17th Sun’s Dusk (small hours, Rorikstead)
Well, that didn’t go as anticipated.
I suppose I know what the nightmares were about now.
Bloody shitting Oblivion.
Äelberon of Dusk is here.
Actually, Äelberon of Dusk is here, wide awake, and trying to talk to me. I suppose now is not the time for diary-writing.
---
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Nerussa said, sternly.
“I could say the same of you, Nordling.”
“I have not returned from the dead tonight. Nor have I got a raging infection of the chest, nor do I bear dozens of recently-inflicted wounds that have been left untreated until tonight.”
He attempted a nonchalant wave of the hand, which would have been rather more convincing, had the motion not set off yet another coughing fit. She hoped the Temple of Kynareth would be able to spare Danica or one of the other healers in the morning – she had wanted to send Lydia as soon as they arrived, but Äelberon had refused to allow “any further unnecessary disruption to these good people on my behalf.”
Lydia’s Da and Ma had fussed around, preparing beds and insisting that it was no bother, that any friend of The Thane’s was a welcome guest. She was glad they’d not called her Dragonborn, she wasn’t sure she could have suppressed giggles if he’d smirked at her about that. Rumarin had gone to spend the night at the tavern, she suspected largely because he wasn’t sure how to act in the presence of The Pale Elf. Hopefully that would come with time, legend or no, Äelberon of Dusk was a very disarming sort of Mer.
The coughing abated, a little more quickly this time, she thought. He began to speak again, his voice a curious mixture of scholarly interest and almost child-like glee. She knew how that felt, but it was rather strange to be the subject of it.
“The Thu’um, eh? And two different Shouts, one full strength – three words, yes? – in quick succession! So, didn’t spend the last decade atop the Throat of the World? No, that level of mastery, at this time…” Ah, there was the smirk! “And they thought you were just sending secrets to me! Nordling, you have an almost unbelievable amount of luck, at times.”
“I’m not sure I’d call finding myself at the executioner’s block, having to learn to fight with spells I had only really used in an academic context before, being sent to various smelly old crypts, and being constantly worried that if I’m not careful when I sneeze, I’ll knock the entire market square flying, ‘luck’…”
“Well, you survived the block, for a start. You underestimate yourself, Nordling.”
She stared at her hands, folded in her lap. “You should be asleep. I know a spell that will put you to sleep, I’ll use it, if you don’t at least try.”
He looked thoughtful. “Hibernation Touch, or Spray? Very well, why not?” He looked at her, expectantly.
She’d only recently learned the spell, it was supposed to be for getting away from… awkward situations, but she’d tested it on Lydia and Rumarin who both agreed it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, just a little disorientating.
She stood and crossed the room. “Very well. If you’re sure.”
He nodded, solemnly. She reached out a hand, a soft green glow emanating from her palm, and…
He fell backwards, eyes shut. He lay, perfectly still, for all of about three seconds before his great, broad chest began shaking and he lifted a hand to his mouth to keep from waking the whole farm with his laughter. This set off a coughing fit, but she was relieved to note it was much less severe than the previous ones.
He opened an eye and looked sidelong at her, which set him off laughing again.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“Oh, Nordling, did you not read that Dossier? I am immune to Illusion spells! That is probably part of why I bother the Thalmor so much, I render some of their favourite tricks useless.”
She looked at him crossly for a moment, but the mischief in his eyes and his merry grin quickly set her laughing almost as hard as him. He said something about being careful not to send the furniture flying, and she laughed so hard her eyes filled with tears.
When the laughter finally died down, she took a wooden trencher and two tankards from a shelf and poured them both some water from the earthenware jug Lydia’s Da had left. Äelberon tried to peer over at her, but she managed to obscure what she was taking from her pack, and held the plate high above her head so that he could only see what she had placed on the incongruously, yet perfectly, rustic plate when she lowered it to the table beside his bed.
His orange-red eyes shone, and she thought for a moment she saw the glint of a tear. “Are those… for me?” There was that shy, almost child-like tone again. She had been intending the pastries to be shared, but instead she said “all for you, Äelberon of Dusk,” and took a sip of water.
He grinned and shoved the smallest of the three cakes into his mouth in one go. After taking a swallow of water from his tankard, he said, a trifle sheepishly, “apologies, Nordling, that was most uncouth of me. Please, do eat something yourself!”
She took the smaller of the two remaining cakes, a milen, and took a delicate bite, one hand cupped underneath her mouth to catch crumbs.
Äelberon was smirking again.
“What? What have I done?”
“Your manners, Nordling. One foot firmly in Skyrim, one hand clinging to a vestige of Altmer decorum. Ah, do not frown, I mean no ill…”
“No, I was frowning because you’re right. I’m no longer sure where I belong, but it’s more than the change of setting. I was just thinking of my Dossier. They… There is some doubt, apparently, over Father’s parentage. I already knew about Mother being… well, her mother’s husband was not her true father, but he was apparently… relieved to have the opportunity of a legal heir without the burden of producing one. The Nord – I think he was a gamekeeper – was… removed, and fortunately for Mother, unlike me, she took after her own mother entirely. Slender, golden eyes and so on. ”
He nodded, the system of marriage allocations would have been in its infancy when Nerussa’s mother was born, but even then there were certainly couples who were far from happy with their matches. It wasn’t unheard of for a child resulting from an affair to be raised as legitimate progeny of the married couple, although it was more usual for the affair to be with another Altmer of similar station, not a human servant.
“Grandmother, though. Well, she was the one who told me about Mother’s ‘little secret’, and always seemed suitably shocked by it. She was always… eccentric, you might say, but in a proper sort of way. She spent some time in Morrowind, working with House Telvanni and studying the alchemical properties of the local flora and fauna, that sort of thing. She was carrying my father when she returned, but she had all the correct documentation proving her marriage and estrangement from her husband.”
A strange expression crossed Äelberon’s face, but it was gone before she could puzzle out what it might mean.
“I miss her, you know. She was always… well, barmy, you know what She-Altmer of her generation are like. Been saying she’s in her second century since some time in the Third Era, same as all her friends… Thing is, though, looking at her next to them, well, you’d almost believe it. Her hair’s gone silver, and she has a few lines, but that’s really about it.”
Äelberon nodded again, and she thought she saw a slight frown on his face, as though he was trying to decide something. Then he picked up the final pastry and bit into it – perhaps he was simply debating whether to abide by manners or his stomach? In any case, she was growing sleepy, and hoped perhaps he was, too, so she decided not to ask.
Instead, she made a bit of a performance of getting back into her bed. Anyone back home would have been scandalised at the two of them sharing a room, even with the beds on opposite sides of it. Though, of course, she thought sadly, most back home would be horrified at the two of them simply existing, let alone in the same room.
Fortunately, Nords didn’t seem to give a skeever’s arse about the propriety of sleeping arrangements. The Thane could sleep where she damn well pleased, especially as she was so generous as to refuse Ma and Da’s bed, and any of her friends were more than welcome to the second bed. Thankfully, this time, they hadn’t made quite such a thing out of her and Rumarin…
For a few minutes, he was quiet, and she thought he might actually be asleep.
“So, this Southern boy of yourne…” Ah, the accent was back. Well, maybe he was at least growing sleepy. “Rumarin, was it?” Heavy stress on “mar”. “I take it you know what the name means in the old Altmeri?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he does, so don’t let on…” They both chuckled at that. “Speaking of names… thank you for not using mine.”
“Got a lot more practice hiding and using different names’n you, Nordling. So, what should I call you? I can go with ‘The Thane’ if you wish, but it might strike people as odd from a fellow Altmer, even an ugly old codger like me!”
“You’re not old, or ugly!”
“But codger I am, hey? And you are very kind, Nordling, but we both know why I had my face obscured at the Symposium, and that it was not solely to hide my identity… In any case, I cannot keep calling you Nordling, t’would confuse the locals.”
“I’ve been going by ‘Nerussa’, after a friend of Mother’s. Used to run an inn near the Imperial City. I should probably have made up something glamorous, ending in –iel, I expect. Always wanted an –iel name when I was young, and I end up as an –ussa…”
She could hear the smirk this time, she would have sworn it. “And the lad, does he know?”
“Yes, he does, Lydia, too. She’s brighter than she’s given credit for, she actually asked me about it, after we, um, rescued her cousin from some of my former colleagues. A fine smith, too.”
Äelberon’s voice brightened. “A smith! Do you suppose there’s a forge nearby?”
Nerussa was about to answer when an almighty din began above their heads. By the sound of it, a mammoth had crashed through the wall, followed by – she was sitting up now and looked around at Äelberon who was smiling, really, properly smiling for the first time, and trying to stand, not altogether successfully.
“What is it?”
“Damn legs. Damn Thalmor. Please, open the…”
But before he could finish, the door burst open and a flurry of white and grey sped across the room and began joyfully licking as much of Äelberon as possible. Lydia’s Da followed the husky in, looking at first apologetic, then confused, then pleased at the apparent reunion.
“He’s been making a Dagon of a racket, Thane, ever since you and… his Lordship? got here, the barn he and the other dogs were in is behind the farmhouse, though, so we didn’t hear them until we’d all, er, gone back to bed. In the end, I went to take them some table scraps – my wife says I spoil my own dogs, and she’s probably not wrong, Thane, though I shouldn’t spoil yours, I suppose. Anyway, as soon as I opened the door, he was out of it like an arrow from a bow, and scrabbling at the door of the house…”
“I am no Lord, my good man, and worry not, this fat snowberry is more spoiled than your dogs could hope to be! Nerussa, this is Koor.”
---
17th Sun’s Dusk
“I do not need a healer. I am perfectly capable of healing myself!”
“You died last night, which you must explain to me properly when I get back from Riften. The effects of that poison still haven’t fully worn off, have they? I’m getting better at healing but I can still only really handle fresh cuts and things like that, so I can’t help you much, and did I mention I have to run down to Riften and hope the Thalmor don’t get there first? I’m not leaving you with – sorry, Lydia – a bunch of magickless Nords. You. Need. A healer.”
Äelberon made a show of pouting, but it wasn’t long before it wobbled into the now-familiar smirk. Lydia didn’t even bother to look offended.
“Oh, I wouldn’t leave him with just us, either. Should have seen me when a cut on my leg went bad when I was about seven. Ma decided to mix up some kind of poultice for it. We used to keep pigs back then, and she swore their dung would help draw out the badness.”
“I… presume it… didn't help?”
“It did not. Why do you think I joined the guard instead of becoming an adventurer?”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled, and Äelberon was smirking again, apparently he’d been in Skyrim long enough to have heard a few guards grumbling about their knees stopping them from doing something more heroic and Nordic and… other things ending in –ic.
Nerussa rolled her eyes at them both, and sealed the stoppers on the batch of healing potions she had been working on. “I’ll leave a few of these here, I know you won’t take them, Äelberon, but if you could give them to Danica as a donation for the Temple? I suspect she’ll refuse payment in gold, but these are reasonably strong and should be useful for someone who’ll actually take the damn things.”
“Nordling, I shall gladly give these away,” said Äelberon in a Very Serious Tone.
“Good. Now, I’ve got to… handle some business in Riften tomorrow evening as well, so I will probably head straight back there from Riverwood rather than returning to Rorikstead, assuming this Esbern fellow wants to go to Delphine. I’m not sure what to do with him otherwise, I can hardly bring him here, it’s enough of a risk having you here, Äelberon…”
His face darkened, and for a moment she was worried he’d try and refuse to remain in the farmhouse. Before she could say anything – damn her tendency to think aloud – Lydia spoke up. “Ha, let them come, Cousin Dagmir is visiting Aunt Nilif this week and he and the whole family would love to repay them for the time he spent in their care.”
Before Nerussa could respond, the door opened and Rumarin escorted Danica Pure-Spring into the basement room. Any indication of Äelberon’s earlier playful sulkiness was gone, and he welcomed the Priestess of Kynareth warmly. Nerussa picked up her pack, said her farewells, and left, followed by Rumarin who was obviously bursting with questions.
They headed back to the inn and found the young man that Lydia had promised to take to Whiterun, waiting on the porch with a small pack at his feet. He introduced himself excitedly as “Erik the Slayer!!”, and asked if he could carry anything for them.
“You want to be an adventurer, yes? First lesson: don’t offer to carry other people’s things.”
Rumarin nodded. "I don't even like carrying my own things! Still hoping to figure out how to conjure a bedroll..."
“Yes, ma’am!!” He hurried to keep up with them, but as they passed the dragon mound – still sealed – where the road turned east she heard his steps stop suddenly. She turned and saw his face had fallen.
“Whatever is the matter, bo – Erik?”
“I don’t have any money! She… Miss... Lydia said she would buy me a set of armour, but she hasn’t come and…”
“Relax, Erik. Lydia gave me the money, and I’ve got a mace in my house that I think would suit you very well, it’s called Bouncer.” In fact, in all the commotion of the past few hours, Nerussa thought Lydia had forgotten to mention the money, but Nerussa had picked up a few things in the Embassy that she could sell to Arcadia and Farengar for more than enough for a simple set of steel armour and perhaps a couple of training sessions for the lad with… was it Farkas? One of the Companions, anyway.
Half an hour for some trading wouldn’t make much difference, either she would beat the Thalmor to Riften or she was already too late. Although if Delphine was anything to go by, this Old Blade was probably not exactly welcoming to visitors, and a Thane of the Rift would enjoy rather freer movement through the hold than a Thalmor patrol. Especially having sent word with Caranye and the others not to permit any unfamiliar Altmer to enter the city, aside from Caranye herself, of course.
Comments
And a ra... more
And a race to ... more