"Well," Farid said, grinning softly to Jorwen and Keegan. "At least nobody died, yet."

Jorwen cracked a grin and shook his head, “Oh, the night’s still young, little lad. I’ll be in my tent.”

Jorwen strode off through the night, the whipping wind playing hell with his hair. He’d finally got back to his tent in time to sit and watch some of the others scramble to muster into their two groups. He didn’t fancy being in their place and it felt shameful to say that he felt relief from not being them. He’d spilled enough blood tonight though, enough blood in all his years, even. He felt like he’d earned the right to be able to just sit down every once in a while and give some other young, brash, newbeard charge off to spill blood for no other reason than that’s how men  were made in Skyrim. Too much stock put in a man’s swordarm and not in his brains. Dough-Boy arrived just in time to break Jorwen’s brooding and he was thankful for that. “Any mail? Letters, trinkets, anything?”

“No, none.” He shook his head and reminded himself to write back to his wife soon. She deserved to know what was happening in the camp just as much as he deserved to know how her and their daughter were coming along. “How did you get that name? Dough-Boy?”

“I was apprenticed to a baker ‘fore this. Man said I should get out there and experience something before coming back, do some fighting, bed some girls.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You done any of that?” Jorwen asked, looking up at the boy while spinning his ring round and round on the leather cord he wore it on.

“No.” He shook his head, “I thought it’d be all glory and combat. All I do is bake here and collect mail for the couriers. Figures I come out here to make something of the world and all I get to do is the same old thing I was doing back home.”

“Is it?” Jorwen grunted.

“It is. Thought I’d use this more.” And he patted the rusty cleaver on his belt.

“Picked the wrong company to sign up with for that. Good for you, though, the life I lived isn’t for everyone. Figured the world would be a better place if this business of war was a thing of the past.” Jorwen shook his head and looked at his hands, remembered killing that man tonight, even though he couldn’t defend himself. Maybe they should’ve untied him, maybe he should’ve said sorry, but he wondered if they’d switched places if the man would untie him or say sorry and he found that to be a slim chance. “You go back home after this business is all over and you stay there. Never pick up a weapon again if you can help it.”

“If you say so.” The lad looked like he was anything but convinced as he turned and went back to his business of collecting mail. He sighed and let himself fall back onto his bedroll, taking the leather cord off of his neck letting the ring dangle above his face. Couldn’t afford an amulet of Mara when he was young and just coming back from the war, so they made due with the help of a friend long gone now. That’s what they always did, him and Halla. They were strong, and if you asked Jorwen, Halla was even stronger than him. Strong with the mind, quick with the wit, and that’s where strength really counts. He missed Halla, missed his daughter, Solveig.

He’d drifted off to sleep, it seemed. Farid’s smiling face was hovering above his and he flinched, almost wrapped his hands around Farid’s head and cracked his nose with his forehead before he recognized the bastard. “Ashav wants us.”

“How long was I out?”

“Not long. D’you see that light?” Farid asked.

“What light?” Jorwen asked, cocking his brow.

“That’s what Ashav wants to talk about.” The smile didn’t disappear from his face, “Seemed urgent.”

Jorwen sighed and rolled back onto his arse, where he clutched his chest and let out a long, gravelly cough. His eyes were screwed shut and he shook his head before opening it, hacking again to clear his throat and spitting a gob of phlegm into the dirt. “That cough. Doesn’t sound good.”

“When’s a cough good?” He got to his feet and dusted his pants off. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. Back to business, then. He walked back to Ashav’s tent with Farid in tow as he tied the leather cord back around his neck. It’d be a while before he saw his family again.