"Papa! Papa! Look!" the young brown-haired girl squeaked, the excitement in her voice bubbling over. She ran to her father and pointed to the garden where they grew flowers. The man calmy walked over the where the young girl was pointing, and smiled. A small purple flower was beginning to sprout. With the icy winds of winter finally loosening their grip on the city of Windhelm, more than a few seedlings of local flora finally germinated.
"Isn't it pretty, Papa?" the young girl asked, her enthusiasm at the rare sight had her beaming. Her father nodded quietly in response.
Despite its proximity to water, vegetation was uncommon in the city that sat at the foot of mountain. Nestled on the other side of the White River that snaked down from the Sea of Ghosts up in the North, the capital city of Eastmarch was one of the most secure and profitable cities in Skyrim. Its proximity to the river had allowed extensive naval commerce with the neighboring province of Morrowind in the past, and also with the Eastmarch's sister Holds of Whiterun to the East, and the Rift to the South.
This was in large part how Clan Shatter-Shield had built their wealth. While the eruption of the Red Mountain early in the Fourth Era had stifled foreign trade with Morrowind, it hadn't stopped the flow of coin into the clan's coffers. If anything, the number of Clan Shatter-Shield's trade partners increased drastically in the chaos that wreaked havoc on the dark elves' homeland.
"How long will it take to grow, Papa?" the man's pale brow furrowed in thought.
"I'm not sure, cub." His daughter wasn't deterred however.
"Then let's come outside every day to see!" she almost squealed. Another smile curled the corners of the man mouth.
"Aye, Muiri, let's." He placed a hand on his daughter's head and ruffled her short brown hair, causing her to squirm in protest.
Her pouting face made him in rare moment of complacency bark an honest laugh. It was loud, but breathless at the same time, and it made Muiri laugh every time she heard it. His youngest daughter was by her father's side whenever he had a free moment. Their relationship wasn't unlike his own with his father he remembered.
His father, Torbald Shatter-Shield, was always busy hosting various merchants and entertaining their ideas of profit. Such was his duty after all as Patriarch of Clan Shatter-Shield. A title that his eldest son, Thonar Shatter-Shield, was meant to inherit, not he. Never Torbjorn Youngest Son. He remembered that day with painful clarity.
He had already been wed to Tova, and they had just learned she was with child then when the courier arrived with the summons.
"Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, I have a letter for you." The courier glanced at Tova. "Your eyes only." He handed the letter, and Torbjorn instantly recognised the seal.
He tipped the courier several septims, knowing he mustn't have been easy to find for the man.
The courier arched a brow as the Nord had begun to turn and head back into his home.
"The request was to bring you home with, my lord." The Nord turned to face the courier suspiciously before unsealing the letter and reading it quietly.
'Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, Second Son of Torbald
You are hereby summoned at the side of your patriarch and father as demanded of your station, your blood and your duty.
Gods willing that this letter finds you well and that your presence by your Lord's side is true and in haste.'
"Give me a moment," Torbjorn said, folding the letter back into its envelope and turning to his wife. "Tova," he started, but she silenced him with a delicate finger on his lips, surprising him.
"Go, we will be fine," she gave him her best smile and he knew then why he'd married her. Nodding his head approvingly, he knelt down on one knee in front her. He gently placed his palms on the sides of her belly, and planted a gentle kiss.
"See you soon, little one."
And so he had made the trip alone from his isolated farmstead back to Windhelm, leaving behind Tova and unbeknownst to him, his twin girls, Friga and Nilsine. They were never far from his thoughts, but the brief letter from his father always came and ruined his daydreams. It had been months since he had seen his father in any capacity. As the youngest of his father's two sons, he wasn't bound to the family's business the way Thonar was. What was so urgent that Thonar alone couldn't handle it? A dark feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as he made his way to Windhelm. It would take them at least a week's worth of travel on horseback, and the timing couldn't be worse.
While the journey was uneventful, Torbjorn's apprehension had grown tenfold as he gazed upon the massive walls of Windhelm in the distance. The courier had left Torbjorn's company once they had arrived within sight of the stone bridge into Windhelm.
"My instructions were to accompany you to the city, and your family already paid handsomely for my services. The generosity of the Shatter-Shields is not lost on me. Good fortune to you," the courier had said. Torbjorn knew he said it out of politeness and duty, as he had barely said a word to the man on the trip to Windhelm, lost in thought instead.
The large Nord kicked his horse into motion once more and he arrived at the gates on the other side of the White River where two guards waited patiently.
"Halt! By order of the Jarl, state your business!" one yelled as soon as Torbjorn was within earshot. Torbjorn climbed down from his saddle elegantly for someone his size, and especially for being so out of practice. He held his arms up harmlessly.
"I'm here to answer summons from my Lord and father, Torbald Shatter-Shield! May I present to you my proof?" The guard that had spoken kept a hand on the hilt of his sword as he approached slowly.
"You may, good traveller."
Torbjorn reached into the breast pocket of his traveling cloak and removed the folded letter with the broken seal. He also placed upon his index finger his signet ring that bore his family's crest for the guard to inspect.
With one quick look, the guard was easily convinced.
"Proceed, good sir. Windhelm's doors are always open to true Nords."
Torbjorn ducked his head in thanks before tucking the letter back inside his cloak.
"Open the gates!" the guard then shouted to the men atop the wall.
Slowly, and with a thunderous boom, the two massive doors shifted, revealing the paved roads of the city's interior. With a wry smile, Torbjorn noted how little the city had changed since his last visit. The walls had been carved out of stone, and so were the buildings; shops, homes and all. Notorious for its harsh climate, anything else would wear down within a year. As Torbjorn entered the surprisingly bustling city, he could see in the distance the Palace of Kings. He made a note to visit the statue of Ysgrammor that stood near the palace entrance and to leave an offering as was the custom, lest ill fortune plague his journey home. But for now, he needed to go home.
Home.
It hadn't been home for so long now. Before he had even wed Tova. While Torbjorn had a wonderful relationship with his father and brother, the same couldn't be said of his mother. She'd always been cold and indifferent to him, seemingly annoyed with his birth as he could potentially compete with Thonar for heir of Clan Shatter-Shield. Torbjorn had made it obvious that he'd never had any intentions of claiming his brother's title and dues, but nonetheless, the matriarch of Clan Shatter-Shield seemed unimpressed by his intentions. Before he knew it, his feet had carried her across the familiar cobble roads to his family's great hall in the city.
With a heavy sigh, Torbjorn hammered the heavy knocker to announce his presence. The door opened, and a young servant, a woman, meekly answered:
"What business have you with Clan Shatter-Shield?"
Torbjorn bit the inside of his cheeks softly as he fought the urge to laugh, as clearly the servant was still in training. She looked a frail, and sickly, Breton woman, but the Nord knew her to be young from her voice and demeanor alone. Likely she was a newly acquired servant from some transaction or other his father or brother completed.
"I am Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, Second Son. I have been summoned," Torbjorn politely managed without humor as he showed his signet to the servant. She blushed intensely, realising her tone and manner were likely to be reported.
"My lord, I had no idea! Your father, he is expecting you. Please, this way!" She hurriedly said, straightening immediately with renewed energy. Once again, Torbjorn did his best not to laugh at her frantic reaction. On a second look, now inside the illuminated and warm great hall of Clan Shatter-Shield, Torbjorn was left speechless. The Breton was, in truth, stunning in the lanternlight. While thin, almost gaunt, it merely highlighted her fierce features. Her palor was no lighter than the fairest Nord and what he had mistaken for sickness was he realised incredible restraint; it was her eyes that betrayed her true nature. A soft hazel, in the light, shone with a fire he had rarely seen in anyone. He realised his mouth was hanging open. Dumbstricken by the Breton's beauty, he had failed to hear her asking for his cloak.
He realised her fair features spotted a blush of discomfort at his staring, and quickly removed his cloak, composing himself. Before he could justify himself, however, they were interrupted.
"Torbjorn!" His father boomed from the stairway in the main hall, followed by a hearty laugh. The burly patriarch descended from the stairs to the entryway and to Torbjorn strange disappointment, the servant girl had vanished from sight. "The joy you bring to this old man's heart!" His father spoke again catching back his attention. The young Nord clasped his father's outstretched arms in their signature greeting, as warriors were oft to do.
"Your summons sounded urgent, old man, and yet here you stand before me, and all's well! You sure know how to worry me, you old coot," Torbjorn laughed unceremoniously. He stopped, confused, when he felt his father's grips on his forearms tighten. "Father?"
The older Nord bore a dark expression, and all the life and joy from earlier seemed gone. He nodded gravely. "Aye, Torbjorn. It is urgent." The serious tone his father now employed snapped Torbjorn out of his innocent mirth. He motioned for his son to walk with him towards the dining hearth. "Your brother, you see. He was unwell." He didn't wait for Torbjorn and entered the dining area where he entertained guests with an unbefitting grace for a man of his size. His father had gained much weight, and much more grey in his hair since he'd seen him last.
"Was? What happened?"
"Sit." His father commanded taking his own seat at the end of the table. Torbjorn complied, on edge. His hands rested flat on the surface of the table. His stiffness didn't go unnoticed by his father's icy blue gaze.
"The healers did everything they could for him," his father looked away now, rubbing his ashen beard with his left hand. It was a tell that whatever news he had for Torbjorn, it was grave. And he wouldn't like it. "It was a sudden, insidious thing." His father looked him in the eyes. "Thonar passed, Torbjorn. You're the next in line. You're the new patriarch to be."
Torbjorn shook himself out of his stupor then, seeing the worried look Muiri was giving him.
"I'm sorry, cub. Papa was distracted for a moment. I couldn't help but remember how much you remind me of my father and me when I was your age," the man said. His daughter lit up at the mention of her grandfather, her eyes sparkled with that intense, inquisitive and relentless curiosity that she had for everything.
"Was he funny, like you?" She asked.
Torbjorn's smile was sad, but he a laugh rumbled in his throat. He nodded.
"Funnier, even. He was a great man. He would have loved you, I'm sure of it." Muiri smiled brightly.
"Muiri!" Tova shouted from the doorway of the garden. Torbjorn could see his daughter's enthusiasm deflate instantly at the call of her name. Torbjorn clasped a hand on his daughter's shoulder in support.
"Come, your mother's calling. I've kept you from your duty long enough."
"But Papa..." Muiri whined.
Torbjorn frowned disapprovingly. "You're duty-bound, by blood and station," he berated her. As was I. He added silently for himself, understanding his daughter's plight. But he wouldn't subject Muiri to the same failings his family had with him.
His entire lifestyle had been uprooted on that miserable day, but a Nord took his duties seriously. It was the least he could do, if not for his father, then his late brother. His brother hadn't married, and thus had no heir, and Tova was expecting. The decision to name him his brother's successor was an easy one in that regard. However, his lack of interest had left him with little to no experience with the family's business. He knew his whims as a child were partially at fault. And while he didn't blame his father, a part of him had wished him to be more severe and serious when it came to his studies, like his mother had wanted of him.
"This is for your own good, Muiri." He knelt down and placed both of his enormous palms on his daughter's shoulders. She looked downright miserable, and Torbjorn had to remind himself it was the right thing to do. "One day, you'll understand, cub." Muiri kicked the rocks petulantly earning a soft, understanding smile from her father.
"Inside, girl! You've dallied enough, you have studies!" Tova yelled again from the doorway.
"Yes Mama," Muiri mumbled in reply.
"Always the same with you, Muiri! Your sisters never give me trouble, but you..." Tova trailed as she glared daggers at her husband. "And you! Stop encouraging her rebellious behavior. You're both Shatter-Shields. Act like it!" Tova grabbed Muiri by the wrist before Torbjorn could say anything and ushered her inside before storming off with their youngest daughter and slamming the door behind her. Torbjorn's eyes narrowed, but he couldn't blame his wife's attitude entirely. He knew she was right. This was for Muiri's own good as well.
With a sigh, Torbjorn sat on the bench near the entrance of the garden. He rested his back and looked to the sky in thought.
His entire lifestyle had been uprooted on that miserable day, but a Nord took his duties seriously. It was the least he could do, if not for his father, then his brother. His brother hadn't married, and thus had no heir.
Therefore, it fell to Torbjorn to represent the family.
His wife had supported him wholeheartedly when he had broken the news to her. If anything, she seemed excited that he would be taking over the family's commerce. If only she knew then what she knew now, he doubted she would have been as enthusiastic about the change. She had claimed that the future it would provide their children was the best. But Torbjorn's own upbringing told him otherwise. There was a reason he left everything to his brother. He didn't want his children to grow up in the same stiff and unforgiving environment he had. But he knew he couldn't live his dreams and his life through his children. He was a father. He needed to do the right thing by them.
"Father," Torbjorn murmured staring at the cloudy sky above. He sighed deeply, leaving his question unspoken.
The Nord entered his home. Inside, he could hear Tova still yelling at Muiri, and he felt a surge of regret. He knew Tova wouldn't go too far. But they had agreed she would handle her education, the education of all three of their daughters in fact. But Torbjorn couldn't help but feel like he was making a mistake. He made his way upstairs, and knocked on the door behind which Tova had taken herself and Muiri.
His wife answered, and he could see she was still out of sorts over him taking Muiri away from her studies. She crept out of the room, and closed the door behind her. She was beautiful at all times, Torbjorn knew, but he was always particularly attracted to his wife when she was angry. Her cross features for some reason made her radiate with a unique beauty.
"What?" She snapped. "You're drooling like a fool."
Immediately Torbjorn's attraction was extinguished as he was brought back to reality.
"Go easy on Muiri, Tova. She's just a child."
"Just a child!" Tova gave a mirthless laugh. "That's what you always say! Friga and Nilsine never gave me the kind of trouble Muiri gives me!"
"You've never given Muiri the same length of leash as you have the twins, Tova." Torbjorn snapped in turn.
Tova glared at her husband and approached him menacingly. She jabbed a finger in his chest, digging in slightly. "You coddling her is the problem. Despite everything, she is a bright girl. When we took her in, we agreed she would be raised a Shatter-Shield. And that means rules, etiquette, scholarly education." Tova calmed down a bit, finally, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh of frustration. "Torbjorn... you promised me, that you would do what was right and have her raised as one of us. In case something happens, like with Thonar..."
Torbjorn looked away ashamed, then. He nodded once, curtly. Tova turned to go back inside the study. She opened the door and Torbjorn stole a glance inside and saw Muiri sat at her desk with a textbook that was far too large for her small frame. She turned and looked at Torbjorn with tearful eyes and it took everything in him to not rush in and hug her. The door closed behind his wife and he could hear her speaking to Muiri in hushed tones.
"It's for your best, Muiri." Torbjorn tried to convince himself.
The silence was his answer.