You’re out there in the tall grass, just ten meters away from our little house near Whiterun, your skirt spread out over your lap like a makeshift basket as you pick flowers one by one, gently placing them inside. You told me this morning that you wanted to make me a flower crown today. The thought makes me smile, even now as I swing my axe down against the wood, splitting log after log under the harsh summer sun.

The sweat rolls down my chest and back, glistening in the light. My long silver hair sticks to my forehead, damp with sweat. My palms are rough and calloused, and today some of those calluses have split open. Tiny rivulets of blood slide down my fingers where splinters lodged themselves deep into my skin. There are blisters on my fingertips too, but I don’t care. I only want to make sure we have enough firewood so you never feel cold at night.

Without you noticing, I lift my gaze from the logs and look at you with all the love I carry within me. You look so beautiful, so peaceful sitting there, your hands delicately weaving nature’s colours together. I feel like the luckiest being in the world to have you in my life.

But then I see them. Two soldiers coming down the path on their horses, talking to each other and laughing, mugs of mead tied to their saddles. My chest tightens. Nothing good ever comes from soldiers on the road.

I straighten up, keeping my axe in hand, my eyes fixed on them as they approach. My elven eyes meet theirs with silent warning. You’re still picking flowers, oblivious to them until they come close enough for you to hear their voices.

“Nice house, elf".

One of them says with a crooked grin. His eyes shift over to you.

“And… nice company.”

I see you stiffen. Your heart beats faster, I know it even if I can’t hear it from here. I lift my hand and gesture for you to come to me. When you do, I pull you close against my side, wrapping my arm around you protectively, shielding you from their gaze.

“What do you want?”.

I ask, my voice low and cold.

“Just a bit of water, elf".

The other soldier replies, wiping sweat from his brow with a gauntleted hand.

I turn my head down to you and whisper:

“Go get some water, my love.”

You nod, quickly taking the metal basin from beside the house and filling it with fresh water from the barrel. When you return, I take it from your trembling hands and hold it out to the soldiers without saying a word, my grip on the axe firm, my body ready to protect you no matter what happens next.