The rain went unheeded by the hooded Nord, his red locks and great beard spilled out of the fabric around his head. He didn't know why he found himself among the wet stones of the graveyard. Perhaps it was the voices of friends long dead tugging at his sleeve, but the headstones brought him nothing but pain. He knew many men buried here. Some of them were friends he dug graves for, others were enemies. He recognized both by the names in the worn stone and he knew his apologies to either were wasted. Each name he read brought a queue of memories. Half-remembered faces at the campfire, sharing a joke on the march, a slap on the back or the pressing of hands before a battle. Others brought memories of blood and he wanted no more of those. Only the presence of Do'Karth at his side pulled him away from his meandering thoughts. That, and the voice he heard calling his name.

He spun about, catching sight of Mire and his men hanging far back, and then seeing Sevine. She looked like she'd been roughed up, but the important thing was that she still stood. Jorwen rushed to her side, lending an arm to help her stand. Jorwen wasn't a healer, but he knew the wound in her leg needed stitches. "An arrow first and now this?" Jorwen sucked his teeth and shook his head, "It's a wonder you made it through the war, little sister."

Do'Karth had likewise rushed to the woman's side and took note of the gash in her leg. "This one can stitch and dress that, but he needs supplies... and disinfectant." he said, pulling his coat off and offering it to her. "Let us get you somewhere warm and safe, yes?" he asked.

It had not been for Jorwen's strong arm to lend her support, she would've fallen to the ground by now. The adrenaline of the chase had kept the full extent of the pain at bay, but now her leg throbbed like it really had been stabbed with a hot iron poker. She offered him a lopsided smile, and shrugged her shoulders at the face he pulled.

"I would've been dead many times before the Reach. This, this is nothing." She rolled up the pant leg of her trousers as the Khajiit who she had called Rhasha, but was not him, came to take a closer look at the wound, taking the coat from him that he offered. Any warmth she had when she had took off during the foot-chase seeped out of her from the chilling rain. 

"When I came upon the mob, and I saw the lot of you trying to quiet them down, of course not too friendly, but regardless. I thought it would be best to lure a few away. I had four of those lizards chase after me, I took out two with barrels. It was the other two that got me, left my dagger in one of their arms, and kicked the other one where the sun doesn't shine."

"I thought you were another khajiit there, friend, my mistake." She said, a blush coming to her cheeks as she realized that this khajiit looked nothing like Rhasha. Thick, crimson blood oozed out of a quarter-inch deep "J"-shaped hook where the spear had glanced off her skin, and taken a significant chunk out. If she wanted, she could put her thumb in the wound with how wide, and deep it was, but of course, that would be none too hygenic.

"Take me where you need to, I appreciate your kindness. Thank you." Sevine said with a polite nod of her head to Jorwen's khajiit companion.

"Think nothing of it," Do'Karth said with a tired smile. "This one gets mistaken for another more often than he cares to admit. "Let us mend you, then we can focus on the gratitudes, yes?" The khajiit patted himself down, looking for something to use as a makeshift tourniquet, silently cursing to himself for lacking even that.

At the mention of Jorwen and Karth's failure to peacefully disperse the mob, a barb of guilt dug itself into his chest. He looked away from Sevine to gather himself, "There was no peace to appeal to. A shame."

They walked- and limped- in silence for a bit through the rows of headstones. Jorwen looked at each one with the same curiosity and morbid urge as one picks at a scab or scratches at a bandage. He didn't recognize many names, but he did a few. It almost felt like a lead cloak had been lifted from his shoulders when they set foot past the graveyard's threshold and back out into the city. It was another lead cloak that replaced it at the sight of dirty-faced, bloodied, and shambling men and women. A man lay on his back  in the gutter who looked almost dead. Jorwen would not have been surprised if he had been.

"We can go to my home." Jorwen felt odd saying that. It felt more Solveig and Halla's home in which he was a visitor. Still, he knew he had a place at the hearth, but his heart did not feel as such. "There'll be a fire and some food, maybe."

They reached Jorwen's doorstep soon enough and the big man pushed open the door. Arrayed before them was a simple means of living. The hearth was burning before which a bear's fur lay, staring dead-eyed at the licking flames. It cast a light that shone the three chairs in flickering orange, the table in a modest half-light and where the hearth could not cast its light, a lone lantern on the counter near the kettle and stove. Here and there, garlic and other vegetables hung in what was the kitchen, and the place smelled faintly of herbs.

Out of a doorway came a woman whose features under raven hair tied back in a simple bun were weathered but still held a beauty that remained stubborn and held fast through the years. Her hands, though folded daintily on the front of her dress were still those of a working wife and her blue eyes and smile were the most genuine things Jorwen had seen in the past days as they regarded him and his two companions. "Jorwen." She said, and then, "Still alive, my love." As she used to say as she looked at a younger man standing in her doorway in Whiterun.

And just like that young warrior used to say, "Aye." With a nod of the head and a good smile. They embraced, Halla only the height of Jorwen's chest. "I brought guests."

"I can see that." She smiled at Sevine and Do'Karth. "There's cured meats on the table and some cheese. I can cook something, or..."

"What will it be?" Jorwen looked to Do'Karth and Sevine after he helped the wounded woman into a chair at the table.

    Jorwen's words were stark, and stoic, hinting to something that she had missed, perhaps to the cause of the rioters. It left Sevine wondering what truly happened as she had arrived later, or else she would know what his words meant. Instead of pressing the matter on, she let him escort her to his home. She knew that he had a wife, and had met his daughter, Solveig, a fiery woman like herself, one that she liked, and respected. When he pushed open the door, and she peered through the door way, which they soon came to stand in, it reminded her strongly of home. A smell of herbs mixed with the smokiness of the hearth brought her back to the days when she would come back hunting with her father, to see her mother standing over the cooking pot, preparing their lunch. A nostalgic grin appeared on her plump lips, and even a sparkle of homesickness appeared. As he ushered the two of them in, his wife appeared out of a doorway. One could say that the woman had been beautiful in her younger years, Leif would certainly find her attractive, as Sevine's eyes swept over her, but she herself, would say that Jorwen's wife was still a beautiful woman indeed. What she found curious was that, instead of red-hair, like Jorwen, she had black hair pulled back in a bun.
    
[i]'Hm, so that's where Solveig gets her hair, from the old man then?'[/i] She mused inwardly, figuring that his wife would have had red hair as well. If she recalled correctly from their first meeting at Candlehearth Hall, Solveig had different eyes than Jorwen; must be from her mother then.

    When she offered them cured meats with cheese on the table, a smile like a freshly lit candle flickered across her face at the mention of food. It had been a [i]while[/i] since she had a meal. "Maybe something with alcohol to numb this pain, but that sounds delightful as is. Thank you." With Jorwen's aid, she sank into the chair that he guided her to, even more relieved to get off her feet, especially with her leg in the state that it was. 
    
"Jorwen and I know each other from the war, our patrols used to cross paths, and we would exchange information for updates. He said he had a wife, but he never told me how beautiful you were. I've had the chance to meet your daughter as well, Solveig. Forgive me if I don't remember your name correctly, Jorwen's mentioned it before, is it...Holla?" Sevine tipped her head to the side, getting a better look at her from the light of the hearthfire, and with one motion, took her boot off, and rolled up the pant leg of her trousers again for Do'Karth; the bleeding had slowed considerably, but the missing chunk of skin was tender too touch, and throbbed like hellfire.

Do'Karth was still somewhat at a loss for words at the sudden invitation into Jorwen's home; it occured to the khajiit that he wasn't even aware that the man called Windhelm home. He studied the massive bearskin rug, pondering on how large the beast must have been, and if any in the household had taken the beast's life, it would not have surprised him. Nords were crazy in that regard.

The woman who was introduced as Jorwen's wife seemed to be a warm soul, and she didn't seem to be at all phased that Jorwen had brought a khajiit and a bleeding younger woman into their abode, but perhaps it wasn't the first time it had happened. He had served in the civil war, hadn't he? Who knows what manner of chaos that had brought into their lives. Perhaps Sevine, who had claimed to have served alongside Jorwen, was brought here before, but surely the two women would have recognized each other? He realized how tired he was, it was ruining his ability to think objectively and put two and two together. The khajiit was mindful of his posture and bowed his head respectfully at his host. 

"Please, do not trouble yourself with Do'Karth; the siege has to be making food scarce, and he would not wish to impose. This one is humbled at both of your generosity." he gestured to Sevine. "However, any medical supplies, or anything that can sew and disinfect a wound, would be appreciated. This one needs to take care of her."

Halla looked about the kitchen and scratched at her chin, "I reckon anything here could be used to make a poultice." She leaned forward and examined Sevine's bleeding leg. "If you need any help, only ask. It's not my first wound I've come across-" her eyes darted to Jorwen and rolled back to Sevine's leg, "-so we needn't get too moist-eyed at Sevine's fate."

She smiled at the shieldmaiden and to Do'Karth, wrapped up in his simple robes. "So, you are a healer...and a Khajiit." and then she looked to Sevine, "And you, a shieldmaiden. My husband is fond of disappearing for times and bringing things home. I take it you fought for Ulfric," she asked Sevine before turning her attention to Do'Karth, "and you are a monk?"

Do'Karth chuckled. "Not quite, no. Do'Karth is not a monk. Simply a wanderer, this one's garment is typical amongst his people in Anequina. Healing is simply a skill this one picked up on his travels; getting wounded on the road often means you fend for yourself."

"Of course, I wouldn't have written my name in blood to serve those Imperials. Namely, I was upset with the Thalmor, what with them banning worship on Talos. Don't worship him myself, but I know many folk here that do, and it's not right for them to be persecuted because of the some piss-skin, knife-eared blokes say so." She responded with a nod of her head to Halla.

"From one who lived under Thalmor, ah, 'benevolence', this one can assure you they are even more insufferable when they occupy your homeland. They are more than happy to use khajiit as sword fodder, but understanding, let alone respecting, our customs? Takes a rather rare sort of altmer." Do'Karth observed, looking down towards Sevine with a wink. 

A broad grin appeared once more on her face at the khajiit's words, she liked him, and in the back of her mind, she wondered if his fur was as soft as Rhasha's. She had half the notion to reach out and touch him, but strangled the urge, as she hadn't asked him permission, nor did she know him quite well yet, then again, she had hardly known Rhasha when she asked to pet him as well.

"I served the Empire for a good few years of my life. I fought on when my cohort was destroyed near Anvil, lived like an animal being hunted and hunting down Dominion troops for those years." A cascade of memories fell upon him and he cleared his throat, unfurling his fist and pretending to wipe something from the table, "I fought in the Northern Legions with Ulfric, so when he needed a sword, I picked mine up and went with him to the Reach and then to war against the Empire we both shed blood for." He shook his head, "A damn shame that business was then, a damn shame the business in Skyrim is now, what with the Dovahkiin's way of doing things."

"You look young enough to be my daughter, Sevine." Halla chuckled as she set to cooking what modest food they had, given the siege, "Did you hold a sword for Aelfgar like my husband here or was it another Chief you swore to?"

"Aye, that it is." She agreed with Jorwen, nodding her head slightly, "Don't know how I feel about Thur now, don't quite like how he's handling things either." Sevine turned her head to look at Halla, and smiled at her comment of being close to age to Solveig.

"I suppose we're about the same age, give or take a few years. I'm 26 now, though, if I'm right, Solveig is two or three years older than me?" She carried on to answer Halla's question about who she served under, " 'fraid not, though I know of the man. No, I served under a different Chief, his name is Jormar the Long-Legged, man could run like the wind, but was thick as a tree."

"Ah, I remember the man. He raced Rulf the Wheel when we were camped together in Hjaalmarch. Close race, but Jormar won. I wrestled Burly Borvar and mashed his face in the dirt, but not before he damn near ripped my arms off." Jorwen smiled to be thinking of the old times, and good memories, at that. "What about your travels, eh? You've a few stories to you, have to." Jorwen smiled at Do'Karth before cutting a slice of cured meat and folded it around some cheese.

"Nothing quite as heroic as Sevine or yourself, but this one's been around." Do'Karth smiled, working on clearing the area around the wound. He'd probably have to get her to remove her trousers to properly bandage it, or see if some of Solveig's spare clothing fit if he cut the pants leg off. "Do'Karth has travelled quite far and wide, seeing all there was to see in Cyrodiil, and Hammerfell, and even High Rock. This one has dueled knights, raced sand steeds, and on occasion, went hunting for lost relics for a fair deal of coin... and somewhere to keep a roof over this one's head." he grinned. "This one isn't sure what kind of tale you're in the mood for, but he has many."

    Sevine inhaled sharply as Do'Karth cleansed the wound, "Oh Mara help me." She whistled as she gripped the chair tightly, her knuckles turning white. "That hurts a lot, y'know?" She said, speaking to Do'Karth. "Are you able to mend this properly, with me like this?" She asked, gesturing to her trousers, the fabric was long, and being rolled up as they were was proving a bit encumbersome to for the khajiit. Sighing, she tipped her head back, her jaw clenched tight that it ached.
    
"Tell us anything. It'll keep my mind off my leg. You said you raced sand steeds? Are those a type of horse, or another creature entirely?" 

"Sorry, pain goes hand in hand with healing, no?" Do'Karth said apologetically as Sevine recoiled from the disinfectant that Halla had finished whipping up for him. "This one will be sure to be much more gentle when you are properly stiched and dressed." He tilted his head, considering she was voicing concerns about the trousers. "Do'Karth will have to remove that leg... of the trousers, of course! That or you may wish to remove them if you wish to keep them for later, but this one could always sew the leg back on. It just will not be pleasing to the eye."

    A chuckle escaped her lips at his suggestion of cutting the leg of her trousers off. "Oh no, that's one thing I won't stand for. I prefer for my clothes to be in tact, so I don't look like a hooligan, eh? Gimme a second here." She pushed herself onto her feet, careful to avoid putting too much weight on her injured leg, and unlaced the strings at the front of her trousers. A crimson heat appeared on the apples of her cheeks as she shimmied out of her pants and cast them onto the floor. Fortunately, her red tunic was long enough to spare her the shame of having her backside exposed, she didn't care much for underwear, unless of course, it was that certain time of the month... 
    
"There we go, don't mind me now. I've suffered more shameful experiences than this." She said as she sank back into the chair and let Do'Karth carry on uninterupted.

He continued to work, the area free and disinfected. "Prepare, this will hurt." he said as a word of warning, the needle piercing skin as he began his work in stitching the Nord back together. As per her request, he kept talking to take her mind off the pain, which Do'Karth was all too familiar with. It was part of why he began to help others with his limited medical knowledge to help them recover from similar trials he endured. 

    His words for her to prepare, that it would hurt, did no justice. Of all the times she had been pierced with arrows, cut with the blades of swords and axes, Sevine still didn't like the sensation of being stitched up. She quietly wished that she had been knocked out for this part, instead she pulled her lower lip over her teeth, and pressed hard. She forced herself to focus on his words, and found that Do'Karth's voice reminded her of Rhasha'Dar, enchantingly soft, with a slight honeyed purr to his words.

"The sand steeds are just a nick name for the Yokudan Charger, a breed of horse native to Hammerfell. Swift, beautiful creatures they are, they can run without tiring and with little water even across the Alik'r Deserts. Do'Karth was fortunate enough to be in Gilane when a famous racer, Jahan Hamal, injured his leg and could not participate in one of the big annual races in three weeks time. So, having the virtue of more less being in a similar situation as we are in now, was offered a chance to take his place." Do'Karth grinned, looking up at Sevine with mischievious orange-tinted eyes, "So, this one agreed before fully realizing that he had never, not once, ridden a horse in his life. Wagons, as it turns out, do not count. So Do'Karth had to learn how to ride in three weeks, and then participate in a race across the vast expanses of the Alik'r Desert."

"What a dangerous prospect to get yourself into!" Sevine exclaimed, finding it rather hilarious that Do'Karth had never ridden a horse before accepting the opportunity to enter a race for an injured horseman.

"This one wishes he could say he had a heroic upset that won the entire race, but it was simply fortuitous that Do'Karth even finished at all! By the time the race was completed, his water was depleted and the sun and heat had taken their toll. Do'Karth grew up in a arid, desert-filled region, so believe this one when he tells you that Redguards may as well be fireproof because this one slept for a solid day and drank as much water as they would give him! Do'Karth decided to stay, and he participated in a few more races, even after Jahan recovered and raced again himself. It was a warm time in this one's life, he will remember it fondly." The khajiit concluded, admiring his stitch work. He applied a bit more of the poultice to the wound and began to bandage it. 

    For the duration that Do'Karth told her his mesmerizing tale of racing on the desert horses of Alik'r, she found it entertaining to hear his tale. The tugging of the needle and thread eventually dulled to an annoying pain, she found it more bearable, and watched him work, for a khajiit he had a gentle, delicate way of stitching of her wound. It would be a scar nonetheless, and this wasn't the first by any means. "I thought all Khajiit's could survive even the harshest of conditions of the mighty desert. But perhaps that is why the Redguards are dark in color, and your kin still have their fur?" She mused with a light chuckle. 

"We can." Do'Karth chuckled. "But even we have conditions we disapprove of. Our fur helps us shed heat; believe it or not, Do'Karth is barely protected from the cold.There, how do you feel?" he asked. 

    As she peered down into his amber colored eyes, her gaze wandered over him, taking in how his coat was the color of rust, with an underlying brown tone, stripes marked throughout. Her eyes travelled back to his face, and noted the scar that ran from his left cheek all the way up to his left ear, where there was a curious notch. She had forgotten that he had said something, as she felt the urge to stroke his ear just like she had done with Rhasha'Dar. Her hand lifted from the side of the chair where she had gripped the edge of it tightly, to Do'Karth's scar. Her hand hovered inches away from his face, before she remembered where she was, and who was present. Immediately, her hand withdrew like a snake had taken a bite, and again a red flame spread across her face. She gave a slight cough, and recalled the words he had spoke to her.
    
"It doesn't burn as much, but it certainly aches." Glancing down at her leg, Sevine admired the bandages, he had done a good job, nay, a fantastic job. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the wound would heal fine without infection, of course, as long as she kept up with keeping the linen clean, and the wound washed.

Do'Karth watched as Sevine seemed to fall into a trance, her hand reaching towards his scar or clipped ear. He did not move to interrupt her, but something brought her to her senses and she recoiled before touching him. He recognized the blush across her fair complexion well enough; she was embarassed.

"That will pass, in time." The khajiit reassured her, reaching up to place his hand on hers. She seemed to desire, or need, phyical reassurance. "May Do'Karth ask why you reached for him?"

    Her eyes darted to his hand upon hers, it was warm, and soft, due to the fur of course, she found the sensation odd, but when he questioned her as to why she had reached for him. Her face felt even hotter when he had asked her the question she feared to answer. Swallowing hard, she licked her lips, and decided to answer him as honestly as possible.
    
"You may think me odd, Do'Karth. I have met another khajiit, and he entertained my idea of petting him. It turns out, that your kin have extremely soft fur... I couldn't resist. My apologies. I suppose it's not the nicest thing to do, Khajiits are not common housecats, and deserve not to be treated as such." She confessed, it felt odd hearing the truth come out of her mouth about her infatuation with Khajiit and their fur.

"Odd? Only in the sense you keep such an open mind for a Nord." Do'Karth chuckled and smiled warmly at the flustered woman's explanation. "The battle wounds and bold behaviour is rather on point, however. And no, we are not house cats, but it is much nicer that someone prefers to touch us instead of beating us. If you feel the need, Do'Karth permits you to, ah, pet him." He said, feeling immediately strange about having uttered the words. 

"My mother and father raised me proper, or so I like to believe. Under the eyes of Mara, they taught me to love everyone, and everything. That if I treat my sister with kindness and love, then I should do the same for someone I do not know. I do not judge anyone unless they have wronged me unjustly. Thankfully, a fist to the head usually solves that problem if it comes that far. As for my traits, I cannot deny that. I still feel the fire to fight, to serve, and to protect my country. My love of this land runs deep." She paused in her speech, and again, her eyes locked onto Do'Karth. He [i]did[/i] say that if she ever felt the need...

    Her hands darted out, and began to rub both of his ears simultaneously. How soft they were! Almost like silk! A fierce grin appeared on her lips as she proceeded to pat his head before returning her hands to herself. "Khajiit ears, are especially soft. Perhaps I should write a journal with a description of all of the ears I have touched. Call it, 'The Allure of Khajiiti Fur: How Soft is it Really?' " With that, Sevine let out a deep guffaw, and doubled over in her chair, clutching at her sides.
    
"Do'Karth I thank you, thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope that I can call you a friend here on out." With that she extended her hand for him to shake.

Do'Karth tensed as the Nord reached out with uncontained enthusiasm and began to fondle his ears, being both a pleasant feeling, yet one he tensed up at. It was hard not to feel like a household pet at her touch. "Perhaps writing that book can wait until after this one is dead; Do'Karth rather not be the target of rug collectors' affections." he said, forcing a smile.

The khajiit reached into the front of his budi and pulled his amulet of Mara free, dangling it for Sevine to inspect. "This one likes to have a reminder of mercy and compassion with him at all times. Sometimes one deserves a second chance, no? You are most welcome, and yes, Do'Karth would be honoured if he could also call Sevine a friend." He took her hand and returned a firm, but loose, handshake. His world was slowly expanding. First Jorwen and Solveig, and now Sevine? He had never expected himself to become friends with so many Nords.

Jorwen almost couldn't breathe, the tension was so thick. When Sevine dropped her skirts(? Trousers?) Jorwen looked away, giving a few fake coughs that erupted into a couple wheezing hacks. His old wound was acting up. He saw Halla turn around with an eyebrow raised and her eyes widened when she saw Sevine, her reaction a sight that Jorwen almost laughed aloud at. She quickly turned around and began humming a bit tunelessly while she went back to preparing the food. "Do we have any mead left?"

"Aye, of course, right next to all the expensive whiskey your daughter returns home with." She disappeared into another doorway and the sound of clinking glass could be heard, faint whispers under it. "Where she gets the gold, I'll never know." She said as she returned, setting down three bottles of mead on the table. "And do be quiet. That, um, Altmer girl is sleeping. Solveig is doing the same, she got here and was asking for you, but went to bed when you never arrived."

Jorwen was almost physically pained by that. After Sevine and Do'Karth left and if she woke after, he'd be here for her. "I apologize. There was a mob, the guards needed help, and..."

His explanations petered out and died when Halla only nodded and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. There was a measure of disappointment in her eye that Jorwen averted his gaze from. A pantsless and handsy Sevine was the only other view, so his eyes made like the ground was interesting. "Just try to spend some time with her, is all. Remember what I said, Jorwen." Halla cleared her throat and smiled, "Anyway, the meal's coming along. I only need to heat the broth and we'll have a good stew."

    At the mention of Solveig, Sevine's head whipped up, and her mouth dropped open like a floodgate. "Solveig's here? Ach, such a shame she's sleeping... I'd like to have a talk with her, I haven't seen her since the battle. How is she?" She inquired. 

"I couldn't tell you with that woman." Halla rolled her eyes and shook her head, Jorwen knew how that felt like with Solveig. "She came in, asked for Jorwen and then went to bed. She wouldn't even look me in the eye. Do you know what she's on about?"

"We'll talk about that later. It's a complicated thing, Halla, and not something we should be dragging these two into."

"Fair enough." She said. The night continued on with good laughs had, something Jorwen had not had in a good while. He was thankful, reconnecting with his daughter, seeing his wife again, in the company of two friends and wearing a sincere smile for the first time in months, it felt like.

By the time Sevine and Do'Karth left their house the mead supply had been near halved. Jorwen, invigorated by the mead and the feeling of freedom it gave him, had become infatuated with his wife. It was almost as if he was seeing her in her youth with the eyes of the young man he'd once been. Half-wild with some iron in him. He had to sleep on the floor, swaddled in the bear-fur rug for not leaving Halla alone. It seemed she wasn't in the mood.