He was twelve years old when he first realized that she was ill.
It was difficult to believe that the ever cheerful, restless young woman – whom he took on calling Mother – could possibly suffer from something invisible, hidden deep in her body, where not even the keen eyes of a mage could see.
And yet, the truth played out before his eyes. As they were both descending the staircase, she halted a moment, becoming very still, her feet shuffling to a stop on the steps. She moved a hand up to her chest, pressing it just above her left breast, her breathing suddenly very deep. Before he could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, her knees buckled and she stumbled forwards, collapsing and rolling down the last of the stairs, before landing in a wheezing heap at the bottom. He’d rushed after her, screaming for her before calling for help. By the time he got to her, her lips were starting to blue and her eyes were opened wide and panicked.
He never learned what would’ve happened if the late Sharaf, who was fortunately close enough to hear his cries for help, didn’t rush to their aid, picking her up and carrying her away to the late Modryn’s table without a question, while Edgtho tried his best to bring him down from a seizure of panic. If Modryn, who would drink himself to death not a half decade later, wasn’t sober enough to work his magic and medicine on the spot. He only knew he wished it’d never happened again. When he was finally allowed to see her, she looked pale and fatigued, and was sweating heavily, as if the cold that permeated the castle didn’t touch her. Despite all this, she managed a smile.
“Nothing to worry about, my dear,” she said weakly. “I’m alright now, Modryn’s seen to that.”
She was lying. It wasn’t something he knew deep inside or something that took a lot of thinking to realize: it was a shallow, blatant, obvious lie, and he knew it. She was putting on a facade to avoid worrying him. He played along, for her sake.
“Will you be alright?” he asked.
“I think so,” she responded. “Modryn says all I need now is some rest. He’s not sure what it was, but he says it’s passed.”
This time, he hoped that she wasn’t lying. He hoped that it really was just a bout of fatigue.
Years later, he would learn what truly happened on that day.
No.
He looked away only for a brief moment, distracted by some errant sound. When he looked back, her eyes were closed.
No!
He foggily remembered that she only fell asleep. But back then, the imagination of his young, frightened mind ran too wild. Even something as harmless as that raised an alarm.
“No!”
He woke up with a start. No! Think. Think!. It wasn’t real. Rather than in the gloomy medical wing that Modryn kept, he found himself in his chambers. Instinctively, he clawed at his chest, sighing in relief when he felt the warm metal wheel beneath his fingers. Right there, where it was always supposed to be.
“Vaermina buggering you again?”
He turned to the source of the voice. In his favourite chair sat a young Altmer, wrapped in furs that matched his fiery red hair, looking at him with a mixture of disinterest and annoyance. Neither polite.
“So what was it this time?” Lormaril inquired. “Jesters or halfmen? I’m tempted to assume both from how much you toss and turn in your sleep. Maybe even halfmen dressed like jesters?”
Gareth let himself fall back into the pillows. “What are you doing here?”
“Not a thing, as a matter of fact.” He uncrossed his legs, only to cross them again the other way. “Your dearly beloved took off with her pack and so here I am, stuck looking after you.” There was a deliberate, if casual, spite to that last bit.
Gareth sat up. “Helena is gone?”
“Yes. And the lot of them went with her.”
“Who?” Gareth insisted.
Lormaril curled his lips. “That brat you waste your time training, the happy one, and that olive that used to crawl all over you.”
It took about a second for Gareth to realize that it meant Helena left with Livia, Aeriel, and Findel.
“Did they catch a contract?”
“I neither know nor care.” Lormaril shifted, hanging both his legs over an armrest. “I like them better when I can’t see them.”
Gareth lowered himself back on the bed. He noticed he was still laid down on the left side. He smiled imagining Helena laying awake next to him, never letting him out of her sight. He wondered how many sleepless nights his carelessness inflicted on her. He silently promised to himself that he’d make it up to her.
“Glad to see you’re still as charming as ever,” he said.
“It comes with being me,” responded Lormaril, not looking away from the ceiling. “You should really paint this, you know. That smoke stain there really stands out.” His eyes fell to the source of said smoke: a small alchemy setup on a table. He chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to a woman to manage to fuck up a perfectly g-”
“Why are you here?” interrupted Gareth.
“As I said,” Lormaril snapped back rudely, “I’m here because your darling went off gallivanting with the rest of them.”
“That,” Gareth continued without a missed beat, “tells me why she isn’t here. Not why you are.”
Lormaril grimaced, his eyes staring daggers. “Your lady-friend volunteered me for the position.”
Gareth’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t seem like you to agree to something like that.”
Lormaril rolled his eyes, before retracting his legs from the arm-rest and flipping himself around to face away from Gareth. “I didn’t. She just acted the way I expected of her.”
Gareth smirked. “Good dear Kyne: great and mighty Lormaril of Lillandril got tricked into watching a cripple. And by a girl at that,” he added, making a mental note to ask Helena for the details when he had the chance.
“Careful now, Easterling.” Lormaril was once again turned towards him. His eyes glared without blinking and his voice was now cold and low, devoid of previously present swagger. “You took quite a bite on your last hunt. It will be some time now before you recover fully. It would be ever so unfortunate if that time was somehow extended.”
Gareth smiled and shifted into a more comfortable position. “And I love you too, Lormaril.” The Altmer rolled his eyes and leaned back into the chair.
“Why don’t you just leave?” asked Gareth. “It’s not like I need someone to nanny me, right now.”
“Because, Easterling; unlike most people here, I keep my honour where it belongs instead of in latrine pit. A given word is binding for me. Even if I was tricked into it.” Gareth didn’t know how to respond to this. In truth, he was thankful for the Altmer’s company: it was by far preferable to being alone.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Lormaril broke it. “Did you ever think on what you’ll do once you get too old for this?”
Gareth frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious is all,” said Lormaril. “Arkay comes for us all. Not even this magnificent specimen will stay young forever. And certainly not you. One day, you’ll look at your reflection in the mirror and see greys in your hair and wrinkles on your skin. Won’t be too long before you start waking up three times a night to-”
“Alright, alright: I got the idea.” Gareth took a deep breath. “I’ll settle down, I guess. Buy a small plot of land with a good stony house. Maybe get a few goats and hens. Plant some trees and keep a few beehives. Grow potatoes and leeks. Farm all summer and drink and eat all winter.”
Lormaril let out a long, choked laugh. “Bees? Farming? Really? A man of your talents?”
“Like you said: I won’t be young forever.”
Lormaril pouted and nodded. “And where will that little wonderland be, hm?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” admitted Gareth. “Somewhere where summers are warm and winters snowy.”
“I didn’t take you for a type that liked snow,” said Lormaril.
“I didn’t. But she did. Gave me a new appreciation for it.”
Lormaril chuckled. “Who, the ginger?”
“No.” Gareth’s hand slowly slid towards the medallion. “Not her.”
Lormaril stopped smirking and sat upright. “Everyone I asked speaks highly of her,” he said after a few moments of silence. “What did she do to earn such praise?”
Gareth laughed, a tint of pain dyeing his voice. “You’d be better off asking what she didn’t do. She founded the Order. Trained the first generation single-handedly in combat arts we’ve never seen before. She brought our smith from the precipice of lunacy through effort and determination. Supposedly even wiped out the remnants of Volkihar clan by herself.” He stopped for a moment. “She saved my life. Gave me a name, a home, and a purpose. It was more than anyone ever did for me. She was the first person in my life I could say I loved.”
Lormaril responded with a snigger. “Sounds like quite a list for someone so young.”
Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that people like to talk.” Lormaril errantly tucked a strand of hair behind his long ear. “And women like to talk even more. Especially the Nordic ones. They’d have you think they’re equal to us.”
“I don’t like your tone, Lormaril,” warned Gareth.
“And I couldn’t care less about what you like, boy,” snapped the Altmer. “I’ve spent three of your lifetimes on this world, and seen enough in that time to know the axles on which it turns. I believe in what I’ve seen and heard with my own eyes and ears.” He turned to look out the window. “More people lied to me than you’ve ever met. I’ve learned not to trust stories I can’t verify. And if you’re wise, you’ll follow my example.”
Gareth exhaled in disbelief. “Is my word not enough to you? Do you think I’d lie to you about this?”
“I’ve seen men do much more for women much lesser than you claim her to be. I’ve tried to warn them for close to a decade. How many do you think listened? I gave up when I realized it was pointless.”
“I would never lie about her. For better or worse.” Gareth tried to stand up, but the searing pain in his leg kept him from going past a sit. “I owe her too much to tarnish the memory of her with dead air.”
Lormaril ran his tongue over his lips before spitting out something invisible on the floor. “Doesn’t matter if it is true. She’s gone now. No more of her kind remain in this world.”
“I could name a few,” said Gareth.
“Who? Findel? You think she’s different because she’s been kind to you? She’s been kind like that to enough men to fill this entire castle and then some.”
“I’m well aware, Lormaril. And I didn’t talk about her anyway.”
“Who then? Your betrothed? That brat Lydia that follows you about like a pup?”
“You forgot Aeriel,” Gareth added.
For the first time, Lormaril genuinely smiled. “I don’t know what god touched her up there. Or is it because some man touched her down there. But mark my words, something is wrong with her.”
“Absolutely nothing is wrong with her. You’d know that if you ever bothered to spend some time with her. Go take a contract with her once and you’ll see.”
Lormaril laughed. “Winterhold will thaw before I do that, Easterling.”
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s too loud and only knows how to charge into the fray with swords swishing. She can’t be quiet or subtle or patient. She’s a capable fighter, I’ll give her that, but she’s a shit hunter.”
“Can’t disagree with you on that one,” admitted Gareth.
“When she learns how to walk unseen and unheard and shoot a bow only half as well as I do, then I may consider it.”
Gareth chuckled. “I think you’d grow old before that happened.”
“I’m inclined to agree there.”
For a few moments both men were quiet, suppressing begrudging smirks as they ran out of quippy back and forth.
Gareth finally huffed, again pushing himself into a near sit. “What about you?”
“What about me?” asked Lormaril.
“What do you plan to do when you grow old?”
Lormaril smirked. “I intend to retire well before that. And after I do, I expect to eat, drink, and fuck my way into an early grave. Not much to do with your life when you can’t live it anymore.”
Gareth nodded. “I see.” He let a beat fall before he asked the obvious question. “How do you know when you can’t carry it on anymore?”
Instead of an answer, Lormaril reached to his waist and flicked his hand outwards. A sharp thud followed immediately. He gestured towards the door: a small throwing knife was embedded between the two central planks, not chipping either of them by a splinter.
“When the day comes that I hit the plank,” said Lormaril.
---
Livia stood on the walls, staring out to the distance. Despite the nearing spring, the winter’s embrace had yet to loosen its grip on the lands this far to the north. No new snow fell, but it was still damnably cold. She shivered, silently cursing her bad luck of being placed on sentry duty this early in the morning. Taking a sip of a cannis root tea from a her hip flask, she wondered how exactly was this supposed to help her become a better hunter.
“’Improved vigilance’ my ass,” she spoke out loud to nobody in particular. “As if there’s anything to see around here.”
“Nothing at all, truly.” Her heart leapt to her throat as she spun around, coming face to face with a smiling Bosmer. “Oh I’m sorry, did I scare you?” Findel inquired with transparently false innocence in her voice.
“No,” responded Livia. With transparently false calmness.
Findel laughed. “Well then maybe I need to try a little harder.”
Sparing only a sigh, Livia turned back, resuming her watch over the empty sea to the north. “I don’t really have time for games right now.”
Findel giggled. “Such dedication. The salmon won’t be able to get within a hundred paces of the wall if you continue to man it.”
Livia barely resisted the urge to chuck the diminutive women over the ramparts. “Can I help you somehow, or are you just here to antagonise me?”
“On the contrary,” said Findel, “I’m here to help you.” She gracefully leapt onto one of the merlons, before casually dropping into a sit, her legs hanging over the wall. Livia swallowed at the sight and looked away. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen if the woman fell over.
“Help me how?” she asked, giving her best to try and sound calm.
“By relieving you.” Livia turned to Findel, whose grin revealed perfectly white teeth. “Your shift just ended and I’m your replacement.”
Livia’s face bloomed into a smile to match Findel’s own. “Really?”
“Really.” Findel climbed back down to the wall and retrieved a spear that Livia only now noticed was laid down by her feet. She felt ever so slightly perturbed at the ease with which Findel sneaked upon her. Maybe there was something to improving one’s vigilance.
“We’ll be cleaning the dormitory later today, but you’ll have plenty of free time before that.” She turned to the water. “Run along now,” she said, waving Livia off. “The sentry mustn’t be distracted from making sure the fish don’t swarm us.”
Livia giggled before running off, not caring that the wall was likely still frosted in places. Practically flying into the guard tower, she ran down the stairs, taking a deep breath when she finally emerged into the courtyard. For a moment, she relished in simple pleasure of the frosted air filling her lungs, before taking off running full speed towards the castle. The morning crowd in the great hall forced her to slow down, but she didn’t stop. She’d join them later. Right now, she turned into the small side chamber and stopped before heavy door of darkened wood. With a bit of struggle, she pulled them open, immediately closing them behind her.
“Good mornin’, scrib.” Taldryn was already up and about, making preparations for another day in the smithy. Tossing a fistful of tiny yellow crystals into the forge fire, he approached her. “How’re you doin’ today?”
“I’m fine, thank you. You?”
Taldryn’s misshapen face stretched into a grin. “Better now that ya came ta visit, scrib.” He ruffled her hair before taking a moment to check the forge. Livia was certain she evaded a broken neck by a hair’s breadth.
“Whaddya need?” he said while poking at the growing flames with his bare fingers. “Ya didn’t dent the blade since yer last checkup, didn’tcha?”
“No no, nothing like that,” Livia said quickly, remembering the look of confusion on Taldryn’s face when she brought in the sword after her last mission. The edge of the blade was almost folded near the tip. Livia wasn’t sure how it came to that, but she suspected her wild and careless handling of the sword had something to do with it. After a few moments of examining the damage, Taldryn calmly asked her if she tried to chop down a tree with it. She burst into laughter, only to stop when she realized he was serious. He managed to fix the damage in no time at all, but made her promise to take better care of it in the future. And considering how much it cost her, she wasn’t overly keen to go back on her word.”
“What’s it ya need, then?” he asked while pumping the bellows. The room started to get warmer and Livia realized she should hurry with her request.
“I was wondering if you could engrave something on the blade for me.”
Taldryn briefly stopped pumping the bellows, giving her a look that fell somewhere between disapproving and dissapointed. “Why’dya need that fer?”
“I just thought she’d look nicer.”
Taldryn shrugged. “Fair enough. Wha’dya want?”
Instead of saying anything, Livia briefly rummaged through her satchel, before producing a piece of folded parchment and handing it to Taldryn. He opened it up, briefly studying it, before lowering it on the table. “I can do it. Give’er here.”
Livia carefully pulled out her sword and handed it to Taldryn. As he took it in his massive hands, Livia noticed his eyes darting across the blade. Seemingly finding no issues, he placed it on the table, before turning around and starting to rummage through his tools.
“I’ll just be off then,” said Livia. “I’ll be back when you’re done with it.”
“Oh no, scrib,” said Taldryn, digging through a small box of items that looked like arrow tips. “Ain’t no need fer ya ta leave. I’ll have it done in no time at all.”
Livia sighed, resigning herself to her fate. She took a liking to the giant mer, and would rather be boiled alive than break his heart by leaving.
Of course, with the temperature of the room rising rapidly, she began to wonder if some god was testing her resolve on this.
---
An hour later, Livia sat at the stairs of the castle. Taldryn was done with engraving in just about a dozen minutes, but it was enough for her to break into sweat many times over. She changed into another shirt and trousers, but she knew she’d have to wait before she could wash the sweat out of her gambeson. She looked up in the sky and sighed. The first thing she did after changing was to go find Aeriel, hoping for a chance to spar with her. She found her in her room, half buried in unfolded scrolls written in language that Livia couldn’t even guess. And while Aeriel greeted her with as much warmth as usually, she pouted when Livia suggested a sparring session.
“I’m sorry Liv, but I’m really busy right now. If you can wait, I’ll be free in a few hours. You can help me with the deciphering if you want, though.”
Politely declining, Livia excused herself and went to find Helena. She found her in her own room. For once, she was dressed only in a pale lavender gown. Her hair was uncombed, and she wore none of the makeup that usually adorned her face. Her eyelids were heavy and Livia got the impression that she’d missed out on lot of sleep lately. She sat on the bed next to Gareth, dabbing his dewing forehead with a piece of cloth. Livia silently backed away and closed the door as gently as she could before descending down the staircase. She wasn’t sure if Helena even knew she was there.
She sighed, turning her eyes towards the sky, as if expecting to find something to entertain herself with. Absent-mindedly, she picked up a pebble and tossed it, listening as it bounced off the well-beaten soil. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so bored.
A sharp swish brought her back to life. At the other end of the courtyard, a tall figure was drawing and loosing a string of a large bow. The furs he was wrapped seemed matt in comparison to his fiery red hair, out of which the tips of long, golden ears, peeked out just barely.
Livia’s curiosity perked up. She had very few opportunities to see an Altmer in person. She caught a glimpse of one on her first day – dear gods, it seemed so long ago now – but she didn’t talk to him, and there were no Altmer women in the Order. She wondered what they were like.
She remember hearing stories about them when she was little. Neither her mother nor father liked to mention them, but her aunt spoke about them in lengths, and very little of it was good. She said how they were a cursed race of witches and sorcerers from the far south, where snow refused to fall out of disgust to the land on which they threaded. That they burned their foes alive, raised the dead to do their bidding, and yoked the enslaved men to plough their fields like the beasts of burden. That the gods cursed them with childlessness, and that their women could only give birth once in their lives.
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As she got older, Livia realized that she was likely exaggerating. And now, she had the time to see it for herself. Getting up on her feet she gently dusted herself off and slowly paced over to him. He was still busy with his bow, spinning it around as if it was a pen, seemingly inspecting it. It reminded her of Taldryn, but any similarities stopped there: his way was much less efficient and much more deliberate. He spun the thing around in something that almost resembled a pattern, sometimes slowing down, and sometimes moving faster than needed.
“It’s a very poor sport to try and sneak up on me.” Livia almost jumped in surprise when he spoke. His voice was unexpectedly pleasant and his accent swift and almost musical. “If we were anywhere outside, I’d shoot you on a reflex.”
He turned around and looked down. His eyes were a dusky shade of amber and slightly skewed, giving his face an exotic appearance. His nose was narrow and slightly hooked, and his beard was barely more than a red stubble that seemed cut almost too evenly. Contrasting the illustrations she saw in books, his face seemed normal, with only somewhat sharper chin and mildly pronounced temples, framed by gently curled hair that went down to his jaw. Her aunt’s stories didn’t do him justice: she expected him to look like a mutant, but she couldn’t help but to think he was rather handsome.
His eyes lingered on her for only a moment. He faced back and returned to checking his bow.
“I’m Livia,” she started.
“And I don’t remember asking,” he responded. “Did the old man Tyerolenmar send for me?”
“No,” said Livia, puzzled.
“Then why are you bothering me?”
“I… guess I thought you might want some company.”
“You thought wrong.” He pulled the string again and the bow creaked, making an obvious motion to ignore her.
Livia blinked nervously at the immediate rebuff. Seemed she’d need to be patient this one.
The Altmer finally seemed satisfied with the state of his bow. Picking up his cloak, he threw it over his shoulders and fastened it just below his neck. Hanging his bow over the shoulder, he turned to leave, stopping in place when he saw that Livia hasn’t moved. His bright eyes almost seemed to darken. “You’re still here… why?”
Livia blinked in confusion. “I… well… I…”
“You, well, you?” he piped back, voice a mocking imitation of hers. “Out with it or off with you, girl. My time is precious and I don’t intend to waste it on stammering.”
“I’ve never met an Altmer before,” she quickly forced out, her cheeks going even redder than their freezing surroundings demanded.
The elf stared at her for a few heartbeats, and Livia, for that time, very much considered his advice of walking away. ”Don’t see how that should concern me,” he responded, taking a decisive step past her.
Livia stood dumbfounded, staring ahead of herself. Moment later, her confusion started to simmer. What was his problem? She’s done nothing to him. Sure, her opening may’ve been clumsy, but she didn’t mean anything bad. She frowned. He was right about one thing: this was a waste of time.
“Ass,” she whispered to her chin. At the same moment, the sound of footsteps she only now became aware of abruptly stopped.
“What was that?” a voice called from behind her. “Say that again.”
Ignoring how bad of an idea was it to annoy an archer, she turned on her heel and locked her eyes with his. His expression never changed, but his attention was undeniably with her now.
“I said ‘ass’,” she snapped. “One would think you’d hear it the first time with those ears of yours.”
His expression finally changed, annoyance slowly giving way to anger. She struck a nerve.
“Careful now, girl. Making an enemy of me is stupid. Even for one like you.”
I’m not the one who started it, Livia thought to herself, but stopping herself from saying it out loud. Instead, she decided to keep on being mordant.
“And what’re you going to do about it? Hit me?”
The elf’s ears twitched. “You’re making it more tempting with each passing moment.”
Livia rolled her shoulders. “Bring it on. If a sissy like you can even lay a proper punch.”
He blinked in momentary confusion. “What did you just call me?” he demanded.
Livia chuckled. This turned out better than she’d’ve expected. “So those ears are only for show. I called you a sissy. That’s what all you bowmen are. No balls to get in close and personal, so you shoot from a distance.”
The mer’s face relaxed for a moment, before stretching into a subtle smile.
“Is that so?” he inquired. “Then perhaps a small demonstration.”
He pulled the bow from his shoulder and Livia got a very nasty feeling of what would happen next. She hoped the plates on her armour would hold.
Instead, he tossed the bow to her. She caught it with no small amount of surprise: it was a lot heavier than she expected. His right hand swished back his fur-lined cloak, revealing a long, slender quiver of arrows hung from his belt. He pulled one out and tossed it to her. She caught it too, equally surprised.
“Please,” he said, gesticulating above her shoulder to a row of targets lined up against the wall. “If a sissy like myself can do it, surely it would be a breeze for such a strong, young sword-wielder like you.”
Livia still glared at him. So he wanted her to shoot a target. She raised the bow closer to inspect it. She didn’t know much about them, but she could see it was a beautiful piece: It was made of a single piece of flawless black wood almost as long as she was tall, wrung with thin, elegant golden filigree depicting ivy that stretched from the centre to the string, which was woven from horsehair in several different colours. Two curved pieces of bone were fastened near the centre, pointing outward. It took Livia a moment to realize they were actually fangs, placed there to aid in guiding the arrow. She raised it to her face to inspect it. In a stark contrast to the bow, it was largely plain: the fletching was white with red tips, and the head was a simple barbed triangle of hardened silver. She squinted: something seemed to be engraved into the metal.
“Why does it say ‘minge’?” she inquired.
The elf smiled dryly. Livia rolled her eyes: she wouldn’t get a response out of him. She turned around and raised the bow, nocking the arrow. She quickly measured the distance from the target: it was close enough that she could hit it with a thrown stone. She smiled to herself: she never shot a bow before, but she was certain that she wouldn’t miss. Taking a deep breath, she pulled on the string.
It didn’t move.
Confused, she pulled harder. This time it moved, but only a little. Frustrated, she grabbed the string with her whole fist and pulled violently, not caring if she snapped it. She only managed to pull enough to send an arrow jumping a miserable distance when her strength finally gave out. It fell close enough that she could pick it up without stepping out from where she stood.
The Altmer slowly clapped his hands a few times. “At moments like this, one must really ask himself.” His voice rang with barely suppressed mockery. “If bowmen are sissies, what does that make you?”
The anger that simmered in her hit its boiling point. Shooting around, she flung the bow to the ground where it clattered on partial pavement and prepared to unleash a torrent of words.
The look on the elf’s face was a mix of disgust and fear. And it was aimed at the bow that lay not far from her. His eyes moved to meet her own, with anger now mixing in. He seemed quite prepared, willing, and able to nail her head into the wall. Livia’s previous gall quickly gave away to no small regret and fright. She made a mental note: do not abuse his bow ever again. In fact, don’t even touch it. Not looking at it would probably be a good idea too. She hoped she’d have an opportunity to carry this out. Thought she had to admit: Altmer’s expression and his slow, deliberate pace made it rather unlikely.
“Livia my dear, could you come here for a moment?” Helena’s voice rang clear in the frosty air. Both the girl and the Altmer turned to her. “It’ll only be a moment, I promise.”
She looked completely unlike the woman she saw not an hour ago. Her hair was again combed and in perfect condition; her face looked fresh and rested, again pronounced with carefully applied makeup; the nightgown disappeared, replaced with her usual black robe and chainmail. Livia could only blink at what was to her mind and impossible transformation. She wondered to what degree was magic involved in this.
“You can have her after I’m through with her, ginger.” Altmer’s sharp voice brought her back to reality. “What’s left of her anyway.”
“Now please, Lormaril; I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”
“You haven’t quite convinced me.” He cracked his knuckles. “You may want to turn around for this one.”
“Actually, I’m here to see you,” she piped in.
The Altmer named Lormaril stopped his advance for a moment. “Me?” he quizzed suspiciously.
“Indeed. None other than you. I have a proposition for you that you may find, ah, most agreeable.”
Lormaril crossed his hands behind his back. “I’m listening.” His attention seemed to slip off of Livia completely. She took it as a cue to walk off the stage and wait at a safe distance next to the guard tower. Helena joined her minutes later.
“Out of all the people here, you’ve picked one of the worst to antagonise.” Helena’s voice was that of a scolding concern. “You’re lucky I came along when I did. Another minute and I’d’ve needed magic to keep you alive.”
Livia swallowed. She was quite sure Helena wasn’t embellishing.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked.
“You’re always sorry.” Helena gently rapped her temple. “And it’s always the same. Being sorry is nice, being smart is better.”
Livia only nodded.
“Now, if you’re finished making enemies, I found a contract. I’ve already convinced Aeriel to join me, and I was wondering if you’d join us as well.”
Livia beamed up. A chance to go out and do something that wasn’t cleaning the dormitory, a chance to take some time away from a specific Altmer who was undoubtedly still in a very foul mood, and a chance to earn some money. The way she saw it, she was winning in all fields.
“Absolutely,” she chirped. Helena offered one of her warmest smiles.
“We’ll be off in about an hour. I just have some final preparations to make. We’ll meet at the gate and we’re going. And in the meantime, please: try not to upset anyone else.”
Livia nodded and rushed off to the great hall. It only now occurred to her that she missed the breakfast because of sentry duty, and her empty stomach loudly reminded her. Fortunately for her it seemed she still wasn’t too late: even from across the room, she could smell the soup that was simmering in the cauldron. The room was mostly empty, except the few stragglers that were either as late as her or slow eaters. Stopping at the counter, she knocked on the stained wood.
“Good morning, Salmoneus!” she called.
No response came for a few moments. Then a single, stretched out “what?” rang out from behind the wall.
“Good morning, Salmoneus!” she called again, a little louder this time.
“Don’t you shout at me, damn you! I’m not bloody deaf!” A short figure appeared, wiping his hands with a grimy rag. Salmoneus was a man nobody expected to be a part of band of monster hunters: in addition to humble height, he was also quite plump and seemed to posses no physical strength at all, likely a courtesy of his advanced age. What hair he had left looked more like poorly combed wool that sat around the large bald spot like some ridiculous backward circlet. To his credit, he shaved his face clean, making sure that no hair would fall into the food he was preparing. He was a Cyrod just like her, but the colour of his skin was much duskier. Livia wondered if it was a result of a Redguard somewhere down the family line or the endless hours spent in the kitchen. From what she heard, he was once a hunter himself, until an accident on the job that damaged his hearing. He kept a place in the Order by proving himself as a very capable cook. As his age started catching up to him, several younger people were employed to help him. Apparently, it was a position nobody in the Order envied them on.
“Ah it’s you, Ilyria!” croaked Salmoneus. “Sleeping late today, eh?”
“I was on sentry duty!” she responded. “And my name is Livia!”
“That’s what I said, you bloody brat!” He shoved a tin bowl of soup, some brown bread, and a handful of thinly sliced cured ham her way before rushing away to inspect something Livia couldn’t see. “Now go away. I have work to do.”
Livia didn’t need to be told twice. Picking out the table that seemed the cleanest, she sat down and dug in. The soup was a rich, strong-flavoured fish broth seasoned with local herbs. The bread seemed a little stale, but still edible. The meat was comparable to tanned leather in toughness. Despite all this, she ate with gusto. After these last few months of living as a member of the Order, she learned how ill advised was to go hungry on what could easily become a long trip. She chewed slowly, knowing she still had some time before they left.
A thought dawned in her head that she never asked what they were going after. She pushed it aside. Helena knew her strengths and weaknesses well enough. If it was something she didn’t think she could handle, she wouldn’t’ve invited her in the first place. She tried to smile, but it turned into a pained grimace: she didn’t know the older woman for long, yet she took her under her wing as if she was her own daughter. It reminded her of her own mother: a sweet, gentle, caring woman who never spoke harshly to her unless it was necessary. She was gone now, but Livia would never forget her. A single tear welled up her eye: she never got along with Julius, but he truly wasn’t all that bad. And he was now the only family she had left.
Shaking her head, she realized she was staring at an empty bowl. Gathering her dishes, she left them on the counter before hurrying out. Not a moment too soon.
“There you are,” chirped Aeriel when Livia stopped before them. She reached out, and Livia took a deep breath in anticipation of the young woman’s crushing bear hug. This time, she counted no broken ribs. Good day already.
“Well you look ready and proper. And properly ready,” Helena commented happily. “We should get going right away: plenty of road to cover.”
“Not without me you ain’t!”
Helena closed her eyes and sighed. Livia looked up only to meet Findel’s face, grinning at them from the top of the stairs.
“Findel,” started Helena in a blatantly stiff attempt to sound friendly. “It’s… wonderful to see you.”
“Right back at you, sister.” Findel jumped over the railing, landing next to them with a distinct lack of grace. Dusting off her trousers as if she did that on purpose, she straightened up and flashed yet another smile. “So, who’s ready for a girls’ road trip?”
Helena stared at the diminutive woman like she just sprouted antlers. Aeriel and Livia exchanged glances.
“Aw, come on,” continued Findel, swaying in place. “We’re gonna have ourselves a grand old time. Just us four girlfriends on an epic adventure.”
“Don’t you have a sentry duty?” asked Aeriel.
“Just got off. Olga relieved me minutes ago.”
“What about cleaning the dormitory?” added Helena. It was clear that neither of them particularly cared for Findel’s company.
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. It’s ten times as bad when you’re as short as I am. Every time that someone has to crawl somewhere, it’s me. You wouldn’t believe the things I had to clean out.”
“So,” started Livia, “you only want to go with us… to avoid cleaning?” Findel suddenly found something very interesting at the tips of her boots. “No,” she said guiltily.
“I’m sorry Findel,” said Helena in a voice that barely sounded like she was sorry, “maybe next time.”
Findel shot a pleading glare to Livia, who couldn’t help but feel bad about the Bosmer. She couldn’t possible be that poor of a travelling companion.
“She can come with us, right?” she asked. Helena and Aeriel exchanged glances.
“Well, I suppose-” Aeriel started.
“Wonderful!” Findel cried. Helena’s shoulders sank in defeat.
It soon became obvious that while not a necessarily poor companion, Findel was an extremely tiring one. She started talking as soon as they exited the castle walls, and through the wait for Edgtho, sailing across the bay, disembarking and saddling of horses, never stopped doing so. Even the infinitely patient Helena and talkative Aeriel responded only in sparse words, hoping that she would get the message. She didn’t.
“You seem awfully happy today,” noted Helena an hour into their ride. She sat atop her white mare Sieglind in a lady-like style, reining her with practised ease. Livia was next to her on the same gidran she rode on her first mission. Aeriel followed them on Gareth’s Tempest, and Findel rode at her side on a restless orichal named Mederes.
“I am,” responded Livia. She drew her sword from the scabbard fastened to the saddle. She took it by the tip and offered the handle to Helena. “Look.”
Helena took the sword and briefly inspected it. “I’m looking. What am I s-oooh,” she bit her lip as she smiled, her eyes locked on the small surface just below the crossguard, barely a span long. “Snow Wight. And in dragon script too. Classy.”
“Really taking after Gareth, isn’t she,” Findel commented from the back.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Livia, sheathing the sword that Helena just returned to her.
“Not at all. If that’s what you like doing, then by all means. Just not my style is all.”
“Not really sentimental about that spear of yours?”
“This thing?” Findel nodded to the spear slung over her shoulder. It was a curious item: two rods of dark wood, one ending in a spearhead and another in a hollow bronze tube. Livia guessed it was taller than Findel by almost half its length, simple and undecorated. The head was long and sported what looked like a crossguard just below the blade. It looked like a dagger attached to an overly long shaft. “Ordered it from Taldryn just last month. Old one broke and I needed new one. Simple as that.”
“Why spear, though?” Livia quizzed.
“I was never really the one for bows,” said Findel. “Tried all sorts of other things, but they were either too heavy or too short. And when you’re as tiny as I am, that means you have to get very close to your target, and I didn’t much like that. Got me a spear one day and I never looked back.”
“Fair enough,” Livia responded. "What's the tube for?
"Oh that?" said Findel. "That's for connecting it. It's too long for me to carry when I'm not using it, so I had Taldryn make it so that it can be broken in two and riveted back into one when I need it." She laughed at the impressed look on Livia's face. “Just you wait, kid. Once we’re on the job, you’ll be seeing wonders.” She stopped for a moment. “What is the job, anyway?”
“The notice listed it only as ‘problems with local creatures’,” responded Helena, “so your guess is as good as mine. It did say it required someone well educated for it. Though I can’t begin to imagine why.”
“Maybe it’s the giants,” said Findel. “I hope it’s giants,” she added dreamily. “Those huge hunks are the best, I tell you.”
“Livia doesn’t need to listen to your perversions, Findel,” sliced off Helena bitterly.
“What perversions, Helly?” said Findel. “Slice off a bit from the thigh, throw it on the grill with some rosemary.” She gently kissed the tip of her fingers. “Daggerfall chefs cannot beat that.” Livia felt her stomach contort at the thought. Findel’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Oh, you were thinking of something else, weren’t you? Who’s talking perversions now?”
“I stand by what I said and I will not humour that with an answer,” Helena responded indignantly. “And don’t call me Helly,” she added.
“Whatever you say, darling,” said Findel, still smiling.
The rest of the day went by slowly. Findel kept telling the stories of her adventures and exploits without rest. When she needed a respite from that, she would instead break into a song, something that, Livia decided, her voice was not cut out for at all. And while her stories were certainly amusing, Livia grew tired after they just kept coming. She decided that no matter what happened, she would never travel with Findel again. The other two women didn’t seem to pay her any heed from the start, but that didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
They stopped for the night at the foot of a giant cliff, just a stone’s toss away from the road.
“Right!” Findel declared happily. “You darlings start setting us up, and I’ll go catch us something to eat.”
“Oh no no no no!” Helena approached the short woman and carefully raised a finger. “No you’re not. Last time I let you hunt, I couldn’t go to the privy for a week. I’ll go catch us something and you can take care of the fire.”
“Why me?” Findel protested. “You’re a mage, you could light it with a snap of your fingers.”
Helena stopped to think for a moment. “You’re right. I could.” Without another word, she turned around and walked away. Findel stuck out her tongue.
“I don’t think she likes you,” Livia said while they were out collecting firewood.
“I won’t be losing any sleep over it,” Findel responded. “If she doesn’t like me, it’s her problem.”
Livia shrugged. “I suppose.” She dropped her stack of twigs and started wrestling with a big cedar branch. “Why do you think she doesn’t like you?” she asked in between grunts.
“No idea,” Findel admitted. “She was fine to me just weeks ago. My guess is that she’s afraid that pretty boy of hers will leave her for me. Or that I’ll try to steal him from her.”
“And you won’t?” asked Livia, still straining to pull the branch off.
“No,” Findel responded flatly. “We had our fun in the past, but that was long time ago. We’ve both moved on. Here, let me.” She grasped the branch with both hands and yanked violently. The branch came off with a crack.
“Thank you,” said Livia. “I think we got enough now. Let’s go back.”
“Couldn’t agree more, sister,” Findel said. “It’s getting really cold here.”
When they returned, the camp has already been set. Helena knelt next to a firepit, eviscerating a pair of pheasants laid out on a large rock.
“How did you manage to get those?” Findel asked as she knelt next to her to start the fire.
“Magic,” replied Helena dryly without turning from her work.
“Magic, you say?” said Findel with a smile. “Think you could us that magic to conjure us some honey bread to go along?” Helena shot her a venomous glare. “Sorry, sorry,” Findel apologized as she returned to stacking the branches. “I was just having some fun with you, princess.”
Helena sighed and put her knife down. “Didn’t I ask you not to call me that?”
“Why not? It’s true isn’t it?”
“What is she talking about?” asked Livia
“Not really important,” Helena responded. “And no, it’s not true. I would appreciate if you didn’t broach the subject any further.”
Findel shrugged and reached towards the disemboweled entrails of one of the birds. She yelped when Helena slapped her hand away.
“When you’re alone,” she said coldly, “eat whatever part you want. But not on my watch.”
Findel rolled her eyes and returned to preparing fire.
They ate in silence. All but Findel who didn’t appear to care much for anything resembling table manners, chewing at the roasted bird like a beast. Livia tried her best to ignore her until she heard a snap and looked up to see her gnawing at a bone she just bit in half. She stopped, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at her.
“What?” she mumbled without swallowing. “I’m hungry.”
Helena shoved the remains of her portion towards Aeriel and excused herself. Livia didn’t want to imagine what she was off doing.
Some time later, Livia sat by the rock. She agreed to take the first watch, but there wasn’t much to watch out for. Reach was a country beautiful in its ruggedness, but it was strangely devoid of life. Only a distant roaring of a sabrecat broke the eerie silence of the night. She took a deep breath and turned her eyes towards the sky. It was beautiful this time of year. The sky at the castle was too often clouded, but it was clear here and now, offering a beautiful view of the stars. They would reach Erikstead tomorrow, she thought to herself. Thinking about what was ahead of her, she felt a tinge of fear: every time she set out on a task like this, there was a chance she might not return. She shook her head to dash away the fatalistic thoughts. She didn’t go alone: she had friends that watched her back, and she would watch theirs. Together, there wasn’t anything that could get in their way.
She yawned and leapt to her feet, suddenly aware of how close she was to drifting to sleep, hypnotized by the stillness of night around her.
“Aeri!” she called. Mumbling from the top of the rock came in response.
“Already?” Aeriel quizzed sleepily. In absence of any trees, she elected to sleep on the tallest point in the camp, which just happened to be above Livia’s head.
“Yes, now come down,” Livia called. She wasn’t sure if it was her watch already, but she knew she was too tired to stay up, and she couldn’t risk falling asleep. She silently promised to herself to make this up to Aeri one day.
“I think I’ll stay up here,” Aeriel responded with a clear voice. “Better vantage.”
“If you say so.” Livia didn’t have enough strength to argue. “See you in the morning.” She fell asleep the moment she crawled onto her bedroll.
She was woken up by whistling. The first thing she noticed was the dull throbbing pain that steadily beat in every part of her body. She got up on all fours, moaning in discomfort.
“Oh, you’re up.” Helena sounded far too happy for the time of the day. “Would you like some tea?”
Instead of a response, Livia tried to massage her painful back. She stopped when her fingers pushed against cold metal. She stared blankly ahead of herself for a few moments, realizing she never took her armour off.
“First time?” Aeriel stood not to far from her, stretching in ways that looked like she hadn’t a single bone in her body. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“I think you’re about the only one who could get used to it, smiley.” Findel has just finished packing her horse and accepted a tin cup of scalding green liquid from Helena.
“You should try it,” said Aeriel. “It’s really good for the circulation.”
Findel snorted. “Is that why you need to stretch in the morning?” She carefully slurped some tea from the cup. “No thank you. I spent enough time sleeping on trees back in Valenwood. Never doing it again.”
“You’re from Valenwood?” asked Livia. She was fully awake by now, warming her hands on a cup that Helena handed to her. The morning felt even sleepier than the night before. It was lukewarm, misty, and the sun barely found its way to them through light clouds. She wished more than anything to just return to her bedroll and sleep until noon.
“Yeah. Lived there for half of my life. I was a soldier. A scout, actually. But I bailed when the air got a bit too unhealthy.”
Livia almost choked on her tea. The reality of what Findel said settled in a bit too fast.
“You fought for the Dominion?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” Findel answered flatly. “Not really the proudest thing I did in my life, but hey: the money they paid wasn’t any less real. Oh don’t give me that look,” she rebelled when she noticed the fear in Livia’s eyes. “I’ve known you’re from Bruma since the first time you spoke. I left before that whole bloody affair took place.”
“She deserted, actually,” added Helena.
“I don’t see it as desertion,” Findel responded. “I was never loyal to a cause in my life, not even back then. The only thing I was loyal to was the pay I got. When my loyalty was betrayed, I decided to take it elsewhere. Simple as that.”
“Doesn’t sound like something that will get you really far in life,” said Livia.
“It got me this far,” Findel responded. “And I reckon it won’t stop now.”
“Oh my, look at the time,” Aeriel noted, standing up on her hands. “Sun’s so high I could almost kick it.”
“That’s now how it works,” said Helena, “but she has a point. We should start packing.” Aeriel gave a grateful smile before dropping to the ground like a sack.
They reached Erikstead just before noon. As far as villages went, Livia thought, it wasn’t much to look at. A cluster of perhaps a fifty houses surrounded by a moat filled with water. No fence, no palisade. And apparently not a living soul aside from the few tired looking old men and women that greeted them with unexpected warmth. But when they climbed to the centre of the town, Livia gasped. She now saw over the hill the town was built on, and her eyes fell to vast fields already starting to gold with winter wheat. To the west, more than a dozen cows and goats peacefully grazed on the hillside with probably many more on the invisible one. It seemed like most of the village was outside, working in the fields or keeping eye on the cattle. She even noticed several ploughmen digging long furrows into the ground with ploughs pulled by oxen. A pack of children, still too young to help in the fields, ran past her screeching with laughter. Livia smiled: this didn’t seem like such a bad place.
They stopped before a low, long building, named ‘Frostfruit Inn’ by the weathered sign that hung from a post in front of it. The inside was empty save for a single man tending the bar. As soon as he noticed them, a smile bloomed on his face.
“Ah, welcome to you, my dear ladies! What can I get for you?”
“Thank you for the hospitality, my good man,” Helena started, “but we are here on business. Might you tell us where we could find Thane Erik?”
The man looked at her with confusion for few moments before noticing the white wolf embroidered on her robe. His mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’, showing a distinct lack of teeth.
“Oh, you’re the ones from the Order, ain’t you?” he said. “It’s good you came so fast. Please, take a seat and I’ll go fetch Erik right away.” With that, he hurried outside without another word.
They picked a long table set far from the central hearth. Helena sat right from the head, with Aeriel opposite of her and Livia next to her. Findel didn’t sit at all, instead leaning on one of the support pillars.
It wasn’t long before the barkeeper returned followed by who could only be Thane Erik. He was a tall, strongly built man who was only starting to be chipped by years. His face, only somewhat wrinkled was settled in a smile, framed by curly brown hair. The stubble that was barely visible suggested they caught him before his daily shave. The old but well maintained jerkin of dark ox leather fit him a bit too tightly, as if it was made when he was a man much younger.
They barely had time to stand up when he marched to their table. “Ah, welcome, my dear ladies,” he bellowed. He shook each of their hands before taking his place at the head of the table. “Oh but you have no drinks. Travesty! Father!” he called out to the barkeeper, “didn’t you offer our guests any refreshments?”
“Don’t yell at me like that, curse you!” the bartender responded. “They didn’t want any.”
“Well pour them some. Can’t have my guests sitting here cotton-mouthed.”
The old man mumbled something that sounded like it painted a very descriptive picture of someone’s mother before disappearing behind a counter.
“My lord, you are most gracious,” started Helena, “but I assure you there’s no need-”
Erik silenced her with a wave of her hand. “Now we can’t have that, can we? You came here to solve our problem and I can’t even offer you a drink? Doesn’t seem right to me at all.”
“Regarding the problem, my lord,” Helena started. “You’ve never described exactly what it is we’ll be doing. What local creatures are presenting problems to you.”
“Wait, you don’t know?” he quizzed just as the barkeeper returned carrying five tankards of what looked like beer. Erik drained his halfway in just one gulp. “Damn my steward: I told him not to sweeten it and to put it how it is. We’re having problems with giants.”
Helena froze in her seat. Aeriel tried her best to help Livia who was currently choking on her drink. Findel was the only one who seemed somewhat emboldened by this turn of events.
“My lord,” Helena started uncertainly, “this is… highly unexpected. How many giants are we talking about?”
“Oh, about a dozen or so in one tribe and maybe a few more in the other,” said Erik casually.
Livia felt a cold flood of fear well up in her stomach. One giant would’ve been bad enough. Almost thirty of them would be impossible. Even Aeriel seemed worried.
Helena took a few moments to compose herself. “My lord, giants are solitary beings. They do not live in tribes.”
Erik smiled bitterly. “Usually, you’d be right. But it seems that two of the old and respected giants fell into a bit of a quarrel, and now the locals are picking sides. If the war breaks out, our fields will be trampled to mud, our livestock killed or taken, our orchards destroyed. Even the village may get caught in the fighting.”
“And you want us to prevent it by killing the leaders?” Helena asked carefully.
Erik craned his neck like she just spoke something unimaginably foul. “Kill them? What gave you that idea? We’ve always been at peace with local giants and a death of even one might change that. I clearly told my steward to write that we needed a well educated diplomat to arrange the peace between them.”
Helena’s face dropped. Aeriel and Livia looked at each other, both equally confused. Findel sank into a chair, disappointed. The only person at the table that made any sound was Erik, who continued to colourfully curse the incompetence of his steward.