Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.
Summary: It was one thing to remain a man for Freyja's sake. It was quite another to do it penniless, ill and with a child while she was out gallivanting with Brynjolf. An Alternate Universe "Dragonrend" standalone spin-off.
A/N: I blame my Hearthfire feels for this! And a prompt that I saw either on Tumblr or kinkmeme about the Dovahkiin being an overbearingly protective parent. The Muse then immediately rammed this down my brain and here it is. I must repeat that this is an Alternative Universe spin-off; it is not a sequel to Dragonrend per se and there will be no spoilers for that story here. If you like Daddy!Alduin here, ummm...please let me know? I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. :)
DRAGONREND: HEARTHFIRE
Alduin glared at the cooking pot and the cooking pot looked right back at him. Its shining surface and dull gleam were magnified by the merrily crackling hearthfire that he had started, with the help of a magic spell. The once and future god of destruction winced at the memory of having to actually use the magic of mortals for such an insignificant task. It pained him, literally, not to use the Thu'um. Swallowing, Alduin resisted the urge to rub the base of his throat, where most of the itching soreness had gathered, and by the looks of it, was looking to take up permanent residence.
Two nights before, his voice had been there and the next morning, he had been riddled with fever and a throat that burned from sickness. He had tried the Thu'um but the complete lack of a voice rendered the attempt futile and worse, humiliating. Neither could Freyja Shout him back into good health because his wife was nowhere to be found. She had slunk off in the dead of the night a mere day before this calamity had befallen him, and all that she had left behind was a small note stating that she would be with Brynjolf and home within ten days and he was not to worry or get angry and try to hunt them down. She had assured him of her love and absolute faithfulness, and promised to cut off Brynjolf's hands should the latter try anything inappropriate with her. While it mollified him to some extent, Alduin would have elected to cut off other parts of Brynjolf's body, primarily the part to do with procreation, rather than his hands. Still, he trusted Freyja and therefore, he did not shred the note, as his temper urged him to do. He settled for crumpling and tossing it into the fire. Then, he proceeded to brood. Lydia had accused him of sulking, but a cold glare had been enough to send the chuckling housecarl out of the home until late in the evening. And to his relief, she had taken the Imperial child with her.
Well, he supposed that if he wanted to cook a stew, he would need water. Swallowing solid food was out of the question; his throat hurt too much. If Lydia had been around, she could have set about preparing lunch but once his fever had broken, she had made herself scarce. He supposed his perpetual foul mood, to which he felt perfectly entitled, had something to do with it. As he sloshed water into the pot that hung over the fire, Alduin tried not to recall all the times he had mocked Freyja's inability to cook. Stepping back, he critically eyed the mass of floating liquid. Half a pot seemed just about right. Now, for the ingredients. Eyeing the pile of carrots and potatoes that sat in a basket on one of the shelves, Alduin looked around for a knife. He couldn't find one. Then, his eye alighted on the weapons rack that stood just beyond the hearth. The dagger with its curving blade the colour of dark rust and bronze would have to do. After all, Freyja had once told him the story of how she had used it to cut the otherwise impenetrable bark of the Eldergleam Tree. The skins of some vegetables should be nothing to it.
... ...
Apparently, skinning vegetables utilised a very different set of skills then say, disembowelling someone or giving them a clean stab in the chest or back, depending on the direction from which one approached them from. The previously plump and juicy carrots were now reduced to slimmer versions of their former selves. In fact, he was sure he had seen twigs in the wilds that were fatter. The most complimentary word he could think of to describe the shape of the shorn potatoes was 'unusual'. In fact, Alduin suspected that had Freyja or Lydia been around, either woman would have pronounced them misshapen. But no matter, he decided. What was done was done and there was no point fuming over it. Besides, he was Alduin, Thuri of all the dragons that flew over Skyrim. Nowadays, they did most of their raiding beyond Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Freyja had not been too thrilled about the dragons hunting anywhere but even she had given in to the wisdom of allowing the winged gods of the sky to harass lands and cities still under the sway of the Aldmeri Dominion. That way, the Dov's natural aggression and need to acquire wealth was satisfied and the arrogant High Elves were too busy defending themselves to plot the downfall of Skyrim and the Empire. His idea had certainly worked out for the best, Alduin thought smugly as he dumped the carrots and potatoes into the pot of now warm water.
Grabbing a few cloves of garlic, he crushed them in his large hands, wrinkling his nose at the sharp smell before pulling off the thin, parchment-like skins. He reckoned six or seven in the stew would be sufficient and proceeded to dump as many cloves into the pot. And while he would have loved to have some fish, the thought scaling that particular species of prey was unsavoury enough to discourage him. Instead, he decided to settle for the conveniently plucked chicken in the barrel that Freyja kept chilled with frost salts. And just so that he would not have to repeat this tedious process that was beneath him, Alduin grabbed a rack of venison as well. That would see him through until dinner. It looked too wide to stuff into the pot but a good clean hack with the Nettlebane solved that problem.
"Wait!"
Alduin growled and promptly regretted it when a hacking cough seized him in its grip. By the time he was done, his eyes were watering and he wiped them awkwardly with the backs of his hands, having dropped the chicken and venison on the table. From the doorway near the stairs that led up to the second floor, two pairs of nervous liquid brown eyes stared at him. They belonged respectively to the two-legged and four-legged pest that Freyja had foisted on him. The dog he could understand, Meeko had defended Freyja in the wilds. Besides, any suggestions of giving the animal away had been met with terse refusals and not so subtle threats about what she would do to him if Meeko suddenly went 'missing'. But the girl... He ought to have suspected that something was in the wind when Freyja had abruptly thrown out her neglected alchemy lab and completely refurbished the room, complete with a bed. At first she had said it was a guestroom. He had thought it strange when a heap of colourfully embroidered dolls suddenly appeared on the bed but had not pursued the matter. Then one morning, she appeared, hiding behind Freyja's legs, a tentative smile on her face. The big traitorous fur-bag had immediately taken to the human child, covering her with wet licks that would have sent Alduin scrambling for a bath. It had taken three days before he finally accepted the idea of having to share Breezehome and his wife with one more being. That, and Freyja's suggestion, or shameless blackmail as he had called it, that she put Lucia up at Honeyside in Riften instead. Of course, that would mean spending plenty of time in that den of thieves masquerading as a town. Alduin would have put up with ten children before he allowed Freyja to spend that much time in proximity to Brynjolf. Not that he had told his wife of course; she did not need the encouragement. Instead, he grudgingly agreed to let the girl stay.
"You can't... I mean, it's better to take out the chicken guts before you cook it in the pot." The girl took a step forward, thought the better of it and moved back again. One small hand kneaded the blue skirt of her dress. The other rested on Meeko's head. "I can do it. Mother, my... other mother from before, she taught me how to cook. I stayed on a farm and we reared chickens. Sometimes we had to roast one for dinner and I would help her—"
As soon as those blessed words had fallen from her mouth, he wouldn't have cared if she had said she had been spawned from the planes of Oblivion. Meeko yelped and scurried back into the room as he strode forward. Lucia's fair face turned even paler and her nervous swallow was audible. Still, she stood her ground even though he towered over her. Alduin moved, she flinched. And suddenly found Nettlebane and the chicken in her hands.
For a minute, she stood there, dumbly gaping at him. Sighing, Alduin pointed at her, then the chicken and then at the pot. "You," he whispered, hating the sound of the hoarse quivering whisper that his voice had been reduced to, "cook. Now."
"Oh...Oh yes, definitely. It's a stew you wanted, wasn't it?" Lucia beamed at him, suddenly all brightness and utterly eager to please. It made Alduin feel slightly more unwell to be the recipient of all that emotion. "I've been studying some of Mama's recipes. A meat and potato stew would do nicely. And there's that cabbage there that I can put in too..."
Rinsing his hands in the water bowl, Alduin wiped it off with a rag and proceeded to tune out the child as she bustled about the dining room. He would have gone upstairs and left her alone, except that he remembered she was holding an Ebony dagger after all. If she hurt herself... he had more than a vague idea of what Freyja would do to him and none of it was good. So he sat at the long table and forced himself to keep an eye on the girl his wife insisted on calling her daughter. As much as he didn't want her there, Alduin had to admit that she did have her uses, especially when she chopped the chicken into half and proceeded to pluck out yellow-reddish stringy intestines that almost made him change his mind about having chicken.
Well, it was only fitting that she do the cooking, he decided. Thanks to her, they were penniless. Otherwise, he would have paid the innkeeper at the Bannered Mare to deliver their meals to Breezehome. There was also the fact that he was too proud to ask Lydia to loan them money in Freyja's absence. But since the primary fault lay with the mortal child, Alduin decided to ignore his own hand in the matter. And there was still the case of the missing strongbox to solve. Lucia certainly hadn't taken it. She had been in tears when she had confessed the loss to him and her remorse had been genuine. Perhaps over the course of dinner, he would finally squeeze the truth out of her. Figuratively of course, although a little of the literal wouldn't hurt if she proved to be stubborn.
He settled back and nibbled on one of the many sweetrolls that his wife had stocked the house with just before she upped and ran away to Brynjolf, in a manner of speaking. The next time she plied him with desserts, he would demand to know what she was up to. The crafty woman, he grumbled silently. How he missed her.