» Wed May 02, 2012 5:52 pm ----------
4E 176. While Madanach and the rest of the Forsworn did their best to resist Ulfric and his militia, Nonne, still bleeding, ran as fast as she could through the wilds of the Reach, clutching her baby as tightly as possible. No longer hearing the angry voices of Nords behind her, she began to slow down, now entirely alone in the wilderness. Through her harrowing experience, her child still slept soundly. When morning came, she hastily penned a note and stuck it between the folds of the blanket that carried her child. She marched onward, injured, toward Falkreath, but collapsed and died from exhaustion before she made it to the gate. Nonne’s child would have died, had a passing Nord woman named Grelod not stumbled across the depressing sight, attracted by the cries of an infant.
“Now what do we have here? Oh, you poor thing,” Grelod said picking up the child. Hearing the crinkle of paper, she found the note and read its contents.
The Reach is no place for a child. I want to give my daughter a chance at leading a fulfilling life. Please, whoever is reading this, I beg of you to raise Muiri and love her as though she were your own flesh and blood.
“So, your name is Muiri? That’s a pretty name,” Grelod said as she looked at Muiri who was gazing at Grelod with the utmost curiosity. “Well,” Grelod began. “Honorhall isn’t much, but it’ll be a good home to you.” And with that, Grelod began to walk briskly back to Falkreath, where she would catch a passing carriage to Riften.
Grelod cared for Muiri and the other orphans at Honorhall Orphanage for many years. While she never raised them as her own out of fear for when they eventually left, she was kind to them, earning her the title Grelod the Kind. Despite her efforts, she always had a particular soft spot for Muiri. Being the only girl at Honorhall, Grelod couldn’t help but feel like she was her daughter, even though she kept it to herself.
One fateful day when Muiri was 14, a young Thieves Guild operative couldn’t help but notice Muiri’s necklace, which she had since she was a baby. Passing by her, he asked her if she knew where her necklace came from but she only knew that she had it since she was a baby. Not willing to expose her for what she was, he merely told her that she might find answers about her parents in the Reach.
Excited at the prospect of a possible adventure, Muiri returned to Honorhall only to be scolded by Grelod and told to never cavort with thieves again. Dejected, Muiri wandered the city, collecting flowers until she bumped into a girl she had never seen before who was doing the same thing.
“Hi! I’m Friga,” the girl said enthusiastically. “Who are you?”
“I… I’m Muiri,” she stammered, caught off guard by Friga’s friendliness.
“It’s nice to meet you! I see you like picking flowers, too. That one you have is really pretty,” Friga said with a hint of jealousy. “Hey! Wanna hang out with me and my sister?”
“I… Um, sure?” Muiri said perplexed.
“Come on, then!” Friga exclaimed taking Muiri’s hand and running off with her down a path that would lead them both to a close friendship with each other. The two began to visit each other in Riften and Windhelm becoming fast friends. When Muiri was sixteen however, she met the thief from two years earlier again, who asked her rather plainly “Are ya not the slightest bit curious as to who exactly ya are, lass?” Muiri was indeed curious about her past, and talked to Grelod again who was furious that Muiri disobeyed her order not to speak to the delinquents of Riften and struck Muiri in her anger.
It was a moment frozen in time. Muiri began to tear up as Grelod had never hit her before, and Grelod looked on in horror, shocked at what she had done. Unable to deal with what had just happened, Muiri unleashed a flurry of insults at Grelod, some of which she had grown accustomed to but the last thing Muiri said before storming out of Honorhall wounded her deeply.
“You are unworthy of being called ‘Grelod the Kind’!” Muiri shrieked as she left Honorhall.
Grelod simply collapsed into the nearest chair, and sobbed. She had lost the closest thing she had to a daughter. From that day forward, she became cold and cruel to the orphans, refusing to let herself get that close to another orphan again. Her name became a wicked twist of irony, for Grelod the Kind dared not let any kindness shine through her broken heart.
