She stood on the top of a cliff looking down to the world below her. She held up her map, the letters on it foreign but the pictures helped her gauge where she was. The innkeeper at Ivarstead kindly pointed her towards Eastmarch where some bandits were bothering folks deep in the sulfur marshes, promises of treasure to be taken from them high in her mind but his directions led her down a goat path and she found herself lost.
Still, from where she was she could see far out, steam rising from below near bright pools and she folded up the map, placing it carefully in her pack. Her hair fell down and she struggled to force it back into her hood. It had grown significantly since she had left, the black strands becoming thicker and harder to maintain and she wished she had asked her old housecarl how to keep it from being so bothersome.
She had once considered chopping it off with a knife but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When she touched her hair she thought to how her mother used to stroke it, humming as she did and it always made her chest tighten. She missed her and didn’t want to part with something that made her so vividly recall her memory.
She shouldered her pack, standing tall and she looked down, the rocks jagged below. There was something inside her that wanted to jump, to bounce on the stones like the mountain goats did but she reminded herself she wasn’t a child nor did she have enough healing potions to do so. She retreated, walking along the edge to find another way and she came across an old deer path that cut down into soft earth.
She followed it, using trees to break her fall and slowly she started to descend from the Rift to Eastmarch, her hands becoming red from how tightly she gripped the branches.
She reached the new land by twilight and from there she began to explore, not wanting to sleep. Along the way, she found a ring of emerald and gold. It was sitting in the water of a sulfur pool, having fallen out of a satchel of a traveller. She scooped it up, holding it tight and she thought of her Jarl. The ring he had wanted. She smiled to herself, emptying a pocket in her knapsack to tuck it inside.
She remembered Brynhilda and her face fell. She ignored it. She got gifts for her Jarl all the time before her, why should she stop now?
Still, the ring seemed to add a weight to her that she hated to carry. Her guilt chewed her up inside.
--
There was one night where she considered going back and pretending like nothing had happened but she knew she was being stupid. She paced in the room she had rented at the Sleeping Giant, her nerves frayed and her stomach empty from the lack of food she had consumed over the week.
She wanted to see him, badly. She wanted him to bed her, to dominate her like they both liked, for him to hiss into her ear while he came and bite her neck and just remind her that he owned her. She fell on the bed, burying her face into the pillow before she got up, pacing more.
Maybe she should let the bard come into her room. He had been giving her looks and she wasn’t opposed to them – as long as she could call out another man’s name while they did it – oh gods above and daedra below, what was wrong with her?! She was going crazy. It had been far too long, she didn’t even know anymore, and she ached for her life back. She had been in too many stinking caves, went without food for days and when she drank mead she was instantly knocked out finding herself waking up in strange temples or on the road.
She went and laid on her bed again, growling at herself. What was wrong with her? There was a knock and she looked up, feeling weary now.
The Hardest Part [14/?]
Still, from where she was she could see far out, steam rising from below near bright pools and she folded up the map, placing it carefully in her pack. Her hair fell down and she struggled to force it back into her hood. It had grown significantly since she had left, the black strands becoming thicker and harder to maintain and she wished she had asked her old housecarl how to keep it from being so bothersome.
She had once considered chopping it off with a knife but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When she touched her hair she thought to how her mother used to stroke it, humming as she did and it always made her chest tighten. She missed her and didn’t want to part with something that made her so vividly recall her memory.
She shouldered her pack, standing tall and she looked down, the rocks jagged below. There was something inside her that wanted to jump, to bounce on the stones like the mountain goats did but she reminded herself she wasn’t a child nor did she have enough healing potions to do so. She retreated, walking along the edge to find another way and she came across an old deer path that cut down into soft earth.
She followed it, using trees to break her fall and slowly she started to descend from the Rift to Eastmarch, her hands becoming red from how tightly she gripped the branches.
She reached the new land by twilight and from there she began to explore, not wanting to sleep. Along the way, she found a ring of emerald and gold. It was sitting in the water of a sulfur pool, having fallen out of a satchel of a traveller. She scooped it up, holding it tight and she thought of her Jarl. The ring he had wanted. She smiled to herself, emptying a pocket in her knapsack to tuck it inside.
She remembered Brynhilda and her face fell. She ignored it. She got gifts for her Jarl all the time before her, why should she stop now?
Still, the ring seemed to add a weight to her that she hated to carry. Her guilt chewed her up inside.
--
There was one night where she considered going back and pretending like nothing had happened but she knew she was being stupid. She paced in the room she had rented at the Sleeping Giant, her nerves frayed and her stomach empty from the lack of food she had consumed over the week.
She wanted to see him, badly. She wanted him to bed her, to dominate her like they both liked, for him to hiss into her ear while he came and bite her neck and just remind her that he owned her. She fell on the bed, burying her face into the pillow before she got up, pacing more.
Maybe she should let the bard come into her room. He had been giving her looks and she wasn’t opposed to them – as long as she could call out another man’s name while they did it – oh gods above and daedra below, what was wrong with her?! She was going crazy. It had been far too long, she didn’t even know anymore, and she ached for her life back. She had been in too many stinking caves, went without food for days and when she drank mead she was instantly knocked out finding herself waking up in strange temples or on the road.
She went and laid on her bed again, growling at herself. What was wrong with her? There was a knock and she looked up, feeling weary now.