Child (Book 2)

Chapter 16

I angrily stomp out of the cave, throwing the bag in my knapsack tied to Fjori's saddle. Today, I have learned very quickly how much I hate witches. Not only were they tough old bitches, they almost killed me at least twice. I very gladly cut off their heads and stuffed them in a sack. Gods, I hope this was worth it. I hate the Reach with a passion, always have. It's rocky and impossible to navigate, not to mention the Forsworn haunting every road.
The Forsworn are a particularly sore-spot for me; They're a rebel group like the Stormcloaks, though I can't relate to their cause nearly as well. They believe the Reach should be its own territory, independent of both Skyrim and the Empire. They're comprised primarily of Reachmen, somewhere between a Nord and a Breton; some would say I am a Reachwoman myself, though I couldn't disagree more; not only do I disagree with their necromantic religious practices, but identifying myself as a Reachwoman would cause me more trouble than it's worth. The Forsworn are at fault for that, due to their reputation for murdering and robbing travelers on the road.
I'm riding across a bridge near a waterfall in the dead of night. The wilderness of the Reach is no place to camp at night, so I won't be sleeping any time soon. I stop Fjori for a moment to look at my map, and a voice speaks up.
"You. You'd better get out of here, and quick." The voice growls from the shadows.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" I demand.
"Wait... You're a Reachwoman, aren't you?"
"It's none of your business. Show yourself, I need to see who I'm talking to." I repeat. A second later, not one but two faces appear in the moonlight.
The two of them are scantily clad in furs and elaborate headdresses made from deer heads and snakes, as well as hawk feathers. I notice that the man's headdress has hollow eyes and rotting flesh as he pulls it off, revealing a shaved head aside from the long stretch of hair going straight down the middle. He's terribly thin, and his hair standing up like that makes it look like he might just float away. The woman doesn't look much better. Her hollow, emaciated body is beaten and bruised; she wouldn't seem like much of a threat if she weren't looking at me as if ready to tear me limb from limb. However, her companion looks up at me in wonder.
"She's no Reachwoman. Look at her face." The woman growls.
"Oh no, she is. She's much too small to be a Nord." The man says, sighing softly.
"This sack has five witch heads in it. I won't hesitate to add yours to the collection if you give me the chance." I tell them. The woman's expression softens, and she smiles.
"Now I see it. Calm yourself sister, we only wish to talk. You're one of us; one of our own." She explains.
"I am not one of you." I tell her indignantly.
"Don't you need someplace to stay for the night?" The man asks.
"I'd be safer sleeping on a bed of nails than with you." I snap at him.
"You shouldn't fear us. It would be against our laws and our oath to murder another Reachman." He tells me gently, as if trying to coax a wild horse. "Don't you need someplace to stay for the night?"
I think for a long time. These people are dangerous, and I would be wise not to trust them, even for a second. Then again; I do need somewhere to sleep, and even if they attacked me, I know they wouldn't last long.
"One night, and that is all. I'm not your comrade or your sister. A guest, and nothing more. Do not be mistaken." I tell them. They nod as I climb off of Fjori, and the woman takes her reins and guides her away.
"My name is Geran, and this is my lover, Beline. Our camp is this way, follow me." He tells me. My eyes widen slightly at the word "lover", but Geran seems unfazed.
He leads us through the underbrush next to the bridge and across a steep ledge that passes behind the waterfall. I would have never guessed it from the road, but behind the waterfall is a well-furnished camp. In one corner of the ledge is a tent made of furs and a small campfire in the center, along with an alchemy station and a small table for fletching and bow stringing.
"I apologize, it's probably not exactly what you're used to. No offense, but I'm sure you've never had to live out in the wild. It's not the best, but we must make due with what we have." He explains.
"No, it's better than fine. You're probably as safe as you can get, behind the waterfall like that." I tell him.
"You're right, we were lucky to find this little nook." He says proudly.
"It would help to live in larger numbers though, wouldn't it?" I ask, watching Beline carry some hay in her arms for Fjori. Typically, the Forsworn live in large camps.
"Well.. It would, definitely. But we can't afford that luxury. My Beline is with child, but she was promised to another man, a Briarheart. I couldn't let her live like that, much less let it be discovered that she was pregnant. So we left. We're starting our own tribe, our own family here." He explains. I grimace; a Briarheart. Dead men, brought back with a briar for a heart; another twisted curse of the Hagraven witches. No, I don't blame them. I can't imagine being married to a corpse.
Later that night, Beline gives me some of the grilled leeks she's made, and we talk quietly while Geran is out getting some firewood.
"Mother says I need to eat as much as I can, for our little girl." She tells me.
"Little girl?"
"Yes. Mother tells me our baby will be a girl. She's always right about these things; she has a gift," Beline says dreamily, before she notices my face. "She's what you would call a 'witch', I suppose."
"You've kept contact with your mother?" I ask, swallowing my horror. "I thought it was just the two of you here?"
"Yes.. She was our matriarch, in our old tribe. She disapproves of Geran, but I've been sneaking away to meet her since we ran away. I could never tell him.. He was so adamant about running away and burning all of our bridges, but I can't just forget about my mother." She tells me quietly. I nod in agreement; a mother is not an easy thing to replace.
"Beline, is this really the way you want to raise your child? Hiding out in caves and mountains?" I ask.
"No, of course not. We just don't have any other choice. If we'd stayed with our old tribe, the Briarhearts would've killed us both. We're wanted criminals in most parts of Skyrim, we never would've been safe." She explains. "I.. I sometimes think I should've stayed. I belonged there, with my tribe. I could've been a matriarch someday, like my mother. Now I don't belong anywhere. My mother, she could've gotten rid of the child before anyone ever knew. I had a choice between losing my little girl, Geran, or running away. But I... I wanted her, more than anything. I want my baby."
That night I lay on my bedroll next to their campfire. From there I could see them in their tent, laying close with Geran's arm wrapped over Beline's slightly swollen waist. A pang of sorrow washes through me, as I think of the nights I spent with Vilkas like that. I doubt we could ever have children; there were many times I should've been pregnant in the years I was confined to the brothel. It never happened. Not that I wanted it; a baby would've made it much harder to leave when the time came. Still, it serves as confirmation that Beline is still luckier than I will ever be.

~

I wake early and leave before they wake up. I think of leaving them some money to thank them, but what good would that do? Instead I leave them all of the alchemy ingredients I have in a bowl, and start back on the road. I pass through Rorikstead again around midday, and by the evening I've arrived back to Whiterun. Traveling the roads is a lot faster on horseback. Poor Fjori is exhausted though, so I rent her a stall at the stables and let her rest.
I'm somewhat excited and somewhat nervous to return to the Companions. I know they'd welcome me back with open arms, but they'd also expect me to stay. And Vilkas, how will I handle him? I'm not sure what to expect, and I'm greatly regretting the last letter I sent him. I should've just agreed to disagree with him and not let something as petty as political opinions drive a wedge between us. I decide to apologize as soon as I see him, for this argument and all arguments prior.
There's a spring in my step as I walk through the streets of Whiterun. Several citizens stop and stare at me, knowing exactly who I am. I see several members of Clan Battle-Born glare at me as I walk up the steps towards the Gildergleam, but they don't make me nervous. This is exactly the reason Ulfric sent me.
Suddenly, as I step into the shade of the Gildergleam, the atmosphere about Whiterun is different. I can't describe it, but it feels like something is missing, or something has been stolen. I stop in the middle of the street and try to sense what it is, but nothing comes. For some reason though, I want to cry.
With a sudden urgency in my steps, I push through the crowded streets of the Wind district until I reach the steps of Jorrvaskr. Many of the citizens are gathered here, watching something I can't see. I push past them, fear propelling my steps. Next to the stairs, Aela stands over a bandit, a dagger in hand. No, not a bandit, Silver Hand. Torvar has killed another just ahead, surprisingly. Aela meets my eyes, only a flicker of surprise under her rage.
"Bastards finally got brave enough to attack." Aela grinds out, seething with anger; blood covers both of her hands. I run up the stairs and practically jump through the door of the mead hall.
I immediately burst into tears as soon as I see the scene before me. My chest shakes with quiet sobs, my knees quiver with grief. Farkas sits on the ground near Kodlak, face pale and eyes unreachable. Njada kneels next to Farkas, speaking quietly in his ear and rubbing his arms. Across the room, Athis lays in the floor with a large gash across his stomach, and Ria carefully tends to him with large tears streaming down her round face. I stare at the two of them because I can't bear to look at Kodlak.
Suddenly a large shadow is cast over me. Vilkas stands over me, his eyes shadowed and red, his cheeks hollow.
"Where have you been." He grunts, anger seething in his voice. His eyes are red, already cried out.
"I... I was doing Kodlak's... Kodlak's bidding..." I tell him quietly.
"While you were gone, you weren't here to defend him." He growls at me, no sympathy in his cruel eyes.
"How could I... I didn't know..." I sob.
"No?" Vilkas asks, his eyes flashing gold. "I thought the Dragonborn could change everything."
I sink to the floor and bury my head in my arms.