Middas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E202
"You know, now that I'm looking at him again, he's pretty easy on the eyes," Camilla announced.
Gerdur, Delphine, Sigrid, and Deirdre turned their heads as one to examine the man in question. The Companions were seated at a table across the room, the Huntress with a mug of mead in one hand and a hunk of sweetroll in the other, Vilkas with a slightly disgusted look on his face as he watched her attempt to ingest both at the same time.
"Of course," Gerdur immediately agreed. "That's what a man's man looks like. Not like those boys you two hang around."
Sigrid sighed, putting up her elbows on the table and propping her head on her hands, looking wistful. "I remember thinking the same thing about Alvor when I first saw him."
"Honey, as if your husband's ugly mug even comes close to that one," Gerdur dismissed. Sigrid gave a noise of feigned offense.
"And I suppose your husband is such a beauty," she retorted. Gerdur shrugged, absently rocking a dead-asleep Mona in her arms as she ran her eyes over Vilkas.
"Maybe if I were a few years younger I'd be up for an affair," she declared.
Camilla and Sigrid burst into laughter and Deirdre almost did the same. She put a hand to her mouth.
"Gerdur!" she reproached. The woman's eyes twinkled.
"I'm sure Hod would be thrilled to hear such talk," Delphine said in jest.
"Well, you're single," Camilla chirped. "You go and flirt with him."
They all laughed again at the thought, Delphine bearing it with grace. "I'm old enough to be his mother. How about you give it a try though, Miss 'Easy on the Eyes?'"
Camilla lifted her chin and flapped a hand in dismissal. "I couldn't possibly. The Lover is high in the sky this time of year. I'm expecting a proposal from an admirer before the summer is out."
They hummed in varying levels of agreement, sneaking glances between the table where Faendal was having an animated discussion with Alvor, and the bar where Sven was leaning with his lute in his arms, strumming away.
Camilla elbowed Deirdre in the side. "But, Deirdre here is free as a bird."
Deirdre went stiff. "Are you crazy? No!"
"Oh, come on," Camilla insisted, pressing her again with her elbow. "It'll be fun. We'll be supporting you from over here. Go on."
Deirdre looked around to where the Huntress was tipping back in her seat to drain the liquid from her mug as fast as possible, the surrounding villagers egging her on. Vilkas shook his head, errantly shoving back a lock of dark hair from his face as he reached for his own mug. Deirdre's face grew warm. She hastily looked away.
"You're crazy," she said again. "I bet he's ten years older than me."
"So, what? You're sixteen now. And he's beautiful."
Deirdre turned to Gerdur, who simply raised a brow as if to acknowledge Camilla's point.
"He's scary," Deirdre protested.
"And he's beautiful," Camilla maintained. The other women all nodded in agreement, much to Deirdre's dismay. Her eyes darted from face to face and saw not one that looked sympathetic, just impish and excited.
"I am not going to flirt with the Companion!" she exclaimed.
"What's this about flirting?"
Deirdre jumped and twisted to see Sven standing behind her and Camilla, a confused frown on his face.
Camilla perked up. "Sven! We were just trying to convince Deirdre to have a little fun."
She smiled, but Sven didn't smile back. His frown deepened as he looked over the women and then regarded the Companions. He huffed.
"What kind of fun is it if she doesn't want to? He's not even her type. Seems just blunt and brooding to me. Deirdre's too sweet for a lug like that."
Camilla's smile faltered, but Deirdre was relieved.
"Right, he's not my type," she quickly agreed. "And I made a huge fool of myself when I ran into him. And—And I don't even know how to flirt."
"All right, all right," Gerdur placated. "We'll stop teasing. It's time we did your second present anyway."
Deirdre's eyes went wide. "You didn't! You already got me a new dress!"
"Well, this one's not from me." Gerdur tilted toward Sigrid beside her, extending Mona in a wordless gesture, and Sigrid carefully took her into her arms. Gerdur stood, put her fingers to her mouth, and released a piercing whistle that silenced the entire inn. When she was assured she had everyone's attention, she clasped her hands.
"How's the food, everyone?"
Cheers rose up from all the tables. Gerdur waited for them to die down before gesturing in Delphine's direction.
"Let's everybody thank Delphine and Orgnar for letting us use the inn and their kitchen," she said. Everyone acquiesced by clapping. Delphine held up a hand in acknowledgment, and Orgnar, standing at his usual post at the bar, accepted his share of gratitude with the same gesture.
When she could be heard again, Gerdur continued, "And let's not forget what we're celebrating here. Deirdre, there are a couple of people who want to give you something."
She signaled for Deirdre to stand as the room cheered again. Deirdre, hot under all the attention, got to her feet as Camilla prodded her. Gerdur walked over to the empty space in front of the bar so she was standing before the whole room, waving for Deirdre to join her. When Deirdre did so, Gerdur took her by the shoulders and turned her so she was facing everyone.
"It's not every day you become an adult," Gerdur said, loudly enough for all to hear. "So Hod and Faendal thought they'd better make a present fit for the occasion."
Deirdre watched as the two men rose from their respective seats, Faendal heading for a door off the main room, Hod approaching her and Gerdur. Deirdre asked him with her eyes what this was all about. Hod just smiled and shook his head, jabbing a thumb in toward Faendal. When Faendal re-emerged from the other room, he was holding a pre-strung wooden bow in his hands.
Deirdre gasped. The villagers all started craning their necks and leaning out of their seats to see what Faendal was bringing forward, though by the time he'd met them in front of the bar it was clearly visible to everyone.
He held out the bow proudly as Deirdre stood in awe.
"You made this for me?" she breathed, reaching out but not daring to actually touch it.
"Hod supplied the materials," Faendal said. "I put them all together. No more of my childhood bows, you hear?"
He waggled the bow to prompt her to take it, and she accepted it reverently into her hands. It was simple, and smaller than the bow Faendal usually used, but it felt solid and well-made. He'd even carved a delicate flower chain into the upper and lower limbs.
It was a thing of beauty. Deirdre's eyes grew misty as she imagined the hours Faendal must have put into making it, and the lengths Hod must have gone to find the right kind of wood.
Beside her, Hod looked pleased. "Now you can go to the tournament next month in style, lass."
More cheering ensued. Deirdre had to laugh, reaching with one arm to hug him while holding her present with the other. Hod returned the gesture and Deirdre felt—briefly, warmly—that she didn't mind not knowing where she came from if it meant being right where she was.
Hod released her to return to his seat, Faendal doing the same as Sven came up to take his place. This knocked some sense back into her—she knew what that meant. Gerdur held out a hand for her bow. She clutched at it for a few seconds before reluctantly handing it over.
"And now, everybody, our bard here has convinced Deirdre to please us all with a song," Gerdur announced. Some murmuring broke out. Deirdre's stomach lurched.
Gerdur patted her on the cheek and dismissed herself back to her seat with Deirdre's bow. Sven pulled up a bar stool and sat himself on her left side, positioning his lute in his arms. Deirdre clutched her hands together, looking out over all the faces turned toward her. Her throat closed up.
This was going to be a disaster. She may as well have been facing down another Imperial captain.
Sven reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "You can do this, I promise," he said in a low voice. "Just like we practiced. Pretend it's just us."
She tried to take a deep breath as subtly as possible. She focused her gaze above the heads of the villagers, pretending not to see them, imagining herself just out doing laundry on the river.
Sven cleared his throat and lifted his head to address the room.
"This is a song about the seasons," he declared simply. His fingers began to introduce the melody.
Anyone could tell she was nervous. She held herself rigidly and her expression was sharp with apprehension. Vilkas almost pitied her.
Until she opened her mouth and the sound that poured out of it was … uncanny. Clear without being sterile, and carrying some quality Vilkas couldn't identify. Something that promised more. With every measure Deirdre advanced, she seemed to be approaching the edge of that more until her voice just skimmed it, and Vilkas felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He was stunned. Her voice would have seemed natural from someone tall and proud and mature, but as Deirdre was none of those things, it remained incongruent. And, judging by the silence that had fallen over the villagers, he wasn't alone in his shock. Aela had even stopped stuffing her face.
The song rose up in a soft climax and Vilkas shook his head incredulously, another involuntary chill passing over him. Damn. Where did she get off hiding something that impressive up her sleeve?
The bard on the stool beside her was glowing by the time he plucked out the conclusion, Deirdre's notes descending in a slow tumble to match the flight of his fingers. She tapered off a few seconds before the last vibration of his strings faded into silence. Visibly returning to herself, she blinked at the room as if only now remembering there were people in it.
The audience waited just long enough for her to look uncertain before applauding. Deirdre's face turned an obvious shade of red, her first blush of the evening that was actually justified, and she smiled. Sven sprang to his feet and bent in an extravagant bow, then rose and gestured to Deirdre. She gave an awkward little bow of her own. Someone in the room, probably Gerdur, let out a long whistle amidst the cheers.
Vilkas leaned over to Aela so he could be heard over the din. "If you really want to impress everyone, you should get up there next."
She guffawed, reaching for a stray snowberry to toss at him. "If by 'impress' you mean 'make their ears bleed,' sure! Get me some more mead and I'll do it!"
The berry bounced off his chest to the table. He flicked it back, and it sailed past her. "I'm going to hold you to that."
Deirdre rejoined Gerdur at her table and someone did in fact roll out another barrel of mead, along with more platters of cheese-baked rolls and a few raucously-fought-over meat pies. Vilkas stopped questioning how the village, and more specifically Gerdur, could afford even this amount of excess. Far be it from him to judge how well they ought to be doing.
Aela commanded the attention of a large portion of the room when someone suggested she recount some tales of bravery, and she blustered animatedly through the story about the two trolls at Labyrinthian. She was good at telling stories—had her audience gasping and roaring at just the right moments—and Vilkas kept it to himself that Aela's method of fighting the trolls had been much quicker and more animalistic than she could admit.
While she was busy, he took a moment to step outside into the slowly dimming evening. Out here, the air was noticeably cooler than in the stuffy inn, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of rain to his nose. He walked to the edge of the porch, looking up to see barely any twilight shining through the cloud layer overhead. It wasn't raining yet, but it wouldn't be long.
As Vilkas turned and reached for the door, it flew open and a small body dashed out of it to collide with him—again. Luckily for Deirdre, she didn't smack into him nose-first this time, and someone was behind her.
"Whoa!" said Sven, catching the girl as she stumbled into his chest.
Deirdre let him steady her and looked up, once again, to see Vilkas. She made a sound like she'd choked on air.
Vilkas crossed his arms. "This again?"
The lighting made it hard to be sure, but he thought she succumbed to yet another blush. She leapt aside as if burned, grabbing Sven to clear the doorway.
"We were just coming out for some air!" she practically shouted, squeaky and frantic.
Vilkas shook his head. "As I said, you should probably watch where you're going."
As Deirdre stammered an apology, Sven, for some reason, seemed annoyed. He reached out to deliberately take Deirdre's hand, glaring at Vilkas. "You were the one just standing there."
Vilkas blinked. He uncrossed his arms and looked the man up and down. Sven was shorter and slimmer than him, and likely a few years younger, so the hostile attitude didn't seem wise.
Then again, Vilkas thought, eyeing the tight grip Sven had on Deirdre's hand, the idiot's getting territorial.
He snorted. As if Sven had anything to worry about from him, of all people.
He walked back inside without bothering to reply. Letting the door fall shut behind him, he spotted Aela throwing back a mug of alcohol at their table. After a few enormous gulps, she slammed the mug down to a round of cheers. She smirked, swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stomped up onto her feet to stand atop her bench seat.
"Listen here, you lot! My Shield-Brother over there," and she stabbed a finger in his direction, "practically dared me to sing for everybody. And I'll be damned if I don't want to make a fool of myself after all this good mead!"
Her willing audience broke into laughter and raised mugs in encouragement. Aela planted her fists on her hips. "Who here knows Ragnar the Red?"
Everyone knew Ragnar the Red. Aela launched into the first verse without missing a beat, completely uncaring about her cacophonous squawk of a singing voice, and even Vilkas couldn't contain a smile as he stood a safe distance away. He leaned back against the wall. The rest of the room either joined in singing or was howling with too much laughter.
At the end of the final verse, Aela took a bow even more ridiculous than Sven's and was applauded with twice as much gusto. While she was dropping back into her seat, one of the villagers was lurching up. The man teetered visibly as he lifted a mug.
"Less toasht the Companyerns!" he cried. Mugs were raised and several variations of "Companions'' were chanted before everyone downed some mead. The toaster came back up after several seconds and whirled, almost losing his balance in the process. He held his mug out toward the other side of the room.
"An' Divines blesh Gerdur fer bringin' 'em!"
Gerdur, rosy-faced from drink, beamed as the people let out a cheer and called her name. Someone yelled, "What would we do withoutcha, Gerdur?"
The woman stood and waved down the noise. "Embry, you oughtta sit down before you fall over!"
Another round of laughter broke out. Someone tugged Embry back to a safer seated position as Gerdur called, "If we're doing toasts, then someone ought to fetch the birthday girl!"
The room raised up demands for someone to do just that, some amusedly noting that the guest of honor had disappeared. Gerdur's husband got to his feet as he announced he would go find her. He threw a particular look at his wife, whose expression softened, and proceeded to the inn door.
He passed Vilkas on the way, the two exchanging a genial nod. When he opened the door, a waft of rain-scented air swept in, even cooler and more potent than when Vilkas had checked, and he knew the rain had started. It was time to grab Aela and actually do their job.
But, when he looked for her, he saw that she'd just started telling another story. He shook his head. Better to let her finish than put a damper on the mood.
As soon as she's done, he thought. They'd signed up to squish some spiders, after all, and the sooner the better. If they hurried, Aela could even come back before the night was over and regale them with a brand new tale.
Author's Note:
"As if Sven had anything to worry about from him, of all people."
Vilkas, you fool. Didn't you see the relationship tags for this story?