Middas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E202
It was afternoon when they arrived.
Deirdre was playing a game of tag with the village children while their parents were hurrying through their chores and getting food ready for the party. Henrik was the first to be "it," and with the advantage of being the oldest and the longest-limbed, he quickly tagged the blacksmith's daughter, Dorthe. She tagged little Asta next, who only just managed to tag Evert, who tagged Dorthe again, who finally tagged Frodnar.
As the other children scattered from his line of sight, Frodnar whirled toward Deirdre. She widened her eyes and rounded her mouth in mock fear.
"Run, Dee!" cried little Asta.
"Run, run!" joined a chorus of young voices.
So she obliged them and ran, Frodnar sprinting after her with both arms outstretched. The children screamed encouragement and she made sure not to outrun Frodnar by more than a few steps to keep them entertained. Deciding to lead him in a loop around Hod's barn, she shot around the first corner—and smacked into something solid.
She hit the dirt. On her backside. A throbbing pain radiated outward from the center of her face, accompanied by a hot trickle of liquid from her nose. She threw her hand up to catch it. At the same time, Frodnar stumbled to a hasty halt and bumped into her from behind, gasping. Deirdre blinked the sting of tears from her eyes and found herself looking at an armored pair of legs.
She looked up. And up. And up. It took much too long to reach his face.
A dark pair of eyes framed by even darker lashes stared down at her.
"Probably should watch where you're going, pup," he said without inflection.
This time, her wide eyes weren't for show. A hot wave of mortification swept over her. The armored stranger remained expressionless, but the same couldn't be said of the woman frowning beside him.
"Now look what you've done," she announced. Slighter than her burly companion, she was dressed in leather armor that protected her vitals but little else, revealing the wiry musculature of her arms and legs. She had dark red hair down to her shoulders and three streaks of indigo paint cutting across the length of her face.
The woman leaned an arm on the man's shoulder and let her other hand settle on her hip. "You've already injured a kid."
"Should've watched where she was going," the man repeated. His voice matched the rest of him—a deep baritone bordering on bass, flat and intimidating. Deirdre could almost feel it rumbling over her. She didn't know if that was exciting or scary.
Frodnar had no such reservations. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, open-mouthed. He pointed at the man. "Look at his armor, Dee!"
She'd already looked at his armor. It was impressive to be sure, with swirling embellishments and a howling wolf's head carved into the breastplate, as well as fine fur padding under his gauntlets and greaves. In fact, it was so fine she knew instantly who he must be. So much for spikes on the shoulders.
She clumsily regained her feet, hand still covering her nose, and blurted, "You're the Companions!"
The woman smirked in answer. Deirdre was so flummoxed she instinctively began to curtsy. She stopped halfway through the motion, a fresh blush working its way over her face.
"I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I was just—we were playing tag."
Even as she said the words, they sounded childish and silly. The man's eyes swept over her.
"I can see that."
She felt about as big as an ant. (And by the gods, he was tall. He had at least a foot on her.) She lowered her hand from her face to glance at the quickly-crusting blood on her palm, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. But at least the nosebleed had only been momentary; she didn't feel on the verge of another drip.
"I—You—Are you looking for Gerdur, by chance?" she fumbled.
"That's the one," the woman said, snapping her fingers. "Old lady out on the road said this was her house."
"It's my house!" Frodnar piped up, stepping forward with his chest puffed. Deirdre reached with her clean hand to snag his shoulder. "And my mama and papa's and Mona's house. But mostly my house, and Dee lives above me. But it used to be my dog's house too."
His voice turned sad on that last statement, and Deirdre placed her hand atop his head.
"This is Gerdur's house, but she's actually at the inn right now," she explained to the Companions. "I can—Let me just clean up and I can take you to her."
The woman nodded and stopped leaning on her partner. "That works for us." Her eyes flicked to the man and back to Deirdre. "And Vilkas is sorry for knocking you over, by the way."
The man chuffed. "I don't need an interpreter, Aela."
"I think you do," she shot back. She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. "Or else the villagers are going to think we're brutes." She looked left and right and leaned toward Deirdre, lifting a hand to the side of her mouth. "I mean, we are brutes. But try not to hold it against us."
"Speak for yourself," the man—Vilkas—replied. He turned to walk in the direction of the house, apparently expecting them to follow. Aela, instead, pointed behind Deirdre.
"Looks like you have some runts that need your attention."
Deirdre remembered the children. She turned to see them all standing in a group, watching the warriors in various states of awe. She hurried to them.
"Everybody, come over to the house with me for a minute, and then we'll go over to the inn."
"What about tag?" asked Dorthe.
Deirdre snatched at an idea. "We can race to the inn. But you have to wait for me first. Okay?"
This idea was a good one, because they followed her over to the house like a gaggle of ducklings and obediently grouped together in front of the Companions. When the braver children began asking the pair questions, Aela seemed willing to engage but bemused, like she didn't quite know how to talk to children. Vilkas just ignored them.
Deirdre ducked into the house and rushed to the washroom to get rid of the blood on her face, mindful of not keeping either the Companions or the children waiting too long. The last thing she needed was for one of the children to get bored and go wandering off alone—not until the Companions had taken care of the problem in the woods.
Vilkas followed at a slight distance as the petite girl, apparently the town babysitter, shepherded her flock of small people down the street. She tried to convince the children they were racing, and most believed her. Two smaller ones insisted on holding her hands instead of running. As the other children dashed ahead, the girl was forced to walk with her tag-alongs at a more sedate pace, and she kept glancing back at him as if self-conscious about their speed. Aela, on the other hand, strolled along beside him looking vaguely amused.
They arrived at the Sleeping Giant Inn. It had a modest exterior and a few small, spare windows with fogged glass (Vilkas would have bet money it was the only building in the village that could afford glass), and a painted sign jutting out over the wooden porch steps. The children badgered the girl to recognize a winner to the race. She hastily picked one as she waved them all up the stairs.
"Henrik, open the door for everybody!" she called up to one of the boys. "Don't run inside!" she added.
They ran inside. The girl closed her eyes as if praying to the Divines for patience. She turned to the Companions, gesturing hesitantly up the steps.
"She's just inside," she offered.
Vilkas nodded and the girl took the lead again. The porch stairs didn't make any noise as she walked up them, but had plenty of creaky complaints when he and Aela did the same.
The room inside the inn was long and high-ceilinged, with closed doors lining the opposite wall and goat horn sconces mounted around the perimeter. A handful of adults were busy hanging spicy-scented wreaths from the sconces and securing strings of white flower garland between them, the task now interrupted by a swarm of children underfoot. Others were rearranging tables and log benches, also made more difficult by the influx of children. The villagers alternately greeted the petite girl and chastised her for letting her charges loose. She called apologies to the room before addressing the Companions.
"I'll go get Gerdur." She bobbed into another curtsy, paused, and pivoted awkwardly to do as she'd said.
She must have emigrated from Cyrodiil, Vilkas thought. The girl disappeared through a door behind a bar counter on the left side of the room.
Aela stepped further in from the entryway and planted her hands on her hips. "Must be a party," she said. "Wonder when they're gonna break out the booze. You think they get Black-Briar out here?"
"Doubtful. And I doubt they're celebrating us, so try not to invite yourself to all the mead."
She scoffed. Vilkas didn't push the point.
A minute or so later, some commotion sounded from their left where the girl had exited, and another girl emerged amidst protests from the first. Taller and older, with a darker complexion suggesting Imperial blood, her gaze was bright as it sought out the Companions. Finding them, she seemed visibly excited. She reached back and snatched the petite girl by the arm, pulling her forward to murmur in her ear.
She couldn't have known, and would never know, that the Companions' senses made murmuring pointless.
"Oh, he's terrifying! And you just smacked right into him!"
Aela snorted softly. The petite girl cringed and spoke in an even smaller whisper. "Stop looking at him!"
The taller girl laughed and proceeded to ignore the request. Vilkas pretended not to notice.
"All right ladies, let me through," cut in an older woman's voice. The girls hastily cleared the way for a still taller, sturdier woman to pass them by, one that Vilkas recognized.
He walked to meet her and saw the moment she recognized him as well. She was smiling when she extended her hand.
"Finally, the Companions I ordered," she said, good-humored.
Vilkas met her hand with his own and was not less impressed by her grip than when she'd come to Whiterun. "I apologize for the wait. We've had more work than we can handle these days, with the war."
She nodded, sobering as she released his hand. "Aye, I can imagine that. All the fighters have gone off to join the ranks."
He noticed she didn't specify which ranks, and suspected it was an attempt not to offend him. Little did she know, he found both sides of the war equally stupid.
Aela came up beside him and Gerdur extended the same hand to shake. She took one look at Aela's distinctive armor, eyes lingering on the bow sticking out over her shoulder, and came to a conclusion. "You must be the Huntress."
Aela lifted her brows. "That's what they call me. Name's Aela."
They released hands. "Aela. And it was Vilkas, wasn't it? I'm not confusing you for your brother?"
She wasn't, which he appreciated. "It's Vilkas. My brother couldn't be here."
Aela gave a short, amused hum. Not because his name was so commonly confused for his twin's, but because it was a blatant lie to say Farkas couldn't be there. Though blessed with both strength and stature surpassing that of Vilkas, Farkas had one weakness—and that was anything eight-legged.
"Well, we're just glad you came at all," Gerdur said. "We've been careful not to let anyone into the woods, but we keep losing animals at night. I don't know if I'm just getting paranoid or what, but I think they're getting bolder the longer we let them go unbothered." She paused. "Are just the two of you going to be enough?"
Aela barked a laugh.
Vilkas refrained from snorting. "We're more than enough."
Gerdur continued to assess him before blinking the speculation from her eyes. "If you say so, I won't doubt you. I don't care how you do it so long as the woods get cleaned out."
Vilkas almost hummed, pleased. He liked this Gerdur. Their meeting in Whiterun had been brief, just a discussion of her problem as he jotted down some simple contract terms, but then and now she seemed sensible and capable. Despite the fear she must have felt for her little village, she hadn't shown even a hint of hysterics. Vilkas hated hysterics.
"We'll get them cleaned out," he assured her. Then he cleared his throat. "Now, about the money."
Her smile was shrewd. "Right. Half now and half when my spiders are squished, wasn't it?"
"That's right," he said, pleased. Some people wavered at the money—as if the reminder disillusioned them about the Companions being selfless heroes.
Gerdur nodded and twisted to look back where the two girls were lurking near the bar, whispering to each other. Vilkas realized that what he had mistaken for Gerdur's kerchief was actually some sort of baby-carrying-sack, hung over her shoulders and secured with a knot. There was a tiny, near-bald head with bright blue eyes poking up out of a bundle high on her back. He wondered how old it was.
Gerdur waved in a summoning gesture, and the petite girl flitted over. "This is my Deirdre," Gerdur explained. "We're having a little party for her sixteenth birthday today."
Vilkas blinked. He stopped considering the baby's age and reassessed the girl's. Her underdress was loose-fitting and she had an aprondress on top of it, but he supposed he could see the hint of a figure beneath it all. And yet—sixteen? Though her fair coloring suggested she was a Nord, he'd never seen an adult Nord so tiny. Maybe she really was from Cyrodiil, and a half-breed at that.
Gerdur continued, "If you have the time and you'd like to join the party before you go home, I think the village would be mighty pleased. But don't feel like you have to, either."
Vilkas was about to tell her that wouldn't be necessary, when Aela, throwing out a hand to smack him in the chest, spoke first.
"Shor knows we love a good party," she declared, knowing full well that he had no particular fondness for any such thing. "And sixteen to boot! That's a prime year. Congratulations."
Deirdre smiled shyly. "Thank you."
Aela got a keen look in her eye. She crossed her arms as she leaned toward them. "Now, supposing this is a true Nord village, what sort of drinks are we expecting at this party?"
Vilkas shot her a glare and Gerdur laughed. "Plenty to go around, and most of it we make ourselves. You'll have to tell me how you like my husband's mead."
This pleased Aela, which in turn seemed to please Gerdur. She suggested they chat about brews while heading back to her house to retrieve the first half of their pay. She grabbed Deirdre's arm to prompt her to follow along with them.
"Camilla, take over watching this lot for a bit," she called back to the Imperial girl, waving at the children getting in everyone's way. Camilla pouted.
Gerdur led them into the street and back the way they'd come, minus one parade of children, to her house. She took them through the front door into a modest little room with a dinner table before a hearth.
"Excuse me a minute while I grab that money," she said, simultaneously taking Deirdre by the shoulders and guiding her to one side of the house. The girl gave her an inquisitive look.
Gerdur said, "I've got something in here for you, too."
They disappeared around the only corner in the small space. Vilkas listened to the sound of a door opening, followed moments later by a loud click and creaking hinges. The two in the other room began speaking in soft tones.
"I can't wait till this whole mess is over with. I was about to go crazy waiting around, with those monsters on the loose." It sounded as if Gerdur were rummaging, objects clunking together at her touch. "But, this turned out all right."
"Everyone is going to be tickled to see new faces at the party," Deirdre agreed. Vilkas heard the telltale clink of septims in a purse.
"That Huntress is a feisty one, don't you think? I wonder if we could get some adventure stories out of her before the night is done."
Aela perked up, and she gave Vilkas a feline grin. He rolled his eyes. They could get her to tell some stories, all right. They just might not be true.
"Now, I've got a present for you. Something that actually fits, that you can feel pretty in. And you can feel brave when Sven drags you up for your song tonight."
Deirdre gasped. "Oh, Gerdur! It's—it's too nice! It's beautiful! But this must have cost—"
"Never mind what it cost," the woman interrupted. "You've been running around in things scrounged up from the Trader for too long. So, I want you to put it on right now. I can make any last-minute adjustments before the party."
Another moment passed without words being exchanged and Vilkas heard a door close. Gerdur re-emerged with a happiness in her eyes that quickly spread to the rest of her face, her step light as she walked to Vilkas and handed over the money. "There we are, the first half. You can count it if you like."
"No need," he said, since that would be rude. He'd do it where she couldn't see.
He tied the coinpurse to his belt as Aela leaned a hip against Gerdur's table and planted a palm against it. "Now then, I know you said you don't care how it's done, but I think we should explain the plan anyway."
Gerdur blinked at the change in demeanor. "Oh?"
Aela said, "You might know that frostbite spiders are most active at night. In cases where there's a whole nest, though, they have a few roamers that wander around during the day to keep watch. You follow?"
"I follow." She fidgeted with the baby carrier straps over her shoulders, nodding to indicate she was paying attention.
"Usually with this set up we'd hunt down the watchmen first and hope the rest of the nest doesn't notice until we're ready to take the sleepers out. But, if there's one thing frostbite spiders hate more than daylight, it's rain." Aela held up a finger to point skyward. "It's going to rain tonight, and even the roamers are going to scurry back home and hunker down. That's when we're going to hit them—when they're all in one place and at a disadvantage."
Gerdur furrowed her brow. "How do you know it's going to rain? The sky's been clear all day."
Aela, opening her mouth, hesitated. The truth was, they'd smelled a change in the air just moments after entering the village. But they couldn't explain that without giving too much away.
"We can just tell."
When Gerdur looked to Vilkas for confirmation, he nodded. "It'll rain."
"And that won't make it harder for you? Won't the woods be dark?"
"We're used to working in the dark."
Gerdur looked like she was about to say more, when she was helpfully distracted by the re-opening of the door around the corner. She turned to watch Deirdre step into the room.
She let out a happy cry. "Oh, it looks wonderful! Am I good or what? How does it feel?"
Deirdre, suddenly looking much more her age than her previous clothes had let on, remained standing where she was as if embarrassed to come any closer. Vilkas took a second to question the wizardry of women's clothing—though Aela looked almost more mystified than he did, so perhaps his disadvantage came from being a Companion instead of a man. None of his Shield-Sisters bothered with dresses.
"It feels perfect," Deirdre answered.
"Well, come over here and let me see!"
Gerdur beckoned impatiently. Deirdre gave a darting glance to the Companions before obeying, hands smoothing over the laces of her snug bodice. The dress itself was white—not a practical choice—with a sky blue half-apron fastened around her now-visible waist, looking more for form than function. With the Stormcloaks essentially monopolizing all the blue dye in Skyrim, Vilkas didn't want to imagine what inflated price Gerdur had paid for the fabric.
But the woman was so pleased with the sight, she clapped her hands. She made a twirling motion with her finger. Deirdre obliged her with a spin that swirled her skirts and made the tapered tails of her apron strings flutter out from the bow at the small of her back.
"Am I good or what?" Gerdur repeated. "You're a picture, lass. You look like a grown woman."
Vilkas thought this a generous assessment, but Deirdre's face brightened. "Really?"
"Really. We're going to have to start beating off suitors with a stick."
Deirdre flushed. "Gerdur!"
A sharp knock came at the front door, sparing Vilkas from still more unwanted conversation. As Gerdur hurried to answer the knock, he gave Aela a pained look. She'd relegated him to an entire evening of this—of listening to inane village chatter when he'd rather be scoping out the woods. Or even taking a look at the lumber mill. Or anything.
Because everything he disliked caused her joy, Aela looked delighted.
When Gerdur opened the door, she didn't seem surprised to see a young blond man standing before her, greeting her with what he obviously thought was a charming smile.
"Gerdur, how well you look today!" he proclaimed.
Gerdur rolled her eyes, stepping back and waving him inside. "Hello, Sven."
Sven entered the house with a bounce in his step, faltering when he spotted the Companions. His gaze jumped past them to Deirdre. He stopped dead.
"Miss Deirdre!"
The girl grinned. Sven brushed past the Companions as if he'd already forgotten their presence, arms stretching out with fingers splayed, as if to gesture at something grand and astonishing.
"This is a new frock!" he cried, like he'd never seen such a thing. "You look stunning! Just radiant! Resplendent!"
Vilkas understood why Gerdur had rolled her eyes. When he looked her way, she was doing it again. He decided he liked her even more.
Deirdre indulged Sven with a twirl and struck a mock-imperious pose. "Why, thank you. Gerdur made it for my birthday."
Sven made an appreciative noise. "As if the village wasn't already at risk of falling head over heels for you after tonight's performance," he said, at which Deirdre's face scrunched.
"I don't know how I let you talk me into things."
Alea stepped away from the table to take up her old habit of using Vilkas's shoulder as a leaning post. "What's this about a performance?"
"Sven's convinced Deirdre to sing for us tonight," Gerdur said. She walked back around the table to stand beside Deirdre, smoothing a lock of the girl's hair behind her ear. "And I think it's going to be a treat." She said this as if trying to persuade Deirdre more than the Companions. Deirdre pulled another face.
"Speaking of which," Sven began, reaching for the girl's hand and moving backward, "I came over to see if we could practice. Once more before the party."
Deirdre heaved a long-suffering sigh. She allowed Sven to pull her toward the back door, but just then the baby on Gerdur's back began to make noises. Deirdre stopped, teetering when Sven gave another tug. She resisted and turned back.
"Wait, Gerdur, let me take—"
"No, no, you go ahead," Gerdur cut her off. She was already maneuvering the baby into her arms. "It's just about time I fed her. I'll see you after practice."
Deirdre hesitated, but Sven pulled more insistently on her arm and she relented. She gave Gerdur a grateful look and the Companions a timid wave before letting Sven lead her out of the house. Once they'd gone, Gerdur clicked her tongue.
"The more I want to do nice things for her, the more she thinks she owes me," she muttered, gently bouncing her baby in her arms.
Vilkas thought this an unusual thing to say. "She's not your daughter," he asked without asking.
Gerdur shook her head. "We took her in after—well, Helgen. She's got no family of her own."
Ah. That made sense. Except, then what was with the curtsies? He knew Helgen had been a long-time station for Imperial soldiers, far before the war or even the Great War, but he didn't recall it being so entrenched in Cyrodiilic customs that its citizens adopted their gestures.
Aela whistled low. "I didn't realize there were any more survivors. I'd heard it was just a few soldiers that made it out."
Gerdur's expression turned grim. "It's a miracle she didn't die there, when so many others did. She saw the dragon, you know. The way she describes it …"
She shuddered. Her baby began to squawk in earnest, and Gerdur rocked her with more urgency. Vilkas realized they were in the way.
"We'll leave you to your baby. Aela and I ought to go take a look at the woods anyway."
She nodded gratefully as he nudged Aela to the door. He'd just opened it when Gerdur called out a reminder. "They're just about finished with the food for the party, over at the inn. And don't forget, I need you to try my husband's mead!"
Aela gave her a thumbs up. "We're not about to miss out on free food."
Gerdur laughed, and Vilkas left the house having resigned himself to an evening of socializing. Though, Aela was right about the food. Passing that up would just be wasteful.
Author's Note:
I picture Deirdre's day-to-day dress to be something like a Viking hangerock and a kirtle (the aprondress and underdress), but for her birthday dress I picture more of an 18th century working woman's outfit from England (except cuter and a little more Victorian in shape), with a structured bodice and practical front laces. So her birthday dress gives her that more distinctively feminine silhouette.