Author's Note:
A huge thank-you to everyone who's followed and faved this story so far, and an especially huge thank-you to those who've left reviews. It's been so great to see your thoughts!
Middas, 3rd of Last Seed, 4E202
Deirdre invited herself into the general store an hour before it was set to open—no key necessary. Lucan Valerius, Camilla's older brother and the owner of the store, had a bad habit of forgetting to lock the front door. So far no great ill had come of it, but Camilla warned that it was only a matter of time before he got robbed.
Deirdre proceeded up the stairs to the home on the second floor, heading straight for Camilla's room. The older girl was still in bed, just as expected. Deirdre strode over and plopped down beside her, shaking her shoulder until she got a response. Camilla turned over with a bleary-eyed stare.
"Come hunt mushrooms with me," Deirdre said.
Camilla glowered. She smacked Deirdre's arm away and rolled back into her covers, curling up for good measure. Undeterred, Deirdre started poking her back.
"Come. Hunt. Mushrooms."
"No. I'm still sleeping."
"The sun's been up for ages already. You're wasting daylight."
She increased the frequency of her finger jabs, unrelenting as Camilla tried to squirm away and ran out of space to flee. Finally Camilla growled, flinging herself upright so she could shove Deirdre off the bed. She threw her pillow into Deirdre's face.
"Evil little thing," she accused.
Deirdre tossed the pillow back. "It's a lovely morning to be out and about. Hurry up."
Camilla got dressed and had a bite to eat before letting Deirdre drag her outside, complaining all the while. At the edge of the woods, she cut off and snatched Deirdre by the sleeve.
"What about the wolf?" she asked.
Deirdre made a dismissive noise. "We don't know it's a wolf. It might have been a fox or something. Maybe Hilde's cat just ran away from home."
"And Hod's chickens?"
"Probably a fox," Deirdre repeated. She took Camilla's wrist and tugged her forward. "And even if there is a wolf, Hod says they're skittish of humans. It'll just avoid us."
Camilla seemed doubtful, but she let Deirdre pull her into the trees. Deirdre handed her the small alchemist's satchel she was wearing and tasked her with holding onto their prizes. Deirdre herself got down in the dirt to search for them.
"I should never have let you buy that Flora and Fungi book," Camilla said. "If I'd known you were going to drag me out at ungodly hours and ruin my beauty sleep, I would have burned it."
"Ha, ha," Deirdre retorted. She dropped to inspect the mossy roots of a tree. "You know, this is how I'm going to pay for your birthday present in Whiterun if I don't win anything at the tournament. Alchemists can't get enough of these things."
"Oh, in that case."
Deirdre laughed. She plucked a pale Mora Tapinella from one root and twisted back to extend it toward Camilla, who opened the satchel to catch it.
"Speaking of birthdays," Camilla said, brightening, "how is the baby? And Gerdur?"
Deirdre rose and brushed off her hands. "They're both very … active," she said. "Or at least they want to be. Gerdur hates it when I try to do things for her, even though she still needs to take it easy. And I know she's not getting enough sleep, because Mona is always crying."
"Ah, the joys of newborns," Camilla cooed. Something seemed to occur to her. "And even so, you're still waking me up too early?"
Deirdre gave her a playful shove. "If I can't sleep, what makes you think you deserve the privilege?"
They bickered happily, Camilla pretending to keep an eye out for fungi but mostly focused on the conversation, Deirdre carefully picking her way forward one section at a time. Inevitably, the topic turned to Faendal and Sven.
"They've both just seemed so busy lately," Camilla lamented.
"You haven't exactly been at their beck and call yourself."
Camilla's face fell. "I know. And I know it's good for the store, but I wish we weren't getting so many travelers coming through. How long is it going to take for them to clean up Helgen and leave us alone, anyway?"
"It's been good for the mill too. Gerdur's selling more lumber now than when Helgen was still standing."
Camilla kicked half-heartedly at an errant weed. "Meanwhile, my love life is stagnating."
Deirdre almost laughed at the sheer indignation in her voice. She spotted a promising clump of Namira's Rot tucked under the shade of a rotting stump and hastened to examine it. "It's not stagnating. I don't know what exactly he's got in mind, but Faendal is planning something for your birthday. I bet that's why he's working so many shifts at the mill, to save up money."
"And Sven is spending all his free time teaching you music," Camilla said suggestively.
Deirdre threw her a warning look. "Not you too. You and Gerdur both, I swear. All we talk about is music. We go through his big book of songs, and he plays his lute, and I sing, and that's all."
She rose with her handful of mushrooms and extended them like a peace offering. Camilla grudgingly opened the satchel to receive them.
"If it makes you feel any better," Deirdre said, "I found a song with your name written on it and he made a big fuss and hid it."
Camilla brightened. "Really?"
Deirdre nodded. Camilla had the courtesy to look sheepish. She adjusted the satchel's strap over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's just that, even though he flirts with me, he's never … Neither of them have ever come right out and laid everything on the line. It's enough to make a woman uncertain, you know?"
Deirdre liked to think she could understand, so she nodded again. Camilla looked her up and down. She reached out to poke her in the forehead. "And for all I know, one of them is attracted to short people."
The smile accompanying this statement was nothing short of mocking, and Deirdre scoffed in feigned outrage. She swatted Camilla's hand out of her face, swiveling to continue her search. Camilla followed with a giggle.
"It would be pretty sad if a Wood Elf thought you were too short for his tastes, though. Maybe you have a chance with Faendal after all!"
"Oh, button it," Deirdre threw back.
Camilla drew even with Deirdre's shorter strides. "Maybe one of those travelers has a fancy for runty Nords. We'll find a handsome one for you, hmm?" She gave Deirdre a moment to inspect and dismiss a little white mushroom under a fern, then gasped. She smacked a fist into her palm. "I know! We'll nab one of the alchemists and win him over with mushrooms."
Deirdre grinned. "A brilliant scheme. Why didn't I think of it?"
Tossing her head, Camilla placed her hands on her hips, opening her mouth to quip back, when she stopped and focused on something behind Deirdre. Deirdre turned to follow her gaze, glancing over their surroundings.
"What is it? The wolf?"
"No, I—" Camilla stopped. "You said it was a fox!"
"I said it might be a fox," Deirdre corrected, still trying to locate anything worth noticing.
Camilla clicked her tongue. She strode over to grab Deirdre's chin and angled her face in the right direction, tilting it up. She pointed to an extremely tall and thick tree visible through a gap in the forest canopy. "There, up in the tree. That big brown clump of moss? That doesn't look natural."
Deirdre squinted. The tree was a huge pine a few hundred feet into the woods, stretching above the heads of the majority of its neighbors. There was definitely some sort of brown bush sprouting out of its needles. She tilted her head to try and get a better angle on it, and in the space between the tilt and a blink, the big brown bush had moved. After another blink it had moved again, and the spindly, crawling shape fell into place in her mind. She'd seen one before.
She screamed, and the eight-legged-bush's descent down the tree quickened. Camilla screamed too. Deirdre grabbed her, propelling them in the direction of the village as the huge, hairy tangle of limbs disappeared behind the cover of lower trees—heading for the noise.
"That is not a fox!" Camilla shrieked.
Their trip out of the woods took significantly less time than their meander into them. When they burst out of the treeline and into the brighter light, Deirdre had a fleeting thought that they'd outrun the threat.
But there was Frodnar, mere feet away, and Stump, pausing their game of keep-away with a gnarled old tree branch. From behind the girls came the sound of brush breaking, as from the pursuit of a large creature. When he spotted Deirdre, Frodnar lit up and bounded toward her.
"No!" she cried.
He stumbled to a halt, eyes darting past the girls and widening. Deirdre heard an odd clicking noise, an insect hiss, emerge from the trees. Something between solid and liquid whizzed past her head. It struck Frodnar square in the chest. He shrieked, swiping at it, screaming louder when his palms came into contact with the fluid. He flapped his hands to try and get it off.
A barking streak of fur ran past Deirdre into the trees. Frodnar cried his dog's name; a cacophony of snarling and hissing broke out behind the girls. Frodnar was crying when Deirdre reached him. She dragged him toward the village.
Camilla, shouting for help, ran ahead of them, almost bowling over the blacksmith. Alvor caught her by the arms. She frantically pointed back to the woods. He looked, and his jaw dropped.
When Deirdre and Frodnar reached them, Deirdre whirled to see Stump and the frostbite spider tangled at the edge of the woods, Stump's jaws clamped around one of the spider's massive hairy legs. He shook his head violently, as if to rip the leg clean off. The spider emitted a screech. It lunged.
Frodnar screamed. Deirdre held him fast to keep him from running back. Stump's body seized in the spider's mandibles, a horrible sound between a wheeze and a yelp startling out of him. Deirdre's eyes stung with tears. Frodnar broke into sobs; she turned his face to her stomach and hugged him close.
By now the screams and the noise had attracted more than just Alvor. The innkeeper Delphine appeared with a sturdy bow—since when did Delphine have a bow?—and fired a solid shot into the spider's abdomen. Screeching again, the spider flinched toward the shelter of the trees. Alvor ran past Camilla, hollering for all he was worth, waving his arms to make himself bigger, and the spider beat a hasty retreat—with Stump in its clutches.
Deirdre sank to her knees and pulled Frodnar onto her lap. Alvor continued to make noise. Delphine ran over to help him, firing another arrow into the trees.
In Deirdre's arms, Frodnar shook with sobs. Tucking his head under her chin, Deirdre took note of the awkward way he held his hands. Carefully, she turned over one small wrist, wincing at the mottled greenish-blue and angry red splotched over his palm.
Camilla approached and crouched next to them. She put a trembling hand on Frodnar's shoulder. "That's—that's frostbite venom."
A moment later, Delphine and Alvor joined them. The latter mimicked Camilla's crouch to take stock of the three. "Anyone hurt?"
Wordlessly, Deirdre extended Frodnar's injured hand. Alvor grimaced.
"Valerius, you have any remedies at the Trader?"
"I—think so?"
"I'd best go and get his mother," Delphine said. "She'll have an idea of what to do about that beast, too. Guess we know what happened to Hilde's cat."
And now Stump, Deirdre thought.
But Delphine was right. Gerdur would know what to do.
Delphine scurried away, and as Frodnar was in no mood to walk himself to the Trader, Alvor hoisted him into his arms and stood. Camilla and Deirdre helped each other up. Silently, Camilla drew the strap of her mushroom satchel over her shoulder and handed it to Deirdre. They looked at each other.
If we hadn't gone into the woods today and gotten its attention, this wouldn't have happened, Deirdre realized. If I hadn't asked her to come into the woods today …
A tug of guilt pulled at her stomach. She followed Alvor and Camilla to the Trader, Frodnar's sobs trailing in their wake.
There was double the amount of crying at Gerdur and Hod's house that night. Mona performed her usual set from Deirdre's arms, stopping only under the condition that Deirdre commit to endlessly pacing around the kitchen table. Frodnar, palms healed from a potion but heart still sore, had curled up with his mother in her bed.
"He was my best dog," he wept.
"I know, baby. He was a good dog."
"I h-hate spiders!"
From the other room, Deirdre listened to Gerdur murmur more comforting things as her firstborn descended into unintelligible sobs. Deirdre tried to take Mona in their direction, where her cradle was, but was promptly met with a wail of protest for deviating from her course. She sighed and turned back to circle the table, switching the baby to her other arm.
Mona had finally settled back down when the door opened and Hod walked in, a little haggard but no worse for wear. He took in the sight of Deirdre making herself dizzy around the table and tilted his ear toward his crying son. He shook his head wearily.
"Gerdur," he called, in the booming voice that he never quite understood how to lower. The crying in the other room stumbled into sniffles. Gerdur emerged a moment later.
"Any luck?" she asked.
Hod shook his head again. He dropped into a chair and patted the table in front of a bench. Gerdur seated herself and took his hand.
"When we got deep enough, we started finding webs. We decided to head back before we stumbled on the whole nest."
"Ysmir," Gerdur swore.
"A whole nest?" Deirdre repeated.
"Aye, and I don't know how long it'll be before they start getting bolder. We need to warn everyone to keep an eye on their children. Keep the animals from straying."
Deirdre felt sick. Though that might have been from walking in circles.
Hod suddenly seemed to realize her predicament, and held out his arms as Deirdre came around to his side of the table. She passed his daughter over, realizing Mona had finally fallen asleep, thank every Aedra.
Gerdur, putting a hand on Hod's knee, frowned as she examined her daughter's face. "We can't take care of this on our own. It's too dangerous."
"What are you thinking?" Hod asked.
She took a breath. "We could afford to hire some help, with how well we've been doing this summer."
"Ain't no mercenaries in Riverwood," Hod responded. Gerdur shook her head.
"The Companions are just over in Whiterun. We have the money."
Deirdre's jaw dropped. The Companions? Faendal had told her all about them—after getting over his shock at her ignorance. She lowered herself onto the bench across from Gerdur.
"The warriors in the ancient mead hall? Yorvuh..something or other?"
Gerdur's lips quirked in amusement. "Yes, the warriors from Jorrvaskr. They cost more than your average mercenary, but they're honorable, and they travel anywhere in Skyrim. They could squash those spiders in one go."
Hod began nodding. "They could do it. Easy."
"If we send a message right away, they might be able to get here soon. I don't know how fast they answer requests, but it can't be too long a wait. They must get urgent jobs all the time."
The Companions, Deirdre thought, as the two determined what sum could tempt the warriors to Riverwood. Someone exciting was actually going to come to the village. Her mind drew up a sketch of a seven-foot-tall version of Ralof, but armed to the teeth and dressed in shiny platemail. With spikes on the shoulders.
Hod excused himself to put Mona to bed, so Deirdre was about to bid Gerdur a good night as well, when the woman stopped her.
"I want to talk to you about something," she said.
Deirdre tensed. Was Gerdur about to lecture her for wandering into the woods? For leading a frostbite spider to her son?
Gerdur got up from her seat and took the chair Hod had just left, to be closer to Deirdre. "This may seem out of the blue, but I've been thinking about it a lot. And if I'm going to Whiterun tomorrow, I can pick up a few things and kill two birds with one stone." She looked Deirdre straight in the eye. "Would you like to have a birthday party?"
Deirdre blinked. "But. I don't know my birthday."
Gerdur shook her head. "I know. But you've been with us almost a year. And I was holding Mona, a few nights ago, and I just realized you don't have a mother to … celebrate the day she got you." She extended a hand and touched Deirdre's arm, giving a gentle squeeze. "And I thought you might want a temporary birthday. With us. What do you think?"
Deirdre's gaze fell to the table. A lump formed in her throat. So much for lecturing her about the woods. She blinked back the water in her eyes and cleared her throat. "I don't know what to say."
"We can tell everyone you're turning sixteen and invite the whole village to make it a big party. Sixteen is an important year."
"Right," Deirdre said, pondering the idea. "Adult age. Marrying age."
"Mm-hm. So. What do you say?"
Deirdre met her eyes and smiled tentatively. "That sounds really wonderful."
Gerdur beamed. She squeezed Deirdre's arm again before retracting her hand, folding her arms and leaning on them. "Good. It's settled then. I'll start spreading the word. Goodness knows this village could stand to have some fun, after all this scare about wars and dragons. And spiders now, apparently."
Deirdre nodded in agreement. She opened her mouth to again attempt to wish her goodnight, but Gerdur raised a finger.
"That brings me to something else. And this is important."
Deirdre closed her mouth. The pleased gleam in Gerdur's eyes turned calculating. She watched Deirdre for so long it began to border on worrisome. Finally, she spoke, her tone resolute.
"If we're going to be telling everyone you're sixteen, you need to be prepared for what that means. Marrying age. Men are going to be looking at you seriously. You understand?"
Deirdre's eyes grew wide. Sweet Mara. Was Gerdur actually trying to talk to her—about men?
"I understand," she said quickly.
Gerdur pressed on as if she hadn't spoken. "You're a very lovely girl. And men are going to notice. I'd bet my hand a few of them already have. I've still got my eye on those two idiots you hang around, I don't care if they say they're only about Camilla. Men can be fickle. And if you're not careful—"
"Gerdur, I understand!"
"No, I don't know that you do." Gerdur lifted her chin. "Last week I went into the Trader and Camilla told me the funniest story about giving you a copy of The Argonian Maid, and you thinking it was about baking bread."
Deirdre stiffened in mortification. Why would Camilla tell her about that?
She avoided Gerdur's insistent stare as her cheeks warmed. Camilla had laughed her head off that day, unwilling to explain what Deirdre had missed, because she'd rather get a giggle out of her naivety. Apparently, "literally everyone" in Tamriel already knew about The Argonian Maid, except for Deirdre, and she hadn't been able to explain that she might have known about it once but didn't now because of memory loss.
Gerdur drew in a breath like one might draw on a cloak against the elements. "It made me realize that I'd never talked to you about the ways of men and women, and I don't know how much you remember from before, or if you were even taught. And if someone tried to take advantage of you because I didn't educate you, I would blame myself."
"All the Aedra, Gerdur," Deirdre whined, covering her face with her hands. "We do not need to talk about this."
"We do. And we are. I'll not have you unprepared for what happens if you find someone you feel a certain way about. And I'll especially not have you caught unawares if some man with bad intentions tries to get you into a room alone with him. So I'm going to explain things to you, and you'll be prepared."
Thus she launched into a determined monologue, broken only by an occasional demand for acknowledgement. Deirdre thought her humiliation would never cease. Her face was still burning by the time Gerdur came to a conclusion and sent her to bed.
She wouldn't be able to look Gerdur in the eye for days. Or Hod, come to think of it. She did not want to think about Gerdur and Hod in the context of this one-sided conversation. Or how Mona came to be. Ever. In fact, she decided she would pretend the conversation never happened. Even if she'd heard things she hadn't known before, and even if the knowledge had filled some admitted gaps in her understanding. She would forget Gerdur's talk even happened.
That's what she told herself. But after she laid down, she tossed and turned for what must have been an hour, trying to reconcile that resolution with a horrified, curious sort of awe. There was too much to think about. Surprising, ghastly things to think about.
How could she possibly forget any of it?