Solveig looked into Sevine’s unyielding eyes as she spoke all the good words in the world about her father. She almost didn’t believe the man had missed her that much, but it hurt deep in her breast and only gave her more questions as to why the old bastard just couldn’t stay a tailor. Even so, she held Sevine’s gaze long after the woman stopped talking and she stayed like that for a while. There was strength in those eyes of hers, but something else. And there was a knowledge and wisdom in her words that told Solveig that the Huntress was missing something too. One seeks those with hurts like their own after all. Her mouth moved as if to speak, but nothing came out. The others at the table held no meaning to her, much less everyone around them, and Solveig felt her breath catch in the back of her throat as she looked away finally. “Thank you.” She felt her face getting hot and she raised her cup to her lips only to be reminded of its emptiness. She cursed herself, and just as she rose, Jorwen disappeared downstairs. “I have something I have to do. We, um,” Her hands fussed at her belt as she tried to push out an invitation to further drink and conversation, but instead she settled for a lame, “I’ll be seeing you.”

She couldn’t get downstairs fast enough. She didn’t know if it was that she met a hero of the war or something else, but her heart fluttered at her words and her eyes stayed with her. She swallowed and wiped her face with a hand to collect herself, taking a deep breath and continuing on as if nothing had happened. She sat down at the bar and ordered another whiskey only to have her coins pushed back to her by a big hand and then see the man’s coins being the ones scooped up. “Leif, if you ever-” She turned around but the words were held back by her surprise.

“Whiskey?” His gravelly bass rumbled so deep she could almost feel it. She only nodded as wetness crept around the corners of her eyes. “Whiskey.” Her father told the Keep and he refilled her cup in a flash. Jorwen set himself down next to her and they stayed silent for a while. Neither of them looked at each other, or at least Solveig couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Could have fooled me.” Some of the vitriol had left her voice, though she did try. “Girl, is that what you call me?”

“I hardly know what to call you these days. It’s just,” Jorwen struggled with the words, “to see you so grown. I said it to your mother, I’ll say it to you- I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to need to say more than just-” And a big arm was draped around her shoulder, feeling like a mammoth was pressing down on her as it tightened and pulled her into a hug. She slapped at him weakly, though it felt good to be treated like a daughter for once. No matter that feeling, she couldn’t make it easy for him. You don’t gallivant around Skyrim and expect to have a warm welcome when you come home. At least not from her. “More than just sorry, old man.”

“What should I say then?” Jorwen’s voice came soft and his eyes looked every bit as sorry as he sounded, “Tell an old man.”

“Tell me you’re a suicidal old half-head past his prime.” Solveig said as she laughed through her sad smile. Jorwen let her go and returned to putting both his hands on the bartop. He had a smile of his own and shook his head.

“Maybe I am.” He muttered, that sad smile as he looked at his mead. He took a swallow of it and wiped his lips. “I’d have to be to leave you and your mother. You two are the most beautiful women I have in my life. You’ve grown, my little Thane.”

“So I’m told. I still haven’t forgiven you. Not until you put your sword away and stay with me and ma.” Solveig said, a sternness to her voice.

“I can’t now. Too much gold coming in and it’ll help your ma settle us in here.” Jorwen said, a bit of regret tinging his words.

“I figured you’d say that.” Solveig took a big gulp of her whiskey and put the cup back to the bartop with a clack. “It’s why I signed on with you.”

Her father had erupted into a coughing fit. He wiped the mead he was about to drink off of his chin and spent a moment wiping at his huge beard. He’d had that since she was a girl, it was a shame it’d be getting sticky with the honeywine now. She only smiled and shook her head, “Why in all the Princes’ hells would you go and do a thing like that?”

“Because I’m my own woman and I have a right to do my part to make sure your old ass doesn’t get stuck with a spear.” She said. He couldn’t deny she was a woman, and he couldn’t deny it couldn’t hurt to have another watching his back, but she could see it in his face still. ‘My own daughter? To hell with that!’ She gulped down the rest of her whiskey and bared her teeth at the good burn, “What have you to say now, old man?”

“I say White-Eye’ll shit when he sees how you’ve grown.” Jorwen chuckled before taking another drink.

“I bet Thrice-Pierced’ll be pleased to see me. Reckon I’m the one who could’ve gave him the name Once-Pierced.” Solveig laughed as she remembered the incident with the fork. “How is he?”

“Dead.” Jorwen said.

The smile went from her face, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Would’ve happened sooner or later. The man was due for it, no doubt.” Jorwen sighed, though it caught in his throat as a cough and Solveig could see a hint of sadness in his eyes before he closed them and took a few long gulps of his mead, “Being a fucking idiot will do that to you. You’re not worried? There’s a thousand men all out for us and we’ll be heading back out to meet them if Ashav’s taking on new blood. They’ve killed Thrice-Pierced and more men just as hard.”

“When they kill me I’ll worry.” She smiled to her father before finishing the last of her whiskey, “Besides, I’m no hero. I belong in the shieldwall, not charging in and screaming my head off with a big fuck-off blade like yours.”

“Lots of men die in the shieldwall too.” Jorwen grumbled.

“I’m not lots of men.” Jorwen narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head, a grumbling sigh escaping him.

“Not easy being your father.” He said.

“Not easy being your daughter.” Solveig smiled, “But looky here, I’m still hard at work at it. Where’re you?”

“Right damned beside you.” Jorwen muttered, and he slid a few more gold pieces across the counter, “I’ll need as much drink as I can get with you.”