Chapter 55: Playing Catch-up
"The house of Windstad bequeathed this land to the Hold of Hjaalmarch three generations past, when their matriarch passed away," Jarl Ravencrone announced. "Our families did not get along."
Her eagle-eyes weighed me for response and I turned Misty to face her, wearing a practised smile. "It's lovely."
"Your bardic wiles won't work on me, Celeste," the Jarl waved her hand dismissively; her large, black mount shuffled and snorted, punctuating her distaste in the snow-sodden patch. "The ground is frozen for most of the year and marsh the rest. If you build, the foundations will need to be flexible. The view is worth painting, I am told," she waved her hand toward the outcropping in the distance; Solitude, high and proud on its bluff. "This estate is all of adequate consequence I have to offer," she flickered the hide-clad Nord beyond me a look. "That and a housecarl. You may sell both, if you wish," she drawled, "and I will not be offended."
"I live to serve the Dragonborn," Valdimar spoke up hastily in his low, heavily-accented tones.
My back was to him so I allowed myself a slow-blink to mask my wince as my stomach clenched. His blind reverence made me distinctly uncomfortable. "Thank you Valdimar," I voiced. "But I must insist that you live to serve yourself first," I turned to the enormous man and pointedly avoided staring at the overgrown moustache hiding the top of his mouth.
"As you wish, my Thane," he dipped his head.
"Okay," I covered brightly, swiftly, eyes roaming the plot; drifting back to the Sea of Ghosts and Solitude in the distance. I did not need this land, much less a house built, for I could never see myself living here. Whiterun was my home. And Lydia was my housecarl; no, my family.
Don't overlook both as you first did Morthal, I urged. The village surprised you when you gave it a chance. Perhaps this land and Valdimar will, also.
Pushing my dubiety aside, I dismounted Misty; crouched in the crusty, brownish snow and tried to see its potential.
If nothing else, I mused, construction will bring much-needed funds to the people of Hjaalmarch during the war.
"This patch of Skyrim can be as lovely as any other," I rose and spoke because I had let silence reign for too long. "Are there contractors situated nearby that you might recommend to undertake a challenge?"
"As a matter of fact," the Jarl motioned toward Valdimar with a lazy hand.
Focus switching between the pair, I lifted my brows to my new housecarl. "You know something of house building?"
"Yes, my Lady. My family are master builders – I can arrange for-"
"Excellent," the Jarl cut him off with another wave of her hand. "Make sure you get on to that. Right," she gripped her reigns. "Shall we?"
Had she not been a Jarl I might have scowled at her; she was being unnecessarily contemptuous, but not to anyone in particular. Nodding, I fell into formation behind the small contingent of silent Morthal guards the Jarl had brought with her.
Valdimar dutifully drew his horse up beside mine; silent and watchful.
I hadn't known the man for more than two hours, but I already understood he wouldn't speak until I gave him leave; rank seemed to be paramount in this marshy northern Hold.
"I have never undertaken a build," I began, "so I would like you to discuss Windstad estate with your family," I told him. "I will leave you to act on my behalf, and a line to my account to cover any preliminary expenses."
"I...on your behalf?" he asked, quietly shocked.
Jarl Ravencrone's back straightened and her ears seemed to twitch as a horse's might; she was clearly intrigued.
I focussed only on Valdimar. "I have business to attend to before I return to High Hrothgar to continue my training with the Greybeards," I explained. "Regretfully, I must leave for Whiterun at once. But I expect you and I will write frequently," I glanced at Jarl Ravencrone's back and couldn't help my wry smile. "Just because I'm sequestered at the Throat of the World doesn't mean I can't take part in this project, if you are willing to keep me in the loop."
"Of – of course, my Lady," Valdimar dipped his head.
"And you may call me Celeste," I reminded him, widening my eyes in mock annoyance. "If you persist with this my Lady business, I shall be forced to call you Sir Valdimar."
"Of course...Lady Celeste."
He was so different to Lydia; so formal and uncertain, and I wondered if I should remind him that I wasn't titled in that way. I huffed a laugh at his tenacity, but said nothing. He'd figure it out as we got to know one another.
–
It was after I had crossed the border into Whiterun Hold that I realised I could have asked Valdimar to accompany me as the protection Farkas had insisted I find. I had left Hjaalmarch without noticing I was making the journey alone, and none of the Jarl's party, or my new housecarl, had seen fit to concern themselves with my departure.
I chose to take this as a compliment; a testament to my developing abilities. Of course, they had only known Celeste the Dragonborn; slayer of vampires; their new Thane and owner of Windstad estate, and not Celeste the student bard who couldn't pull a bow string back properly.
However the moment I realised what I'd done, hypocrisy plagued me. I had insisted my entirely capable fiancée have backup without consulting him, and then embarked upon a cross-country lone horseback ride of my own.
I had no excuse, bar a sense of security that could be shattered at any moment. Dragons, bandits, thieves – Stormcloaks! – I was young and barely armed – I could unwittingly stumble upon any of them, and disappear in a heartbeat, just as swiftly as little Helgi had.
Have you forgotten what you were trained to do before you were Dragonborn? Adapt. Blend in. Be friends with those who tread your path.
Yes, of course, I relaxed. Was I a bard or not?
Misty steadfastly continued following the road I'd set her to travel. Relieved to have come up with a solution, I let go of her reigns to reach back, unwrap, and gather my precious lute into my arms. Travelling bards were rarely considered sport; they carried little by way of cash and publicly bore a fickle allegiance so their songs would appeal to the widest audience.
Won't help you if you're recognised.
Once the thought was upon me I couldn't dismiss it, and I wished I had some skill with alteration magic, so I might alter my appearance with a wave of my hand. With a weary sigh, I directed Misty off the main road and woahed her behind a cluster of boulders with tufts of white tundra cotton and plump, bushy thistles crowded at their base.
There was little I could do with what I carried and I was hesitant to remove my armour at all, but I could at least hide it and do something about my tumble of hair. My sister had convinced most of Skyrim that she was me by assuming and satirising the recognisable chaos of my curls; a detail that I honestly found a little embarrassing.
Hadvar's tunic covered what I wore, and the cape I'd bought in Solitude covered the fact that the tunic was too big for me. I hid my bow, securing it between Misty's saddle and blanket, recalling with a smile that Vilkas had hidden his weapons in a similar place when we had travelled north. I wrapped my quiver in the furs that had covered my lute. It looked like any other instrument that I might carry between townships.
Perhaps I could plan a proper costume or two for future journeys? The idea grew on me as I slung my lute on and re-mounted my horse. I found myself looking forward to doing just that in Whiterun; something as simple and normal as picking out clothing for personas I would adopt. Once atop, I wound my hair into a bun at the back of my neck then secured the shorter curls that immediately fell out of the binding as a braid that wound over my head and came to rest in front of my ear. Finally, I raised my hood for good measure. A travelling bard in layers of warm travelling clothes.
A dragon wouldn't care what I looked like, but on the plains of Whiterun Hold I doubted one would be able to sneak up on me; I would have time to take cover if not run to a watchtower, and figure out what to do.
Just another day on tour, I schooled, feeling oddly confident. Sing and be merry; proud of who you are and what you have to offer Skyrim.
With Whiterun towering in the centre of the plain in the distance, perhaps I wouldn't even need a disguise today. But surely a day would come where I would encounter somebody on the road and have to fall back on my training. I didn't truly need to pretend that I was a bard; mere months ago, it was all I had ever known, even if I had never felt the call to wander.
You want to plan? I thought your strategies relied on improvisation.
"Shut up, Vilkas," I whispered in a sing-song voice around a curl of amusement. I tightened my legs around Misty as I let go of the reigns to turn my lute around and cradle it in my arms. "Hello, beautiful," I murmured.
Positioning my hand along the neck at C, I plucked each string, testing the tune. A joyous, sonorous strain reverberated in reply with a tiny twinge of discord marring the higher strings. For a moment I hummed, tuned, switched chords and warmed up my vocal chords so I wouldn't strain them. When I felt ready, a song poured out of me, coming as naturally as breath itself;
"Do you know where to find him?
Have you looked to the hills?" I sang, for the C chord had reminded me of The Wilderking.
"Have you looked to the trees?
He is not there."
A sigh left me during the changeover; had Farkas found Hadvar? Were they safe? Surely all must be well; I did not feel the overwhelming anxiety I had felt when I had not known Hadvar's fate in the Pale. Instead, I missed him; wished that he was here with me, and we were riding for home...
"He is the Court and the Throne,-"
Before me, Misty snorted and shook her head.
"Whoa!" I tightened my knees and grabbed for the reigns, laughing as my fingers grazed lute strings and struck a frustrated disharmony. "You and me both. What was that about, Miss Horse? Don't like the song?"
The horse deigned not to respond.
"Philistine," I huffed. My sense of balance returned; I looped the reigns back around the pommel and repositioned my fingers on the strings. "Never insult a bard," I instructed, narrowing my eyes at the back of her furry head as I considered my repertoire. Brave Little Scrib Song would do, with some alterations.
"Oh there's a horse that we all know,
Who's as bold as any Dragon!
You can see by the torchbug's glow," I crooned,
"Misty-eeeeee," I dragged the chords out as I held the note for longer than necessary; "stop yer laggin'!"
Made merrier by my silliness – when did you last sing for the fun of it? – I continued the tune, despite spotting a pair of Whiterun guards patrolling the road in the distance.
"Play, play! Life's an adventure!
Run, run! As fast as you dare!
Sing, sing! Imagine the pleasure!
Everything's fun for a horse without a care!"
The absurdity of vocalising these words in Skyrim's current climate – at war and besieged by dragons – made a small, indignant spark in my mind tentatively question my sanity. The flicker reminded me much of my sister's attitude, which dulled my amusement, but did not entirely quench it.
With a small, determined smile, I continued playing and let my lute carry the merry tune alone as I allowed myself a moment to internalise over Giselle. This time, I felt the familiar, uneasy prickle of guilt, and a hot surge of anger directed at those who had taken her out of Solitude. Taken her from me. While I was terrified of who – what – she had become, I had to admit that I was beginning to question whether or not she had been in control of her life choices.
Whatever had truly happened three years earlier; whether the Thalmor had scooped her up and made her go to Ulfric, or she had gone to him of her own volition, someone had taken advantage of her; moulded a girl into the powerful woman she was today. She had always been more serious than I was in her endeavours, but at sixteen? Would she have consciously gone along with espionage schemes of warring governmental bodies?
I sighed audibly as my thoughts drew to conclusion; of course she would have. We had indirectly been exposed to the politics of our world for our entire lives through father's work as Thane to the High King. It would not have seemed so dangerous or strange to her.
And while Giselle looked like me, she was not me. I felt I knew little of who she was today, but I knew Giselle of three years prior, and she would never back down from a challenge. She threw her all into her endeavours without caring about whether she was getting in too deep too quickly, ever-confident she would be able to come up with some solution. She would have loved the idea of working undercover for an organisation as powerful as the Thalmor.
But she's working for Ulfric now?
Apparently so, despite her confidence in the Thalmor Embassy. I rolled my eyes at my helical theories and made sure I smiled casually to the Whiterun guards as they passed me by. They returned with a cursory nod and kept on their patrol. My fingers strummed idly, shifting between chords in a pattern of their own choosing as Misty carried me closer to Whiterun.
"She told him she has the Septim's gift of foresight," Delphine had told me.
It felt ridiculous to acknowledge the notion of prophecy, yet somehow Giselle had convinced Ulfric she was legitimate in this claim.
"Dreams that linked Septim and Stormcloak."
Nords were superstitious; despite being a grown man of absolutes, he would have been easy to convince since he wanted to believe she existed. Legend told that Septims did see more than others – this was no lost secret – and Stormcloak had been interested in finding a Septim heir since Delphine had put the idea into his head at High Hrothgar.
What if Giselle does see the future? What if she does have the Septim's Gift?
The frankness made me flush, mostly for the lack of my own prophetic dreams. Unable to answer, I reminded myself that I no longer cared if the Passero line had descended from the last Septim. I was Dragonborn and my lineage didn't change what was before me.
And if Giselle had seen some obscure truth – because it was not unheard of amongst those who practised magic, Septim or not – where had her dreams led her? To our estrangement from one another. Into the arms of an enemy of the Empire, and under the command of our tenuously-won allies; flip-flopping allegiances and spying on spies. To war; sons and daughters of Skyrim pit against each other. To the death of our parents.
She could hardly call such a thing a gift.
Enough. I closed my eyes briefly; focussed on my music, then turned my eyes down and picked out a pattern, idly adjusting and repeating it, filling my mind with sound to drown out the questions. There were songs I had promised to write since I had left Solitude; of the battle of Korvanjund, of Riverwood, of potatoes and dishwashing. I could write one of them now.
The tune I picked out belonged to none of those; I doubted I could even call it mine. It escaped across the plains of Whiterun; a melancholy timbre that swirled away from me on a gust of dry, icy wind, drawing strength from the sky.
"Hmm...hmm-hmm," I echoed the G-D-E quietly, considering the notes, the pattern, the clouds.
A faint keening broke my concentration, so distant that it must have come from far beyond the mountains. It felt like a response to the melody, and I searched for where it might have originated, squinting against the glare of the sun. My gaze settled on High Hrothgar and a chill ran down my spine; a sharp, frozen tongue.
"Okay," with widened eyes I puffed out a breath, pushing my lute around so it splayed across my back like a shield. "That's enough music for today."
No, a part of me protested. Write that song! That song is Truth.
"Not today," I murmured to myself with a shudder.
I distracted myself again with thoughts of who I would see in Whiterun, and what I could tell them of all that had passed since Farkas and I had left.
The agitated urgency to compose receded the closer we drew to Whiterun, though my guilt in suppressing it remained.
–
Breezehome was the logical first port of call, for I suspected that if I visited Jorrvaskr or Dragonsreach I would be reminded of my duties too soon, and might never visit Hadvar's family. My key was buried somewhere in my pack, so I knocked instead. The door was answered by a red-cheeked Sigrid.
"Celeste!" her eyes lit up with happiness and she waved me inside. "Why are you knocking on your own door! Come in, come in. I'm steaming blueberry custards, so you'll have to excuse the," she waved at her face idly, "well, this."
I breathed in the sweet aroma as I stepped inside and let my pack fall to the floor. "It smells...wonderful!" Casting the woman a grin, I threw my arms around her neck. "It's so good to see you!"
"Oh!" she laughed in surprise as she hugged me back. "I see you have your lute -" she began fondly. "Wait," she withdrew, holding my shoulders. "You saw Hadvar?" she asked swiftly. "How is he?"
I stepped back, nodding encouragingly as my cheeks warmed. "He was well when we parted a few days ago." With a small, embarrassed smile, I had to add; "I...sent Farkas after him. To keep him company - keep him safe. Not that Hadvar isn't perfectly capable of looking after himself-"
"Thank the Gods," Sigrid collapsed into a chair by the hearth; peered momentarily into a steaming pot. "And your lute," she returned. "Does it...play well?" she asked, too idly. There was no mistaking the caution to her tone.
"Beautifully – like a dream," I unstrapped my lute, offering it to her. "Do you want to...hold her?"
Sigrid put down her tongs and turned on her seat, wiping her hands on the front of her dress. With a small tuck to her brow, barely discernible, she accepted the lute with the barest hesitance. "It's...very pretty, isn't it?" she spoke to the instrument, brushing her fingers along one of the silvery lines wistfully. "She, I mean," she corrected with a huff of amusement. "She's very pretty. Hadvar was..." she paused; reconsidered. "He didn't need to tell us then, that he was in love with you," she murmured thoughtfully; lifted her eyes to mine. With a small smile, she held my instrument out. "He told us that he gave you his word about this lute – but," she rolled her eyes, clearly trying to draw herself back, "that it had to be kept a secret from you, when you returned. He meant to present it to you. Dorthe was beside herself," she laughed.
"I remember that, actually," I cradled my lute, laughing fondly. Dorthe had been bursting to tell me something all those months ago, but Alvor and Sigrid had shushed her. I wanted to know more about that day; that time when Hadvar had first returned with my battered lute from Helgen, but didn't want to risk pulling Sigrid into sadder memories.
Sigrid lowered her eyes and winced. "This means Lucia will get your training lute?"
"Only after I teach her to tune it," I promised. "Where are the girls?" I glanced around the small abode; it was too quiet.
"Dorthe's with Adrianne, and Lucia's at the Temple of Kynareth."
My eyes widened; my chest constricted in sudden panic. "What happened to her?"
"Oh!" her eyes lost their gloom as they widened as well. "No, no-no, sorry. Nothing like that!" she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I forgot you don't know. She's learning to become a healer. After the battle, Jarl Balgruuf put out an order that any who wished to learn be accepted and taught in the arts of restoration and medicine. She loves it," she added quickly, as though she feared I would judge her, then added a laugh. "The Jarl's own daughter was one of the first to sign up, if you can believe it?"
My breath came back in a great gush; the scheme reeked of Dagny's influence, but it seemed to be for the best. "That's – wonderful news," I didn't bother hiding my smile. Yes, Lucia would love that, and she'd be good at it. Dagny adored her; she'd treated Lucia as though she was her own little sister when we'd resided in Dragonsreach. She'd keep an eye on her. "And Lydia? She's at Dragonsreach?"
"Hmm," Sigrig quirked an eyebrow in amusement, retrieving her tongs. "I think not."
"Um, okay?" I turned to the fire with a laugh; warmed my hands. "Is she at the Temple as well, learning to become a healer?"
"Guess again," Sigrid murmured, standing to check on the custards. She waved her hand over the pot to distribute the steam. "You haven't visited your shield-siblings yet, have you?" she asked with nonchalance.
The change in topic didn't make sense, unless; "Lydia's at Jorrvaskr?"
"Mm-hmm," she lifted her eyebrows knowingly.
With a splutter of disbelief, I stood, grinning; strapped my lute around me. "She's a Companion?" I whispered, astonished.
Sigrid's eyes shone with amusement. "One would think so, yes," she laughed a little. "Oh, I'm sorry Celeste – it's not my place. I'll speak no more of Lydia," she waved me toward the stairs. "Your room is as you left it, dear – if you want to freshen up before you head to the Cloud district."
"Thank you," I blinked, puzzled over Sigrid's merriment, but did as she suggested and made for the upper level, musing over the course of events that might have led Lydia to accept a position with the Companions. I would know the finer details soon enough.
My room was evidently not as I had left it. My scattered thoughts collected and centred on what was before me. "Sigrid?" I called over my shoulder.
I caught a hint of a tittering laugh from down stairs. "Do you like it?" she called innocently. "The girls helped."
"It's lovely, but it is effort rather wasted," I called from the bannister, "considering I need to depart almost at once for High Hrothgar, and...Hadvar is at war," I added.
"And your room will be here waiting for both of you, whenever you wish to visit," she called up. "It was Lydia's idea," she admitted. "She doesn't expect you to actually live here, once you are wed, but she wants you to always feel at home. Rearrange anything you like, okay? I'm sure Hadvar won't mind."
"Okay," I murmured, turning back to my...our Breezehome room with a flush.
"And ignore the doll's crib. That was all Dorthe," she added in amused fondness.
"Okay," I repeated with a small, incredulous laugh. "Duly ignored."
It was impossible to ignore, but I could see the funny side to it. Since last I had seen my little room, it had been overhauled. The single bed had been replaced with a double and clothed in teal-green sheets and a gorgeous deep red coverlet, embroidered at its base with a criss-crossing golden pattern. Dorthe had placed the dolls crib at the foot of the bed, nestled between two end tables with single drawers. Above the bed, the shield from Hadvar's bedroom in Riverwood was mounted – I must ask him about that shield, some day. The drawers had been replaced by a wardrobe; possibly the one from Hadvar's bedroom. My humble bookshelf had trebled in size and contained titles which I remembered seeing on my fiancee's shelf. Two armour dummies flanked the books; one contained my Wolf armour, and the other was bare and sized to fit much larger armour than mine. I caught sight of my practise lute, tucked behind my Wolf armour; they must have retrieved it from my room in Dragonsreach, where I had left it.
Each piece of furniture had been decorated with garlands of paper flowers coloured sunny yellow, a multitude of greens and bold reds.
With a conspiratorial smile, I offloaded my lute to the bed and retrieved both the doll's crib and practise lute, then bolted down stairs to the girl's shared bedroom. It too was decorated with paper; drawings and notes in tentative, deliberate scrawl, paper birds and more of the flowers. I placed the doll's cot between their beds, the lute in it, and searched for a piece of blank paper and something to write with.
Sigrid leant against the door frame as I finished my presentation. "Are those tuning instructions?" she asked hopefully.
"Nope!" I stepped back, grinning as I pointed to the paper wound between the strings.
It's a girl! the note proclaimed.
"Dorthe might think this is your way of telling them you're pregnant-" Sigrid laughed, then cut short. "Oh. You're not, are you?"
"No," I laughed.
"Not that it would be a bad thing –"
"I'm not pregnant," my laughter doubled and I joined Sigrid by the door; nodded to the crib. "You'll let them know what it means, won't you?"
Sigrid's eyes shone with mirth. "And burst their bubble?"
Cringing, I made a hasty retreat to my – our – bedroom. "Tell them whatever you wish!" I called in my wake. "You're the one who has to live with them!"
–
After I had washed, dressed myself in something suitable for town, and tucked Farkas' letter to his brother into my cross-shoulder satchel, I dropped by Warmaiden's to say hello to Dorthe and confirm my suspicion that Adrianne had taken her on as an apprentice. Both girl and smith were in the yard, but must have been inside the shop when I had passed earlier, or I might have found out she was being instructed in her late father's trade sooner.
Adrianne saw me coming before Dorthe did. The woman told her to look after this customer before Hadvar's cousin nervously turned toward me.
Then the girl let out a small squeak and barrelled into me for a hug.
Something akin to uncertainty swept through me when I passed her the armour her father had made and paid her to clean and check it for repairs, but the girl held it with reverence, not remorse. Overwhelming pride swelled within me; pride in her strength.
"Do you want to know how to clean it?" Dorthe asked, nodding toward the work bench. "I can show you. It's really easy," her gaze flickered toward her teacher and she faltered. "Um, I mean. Not that easy. Should really be left to a professional, most of the time."
"Better," Adrianne laughed.
I left her to it and made for Jorrvaskr, taking the residential path to check in on Lucia at the temple. After some enquiries, I spied her by an internal fountain filling a pitcher with water.
She had grown taller and somehow seemed older than her six years dressed in soft brown robes with her hair plaited neatly behind her ears. Her eyes lit up and she smiled when she saw me, but didn't make a sound as she placed the pitcher carefully on the edge of the fountain and hurried over to me.
"Celeste, you're back!" she whispered, throwing her arms around my waist. "Did Sigrid tell you I was here? Do you like your bedroom?" she peered up at me and added hastily; "The cot was Dorthe's idea, I swear."
Such a change from the cold, frightened urchin I had shared pie with around the Gildergreen. I hugged her back, grateful to know her. My throat tightened and I felt alarmingly of breath, and laughed to cover it. "Um, yes. Yes, I loved the flowers, they are gorgeous," I ducked down to her. "You're taller," I accused.
The little girl wrinkled her nose then crossed her brows; peered over my shoulder. "Ooh, is that it? Your proper lute?"
Nodding, I swung it around, and for a few minutes she cooed over the form and tested the strings gently.
"Luci?" a voice called from an archway. "Where are you?"
Glancing up, I recognised the Jarl's daughter in the doorway, dressed in the same brown Lucia wore. Her eyes were softer than I remembered, but not without that tiny spark of indignation. "My apologies," she addressed formally, then spoilt it by adding a weary sigh. "I didn't know you were back. Father will be so pleased."
"Oh!" Lucia's eyes widened and she darted back to the fountain, seemingly oblivious to Dagny's hackles. "I'm on my way. Sorry," she hushed as she hurried past me. "I was supposed to take this back. Restoration is thirsty work," she pipped.
After a hurried good bye and a promise that I would teach her to tune her lute before I left (a promise I was determined to keep), I left the girl to her training and continued past the grand houses and gardens toward the Gildergreen. The bleached-white branches swayed and clacked and the tended flowers at its base fluttered as a wintery gust was funnelled down the street and swept around the courtyard.
Father will be so pleased. Glancing toward the high stairs to my left, I decided that once I said hello to Lydia and prepared Vilkas for the journey to Hrothgar, I would pay my respects to the Jarl. After that, I might be able to assemble my bard outfits for future journeys. Perhaps I could stay the night in Whiterun – I could spend the night in Breezehome – and Vilkas and I could leave in the morning.
There was something to be said for this planning thing; I felt happy and secure; satisfied, despite knowing that I would be leaving the warmth of my Whiterun family in, realistically, a matter of hours.
The clang and thump of practise swords striking one another from the training yard came to me, so as with my previous return to Jorrvaskr, I wandered around the upturned ship, smiling when I saw Vilkas and Lydia sparring together. If she was training here, it could only mean that she was a Companion. My shield-sister. The confirmation made me grin from ear to ear.
I leaned against the rock wall and crossed my arms, observing them for a moment. Lydia was attacking with a wooden sword in each hand, and Vilkas met her with one, blow for blow, shuffling back with slow, almost relaxed movements.
He must have sensed my approach but he didn't show it. Perhaps it was his determination to be a good teacher, to keep Lydia focussed, that stopped him from hailing me. Not that my housecarl had ever been found wanting when it came to sword fighting, so I could only wonder at what Vilkas felt she needed to learn.
"Much better!" he schooled with a chuckle.
Lydia laughed back, lowering her swords. "Much better?" she flicked her hair out of her eyes with a shake to her head. "This isn't a lesson, Vilkas."
"All right, maybe I meant...nice moves," he relaxed his stance and threw his practise sword to the ground.
"Thank you," Lydia huffed, smiling up at him. "Much better," she winked.
Eh? I wrinkled my nose. What was...was Lydia flirting?
"I shouldn't let you show off like this," Vilkas grinned fondly. "It'll go to your head," he ruffled her hair affectionately.
What?
Lydia pushed him away. "It's not showing off when you're in a training yard," she quirked, eyes dancing as she brushed her mussed-up hair out of her face and behind her ears; a small, victorious smile played on her lips. "Maybe next time I'll let you win."
Okay, something was happening here! So this explained Sigrid's smugness. With a rush of awkwardness, I considered a hasty retreat but my reaction burst out of me first – a loud, uncontrollable laugh.
Both of them startled.
"Celeste!" Lydia welcomed with a smile, huffing and clearing her throat; hands on hips as she took a few deep breaths. I gave her a wide-eyed look; she was trying to pass embarrassment off as exertion.
Vilkas ground out a frustrated sound to the sky. "It's rude to sneak up on people, sister."
"Also, welcome home," Lydia gave Vilkas a pointed look.
"Yes, of course, that as well," Vilkas waved his hand toward her and – yes! I wasn't imagining it; his silvery eyes betrayed a hint of admiration.
"Sneak up on you?" I cut in, unable to mask my glee. "Since when has anybody been able to sneak up on you, brother?"
"I meant," Vilkas seemed a little flustered. "I was distracted," he conceded in a murmur. "Some of us focus when we practise the art of swordplay."
"Ah, art of swordplay," I repeated, grinning. "Right. So that's what you were doing."
"Of course it was-" Lydia crinkled her nose.
"Anyway I've missed you two," I waggled my fingers at them playfully. "Will it be weird if I hug you at the same time?"
Vilkas glared at me. "Why are you being strange?"
"What an odd request," Lydia cast Vilkas a hasty glance, laughing uneasily.
"I'm going to do it anyway," I hurried forward and threw an arm around each of them briefly, squeezing them as I retreated. "I'm so glad I called in on Whiterun."
Vilkas smirked and glanced beyond me. "Where is my brother?"
My high spirits settled. "Oh. Um."
Thoughts crashed to conclusion; I was in Whiterun to pick up Vilkas and take him to High Hrothgar. Take him away from this...new happiness he seemed to be on the brink of finding.
Because, that's what I was seeing, wasn't it? Vilkas was fond of Lydia. Lydia was clearly fond of him. They seemed so happy together.
Farkas had wanted me to take Vilkas to the Greybeards so I could keep his wolf contented, but it didn't seem any part of him truly needed placating right now.
"He can't be dead; you're not sad enough," Vilkas considered in a dry tone. "Which means he's at the Mare. I'll go get him," he turned to Lydia. "Can you mind the accounts?"
Lydia nodded hastily, waving him away.
"Um," I repeated, a little louder. "No, Farkas isn't at the Bannered Mare."
Vilkas frowned and faced me properly. "He's not in Whiterun, is he?" he asked.
I shook my head; bit my bottom lip as I dug into my satchel for Farkas' letter. "I asked him to go after Hadvar-"
"What-?!"
"-and travelled here on my own," I admitted hurriedly. "But before you say any more!" I held my hands up, folded letter in one, and passed it to its owner, stopping Vilkas mid-admonishment.
"What is this?" Vilkas grumbled, opening it swiftly. "Farkas...?" he drifted off, squinting at the first page.
My gaze flickered to Lydia; she was no better, part terror, part shock. "He made me promise to hire someone in Morthal to bring me home," I explained.
"Which you promptly ignored," Lydia's finished; her eyes widened. "What if you'd been attacked on the road?" she asked, now all worry. "Nobody would have known!"
"I actually did all right on my own," I pointed out. "In Morthal, I thwarted some vampires and became Thane of Hjaalmarch."
Vilkas lowered the letter, deadpan. "You did what?" he asked in a dry growl.
"Thane of Hjaalmarch," I repeated stoically.
Lydia flickered Vilkas a swift, sideways glance that must have told him she would handle this. "Congratulations, little one. But," she shot me a more imploring look. "Vampires? On your own?"
"A whole coven," I admitted. "They killed a little girl," I sobered; stood taller, determined to get through this; to show them I was capable and had acted out of justice, not ego. "But only after they killed her mother and thralled her father. I couldn't leave her to flit in and out of existence around the burnt ruins of her home. Nobody else would help her and the vampires wanted the whole village."
Lydia's expression softened; she closed her eyes regretfully. "Ever your father's daughter," she whispered. "I wish I had been there, to...help ease that burden."
"It's okay," I told her quietly. "It's done. She's...gone."
Vilkas let out a long breath and ran an agitated hand through his inky hair. "All right, sister. You're here now, and you're alive. But," he squared me with a hard look, "you should never have blustered in there alone. We aren't called Companions because it's a catchy name."
"I didn't bluster," I defended. "I just...did what you taught me. Observed," I swallowed, nodding at the memory of the cold, sticky cavern and the feel of Movarth's fingers around my throat. "I watched them, and chose my moments."
Lydia darted forward and threw her arms around me. Over her shoulder, Vilkas looked mildly taken aback, then turned his eyes to his letter swiftly, clearly sensing something from Lydia that begged a moment of privacy.
"You...absolutely terrify me in so many ways – do you know that?" she hissed. "Is...is that a new lute?"
"Yes and no, but don't change the subject," I squeezed her. "Are you and Vilkas together?"
"What?" she evaded with a sniff. "We were training together, if that's what you mean. Wait – you're not in your armour – did you like your bedroom?"
"Love it," I dismissed, withdrawing and fixing her with an arched eyebrow. "The truth, Lydia – otherwise I'll be forced to make up my own version of what's happening," I whispered.
She stilled, and then; "What's your Morthal housecarl like?" she asked with a wry smile.
With a contented laugh, I let her be. "Very formal, but I think he'll be fine once he gets to know me. I left him in charge of a house build on the plot of land Jarl Ravencrone gave me."
"Land – house?" Lydia paled. "You plan to live in Morthal? Where there are – no walls, and – vampires?"
"I told you, I took care of the vampires – but," I shook my head. "I absolutely do not plan on living there," I assured. "I just didn't..." I drifted off, uncertain of what I had actually intended on doing with a house in Morthal, once it was built.
"She didn't want to disappoint them," Vilkas supplied, stuffing the letter into his armour, for later I supposed.
I fixed him with a flat look, and he raised his eyebrows in challenge. "Tell me I'm wrong?"
"Hmm," I glanced away, smirking at his confidence. My allegiance to the strange, swampy place had come on so swiftly that I honestly wasn't sure.
"It seems we have our motive," Lydia sighed, exasperated. "Well played, Vilkas."
The endearing glance and small laugh Vilkas replied to her with settled me; I was not going to be responsible for parting them – this – whatever this was. I had to look away so I wouldn't laugh again, and my eyes locked onto the high mountains beyond Whiterun. It was just what I needed to sober my thoughts; with a sigh, I reminded myself why I was really here.
"Except that this isn't a game," evidently, Vilkas had picked up on my change, now that he was paying attention. "What's happened?"
With a bleaker huff, I met his eye and arrived at my decision. "Thinking about Hrothgar," I owned with a weak smile, "and how much of everyone's lives I will miss while I'm away."
Vilkas frowned; his brows furrowed, but it was Lydia who spoke first.
"You're not making that journey alone," she assured gently. "When do we leave?"
"Don't make me sneak away in the middle of the night again." I shook my head. "You have a daughter and -" I motioned toward Vilkas. "A...a Harbinger, now;" my attempt to lighten the mood.
"Heading out by yourself from Riverwood didn't work last time," Lydia evaded the quip. "Morthal to Whiterun is all main roads and open plains, but the journey to the Throat of the World is-"
"-travelled by pacifist pilgrims, mostly," I finished for her, pushing away the memory of the troll and ice wraiths with a confident smile. "I don't need a bodyguard."
"We're not bodyguards," Vilkas reminded me. "Companions, Celeste. Brothers and sisters-"
"Yes," I pointed a finger at him in victory. "I'll take one of the other Companions, if that will make you happy. Who's not out on a job?"
Vilkas narrowed his eyes. "Torvar."
"Who else isn't on a job?"
"Celeste," Vilkas ground out, glancing to the sky briefly. "Stop wasting time. Farkas would never have left you unless he intended for me to take his place. When do we leave?" he repeated Lydia's question.
"You're not going," Lydia hit his arm. "This is my job – Celeste is my Thane-"
"Only Farkas and I can keep harm from striking before its in front of her." Vilkas cut in delicately. "I need you here, to manage the accounts-"
"I'm not your secretary, Vilkas!"
They argued over who would take me while I stood before them – they are perfect for one another, I thought with a secret smile, wondering how I had not seen it before.
I rolled my eyes and sidestepped toward the accounts book, laid open on the table where it usually was by day. "Let's see here," I scanned the most recent page. As much as I wanted to tease them, it was really none of my business, so I stashed my taunts away for another time – a future time, where they had resolved the matter for themselves.
Everyone was out with the exception of Torvar, and I couldn't exactly take him with me; I doubted Torvar would be able to cut a loaf of bread straight, much less a wriggling ice-wraith.
I glanced up to Lydia and Vilkas. If they wouldn't let me go alone, then I needed one of them. They were still discussing who would accompany me to the Greybeards. Watching them, at war with their honour, I realised that whoever stayed behind would ultimately harbour a resentment, either at the other or both of us, snuffing the spark between them before it had a chance to catch alight and encircle them.
Which would leave Vilkas vulnerable, or Lydia furious with me for not letting her do her job. I didn't fancy either scenario. There was only one course that would work, to satisfy them.
"Why don't you both come to High Hrothgar?" I cut in.
The quarrelling pair turned toward me; Vilkas shook his head. "Who will manage the Companions-?"
I rolled my eyes; Lydia's greatest rival is this book. "Aela's on a job in Rorikstead," I motioned toward the relevant line. "She'll be back before tomorrow morning, surely."
"Aye," Vilkas' eyes flickered briefly toward the book.
I snapped it closed. "It's settled, then. Prepare yourselves for lots of snow; we leave at dawn," I leapt down the stairs and joined them, smiling secretively at Lydia. "Can I borrow you this afternoon?" I asked, flickering a hasty glance Vilkas' way. "If you can spare her, Harbinger."
"I'm not your Harbinger," Vilkas met me with a flat look then waved a hand dismissively. "Do whatever you wish."
"Thank you, Harbinger," I dipped my head toward him to mask my grin.
He turned away and stalked to the table, muttering cheeky and other small grumbles.
My grin persisted; I grabbed Lydia's arm and towed her out of the yard.
"Wha-? Okay, bye Vilkas!" she called back over her shoulder. "Celeste!" she hissed, jogging to keep up with me. "All right, I'm with you!"
I waited until we had rounded the upturned ship before I let her go. "Are you?" I quirked a half-smile. "Or did we leave your heart in that training yard?"
"By the Gods," Lydia rolled her eyes; glanced away. "You have been spending too much time with Dorthe."
"Sigrid, actually," I skipped down the stairs leading to the courtyard then spun around to face her. "She was so happy about your new-found allegiance, but was reluctant to tell me anything of consequence. As though there was something worth hiding," I mused idly.
Lydia ground out a frustrated, but still amused sound.
"So – it's true?" I baited; bounced around her, trying to meet her eye.
"What exactly did Sigrid tell you?" she eyed me warily, crossing her arms.
I closed my mouth and tapped my nose. "It's what she didn't tell me that spoke volumes."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"If you say so," I replied in a sing-song voice.
"I stand by my confusion," she reiterated, though she didn't seem to be able to maintain her sternness and smiled at the bricks as we commenced our ascent to Dragonsreach. "And...I am pleased that you agreed to take me with you, this time," she owned.
"And I feel better knowing that you won't be as bored as Farkas was at Hrothgar," I pipped.
Not with Vilkas to keep you company, I internally cheered.
–
Lydia and I spent about an hour with the Jarl. He was pleased to see me, but not in the way his daughter implied. He called for drinks to be brought and a toast to be drunk in celebration of my becoming Thane of both Haafingar and Hjaalmarch (word travelled fast, in that regard).
"Though it is my hope you will not make yourself a stranger to my halls as the other Jarls realise your worth and collect you in theirs," Balgruuf completed his toast.
"This is my home," I confirmed with an easy smile, for while he had said it in a jovial manner, it seemed that he required reassurance, as Lydia had. "Wherever my titles take me, I will always return to Whiterun."
"And you will always be welcome," his eyes shone with what I could only place as fatherly pride. Perhaps Dagny was jealous that he might adopt me?
He cleared his throat and masked his moment of mistiness with a short, officious nod. "I should like to see this Horn you retrieved, before you and it disappear to the Throat of the World."
"As would I," Farengar just about cut the Jarl off with his brand of eagerness.
So much had passed since the horn had entered my possession that I was surprised to think of its retrieval as the reason for setting out, much less a victory. Lydia returned home to collect it while I remained with the Jarl and his court mage.
With Lydia gone, Farengar seemed to find his voice. "Did you learn any more of the dragon tongue during your travels?"
"I did," I weighed him; wondered if he realised how much of Delphine's story I now knew, particularly with regards to their arrangement. Had news of Kynesgrove reached Dragonsreach? Had any, excepting Farkas, Delphine and I, witnessed Alduin's deeds; Sahloknir's awakening and subsequent destruction? "A single word," I pressed on, for we could not speak of other matters in front of the Jarl. "Feim".
"Feim," he tested thoughtfully. "Feim..." again in a considering whisper.
"What does it mean?" the Jarl sat back comfortably. "Does it allow you to breath shards of ice, or summon a storm?"
"No my Jarl, nothing like that," I turned my eyes down; traced the rim of my silvery goblet. "It...allows the speaker to become ethereal. Objects or people pass through you," I sighed, dissatisfied by my explanation. "It is difficult to explain the effect," I admitted. "I do not believe there is an adequate translation in our tongue. Fade is the closest I can come."
"Fade?" Farengar echoed, confused. With a small, disbelieving sound that might have passed for amusement, he added; "I cannot imagine how such a Shout might be useful to anyone but a common thief."
"The dragons must have words for things other than destruction, Farengar," the Jarl considered.
I stared at Farengar while I allowed myself a moment to reflect; considered telling him how useful the Shout had been to me already, then decided against it. Neither Farengar nor the Jarl needed to know how I had taken on Movarth Piquine.
"They do," I decided, replying directly to the Jarl. "They have...so many words, each carrying such purpose and power," I told him; my brow furrowing. "It is both a gift and a curse to understand it," I disclosed.
Farengar hmphed at this, perhaps believing me to be ungrateful. I was sure that he wanted nothing more than to be able to translate the dragon tongue in his head.
"As is the nature of greatness," the Jarl concluded pensively. "The Gods would not have chosen you, Celeste, had they not believed you capable of keeping your balance on that double-edged sword."
I hesitated, waiting for Farengar to pass comment, but this time he remained steadfastly silent.
Lydia returned shortly after, and the rest of my audience was spent allowing Farengar to sketch then ruminate the angles and carvings of the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.
The Jarl watched on with a small, indulgent smile on his face, and I realised why he bent to the whims of these spirited, difficult people he surrounded himself with; his mage, his fiery housecarl Irileth, his unyielding, choleric brother, his begrudging daughter, and myself; his ever-absent Thane. He seemed to delight in allowing people the chance to be passionate about what they loved and believed in.
Soon enough, Irileth arrived to collect the Jarl for a meeting with Legate Cipius, and our audience drew to a close.
I curtsied low to the Jarl as I left Lydia to pry the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from Farengar's reluctant grasp.
"I am sorry to be leaving in the morning," I admitted truthfully.
"You can never truly leave Whiterun behind once it is a part of you," the Jarl rose, giving me a knowing tilt and a small smile; conveying the same favour he had displayed toward his court mage. "Gods be with you, Lady Dragonborn."
A/n: thank you all so much for your continuing support and understanding re delays.