Second chapter. Found a fantastic and patient beta to work with me, and I'm very happy.
I hope you all enjoy.
-icewolf
"Legends don't burn down villages."
Her hands were still bound, and she struggled furiously with them for a few moments, seeing blood seep into the rope. Feeling the cut, and looking up as a hand landed on her shoulder, the chill ripping through her spine. Looking around the stone walls, feeling the rocks cut into her feet through the thin wool wraps. She knew they were as bloody as her face, where her head had caught the edge of the chopping block.
Ralof - that was his name. The man who had pulled her away from the dragon and into the tower. The one who had sat across from her on the carriage. The one who comforted her. Her lips pressed into a line, trying to get the ringing from her head, from the screams outside from damaging her fragile claim on this tenuous calm. He wasn't looking at her.
He settled his hand on her shoulder, as if to reassure her, or himself, that they weren't out there. That they were marginally safe at the moment.
More shouts outside, and her hands clenched. Wrists tensed, and she tried to loosen the ropes, to no avail. Her teeth ground together, before the hand jostled her, pushing her to the step to the tower's roof.
Not for the first time, Tófa found herself missing what had been said, though she took the hint and started up the cold stairs. It would lead to the wall, and they could get out. That was good.
Okay, that was a good plan. A plan she could follow, though she stopped, seeing a man work to move some stone rubble, and the cold feeling down her spine was back, even as Ralof moved to pass her, telling people to get back in case the stones fell…
She scrambled back, but because the wall exploded inward, and she came face to snout with black scales, a single red eye that stared at her. The head turned, the maw opening, great teeth the size of her hand gleaming through the dust that threatened to choke her.
It could have been her mind. It could have been her mind, but she thought she heard words growling from that throat, from the depths of that monster. Her eyes were wide. There was blood on her face. She could see herself in those scales, in that eye.
"GET DOWN!"
The body of Ralof hit her as the words (They were words, weren't they?) stopped, fire streaming into the tower, heat unbearable, even as they fell down the steps. She could feel her tunic tear, blood seeping up through new gashes in her skin.
She could not lay there long, though the heat had passed, because hands were hauling her up, and the face swimming in her vision was Ralof.
He was saying something. Tófa couldn't understand as he pulled her back up through the tower, though she balked at the hole through the wall. Blood streamed on the floor, coming from a man who had been spared being roasted, instead just crushed as the top of the tower collapsed on him, flattened into little more than pulp.
She wanted to scream. To cry and cling to this man who had taken it upon himself to help her.
"Look, just jump down to the inn. Okay? Don't worry, we'll catch up. You'll be fine."
No. No she wouldn't. It was too far. The inn was on fire. They were too high. She hurt. She was dizzy and bleeding and hurt and her heart was in her ears.
His hand was rough against her back, trying to push her forward without shoving her on her face. Blue eyes caught the look in his eyes, the half encouraging smile he gave.
He was trying to comfort her.
Did she truly need comforting?
Her panicked nausea bubbled in her stomach, and she held back a cough from the dust that coated her throat. Reaching up to push blood coated hair away from her eyes, to take a moment to gather herself, before her body tensed as she took a half step back, and then ran forward. Her aching feet left the stone, and she was falling…heart in her throat.
The landing was hard, sent a shock through her legs. Her footing faltered, and Tófa pitched forward, slamming hard on her face and chest, air forced from her lungs, coughing to retrieve it. The creak of the weakening wood was in her ears, smoke pouring up through the slats from the fire below was filling her eyes. They watered, even as she turned to look at the man still in the tower. Ralof pointed once to the other side of the inn, before turning to disappear back into the tower.
His messages was clear.
She had to leave.
If she stayed, she would die.
Pain was pushed aside. Fear was pushed aside. It wasn't important right now.
She had to leave.
Blue eyes opened to the dark, and it took a moment for Tófa to realize her arm was covering her face, and she was seeing the crook of her elbow. She closed her eyes, and let out a slow breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, though she couldn't understand why.
There were no dreams.
No reason she should be feeling this undeniable quiet panic.
The warm smell of food drifted up to her room, honey smell from mead mingling with it.
Her head ached. Her chest felt like something was sitting on it. Her heart was threatening to escape her. Lips parted to take a shuddering breath, trying to calm down.
There had been no dreams.
The arm moved from her face, flopping on the bed next to her, and she opened her eyes again, seeing the rays of light stream through the window. Leaning up, first supporting herself on her elbows, and then without, stretching forward to her toes, grasping them with her fingertips, popping the bones in her back.
It always worked. The amount of time differed, but the motions were tried an true. Her head needed to be unburdened with the irrational panic she had waking up this morning.
She sat there for a moment, limbs stretched out, head bowed and head pressing lightly to her knees.
The sun slowly brightened the room as time passed. She had awoken early. Early enough to think about the decisions she needed to make. About the offers given, and her choices ahead of her.
She could go back to Riverwood. She could take up work there. Settle down into a normal life, away from the hysteria, after the madness that had started this…misadventure. Live, content with the knowledge she had missed death once so narrowly.
Something inside her was vehemently opposed to the idea.
Just the thought made her blood boil, made her want to cry. Such a life imagined drove her to Skyrim in the first place. A land of harsh realities, and the thought of overcoming struggle had been appealing. She couldn't have anything too easy, there was a simple need to be able to dominate adversity.
Which brought her to her second thought, the one that was dancing in her mind like a drunken sailor, daring her to ignore it. Her lips pressed together in a grim line, her feet on the cold wood, stretching upward as she stood, hands grasping for the ceiling, before she settled and gathered her things, ready to make her way for the day.
It was hours later she made her way to the mead hall, finishing up an apple dumpling from the market, the last of the spiced fruit being licked from her thumb, dark hair gleaming in a plait, still damp from the inn's washroom, strands sticking to her cheeks.
"Terrible and powerful Talos! We, your unworthy servants, give praise! For only through your grace and benevolence may we truly reach enlightenment! And deserve our praise you do, for we are one! Ere you ascended and the Eight became Nine, you walked among us, great Talos, not as god, but as man! But you were once man ... "
It was still early. Blue eyes slid to the priest, preaching in front of the statue of Talos.
"And as man you said, 'Let me show you the power of Talos Stormcrown, born of the North, where my breath is long winter.'"
Unerring love. Determination. Fearlessness incarnate. A true Nord.
Tófa found herself wandering over, though she had been so close to opening Jorrvaskr's doors. To stand at the base of the monument to the Ninth Divine, though so many had struck him from the Pantheon of late. To look up into the carved face as the priest preached, loud enough to fill her head. Loud enough to fill her heart.
"Even as man, great Talos cherished us. For he saw in us, in each of us, the future of Skyrim! The future of Tamriel! And there it is, friends! The ugly truth! We are the children of man! Talos is the true god of man! Ascended from flesh, to rule the realm of spirit!"
Blue eyes met the statue's, and for once, she maintained contact. The eyes of a god were on her. She could not falter under it.
Hands rose, clasped together, eyes still locked. Lips parted. They moved, but no sound came out. None audible from the preaching.
Unerring love. Determination. Fearlessness incarnate. A true Nord.
"Today, they take away your faith. But what of tomorrow?"
She wanted to emulate him, to be him. To be Talos, if only in her heart. To strive and make the hero-god proud, if he ever took pride in mortal affairs, if he took pride in those that revered him for his work. For his impact as a mortal, and for what he stood for to men.
"Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man and Divine! For we are the children of man! And we shall inherit the heavens and earth!"
Her hands fell, and her eyes followed, turning away, her prayers finished. Her longing was there. Her mute wishes lingered, heard by the divine alone. But to pray only would leave her nowhere. Her heart burned with need, but her body had to follow suit. Blue eyes closed, and she made her way back up the stone steps, hearing the sermon go on, hearing the water around the plaza, hearing whispers in her heart.
This was the right thing to do. This would lead to her Sovngarde song, if she had one.
Her eyes only opened when the heavy door closed behind her, blinking to adjust to the sudden low light, as well as the ruckus she seemed to have walked in on.
Tófa tilted her head, hands falling to her sides. It was too early for a brawl, wasn't it? Lips pursed together in contemplation, before her expression smoothed out, and her eyes were averted from the redheaded that seemed to have scented her instantly.
Her hands pressed against the wood as she took a step back from the woman, nails digging into the door.
The redhead was fearsome. Who could really blame the blue eyed Nord for being intimidated?
"Don't mind the squabble, it happens often. I'm surprised to see you, honestly. Follow me."
There was no room for arguing. Just the no-nonsense, brusque tone of the redhead as she spoke. The tone that barked at her like she was a child in trouble. It didn't help that she as being led as one, down wooden steps, another set of doors, held open for her.
Down here was warmth. The door closed behind her, and the redhead crossed her arms, looking pointedly down the long hall to the end.
"Just go straight, and you'll reach the old man. He takes breakfast away from the rest of the whelps."
Tófa couldn't move, not until there was a pointed sound from the woman, who was boring holes into the side of her head. Three steps down the hall, and there sound of the door being shut was audible.
She could not go back. Going back now would be admitting a failure to herself, that she couldn't even make it down a hall.
This would be her Sovngarde song. It would write itself if she finished that walk. It would be sung, quietly, through her life, rise in pitch as she died and walked through Shor's Hall, before tapering off into the echoes of the night.
But the world was quiet here, save her steps.
Her steps, and the way her heart thudded in her ears. Nothing was showing on her face, her breath was slow and even, but that beat she could only hear was frantic. It was loud, to her. In fact, it seemed to encompass everything, though she knew it wasn't possible.
The world was quiet here.
And then it wasn't, as she got closer to the room at the end. There was a conversation, and she paused at the open doors to the office, eyes drifting over the pair of men there. Both looked like ones of a long life fighting, hard and rough, like the woman who had seen her down to this level.
She couldn't interrupt. Hell…even if she wanted to, she wouldn't have been able.
"But I still hear it…the call of the blood."
The younger of the two, marked as such by his dark hair. Serious, everything was serious. She could hear a void in the wake of his words, and let out a sigh that was silent.
"We all do. It is our burden to bear…but we can overcome."
And the elder, presumably Kodlak. Whoever he was, the leader, the father of these brothers and sisters in arms. He had the air of a man who had long guided others with patience and fair discipline.
What were they speaking of? Should she return later? At the risk of not coming back? It took her courage, and the silent, judging challenge of the fearsome woman, to get this far.
"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."
Oh. The younger one had spotted her, and Tófa felt his gaze, hot as fire, and the scowl on his face, cringe inducing. She did not cringe or crawl under his glower, but her eyes slid away, her heart thumped with unsure beats. Her lips pressed together, keeping her insecurities locked in her throat. This man's judgment in an instant…
She knew his verdict. But it wasn't him she had to speak to. If she could speak now, as her words were tucked somewhere in her mind, and more than likely would not travel to her voice.
"Leave that to me."
Her eyes slid back, and Tófa found herself halfway across the room, before stopping herself, awkwardly dropping her hands, and gripping the bottom of her tunic, where it peeked out of her chest armor. The fur lining was soft, and running her thumbs over it was a bit of a comfort. Both sets of eyes were on her. She struggled to meet them. Her lips moved, but what came out was a rasp, even to her own ears.
"What was that, girl?"
Second try.
"I…want to join. The Companions."
Her voice had broken in the middle, and her voice burned, chest aching.
"Would you now? Here…let me have a look at you."
She had tried to be more forceful than that. To be clear with her words, though as the white haired man rose when he spoke, towered over her in presence, circled her, her heart thumped. Her breath left her slowly, her head tilted up, gaze not meeting his face, nor the other man's, but looking forward. Trying to see something.
He spoke again, low voice easily punctuating her aura of failed composure.
"Hm. Tell me, what is it you are called?"
The world was quiet, in her mind. Quiet as they both stared at her, awaiting her words. Blue eyes closed, and she took a breath, let it out slowly, trying to summon up her voice. It had died again, somewhere in her chest.
"…Tófa…"
More silence, and the old man stood in front of her, with a gaze that was impossible to meet, if her eyes had been open.
"Yes, perhaps. A…certain strength of spirit."
Wait…what? Her eyes flew open, and she parted her lips to say that exactly…
"Master…you're truly not considering accepting her?"
It was said with such disgust. This man, Kodlak, she now figured he should be called, turned to the other, crossing his arms, voice stern.
"I am nobody's master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."
Her gaze was settled firmly at the floor. The floor was not judging her. Not judging her as the man, Vilkas, had already seemed to. Or if it did, if the earth had already found her worth, it kept the opinion to itself.
"Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this…outsider."
Worthless already, in his eyes, and her hands tightened on the hem of her tunic, teeth clenching, though the action went missed. She was not worthless, because she was an outsider. Worth less, perhaps, but not worthless. Her throat burned to say these things…and like all times, Tófa remained silent. Simply let out a breath, slow and even, to get rid of the ache in her chest, relieve the pressure that settled there with the want of her words to be heard.
"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."
It would do no good.
"And their arm."
"Of course."
Blue eyes looked up, because their gazes were on her again. She could feel it.
Kodlak was staring at her, the corners of his mouth tilted in a wry smile.
"How are you in battle, girl?"
Tófa supposed no matter what she said, she would have been here anyway, so it was best to be honest. She truly didn't know. She had a lot to learn. Her grip was poor and she had only fought her way out of one situation.
"Is that all you have?"
Her grip tightened on the axe, and she adjusted her grip, before lunging forward, swinging it down from above onto the shield that he hefted to block her blow. Her grip broke, and the axe was thrown from her grip, again, as she was tossed back a couple steps.
Three times. Three in a row. She grit her teeth, and made for her axe again, gripping the leather that made the grip, now slick with sweat, covered in dirt. Adjusting her grip in an instant, finding a different spot to make it harder to knock from her hand, and lunging again.
It was not graceful, in a traditional sense of a warrior practiced.
It was graceful in the speed of her recovery, the way she continued. Her eyes flashed, her heart burned, her teeth were grit, her brows furrowed in this test of her mettle. She wanted to prove herself. She was worth something more than scorn. She wanted that to be present.
She could do this.
The axe clanged against the shield again, but instead of being knocked from her fingers, she tightened her grip, twisted her body, and dug her heels in, using the force that would shove her back to propel her that same force to the side, her axe coming up from below this time. It caught the edge of the shield in a lucky strike, and flipped it up a bit, but his grip was good and hers was not. He shoved his arm down and moved forward. The shield caught her square.
The resulting land in the dirt was maddening. Her axe was gone from her grip again, and the dark haired Nord, her miserable pride smarting, already dirty and sore, but willing to continue, reached for her axe, but was stopped with a sharp sound.
"That's enough."
Tófa looked up as a shadow fell over her, blue eyes accidentally meeting his own before she looked back down, reaching for the axe again. He was done, she knew. She could do better. Her lips moved, but nothing came from them, not even as a rough hand grabbed her arm and hauled her up.
"I said enough. You can relax, new blood. There's room to learn, for sure, but your arm is strong."
It felt like her arm was vibrating. The hits had been hard, and she hadn't been prepared, truly. Her other arm, the one being gripped, hurt, and she stiffened, until it was released, to which she relaxed imperceptibly. He shed the shield, and set the sword against it, picking up her axe and hefting it in his hands. Tófa looked up, careful with her breath. Slow in. Slow out. Her arm was shaking still. Like the vibration was stuck in her bone.
"You'll need more training with this. It looks like you just picked it up a week ago."
Well…she did. And so it did show. That was…expected, but it really bothered her that it was so obvious. He simply tossed her axe next to the shield he'd been using.
"You might just make it with us."
Her hand felt like it had stopped shaking, and her fingers curled in, before relaxing the hand, looking up briefly, her gaze settled around his shoulders.
"Still, until you break or temper yourself to our ranks, you're to do as we say. So take my sword to Eorlund and get it sharpened. And be careful with it. More than likely it's worth more than you are."
And the sad thing was, as she picked up the steel sword, is that Tófa could agree.
But she was worth less, not worthless. And that was a gripping point.
Eorlund had been gruff. Gruff and brisk, but not…unkind. She found herself holding the shield, still dirty, bruised on her arms from a spill she had taken up the steps of the Skyforge, her shins no doubt scraped, even under the fur and leather of her boots. Her hand pushed open the door of the Hall…and the smell of a cooking meal settled in her head. There was the faintest ache in the center of her stomach at the smell of roasting meat, a sharp pinch as she could practically taste the baking bread on her tongue.
Oh. Was it that time? Dinner already?
It felt like the longest day in her life, save the day she was to be executed. Funny. Her nose scrunched, and Tófa pushed hair that had escaped the plait away from her face, heading down to the living area, after not seeing the redhead in the hall proper.
Of course, she would run into a woman who looked ready to bite her head off. Hide armor, a helmet, snarling at the younger Nord and the Dunmer shoving past to keep up with the bad tempered one …they left with the slamming of the door, and for a moment, it was quiet.
Still, that had startled her. Blue eyes closed, and a breath was released.
"Don't let Njada scare you. She doesn't like anyone, and Athis always bothers her."
Tófa opened her eyes, looking for the voice, which was owned by a woman sitting down her feet propped up on a table, and an apple being polished. She had a huge smile though, and gave off the air of being friendly. Her lips parted, before the Nord looked away from the Imperial woman, down the hall instead.
"I remember you. You were at the farm. You froze in front of the giant, right?"
Yes. If that's how it was seen.
There was a scuffle of sound, boots on the floor, and the dark haired Nord looked up, only to flinch as eye contact was made, making as if to step back, but there was an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the dangers of the doorway just in time…it slammed open a moment later, with the Dunmer, Athis, on the floor. He got up a moment later, though he was swearing long and colorfully at the woman who was laughing.
"They do that all the time. I didn't want you to get crushed under him. I'm Ria, by the way. You're probably the newest, aren't you? Trust me, I saw you in the yard. Vilkas really only tests the newest members. I was like you not far back."
The woman…Ria…liked to talk. Her own throat was dry. That didn't seem to bother the woman.
"Listen, you're going to be treated hard for a bit, but you'll end up okay. And if anything, I'll show you the ropes. Like I said, I was the newest Companion until you, and you'll thrive here. Trust me. Now, you look lost, and that's Aela's shield, right?"
There was a pause, and that was meant for her, it seemed. A nod, and Ria smiled widely, removing her arm from the shoulder. The hand rested on the back of the neck instead, and the Imperial pointed down the hall.
"She's probably in her quarters. Make as if you're heading to the Harbinger's Office, and head left, and it'll be the doors on your left after that. You don't have to knock, her door's pretty much open unless she's asleep. Come see me after, I'll sort you out if they don't. Besides, it's my turn to fetch this week's mead. You should come along, it's more fun in a pair."
That was helpful. It really was. So far, everyone else had seemed unfriendly or distrustful of newcomers. Maybe it was because the woman was an Imperial, which made her as much as an outsider. The hand was gone from the back of her neck, and there was a light tap on her shoulder.
"I'll wait for you, alright?"
Yes. Alright. An ease settled in the pit of her abdomen, and Tófa felt calmer. This was somebody that she could come to, it seemed. It would be hard, but she felt as though she wouldn't be judged for it. Not by Ria, at least.
It was a start.