The Princess and the Knight of Solitude - RhaenaTargaryen (2024)

Chapter 1: The Brotherhood of Solitude

Chapter Text

Jenssen’s eyes follow two of the new novices as they twist and block and fight their way across the room. He remembered clearly the first time he was pitted against another novice in the temple. As a young, taller than average, fourteen-year-old he’d literally left the other man crying on the floor due to a blow to the stomach. His recruiter had admonished him, then taken him to get cleaned up. After leaving the infirmary, the men had clapped him on the back.

A family. Jenssen joined a family that day. A Brotherhood. The Brotherhood of Solitude.

One of the lads on the floor uses his foot to kick the other lad off his feet. Jenssen smiles, proud, before he closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. He was six when his father left. Borri Frozen-Song kissed his wife goodbye, hugged Jenssen in a tight embrace, and walked out the door. They didn’t have much in Morthal, and Borri couldn’t find good work there due to his drinking habits. So Borri had decided on traveling to a larger city, Solitude perhaps, or Markarth. He’d find a good job, make money, and send it back to Jenssen and his mother.

That hadn’t happened.

Three months went by without a single letter. No money, no words of encouragement, not even a letter telling them he hadn’t found a job but still loved them. Jenssen’s mother was working her knuckles to the bone, washing clothes for anyone who would let her. She’d sent Jenssen off into the trees finding ingredients for the apothecary. He wanted to do more and discovered the man at the lumbermill would pay five gold for two pieces of wood. At that age, Jenssen thought they’d be rich! But his mother couldn’t hold the axe well with her bloody hands and Jenssen was so small at the time that his arms would shake when he lifted the axe.

One day, a group of Khajiit merchants walked into town. Jenssen had always loved Khajiit and one of them always let him play with their sword when they visited Morthal. He couldn’t even lift it with both hands! But that time he didn’t want to play. He was hungry, so, so hungry by the time the Khajiit arrived, three months and eight days after Borri left them. One of the Khajiit took pity on him and gave him food, and even some dessert afterwards.

Jenssen’s mother asked them to take a letter to Solitude or Markarth for Borri. She’d given them their last six pieces of gold to pay for the trip. Jenssen’s supper that night was flowers his mother had found outside and tried to make soup out of. Money was tight for the several weeks they waited for the Khajiit merchants to make their way back to Morthal. By this point, Jenssen suspected his mother thought Borri was dead. Perhaps robbed and killed on the road. Jenssen refused to think that way. His father had once been a soldier! He was invincible.

Three days past Jenssen’s seventh birthday, which Jenssen celebrated with his mother and a stale sweet roll, the Khajiit merchants arrived back in Morthal, with terrible news for them. Borri was alive and well! Thank the Gods. One of the Khajiit, the one whom always allowed Jenssen to play with his sword, had tracked down Borri in a tavern in Solitude. He was drunk, slopping ale down his shirt with a wench on his lap. None of this had been told to Jenssen, of course, as he’d been sent outside to play. But Jenssen knew something was wrong and had listened at the door.

Jenssen wasn’t old enough to know what a wench was. But he did know that his father was drunk and having fun while his wife and child suffered and starved in Morthal. And he’d gotten the money for the ale somewhere. What about Jenssen? What about his mother?

After that day, Jenssen’s mother hardly ever smiled anymore. And the only time she did was for his benefit. She continued working her knuckles to the bone doing laundry while he searched and searched and searched through the woods around Morthal, looking for all the ingredients he could find. Sometimes he’d find pieces of wood that he could sell at the lumber mill for five gold each. Not that that got them very far.

Most meat was too expensive. They lived on cabbage, soup, and bread mostly. And not good bread. They’d buy the stale stuff that they could get at a reduced price. Jenssen would sop up his soup with his bread since his mother couldn’t afford to buy bread and butter. Some days she would refuse to eat because he would whine due to his hunger. How many meals had she forsaken so that he wouldn’t go without? Too many.

But still, despite Jenssen not getting enough as he needed, he began to grow tall, though much too thin. He’d been able to pick up the axe and swing it without shaking. He hadn’t been able to do it long but he still brought home twenty-five gold a day. The first night, he’d bought his mother a bowl of venison stew, and she’d cried into her bowl.

Jenssen had done right by his mother even though his father refused to. He made sure she always had butter with her bread, even if he had to nearly break his back to get gold from the lumber mill. But despite having a steadier diet, and not needing to work so much, his mother grew smaller and smaller while he grew bigger and bigger. She’d never recovered from losing the love of her life. And one day, several months before he turned fourteen, he came home and she wasn’t there.

It hadn’t taken long to gather some people in town to go look for her. Jenssen’s mother had been well loved. Maybe she’d gotten lost in the woods? Or perhaps she’d fallen and hurt herself? Jenssen had raced through the trees, shouting for her, willing himself not to cry like a child. That was when a woman started screaming.

Three men tried to hold Jenssen back but they couldn’t when he raced towards a group of people, surrounding something on the ground. They finally allowed him to pass, though the women were wailing for him to turn back. His mother was laying on the ground, her neck bent at a strange angle. Her legs were broken and blood was coming out of her mouth, nose, and ears. Her eyes, bright blue just like his, gazed at him. Dead eyes.

Jenssen stood there, numb, as one of the men explained how his mother climbed to the top of a cliff and threw herself to the ground. Wailing women grabbed him, flailing arms squeezed him and rocked him and choked him, choked him, choked him as they made their way back to Morthal. He wanted to tell them all to go f*ck themselves. That was not how he felt now, but then, yes, he just wanted them all to go to hell and leave him in peace.

But they didn’t. Women brought him food every day, three times a day at least, to make sure he kept himself healthy. Where had that concern been when the two of them starved for days on end, only eating stale bread and cabbage? They’d all come to the grave, wearing their finest black, as his mother was lowered into the ground. When the Khajiit came round again, his favorite offered up his sword but Jenssen wouldn’t take it. He was too old to play stupid f*cking games.

Every day, Jenssen would go out into the woods and bust up logs until pain radiated up and down his legs, arms, and back. Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty gold pieces. It didn’t take long, especially with the annoying women still bringing him food, to save up more than enough for a carriage ride to Solitude. On nights when he was drunk, he’d ponder what he was going to say when he saw Borri Frozen-Song again.

Jenssen didn’t do it, but it had been extremely tempting to dig up his mother’s corpse to take with him to Solitude. He, in his drunken stupor, thought it would be a fine plan to toss his mother’s body down on the floor in front of Borri, before killing the sonofabitch.

Frozen-Song.

Borri’s grandfather had been a bard and chosen the name Frozen-Song to pass onto his children. It was a name that Jenssen had been proud of until his mother was dead. Even after Borri left, Jenssen still held out hope that he might come back to him. Might change his mind. Might remember the love he felt for his wife and son.

Of course, when the day came for Jenssen to leave Morthal to go murder his father, he didn’t dig up his mother’s grave. He’d allowed the women to kiss his cheeks and the men to shake his hands. He didn’t tell them that he had murder on the mind. The entire time, on the carriage to Solitude, he imagined how he would do it. Stab him? Behead him?

One thing Jenssen knew for sure was Borri would know it was his own son who took his life.

But when the carriage got to Solitude, Jenssen hadn’t been able to find his father at the tavern. So, he drank and drank. When he got up, stumbling, a hand reached out and gripped his shoulder. It was Ersi, the current Knight of Solitude. Ersi was twenty years Jenssen’s senior. A Nord, and a strong one at that, looked at him with frowning brown eyes.

Jenssen had been worried when that hand fell on his shoulder. Did Ersi know that he had murder on his mind? Did he know Borri? No, Ersi just led him up the stairs and laid him in a bed. The next morning, Ersi offered to send him further north of Solitude to his Brotherhood. The Brotherhood of Solitude.

The Brotherhood was an ancient order of Nord warrior men that had existed for almost as long as Skyrim had. Their duty? To defend the King or Queen of Skyrim with their lives if necessary. The Brotherhood was ruled by nine men called the Knights of the Brotherhood. They would ultimately choose the single brother who would stand by the king’s side day in and out. That brother, known as the Knight of Solitude, would guard his king or queen until death took him, whether by the sword or age. And if war ever broke out, the entirety of the Brotherhood would ride to their king or queen’s side in Solitude.

Jenssen hadn’t known what Ersi saw when he looked at him. A tall but thin boy with shaky, pale arms? Or a would-be murderer of a bastard father? Either way, Ersi saw potential. So Jenssen had ridden north at Ersi’s request where he met his future brothers. He was taken on as a novice and rose to become an apprentice. One day he hoped to become a Knight of the Brotherhood. Whenever he got to see Ersi the older man told him he had it in him. That felt nice. Validating.

Movement on Jenssen’s left has his eyes popping open. Kalsing, one of the nine Knights, leans towards him with twinkly eyes. “Sleeping, are you, young Jenssen?”

Jenssen chuckles and looks around the room. The two boys who’d been trying to impress the elder brothers had disappeared. He hadn’t seen the end of the fight, shame. “Not sleeping, no, thinking.”

“Ah.” Kalsing smiles. “Of what, may I ask?”

“You may.” Jenssen cracks the knuckles of one hand against the palm of his other. “I was thinking of my parents. And how I came to be here.”

The smile dies from both Kalsing’s lips and eyes. “Ah, yes. A sad tale, though not the first to pass through these doors. Ersi saw so much potential in you. As do we all. Perhaps when one of us nine finally leave this world, you will replace him.”

“That—” Jenssen clears his throat. “That’s what I would like. I’ve risen as high as I can in the Brotherhood. Ersi is well and I’m certainly not our best fighter so I will not be chosen to be Knight of Solitude. I would at least like the honor of being a Knight of the Brotherhood instead.”

Kalsing’s eyes narrow. “I fear Ersi is not as well as you think. He’s had a cough for the last week and it’s not getting better.”

“A cough?” Jenssen can’t help the laugh that bursts from his mouth. “Kalsing, Ersi is a strong Nord. He’s the strongest man I’ve ever met. He’s ill, granted, but he will overcome it. No cough will take out Ersi.”

“I pray that you are correct.” Kalsing sighs. “Ersi has served as Knight of Solitude for damn near seventeen years. And now there’s all this trouble that terror Ulfric is giving King Torygg. We must be ready to defend our king.”

Jenssen nods though he doesn’t respond. He would gladly give his life for Torygg. That was his duty. Jenssen did not forget the vows he made to always defend his king. But he understood Ulfric’s frustration. There were others in the Brotherhood who did as well though did not say openly, especially in the company of a Knight. Jenssen trusted that none of them would betray Torygg. But he also knew that many of them, especially the novices, would much rather serve Ulfric instead of Torygg.

And then there was Princess Torra.

Ersi adored his little princess, as he called her. Jenssen hadn’t met her but others in the Brotherhood had. They’d all called her a bratty, little princess. Torygg spoiled her, his only heir. She would be the person he might have to give his life for. Torygg was fine, sure, but Torra? He’d rather swear oaths to a snake.

Kalsing puts his hand on Jenssen’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts again. “Let us pray that Ersi, King Torygg, and the future Queen Torra all have many years left with us.”

Jenssen nods and watches his fellow brother bow his head in prayer. He hoped Ersi had many more years. But he wondered, if Ulfric had his way, would Torygg and Torra see another summer?

Chapter 2: The Princess of Solitude

Chapter Text

A loud, rattling cough comes from the bedroom across from Torra’s seat. Her eyes drift around the throne room. Erikur stands a mere four or five feet from Torra. She knew he wouldn’t bother her though. She’d never put up with his braying arrogance for long. Her dear Falk and Bryling stand talking near one of the curved staircases. They’d been members of High King Torygg’s household for nearly as long as Torra had been alive. She’d been wondering for years if they were lovers.

Sybille was the only one missing from Torygg’s retinue. Sybille had served Istlod, Torygg and Torra’s father, for years. She’d aided Istlod and the queen in the raising of Torygg. And then, when the queen died bringing Torra into the world, Sybille had been practically Torra’s mother. It was Sybille who kissed her in the morning and again at night before bed. It was Sybille who held her when she cried. And it was Sybille who gently kissed the scrapes and bruises she’d gotten after falling while playing. Never Istlod, who could never quite look at Torra after the death of his wife.

Queen Sonjetta had been well-loved by all of Skyrim, just like King Istlod was. Torygg told Torra that she’d gained her long, chestnut colored hair from their mother. As well as her unusual amber colored eyes. Sonjetta had only been at the start of her seventh moon during her pregnancy with Torra when she’d stepped into a hole that she’d not known had been dug up for a tree. Her fall made her land on her belly.

Princess Torra had come into the world on a river of blood, outside in the courtyard for fear that moving the thrashing queen would harm either of them, where Queen Sonjetta screamed for all of Solitude to hear. But Torra had not screamed, no, nor made the tiniest whimper as she was born covered in blood and goodness knows what else happens in the birthing bed. It had been Sybille who pulled her into the world and it had been Sybille who spanked her butt, hoping for a noise, a whimper, a cry, a scream, something. Sonjetta, who was quickly losing the last of her strength, reached for Torra and held her. Had it been warmth, or perhaps the fierce love of her mother, that made Torra cry out?

Regardless, whatever it was had worked. Torra had let out a whimper and they’d rushed her into the palace and away from the dying queen. Torygg held one of their mother’s hands, Istlod the other, and they’d wept bitterly as their last Steward tried and failed to stop the bleeding. But that hadn’t been the end.

Torra fought everyday for life, for months. Sybille said that Torra had been born months too early and very well might die for it. But somehow, she had lived. Had the Gods spared her from death? Had Sybille performed magic on her? Had she’d just been strong enough to survive? Torra doubted she’d ever know. What she did know was that being born too early always left her feeling weak far too quickly while running or, gods forbid, walking too far. More than one soldier over the years had been forced to carry her back to the palace because she’d wandered too far. No matter how much she ate, she never gained any weight and was always too thin. And her height, gods her height! On the tips of her toes Torra barely stood over five feet tall.

It always drove Torra crazy whenever someone, save for Torygg, would call her little. Little Princess. Little girl. All her life she’d been smaller than her friends, the few she’d been allowed to have. Delicate, everyone called her. Tiny. Breakable was how she felt about herself sometimes. Torra prayed that Torygg would have a child one day with his wife. Would Skyrim accept a queen as small and… breakable as Torra? No. Nords were strong. She was not.

Torra’s eyes drift to the throne, her brother Torygg’s seat, which is empty. It had been all day because he and his wife, Elisif, refused to leave Ersi’s side.

Ersi…

The current Knight of Solitude, Ersi, had served the throne for nearly seventeen years. Torra was nearing her twentieth year and had known the man almost all her life. Her earliest memories were of him, patiently lifting her into his arms and carrying her back to the palace after she’d gotten winded by the blacksmith’s home or outside the tailor. Back then she could fit on one shoulder. Hell, even today she might be able to fit on only one of his shoulders. Over six feet tall, Ersi was buff and well-muscled, with thick, dark hair and brown eyes. The only sign of his age was a bit of gray at his temples.

It had always been Ersi, not Torra’s father, who told her he loved her every day. It had been Ersi who comforted her. It had been Ersi who had lifted her into his arms and high into the air so she could pick fruit from the tree that had been planted after her mother stepped into the hole. Had it not been for Ersi and Sybille and Torygg, Torra might never have known the love of a family. Istlod acknowledged her as his daughter. He’d named her Torra and called her Torygg’s heir. But largely, he’d ignored her for the rest of his life. She’d almost been… grateful when he’d passed. That night, she’d cried into her Ersi’s chest.

Torra loved Ersi with her entire heart. But she despised him with her whole heart as well.

Another wrenching cough sounds from the room Ersi, Torygg, and Elisif are in. Erikur glances at Torra with a smirk on his face. “Aren’t you going to go in, little Princess?” Torra grits her teeth. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to him?”

“It will not be a goodbye.” Torra rises from her seat gracefully. “Ersi is strong, Erikur. The strongest Nord we’ve ever known. It will be a blade or old age that takes him from the world. Not a sickness.”

Erikur chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “No man is invincible, princess. He’s getting up there in years.”

“Not quite fifty.” Torra starts to walk towards Ersi’s quarters. “Not so old. And more in shape than you ever will be. I am going.”

Torra ignores Erikur’s sputtering as she makes her way to Ersi’s quarters. At the door, she looks in at the prone man on the bed. Elisif sits to Ersi’s left, Torygg on his right. They both grip one of Ersi’s hands in theirs. When Torygg sees Torra standing in the doorway he releases Ersi’s hand and jumps to his feet.

“Sister! Come, take my place. Our dear Ersi has always loved me, yes, but it should be you that sits with him now. I’ve always known that you were his favorite.”

“Yes, Torygg.” Swallowing down a lump in her throat, Torra sits down next to the always powerful Ersi. She doesn’t know whether she wants to cry for him or scream at him. “Is he going to make it?”

Elisif looks up from where she sits, mopping at Ersi’s forehead. Her eyes meet Torygg’s, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, it is Sybille, standing in the corner, who does. “We don’t think so, dear Torra. He’s gotten worse every day since he got the cough. First, he was coughing up green mucus but now there is blood in it. His fever gets hotter and hotter by the day. He can’t breathe very well. And just this morning he started complaining about pains in his chest. He gets worse by the day.”

“But—” tears prick at the corners of Torra’s eyes and her lower lip quivers. “He’s so strong! And you’re a mage. Can’t you do magic? Restoration magic? Or a potion or something? You’re a mage! Why can’t you save him!?”

“Torra, please.” Torygg shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I know that you are upset. I know that you love Ersi. But I’ve witnessed personally that Sybille has tried everything she can think of. There’s nothing more that can be done. He will survive or he won’t.”

“No.” Torra shakes her head stubbornly and rises from her seat, pacing rapidly. “I won’t accept that. We-we can take him to the Temple of Mara! In Riften. They heal people there, don’t they? We can heal him there.”

“I—” Torygg glances at Elisif and Sybille, concern clear in his brown eyes. “Torra, I want you to sit down. You get ill so easily.”

Torra balls her hands into shaking fists and glares at her older brother. “I’m not weak! You all treat me like I’m fragile but I’m not. I can walk around a f*cking room without collapsing!”

“Please, Torra.” Torygg sighs and shakes his head. “Please don’t curse. No one is saying you’re weak or fragile. You’re far from it. You’ve not had the easiest childhood and I’ve done all I could to make it better for you. But moving around too much is taxing for you! Just before Ersi got sick he had to carry you back to the castle after you got winded outside the tailor again.”

“I was—” Torra huffs angrily. “I was playing with children! We were running around and playing. It was just too much. If Ersi had just given me some more time I could have walked back.”

Elisif looks up at Torra with her always kind eyes. “Perhaps you think we are treating you like a child, Torra. That is not our intent. We only want to love and protect you.”

“I-I know.” Torra’s lower lip quivers again and she wills herself not to cry. “I’ll sit down in a minute. But what about the Temple of Mara? Can’t we take him there?”

Sybille shakes her head and rests one of her hands on Ersi’s bed. “Perhaps had we known how severe his illness would become we would have taken him when he became ill. But he would not survive the journey in his current state. Princess, my King, my Queen, I am afraid that the three of you must prepare yourselves. He may yet survive but I fear that is an unrealistic expectation. I’m not sure if he will survive the night.”

Torra’s sob is drowned out by Ersi lurching forward in bed, coughing into his hands. He coughs long and hard, over and over, until he falls back into the bed. Elisif rises to her feet and dunks a cloth into water before pressing it against Ersi’s forehead. Torra looks down at Ersi’s hands, spotting the drops of blood on his pale skin. Her body starts to shake. The way it normally does when she gets winded. Her legs tremble and she glances helplessly at her brother, Sybille, and Elisif, but all of their eyes are on Ersi. Her eyes find the chair she’d departed. It was too far and she’d collapse before she could get to it.

Ersi’s eyes open and immediately zero in on Torra. He tries to rise but Sybille and Elisif both push him back down. His hand rises and he points at Torra. “Catch her!” His voice comes out frighteningly wet and weak. “Torra!”

Torygg turns and grabs Torra just as her legs go out from under her. He lifts her into his arms as gently as he can and carries her back to her chair. When he sets her down, his hands come up to cup both sides of her face and he looks into her eyes. “Sister, are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“I-I—” Torra feels tears slide down her cheeks and her body refuses to stop shuddering. “I-Torygg—”

“Leave us.” Ersi coughs again, only once this time. “I want to talk to the princess.”

Elisif and Sybille both move towards the door but Torygg stays by Torra. “I think she needs to lay down, Ersi. Perhaps you can talk later?”

“I might not have much longer.” Ersi shakes his head weakly. “Sybille, after I am done talking to the princess, can you bring me a potion that might dull the pain until I die? I fear that it is tonight that I will pass.”

“No!” Torra shakes her head and reaches for Ersi’s blood-stained hands. “Don’t give up hope. You’re going to be fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Torra watches as Elisif and Sybille leave the room. Ersi’s hands tighten around Torra’s. “My King, may I have some time alone with Torra?”

“I suppose.” Torygg looks at Torra with worried eyes. “But I don’t want her to overexert herself. If she is tired then I want her to call for me and I will carry her to bed. Agreed Torra?”

Torra nods, not taking her eyes from Ersi’s. “I agree. You can go, brother.”

Torygg glances between Torra and Ersi before he nods and back out of the room. The door closes silently. Torra sobs and throws herself forward, onto Ersi’s bed, and into his arms. Heavy arms incircle her and one rough, large hand strokes up and down her back. Lips find her ears and Ersi whispers, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweet one.”

Torra lowers her head to Ersi’s chest and rests over his heart. She listens to the beat of his heart as one of his hands stroke up and down her back while the other cards through her hair. His heart pounds against her ear but it is much slower than normal. Every breath he takes sounds sluggish and he lets out a soft cough.

“Ersi.” Torra looks up at him as well as she can and strokes a finger down his bearded, normally clean-shaven, cheek. “Please don’t die. I’d be so alone without you.”

“No, sweet one.” Ersi coughs again, harder this time. “You have Torygg, Elisif, and Sybille. Falk and Bryling, as well. Even that horse’s ass, Erikur. And don’t forget, after I am gone another Knight will take my place. You’ll never be alone.”

“I don’t want you to die.” Torra sobs again and she buries her face in his neck. “Please don’t die. Please! I’ll do anything…”

The hand in Torra’s hair tightens its grip and so does the arm around her back. “I’m sorry, Torra. I’m not long for the world. It will be tonight or tomorrow, at the latest. You must know that it kills me as much as it does you to part.”

“I love you!” Torra cries brokenly as he holds onto her. She hated him as well, but she would never say that to him. “I love you so much.”

“Oh, Torra.” Rough hands cup both sides of her cheeks and gently moves her so that she can look him in the eyes. “I love you too, my sweet princess. I adored you all your life, of course, but the last few years have filled me with so much joy.”

Torra’s eyes drift down to his lips and she wonders if it was okay to kiss him. She didn’t want to catch his illness but he’d already put his hands on her. She was already breathing in his air. Slowly, she lowers herself until their lips are only a finger width apart. Ersi smiles at her, his eyes tender, and he closes the distance between them.

The kiss is slow, tender, and unlike all the hurried ones they’d had in the dark over the last three years. One of Ersi’s hands slide into her hair and strokes down the length of it. But the kiss ends far too soon for Torra. Ersi rips his face away from her and coughs hard into his arm, using his other arm to push her away gently. When he finally stops coughing, he looks at her, apologetic.

“Sorry, my love. It seems that I am not up for one last bout of lovemaking before I go.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.” Torra glances at the door. “No one would understand what we have.”

Ersi’s eyes close and he sighs before opening them again. “No, they wouldn’t. Even had I waited a few more years people would have talked. Torygg might have killed me himself.”

Torra laughs softly and strokes a hand up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. “You know that my brother isn’t the greatest warrior in the world. And I’m glad you didn’t want until the age I am today. I would have had so little time with you.”

“I—” Ersi’s head jerks to the door. “Go! To the chair, now!”

“But…” Torra shakes her head as he pushes her roughly away. “Ersi—”

“Sit down!” Ersi coughs roughly against his free arm. “I heard footsteps. Sit the f*ck down.”

A fresh wave of tears slide down Torra’s cheeks as she takes her seat, now able to hear the footsteps in the hallway despite Ersi’s coughing. Not two or three seconds later, the door opens and Sybille appears in the doorway. She rushes towards the bed, clinging a potion bottle in her hand, and holds it up to Ersi’s lips. “Drink Ersi! Drink and it will take away your pain!”

Torra watches as Ersi tries to grip the bottle but is unable to with his shaking hands. Sybille presses it against his lips instead and he drinks the contents of the bottle down gratefully. When it is gone, Ersi falls back against the pillows and Sybille brushes a hand against his forehead. “Sleep, Ersi. Rest.”

Sybille turns towards Torra. “It will happen soon, dear princess. Within the next few hours. Perhaps you should go have a lie down in your bed. You look miserable. Shall I get your brother to carry you?”

Mute, Torra shakes her head and stands on surprisingly steady feet. Sybille follows her from the room and she desperately wants to ask for some of the potion. It had taken away Ersi’s pain: would it take away hers?

Hours later, gentle hands shake her and Torra opens her eyes to look up into her brother’s. His are sad and he shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry to wake you, sister. But it is almost time. Would you like to say goodbye to Ersi? He’s asleep and Sybille doesn’t think he will wake again, but you can still say goodbye.”

Torra nods and allows him to help her out of bed. Torygg’s hands are gentle at her elbows as he leads her from her bed quarters to Ersi’s. When they walk inside, Torra sees Elisif on one side of the bed and Sybille in the corner of the room, head bent. Torygg moves Torra towards the chair on the other side of the bed and he doesn’t let go of her until she’s safely sat down.

Slightly annoyed, Torra wanted to shout at Torygg that she wasn’t fragile. That she wasn’t going to break without someone holding her up. That she wasn’t weak. But everyone thought she was. Her father, Torygg, Elisif, Bryling and Falk and Sybille and Erikur, and even Ersi. They all thought she was as breakable as glass.

Torygg clears his throat. “Would you like us to leave so you can say goodbye?”

“No.” Torra shakes her head. “I already have. How long?”

Sybille moves closer to the bed and places a hand on Torygg’s shoulder. “Not so long, princess. A couple minutes. His heart is slowing down.”

She would know that, Sybille. She was a vampire after all.

The four of them watch as Ersi takes shallow breaths, eyes-closed, one of his hands gripped tight by Elisif. Torra longs to grab his other hand and order the rest of them out. He was hers and she was his. She was the only one who should be there. But him pushing her away earlier had wounded her deeply. He’d been so angry… and he never, ever cursed in front of her. Not only did he curse in front of her, but he cursed at her.

If he truly loved her, why would he push her away so harshly in their last moments? She was of age and could love whomever she wanted. No one had to know that she’d been sixteen the first time he’d kissed her, held her, loved her. Their age difference was large, by thirty years, but it made no difference to her. He was the only one who looked at her and didn’t see someone fragile. Ersi saw a woman.

Didn’t he?

Ersi’s hands suddenly tighten in the furs on top of him and he struggles to take in a breath. He wheezes and his eyes squeeze tightly before his relaxes. His mouth opens and a little bit of blood bubbles up at the corners of his lips but Elisif wipes it away. He sighs and…

Sybille lets out a long exhale. “He is gone. His heart has stopped.”

Elisif lets out a soft wail and Torygg looks torn, looking back and forth between his wife and his sister. Torra nods at Elisif before she glances back down at Ersi’s body.

Her knight, oh, her knight. What would she do without him?

Chapter 3: Funerals and Celebrations

Chapter Text

Jenssen stares down at the body before him, his teeth grinding so hard he thinks they might crack. But he couldn’t help it. Ersi was dead. The older man’s corpse had been sent back to the temple for his fire burial. Now, Ersi’s strong hard body, too pale and quiet and still, laid on a funeral pyre. Soon, the only thing that would be left of Ersi were the memories that flitted through Jenssen’s mind.

It had been Ersi who brought Jenssen to the temple to join the Brotherhood. It had been Ersi who met a strong willed, angry teenager and decided to help him instead of turning him into the guard. Ersi was the first person after Jenssen’s mother who saw value in him. And now Ersi was dead.

The Knights had dressed Ersi in his ceremonial robes and crossed his hands over his sword. He’d be taking his sword with him to Sovngarde, where he could guard King Istlod and the kings before him. The Brotherhood were sworn to defend their kings in life, and in death. Ersi would be pleased to stand next to Istlod again. But Jenssen was not pleased to see his friend depart this world. Not yet. Not ever.

A hand lands on Jenssen’s shoulder and he looks up to find Kalsing staring at him. The robed man inclines his head slightly, a question unasked. Jenssen nods and he pulls his own hood up over his head. He’d always hated the robes they wore. They were stuffy, itchy, and hot. He couldn’t move around well in them. But he wouldn’t be the one to break from tradition.

The nine Knights circle the funeral pyre, swords raised over Ersi’s corpse, meeting in the middle of it. As one, the rest of the Brotherhood falls to their knees, hands over their chests in a final salute to their fallen member. Most of the Brotherhood bow their heads but some look upon Ersi with silent tears streaming down their faces. Others mouth words of prayer. Jenssen does neither. He just watches, his hand gripped tight over his heart.

Slowly and without sheathing their swords, the Knights turn away from the pyre briefly before turning back with torches. One by one, they each lower their torches to the pyre, setting it alight. Oil had been poured on Ersi’s corpse so he ignites quickly. As the flames dance in the night the Knights of the Brotherhood hold their swords over Ersi once again, meeting in the middle. Smoke rises from the pyre and Jenssen wonders if the smoke was Ersi’s spirit, rising to Sovngarde.

The fire grows so hot and bright that most of the Brotherhood close their eyes but Jenssen doesn’t. He watches as the robes burn from Ersi’s body and his skin and bones soon with it. It doesn’t take long. They had been liberal with the amount of oil used. The fire begins to burn so hot that the swords above Ersi begin to glow red and orange and yellow as the steel heats. Soon there is nothing left of the pyre but the heat and ash and fire. Nothing but fire.

Jenssen watches as the Knights draw back their swords once there is no body left to aid to Sovngarde. They each lay down their swords, pointing towards the pyre. The swords would lie there until the next day just in case Ersi had not yet departed his body. They would aid him in his journey to Sovngarde, if so. In the morning, Kalsing and all the other Knights of the Brotherhood would come out into the courtyard, take up their swords, and sheath them. Then they would go into the inner Sanctuary and deliberate what member of the Brotherhood would take Ersi’s place at King Torygg’s side.

In truth, Jenssen had no hope that it would be him. He was a good fighter but there were better warriors in the Brotherhood. His eyes drift around the courtyard, looking at his fellow brothers. There was Kyrmar, only a year younger than Jenssen but better with a lance and sword. Or there was Vulwinn. He is at least three inches taller than Jenssen and nearly twice his size. Yes, it would likely be Vulwinn who would receive the honor of defending Torygg. What man would look at Vulwinn and decide to try to fight him?

The only problem Jenssen saw with Vulwinn was that he secretly wanted to support Ulfric. Would he, misguided as he was, harm Torygg just to try to place Ulfric on the throne? Kyrmar didn’t much care for Torygg but he despised Ulfric. And, if given a choice, Jenssen himself would defend Torygg to the death, even despite his sympathies for Ulfric.

As one, the Knights of the Brotherhood turn their backs on the pyre and remove their hoods. The rest of the Brotherhood stand and lifts their hoods as well. Jenssen can feel sweat trailing from his forehead. He longed to get out of these robes.

One of the Knights steps forward, Kardic, Kalsing’s brother by blood. He looks out over the men and nods. “Tonight, we shall remember our dear brother, Ersi, who served faithfully at King Torygg’s side for these many years. We have lost our Knight of Solitude and shall mourn his passing until the morrow. At dawn, my fellow Knights and I shall enter the Sanctuary and decide who among us shall serve as the new Knight of Solitude. Know that if chosen, and if agreed, you shall serve until your death. If Torygg dies before you then you will be sworn into the service of his heir, Princess Torra, unless he has a child.”

Some of the men glance at each other though Jenssen keeps his eyes on Kardic. He had his own opinions about Torra but he would never voice them. If chosen, he would serve Torygg and then Torra if need be. Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer it if Torygg gave the world a strong son or daughter.

Kardic continues on. “Go, brothers. Go to your rooms. Go to the training rooms. Go to the kitchens. Just go. Think of your brother, Ersi. Think of each other. Drink, eat, pray, laugh, love. Above all, live. We will meet again at noon. Goodnight.”

The men mutter replies and turn towards each other but Jenssen backs away from them all. He takes one last, lingering look at what remains of Ersi’s pyre before he turns towards his rooms. He would sleep that night if he could. His nerves were shot though and he wanted to hit something. But he knew if he hit something then he might keep hitting it until his knuckles bloodied and the tears he was fighting back would make an appearance. The other men, some of them, had comfortably shown their tears to Ersi and the Knights. But not him. He was stronger than that. He would not cry.

He would not.

Jenssen kneels beside his brothers on the floor outside the inner Sanctuary. They’d all filtered in at various times. Some had arrived, like Jenssen, as the dawn greeted them. Others had arrived an hour later, two hours, and several young members, just a few minutes before noon. It was now nearing one in the afternoon and yet the doors to the inner Sanctuary remained closed. In the past, the Knights had almost always chosen the new Knight of Solitude before noon but always waited for the right time because their Brotherhood respected ceremony and tradition.

But now…

They must be having a difficult time choosing a Knight. Jenssen’s eyes venture across the room and lands on first Kyrmar and then Vulwinn. It must be the two of them the Knights were arguing over. Who else could it be? No one was a better fighter than the two. Jenssen hoped that it would be Kyrmar though. He was a respectable, honorable man. Vulwinn liked to bully the younger novices. Vulwinn’s dark eyes, nearly black, land on Jenssen’s and he sneers before turning away.

Yes, Jenssen hoped it would be Kyrmar chosen instead. He didn’t want to leave the fate of Torygg and Torra in Vulwinn’s hands, despite the man’s size and strength. The room starts to grow warm and Jenssen tugs on his robes. What was taking them so long?

Just as that thought enters Jenssen’s mind, the doors of the Sanctuary opens and the Knights file out. They stand in a line in front of the kneeling brothers. Kalsing steps forward and raises his hand. “We have argued through the night and into the day. The Knights of the Brotherhood have come to a decision. This decision was not reached lightly. Some of you shall feel slighted this day. Some of you felt that you have earned your right to stand at King Torygg’s side. And you have, my brothers, you have! I would trust you all to stand next to our king’s side and perhaps, one day, you all shall. If war breaks out in the kingdom, then Torygg will need you all. But for now, only one of you has been chosen.”

Kalsing steps towards the men but doesn’t walk far. He stands in front of the first row of men, reaches out, and places his hand on Jenssen’s shoulder. Jenssen’s heart starts to race and he barely withholds a gasp. Kalsing raises his voice. “Jenssen Frozen-Song has been chosen by the Knights of the Brotherhood to serve as the Knight of Solitude! Praise your brother!”

All around them, the Brotherhood of Solitude shouts and laughs and cheers. Jenssen tries to smile but it comes out as forced. It was not that he wasn’t pleased, no, it was that he didn’t expect this. Him? Of all of them, he was chosen for this role. Why? There were better choices and Jenssen himself knew it.

The Knights of the Brotherhood all raise their hands and the other men quiet down. Kalsing’s voice rings out once again. “Do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song, swear to travel to Solitude, bend your knee, and swear your oaths to High King Torygg?”

Jenssen swallows, his throat suddenly dry as a bone. “Yes.”

Another cheer rises up as Kalsing stares down at Jenssen. “Do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song, swear to guard King Torygg and, should the need arise, his heir, until the day you die?”

“Yes.” Jenssen stares up at Kalsing, his voice stronger. “I swear.”

“Do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song,” Kalsing smiles down at Jenssen, his eyes twinkling once again. “Accept your position as the Knight of Solitude?”

Jenssen blinks and looks around the room. Almost all of the other brothers smile at him, encouragingly. Even the Knights seem to be struggling to remain stoic. The only person who doesn’t seem happy for Jenssen is Vulwinn. Well, f*ck him. Jenssen turns back to Kalsing and raises his voice. “Yes, I accept.”

The room erupts into noise again and several members of the Brotherhood drag Jenssen to his feet, slapping him on the back. Kalsing’s eyes are uncharacteristically wet as he yanks Jenssen into a hug. They were his brothers and he loved them. Gods, he loved them.

Vulwinn is the only brother immune to the celebration. He glares at Jenssen, fury in his dark eyes. He turns on his heel and makes his way from the room, his normally loud footsteps can’t be heard above the din. Jenssen stares after the large man but blinks when Kyrmar steps in front of him. The younger man hands him a cup of ale.

Kyrmar gestures towards the hall Vulwinn has disappeared down. “Never much liked him. I wanted it to be me, you know, but I’d much rather it be you than him.”

“Aye.” Jenssen takes the ale and swigs it. “Aye, I’d much rather it have been you as well. But if not you, better me than him.”

“Good lad.” Kyrmar laughs and turns towards the Brotherhood. “Let’s party! Let’s give Jenssen a night to f*cking remember!”

Chapter 4: Dolls, Games, and her Brother's Knight

Chapter Text

”Torra, come play with us!”

Giggling, Torra ran towards her friends Styro and Fjorra. Torygg and their father almost never let her leave the castle so she was going to play, play, play until she’d had her fill of it. She hadn’t seen Styro in nearly a month. Not since her last trip outside. She’d fallen and skinned her knees, and when she tried to rise her eyes had filled with fuzzy whiteness.

“Come on, Torra!” Fjorra yelled. “Come catch us!”

“Coming!” Torra giggles harder, running as fast as she could on her little legs. “Wait up, Styro!”

But the two of them didn’t wait. They ran faster and faster and faster but Torra couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard she pumped her legs and arms. The white fuzziness was back, filling her eyes and making her feel funny. She should stop. She should! But she just wanted to keep playing. Why hadn’t Styro and Fjorra stopped running when she’d ask them to wait? Why had they left her behind?

Torra’s foot catches on something and she flies through the air, her arms stretching forward to break her fall. A crack fills the air and pain rushes up her right arm. When she tried to move her arm, it wouldn’t work right.

“Princess!”

“Oh Gods, please tell us she’s alright!”

“Are you okay, Princess?”

“Princess Torra!”

Hands touch her, too many of them, and one of the hands touch her right arm. Torra thrashes and cries and screams. It hurt! She wanted her daddy! She wanted her Torygg! She wanted to go home!

“Get out of the way!”

Torra knew that voice! It was her Ersi. He would take her to daddy and Torygg and home. The white fuzziness starts to go away just as Ersi shoves his way through the crowd. Ersi fell to his knees in front of her and he reached for her arm. “f*ck, it’s broken.”

Despite the pain, Torra couldn’t help but giggle. “You said a bad word, Ersi. I’m gonna tell on you!”

“I know. I’m going to lift you now, okay? Wrap your arm around my neck.” Ersi smiles at her and picks her up. Torra can’t lift her right arm up but she can lift her left, wrapping it around his neck. “You can tell your father that I said that word. Torygg might yell at me.”

“He will.” Torra yawns wide, her eyes starting to shut. “I can walk soon. Can you go find Fjorra and Styro after you take me home? They’re probably so scared.”

Ersi presses a kiss to her forehead. “Of course, sweet one. Go to sleep now.”

Torra jerks when a child, a little girl, runs past her, shrieking. She smiles as two boys and another girl chase after her. Perhaps they were playing tag. It had been her favorite game when she was their age. She and Styro played it all the time. Well, or as often as she’d been allowed to go outside. Was it tag that they’d been playing when she’d fallen and broken her arm? Her father had been furious. Istlod, red-faced and angry, had ordered her to “stay the f*ck inside!”

It was only one of a few times that he’d ever shouted at her. Torra had only been five years old or so at the time. Mostly, Istlod had ignored her. His shouts had made her cry and it took all three of Sybille, Ersi, and Torygg to calm her down. They’d said Istlod wasn’t really angry at her. They’d said he was upset that she’d gotten hurt. Torygg insisted that Istlod loved her. That hadn’t meant much back then but it did now.

Torra, often over the years, had wondered if Istlod ever truly loved her. He said he did, whenever she’d gotten the courage up to ask, that is. For the most part though, he would do nothing but ignore her. Whenever he had to travel, he would give Torygg a long hug and her a short one. He’d tell her to behave. Always to behave. Had she really been that much of a problem for him? Torygg was allowed to go out and play. Why wasn’t she?

The children shriek and run past Torra again. The flowers across from her dance in the breeze and she thinks she might pick some. They would make wonderful presents for Torygg and Elisif. The stone beneath her is hard but she doesn’t mind it. She’d gotten all the way past the bridge, past Castle Dour, and down the steps before she’d had to stop walking. As a child, she had called the feeling a white fuzziness. Sybille told her that it was lightheadedness and she had to stop what she was doing immediately, lest she risk falling unconscious.

It must not have been very fun for Styro and Fjorra that day. They hadn’t gotten too far from her before they’d turned around to see where she was. Only they hadn’t been able to see her through the crowd. They had seen Ersi carrying her back to the castle though. She hadn’t been allowed to play with Styro for many months. It was long after her arm had healed when she’d been allowed to go back into the city.

Styro played with Torra but Fjorra refused. Fjorra said that Torra was no fun to play with and they always had to slow down around her. Styro was loyal, for a time. But as they grew, he started playing more and more with Fjorra and left Torra behind. They were, all three of them, grown now.

Torra, alone in her castle. Styro and Fjorra together in their home. She was always on the outs with them. And now she had no friends left. She had to be content to play with the children now. They didn’t mind being chased by their grown princess.

“Princess Torra!” Torra looks up to see an eight-year-old girl with long, braided blonde hair staring at her. Sonjette. The girl was named in honor of Torra’s own mother. “Will you come play with me? My daddy bought me a new doll today. Or we can play tag. Just the two of us. The others don’t want to play with me today.”

One of the boys stops running next to them and snorts. Gutar. “No one wants to play with you because all you care about is your stupid new doll. It’s ugly anyways. Where did your father get it, the trash?”

Torra’s heart aches for Sonjette but before she can open her mouth to admonish Gutar, the boy runs away. Her eyes drift down to the doll, clutched so hard in the girl’s hand that her skin is turning paler and paler by the second. The doll was drab, Torra couldn’t deny. It was a plain doll with a worn dress that might have had color once but didn’t now. It was old and well-played with. Sonjette’s father likely couldn’t buy her a nice doll, working at his stand every day. But it was her doll and she clearly loved it.

Sonjette stubs the ground with her toes, kicking up little bits of dirt. “They’re commoners like me. If they don’t want to play with my dirty doll then a princess probably doesn’t want too either. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me, sweet one.” Torra smiles at the girl. “I’d love to play with your doll. How about we go to Radiant Raiment? They won’t have any clothes her size but perhaps we can get some material to make her a little dress. The finest we can find. I’ll pay for it.”

Before Sonjette can answer, they hear a shout and they look up to see Sonjette’s father rushing towards them from his stall. He arrives, slightly out of breath, and puts his hands around Sonjette’s shoulders. “I’m sorry if she’s bothering you, princess. I told her to play with the other kids.”

“She’s not bothering me.” Torra rises and dusts her dress off, happy that her lightheaded feeling has passed. “I was just asking her if she’d like to go to Radiant Raiment. We can get some material to make her doll a dress.”

“I-I—” The man’s face turns red. “I can’t afford it right now. I-I’m sorry, Sonjette.”

Torra shakes her head, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. It won’t cost much since it’s so little material. I’ll take care of it. It can be a present for her next birthday if you’d like.”

Sonjette looks up at her father with pleading eyes. “Can I have the dress, daddy? For my doll? I won’t ask for anything for my birthday. I promise!”

“Oh, okay, I suppose.” The man shrugs uncomfortably and gestures down the road towards the tailors. “But don’t go past the shop! Don’t talk to anyone that you don’t know. The princess is only supposed to buy you the material for your dress. Don’t you ask her for anything else, understand?”

Sonjette grabs Torra’s hand and pulls her down the road towards the tailors, shouting over her shoulder, “okay!”

Torra allows herself to be dragged. The sun feels warm against her skin and she’d been wanting to go to the tailor anyway. Torygg had told her the new Knight of Solitude would be arriving to replace Ersi. Torygg said the man’s name was Jenssen. She’d wanted to meet him before anyone else got to. To see if he might be able to live up to Ersi. Not that anyone could do that…

She couldn’t believe that Ersi had only been gone for a few days. Less than a week.

Sonjette and Torra walk through the door into Radiant Raiment and a High Elf woman darts towards them. Torra instantly identifies the woman as Taarie and thanks the Gods that it was her and not her sister. Endarie had little skill with people though Taarie’s was only marginally better. Taarie wouldn’t mistreat Sonjette, in any case.

“Are you here to buy something or not? Oh.” Taarie’s eyes widen. She doesn’t even look at Sonjette. “Oh! Princess! How can my sister and I help you? Would you like a new gown or some accessories to go with it?”

Torra lays both of her hands on Sonjette’s shoulders and pushes the girl gently towards Taarie. “This little girl is Sonjette. She got a new doll today and she’d like a new dress for it. I know you don’t make clothes for dolls, but I was wondering if I could buy some material off of you so that Sonjette or I could make a dress.”

The look of excitement falls from Taarie’s face but she covers it up well. “Well, you’re right princess. We don’t make clothes for dolls. But I’m sure we can find something for Sonjette’s doll. What would you like for… it?”

Sonjette squeals so loud that Torra is certain her brother could hear it up in the castle. She thrusts the doll forward at Taarie. “I haven’t named her yet but I think I’m going to name her Torra after the princess. She’s got blonde hair and blue eyes like me. I would like her to wear clothes that would look good on me if I could afford it. Can you find clothes that look good on me?”

Torra had come to this shop many times over the years but never before had she seen such a soft look fall upon Taarie’s face. The High Elf nods at the little girl and even takes her hand. “Blonde hair and blue eyes, you say? I know just what colors to look for.”

Browsing through the store, Torra runs her hands over silks and furs. How many gowns had Torygg bought for her here? She’d never liked Endarie’s attitude but Taarie always was nice to her. Or at least she faked being nice rather well. Perhaps Torygg would like it if she got another dress. Perhaps one that matched her eyes or her hair. She listens to Sonjette and Taarie chatter on while Endarie moves around behind the counter.

Time passes slowly, too slowly, until Torra feels the ever-familiar lightness in her head come upon her again. No! Not here, not in front of Sonjette of all people! Her heart starts to pound and she looks around the store. There! A chair sits in front of the counter and she starts to walk towards it as calmly as she could. Sweat beads up on her forehead and starts dripping down the sides of her face. Nausea fills her and she feel like she may throw up her lunch if she doesn’t get to the chair. Closer… closer.

“Torra!” Sonjette dashes towards her and takes her hand before she can sit down. “I’m ready to go!”

“I—” Torra looks longingly at the chair but doesn’t sit down. She could not, would not, show how weak her body was to this little girl. She could make it to the castle. “Okay. But where are your materials? I can sew them for you if you’d like.”

“That’s not necessary.” Taarie moves towards the two of them, holding white, silver, and blue lace in her golden colored hands. “I’ve decided to make Sonjette’s dress myself at no extra cost to you, princess. I think Torra-doll will love it.”

Endarie snorts and Torra resists the urge to laugh. “I think she will too. Did you thank Taarie, Sonjette?”

Sonjette nods and tugs on Torra’s hand. “Yep! Can we go now? I want to tell the others that I’m getting a new dress for Torra-doll.”

“Let me pay first.” Trying hard not to stumble, Torra walks to the counter and reaches in her coin purse for some gold. She’s so sweaty, her fingers slip on the metal. “How much?”

Taarie gives a price and Endarie’s lip curls when she takes the gold from Torra. “It’s not that hot in here, princess. Why are you sweating so much?”

“Endarie!” Taarie shakes her head at her sister. “I’m so sorry, princess. My sister doesn’t know when to keep her mouth closed. Would you like me to open a window for you? The dress should be done in a day or two.”

“No thank you.” Torra feels the nausea building up again as she slides her coin purse back into her pocket and grabs Sonjette’s hand. “I really should get Sonjette back to her friends. Thank you for the dress.”

Torra clamps her teeth together, her lips thin, as she practically drags Sonjette to the door. Her stomach churns and she forces herself to watch every step, despite her vision getting cloudier and cloudier with every step they take. She wasn’t going to make it. She’d have to get Sonjette to her father or friends and then sit on the steps again until her body recovered. There was no way that she’d be able to climb all the way up the stairs and then across the bridge to the castle.

Halfway down the road though, Torra stumbles, jerking on Sonjette’s arm roughly. “Ow! Torra why did you—” the little girl’s blue eyes widen. “Are-are you okay? You’re so pale and sweaty. Daddy!”

As Sonjette shrieks for her father in front of dozens of citizens, Torra loses the last of her strength and she falls to her knees. Her eyes cloud up so badly that she can’t even see Sonjette anymore and she vomits. Sonjette screams louder but over the screams and her own puking Torra can hear the citizens call her name and shout for the guards. Embarrassment fills her and she wishes the ground would just swallow her whole. Just put her out of her f*cking misery now.

Hot, angry tears fill Torra’s eyes as soon as all of the food has left her body. Sonjette sobs next to her and Torra can vaguely hear the girl’s father trying to calm her down. Torra’s arms and legs tremble as she’s barely able to hold herself over her own vomit. She wouldn’t be able to walk back to the castle now. Someone would have to carry her again. The embarrassment flows hot through her body and more tears slide down her cheeks.

“Princess Torra?”

Rough hands grip Torra by the waist and she allows the guard to lift her to her feet. When she stands though, she’s not quite steady and the man’s hands tighten around her. She looks up to see two men wearing robes ushering the citizens away from her, another man wearing robes staring at her, and the fourth, the one gripping her waist, looking down at her.

The fourth man wasn’t wearing robes but was wearing armor identical to Ersi’s. She recognized the robes that the three other men were wearing as well. Ersi wore the same robes during funerals or any other serious ceremony that the palace had where formal wear was required. The three men wearing robes were Knights of the Brotherhood. And if they were Knights then… the man holding her waist must be Jenssen. The Knight of Solitude.

Torra swallows as she stares up, up, up at Jenssen. The man was a giant, at least compared to her. Tall, perhaps ten years older than her, with blonde hair and dark blue eyes. Strong. Ersi would have been proud to be succeeded by this mammoth of a man.

“Princess, are you okay?” The Knight who had been staring at her moves forward, concern in his eyes. “My name is Kalsing. We’ll help you get back to the castle, okay?”

Fighting back further tears, Torra nods. Now that she’d been sick, she knew there was no way that she was going to be able to walk back to the castle. Kalsing takes one of her arms and Jenssen takes the other. She’s not quite able to look them, the Knights who flank them, or the citizens in the eye. Never had she felt this embarrassed before. Behind her, Torra hears Sonjette’s continued sobs.

Torra was weak. She knew that, and now Sonjette, the Knights of the Brotherhood, and Jenssen all knew it too.

Chapter 5: The Knight of Solitude

Chapter Text

Jenssen paces back and forth in the Receiving Hall of the Blue Palace. Two of the Knights who had joined him and Kalsing on the journey to Solitude had ventured out of the room, searching for the kitchens. Only Kalsing remained at his side, staring at him with humor in his eyes. Jenssen wasn’t able to see the humor in this situation. The only thing he felt right then was embarrassment and anger.

Upon entering Solitude, Jenssen had been flanked by his fellow Knights. It didn’t take long for them to spot the crowd gathering around a shop. The four of them had heard a child screaming for her father, and the citizens shouting the princess’s name. That had spurred the four of them into action. Had the princess been harmed in some way? Had she been robbed? No. Princess Torra had been found hovering over a pool of vomit. A little blonde girl and, Jenssen presumed, her father stood next to the princess.

Kalsing had nudged Jenssen and nodded at Torra, so Jenssen had picked the girl up. She was small, delicate, and felt like she weighed nothing as he lifted her from the ground. He’d held on tighter when it became clear that she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own two feet. They all knew that she wouldn’t be able to walk back to the castle on her own so they’d helped her back. It had taken so long.

When they got to the castle and opened the doors, one of the guards had run up the stairs two at a time, shouting for someone named Sybille. A Breton woman had raced down the stairs after the guard, took one look at Torra, and immediately started barking orders. The princess had practically been ripped from Jenssen’s hands and hauled upstairs.

Now… now Jenssen was forced to wait. The commotion upstairs had grown quiet over the last couple of hours so he was sure that Torra wasn’t going to die from some illness. Tension fills Jenssen, making him pace quicker. He’d never been one who cared about glory or recognition from others. He knew he was a strong warrior and didn’t need people making a fuss over him. But this was the most glorious moment of his life. And it had been ruined because the princess had puked. f*cking puked. If she were seriously ill then he would be more understanding.

But Torra had merely thrown up her breakfast. That was all. They could put her to bed, give her a potion, and let her sleep it off. The other members of the Brotherhood who had met the girl had been right about her. She was weak. Jenssen had been right in his desire not to serve her one day. He prayed that Torygg and Elisif’s marriage would be fruitful. They could have a true son or daughter of Skyrim. One who could rule the people with strength.

Not weakness. Not Torra.

A chuckle comes from the corner of the room where Kalsing leans against the wall. “By the gods, Jenssen. You’re going to wear out the carpet. Torygg will have no use for you if you collapse due to exhaustion. The Knight of Solitude needs to understand patience. An attack on Torygg’s life may never come. You may have to spend the rest of your life sitting on your heels, waiting. Perhaps you should sit down or go to the kitchens and get some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.” Jenssen growls and lowers his voice so that only Kalsing can hear. “I understand that I need to be patient. But why all the fuss? The girl isn’t going to die. Put a f*cking potion in her and be done with it.”

“Jenssen.” Kalsing sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Try to be a little more sympathetic, won’t you? She’s Torygg’s only sibling and she’s been fragile her entire life. Of course, he’s going to worry about her more than most people do their own siblings. You are just not very high on his list of priorities right now. He will get to you when he does. Perhaps you should go eat.”

Before Jenssen can respond, footsteps come from down the stairs and he looks up to see the same Breton woman from before. “The king will see you now, Knights of the Brotherhood. Follow me.”

Jenssen glances at Kalsing and takes a deep breath before following the Breton towards the stairs, the other Knights behind him. At the top, his eyes immediately zero in the people surrounding the throne. There were two women and two men standing on Torygg’s left. One of the women bore a crown on her head and he knew she was Elisif. On Torygg’s right, sitting on a chair, is Princess Torra.

Torra’s eyes rise to meet Jenssen’s, defiant and perhaps a little bit angry. Her long, brown hair had been brushed and fell down to her waist. A tiara sits upon her head. He hadn’t had long to look at her before but he admitted that she did have beauty, if in a delicate sort of way. The most intriguing thing about her was her eyes. Never before had he seen eyes that color. Amber, if he was correct.

Torygg clears his throat and Jenssen’s eyes find his king again. He kneels before Torygg and fists a hand over his heart. “My king. I pray that you and the princess are both well.”

“I am fine.” Torygg glances over at his sister, concern clear in his eyes. “I insisted that my sister take a rest and not participate in your ceremony, but she was rather firm in her decision to celebrate you. She would not take no for an answer. My apologies, but if we could hurry this along so as I can get her back into her bed?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jenssen can see the princess’s hands curl into fists upon her lap. He nods. “Yes, her health is of the utmost importance. Let us carry on.”

Kalsing moves further into the room, followed by the two other Knights. They form a triangle around Jenssen and draw their swords. Kalsing nods at Jenssen. “Draw your sword, Knight of Solitude.”

With difficulty, Jenssen draws his sword from his kneeling position and presses the point down into the stone floor, his hands wrapped securely around the hilt. The other Knights hold their swords above his head, like they had done over Ersi’s corpse. Ersi had borrowed the strength of their blades to ease his passage to the next world. Jenssen would use the strength of their swords to protect High King Torygg.

Torygg rises to his feet and holds out a hand to stop Torra, who had started to rise to hers. He looks Jenssen in the eye and mirrors the same words that Kalsing had uttered only days before. “Jenssen Frozen-Song has been chosen by the Knights of the Brotherhood to serve as the Knight of Solitude.”

The three knights strike their swords against each other, creating a jarring noise in the quiet room.

Torygg raises his voice. “Do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song, swear to serve me, giving your life for me, if need be, until one of us passes into Sovngarde?”

Jenssen meets his king’s eyes and nods. “I do, my king.”

The knights hit their swords against each other, louder this time. The king continues on. “Do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song, swear to serve my sister and heir, Princess Torra, should death take me before it does you?”

This time, Jenssen turns his attention to Torra, who stares back with her strange, amber colored eyes. He prayed silently that it would never come to this. He raises his voice. “I do, my king.”

The knights draw back and swing their swords forward to strike again, creating a loud echo in the room. Torygg raises his hands, palms outward, towards Jenssen. He nearly shouts, “do you, Jenssen Frozen-Song, accept your position as Knight of Solitude and protector of High King Torygg and Princess Torra?”

Jenssen’s eyes flicker back and forth between Torra and Torygg before landing on Torygg. The heir had never been included in the final oath. Torygg was really trying to protect Torra’s future safety. It was unnecessary. Hadn’t he already sworn to protect Torra? Instead of voicing those words though, Jenssen merely nods. “I do, my king.”

The knights swing their swords and strike them again while Jenssen closes his eyes. He’d never thought this day would ever come. He still didn’t understand why he was chosen over Kyrmar or, gods forbid, Vulwinn. They were both better warriors than him.

“Rise, Jenssen Frozen-Song.”

Jenssen opens his eyes and watches as his fellow brothers sheath their swords. He stands and sheaths his own. Torygg moves forward and places his hands on Jenssen’s shoulders, a broad smile on his face. “I think we have had enough of the formalities. Welcome to the family, Jenssen.”

It takes a great deal of effort for Jenssen not to snort. Ersi may have fallen for the “we are family” line, but Jenssen wouldn’t. He had a job and he would give his life for Torygg and even Torra if he had to. But they weren’t a family and he wasn’t going to pretend like they were.

Torygg glances back at Torra while the Knights and the rest of the audience move towards couches, chairs, and a table set out with food. He moves towards her and Jenssen follows, knowing that this was his job now. Torygg brushes back some of her hair. “I think you should go rest, Torra. You fought me on seeing the ceremony but I think you need to rest now.”

Torra glances at Jenssen before back at Torygg. “I’m fine if I’m sitting down. Can’t I stay for a little bit longer?”

“Fine.” Torygg sighs. “I’ll go get you some food. Jenssen, can you stay and keep my sister company?”

Resisting an eyeroll, Jenssen nods and moves towards Torra. He watches as Torygg makes his way over to the table full of food and picks up a plate. One of the king’s hands comes up to land on Elisif’s back and the two smile at one another. Jenssen could see the love between the two of them. He could also see the love that Torygg had for Torra. If he were being honest though, it was foolish of Torygg to allow anyone else close enough to love. Every single person in this room was a threat to his life. There should be more guards. And the man shouldn’t be eating from a pile of food that could be poisoned.

“I’m sorry.”

Jenssen clears his throat and looks down at Torra, her head bowed and her hair covering her face. She couldn’t even look at him. He wanted to tell her to grow some balls and at least look at him while she apologized, but he figured he might be yelled at by Torygg if he did that. “What are you sorry for?”

It might have made Jenssen sound like an ass, but she needed to be a grown up. If she was going to apologize, then she was going to do it the right way.

Torra looks up at him, her eyes narrowed and her amber eyes flashing with fury. “I’m sorry.” Her voice comes out tight. “I’m sorry that you had to pick me up and help me back to the castle earlier. I was a burden on you and I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” Jenssen looks back over at Torygg, now talking to the Breton woman. “There is no further need to talk about it, princess. Besides, it didn’t put me out in anyway. You’re so small that I could probably have flung you over my shoulder and not felt a thing.”

“That’s—” Torra laughs and shakes her head. “That’s exactly what Ersi once told me.”

The two of them fall into an uncomfortable silence. The thought of Ersi makes Jenssen want to punch something. He knew that people didn’t live forever but why did Ersi have to die? The man was every bit Jenssen’s hero. He would have died without Ersi. If not death, Jenssen would have had a spot reserved for him in a prison cell. Death or prison was his future before he’d met Ersi. And Ersi’s last few years had been spent catering to a little princess.

Jenssen glances down at Torra. Not just a little princess, but a broken one. The girl was far too pale but it might have to do with falling ill earlier. Her hands remain clutched in her lap but he can see them shaking. She was weak. Torygg needed to produce a strong child or pray that Ulfric died before he did. If not, Ulfric would pluck Skyrim out of Torra’s trembling grasp and she’d have no one to blame for it but herself.

Torygg returns to the two of them and hands Torra a plate before sitting down in his throne. He looks up at Jenssen. “Why not go get yourself a plate, Jenssen? You don’t need to guard me every second of the day. I’m safe amongst my friends.”

Once again, Jenssen resists a snort or an eyeroll. Instead, he chooses the safer option of a shrug. “I will eat later. I would much rather stay with you.”

Torra makes a derisive noise and Jenssen looks down at her. Her plate sits in her lap and her fork shakes in her left hand. The worst was her skin, pale and sweaty. The last thing he wanted to see was her vomit again. He looks up. It wasn’t his place to take her back to her room unless she was in distress. That was one thing he was going to have to figure out. Ersi told him once that his room was situated in-between Torra and Torygg’s rooms. As much as he hated the thought, he needed to sleep in Ersi’s room.

A commotion sounds from the Receiving Hall and Jenssen positions himself in front of Torygg, his hand on the hilt of his sword. From the corner of his eye, he can see the other Knights do the same. The door downstairs bangs open and Jenssen pulls his sword from his scabbard. Footsteps thunder up the stairs and the Knights gather around Jenssen, Torra, and Torygg. A guard halts at the top of the stairs, seeing all the people with swords. He stutters.

“I-I—” the guard gasps, breathing hard. “My king, the-there’s a-a—”

“Enough.” Torygg rises from his seat. “Sheath your weapons, now. My life isn’t in danger here. What is it?”

Jenssen grits his teeth but does as Torygg demanded. He thought it was foolish to sheath his weapon, and the glances he’d shared with his fellow Knights proved he was right, but he wouldn’t disobey the command. Despite that, he doesn’t remove himself from his position in front of the king and princess. He would protect them regardless how badly Torygg was at considering his own mortality.

The guard takes another breath and glances around the room again before back at Torygg. “Ulfric Stormcloak is at the main gates. He might already have gotten inside the city. He says that he wants to call a moot. He wants to be named High King and replace you.”

A stunned silence fills the air as several of the men in the room look back and forth between the guard and Torygg. Jenssen longed to turn and look at the king but he had a funny feeling about what was going on. Ulfric was a fool. Even if a moot was called, it wouldn’t matter. Torygg was Istlod’s son and, not only that, but genuinely liked by many people in Skyrim. Even Jenssen, who had sympathies for Ulfric’s Stormcloaks, wouldn’t side with anyone but Torygg.

Torygg steps around Jenssen and Jenssen resists the urge to drag him back. Torygg looks around the room and sighs. “Allow Ulfric to enter the city. I will not refuse him the moot.”

“What?” Jenssen turns back to see Torra rise from her seat, her body almost immediately beginning to tremble. “Torygg, no! What if the Jarls choose Ulfric?”

“Then I will not be High King.” Torygg shrugs, sounding as if… as if he didn’t care. “I think I have the support of the Jarls, however. I only need five votes in my favor and I’m confident that I have them. Sit down, Torra.”

The girl looks like she wants to refuse but she seems to think better of it and sits. Her body continues to tremble and the Breton woman moves towards her. Jenssen turns away. He wasn’t sure how confident he was about the Jarls. Torygg was well liked but it would be nine people making this decision. If five voted for Ulfric then it would be over. Ulfric would become king and Jenssen would need to fall to his knee before him if he weren’t outright killed.

They wait in silence for Ulfric to arrive. Elisif moves towards her husband and he tries to comfort her, his eyes darting to Torra every few seconds. Jenssen remains where he is, his body rigid. He had no love for Ulfric but he had to admit, the man had courage. The Brotherhood had whispered about a moot for years and Jenssen had ignored all of them. He had doubts that this moot would go anywhere because Torygg was genuinely loved. He may have been disliked by many because of his siding with the Empire but he was still loved by at least half of Skyrim.

The only problem was that Ulfric was loved too. The question now seemed to be who was loved more.

Downstairs, the doors open and Jenssen lowers his hand back down to the hilt of his sword. Ulfric was a war hero and Jenssen knew that he likely stood no chance against him. But if Ulfric tried to attack Torygg then he would be ready for it. The room is deathly silent as slow footsteps march up the stairs. The only sounds in the room were those footsteps and Torra’s heavier breathing.

A man finally reaches the top of the stairs. A man with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. There was some kind of mark on his right cheek. Ulfric Stormcloak. Jenssen had never met the man but he knew plenty about him. A warrior. A war hero. The Bear of Markarth. Ulfric’s eyes land on Jenssen and they narrow. Jenssen’s does as well. The other man seemed almost… angry about Jenssen’s presence. Why? Ulfric didn’t know him.

Torygg nods at Ulfric. “Welcome, Ulfric Stormcloak, to Solitude. I’ve been told that you are here to request a moot. I accept. I shall call forth all of the Jarls and—”

“No.” Ulfric interrupts Torygg. “I am not here for a moot. I am here for something else.”

Jenssen narrows his eyes further. If the man wasn’t here for a moot, then what was the purpose of him being here?

Torygg seems just as confused as Jenssen. “What are you here for?”

“A duel.” Ulfric crosses his arms across his broad chest. “You and I will duel. The winner will become the High King of Skyrim. I have found that you are not fit to be the king. You make friends with the Empire and Thalmor, both. I challenge you to a duel.”

Another silence falls upon the entire group. Torygg could refuse. He could, but if he did then he would be seen as a coward by all the people of Skyrim. His honor would be lost, possibly forever. But everyone there knew who Ulfric was, as well as Torygg. Ulfric was a war hero, a fighter, and a true Nordic warrior. Torygg was brave and true, but no where near the fighter that Ulfric was. Everyone there knew that the king would lose the fight if they dueled.

If Torygg accepted, he would probably lose his life. If Torygg refused, he would lose his honor. Which did the king value more?

Torygg closes his eyes for a few moments before he opens them again, resolute. “I accept your challenge to a duel.”

A gut-wrenching sob escapes Torra as she shouts, “no!”

Chapter 6: A Duel by the Old Way

Chapter Text

Torra sits stiffly on her brother’s throne, the new Knight of Solitude on her right. It was tradition in Skyrim that if a high king was challenged, his heir would seat his throne while he fought. If Torygg lost then there would still be a moot, not that she hoped to win it. She would be required to put her name forward as Istlod’s daughter and Torygg’s heir, but Ulfric would likely win the vote. Ulfric was a war hero and she was the stumbling, vomiting in public, half-broken princess. She prays that Torygg wins the fight to keep their family on the throne. The Jarls would not be so kind to her.

The other Knights stand rigid on Torra’s left. She thought it was silly, and that they would be more useful guarding Torygg in his quarters, but he’d wanted time alone with Elisif. Her eyes drift over to Ulfric, standing with a smug smile on his face across from her. His eyes land on hers and she jerks her head away. Her eyes fall back on the Knight of Solitude.

Jenssen Frozen-Song. The name was beautiful, though cold. Torra wonders if one of his ancestors had been a bard. Frozen-Song sounded more like a name belonging to a bard than a warrior. She chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully. Perhaps his father or grandfather had been a bard? She wants to ask him but she thought that wouldn’t go over well. The man was as cold as his name. It was clear that he didn’t like her. He’d forgiven her for her weakness and needing to carry her, but she thought that he might still judge her for it.

The man, ten years or so her senior, was tall, even more so than Ersi who stood at just an inch over six feet. Ersi had been broader in his shoulders while Jenssen stood taller, with heavily muscled arms and legs. Jenssen had longer hair too, and blonde, braided, she presumed, to keep it out of his face. There was no denying that the man was handsome. With his hair pulled back, Torra could clearly see his dark blue eyes. His face did not give much away, save for his eyes. She could tell when they narrowed that he was agitated. He’d already done that several times at Torygg. If it were not such a serious situation, Torra might have laughed at his annoyance at her brother.

Torygg really didn’t know how to follow the rules.

That thought brings tears to Torra’s eyes but she refuses to let them fall. Torygg had always been by her side. She knew there was a very good chance that he was going to die today though. Ulfric was well known throughout all of Skyrim for his prowess in battle against the Forsworn. They even called him The Bear of Markarth. No one had a name like that for Torygg. Her brother was skilled with a sword but was no true warrior like Ulfric. Torygg was younger than Ulfric, and that might make the difference.

Jenssen turns to face Torra and one of his eyebrows co*ck up at her. She blushes and turns away from him. How long had he known that she’d been watching him? He likely thought that she was strange. Which was terrible considering he already thought her to be weak. She didn’t need him to tell her that. It’d been clear on his face as he’d helped her back to the castle.

Movement to her right has Torra looking up. Jenssen reaches out a hand but stops just shy of her shoulder, fisting it twice before letting it fall back to his side. “He’ll be fine, princess. You don’t need to worry.”

The lie, for Torra knew it to be a lie, makes her feel better regardless. “Thank you, Jenssen.”

The man starts, stares at her strangely for a beat too long, and nods before turning back to face Ulfric, his right hand never once leaving the hilt of his sword. Torra continues to stare at him, refusing to look at the man who wanted to kill her brother. What had shocked him? Her thanks, or using his name for the first time? Perhaps both. She had a feeling that he likely thought her to be a bit of a brat. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought that way. Fjorra called her a brat the last time they talked.

More tears come unbidden to Torra’s eyes and she grits her teeth. She hated that was how people thought of her. There was no denying that she was a princess, nor that Torygg gave her jewels, dresses, and whatever else he thought a princess should have. But it was often what he thought she wanted or should have. She never asked for those things, save for some money to buy small things for herself or the children in town. Most of her money went towards either books for herself or toys for Sonjette and the other children.

“Torra.” She looks up to see Sybille moving towards her. “I think it would be best if you go to your room. Jenssen can stand guard outside.”

“I don’t want to.” Torra lowers her voice, hoping that the Knights wouldn’t be able to hear. “He’s my brother, Sybille. If he wins, I need to see. If he loses, I will regret not seeing him in his last moments for the rest of my life. I can’t walk away.”

Sybille’s jaw tightens. “Please reconsider. This… you should not see this.”

“You think he’ll lose.” Torra hisses. “You don’t think he has a chance. You’ve raised us from birth and you have no hope in him. He could win!”

“He could!” Sybille hisses back. “But he might lose, Torra. I need to accept that and so do you. Do you truly wish to watch your brother die?”

Torra grinds her teeth so hard she briefly fears they might crack. “I have accepted that he may die and I shall be here to witness it. His glory or his death, whichever may happen, I shall witness. He’s my brother, Sybille. The last of my family.”

Realizing that the argument had been lost, Sybille rises and nods tightly. “Jenssen, you will guard the princess. If Ulfric wins, he might try to attack her and you are sworn to protect her from her enemies.”

Jenssen grunts and Sybille moves away. Torra takes a deep breath before looking up at the older man, only to find him looking back at her. He nods at her. A small nod, but a nod nonetheless. Did he approve of what she’d said? That she’d stood up to Sybille? This thought gives her pause. It wasn’t often that she stood up to Sybille, and lesser still to Torygg. Normally, she went out of her way to please everyone around her.

Not this time.

Footsteps sound from the hallway leading to Torygg’s room and Torra looks up to see Elisif and Torygg walk into the room. Bryling, Erikur, Falk, and Sybille move to the opposite wall, behind the couches and table of food. It had been decided they would duel here, in front of the entire court. There was plenty of space to move around. Elisif turns to Torygg, her eyes full of pain, and kisses him long and hard, before moving to join the others by the wall.

Steel rings in the air and Torra looks up to see Ulfric examining his blade. The Knights move closer to her and she notices Jenssen’s tightened grip on the hilt of his sword. Torygg doesn’t give Ulfric even a glance before he moves to Torra, his sword sheathed at his belt. “Torra, please, I know you probably don’t—”

“I’m not leaving.” Torra grips her hands tight in her lap. “I’m not. You’ll have to pick me up and carry me out of here, kicking and screaming. And once you get me to my room, you’ll have to knock me out and tie me to my bed. I’m not leaving you.”

Torygg reaches out and strokes a finger down her cheek until he reaches her jaw. His finger shakes. “I might die. I don’t want you to see that. I love you, my sister.”

“And I love you.” Torra’s chin starts to tremble and she prays that no one is looking at them. “That’s why I must stay.”

Her brother looks at her like he might try to continue arguing, but like Sybille, he nods instead. “Do not weep for me. Know that I will always be watching.”

A sob tries to wrench itself free from Torra’s throat but she forces it down. As she watches Torygg step towards Ulfric, her eyes fill with so many tears that they become blurry. He did not think he was going to win. He had said not to weep for him. He had said that he would be watching her. Torygg had not said “if he died.” She knew what that meant.

Torra would watch her brother die this day. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Torygg would lose his honor if he turned down the duel.

The Knights flank Torra but don’t restrict her vision, unlike her tears. Torygg and Ulfric shake hands and back away from each other. Sybille, pale-faced and stony-eyed, moves forward from her place beside Elisif. “Ulfric of Markarth has challenged High King Torygg to a duel. If High King Torygg defeats Ulfric, he shall remain the King of Skyrim. If he loses, a Moot shall be called and either Ulfric, Princess Torra, or whomever else wishes to put forth their name shall be chosen by the nine Jarls of Skyrim to be our next king or queen.”

Torygg draws his sword and he and Ulfric both take on a fighting stance. Sybille raises her voice. “They shall duel by the Old Way. Swords are their weapon of choice. This is not a fight until first blood, but to the death. The duel shall not end until either Jarl Ulfric or High King Torygg is dead.”

Tension fills the room as Ulfric and Torygg stare each other down. Sybille raises her voice louder, shouting, “begin!”

Ulfric throws himself towards Torygg and brings his blade down on the shorter man. Torygg barely manages to block the blow, before moving backwards towards the Knights and Torra. Ulfric continues his assault, bringing his sword back again and again, trying and failing each time to meet his mark. Torygg weaves his way in a circle around the room, forcing Ulfric towards him, blocking each and every blow.

Torra narrows her eyes, watching her brother feint to the left then dash to the right when Ulfric takes the bait. Not once has he tried to go on the attack. Instead, he focuses on continuously moving and blocking all of Ulfric’s aggressive strikes. Ulfric’s muscles bulge and strain underneath his Stormcloak outfit. There was no denying that he was stronger than Torygg, but Torygg was quicker.

“Oh,” Torra’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

“You understand your brother’s strategy.” One of the Knights leans towards her, whispering. Kalsing, she thought his name to be. “Torygg cannot defeat Ulfric through strength alone. No, he needs speed. He’s trying to wear out Ulfric. Torygg may not be the greatest warrior, but what he has is stamina. If this works, Ulfric will become exhausted and then your brother will strike.”

Kalsing’s words make sense, because Torra could see the sweat pouring down Ulfric’s face as he tries, and fails, to strike Torygg. This time, his blow doesn’t even meet Torygg’s sword. He was becoming slower. For the first time in the last hour, hope starts to fill her. Torygg could win! He was fighting smart, and not aggressively like that smug brute. Her eyes search out her brother’s, finding a small pool of sweat at his temples. He was tiring but was still moving much quicker than Ulfric.

Finally, Ulfric brings back his sword and lunges it forward, missing Torygg by over a foot. Torygg grits his teeth and swings, knocking the other man’s sword from his hand. Ulfric goes down onto a knee, breathing harshly. Torygg brings his sword back again, ready to deliver the final blow. Torra rises from her seat, her hands gripped and her eyes locked on her brother. A broad smile starts to spread across her face. He has won!

Ulfric looks up at Torygg’s falling blade, his blue eyes flashing angrily. His mouth opens and he… Shouts at Torygg. The noise fills Torra’s mind, loud and unnerving, almost as if it were bouncing around in her skull. Torygg flies back off his feet, his back landing on the cold stone floor. Ulfric rises from his crouch, his eyes full of fury, and he Shouts again. Torygg grits his teeth, flat on his back against the ground, unable to move.

Ulfric’s eyes rise and meets Torra’s. The cruel man, evil man, smiles at her before he looks down at Torygg and Shouts again. Torygg screams as his blood shoots from his mouth, his ears, his eyes, and his nose. His reddish-brown hair turns redder still and skin and blood and brains and intestines splatter the furniture, the walls, the court, and Torra herself. Liquid slides down her cheek.

Screams fill the air, and Torra realizes that they are coming from herself. Her nails dig painfully into her cheeks and she wails as her brother, her Torygg, finally lies still. A flash of blue and Ulfric is gone. More screams fill the room and men race back and forth, soldiers, guards, Knights, whoever.

Torra lurches towards what is left of Torygg but before she can get more than a few feet, arms incircle her, pressing her back against an unyielding chest. The armor is Ersi’s. Ersi is holding her! But no, Ersi is dead. It couldn’t be her beloved Ersi. It was… Jenssen. The new Knight. He lifts her into his arms, holding her tight, and not letting her approach her brother!

Jenssen whispers in her ear but Torra cannot hear the words coming from his mouth. The screams do not die down, and instead she registers that there were more screams, more shouts, more gasps, more groans, and the noise of vomiting. Underneath her own screams, Torra knows that Elisif, Sybille, Falk, and Bryling, who all loved Torygg as much as her, were likely the ones making those noises.

Torra’s throat feels raw but the screams still come. Jenssen continues to whisper in her ear though she still doesn’t know what he says. His arms tighten around her. Why wasn’t he letting her touch her f*cking brother!? She wanted him! She wanted her Torygg!

She wanted her brother!

Chapter 7: Plans for the Escape

Chapter Text

Jenssen paces back and forth in the throne room, his eyes drifting to the hallway leading to Torra’s bedroom. It had been nearly an hour since he had to pick her up and carry her, literally kicking and screaming, to her room. Sybille, pale faced, had followed with potions that would put the princess to sleep for a few hours. The Breton had remained with the girl while Jenssen came back to the throne room. He’d wanted to argue, as it was his place to stay with the princess now, but the Breton had told him to go. Her eyes had glowed yellow when she said that Ulfric would have to get through her to get to Torra.

Over the years, Jenssen had heard rumors that Torygg’s Court Wizard was a vampire. It seemed that there was truth to the rumors. Some of the younger, more… bigoted, members of the Brotherhood had a problem with Torygg employing such a creature, despite the woman having served Istlod first. Jenssen wasn’t too terribly pleased with it either if he was being honest. But not for bigoted reasons. His issue was that the more people Torygg trusted, the more people that had the opportunity to harm him.

But Torygg was dead now, and Torra was the one they needed to protect. Jenssen swallows against a lump in his throat. He doubted that he’d ever forget the heart wrenching screams that had escaped the girl as Torygg died. His first thought had been wondering how could a girl that small produce such a wail. The second thought had been to keep her away from her brother’s corpse.

Torra had fought against him, trying to reach Torygg. She’d even stamped against his feet, and there was nothing Jenssen could say that would calm her. He didn’t even think she’d heard him over her own wails. Nor could he remember what he’d whispered in her ears. There had been half-moon marks in her cheeks when they’d finally gotten her to her rooms. At least she hadn’t drawn blood.

Jenssen turns on his heel and continues marching in his line, his eyes glancing towards the hallway every few seconds. The servants had already removed Torygg’s body and sent word to General Tullius at Castle Dour. The general had left the city to search the area for Ulfric, but Jenssen suspected the man was long gone by now. He’d been too focused on Torra and hadn’t even noticed Ulfric escape. Of course, the man had run. There was nothing honorable about that fight.

Torygg had fought bravely. He’d also fought wisely. If it were not for Ulfric being a dishonorable sack of sh*t, Torygg would have won. Jenssen had seen people die over the years, but he’d never seen anything quite that horrific. The blood stained the walls, the floor, even some of the people. Some of it was still smeared on Jenssen’s armor. Worst of all though, was the blood that had hit Torra’s face and hair. The girl hadn’t even seemed to notice it. Servants were still trying to clear the brains and guts and blood from the floor.

Jenssen’s eyes land on the spot Ulfric had stood, waiting for Torygg to come out of his bedroom. The man had given him the strangest looks before the fight, and Jenssen had been unable to figure out why. They’d never met, but Ulfric certainly knew what the Brotherhood was. Perhaps he thought Jenssen would step in and try to help Torygg? That wouldn’t happen. Honor means a great deal to both he and Torygg. He would never let either of them be dishonored over a duel.

Kalsing steps closer to Jenssen, his face paler than usual. “Tullius is on his way. He wants as many soldiers here as possible. I’m to call the rest of the Knights to Solitude as well. I decided not to call the entire Brotherhood. Not yet at least. Torra’s life is of the utmost importance right now.”

“I agree.” Jenssen nods and eyes the hallway again. “I should be guarding Torra’s door. Better yet, I should be keeping watch in her room.”

“Sybille is in there.” Kalsing chuckles. “I wouldn’t want to try to get through her. Ulfric feared death so much that he dishonorably slaughtered Torygg. He won’t try to sneak through Torra’s second floor bedroom just to try to fight a vampire. No, Ulfric fled, like the coward he is.”

“I never thought him to be that way.” Jenssen shakes his head. “I’ve never been fond of the man, but I never thought he’d do something so dishonorable. And fleeing after the fact… what a piece of sh*t. He should have accepted the consequences of his actions.”

“I doubt he desired to be flayed alive by Sybille.” Kalsing looks across the room at one of the couches, where the queen sits and the rest of the court still stand. “I think Bryling and Falk wanted a piece of him too. The queen screamed almost as loud as the princess. She looks like she’s out for blood now.”

“Hm.” Jenssen runs a tongue over his teeth, contemplating. “You said you wouldn’t call the entire Brotherhood here. We’re only meant to be called in time of war. I think what happened today should qualify as a time of war. Why not demand the Brotherhood come now?”

Kalsing gives Jenssen a skeptical look. “And give one of them the chance to assassinate Torra?”

“They wouldn’t do that!” Jenssen glares at Kalsing, though not as hard as he probably should. There was… perhaps some truth in the older man’s words. “They-they are our brothers. You should believe in them.”

“Oh, I do.” Kalsing raises an eyebrow at Jenssen. “Are you not, at least a little bit, a Stormcloak sympathizer? You’ve never outright stated which side you’d support if you had to, but you’ve always seemed to have a little bit of sympathy for Ulfric’s side. You’ve never been terribly fond of the Empire. Many of your brothers are the same, and some worse than that. Bringing the entire Brotherhood would be a mistake because a few of your more rash brothers may try to harm Torra for Ulfric’s cause.”

“I—” Jenssen grits his teeth. “I understood Ulfric’s anger at Torygg for licking not just the Thalmor’s boots, but the Empire’s as well. But I know my duty. Torygg was the king and Torra is the heir. I fight for them. And what happened today was dishonorable. I will never side with Ulfric, ever.”

Kalsing smiles and nods before laying a hand on Jenssen’s shoulder. “Good. You may not like how Torygg handled certain things as king, but he was still your king. Many of our brothers will want Torra as queen, but many will want Ulfric to rule, especially now that he has, hm, won, the duel. Our Brotherhood has become splintered. I fear that even some of our Knights will want to side with Ulfric.”

“The Knights?” Jenssen frowns and shakes his head. “But they won’t feel that way once you talk to them. You can tell them the truth. You saw with your own eyes that Ulfric Shouted at Torygg. The king was going to win the duel and Ulfric cheated.”

“It may not be that simple.” Kalsing takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose, looking older and sadder than usual. “Anger and hatred run deep, young Jenssen. Many of our brothers have grown up surrounded by Ulfric supporters, being told that Torygg loved the Empire and licked the Thalmor’s boots. They won’t see what happened today as murder. They will see it as Ulfric using every advantage he had to rightfully take the crown from Torygg. And you can be sure that Ulfric will put his own spin on it. He will likely say that he killed Torygg with his blade. His supporters will say that is the truth. How many people will listen to an old man like me?”

As Jenssen opens his mouth to reply back, the castle doors open from down below and heavy footsteps come up the stairs. His hand falls down to the hilt of his sword but Kalsing shakes his head. “It is General Tullius. Ease yourself, Jenssen.”

Jenssen’s jaw tightens but he moves his hand from his sword. The urge to run to Torra’s door doesn’t leave him though. He couldn’t trust anyone around the girl now. It was even worse than that. Kalsing made it clear that not even the Brotherhood could be entirely trusted concerning Torra’s best interests. He narrows his eyes. They swore vows, god damnit! Only if Ulfric wins the Moot will Ulfric be their king. Until that happens, Torra is theirs to protect.

The heavy steps grow louder until a man reaches the top of the stairs. The first thing Jenssen notices is the head of white hair. Short cropped with a white beard to match, at first glance the man looks to be too old to be a fighter. Upon a further look however, Jenssen knows this man is a warrior. His armor is gold, black, and red, new and shiny, and a perfect fit against the general’s muscles. A blood red cape hangs from his shoulders with a sword slung across it. On any other man, the cape would look ridiculous.

Not on General Tullius.

The man’s brown eyes scan the room, stopping on Kalsing and Jenssen twice. He approaches the two of them, three Imperial soldiers flanking him. “Kalsing, if I remember correctly.” His eyes land on Jenssen. “And I assume this is the Knight of Solitude, Jenssen. Ersi spoke fondly of you.”

Jenssen inclines his head slightly as a show of respect. He technically outranked Tullius in Skyrim, but he was not fool enough to expect a bow from the other man. He knew who had the power here. Torygg made sure of that. “Sir.”

Tullius’s eyes remain on Jenssen for a few calculating seconds before they go back to Kalsing. “I believe Ersi’s support of Jenssen was well placed. We will need his strength for what must be done. Skyrim has been on the edge of war for years and Ulfric has stepped over the line for the last time. The Imperial Legion will put the Stormcloaks and Ulfric in their rightful place. We will support High Queen Torra and her reign over Skyrim.”

Kalsing nods slowly. “Good. The Moot has not been called yet and I daresay that it’s not a good idea to do it yet. Emotions are going to be too high. Too many people are either afraid of or in awe of the Stormcloaks and Ulfric. That man must be dealt with before the Moot can be called. We must destroy Torra’s opposition completely before she can ever safely seat the throne. But that leaves the issue of Torra herself.”

Jenssen raises his brow. “What issue? She will remain in Solitude until the war is done. I will stand guard over her night and day if need be. Where will she be safer than here?”

Tullius mirrors Jenssen’s raised brow and purses his lip in a, strangely, still manly way. “An assassination attempt could be made any day. It would be easy for a Stormcloak to dress as an Imperial soldier and make his way to her room. The first place those bastards will look for Torra is this castle. The Blue Palace is the worst place to hide the princess.”

Before Jenssen can voice his skepticism, Kalsing raises his hand to silence the younger man. “Jenssen, we have no guarantee that Ulfric isn’t going to try to kill the princess. She was surrounded by Knights and other supporters during the duel and so he couldn’t kill her then. He may attempt to kill her at a later point in time. The girl has never left Solitude, save for heavily guarded trips outside of the city. It would be best if we removed her from the city to protect her while Tullius deals with Ulfric once and for all.”

“So where are you going to send her?” Jenssen exhales, trying to mask his frustration. Wherever they sent her, he would be forced to go too. “Under normal circ*mstances, I would say the Brotherhood but—" he abruptly stops at the look on Kalsing’s face. But some of the Brotherhood might kill Torra if he took her there. No, he couldn’t take her to a place where half the people residing there wouldn’t mind seeing the girl dead.

Tullius’s calculating gaze lingers on Jenssen for a few uncomfortable seconds before he nods. “There are too few men in the Brotherhood for me to be comfortable sending her there, anyway. And some of those men are barely older than boys. No, I’ve already decided the best place for Princess Torra. I sent a message to Emperor Titus in Cyrodiil asking him to shelter Torra in the Imperial City. She will be under protection of the Emperor himself and Jenssen will go with her. I have not received word yet but I am sure the Emperor will be accommodating. The two of you will leave the day I receive confirmation.”

Jenssen shakes his head, bewildered. “You think the best idea is to remove Torra from Skyrim? This war will be fought in her and Ulfric’s name! How will the people of Skyrim feel knowing that their future queen has run from the country in fear for her own life? They will think her to be a coward.”

“Who do you trust?” Tullius’s eyes land on Jenssen’s, giving him an unnerving stare. “Who do you trust in Skyrim to protect her? Do you trust Balgruuf? Laila? Skald? Igmund? Idgrod? Siddgeir? Korir? Half of them supported Torygg but the other half weren’t quiet about wanting Ulfric to call for a Moot. They may despise of Ulfric’s methods but they will want Ulfric to rule regardless. If we send her to a Jarl then she may wind up killed by said Jarl. The Holds are the only safe place for her and we could just as easily send her to a Hold where the Jarl will slit her throat for Ulfric.”

Kalsing sighs. “The only neutral option is Balgruuf but his city is full of either Torygg supporters or Ulfric supporters. The girl may very well be slaughtered by some poor young fool thinking he’ll please Ulfric if he kills her. There are far fewer threats to Torra’s life in the Imperial City.”

Knowing that he is outnumbered, Jenssen finally nods and concedes. Hadn’t he, himself, just earlier that day, thought that Torygg trusted too many people? Torra’s life was of the utmost importance now. If that meant the two of them would travel to Cyrodiil, so be it. “What is your plan General? Will Princess Torra and I be taking a ship? I would prefer it if at least two or three of the other Knights join us, as well.”

Tullius shakes his head and crosses his arms. “No, it’s not wise for the two of you, and only the two of you as a larger group would make you look too conspicuous, to take a ship. Ulfric’s Stormcloaks have control over the harbor at Windhelm. They could easily send ships after the two of you that way. No, the two of you will travel by foot to the southern border. You will travel south of Falkreath, where you will meet me as I will be stationed at Helgen in case Ulfric plans to escape the country, and I will get the two of you into Cyrodiil. I have already sent word to Siddgeir to send soldiers to the border to catch Ulfric.”

“You fear that a group would be conspicuous…” Jenssen frowns. “But would a princess and the Knight of Solitude already be conspicuous?”

“They would,” Tullius nods. “If that was who would be traveling. You will forgo your armor and Torra will remove her fanciful dresses and jewels. The two of you will dress in commoner clothing and act as husband and wife on your journey south. You are a farmer from Whiterun and your wife is the daughter of a Cyrodiil merchant. Her mother was a Nord. The two of you are traveling south because Torra’s father has become ill and the two of you are going to take care of him.”

“You—” Jenssen’s cheeks fill with heat. “You want me to fake being Torra’s husband? What does that entail exactly?”

“That is precisely what I want.” Tullius’s brow shoots up again. “Are you or are you not honor bound to protect her? That means you must be ready to do anything to protect her. You will travel together. In public, as much as you must be, you will hold hands. You will kiss. If you stay at inns, you will sleep in the same bed. Torra does not have a husband and nor is she betrothed to a man or woman. No one will suspect a random, dirty commoner, hugging her husband, to be the princess. You must both play the role. You can go back to your original names once safely in Cyrodiil.”

Jenssen’s cheeks burn brighter. He was no blushing maid. He’d bedded many women over the years. But Torra was short, tiny, easily flustered, and so obviously a virgin. She was not his type at all. “Fine.” He grits out. “So long as I’m not expected to bed her.”

Kalsing makes an affronted noise but Tullius merely snorts. “So long as it’s not rape, you and Princess Torra can do whatever you want. To protect her, can you pretend to be her husband long enough to get her to the border? I will take care of it as soon as you’re there. I would take her myself but I am likely to be attacked on my way south.”

“Fine.” Jenssen knew Tullius wasn’t the safest option for Torra right now. And no one outside of Solitude and the Brotherhood knew his face, and that he was the Knight. As much as he despised this plan, it was the safest way to protect the girl. “I agree. Who is going to tell the princess?”

“You.” Tullius raises his eyebrow again and Jenssen feels the urge to rip it off the man’s face. “It should be you.”

Sighing, Jenssen turns away from the two men and walks towards the hallway leading to Torra’s room. She was going to hate this. He was going to hate this. But they needed to protect her.

He needed to protect her.

Chapter 8: Schemes in the Darkness

Chapter Text

Torra stands in the entranceway of the Blue Palace, waiting for Jenssen to rejoin her. Her eyes drift over the room. How many months, even years, until she could come back here? That was if Tullius won the war. If Ulfric won, then Torra would never again set foot in her home. She’d grow old and die as a guest of the Emperor. Would Jenssen return to Skyrim without her? He’d sworn vows to her and Torygg but his duty was to the king or queen of Skyrim. Neither she nor Ulfric was the queen or king.

Not yet. And she would be damned if she would return to Skyrim and serve Ulfric as the Jarl of Solitude.

Closing her eyes, Torra thinks about what Jenssen had told her when he’d woken her up two days before. They were going to fake being married, walk to the border, and get escorted the rest of the way to the Imperial City from there. It felt like her world was falling apart. It didn’t help that it was clear Jenssen was furious with Tullius’s plan. She didn’t blame him for being angry. If she wasn’t so scared for her life, perhaps she might be just as angry if not more so about the situation.

But Torra wasn’t angry. She wanted to live. She wanted to take care of her people. She wanted to travel Skyrim and meet her citizens. She wanted to smell flowers everyday and play with the children of Skyrim. She wanted to get married for real and have a son named Torygg… she wanted. If pretending to be Jenssen’s wife for a few weeks was what she had to do to live then so be it. That was a price she was willing to pay. So long as he didn’t actually try to bed her.

That was the only part Torra was uncomfortable with. Jenssen had made it very clear that he wouldn’t bed her and would only hug, kiss, and touch her in public. But there was still a part of her that was worried. She’d only ever been bedded by Ersi and had no desire to be bedded by another man so soon after Ersi’s passing. Especially not a man who reminded her so much of him. Shame fills her as she thinks about Jenssen’s arms around her when she’d been fighting to get to Torygg’s body. She thought, briefly, that Ersi had come back to take care of her.

But he was just a ghost. He was gone, and Jenssen was in his place.

Cold-eyed Jenssen. Ersi’s eyes had been warm and full of love for her. Jenssen’s were blue and icy and angry. His long blonde hair was so different from Ersi’s short darker hair too. He was short when he spoke to her. She thought he might serve only grudgingly. And she couldn’t help but ask herself if he’d prefer to serve Ulfric instead of her. She knew he wasn’t the only one questioning who the better leader would be. She’d asked herself that same question when she’d been immobile in her bed.

Heavy footsteps come down the stairs and Torra looks up to see Jenssen approaching her. He still wore his armor. She wondered when he would take it off. The tension comes off of him in waves as he approaches her with teeth gritted. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave the castle until tonight, princess. It’s not safe for you out there.”

Torra raises her eyebrow and turns to walk to the main doors, not waiting to see if he would follow her. “This is my home and I would like to see it one last time before I leave. You and I both know very well that we might never return. Ulfric could win the war and I would never be able to come back.”

Jenssen follows behind her and they walk out into the courtyard. They walk towards the bridge leading into the city. He growls. “You’re taking unnecessary risks! Tullius has already started spreading word through Solitude that you’ll be going to Cyrodiil by way of ship. What if someone tries to assassinate you now before you leave?”

“No one in Solitude would try to kill me!” Torra rolls her eyes at the older man. “And besides, I’ve got you here to protect me. You refuse to leave my side. I’m perfectly fine.”

Jenssen continues to grumble as the sun sets around them, casting an orange glow about the city. Shadows move in the corners of the houses and Torra shudders. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to come out here. No, Jenssen was merely making her paranoid. No one in Solitude would ever hurt her, and there was someone she wanted to see.

They pass the blacksmith and walk down the stairs. Torra’s eyes immediately stop on Sonjette’s father, still working at his stand. The girl must be around there somewhere. Torra steps in Sonjette’s father’s direction but, before she can go more than a few feet, a little blonde girl practically flies from around the corner, halts for a second, and launches herself into Torra’s arms. Torra makes an “oomph” noise as Sonjette knocks her back into Jenssen’s arms.

Jenssen steadies Torra and Sonjette before stepping back a couple feet. Torra pets Sonjette’s hair. “I was afraid you’d be at home. I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Sonjette wails, her voice muffled against Torra’s middle. “I’m so frightened. Daddy says there’s going to be a war. He says you have to go so you can be safe.”

Torra’s arms tighten around the little girl. “That’s right. I’m going to get on a big boat and it’s going to take me to Cyrodiil. Maybe they’ll let me fish over the side. I like fish but I have a feeling I’ll get tired of it after a while.”

It killed Torra to lie to the girl. She wished that she didn’t have to. What she really wanted to say was that she’d stop in Whiterun to get the girl a toy. She’d be eating venison stew at an inn, not fish on a ship. But Sonjette was a child and would likely tell her friends Torra’s real plans if she dared speak them. No, Torra needed to lie, even though it killed her to do it. Maybe one day she could apologize to little Sonjette.

“Fish is nasty.” Sonjette makes a face. “Daddy likes it because it’s cheaper than the other meats. I like venison a lot but daddy can’t afford it most of the time.”

“I wish you would have told me that.” Torra waves at Sonjette’s father and wraps an arm around the girl. “I could have had some venison brought to your house. When I return from Cyrodiil, I’ll invite you and your father up to the castle and we can have some venison, bread, and butter. One of the cooks make the most amazing sweet rolls too. Would you like that?”

Sonjette licks her lips. “Yum! We don’t get butter with our bread very often. Daddy likes to sop his up in his stew. I don’t like my bread mushy though. Where are we going?”

“Radiant Raiment.” Torra leads Sonjette to the tailor’s door. “I wanted to see how your doll’s dress was coming along.”

“Torra-doll!” Sonjette giggles and pushes the door open. “You remembered! You were so sick last time that I thought you would forget about it.”

“I’ll never forget.” Torra smiles down at the girl and holds the door open for Jenssen. “Let’s go see if Taarie and Endarie are done making it.”

Torra watches Sonjette run her fingers along a blue dress several sizes too big for her and smiles. She would miss the girl so much when she was gone. Footsteps come from further in the store and Torra looks up just as Taarie rounds the corner. The Altmer’s eyes narrow and walks towards them. Before she can back away, Taarie wraps her up in a big hug. Jenssen steps forward and growls, “let her go!”

Taarie pulls away and rolls her eyes at the man. “If I wanted to kill her, you wouldn’t be able to stop me, big man.” She turns back to face Torra. “I’m disgusted with that Ulfric Stormcloak. Your brother was a good man and he didn’t deserve to die. Endarie and I completely support you and your right to the throne.”

Touched, Torra smiles at the usually disgruntled Altmer. “Thank you, Taarie. I hope to be back soon. General Tullius and the Imperials are going to find Ulfric and make him pay for what he did to Torygg.”

“Hopefully the general will be quick about it.” Taarie turns away from them and goes back behind the counter. “I finished the dress for the little Torra-doll. Do you like it?”

Sonjette squeals as the blue laced dress is placed on the counter. “Oh, I love it! I just love it so!”

Smiling, Torra watches Sonjette spin around the room, holding her new dress up for everyone to see. Turning back to Taarie, Torra says, “thank you for the dress for the doll, but I was wondering if you could make a matching one for Sonjette? As a going away present from me to her.”

Sonjette stops spinning and almost tumbles to the floor. Only the quick action from Jenssen stops her fall. She looks at Torra with wide eyes. “But this dress is so nice. My daddy doesn’t have the gold for one my size.”

“But I do.” Torra pulls out her coin purse and opens it. “You can tell your father that it’s a going away present from me. It might be years before I come home again. I’d like you to have something to remember me by.”

Taarie’s eyes are suspiciously bright as she takes in the scene. “I’d be honored to make a dress that matches Torra-doll’s. Since it’s such a special occasion, perhaps I can give you a slight discount. I won’t be able to get to it for a few days though. I received a large order for clothes from the castle a couple days ago and have a few finishing touches to complete before I send it on. I can start on Sonjette’s dress tomorrow.”

Torra’s eyes find Jenssen and he shakes his head slightly at her. She looks back at Sonjette and Taarie picking out the material Sonjette would want for her dress. The large order from the castle had been for her and Jenssen. Their disguises. Coming here had been foolish. Taarie was making clothes for a man Jenssen’s size and a woman Torra’s size. Would she see the two of them and realize what the clothes were for? It wasn’t uncommon for Bryling, Falk, or Sybille to order in bulk for the servants, but for two very specific sizes? And those two sizes walking through Taarie’s door?

Taarie glances over at Torra. “That’ll be twenty-five gold pieces, princess.”

Nodding, Torra reaches into her purse and hands the gold, plus a little bit extra, to Taarie. Sonjette watches the exchange with a hopeful look in her eye. She looks up at Torra. “Are you sure it’s okay to spend that much money on me? I-I don’t need a new dress. I’m fine.”

Tucking away her coin purse, Torra laughs and gives Sonjette a hug. “It’s fine, sweet Sonjette. I only wish I could see you wear it. I hope I come back soon.” She looks up at Taarie and tries to hide her unease. “Her father works at one of the stands. Can you have someone bring him the dress once it’s done?”

Taarie nods. “Of course, princess. Save travels. I hated my journey to Skyrim on that big boat. I couldn’t wait to get back to land, even if it was this land. I hope your journey by boat is more enjoyable for you.”

Jenssen clears his throat. “It’s time to leave, princess. Your ship will be waiting for you.”

Nodding, Torra thanks Taarie and grabs Sonjette’s hand. Jenssen holds the door open for them and they make their way back to the stairs leading up to the blacksmith and Castle Dour. Sonjette gives Torra a big hug before running back to her father with tears in her eyes. Torra can barely hide her own. She’d miss that girl. Gods, how she would miss everyone in Solitude.

Torra only takes a few steps up the stairs before the familiar white fuzziness fills her vision. She stops and Jenssen almost walks right into her back. He steps away and gives her a confused look. “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I just need a minute.” Torra closes her eyes and tries to breathe through her nose. “I’m a little lightheaded.”

“Lean on me.”

Jerking her head up, Torra stares at the man in shock. “I just need a minute. I’ll be fine soon.”

“Princess, you don’t need to draw any attention to yourself.” Jenssen scowls. “When I met you, you fell down and threw up in the streets. I’ll wrap one arm around you and you can lean against me until you feel better. If you try to walk on your own and fall, everyone will stare. Do you want that?”

Torra shakes her head and allows Jenssen to wrap one of his arms around her, his hand resting on her elbow. She slides her other arm around his waist and holds on as they slowly make their way up the stairs. Her eyes dart around, looking at the few civilians still out and about. One or two stare at them for a few seconds before shrugging. They were used to seeing her need a little bit of help getting back to the castle. They weren’t used to seeing her vomit all over the street. Jenssen was right. She needed help and he was there.

That thought didn’t make her humiliation go away as they slowly made their way past Castle Dour and across the bridge. Every one of her steps grows stronger but she still clings to him as they walk. How in the world were they going to make their way to the border like this? Surely Jenssen wouldn’t be okay with taking multiple breaks. Ersi would have carried her but she didn’t know how she felt about Jenssen doing that. She’d be humiliated.

Maybe Tullius would get them a couple horses and a cart. Torra could ride in a cart. She was proud but she knew her limits. Walking all the way to the border would be next to impossible for her.

Sybille is on them as soon as they walk through the castle doors. “Come, Torra! We need to make sure your new clothes fit before you leave. Jenssen, you must get yours on as well. You’ll need a new sword as well.”

Torra allows herself to be pulled away from Jenssen and up the stairs. Bryling and Elisif await them in Torra’s room. They all fuss over her and her new clothes as she puts them on. Several times, she finds tears start to well up in her eyes but she refuses to let a single one fall. These women were her family. She loved them. How many months, even years, would it be before she saw them again? Would Ulfric kill Elisif if he thought he had to? She, as the new Jarl of Solitude while Torra was gone, would surely resist bending her knee to the man.

When she’s dressed, Torra watches Bryling and Sybille walk from the room, carrying her single bad between them. Elisif joins her on the bed and takes her hands in her own. “I swear to you, sweet sister, that I will protect Solitude until you return. You will be the queen of Skyrim and your children will one day rule. My only regret is that your brother didn’t give me a child to love of my own.”

“You—” Torra swallows past a lump in her throat. “You could still have a child. Maybe you will love another man as much as you loved Torygg.”

Elisif smiles at her sadly. “I just don’t see that happening. I don’t think I could ever love someone as much as I loved your brother. There is a hole in my heart that I can’t see anyone else filling. I may take another lover to my bed one day to ease my loneliness, but my heart will always belong to him.”

Torra understood how the other woman felt. She still felt keenly the sting of losing a love. Her relationship with Ersi had been unorthodox but it had been theirs. The thought of bedding another man filled her with disgust. She belonged to Ersi, not another man. But she knew her situation was different from Elisif’s. As the princess, she would need to get married and have children. Maybe in a few years, when the sting of Ersi’s loss didn’t feel quite so painful, she would have a child. She could give Elisif a child to spoil, even if it weren’t her own.

A knock sounds on the door and Torra and Elisif rise from the bed. Torra allows the other woman to take her in a long hug. The door opens and Jenssen steps into the room, garbed in commoner clothes. The brown and white shirt stretches across his chest, showing off the thick muscles of his torso and chest. Two leather bracelets are strapped across his wrist. The pants are black and form fitting. His hair, normally tied back, is loose and touching his shoulders.

Warmth fills Torra’s belly. He looked nice. She must look like a street urchin in her white dress with the brown tunic over it compared to him. She never wore her hair tied back, preferring to let the chestnut waves wall down her back, but now it was lifted into a messy bun courtesy of Sybille.

Jenssen’s eyes rake over Torra, filling her body with heat, before he nods. “Tullius wants to talk to us before we leave. Are you ready?”

No, Torra wanted to shout. She’d never be ready to leave. She wanted to throw herself on her bed, kicking and screaming, until they all went away. But she was a princess and would behave like one. Besides, she’d be living a life of luxury in the Imperial City. Tullius would take care of everything for her.

Torra follows Jenssen out of the room, down the hall, and into the throne room. The rest of the court, the Knights, and Tullius stand waiting. Torra can see tears in Sybille’s eyes and she quickly looks away. She would be damned if she’d start crying in front of all these people, especially that braying ass Erikur.

Tullius’s eyes follow the same path up and down Torra’s body as Jenssen’s had just done. Finally, he nods. “You look like a beautiful, but common girl from Skyrim. You’ll both put on cloaks as well. Whenever you go into towns, the princess should wear her hood up just in case anyone might recognize her like this. You will each have one bag with your belongings in them. Jenssen’s bag has gold, food, and seeds in it for your cover story. You won’t take a horse or cart because they’re commonly attacked on the road.”

Resisting a grimace, Torra nods. She’d been praying for a horse and cart but Tullius’s words made sense. They didn’t want to draw any attention to themselves, be it Torra looking like a princess or a horse making them an easy target. Though she understood the need to not have a horse with them, she was still upset about it. She’d surely grow too ill to continue walking at some point, and what would happen when that happened?

Would Jenssen carry her?

Tullius glances around the room at all the people, grimacing. “I wish so many people didn’t know about this plan but there’s nothing that can be done about it now. Say your goodbyes and the two of you will be leaving in the middle of the night, under the protection of darkness. The story I’ve spread is that you’ll be leaving for your ship in the morning but you’ll actually be leaving in a few hours. I’ll be back soon.”

Torra watches the man leave and she moves to stand in-between Sybille, Falk, and Bryling. She can feel Elisif walk up behind her. These people were her family. She loved them. She would miss them.

She didn’t know what she’d do without them.

Chapter 9: First Fights and Kisses

Chapter Text

Jenssen’s jaw tightens as he stands by the door of their room in the inn, waiting for Torra to finish up in the bathroom they were lucky to get attached to their quarters. It had been seven days since they left Solitude, and the longer this journey was taking, the longer he wanted to wrap his hands around her thin neck and squeeze the life out of her. It wouldn’t even take both hands. She was so small that he could kill her with a single one of his hands.

It shouldn’t have taken seven days to walk to Dragon Bridge. On a good day, Jenssen could walk at least thirty miles. On a great day, he could get up to forty, though that was difficult even for someone as athletic as him. He wasn’t an unreasonable man. He fully expected that Torra wouldn’t be able to go that far in a single day. But he hadn’t considered that she is a spoiled princess who couldn’t even walk to and from a castle to a tailor’s shop without getting winded. They weren’t even getting twenty miles in every day.

Dragon Bridge is less than a hundred and twenty miles from Solitude. They should have made that journey in three to five days, at the most. Seven. f*cking. Days. Torra had quite literally thrown herself into the bed the night before when they arrived.

He’d tried, oh, Jenssen had tried to get her to walk faster. The first day, as they’d been escaping Solitude by nightfall, she’d stared whimsically at every building they passed, as if she were trying to imprint each sight in her memory. He’d gently nudge her forward, and she would go, but not long after she’d stop to look at another building. It had been infuriating, but he’d understood her desire not to leave the only home she’d ever known.

Torra only made it a couple miles south-west of Solitude before she asked for a break. Her cheeks had been rosy and her breaths came out in shallow pants. They’d continued on the same way they’d done earlier that day. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, hers wrapped around his waist. They’d made it another mile or two before she claimed she couldn’t go on anymore and… asked him to either let her rest or to carry her for a time.

Jenssen couldn’t believe the girl’s gall. He hadn’t signed up for that. He’d signed up to serve her brother, not carry her all the way to the south border of Skyrim. But the moon was high over them by then, and he needed to get her to Dragon Bridge. So he swallowed his pride, bent down, and let Torra climb onto his back. Her petite legs wrapped around his hips and her arms around his neck. He hadn’t been positive, but he thought she might have napped a little that first night on his back.

With the extra weight on his back, Jenssen hadn’t been able to walk nearly as far as he wanted, but he didn’t kick her off himself because he didn’t want to deal with her whining. Holding their bags in an iron grip, his sword swung at his waist while he walked. Torra breathed against his ear, her head resting on his shoulder. That set his teeth on edge, but he hadn’t said anything. Her silence was a gift to him. If the whole journey was guaranteed to be like that, he would have gladly carried her the rest of the way to Cyrodiil.

The silence hadn’t lasted long, however. When Jenssen had finally grown tired, about fifteen miles into the journey, he’d wanted to stop and rest in a cave. Torra had looked horrified at the cave he’d found. She’d started shouting about bears and frostbite spiders and gods only knew what other creatures could be in there. It had felt good to roll his eyes, dump her off his back, and stride into the cave with his sword drawn to fend off the scary creatures in the cave. There hadn’t been any.

Torra had tried to cuddle near Jenssen for warmth but, by that time, he had had enough of her for the night. Only her teeth chattering had made him feel pity enough to move closer. It wouldn’t do any good to let her die from the weather. Her small hand had rested on his bicep and he allowed it. She was scared, he knew. He’d decided that they’d travel only during the night, so they’d slept fitfully in the cave as the sun rose above them. Every dawn since, he’d drag her into a new cave to sleep in, ignoring her begging for an inn.

And the food! Nothing was ever good enough for the spoiled little princess. He hadn’t allowed her to take food from his pack, fearing they might run out of food on the way south. Jenssen would catch her fish, and she’d gag as he gutted them. He’d shot an arrow through a rabbit’s eye and she’d literally vomited. One night, he’d spotted a deer grazing. He left their camp to go try and shoot it, and she’d screamed just before he let the arrow fly. They ate nothing but berries that night.

He hadn’t even wanted to stop at Dragon Bridge, only merely pass through it. Torra had won that particular battle. Jenssen wanted to spend as little amount of time in towns as he possibly could, not because he didn’t want to pretend to be married to her, but because he didn’t want to risk some random citizen recognizing her. She’d claimed that her father kept her inside the castle most of her life and had only visited Dragon Bridge as a child. Still, it was close enough to the castle that he feared someone might recognize her. She’d been stubborn though and demanded a meal and bed. It hadn’t been worth the effort to silence her and make her continue south.

Torra hadn’t been pleased when Jenssen ordered her to wear her cloak with the hood over her head, but she’d done as he demanded. They’d reluctantly held hands through the village as they walked towards the inn. Her hand had been clammy in his, holding onto him tightly. She hadn’t been able to look away from the dragon statue on the bridge. He’d allowed her to look for a few minutes before he pulled her away, calling her “his” Sonjette.

That had been another point of contention between the two of them. What the girl had been thinking, naming herself after the late queen, Jenssen didn’t know. He knew it was different from Queen Sonjetta’s name, but not different enough. He’d told her as such, and she said it wasn’t inconceivable that she was named after the late queen, seeing as the young Sonjette in Solitude had been as well. Jenssen thought it was better to cut off as many ties to Solitude as they could.

He’d been tempted to call himself Kalsing or Ersi… and instead landed on Barik Ravens-Song. The family name was close enough to his own that he’d remember it, and Barik had been the name of a friend of his father’s. He supposed that was why he hadn’t forced Torra to change her mind about her name. She’d gone with something she knew, as had he. Barik had been one of the men who’d held him back from his mother’s corpse. He wondered what the old man was doing now.

“Jenssen, there’s dirt on one of my dresses and I don’t know where it came from.” Torra steps back into the room, scowling down at the hem of her sky-blue dress. “It’s disgusting.”

“Don’t call me Jenssen, Sonjette!” He hisses. “There could be someone standing outside the door. And I don’t care about the dirt on your dress. You’ll have all the pretty dresses you could ever want once we get to Cyrodiil. Come on, we’ve lingered in this place long enough.”

Torra scowls. “You don’t have to be so rude, Barik. We’re going to stay just a little bit longer. I’d like to have breakfast and then we can discuss the route we’ll be taking.”

“You’re not having breakfast.” Jenssen pulls the coin purse out of his bag and counts the gold inside. “We don’t have an unlimited amount of funds, Sonjette. It was foolish to get a room and food last night. We could have eaten from the bag but you just had to have stew and bread, didn’t you? And there’s nothing to discuss. I know what route we’re taking.”

“I was hungry!” Torra’s eyes flash and she stomps over to her own bag, shoving all of her dresses back into it. “You don’t feed me the way I’m used to! Of course I wanted bread with my stew.”

Jenssen grinds his teeth before he jerks his bag off the bed and shoulders it. “If you ate what I gave you, you wouldn’t be f*cking hungry, would you? But no, you can’t manage to not weep or whimper over the poor rabbits and deer. You eat venison and fish and rabbit at the castle, why can’t you do it when we’re on the run?”

“I’ve never seen them die before!” Torra mirrors Jenssen, with her bag thrown over her own shoulder. “I’ve never had a fish stare up at me while it was gutted! I’ve never seen blood spurt from the eye of a rabbit as it’s shot! You expect me to handle something normally that I’ve never had to deal with before. I’m many things Barik Ravens-Song, but I’m not perfect.”

“Isn’t that the f*cking truth.” Jenssen mutters. “Let’s go, my darling, little wife.”

“Kindly f*ck off, my egotistical husband.” The curse has Jenssen stopping at the door to turn to stare at her. Torra wasn’t one to curse at another person. Perhaps he’d crossed a line. “I want to talk about our route!”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Jenssen’s hands curl into fists, the thought don’t strangle her running in his head on a loop. “We’re going south.”

“Yes, my dear,” Torra says sarcastically. “I’m well aware we’re going south. What I mean, and this should have been obvious before, is what route will we be taking. Should we take the road going east first before turning south, or the one going south from the bridge. I was thinking we should take the road going to the east. We could pass through Morthal and Whiterun that way.”

Jenssen freezes. It had been years since he was in Morthal last, but he suspected people would recognize him there anyway. They wouldn’t recognize her but he had no desire to see them. “We’re not going by way of Morthal. Fort Snowhawk is in that direction and it’s too dangerous.”

Torra gives Jenssen a funny look. “Fine. Then we can cross the bridge and travel south to Rorikstead and on to Falkreath from there.”

“No.” Jenssen shakes his head. “Fort Sungard is down that way. It’s not safe either.”

“But…” Torra pulls her map out of her pack and opens it. “But there are no other roads! We can go east or we can go south.”

Jenssen has to force back a grin with great difficulty. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. “We won’t be taking a road, at least not for a small portion of our trip. I won’t risk your safety passing the forts. I don’t much like the idea of taking roads at all but it would be safer in the Reach, where there are mountains. I wouldn’t want you tumbling off one.”

“I-I—” Torra stutters. “I… what?! We’re not taking a road?! What do you mean?”

“We will be traveling south from here, without taking the bridge.” Jenssen grins, unable to hide it any longer. “We’ll travel to Karthwasten, and then start walking south towards Markarth on the road. Your dresses are about to get a lot muddier, sweetling. But don’t worry, my darling. Karthwasten isn’t too much farther from here than Solitude is.”

Torra stomps her feet, her face starting to turn red. “I don’t want to go that way! I want to take the road! I want to go to Morthal!”

The grin disappears from Jenssen’s face. Did she just stomp her f*cking feet at him? Is she, a nineteen-year-old girl, throwing a f*cking temper tantrum? Clearly, no one ever punished the brat a single time as a child. He’s tempted to sit on the bed, drag her across his knee, and spank her until she cries. But he had to remember that she was not just a princess, but quite possibly the future queen of Skyrim. He could spank her today and be beheaded by her for it in a year.

Gods help Skyrim. Neither of her options for a ruler were good. They could have the weak, spoiled brat, or the oath-breaking sack of sh*t.

Jenssen sighs, trying to calm down and be patient. “I’m trying to keep you safe. There will be bandits on the road, assassins. People rob caravans all the time. And I have no doubt that Ulfric might suspect we’re lying about how we’re getting you out of Skyrim. My way may not be safe, but it’s safer than the road. People will suspect you to take the ship or take the road. They won’t suspect you walking through the wilderness. And we will be taking the road south of Karthwasten. The mountains will simply be too dangerous then.”

“Well,” Torra fiddles with the laces of her dress for a few moments before she nods. “So long as we can stop and rest at Markarth.”

“I—” Jenssen rolls his eyes. “Fine! We can stop at Markarth and you can have all the stew you want. Can we just go?”

Torra smiles at him, making him swallow past a lump in his throat. He shakes his head. “Let’s go.”

They walk out of the room, only to find the innkeeper grinning at them from the bar. Several men are sitting at tables, staring at them. Jenssen can feel his face starting to warm, but before he can say anything, the innkeeper laughs. “I took you two for newly married. Was that your first big fight?”

Jenssen’s face flames hotter and he clears his throat uncomfortably. f*ck! How much had they heard? Did they figure out who they were or had they only heard raised voices? Before he can answer, a warm hand slides into his own. Torra moves next to him, her hood pulled up over her head, and smiles at the innkeeper. “Not our first fight, no, and probably won’t be our last, given how stubborn my husband is. But he’s finding that I’m stubborn too, and I love him more than anything else in the world.”

The innkeeper makes a sighing noise but Jenssen ignores her. He stares down at Torra, who looks up at him with smiling eyes. There were a lot of things about the princess he didn’t like, but she clearly was a fantastic actress. She looked like she was genuinely in love with him. Should he kiss her? Tullius had said they needed to act like a real husband and wife. A true husband would kiss his wife after such a grand declaration of love.

Leaning towards her slowly, giving her an option to back out if she wishes, his eyes zero in on her lips. It wouldn’t be so terrible. Torra was beautiful, with her chestnut-colored hair and amber eyes. It wouldn’t be physically displeasing to kiss her. His decision made, Jenssen lifts his hands to cradle her cheeks between them, tilting her head up. She lifts herself onto the tips of her toes to help with their major height difference. How much taller was he, he wonders. A foot and an inch? More?

Jenssen’s lips brush against Torra’s, a gentle, innocent kiss, but a kiss, nonetheless. One of the men whoops and the innkeeper giggles, but Jenssen tries to ignore them. Torra’s lips are pink and soft, warm against his own. If she were any other girl, he would press his tongue against the seam of her lips, asking her to open them.

But she wasn’t any other girl.

Brushing a thumb against Torra’s cheekbone, Jenssen allows his lips to linger only for a few more seconds before he pulls away, admittedly reluctantly. Torra’s eyes remain closed for a few seconds, her lips parting slightly, before she opens them. Her eyes are strangely shiny, and he wonders if she’s going to cry. Had he gone a step too far? They hadn’t needed to kiss. It wasn’t required. But, based on the whoops and hollers behind them, it had worked in their favor.

Torra was a princess with no marriage match. Sonjette was a wife.

Taking Torra’s hand again, Jenssen tugs her gently towards the door and smiles warily at the innkeeper and patrons. The cool air feels good against his heated cheeks as they walk outside. Torra’s hand squeezes his sporadically, making him wonder if she’s just nervous or angry, or both.

Avoiding the guard’s as much as possible, Jenssen leads her to the southernmost part of town. At the edge of the village, he turns towards her, unable to fully look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I know we were told we might have to do this but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I was hoping it wouldn’t happen at all. Maybe it won’t again.”

Torra nods, her cheeks turning red. “It’s fine. I’m ready to go. Um… I’m-I’m gonna need help through here.”

Jenssen follows her eyes to the cluster of mountains and rocks, leading towards the south. He sighs. How many times would he have to pick her up and carry her through the mountains? This stage of the journey would be perilous, even without the extra burden of carrying the princess. But he’d signed up for this job, and he would do his duty.

“I’ll help you. Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they start their way across a section of rocks and boulders.

Chapter 10: Fights and Beasts in the Mountains

Chapter Text

Torra had thought the road from Solitude to Dragon Bridge had been rough, but now she realized the road had been nothing, nothing compared to the way further south. She thought the rugged mountains south of Dragon Bridge were pure f*cking hell. Dragon Bridge was nearly a hundred and twenty miles from Solitude, but that had been on a road. Dragon Bridge to Karthwasten was nearly the same distance as Solitude to Dragon Bridge, with one major difference.

There was no road.

The mountain paths had been treacherous as they’d walked, tip-toed, and, in several unpleasant places, even crawled along narrow perches to get to where they needed to go. It would have been amusing to see the half-giant Jenssen trying to fit on narrow ledges… if Torra hadn’t had to follow him onto those narrow ledges. More than once she’d had to ask him to lift her or lower her or help her in some other way. He always did it, but it’d been clear by his eye rolls and stony silences that he hated helping her.

Their resting caves had become much scarier this far south as well. Torra had been terrified of bears and frostbite spiders close to Solitude. Maybe a horker or two. No, it had not been bears, frostbite spiders, or horkers that the two of them came across on their first night of rest south of Dragon Bridge. It had been bandits.

It had been the second most horrifying moment of Torra’s life, second only to Torygg’s death. There were four of them. They’d shouted, pulling their swords, an axe, and a bow. They hadn’t given Torra or Jenssen a chance to explain, not that Jenssen seemed much in the mood to talk. She’d been resting on his back and he’d quite literally tossed her to the ground, pulled his sword, and went after them.

All her life, Torra had been surrounded by soldiers. She’d seen them training in the castle courtyard. They also trained at Castle Dour. And she’d watched first her father and then her brother practice over the years. She herself had received some, minimal, training in sword-fighting. None of that prepared her for Jenssen.

Jenssen defeated them, four of them, easily, as if they were co*ckroaches that were merely bothering him. He didn’t even appear to be trying. His sword sliced across one’s chest, cutting a line down his body and leaving him sprawled on the ground, dead. The second had been stabbed in the gut. It took a few minutes for him to die. The third, a woman, had been beheaded. Her death had made Torra very nearly lose her dinner. And the fourth was killed by a snapped neck. It didn’t even appear to take much effort for him to do any of it.

Torra hadn’t handled what came next well, but Jenssen needed to accept his own part of it. He’d started to pick up the bodies and drag them out of the cave. Torra thought he was doing it to try to give them a rough burial. Oh no, that hadn’t been what he was doing. He was just going to leave them outside the cave and assumed they’d sleep in the cave where he’d just slaughtered all of them. They’d had a shouting match right there, over the corpse of the poor woman who’d been beheaded.

It had ended with Jenssen storming out, shouting that he’d find a cave suitable for the “perfect little princess.” That night, after Jenssen located them a safe place to sleep, Torra cried until she fell into a fitful slumber. It was the first night Jenssen hadn’t allowed her to sleep next to him. She’d been cold when she woke, but he’d been kind enough to lay one of his shirts over her in her sleep.

That was one of Torra’s problems with Jenssen. Sometimes he said the cruelest things to her. He called her spoiled, a princess, and he seemed to just absolutely love to call her “Little.” He’d tossed her on the ground, both at the first cave after Solitude and the one they’d discovered the bandits in. But other times…

On the first night, Jenssen had let Torra cuddle up to him for warmth. He hadn’t pushed her hand away when she’d held tight to him out of fear. Despite her not liking the food he made for her, he still let her eat as much as she wanted before he took some. She’d never hunted, cleaned game, cooked, or cleaned, save for her room, a day in her life, and he took care of all of it for her.

And the kiss… Torra didn’t know what to make of it. He’d been so gentle with her, much like Ersi had been, even going so far as to touch her cheek with his thumb. At first, she’d just been playing the role, but it turned into more than that during the kiss. She’d liked it. She didn’t want to like it.

The kiss had felt like a betrayal to Ersi. Ersi had been the only man to kiss her, save for Torygg when they were younger, and those kisses didn’t count. The worst part was Jessen didn’t try to shove his tongue down her throat or touch her body. She could have been indifferent about the kiss if he’d been too touchy or rough with her. Instead, he’d been as gentle with her as Ersi had been.

The thing she’d liked the most about the kiss was how unhurried Jenssen had been. Ersi’s kisses had always been hurried, rushed, intense. There’d always been a fear that they’d get caught by someone. She hadn’t minded the thought of someone seeing them, but he’d been fearful of what people would think of her. Even on his deathbed…

“Come on, Sonjette!” Jenssen’s voice brings Torra out of her thoughts and back into the present. The dirty, mountainy, rough present. “I want to get to Karthwasten before the sun rises.”

Torra looks up at the sky at the two moons of Skyrim sinking behind the mountains. She turns to look in the other direction at the light of the sun starting to rise over another mountain. “How far is it from Karthwasten?”

Jenssen shrugs and stretches, his back popping as he does. “My guess is two miles. I could be wrong though, so we need to get moving. I’d like to sneak through the town without anyone seeing us.”

Following Jenssen down yet another narrow path, panting and trying to keep up, Torra tilts her head in confusion. “Sneak through town? I thought we could stay at the inn.”

“What?” Jenssen stops abruptly and turns to grimace at her. “Did you just say the inn? There is no inn at Karthwasten. If we can find a good cave south of town that’s where we’ll be resting. You’ll get your inn at Markarth, not before.”

Torra desperately wants to yell at him that they could have avoided all this if they’d just gone by way of Morthal, but she doesn’t want to start an argument. She just sighs and continues to follow him. They only make it another hundred feet or so before the familiar feeling of a white fuzziness starts to fill the edges of her vision. She stops reluctantly. “Um… Jenssen.”

Jenssen halts as well, his spine tense, and doesn’t turn around to look at her. “What?”

His anger almost makes Torra shut her mouth and continue on, but she knew the dangers of continuing the journey like this. She could remain dizzy and recover soon after. She could vomit, which was the sight that introduced the two of them to each other. Or she could become so ill that she passes out. Seeing as they were walking through perilous mountains, it did not seem a good idea to let her faint. “I-I need a rest.”

Turning back towards her, his eyes narrowed and anger radiating off him in waves, Jenssen grits out, “Another one? You had a rest not two hours ago! This isn’t a vacation, Torra. Ulfric likely wants you dead as you are a threat to him gaining his crown. We’re actually in a f*cking hurry.”

“I know!” The white fuzziness grows brighter and Torra reaches for the wall of the mountain beside her to steady herself. “You don’t understand. I get sick sometimes, like the day I met you, and I have to rest when I do or I’ll get even worse. I’m dizzy right now, but if I sit for half an hour or so I’ll be alright and can continue on.”

“A half hour? Are you f*cking kidding me?” Jenssen throws his hands up into the air. “The sun will be up by then, Torra! Can’t you just fight through this? Is it really that bad?”

Tears come to Torra’s eyes but she blinks rapidly to try to make them go away. Jenssen might just give up on her completely if she cries. “It is that bad. The reason I threw up the day we met was because I pushed myself too hard. If it gets really bad, I could faint.”

“Gods, fine.” Jenssen rolls his eyes, turns away from her, and lowers himself down to his knee. “We don’t have time for you to rest every half hour, princess. Climb on and shut up.”

Torra wants to tell him to f*ck off. She wants to march off and away from him, forever. That wasn’t a good idea though, and she knew it. She’d die out here without him. So stone-faced, she walks over to the man, wraps her arms around his neck, and allows him to lift her into the air. She wraps her legs around his waist and lets him carry her down the path.

Jenssen’s back is full of tension and hard as a rock as he walks along. Torra rests her head against his shoulder, trying to ease the white fuzziness and oncoming nausea. The feeling goes away and she grows more and more comfortable on his back, starting to doze off a little.

It doesn’t take long before Jenssen lowers himself back to the ground, pushing his hands against her thighs. “The town should be right around the corner. I don’t think it’ll be good if they see me carrying you. Can you walk the rest of the way?”

“Yes, I think so.” Torra moves away from Jenssen and rises to her feet. “I might need help again though. I’m sorry.”

Jenssen grunts and drags Torra’s hood over her head. “I don’t want to risk someone there recognizing you. Let’s go.”

They walk down the path until they come across a small, ahem, “Town.” Torra purses her lips at the place. There were only a few houses. She turns to Jenssen. “They actually call this a town?”

“Stop being a snob.” Jenssen rolls his eyes again and moves away from her, towards the town. “And don’t pull down your hood. We’ll be on the road for the rest of the way, precious.”

Torra huffs and follows him, angling her hooded face away from the town as they walk along the path towards the south. They get past the last house before a woman calls out to them. “Wait, please wait!”

Jenssen turns back, his hand resting over his sword. When the woman gets a few feet away he says, “Wait. What do you want with us?”

The woman halts, her eyes on Jenssen’s blade. “I took you for a warrior. Can you please help us? There are mercenaries in town, claiming they’re here to protect one of our mines. We don’t want them here. Could you help us deal with them? I’m not asking you to kill them, just persuade them to get out of here somehow.”

“No.” Jenssen shakes his head and turns to walk away. “Sorry, I’m not a warrior. I’m a simple farmer with his wife.”

The woman sputters but Torra moves to touch Jenssen’s arm. “Jen—”

“Enough!” Jenssen snaps back. “I’m sorry but I’m no warrior. I carry a sword to protect myself and my wife. We’re leaving.”

Jenssen grabs Torra’s arm in an iron grip and pulls her down the pathway. His hold on her hurts, but he doesn’t loosen his grip until they’re far enough away from the woman she can’t see them anymore. He shoves her away angrily, making her stumble. He continues walking, ranting as he goes. “What the f*ck is the matter with you? You almost used my name in front of another person. Are you trying to get us killed? What if that woman was a member of the Dark Brotherhood?’

Torra follows him, anger boiling within her as she glares at his back. “She didn’t seem like a person who serves the Dark Brotherhood. She was just asking for help! I’ve seen you fight now. You could have easily taken care of those mercenaries.”

“How do you know that?” Jenssen shakes his head, his voice incredulous. “You don’t know what type of men were in those mines. I’m not invincible. What would you do if I died?”

Stopping, Torra stares at his retreating back. She’d die. She would die if he did. There was no way around it. Sighing, she starts moving again until she’s right behind him. He doesn’t say anything and nor does she. They walk for another mile or so before he looks up at the rising sun and shakes his head again. “We need to find somewhere to sleep, and just hope that woman was sincere in asking for aid.”

Torra doesn’t respond and continues walking, her eyes scanning to the right. The river was on their left and it would be unwise for them to try to cross it. She doesn’t know how far they walk, but the sun rises higher and higher, Jenssen’s grumbling growing louder, until he points up towards the mountains. “There’s a cave up there. Let’s go.”

“No.” Torra looks to where he’s pointing and shakes her head. “That is not happening. It will take us at least an hour to climb, likely with me on your back, thus making it too dangerous, and it will be the same in the morning. We will find a cave much closer to the ground.”

Jenssen reaches for her arm but she starts walking along the road again, shouting back, “It’s just not safe, Barik. We’ll find something.”

“It’s almost noon!”

Torra cringes but continues to walk regardless. The sun reaches the highest point in the sky but she still walks, nixing every terrible cave, dip, or divot that Jenssen suggests to be their resting point. At the next cave, quite high in the mountains, he finally throws his hands to the darkening sky. “I’m f*cking exhausted! I’ve been awake over a day. I’m climbing up there and going to sleep. If you want to continue on and be eaten by a sabre cat than be my guest!”

Rolling her eyes, Torra turns to follow him but, out of the corner of her eye, she sees what looks to be a brown building in the distance. “Wait, Barik! Look at that!”

Jenssen shouts out her real name as she takes off in the direction of the building. Heavy footsteps come from behind her and she doesn’t get far before he’s wrapping his arms around her and pulling him against his chest. His breath is heavy in her ear. Clearly, he did care if she was eaten by a sabre cat. He pants out, “What were you thinking? You can’t just take off like that.”

“Look at it.” Torra points at what appears to be a small wooden cabin. One of the walls looks caved in and the weather had not been kind to it. But it was standing and, more importantly, there was a roof. “We could have proper shelter tonight. It’ll be a tight fit and we’ll have to be careful. Please Jenssen. I can’t climb those mountains again. I won’t make it. Please.”

Breath ragged, Jenssen’s arms spasm against her before he pulls away. He glances up to the mountain beside them and down at the cabin against the base of it. “It’s… it’s not safe, Torra. Anyone could come by. That’s much less likely to happen in a cave. I’ll carry you if I must.”

Torra looks up at him with pleading eyes, not caring if he thinks her to be a brat or spoiled or a precious, little princess. She needed this. “It won’t be safe to carry me. One wrong move and you could stumble. We’d both die. I will beg if I must. This isn’t about my comfort. I’m worried about your safety as well as my own.”

Jenssen stares down at her before nodding slowly. “Night’s coming on us fast. We’ll just have to travel the rest of the way in the day. That might be safer for us anyway, right now. Come on, but you will let me go in first.”

The two make their way over to the broken-down cabin and Torra stands outside as Jenssen ducks his head to enter the cabin. He grunts. “It’s safe. It may not be the most stable but it’s safe. I still think you’re being unwise but let it be on your head.”

Shocked, Torra walks into the cabin to find him sitting on the floor, trying to stretch out in the too small cabin. The wall leans in frighteningly, but Torra trusts him enough to be truthful about its stability. She turns to face him. “I can’t believe you. I’m trying to protect us both. I can’t walk up into those mountains right now! I’m too—”

“Weak!” Jenssen roars. He rises to his feet, his normally pale Nordic face red with fury. “You’re weak, Torra! Everyone in your life has done you a great f*cking disservice by babying you and giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are a spoiled, rotten princess and I wish I never met you!”

“Then go!” Torra screams back, her finger in the direction of the door. “Get the f*ck out, then! I didn’t want to sleep in this cabin because I wanted comfort but because I feared for your f*cking safety, you idiot! You want out, and you don’t want to do this anymore, you prick? I release you from your vows. You are no longer the Knight of Solitude. Go run to Ulfric like the coward you are.”

Jenssen throws down his bag and loosens his sword from his belt, throwing it down as well. “Fine! Good f*cking riddance to you. Take my sword if you can even figure out how to f*cking wield it. You’ll be dead by sundown if you don’t.”

Angry tears prick at Torra’s eyes and she refuses to watch him leave. She throws herself to the ground and curls up around Jenssen’s bag, squeezing it against her chest. She falls asleep like that, whimpering and crying.

Torra is unsure what wakes her, but night has fallen completely by the time she does. She rubs her eyes with her hands and sits up, only to freeze when she hears the door open. Jenssen came back for her! She hadn’t meant her words, and she knew he hadn’t meant his. They could apologize to each other and she would name him her knight once again.

Opening her eyes, Torra looks at the door with a smile on her face. The smile dies. There is a man standing in the door, but the man is not Jenssen. In the moonlight, she can see black hair and warm looking furs on his body. A skull rests at his hip. A necklace of bones is around his neck. She can see the white of his grin. His ears are pointed but he still looks Nordic at the same time. Half-Breton. Half-Nord. A Forsworn.

Panicking, Torra glances at Jenssen’s sword, and the man chuckles. “Don’t be thinkin’ of it, girl. I could kill you before you touch the handle. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in the mountains?”

“I-I—” Torra gulps and reaches into her bag, finding Jenssen’s money purse. “I have money. You can have it. Please just let me go.”

“Oh, I’ll be letting you go.” The man chuckles again and moves into the room, kicking aside Jenssen’s sword as he does. “You can go, but you broke into my home. I get to play with you first. You be a good girl, and I’ll let you go. You might be a little broken, but you’ll be alive.”

Gods, why had she allowed her anger to get the better of her?! Jenssen would have killed this worm for even looking at her with those shiny eyes and bright, maniacal grin. “Wh-what do you want with me?”

“I like a good struggle,” he says, his eyes roaming over her body. He slams the door, making Torra jump. There are holes she hadn’t noticed in the ceiling, allowing a little bit of light to come through. His hand moves down to fondle himself through his furs. “Last bitch I took didn’t fight much though. She didn’t make me happy. Slit her throat when I was done. I want you to fight a little. Make me work for it.”

Terrified, Torra rips the purse out of Jenssen’s bag and thrusts it at him. “Take it! Take all of it! Please just let me go.”

He laughs and grabs the purse before throwing it behind him, coins bouncing and clinking on the floor. They fall silent and the man groans as he thrusts his groin against his hand. “You’re not doing such a good job. I want you to fight, not give me what I want.”

Tears falling freely, Torra rises from the ground and, knowing it will never work but more afraid of his blade, tries to flee past him to the door. His arms encircle her, not unlike Jenssen’s mere hours before, and throws her on the ground, laughing as he does so. Her head bounces against the floor and she groans in pain before trying to rise again. His heavy body falls upon her and seizes her wrists in a one-handed grip before slamming them above her head.

Torra cries out and bucks up, trying to get him off of her, but he’s too heavy. He moans and humps against her belly, his clothed co*ck pressing tight against her body, making her cry harder. Ersi had always been gentle. This man was going to hurt her.

He grunts and rips Torra’s dress before he grabs one of her knees, forcing her legs open so he can slide between them. He pulls out a knife and tears her dress more, making it easier for him to… to… she can’t even think of the words. She screams and tries to buck again, but he’s completely immobilized her.

“Good girl,” he groans, his voice full of desire. “I’m gonna f*ck you so hard. You’re so pretty. Don’t look like a common woman at all. I might keep you. Chain you up in here. The only food you’ll get is my cum and the only water you’ll get is my piss. Make you have my whelps. Slit your throat when I’m done with yeh.”

Torra sobs as she feels the man’s hand stroke up her thigh to the junction of her legs. He finds her opening and slides a finger inside of her. His nails are too long and they brush against her insides, making her cry out in pain. He grunts and humps against her again, letting her hands go to shove his trousers down to his knees. Torra doesn’t move her hands. She doesn’t move at all.

She can only watch as he pushes and pulls his fingers in and out of her again and again and again. He takes no care for her comfort. He finally pulls them out and spits into his hand, his other hand grabbing his co*ck. This was it. He was going to rape her and then enslave her or murder her.

Eyes widening, Torra pulls in a deep breath of air and screams hopelessly, “Jenssen! Help me!”

Chapter 11: Running for the Screams

Chapter Text

Jenssen stomps out of the cabin, ignoring the soft whimpers and cries until they disappear completely the farther south he walks. Gritting his teeth so hard they make slight cracking noises; he continues at a strong pace for a couple miles before he finally slows. Never before had he met anyone who infuriated him more than the princess does. It’s like she deliberately tries to anger him. If it wasn’t the near constant whining, it was asking for rides on his f*cking back like he was a mule.

Gods, he wanted to be f*cking rid of her forever. Jenssen’s feet finally come to a stop, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The mountains were eerily quiet, save for the chirping of some nighttime bugs. He was stupid to leave behind his sword, as he could be attacked by sabre cats or worse, but Torra would surely die without it. To be honest, she’d surely die even with it.

He shakes his head and laughs humorlessly, his voice echoing off the mountain walls. He was going to have to go back, wasn’t he? There were no other options, save for two, and neither of them sounded appealing to him.

Option one, Jenssen could turn around and head north back to Solitude, tell the Brotherhood and Tullius that he abandoned the princess to die because she’s a brat, and then get hung as a traitor to the throne. That was if he got lucky and they decided to give him a good, clean death. Something tells him though, that he wouldn’t get a clean death. He’d heard the rumors about Sybille and her dungeon. She’d eviscerate him, and Falk and Bryling would probably gleefully join in. Torra was a daughter to all three of them.

Option two, Jenssen could continue south to Cyrodiil and find a living there. He was a traitor in Skyrim as he’d abandoned his charge and would never feel right trying to get work here. If he made this choice, he’d have to become Barik for real and live as a farmer, perhaps take a wife, and have children. It sounded agonizingly boring to him. He was a warrior and would always be a warrior. Perhaps he could be a soldier, but he’d never feel comfortable coming back to Skyrim to fight his own kin.

Finally, option three. Jenssen could suck it the f*ck up and walk back to the cabin, knock on the door, and apologize through his teeth even though he wasn’t the least bit sorry about his words. She could rename him the Knight of Solitude if she wanted, or she could just accept his company as they traveled south. He could leave her side once she became queen if that was what she desired. It hurt his pride but he’d be alive and not a disgraced knight. The thought of not being able to be a knight killed him. It was all that he'd worked for since he was a child!

Jenssen looks around him, trying to find somewhere to rest for the night, before starting back up the path towards Torra’s cabin. He’d come to a decision and it wasn’t one Torra would like, but perhaps would come to appreciate one day. He was going to force her to grow up a little. Three days alone, he would give her. He would silently tail her through the mountains, watch over her and make sure she didn’t get eaten by a sabre cat, before he would reveal himself to her and take her the rest of the way to Cyrodiil. She could find her own food, build her own fires, and find herself her own safe place to rest for the next three nights.

Perhaps it was cruel, but it would help Torra grow to become a real queen. As of today, she wasn’t fit to scrub dishes in the castle kitchens.

But once they were together again, things were going to change. Gods were things going to change. No longer will Jenssen carry the girl on his back. He would teach her how to hunt and she would do it or starve. There would be no more sharing of his food. And he absolutely would not be skinning the rabbits for her any longer, either. Things were going to change. He would teach her a very valuable life lesson that fool Torygg should have already taught. Selfish brat.

Once Jenssen gets about a mile south of the cabin, he decides that’s a good place to stop. He’s close enough to be able to hear her once she starts walking south. Looking around, he spots a cave about two hundred feet up the side of the mountain. It would be a rough climb, but he didn’t relish the idea of sleeping on the ground, defenseless. He didn’t much enjoy the idea of possibly stumbling across a bear or sabre cat or, even worse, a group of Forsworn either, in the cave either, but it was still safer up there than down here.

Jenssen starts to climb but freezes as soon as a scream rings out from the north. Torra. Torra. No! He charges forward, his arms swinging wildly at his sides and his legs pumping as hard as he can. Gods, he was such a f*cking fool! If she died, it would all be on his head. He couldn’t let her die!

The noise of Jenssen’s feet slapping the stone beneath him is loud in his ears, but not so loud as his racing heart and heavy breath. He’d always been quick, but never before had he needed to be so quick yet couldn’t run any faster. The closer he gets to Torra, the more her continued silence frightens him. If she was dead… he would tear apart the beast or person who took her life. He swore it.

The cabin comes into view and a piercing scream fills the air. “Jenssen! Help me!”

Jenssen surges forward on an almost inhuman burst of energy, rushes towards the cabin, and punches the door, nearly sending it off it’s hinges. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the thicker darkness without the moon, but when they do adjust, horror and rage fill him.

A man’s, clearly a Forsworn based on his garb, bare ass greets him before the man jerks back to snarl at him, white teeth flashing. “f*ck off! She’s mine! Go find your own whor* or I’ll kill you.”

Whimpers come from in front of the Forsworn, though Jenssen can’t see the girl’s face. The light from the moon flits through the holes in the roof and through the open door. His eyes find the Forsworn’s. “I’ll kill you for daring to even f*cking look at her. For touching her, I’ll make it slow.”

Snarling again, The Forsworn stumbles to his feet but before he can fully right himself, Jenssen’s fist smashes into his throat. The man is thrown back against the wall behind Torra and Jenssen leaps over her to get to the whimpering man, one of his knees colliding with the man’s stomach as his fists rain down against the man’s head and chest. The man tries to lift his arms to fend off the blows, but Jenssen quickly breaks both of his arms.

The blows last for what seems like forever, before Jenssen pulls away to look at the whimpering, crying, begging man before him. Honestly, he’s surprised the man survived. Good. Jenssen looks behind him and sees the man’s knife laying beside Torra where he’d dropped it when Jenssen attacked him. Lifting it, Jenssen looks back at the Forsworn, who whimpers again, his voice coming out weak and wet. “Please. Please don’t kill me. Was just having some fun.”

“Some fun?” Jenssen laughs, squeezes the knife’s handle tight, and places the blade beneath the man’s co*ck. “You weren’t having some fun. You were trying to rape a nineteen year old girl, you sick son of a bitch. Are you ready for my fun?”

“No.” The man whimpers. “No. P-p-please—”

Jenssen slices cleanly through the man’s co*ck and shoves it down his throat just as he screams, silencing him and gagging him. The knife cuts into the man’s stomach next, moving upwards to his chest. His arms and legs twitch, his eyes rolling back into his head, and blood gushes from both his torso and the bloody stump where his co*ck was before. Jenssen growls. “Stay alive, you bastard, until I’m f*cking done having myfun!”
The Forsworn screams around the co*ck in his mouth as Jenssen jerks the knife upwards, spilling more blood and even guts onto the floor. The man’s body spasms uncontrollably before it finally stills, save for a twitch or two.

Covered in the man’s blood, Jenssen rises from the floor and tosses the knife down on the corpse. He turns to look at a sobbing Torra, still lying flat on her back, arms above her head, dress torn and ripped, and thighs spread wide. Bile rises to his throat when he spots drips of blood on her thighs, not enough for her maidenhead being lost, but still, enough. Too much. His eyes drift back down to the body and he sees blood on fingers and too long nails. f*ck! The man might have cut her. He had to take care of her.

But Jenssen couldn’t do it here, the place where she’d nearly been raped. Gods, if he’d been just a few minutes late… he would have never forgiven himself. Gritting his teeth, he picks up his sword and attaches it to his belt before he shoulders the bags. He steps towards her. “Torra, I need to get you out of here.” He clears his throat uncomfortably. “I found a cave. We can rest there.”

Torra turns her face and presses it against her arm, continuing to sob and tremble. Jenssen hesitates. He didn’t want to touch her without her consent, but they needed to move. What if there were more Forsworn in the area? The last thing they needed was to be attacked by a group of them. He kneels down beside her. “Can I lift you, princess? It’s not safe here.”

Again, the woman doesn’t respond to Jenssen. He sighs and slides one of his arms under her shoulders. When she doesn’t lash out or scream at him, he slides his other arm under her legs and lifts her into the air. Immediately, Torra’s arms wrap around his neck and she buries her face into his throat, her sobs muffling. Tears run down his skin and his jaw tightens at the same time as his arms around her. He was a fool. He was a f*cking fool for leaving her behind.

Slowly, trying not to jostle Torra, Jenssen walks out of the cabin, heading back south in the direction of the cave he’d seen before. The longer they walk, the harder the woman clings to him, as wave upon wave of tears pour down his throat. Her sobs have died down to soft whimpers by the time they get to the spot Jenssen had heard her scream. He starts up the mountain towards the cave, trying to be careful. Every time a pebble or stone shifts under his feet, he halts.

Finally, they get to the cave opening and Jenssen lowers Torra to the ground. Her cries grow louder the second he stops holding her and he strokes her shoulders, shushing her and glancing towards the cave warily. “I’ll be right back.” He whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

Turning away from her, Jenssen edges towards the cave and peers inside. The light of the moon is bright and illuminates the entire cave. It’s small, not even going back thirty feet, but there are no creatures. Sighing in relief, he sheaths his sword, throws down the bags, and lays out some of their clothes on the ground as a makeshift bed. He returns to a still crying Torra, lifts her, and carries her back into the cave where he sets her down on the clothing. She immediately buries her face into them, her cries starting to turn back into full blown sobs.

Jenssen tightens his hands into fists. Gods, he wished he’d made that man suffer longer than he’d did. One of his hands reach out and stroke down the girl’s arm, surprised that she doesn’t flinch, freeze, or jerk away from him. “Torra.” He whispers. “I need you to calm yourself. You’ll make yourself sick. I need… I need to—”

He can’t say it. He just can’t f*cking say it.

Torra’s sobs start to die down again but she doesn’t lift her face from her clothes. Jenssen doesn’t remove his hand from her arm, continuing to stroke up and down it slowly. “He made you bleed. I need to take care of it so it doesn’t fester. Will you let me? I-I have to wash you there.”

The girl doesn’t respond, instead curls up into a ball on the pile of clothes, her body trembling. Jenssen decides to try again, one last time, not wanting her to die from a festering wound, but not wanting to touch her against her will. “Torra, please. I’ll be gentle. Just a bit of water and a rag. Some cream. Or you can do it yourself if that’ll make you more comfortable. Please.”

“Please.” Torra lifts her head from her pile of clothes, her amber eyes full of tears. “Please, leave me alone.”

Jenssen stares at her, his own eyes starting to feel wet. He nods. “Okay. Let’s go to bed.”

He watches as she turns onto her other side and wraps her arms around her legs. He closes his eyes. A bow, a dagger, a sword and shield, a broadsword, a mace. He had learned how to fight with all of them in the Brotherhood and, while he was not the most skilled warrior in the Brotherhood, he was a strong warrior. Magic had never been his strong suit, but all the novices had been trained in each branch of magic. Including restoration.

Lifting his hand, Jenssen allows the magic to pool into his palm. Bright, white and yellow light fills the cave and he aims it in Torra’s direction. Her face doesn’t leave her clothes but her body relaxes and she lets out a soft sigh. Hoping that is enough to heal her, Jenssen allows the magic to fade away.

Suddenly exhausted, Jenssen lays down on the ground between Torra and the cave entrance, his hand curled tightly around the hilt of his sword.

He’d fix this. Tomorrow, he would fix this.

Chapter 12: The Aftermath

Chapter Text

“Princess, I know this is a bad idea.”

Fingers ran down Torra’s hair, catching in her braid and making her wince. Lips find the junction where her shoulder meets her neck, sucking, making her fear a bruise. She wouldn’t be able to explain it to Torygg.

“But I can’t stop.”

Fingers untie the laces of Torra’s dress, a thigh sliding in-between her legs at the same time, pressing up against the junction of her thighs. One of the laces rips in too strong fingers and he curses, throwing it aside. He lays atop her and spreads her legs with his thighs, spreading her wide. He doesn’t even take off his clothes or the rest of hers before he slides his fingers inside of her.

“I won’t stop.”

Fingers pump in and out for a few minutes while Torra moans, arching her back and circling her hips to meet the thrusts. They’d done this so many times by now, it was second nature. His body felt heavy atop hers. He spits into the palm of his free hand and rubs it over himself, preparing himself for her.

“You’re only sixteen, and the princess, but…”

Fingers pull out of Torra and his co*ck immediately replaces them. He enters her slowly, but he doesn’t give her body long to accept his before he starts thrusting in and out of her, gasping and moaning and groaning quietly. His other hand comes up to press against her mouth, as she was always much louder than him. They couldn’t be heard.

“I love you. Gods, I love you, Torra.”

Fingers scratch lines into the back of his shirt as she holds him closer to her, knowing if they got caught, they’d be taken away from each other. She’d be married off and he’d likely be sent back to the Brotherhood. No one could know. Torra’s legs seek his waist as the pleasure increases. She was close.

“Don’t you love me too?”

Fingers slide through Torra’s hair, gripping it tight, as her body spasms around his, finding her release on a gasp. His body humps against hers, chasing his own pleasure as he rocks, rocks, rocks inside of her until he freezes. Warmth fills her and she winces. He wasn’t supposed to release inside, but he must have just been too excited to pull away from her this time.

“I’ve got to go.”

Fingers reach towards him, silently begging him to stay. ‘Hold me,’ she thinks but doesn’t say. He walks out the door with a backwards smile but the door shuts with a click. She was alone. Despite the pleasure of their love making still making her body pliant and happy, Torra curls into a ball, a sob just there in her throat, aching to come out.

“Why don’t you ever stay, just for a little while?”

Torra opens her eyes, blinking in the brightness. Her mouth tastes sour and her body aches. Her throat is dry from her screams from the night before. A fire crackles and she turns her head to look at Jenssen, sitting next to a fire with a rabbit cooking above it. A dagger in his right hand, cutting the nails of his left hand with it.

The sight turns Torra’s stomach and she turns her head away. Her sleep had been rough during the night, and what little she got was plagued by dreams. It hadn’t helped that most of the dreams were not of the Forsworn man, but of Ersi. The horrible, disgusting man from the night before had soured everything she shared with Ersi. Made her feel things about Ersi she’d never felt before.

Made his touch feel disgusting.

She must make a noise, because Torra can hear Jenssen shift from where he’s sitting. “Are you hungry? I caught a rabbit. It’s not much but I didn’t want to leave you alone for long.”

Closing her eyes and keeping her head faced in the opposite direction, Torra doesn’t open her mouth. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t say anything. Jenssen tries again. “Perhaps a cup of water. I found a waterfall when I was coming back from hunting, so it’s fresh. You’ll like it.”

Torra bites her bottom lip to keep from crying. She was so hungry; she surely could eat the entire rabbit by herself. She was so thirsty that she wanted to leap from her makeshift bed, grab the cup, and guzzle down the fresh, clean, ice-cold mountain water. But she couldn’t do either of those things.

“I… Torra,” Jenssen clears his throat. “I can go get you water from the falls and try to heat it by the fire. A bath might make you feel better. Are you in any pain?”

A tear slides down Torra’s cheek, swiftly followed by two more. She looks down at her dress, ripped and cut, flakes of blood glare at her from her thighs. Mud clings to the bottom of her dress. The mud fascinated her. It’d seemed like such a big problem for her at Dragon Bridge. She hadn’t known what real problems were back then. Had it really only been a few days since the night they’d spent there?

It felt like a lifetime. They were never going to make it to the border.

More tears fall from her eyes and Jenssen sighs. “Could you please eat, just a little bit? It’ll keep your strength up. I was thinking we might walk at least a mile or two before we try to find more shelter. We should try to at least get a few miles every day. Tullius will be waiting for us. He’ll be worried.”

Torra blinks. She’d forgotten about Tullius, waiting for them at the southern border. The Imperials had control over Helgen and that’s where Tullius would stay, waiting for word that they were getting close to the border. He couldn’t send out a large guard, as that’d be too obvious for her coming, but he had spies littered throughout the south. Waiting for her.

What concerned Torra more though was Jenssen’s words. She sits up, grimacing as she does so, feeling a dull ache within her. She looks at him. “A mile or two?” Her voice is weak and she grimaces again. “A few?”

Jenssen’s eyes rest on her cheeks, clearly seeing her tears, before they drift down to the blood on her thighs before they find her own eyes. He clears his throat again. “I don’t want to push you too hard and I know you’ll probably not want me to touch you. All I ask for is a couple miles every day, just to start off.”

Torra numbly accepts the cup of water he passes her and she takes a sip of it, relishing the coolness of the mountain water. The only thing that stops her from upending the entire cup is knowing she ran the risk of puking if she did so. She imagined the two of them had both had enough of her puking in front of him to last a lifetime. She swallows another small mouthful before she looks at him, her voice slightly clearer. “What about Tullius?”

Shrugging, Jenssen rises from his seat and grabs the two bowls out of his pack. He gestures towards the rabbit with one of them as he starts to walk towards the cave entrance. “I imagine Tullius expects us to be late. Eat the rabbit while I’m gone. You need your strength. I don’t have a bucket so you’ll have to make do with the bowls, but I’ll go back and get you more water if it’s not enough.”

“Wait.” Jenssen stops at the mouth of the cave, his back rigid, and he doesn’t turn back to face her. “How much can I have? How much of the rabbit do you want?”

Torra might be mistaken, but she thinks a tremor slides down the man’s spine before it hardens again. His voice sounds funny too when he walks out of the cave, saying over his shoulder, “eat it all. I’m not hungry.”

Waiting until the sound of his footsteps disappear, Torra lunges forward, ignoring the slight pain coming from inside of her as well as she can, she grabs the rabbit and scurries back to her makeshift bed with it and her cup of water in her hands. The rabbit is hot and it burns her fingers, but she doesn’t care as she takes a bite of it, enjoying the pop of grease in her mouth as it burns sliding down her throat. Within just a few minutes, all of the meat is gone, picked clean with her teeth, and only the bones remain.

Licking her fingers clean, Torra takes a big gulp of her water, wishing there was more rabbit. She liked venison, but rabbit was her second favorite meat. It was also much easier to prepare. The Torra from a few days ago would have asked, or more like demanded, Jenssen to go get another one. The Torra now…

She freezes, her middle finger still in her mouth, sucking off the grease from her breakfast. Slowly, Torra pulls her finger out of her mouth and looks down at the rabbit bones, sitting in the corner. She shouldn’t have eaten it all… she’d just been so hungry. Jenssen hadn’t eaten at all and she’d taken every last bite. He’d probably be angry at her for it, despite saying he wasn’t hungry. And after what happened last night, he probably wouldn’t tell her he was angry but instead cover it up until he exploded.

Like. Last. Night.

Tears prick at Torra’s eyes and she gathers up the bones as well as she can before tossing them out the cave entrance. She wipes her fingers on her dress and moves to gather up all the clothes Jenssen laid out for her to use as a bed the night before. Folding them as well as she can, she pushes all of them into the bags save for a plain brown and white dress and black cloak. There, they could leave as soon as she washed up. And she would wash with cold water and not make a fuss about it.

Torra looks around their meager home for the night and crosses her arms over her chest, holding herself. There was really nothing else she could do that might please Jenssen. Maybe she could offer to wash his clothes in the falls? No, up to this point he’d always washed his own clothes and even hers. She could start pulling her own weight and wash her own clothes though. That would lessen his burden. She didn’t know how to hunt but she could figure out how to cook. It couldn’t be that difficult.

Jenssen wasn’t one to talk, and always gave her short answers whenever he deemed to talk to her at all. Torra knew that she annoyed him, and sometimes she talked just to make him angrier. That needed to stop. She wouldn’t talk to him unless he asked her something, give him only yes and no answers, and only if she had a question that absolutely needed to be answered.

And it killed her, because Torra desperately wanted to sleep in a real bed, but they wouldn’t stop at Markarth. He’d been angry when he agreed at Dragon Bridge, so she knew he didn’t really want to stop there. They wouldn’t. They would keep on walking until they got to the border and Tullius would get them the rest of the way to safety.

Torra must keep Jenssen happy. She must. She’d rather die than be left alone again.

Footsteps move towards the mouth of the cave and Torra freezes, her eyes wide, until Jenssen, wet haired, steps into the cave, holding two bowls of water. He sets them down by the fire and looks around at the packed bags before he looks at the fire… where a rabbit was no longer sitting.

“I’m sorry.” Torra mumbles. “I shouldn’t have eaten it all.”

Jenssen shrugs and gestures towards the bowls without looking at her. “I told you to eat it. It’s fine. Wash up and leave the dress behind. I’ll give you some privacy and just call for me when you need more water.”

Still not looking at her, Jenssen walks out of the cave again. Torra can hear him sit down a few feet outside of the cave and the noise of his sword leaving his sheath. He’d worn the blade the entire night.

Slowly, eyes drifting to the mouth of the cave every few seconds, Torra undoes her the laces of her dress. She tries to ignore the images that fill her mind, of larger, stronger fingers tugging at the lace. Kicking the dress away, she fingers at the bottom of her slip before she takes that off too. She hurries over to the water bowls and dips a cloth into one of them before she scrubs the dirt off of her feet and legs, moving up them until she freezes at the sight of the blood still caked onto her thighs.

The blood stares up at her, mocking her, scaring her. Torra shakes her head roughly and dips the cloth back into the water bowl. Her fingers tremble as she kneels on the ground, thighs spread, and roughly scrubs the cloth against first her left thigh, then her right. A wail builds up inside her as she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, her thighs becoming redder and redder, until a soft sob escapes her throat. Clamping a hand down over her mouth, her eyes look up to the mouth of the cave where she hears Jenssen’s sword slide back into its sheath.

Torra can hear Jenssen rising to his feet and she shouts out, “No! Don’t come in here!”

The man’s feet shuffle back and forth though he stays away from the mouth of the cave. “Torra, I can help you. You don’t have to do this by yourself. You don’t have to do this at all. Do you need me to heal you again?”

“Just don’t come in here.” Torra looks down at her naked chest, her left breast has a bite mark on it. He’d bitten her? She couldn’t remember that. “I want to be alone.”

Jenssen sighs but he doesn’t say anything more than, “Aye, princess.”

Waiting until she’s sure Jenssen has sat back down, Torra slowly rises the cloth to her most private place, her hand shaking. Gods, she didn’t want to do this. Jenssen had offered to clean her the night before and she now wished that she’d let him, when she was lost to herself in the midst of the trauma. She likely wouldn’t have even felt it in the moment, horrified as she was. What would it have felt like to be touched there by Jenssen? She didn't know him but for some strange reason... she trusted him.

Holding her free hand over her mouth, Torra closes her eyes tight as she scrubs between her legs with the cloth. The longer she rubs, the higher the keening noise in her throat gets, broken sobs trying to make their escape as well. Her eyes soon flood with tears and her nose fills with snot, making it so she can barely breath. She flings the bloodied rag away and curls in upon herself, trying to keep from sobbing out loud.

Torra doesn’t know how long she sits there, curled up, her arms wrapped around her legs, naked as the day she was born. The sobs have faded and she sits up, pulls her new slip over and puts it on. Her dress follows right after and she takes a new cloth and washes her face with the frigid water. There was nothing she could do about her hair, and she was in no mood to wash it in a waterfall. Maybe they’d get lucky and find a river, pond, or lake. But two bowls of water only did so much.

And Torra didn’t want to anger Jenssen by asking for more.

Rising to her feet, Torra does up the laces of her dress, shoulders her bag, and gathers the bloody cloth and torn dress. She stares down at them for a few seconds before she tosses them on the fire. She dumps out the dirty water and picks up the bowls and Jenssen’s bag as she walks out of the cave.

Jenssen rises to his feet, his brow furrowed, and takes the bag she offers him. His eyes drift up and down her body before he shoulders the bag. “Want me to take yours? You don’t need more water? What about your hair? I bet you'd like to wash your hair, right?”

Torra shakes her head. “No. There was enough water. I don’t need to wash my hair. Let us go before we lose too much light.”

“Wait.” Jenssen touches Torra’s arm, his skin warm against her clothed arm. “Let me carry you down to the road. It’s not safe for you to walk.”

You hate to carry me… You think I’m weak, Torra thinks but does not say. She shakes her head. “I think I can manage. I’ll let you know if I need help.”No, I won’t. I don’t want to make you mad again. I'll never make you mad at me again. I’d rather collapse in a pool of my own vomit than make you angry enough to leave again.

Tucking the bowls into her bag, Torra grips the hard stone beside her as she slowly works her way down to the road. She can practically feel Jenssen’s tension behind her, but he doesn’t speak. Every once in a while, a hand comes out to steady her, but that is all.

That is all.

Chapter 13: Raising Towers and The Betrayer

Chapter Text

Jenssen grits his teeth as he walks, watching Torra in front of him. Ever since they left Solitude, the girl hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut. She only stopped talking when she was eating, sleeping, or when he was talking. But ever since they left the cave there’s been a switch. She’d stopped talking, completely, unless he directly asked her a question. And even then, she sometimes only nodded or shook her head instead of answering. The only loud noise she’d made in days was a scream when a sabre cat attacked them.

It was infuriating him, and he didn’t even understand why since it’s all he’s wanted since they left Solitude.

The first day after the attack had shocked Jenssen. He’d told her that morning he hoped they could walk a mile, maybe two, and then they could stop for the day. Torra walked for three miles straight before she, red-faced and heavy breathed, asked him if he could carry her for a little while. He’d offered to stop at a cave but she refused, saying she only needed a small break and they couldn’t keep Tullius waiting forever. They’d gone ten more miles before he decided it was enough.

After getting to their first resting cave, the evening after the attack, they’d discovered a much smaller waterfall nearby. Torra had offered to wash their clothes and cook the food if Jenssen hunted. He’d been… surprised, as the princess didn’t know how to cook or clean. After he’d skinned the rabbit for her, he’d gone back to the falls to bathe. When he came back to the cave though, the rabbit was blacker than the night sky and she, red-faced and teary eyed, apologized a dozen times before he got her to shut up.

Those apologies had been the most she’d spoken the entire day.

The silence grew worse the farther they traveled. Eventually, Torra only gave one-worded answers, except for when she almost silently asked if she could help with dinner, washing clothes, or, laughably, hunting. Angered by the silence, Jenssen tried to get her to talk. He asked her about her childhood. Nothing. He asked her who her closest friend in Solitude was. Nothing. He asked her what her favorite color was.

Nothing. A bunch of f*cking nothing.

That hadn’t worked, so Jenssen had tried again with a different approach. After breakfast one morning, Torra had put on a brown dress that he thought didn’t suit her skin tone well, but he’d called it pretty all the same. Nothing. He complimented her on her clothes washing, cleaning the dishes, and even her second, and last, failed attempt at dinner. Nothing. He’d even swallowed his pride and told her he liked it when she braided her hair instead of putting it in a bun. Nothing

Questions hadn’t worked and compliments hadn’t worked, so Jenssen moved on to the last thing he thought might possibly work, even though it sickened him to do it. He’d nagged her about walking faster. He’d growled at her, snapped at her, even let out a curse or two. Nothing wasn’t the response he got, but he wished it had been. Where before the attack, the girl would snap back, growl back, and curse back. She’d nag and nag and nag. This time, she’d quicken her pace even though it was obvious it was near killing her, her shoulders would hunch, her eyes would get red tinged, and, after he’d let one particularly nasty curse fly, even cowered.

That was one method to get Torra to speak that Jenssen used for only a very short period of time.

It had taken seven days to get to Dragon Bridge and longer than that to get from there to Karthwasten. Jenssen knew the turn for Markarth should be coming up soon and he was grateful for it. If questions about herself, compliments, and even being his typical asshole self wouldn’t get Torra to speak, maybe a nice, fresh, warm bed would do the trick. He knew she loved venison stew, and they were unlikely to pass by any more towns, save for perhaps Falkreath, so he was willing to lay down the money on a nice pot of stew, bread, butter, and even a sweetroll.

Suddenly, Torra stumbles, gasping as she falls, and Jenssen lurches forward to catch her but isn’t close enough. Her knees skid against the ground and her face bounces on it as well. “Torra!”

Jenssen falls to his knees next to the princess and helps her into a sitting position. His eyes narrow at her flushed face, her heavier than usual breathing, and her heaving chest. “f*ck, are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you were having another attack? Why didn’t you say something? I could have f*cking carried you.”

Tears well up in the girl’s eyes and Jenssen immediately feels like a piece of sh*t. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Do you think you can stand? I’ll carry you the rest of the way to Markarth.”

Torra’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “I-I don’t want to go to Markarth.”

Jenssen’s lips part and he stares at her like she’d just grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. What was she talking about? He knew she was dying to get to a warm bed and good food after leaving Dragon Bridge. If this was an attempt to make the trip easier on him, then there was no need for it. He wanted to go to Markarth nearly as badly as she did. “Nonsense. I know you want to sleep in a bed tonight. Let me help you up.”

Taking Torra’s small hands, Jenssen helps her up to her feet, grimacing at the knee of her now dirty dress. His eyes find her face, where there were now fresh cuts, scrapes, and dirt from her face sliding on the ground. “Let me pour out some water and I’ll wash your face. Your knees, too.”

Torra lets go of his hands and steps back. “I’m okay. Let us go.”

Gritting his teeth, Jenssen forces back a curse. “Can I at least heal you with my magic? We can’t let the wounds fester.”

Hesitating for a few seconds, Torra finally nods. “Okay.”

Funneling his magic into his hand, Jenssen raises it just as a bright, white light fills the air. He feels the warmth in his skin and he points it at first Torra’s face and then her knees. The girl lets out a soft sighing noise just as the magic fades from his body. Sighing, Jenssen shakes his head to clear it. He hated using magic. It never came to him as naturally as a sword or bow did.

Torra starts to walk but Jenssen grabs her by the arm. “You’re not walking, Tor-Sonjette. Climb on my back and I’ll take you the rest of the way to the city.”

“Are—” Torra’s brow furrows. “Are you sure? We don’t have to go to the city.”

Jenssen turns around, rolls his eyes so she can’t see him do it, and goes down on one knee. He waits until she wraps her thin arms around his neck before he responds. “I want to go. This is for me as much as you.”

Lifting her into the air, Jenssen starts back down the road. Both of them are quiet, save for the girl’s heavy breathing starting to die down and his footsteps against the ground. A bird chirps in the air and Jenssen keeps on a lookout for any Forsworn or bandits, not wanting a repeat of what happened before. In the distance, he can see a mountain goat walking down the road and he smiles. In one of Torra’s rare moments of actually speaking to him the last few days, she’d refused to allow him to kill one of the goats for dinner. He’d only agreed because he… enjoyed hearing her speak again, like normal.

It hadn’t lasted long, but it had been enough.

Less than a mile later, Jenssen spots the road ahead fork. He knew the left would take them towards Falkreath and the other to Markarth. “Put your hood up, Torr-Sonjette. There will be guards.”

One of the arms around Jenssen’s neck moves away and he feels the cloak brush against his hair. Torra’s arm comes back around his neck. Her lips are close to his ear. “I can walk. I’m fine.”

Jenssen shakes his head stubbornly. “No. You’re hurt so I’ll carry you.”

“You healed me.”

“I don’t care. You’re hurt so I will carry you.”

The sky grows darker and darker as Jenssen approaches the turn and starts down the road towards Markarth. In the distance he can see the city pressed against the mountains with great stone buildings reaching towards the sky. It was even more impressive looking than Solitude. They get to the top of a hill, listening to the waterfalls and river in the distance.

Jenssen and Torra walk along in silence as the sky turns completely black above them, save for the light of the two moons. Torches along the bridge light their way and Jenssen puts her down as soon as they get to it. “It’d probably be best if they don’t see me carry you. Take my hand and keep your hood up.”

Torra slides her hand into his and Jenssen squeezes it. The two walk side by side, Jenssen going slower than usual to try to match her pace. Slowly, they walk across the bridge, stopping at the end when a guard approaches them, carrying a torch. “Halt. What business do you have in Markarth?”

Jenssen’s eyes drift down to Torra, her head bowed. He looks back at the guard. “I’m a farmer and this is my wife, Sonjette. She was injured on our way back to Cyrodiil.”

The man’s head co*cks to the side. “You’re an Imperial? You look Nordic to me.”

“Aye, I’m a Nord.” Jenssen smiles down at Torra. “My little wife here is an Imperial. We met in Cyrodiil and I brought her back to Whiterun. I’m a farmer. But we’ve received news that my wife’s father’s health is failing.”

“Blessings to your family.” The guard bows his head towards both of them. “I assume then that you support the Imperials in our war efforts?”

Torra nods, her head still lowered. “Of course. My family wishes nothing more than for Ulfric Stormcloak to be brought to justice. He murdered the king.”

“Aye, that’s good.” The guard smiles at the princess and nods at Jenssen. “Safe travels then. Have some stew at the inn. It’s brilliant.”

Jenssen nods back and, gripping Torra’s hand tighter, he pulls her towards a hill, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. “Let me know if you need me to carry you.”

The hill is steep, and Torra’s panting by the time they reach the top, but they do make it to the top. They pass by a farm on their right and what looks to be the entrance to the mines on their left. Turning right, they start up a much shorter, but longer, hill. At the top, they see a carriage to their left, a watchtower to their right, and a great stone city in front of them. Steps lead up into the city.

Jenssen leans down towards a still panting Torra. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard the inn is just inside the city. We’ll get a room and you can rest.”

Torra nods again and her lips part, but she doesn’t seem capable of speech at the moment. Wrapping an arm around her, Jenssen pulls her against his side and feels her small arm wrap around his waist. It would look strange if he carried her through the city but this felt far more natural for a husband and wife, while he still got to help her.

Wrapped around each other like that, it felt uncomfortable walking up the stairs so close to each other but Jenssen fears her falling too much to mind. At the top, they both nod back at the guard who greets and even opens the city doors for them.

Once inside, Jenssen sees guards carrying torches and citizens walking around, laughing. He can hear the waterfalls more clearly in the city than he could outside of it. In front of them stands an inn and he pulls her towards it. When they walk inside, his eyes land on a woman behind the bar, bearing a scowl on her face. Her eyes keep darting to a man who is laughing with a few other men. Her husband, Jenssen presumed.

Jenssen walks up to her. “Excuse me. My wife and I would like a room for the night.”

The woman doesn’t take her eyes off of her husband. “Ten gold. First hallway to your left. Food and drink?”

Resisting a snort, Jenssen nods. “Can we get some venison stew, bread, butter, spiced wine, ale, and a sweetroll?”

Torra’s hand spasms in his. He squeezes hers.

Taking her eyes off her husband, the woman reaches down and places two bottles on the bar. “That’ll be forty-five gold. Will you be taking it out here or we can have a maid bring it to your room?”

Wincing at the price, Jenssen lets go of Torra’s hand and pulls his coin purse out of his bag, counting the gold out and handing it to her before grabbing the two bottles. “Our room, please. Thank you.”

Jenssen nudges Torra with the bottle of wine and she turns towards the first hallway, walks down it, and opens the door to a small but comfortable looking room. Jenssen shuts the door with his foot and places the bottles on the desk. His bag follows soon after.

Torra sits down on the bed and frowns up at Jenssen. “We didn’t need so much food. Why’d you spend all that gold?”

Because you wanted it, Jenssen thinks but doesn’t say. It would make the girl realize she was developing more power over him than he wanted her to know. He shrugs. “I’m hungry. You’re hungry. There’s only one more town before the border. Why not splurge a little?”

“Okay.”

The silence while they wait is awkward and Jenssen keeps taking swings of his ale to give himself something to do. Torra curls up in the bed, holding her wine but not taking a drink out of it. Jenssen takes a seat at the desk, his eyes drifting over to the princess every few moments. There was still a small scrape on her cheek but he’d managed to heal most of her wounds. The knees of her dress were dirty too, but he assumed everything was okay under there. He didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask.

Probably not, considering how she’d sobbed as she cleaned herself the morning after the attack. It had taken everything within him not to rush into the cave that day and help her. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take anything else from her.

Someone knocks on the door and Jenssen rises to open it, allowing in two maids. They chatter between themselves as they lay two steaming bowls of stew on the desk along with bread, butter, and a few sweetrolls. The younger looking of the girls, a short haired brunette, rolls her eyes. “I wish they’d kick that old drunk Borri Frozen-Song out already.” Jenssen jerks his head in their direction. “Kleppr hates him.”

“My father loves money more than he hates Borri.” The blonde maid rolls her eyes. “No idea where that swine gets his money though. Wouldn’t put it past him that he’s a thief.”

Jenssen’s mouth opens and he tries to say something but he can’t. He closes it when the blonde turns towards him. “My mother gave you a couple extra sweetrolls on the house since you paid so much for your room. Thought my father was gonna shout at her over it. Do you need anything else or are you good?”

What does Borri Frozen-Song look like? Jenssen grits his teeth and shakes his head. “No.”

Both maids grimace at him and walk out the door, closing it a little too hard behind them. Torra scoffs. “That was rude. You could have at least thanked them.”

Jenssen moves towards the door and opens it. “Stay in here. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Jenss—”

Closing the door behind him, Jenssen marches down the hallway, his jaw tightening. Borri was a common enough name, but Borri Frozen-Song? That was no coincidence. He’d kill his father here and now.

When he gets to the bar though, Jenssen looks at everyone in the room and can’t seem to spot his father. It was growing later, and most of the patrons had either left, had retired for the evening, or were swaying by the fire or to the music. None of them looked like how he imagined his father would look now. Maybe he’d gotten a room for the night? Unlikely, as the maids seemed to think the man was thieving for his drink.

Borri had left the bar.

Without thinking, Jenssen turns towards the door to leave the inn and marches over to it. He only stops once he puts his hand on the knob, ready to push it open. What the f*ck was he thinking? He couldn’t leave the princess alone and vulnerable. f*ck.

Jenssen takes a deep breath and starts back to his room. He’d wait until she fell asleep and then he would sneak out of the room. If he didn’t find his father within the hour then he would return and she would never know he left her. It would only be for an hour.

Only an hour.

Chapter 14: The Lowest Place and a Promise

Chapter Text

Torra watches jealously from the top of the stairs by the blacksmith’s as Fjorra dances in the square next to the merchant stalls. The other girl giggles flirtatiously at Styro, working at his father’s stall. It had been nine years since Fjorra stopped being her friend, and six since Styro left her behind too. Fjorra had grown tall, yet Styro was taller still. Torra looks down at her tiny frame. At fourteen years old, and a Nord to boot, she should be as tall as Fjorra. Being born early had left her tiny, delicate, and unable to keep up.

Styro had been Torra’s last true friend. Now that her and Torygg’s father had died, Torra wasn’t confined to the castle as much as she was before. The problem was no one really wanted to be her friend. Sure, everyone her age wanted to be “friends” with the princess. All the boys, save for Styro it seemed, wanted to hold her hand and give her flowers. The girls simpered and wanted to talk and giggle.

None of it had fooled Torra. Their mothers and fathers wanted their children to be friends with or even possibly marry a princess. They didn’t want to be friends with Torra. They didn’t want to marry Torra because they loved or even liked her. No. They wanted a powerful friend or wife.

Lately Torra had found herself gravitating around the children of Solitude. Those that were much younger than her. A girl named Sonjette was growing to become a dear favorite of hers. The children were too young to question why the princess didn’t want to play with other children her own age. They weren’t old enough yet to have ulterior motives for being her friends. She knew it was pathetic, but she didn’t care.

She liked going to the tavern and taking a brave sip of ale while listening to the bards sing. The blacksmith always allowed her to sit at the table and watch him work, even gifting her a small gold ring that one of the noblemen decided wasn’t nice enough looking for his wife. Torra could have bought a hundred of the same ring, and better, but she treasured it for years until it grew too tight on her fingers.

Fjorra spins in a circle until she stops, giggling again, and glances up towards Torra. She smirks at the princess before turning back to face Styro. She flounces towards him and runs a hand down his arm. He grins at her and Torra turns away from the both of them. She knew what Fjorra was doing, despite being a sheltered princess.

Styro had been Torra’s closest friend in the world and Fjorra had been jealous. She wanted Styro all for herself, despite the fact that neither Torra nor Styro had been interested in each other at such a young age when they parted. And now Fjorra was rubbing it in her face that she had Styro and Torra didn’t. She almost wished there was a spark of affection, more than what she currently had, for the boy.

But that was petty.

“All right, lass?” The blacksmith’s gravely voice calls from the forge. “Don’t let that little hussy bother you.”

Torra laughs and moves to sit at her usual table. “She’s not a hussy. It’s not her fault she likes Styro and he prefers her company to me. We are growing older, after all. Friends drift apart. What are you working on today?”

“Eh, your brother’s ordered armor and some swords for the castle guards. Typical stuff.” His muscles bulge as he brings his arm up and slams a hammer down upon a sword as red and hot as fire. “And don’t change the topic, princess. You and I both know she made him stop being your friend because she’s jealous of you. You are prettier than her, I dare say.”

“That’s not very kind.” Torra runs her fingers over the wood of the table, trying to ignore the giggles growing louder from down below. She rises from her seat. “I ought to return home. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He lowers his hammer and turns to face her. “Do you need help back up to the castle, princess? I wouldn’t mind it.”

Before Torra can refuse, a familiar voice comes from behind her. “There’s no need. Come, princess.”

Torra turns around and smiles at Ersi. He holds out a hand for her and she takes it, throwing a “goodbye” over her shoulder at the blacksmith. Ersi’s hand is warm around hers as they slowly make their way through the courtyard and towards the bridge leading back to the castle. He glances down at her, his brown eyes warm. “Let me know when you’ve had enough walking. I can carry you the rest of the way.”

There was no need for it, as she actually felt well that day. That could change at any moment and she couldn’t outright refuse him. At least near the noble quarters there would be less people around to witness her fall if she did. Thank the gods Fjorra and Styro were otherwise occupied if that happened. Not that Ersi would ever allow her to fall. He had long been her rock, her friend, hers.

Torra stares up at Ersi as he hums a song under his breath. They start to walk across the bridge and she grins lazily. He was oh, so handsome, despite being so much older than her. Maybe Styro never registered for her because she’d always wanted a man much more like Ersi. Taller, fiercer, braver. One might think that brown hair and brown eyes would be boring but no, not when the hair was thick and soft looking. His eyes were always warm and appeared to be laughing with her. Not at her. With her.

With her.

Ersi’s hand squeezes around Torra’s when she stumbles and he helps her stay upright until she catches her bearings. Embarrassed, Torra keeps her eyes firmly on the road the rest of the way past the bridge. She hopes he didn’t catch her staring up at him like that. There was no hope in a crush such as this, so she felt no real harm in staring.

The two of them make their way past the noblemen’s houses and towards the castle. Towards the end, Ersi has to wrap an arm around her waist but he doesn’t try to lift her into his arms. That was what she enjoyed so much about her brother’s Knight. He knew when she had reached her limit. That was the only time he would take over and carry her. He made her feel less weak than her own brother did.

Across the castle courtyard they walk until they get to the doors. He leads her up the stairs to the second floor and the first thing Torra sees is her brother sitting the throne. He glances at her and smiles. “Off to rest now, Torra.”

Torra nods, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d wanted to sit next to him but, like always, she was to be sent to “rest.” Why couldn’t she rest on one of the couches by the throne? Perhaps she should have asked Ersi to release her before walking up the stairs. Instead of arguing with him, she allowed herself to be led away by Ersi.

When they get to her room, Torra turns to face Ersi and holds out her hand for him to kiss, as usual. However, Instead of bowing his head over it with eyes closed, Ersi’s brown eyes stare straight into hers as he presses a firm kiss to the back of her hand. He pulls away slowly and slides his thumb across her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. Torra’s heart starts to race and she steps towards him but a voice calling from down the hallway has the both of them parting quickly.

Torra’s eyes open and she stares blankly at the wall opposite her bed. A bed that feels infinitely more comfortable than the unrelenting stone of Jenssen’s caves, but nowhere near as comfortable as her bed back home. Candles flicker on the bedside table, filling the room with a soft glow. She wished she hadn’t dreamed of Ersi again. That Forsworn man was ruining everything she had with Ersi. He’d loved her. He loved her. She knew he loved her. It wasn’t just the sex that he wanted.

Ersi hadn’t bedded her until two years after the flirtation had begun. That was love, not lust.

Sighing, Torra closes her eyes and rolls over to take Jenssen’s arm, as it had been the only way she could sleep for days. But when she rolls over, she finds a cold bed in the spot Jenssen had been in when she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes fly open and she sits up, looking around at the floor first, and then the chair. Jenssen was nowhere in the room.

Wrapping her arms around her legs and pulling them up to her chin, Torra tries not to panic and stares at the door. Surely he had just gone to use a chamber pot or get an ale from the bar. He hadn’t left her. He hadn’t left her again.

The longer she stares at the door though, the longer Jenssen’s disappearance weighs upon her mind. She sniffles and rubs her eyes with her fists, willing herself not to cry. He was here. He was here. There door remains stubbornly shut.

What had Torra done this time to infuriate him enough to leave again? She sniffles again and her eyes burn, a tear sitting dangerously on the edge on one of her eyelids. This time, she doesn’t try to brush them away. She would die. Without Jenssen to protect her, she would die. She doubted she could make it a mile outside of Markarth without being mauled by a sabre cat, attacked by a frostbite spider or… or raped by a Forsworn, or someone else.

Torra’s eyes drift over to the table where their belongings still sit. The only thing he’d taken was his sword. Jenssen hadn’t even left her his sword this time. What had she done to anger him this much? Last time he’d been furious but left her his sword to defend herself with.

Suddenly, Torra lurches forward out of the bed and, breathing heavily, manages to move the desk in front of the door. She moves away until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she falls onto it. She edges backwards until her back is pressed against the wall and she curls into a ball, her face pressed against her knees. What had she done wrong?

Every day she’d done everything she thought Jenssen wanted her to do. Torra cleaned her own clothes, cooked two of their meals, and had walked as much as she could without complaint, even choosing to fall before asking for aid. She’d even told him she didn’t want to come to Markarth even though her desire to rest here had been desperate. Maybe if she had insisted… had she given in too easily?

What was she going to do? Torra had little money and couldn’t afford a carriage to Falkreath, assuming Jenssen had taken what money they had to make his way back to Solitude. There was also the issue of the carriage driver possibly knowing who she was. He travelled all over Skyrim and might recognize her. Hell, she’d seen them herself in Solitude.

Starting to rock back and forth, the sobs claw their way out of Torra’s throat. She might as well just slit her own throat and be done with it. There was no hope of her survival and Jenssen had clearly abandoned her. It’d been far too long for him to get a drink or use the chamber pot. Was she brave enough to put a knife to her own throat or wrists? Maybe she could buy a poison potion. It might be more painful than slit wrists though.

Surely there were poisons that didn't cause a person any pain. Torra could find her way to the apothecary and buy herself a potion. If Jenssen left her any money, that was. Would it be strange to ask the alchemist for a potion that didn't cause pain? Would the person there suspect what Torra wanted to do with it? Slit wrists sounded painful for her and she'd strongly prefer not to die painfully. Maybe there was no other way out of it. There was no way she could find her way to Cyrodiil without Jenssen. It was either die out there, killed by a sabre cat or by another Forsworn, or die in this room. She chose this room.

Torra’s cries grow louder just as the door edges open but stops as it bangs into the table. Her head jerks up and her body starts to shake as fear fills her. Casting her eyes around the room, they land on the fork from her meal sitting on the bedside table. She grabs it just as she hears… Jenssen, outside the room. “Sonjette?”

Unable to contain it, Torra sobs again, a sob of relief. Panic fills Jenssen’s voice as he calls out, “Sonjette!”

The door bursts forward and the desk skirts across the room as Jenssen rushes inside his sword gripped tight in his hand and his head shaking back and forth wildly as he searches the room for an invisible enemy. He doesn’t know that it is Torra’s own mind that is the enemy.

Torra’s legs straighten out and she slides off of the bed. Jenssen opens his mouth to say something, his brow furrowed, but before he can say whatever he wants to say, Torra launches herself towards him. He makes an oomph noise and his sword clatters to the ground as he catches her.

Instead of pushing her away like Torra thinks he will, Jenssen’s arms tighten around her and one of his hands bury into her hair, pulling her face against his chest. She sobs again and Jenssen presses his face against her temple, murmuring against the side of her face. “It’s okay. I’m here, Torra. I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Please don’t leave me, Jenssen.” Torra whimpers and grips the back of Jenssen’s shirt tight in her fists. Her whole body trembles. “Please don’t leave me again. Please Jenssen. Promise me you won’t leave me again.”

“I promise.” Jenssen whispers into her ear and runs his free hand up and down her back. “I promise. I’ll never leave you again.”

Chapter 15: Letters and Cries in the Dark

Chapter Text

Jenssen lays in bed next to Torra, listening to her breathing. The light from the candles flicker on the walls, dancing in the dark. Torra turns over in the bed, her hand leaving his arm as she does. He knew she was sound asleep now. Torra had developed a need to touch his arm before falling asleep early on their journey towards the border. At first, he’d been bothered by the touch but now he had grown used to it.

Slowly, Jenssen eases himself from the bed and slides his feet into his boots. He grabs his sword from the table and attaches it to his belt before looking back at the bed, where Torra’s chest rises and falls steadily with her breaths. He considers crawling back into bed and going back to sleep. His duty was to take care of the girl, not going off in the night and leaving her to fend for herself if someone came into the room.

But the chances of someone sneaking into their room was slim here. Jenssen would only be gone for an hour or two. What could possibly happen to her in an hour or two? Thoughts of the Forsworn fill his mind but he quickly pushes those aside. They’d been outside the city walls and thus had no protection from the guards. Torra would be fine for a couple hours in the city whereas she wasn’t safe outside them. She'd be perfectly fine for a few hours. Hell, she likely wouldn't even wake up while he was gone.

Decision made, Jenssen steps slowly towards the door and eases it open. He takes one last look at the princess before he moves through the door and closes it silently behind him. Making his way down the hall, he stops at the bar in the main room. The barmaid steps towards him. “Would you like another ale? Or a wine for your woman?”

“No, thank you.” Jenssen glances back towards his room again before looking at the maid. “I was actually looking for one of your customers. His name is Borri Frozen-Song.”

“Gods, what did the man do now?” The barmaid rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, the man begged you for money for some ale and he promised to pay you back? If you’re looking for that old drunk you best start your search in the Warrens. That man lives there with the rest of the poor folk.”

“The Warrens?”

The barmaid gestures towards the door. “Go right after leaving the bar. Walk down the path until you get to a bridge. Don’t cross the bridge to the left but instead turn right and walk until you get to some stairs to the forward and a bridge to the left. Go to the left but don’t cross the bridge. There’ll be another path to the left and go down it until you get to a door. That’ll be the Warrens. The smell will get to you in there, though. You might as well wait till morning. He’ll be back with his stolen coin.”

“I’d rather deal with him tonight. He and I have some unfinished business to deal with.” Jenssen nods at her and turns towards the door. “Thank you.”

Jenssen glances towards his and Torra’s room one last time before grabbing the knob for the door and pushing it open. It swings shut behind him and he turns to the right. He walks down the path as directed and passes the first bridge. Down the second path, he can see another bridge, longer this time, and a set of steps leading up. Keeping an eye on the bridge, he walks down this path and turns right before he gets to the stairs.

A steep, dangerous looking path goes down next to the bridge and Jenssen sighs before easing himself down it until he gets to a door halfway down. The smell coming from the door makes Jenssen recoil. Gods, the woman had been telling him the truth. How could the nobility of Markarth let people live like this? Did the fault lie with the jarl or with the king? Both?

The door opens and a woman stumbles out of it, clearly drunk. Jenssen gives her a sad look but grabs the door before it can swing close. He walks inside and, the smell from outside making him recoil, now makes him want to run the other direction and not come back. Resisting the urge to cover his nose, or possibly vomit, Jenssen grits his teeth and marches into the opening room.

A man makes a groaning noise from the floor to Jenssen’s left and he averts his eyes. Another man wearing raggedy clothes stands at the entrance of the next room, leaning against the wall. He looks over at Jenssen, his eyes gazing down at Jenssen’s clothes. “You’re dressed too nice for this place. You looking for some skooma or some other trouble?”

“I’m looking for a name.” Jenssen rises himself to his full height and the other man’s expression doesn’t change, but fear fills his eyes. “Where is Borri Frozen-Song?”

“Borri?” The other man’s eyes relax and he grins. “What did that drunkard lout do now? Stiffed you out of your money, didn’t he?” Jenssen grunts as an answer. “Thought so. All that man cares about is how soon he’s gonna get his next drink. He isn’t here. Last I saw of him, he was stumbling up to go drink at the inn. And if you’re looking for him after he loaned you some money, my guess is he isn’t at the bar anymore. The man likes to move. He could be halfway to Solitude for all we know.”

“Drunk?”

“Aye.” The man shrugs. “Borri likes to move around a lot, and he can walk better drunk than most of us can sober. His room is two doors down to the right. It’s not even a room since it’s a bit caved in. There’s not even a door. His stuff is in there but don’t bother trying to steal anything worth anything. Just some letters and papers. He keeps his coin on him, if he ever gets any, that is.”

Jenssen nods at the other man and walks down the hallway, trying to ignore the people sitting on the floor, staring into fires. He stops at the second room and peers inside, understanding what the other man meant by it not even being a room. Caved in stone stares back at him from ten feet or so, making an arch towards the ground. Dirty blankets sit on the floor as a makeshift bed. The smell coming from them made Jenssen feel sick. A lit lantern sits by the wall where… letters lay as well.

Avoiding the blankets, Jenssen moves towards the letters and crouches down. He picks up the yellowing papers. Some of the words had faded due to age but not all of them. Nor had Jenssen’s memory of his mother’s handwriting. The looping words on the first few pages send their love and ask if Borri had found work yet. Another page tells Borri about how Jenssen had lost a tooth tripping and hitting his face on the tree stump near their house. Jenssen remembered the pain he’d felt, but nothing scared him, or his mother, more than the river of blood that had flown from his mouth.

The letters grow increasingly more desperate, begging Borri to write them back, even just to tell them he loved them. The last letter has only five words on it: Do you still love us? Jenssen’s eyes grow watery and he tears the letter in half before he tosses the remnants of it onto Borri’s blanket. He pushes the rest of the letters into his pocket before he wipes the tears from his eyes. The last thing he would let Borri have was his tears.

There was nothing left for him here.

Rising unsteadily to his feet, Jenssen starts back the way he came, ignoring the moans and groans of the people around him. He passes the man who’d directed him to Borri’s room and the man calls out to him, but Jenssen ignores him as well. He opens the door leading out into Markarth and takes a deep breath as he walks up the hill, enjoying the clean air. It wasn’t right the poorer people of Markarth were treated like trash. If Torra survived the war, he’d have to talk to her about helping the people. He knew she wouldn't stand for this treatment.

The letters in Jenssen’s pocket feel heavier than they should, and he keeps brushing his hand against the material of his trousers to make sure they’re still there. He turns right at the top of the hill and starts back along the path towards the inn. The sky is dark but lights fill the city as he walks. Markarth was so different from Solitude. He enjoyed the darkness of Solitude over the light of Markarth.

Sighing, Jenssen opens the door to the inn and walks towards his room with Torra. He couldn’t wait to get back in bed and sleep. Finding Borri had been a bust but at least he found out his father had kept the letters from his mother. That must mean the man cared about them, even if he was too much of a coward to admit he was a failure.

Jenssen grabs the knob for his and Torra’s door but when he pushes it open it only goes so far before it bangs into something wooden. His brow furrows when he hears Torra’s crying. “Sonjette?”

Torra sobs and Jenssen jerks his sword out of his sheath, shouts “Sonjette!”, and shoves his shoulder into the door, sending whatever is in front of the door flying across the room. Jenssen launches himself into the room, scanning it for whatever danger Torra is facing, only to realize there is no danger. Furrowing his brow further, Jenssen turns and opens his mouth to yell at the princess but stops when she almost literally flies off of the bed and into his arms.

Catching Torra, Jenssen’s sword drops to the ground and he wraps his arms tightly around the girl. His hand slides up into long, chestnut colored hair and he pulls her face tightly against his chest, allowing her to sob against him. For some reason he can’t explain, Jenssen lowers his head to press against the side of hers. “It’s okay. I’m here, Torra. I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Torra whimpers and Jenssen feels her arms wrap around his back, her hands balling the back of his shirt in her fists. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me again. Please Jenssen. Promise me you won’t leave me again.”

f*ck, he f*cked up when he left her alone like this. Jenssen strokes his free hand up and down Torra’s back, trying to calm her. “I promise. I promise. I’ll never leave you again.”

The two of them stand like that for some time, Jenssen stroking her back and Torra sobbing into his chest. Eventually, Torra’s sobs start to die and her body sags against his. Holding her against his body with one hand, Jenssen twists around and pushes the door shut. He brings his hand back up to cup the back of her head. Her hair feels soft and silky against his skin. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Please…” Torra pulls away a few inches, not leaving his arms completely but enough so she can look up at him. Her braids bunch up in his hand and Jenssen clears his throat again. Tears track down Torra’s cheeks and her eyes are red, but he’d never seen her look so delicate, soft, and oddly endearing. f*ck. He almost doesn’t hear her whisper, “Please don’t leave again. I couldn’t take it again.”

Jenssen’s lips part to reassure Torra again but they close. His eyes flicker from hers to her own lips, soft and pink and wet. If she were any other woman in his arms, his thumb would slide up her cheek to them, pressing against them and asking for entrance. His tongue would soon follow. In his trousers, his co*ck begins to harden and he shifts his hips away from her slightly. If she were any woman but the princess of Skyrim.

Torra’s head turns slightly and she blinks slowly. “Jenssen?”

Grunting, Jenssen pulls away from Torra completely and untangles his hand from her hair. “Yes, I promise. You should probably get back in bed. What woke you?”

“Well…” Torra averts her eyes back towards the bed. “I had a dream. It was kind of a bad dream.”

Jenssen waits a few beats too long, waiting for Torra to continue, but when she doesn’t, he says, “Did you dream about him?”

“No.” Torra shakes her head but doesn’t look at him. “It’s his fault, the reason I had my dream. If he hadn’t touched me, I might never have started having these dreams.”

Dreams, plural. Jenssen’s brow furrows. “What did you dream?”

Torra glances back at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jenssen’s co*ck swells further and he stoops to grab his sword as a way to try to hide it. His eyes never leave Torra’s though, and he watches as she shakes her head again. “About a man.” She whispers. “A man I cared for.”

“Cared for?” Jenssen turns away from her to put his sword back on the table. He doesn’t turn back to face her. “I didn’t know there was a man in your life. Neither Torygg nor the others in the Brotherhood told me about this.”

The blankets on the bed shift and he listens as Torra climbs into the bed. Again, Jenssen wonders if he’ll get an answer due to her silence, but she finally says, “He and I were the only ones who knew. Torygg wouldn’t approve so we kept it secret. I don’t think anyone would approve, really. But we were happy. And now I’ve been having bad dreams because of what that-that man did. It’s like, what happened between me and the person I was with has been destroyed because of the Forsworn.”

“You don’t have to let it.” The idea of Torra climbing into bed with another man made Jenssen’s co*ck start to soften, but he doesn’t turn around to face her. “You were with your man of your own free will. The Forsworn forced you. You are a victim, a survivor. I’m sure what you had with the other man was beautiful.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry you had to leave him behind.” Jenssen stares down at his sword, feeling a sudden urge to pick it up and attack something, anything, but not understanding where the sudden rage was coming from. He grits his teeth. “I’m sure he misses you now that you’re gone.”

“No.” Torra whispers. “He doesn’t miss me. He died.”

The tension in Jenssen’s shoulders instantly disappears, not to mention the one in his trousers, and he turns back around to face Torra. “I’m sorry.”

The words are simple, likely insignificant, but they are all that he has. He knew death well. He’d only loved two people who had died, his mother and Ersi, and now Torra had faced the same. Her unnamed lover and her brother. Too much for someone so young to deal with.

Torra slides farther down into the bed and rests her head on her pillow. She stares up at him. “Aren’t you getting into bed?”

Jenssen nods and slides his boots off before getting back into bed next to Torra. Her hand instantly comes down on his bicep and she even leans her forehead against his shoulder. Even though he’d grown used to the touch, this time felt different considering how inappropriate his thoughts had come before. He’d wanted to shove his tongue in her mouth, for f*ck’s sake!

And that wasn’t the only thing he wanted to shove into her. Well, not shove. Jenssen never much cared for rough f*cking and she was the last person he’d ever consider doing that with even if he did. She was gentle, tender, delicate, and needed a gentle touch. Jenssen’s co*ck begins to harden again and he grunts in frustration.

Torra’s head lifts from where it was resting by his shoulder. “Jenssen? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Jenssen grits his teeth again, thinking maybe he should find a whor* to slake his desire on once they reach the Imperial City. “What was his name?”

“The Forsworn? I-I don’t know.”

“No, the man you loved who died. What was his name?”

He needed a name. He didn’t know why but he needed a name to go with the faceless stranger.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Torra turns away from Jenssen and her hand leaves his arm. She flips onto her side and lays down. “Better to just let dead men stay dead.”

Jenssen doesn’t ask again but he does turn his head to stare at the back of hers. His arm still felt warm from where her hand laid but he knew it would grow cold soon enough. As annoying as she was and as much as he had wanted her to leave him alone, the fact that she let go of him hurt. He wanted her hand on his arm, her nagging on the road, and her pursed lips as she rejects every cave he offers for bed.

He wanted her to touch him again.

Chapter 16: Secrets and Silence

Chapter Text

Torra feels the cold stone of the castle walls against her back, the two of them hidden in a dark corner in the basem*nt. She’d asked Ersi to join her downstairs to grab a bottle of wine for her and Torygg to share for dinner. That hadn’t been what she’d wanted to do at all, no. What she’d wanted was for him to kiss her and touch her.

Two years ago, Ersi had given Torra the first kiss upon her hand that sparked a lust that had been slowly simmering below the surface for the last two years. That kiss on her hand had led to more kisses on her hands, to kisses on her forehead, to kisses on her cheeks. Each kiss lasting longer than the one that came before. His fingers would wrap around her delicate wrists and touch her pulse point. Once he’d even kissed her there, saying it was like kissing her very heart.

How Torra’s heart had soared at those words.

Now, Ersi presses Torra’s back against the stone, his fingers reaching up and under her dress. One of his hands cup her breast and the other grips her behind, pulling her flush against his body. He rocks against her, his hard co*ck pressing into her belly. The hand on her breast shifts and a rough thumb brushes against her nipple, causing Torra to throw her head back, her cry muffled by Ersi’s mouth on hers.

Ersi kisses her fast, his tongue pistoning in and out of her mouth, rubbing against her own tongue and teeth and inner cheeks. He possessed Torra, body and soul. They both knew she’d do anything he asked her to do. And gods, did she want to please him. Never had she allowed a man to enter her body, but now she was sixteen and she desperately wanted him to be the first, and last, she ever granted that privilege to.

“f*ck,” Ersi grunts and slides his hand from Torra’s behind down to her thigh. He lifts her leg and hooks it around his waist. The move makes her lose her balance and she clings to him as his humping increases against her belly. “I can’t control myself around you, beautiful. I love you so much, you know that right? I need you. Need inside you, love.”

“Do it.” Torra whimpers, trying to angle herself so that she can take him fully. “Right now. I want you to.”

“No.” The rejection hurts for only a moment before Ersi rubs his callused thumb against her nipple again, drawing out another low moan. “I’m not going to take your maidenhead in a dirty basem*nt. You deserve to be bedded on a luxurious mattress with flower petals underneath you and candles scenting the air. I’ll make love to you in your bed tonight. But today, I need something to take the edge off. Turn around.”

Torra excitedly turns away from Ersi and does as he instructs, placing her palms flat against the wall and bending at the waist. Ersi pulls up her dress until she stands half naked in the basem*nt, grips her hips, and nearly lifts her completely from the ground, her toes just barely touching the floor, as he finds a comfortable position for his… his co*ck.

Only a few times had Torra been allowed to touch the appendage, and only through his clothes, but now it brushes naked against her bare thighs. Not only that, but his co*ck also touches her most private place, making her loins hot and wet. All it would take is a single push and he would be inside her, but instead of shoving it in, he just allows it to touch.

“I’m going to make love to you tonight,” Ersi mumbles again, beginning to thrust forward at the same time, dragging his co*ck back and forth in-between her thighs. “I’ll be the first man to f*ck you. You’re going to cry out again and again and again as I fill you with my seed. I’ll kiss you all over. You like my kisses, don’t you?”

“Ye-yes.” Torra whines and shoves her hips back, trying to get him to rub against her loins again. “I need you. Please, now.”

“No.” One of Ersi’s hands come up and rests over Torra’s mouth, his hips jerking back and forward in-between her thighs, a slickness begins to run down her legs. “I’m not going to let you tempt me into taking you here. We’ll do it when it’s right for you. You deserve the world. You deserve—”

But what Torra deserves, she doesn’t get to hear, for Ersi’s hand tightens around her mouth and his hips begin to vigorously rock, humping against her harder and faster, until his body freezes. She can feel wet stickiness brush against her thighs and when she looks down, something white rests against the wall.

Rough hands rip down Torra’s dress and pulls her upright. She frowns and turns to express her displeasure but stops when she hears the footsteps coming down the stairs. Ersi pushes her in front of him, leading her towards the wine crates where Torygg’s favorite wine was kept. A maid calls out to Torra from the bottom of the stairs and she waves, trying not to give anything away though she doesn’t know how she possibly could do that.

Gods, Torra hoped the maid wouldn’t see the stains on the wall. She hadn’t liked how rough Ersi had been after their coupling but she understood it now. He’d been afraid of getting caught. Though if Torra was being truthful, the idea of being caught didn’t scare her that much. Torygg would surely understand the two of them were in love! They could get married after he found out.

There were no vows in the Brotherhood saying the Knight of Solitude wasn’t allowed to marry.

Torra wakes, though she doesn’t open her eyes yet. She wished the dreams would stop but it seemed that they were only coming in increasing quantity since the attack. The worst part was they were taking a beautiful thing and making her hate it. Just a few weeks ago, she longed for her Ersi’s touch. Now, the thought of it made her skin crawl. It didn’t make any sense.

It was nothing like what happened with the Forsworn. Ersi had courted her gently over two years before they made love the first time. He waited until she was ready, not him. They loved each other madly. So then why was she having bad dreams of him now? She’d been aroused in the dream but she’d known it was a bad thing that was happening. Almost like all the times she’d thought she loved and hated him with equal measure.

That didn’t make any sense at all. Torra loved Ersi beyond almost anyone else. Only Torygg had more of her heart than Ersi did. And no part of Torra hated Torygg, so she didn’t understand how she could hate Ersi at all. There was nothing to put her finger on either. Ersi was a warrior, a hero, and a genuinely good man. He was honorable, loyal, and decent to a fault. So why did a piece of her hate him?

Blindly, Torra reaches out towards Jenssen’s spot, not wanting to open her eyes yet to see if he was there or not. When her hand touches empty sheets, a soft whimper starts up in her throat but she shoves it down. He’d left again.

“It’s alright.” A gruff voice sounds from Torra’s right. At the table. “I’m over here. I didn’t leave again.”

Torra finally finds the courage to open her eyes, feeling such immense relief that he’d not left her. Jenssen sits at the table, his sword across his lap as he cleans it. Two plates are on the table in front of him. One of them is empty, but the other has bread and butter on it with what looks like a bowl of berries. Her belly grumbles. It was such a simple meal but it looked delicious.

Instead of getting up though, Torra allows a moment to stare greedily at Jenssen. The ridiculously tall man is bent over his sword, rubbing a cloth against it. Under normal circ*mstances, Torra might have laughed at how meticulous he was being over the piece of metal. Ersi had also cleaned his sword every single day, rubbing out imaginary pieces of dust and dirt and rust. It seemed the two men were very similar.

Frowning, Torra tilts her head. When they’d met, she had compared him to Ersi. They were of similar build, though Jenssen is the taller of the two. While the two were very similar in height and their builds, they were complete opposites when it came to their looks. Ersi had brown hair while Jenssen is a blonde. The older man had soulful brown eyes while the younger has a deep, dark ocean blue. At the end of his life, Ersi had a beard but only because he could no longer shave it for his illness. Jenssen liked to keep a beard and shaved it with a dagger every morning to keep it trim.

Why was she comparing the two of them so much?

Perhaps because things had gone from professional to very, very unprofessional between them last night. Torygg and Ersi had never hugged before, save for a couple side hugs where they slapped each other on the back. It had been completely inappropriate for Torra to leap into Jenssen’s arms the way she’d done the night before. It was even more inappropriate to sob against his chest and neck, begging him not to leave her again.

And she may be imagining this, but it’d felt like Jenssen wanted to lean down to kiss her. That thought makes her want to chuckle. Jenssen had always made his feelings for her very clear. She was a spoiled, rotten brat and he wished to be rid of her. Still, his eyes had softened towards her.

Torra had always known her relationship with Ersi must be kept secret, as he’d feared the two of them would be separated if Torygg ever found out the truth. Still, the secret had very nearly been blurted out the night before when Jenssen asked her for the name of her mystery lover. She knew now that she could trust him, and he and Ersi seemed like they were very close friends. He had such a deep respect for the older man, at least.

Surely it would make Jenssen happy to know his old friend had loved in the last years of his life. But for some reason, Torra had decided to leave Ersi in death where he belonged. She couldn’t explain why her mouth had remained sealed the night before.

What she could explain was why she’d stopped touching Jenssen before going to sleep. It had felt wrong to touch a man while talking about Ersi in the same breath. Disrespectful. Dishonorable. It was silly as she knew Ersi wouldn’t want her to long for him and miss him forever. He’d want her to move on. But she didn’t know how Jenssen would feel about the relationship and that felt wrong to her.

Jenssen sheaths his sword and picks up the plate from the table. He rises from his seat and hands it to her in the bed. Torra sits up and accepts it gratefully. “I could have eaten at the table. I was just thinking.”

“I know.” He grunts and moves back to the table, his back to her. “But we need to get moving soon. I’d like to make it a couple miles before we stop tonight.”

Torra butters her bread before shoving it in her mouth, staring at his back while she does so. She chews on the bread slowly. A change had come over him, just as a change had come over her over the last few days. At the beginning of their journey, he’d wanted to get twenty miles in a day and griped at her if she couldn’t make it ten. Now, after the attack, he only asked her and didn’t demand that she try to go two or three miles.

He was trying to be kind to her, even though he was still being gruff with his kindness.

That thought has Torra eating her food faster, shoving down bites of bread and berries as fast as she can without choking upon them. If Jenssen was going to try to be kind, then she was going to continue to be as good and quick as she could to please him too. She didn’t think he’d walk out again but he’d done so twice now. She couldn’t risk it happening a third time. If he left a third time, would he come back again?

Rising from the bed, Torra swiftly makes it before turning to her bags. “I need to change and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“You can take a bath. They’ll bring you hot water if you want.”

The thought of a hot bath filled Torra with such joy that she nearly wobbled on her feet, imagining the heat and steam and relaxation. Almost instantly, those thoughts disappear as she thinks about Jenssen having to wait for her again, getting impatient. No, no hot bath for her. “I’m fine. I washed up with water last night.”

Cold water, as cold as ice, but she hadn’t and wouldn’t complain.

Jenssen grunts but doesn’t say anything else as Torra changes into the blue and white dress. It was flashier than the clothes she’d been wearing but the brown dress was dirty and she didn’t want to ask Jenssen if she could wash it here. She hadn’t been wearing the nicer looking clothes because she hadn’t wanted to stand out. A part of her also knew the nicer clothes annoyed him. She thought she looked more like a princess than a common-born girl in the blue and white.

Oh well, there was no time to wash a more common outfit without Jenssen growing angry with her.

Torra slides her bag up onto her shoulders and turns to face Jenssen, who continues to stare at the wall. “Um… I’m ready to go, are you?”

“Yes.” Jenssen rises from his seat again and shoulders his own bag. “Let’s go.”

Frowning, Torra pulls her hood up over her head and follows him out of the room. What had she done wrong this time? She’d made her bed and refused the bath. As they walk down the hallway, Torra sneakily gives herself a sniff. No, she didn’t smell. That wasn’t the problem. He’s been acting strange since last night so maybe her behavior last night was the problem. She knew she shouldn’t have jumped into his arms! There would be no more of that. Maybe no more of touching at all. Touching him must have made him uncomfortable.

Maybe he thought it was inappropriate. She vowed not to touch him again unless absolutely necessary.

Just as that thought fills Torra, Jenssen turns and grips her hand right before they walk into the bar. A wave of confusion hits her but it’s tamped down when she realizes they were still acting as husband and wife. The bar is much livelier as they pass through and Torra longs to go sit by the fire and have a chat with some of her brother’s citizens. Well, now they were her citizens. She wanted to get to know them, but she knew she was only Sonjette and not Princess Torra right now.

“Wait!” The barmaid calls out. She hurries from around the bar and towards the two of them. Jenssen lets go of Torra’s hand and positions himself protectively next to her but doesn’t put his hand on his sword like the times before. The woman breathes out harshly as soon as she reaches them. “Sorry, not as young as I once was. You were looking for a man named Borri Frozen-Song last night.”

Torra freezes. Frozen-Song was Jenssen’s family name, as he didn’t seem much the type to be a bard who gave it to himself. She’d never heard of the name before meeting him either. Was Borri his father? Brother? Uncle?

“What of it?” The undercurrent of anger in Jenssen’s voice alarms Torra. What had this man done to him? “I couldn’t find him last night.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The maid purses her lips. Apparently, Jenssen’s anger wasn’t lost upon her. “He gave a man last night his word that he’d pay him back today if the man bought him a pint of ale. The man foolishly gave up the coin. Turns out, Borri took off for Solitude to avoid paying back the debt.”

“That’s a long way to go to avoid a debt.” Jenssen shakes his head, a muscle in his cheek jumping when he does. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

Torra smiles apologetically at the woman as the two of them turn and leave the inn. Jenssen’s back is tense as they walk towards the gates leaving the city. She waits until they get outside of them and are on their way to the first bridge before she speaks. “Is that man your brother?”

Jenssen grunts but doesn’t answer. Instead, he starts walking faster and Torra tries to keep up. “Your uncle?”

Again, Jenssen refuses to answer and his long legs speed up with Torra now jogging to keep up with him. “Your father?” She huffs out.

“Stop talking.” Jenssen stops and jerks around to face her. “Why can’t you just go back to ignoring me and not talking to me? It’s none of your f*cking business who that man is. This may surprise you, princess, but you’re not always going to get your way and this is one of those times. Stop asking me questions about that man. Stop f*cking talking.”

“O-Okay.” Torra lowers her eyes and she can feel the sting of tears at the corners of them. She’d only wanted to help him. It seems she’d been correct on their way to Markarth. He only wanted her silence. She would give it to him. “Let us head for Falkreath.”

Stepping around him, Torra keeps her eyes on the ground. Jenssen seems to hesitate for a few seconds before his steps start to follow hers.

Torra would keep her mouth shut until they got to Falkreath. Rather that than risk him leaving again.

Chapter 17: Fevered Dreams

Chapter Text

Jenssen stares at the back of Torra’s head as they walk along the road towards Falkreath. She hadn’t said a single word since he’d yelled at her, choosing to answer any of his questions by nodding or shaking her head. He’d instantly regretted the words he’d used towards her but wasn’t sure how to apologize without making the situation even more awkward. Last night, she’d been far more open with him than he’d ever expected.

And of course, Jenssen had to go and open his mouth and ruin it.

It wasn’t Torra’s fault that Borri abandoned his wife and son to starve all those years ago. It wasn’t her fault his father chose to rob people and beg people for money so that he can get his drink. It wasn’t her fault Jenssen couldn’t let go of the anger and murderous hatred he still felt towards his father.

On the way to Markarth, Jenssen had tried everything he could think of to get the princess to talk. Short of begging, he’d done everything. Hell, he might have literally begged if he thought it would actually have worked. He’d felt helpless. She was broken and he couldn’t fix her. It had annoyed him to find out she’d had a lover but, at the same time, it filled him with an unexpected happiness that she trusted him enough to tell him about a man she hadn’t even given Torygg the knowledge of. And he knew that she adored Torygg.

The ice was softening. Jenssen didn’t know if it was the ice around his heart or hers, but it had been softening. It had been so tempting to lean down and take her lips with his. The way Torra had been looking up at him, with teary eyes and wet lips… it’d been so tempting. All that stopped him was knowing she was a princess and he was just her knight. That, and the fact she’d been assaulted just days before.

Surely the last thing Torra had wanted then was him.

Though this morning, as Jenssen sat cleaning his sword, Torra had moaned and whined in her sleep and, upon waking, reached for him in the bed. If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have noticed the soft whimper that had come from her throat when she likely thought she was alone again. Gods, how he’d f*cked up when he left her after what happened last time. What the f*ck was wrong with him?

That whimper had told him something though. Torra wanted Jenssen around her. She felt safe with him. He didn’t know if she returned whatever feelings were flowing through him last night, but he absolutely could tell that she needed him to be there with her, for her, around her. As for those feelings, he needed to work through them as quickly as possible. Torra deserved more than to just be bedded, and Jenssen was a lowborn knight. He couldn’t marry her.

Ha! Marriage. Jenssen resists a snort. The only marriages he’d witnessed over the years had soured by time or abuse. At one time, he’d thought his parents were perfectly matched and he’d never seen anyone more in love. That love had turned to ash as Borri refused to come home, choosing wine and whor*s over his family. The Brotherhood members were free to marry, though they must always put the Brotherhood first. As far as he knew, only a handful of members had ever married, and none were now.

Jenssen halts for a second before slowly starting after Torra. Why had his mind gone to marriage of all things? Torra was beautiful, he couldn’t possibly deny it after his body’s visceral reaction to her the night before, but she was a princess and completely out of bounds. Once they got to the Imperial City, he would find a brothel and f*ck one, or more, of the whor*s there to completely get the princess out of his system. Someone taller with lighter colored hair would do.

And nothing remotely similar to those damned amber colored eyes.

Torra stops suddenly at a fork in the road and she turns to face him, her eyes downcast. Look at me, damnit. “How much farther until Lake Ilinalta?”

“This isn’t the fork we need.” Jenssen gestures to the left road, not that she’s even looking at him now. “That one is the one we came here on, going back to Solitude. We have to go right. The distance to Lake Ilinalta is roughly the same distance from Solitude to Dragon Bridge…” he cringes. “Twice. Maybe a little more.”

“Oh.” Whatever complaint Jenssen thought the girl might make, she doesn’t. Torra turns and starts walking again. “Okay.”

Jenssen stands in place for a few moments, tension radiating up his spine and the urge to shout at her strong again. How the f*ck did he make this right? Well, he knew how, but he really didn’t want to do it. Sighing, he starts after her, keeping his lips firmly shut.

They walk another few miles before Jenssen suggests a break. His question is answered with a shake of the head and a near silent, “I’m fine.” He fumes silently but doesn’t ask again for another couple miles. This time, she merely shakes her head at him before continuing on, her breath starting to come out more ragged. The last thing they needed was for her to vomit all over the road like she’d done when they first met. That would just slow them down more.

As if that was really what concerned Jenssen.

The sun starts to set after they’d walked sixteen miles for the day. The best they’d done the entire journey. Jenssen looks up into the mountains, spotting one about thirty feet up. “Let’s go up there.” He co*cks his head, hearing rushing water in the distance. “I think there’s a waterfall up there too. We can bathe.”

I know you wanted to take a bath at Markarth.

Jenssen turns back to Torra when she doesn’t answer him, realizing she hadn’t stopped with him. “Sonjette.” He starts walking towards her. “Let’s stop for the night.”

The girl doesn’t stop, but Jenssen realizes she’s walking on shaky legs. He starts walking faster, closing their distance. “Sonjette.”

She doesn’t f*cking stop.

“Torra!” Jenssen shouts but freezes when the girl turns around. “Gods, Torra.”

The girl’s entire body shakes, but worst off is her lips. It seems like all the color has drained from the girl’s face, save for two patches of pink on her cheekbones. Sweat pours down her forehead. Her lips look gray and her face, save for her cheeks, is a ghostly white. Her eyes appear dull and wet at the same time. “I’m going to be sick.” She whispers. “Jenss—”

That is all Torra gets out before she bends at the waist and spews vomit all over the ground. Jenssen forces back a gag when he sees chewed up red berries and bread in the mix, the smell hitting him. “f*ck.” Torra falls to the ground, landing right in the mess. “f*ck! Torra!”

Jenssen lifts Torra into his arms, gagging this time as the vomit slides down his shirt and puddles on her clothes at her belly. He carries her back in the direction of the cave he’d seen before. As he starts to carry her up towards the cave, she pitches forward in his arms and vomits again, nearly making Jenssen slide in it. He rights himself and grits his teeth as the scent hits him again.

Finally, finally Jenssen makes it to the mouth of the cave and he lowers her to the ground. The noise of the rushing water has grown louder. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”

Not that he thought she could in this state.

He rushes in the direction of the water, tripping on stones and branches, running further and further into the mountains until he finds a small waterfall. Quickly, he strips off his clothes and throws them away from him before plunging into the water. The cold hits him hard and he scrubs at his chest, arms, and legs, trying to get off all traces of vomit before he runs a hand through his hair.

When Jenssen walks out of the falls, he’s cold but clean, and he opens his bag to pull on new clothes despite the wetness of his body. He holds two of their bowls under the water and starts back in the direction of the cave. When he gets there, he sets the two bowls down next to Torra and moves into the cave, his hand on his sword. As luck would have it once again, the cave is small and empty. No nasty creatures in there for him to kill.

“I’m sorry.”

Jenssen turns back to face Torra, leaning against the mouth of the cave and looking half dead. “I didn’t know it could get this bad. You look feverish.”

Hesitating for a moment, Jenssen finally kneels down next to Torra and tries not to recoil at the smell. He places his palm on her forehead. Heat radiates off the princess’s head and he pulls away. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? We could have stopped.”

“I didn’t want to make you mad.” She whispers and closes her eyes. “You were so angry this morning. I can’t make you mad or you might leave again.”

“I’m—” Jenssen scrubs a hand down his face before putting it on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “You have no idea how I felt about leaving you. Both times I left you. I’ll never forgive myself for the pain you suffered because of me. Please believe me that I’ll never hurt you that way again.”

“Okay.” Torra whispers so quietly Jenssen almost doesn’t hear her. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“You need to bathe first.” Jenssen shakes Torra’s shoulder slightly. “Torra, you need to take a bath first.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” His fingers brush against her dress. “But you need to get this dress off. You’re covered in sickness. I can do it for you if you’re wearing a slip.”

“Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, Jenssen reaches for the ties at the front of Torra’s dress. He eyes her for a few seconds to make sure she was really okay with this but realizes her breathing has started to even out. Slowly, giving her a chance to say no, he starts to untie the laces. Once done, he eyes her again but she still makes no move to stop him.

Jenssen starts lowering her dress down her shoulders, infinitely grateful when he realizes she’s wearing a slip under the material. Once he gets the dress around her waist, he slides his arm under her back and lifts her up against his chest while he slides the dress the rest of the way down her legs. Torra’s beath hits his cheek and he looks down at her.

f*ck. Torra’s long, chestnut colored hair brushes against the back of Jenssen’s arm. The same colored eyelashes touch rosy colored cheekbones. Her lips are parted and he can see the very tip of her tongue and the whites of her teeth between them. Jenssen lifts his left hand and brushes his fingers against her cheek. Her eyes flutter but don’t open. His fingers slowly move towards the corner of her lips. They part further.

Grunting, Jenssen lowers Torra back to the ground and he bundles up her ruined dress before tossing it away from the cave. He opens his bag and grabs a rag before dipping it into one of the bowls of water. Slowly, he washes Torra’s arms, legs, and face, avoiding going underneath her slip. The material bunches up at her thighs and he brushes them as he pulls the slip as far down as it will go. She shivers and he brushes his palm against her forehead again.

“You’re still feverish.” Jenssen mutters. “I’ll get a fire started.”

Moving into the cave, Jenssen pulls all his clothes out of his pack and lays them down into a mock bed. He goes back outside and carefully lifts her into his arms before laying her down on his clothes. Remembering there were trees near the waterfall, he runs back to them to gather up as many branches as he can before bringing them back to the cave. It doesn’t take long to light a fire and he brings in the other bowl of water.

Leaning down next to Torra, Jenssen lifts her back into his arm and he holds the bowl at her lips. “Drink, Torra.” He mutters. “You need to drink.”

Torra opens her lips and drinks down the water. She opens her eyes and looks up at him. “Thank you, Jenssen.”

The desire to touch her cheek again and, even more so, her lips is strong but instead, he smiles and lowers her back onto his clothes. He covers her with one of his cloaks. “You’re welcome, princess.” He presses one of his hands against her forehead. “You’re still warm.”

The girl doesn’t say anything and closes her eyes. Jenssen doesn’t remove his hand from her forehead. “My father.”

“Huh?” Torra opens her eyes again. “What?”

“My father.” Jenssen looks down into her amber eyes, resisting the urge to stroke her cheek or lips again. “Borri Frozen-Song is my father. I left our room last night to look for him. I heard a rumor he was in the city.”

“What did he do?”

Jenssen chuckles humorlessly. “I guess he stiffed some poor guy out of some money. My father got drunk on someone else’s coin.”

“No.” Torra blinks slowly. “I mean, what did he do to you?”

The smile fades from Jenssen’s face. This was a story he’d only told a few people. Could he really trust her enough with this information? He looks down at her face. Her open, inquisitive, trusting face. Yes, he could trust her. “He left us.”

“Your mother?” Torra’s lips part. “He left you and your mother?”

“Yes.” Jenssen’s hand slides down from her forehead to cup her cheek. He only allows the touch for a few seconds before he pulls away reluctantly. “He went to go find work one day. Supposedly he was going to Solitude or Markarth. He was supposed to send us money. I guess the whor*s and ale were more alluring to him than his family was.”

Tears well up in the corners of Torra’s eyes. One of them slides down her cheek. It takes everything in him not to wipe it away. He must keep this purely professional from now on. “I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Jenssen smiles and shakes his head, his fingers itching to touch again. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what my father had done to me and my mother. It was wrong of me to yell at you this morning. It was even more wrong of me to leave you last night and the night you were attacked. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Torra smiles up at him and Jenssen finds himself smiling back. “I forgive you. Can we start again? Maybe where you don’t always think of me as a spoiled princess and I don’t always think of you as an emotionless asshole?”

Jenssen throws his head back and laughs. “Yes. I think we can do that.”

Torra smiles again before closing her eyes. “I think I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Alright.” Jenssen hesitates before brushing his fingers against her cheek again. “Goodnight, princess.”

The girl doesn’t answer and Jenssen moves away from her side, sitting down closer to the fire. Every few minutes, his eyes look at Torra’s prone body. He knew he shouldn’t have touched her as much as he did. It was foolish. She was a princess and he was just a knight. The Knight of Solitude but still… just a knight at the end of it all.

Those thoughts hadn’t mattered though. Not when Torra had been in his arms the night before. Jenssen had longed to not just kiss her, not just f*ck her, but make love to her. And he didn’t even know what was going on today with his desire to hold her and take care of her and treat her like she was precious.

Torra is precious. Not just because she’s a princess but because she’s his princess. One thing for sure that he knew was that he needed to get a handle on these desires. Whatever affection he was gaining for her was surely not reciprocated. She didn’t touch him back. She hadn’t asked him to kiss her the night before.

Would he have kissed her if she’d asked? Gods, he didn’t know.

Jenssen didn’t know what to do.

Chapter 18: Confessions on the Road

Chapter Text

Torra takes a sip of water as she eyes Jenssen, sitting at the mouth of the cave with his sword across his lap. He’d been quiet since she woke a couple hours ago, telling her good morning and asking her how she was feeling, but that was it. It hadn’t felt as uncomfortable as it’d been the day before, but things weren’t back to normal either. She didn’t know how to get things to be normal between them.

What was normal for them? When he was overly polite but still distant towards his princess? When they were shouting at each other over the silliest things? When he was running off on her? They hadn’t acted like normal people since before they met. Everything had been mad ever since Torygg died. She didn’t know anything about Jenssen aside from the fact he was a warrior and…

His childhood. Despite the fever flooding her brain last night, Torra remembered him talking about his father abandoning him and his mother. Borri chose ale and whor*s over his family. She wonders if Jenssen turned out the way he did because of Borri, or if he would have wound up like this anyway. Cold, cynical, angry, completely unfeeling sometimes. She imagines this shaped him forever.

Just like she’d been shaped by her father’s neglect and her brother’s desire to overly spoil her for it.

Torra knew it wasn’t the same. Jenssen and his mother likely starved half to death over not getting the money Borri had promised them. Maybe his mother had starved. He didn’t tell her what happened to his mother. Did she marry again? Did she have more children than just Jenssen? Torra was so curious but she didn’t want to ask for fear of Jenssen growing angry at her again.

After last night, Torra was reasonably certain he wouldn’t leave her again. He’d told her how deeply he regretted leaving both times. He had even told her that he would never forgive himself for leaving her. She believed him but still, there was a fear that she might anger him again.

Another thought that refused to leave Torra’s mind was the little touches he’d given before she’d gone to bed. She hadn’t minded when he took off her dress, despite the fact that he touched her thighs, because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. What did concern her was whether the fever had made her imagine the other touches. The ones that were less appropriate.

Torra remembers Jenssen’s fingertips against her cheeks, not checking for a fever as he’d done that against her forehead. What was fuzzy though was whether he actually touched her lips or not. She was almost certain he did but why would he do something like that? He’d never made it a secret he didn’t enjoy her company very much. And the way he looked at her last night when he’d held her in his arms… she thought he was about to kiss her.

Back in Markarth, when Torra had thrown herself into his arms, she’d thought for a moment that he wanted to kiss her as he’d held her. Those thoughts were foolish but she couldn’t stop them from forming in her mind. She should be bothered by her knight possibly wanting to kiss her but in truth, she wasn’t. In Markarth, she would have accepted his kiss even though it would have confused her.

Shame fills her and Torra looks down at her nearly empty bowl of water. It had not been so long since Ersi died and she was already thinking about kissing another man. A man who reminded her so much of Ersi in some ways, and so very different from him at the same time. Would Ersi be bothered by her looking at Jenssen the way she’d once looked at him? She didn’t think he’d want her to be alone forever, but perhaps Jenssen was too close to home.

And besides, Jenssen surely was just feeling lonely right now. Any woman might do on this trip. She isn’t special.

Jenssen turns towards her. “If you’re hungry, I can go get you something else to eat. That, or there is some bread in my bag.”

Torra looks at the remnants of the fire, where the bones of the two rabbits they’d eaten that morning still sits. “I’m not hungry. I was thinking we should probably leave soon though.”

His brow furrows and he turns back to face outside the cave. “No. You need to rest more. You were very sick last night, Princess.”

“But we need to get moving.” Torra starts shoving her makeshift bed and the bowl back into their bags. “I promise to tell you when I’m tired. What happened yesterday won’t happen again. General Tullius is waiting for us.”

Jenssen snorts and he sheaths his sword before rising to his feet. “General Tullius is traveling, just like we are. Sure, he’s probably at Helgen or Falkreath right now but he might not be. He also is very well aware of how fragile you are. He doesn’t expect you to be able to go at his pace.”

“You did.” Torra looks at the rabbit bones again, remembering his anger before that she didn’t know how to hunt, clean the game, or cook it. “You wanted me to go at his pace.”

“I was—” Jenssen shakes his head. “I was being too hard on you. I’m not going to be that way anymore.” He looks at their bags, now full of his clothes that he’d set out for her bed. “I want to stay another day. You’re ill.”

Torra shoulders her bag and grabs his but before she can rise to her feet, he takes it from her. She resists a huff. “Even if Tullius doesn’t expect us there yet, we should still be moving as swiftly as we can. Every moment we spend in Skyrim is a moment the Stormcloaks can find us. We need to go.”

Jenssen exhales loudly. “Fine. But I’m going to carry you today.” When Torra opens her mouth to interrupt, he says, “No arguments. I’m carrying you on my back.”

“Okay.” Torra watches Jenssen lower himself to the ground and she moves towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifts her easily into the air and she wraps her legs around his waist. “I can carry your bag.”

Jenssen grunts in response and Torra resists a smile even though she knows he can’t see it. He walks back to the mouth of the cave and slowly starts to make his way down the side of the mountain towards the road. Torra looks around, not seeing any people but a goat in the distance. They walk for over an hour before she rests her head on his shoulder, allowing her eyes to close.

The beat of his heart against Torra’s chest lulls her into a comfortable half-sleep. His heavy footsteps and the sound of his breath reverberate around the mountain walls but the noise doesn’t bother her. She smiles and wonders if he’d be angry at her if she actually fell asleep against him. She was still feeling ill even though it wasn’t as bad as it was the night before.

That had been frightening. Torra had often gotten sick over the years by overexerting herself but it rarely ever got so bad that she got feverish. Not that feverish at least. She’d been so thirsty but her feet refused to stop. Jenssen had done something to her when he left the first time. He’d done something more to her when he left the second time. Now it was as if not only her mind but her body was afraid of him leaving again.

“Um… Jenssen?” He grunts again. Torra can’t resist her smile this time. “Were you very angry with your father when he left?”

Jenssen stops walking for a few seconds before he starts up again, his back suddenly tense. “Not when he left. We’re from Morthal. Work had dried up or so he said and he went off to either Solitude or Markarth to find a job. He was supposed to send us money.”

“But he didn’t?” Torra rests her chin on his shoulder, his cheek only inches from hers. “Not a single coin?”

“Not a coin.” Jenssen scoffs. “My mother sent him letters, begging him to come home. They could figure things out together. All they needed was their love and other horsesh*t like that. The last letter asked if he still loved us. Clearly not.”

Torra glances at Jenssen, only able to see half of his face. The blue eye she can see looks angry. “I don’t know him, so I don’t know if I can talk with any authority, but maybe he does. What if he couldn’t get work and was ashamed? Maybe he couldn’t face his son and tell him he failed.”

Jenssen looks at Torra and shakes his head. He turns his head back to face the road ahead. His footsteps grow quicker. “You might not be wrong. I wouldn’t have hated him for that. I started working to try to feed my mother. I could have fed him too. We could have made it together. He didn’t even try to make it work.”

“Maybe I don’t understand because I’m a princess who grew up in a castle, but I…” Torra exhales softly. “I think he would have hated the idea of his son working when he couldn’t. What did your mother do?”

“He shouldn’t have stayed in Markarth or Solitude or whatever the hell he wound up. But he did. He chose to drink and f*ck whor*s while my mother,” Jenssen’s back stiffens further. “My mother worked. She washed clothes. It barely got us a bowl of soup for dinner each night. I started chopping wood to keep us from starving to death.”

“How old were you when he left?”

“Six.” Torra gasps and Jenssen laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, he abandoned his six year old and wife. I was seven when we got the word that he decided his family didn’t mean anything to him anymore. I was nearly fourteen when…”

Torra waits a few moments before she quietly says, “When?”

“My mother,” Jenssen stops walking and looks at her, their faces inches apart. “She killed herself a few months shy of my fourteenth.”

“I’m sorry,” Tears well up in Torra’s eyes and she can’t stop a soft sob from escaping her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I—” Jenssen’s eyes lower and Torra swears he’s looking at her lips. She licks them, feeling suddenly self-conscious, and Jenssen’s head moves closer to hers. “Torra, I—”

A goat bleats in the distance, the noise bouncing off the mountains in an eerie way, and Jenssen jerks his head away from Torra’s. He starts marching forward at a quick pace and Torra grabs at his shoulders to stay on his back.

He was going to kiss her, wasn’t he? Torra eyes him warily. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him do it. It was the moment. It had to be. He’d been nicer to her ever since the attack on the road but she knew exactly what he thought of her. Spoiled. Princess. Useless.

Torra could never be enough for Jenssen.

Chapter 19: A Shadow between Lakes and Mountains

Chapter Text

Jenssen tries to ignore how good it feels to have Torra on his back. Even more than that, he tries to ignore the strange feelings he was starting to have towards her. They’d nearly kissed for f*ck’s sake. Had it not been for the goat, he would have kissed her. She’d stared at him with that wide-eyed, innocent look with tears in her eyes. So many thoughts had filled his head because of that look.

Torra hadn’t spoken about it that night after they’d found a cave to sleep in. Jenssen had found them food and he’d cooked it, while she sat silently beside him. She hadn’t said a word before bed. He figured that she was upset with him over the near kiss at first, but he could have sworn there’d been interest in her eyes. Maybe he was just imagining what he wanted.

Wanted… did Jenssen actually want her? Upon meeting the girl, Jenssen had thought her too soft, too vulnerable, too weak for Skyrim. Sometimes he still felt that way, but those times were becoming fewer. Where once her voice had irritated him, now he longed for her words. And her touch…

Nothing felt so good as Torra laying her hand back on his bicep for the first time after leaving Markarth, before bed. It hadn’t taken long for Jenssen to realize that touching him at night made her feel safe and comforted. In the early days of their journey, it had made him angry for her to touch him like that. It wasn’t an intimate touch but, well, maybe it was intimate for him.

Jenssen had never struggled to find a woman to bed after he finally hit his last growth. Ladies tended to go crazy for the tall, blonde haired, and blue eyed look. The Brotherhood wasn’t shy about visiting whor*s in Solitude or elsewhere to slake their lusts. He’d f*cked plenty of them himself. Still, that wasn’t what he would necessarily call intimate. It was just f*cking, nothing more. Torra’s touch was something else entirely.

And it wasn’t an unpleasant touch.

Torra sighs softly on Jenssen’s back and he glances back at her. Her head is resting on his shoulder and her eyes are closed. A strangely fond feeling fills him and he smiles at her. Was she asleep? She’d been awake not an hour ago when she’d asked to ride on his back just for a few minutes.

It had taken no convincing on her part to get him to kneel down, shockingly. After less than two minutes, she’d asked to be let down. Jenssen had refused, knowing she wouldn’t be long before asking to ride again. It was easier this way, and he knew she felt awful. He was growing strangely accustomed to her spells. Red cheeks, heavy breathing, glassy-eyed looks, slowed steps. She never complained anymore, but he knew she was silently grateful when he offered her his back.

Jenssen rounds a bend and sees a crossroad ahead of them. He grins and shakes her thigh. “Sonjette, wake up.”

Torra grumbles and turns her head to face the other way. “Five more minutes,” She mumbles. “I’ll get down in five more minutes.”

Resisting a laugh, Jenssen shakes her thigh again. “I’m not telling you to get down. I just want you to look up for a minute. Look up.”

Making a soft, growling noise, Torra raises her head and whines. “I’m trying to sleep, Jenssen. I—” She stops talking. “Is that another road? Wait, is that the road south from Morthal?”

“Yes.” Jenssen nods and continues to walk. “We’ll turn right there and be on our way to Falkreath. I don’t know this area as well as ours, so we’ll need to stick to the road unfortunately. I think we may be able to see Lake Ilinalta from the road.”

“I’ve heard it’s beautiful. I’ve only ever seen pictures in books but the pictures often don’t do the scene justice.” Torra muses. She rests her chin back on his shoulder. “Have you ever been there?”

Jenssen considers not answering her. He had, in fact, been to Lake Ilinalta once before. His father took him and his mother there. When he was… four? They’d fished and hunted and camped out. It was the time of his life. Not so much for his mother, who always preferred the comforts of her home. She’d complained about the bugs and the fish and the other animals Borri killed for their meat. Jenssen assumed she was glad to leave, though she did stare longingly at the lake from a distance when they started back home.

“Yes,” He finally says. “I went once as a child. The sun was setting as we got there the first day and it was beautiful. My mother actually started to cry.”

“What was she like?”

Jenssen smiles fondly at the memory of her staring at the lake. “She was kind. Never had a bad word to say about anyone. When my father left, no one helped us in town and left us to starve. I was always so angry in those days. My mother’s hands would be red and raw and cracked after doing laundry for other people all day. There’d be splinters in my hands and arms from chopping wood at the mill. She kept smiling though. At first, she was convinced father would come back to us. When it became obvious that was never going to happen, she did everything she had to do to raise me up right. She sacrificed so much for me and no one helped her.”

Torra’s silent for a moment before she says, “I wish I could have met her. Your mother is exactly how I imagine my own.”

“She died when I was a boy.” Jenssen frowns. “I think I was ten.”

“Ten?” Torra lets out a soft giggling noise. “I can’t believe you’re a decade older than me.”

“What,” Jenssen smiles again. “Did you think I was younger than I am? I suppose I do keep myself fit.”

“You suppose,” She teases. “No, it’s not your looks. It’s your demeanor. You’re so cold and mature and grown. I thought you were older than thirty because of your maturity.”

“No, I’m actually twenty-nine.” Jenssen chuckles and takes the last few steps towards the crossroad. “I’m only ten years older than you, Princess.”

Torra makes a humming noise and she starts to say something, but someone shouts from their left, “Well, if it isn’t the Princess of Skyrim and her beloved Knight!”

Jenssen freezes and looks in that direction, instantly seeing a group of Forsworn. How many? Seven, eight, nine? He turns so Torra is hidden from them and lowers himself to the ground to get her off his back. “If I tell you to run, you run. Stay on the road and race to Falkreath.” He mutters to her and turns back to face the Forsworn. “I think you have us mistaken for someone else. I’m a simple farmer and this is my wife.”

“Then why did you call her Princess just now?” One of them steps forward, clearly the leader of their group, and grins. “You’re only ten years older than her, isn’t that right, Princess Torra? I’ve had my men tail you ever since you killed one of my friends north of Markarth. I can’t blame you for being angry.” His dark colored eyes try to look around Jenssen. “She sure is pretty. No wonder you wanted to keep her to yourself.”

Jenssen pulls his sword from its scabbard. “Your friend got what he deserved. Walk away, or you’re going to get what you deserve as well.”

The other Forsworn pull out their weapons as well, and Jenssen quickly eyes two bows, two axes, and the rest with swords or daggers. f*ck, this wasn’t good. They hadn’t been as careful as they could have been. How many times had he called her Torra over the course of their travels? Often said in anger. He’d even f*cking shouted it in the mountains. She was better than him about calling him by his fake name, but they’d failed to keep the ruse up the entire time.

The leader grins. "There’s a price on her sweet, little head. The Stormcloaks and Forsworn aren’t terribly fond of each other, but we do like gold. We can take her in alive, or we can take her in dead.” His smile widens. “She’d probably prefer to be dead.”

“Last chance.” Jenssen tightens his grip on his sword and reaches for his hip with his other hand. “Leave now or die.”

“Let me think…” The leader pulls his sword from its scabbard. “You die. Keep the girl alive if you can, but kill him, boys!”

Jenssen yanks his dagger from the sheath at his waist and flings it through the air, watching it sink into the eye of one of the Forsworn. He shouts back at Torra, “Run! Get to Falkreath and wait for me there!”

One of the Forsworn screams and Jenssen brings up his sword to block the blow from the axe. He punches the man in the face before cutting off his arm. The man screams but Jenssen barely has time to register it before two more men are upon him, one wielding a sword and the other an axe. He quickly slices one through his neck, nearly decapitating him, and disembowels the other.

An arrow whizzes past his head and he ducks to avoid another. Jenssen charges forward, blocking a blow from one of the sword wielding Forsworn and turning the man to take an arrow to the head. He uses the body of the Forsworn as a shield against the archers until he gets closer to them. He throws the body at one as he slices the head clean off the other. The horrified Forsworn who catches the body throws it down to the ground, and in his distraction, gives Jenssen the chance to kill him.

The last of the group drops his sword when Jenssen turns towards him and flees back in the direction of the north. An agonized voice screams, “Jenssen, help!”

Growling, Jenssen whips around only to freeze at the sight before him. The leader has Torra’s back pressed against his front with his arm wrapped around her chest. His dagger rests at her throat. He grins at Jenssen. “I wonder what royal blood looks like. It seems I underestimated your skills.”

“Let her go.” Jenssen stares into Torra’s eyes, trying to convey as much support as he can in that one look. “If you kill her, I will kill you in the most brutal way you can think of. Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”

The man tilts his head and seems to pretend to think on it. “I choose option number three.” He sniffs Torra’s ear and licks a strip up her neck. “I’m going to leave here, with the girl, and you’re going to let us go. You’re not going to follow us. I promise I’ll let her live if you let us go.”

Jenssen watches as the arm around Torra’s chest moves, cupping first one breast and then the other. She whimpers but doesn’t break eye contact with Jenssen, tears shining brightly. Silently, Jenssen leans down and pulls his second dagger out of his boot. He nods at Torra, trying to tell her she was going to be okay without the words. She gives a miniscule nod back. The dagger inches forward as the Forsworn grows more distracted with her body against his.

Torra bares her teeth and chomps down on the Forsworn’s wrist and he screams in rage, dropping the dagger at the same time. He shoves Torra to the ground and raises his hand to hit her, but the blow never lands. Jenssen’s dagger soars through the air and lands right in the middle of the man’s head. Torra bursts into great, heaving sobs.

Racing forward, Jenssen reaches his hands out to grab her and pull her away from the body, but she screams, “Don’t f*cking touch me!”

Jenssen jerks his hands back. f*ck. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. He wanted to bring the Forsworn back to life and kill him. Again and again and again. He’d failed to protect the girl twice now. That man touched her, f*cking touched her, and he hadn’t been able to save her from it. Well, he had, but too late.

Silently, Jenssen turns around and grabs his dagger from the first Forsworn he’d killed and tucks it back into its sheath. He takes the second from the body of the leader and sheaths it as well. He puts his sword back in its scabbard. Finally, he approaches Torra again, but doesn’t touch her. Instead, he kneels down next to her, his eyes drifting back to the north where the last Forsworn had run. “Torra,” She doesn’t respond, her head bowed. “It’s not safe here. There’s at least one more of them out there. Do you think you can get up and walk a little bit?”

Torra doesn’t answer him and Jenssen would never, ever touch her against her will. He glances back north again. “Please, Torra.”

The girl’s lack of response makes a burning feeling start up behind Jenssen’s eyes and he chokes on a cry that he has long refused to be let out. “I’m sorry. I’m so f*cking sorry. I failed you again. I’d promise that I’ll never fail you again but I know I will.”

Torra finally looks up, tears sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto her clothes. “You,” She croaks out. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me.”

Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, don’t touch her. Jenssen’s fingers twitch but he grips them into fists. He feels his eyes growing wet and he rubs at them with one of his fists. He stops when a small hand wraps around his wrist. Opening his eyes, he sees Torra staring at him with a strange look on her face. She reaches forward tentatively and wipes away one of the tears that has fallen down his cheek.

Letting out another sob, Torra throws herself into Jenssen’s arms. He cradles her to his chest and murmurs against her temple. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you again. I’ll always protect you.” He kisses her temple, nuzzling his nose against her hair at the same time. “I’ll never stop protecting you. Here or in Sovngarde.”

Torra pulls away, though her hands cling his shirt. “I don’t think I can walk very far. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Jenssen.”

Jenssen’s lips part and he shakes his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for this. Can I… can I carry you?”

She nods and Jenssen slowly moves his arms back towards her, giving her plenty of time to pull away, before he slides one of his arms across her back and the other under her knees. He lifts her into the air and starts to walk south on the road. Torra nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder and he turns his head to kiss her on the forehead.

He was in trouble.

Chapter 20: New and Old Lovers

Chapter Text

Torra frowns as she sits down on the bed in the Dead Man’s Drink. She hadn’t liked looking at all the signs in Falkreath. As a child, she’d learned that they named all of their businesses after dead things, though she’d been shocked when she’d seen it firsthand. Jenssen had hurried to town with her in his arms, not stopping or slowing for anything. She’d asked him if he wanted her to walk but he’d merely shaken his head. It was only when they got within enough distance that they could be seen that he let her down and pulled up her hood.

Still, even though he’d sat her down, Jenssen had wrapped an arm around her waist and held her against him so that she could rest if she needed to. Now they were here, at the inn, waiting for Tullius to take them south across the border. As dour as the man could be, Torra was excited that she’d be able to see him again. A familiar face would do her some good.

There hadn’t been much good on this journey.

Leaning back against the surprisingly comfortable pillows, Torra thinks back to the Forsworn that had attacked her outside of Markarth. She didn’t think she’d ever feel safe again after that. The attack was still with her, would always be with her, but Jenssen’s presence had largely made her feel safe. That had all disappeared when the other Forsworn had attacked the two of them on the road. Jenssen had told her to run and she… she didn’t.

Why hadn’t she run? The thought of leaving Jenssen to potentially get killed left Torra with a sick feeling. The thought of those blue eyes dimming and his body growing cold had kept her stuck in place. She’d refused to run away not because she didn’t think she could make it to Falkreath without him, but because she feared being without him forever. If they were going to die, then they were going to die together. Their lives had become intricately linked, just as Ersi and Torygg’s had been.

The fear had grown worse though, when the Forsworn had grabbed her from behind and held a knife to her throat. She’d seen the fury in Jenssen’s eyes as the Forsworn grabbed at her breasts and pressed his hips against her behind. The knife had moved forward and she knew Jenssen had one in his hand. Where she got the courage to bite the man, she didn’t know, but it had hurt when he’d thrown her to the ground. The hit he aimed at her never landed.

Torra bites her lip. She hadn’t meant to curse at Jenssen, who only sought to help her. It had taken her a minute to realize how emotional he was getting over her desire not to be touched by him, or, frankly, anyone at that moment. When she’d looked up and seen him wiping away those tears… she hadn’t known what to think. Jenssen never cried. She hadn’t even thought he’d been capable of it.

Finding out that he could show emotion other than stoic or anger, Torra had flung herself into his arms and sobbed. She thought that he did as well, mixed with little kisses on her temple. They weren’t the only kisses he gave her either. Every few minutes on the walk to Falkreath, he’d given her a kiss or two on the top of her head or forehead or temple. Whether he was reassuring her that they were okay or himself, she didn’t know.

Torra couldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy every moment of those kisses. Her body practically turned to mush the further Jenssen walked and she was completely comfortable in his arms by the time he put her down. It had been so tempting to whine and ask for him to walk into town holding her. Several weeks ago, he would have balked at that idea and likely shouted her to oblivion. No longer was she afraid that he’d grow angry enough to leave her.

Those kisses… Torra sighs. Ersi had always given her the most delightful kisses, but Jenssen’s were soft and slow while Ersi’s had been hard and quick. She didn’t know there could be different ways to kiss someone. What would those soft and slow kisses feel like on her lips? Other parts of her body? Ersi had never bothered much kissing below her neck. Sometimes but nowhere near as much as she would have liked.

If Jenssen did kiss her, would he only kiss her hand and head and neck like Ersi did? Would his lips wander down her body to more private places? Torra feels her belly clench and a familiar slick feeling between her legs. She whimpers softly and presses her thighs together. It had been so long since she’d last been with Ersi. She couldn’t believe she was thinking these things about Jenssen!

The door opens and Jenssen walks in with two plates in his hands. He kicks the door shut behind him and turns to face her. His brow furrows. “Are you okay? Are you having an attack?”

“Uh,” Torra’s eyes widen and she’s embarrassed that her voice comes out breathy. “What do you mean?”

“Your face is red,” Jenssen places the plates on the table next to the door and steps towards her. one of his hands rest on her shoulder. “Your breath is coming hard too. Are you okay?”

Torra’s face burns and she shakes her head. “Um, uh, no. I mean yes! I’m perfectly fine!” She glances wildly around her for something else to talk about. “What did you buy for dinner?”

Jenssen’s eyes narrow but he goes back to pick up their plates before handing hers to her and sits on the bed next to her. “We’re starting to get low on funds. I got us bread and venison.”

“How much do we have?” Torra picks up her fork and glances down at the plate, seeing a slice of pie. “You didn’t have to get me pie if we’re running out of money.”

Jenssen grunts and shifts in his seat. “I just thought you might like it. If Tullius or one of his soldiers don’t approach us soon, then I might have to take up a little work here. I could work at the mill and get us enough each day for a stay here and food every day.”

Torra frowns and takes a bite of her pie. Oh, so good! She quickly finishes it before she looks back up at him. “You don’t have to take all the burden. I can pick flowers for the apothecary or maybe the innkeeper could use someone to clean. I wouldn’t dare ask to cook.”

“Uh,” Jenssen snorts. “No offense, Torra, but I imagine the patrons would prefer not to eat your burnt cooking. That’s not necessary. You should stay here where it would be safer for you or join me at the mill. Yes, coming to the mill with me would be the best option.”

“That sounds so boring.” Torra tries not to whine but it must come out that way because he rolls his eyes at her. “Come on. You know I’m a princess and you know I would just be in the way over there. If you’re not going to let me work in the inn, you could at least let me stay in here.”

Jenssen rolls his eyes again. “Fine, you brat.” He looks where her pie was. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Mhm,” Torra finishes up her venison before breaking off a piece of the bread. “I love apple pie. It’s my favorite.”

“I remember.”

Torra tilts her head in confusion and red spots appear on Jenssen’s cheeks. “You told me sometime on our travels. You were chatting on and on about the foods you miss one day. I think you circled back to apple pie at least four times. Then you asked me if I could buy you a pie in Markarth. I… forgot.”

“That’s okay.” Torra shakes her head and lays a hand on Jenssen’s arm. The muscles bunch up beneath her hand before they relax. “The days leading up to Markarth were stressful.”

Jenssen clears his throat before he shoves the last bits of his food in his mouth. He takes her empty plate and rises from his seat, setting them on the table. Torra lays back in the bed and takes small bites of the bread, enjoying the taste of it. It was better than the bread she’d had in Markarth.

“Who were you thinking about?” Jenssen asks, his back still turned to her. “Who were you thinking about when I walked in the room?”

Torra freezes with a bite of bread still in her mouth. Slowly, she finishes chewing it and swallows. “I-I wasn’t thinking about anyone.”

“You were flustered and breathy,” Jenssen turns back and crosses his arms, leaning against the table. “And you say you weren’t having an attack. You were aroused.” Torra’s jaw drops. “Don’t act shocked. I’m nearing thirty. I’ve been with plenty of women and know when they’re aroused. Your thighs were clenched together, you were breathy, and your face was red. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That is none of your business!” Torra feels her cheeks burning and she resists the urge to bury her face in a pillow. “I am a grown woman, besides. I have desires and they are none of your business.”

“They are,” Jenssen raises his brow. “If I’m the person you’re desiring in your bed. Am I? Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it. I’ll never speak of this again.”

Torra considers shouting at him and telling him to get out. She wonders if that would just encourage his suspicions. And she knew she was an abysmal liar. “Fine,” She grits her teeth. “I was thinking about you.”

“Hm,” Jenssen’s lips curl into a smirk and his voice lowers. “Is that so? What were you thinking?”

The desire had left her by the time they finished eating, but it roars back to life as she grows slick again. She clenches her thighs together again and Jenssen’s eyes lower down to them. She clears her throat, suddenly thirsty. “I-I was wondering about your kisses.”

“What about them?”

“Would you,” Torra swallows. “Would you kiss me like you did on the road, slow and gentle, or hard and quick?”

Jenssen’s eyes widen but he steps closer to the bed. “Which would you prefer?”

“Both,” Torra admits. “Slow and gentle at first. Hard and quick after.”

“And where,” Jenssen lowers his voice further and his eyes drift down her body. “Where do you want me to kiss you?”

Torra hesitates before she raises her fingers to her lips. “Here,” She lowers them to her neck. “And here.” She bravely lowers her hand to her left breast. “Here?”

Jenssen tilts his head. “You say that as if it is a question. Did your lost man not kiss you there?”

“Sometimes.” Torra shrugs, uncomfortable and not wanting to talk about Ersi now. “He was always in a hurry and just kissed my face and neck most times.”

Jenssen’s eyes narrow. “Why was he always in a hurry?”

“Um,” Torra licks her lips and considers lying to him. There was something between them though and she could not bear lying to him about this. “Torygg would not have approved of the relationship. He was much older than me, though I never minded that. He was convinced though that Torygg would force us apart. Maybe even kill him over it.”

“Wait, what?” Jenssen shakes his head and scoffs. “You’re a grown woman and can be with whomever you wish. Why would Torygg force you two apart or kill him?”

Torra hesitates. This could ruin everything between them. Jenssen deserves honesty though. “He would force us apart or kill him… because it was Ersi. Ersi was my lover.”

Chapter 21: Touch

Chapter Text

Ersi was my lover.

Jenssen stares at Torra after that shocking declaration. Things had been going great between them just now. When he’d come into the room, he’d realized immediately that she was aroused, despite her attempts to hide it from him. As they’d eaten, he’d considered letting her just forget it had ever happened. But he decided he didn’t want her to forget, considering he’d never be able to forget it either.

So he’d toyed with her. Jenssen hadn’t thought she’d actually tell him what she’d been thinking before he walked into the room. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when she said she was wondering about his kisses. It hadn’t escaped him that he’d pressed kiss after kiss to her head on the rest of the journey here. He hadn’t been able to help it, as it seemed to be the only thing he could think of to comfort her.

His co*ck had quickly grown hard as she explained that she wanted him to kiss her slow and gentle before he kissed her hard and fast. That wouldn’t be a problem for him. It wasn’t a secret that he wanted to kiss her. As her fingers had gone from her sweet lips to her neck to her breast, he’d moved closer.

Jenssen was going to kiss her all three places. Hell, he was planning on kissing her more places. His mind was running crazy, wondering just how was going to make love to her before his mind finally caught up with her words. Kissing her breast had been a question, as if she wasn’t sure if he’d even want to. He knew she’d had a lover before and, aside from the jealousy, that was fine.

Ersi. Abso-f*cking-lutely not. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but he wouldn’t play that with her.

“Are you,” Torra swallows. “Are you going to say anything?”

Jenssen laughs, a hollow noise. “I’m trying to figure out why you would say something like that. Why you would lie about Ersi.”

A hurt look crosses over Torra’s face. “I would never lie about something like this. Ersi and I were lovers for a few years. I was sixteen when it happened the first time.”

Sixteen. Jenssen’s stomach rolls and he turns his back on Torra. He’s a decade older than Torra. A problematic age, but she is of age and can decide whether she is okay with that or not. Ersi, on the other hand, was twenty years Jenssen’s senior. Thirty f*cking years older than Torra. This couldn’t even be true. If it is…

No. Ersi was an honorable man. He would have never, ever have gone after the underage princess. Sixteen year olds were free to f*ck in Skyrim. No one really cared. Ersi was a romantic man though. He liked to seduce and draw out pleasure. If he would have seduced the princess, he would have done it over a length of time. Years even. Ersi wasn’t a disgusting man. He would have never gone after an underage princess like some… some predator.

“It happened,” Torra whispers. Jenssen’s spine tenses up as she raises her voice. “It happened over a long time. It was sweet and innocent at first. He kissed my hand when I was fourteen and I knew it was more than just normal pleasantries. That went on for a couple years. He’d caress my hair or squeeze my hands between both of his. I was sixteen the first time he kissed me on the lips. It moved fast after that and we made love. We were together until the day he died.”

If Jenssen was going to believe this, and he wasn’t saying he was, then this version of events did make sense. Ersi would have seduced her slowly until she was putty in his fingers. Torra, an unloved daughter of a distant father, would have been easy to sway. Fourteen. f*cking fourteen. A few kisses there, a few kisses here, and the girl would have fallen easily for him.

“I loved him.”

Something inside of Jenssen snaps and he slowly turns around to stare at her again. He shakes his head. “He didn’t love you.”

Torra’s lip’s part and Jenssen can see the pain clear in her eyes. “Yes, he did. He told me all the time he loved me. That has to mean something.”

Fury fills Jenssen and he shakes his head. “Don’t be naïve. He told you he loved you because he wanted you to spread your legs. He wanted to f*ck your c*nt and you were so easily swayed that you opened up right for him. Ersi is thirty years older than you. Don’t you think he could have gotten a real woman instead of a fourteen year old brat? You’re a smart girl, so open your eyes. He was using you!”

Torra shakes her head wildly, her eyes brimming with tears. “No! He loved me. He told me everyday that he loved me. Just because your heart is cold as stone and you don’t know what love is, doesn’t mean no one else does!”

“I know more about it than you!” Jenssen flings up his hands and starts to pace around the room, wanting to hit something, somebody. “Ersi was the Knight of f*cking Solitude. He could have had any woman in the street. Why didn’t he wait until you were actually a f*cking woman? He took you when you were a child and at your most vulnerable and used your feelings against you. He’s a f*cking predator if your accusations are even true!”

Torra’s face turns beet red and rage replaces her tears. “Don’t you dare call him that! I was damn near a woman grown! I wasn’t a child when he kissed me and f*cked me against a wall in the basem*nt of the castle. Everything he gave me I wanted.”

“Because you were a f*cking child!” Jenssen shouts. “You were a f*cking child that had been seduced by a man in his forties! Your father never loved you and you sought out that love with Ersi. Ersi was supposed to love you as a father but instead he f*cked you!”

“He loved me!” Torra shouts back. “He loved me! You would understand that if you knew what love is. But you can’t compare to him! He’s a better man than you will ever be, you cold-hearted bastard!”

Jenssen seizes Torra by the shoulders and drags her up from the bed until they’re face to face, nose to nose. Torra struggles in his hold, and a quick look down tells him that her knees are barely brushing the mattress, but he doesn’t let her go. He growls. “Never compare me to him again. If what you say is true, then you will never compare me to that predator again. You were a child. He had no right to kiss you, no right to touch you, and no right to f*ck you. You yourself say that Torygg would have killed him over this. Doesn’t that tell you that he was wrong to touch you?”

Instead of answering, Torra fights to be released. One of her hands grabs his shoulder and the other sinks into his hair, to pull it or try to headbutt him, he doesn’t know. Jenssen wraps his arms around her back and yanks her against his front. “Enough! I’m not letting you go until you stop attacking me!”

Torra continues to struggle against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her hips against his. Jenssen growls as his co*ck starts to swell again because of the pressure. It only takes a few more seconds of Torra rubbing against it before she freezes. Her eyes are dilated, showing off only a thin line of amber. By the way she clenches her thighs together, he knows she’s just as aroused as he is.

Jenssen licks his lips and doesn’t miss Torra’s eyes zero in on them. They both breathe heavily and Torra shifts, her nipples hard nubs pressing against him. One of his hands is on her lower back, just inches above her buttocks. He could lower his hand, squeeze her there, and press her hard against him.

Slowly, Jenssen brings his other hand up to cup her face. His thumb brushes her bottom lip and pushes down on it, spreading her lips. Torra’s tongue darts to lick her bottom lip and his thumb.

f*ck. Jenssen could probably do anything to her right now. She’s no maiden, despite her innocent personality. He could hike her leg up over his hip, yank up her dress, and f*ck her just like this. He’d kiss her sweet lips and neck, just like she wanted before, before he’d move down and kiss her breast, something, it seems, Ersi hadn’t done for her. She’d writhe on his co*ck and scream his name as he’d fill her with his seed. Then he would do it again, and again, and again. On the bed, against the wall, on the floor. On her hands and knees, on her back, riding him. Everyone in town would hear her moans and cries of pleasure.

She is his. Not Ersi’s. Not anyone else’s. His hand lowers to her left buttock and squeezes it. Supple and soft, he could imagine kissing her there too.

“Please,” Torra moans and tries to pull his head towards hers. “I need you, Jenssen.”

Something inside of Jenssen snaps and he doesn’t allow her to pull him closer. She whimpers and tries again but he gently pushes her until she’s on her knees on the bed. He steps back a couple paces. “No, Torra.”

Torra chews on her lip and she looks down. “Don’t you want me?”

Gods, never before had she looked more like a scared little girl since he met her. He made the right decision. “Look at me.”

When she doesn’t look up, Jenssen steps close enough he can push up her chin with his fingers. Her eyes are wet and he swallows past a lump in his throat. “I do want you. There’s no denying that. This isn’t healthy though. I think you haven’t processed yet what Ersi has taken from you. You don’t even realize that what he did to you was wrong.”

“But—”

“No, Torra.” Jenssen runs his thumb along her cheekbone. “You were fourteen, lonely, and sheltered. If it was so healthy and loving as you think it was, why didn’t he come clean to Torygg? Why didn’t he ask you to marry him? Did he ever make it seem like this would ever be more than a secret?”

Torra frowns. “I love him.”

“I know.” Jenssen sighs and pulls away from her. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think he loved you. I think he wanted one thing from you. You’ve been a grown woman for a while now. It would have been strange but not illegal. You’re not the first young woman to marry a much older man. He didn’t tell Torygg because he knew that it was wrong. And you were just a child who wanted to be loved. You want me to love you too.”

The girl doesn’t respond and Jenssen turns to walk towards the door. “Where—”

“I’m just going for a walk.” He looks back at Torra and doesn’t mistake the fear in her eyes. “I’m not abandoning you. Shove the table up against the door when I leave, and I’ll knock four times and then three times to let you know it’s me. I need to think.”

Jenssen opens the door and shuts it quickly behind him. He waits at the door until he hears the table being pushed into place against it. When he looks up, he sees the barmaid glaring at him. No one else is in the room.

He ignores her and heads outside to go clear his head.

Chapter 22: An Ambush at the foot of the Mountain

Chapter Text

Torra chews on her lip as she watches Jenssen swing his arms up again and again and again to chop wood for the lumber mill. They’d run out of money the second day they were in Falkreath, so Jenssen had gone to the mill to seek work. It didn’t pay much but all they needed was enough for a night at the inn and some food. This was their sixth day in Falkreath and she was really starting to worry.

They hadn’t heard word from Tullius or any soldiers. Torra had to continue wearing her hooded cloak in Falkreath despite there being Imperial soldiers around. Any one of them could be a traitor, according to Jenssen. Torra had grown used to not questioning his paranoia at this point in their journey.

Jenssen almost never spoke to her now after what happened their first night in Falkreath. It was strictly business between them, no matter how hard Torra tried to turn the conversation into what they’d been discussing before.

Well… not so much discussing. Jenssen has been quick to anger since the moment she met him, but she’d never seen him this furious save for when he’d left her on the road. The disbelief had turned to fury which turned into… want, need, desire. He’d ignited her body in ways Ersi hadn’t been able to. She’d longed for Jenssen’s kiss, taking liberties that Ersi would have never allowed her to take. Ersi would have never let her rub herself against him like that, nor sink her hands into his hair and pull. There’d always been desire in Ersi’s eyes but there had been something else in Jenssen’s.

Longing? There was no denying now the two of them wanted each other. Was it merely want though? Need? Torra had told him that night she needed him. That seemed so small, simple, and insignificant compared to how she actually felt. It had felt like her body was on fire and Jenssen was the only thing that could sooth it. He hadn’t wanted to. Well, he had, but he thought it wasn’t a good idea. Now he barely spoke to her and when he did, it was about Tullius.

Tullius. Torra frowns. He was supposed to beat them here. Where was he? Had he already come and went? Did he think they’d been to Falkreath and went elsewhere after not finding him here? Was he afraid they’d gotten hurt or killed on the travels here and went in search of them? His continued absence was worrying her, and she knew it worried Jenssen too, though he wouldn’t actually say it.

A soldier runs up the road towards the northern entrance of town and Torra stares at him as he whispers furiously to the two soldiers guarding the entrance. Torra glances over at Jenssen and realizes his back is to her as he lifts a bunch of wood into his arms. Slowly, she gets up and starts to tiptoe away, towards the whispering soldiers. Thanking her luck that this town is so full of houses and trees, she moves undetected until she’s near the soldiers, hidden behind a large tree.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” One of the soldiers say. “General Tullius was attacked on the road and injured. His men want to take him back to Solitude where there’s better care, or at least to Whiterun. It was Stormcloaks that got to him. They might attack the town.”

No. Torra eases herself away from the tree and back down towards the mill. When she gets there, Jenssen’s looking wildly around the mill and even, in his terror, looks behind a rock for her. The sight would normally have drawn a giggle to Torra’s lips but not this time. “Jenssen.”

Jenssen whips around and stomps towards her with a look of fury on his face. “What the f*ck were you thinking?” He whispers when he gets to her. “You do realize there are people that want you dead?”

“And those people that want me dead are closer than we thought.” At the look of confusion on his face, Torra nods up at where the soldiers have now disappeared. “I saw a few soldiers having what looked like an important conversation. I walked up there and hid. Tullius was attacked on the road. That’s why he hasn’t made it here yet.”

“f*ck!” Jenssen’s angry and confused look turns to worry. “Was he killed?”

“No. His soldiers want to take him to either Whiterun or Solitude for his recovery though. I don’t know how much say Tullius will have in this if he’s unconscious or dying.”

“Why aren’t they bringing him here to take care of him? They support the Legion here.”

Torra shakes her head. “The soldiers said he’d get better care at Whiterun or Solitude. What are we going to do? His recovery could take months. How long can we hide here undetected? Someone will eventually recognize me, Jenssen. They think the Stormcloaks could attack the town.”

“I know.” Jenssen works his jaw. “If they know you’re in here, they’ll gladly put everyone to the sword they think are hiding you. It’s possible they don’t know you’re in here and could remain hidden but if your cover has been blown…”

“I’m their queen.” It is the first time Torra has actually said the words since Torygg died. “I will not allow them to sacrifice their lives unknowingly and perhaps unwillingly for me. If I am to die, I will not ask my people to die for me. I want to leave.”

“Torra.” Jenssen lays his hands down on her shoulders. It’s the first time he’s touched her since the night they arrived in town. “I can protect you better surrounded by guards and walls and houses and, yes, other people. If I have to sling you over my back and run while the Stormcloaks kill these people, I will do it. I will do it because my duty is to defend my queen. Just as it is theirs.”

“Your duty is to defend me.” Torra pushes his hands away. “The soldiers here in Skyrim signed up to defend my family. The civilians did not. I will not put their lives in harms way. You said there would be men waiting across the border for me?”

Jenssen’s jaw juts out angrily. “Yes,” He says shortly. “Yes, there are. Tullius has chosen a dozen locations where he will cross. This was to ensure that, if there’s a traitor among us who gave away one location, they wouldn’t be able to give away all twelve. It lessens the likelihood of an ambush.”

“Do you know of the twelve locations?”

“Yes.”

“Can you lead me to one of them?”

“Torra—”

“No!” Torra hisses. “I’m not going to see this town sacked because the Stormcloaks believe they’re hiding me here. Do you know what will happen to the women and children of this town? I will not see it happen. If I’m going to die, I will not watch my people die first. Get me across the border. Get me to the Emperor’s army. How far away from the border are we?”

“Not far,” Jenssen says reluctantly. “But we’ll have to go along a mountain pass to get there. It’ll be dangerous by ourselves.”

“And they would never expect us to take the mountain pass alone. They would expect us to wait here for Tullius indefinitely.”

Comprehension dawns on Jenssen’s face. “f*ck, you’re right. If they know you’re here, they’ll be keeping an eye on the town and believe we’ve chosen to remain and hide. There’s a hole in the wall in the graveyard. We can sneak out that way. They’ll be watching the gates, not the walls. If you’re sure about this, we can leave tonight.”

“I can’t risk the Stormcloaks attacking Falkreath over me, Jenssen. I’d rather die.”

“You’re—” Jenssen swallows roughly before he lifts his hands and cups both of Torra’s cheeks. “You’re not going to die.”

The rough pads of Jenssen’s thumbs brush against Torra’s cheekbones and his eyes lower to her lips. “You’re not going to die,” He says harshly. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch you.”

Torra blinks rapidly to keep her eyes from tearing up. “Jenssen…”

Jenssen pulls his hands away from her and clears his throat. “I’ll get you through the mountains to Cyrodiil if it’s the last thing I do. I’m sorry about my behavior the other day. I was inappropriate and should never have grabbed you like that.”

“What if I wanted you to grab me like that?”

“I don’t know if you know what you want right now.” Jenssen looks away. “I don’t mean to insult you but your relationship with Ersi was built on a lie, even if you disagree with those words. I would never take advantage of a woman and I don’t want to be a thing that you’ll one day regret, as I consider your relationship with Ersi to be something you will look back on realize it was not what you believe it to be.”

“Okay.” Torra looks down. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” Jenssen exhales loudly. “This isn’t a rejection. I think it’s become quite obvious to both of us that there’s an attraction here. You deserve better than a quick, hidden f*ck every once in a while. You deserve more. I can’t give you more. I’m a knight and don’t know how to be anything else.”

Neither of them says anything for a few minutes until Jenssen sighs. “Let’s go back to the inn and get our things. We’ll leave at nightfall.”

It doesn’t take long for them to gather their supplies, what little they have left now, and head towards the graveyard. After easing their way through the hole in the wall, Torra follows closely behind Jenssen as they creep through the woods around Falkreath and pass the road. The Torra that left Solitude would have whined about not being allowed to walk on the road. The Torra now knew to keep her mouth shut. She wanted to live and whatever Jenssen thought was right was what she would do.

Every stir in the woods makes both of them start, but after an hour of walking, Torra becomes less worried about an ambush and more worried about her sickness. “Jenssen?”

Though she says it on a whisper, Jenssen jumps anyways. “What?” He hisses. “Now’s not the time to talk.”

“I-I can’t walk anymore. I think I’m going to be ill.”

“f*ck!” He whispers and crouches down. “Be careful and climb on.”

Torra gratefully scrambles up onto Jenssen’s back but instead of falling asleep like usual, she keeps her eyes peeled for any movement that Jenssen might miss in the trees. The last thing they needed was to be attacked by the Stormcloaks or anyone else. They were so close to Cyrodiil.

The night grows later as Jenssen continues to walk towards the mountains and Torra’s eyes start to droop. Jenssen squeezes her thigh. “We’ll be at the mountain pass soon. You’ll need to stay quiet throughout because it echoes bad in there.”

“You’re the yeller.”

Jenssen snorts but he doesn’t deny her words as he continues to walk. Torra’s eyes fall shut. A shout rings through the air and she stiffens on Jenssen’s back, “We caught Ulfric!”

Both of them freeze as they look wildly around them. There were flashes of light ahead of them through the trees. Fire… Jenssen looks over his shoulder at her. “This could be a trap.”

“Can you get closer without them hearing you? Just to see what they look like?”

Jenssen eases forward and the lights from the torches grow brighter and brighter. A group of Imperial soldiers circle a small group of Stormcloaks on the ground. Among the Stormcloaks is… “Gods, let me down!” Torra mutters. “It’s—”

“Ulfric.” Jenssen lowers himself to allow Torra off his back. “Come on. They must be one of the groups that are supposed to take us the rest of the way into Cyrodiil. With Ulfric captured, we won’t have to go there.”

Twigs snap under Torra’s boot as she steps towards the soldiers. Many of them draw their swords and Jenssen calls out, “It’s okay. I’m the Knight of Solitude and this is the princess of Skyrim.”

One of the soldiers laugh. “Yeah, and I’m the Emperor of Cyrodiil. That little dirty girl isn’t a princess.”

Torra looks up at Jenssen warily. Weren’t they waiting for them? “My brother was High King Torygg.” She points at Ulfric. “I watched that man tear my brother to pieces with a Shout learned at High Hrothgar. I am Princess Torra.”

“Seize them!” One of the soldier’s shout. “They’re trying to trick us!”

Jenssen grabs a hold of Torra’s arm, but a soldier grabs her other one and yanks her out of Jenssen’s grip. She screams as his arms incircle her waist and she watches in horror as Jenssen reaches for his sword. “Jenssen, stop!”

He freezes and looks at her. “Tullius will clear this up. He’ll tell them who we are. I will not risk you killing them and allowing Ulfric to go free in the chaos. Throw down your weapon.”

Reluctantly, Jenssen pulls his sword and, never taking his eyes off of her, tosses his weapon to the ground. Two soldiers rush forward and drag Jenssen to his knees. They wrap ropes around his wrists and the soldier holding Torra lowers her to the ground once Jenssen is secure. “The girl doesn’t need to be bound. She’s a weak little thing.”

A snort comes from the circle of Stormcloaks and Torra looks over into Ulfric’s eyes. A gag has been wrapped around his head and stuffed into his mouth. She’d see him hang once they got back to Falkreath or wherever they were taking him. Tullius or one of his lieutenants would clear this up. Surely there’d be a single soldier there that knew they were waiting for her to arrive.

“That one’s going to be trouble.”

Torra looks up just as the hilt of a sword is driven into the back of Jenssen’s head. She screams as his body hits the ground.

Chapter 23: Welcome to Helgen

Chapter Text

Jenssen slowly wakes up, his head rocking against a wooden post. He immediately assesses his situation quickly. His hands are bound at the wrist, there’s a throbbing pain in his head, and there’s warmth at his side where, he assumes, Torra is pressed against him. Her body trembles and he wishes he could comfort her.

The noises of horses walking down a stone road and a cart’s wheels catching every rock fills the air. Men chatter back and forth to each other. Jenssen finally opens his eyes. He and Torra were in a cart with two Stormcloaks and a man wearing rags. One of the Stormcloaks is a blonde man, someone he doesn’t know, but the other is Ulfric. The man’s mouth is gagged and his wrists are bound to each other, but it didn’t make Jenssen feel better seeing Ulfric sitting next to Torra.

Torra looks up with tear stains on her face. “Jenssen,” She whispers. “I’m so scared.”

Yeah. Jenssen lifts his bound arms and wraps them around her. It would do little to protect her, especially considering his sword and daggers were no longer where he had them before, but if it offered her the slightest bit of comfort then he would do it for her. “You’re going to be okay.”

The blonde man looks over at them. He sneers at the sight of Torra in Jenssen’s arms. She presses her cheek against his shoulder. “It looks like we’re all going to die together. I’m Ralof. I never thought I’d die with that coward.”

Jenssen longs to snap back. Torra was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a coward. He tightens his arms around her and whispers in her ear, “Don’t listen to him, Torra. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Tullius has to be there.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, considering Tullius might have been taken to another castle already. Jenssen looks around warily. There was a cart in front of them pulling more Stormcloaks, plus this cart. They were walking along a stone road towards the north-east. Helgen was his guess but he’s never been on this road before. He prayed there was at least one soldier here who knew of Tullius’s plot. Apparently not all of them knew, considering they were f*cking captured.

“This is all your fault,” The man next to Ralof groans. “I was captured trying to steal a horse. I didn’t know there were Stormcloaks in the area. If only you f*cks hadn’t killed the king.”

“Ulfric is the true High King.” Ralof looks at Torra. “Torygg was nothing more than a coward who wouldn’t defend his people from the Thalmor or the Empire. Ulfric did what had to be done.”

Torra turns her head and presses it against Jenssen’s neck. He can feel wetness on his skin. “Jenssen, are you sure Tullius has soldiers in Helgen?”

Jenssen doesn’t answer her. In truth, he didn’t know. There were locations at the border where soldiers were placed for Jenssen to take her across, but these soldiers clearly didn’t know who they were. There was no guarantee that Tullius would be at Helgen or any of the soldiers who knew of this plot. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t fight all of them either, especially without a weapon.

Castle walls slowly appear and Jenssen pulls Torra closer, practically into his lap. He was right; they were going to Helgen. There wasn’t much in Helgen barring a few huts, a few towers, and a block. They were going to the block.

Ralof looks at the horse thief, who has begun to chant out the names of the gods. “Show bravery and we will see each other in Sovngarde.”

The thief doesn’t respond other than to say the gods’ names faster. Torra’s lips move against Jenssen’s throat and he knows she’s doing the same thing as the thief. Praying for a f*cking miracle.

The gates open and both of the carts move through the courtyard. Jenssen counts at least two dozen guard, some of them dressed in Thalmor robes. It doesn’t surprise him to see the Thalmor working alongside the Imperials. Torygg never fought back against them. He hopes at least one of them recognize Torra. f*ck, he hopes someone recognizes the Princess of Skyrim. The first cart stops against a stone wall and so does theirs.

A woman wearing Imperial armor walks up to the first cart. “Everyone off! No funny business either!”

Jenssen reluctantly lifts his arms from around Torra and they both stand. Ralof is behind Jenssen and Torra is behind Ulfric. Ulfric leaps from the cart and Jenssen grabs the back of one of Torra’s arms, lowering her to the ground, before he jumps out himself. She presses herself as tight against his side as she can get and he blocks her as well as he can from the heat in Ulfric’s eyes. The brown haired man suddenly sprints forward from the group and three archers take him down. Torra whimpers.

“To the block.” The woman shouts. “Ulfric and Ralof. You two go first.”

Ulfric and Ralof turn to move in the direction of the block and Jenssen watches as more Stormcloak’s are directed to stand next to them. A soldier standing next to the woman indicates them forward. He frowns down at the list in his hands. “There’s no women on here.” He looks at the woman beside him. “There are no women on the list I’ve got. She’s not wearing Stormcloak clothes either.”

“Just take her name, Hadvar.”

The man, Hadvar, glances at the list once more before he looks at Torra. “What is your name, girl?”

Torra looks up at Jenssen. He nods at her and leans in closer to Hadvar. The man reaches for his sword but doesn’t pull it. “I don’t know if you have any orders from General Tullius, but you can’t execute this girl. My name is Jenssen Frozen-Song and I’m the Knight of Solitude.” Hadvar’s eyebrows lower and he frowns. “This is the Princess of Skyrim. Her name is Torra.”

Hadvar stares at Torra for a few moments before he shakes his head. “That’s impossible. Princess Torra is on a ship fleeing to Cyrodiil right now. This girl dressed in rags cannot be her.”

Jenssen growls. “I’m telling you that she is. Send a message to General Tullius. He’ll tell you who we are and get us the rest of the way to Cyrodiil. You must believe us!”

“What is the hold up?” The woman soldier pushes Hadvar out of the way. “Get over to the block, you two. You’re not escaping death today.”

“But Arisa.” Hadvar glances back and forth between Torra and Jenssen before he lowers his voice. “That man claims to be the Knight of Solitude and the girl is the princess. We can’t execute them. We’d be put to the sword if we killed her.”

Arisa scowls. “Hadvar, use your brain. Do you really think that dirty little girl is the princess? We have our orders. To execute the Stormcloaks with Ulfric. These louts were found with the Stormcloaks. Tell me, why would the princess be captured alongside Ulfric?”

“I—”

“She wouldn’t be. Princess Torra is safely bundled up on a ship heading for Cyrodiil. This is a farce to save the woman’s life. I will not fall for it. I’m the Empress if this girl’s a princess.”

Hadvar clears his throat and nods uncomfortably. “Go on to the block. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Jenssen roars and throws every bit of caution to the wind. He shouts. “This is Princess Torra of Solitude! Who here has orders from General Tullius about getting her to Cyrodiil by way of the southern border?”

Several soldiers look at each other with confused looks on their faces. Some soldiers laugh. None of them have realization dawning upon their faces. Jenssen makes eye contact with one of the Thalmor. “General Tullius will have all of your heads if you murder the princess.”

Hands seize Jenssen and he’s dragged across the courtyard towards the block. He’s pulled away from Torra and, once he gets to the block, a booted foot kicks him in the back, knocking him to the ground. His head hits the block and he groans.

“Leave him alone!” Torra shouts. “I’m the Princess of Skyrim and I demand you leave him alone! I’m the rightful queen!”

One of the soldiers grabs Jenssen by the back of the head and arranges him so he’s looking down at an empty box. It wouldn’t be empty very much longer. He looks to his right to see a crying Torra being held by a guard and Ulfric, Ralof, and the rest of the Stormcloaks smirking. To his left, Jenssen looks up at a tall man wearing the customary mask of the Headsman. The man wields a large axe.

In the distance, Jenssen hears a roar. A troll maybe? Giant? Hadvar mutters, “What was that noise? Did anyone else hear it?”

“Cut off his head!” One of the soldier’s shout. “He’s a lying bastard. The princess is safe on a ship. They’re lying to try to get out of their crimes.”

Jenssen glances over at Torra again. The girl, no, woman, is sobbing into her hands and her amber eyes are full of pain. He feels his own eyes well up with tears. He should have kissed her at Falkreath. He should have kissed her body everywhere she wanted him to and made love to her just like he wanted to. Instead of fighting half the journey here, he should have pulled her close every evening and kissed her every morning. He should have… He should have…

He should have told her he loved her when he had the chance.

“Jenssen!” Torra wails. “Jenssen! Please don’t kill him!”

Trying not to cry, Jenssen turns to face the Headsman. He’d make that f*cker look him right in the eye before he killed him. Torra would join him soon enough in Sovngarde. He’d be waiting for her. He’d be waiting for all of them. Tullius was going to murder every last one of them for killing the princess. “Get on with it, motherf*cker.”

Another roar fills the air and Jenssen frowns. It’s much closer this time. It didn’t sound like a giant but he’s never seen a troll before. The Headsman lifts the axe and gets ready to swing. Something black fills the air and Jenssen’s lip’s part. “What the f*ck?”

“Dragon!”

A very large, black dragon lands on the tower behind the Headsman, knocking the man down. It rears back and Jenssen closes his eyes, preparing himself to burn alive. No fire hits him, and he hears wings beat and air hit him before the dragon takes off.

“Jenssen!” A small arm wraps around Jenssen’s bicep and pulls. “Jenssen! We have to run!”

Breathing hard, Jenssen finally opens his eyes and stands up. He couldn’t believe he was still alive. Torra stares up at him with fear in her eyes before she looks to the sky for the dragon. It roars again.

Hadvar hurries over to them and pulls his dagger. Before Jenssen can do anything, the man slices through Torra’s binds. He grabs Jenssen’s arm and pulls him closer to cut his binds as well. Jenssen immediately tugs Torra into his arms. “You are free! Come with me if you want to live!”

Jenssen lowers himself to the ground. “Climb on, Torra.”

Chapter 24: Fleeing Helgen

Chapter Text

Climb on, Torra.

Torra doesn’t have to be told twice. She scrambles up onto Jenssen’s back and he lifts her up into the air. The noise of the dragon flying around and around in circles, setting buildings and people alight, is horrible. She buries her face in Jenssen’s shoulders, trying to ignore the screams, as he races after Hadvar. Soon, she can hear a door opening and feet land on stone.

“Why are you helping us?”

“Jenssen,” Torra admonishes him. “Don’t be rude.” She looks up from Jenssen’s shoulder and gives Hadvar a sincere look. “I’m sorry about him. Thank you for helping us back there.”

The noise of the dragon is dimmed by them being inside the building, but it doesn’t entirely go away. Nor does the sound of hurried footsteps and screaming. Hadvar stares at Torra intently, not even paying attention to the outside noises. “Are you really the princess?”

“That’s what we’ve been saying!” Jenssen shouts and Torra pokes him hard in the shoulder. He looks over his shoulder at her angrily but for some reason, the anger doesn’t bother her. It’s like she knew he wasn’t actually angry at her but at the situation. “What?! We’ve been telling them that you’re the princess and they were gonna murder you!”

Torra rolls her eyes and wiggles to get off his back. Jenssen reluctantly leans down to let her go. He doesn’t let her get very far from him though. “Look at me, Jenssen. Do you think I look like a princess right now? I probably look homeless.”

“You’re not homeless!”

Hadvar shakes his head. “Enough. I’m going to take your word that you’re the princess. I need to get you out of here.”

Jenssen makes a face at Hadvar. “I need to get her out of here.”

Torra frowns at Jenssen. What was wrong with him? She looks back at Hadvar. “General Tullius intended on me crossing at the border with Jenssen. I’m supposed to stay in Cyrodiil until the war is over.”

The dragon roars outside and Hadvar cringes. “General Tullius was injured in battle. He’s on his way to Whiterun. From what I hear, he was spitting angry about it too. I didn’t understand why until now. He would have cut off all our heads himself if he found out we killed the princess.”

Jenssen opens his mouth to retort but Torra speaks over him. “Can you get us to Whiterun? Crossing the border didn’t work out and if General Tullius is in Whiterun, he can help us from there.”

“I can get you as far as Riverwood. That’s where I’m from. But first we must escape the dragon.”

Torra shivers when the dragon roars again. “Dragons died out centuries ago. They were hunted to extinction. How are they here now?”

“At least one survived.” Hadvar nodded up the stairs. “Let us go up that way.”

Jenssen starts to lower himself back to the ground but Torra shakes her head. “It’s not safe for you to walk up stairs with me on your back. I’m fine to walk.”

It looks like Jenssen wants to argue but he doesn’t as the three of them start up the stairs. They go around, Torra clinging to Jenssen’s arm as they go, until they get halfway up the stairs. A strange noise fills the air and suddenly the tower wall a few feet ahead of them explodes, sending bricks everywhere. Jenssen drags Torra down the stairs and buries her face into his chest. She chokes on a sob as the noise of fire, the smell of smoke, and the hottest heat she’s ever felt consumes her.

“Zu'u lost daal...I have returned.”

Jenssen pushes Torra away a few inches and looks down at her worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Torra stares back up at him, wide-eyed. “What did you say?”

“I said…” Jenssen’s brow furrows. “I said are you okay.”

“No!” She shouts, fear rising her up into a panic. “What did you say before that? You said you have returned and something funny before it.”

Hadvar calls down to them from above. “Come up here! Quickly!”

Jenssen doesn’t stop staring at Torra in worry but he pulls her up the stairs to the open, broken part of the tower that the dragon destroyed. She stares outside, dazed, at all the houses and other buildings that are destroyed or on fire. She’d never been so scared in her life.

“We’re going to have to jump.” Hadvar points. “There’s an inn right over there. We’re going to have to jump. I got a good look of the entrance that we just came in and all the bricks that came down landed in front of it. There’s fire down there too. Jumping to the inn is the only way.”

Torra looks over at the inn. “I can’t make it,” She says quietly. “I’m too small. I’m too short.” Never before has she loathed being five feet more than this moment. “It’s too far for me to jump. You’ll have to leave me behind.”

Jenssen’s hand spasms around Torra’s arm. “I’m not f*cking leaving you behind, Torra. That’s not ever going to happen. Not again.” Hadvar gives Jenssen a strange look. Jenssen tilts Torra’s chin up with his thumb so she’s forced to look him in the eye. “We jump together or we stay together. I will either throw you over there or you can climb on my back. Take your pick.”

“She might be too much weight if you try to jump with her on your back, or she might panic midair if you throw her. Both options could end in hers or your life being lost.”

“Whatever,” Jenssen lowers himself to the ground, making Torra’s choice for her. “If she’s gone, my life is already lost.”

Torra stares down at him and blinks rapidly to keep from crying. She climbs onto his back and he lifts her into the air. “Jenssen,” She whispers against his ear so Hadvar doesn’t hear. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.”

Jenssen turns his face until their eyes meet, their faces less than an inch from each other. “I’m not going to let you die. I’ll protect you.”

Instead of responding, Torra just presses her face against his shoulder again. Jenssen’s heart beats rapidly through his back and Torra tries not to cling too tightly to him. She thinks about happy thoughts. Torygg playing with her when they were children. Playing with Sonjette in the streets.

They were going to fall to their deaths.

Jenssen surges forward and Torra clings to him as they soar through the air. They fall quickly and Jenssen grunts as he skids a few feet against… Torra lifts her head and opens her eyes. They made it. They made it! “Oh my gods, we’re alive!”

Hadvar lands next to Jenssen and Torra. He rises to his feet quickly. “The stairs are out. We’ll have to jump through the floor.”

Jenssen rises to his feet slowly and Torra squeezes his shoulder. “You’re hurt. I should get down.”

“No,” He says stubbornly. “You won’t be able to jump the distance.”

Torra nods. Jenssen hadn’t said the words harshly. They were simply the truth. Just a couple weeks ago he would have been shouting those words at her, likely followed by calling her spoiled, brat, or a princess. All three at once. Now… A change had come over him. Both of them.

Jenssen follows Hadvar down a hole in the floor of the inn and Torra grunts when her chin bumps into Jenssen’s shoulder. He and Hadvar walk through a hole in the wall. They can hear a child crying and Hadvar rushes forward to grab a little boy, dragging him back towards the inn. Just in time. The dragon drops to the ground and shoots fire at the spot the boy had just been.

“Kel drey ni viik... The Elder Scroll did not defeat.

Torra blinks and shakes her head rapidly. The dragon throws itself back up into the sky but she doesn’t voice her concerns now. The voice hadn’t sounded like Jenssen or Hadvar, and the crying child couldn’t have spoken in that calm matter. What was going on?

A man rushes towards them and Jenssen tenses up, but the man moves towards Hadvar. “Is the child okay?!”

“Yes!” Hadvar pushes the boy towards the man. “Take him, Gunnar. I will lead the princess and her escort to safety. Try to get the rest of the townspeople out of here.”

Gunnar looks at Torra with a look of terror on his face. “Is she really the princess? I heard them saying but…”

“I did not believe either.” Hadvar nods. “But yes, she is the princess. I must get her to safety. Help the others.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hadvar rushes forward and Torra clings to Jenssen as he chases after the man. If Jenssen was bothered by her extra weight on his back, he doesn’t indicate it either physically or vocally. He jumps from a large step and Hadvar shouts. “To the wall!”

Jenssen throws them against the wall, just as two giant wings come down in front of them. Torra stares at the wings in horror as fire shoots out from above them and towards a house. More screams fill the air and Torra chokes back a sob. Gods, she hoped no one was in there! They were going to die.

Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar... Arrogant mortals! Your pride will humble.

The dragon takes off again and the men hurry down a path leading to the great gates, which are destroyed. A group of soldiers stand there with bows notched, waiting for the dragon to circle back. “Get the townspeople out!” Hadvar shouts. “There’s no use fighting that thing. Save the people!”

Torra looks wildly around on Jenssen’s back as they race under a bridge. Half-burned bodies liter the ground. The noise of crackling fire, wailing wives, shouting husbands, and screaming children fill the air. These were her people. She was watching her people die while she ran like a coward. No… she couldn’t even run. Jenssen hadn’t even let her down once they got to the ground. He knew. They all knew that she would hold them back.

Maybe Ulfric, strong, murderous bear that he was, was a better fit for the throne than her.

Hadvar and Jenssen race down a pathway towards what Torra assumes is the keep. A man runs to the middle of the courtyard and he roars. Ralof! From the cart! “Get out of my way!”

“Your crimes have ended today, Ralof,” Hadvar shouts back. “Ulfric killed the king. I’ll have your heads for it.”

“You’re going to let us go.” Ralof looks at Torra and sneers. “It would be better if you just submit to Ulfric’s rule. He’s a far better choice than that sniveling coward. She can’t even run!”

“Through no fault of her own!” Jenssen snarls. “Just because she was born early and is small due to it does not mean she is not worthy of respect. I—”

Whatever words Jenssen was about to say are drowned out by the dragon landing on a bridge in the distance. The ground shakes from the force and Ralof throws himself towards one of the doors of the keep. The roaring this time is louder than ever and Torra hears:

“Zu'u Alduin, zok sahrot do naan ko Lein... I Alduin, most mighty in any of world.”

No. Torra frowns. Surely he could not be the Alduin from legend. Alduin had been killed. It must be a creature with the same name.

“Come with me!” Hadvar yells. “While the beast is distracted. To the keep!”

Torra stares up at Alduin as Jenssen follows Hadvar into the keep. The door closes behind them but she can still hear the wails, thought dulled now. Jenssen pushes on Torra’s legs and she scrambles to get down. He must need a rest!

Jenssen jerks around and, with wild eyes, yanks Torra into his arms. He grips her tight against him and Torra automatically wraps her arms around his broad back. The tips of her middle fingers are barely able to touch each other, he’s so large. The hug doesn’t last enough time for her before he cups her cheeks with both of his hands. His eyes are still wild as he pushes her face up to look at him.

He kisses her forehead and Torra’s eyes flutter shut. “You’re okay.” He kisses her forehead again. Then her temples. Then over her eyes. Then her cheeks and her jaw and her chin. Torra’s breathing increases the closer he gets to her lips. Every kiss is peppered against her skin with promises of, “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who hurts you. I’ve got you.”

Jenssen’s lips brush against the corner of hers and she parts them. “Jenssen,” She breathes out. “I… I thought you were—”

Hadvar clears his throat. Torra and Jenssen push each other away and they both looks up, red-faced at a glowering Hadvar. “If you two are quite finished, can we go? There is a dragon right outside that door, or have you forgotten?”

Torra follows Hadvar into the room, her face feeling warm and embarrassment coursing through her. He was right. They needed to escape Helgen.

Chapter 25: The Blood of the Keep

Chapter Text

Jenssen frowns as he riffles through a chest, looking for anything he or Torra could use as protection. All of his weapons and armor were gone and he felt naked without his sword. Torra sits on the bed behind the chest and he keeps sneaking little looks up at her. Was she really okay? Her breathing has steadied and she’s looking at the wall. She looked fine. And she’s been awfully receptive to his…

No, he can’t think about it. He can’t think about kissing her sweet skin and almost her lips. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d kissed, but it would have been their first real kiss. The last one hadn’t been real. It had been a show. Her screaming for his life had been what pushed him into the kisses. He’d been so f*cking grateful that he had survived the block. Surviving meant that he wouldn’t leave her alone to fend for herself. He’d never leave her alone again.

“Did you find anything, Jenssen?” Torra asks sweetly. “I doubt there’s anything large enough for me to wear.”

Jenssen tries to clear his thoughts. He could think about that stuff after he rescued her. There’s leather armor in the chest and he grimaces at it. He’d prefer something heavier, but Torra’s safety was more important. Luckily, there are three different sets of armor in the chest and he lifts them out. He dresses himself in the too small armor quickly before he grabs another and turns to Torra. “Lift your arms.

Torra obediently raises her hands into the air and he slides the armor down over her chest. It’s large. Far too long, going down almost to her knees, but it’ll protect her better than her dirty dress will. He decides against having her put the trousers on and connects a belt and sword at her hip. “I want you to have this just in case something happens to me down here. If something does happen, get to Whiterun and the general will take care of you.”

“What,” Torra’s lips part and Jenssen tears his eyes away from them. “What would happen to you down here?”

“Nothing,” Jenssen offers his hands to Torra and he pulls her up. “Nothing at all. Just keep that sword close to you in case something does go wrong. I’ll take you to the general. I promise.”

Hadvar moves over to a doorway and he looks back at them. “This is the way to go.”

Jenssen lowers himself to the floor. “Climb on, Torra.”

“No,” He jerks his head to look at her. “You just carried me through Helgen. I can walk for a little bit.”

“Okay,” He says tightly. “That’s okay. Just let me know when you need to be carried.”

“I will.”

It wasn’t okay. Not really. Jenssen grinds his teeth as he walks towards Hadvar, making sure to stay only a couple steps in front of Torra in case he needs to catch her if she falls. He wanted her as close to him as he could get her. It was a comfort having him on his back, pressing her face into his shoulder, knowing she was safe. He still knew she was safe right behind him but still…

Damn, he really was starting to sound like a possessive person, wasn’t he.

Hadvar pulls a lever and a gate ahead of them slowly starts to lower to the floor. They only take a few steps before voices come from the room ahead of them. Hadvar looks over his shoulder at Jenssen and whispers. “They’re Stormcloaks. Perhaps they’re willing to have a conversation.”

Jenssen makes a face as Hadvar walks towards the room. He looks behind him at Torra. “Stay here.”

Torra nods and Jenssen rushes after Hadvar, clearing the room just as a Stormcloak soldier swings an axe at Hadvar’s head. Jenssen shouts and brings his sword up to counter the attack, sending a shock through his arm as his sword takes the axe. He punches the soldier, knocking him onto his ass and driving his sword through his throat before turning to see Hadvar lop the head off the other soldier’s neck. “So,” Jenssen says sarcastically. “How did that conversation go?”

“I’m not in the mood, Jenssen,” Hadvar moves over to the gate across from them and pulls a key out of his pocket. “This is the way.”

Jenssen leans into the hallway they’d come from and catches Torra’s eye. “Come on. It’s safe.”

Torra steps slowly towards him and she goes pale when she sees the bodies of the soldiers. Jenssen leads her gently towards Hadvar and they walk through the gate. They don’t get far when they spot stairs. A lot of them. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?”

“It’s not safe for you to walk down stairs with me on your back.”

She wasn’t wrong but he still doesn’t like it. They follow Hadvar down the stairs, Jenssen’s hand clamped around Torra’s bicep to keep her from tumbling. When they get to the bottom, they turn to their right and start down a hallway. The dragon roars above them and Hadvar shouts just as the tunnel starts to cave in. Jenssen throws himself against Torra, sending them down to the floor, and he covers his neck to protect himself from the falling rocks. It seems to last forever.

Finally, the noise of falling stone fades and Jenssen raises himself into the air. “Hadvar, you okay?”

“Yes, the princess?”

Jenssen looks down at Torra and his heart pounds in his ears. Her eyes are shut and her body is shaking while soft, little whimpers leave her lips. “Torra,” He pulls her upright and cups her cheeks. “Torra, look at me.”

Wet, amber eyes open and her cheeks tremble against his hands. He brushes tears from them. “I’m going to get you out of here. Please ride on my back.”

Torra nods and lets him pick her up before he kneels to the ground. She scrambles to get on his back and he lifts her into the air, grunting at the extra weight from the armor. Jenssen follows Hadvar into a large, brightly lit room that’s thankfully empty. Hadvar moves over to some barrels and pulls out a few health potions, some gold, and a bag. Hadvar shoves the potions and gold into the bag and gives it to Torra. “Here, princess. You carry that for us, please.”

“Okay.”

Jenssen and Hadvar walk through a door and down a small flight of stairs. He wobbles slightly on the last step but catches himself before they start down another hallway. The noise above is significantly quieter now and Jenssen wonders just how far down they are now.

The sound of a lightning spell comes from ahead and Jenssen and Hadvar glance at each other. He lowers himself to the ground. “Torra, I might need to fight.”

Torra gets off his back and leans against the wall. “I’ll stay here,” She whispers. “Be safe.”

Jenssen nods and he follows Hadvar the rest of the way down the hall, immediately spotting two Imperial soldiers, one of them wearing a torturer’s robe, fighting three Stormcloaks. He and Hadvar rush forward to help them. Coming up behind one of the Stormcloaks, Jenssen grabs him by the back of the neck and snaps it before turning to the other two Stormcloaks. One of them slams a dagger home into the eye of one of the Imperials and Hadvar roars. They both charge the Stormcloak and Jenssen slices his sword through the man’s leg at the same time Hadvar buries his sword into the man’s gut.

Lightning sizzles through the air as the last Imperial shoots it against the last Stormcloak. The man wails before he falls to the ground, trembling and shaking. Jenssen looks away as the torturer continues to torture the man until he falls still. The torturer looks at Hadvar. “My thanks. I’m not sure I would have lived if not for the two of you.”

Before Hadvar can speak, an angry cry comes from the door that they had come through. “What is this?!” Jenssen jerks his head to see a flushed, very angry Torra literally stomping towards them. “What the f*ck is this room?!”

Jenssen looks around the room at the cages and tables and shackles and blood staining the floors and walls. “Torra—”

“Don’t you dare excuse this!” Torra whirls on the torturer, who’s giving her an amused look. “Torygg would have never allowed people be tortured!”

“King Torygg wasn’t a foolish little girl like you,” The torturer grins. “He knows what is required to get information out of his foes. What, do you think asking them nicely is going to get the answers he needed?”

Torra’s face flushes redder and Hadvar raises his voice, “Enough, Forerius. We need to escape, unless the three of you have forgotten there’s a f*cking dragon flying over Helgen right now. Lets go.”

Jenssen steps towards Torra to get her on his back again but she storms past him, walking with more strength than she’s had this entire trip. His jaw drops and he turns to watch her march towards Hadvar and the hallway leading out of the room.

Forerius chuckles. “Foolish girl.”

“f*ck off,” Jenssen retorts and jogs after Torra and Hadvar, grabbing her by the arm when he catches up to her. “Torra—”

To his surprise, Torra jerks her arm out of his grip. “You think what that man does is okay! I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Jenssen feels like she just slapped him. “I don’t think it’s okay, but sometimes war is brutal and bloody and horrible. People die. Others have information that our side needs or we will lose the war. I don’t condone torture but I’m willing to look away if that’s what’s necessary to keep my king or queen on the throne. It’ll be done in your name one day.”

“Torygg never had anyone tortured!”

“Yes, he f*cking did!” Jenssen throws his hands up into the air. “Stop being f*cking naïve. What the f*ck do you think Sybille gets down to in her dungeon? She tortured plenty of people on Torygg’s orders. Just because he kept you in a glass castle doesn’t mean he’s not as disgusting and brutal and horrible as the man in that last room was. He just didn’t want you to know he was horrible.”

Torra turns away from him and crosses her arms. Her rejection… hurts. Jenssen doesn’t want to admit it and he stares at her back, wanting to take it back. She didn’t need to know her brother was just like every king and queen that came before him. Decent, yes, good, perhaps, but flawed.

Hadvar sighs. “I can’t wait to get away from the two of you. Can we please go and you two can fight over this once we escape? Torra, you can change things when you’re queen, but you have to survive to become a queen.”

“Okay.”

Jenssen follows Torra and Hadvar down the next hallway and Torra presses her hand against the wall, likely to hold herself up. They pass rows and rows of cages, both built into the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The air smells like sh*t. It smells like piss. It smells like guts and brains and blood. Bodies hang from some of the cages. Without even being able to see her face, Jenssen knows Torra is furious by how rigid her spine is. He wants to reach out to her, tell her to close her eyes. He wants to pull her close to him and carry her the rest of the way.

But there is a divide between them now. His not condemning the torturer had infuriated her and he couldn’t blame her.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to fix this, fix them, after he’d done everything he could to destroy them in their journey here.

Chapter 26: The Weak and the Caged

Chapter Text

Torra breathes hard as she follows Hadvar. They pass rows of cages. Cages full of Stormcloak prisoners and others, undiscernible as many of them are naked or close enough to it. Blood spatters the walls. Guts hang from the bottoms of the cages. Some don’t have fingers. Others don’t have toes. One person even has a bloody hump where his arm used to be. It’s not just men, either.

Dead, open eyes stare at her accusingly. Torra wants to look away from them but she can’t. It wasn’t honorable to look away. These crimes were committed in Torygg’s name. Ulfric would have justified it just as easily as the torturer, Hadvar, and Jenssen had.

Jenssen. Torra can feel his blue eyes on her back. Turning away from him had turned out to be one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do in her life, but she had to do it. Despite the fact that he said he wasn’t okay with this, he still justified it. Maybe he wasn’t willing to torture people to death, with the clear exception of Torra’s attackers in the mountains, but it wasn’t something he objected to. That sickened her. And she hated that Jenssen sickened her. It tore her heart in two.

Torra knew it wasn’t fair to blame Jenssen for this. These men and women were killed on Torygg’s orders. Hells, perhaps he had participated in tortures himself down in Sybille’s dungeon; a dungeon that she was not allowed to enter, ever.

Every single f*cking person she loved was f*cked in the head. Sybille tortured people to death. Torygg gave the order and, even more disgustingly, may have participated. Falk and Bryling would know about it. Elisif was the only one at court that might not have known but men treat their wives different than their sisters. Jenssen-

Torra freezes. She didn’t love Jenssen. Why would she include him in her list of loves? He was her protector. Nothing more. Certainly not a friend. Despite her thoughts, she can feel the heat of his eyes on her head and his approach from behind.

“Torra,” He breathes softly and she closes her eyes. She did not love him. No. She would not forgive him. No. “Let me carry you. You’re exhausted.”

Gods knew that Torra wanted to fall back against him, let him lift her, and carry her the rest of the way out of this dreaded building. She could bury her face against his chest or back and allow him to take care of the both of them. Her body is sore from head to toe. She just wants to sleep. And yet she is still angry that he thought it was okay. “I can continue.”

The moment the words leave her lips, Torra can feel his hurt and frustration. He doesn’t try to stop her though as she continues walking after Hadvar.

They don’t get far when Hadvar stops and turns back to face them. “Princess, there are enemies ahead. You should stay here and let the two of us handle it.”

Torra stares at him as he turns away. Jenssen touches her shoulder lightly as he passes and out of the corner of her eye, blue eyes search for amber. She looks down and listens as he walks after Hadvar. Seconds later, the sound of clanking steel fills the air and Torra leans against the tunnel wall, no longer able to hold herself up. Her legs shake. She’d need to ride Jenssen’s back after all. Weak, delicate, broken. How tired he must be of her. He’d probably torture people himself to keep her on the throne.

“Archers!” Hadvar calls out ahead of Torra. “Look out! Take cover, Jenssen!”

Look out. Take cover. Take. Cover. Take cover, Jenssen. Torra takes a step despite still leaning against the wall. Her legs tremble and her cheeks bulge as her last meal threatens to make another appearance. Jenssen was in trouble. Digging her nails into the stone wall, Torra drags herself along the passageway before she comes to a large chamber of two walkways separated by a bridge.

On the first walkway, Hadvar and Jenssen are both fighting two soldiers at once. Torra’s eyes drift to the second walkway, where there are two archers. One of the archers is knocking his bow and looking at Jenssen, whose back is facing him as he kills one of the soldiers before dodging a blow from the second. Torra opens her mouth to scream at him to take cover when she notices a purplish substance beneath the two archers’ feet.

Purple… Oil! Torra watches in horror as both archers raise their bows, each pointed at one of the men. She raises her hand and closes her eyes, willing a fireball to appear in her hand. Her eyes open as the small ball of fire dances in the palm of her hand. Turning her palm, she shoots it not at the archers but at the oil. It ignites and both men quickly go up in flames, screaming and throwing down their bows and trying to run. The smell of burnt flesh fills the room as they fall. Smoke rises from their corpses when they are dead.

The sound of fighting stops and Torra looks over at Hadvar, breathing heavily and leaning on his knees, and Jenssen, who stares at her in confusion. Jenssen looks across the bridge at the two dead bodies before he looks back at her. “How can you use destruction magic?”

Torra’s not sure why that angers her, but it does. “I’m not a complete f*cking invalid, asshole,” Jenssen’s eyes widen but Torra’s not done. “I can use some destruction magic and am proficient in restoration. The other schools of magic came more difficult for me, so I can’t use those. Torygg tried to teach me how to fight with a sword but they were always too heavy, so he made sure I had some protection if I was ever alone.”

And I feel alone right now. She doesn’t say those words, but she speaks them to Jenssen with her eyes. He stares at her for a few beats before he looks down. Hadvar looks between them. “I really, really can’t wait to get away from you two. I shouldn’t say this because you’re the princess, but Torra, maybe you and Jenssen should just f*ck and get it out of your system.”

Torra’s cheeks fill with heat and she notices that Jenssen’s does the same. It wasn’t like him to become flustered and she looks away. “That is inappropriate.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. Hadvar sighs. “Could you please ride on his back though? I can’t stand seeing him throw you any more puppy eyes.”

“I don’t have puppy eyes!”

“Whatever. Just get her on your back or I’ll carry her myself.”

“That’s for her to decide!”

Torra sighs. She really didn’t think she could take one more step. The magic had drained every last bit of resilience she had left. “I’ll ride on your back.”

Jenssen stomps, yes, stomps like a petulant child, towards Torra. He doesn’t look at her as he lowers himself to the ground and she scrambles up onto his back. He follows Hadvar at a much quicker pace than they’d been going and Torra instantly feels guilty. She’d been slowing them down so much. They could die because of her selfishness. She wraps her arms around Jenssen’s neck and lowers her head to rest on his shoulder. A hand squeezes her thigh and she closes her eyes.

They don’t get far before Jenssen begins walking down some stairs. Her legs tighten around his hips and she whimpers softly. “It’s okay,” He reassures her. “I’ve got you.”

Torra keeps her eyes closed and tries to stay as still as she can until they get on even ground, but the sound of rushing water fills the air. “Is there… a stream, down here?”

“Waterfall,” Hadvar grunts as he answers for Jenssen. “There must have been a cave-in. The tunnel we were going to go down was destroyed. We’re in a cave.”

A cave. That wasn’t good. What if there was no way to escape? They’d die down here, gasping for each breath. Torra doesn’t voice those thoughts though. She keeps her eyes shut, pressing her ear against Jenssen’s back. One of her favorite reasons to ride on his back is because she can hear his heartbeat but… she can’t now. Not through his armor. It made her feel… Lonely. She didn’t know why.

Hadvar hisses, “Spiders, ahead!”

Spiders? Torra opens her eyes and rolls them. What was a big, buff man like Hadvar afraid of spi—

Torra lets out a shrill scream when she sees three gigantic frostbite spiders descend from the ceiling. Jenssen drops her to the ground but she doesn’t care as she watches in horror as the two of them race towards the spiders, swords drawn and shouting. Jenssen somehow gets beneath one of the spiders and thrusts his sword deep into its belly. Blue blood spurts out of the wound and lands on Jenssen’s chest as he turns to the second spider.

Hadvar slams his sword home into the eyes of his enemy and Torra’s jaw drops as he squeals and its legs curl up into a ball. Jenssen grips his sword tight and swings, cutting off three of his spider’s legs in one go. The spider lurches and blue blood arches through the air. Torra has never felt more disgusted in her life!

The spiders finally stop squealing and the men both breathe loudly as they sheath their swords. Hadvar glances at Torra. “You’ve got blood on your cheek.”

“No I don’t.” Torra rubs her cheek and is horrified when her hand comes back blue. “Oh gods!”

“It’s okay,” Jenssen comes over to her and kneels down. He pulls some sort of cloth out of his pocket and starts to rub her cheek. The… care he takes, it… it… “Are you alright? I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

“Jenssen,” Torra’s lips part. In truth, she’s not sure he’ll be able to get them out. There’s a dragon above and a cave-in below. They might die. “I…”

Jenssen’s eyes lower to her lips before he pivots on his heels. “Climb on,” He says roughly. “I’ll get you out of here.”

Torra knows him enough now to know he’s not actually angry. She’d seen him angry at her enough times to know he’s not angry. She climbs onto his back and he lifts her back into the air. His spine is rigid through his armor and he doesn’t touch her legs like he’d done on their way here. What had she done wrong? She’d only said his name. Was he mad at her about the torture thing?

Well, she also called him an asshole, but in her opinion, he deserved it.

As the sound of rushing water grows louder, Torra presses her head back against Jenssen’s shoulder.

Chapter 27: The Bear and the Maiden

Chapter Text

Jenssen follows Hadvar at a pace too slow for his liking. The path is strewn with rocks and they even pass a waterfall, but he wishes they could go faster. If they went faster, it would get Torra off his back sooner.

He shakes his head. What the f*ck was wrong with him? One minute, he wants Torra to climb on his back and sleep while they walk. The next, he wants to get her off him more than he’s ever wanted anything else. She’s too fragile to walk by herself and he has to carry her.

That’s it. Jenssen wants her to want to ride on his back. He wants her to lean on him and rest her head on his shoulder as he walked. He wants her to want his hands on her thighs as he helps her keep her grip on him. He wants her.

It’s not just want though. Nor is it just about sex. It would be easier if he just wanted to f*ck her and move on. He doesn’t even want to f*ck her anymore but make love to her. Jenssen loves her. Loves her in a way that he’s never felt about any woman he’s slept with in his time with the Brotherhood.

And… Jenssen might have lost her. Honestly it was surprising that she was even remotely attracted to him after how he treated her on the way to Markarth and then at Falkreath. But he thought that they were going to be okay after Falkreath. He thought they were okay after he nearly got his head cut off and all he could think about was kissing her. They were okay. Now they’re not, and all because he didn’t condemn the torturer.

Maybe he should have just cut the torturer’s head off right there. Maybe he could go back and do it.

Jenssen’s foot slips on a wet stone and he goes down on his knee, hard. He grunts and Torra cries out as she slides half off his back. Hadvar makes a shushing noise and Jennsen grits his teeth to keep from telling the other man to f*ck off. Torra starts to stand up but Jenssen pulls her tight against his back. “No!”

“But—”

“I’m fine.” Jenssen growls as he rises again, Torra’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Loosen up.”

Torra’s arms loosen slightly but they’re still pressed against his neck. Her chin presses into his shoulder and her cheek brushes against his. A shiver slides up his spine. He takes a few small steps to make sure his knee is okay before he starts to follow Hadvar again. Torra turns her head to press her lips against his ear. She whispers, “I’m scared, Jenssen. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Not even with-with that monster. The one in the mountains. I thought that was the worst day of my life. I didn’t know today was coming.”

Jenssen squeezes her leg gently. “I wish I could kill him again. And again and again and again until he’s no longer your monster. I don’t know how to protect you from a dragon, but I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

Torra buries her face in Jenssen’s neck and wetness slides down his skin. His hands squeeze her legs again and he follows Hadvar across a stone bridge. They only make it a few feet past the bridge before Hadvar freezes. “Bear.”

“What?” Jenssen peers around Hadvar and he freezes as well. A tunnel stands about forty feet from them and about ten feet from it is… “Oh f*ck, that’s a bear!”

A soft whimper comes from behind him and Torra’s arms squeeze his throat. Jenssen tugs on one of her arms. “I need to breathe, Torra.”

“We can fight it,” Hadvar says reluctantly. “We can fight or we can sneak past it. It’s hibernating or sleeping. Your footsteps are heavy when you carry her though, Jenssen. You might have to let her walk.”

Jenssen glances over his shoulder at Torra. Her eyes are glazed and she’d barely been able to stand on her feet after she used magic to fight. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk a few feet, let alone the forty needed to make it past the bear and into the tunnel.

“I,” Torra pushes on Jenssen’s hands on her thighs weakly. “I can walk.”

“No,” Jenssen says stubbornly. “You’re too ill. You outdid yourself. We’ll sneak past the bear with you on my back. Just put your head on my shoulder and close your eyes and soon we’ll be out of here.”

Hadvar opens his mouth to disagree but Jenssen glares at him. “I’m not letting her go.”

“Fine,” The other man sighs. “But I’m letting you know I’m going to trip you and grab the princess if you wake up that bear. I’m not getting killed because you’re stubborn and possessive.”

“Noted. I’m not possessive though.”

Hadvar snorts before turning back towards the bear and crouching down. Jenssen does the same and Torra whimpers as her legs tighten around his waist. She presses her face into Jenssen’s neck and he feels and hears her sharp intakes of breath. “Shh, Torra. It’s okay.”

Torra clings to Jenssen as he follows Hadvar, barely able to breathe with her arms tightening around his neck. They make it ten feet before Hadvar leads them across a stone bridge. Water rushes over his feet and when he takes a step after the bridge, his wet foot slaps against the ground. Hadvar hisses lightly and, even more frightening, the bear snuffles in its sleep.

Panicking, Jenssen takes another step and another loud smack fills the air. Hadvar tiptoes ahead of them, though it’s not quite enough to stop his own feet smacking the ground with every waterlogged step. The bear snuffles again and growls lowly. It was waking up! They were still twenty feet from the exit.

They only make it a few more feet before the bear, grumbling loudly, starts to rise to its feet slowly. f*ck! Hadvar turns to them with wild eyes, “We have to run!” Not even wasting time to whisper. “Come on, we can make it!”

Jenssen eyes the bear wearily as it roars and turns to them. It roars again. f*ck! He shoves down hard on Torra’s legs, knocking her off his back and nearly strangling himself in the process as her arms tug on his neck. He lifts her from the ground and shoves her toward Hadvar. “Take her and go!” He yanks his sword from its sheath. “There’s no way to get past it without fighting it!”

“No, Jenssen!” Torra screams as Hadvar drags her to the left of the cave. Jenssen growls as the bear turns to the pair. “Jenssen, please, no!”

The shakes his body and its legs bend as it looks at Torra and Hadvar. Jenssen throws himself forward and shouts, “Hey! Come to me! Attack me!”

Jenssen’s heart hammers as the bear roars again and turns to face Jennsen, it’s big, hairy paws larger than Jenssen’s head. Out of all the ways Jenssen imagined that he might die, this was the stupidest of them.

For Torra.

Barring his teeth, Jenssen holds his sword tight in his grip and races towards the bear. The bear raises itself up on its hind legs just as Jenssen reaches it. The sword swings through the air just as the paw comes down towards Jenssen’s head. Steel slices into the thick arm of the bear and the creature roars before bringing its other arm down. Jenssen throws himself backwards while bringing his arm up to protect his face.

Claws dig into Jenssen’s armor, tearing at his flesh. He cries out in pain and his sword flies from his hand. The bear falls on all fours and charges towards him. His sword is feet away. Jenssen grabs the dagger at his waist and flings it at the bear, watching in satisfaction as it’s buried deep in the bear’s eye. That satisfaction turns to fear as the bear bellows in pain but keeps running despite blood dripping from its empty eye socket.

Jenssen scrambles for his sword, his chin brushing against rocks as he grabs it in both hands. He turns back around just as the bear knocks him backwards a few feet with its face. Jenssen’s head hits the ground and his eyes go blurry. The bear charges again and Jenssen shakes his head to clear it, grips the sword tight, and waits. Just as the bear reaches him, Jenssen thrusts the sword upwards, deep into the bear’s throat.

The bear chokes on a roar and Jenssen drags the sword back before stabbing it again, and again, and again in a frenzied attack. Only after the bear is still and silent on the ground does Jenssen throw his sword to the side. His heart hammers in his chest as he realizes his arms, hands, chest, and legs are covered in blood. His face feels tacky, so he knows that has blood on it too.

He’s never been so scared in his life. Never, not even when his father left them or when his mother killed herself.

“Jenssen!” His head jerks up. Torra is lurching towards him with Hadvar on her heels, her cheeks flushed and her legs stumbling, but she’s coming towards him all the same. He opens his mouth to tell her he’s okay but nothing comes out. “Jenssen!”

Torra throws herself down in front of Jenssen and her shaking hands waver over his arms, his legs, his face, not knowing where he’s injured. “You’re hurt! Is this your blood?”

“No,” Jenssen says calmly. He gestures at his arm where the bear had left its mark. “It got my arm, but—”

Torra grabs the end of her dress and starts pulling at it weakly. Hadvar rips open his pack and pulls out bandages. “Here, princess.”

She rips them from Hadvar’s hand and starts wrapping it around Jenssen’s arm where he points. Her hands shake as she does so. Jenssen looks from her hands to her face. Her lower lip trembles and her eyes are wet. “Torra…”

“I love you!” She blurts out and sobs before she throws herself at him, nearly knocking him on his back and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you so much!”

Jenssen sits in shock for a beat but then he wraps his arms around her, ignoring the agonizing pain in his arm as he buries his hand in her hair and presses his other hand against her back, holding her tightly against his chest. “I love you too. I love you, Torra.”

Torra pulls away and looks at him. Tears run down her cheeks. Her voice is barely audible when she says, “You love me?”

“Yes,” Jenssen swallows past a lump in his throat. “Gods yes.”

She throws herself forward again and Jenssen expects a hug. What he doesn’t expect is for her mouth to slam against his. He sits there, stunned, for a beat but he quickly kisses her back. The hand in her hair tightens and he holds her against him tightly as he uses his tongue to open her lips. Torra’s nails scrape at his scalp as she digs her fingers into his hair. Her tongue rubs against his and his co*ck hardens in his armor.

His hand slides down her back towards her buttocks. She’s wearing a dress. All it would take is unbuckling his armor and spreading her legs across his thighs. He could slide home inside of her and give her everything she deserves. She moans into his mouth when his hand touches one of her soft cheeks through the dress.

“When I said you two should f*ck it out of your system,” Torra and Jenssen tear themselves away from each other at Hadvar’s too loud voice in the cave. “I didn’t mean right here. If you two don’t get up now, I’m leaving you behind to be eaten by another bear.”

“I’m not sorry,” Torra whispers as she stands up on shaky legs. Hadvar huffs and walks away. She offers a hand to Jenssen, as if he’d actually take it. “I can’t believe you killed a bear.”

Jenssen couldn’t either and he rises to his feet. He looks down at the bear. It was the toughest kill he’s ever had, save for the Forsworn near Markarth. That had been tough in a way this bear could never be. “Let’s get out of this hellish place.”

Torra wraps her arm around Jenssen’s waist. “I’ll help you outside.”

Jenssen smiles as he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

Chapter 28: Loss of Innocence

Chapter Text

Torra smiles gratefully as they walk out of the cold, dank cave. The sunshine feels good on her cheeks and she sighs softly.

Her moment of joy quickly disappears when the dragon roars above them and Jenssen nearly jerks her arm out of socket dragging her towards some bushes. Hadvar kneels just in front of them, staring up at the sky. They watch the black dragon circle in the air three times before he turns towards the north. “Gone,” Hadvar mutters before he stands up. “That thing is going to kill everyone in its path. I don’t know how we’re going to kill a dragon.”

“There’s only one way,” Torra frowns as Jenssen helps her back to her feet. She tries to remember everything she’d learned about dragons and how to defeat them. “Dragonborn are the only people capable of killing dragons. There have only been a small handful of them in history though. Six, I believe. They only come when the need is greatest. When dragons come.”

“So the only way to stop this is to find the Dragonborn,” Hadvar sighs. “Who could literally be anyone in the world right now. They’ll have to come to us.”

“I don’t care about that dragon right now,” Jenssen says gruffly and Torra eyes him. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re the princess. You’re already being hunted down by the Stormcloaks. You don’t need to have a dragon trying to kill you too. General Tullius is at Whiterun, yes?”

“Yes. It would be best if you took the princess to Whiterun and he can get her out from there. If you got caught at the border once, you can get caught again. Hopefully the dragon doesn’t travel south or she might not be safe there either.”

Torra crosses her arms. “Does anyone want to hear what I have to say about your plans?”

“No,” Both men say. Jenssen kneels down so she can climb on her back. “Come on, Torra. I’ll carry you to Whiterun.”

She does, reluctantly. Torra knows she’s too ill to keep going by herself. Still, she’s the only person here that knows anything about how to deal with dragons and she doesn’t appreciate that they’re not asking her about them. She’d force General Tullius to listen to her though. Leaving her country while the Stormcloaks hunted for her was one thing. Leaving the country while a dragon raged and murdered her people? That felt wrong. Horribly wrong.

Hadvar points down the road. “We can go to Riverwood. My uncle Alvor lives there. He’ll offer you shelter and we can find out if they know anything about the dragon, the Stormcloaks that got away, or General Tullius. I… I hope he knows about my men.”

Torra frowns as she rests her chin on Jenssen’s shoulder. It felt wrong abandoning the men and women and children in Helgen to die. She knew she was the princess but she was starting to feel more and more useless the longer they went on this journey. Would Skyrim accept a queen that ran away while a dragon torched their people? Unlikely.

Jenssen squeezes Torra’s thigh and she hides her face on his shoulder. She couldn’t believe she’d told him she loved him. It wasn’t what she was going to say when she opened her mouth but it blurted out. Seeing him covered in blood and afraid frightened her. All she had wanted was to comfort him and check him for his injuries. Next thing she knew, they were kissing and he touched her buttocks, making her body feel warm. She had no thought of Hadvar as she thought about loosening Jenssen’s buckle and pulling him out of his trousers.

Hadvar and Jenssen walk down a hill and Torra turns her head so she can watch the trees and flowers pass by. Hadvar looks over his shoulder at Jenssen. “I think you should join the Legion after you get the princess to safety. I saw you kill a bear. I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t do.”

“I’m the Knight of Solitude,” Jenssen squeezes Torra’s leg again. “My duty is to be by her side.”

Torra smiles and presses her cheek against his. Words couldn’t describe how much she loved him and hoped everything bad that had happened between them was over.

They turn a corner and Torra spots a ruin in the distance. “Hadvar, what’s that ruin?”

“Bleak Falls Barrow,” He replies. “I hated that place as a boy. There’s draugr up there.”

Torra hums and she stares at the place as they round another corner. Ahead of them are three curved stones reaching high up towards the sky. “What’s that?”

“Ah, those are Guardian Stones,” Hadvar leads the way towards them. “They give you a little bit of power. Warrior, mage, or thief, whichever you prefer. Why don’t you try it, Jenssen.”

Aw, Torra wanted to try. She tightens her legs around Jenssen’s waist as he immediately steps over to the stone with an armored warrior on it. But of course. The stone starts to glow and Hadvar laughs. “I should have known you’d pick that one. I didn’t make you for a thief and you haven’t used magic in front of me.”

“I’m not much of a mage,” Jenssen turns on his heel and starts following Hadvar again. “I know the basics but most of what I know is healing spells. They’ve gotten me out of a few injuries that might have been fatal otherwise.”

Torra glances over her shoulder at the Guardian Stones. Which would she have chosen if they’d let her? She wasn’t a thief, nor a warrior. Her magic ability is greater than Jenssen’s but likely not by much. She tries to picture herself wearing armor and a bubble of laughter makes her purse her lips to keep it down. Yeah, no swords and shields for her. She doubted she’d even be able to lift a shield.

Beside them, the river roars and rushes to the north. They start up a hill and suddenly a wolf howls in the distance. Jenssen shoves down on Torra’s legs and she stands, watching him run towards Hadvar. “Where is it?!”

“Up on the ledge!”

Torra watches a wolf leap down from a cliff above them and dart towards Jenssen. He quickly pulls his sword and slams it home into the wolf’s mouth. Another wolf races down the hill and Hadvar grips his sword with two hands, bringing it down hard into the wolf’s spine. Torra breathes a sigh of relief but stops when she hears a growl. Her head turns slowly as a wolf comes creeping out of a bush towards her. “J-J-Jenssen!”

“Torra!”

He’s too far away. Torra knows he’s too far away to help her. The wolf rears back, wiggles its butt, and leaps at her. Torra screams and raises her hand. A blast of fire shoots from her hand and hits the wolf square in the face. It whimpers in pain and falls to the ground, trying to rub the fire off its face. Torra stares at the poor creature in horror as it cries in pain. The cries end when a sword plunges into its head. Cold steel, covered in blood, is wrenched free.

Arms wrap around Torra’s body and she feels herself being lifted up into Jenssen’s arms. A hand buries itself in her hair and her head is dragged against a firm chest. She can hear him speaking but doesn’t understand what he’s saying over her own racing thoughts. She can still hear the wolf cry. It had only wanted to protect its pack, and she had blasted it in the face with fire. It was dying slowly and in agony until Jenssen finished it off.

“Princess, are you okay?” Hadvar’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “Riverwood is close. You’re going to be fine.”

No, she wasn’t. Torra squeezes Jenssen tight and he slides an arm under her knees, lifting her into the air. She hides her face against his chest as they continue on. The poor thing that died just moments ago was still crying in her mind. Why must this world be so violent? She had turned to violence. Like Torygg torturing people for information, she’d tortured that wolf because she didn’t want to die. How many more people would die for her or would she be forced to kill to become queen?

Her eyes flutter shut as she presses her ear against Jenssen’s heart.