"Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart…"
Lucia slept in her cave rather than inside the walls of Whiterun that night. Due to its decline into the earth she had to set up a few logs at the entrance to keep most of the rain out, whatever drops decided to fall in were instantly soaked up by the soft dirt.
The man slept soundly, his fever decreasing slowly through the rainy days. He got to where he mumbled in his sleep, naming things that Lucia had no knowledge about. Once in a while he would call out to a Faramir or even sometimes Gondor.
'Who was Gondor?' Lucia wondered as she stirred her blue flowers in her small kettle, paying heed to the amount she put in, too much of one thing could send the man into dangerous shock, so Lucia kept nursing him slowly and taking extra care to set cool rags on his face.
Maybe she should've gone to Arcadia…
'No!' She thought, 'I found him, he's my responsibility!'
So Lucia kept on, rotating between cloths to keep them cool (for which the rain proved very useful), and when she wasn't caring for the man-whom she dubbed Ignatius for the time being-she played with her dolls and went about rationing her small amounts of food.
Lucia wasn't sure how long she'd been in her cave, only that one night the rain finally stopped. It had been keeping back the horrible nights sounds, but now they were back and Lucia had to be extra careful.
"Once you wake, Ignatius," Lucia sat him up again to drip medicine down his throat, "You'll be able to keep the monsters away."
Lucia waited for the rest of the medicine to drain into Ignatius before she stoked the fire, ate her portion of goat cheese and bread, and brushed out her hair. She then went to the cave entrance to separate the partial barrier she created. A burst of cool air ran into the cave, dancing with the flames of the fire. The snap of cold made Ignatius stir. Lucia ran over to him.
When she set her cool hand on his forehead she could tell the fever finally broke, which relieved her, the one thin, dark shirt he wore was still soaked with sweat, but Lucia was wary to remove it, she'd just have to wait…
Ignatius muttered again, this time about something called Isildur and a Bane. It was in this moment that his breathing started to quicken, his nostrils flared, and the intensity of a nightmare made the man flutter his eyes open painfully.
Lucia gasped, she wasn't sure if this was a good thing at all, and she ran to the corner of her cave holding her small butter knife. She waited.
Ignatius' head moved from side to side, making it obvious that he was making sense of where he was. His eyes looked now to the small form in the corner, his lips moved slightly as if he was trying to say something to Lucia, but no sound came forward. Lucia now found that he wasn't so scary, and she moved forward slightly so she could get a better look at Ignatius.
She spoke softly, "I'm Lucia." Her voice quivered.
Ignatius looked at the little girl with confusion, his head moved again from side to side and his eyes were now fully open. Struggling, Ignatius managed to sit up, moving to the cave wall to support himself. He looked again at Lucia, his breathing ragged and weak.
Lucia made patterns in the dirt with her foot, "I...found you in that." She pointed to the white boat leaning against the opposite wall, "You were sick."
Ignatius looked over to the boat, his eyes wide, his lips moved again, this time a deep and soft voice came forth.
"Where," He struggled to speak, "am I." Lucia lowered her guard when he spoke, feeling comfort in the few small words he uttered, "Whiterun." She answered.
The confusion was even more prominent on Ignatius' face, "What province of Middle Earth is that?"
Now it was Lucia's turn to be utterly dumbfounded, "What's a Middle Earth?" They both looked at each other with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Ignatius coughed and let his head fall against the dirt wall.
"Um," Lucia finally said, "You probably want something to eat."
Ignatius finally became aware of the gnawing feeling in his stomach, "If you would not mind…"
This made Lucia smile, "Well it's not often I have a guest." She jested as she grabbed her kettle off of the small fire, holding its handles with a woolen cloth.
When she went outside to quickly wash the medicine out, Ignatius sat in the cave. He coughed again, his mind wandered as to where Whiterun may be in Middle Earth. True, the little girl had no knowledge of Middle Earth, perhaps she hasn't learned that in a school yet.
"Would you like some soup, Ignatius?" Lucia wandered in, holding her freshly cleaned kettle, "It might sit on your stomach better than bread or cheese."
Ignatius nodded, then looked at her, "Who is Ignatius?"
Lucia paused after she put the kettle on the spit, "It was the name I gave you." She smiled innocently.
"Well that is not my name." The man said, his nose scrunching tightly.
"How was I supposed to know?" Lucia scoffed, chopping up carrots on her small table.
The man nodded, "I suppose you have a point, and it does no good for me to have your name if you don't have mine." He shifted his position so he faced Lucia, "My proper name is Boromir, son of Denethor."
Lucia giggled, "Do you say that all at once when someone is talking to you?" She held back a large laugh, "Boromir, son of Denethor.
"No, just Boromir will do."
Since the rain had stopped that night the woman had been on the road. The impending breath of autumn's slow transition to winter clung in the air and the rain started to freeze lightly over the sides of the dirt path that led the woman from Riverwood to Whiterun.
It was her specific task to go to the Jarl of Whiterun to ask for aid to Riverwood, the rain had pushed her into the Inn while it was pouring, and every day she was delayed, the oncoming threat of an enemy no one could fathom grew.
The woman continued to walk the path, coming upon a sign that told her that Whiterun was nearing. A dull Imperial sword clanked against her worn leather boots. She made a slight descending and saw that the Jarl's palace-Dragonsreach-was in sight. Her pace began to quicken, her long legs pushing her further than most Nord's of Skyrim could. Now the entirety of the city of Whiterun was in her view. She walked even faster down the hill that took her out of the woods, not even bothering to use the path now.
Once she made it to one of the farms on the outer part of the city, the woman forced herself to stop.
Over in one of the fields she could see a mass of figures locked in a battle of sorts. She looked over to the city, then back at those fighting and rolled her eyes, unsheathing her sword as she ran to the fighters. As she came closer she regretted her decision. A group of men and women were at the feet of a giant, swinging its giant club at those who attacked him.
Giants attacking a farm was naturally not a very good thing, so the woman made a jump over the fence, aided by the moonlight, and slid in the mud on her knees. Under the giants legs she swept through, slashing the weak point of both if its ankles with her sword and dagger. Now out from under the giant, the woman stood up slowly while the giant fell to the ground helpless.
A large man with a greatsword came over to the giants neck and gave it a quick beheading. Blood spattered on his face and he kicked the head away.
The woman cleaned her sword and sheathed it once more, reminding herself it needed to be sharpened. When she looked up she saw a red haired woman with a shocked look on her face coming towards her. She looked about the same age as the woman did, only wiser.
"That was some interesting fighting, friend." She said.
"Fighting," The woman shook her head, "Just cut the tendon of the ankle and your enemy is down. It's merely a dirty tactic."
"Aye, but useful." The redheaded woman said, "I'm Aela. The Huntress." She took the woman's hand. "You should come up to Jorrvaskr, talk to Kodlak Whitemane. The companions could use a fighter like you." Her mouth pulled up in a devilish smirk.
"Thanks, but no thanks." The woman shook her head, "I'm not a fighter."
"Suit yourself, but the Companions are always there if you're looking for work.
Then Adela crossed her arms and turned around, following her fellow Companions into Whiterun. The woman shook her head, following from a safe distance. She waited for them to enter the city before she came up to the gate guards.
"Halt," One of them said, his steel helmet muffling his voice, "No one enters the city unless you have permission from the Jarl."
The woman sighed in annoyance, "Riverwood calls for aid."
The guards looked at on each other.
"I don't believe you." The other guard scoffed.
"Gerdur sent me." The woman pleaded, "Please, they need help."
Again the guards looked at each other.
"Alright," The first one said, "But we're keeping a close eye on you." He pointed his finger at her."
"Thank you." The woman said softly.
Once the gates were opened, the woman raced through the sleeping city, going through the Market District and up the stairs to the Cloud District. A large tree stood in the center courtyard. The woman was caught off guard by how dead it looked.
She ran past the tree and up another flight of wooden stairs to Dragonsreach, palace of the Jarl. A large wooden structure magnificently built to tower over its city. Carved dragon head protruded from the roof, making the woman extremely uneasy. She went to the door and opened it.
Inside Dragonsreach was even more fantastic than it was from the outside. A large fire burning in the center of a large dining hall, and before the fire was the Jarl's throne. even at this late hour the Jarl was wide awake, being counseled by a small squirrel-like man and a regal-looking female dark elf.
The dark elf took one look at the woman and puffed out her chest, going towards her with an air of aggression, her hand on her sword hilt.
"Jarl Balgruuff accepts no visitors. Who are you? What do you need?" She asked quickly.
The woman narrowed her eyes, "I'm a messenger from Riverwood, they call for the Jarls help."
"Irileth," The Jarl then said, his voice booming and his face grave, "Let her come forth."
The woman bowed her head and stepped towards the Jarl, looking warily at Irileth as she did so.
"Gerdur of Riverwood sent me." The woman said dryly. "She needs soldiers sent over, they have to be protected."
"There must be more to that," Jarl Balgruuff said, rubbing his bearded chin, "There is a look about you that tells me there is yet another piece of information. Speak."
The woman sighed sharply with her mouth closed, then she let her arms fall to her sides weakly and looked directly into the Jarl's eyes, "Dragons."