Chapter 7 – The Calling
[Chapter soundtrack: Phildel "Union Stone", Rosi Golan "Say It Anyway", Snow Patrol "Open Your Eyes"]
"Farkas, do you know what day it is today?" Brynjarr asked as the group of Companion recruits rode their horses south, led by their instructor.
"No idea, why?"
"It's 'Narah's sixteenth birthday soon," he said. "When we left, it was just over one month away."
"And we've been gone about that long," Farkas said quietly, studying the boy. "We're about a day's ride from Whiterun, if you rode her hard and fast." He raised his eyebrow and grinned at Brynjarr. He was indicating Brynjarr's mare. The rest of the recruits snickered.
Brynjarr blushed. "Could we return? Or just me? Just to be there..."
Farkas let out a guttural chuckle, and he was all smiles. He then sighed. "Only if you promise to seduce the pants off the girl."
Brynjarr's face turned bright red as the rest of the boys nearly fell laughing off their horses.
Hungeirr paced back and forth in front of the empty Jarl's throne in Dawnstar. His grandfather, Jarl Vigmadhr, son of the late Jarl Skald, father to the late Silda, was sleeping off his ale, and was late for his meeting with the boy. Hungeirr was disowned by King Ulfric after he learned that Hungeirr was not his son, and then sent to live with his grandfather. Over the last fourteen years, Dawnstar had been receiving a considerable monthly stipend from Windhelm, but when Hungeirr and his guardian arrived in Dawnstar with the news of Silda's death and the disowning of Hungeirr, the Jarl spiraled into a depression and drank himself into oblivion.
It was not enough that Hungeirr was now due to become the Jarl of Dawnstar someday – the boy wanted to be King. He was determined to take the throne in Windhelm.
Constance Michel picked up the bundle left at the doorstep of Honorhall Orphanage. She took the crying infant inside and unwrapped the swaddling linens. Nothing accompanied the infant, no note or emblem of any kind of indicate its origins. The bald, blue-eyed, underfed boy squealed. "I guess I'll call you Gradhr, for now." Constance always nicknamed the incoming, unnamed infants with something unique to them. "Runa?" she called to her assistant.
"Yes, Constance?" Runa Fair-Shield answered.
"Warm up some milk, would you? We have a hungry one here."
Nehenarah was excited and nervous. Her sixteenth birthday was tomorrow, and she couldn't sleep. She tried reading boring books, frying various foods with small sparks of lightning from her fingertips and seeing how they tasted after, and even attempted to write poetry, which she immediately crumpled up and tossed into her small hearth. Her head fell to her desk with a thud and she whined. When a quiet knock sounded at her bedroom door, she jumped. She turned around and wondered who would be knocking on her door in the middle of the night. Images of a flirtatious, half-naked, possibly drunk Linnras floated around in her mind, though she didn't know why, and she didn't know if she welcomed the idea or not.
The person behind the door was not Linnras. "B'!," Nehenarah gasped, and then leapt into the arms of her best friend. She had missed him, and was even more excited to see someone who could easily cure her restlessness.
"Hello, 'Narah," he happily returned her eager embrace. "Happy early birthday," he said in a gentle voice.
"You made it," she said, still smiling, still holding her friend tight.
"Of course I did, although, admittedly it was just luck that I thought to ask Farkas to let us return to Whiterun for a while this morning..."
"I don't care. You're here."
Nehenarah's head rested on his chest. Brynjarr lowered his face to her hair and inhaled the scent of his friend. "Be glad I took some time to bathe before coming to see you."
Nehenarah laughed.
After a while, he asked, "Can I come in?"
Nehenarah giggled, not realizing they were still in the hallway. Luckily, most of Jorrvaskr was asleep. She took Brynjarr by the hand and led him inside, then closed the door behind her. Once inside, she embraced him again. "I'm so glad you're alright," she said.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked.
"Haven't you heard?"
Brynjarr stepped back from her and shook his head. "Heard about what?"
"Windhelm. The night of the party...," she suddenly remembered that he had left her without warning, but ignored the memory, "the court mage was murdered."
"Really!?"
"Really. That's all I know, but the guards were really mean and had to question even me and Dez!"
"That's awful." He frowned. "I'm sorry I left you, 'Narah. It was a horrible thing to do. I should have said goodbye, or stayed with you."
Nehenarah made a face that Brynjarr couldn't interpret. When she didn't say anything, Brynjarr grew nervous, but was determined not to shy away, this time. When he stepped forward and reached for her hands, Nehenarah bit her lip. Brynjarr gazed at his friend, took a deep breath, dropped one of Nehenarah's hands, then reached into the pocket of his trousers. Nehenarah wondered what he was searching for. She imagined what sort of tiny gifts would fit into pockets and was terrified when the realization that rings fit into pockets entered her thoughts.
She was relieved when Brynjarr pulled out what looked like a leather string. He proceeded to wrap the string around Nehenarah's left wrist and tie the ends securely. He turned her wrist palm-up. When Nehenarah saw what it really was, she was stunned. A single, time-worn bone bead with a faded engraving was strung on the string. She looked up at Brynjarr. He smiled. "I've been waiting to give this to you for years," he said. He raised her wrist to his mouth and kissed the bead.
"But, it's... You've had this your entire life, B'."
"I know," he said as he raised a hand to Nehenarah's cheek. "Take good care of it for me, hmm?" He smiled.
Nehenarah realized she had forgotten to breathe. She inhaled quickly. Her eyes were fixed on Brynjarr's. "I...," her mouth opened but words failed to form. "I...," she swallowed hard, "I will."
She felt as if his big blue eyes were pleading, begging for her to say more, do more, anything. A strange flutter somewhere inside of her made her more nervous than she had ever been. She went with her gut instinct. She raised both hands to Brynjarr's cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss. His lips felt soft and warm against hers. She didn't recall how they had felt before, in the tent and in Windhelm. She therefore considered this their first true kiss. Brynjarr returned her kiss only tentatively at first, but he eventually embraced her fully, and wrapped his arms around her. Nehenarah felt the same tingles she had felt with that red-haired boy Hrodlif, but stronger. She was actually nervous, this time. She was kissing her best friend, completely sober. Her best friend who had just gifted to her his family heirloom, a bracelet he had worn since birth. To Nehenarah, this meant Brynjarr was giving himself to her. Their kiss intensified, but Brynjarr abruptly stepped back and looked at her. Nehenarah thought he looked as if he was about to charge at her like an angry bull, except that he definitely did not look angry. He looked terrified.
"What's wrong?" she asked, grasping his hands.
Brynjarr breathed deeply, swallowed, and took his time to speak. "Nehenarah," he said her full name, "I... I'm in love with you." He clenched his jaw, bracing himself to be struck down by rejection.
Nehenarah's jaw dropped. Agata was right, she thought. Her stomach flipped, knotted and swirled around within her body. Nerves had frozen her brain. Instead of speaking, she pulled Brynjarr forward by his hands and kissed him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pressed Brynjarr's mouth to hers. To Nehenarah, everything about this moment felt right. She never wanted to stop kissing Brynjarr. Never, never, never. Except, she realized, she should say something. She lifted her lips from Brynjarr's mouth and pressed her forehead against his. "Me too."
Brynjarr smiled wide and proceeded to lift and spin Nehenarah. He bent down to kiss her again. When he felt himself being pulled, he opened his eyes. Nehenarah was leading him by the hand to her bed. She sat on the mattress and pulled Brynjarr to her for another kiss. When she ran her hands up Brynjarr's shirt, he pulled away. "Wait, 'Narah," he said.
Nehenarah was confused.
Brynjarr gazed at his friend. "I want to wait," he said.
"Wait? Wait for what?"
"A couple years from now. I... I'm not even sixteen yet. I don't want to risk getting you pregnant."
"Years? But your birthday is in three months."
"I know, I just... I'm not ready to be a father."
"B', there are herbs I can take."
"They don't always work. Farkas said that Lydia never wanted children and took herbs every day, and one day, poof!, pregnant. He said Vilkas was thrilled, but he was the only one."
"But I do want children, someday. It wouldn't be the end of the world if that happened." She tugged at the fabric of Brynjarr's tunic.
"No, it wouldn't. But wouldn't you rather have a few years, just to ourselves? No screaming babies?"
Nehenarah laughed. "You do have a point."
"I know I do." He smiled. "Don't worry, though." He pushed back her long wavy hair from her neck and kissed her soft flesh. "There are other things we can do."
"Other things?"
"Mhmm." Brynjarr sucked at the slope her Nehenarah's neck, making her quiver.
Brynjarr's lips left her neck and kissed her mouth as his hands began to untie her trousers. Nehenarah instinctively lifted herself so that Brynjarr could pull down the clothing. He then kissed her again and pressed his body against hers. She felt his obvious arousal, and wanted to be free of the rest of her clothing. She leaned back and lifted her shirt up and off, and threw it to the ground. Brynjarr was temporarily hypnotized by the sight of her bare breasts.
"So," she said, "what other things?" Her lower legs grazed his clothed backside.
Brynjarr broke out of his trance and grinned at Nehenarah. "Lay back, and I'll show you."
Nehenarah had no idea what time it was when she woke. Brynjarr was still fast asleep on his back, letting Nehenarah use his upper arm as a pillow. Her arm lay across his bare torso. She resettled against Brynjarr's body, molding herself to him, unintentionally waking him up. He moaned softly, then turned on his side, pulling Nehenarah closer to him with both arms. "Good morning," he said sleepily.
"It is," she said, then felt Brynjarr's chest vibrate as he chuckled.
Their delicate morning kisses quickly escalated into Nehenarah sitting on Brynjarr's lap, kissing him as if her life depended on it. She felt his desire press against her inner thigh, but did not stop kissing him. Brynjarr flipped them around, landing Nehenarah on her back. Still kissing her, he found the center of Nehenarah's pleasure with his hand, and Nehenarah reached down and found his.
Nehenarah thought she felt faint vibrations coming from the bed, but ignored it, giving in completely to her imminent release. As her pleasure mounted, she heard a loud rumbling. She instead concentrated on the feeling of Brynjarr's lips on hers. As their bodies began to shake in their mutual release, they heard the sound of nearby thunder. When Nehenarah cried out Brynjarr's name, the thundering sound increased in volume and changed to a chorus of booming voices. Drowning out their moans were three blaring sounds.
"DO... VAH... KIIR."
