Idgrod the Younger
It had been almost a week since Idgrod the Younger had been to Falion's house. She meant to go over every night to visit her friend, but Joric needed her. A spate of visions and nightmares had consumed her brother's mind, and he needed constant supervision. Her mother, the Jarl, was in a similar state, keeping her father occupied. This left their housecarl Gorm, to handle a good deal of court business. To say that this was less than ideal was an understatement. Morthal had always been among the poorest of Skyrim's towns but until recently, the citizens had been quiet and content. Now they were angry, coming by day after day, demanding answers on everything from dragons and vampires to the mysterious mage who had recently taken up residence and with whom the Jarl spent a good deal of time conferring.
Falion was not quite as mysterious as everyone believed—though Idgrod the Younger had considerably more tolerance then most of the townsfolk. But he was powerful, and his skills in restoration far exceeded those of the typical healer. He was the only mage she knew who could heal a vampire once they turned but were still in the earliest stages of the illness.
He had never cured a vampire in the later stages, but when the woman in checkered leather armor showed up with Prisca in such a state, he was so very eager to try. It bothered Idgrod that her friend seemed to be more of a project than a person, and that his attention to her was only clinical. But she could not complain, however, that she wasn't getting the best possible care under the circumstances. The treatment was tedious, requiring painstaking attention to a process that involved skin pricks, muscle and organ compression, leeches, and the part Idrod found most unsettling, a black soul gem. But Falion was attentive to all of this. Recovery was slow, and even as her skin regained a pale pinkish glow and her eyes turned from red-orange back to blue-grey, she remained weak and feverish, never stirring from her deep slumber.
All Idgrod could do was provide some comfort. She burned calming herbs, brought freshly laundered linens, and read books aloud. Then she would pray.
"Hi Idgrod!" Agni, Falion's young ward, greeted her from the table, where she sat surrounded by text books and soul gems.
"Good evening Agni," she replied. "You're up awfully late."
"I just want to finish one more lesson," she said, gesturing down to the book she was reading. "Are you here to see Falion's patient? She woke up today! Falion said she was talking."
Idgrod furrowed her brow, frustrated at all the secrecy surrounding Prisca's convalescence, which meant that Falion couldn't summon her as soon as this happened. She said good night to Agni and made her way down to the basement, where Falion maintained his infirmary. Prisca was staying in a small, one-cot room in the back, a closet that he cleared out for this, his most complicated, challenging, and private patient.
Falion was quite pleased to see her, however, and Idgrod smiled when she stepped in and saw her friend sitting upright in the bed. Her long, dark hair was mussed and her nightgown, damp and stuck to her thin frame. She was still rather pale, but she was awake. It took all the restraint she possessed not to smother her in a loving embrace.
"Prisca!" she said as she swept across the room and knelt by the bed. "Oh my goodness, look at you. You're awake. How do you feel?"
"Parched." Prisca reached up, her fingers lightly grazing her throat. She turned and smiled at Falion, who brought her a tumbler full of water.
"I have never had a patient drink as much water as this one," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Her fever broke this morning. She's still rather weak, but I think she will be well enough to leave soon."
Idgrod was pleased to hear this, and waited as Falion gathered his things, but before he left, he gestured for Idgrod to join him outside for a moment. She handed Prisca the fresh nightgown and excused herself.
"Per our agreement, I have not told her everything," he said, after closing the door. "She knows she was infected with sanguinare vampiris, but not to what stage—she doesn't seem to remember anything, about how she got here or what happened to her family."
"All right," she said. "Thank you Falion, for everything."
He nodded. "Remember what we discussed. Yours is the hard job now."
He wasn't wrong, but Idgrod was thrilled that her friend was recovered and stayed focused on that. She entered the room and found Prisca awkwardly trying to pull the nightgown over her head.
"Here, let me do this." Idgrod stepped over and smoothed Prisca's her hair and rubbed her back as she draped the clean, dry fabric over her friend's still-frail body.
"Thank you," she said. "Idgrod, what happened? How did I get here? Where is my father? Why isn't he here? The healer, he said, a vampire bit me. I don't remember anything!"
Her friend's helpless ignorance at the events that had transpired broke Idgrod's heart.
"Prisca, I am so sorry to have to tell you this. But your parents are dead. A group of vampires broke into your home and attacked. You were infected with the disease and brought here for treatment."
She spoke very deliberately, watching Prisca's reaction go from weary confusion to abject sorrow. Her lips trembled and tears filled her eyes. "What?"
"I'm so sorry," she said, again.
"And my sister? Has she come to see me?"
Idgrod let out a sigh. "Prisca, no one knows you are here. You were very sick when you arrived and to protect you, Falion thought it best to keep you a secret. These vampire clans are very dangerous."
"I don't understand," Prisca replied, wiping tears from her face.
"I know, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm the only one who knows you are here. Agni knows that Falion has had a patient down here for several weeks, but no one knows it's you." As she spoke, Prisca just looked at her, stone faced. Idgrod was concerned that she was overwhelming her with all this information, though she supposed that was unavoidable.
"I want to go home," Prisca croaked.
"Oh honey," Idgrod replied. "Your home is…well, the vampires destroyed a lot of things. It's closed up now."
Prisca continued to cry quietly, slowly shrinking her body back under the covers. Idgrod sat on the edge of the bed and straightened the blanket. "I'll sit here until you fall asleep"
she said. "There's just one more thing." Prisca nodded and so she continued. "Falion is very concerned about retaliation from vampire clans. He wishes that, as remittance for treating you, that you not tell anyone you were here."
"Okay, but…well, how will that be possible?"
We, well, we have a plan."
Two days later, Idgrod was in Highmoon hall with Joric, going over his reading lessons when her father, Alsfur, came rushing in. "Idgrod my dear! Come quickly! Your friend Prisca has arrived in town."
"Prisca?" Idgrod's mother, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, called out from the throne. "Bring that girl to Highmoon at once. Poor, sweet child must be devastated."
Alsfur and Idgrod the Younger left immediately and found Prisca being accompanied by Falion. She ran up to her friend and embraced her tightly. "Did you go to Winstead?" she whispered, as she pulled away and linked their elbows together.
Prisca nodded and went to speak, but with her quivering jaw, it was clear she would not be able to do so without crying.
"My mother insists you come to Highmoon at once," Idgrod said, pulling her friend close.
"We'll have a nice lunch, yes?"
As soon as they entered the Hall, Jarl Idgrod rose from her seat and approached, her hands held out toward the younger women. "My dear, dear child, I am so very sorry for your loss," she said. As she took Prisca's hands into her own, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "Oh my goodness," she said, letting her hands go suddenly. "People were so worried, they thought perhaps you were taken away by those horrid creatures. Is that what happened? Everything about you is shrouded in darkness. And…" the older woman paused, looking at Prisca quizzically, "…rebirth."
"Mother?" Idgrod the Younger was terrified. Though she could be trusted, she had not considered this possibility that her mother would have visions about what happened to Prisca.
But Prisca merely shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I was traveling 'round the Pale as I sometimes do, looking for ingredients. I was meant to meet with a horker hunter…for some blubber, though he was found dead on the shore a week back."
Typically, the shakiness of her voice would have betrayed Prisca's story as clearly false. But under the circumstances, she sounded merely devastated—just as anyone who recently discovered her parents were killed and her family estate nearly destroyed would. And as she spoke, Idgrod the Younger had to admit that he friend could spin quite a yarn. In particular, the horker blubber detail was impressive.
"Well come now," the Jarl said. "We'll have some food and you can rest here as long as you need."
"Thank you," she said, smiling weakly. She walked over to the table, where Joric was sitting while Idgrod continued to speak with her parents.
"Mother, with your permission, I would like to accompany Prisca to Solitude, to her sister's home. I don't think she should be traveling alone."
"Oh no Idgrod, that's not a good idea. I need you here for Joric. We'll find someone to accompany her safely."
"Mother, please I just—"
"It will be fine," Alsfur interrupted. "They can take my horse and Joric can spend the day with us."
Idgrod the Younger's heart filled with gratitude toward her father, who normally did not involve himself in their disagreements, which, though few and far between, could become impassioned.
"Thank you Da."
"Don't mention it my dear," he replied. "Just…keep each other safe."
