Chapter 8: Eye of the Storm

Dinner was a merry affair, and as Hadvar had intimated, Sigrid's pies were certainly worth waiting for. There were two chicken pies, one with mushrooms, a salmon and leek pie, and a thin, eggy, cheese and potato pie. I couldn't remember ever having tasted their equal.

As the newcomer, many innocent questions were sent my way while we ate. It all began with Dorthe, who grew bolder as dinner progressed. She was younger than I had assumed at only seven years old. Her initial reserve, and her height, had made me think she was older than she was.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked after a few mouthfuls of her serving, glancing quickly to her mother as though confirming that this was acceptable dinner conversation.

I felt I could answer her without reducing to tears. "I do," I smiled. "I have a twin sister, actually. Her name is Giselle, and she's studying to be a Mage in High Rock."

Hadvar glanced at me with interest on my left, but his cousin replied quickly and I kept my focus on her.

"A sister?" Dorthe cast her mother a wistful look. "I wish I had a sister," she added quietly.

"One of you is quite enough for me to chase after, thank you," Sigrid warned pointedly, then turned to me. "Your poor mother, having two young girls to raise at once."

I laughed a little, though my heart hammered as I fumbled for a way to prevent talking about my parents. "I believe mother always wanted to have more than two of us. I'm not sure why they never did," I shrugged, taking a drink from the tankard in front of me, to give me a moment to compose myself. I had been offered mead or ale, but had opted for water instead. To preserve our voices, bards rarely drank, and when we did it was usually only small amounts of wine. Our Bard's college excursions to the Skeever every fortnight had been sociable, but altogether moderate affairs.

"Of course, now I can only speculate," I added after I had swallowed.

My words had the desired effect; Sigrid seemed to understand what I had left unsaid. Dorthe looked expectantly to her mother, and Sigrid shook her head minutely; wordless instruction that she should not ask me why.

Alvor spoke up jovially enough, also picking up his tankard, which was brimming with a strong, home-brewed ale. "Many of us find ourselves on paths we didn't expect to tread in life."

His words were strangely poetic for a blacksmith, and I glanced at him a little incredulously, wondering what path he had expected to tread, and how far he had deviated from it to arrive where he was. "Very true," I conceded, inclining my head in appreciation.

Sigrid sighed, shifting her food around on her plate. "It's far too early in the night for philosophy, Alvor. Celeste," she gave me a bright look, "tell us about your studies. What did you major in at the Bard's college?"

I cast Alvor another quick, intrigued glance – philosophy, from a blacksmith? As with Hadvar, there was clearly more to Alvor than met the eye.

"Lute, mostly," I answered dutifully, shifting my attention to Hadvar's aunt. "With extensive vocal training from Pantea Ateia, who has been teaching for a time at the college, in between her tours of Skyrim," I added.

Sigrid hmmed with interest, though I could tell from her polite look and tone that she had no idea who I was talking about. And, why should she, I reasoned? I very much doubted that Riverwood was on Dean Ateia's regular circuit.

Dorthe looked between her mother and I again. "But...where's your lute? Don't bards...travel with their instruments?" she asked uncertainly.

"Usually, yes," I tensed again, but made an effort to smile at Dorthe. It was a weak smile that I'm not certain even the seven-year-old believed.

Hadvar picked up the rest for me, his manner comfortable. "Celeste's lute and her travelling gear were in Helgen, when we escaped the dragon."

"Oh no!" Dorthe spun to her cousin. "Did the dragon set them on fire?" she asked in dismay.

Hadvar let out a small, incredulous laugh, and I turned, casting him an apologetic look.

He quickly glanced at me, meeting my expression with a supportive half-smile, then turned back to his cousin. "Most probably, though I doubt it was aiming specifically for her things. We had rather better things to do than stand around and watch it, like escape with our lives," he widened his eyes pointedly, emphasising with some sarcasm to his tone.

Dorthe huffed and slouched back, clearly frustrated. "I wish I'd seen the dragon. Old Hilde said-"

"No you don't," her mother cut in quickly.

Alvor shook his head, speaking at the same time. "You can see dragons aplenty in your storybooks, lass. Don't wish them down on us here."

"But mama, Hilde said she saw it," she insisted. "Sven didn't believe her. He was pretty mean about it, too," she added sadly, staring down at her plate in consideration.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to be," Sigrid replied gently.

Dorthe looked up in realisation; her eyes wider. "Can I go tell her what Hadvar and Celeste-?"

"No," Alvor, Hadvar and Sigrid all chorused firmly.

I startled as their 'no' echoed around the small room and bounced between my ears. Dorthe's shoulders slumped and she looked as exasperated as before, rolling her eyes at the reprimand.

Dorthe's dramatic defeat set me off; an unexpected laugh bubbled out of me. I covered my mouth swiftly and bit my bottom lip to swallow it, but all eyes turned to check my response. Laughter rippled through me, more determined, spiting my efforts to smother it.

While both Sigrid smiled and Alvor chuckled, Dorthe crossed her brows in confusion. I glanced away from her perplexed expression and found Hadvar trying to stop himself from laughing, too. His sparkling eyes met mine and his mouth curled up as he silently shook from suppressed mirth.

He only made matters worse. I could contain myself no longer, and turned my eyes down to my plate as I grinned at my half-eaten meal, eyes brimming with tears of restrained laughter.

"What?" Dorthe's bemused, somewhat suspicious tone cut through our chortles, but did little to thwart them. "What's so funny?"

"Peace, lass," Sigrid calmed herself, more cheery than earlier as she fondly sighed at her daughter. "Sometimes laughter is like a cold, and simply catches."

Alvor raised his tankard to her then as his chuckle ebbed. "And now who's the philosopher, wife?"

"Hush, husband," Sigrid murmured, batting Alvor on the shoulder playfully. "It is time to eat."

As the uncontrollable urge to laugh left me, a warm comfort took its place and I found myself feeling more contented than I had for...weeks. I smiled across the table at the little family, before I glanced to the man who had made feeling it possible.

He was grinning, about to take a drink from his tankard of mead.

This would not last forever - whatever this was. The moment was all that mattered - it was all the time we might have - and gratitude washed over me. "Thank you," I murmured warmly.

He lowered his tankard and the happiness was marred by a slight furrow to his brow. "For what?"

Was he joking? "For everything?" I tried not to laugh again. "Saving me, bringing me into your home, clothing me," I motioned to what I wore.

"Ah," Hadvar may have pinked a little, but it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the hearth. He waved dismissively, as though his deeds had been nothing.

"You know, I did wonder about that," Sigrid said shrewdly, drawing my attention back to the other side of the table. "I thought I recognised that tunic, though it's been a few years since I saw it."

Flushing a little, I smiled appreciatively. "I'm grateful for it, truly. As Hadvar told you, everything I brought with me from Solitude was lost in Helgen."

Sigrid tilted her head thoughtfully as her eyes glanced over me critically. "I have a few dresses that might fit you, though they might be too long. You are such a little thing, aren't you?"

A flush crept up my cheeks, but before I could reply she continued.

"Perhaps we can arrange something with Lucan tomorrow?" she mused, then explained directly. "He's the shop keeper across the way. Carries a bit of everything, or can order something from Whiterun to be brought down on his next supply cart."

I bowed my head in thanks. "I will make enquiries to the shopkeeper tomorrow, then. Perhaps I can arrange a line of credit with him, so I might access my account, which would make everything so much simpler," I felt the need to touch on the fact that I was at that moment, essentially, broke.

"We'll figure something out," Sigrid replied with easy confidence; a tone that made me feel warm and accepted, all over again.

I found myself nodding. How could I ever repay this kindness they were showing me? "Thank you," I murmured quietly.

Dinner progressed and the conversation ambled over how life had been progressing for Hadvar's family. The soldier wanted to know how Sigrid's garden was faring; how Dorthe's studies were going; how Alvor's shop was doing.

I ate and listened with interest, trying to remember when my family had last sat down to dinner together and simply talked about our lives. Not because we hadn't wanted to, I told myself stubbornly, but we had always been so busy...

I shoved my thoughts aside, realising that if I kept on this path, they would consume the bright cheerfulness and leave me with the black grief again. It would do me no favours to compare Hadvar's family to my own, particularly when there was no way to alter what was in the past.

–

When Sigrid took Dorthe to prepare for bed, Alvor's manner changed from light-hearted to concerned, almost at once.

"If your dragon decides to come down from the mountains, Riverwood is done for," he muttered.

Hadvar sat back, appealing to the ceiling as he sighed. "It's not...my dragon, uncle."

"Even so, lad-"

"I know," Hadvar cut him off and sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and his forehead in his palms. "Damned Stormcloaks," he added through his teeth.

I glanced between the two men uncertainly and hazarded a reply. "But, surely if we fortify the village, and prepare with water barrels and ready archers – and petition the Jarl to send assistance – won't we at least...?"

Hadvar lifted his head, fixing me with a look that silenced me. Remember Helgen, it simply said.

Alvor spoke up kindly. "Even if the Jarl is able to spare legions of his finest archers, which I doubt he will," the smith collected his tankard and frowned into it. "Our homes are wood, and our roofs are thatch. We are kindling for a fire-breathing dragon."

Hadvar made a frustrated sound, and I tore my eyes from his uncle, startled by the ferocity behind it. His eyes flashed; lightning in the storminess.

"There has to be a way," he insisted. Beyond his vexation, I could almost see his mind ticking over the problem. "Come on, Alvor. Put your ale down, clear your head, and think, for a moment," he ordered his uncle. "We're not dead yet."

Hadvar's words lit something deep within me that might have been hope; demanding that I stand and fight and be brave, for once in my life. I shuddered at the force behind its blaze as my heartbeat hammered in my ears.

It was strange to see the young ordering the old, and even stranger to see Alvor's shoulders slump. He nodded and replaced his ale in the middle of the table.

"You're right, lad. I'm just tired," his eyes swivelled to me. "Sorry, Celeste. A miserable old man isn't much the hosting type."

I blinked and straightened my shoulders, maintaining the blacksmith's gaze as the urgent, bright need to help them overcame me. "You have every right to be worried and no reason to apologise," I managed openly.

"Hadvar is right," I glanced to my left, meeting him with resolve. "If your nephew hadn't acted when hope seemed lost, I would be dead," I reminded them, maintaining Hadvar's gaze all the while. "So now we must act. Tell me what I can do to help?" I asked him.

The sight of two grown men with their emotions exposed casting about for solutions had a strange effect on me. My chest swelled, my heart sang a song I had never heard, and my eyes felt bright as I acknowledged that I would do whatever I had to, to protect these people.

Hadvar opened his mouth but hesitated, blinking in confusion as he closed it.

I turned back to Alvor as a way crossed my mind. "My father was a Thane of Haafingar to the High King, and was well known to Jarl Balgruuf," I told the smith unfalteringly. Hadvar tensed to my left and I ignored the warning touch to my elbow. I was not going to sit here and hide when I could help.

"I could petition the Jarl on Riverwood's behalf, ask him to send soldiers," I offered. "I might be able to speed up the process," I added reasonably. "I can make for Whiterun first thing in the morning."

Alvor's golden eyes watched me closely, searching and weighing me anew. Hadvar's hand fell from my elbow and I bore his uncle's assessment silently, waiting.

As though he could hold back no longer, Hadvar burst out hurriedly. "It would not be wise to be seen in Whiterun, so soon after Helgen."

"It's all right," I turned in my seat toward him and smiled, relieved that I had come up with a way to truly be of use to them. "The Jarl is for the Empire. Father was with him in Whiterun for the weeks before the High King's murder. He will see me, even if it is at first only a gesture of respect."

Hadvar's brows were crossed, and his tone, determined. "And if you are considered to be a spy for the Stormcloaks in the eyes of the Empire? You will be arrested on sight by the guard and taken to Solitude to answer for it. What will you do then?"

Alvor shifted in the corner of my eye, but my gaze was locked on Hadvar. A challenge rose within me, fuelled by the bright hope demanding that I stand and face events head-on. Why was he trying to hold me back? Didn't he want me to help his family?

I took a steadying breath, then managed a level tone as I replied stoically; "I will tell them the truth."

Hadvar shook his head in exasperation. "I brought you here to keep you safe, not so you could stumble straight back out into the wilds of Skyrim or worse," he waved his hand toward the door in emphasis, "the capital of the Hold, where you'll be recognised and - Shor knows what will happen to you then!"

I flushed with indignation, and I could almost feel a fire building within him too, crackling between us. Why was he was arguing with me? As grateful as I was for his help, it did not make me his responsibility, or his property, to be tucked away or caged.

Feeling suddenly at a loss with him, and both confused and scared by a furious voice within me ordering me to flee, I stood hastily. I bowed in cede to Hadvar, and then Alvor. If I didn't put an end to this, I would do or say something I might regret, and they did not deserve that.

"I am sorry for making such a scene," I told the blacksmith, shaking with restraint, my control tethered but close to snapping. "I will leave for Whiterun in the morning, and petition the Jarl to send assistance to protect your village. It is the least I can do," I flashed Hadvar a glare, warning, daring him to interrupt me again.

His wounded look struck me dumb, filling me with instant regret. The soldier sat back, exhaling loudly and running his hand through his hair. His stormy eyes were full of disbelief as they flickered over me, but he said nothing.

"I think both of you have had a very long, stressful day and need to stop talking," Sigrid's voice cut through the charged air from the landing. I turned to her, flushing as my childish behaviour caught up with me.

Her arms were crossed and her worried eyes were on Hadvar; a look that made me want to cry. "Get some rest," she said it kindly; almost a plea. "The fate of the village can wait until morning," her eyebrows lifted as her mouth curled into an ironic smile.

The angry snarl that had snaked within me begrudgingly withdrew. We were acting as though the future of the world rested on our shoulders, weren't we? It was a little silly. Sigrid was right; it had been a stressful day – week – month.

"Yes, that might be best," I found my voice, nodding graciously to Hadvar's aunt as I moved toward the staircase, intent on retrieving my pack from Hadvar's room. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, and for sharing your delicious dinner," I added, lowering my voice as I neared her. "It might be best if I retrieve my belongings and secure a room in the inn, to leave your family in peace."

Sigrid smiled knowingly at me. "You can do what you like, but I've already made up a bed for you, if you want to save yourself the gold."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," I faltered, flushing. "I've imposed on your kindness too much already."

I didn't miss the stern glance Sigrid flicked her nephew, but then her eyes were back on me; her welcoming smile in place as she reached out, touching my arm lightly. "It's no imposition, dear. Just a cot in the shop downstairs. It's yours if you want it. If not, that's fine as well."

"Don't go, Celeste," Hadvar's voice cut across the room with a sigh. "Save your money," he added.

I stilled at the apology in his words, again feeling wretched. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes; worried that I would find that wounded disappointment again, and that it would cut me anew.

You're using them, my eyes thudded closed. And storming out is ungrateful. Fix things with Hadvar.

"All right," I accepted with all the grace I could muster, lifting my eyes to Sigrid and making a concerted effort to keep my voice steady. "On the condition that you accept my offer to assist you by leaving for Whiterun at dawn to petition the Jarl."

"No need for bargains amongst friends," Sigrid's hand tightened in an encouraging way on my forearm. "Do what you feel is right, after you've slept on it."

There was much she was leaving unsaid. I met her pale, green eyes with a small nod of assent. "I will."

A/n: Thanks so much for the encouragement and kind words, Cake-san. I have to admit I really enjoy character building too...if it wasn't obvious.