Child (Book 2)

Chapter 10

Windhelm is blessed with another day of decent weather, and I take this day to explore the marketplace with Sofie. I buy myself a dress to wear when I don't need my armor, and Sofie gets a doll with some of the coins Jarl Ulfric gave her. Later that night, Sofie goes to sleep in our bed with the doll in her arms, and I go back into the tavern to learn more of this war that has begun in my homeland without my knowledge.
Apparently the High King passed while I was away, and his eldest son, Torygg, was elected by the Moot, even though the boy was only a few years older than me. He quickly married a young woman named Elisif, now called Elisif the Fair. According to the residents of Windhelm, Torygg was an Imperial at heart, and didn't have what was best for Skyrim in mind. Jarl Ulfric challenged him to a battle, in the old Nord way, from times before the Empire. In the end Jarl Ulfric won out, and Torygg was killed; shouted apart, if you believe the stories. Since Jarl Ulfric won, he has every right to the title of High King, but many called him a murderer, and the war began.
Jarl Ulfric wants to lead Skyrim into independence from the Empire, and restore the freedom to worship Talos, which was banned after the Empire lost the Great War to the Aldmeri Dominion.
After learning this from the bar patrons, I returned to my room. I looked at Sofie's sleeping face. How many orphans had this war produced? How many widows? 'Is it worth it, Jarl Ulfric?' I thought.

~

The next day the skies were beginning to grow grey and full, heavy with snow. I walked through the cold streets, watching people move quickly to the marketplace to buy the items they needed before they were overtaken again by the next snowstorm.
Suddenly, some men bursted through the gate, carrying someone on a makeshift stretcher. They were all Stormcloaks, clad in the same armor. They set the soldier they carried on the ground, and one of them ran ahead of the rest towards the Palace of the Kings on the eastern side of the city.
"Help! Please, we need a healer! He's dying, please!" One of them calls out. Everyone else in the marketplace stares blankly, so I rush forward to the group of soldiers circling around their fallen comrade. He has a large, bleeding gash across his shoulder.
"What happened?" I ask quickly, pulling the fabric away from his wound.
"He was relaying a message and got attacked by some legionnaires." One answers. I immediately start healing it, but I know it will take more energy than I have. The soldier that left before suddenly appears again.
"The Jarl said you could bring him into the palace!" He shouts. The soldiers immediately pick him up again and rush towards the palace, and I run after them.
Once inside, the Jarl and some of his servants are clearing the large table at the center of the room, moving the food elsewhere so that we can lay the wounded soldier there. I know I won't be able to do this without help or potions.
"I need three of you to go out and get as many healing and magicka potions as you can buy, and the other three go search for other healers in the city. I'll need as much help as I can get." I tell them. They look between me and the Jarl, unsure of who to take orders from; the Jarl in turn gives them an imploring look. They stutter for a moment and run off in different directions, but not before the Jarl can grab the arm of one of them, his hand enveloping it completely.
"Go to Wuunferth, tell him to come quickly and to bring all of his healing and magicka potions." He tells the soldier.
"Y-yes sir!" The soldier says and almost runs into the door in his hurry.
"Will he live..?" The Jarl asks quietly as soon as we're alone.
"It will be difficult. I'm not an experienced healer, I can't do it alone." I tell him, already feeling weak from the magicka loss.
"I thank you for helping, whether he lives or dies. I could use people like you fighting for Skyrim. Not just healers, but leaders that have a level head on their shoulders in dire situations. What is your name?" He asks.
"Novariana. My Jarl, I must warn you, I can't raise your soldiers from the dead. I've only done this a few times." I explain.
"Why did you volunteer to help?" He asks. I look at him incredulously.
"Because he would've died if I didn't?" I answer. The Jarl has a small smile, as if remembering a happy memory.
Just then, a tall man walks into the room with one of the soldiers following close behind, carrying a crate full of potions. He wears a long blue robe with a hood, and a grey beard hangs from the hood.
"How can I help?" He asks in a voice that sounds like snow under horse hooves.
"Heal him for a while. I need to restore my magicka and give him some potions." I tell the wizard. He immediately takes over and I gulp down a magicka potion.
I open a healing potion and yank the soldier's helmet away from his face, and what I see beneath makes me stumble. Ralof, the Stormcloak Soldier that carried me out of Helgen, lays on the table in front of me. His skin is a sickly pale and his dim eyes flutter open and shut. I promptly smack him across the face.
"Ralof! Ralof look at me! I need you to stay awake!" I shout in his face. His eyes are open now, but he can't seem to focus. I lift his head and pour the potion in his open mouth. He coughs on it a bit, lifting a limp hand to wipe his face. He mumbles something, but I can't hear him.
"Ralof, what? What did you say?" I ask, leaning my ear to his face.
"Thank Talos." He groans.
"No, thank me, you sad sop." I snap, prompting a chuckle from the Jarl.