The Tale of Lund and Lokir.
Chapter 4: A Cold Night
Lund leant against the cold pile of stones in the dark. He remembered the day he came to Rorikstead, he remembered the day his brother left and he remembered the day he first laid eyes on Ariette. It had been a good few years after his arrival in the town and he and Erik had just arrived back from Whiterun, after delivering crops to the merchants in town. They were tired and sweaty from the journey and dusk was falling on a typically cool Skyrim day.
They made straight for the Inn, the thought of a well-earned mead on their mind. Entering they saw it was crowded with all the townsfolk of Rorikstead. Erik barrelled on through to the back of the bar but Lund just stopped and stared. He had just seen the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. As he stood transfixed she came up to him and he failed to notice she was on Lemkil's arm.
"Who's this?" she said in a sweet voice, smiling.
"Oh that's just a farm lad. Lind, Lud. Hey what's your name son?" Lemkil asked, prodding Lund.
Lund couldn't speak as he was spellbound by the red-headed woman with her eyes greener than a dartwing.
"Hermph." said Lemkil, "He's obviously a little skeever-brained, Arriette. Come over here and meet Rorik." But as the man dragged her away, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Lund," he whispered, "it's Lund."
He took another sip of the bitter mead and it traced a numb trail down his throat. That had been the beginning of the end, he thought, that moment. Or maybe it had been right at the beginning when he had come over the hill with Lokir and saw Rorikstead spread out before him, so innocently calling him home. Maybe that was the moment. He thought he'd found a good life, a haven away from the deprivation of his childhood. Either way, he'd been doomed and may as well have thrown himself in Lake Honrich before they'd left Riften.
Lund slid down the cairn, grazing his back, but he ignored the sting of pain and sat on the ground. He pulled the little basket into his lap. It was filled with her bread, light as a hawk's feather and the crust always crisp and golden. He kept the basket full to remind him and this was the last of it. The Skeevers came and ate it, but he had kept it full. She'd been a master baker. That was the first time she came to his little hut, trailing around the little village selling bread and then up the hill to him. That was not the last time she came up the hill.
Lund was beginning to feel drowsy and the ground beneath him moved unnaturally. He put the basket back beside the cairn and staggered to his feet. Stumbling towards his porch, he knew the poison was beginning to take effect. He wanted to lay down in his own bed, in his own house, one more time. On The small bed he'd made himself, where he could remember how close they lay together, remember the touch of her hand and the warmth of her breath and pretend she was there again. Instead of where her body now lay, cold and alone, dead in the ground. As the poison wracked his body and he struggled to breathe he smiled at knowing he would see her again soon, his one true love, his only love, Ariette.