A/N: Job interviews suck no matter the day and age.

Haunted Cradle

I am Angharad. My family rented a small plot of land where we grew vegetables that we sold or traded with others. We had a goat and some chickens. Mother hunted for meat and skins for leather, feathers for pillows and blankets, arrows and pens. Father taught me foraging and fishing and how to craft simple potions. He also taught me how to make ward posts to keep bone walkers from treading across our land and killing our chickens or us. It was too bad such magic posts couldn't keep out foxes and wolves and bears. Our dog and regular fence fixing and stink potions had to do for that.

That was life in Falkreath. As long as we paid our rent and our taxes, we were ignored.

His name was Erik. He was with the Stormcloak rebels camped near Hag's Rock. They came to our farm to buy food and small healing potions. Refusing to sell to them would be stupid. The coin was good, and it was better than waking and finding things missing.

My parents didn't like the Stormcloak ideas. Mother was half Imperial, and father's grandfather is Bosmer. Grandfather Basil visits us every three years or so. He's still a scout with the Legion and stationed at Green Lake near Chorrol, and he has his own problems with Thalmor and prejudices. His Bosmer kin all live in Dominion lands. Some are conscripts in the Dominion forces. With the border locked down, he couldn't visit this year. It's too bad. I miss him and the jars of potent jagga he would bring.

Erik was from a fishing village in Eastmarch called Arendel. He and his family didn't like all the dark elves invading their homeland. They were devils, and their homeland was hell by ancient tales. The Atmorans, the old Nords, had almost as long a history of fighting the dark elves as they did the Falmer. Distance had softened the memories of the jarls and peoples outside of Eastmarch, so they pressured Eastmarch to give the devils shelter after their devil gods fell and the Heart of Shor broke free of his prison to finally bring justice and judgment on them. None of them offered to transport the refugees to their holds. It was all on Eastmarch to take in the refugees.

Oh, I'm sorry. Please don't think that is what I believe. It's what my Erik had been taught by his fellow stormcloaks. If he truly believed that, I could not have loved him. The hate taught to him was something he learned from his grandparents and village elders. It's nothing more than the animal reaction to things that were different. Like dogs and wolves generally dislike cats of any size. Dark elves didn't look like them, smell like them, speak or move like them. And the dark elves were naturally sullen and angry that they had been forced by disaster from their homeland. Nothing could grow on Vvardenfell, and mainland Morrowind couldn't take the sheer amount of refugees from the island, not when their own was suffering the effects of the disaster. And since dark elves are very territorial, the herd or house identity instinct so very strong, they drove the island refugees out, especially since most were ashlanders.

The refugees have such bad things said about them. I can only think that they cover their fears and uncertainties with anger and hostility. If I were suddenly dropped into Morrowind, I wouldn't know either what was safe to eat or drink or hunt and would have to rely on the limited tolerance and generosity of the natives.

Forgive me. I'm being an idiot telling you my thoughts on your own history. Idle speculation while I'm rolling out dough or darning socks.

But back to my Erik. He started leaving me gifts of fresh venison, or he would suddenly appear to keep watch when I was gathering mushrooms and herbs and checking traps in the forest. I tried to discourage him first by letting him know that my mother was half-Imperial, and both sets of my grandparents were former legionnaires, and we had relatives still in the Legion. He went away for two weeks.

He came back saying that as long as I was not thinking of joining the Legion, he could still care for me. Then I told him I loved and would hear nothing against my great-grandfather, a full-blood Bosmer, who was still in the Legion. He'd served under General Decianus and was decorated for his service.

An elf in the Legion was no different than an elf of the Dominion as far as the Stormcloaks saw it.

I'd been foolish. All he had to do was tell all this to his compatriots and they'd come to kill us for being traitors to Skyrim. My parents were angry and fearful when I told them what I had done. Mother took me to Riverwood. Father stayed behind because our goat was pregnant, our crops would need picking, and he had potion orders he was committed to filling with specialty plants he grew in the greenhouse. Once mother was certain I would stay with friends, she went back to be with father.

A half-year later, mother and Erik came to Riverwood. Erik had been negotiating with my parents. Talking, learning, expanding his understanding of the world outside of Skyrim. Until he'd joined the Stormcloaks, he'd never been outside his village. His training and indoctrination had been in Windhelm, and the sudden overwhelming number of dark elves had set further fuel to his fears of elves and other non-Nords. Mother called it pit-dog training. He hadn't been allowed or encouraged to talk with the dark elves. With his fears about them still high, he'd been put out into the field and a unit. And so here he was.

His efforts, despite the danger it put him in with his compatriots, convinced my parents that he must genuinely love me.

We were handfasted soon after, and he got a few days leave to take me to Ivarstead. We had our fun, we fished, we explored the lower paths to High Hrothgar.

When we came back, my parents were gone. The animals were slaughtered. Vampires had come. They came from that cave that everyone knew was haunted. They hit my parent's farm and three neighboring farms. The jarl sent no help to survivors, nor any patrol to the cave, not even any bounty for an adventurer. I was forced to sell most of what I could salvage to make yearly taxes and the rent for that month. I also had to pay an expensive, fast courier to let the landowner know what happened. I did not want the rent to be charged because he didn't know, and I couldn't depend on the jarl to promptly notify the landowner. They still tried to demand rent from me because the jarl was slow to confirm anything. The landowner soon rented the farm to new tenants.

My problems there are not the problem of my employers, but if you do ask about me around Falkreath, they'll say I'm a thief who failed to pay her debts. There's no bounty, but it is not a good reputation. I had to stay in the Stormcloak camp for a while because of this.

The cave of vampires was ultimately cleared out by a Dunmer adventurer. We didn't know then who she was. Patrols reported seeing an insect-armored Dunmer and her dog enter the cave. It was the same Dunmer adventurer who, two weeks earlier, had slaughtered a nearby hagraven and her coven. We found out later it was Lady Faro. We didn't know then of her connection to Windhelm, but we did know her as the vampire-killing thane of Hjaalmarch, the Reach, and Haafingar. Erik was one of those who dared venture into the cave when she'd left. It was a hidden shrine to Clavicus Vile. And he recognized my mother's bow on one of the …

Give me a moment, please.

There wasn't much they could salvage. A week later, a Legion patrol went in and burned out the coffins, the magic-making equipment, and skeletal or mummified bodies of their victims.

When the war was over, Erik got a posting back to his village. We bought a snug home, and I became pregnant. Arendel was growing. Small trade ships from Winterhold were now making regular stops in Arendel. Then the pirates came. They were driven off, but my Erik was one of the casualties of that effort.

My pregnancy was not going well. I couldn't keep any food down and fainted if I exerted myself too much. What coin we had saved was soon gone because I couldn't work, and I needed to buy ingredients for potions. Our friends and his guard compatriots donated as much as they could and volunteered hours of care.

My potion-making equipment was bare-bones, and good ingredients were hard to come by and expensive. Still, I managed to build up a stock of healing potions that I knew I'd desperately need. I nearly died bringing Ferdida and Setanta into the world. My potions weren't the best quality, but they worked. They kept me alive and healed me fast enough before I'd bled out past recovery.

I will be honest. I still have to use potions. I haven't recovered my appetite and get too tired to eat. I'm barely eating enough to keep up with my sons. I use mild stamina potions for days when I'm too tired to even get up to take a piss.

I am not an alchemist, nor was my father. Thanks to his Bosmer grandfather, he and his father were encouraged to think of plants beyond just eating them. They were all self-taught, writing down recipes in a family book. I found the book under my parents' bed. Thieves who ransacked the farm after the vampires didn't think it was worth stealing. I only know what's in the book.

I am currently living with Erik's sister, Birgit, and her husband, Vetle. Vetle is one of the king's bodyguards and has earned the title of stormblade.

When they secured a place with three rooms in the tenements being created out of the old warehouses in the Gray Quarter, they invited me to live with them. I would have a better chance to support myself with potion-making with better access to alchemy supplies. I accepted. I had strained the generosity of my friends in Arendel long enough. It was two months more before I was healthy enough to travel, and Birgit came to fetch me.

Again, the kindness of Erik's compatriots came through, and they permitted us to go on a supply wagon to Windhelm. They had permission to take their time because of me. It was five days of slow travel. I couldn't take a faster pace, and we had to stop often.

During the travel, Birgit was able to tell me fuller, more detailed stories of the vague gossip we heard in Arendel. The changes in the Gray Quarter, the rise of the Dunmer merchant Sadri, who'd run his pawnshop in the Gray Quarter over a hundred years, how he was now nobility. It was a sudden rise, all thanks to his marriage to a wandering adventurer. It was that vampire-killing thane he'd married. But when he married her, she wasn't anyone's thane then.

But, of course, you know much more about Lord Sadri's story. Since I'm just repeating gossip, I must sound quite ignorant.

I found Windhelm frightening. The coronation, you know. Too many people in one place, you couldn't walk anywhere without jostling against people. And so many foreigners. And thieves. I didn't lose anything, but my leather knapsack had new blade scars from attempts I never realized were happening. All the inns and anyone who had room to rent were making money renting at outrageous prices to visitors here for the coronation. Birgit and Vetle were only able to secure a good place because Vetle was a Stormblade under the direct command of General Galmar.

Vetle had been initially happy that he and his unit weren't the ones assigned to boring fancy-show guard duty for Sadri. No one had expected any real enemies. Well, there were fears there would be attempts at Ulfric. There weren't any. Instead, it was Lord Sadri who was taken, and it caused an incident with Morrowind.

I don't know much more than that. Vetle doesn't like to discuss it so I think there's higher-level things that no one outside the palace should know about.

I'm sorry. Back to me.

I settled into the room Birgit and Vetle generously gave me and my sons. I set up my alchemy kit, and they lent me money to buy good alchemy ingredients. I made little potions for general health and mild stimulants. All the first batches were for my friends in Arendel to thank them for their help. Then I made more which I sold to the White Phial. Master Quintus was impressed with my family's recipe book. He said if I had any interest in the future, and when I could leave my boys for longer periods, he'd take me on as his assistant.

Vetle told me about this position because he knew I was fretting that my potion-making wasn't making enough. It was because I couldn't spend the time crafting. My boys are an energetic pair. And the fact that I am an over-producing milk cow was a problem because I needed to constantly empty myself into a jug. My boys couldn't keep up with me. I thought of bottling my excess milk, but hiring some spellcaster to do the cantrips to keep the milk fresh would probably be more than I could make selling them. I didn't know if a Nord would be acceptable for a Dunmer baby, but nothing ventured … Right?

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"How did it go?" asked Birgit. She helped change the boys nappies and soon enough I was feeding my boys again. Vetle had escorted me to the interview at Sadri's home, then left for his shift at the palace. Birgit came later to fetch me back, but I was still interviewing. She was told by the guards that they would escort me home.

"Terrifying and exhausting," I answered. "I was questioned by two people. The first one was with a Nord noble. Or, I think it was a noble. He wore the robes of a mage, but also over it was a silver chain mail hauberk, and over that, a heavy cloak trimmed in white fox fur. It was odd, but all he wanted to know from me were the names of my parents and my husband, where they came from, and how they died. If he wasn't a noble, he was most certainly a mage. Frost mage? It was so cold around him, I had goosebumps. And I felt so tired when he left. The housekeeper, Remarasi, came to interview me an hour later. I was surprised to be seen so soon. I was the last to arrive. There were eight others before me, so I thought I'd be waiting longer.

"She had more demanding questions than the noble. And the physical inspection — It was silly of me not to expect it. Of course, they would want to make sure the cow they were thinking of buying was healthy and disease-free. She even took a bottle of my milk for testing. I had no notion that one could test milk for signs of drugs and disease. Well, no, I knew milk could show those signs; I just don't know how to do it." I sighed. I was tired but oddly didn't feel like sleeping. I kept going over my story, wondering if I had been too truthful. Honestly, I'd never been more frightened. I can count three times I almost passed out from the way my heart pounded and my vision blackened.

No, the day after I'd told Erik my great-grandfather was an elf, that was just as frightening. The words I had spoken yesterday would affect my future, the future of my sons. Could I have said anything more? Should I have said anything different? Was I talking too much? Did I sound like an utter fool blathering about animal instincts and herd identities?

Until I'd moved the Windhelm, the darkest person I'd ever seen was the Falkreath alchemist Zaria, a Redguard with smooth skin the warm color of good wheat bread. The Dunmer — their blood, I hear, is red as any living creature, yet the undertones of their gray skin was not a healthy red but blue-green like dead flesh going gangrenous. It made my skin crawl. And the red eyes … The ancient Nords called them devils because, I guess, they looked like something out of Oblivion. I've never seen a dremora, so I don't really know.

I've never really looked, but since moving to Windhelm, but I cannot recall seeing any Dunmer children running around the streets. If I ever saw the babe, could I truly care for it if I squirmed at the color of its flesh?

Why did I feel the need to seek this job? I know of at least two Nord families also looking for wetnurses. Neither paid well, but both were in Windhelm and would house me and my sons. Birgit and Vetle were not hinting that I leave even though they were planning to take in both Vetle's widowed aunt and mother.

The boys had fallen asleep while feeding. Birgit took them and settled them in the cradle. She also went and fetched me some tea and small bun of fresh bread sweetened with honey.

"Did you meet with Lord Sadri or his wife?" Birgit asked.

"No. Remarasi had her son Toben come and sit with me while she went with the chemist doing the milk testing. I learned Remarasi had been the wetnurse for the Lady's mother, General Faro. Toben was Lady Helsette's milk-sib, just as his older sister was milk-sib to the Lady's older brother. He told me the Felixes treat their house servants well. And if I asked any of Sadri's current servants about him, they'll just bore you to tears singing his praises.

"Birgit, Vetle sounds like he respects Lord Sadri. Do you think he'll tell me more? Not about the recent troubles, of course, but … ?"

"Vetle does not like to talk about his job, but I'll see what I can do."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

I sat at the table separating twigs from the leaves and berries father had gathered. Father was outside in the farthest edge of the field, clearing thorn bushes and mending the fence. Mother in the forest checking snares. There was a knock on the door. It was the Nord nobleman, and with him was an Imperial in a Legion officer's armor.

"May we enter?" asked the legionnaire.

"Oh, um, yes, please."

The Nord mage stepped in first, and the world went white.

I was in an unfamiliar room. A babe giggled. It came from the basket suspended by leather thongs from a wood frame. A blanket was over the basket. Around the crib were many dark elves; all were well-dressed, merchant-types. I pushed past them and reached for the blanket over the basket. I pulled it back. Nothing there but a fire. I moved to smother the fire but stopped as it giggled.

I pulled loose the ties over my breasts. "Now, sweetheart, how do you expect me to feed you like that?" I asked it.

I heard the dark elves talking, just out of hearing. They didn't seem to be talking common, so I wouldn't have understood them anyway if they'd been louder.

The flames were gone. Two hot embers in a round, chubby-faced, infant-shaped ash baby mummy-wrapped in white linen with only its face exposed. I touched its cheek, and it crumbled to dust. Not even bones were left. Like vampire dust.

"No! Nonono! Come back! Come back! You have to eat," I cried, reaching to scoop up …

… Gaia had outdrank Setanta, and then a faceless, shadowy assistant took Setanta and replaced him with Ferdida. She, on the other breast, was still going. Good. I wouldn't feel lop-sided because both breasts would be emptied.

"Is Nord milk any good?" asked an elf.

"Cold. So cold. Probably give the girl cramps," complained another.

"Nord blood burns hot. That's how we survive the snows," commented the noble mage.

"Snow on the roof, fires in the oven," said the legionnaire, cracking a sly grin.

"This house is unnatural," said a female elf. "But there's precedent. The Dragon has fed a long time on Nord blood. She'll likely do. Better than the other two embarrassing candidates. Neither of them even offered to feed the babe. To think Dunmer blood flows so thin in them."

"That right, girl?" demanded one particularly black-skinned, sharp-faced elf. "Have you got the strength to feed the flames of Morrowind?"

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"This is the last of lady sister's milk," said Toben, handing me the glass bottle. I broke the magic seal and fitted the leather nipple onto it. Little Gaia was no longer hesitating to feed off me. At first, she didn't like the taste of my milk. She would scrunch up her face and cry when she looked up and saw me. She tongue-pushed my nipple out of her mouth when I could get it open. If her hands hadn't been tucked in her swaddle, I believe she would have tried to hit me. At my suggestion, Lady Helsette agreed to a potion to increase milk production, then milking herself into little bottles that were magically sealed afterward. Swaddling the babe in her mother's unwashed shirts and using mother's milk to take the edge off her hunger and ease into taking my milk.

Toben took a seat near my sons and gently bounced their hammock cradles. They cooed and giggled back at him.

"Mother's found two possible assistants for you. Dunmer girls."

"House?" I asked. I had started learning about Morrowind Houses, the philosophies and characteristics each encouraged in their members.

"Ashlanders. Zainab descent. Now that the master is openly seeking the ashlanders shipped out around the same time he was, more are coming forward. Zainab, Erbenimsum, Urshilaku, Ahemmusa —"

"Oh, please," I interrupted, "I'm still learning about the Great Houses, and I'm not ready for subhouses. Although, ashlanders — would they be unaffiliated houses?"

Torben laughed. "Tribes. Tribals before the Houses."

It was a month now. The nursery room was generously large for me and two cradles. My sons shared one, and Gaia had her own. It was fireproof and had anti-fire spells carved on its frame. Remarasi said Gaia was freakishly overpowered. I suppose so. The master, I'd learned, was some sort of witch from his mother's side, while the lady was a powerful spellsword and a Tongue like her cousin, the soon-to-be Emperor. And the lady's older brother was an archimage-class wizard. Gaia had strong magic in her blood. "Dragon-class," was the odd whisper through my mind.

An invisible hand ruffled Gaia's hair. A brief wisp of ghostly chill. I'd come to accept and be comfortable with the ghosts that wandered throughout this house. I am told there are more ghosts than usual, something to do with Lord Sadri's recent abduction. Apparently, he'd been at an impromptu meeting with a group of Dunmer merchants and traders, and they'd all been killed when he was taken. Instead of going their ways after death, they'd been tied to him, so they were all here. They wandered into my dreams sometimes. But mostly, I would see them when I was awake. Sad, silent gray shadows. They haunt Gaia's cradle because, to them, she is a bonfire of heat and life on an endless, unrelentingly cold night. Master is slowly moving them along. I am told it's not a task that is either fast or easy because of the original spells that chained them to this plane. Toben likened it to building a ship in a bottle or brewing a potion with only the kit burner for light — doable if you can commit to the planning, concentration, and precision the task needs.

I mentioned my dreams to Toben. We had been talking about ghosts. Shortly after that, I was introduced to the elderly Nord woman who was the master's secretary. She told me the noble mage I'd seen was her ancestor, the royal battlemage of Windhelm, who died 800 years ago. He was chief of the ghosts protecting this house. The Legion officer was the lady's father. He had already been sick and dying when he had dared to come to Windhelm to see his daughter, crossing battle lines because the Stormcloaks were still fighting the Empire. He'd died and was cremated at Refugees' Rest, in Morrowind territory. A grand funeral even the jarl attended.

The ghosts approved of me, securing this job for me over the other candidates despite my other problems. As for those, I was getting assistants because I still tire easily. Miss Dana, or Ser Dana as the other servants called her, was clearing up the issues in Falkreath. She also used Legion contacts to notify my great-grandfather at Green Lake of events. I hope he can visit this year and bring a jar of jagga. A glass of that should make a good spirit offering to the ghosts.

Related story(s): #21 Twisting the Blade; #29 Doomsday; #36 Frostburn; #86-88 Land of Confusion