Solveig waited in line to get to Ashav and a big sum of gold. It was only men except for her, though that’s how it always was. The hum of whispered conversations was apparent, and she caught snippets. It was always the same as the last, I’ll earn myself a name, I hope I get paid well. When the man in front of her stepped up and signed on he looked at her sidelong. She noticed Ashav even had a look about him as he gave her a once over. Usually men talked about providing for her, stroking her hair under the moonlight after staring for so long. The man who’d just signed on stepped aside so he could watch, probably hoping she’d remember she had shirts drying on the line and a chicken to cook for her husband. Ashav waved his hand, “I’m not sitting here for fun, girl.”

Solveig just nodded and stepped up to Ashav’s desk. He nudged the quill and ink towards her with a forefinger, “I’ve already had three farmers come to me who couldn’t write their own names. I’m hoping you don’t make four.”

“You’ll find I know how to do more than just write. I’m not looking to be a chronicler.” She said, the quill scratching against the parchment of what was to be her contract.

Ashav watched her write and the smallest smile crept across his lips, “I’d hope not, with handwriting like that. Besides, we have a chronicler.” And he thrust his thumb over his shoulder at a tired looking Dunmer hunched over a notebook as he furiously scribbled something. He looked up for but a moment and gave Solveig a tired nod and a smile before going back to work. She looked back to her contract and signed her name on the last line before standing at her full height and tossing the quill down. “Welcome to the company.”

“We have a name?” Solveig asked.

“The company will do for you so long as I’m paying you. We aren’t proper brethren until you prove yourself or die trying.” Ashav said, though more like he was stating facts. The man didn’t strike her as one that needed the threat of force to command respect. He didn’t strike her as a man who needed to do much, really, to command his men’s respect.

“Die trying, methinks.” The man who’d signed on before her said. He sat at his table with a couple others all looking at her like they were waiting for her to scream and stamp her feet. Maybe slap one with an arm like a noodle for insulting a lady. Instead, she kept her teeth together and took a step towards them while they leered at her.

* * *

“What do you reckon, Jorwen?” White-Eye slurred.

“I reckon you’re drunker’n shit.” It had been a fair few bottles passed around in Thrice-Pierced’s memory. Cleftjaw even had a few. A few bottles’ worth. Of course, they’d been doing this every night since they left the Reach so he had doubts that this time around it was about Thrice-Pierced. He should have told Ashav to shove his orders up his ass where the rest of his shit belonged and went back to Markarth. Instead, he told himself that he had a steady flow of coin here. It was true, but being away from family wasn’t worth the shit pay. He was getting angrier by the day, not that he thought about it, and maybe he was giving Ashav too much shit. After all, that smiling arse Farid had said Ashav had got orders he couldn’t refuse. “I’m going for a stroll.”

“Need company?” Cleftjaw looked up at him.

“Why? I look old enough to forget where I’m going and get lost?” Jorwen asked, cocking one of his brows.

“Alright, arsehole. We’ll be waiting here for you.” Cleftjaw said as he fell back onto his bedroll. Jorwen turned and walked away. Out of the warehouse and onto the streets, he looked around for where to go. It’d been some time since he’d been to Windhelm but he didn’t think a place like this would change much in five years. The Candlehearth Hall was bound to be in the same place and he couldn’t miss it. The line to sign on with Ashav’s company had gone beyond the threshold of the place. He pushed past everyone easily and found himself inside. He could’ve drank for free at the warehouse but he needed quieter partners. He flipped a coin towards the tavernkeep and she replaced the coin on the bar top with a big tankard of mead. He wrapped his big paw around it and gulped down some of it, wiping away the wetness on his lips with the back of his hand.

A commotion went up behind him that he hardly payed any attention to. Tavern brawls were a younger man’s game. She heard a woman’s voice though, too familiar not to have a look, “I do this shit for a living, little lads. You feel a need to lie down?” It looked like a puffed up warrior. She was wearing Stormcloak blue and a fair amount of fur. He could swear her bear fur looked familiar. She herself looked familiar. The man she’d hit across the jaw tried to prop himself up on his elbows but she put a boot to his chest and pressed him back to the ground. She turned to Ashav, “I proved myself yet?”

“I’ll let you know when you have. Stop hurting my men.” The old mercenary said as he waved over another new applicant. The woman turned away from the man she had on the ground and Jorwen turned back to his mead. He hoped she stayed away from him, but the Gods must have been due for some entertainment as she fell into the stool next to his.

“Men.” She said. Even without looking at her, he could hear the scowl on her voice. Jorwen just took another gulp of mead.

“Did every one of them wrong you or something?” Jorwen asked.

“Enough of them.” Her tone had only lightened a tad but he figured headway was headway. “What do you know about my problems, old man?”

“I’m old. Any problems anyone has got, I’ve probably had at one point or another.” He looked back at his mead, “Making problems for myself seems to be the one skill I’ve had all my life.”

Things got silent of a sudden. Deathly, cold silence. He looked at her and she had a look on her face that said she was none too happy to be seeing him. The surprise on his face must have been a sight, because for the first time since meeting her today, his daughter had cracked a smile. “Reckon you’ve got some fucking explaining to do, old man.”

* * *

Solveig had her arms crossed as she sat in the corner. Her mother and father hadn’t said much since she’d brought the big man home to her. It was starting to get on her nerves, after years of crying about him never being home she wouldn’t say a word now that he was. Of course, Solveig hadn’t said a word to her father the whole way here, but it wasn’t her he needed to apologize to. It was the woman he was sitting across from, quietly slurping up her porridge and looking a bit uncomfortable. “You were fine talking to me back at the tavern before you found out who I was.”

“Probably because that’s what people do.” Jorwen looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed to slits, “They talk to each other. To be friendly. They don’t smash someone’s face in to prove themselves to strangers.”

“And what business of it is yours whose face I smash in to prove myself to?” Her arms had come uncrossed as she stood to her full height, comparable to her father’s now that she was a grown woman more than five years now. “You’ve been gone more times than you’ve not been. You’ve been gone longer on one job than all the time you’ve been home put together. Don’t waltz in here and try to be a father now.”

“Is that what I did?” Jorwen said, wiping his mouth on a sleeve before standing in front of his daughter, a half head taller than her still, “Because I could’ve sworn an ornery woman with no respect shoved me through the door as if I owed her a thing.”

“Maybe not me. I haven’t forgiven you, no, but you owe her something.” She stuck her chin out at her mother, who only looked at the tabletop. Solveig felt a small sting of guilt now that she looked at her. This wasn’t the reunion her mother wanted, most likely. But it was the only one they’d get if they wanted this old bastard to stay put for once. “Talk to her.”

“I will.” The two of them stared at each other with hard eyes before Jorwen turned away first. He growled as he sat back in his chair. “Halla.” She didn’t answer, just kept staring at the tabletop. Things got quiet again and Solveig returned to her corner. After a time, Jorwen’s big hand crept towards Halla’s small ones and enveloped them. Solveig saw the shimmer of a tear falling from her mother’s eye and some of the ferocity in her own hard eyes had gone out at the sight before her. Solveig had to flutter her eyelids so she could see through a film of wetness. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“You’re going to have to say more than just-”

“Leave us, girl!” Jorwen boomed so suddenly in the silence she couldn’t help but jump. She hadn’t heard that voice since she was a child. To her chagrin, it brought her right back before she composed herself barely and shuffled to the door where she saw herself out. She closed the door gently behind her before turning to look at the street. It wasn’t much, and it was the poorest quarter of the city probably, but it was hers. It was home, or she’d make it one, at least. She’d seen him. She’d finally caught up to him and brought him home. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to keep the tears from streaming out of her face. She had to settle for not letting anyone hear her as she slinked into the alley across from her house. Not once did he say he loved her or looked at her in any way a father should at a daughter he sorely missed. He’d called her girl, not daughter. Was that it, then? Had the old warrior been amongst blood and flayed flesh too long? So be it, she wiped her face and sniffled, taking a deep breath and regaining herself. She needed a drink. Her footsteps carried her towards the Candlehearth and she hoped no one would be able to notice she’d been crying. Wouldn’t do for a woman like her to cry, now would it?

* * *

Her hands were small, but they were warm. They were familiar and belonged to the woman he loved, which made them that much warmer. He tried to look her in her eyes but she wouldn’t meet his. It pained him, thinking this is what he caused. All the good intentions in the world and it all turned to shit. “Halla, please.”

“That is your daughter, Jorwen.” Halla said as she looked up at him. “Your daughter. She takes after you so much. When we first met, you were fierce-eyed, fiery-haired and thick-bearded. You looked every bit the hero from the Sagas and when I beared your child I saw the jealousy in every woman’s eyes. The tailor-boy went off and became a man they once scoffed at and he’d chosen me and not them and I loved you.”

“Halla-”

“I loved you because I thought you were going to settle down with me and little Solveig and be the father you wanted your own to be to you.” She said, her hands trembling but her voice and her eyes were as steadfast as ever, “I didn’t love you because you chose me and not someone else. I didn’t love you because you looked like a strong warrior. I loved you because you were the man I married. The man who saw me as a woman, not a flower to be kept cooped up in my own little vase for protection that he could feed and look at when he wanted.” It was Jorwen’s turn to look at the tabletop and get quiet, “Look at me when I talk to you, Red-Bear.” Her voice got hard and sure as sure, he looked back up at her.

“Halla.” Her words stung him deep. No matter how much he wanted to be able to walk back into Halla and Solveig’s life like nothing had happened, he knew this was how it had to be. He swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, but Halla spoke first.

“You’d rather fight than hold Halla in your arms? And now she’s a grown woman, you missed your chance. Treat her like a woman, Jorwen, because just as she needs to treat you with some respect for being her father and sending your pay to us and risking your neck,” She looked at him from under her black brows with her ice-blue eyes, “She’s traipsed across the whole damned Reach learning how to fight just so she can see you. It doesn’t seem like it any, but that woman needs someone there for her. Before she runs for so long her heart gives out or runs straight into a blade.” At that, they stood together. Halla wrapped as much of Jorwen as she could in her arms and squeezed hard enough to kill a real bear. Jorwen’s heart fluttered as he held his wife after so long. He hadn’t even held her when he was home, and now it felt like they were young all over again and Jorwen had just returned with a fresh bag of coin from Aelfgar. “And Jorwen?” Halla said, and as Jorwen looked down at her she pulled him into a deep kiss the likes of which they hadn’t shared since their first night being married. She broke away and before he could wrap her in his arms and go for more she shoved him towards the door with a smile one part worry and two parts loving, “Go be a fucking father for once.”

“It’s not going to be easy being her father.” He said with a smile.

“It’s not easy being your wife. About as easy as it is being your daughter, I’d think.” But she smiled back at him, folding her arms, “But what is it you always say? Nothing worth having is ever got easily?” She winked and shooed him off. Jorwen saw himself back out onto the street and set off towards the Candlehearth hall. He needed a drink.