Author's Note: I've taken minor liberties with the canon timeline.
2: Wedding Plans
Danica stepped out of the temple. A warm breeze caressed her face, like a greeting from the Sky Goddess herself. She stretched her back and yawned. She was weary from a difficult healing. One of the outlying farmers, stubborn man that he was, had waited until his axe wound festered before he allowed his family to bundle him on a wagon for Whiterun. Stubborn, stubborn Nord. That she had been able to save the foot at all was a miracle of Kynareth's mercy. And perhaps a small tribute to her own stubborn Nord nature.
She stretched again and allowed her eyes to feast upon yet another of Kynareth's miracles, the young Gildergreen. It had been fifteen years since lightning killed the massive old Gildergreen. The sapling they'd planted in its place had grown amazingly. And the agent of that miracle-a young boy who was now a young man-approached her now. Thorald smiled when he saw her and she waved him over. Before he could reach her, he was accosted by one of the jarl's guards.
"Hail, Thorald," the guard said. "Still got that beard?"
"What kind of question is that, flat foot?" Thorald asked. "Of course I do. I'm a Nord, ain't I?"
"Oh, aye, but you can't really call that a beard now, can you? I hear your bride is up at the Skyforge, putting an edge on your razor as we speak."
Danica saw him stroke his beard-his rather straggly, weedy beard-with uneasy possessiveness.
"You heard wrong," Thorald said.
"Ha. We'll see."
"Aren't you supposed to be on patrol? Surely there's a crime going on somewhere."
"That beard of yours is a crime," the guard said. "You look like a mangy goat. Go on and shave it off. I've got ten septims riding on it."
"A bet? On my beard? Seriously?"
"Oh, aye. Old Hulda at the Bannered Mare is keeping book if you want to bet on yourself. Smart money's on Grelka." He grinned and sauntered off. Thorald gave his back a humorous scowl and put his hand to his beard again.
"Tell me true, Danica, my beard's not so bad. Is it?"
Thorald Gray-Mane was a handsome young man but the beard-the beard was unfortunate. "It has, ah, improved quite a bit over the last year," she said.
"It has, hasn't it?" He brightened. "If I shave it off, my face will get cold this winter. Grelka said she'd buy me a scarf." He shook his head. "But I'm not shaving and that's final. I'd look like a milk-drinker."
"Are you ready for your big day?" Danica asked. "The priest of Mara's carriage will arrive sometime this afternoon, I'm told."
"So my ma told me. About eight times. As if I'm likely to forget my own wedding. And poor Grelka has been driven mad by some fuss over her dress. I told her if we had eloped to Riften like I suggested, all the nonsense would be over and we could get on with our lives. She punched me." He rubbed his arm and grinned. "Reminded me of when she was a kid and used to beat on me all the time."
"You two certainly scrapped. How many times did you slink into the temple with a bloody nose to get it healed before your ma found out?"
"I had to or there'd be no peace in our house." He grinned again and launched into a falsetto imitation of Fralia Gray-Mane. "Eorlund, you go talk to that wild apprentice of yours. And don't just talk. Give that wicked girl a whipping. Look what she did to my precious son, she attacked him like a mad skeever." His mimicry was tone-perfect, he'd even caught his mother's inflection. Thorald could imitate just about anything and he had a wonderful singing voice as well. Perfect pitch was said to be a gift of Kynareth. One of the many ways the goddess had marked this remarkable young man, Danica thought.
"Poor Grelka. She was mad all the time. Da said it was the steel in her blood," he said. "Her step-ma's here for the wedding and Grelka's all riled up about that. I told her she could be nice to That Woman for one day. She's up at the Skyforge now. Hammering out her frustrations."
Danica had been vaguely aware of the sound of the forge. "I thought that was your father at work."
"No, ma said he had to entertain Grelka's da today. And you know how he feels about idle chitchat. And they have absolutely nothing in common. The two of them are no doubt sitting in the Bannered Mare, staring at each other. In dead silence. And drinking. I figure they'll both be dead drunk by noon. I almost envy them." He looked up over the Gildergreen. "Look at that cloud. Doesn't it look like a dragon? Poised to swoop down on Whiterun?"
"Maybe a hawk," Danica said hopefully. Sister Hawk was a name the ancient Nords sometimes called Kynareth. She felt a strange chill as the cloud passed over the sun. It did look like a dragon. Thank all the gods the dragons were gone forever. "I'm afraid a storm is coming. I warned your mother that the weather did not look at all auspicious for an outdoor wedding."
"She has her heart set on having the joining at the Skyforge."
"So she said. She and Eorlund were married there, after all."
"I don't see the point of making a tradition out of it." And he mimicked his mother again. "Danica, dear, could you have a wee word with our dearest goddess Kyne, oh, I meant Kynareth, of course. And see to it that tomorrow afternoon is fair?"
Danica laughed. "You must have been eavesdropping! She also reminded me that you had saved the Gildergreen and were favored by Kyne and that should count for something." Thorald rolled his eyes. "As if I needed a reminder. I think of you every time I see the tree. Look how it's grown. It's as tall as the temple and I believe it's going to bloom this year. The pilgrims will be thrilled."
"I wish you had never put the thought in her mind that I was favored by Kyne. She trots it out at the most embarrassing times. My brother and sister used to mock me with it." He imitated a young Avulstein. "'Oh, Blessed One, Favored of Kyne, would you deign to pass the butter?'"
"I didn't have to put the idea in her head. Everyone on the pilgrimage saw you climb the Eldergleam when none of the rest of us could even approach it."
Thorald gave the tree's trunk a fond pat. "You're doing great, youngster. You keep growing." The old stricken tree had been cut down and its wood respectfully stacked and stored at the Skyforge. Over the years, it had been burned for special projects. It was an open secret that Grelka had used the last of the sacred wood this week to forge his wedding gift. He decided it might pain Danica to hear this. "If it rains we can have the wedding at Jorrvaskr. That was Uncle Vignar's idea from the get-go but ma thought the wedding party might get too rowdy if we held it in the Companions' mead hall. 'All those rough warriors, dear," Thorald said, mimicking his mother's whisper. "'And some of them are not Nord! There's even a Dunmer in the Companions. We'd have to invite him to the reception.' As if I hadn't known Athis for years but she sees an elf and has a fit. I say the sooner everyone gets drunk, the better." He glanced up at the sky. "So don't listen to my ma, Kyne. Let it rain!"
"I've never heard of a wedding performed at Jorrvaskr. The jarl is always willing to open up the Great Hall for weddings but Fralia didn't seem to like that idea."
"Uncle Vignar doesn't care to be beholden to Jarl Balgruuf for anything," he said curtly. Danica grimaced. This stupid, stupid civil war. The longer it went on, the more division it caused. The jarl had done his best to keep Whiterun Hold neutral and not choose sides but moderation did not appease the city's two oldest families. The Battle-Borns, staunch defenders of the Empire, felt the jarl withheld his proper support for the Emperor in Cyrodiil. The Gray-Manes were angry that he didn't join Ulfric's rebellion, like any true Nord (they said) was honor-bound to do. Danica considered herself a true Nord and she hated this war. She didn't care for politics but she could see that fertile and prosperous Whiterun Hold, located in the very heart of Skyrim, would not be allowed to remain neutral forever. Was it wise to postpone the moment of decision? She honestly did not know.
"Besides," Thorald continued, "Our family has strong ties to Jorrvaskr and the Companions. I'm a Companion as is my uncle," Thorald said. "My da has always made their arms and armor and now Grelka helps with that as well. Many of our close friends are Companions. I'd rather have the wedding at the mead hall than up at the forge, to be frank. It might squelch the talk that-never mind."
He didn't need to go on. Like half the town, Danica was perfectly aware of the gossip that said Grelka was more deeply attached to the Skyforge than to Thorald himself. Gray-Manes had always worked the Skyforge and marriage would make the ambitious young smith a Gray-Mane. The rumor was that she and the clan patriarch, Vignar, had negotiated this marriage, and they had flipped a coin to decide which of the sons would be the lucky groom. She herself didn't know the girl well enough to know if there was any truth to this tale. Perhaps it was indeed one of those practical arranged Nord marriages or perhaps it was the love match it seemed. Thorald, at least, appeared cheerful about his fate.
And the gossip was approving more than malicious. Thorald was a popular man. And Grelka was pretty, talented, strong, and above all, Nord to the bone. The girl's mother had come from Whiterun and her aunt still ran the stables. Grelka's ma had been just as hot tempered as her daughter, the old-timers said. Against her husband's will, she'd marched to Markarth with Ulfric Stormcloak's militia. She had been killed there by Forsworn, a proper Nord heroine, people said.
Danica wondered how her orphaned daughter had felt about that. But the town had great expectations of the young couple.
"I met your future mother-in-law with Fralia yesterday," Danica ventured. "She seemed...nice."
"She is...nice," Thorald said, copying her hesitation. "Try convincing Grelka."
"She was somewhat younger than I expected. I gather she had been one of her da's stable hands before the marriage."
"Aye." Grelka's father raised race horses-very famous racehorses-on a farm outside of Riverwood. "I don't think that's why Grelka took against her though. The marriage was too soon after her ma's death and she was just a kid, you know. She got it in her mind that her step-ma entrapped her da. Who knows, maybe she's right. Not to speak poorly of my future father-in-law but his judgment isn't always the best. I told Grelka she was lucky her step-ma was a Nord. What if she had been Imperial? Or, Kyne forbid, an elf?" He laughed.
"She took no comfort in that, I gather."
"She did not," Thorald said. "If she'd been an Imperial, everyone would understand why she hated her, she said. And she blames her step-ma for this scheme her da has to move to Bruma. Her step-ma has family in Bruma."
"There are many Nords in Bruma," Danica said.
"Aye. I'm sure it's a fine place, for a city in Cyrodiil. But to leave Skyrim at a time like this? He's afraid of bandits and he says the Stormcloaks have been eyeing his horses. But to take his herd to Cyrodiil and think they will be safer there, that's madness. Jarl Ulfric would never steal from a Nord."
Danica wasn't so sure. This civil war didn't just target Imperials. There were plenty of Nords in the Empire's army. She had healed the wounded herself and seen the bodies in the Hall of the Dead. But no Gray-Mane would hear the slightest disparagement of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the glorious rebellion. She suppressed a sigh.
"But I do agree there is more lawlessness than there was," Thorald said. "Bandits are a veritable plague. We found a whole nest of them east of the city just last week, all hunkered down with their loot. Kodlak sent us to clear them out. They fought to the last man, the fools. Deserters from the Imperial army, no doubt."
Danica hadn't realized the hammering from the Skyforge had stopped until it started again. Thorald also turned his face towards the forge. He scowled.
"What is he doing there?" Thorald hissed. Danica saw that he was glaring at the distant figure of Jon Battle-born descending the long stairs from the Skyforge. Such a shame, this feud between Whiterun's two oldest families. Thorald and Jon had been boyhood friends and no doubt would have been friends for life, were it not for this terrible, terrible war.
"And what does he have to smirk about?" he added. From this distance she could read no expression on the bard's normally gloomy young face. But she was willing to admit that her eyesight was no longer what it once was.
"A commission, perhaps?" Danica suggested.
"No! No Battle-born will ever get his hands on Skyforge steel!" Thorald fumed. "I ought to-" He scowled. "Did you know that his father insulted my ma in the market last night? While none of us was there to stand up for her, the coward. Uncle Vignar was furious when he heard. But da said ignore him. Said Olfrid's getting childish in his old age. Too much rich, soft living has rotted his brain."
"Your da's a wise man."
"Yeah, well, he's got the forge to keep him calm. Me, I'd rather pound faces than pound steel. I'm going to check on Grelka. If that Battle-Born has been bothering her, Kyne help him."