The fighting ended long before the work did.

 

For two days after the Stormcloaks broke and fled, Whiterun remained tense, like a man waiting to see if a wound would fester. The Legion didn’t relax - we counted bodies, cleared rubble from the walls, dragged broken catapult frames into heaps and burned them until the air stank of pitch and charred wood. Patrols rode out in widening circles to make sure the enemy had truly gone and not merely slipped out of sight to regroup.

 

I stayed busy, which was a mercy.

 

Busy meant I didn’t have to think too hard about the field beyond the walls, about the way the grass had been trampled flat and darkened, about how many of the men lying out there had been alive before I volleyed rocks on top of them. Nor the men just below the walls who had somehow believed--right up until the last moment--that sheer will could carry them through stone gates. 

 

When the order finally came to prepare for the march back to Solitude, I felt a flicker of relief that surprised me with its intensity. Whiterun had held, yes, but it had never been mine. It was a place that had a leader who looked at me and thought whore. And it was a place where I had killed a lot of people…and watched thousands more grind themselves to their own deaths.

 

The trip back was agonizing. I had arrived in Whiterun with Kellan, Lane, and Kangme (Kellan and Lane had been forced to leave when the army arrived), fast and sharp and unencumbered. Leaving with the army felt like being wrapped in wool that was already soaked through--heavy, restrictive, impossible to ignore. 

 

Supply wagons groaned under the weight of salvaged gear and the wounded; officers shouted themselves hoarse trying to keep columns aligned when the road narrowed; horses stamped and snorted; soldiers grumbled. The sky hung low and gray, threatening rain that never quite came. When you travel alone, every mile is yours. When you travel with an army, every mile belongs to everyone else. Pace is dictated by the slowest cart, halts are called for reasons you’re not privy to. Orders that ripple down the line get distorted by repetition until they barely resemble the original intent, like the world’s worst game of telephone.

 

And, of course, once the long line creaked to a stop every night, we women still had work to do. I knew better than to think Whiterun would change that.

 

We didn’t have to cook, at least – the army contained an entire kitchen ensemble, cooks provided – but there were plenty of soiled and sweaty clothes to scrub. And, of course, there were thousands of men, and therefore thousands of dicks, and each needed tending to every night. I don’t know the actual size of the army or the percentage of women therein. All I can tell you is I rubbed out about twenty-five or so each night before I was allowed to stagger to my own bedroll. Not counting the nights I was also assigned watch. Have I mentioned how much I hate this place?

 

Each day blurred into the next. March. Halt. Set camp. Eat something barely warm. Then the hours that were never really mine. I learned to measure sleep in scraps--what I could steal before dawn, what I could salvage after. It only took until the fourth day before my temper was frayed enough that I had to keep my hands clenched just to stop myself from snapping at everyone who came within reach…and it was a twenty day journey. I think I still have scars in my palms from digging my fingers into them. When Solitude finally came into view, pale stone rising from the rock like something carved by the Divines themselves, I nearly sagged in my saddle with relief.

 

Home. Or close enough.

 

We entered the city under formal colors. Banners unfurled, armor cleaned as best it could be on the march (guess who got to do that?). The civilians cheered, some of them. Others just watched, eyes hollow with the kind of fearful understanding that stems from having loved ones at war.

 

I peeled away from the column as soon as I was permitted. The inn smelled like smoke and bread and something spiced I couldn’t name. It was warm to the point of discomfort. I stood there for a moment just breathing, letting the noise wash over me.

 

Then I saw Kellan.

 

He was already on his feet, crossing the room with long strides that ate the distance between us. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just took me by the shoulders and pulled me in, hard enough that I felt it down to my bones. I rested my forehead against his collarbone and let the world shrink to that one point of contact.

 

“I was worried,” he said finally, voice low.

 

“I know,” I said. “I’m here.”

 

We didn’t linger. He took my pack without asking and led me upstairs. The door closed. The latch clicked. What followed was quiet and human and necessary, and I fell into a deep sleep immediately after.

 

I woke to the door opening softly. For a heartbeat, I was back on the wall--stone under my hands, air tearing past my ears--then the room resolved itself around me as Lane slipped inside and closed the door with care.

 

“You’re awake,” she said quietly.

 

I snorted as I pushed myself upright, keeping the blanket wrapped around my naked body. “Define awake.”

 

Kellan was sitting at the table. He poured something hot into a mug and handed it to me without a word. I drank and felt the warmth of the liquid blended with the heat of something alcoholic pool in my belly. It felt like a balm for my soul.

 

Lane leaned against the wall, watching me with the calm, attentive stillness she brought to wounded things--bodies, spirits, or otherwise. “You haven’t come all the way back yet."

 

“I…” I stopped, then shook my head. “They charged the gates. No patience. No attempt to wait us out. Just men running at stone like it owed them something.”

 

“They didn’t fire catapults or anything?” Kellan sounded incredulous, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“They did. I…um…kind of sent the rocks back.”

 

A moment of silence, then Kellan snorted softly. “Of course you did. Bet that gave them a right start! That’s not how sieges normally work.”

 

I raised my eyebrows. “You act like you have been in one?”

 

He didn’t smile. “I was. Darklight Tower.”

 

“What is that?”

 

“A fort in the Rift.” He leaned back against the table, arms folded, gaze unfocused in the way it got when he was looking at something that wasn’t in the room anymore. “Three weeks, that one lasted. Proper siege -- encirclement, starvation. We ate leather before it ended. This?” Kellan shook his head. “What you’re describing isn’t that. It’s what happens when someone mistakes fury for strategy.”

 

Lane crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, then took my hand that wasn’t holding the cup in hers, which was far more comforting than I could have expected. I felt tears begin to form as she said, “And you were standing above it.”

 

“Yes.” A tear trickled down my cheek but I made no attempt to wipe it away. Not that I could have with both hands occupied. “Which felt even more wrong. I’ve never felt so helpless. Especially for men who would have killed me – at least – had they had their way.”

 

Kellan leaned forward, his own mug held in both hands. “At Darklight, the worst part wasn’t the fighting. It was the waiting afterward. Wondering if it had meant anything.”

 

I met his eyes. “Did it?”

 

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, “It meant the people inside lived.”

 

I let out a snorting laugh and nodded. “Then I guess Whiterun meant something too.”

 

Lane gave my hand a pat then released it and rose. “It did. And so do you.” She stepped away, then paused at the door. “Try to sleep without listening for stones.”

 

I gave her a watery smile. “I’ll try.”

 

She left us alone. Kellan sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. Familiar. Steady.

 

“You handled it better than I did my first siege,” he said.

 

I laughed and jostled his shoulder with mine. “Sounds like that’s a low bar.”

 

He smiled then, just a little. “You came back. That’s the part that matters.”

 

I leaned into him, the weight of the long days finally settling into something manageable. For the first time since the walls of Whiterun shook, the silence didn’t feel like something waiting to break.

 

 

Don’t feed the bastards. Feel yourself instead.

 

 

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