Whitney Writes…

Lilija stared out the kitchen window, her pale blue eyes fixed upon the mountains in the distance. It was hard to imagine here, in her little quiet life, that things far bigger than herself existed out there. As a girl, she had always yearned for more. And yet, Elisif was the one who’d gotten it. Her stomach turned sour at the thought of her little sister. Or was it just her post-pregnancy heartburn acting up again.

She turned away from the window at the thought of her little one. Liam. He lay in his little crooked basinet, sleeping soundly. It had been the only thing she had asked Odfel to do in all the months she had awaited Liam’s arrival, she had made all the other preparations, and still Odfel had failed to do it properly. An utterly useless man he had turned out to be. When he bothered to come home at all, these days, she thought.

But, no, she knew it was the thought of Elisif, up there in her big fancy castle, surrounded by servants and fawning courtiers, that now made Lilija feel ill. They had never gotten on as children, and now, with the great social divide between their lifestyles, the Snow-Shod sisters would never see eye-to-eye again. Lilija would also never admit that her mother had tried to make a more prestigious marriage for her eldest daughter, but Lilija had refused, declaring she would marry for love. As though she knew better. She snorted, Odfel certainly didn’t love her. He perhaps enjoyed the convenience of her, a wife, when he wasn’t enjoying the convenience of someone else.

Odfel had come home smelling like her the last three months of Lilija’s pregnancy. He was still coming home relatively regularly those days. He was still trying to sell the illusion that he was a loving husband. Lilija had heard from Gaila, Grogmar’s wife, that she had stopped drinking ale in the evenings with Odfel and switched to mead just a few weeks before Liam’s birth. Lilija had always thought perhaps she would have a houseful of children and that would quiet the noise inside her. But, it turned out the gods had plans for Liam to have, likely many, siblings, but from equally as many mothers.

Lilija shook her head, hoping to clear the nagging thoughts. She needed to be making a massive sweet roll, Liam was turning one in exactly two days. But she found it difficult, as her mind wandered. Perhaps a walk would do her some good. A hike into the foothills of the Velothi Mountains, perhaps. She carefully wrapped Liam in his heavier blanket and little coat, then placed him in his sling that bound him to her breast. He always seemed happiest when he woke from his naps in the fresh air.

She slipped out the back door and picked her way up the rocky slope on an animal track that lead away from the small village, settlement, really. Three buildings huddled together, along with a mine, certainly did not constitute a “village”. The air smelled crisp and fresh, cool and refreshing. Her leather boots gave her sturdy footing on the shale-covered path, giving her confidence to stride up the mountainous path. Lilija caressed Liam’s little blond head, daydreaming of the sturdy young man he would become. She would never let him work in Redbelly Mine. She wouldn’t stay in Shor’s Stone at all, if she could arrange it. She wondered how her mother and father would feel about her returning to Riften… It would be nice for Liam to be raised close to his grandparents and uncles. Anywhere that was far away from Odfel, she supposed. But… had she burnt that bridge too many times for that?

A meadow with soft grass opened into the cliff side. The soft, green grass was dotted with tiny white flowers and there was a southeasterly facing vista offering a picturesque view towards Riften. Home. Her eyes began to burn with the threat of tears. It was such a strange feeling, this yearning for home she had. A home that she was never quite certain if it had actually existed. Lilija always looked back on it with such fondness, but her childhood had been rocky, at best. She had always been rebelling against something or someone. For as long as Lilija could remember, it had been her mother. She could still remember the blows they had come to about Lilija’s marriage…

The Snow-Shod family had still been enjoying the glow of the aftermath of their Royal Wedding. They were sought after by royalty and nobility all across Skyrim, and even across the southern borders into Cyrodiil and Morrowind to the east. The Black-Briar’s were even coming courting at Snow-Shod Manor. There were rumors circulating around town that Maven was eyeing Lilija for Sibbi and Asgeir for Ingun.

With Elisif freshly out of the house, Lilija was feeling restless around the farm. She had joined the Shield Maidens of the Riften Guard and was showing promise in her training. But she had still felt… bored. It had been an insult that Elisif had gotten the marriage, the greatest marriage, first in the family. Neither Asgeir nor Unmid were wed, and obviously neither was Lilija. She felt spitted and forgotten. Overlooked once again for the Jewel of Riften.

When a troop of young men had come down to the City Guard barracks from the north, men of Jarl Ulfric, they said, Lilija’s blood was set a blaze with excitement. Every night she was sneaking out and to the tavern in town, drinking until she could hardly see straight. She flirted shamelessly with any man in uniform, and when one finally took notice, she was elated. Her first warning should have been that he was taking interest in her. She was barely more than a girl.

The way he had smiled at her, with his dark hair and pale eyes, saying he was called Odfel, had made her swoon. The following weeks saw Lilija skipping family dinners and parties to be with him. When he had whispered those words to her, that he loved her, Lilija had wanted to scream. She had been beside herself, wondering when on Nirn she had become on of those girls? When had she become like Elisif? But he saw her. He chose her. It was an intoxicating feeling.

When he had breathlessly asked her to marry him one night, Lilija was taken aback. They had only known one another for a few months. But he vowed that he knew she was the one for him, that his troop was getting called back to Windhelm in the coming days, and he was certain he could not bear it if she did not come back with him. That he would defect, abandon his post within the ranks, to stay here in Riften.

And it was then that Lilija knew she did not wish to remain in Riften.

“Yes,” she’d whispered back, just as breathlessly, “I will.” And then he had kissed her again.

The following evening, the Snow-Shods were hosting a grand gala. Her mother and father were entertaining some Duke, or was it a Count?, from Cyrodiil. Her mother had made some passing comment about a big announcement being made that night. Lilija had rolled her eyes, rubbing her fingers across her cheek where her skin still felt electric from Odfel’s touch. Something for Asgeir, or perhaps Unmid, no doubt. While she would remain forgotten.

Lilija had snuck Odfel into the house, having decided she would announce their engagement. She would seize her own moment. It was one of the few times Lilija had allowed her mother to dress her. And the gown her mother had gone with was quite fetching. It was a dark blue satin, with a deep, curving neckline, embroidered with diamonds. She perfumed her hair and her skin and her mother wove her thick, golden locks into a luscious looking braid.

Her mother was eyeing Lilija in the mirror as her fingers worked quickly on her hair. “You are acting strangely agreeable,” her mother quipped. She gave her daughter’s hair a gentle tug. “What are you up to, Lilija?”

Lilija met her mother’s gaze in the mirror, holding it unwaveringly. “Nothing, Mama,” she had said sweetly. “I’m just happy for you and Papa’s big night.”

Her mother pursed her thin lips. Nura Snow-Shod’s white hair was swept back in an elegant, curled manner. She shook her head to get her long locks back over her shoulders so she could keep her fingers in her daughter’s hair. “Forgive me, darling girl, if I do not believe you.”

Lilija’s smile had simply widened. She could sense the new life she would have. She could taste it. She would travel back to Windhelm with Odfel, be a decorated soldier’s beloved wife, welcome their first child – it was still early, she had not told Odfel of this development just yet – and then, once they were well and truly settled, she would join her husband in the ranks of the new army joining to fight for Skyrim’s freedom from the Empire.

Her mother tsked, clucking her tongue, but a smile was appearing on her face. “Especially when you grin like that, Lilija.”

In the end, it would not matter that Elisif had married first. Lilija would be the one to deliver the first of the newest generation of Snow-Shod’s. Elisif always scoffed when Lilija said their entire lives were competitions, but now she would see it for herself. Lilija’s child would be the favorite grandchild, because it would be first.

As the evening progressed, Lilija found she was enjoying herself more than she had anticipated. She made a great show of flirting with every nobleman that came within earshot of her. She caught Odfel looking green with jealousy and she could not help but feel herself fueled onward. Due to her absorption in her flirtations, however, Lilija missed when Odfel’s expression turned dark, and perhaps dangerous, with jealousy.

Because if she had noticed, Lilija often thought that she would not have gone ahead with her plan. She would have let her mother continue to parade her about in front of all those gathered nobility, offer her off to the highest bidder, pass her child off as a wedding night babe, and who knows, perhaps she would have lived a happier life.

But, alas, no. She had missed that look of contemptuous hatred on the face of her “beloved” as she played the part they had discussed together. And she had gone ahead with it all…

At the peak of dinner, Lilija had stood at her place on the dais. She had raised her glass confidently, tapping her silver knife against the rim, gathering the attention of those gathered in her parents’ great hall. All eyes in the hall had slowly turned towards the high-pitched chime of silver on glass.

Lilija had smiled broadly. She held up her glass as a toast. “You have all traveled so far to be here with my parents and I,” she began, “in the hopes of finding little ol’ me a respectable husband.” Lilija felt her mother shifting uncomfortably beside her – she knew something was coming. “Well, I am pleased to announce that I have found one.” She gave a little laugh as she saw all the gathered young men sit a bit more upright. “Oh no,” she chuckled, “don’t look so eager, it’s none of you. As a matter of fact, none of you needn‘t have traveled all this way. For I had already found him.”

“Lilija…” her mother had said in a warning tone.

Lilija held out her arm, as though she were inviting someone to her. “Odfel, my darling,” she called to the crowd, “won’t you join me?”

By the time she had spotted him near the back, near her brothers, Odfel had managed to collect himself, to rearrange his mask. By the time Lilija’s eyes fell upon him, Odfel had succeeded in looking the part of besotted lover. He moved forward through the crowd, his eyes locked with Lilija’s.

“I shall be marrying Odfel Free-Winter,” she said, her voice carrying across the stunned faces gathered. Lilija could sense the rigidity of her mother beside her. Her father was frozen in place. Her gaze slid from Odfel, walking across the hall, to her mother and father beside her. “And we shall have our first child after the first of the year,” she added, the final nail.

The hall and her parents erupted at the same moment. Angry voices rolled across the hall in waves; her father had jumped up, sending his chair toppling off the dais; her mother’s hand fluttered to her breast as she gasped.

“Come with me,” her father growled, grabbing Lilija by the arm. He motioned to his wife, “You get him,” he snapped, also motioning to Odfel. Lilija attempted a brief, half-hearted protest, but allowed her father to drag her from the great hall.

Her nerve waivered when her father brought her to his study, which had three separate rooms between them and the great hall. Her father sat her roughly down in one of the arm chairs by the fire and Odfel in the other.

“What in Talos’ name are you playing at, girl?” her father growled. “And who the bloody hell is this?” Vulwulf Snow-Shod jabbed his thumb towards Odfel.

“Is it true?” her mother asked weakly. “Are you really throwing all of my hard work away for… for him?” Nura Snow-Shod motioned helplessly at Odfel. It was a pointless question, having announced the baby had sealed their fate.

Her mother had been distressed, her father furious. But Lilija and Odfel had wed before the week was out. Before the month was out, Lilija was packing her things for her new life in Windhelm. It wasn’t until they were in the carriage and on the road that Odfel disclosed to his new wife that they were not returning to Windhelm, that he had, in fact, been discharged from the army and had found a small house in Shor’s Stone. And Odfel had let loose his anger about what she had pulled at the party, the baby he had not known about. How she had trapped him.

By the time they had arrived in Shor’s Stone, Lilija had new bruises and had lost the baby that no one had believed she carried.

And then she was the one who was trapped.

Lilija smoothed Liam’s golden hair. She hadn’t been back to Riften since, though her mother had invited her on many occasions; Lilija had always refused, as Odfel was not welcome. It had been a long time since she had thought about that day. That loss. She gazed out at the landscape, felt the familiar prickle on her skin of the land calling to her. Perhaps it was time, time to free herself from her cage. It had been long enough, she had gotten Liam. Odfel was scarcely home these days, having taken up with his fellow miner, he would never notice they were even gone.

When Liam’s blue eyes popped open, Lilija smiled down at him at the little grunts he made as he woke. He snuggled in tighter, his little fingers coiled around Lilija’s long, golden braid. He gave a little squawk, and Lilija giggled.

“Happy wakings, my little love,” she said softly. Liam squawked again. “Are you a hungry boy?” Another squawk, followed by a burble of bubbles. “So hungry you could eat the Throat of the World??”

Lilija laughed as Liam buried his face in her chest, wriggling around like a little piglet. “Let’s get home and see how our stew is doing, shall we?” she rose from her seat, and wound her way back down the path to Shor’s Stone.

The village was quiet. The clanging of Filnjar’s iron hammer on his anvil could be heard, echoing across the mountain foothills. Smoke billowed from the chimney at her house, no doubt the likes of which was feeding and keeping Odfel warm and fed at this very moment. And probably the other miners of Redbelly, as well, as a makeshift barracks had been added to her house.

Lilija paid it all no mind, however, and just quietly went to her own, small house. It was the smallest in the little village, but it served Lilija perfectly well. Grogmar and Gaila lived downstairs, in the cellar, she and Odfel had lived upstairs. Upon the rising disinterest of Odfel, however, Lilija had taken to inviting Grogmar and Gaila upstairs with her more and more often. It was now to the point where the four of them shared the living quarters on the main level, and Grogmar had built a small loft for Lilija and Liam to sleep in.

As Lilija swung open the front door, she was greeted by billowing smoke and acrid scent.

“By the Nine!” she shouted.

“Don’t you worry, I’m here,” came Gaila’s voice.

“Gaila!” Lilija cried, “You shouldn’t be in here with this!”

“Someone had to see what you left smoking in this pot,” Gaila said. There was not a hint of chastising in her voice, but Lilija still cringed, imagining how Odfel would have reacted.

“I’m sorry,” Lilija said, pulling Liam’s wrap over his face before plunging into the house to open windows. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No sense apologizing,” Gaila said, her voice tinged with amusement, “it’s your pot, after all.” As the smoke began to clear, Lilija could see Gaila before the fireplace, pot arm pulled out from the fire, and she was poking around in the blackened remnants of Lilija’s cooking pot with a wooden spoon. “I just wish you’d had the thought to tell me you’d left something on, I could have checked on it. Instead, I was a proper royal lady and took a nap with Garrik.”

Lilija sighed. “Which was exactly why I foolishly didn’t tell you.” Lilija cursed herself for her lack of thinking. She could have burnt the house down with Gaila and her newborn son in it. “I’m such a fool,” she added.

Gaila turned to her friend and housemate. She strode across the room and placed her hands firmly, and a bit roughly, on Lilija’s shoulders. “No, listen here, girl,” said the Orc woman sternly. “That oaf of a man you married used to beat you up plenty, you’ve had enough of that. Don’t you go keeping at it now that he’s moved on. It was an honest mistake, no one was hurt, you apologized (though you didn’t need to), let’s move on and have something to eat, yes?”

Tears were burning Lilija’s eyes as she attempted to look everywhere but at Gaila. “That was all we had until Odfel’s next pay,” she said quietly, her hand over Liam’s head as though it would shield him from the prospect of going hungry.

“That’s why you’re going to eat with us downstairs,” Gaila said. “I made Groggie’s favorite to celebrate his return to the mine since Garrik’s birth.”

“I couldn’t intrude,” Lilija protested.

“You can, and you will,” Gaila said simply.

The meal Gaila had prepared was delicious. Lilija had never had traditional Orsimer cuisine before, but she found it incredibly hardy and comforting. Liam enjoyed the chicken drummie he had been given to gnaw on; brandishing it around as though it were a little sword, much to the amusement of the adults surrounding him. The veggies retained their crispness, which Lilija adored, not becoming mush like in Nordic cooking. She had been a bit apprehensive about this meal, Grogmar was Odfel’s co-miner, after all, and Lilija had worried how long this living arrangement would do. Grogmar had initially seemed surprised to see Lilija descending the steps into the cellar – which the pair had gone to the great effort of decorating like a traditional Orc Chief’s Longhouse – but he had very quickly turned to warmth to greet her.

Grogmar steepled his thick fingers above his plate, his worn and dry elbows resting on the thick, wooden slab of a table. He locked eyes with Lilija, and she braced herself for the letdown, they were leaving. Or that this wouldn’t happen again. Grogmar cast a look beside him, to his wife, and she nodded with a smile, rocking little Garrik gently.

“Lilija,” Grogmar began.

“I know,” she quickly cut in. “You feel the strain of your friendship with Odfel, you must stay true to it. He was a brother that took you both in when you were fallen on hard times. I know you owe him. I’m just sorry to see you go.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Grogmar said slowly, once it was obvious Lilija was silenced. “We do not plan on leaving, I mean, unless you were to wish us to.” He cleared his throat. “No, what I was going to say was that I am growing increasingly frustrated by Odfel’s treatment of you. As far as I am concerned, I owe him nothing. I have been taking care of – though, rather poorly – his wife for nearly the past two years. And that is what I wish to address here. You have provided a safe haven for my family to rest. I would now like to provide, properly, a safe haven for you. And Liam. I know you are not, nor do I wish you to act as one, but I shall care for you as though you were one of my own wives. You will dine with us regularly. You and Gaila can make meals together. Do things with the boys together. Act as sisters.”

Lilija stared dumbly at Grogmar.

“What Groggie forgot to say,” Gaila jumped in, “is that none of this is a demand. It is simply an offer. You are in an impossible position. You once helped us, so now, let us help you. Let us combine our households. Share the household duties, you and I, and Groggie here will provide for us.” She smiled at Lilija. “What do you say?”

Lilija could already feel the sting in her eyes as tears threatened. She held Liam a little tighter. “I… I think that sounds wonderful.”

While Gaila and Lilija cleaned up the remnants of the delicious meal, there was a commotion building out in the village center. Grogmar hastily went to go investigated, and when he did not return by the time they were done, Lilija and Gaila followed. Lilija had Liam on her hip, Gaila had Garrik cradled in her arms.

There was a swarm of Legion soldiers, blustering around the village. Filnjar and Grogmar were in heated discussions with a burly man that appeared to be the commander of the soldiers. They were demanding access to the houses.

“You cannot just enter private homes!” Grogmar shouted.

“That one has a forge, it’s clearly a business,” the commander growled.

“I conduct business outside,” Filnjar snarled, attempting to position himself between the other soldiers and the path to his home.

Lilija spotted Odfel and her across the crowd. There was a pang in her heart as she saw that she cradled a bundle of blankets with a shock of dark hair sticking out. So, his new family was well under-way. Darkly, Lilija thought it was a good thing the only other woman in the village was Gaila, so Odfel likely wouldn’t run off on Sylgja, like had on her. Good for them, she thought, turning her attention back to the increasingly hostile encounter between them.

“The bloody High King’s been murdered,” the commander shouted, “that Stormcloak bastard is out here somewhere; I don’t care if these peasants assault you,” he roared, “search the damn houses.”

Before any of the Shor’s Stone’s residents could react, all the soldiers began moving at once. Grogmar was punched and then elbowed violently in the face before being thrown to the ground. Filnjar was tackled and brought down in a heap. Lilija was barely able to sidestep the man in armor that was barreling towards herself and Gaila to their home behind them. Poor Gaila had slower reflexes and was knocked to the ground, Garrik shrieking.

Across the square, Lilija saw Odfel step out of the way of a fast moving group of soldiers, moving in front of Sylgja and maneuvering her behind him. His eyes met Lilija’s for a brief moment, before looking away. He hadn’t even flinched in their direction.

When Lilija knelt at Gaila’s side, helping her friend to her feet, they were both relieved to see that Garrik was unharmed, but terrified. Grogmar was not so lucky. His jaw was broken and bloody, one of his tusks broken off. One of his arms hung at an alarming angle. Lilija could hear the sounds of furniture crashing and pottery shattering coming from her home behind them. One of the other miners was rushing around, checking on the villagers and providing what little medical training they had. It was agreed a healer from Riften would needs be sent for.

The soldiers blew through Shor’s Stone as fast as they had appeared, having determined that their prey was indeed not there. Lilija wandered back into her house, Liam still straddling her hip, now with tears and snot streaming down his face. Numbness washed over her as she surveyed the damage. Her and Liam’s bed had been thrown down from the loft. Straw and feathers spewed out of tears in the mattress. Bedding clung to the railing of the loft, ripped and shredded. The cedar chest her mother had made for her when she was a child, to be her wedding chest had also been unceremoniously sent down. Shards of cedar boards covered the stone floor where the chest had all but shattered on impact. The table had been turned over. Food supplies were strewn across the floor, clearly crushed under foot.

Anger rose inside her. These had been Imperial men. Elisif’s men. This was Elisif’s Skyrim, trampled beneath the boot of the Empire. Something had to be done. They needed freed from the Fair-Crown dynasty’s tyranny, their submissive nature to the Empire and the Thalmor.

Her mind was racing. If this was happening across Skyrim, Nords across the country would be rabid with anger at being intruded upon by Imperial soldiers in such a manner. And if those soldiers had been spouting the line that they were looking for someone by the name of Stormcloak, it meant the Jarl of Windhelm was involved. Somehow. And he had been grumbling about Skyrim’s independence for some time. Had Jarl Ulfric killed the High King? Had his hot-headed, daring son? Both seemed implausible to Lilija. But she knew if other Nords heard what she had, they would be on their way to Windhelm before nightfall.

Lilija exited her home again and went to where Gaila was still knelt in the dirt beside her husband, tending his injuries as best she could. “Gaila,” she said, her voice sounded far away, even to her ears. “Can you watch Garrik, I need to go.”

Gaila glanced up in alarm, doing a double take of her housemate. Lilija did not look like herself. Her crystal clear blue eyes had a distant and vacant look to them. The Orc woman hauled herself up with some difficulty and before she could say anything, Lilija was passing a screaming Liam to her.

“Lilija!” Gaila cried in alarm, barely getting her hands beneath the small boy’s arms before Lilija began turning away. Her husband grunted at her feet where he held their own son in his remaining good arm. Gaila hurried forward, catching her friend’s arm. “Lilija, what is happening? Are you going to Solitude? To be with your sister now that she is a widow?”

“Oh,” Lilija said, “yes, that’s it. My sister.” She pulled her arm free and started moving away once more.

“At least say goodbye to your son!” Gaila shouted over the boy’s shrieks for his mother.

Lilija turned back to Gaila, planted a whisper of a kiss on Liam’s cheek, without ever looking at him, before turning and walking down the dirt road that lead out of Shor’s Stone.