Author's Note:
READ "BROTHERHOOD" FIRST.
This is an in-between piece to bridge the gap between the events of Brotherhood and the events of Dragonborn. Originally, "Hearthfire" was going to be the first chapter of Dragonborn… but… I dunno… I've begun to think it might be more fun to publish it as a standalone work: One, because it's very fluffy and domestic and stuff; Two, because no part of it handles with the events of the Dragonborn DLC… like… at all; Three, because there will be a lot of time skips and I don't think I want to smush them all into a single chapter.
This will be a multi-chapter piece. I will post things as I perfect them (and, yes, I am currently working on Dragonborn).
For my readers who prefer gore and drama over fluff and family stuff and sexy times: this piece may or may not give you a cavity. I would suggest, in any event, that you at least skim through it to get a gist of the stage I'm setting for Dragonborn.
Enjoy!
Interlude: Hearthfire (1)
6 Last Seed, 4E205
The conversation starts at breakfast and lasts long into the night. I'll admit we kind of drug our feet getting to it—three days later and we're only talking about it now—but, in a way, I guess we just needed the time.
It's funny how quickly I've accepted her back. Then again, I know myself too well to be surprised. I think about this while I look at her and her gut-wrenchingly pretty face. For a long while, I'd tried to move on. She was dead, after all… or at least we all thought she was.
It was Corinna who made it difficult, but that's understandable considering how much mother and daughter look like one another. Every time I looked at Corinna's face, I saw Amara's. I'd started getting used to the idea that Amara, dead or alive, was probably a permanent fixture in our lives and I'd probably never get over her.
And then she just strolled through the College gates that one random morning three days ago, flipping my world upside down all over again.
I pack my pipe and light it, happy for the simple comfort of an old habit, and watch Amara from the corner of my eye as she talks between sips of tea. I've missed hearing the sound of her voice. I've always liked it, even before I came into my own as a werewolf and my senses weren't even a quarter as keen as they are now. She's generally soft-spoken and has an Imperial accent that she always tries to hide, though it grows thicker whenever she's upset or passionate. It's very pleasant to listen to, especially with the sharp hearing I have nowadays.
Much of my attention is still focused on Corinna, though, who's playing with Duran and her dolls on the floor. I swear I'dve gotten rid of that stupid dog if he weren't so good at keeping her entertained.
Amara's tale is incredible, and that's putting it lightly. I listen quietly while she lays it out for Leon and me, a little hesitant and halting, which tells me that she's probably smoothing certain parts over because she doesn't want to think too much about them. I give a start when she tells us about her entrance into the Hall of Valor.
"Svenja…?" I repeat, just because I can't believe it. It makes sense that they'd be in Sovngarde, sure, but that doesn't make the news any less unnerving.
"Yes, along with your friends Bjarn, Tobias, and Ulfgar. I doubt I could have defeated Alduin without them." She's clearly uncomfortable with saying this—I can hear it in her heartbeat—but it can't really be helped. Their deaths will be on her hands no matter what she does and no matter how much we argue.
Though I'll admit… it's kind of comforting to hear about this one last deed they've gotten to put under their belts. It doesn't bring them back from the dead, but it is nice.
She pulls a folded letter from one of her pockets. "This," she says quietly, "is for Hroar. I believe she took some paper and ink from my satchel while I was… incapacitated." She turns it over in her hands once, then twice, before returning it to the same pocket. "I will… give it to him in the morning."
There's something… off… about the look on her face. I wonder if I should ask her about it later.
She continues her tale, then. Her description of the aftermath of the battle is sickening. This is where I'm sure she's skipping details, but I don't push her overmuch. She'll say more when she wants to. It bothers me a lot to hear that something, even if it's an ancient rogue god, could reach into Amara's head like that and use all her memories and fears against her. It bothers me even more that I was allegedly a big part of that ploy… or my voice and likeness were, anyway.
"Do you know why he did that to you, though?" I ask. "I mean, yeah, to make you stop fighting. But what would've happened if you'd stopped? Would his soul go back to his body like last time?"
She's quiet for a minute. "I think," she says finally, "I would have become a… vessel, of sorts. I had broken his body utterly, more so than when we fought him atop the Throat of the World. He had nothing to return to. Just before I broke free, he tried to convince me that I am, in fact, the World-Eater."
"You… aren't now, are you?" I can't stop myself from asking her. She'd absorbed him, after all. If I understand this Dragonborn thing right, then that means she's absorbed the World-Eater's power.
"I took him in. I… do not hunger for souls, if that is what you mean to ask me," she answers, her eyes fixed on her tea. "My current theory is that, had I succumbed, Alduin would have gained control of my body. My will overcame his, however. I cannot feel his consciousness anymore, as happens with every dragon I absorb. But give me some more time to reflect and I will perhaps have a more detailed answer for you."
"Fair enough." I take a long, smooth pull on my pipe. She certainly doesn't look like she's about to sprout black wings and eat all of creation, so I guess I'll be content with that for now.
"Though I am, ah… unsure if he truly held my mind for two years," she continues. "Time is near-impossible to measure in Aetherius, as there are no known regular seasons or planetary cycles. Some believe that time does not move there at all. I thought I had been gone for no more than a few weeks, so the truth was very… jarring." Her explanation is probably more for my benefit than Leon's, since I barely know the first thing about magic, even after living at the College of Winterhold all these years.
"That did occur to me some time after you had left," says Leon thoughtfully. "I would not call myself an expert, but I did wonder if there was some sort of discrepancy in time between realms. But we had no means to measure it: by the time the idea came to me, our sole bridge to Aetherius was long gone."
"Yes, now that you make mention of this bridge, I do have a few of my own questions for you." Her eyes flicker to Corinna for just a second, who's getting a little noisy. Then she rests her teacup on its saucer with a muted clink. "I would very much like to know how you have reached that conclusion… that is, if my turn to be interrogated is finished."
Leon laughs. "I am sure you do, Mara mea. Shall I begin with the obvious and work backward?" He makes a casual gesture at his robes.
"Please do, Arch-Mage."
"Well…" he begins kind of searchingly, glancing in my direction.
What, does he expect me to help him tell his ridiculous story? "Don't look to me for help. I had no idea what the hell was going on half the time, except for the fact that my daughter's life was endangered by magical poltergeists and an insane Thalmor splinter group."
"By what?" I swear I see Amara's eyes flash. I'm not sure if it's normal, even for a mage like her. I catch it because I've got good vision, but I don't think Leon does. I fix on her, wondering if I'd just imagined it, but it doesn't happen again.
Still, the sudden outburst startles Corinna, who starts whimpering. I put my pipe down and get out of my seat before anyone else can react, as usual having been the first to hear it, and I pick her up and let her crush her little face against my shoulder before sitting myself back down. I try to comfort and shush her, sure, but I've learned that this kind of thing always takes one kind of course: the whimpering gets louder until she suddenly goes completely quiet, and I hold her snug against my chest, lean back, and wait for the inevitable.
Amara, of course, looks absolutely flustered, and only gets worse when Corinna suddenly breaks her silence and really begins to wail. Obviously she feels bad and has no idea what to do. "Oh… oh now, ocelle, I did not intend…" She trails off, at a loss.
"It's alright," I soothe, though whether I'm talking to Amara or Corinna is hard to say.
I can smell stress as it comes to take hold of her and I can practically see the storm of thoughts surging behind those pretty blue eyes. She leans a little toward us, unsure if she should try talking again.
Secretly, I'm very close to finding this situation funny… in a black-humor kind of way. She's a respectable tactician and always seems to know at least something about everything, but now, finally, it looks like she's met her match. My humor doesn't come from spite, though. I don't actually want her to look so helpless as she does now.
So I throw her a bone. "The trick is distraction," I say just loud enough to be audible over Corinna's wailing.
Her brow furrows as she tries to turn my hint into something useful. "With… what?"
"Mara mea," Leon says lowly, "watch." He opens his palm and releases a very small amount of sparkling—and, according to him, harmless—magic. "Corinna," he coos, "ocelle, look! I am going to play chase with Duran."
The dog perks up at the sound of his own name while I do my best to draw Corinna's attention to her uncle. Success comes gradually, of course.
"Ocelle, look!" Leon says dotingly while he directs the magic toward the floor with two fingers, creating a kind of narrow spotlight. This catches Corinna's attention, because as soon as the light hits the floor, Duran lunges for it.
I guess I can see why my kid thinks this is so funny: the dog follows the magical light to wherever Leon points it next, never quite getting it that he'll never be able to catch his prey. In any event, her high-pitched wailing soon gives over to fits of giggling. I bounce her on my knee and look over to Amara, who's watching the whole scene with a cryptic sort of expression.
"Hey," I say, and her eyes flicker to me. "No one's expecting you to master motherhood in a few days. Try not to get all twisted. You're brooding so loudly I swear I can almost hear it."
One corner of her mouth twitches. "With your senses, that would come as no surprise."
A great peal of laughter erupts from the kid in my lap and she starts squirming, so I set her down on her feet. Then she climbs up onto Leon's knee, with his help, of course, and grabs his wrist, wanting to help direct Duran's pointless chase.
I take the opportunity to move my chair closer to Amara's and put my arm around her shoulders. She leans against me, but her eyes are still on our daughter. "Tell me what you're thinking," I say quietly.
She doesn't respond immediately. She isn't really used to getting this kind of request from me, since I'd only just recently gotten it into my head that I should try making it. For practically the whole time I've known her, I've been able to see that what she says is usually only a fraction of what she thinks. I don't necessarily want to get inside her head, as I understand it's kind of a scary place, but I do want her to be open with me.
"I am…" she sighs, "I am out of my depth. That I love her is not a question, but I feel like a giant who has been entrusted with the care of a fragile egg. It is… frighteningly easy to cause harm."
I press my face against her hair. Her scent, like her voice, is unique and very pleasant: it's a subtle perfume, almost spicy and maybe a little bit like incense, but not exactly. When I woke up this morning, I thought for a minute that I'd only dreamed of smelling her on my pillow, as had happened far too often during the years she was gone, but then…
I smirk and inhale again.
But then, I heard her in the main room. I got up to see her sitting with Corinna in front of the hearth—which surprised me, honestly, because I always hear it when Corinna gets up—and she was trying her damndest to engage the kid in polite conversation.
"I feel that way all the time," I remind her.
A delicate hand moves to caress my knee. I don't mean for it to happen, not exactly, but I squirm in my seat as soon as Amara touches me. I can almost hear her brow raising. "I see your sense of timing is unchanged."
I can feel my ears heating up. "Uh… sorry."
It's hard to blame me, though! Sounds and imagery from the previous two nights are already rushing around in my head, and by Talos, it's impossible to ignore.
Yeah, her scent was all over my pillow this morning… and all over my bed… and all over me. Once the shock of the first day and night had kind of worn off, it was all we could do not to tear each other apart. I lick my lips and try not to think about how I had to shove her face into a pillow just so she wouldn't wake the kid up. Or how—
"Lydia," she scolds me in a whisper.
I want to laugh. Is my expression that obvious? "It's better than your brooding." I kiss her temple. "Come on. Give Leon a break and pick her up. I promise she won't run away screaming."
She does as I suggest, if a little gingerly. Corinna isn't happy to have her game stopped, but is soon distracted again with a small plate of crackers and some milk. Leon re-heats his tea while I get some water for Duran, and I watch, from the corner of my eye, how Amara holds her daughter in a way that's all at once tense and secure. She really wasn't kidding when she admitted that she has no idea how to interact with children.
But she's trying and it's really… cute. Knowing everything that I do about her—well-bred noble, double-crossing cold-bitch ex-assassin-queen, Dragonborn of legend, and the range of social and emotional issues—it's honestly endearing to watch her eat crackers from our kid's grubby little hands just to indulge her.
"Our father used to play such games with you when you were that small. Do you remember?" Leon resumes the conversation after another minute.
I knock my pipe and refill it, but I don't light it. I don't like smoking while Corinna's sitting at the table. My hands just need something to fiddle with.
"Not at all." She helps Corinna take a sip of milk. I know she's troubled and I know she's inexperienced and nervous, but I swear, the sight is killing me. I've waited for years to see it, I've hoped and prayed. I must be grinning like an idiot.
"How sad," he replies, wistful. "His stories were wonderful. I would have imitated them for Corinna, had I any talent for storytelling. Really, you do not remember them at all? He used to magick little shadow figures upon the wall to illustrate the tale as he spun it. It was the only time you and Cato could be kept in the same room without fighting."
"If by fighting you mean Cato pulling my hair or Cato melting my toys. But… yes, now that you mention the shadow figures, a few vague memories come to mind." She runs an absentminded finger through Corinna's mess of curls, frowning, I think, at my inability to care for them properly. "But, more importantly, the both of you were telling me about… poltergeists and Thalmor, was it?"
Leon sighs. "There was an… affair, of sorts, regarding the Eye of Magnus and a visiting Thalmor representative named Ancano. Oh, and we also encountered the Psijic Order. It was quite the adventure."
Amara's jaw nearly drops open, but she catches herself, ever the lady. "The Psijic Order?"
"And more besides. Are you comfortable?"
I reach over and pull a piece of cracker from Amara's hair, which Corinna had thought it funny to toss. She doesn't say anything, doesn't slump or get all indignant. Ever the lady. Her voice stays soft and smooth as ever: "I suppose I am."
Author's Note, Part 2:
1. From here on out, I'm about 98% sure I'll be writing from Lydia's POV. It's a change of pace, a different feel, register, and writing style. We spent all of Brotherhood looking at my universe through Amara's eyes… now we'll look through Lydia's.
2. Ocelle is, as I'm sure we've guessed, a Latin term of endearment. It means "little eye" (understood to mean something like "apple of my eye"... ish).
3. I realize that cats are most commonly thought to be the house pet that will chase after a laser light... But I have two dogs and they both do it too. And it's hilarious.
4. I didn't write out Leon's experience with the College of Winterhold questline because… umm… we already know what happens from playing the game and… I didn't feel like it. :)
Until next time,
AE
P.S.: This is nonprofit fun, Bethesda. I'm taking your intellectual property and making it weird. All for free, and out of the nerdness of my heart.