By now, the stench of wounds was as normal as the smell of the hearthfire come morn back in Whiterun. The groans and cries of those wounded had become as normal as the chirping of birds or the din of a cozy tavern. Even so, it brought out the last of Jorwen's sympathy for others' pains to see the faces of those whose friends had not lived to heal from their wounds. Choked whispers and misty eyes were the order of the day, but he guessed those were the times. Seemed to be the times for his whole life, being honest. But the only thing keeping him going was the sight before him. He'd been relieved from his shift on the ramparts and rushed to the warehouse straight after Do'Karth told him of his daughter's awakening. She still slept and he wasn't going to wake her, but he looked down on her soft face and new scars. Her soft snore that she'd kept all through her life. To think, his little thane had grown so much. There was a part of him, a part that was woefully small in his youth but had grown steadily with him through the years, that he'd had enough sense to stay home. But he couldn't feed a family on the septims he earned in a failing tailor shop. He had to make up for it somehow. He would, just had to climb one last hill. A big fuck-off hill that it was- made of snow demons- but he'd climbed enough hills in his life, what was one more?
He was taken from his thoughts when his daughter began to stir. She let go a deep sigh and screwed her face up as she stretched, growling with the effort of it. He waited patiently for to open her eyes and see him. She propped herself up on her elbow, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked at him and for a moment, he saw something of surprise in her eyes and took a happy note that the swelling in her face had gone down a healthy bit. The surprise soon turned to that same old dagger-eyed gaze, like the wolf sizing up the old alpha. He knew it because he wore it for near thirty years. "He told you then?" It wasn't quite the eye-wetting reunion but Jorwen had long ago learned to set his expectations of life as low as he could.
"He did." Jorwen said. The sat there, looking at each other for a bit. Jorwen opened his mouth to speak-
"I'm glad." Jorwen was stopped cold and he looked at his daughter, though she didn't meet his eyes for a moment. She turned her blue eyes on his and he didn't see the wolf there, didn't see a hint of fire. For once, he saw those same eyes of the little girl waiting near the door each time he returned for a few days to spend his gild from Aelfgar. He had trouble seeing through the film of wetness and heard his daughter grunting and swearing as she got to her feet. As grand a gesture it was and how much of a testament to how stubborn of a woman she was, she couldn't keep it up for long before her knees buckled from under her. Jorwen, quick as a snake, caught her before she fell.
"You're a damn stubborn girl." He chuckled.
"The Gods want nothing to do with me tramping around in their realms." She smiled sheepishly, red in the face from her failed display of bravado.
"I want you by my side for as long as I can. Just help me help you, eh?" He said, letting her settle with her legs out straight in front of her and resting her head on his leg. "You look good, by the way. Like a warrior worth something now."
"I would've thought I looked like a stable girl got kicked in the face by a horse." She laughed.
"Maybe a bit of that too." He brushed a lock of hair from his view of the scar and the dent in her face, "Damn big horse, though."
"I'm glad you're alive." She said, "However surprised I am that you are and angry to the point of killing you myself if you're so eager for it. Charging off to battle like you do. Damn fool of a man."
"Your mother came to terms with it. Took some time, but she did." He shrugged, "Besides, man's got to stick to what he's good at. Shame as it is, I didn't do much tailoring in my life, truth be told. Sewed a few things, though it was wounds most of the time."
"I'm not my mother."
"Oh, don't I know that." He sighed. He caught sight of Mire in the crowd, then Brittle and Temper soon after. Mire nodded slow as mud and Jorwen frowned, knowing he'd have to get back to the black business. "I've things to get to. I'm sorry, I'll get back soon as I can."
"Sooner you get to those things, sooner you can get back here. Go." She shooed him away and gave him a good-natured parting shove in the back as he left. He went outside and Mire and his lot- his crew, no matter how black a crew it was now, regardless- caught up to him.
"Lots of whispers about town, you know." Mire said, cleaning the nail of his thumb with the tip of his knife, "Care to hear 'em?"
"Can't be the snow-demons got bored and left is one of those whispers, no?" Jorwen said, wincing with his smile. Can't hurt to try at a bit of smiles to start the day off.
Mire's face was untouched apathy at the affairs, as always, "Sadly, no, Chief. Some say they got slaves now, others say they got mercenaries of their own. Can't see why they'd bring hired help though. Some lizards getting uppity and that means they're making everyone else get uppity. Not a boring morning, all things considered."
"Not all's doom and gloom, Chief." Brittle said, a coinpurse in each hand that he was willing to bet the rest of his years were on other peoples' belts naught but a half-hour ago. "Out of war come spoils."
"Why don't you try making an honest gild?" Jorwen spat at them.
"Right, should've killed them first, eh, Red-Bear? The mob's still yelling. Listen close and you can hear it. Fun lot." Mire said, no sign of humor on him. Not that there ever was. Worst part about it is he couldn't say anything. Looking at it from a different angle, he guessed Mire had a point. "Should we get to it, then?"
"Take me to it." He sighed, rubbing at his face. He soon came to a sight of pushing, shoving, punching and glints of steel that meant things had gotten very, very serious. In the midst of it all, a few newbloods of the company tried helping the guards pacify the crowd. He caught sight of Do'Karth standing over a fallen Argonian, yelling in vane at the chaos around him. No doubt everyone else was doing enough yelling of their own to drown it his lonely voice calling for peace. Enough people set to righting wrongs with violence, you'll find the first casualty is their good intentions. As fine an example of a man urging for peace in all things as Do'Karth was right then, he was always told to get as much as he could by trying at talking first. But he always knew the words of an armed man were always heard a bit clearer. At that, he drew his sword and so did the rest of his crew. They shoved through the crowd, and he was pretty sure Temper had broken someone's neck along the way. "What's to do?" He said, standing next to Do'Karth. He did realize that the three men standing behind him grim-faced and hard-eyed didn't look all too peaceful. "We'll, um, try to help."
