birdie for rides, but I think they miss you. I think we'll hire a courier to bring Bam Bam back to you, if you'd like that. I love him, but he's more yours than mine. Birdie will miss him, but I'm almost certain they will be reunited eventually, as will the two of us.

Anyway, a boring Riften is a good Riften. The only excitement found there are thieves and bandits, neither of which I wish upon you. I'm glad for Christian, he was a sweet child.

And before I forget, what would you like for your birthday? Thirteen is a big one!

Much love,
Loralei

15th of Heart-Fire, 4E 207

Loralei,

I'm sorry it's been a while, but we haven't had much parchment at the orphanage, and the boys wanted to write to Drax for his birthday, so there wasn't enough left for me.

Anyway, there MUST be more to that rivalry! Is there a secret love affair? Did something bad happen and they're using the war to cover up the real reason for their rivalry? The possibilities are endless, you must investigate!

Game plan: befriend that boy Lars (also, what does he look like?). Then use him as a pawn to investigate the Battle-Borns! There has to be something else!

This is the end of the parchment, so bye, I miss you! Love: Runa, xox

16th of Heart-Fire, 4E 207

Runa, my young friend, you are a scoundrel. First off, you didn't tell me what you wanted for your birthday, which is in exactly one month, so don't be surprised if I send you coal!

Secondly, I will absolutely not befriend Lars, and even if there is a secret love affair, it's none of my (or your) business.

Yours,
Loralei

P.S. I've enclosed ten feet of parchment, for you and the orphanage.

P.P.S. Brown-blonde hair, curly. Blue eyes; dimples. He's ugly.

20th of Heart-Fire, 4E 207

Lovely Loralei,

I would like Bam Bam and a new lute for my birthday. Thirteen's not a big deal, and you are mean to me. Also, Eren kissed me and it was gross. I also feel sick and lightheaded and I blame you for not satisfying my Battle-Born/Grey-Mane needs!

I love and miss your stupid face; Runa xox

P.S. He doesn't seem ugly to me!

P.P.S. Coal is a rare resource that we need to cherish. I'd be flattered!

We sat in Dragonsreach, along the long table. The Jarl sat at the head, my mother and Belrand on either side of him. I was seated at the other end of the table, with all the other children. To my left were the Jarl's trueborn children, Dagny and Frothar. Dagny was beautiful, in a way that reminded me of Runa. She was darker, however. She had brown hair that bordered on black, which fell past her waist in loose waves. Her eyes were black and menacing. She had dark, untouched skin and held her head high, her neck stretched up to give the illusion of height and power. Her brother towered over her, however, at least six feet tall, and broad. He was eighteen, three years older than his sister. He too was handsome, in a fresh, boyish way. He shared his sister's dark features, but where she held her head high, he slouched a little and wore a crooked grin. He was nice and kind and I thought he could rule someday. His sister was bratty and spoiled and I did not like her.

Their bastard brother sat to my right. He was thin and comely, lacking his siblings' good looks. He was pale and his brown hair long and thin. He said nothing to me, so I returned the favour, preferring to be ignored at the table.

Eating at the long table were also the Battle-Borns. They took up most of the table, three generations of family drinking and talking and laughing away. They were probably talking about the war; I wasn't paying attention. I was concentrating on my discomfort. My mother had chosen me a dress far too fancy and far too tight for my liking, and it was the only thing I could focus on. Still, I couldn't keep my ears from hearing Lars, who was speaking calmly with Frothar.

"Now that you're past seventeen, are you thinking about joining up with the Legion?" Lars asked, before chomping on a piece of meat. I almost gagged at the sounds he was making.

"I don't really want to participate in the war, if I'm honest," Frothar replied, wiping his mouth with a serviette.

"You've got to have a preference, everyone does!" Dagny added, twiddling her spoon. The silver flashed, catching the light.

"Well, yes, of course I do, but I know that if I fight for either side, it will reflect on the Jarl, and we all know he wants nothing to do with this war." Frothar answered.

"You're quite the politician," I added, taking a gulp of wine. "But this war has gone on for so long, he's going to be forced to choose anyway and probably soon."

"I agree with the Dovahkiin's daughter, I thi—"

"Loralei—that's my name." I corrected Dagny, who looked quite appalled by the interruption. There was a silence before Lars continued,

"Anyway, you shouldn't care how your parents live. It's your life, your decisions, the way I see it. My pa says every man is his own. Bones before blood, he says."

"So, you're saying that if you were a Stormcloak you father would be okay with it?" said Nelkir the Bastard. We all turned to look at him. It was the first thing he'd said all supper. "You're saying he wouldn't kick you to the curb, disown you, and spit on your dead body when you're killed at war? You're saying that your father, Battle-Born, legionnaire wouldn't take away your money, scratch you off the family tree and never look at you again?"

"My father loves me," Lars retorted, growing angry.

"Bones before blood."

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Lars asked. His tunic was grey-blue and well-fitted. He wore a silver vest over it and I thought he looked like a fool.

"A lute," I replied, glancing around the shop. Belethor's General Goods it was called. I wondered where Belethor, the shop owner was. Lars cocked his head and smiled.

"You know, my family has a whole bunch of lutes! Some are centuries old, they're super rare. They would cost a lot nowadays."

"One might wonder why a boy with so many expensive lutes is doing working at a general goods shop," I said, resisting the scowl. I thought his lips would thin or he would blush but he didn't. He chuckled and this time I did not resist the scowl.

"Well, Belethor went to go visit High Rock with his apprentice, so I offered to keep the shop up, actually." He smiled smugly as he checked around the store a little. He was tall for fourteen, I noticed. "And, we don't have any lutes here, not nice ones anyway. They're just your basic, learning lutes, the cheap kind; not for people like you and I."

"Well, thanks I suppose, but you and I are nothing alike." I sighed. I turned slowly to leave when Lars called,

"Wait! My shift is over now, the khajiit caravans ought to have something nice, I can take you there." He looked hopeful for a moment before I dismissed him, barely looking as the feeling fleeted his face.

"Thanks for the advice. But it's only one, and the store doesn't close till eight," I said, almost out the door.

"Yeah, but—"

"I can find the caravans myself, I reckon."

3rd of Frostfall, 4E 207

Runa,

I got your gift! It's beautiful, I promise. And no, once again, I have not found any secret love affairs within the Battle-Born, Grey-Mane rivalry, nor will I, so stop asking!

Anyhow, Lars is as horrible as ever, but apparently Minette or Mina or someone is coming back into town in a month. She's his age, and I've only heard good things about her. 'Flirty but kind-hearted' is what was said about her. Perhaps I'll make a friend after all.

I finally visited the Temple. I believe it's the most beautiful one I've ever seen. It is located in the wind district of Whiterun. There are several lavender bushes around the area and some stone benches to the southwest and around the big, dead tree to the southeast. The main doors open into the square where that tree is. Around the outside of the central room are a series of wooden benches with three healing altars around a tiled central area with a large raised cross mosaic in the floor and shallow water filling the areas between the legs of the cross. At the healing altar, I found a sickly farmer and a wounded soldier. They moaned and groaned in pain, and I felt guilty when I looked away. The sick and injured are treated and prayed over by Danica Pure-Spring and Acolyte Jenssen. Health potions litter the room and there is lavender everywhere. The light flows into the Temple and it's bright and everything glows.

In the middle of the northwest wall is a narrow table with a Shrine of Kynareth on top. To the southwest there are two semi-partitioned areas separated by the entrance, one with a wooden bench, the other a small bedroom with a single bed and a narrow table with strongbox underneath and several goblets and plates. To the northeast is another semi-partitioned area with another single bed with an end table beside it. The furniture is simple, but it is pleasant. Along the northeast wall is a small wardrobe with more bowls, goblets and a plate on top, with a bookshelf with dozens of healing potions and many books about the divines and medicine.

Danica is an old Nord woman who was probably beautiful once. I asked her if she was a Priestess here and she said, "Indeed. The temple here in the city is my charge. The goddess's divine blessings have no doubt helped make Whiterun a thriving and prosperous city. After all, it is she who brings rain to our crops and fair weather on the harvest days." Then I asked her,

"The war… has it impacted you much?" (I asked as she tended to the wounded soldier)

"Somewhat, yes. At first it seemed a distant thing, heard only in the idle speech of guards and traders. When the wounded soldiers began to return from battle, I did what I could to help them. As more of the sick and injured came to the temple, my work as a healer became more important than my duties as a priestess. I wish only an end to the fighting, so that I can tend to the temple once more."

Acolyte is a master at restoration and he has promised to teach me, if I'll help them tend to the wounded. I said yes of course; there's nothing else I'd see myself doing.

I forgot to ask about the dead tree, but I probably will in a couple days.

Write soon,
Loralei

"What are you reading?" he asked calmly, casting a shadow over me. It was a beautiful day out, one of the last, I'd predicted. I'd been left on break from the Temple and decided to sit outside and read while the sun was still out.

"16 Accords of Madness," I replied. His face was dark and his body was outlined in the sunlight.

"Oh, lovely, which one?" he asked, taking a seat next to me. I flinched as the sunlight returned to me.

"This is the sixth," I held up the book for him. He took it, running his finger up the spine.

"It's a fine copy. I've only read the ninth and twelfth. Hircine never interested me much,"

To my surprise, we proceeded to speak for a while about the series and our interest in Shegorath before a figure casted a shadow over us once more. She was petite, with dark skin with short black hair.

"Look at this," she sneered. "Two little milk-drinkers reading books." I gaped, frozen. I felt as if I should retort, but I could only look at the girl in surprise.

"I'm not a milk-drinker," Lars pronounced, throwing the book in my lap and standing up.

"That's not what your father says, now is it?" Lars clenched his hands into fists and marched away. The girl turned to me and I wondered if the scowl was permanently etched onto her face. "And you. You stay away from him. He's not yours."

"I don't think he belongs to anyone," I managed to retort. She looked as if she would grab me and throw me to the ground and kick me senseless, but I was saved.

"Loralei, dear, we need you once more," Danica called, appearing out of nowhere. "Oh, hello Braith dear, how may we help you?"

"Sod off," Braith spat before marching away.

It was the 6th of Sun's Dusk when I felt the power within me.

Whiterun was beginning to grow cold, a cool chill leaping around in the air. I felt Goosebumps rise up my arms as I stepped outside of Breezehome. It was close to noon and I was late to the Temple. I pulled my coat tightly around me as I made my way towards the Wind District. I was just short of running, nearly pushing people as I marched past the townsfolk. The lack of sun in the past two weeks had brought paleness to the skin and hollowness to the eyes of most people, me among them. It was a dreadful sight, and I loathed the thought of the upcoming winter.

The temple lacked its usual brightness when I walked in, the light brought in from the windows doing naught to help. My boots clicked as I traversed the estate until I found Danica with the wounded farmer. He looked worse than before, I noticed. He was pale as a ghost and it looked as though his skin was being stretched too far to cover his bones. His eyes were open, and dry. He had brown eyes, but they were not warm or the colour of chestnut that I had once been familiar with. They were worn and dead, like the colour of parched dirt.

Danica's eyes were closed, her breath steady and controlled. Her hands were placed on his torso, glowing golden. I could almost hear the tingling. Even being close to her magic made my bones tickle.

Jenssen was tending to a soldier. The soldier was different from the one before, only arriving three days ago with his arms broken in three places and a sprained angle. Bruises coloured the soldier's pale face, marking him purple and blue.

"You're late," Jenssen said to me, pouring some healing potion into the soldier's mouth. The soldier swallowed, eyeing me. I tried to ignore him as I searched for an excuse to tell Jenssen, but the Priest sighed before I could say anything. Laying the soldier down, Jenssen gestured for me to follow him. The soldier grunted as we left him behind.

Jenssen led me to the room with his bed, striding over to the wash basin to clean his hands. "Close the door, child," he commanded me. It shut with a click.

Jenssen was a simple, if not handsome man. His face was scarred from a burn, but his face was beautified with hard lines, a sharp chin and a straight nose. His face was long and his mouth narrow, but it suited him. With his dark, shoulder length hair which was pulled away from his face and his full goatee, I could imagine him as one of the divines; or maybe some Daedric Prince, with a dark allure and sparkling green eyes. It was almost a shame that he had chosen to be a priest, dressed in simple orange robes, rather strong shimmering steel.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I began, trying not to falter. I blushed shamelessly as he sat on a discarded chair, observing me.

"As long as it is not repeated, it's fine. We've much work to do, Loralei."

"We do?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes." He paused momentarily before looking to the ground. "Dark days are ahead of us. Though Alduin has been defeated, the dangers of the war are only beginning to unfold. There will be an attack on Whiterun soon… the Jarl has chosen a side," I gaped. I had not been informed.

"Which side?" I questioned, biting my lip. I wondered which I wanted him to have chosen. I thought of Runa. I thought of mother, the Battle-Borns.

"Jarl Balgruuf the Great has put his confidence in the Empire it seems, and the Stormcloaks will be heading here soon. We will need as many healers as we can get. After this battle, many more are sure to ensue. I'm afraid that for a war that has been going on for so long, it has not yet truly commenced." I gulped and somehow managed to nod.

I did not know much of the war, but at the age of twelve, pictures and concepts were beginning to form. I had read about war, heard about it, talked about it. I was born in the middle of a war, but never had I lived through it. I'd never been at the scene of an attack; I'd never seen someone die before my eyes. Death seemed to haunt me since Onmund, but never had I dreamed I would witness it.

I wanted to help, I knew I had somehow already agreed to, but I was scared. I did not believe that I was capable of bringing a man on the brink of death back to life. I didn't think I'd be able to stand it if I failed either.

I continued to gnaw at my lip as Jenssen stood up from his chair and moved towards me. He was not much taller than me. He was shorter than Lars, though I was not sure why I thought to compared them. Perhaps Jenssen had some Breton blood in him. It would have also explain the darkness of his hair.

"There are books and spell tomes you will need to study, but the art—the magic—of restoration comes from the body. The magicka that comes from the soul—that comes from the divines—needs to be taught by oneself.

"The College of Restoration is not considered one of the great arts by the Mages Guild, but it can be, and has proven to be one of the most useful. Restoration gives the ability to heal, to restore, and fortify. It can cure diseases, restore lost vitality. Restoration works to augment strength, endurance, intelligence, agility, and other bodily attributes. With Restoration, wards are conjured to protect, healing hands are used to save. Restoration has become a necessity to this world of danger and death, and here we are trained to use it well; to use it properly.

"If you are comfortable, I would like to teach you a simple Healing spell." I nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I'd never considered being a mage, even for healing purposes. I thought perhaps I would learn alchemy to create healing potions, or how to give blessings, but I'd never considered the idea of accessing my inner magicka, speaking to the divines through magic. I wondered if Onmund would be proud.

Jenssen took my hands gently into his and led me to the middle of the room. He held my fingers in his palms. His hands were cold, hard. He looked at me, his eyes digging into my skin, my eyes, my bones.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. I might have been trembling as I looked up at his scarred face. I realised now that he was not burned, at least not from the outside. I could see the outline of his veins, dark and black. I had the strange urge to trace them with my fingertips. I wondered if he was born like that, I wondered if it continued down his neck. I wondered if his skin was thin or if his veins were thick.

"How did that happen to you?" I didn't realise I had asked until after. I would have scolded myself, had I not been so curious to know.

"My face?" he asked me. He looked slightly thrown off. Maybe irritated; I was too distracted to tell.

"Yes," I found myself responding. "You don't need to answer if you don't want to," I rushed to assure him, my eyes growing wide as I began to realise my rudeness.

"No, I'll tell you," he began. He swallowed, not dropping his gaze. "I was burnt."

"But—"

"No, not with fire." I cocked my head, trying to put the pieces together. "I was burnt from the inside. I was a reckless boy, a cocky boy. When I first felt magic within me, I had lost control of myself. There was a loss I faced. I tried to fix it. But what I didn't realise is that when it is done, there is scare one can do… even me—especially me. I was young and foolish and I thought I could do anything. I ended up outspending my own magicka, and it nearly killed me…"

"But you are so good at restoration now," I commented. Tracing his veins with my eyes some more.

"I have learned patience. The body needs time to heal. So did I, it seemed." He straightened and I found nothing I could answer, nothing I could ask as the acolyte squeezed my fingers into his palms. My nails dug into his skin, though he did not seem to notice. He breathed in and closed his eyes. He let out his breath slowly before speaking. We were close enough so that I could feel the warmth blow onto me.

"Close your eyes, Loralei, and breathe." I did as told. "Empty your thoughts." I remember thinking of how cold his hands were. Somehow, I found myself thinking of brown eyes, going from warm and chestnut to dry and dead. I nearly shivered. Then I thought of blue eyes and green eyes. "Listen to me, Loralei. Do as I say." I imagined the thoughts as pieces of paper. I imagined them burning, going up in flames. I watched as they crumpled. I extinguished the fire. "Better. Now concentrate only on your own body. I need you to picture your bones. Your flesh, the hairs on your head; your eyelashes. I want you to travel through the blood in your veins. I want you to picture vines or water or wind entwining around your bones and your veins and through all your muscles. Do you feel it?"

I did. I felt his hands grow warm from my own touch. I felt tingles circling around me. I could feel my heart beat strengthen and my senses vibrate. I had to concentrate so hard that it hurt my brain, but still I continued. I felt more alert, more aware of my body and I could feel it fortify.

When I opened my eyes, I expected to snap back into reality, to have the feeling taken away from me. Instead, I felt better, healthier. I felt more alert, but my body and my brain felt strained. I noticed my deadly grip on Jenssen and immediately released his hands.

"How do you feel?" he asked as he pulled his hands away.

"Restored," I grinned. He chuckled before patting my head.

"Such a youngling, you have a long way to go!" I smiled as he moved towards his bookshelf. He pulled out four books and handed them to me. "Cantillon's Correspondence, Journal of Thracius Mento, Notes of Racial Phylogeny, and Rituals of the Harmonious Masters. Read them, study them. Come back learned, come back better. But for now, go help Danica."

"Loralei!" Mother called, gesturing to the boy who'd just taken a seat by the table near the door. I rolled my eyes at his curly head. I trudged over to him, trying to force a smile on my face. Ever since early Evening Star when Ysolda had left to do trades down South, mother had been very overwhelmed with the evenings at the inn, so Belrand and I had been helping around. Usually I would play my lute while Belrand waited on tables and cooked, but Mother had recently hired a new bard. I hadn't paid attention to his name, though it started with an M. Now, Belrand worked only as cook and I was forced to spend my evenings waiting on touchy men and cranky women.

"We've got food and drink," I said to the boy in front of me. Ever since this new change, I'd been seeing him quite often around this time of night.

"I'll have a sweetroll and ale, please." He said, flashing his dimples.

"Don't you get sick of having the same thing every single night?"

"Well, I'm flattered you noticed." He winked. I tried not to gag. I also tried not to blush. I succeeded with neither. He seemed amused by both.

"Anyway, that will be seven gold." He handed me ten.

"Keep the change," he said, leaning back in his chair. I handed him the ale I'd brought with me as M finished his song to applause.

"Now, this is a Whiterun classic, I want all of you to sing with me!" he said. My ears perked up as I listened to the chorus. I felt strange as I glanced along the gathered crowd, laughing and drinking. My heart thumped in my chest as they all began to dance and sing, filling the inn with noise and joy. Beside me, Lars raised his glass as he joined in. I managed a small smile as I too joined in, leaving to go fetch Lars' sweet.

"OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!"

1st of Morning Star, 4E 208

Dear Runa,

I hope you have had a wonderful new and old life celebration! I don't believe I've ever seen so many drunk Nords in one place! They really know how to celebrate here.

Can you believe it's a new year already? Also, I met Mila Valentia. She's very sweet, but she is best friends with Lars, which means she can't be very good.

I miss and love you,

Loralei

Snow suited Whiterun. The white substance fell daintily into our hair and piled heavily onto roofs. Green did not suit Whiterun. This city was meant for snow, it seemed. And though it was cold and the sky was white, no one really seemed to mind this Winter. White was meant to litter the streets of Whiterun.

Red was not.

The battle came on the 21st of Morning Star. They attacked at night, surprising us all. The streets were barricaded and the children crying. The Wind District swelled with fire, though the tree remained untouched. The White city had reeked of death and wet blood, and I felt like vomiting as I ran through it all. Lydia, Belrand and Elaira fought somewhere, all against the attacking Stormcloaks. I had been told not to leave Breezehome, but I knew I had duties as a healer. Men fell at my feet, they swung their swords too close to me. They yelled and they swore and they said their last words as I ran passed them, fearing for this city, fearing for my family and fearing for myself.

I tore off my cloak as I entered the temple. Bodies littered the ground, and I had to move out of the way as familiar faces brought in more.

"Heal, clean and send out," Danica told me, handing me a basket full of medicine and potions.

The first was a young man in his early twenties. Clean shaven and youthful, he would bear the long scar on his face forever. "Tobias," he said his name was. He smiled at me, his two front teeth chipped. I tried to smile back as he told me of his mother and his lover. They both had red hair. When I healed him, he grabbed his sword and shield and returned to battle, nodding to me in thanks.

The second was a woman. She was strong and powerful. She cried into my shoulder as I tried to make her pain go away. She cried out for her brother and her mother and she dug her fingernails into my shoulder. Her wails were harsh and loud and I tried not to cry with her. She asked for my name. "Loralei," I whispered. "Please," she begged me. I was sorry I could not answer. She wasn't allowed to return to battle without her left arm.

The third died in my arms. I felt guilty as I looked away. I should have memorized his face. I should have asked his name. I didn't. He had muttered his last words to me, and his family would ask them from me later. But I didn't listen to his last moments, and I wondered if he knew. I stood up and moved on to the next body, praying it wouldn't go limp in my lap.

Thirty more came through the doors of the Temple. I wondered what we would do with all the bodies. Only fourteen survived. Only six fought again.

Jarl Balgruuf was gravely wounded. But the Imperials won and gained control. The Stormcloaks retreated with whatever men they had left, leaving the white city red and broken.

The Jarl died the first day of Sun's Dawn. His body was burned for the whole town to witness. All his children wept. Even the bastard.

The council was assembled not three days later, and Frothar was elected Jarl. He requested only a private ceremony. Mother attended. She came home and said to me, "He'll make us proud."

"He has already," Belrand said, taking Elaira's hand. I wondered if I was interrupting their moment. But he turned to me and extended his hand. "You did well, my child." I took his hand. And then I took my mother's.

The rest of the winter was spent repairing the city, and praying and healing. Battles were far apart, but they were harmful and soldiers died from both sides. I saw many men and many women die before me. I learned to pray for them on their deathbeds. They deserved that, at least. I said the same thing each time.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

Mila was pretty. But she was not attractive like her mother and not beautiful like Runa. Her hair was a beautiful chestnut, each strand always perfectly in place. Her eyes were like dark, melted chocolate. Her smile was more of a grin, the epitome of devious.

On the third of Rain's Hand, Mila looked exceptionally pretty. Though the winter was still holding on to the city and the snow still fell, she wore only a loose garment and her hair was pulled back, revealing her long, elegant neck. Her lips were redder than normal and her eyes daintily bored.

"Do you work here every day?" she asked me, her eyes fluttering. I had been shovelling the snow from the pathway near the temple.

"Yes, I do," I replied. She swayed towards me, her hands behind her back.

"It's a great service you do, healing men and women at the temple," she slurred. "It's very noble."

"Thank you," I said, smiling nervously at the girl. I continued shoveling, hoping she would go away. I found myself quite intimidated from the older girl.

"It's no issue! Though, I must tell you, you ought to take a break!" I gawped, not quite knowing how to respond. "See: me and Lars, we both work hard—I help my mother at her vegetable stand and he… what I mean to say is that we all deserve a break!"

"A break…?" I said questioningly, twiddling with my skirt. Mila laughed at me and nodded happily. I didn't think in times of war there was time for 'breaks', but I did not give voice to the thought.

"At midnight, meet me at the stables, alright?" Apprehensively, I nodded. I wondered if this was a good idea. Probably not… but I was afraid to say no.

The midnight air was crisp, and the wind felt sharp against my face. The snow crunched under my boots and my hands were shoved into the pockets of my cloak. I cursed myself for not wearing gloves. It had only stopped snowing an hour ago, though it made no difference. It was probably even colder now.

Mila was leaning against the post near the front of the stables. She seemed calm and I noticed she was not shivering like I was. She must have been cold though, for as I approached, I noticed her cheeks were red and her nose redder. She had a nice nose, I noticed; pointed, straight and symmetrical. I didn't think it was possible to envy a nose.

"Though I'm flattered by your staring, there's no time for wasting!" I flushed and blinked, stumbling for an apology. I had not realised I was staring. She laughed and assured, "I'm only joking; you shouldn't take what I say too seriously. So are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I asked, looking around us. No one was out here, only the guard or two, lazily patrolling.

"To go riding, of course!" she smiled at me reassuringly, as she looked past me for a moment. "Okay, so when that guard turns the corner, we'll have a few seconds before the other comes back around."

"Wait—what?"

"We're going to borrow these horses," Mila gestured behind her.

"But—that's stealing!" I pleaded. "And—and I have a horse!" Mila shushed me, looking around.

"Then go get her, meet me at the Honningbrew Meadery! Go—go now!"

As quietly as I could manage, I ran to Birdie's stall, and mounted her. I hurried her out of the stall, awaiting nothing.

Minutes later, I arrived at the Meadery, and soon enough Mila was there too, mounted on a brown steed, laughing hysterically. "What a thrill!" she said to me, and I giggled with her. We spent hours traversing the hold, laughing and racing, and I questioned many things.

The world was more beautiful at night. Under the stars and the shield of night, the world became less like a road towards a destination and more like the destination itself. We fell asleep by a river, freezing in the night air, but we didn't care. We woke at dawn and Mila returned the horse without an issue.

"Mila told me what you both did last week," he said, accepting the ale I handed to him. His brown hair had grown longer and darker over the winter. His eyes were the same.

"What of it?" I asked cautiously, hoping Mother would not overhear.

"Well, all I'm saying is you don't have to do that," I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong," I assured him.

"That's not what I'm saying. What I mean is that Mila wouldn't have minded if you said no,"

"But I wanted to say yes," I replied. I was growing irritated with him. He knew nothing about me. And what happened with Mila and I would make no difference to me. But he looked at me, he blue eyes both inquisitive and knowing. I blushed, and grew doubtful of myself. Still looking at me, he took a sip of ale. I tried not to falter under his gaze. I turned around and left, holding onto as much dignity as I could.

"I'm dying," the soldier said. His hair was red, though not from birth, and his eyes were dark grey. His voice was loud once, maybe strong. It was weak and raspy now, as he tried to say his last words. "Child, please… sing me to Sovngarde." His eyes pleaded with me as I slowly removed my hands from his chest, moving one up to stroke his hair. It was still damp with blood. He closed his eyes, as I lulled him into eternal slumber. I hoped he dreamed well.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

"A little birdie told me it was your birthday today," he said a stupid grin marking his face. I damned those dimples to hell. Scoffing, I shoved past him. I had been running an errand for Danica, and though it was not urgent, I had learned not to waste time, especially not for him.

But the boy followed me, matching my quickening pace. "I got you a present," he said. I looked onward, ignoring him. "Do you want to see it?"

"No thank you, I don't like gifts."

I thanked the gods for the Temple, coming quickly into sight.

"Oh come on, you'll like it!" I didn't respond to him as I opened the doors to the Temple and proceeded inside. "Well, I'll give it to you later then. See you at dinner!"

28th of Rain's Hand, 4E 208

Dear Lorie,

Happy birthday! I know you won't receive this until tomorrow, but it would feel weird writing it before your actual birthday. I hope you have a ton of fun! I'll celebrate here for you, so you know you're loved even here in Riften.

This gift I've enclosed isn't as expensive as the one you got me, but I figured you had more use for it anyways.

I was playing one night, when a strange man who was staying for the night gave me this stone thing. 'Olava's Token' he called it. He told me that if I ever found myself in Whiterun, I should give it to some old hag called Olava and she'd talk to me and stuff. It's weird, but I hope you find it useful!

Cheers! To a thousand more birthdays!

Yours,
Runa

"Is that an Amulet of Kynareth?" Belrand asked, drinking some tea by the fire. I'd just come home from the temple, and I felt exhaustion. There had recently been another battle, and healing today had taken all of my energy. "Did one of the Priestesses give it to you?"

"No," I corrected, plopping down on the bench across from him. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt. Judging from the look on Belrand's face, I probably did.

"Then who?" he questioned, filling up another mug with tea. I accepted as I slurred out an answer.

"A friend."

"Oh don't start keeping secrets now, my dear. I don't think I'm ready to deal with boys yet!" Sleepily I chuckled, taking a small sip of tea. It was bitter, but it was nice.

"Not a boy," I started, "Lars." Belrand roared with laughter, and even though I knew it wasn't that funny, he didn't seem to mind. I chuckled with him, my body warming from the heat of my mug.

He told me stories as we drank our tea, and though I knew I was tired, I stayed up and I listened and I laughed.

I needed it more than sleep, it seemed.

Summer came late in Whiterun; it was only in mid Sun's Height that the snow had disappeared and the sun had come out. The war had gone into a lull once more, and at the temple of Kynareth, we spent more time praying instead of healing. We would kneel in front of the shrine, our hoods drawn up and our hands on our Amulets, and we would let Kynareth's sermon flow through us. In our silent prayers, we would think of the wind and the earth, of Kynareth's tears. There was no preaching and there were no rules. We would kneel, and put our hands on our Amulets and we would try to understand the power within it. The language spoke through me in soft, thrumming fluency and I wondered what I was praying for.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading and reviewing, and thanks Stefanie for being THE BEST BETA!

Published on 07/09/2014

Edited on 27/04/2015