Witch of Jorrvaskr - ch. 2

Night fell, and Shevawna wasted no time hunting down and skinning some animals.  She didn't really have the tools for the job, but every Forsworn knew how to improvise.  So it was she soon had a tent good to go, and some furs to sleep on, and a little campfire and some improvised stakes hammered round the outskirts of her camp.  It wasn't home and the wolf's heads on spikes weren't the same as Spriggan heads and goat's heads, but it was the nearest she was going to get.  She'd gathered some alchemy ingredients too, could probably get some sort of alchemy set up going, maybe sort herself out with some potions.  She'd need some more arrows too, these Imperial ones wouldn't last long.

So her physical needs were met... but all the same, she was lonely.  No one ever got lonely on a Forsworn camp.  No one ever left you alone for long on a Forsworn camp.  Certainly not when you had a niece and nephew, only toddlers really but they loved her to pieces.  Kaie and Caradach ap Shella, named for the Reachman scholar from Markarth who'd singlehandedly rescued Reachman culture and re-introduced them to themselves over sixty years ago, and for the current hope of the Reach, Kaie Brenyeen, she who kept them united and strong while their king languished in jail.

Shevawna missed them both, cheeky little scamps in the making the pair of them, and she even missed her older sister's nagging.  Their parents were long dead, killed in some skirmish or other, and Shella's husband had proved less than adequate in that regard, and had died in an unfortunate accident a year ago, falling to his death from Bard's Leap.  Shella and Shevawna were all the other had, but now Shevawna had lost even that.  She was just shy of her twentieth birthday and all alone, and a lone Forsworn was no Forsworn at all.  But if she was no longer Forsworn, what was she?  Not a criminal in her own lands any more – she wasn't even in her own lands.  She could still be one, she supposed, could try and scourge the Nords on her own... but she wouldn't last long and she didn't fancy prison, still less execution.  So the woods it was.

She didn't know how long she stayed out there, hunting and fishing and exploring, eventually finding a large freshwater lake and staying nearby, but it was a few days at least before she found the little cabin.  A small place, homely, just a garden full of crops and herbs, and a chicken coop, tended by an old woman who turned out to be called Anise and offered Shevawna a few coins for some rabbits she'd caught.

“You're a long way from home, youngling,” Anise said shrewdly, casting an eye over Shevawna's armour.  “Don't see many of your kind outside the Reach.”

“I had trouble,” Shevawna admitted.  “A little disagreement with Matriarch Sharreela.  It's going to be a while before I can go back there.”

“An argument with a Hagraven!” Anise laughed.  “A dangerous enemy to have... but they make useful friends.  You know a little magic, I trust.”

“A little, why?” Shevawna asked.  She knew Stoneflesh, a bit of healing and the basic Destruction spells, but the fireballs and ice storms the Hags used were a bit beyond her.  Alchemy and crafting now, she was very good indeed at those.

Anise turned to her with a smile not unlike a Hag's.  

“Want to learn a little more?” Anise grinned.  “I know a thing or two, and my sister knows a lot more.  The girl I was hoping to make my apprentice has run off to Riften with her wretch of a lover, which leaves Moira and I with a little vacancy.  Want to join us?  I could do with someone to help out around here and run errands into Riverwood.  I'm thinking you might be in need of somewhere to stay, yes?  And if you do well at the magic... Moira knows the Rite of Ascension.  She would teach you if you show promise.  You could be a Matriarch yourself, go back and take Sharreela's holdings for your own.”

Ascension... it was a huge step, but if a Hag fought a Hag, the Forsworn didn't intervene, just followed the victor.  She'd have Lost Valley as her own.

“Of course I would,” Shevawna gasped.  “Why wouldn't I?”

She moved in that night.  And so Shevawna learned Conjuration and deepened her knowledge of Destruction and Alteration, and learned healing too, and sharpened her alchemy and enchanting skills.  She also borrowed some robes and went into Riverwood, looking like a simple Breton peasant, just Anise's niece visiting from High Rock.  And if the Breton who ran the inn looked a bit suspicious, she didn't say anything.  Liriel was long gone, off to Whiterun to warn the Jarl about dragons but who knew where she'd gone after that.  Not back to Riverwood, that was for certain, although Lucan and Camilla Valerius seemed to think she was wonderful.  Sven the bard seemed rather less thrilled, but Faendal the wood elf had actually travelled with her for a bit and seemed a little in awe.  He didn't seem willing to speak of her though.

Shevawna ended up spending most of her time at the smithy, crafting herself a set of leather armour, all the better to pass for definitely-not-a-Forsworn-no-sir-no-how.  Alvor gave her a few lessons, praised her skill and Shevawna looked about the little village and began to realise perhaps they weren't all bad.  Not very bright perhaps, but these Nords didn't seem like monsters.  Then again, they had their land as theirs, despite what the Stormcloaks might think.  These Nords of Riverwood didn't look oppressed, not like the Reachmen were.

The days passed and Shevawna was content with her lot.  Until the day it all fell apart.

It started normally enough.  She'd gone to take some meat to sell to the Sleeping Giant and some furs and potions for the Riverwood Trader.  She lingered at the smithy to chat to Alvor about possibly getting some new arrows crafted and if he knew how to craft elven gear.  He'd already taught her how to work steel.

“Elven gear?  Save that for the elves, Shevawna.  Steel's better for the likes of us,” he'd laughed.

For Nords, perhaps.  But Shevawna had learnt how to smile and nod and act like their friend by this point.  So she did that and then she headed home.

She got there just in time to see the bandits attacking, one of them running Anise through, and as her old mentor collapsed and died, they turned on her.

“Well look here, looks like we got ourselves a hero!” laughed one.

“Or the entertainment,” another smirked, and Shevawna lost her temper, casting her mage armour.

“I... will... destroy you!” Shevawna howled, summoning a Flame Atronach and leaping into battle with her sword drawn.

Shevawna fought hard and she fought well – a nightblade of the Forsworn was no base prey and her sword was poisoned.  But there were five of them and although three fell to her magic and sword, the remaining two overpowered her.  She sank to the ground, weak and dizzy from blood loss.  So this was it.  The Void waiting for her.  Not the most heroic death and dying in a foreign land wasn't what she'd have chosen.  She'd just lost the Reach forever, but perhaps there'd be comfort in the Void.

The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was an arrow drop one bandit, and then a dark-haired Nord in steel armour leap in to finish off the other with a sweep of a greatsword that gleamed more brightly than steel usually did.  

Saved by Nord warriors.  Oh the humiliation.  Shevawna closed her eyes and let the Void take her.

~~~~~~~~~  

Aela knelt by the young Breton's side as Vilkas finished the last of the bandits off.  She was in pretty bad shape, her leather armour having taken a knock and her mage armour wearing off too.  Some sort of spellsword type from the look of it – a young one though.  And yet there were calluses on her hands and old scars, so she'd seen her fair share of combat.  And three dead bandits before she and Vilkas got here.  

All very intriguing, but good for nothing if the girl died in front of her.  Aela had a couple of healing potions left though.  They'd do.

She patted the girl's cheek, holding a vial to her mouth.

“Come on, drink,” Aela urged, watching as the Breton managed to get some of it down her throat.  “That's better, you can do it, come on.”

The girl drank some more before passing out again, but she looked healthier.  By this point, Vilkas had finished cleaning his blade and come to see how she was doing.

“She alive?”

“Just about,” Aela said.  “We can't leave her here though.  We'll have to take her back to Riverwood.  I think Delphine might help.  She's usually got potions on hand and she's discreet.  Anise was known to be a bit of an alchemist too, see if she's got anything in her cabin.”

Not an awful lot, but there were some esoteric alchemy ingredients, a few basic healing and magicka potions, sufficient clothes to shred to bind the Breton's wounds... and in a chest, a set of Forsworn armour and a stone sword and axe like the ones used by the feared Reach natives.  Vilkas brought them out, face sombre.

“I think these might be our Breton's.  Can't see Anise running around in this, can you?”

Aela's eyes widened as she saw the armour, then her eyes flicked back to the girl.

“Why is a Forsworn living on her own out here with Anise?  Do you think she knew?”

“Probably,” said Vilkas.  “Probably didn't care as long as the girl helped out with chores and didn't cause trouble.  But we don't have that option.  Aela, if she really is Forsworn, we can't just let her go.  They're criminals, murderers.”

“Yes I know,” Aela said grimly.  “But what do you suggest, Vilkas?  Killing her in cold blood?  Leaving her to die?”

“No, of course not!” Vilkas protested, wondering why Aela's preferred solutions were never the diplomatic or lawful ones.  “But we can't let her go either.  We could take her to the Jarl.”

“And say what?” Aela asked.  “That we found her taking on some bandits that killed an old woman so obviously she must be a criminal?  We don't even know if she actually lived here, if that stuff's even hers.”

“They might know her in Riverwood,” Vilkas said, considering his options.  “But you're right, it's not evidence of guilt, even if she did live here.  I guess we have no choice.  We'll have to take her back to Jorrvaskr, ask Kodlak what he thinks.”

A subject Aela wouldn't want to bring up around their Harbinger – ever since he'd spent six months as a Forsworn prisoner, he'd never been the same around them, and that had been twenty years ago now.  Always acted a little strange when the subject was brought up, going over Forsworn jobs as they came in, sometimes passing it back and saying to take care of it, other times taking it on himself, other times hanging on to it for months before giving the go ahead... and sometimes it was never spoken of again.  Bad memories?  Aela didn't know but bringing one to Jorrvaskr was the last thing she wanted to do.  Still, she had to agree they didn't have a lot of choice.  They could hardly leave the girl.

“All right,” Aela said.  “But you're carrying her.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Shevawna didn't really remember a lot of the next few days.  She vaguely remembered being in a bed, with Delphine kneeling by her side with some healing salves at the ready for her wounds that stung and burned.  

She remembered being carried a lot through the open air, by some dark-haired man who smelt a bit wolfish but who didn't seem unkind.  Then there was lying in a bright, airy room with chimes in the background, and a woman in a robe leaning over her, magic at her fingers and a voice that soothed Shevawna despite its Nordic accent.  Then nothing for a long time... and when she woke up, she didn't know where she was, but it wasn't Anise's hut or the Sleeping Giant or anywhere in Riverwood.  The walls were stone – stone!  The redoubt had stonework, but nowhere inside, although she'd heard some of the others did.  There were also the animal heads on the walls, and the weapons and banners with one of those big Nordic axes on them, the cupboards and chests and various trappings of a bedchamber, all of a nicer quality than Shevawna was used to, and she'd been tucked up in a large double bed, dressed in a simple fabric undershift.

She didn't know who'd taken her armour but she hoped it hadn't been the elderly Nord sitting across the room from her.

“Where am I?” Shevawna asked, rubbing her eyes in the candle-light.  Far too dark in here, and a few seconds later, she'd cast a magelight.  The Nord, dressed as he was in shiny steel armour with a wolf's head on the front, was clearly not a mage and winced at the casual display of magic, but didn't tell her off.  “How'd I get here?”

“You're in Jorrvaskr, lass, home of the famous Companions of Ysgramor.  I have the honour of being their Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane.  You had the good luck to be found by two of my Shield-Siblings, Aela and Vilkas.  They brought you here and got you healed.  You're a fortunate girl.”  He was smiling and looking altogether too kind for someone whose order had attacked their camps on many occasions.  Mostly warnings came from the First Matriarch, known to be a gifted seer, and the camp could be evacuated with just a few brave souls to remain behind, giving their lives to provide the illusion that the camp had been slaughtered.  But not always.

Shevawna looked for weapons but saw none in reach.  So she cast mage armour instead and summoned flame to her hands.

“What do you want with me?” Shevawna hissed.  “Are you here to hurt me or did you want to know where more of our redoubts are?  I'm telling you nothing!”

Sadness but no real surprise in the old man's eyes.  

“No, lass, I'm not after information.  Assistance, possibly, but I wouldn't ask you to betray your own people.”  He nodded at a chest by the wall, sitting open and in it were her armour and weapons – her original armour from Lost Valley, and the weapons of stone and wood that she'd crafted since.  “Those are yours, aren't they?  You're one of the Forsworn.”

Shevawna hissed, raising her hands, fire spells good to go... but something held her back.  There was something about him, something of the old magic about him, something different.  And if he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd probably have done it by now, or handed her to the Jarl perhaps.

“So what if I am?” Shevawna growled.  “Have you taken me prisoner?  Must I carve my way to freedom?  Or am I free to go?”

“You are no prisoner, lass,” Kodlak said, slowly raising his hands palm open... before closing his fingers and bringing his fists to his shoulders, like a Reachman would.  “Only lay down your magic.  I would talk with you.”

“What could an Admorin possibly have to say to me?” Shevawna asked, not bothering to hide her contempt... but she did lower her hands, extinguishing her magic.  Someone had taught him the Forsworn's universally accepted, if not always honoured, gesture of non-hostility and peace.  No outsiders were ever taught that, except maybe the Mor Gwadoreen once.  Not for a long time though and Shevawna doubted he was one of them.

“Speak then,” Shevawna said, folding her arms.  “I shall listen but if I do not like what I hear, I shall be leaving and I don't yet feel grateful enough to spare you all.”

“Siaran an yn Rhanhina-vira,” Kodlak chuckled and while the pronunciation wasn't great and the accent appalling, Shevawna got his meaning.  Spoken like a true Reachwoman.  Someone hadn't just taught him the peace gesture, someone had been teaching him the language.

“Who are you?” Shevawna whispered, now utterly confused.  “How did you...?  You're not one of us.”

“No,” Kodlak said, shaking his head.  “But I've had dealings with your people and not all at the other end of a greatsword either.  I don't worship your gods and I know you despise mine, but I do respect you.  You're fearless and while you're not always honourable, you're ingenious.  You hold your own with what you do have.  So why don't we talk as dim-gelynai for a little while, and then you can decide if you want to further your acquaintance with us or not?”

Dim-gelynai.  Not-enemies.  The odd state of affairs where you didn't hate someone enough to kill them, but wouldn't greet them by a fire with a shot of jenever either.   Not the most stable relationship but nothing about this situation was as Shevawna expected.  She could at least hear him out.

“All right,” she said, inclining her head.  “Speak.  I promise not to kill you just yet.”

“A fair bargain,” Kodlak laughed.  “Tell me, lass, what's your name?”

“Shevawna ap Carlona, of Lost Valley,” Shevawna told him.  “Or I used to be.  There was a little misunderstanding with the Matriarch, so I had to leave.”

“Shevawna ap Carlona,” Kodlak mused.  “Well met, Shevawna.  What manner of misunderstanding was it exactly?”

“Her favourite nephew decided he liked me.  I thought he was an insufferable bore who loved only himself and told him so.  He disagreed and tried to rape me, so I killed him,” Shevawna said, shrugging.  “Matriarch Sharreela wasn't pleased so I had to leave.  I wandered for a long time until I found Anise in her cabin.  She was a kind woman.  I liked her.”

“I imagine you did,” Kodlak said gently.  “We took her to the Hall of the Dead for burial.  I think the funeral's tomorrow, you can go if you like.”

“I might,” Shevawna said quietly, grieving for more than just her mentor.  With Anise dead, her chance of Ascending in her own right was probably gone.  Which left her alone, homeless unless she wanted to go back to the little shack, and with no idea what to do with her life now.

“I imagine you might also be at a bit of a loose end now,” Kodlak continued, almost like he'd read her mind.  “I have a little job you'd be well suited for.  Nothing too dangerous, just courier duty really.  But there's coin in it, if you're willing.”

Coin?  True Reachwomen didn't need coin.  Shevawna could live off the land indefinitely.  All the same, spell tomes cost money and there were some alchemy ingredients you just couldn't get yourself.

“Where am I going?” she asked.  Kodlak grinned.

“A little background first.  I have this friend, this regular correspondent who is difficult to reach by normal courier.  We've known each other a long time, grown close over the years.  Sometimes I visit, but I am getting old and can't make the journey like I used to.  So we write, and I know someone in the city who will take the letters and pass them on, for a fee.  However, it appears the coin I give him isn't enough.  This man's got greedy and too curious for his own good.  It seems he's been reading the contents and is threatening to expose me and her both unless I pay him extra.  It's a connection I'd rather not get made public.  It'd be very embarrassing, you see.”

Shevawna saw.  Shevawna saw indeed.

“Honourless dog,” she said contemptuously.  “Where is he and how do you wish him to die, fast or slow?”

“I don't wish him to – Shevawna, I'm not hiring you to kill him,” Kodlak said sternly.  “I just need you to visit my friend and take a letter to her for me, bypassing him entirely.  Once it's delivered, I imagine the problem will resolve itself in short order with neither you nor I having to do anything unfortunate.  Now, are you willing to take this one or must I devise some pretext and go myself, ideally without the younglings insisting on providing an escort?”

“I'll go,” Shevawna said.  Coin and an adventure and the chance to stitch up some cheating bastard who deserved it?  She was in.  “Who am I delivering this to?”

Kodlak took a deep breath, almost as if he felt a little guilty to admit it, and he definitely was lowering his voice.

“Matriarch Keirine of Hag's End,” he said quietly.  It took a moment for Shevawna to process what she'd just heard.  Matriarch Keirine.  Of Hag's End.  First Matriarch of the Forsworn, de facto spiritual leader of all true Reachfolk and along with Kaie Brenyeen, keeping the movement going in Madanach's absence.  And Kodlak Whitemane wanted to send her a letter.  

No wonder he'd had trouble finding a courier.

“Are you serious,” Shevawna whispered.  “You're a friend of Matriarch Keirine?”

“Aye,” Kodlak said, nodding.  “Don't look so surprised, lass.  Did you never wonder why your camps got warning of Companion raids?  Why your First Matriarch would occasionally intervene and claim stolen trinkets off you for her own use?  I don't always agree with your methods or hers, but the work she's doing is of more value than a few petty mercenary jobs.  So we've stayed our blades, and in return she's aided us in the past.  We buy an awful lot of alchemical supplies from her – Forsworn medicine's some of the best anywhere.  We've also been known to use her enchanting services – she's faster and better at it than that mage in Winterhold.  Not that the others know this, of course, just as most of you probably don't know she's helping me.  Now, are you willing to both help me, and help Keirine and I keep your people safe?”

Shevawna nodded, amazed beyond words.  A secret alliance between the Forsworns' most powerful witch and the Harbinger of famed Nord mercenary order the Companions.  No one could have predicted that, but Shevawna found she could live with it.  If Matriarch Keirine thought it was a good idea then who was she to argue?

“Of course,” Shevawna said, finally feeling her sense of purpose return.  “When do I leave?”

“Soon,” Kodlak promised, seeming to approve of her spirit.  “In the mean time, you can stay here as one of us.  I only have one request – don't wear your Forsworn furs in the city.  It'd likely cause a misunderstanding.  I'd hate for any misunderstandings, wouldn't you say, lass?”

Shevawna got his meaning and promised to wear her leather armour when outside Jorrvaskr.

“I wouldn't kill anyone here,” Shevawna also promised.  “We only kill outsiders in our lands and enemies.  You're not in our lands, I'm in yours.  So I won't kill any of you.”

“I'm relieved to hear it,” Kodlak laughed.  “Come on, get dressed and get up if you can.  Time for you to meet the others.”

~~~~~~~~~  

First stop was one of the other bedrooms, home to four warriors sitting around.  One old man with receding grey hair, wearing the same armour as Kodlak.  The dark-haired warrior who'd carved that bandit into pieces, not bad-looking, not as big and beefy as most Nords which was a refreshing change, in fact he'd be rather attractive... if it weren't for the attitude.  Another man who looked just like him but burlier.  And a very pretty red-haired woman in sensible armour that didn't hold the sweat against your body and actually let your skin breathe.  Well at least someone in this heathen place knew how to dress properly.

Their names turned out to be Skjor, Vilkas, Farkas and Aela, and both Skjor and Vilkas looked very distrustful.  Farkas didn't seem to care though and Aela was actually looking appreciative.

“So that's the new blood,” Skjor said, frowning.  “She doesn't look like much, Kodlak.  Do you know what you're doing?”  

“Hey!” Shevawna snapped.  “I'm a warrior of the Reach!  I've killed plenty like you, Nord.”

“I doubt that,” Skjor snorted.  “So you are a Forsworn.  Kodlak, are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” said Kodlak firmly.  “I need her help with something, she's agreed to give it and in return I've offered her Jorrvaskr's hospitality.  So long as she doesn't abuse it, I've said she's welcome here.”

“But Master, the Forsworn slaughter anyone who crosses them!” Vilkas protested and that drew a growl from Kodlak.

“I am no one's master, Vilkas!  And last I checked, Jorrvaskr had spare beds for those with a fire in their heart.  Shevawna certainly has that.  She and I have talked and it seems she's on an extended leave of absence from the Forsworn.  So I've agreed to overlook any past crimes, as long as they're not repeated while she stays with us.  Is that clear?”  Kodlak glared at all of them, and for someone who disdained the title Master, he was doing a very good job of being the man in charge.

Vilkas sighed and eventually grunted assent, still glaring at Shevawna.

“Fine,” he growled.  “But I still think you're making a mistake.”  Getting up, he stalked out, brooding.  Kodlak just shrugged and turned to the others.

“What about you, Skjor?  Aela?”  He seemed to ignore Farkas completely, which struck Shevawna as a bit mean.  Skjor looked her over and to her surprise, nodded.

“If you vouch for her, sure.  Those Forsworn are tough bastards to a man – or woman.  As long as she doesn't forget where she is and try to kill any of us, I don't care what she does anywhere else.”

As if she could forget.  But Skjor actually seemed to approve of her in some way.  It was very strange but Shevawna could live with it.

Then Aela looked at her and if Skjor had seemed to maybe approve, Aela actually was smiling a little.

“I think so.  We don't really do politics here, Shevawna.  Well, some of us have views, as I'm sure you'll find out, but we don't get involved.  We just go where the coin is.  I tend to specialise in dealing with beasts anyway.  I think you and I will work together rather well.”

“I – thank you,” Shevawna gasped, really not having expected that response.  She could get to like this Aela.  Nord she might be, but she seemed friendly and by Sithis, she was pretty.  Really pretty and Shevawna realised she might just have a thing for red hair, an unusual sight on a Forsworn camp with its various shades of black, brown, silver and blonde.

“Good,” Kodlak breathed, relieved.  “Glad that's settled.  Well, I have a letter to write so I'll let you show Shevawna where the quarters are... yes?”

“He hasn't said anything,” Shevawna said, pointing at Farkas.  “Doesn't he talk?”

“Ah,” Kodlak coughed.  “Well, he does, yes, but...”

“It's all right,” Farkas said gruffly.  “I'm not normally one for talking.  Kodlak says you're honourable so that's fine by me.  I don't need to know anything else.”

That was... rather sweet.  Naive, hopelessly naïve... but sweet.  Shevawna honestly hadn't ever thought she'd be thinking of a big, gruff Nord warrior as sweet.  She made a mental note to keep an eye on him.  She had a feeling he'd probably get into trouble on his own.  Not that he couldn't handle trouble, but she wouldn't want him to get taken advantage of.

Not her type sexually, of course – he was a bit too, well, big.  But she had a feeling she could be friends with this one.  If he wasn't tearing a Forsworn camp apart, that is.

“That's all right then,” Shevawna said, nodding.  “So, er, there are living quarters, you said?”

“I'll give her the tour,” Aela said without further ado, and the little group broke up, Kodlak heading back to his room, Skjor heading upstairs and Farkas going into one of the other rooms off the main corridor.

“So, sister-to-be,” Aela said with a smile that contained only a hint of predatoriness and yet still made Shevawna shiver.  “Let me show you around.”

Oh you can show me anywhere you like.  Shevawna bit her lip and followed Aela out.  This could only lead to trouble.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~  

First was the sleeping room.  An entire room for sleeping in.  With beds everywhere.  While Shevawna was used to not having a lot of privacy, the idea of everyone sleeping without the veneer of a tent flap in between you and the rest of the camp was a bit... unsettling.  

The mess was also less than pleasing, with things everywhere and a very loose attitude to personal possessions, it looked like.  Forsworn held most things on a camp in common, but even so you'd have some things of your own and woe betide anyone who took another Forsworn's stuff without asking.

Other than clothes and weapons, judging from the mess and lack of a personal chest each, the Companions didn't seem to have much of a concept of other people's stuff.  Shevawna made a mental note to find somewhere to stash her own things.  Somewhere this lot wouldn't pinch them.

There was Tilma, an old lady who cleaned up after everyone and cooked, which was a little mean considering she was one of the oldest there.  Back home, the elders (and by Forsworn standards, thirty was getting on a bit and forty was practically ancient) rarely did anything they couldn't persuade a younger member of the camp to do for them.

There was Ria, from some place called Cyrodiil, one of the big countries to the south, but who'd grown up on tales of adventure and Ysgramor from her Nord stepfather and come north to find out more.  Enthusiastic, clearly up for a good bloodletting, and Not A Nord.  Shevawna decided she was  all right.  

Then Torvar, clearly either not all there or off his face on something, probably the latter.  Still, he seemed all right, even if he did keep squinting at her and musing he was sure he'd killed someone who looked like her a while back.

Njada turned out to be Definitely A Nord, who looked her over in disgust, said “they let you in??  Must be desperate,” and walked off.

“Sorry about her,” Aela said sheepishly.  “She's always like that with newcomers.  Takes a while to warm up to people.”

Shevawna had a feeling she'd have died and been reborn three times before Njada ever warmed up to her.

Then Athis who was not only Not A Nord but an elf.  A real one!  An actual elf!

“You're an elf!” Shevawna squealed.  “With the ears!  And the face, oh my god, pointy face and your eyes, my goodness, your eyes!”

“Yes, I'm an elf,” Athis sighed wearily.  “Dunmer if you want to be specific.  With a face, eyes and ears, most of us have them.  And if you don't pull yourself together, yours may end up getting rearranged.  Sera.”

Shevawna barely heard the threat of violence in amongst the general haze of real elf!  She'd hardly met any before, other than Liriel, and after escaping a dragon together, Liriel was less like an elf by the end of it and more like a real person.  Still, Shevawna recollected where she was and pulled herself together.  Just because slanted eyes, thin faces and pointed ears were considered signs of beauty among the Reachfolk, meaning elves qualified by default as stunning, didn't mean she should harass the poor man.

“I'm very sorry, sirrah Athis,” she said quietly.  “I don't see many elves back home, you see.”

Athis rolled his eyes.  “Could tell that.  Still, better than the usual reaction I get from humans.”

Upstairs, and the main hall seemed to be tables around a central fire, another new one on Shevawna – tables that was, the concept of a fire was not lost on her.  Then a room off to one side that was the private quarters of one Vignar Grey-Mane, seen muttering darkly about the Aldmeri Dominion, and his servant Brill.

“Stormcloak supporters?” Shevawna asked, one hand going to her axe.

“Aye, that they are,” Aela admitted.  “But as long as you don't ask Vignar about it, you'll be all right.  He's an old man, he retired his blade some time ago.”

Shevawna made a mental note to keep her distance.  Retired he might be but he didn't look incapable.

Then the training yard with straw dummies and targets – Shevawna would have to keep them in mind for when she wanted practice against enemies who let you hit them and didn't fight back.  Fortunately, seeing Ria and Vilkas in a training session gave her a bit of hope she might get some practice in against a live opponent.  And if she drew blood in the process, that was all too the good.  Especially if it came from Vilkas, the stubborn son-of-a-bitch.  Just because he had cheekbones and smouldering eyes didn't mean a good thrashing wouldn't do him good.

Shevawna definitely didn't think much of Nords with smouldering eyes, even if he had apparently carried her back here from Riverwood.  

And then there was the Skyforge.  A vast eagle looming over it, perched on a crag of rock that the entire complex seemed to be built around, it looked like an ordinary forge... but Shevawna could feel the magic.  Old and powerful, fire like the sun, Shevawna could feel it throbbing from a good twenty feet away.  And underneath it, a darker source of energy, night energy, intertwining with the Skyforge's fire, and in the middle... Sithis yes, fire and ice on each side and where they met, magic danced and the world was born.

Shevawna felt dizzy at the very thought.  

“Where did it come from?” Shevawna whispered, staring up at it.

“No one knows,” Aela answered, leading her up the stairs.  “Some say the gods built it.  Others the dragons.  Some say it was always here since the world began.  All we know is it was here when the first Companions came by, looking for somewhere to settle.  They found the Skyforge and used the remaining timbers of their ship to build Jorrvaskr, and the city grew up around them.  It's always been worked by a member of Clan Grey-Mane.  And right now that would be Eorlund.  Hey, Eorlund!  Is my shield ready yet?”

Eorlund turned out to be a white-haired Nord who must be well over forty.  Old as a Hag, maybe.  Shevawna wasn't terribly well-versed in what happened as someone got old.  She'd not seen it happen very often.

“It's here, Aela.  I was going to bring it to you earlier but I've been kept busy enough up here, and with Fralia how she is...”

“I know,” Aela said softly, taking the shield off him.  “Thank you.  How is she doing?”

Eorlund shrugged, clearly not a man at ease with words, not ones that weren't to do with smithcraft anyway.

“She has good and bad days.  Sometimes she's almost her old self, but others...”  He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it.  He noticed her and nodded in her direction, seeming to become a little cooler.  “Who's this and why's she walking around half-naked and covered in feathers?”

Before Shevawna could protest that these were the traditional clothes of her people, Aela stopped her.

“This is Shevawna.  She's just joined us.  She's from an obscure tribe some distance away and they all dress like that.  Shevawna, this is Eorlund Grey-Mane.  You need any smithing doing, he's your man.”

“I can do my own smithing,” Shevawna said proudly, and then she recalled that if she upset him he'd probably ban her from coming within ten feet of the forge and then she'd never get to listen to it sing while she worked it.  “But I'm probably not as good as you, and I'm always willing to learn!” she added brightly.  “It's a really pretty forge, let me know if you need an assistant!”

Eorlund just grunted but something in his attitude seemed pleased or at least less hostile.

“About time Kodlak found someone who knows her way round a forge,” Eorlund growled.  “All right, you want to help or do your own work, you can as long as you don't make a mess or get underfoot.”

“Yes!  Thank you!” Shevawna cried, some part of her conveniently overlooking the fact she was a Forsworn girl in the middle of the Nord heartland.  But the Skyforge wasn't Nordic.  It had a magic as old as time, older than Nords, from a time before this land was Skyrim.  She'd do whatever it took to get close to it.