“Come in,” she said and the door opened, the innkeeper coming in.
“Excuse me, miss, but you said you were a traveller?” he asked and she leaned up, wary. He held up a piece of paper and she tilted her head in confusion. “The Jarl’s men stopped by with a bounty. Thought you would be interested.”
“Thank you,” she said and he came to leave her the paper. She sighed, folding it up to be used as kindling in her next fire before she flopped back down on the bed. Maybe she should get drunk. That might clear her head.
--
She looked up at the sky, quiet. There were grey clouds as far as the eye could see, a rain storm threatening to move in and she pursed her lips looking back to the gates of Falkreath, hesitating once again. She had been standing at the western gates for more than an hour, her nerves preventing her from entering and she silently reminded herself if she did not go, she might as well leave and never return.
She finally stepped forward and her feet timidly took her along, her entire body stiff as she did. The guard at the gate looked at her before looking out and she realized he didn’t recognize her as his face was not friendly and his eyes cold to her. Had she been gone that long?
She continued on, not seeing Thadgeir by the block and the small town was quiet, not even Lod was outside. She began to worry, the sound of thunder rumbling from above and she went to the longhouse, climbing the stairs before she opened the door.
Inside it smelled of lavender and smoke and she was taken aback by the smells. It was foreign to her, unappealing and she found herself standing at the door, staring at the alien court before her. She no longer belonged there.
There was no one on the throne and she felt herself hesitate, wondering if she had missed the entire town evacuating or something when the Jarl strode out from his bedroom, stopping to look behind him. Out came a woman with a protruding belly and Kjersti’s breath caught in her throat.
The Jarl took the woman’s hand, leading her to a chair by the fire and she waved him off. “My love, I’m fine.”
“Are you?” he said in his typical prickly voice and she stared at them, stunned. “If anything happens to you and the baby…”
“What could happen from the room to here?” she said in a light voice and the steward emerged from the bedroom with a blanket, slinging it over the back. “Oh, Nenya, please! Your fussing is making me feel bad!”
“Nonsense,” she said and Kjersti looked away, her throat tight. It was a mistake for her to return, her heart pounding hard in her chest, her head swimming and she reached for the door, pulling the handle when the Jarl’s wife called out. “Traveller? Traveller, do not leave! Have you been helped?”
She clutched the door handle, not turning and she watched as rain started to dot the stones, the weather finally coming down. She could flee out into it and never return or pay her respects as she was supposed to. She shut the door, reminding herself of her duties, how foolish she was being and she hung her head down as she turned back, slowly approaching the little crowd.
She made she they couldn’t see her face and she pulled off her knapsack, reaching in to pluck out a bag of coins. She placed it delicately on the stones and bowed, moving to leave but the voice called out again.
“Wait! Traveller!” his wife said, confused. “Siddgeir-!?”
“Stop,” was all he had to say and she stopped dead, not moving. There were sounds of the chair scraping against the floor and muttering and hissing as his wife was obviously getting up. She came to her side and Kjersti maintained her eye contact with the stones.
“Traveller-? What is this? Why do you bring us money without a word?” she asked, bending over a little and the steward came forth, touching Brynhilda’s arm before looking to her. There was an uncomfortable silence and Nenya stepped towards her.
The Hardest Part [15/?]
“Excuse me, miss, but you said you were a traveller?” he asked and she leaned up, wary. He held up a piece of paper and she tilted her head in confusion. “The Jarl’s men stopped by with a bounty. Thought you would be interested.”
“Thank you,” she said and he came to leave her the paper. She sighed, folding it up to be used as kindling in her next fire before she flopped back down on the bed. Maybe she should get drunk. That might clear her head.
--
She looked up at the sky, quiet. There were grey clouds as far as the eye could see, a rain storm threatening to move in and she pursed her lips looking back to the gates of Falkreath, hesitating once again. She had been standing at the western gates for more than an hour, her nerves preventing her from entering and she silently reminded herself if she did not go, she might as well leave and never return.
She finally stepped forward and her feet timidly took her along, her entire body stiff as she did. The guard at the gate looked at her before looking out and she realized he didn’t recognize her as his face was not friendly and his eyes cold to her. Had she been gone that long?
She continued on, not seeing Thadgeir by the block and the small town was quiet, not even Lod was outside. She began to worry, the sound of thunder rumbling from above and she went to the longhouse, climbing the stairs before she opened the door.
Inside it smelled of lavender and smoke and she was taken aback by the smells. It was foreign to her, unappealing and she found herself standing at the door, staring at the alien court before her. She no longer belonged there.
There was no one on the throne and she felt herself hesitate, wondering if she had missed the entire town evacuating or something when the Jarl strode out from his bedroom, stopping to look behind him. Out came a woman with a protruding belly and Kjersti’s breath caught in her throat.
The Jarl took the woman’s hand, leading her to a chair by the fire and she waved him off. “My love, I’m fine.”
“Are you?” he said in his typical prickly voice and she stared at them, stunned. “If anything happens to you and the baby…”
“What could happen from the room to here?” she said in a light voice and the steward emerged from the bedroom with a blanket, slinging it over the back. “Oh, Nenya, please! Your fussing is making me feel bad!”
“Nonsense,” she said and Kjersti looked away, her throat tight. It was a mistake for her to return, her heart pounding hard in her chest, her head swimming and she reached for the door, pulling the handle when the Jarl’s wife called out. “Traveller? Traveller, do not leave! Have you been helped?”
She clutched the door handle, not turning and she watched as rain started to dot the stones, the weather finally coming down. She could flee out into it and never return or pay her respects as she was supposed to. She shut the door, reminding herself of her duties, how foolish she was being and she hung her head down as she turned back, slowly approaching the little crowd.
She made she they couldn’t see her face and she pulled off her knapsack, reaching in to pluck out a bag of coins. She placed it delicately on the stones and bowed, moving to leave but the voice called out again.
“Wait! Traveller!” his wife said, confused. “Siddgeir-!?”
“Stop,” was all he had to say and she stopped dead, not moving. There were sounds of the chair scraping against the floor and muttering and hissing as his wife was obviously getting up. She came to her side and Kjersti maintained her eye contact with the stones.
“Traveller-? What is this? Why do you bring us money without a word?” she asked, bending over a little and the steward came forth, touching Brynhilda’s arm before looking to her. There was an uncomfortable silence and Nenya stepped towards her.
“Kjersti? Is that you?”