Middas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E202
Delphine asked if there was anything else she could do to help. Gerdur thanked her and said they could handle everything from there. Almost as eagerly as the Companion, Delphine excused herself from the barn, leaving the remaining three in silence.
Deirdre was fighting a lump in her throat. It should have made her feel better to see Hod react so angrily toward Sven, but somehow it just made her feel all the more ashamed. And Gerdur had obviously anticipated her husband's actions before he'd done them, which meant Hod had already filled her in on what happened. Deirdre wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
"Deirdre," Gerdur began carefully. "About Sven …"
Deirdre shifted her other arm out from underneath her and used that one to help hide her face as well, biting her lip to abate her next impending round of tears. She hated that she already felt like crying again.
"I probably already know the answer to this, but I need to hear it from you to be sure," Gerdur continued. Deirdre felt a gentle hand fall on her head. "Did Sven try to force himself on you?"
Behind the cover of her arms, Deirdre bit her lip even harder. She couldn't answer that question. Certainly not without bursting into tears. Her chest and side already ached enough, and she was already humiliated enough, for her to let that happen.
Gerdur's hand pet her hair. "You can tell us the truth. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
But there was. There absolutely was. She'd ignored Gerdur's advice. She'd been weak and scared. She'd been fool enough to run into the woods. Hod had seen.
She sucked in a breath that shuddered all the way down. "I'm sorry," she blurted, throat tight. "I was—so stupid—"
"No," Gerdur rushed to deny, but Deirdre shook her head.
"I didn't want him to—I didn't want him to—But I was—I was so stupid—"
"You weren't the stupid one," Hod interjected, furious. "Sven's a rat bastard. That's all there is to it. You're not allowed to be around him anymore, understand me?"
"Love, you need to calm down. The last thing she needs is to think you're angry at her."
Hod made a sputtering sound. "Why would I be angry at her? It's that son of a—"
"Hod," Gerdur chastened. "Why don't you go get a bath started. She's going to need one after that Companion comes back with the healing potion."
They must have had a silent contest that Gerdur won, because after several seconds of nothing, Hod grumbled and Deirdre heard him get to his feet. She listened to him walk away and heard it when the barn door opened and shut.
After a long moment, Gerdur sighed. Her hand resumed petting Deirdre's muddy hair. "This is just as bad as last year's 'birthday,'" she said. "I'm so sorry. I thought we could make this a happy day for you."
Deirdre was struck by the memory of her state exactly one year prior—when she'd been injured, covered in mud, and utterly dependent on Gerdur and Hod's mercy. She was back at square one.
"I ruined everything," she realized aloud, voice breaking. No doubt the party had ended once Hod had come back to report her missing. The Companion had had to go out of his way to save her, and now he was going to waste a valuable healing potion on her that he surely needed in his line of work. And her present—her beautiful white dress. She peeked down at what she could see of herself from under her arms, and her heart sank. She hadn't even thought about Gerdur's dress. It was probably unsalvageable. So much time and money and care gone to waste.
"None of this was your fault," Gerdur said gently. "I blame Sven for the lot of it. I just wish I had noticed the two of you leaving the party. I would have stopped you."
But Gerdur shouldn't have needed to stop her. Deirdre should have been wiser. She should have been able to take care of herself, instead of being a fool in need of rescuing.
She kept these thoughts to herself, letting them turn into a painful bundle of guilt and self-reprimand that sat heavy in her chest, and focused on her resolution not to cry.
Aela was waiting by his gear. The paint on her face had been smudged into one huge, murky smear, but his not-quite-human vision was sharp enough in the dark to make out her features. She was idly leaning against a tree trunk with her foot resting on the pile of his things, tossing a dagger in her hand. When she saw him approaching, she shoved off the tree and stowed the dagger on her hip.
"I take it you rescued the damsel?"
He rolled his eyes. "Shut up. Where have you been?"
She gestured into the woods. "Killing babies, like a proper monster. Spider babies. But still."
He nodded. Good. No point in killing a nest unless you destroyed the egg sacs as well. He crouched down and knocked her foot out of the way, reaching first for his potion satchel and drawing out a small red bottle. It might not do the entire job, but it would do most of it.
"Are you hurt?" Aela asked. Her night vision was just as good (probably better) than his; she was looking at the stain on his shirt. "That's not your blood."
"She got bitten."
Aela stared. "And she's still alive?"
He set the healing potion aside and sat down to pull on his boots, wet socks and all. "Somehow. She was in a lot of pain, but she kept breathing long enough for us to get an antivenom potion. Divines only know how she held out, but she did."
Aela made an impressed noise. "But now she needs a healing potion? You gonna charge them for that?"
He sighed. "I don't know. No. If we'd been faster, she wouldn't have been bitten in the first place. It was partly our fault it happened."
"Not really," she disagreed.
He wasn't going to argue with her. He finished shoving his second boot on and rubbed a hand down his face. "I don't care. If they offer to pay me back for it, I'll let them, but I'm not going to ask."
"Hmm." She crouched beside him, forearms resting on her knees. "You're such a bleeding heart."
He shot her a glare. "This is called 'taking accountability.' You should try it some time."
She smirked back. "Why bother, when you take enough accountability for both of us?"
He shoved her so she lost her balance and fell on her backside. She snickered. "Look at you. All soaked with rain and noble. I bet they threw themselves at your feet, weeping tears of joy. Offered up their unwed maidens in thanks."
Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was one time."
"Oh, brave Companion!" Aela mimicked, rising to her knees and clasping her hands before her beseechingly. "Please, take my favorite daughter, that this village might be blessed with your progeny—"
"I don't have to listen to this," Vilkas interrupted, reaching for his armor and attempting to bundle it together in a way he could carry.
"I can already imagine the song they'll write about you in Riverwood," she continued, raising her voice when he gave her his back. "One lovely young lady, newly blossomed into adulthood; one stalwart warrior, drenched in rain, lightning flashing behind him, tunic practically transparent—"
"Gods above, Aela!"
"Surely fate had brought them together!"
"Why are you like this?"
Aela laughed, getting up to help him carry his things. "You make it too easy, Shield-Brother. I can never get a rise out of Skjor or Farkas."
"That's because Skjor is just as depraved and Farkas doesn't realize what you're doing," he retorted.
"If you took the stick out, I wouldn't find so much joy in harassing you."
He scoffed. He nodded for Aela to grab the healing potion, as his hands were full, and stood up. "Don't kid yourself. You'd just redouble your efforts."
She grabbed the potion with another laugh. "Maybe."
Vilkas shook his head wearily and started back toward Gerdur and Hod's barn, Aela following. When they arrived, he announced his presence by shoving the still-ajar door open with his foot. Gerdur was in much the same position he'd left her in, as was Deirdre, though the others were gone. He didn't bother to greet the woman when she turned to watch them enter the barn, instead striding to one side of the space and throwing his gear to the ground. Aela handed him his potion and tossed her load down next to his, dusting off her hands.
"This is very generous of you, Companions," Gerdur said as he walked to her. He sat down across from her, Deirdre between them. She smiled a little. "I don't imagine the war has made it any easier for you to buy healing potions, either."
He glanced down at Deirdre. She'd lowered her arm from her face but wasn't looking at anyone, the lines of her features rigid with what had to be lingering pain. Now that he was looking, he could see where the wound on her side was dark red, even surrounded by mud.
"It's not generous. Those spiders should have been dead before she went into the woods."
He looked at Aela, and she raised a single eyebrow from where she was still standing by his things. Speaking clearly, he said, "I'm just taking responsibility."
Meeting Gerdur's eyes, he held out the potion to her. She took it, though with a slight hesitance.
"Thank you."
He nodded. Turning his attention to Deirdre, he looked her over. "Let's just make sure we're ready before she drinks it. You've got venom burns and the bite. Anything else?"
Deirdre waited a moment before tentatively gesturing with her right arm.
"I fell on my wrist."
That could be bad. Vilkas held out his hand in a clear demand. "Let me see it. If it's broken, we need to set it first."
Her eyes flicked to Gerdur as if seeking assurance, which was a little insulting. He hadn't bitten her yet, so what made her think he would start now? He waggled his fingers impatiently. She extended her arm to lay in his palm.
Her small, fine-boned hand looked even smaller in contrast to his, and he thought again that she couldn't be a full Nord. Bretons were a smaller breed of men, and some Bretons were blonde. Then again, she didn't have the same nearly-elven sharpness to her features that a Breton normally displayed.
Her wrist was swollen, and already showed signs of bruising. The skin of her palm was scraped up and dirty. He felt the wrist as carefully as possible, bending it just slightly. Deirdre flinched and tried to snatch her limb back. He held fast.
"Nothing seems to be out of place. Can you move it yourself?"
She shot another look to Gerdur before successfully bending her own wrist, albeit with a grimace.
Vilkas nodded. "I think you'll be fine. Any other injuries?"
She shook her head.
"Good. Drink the potion."
Gerdur helped her sit up and uncorked the bottle for her. Deirdre took it in her good hand, but didn't immediately drink it. She stared at the bottle for several seconds.
"It's expensive," she said in a tight little voice.
Vilkas stared at her. Was this girl masochistic, or just stubborn? Between her and Aela, he was about to take the potion back after all.
"Just drink it," he said brusquely.
She flinched. Without looking at him, she did as she was told.
Gerdur offered to pay the Companions back for the potion the instant it had healed Deirdre's wounds. She then entreated them to accept her payment for a room at the inn, as well. Vilkas looked at her like he thought she was crazy for throwing away money, but accepted.
It took Deirdre a long time to fall asleep that night. She was healed and clean and warm, even with her damp hair, and she was exhausted. But sleep didn't come—her thoughts were chaos. On top of that, every time she closed her eyes she pictured either the spider above her or Sven, and she wasn't sure which was worse. The first time she finally started to drift off, her mind retrieved the image of the strange black monster from the woods—her memory of it was a little hazy, to be honest—and she jerked awake with her heart in her throat.
Turning over, she wondered pessimistically if spiders and black beasts would come to replace the dragon that still frequented her dreams. If she would dream about Riverwood falling to a swarm of eight-legged terrors rather than the fire-breathing rage of a dragon. Neither hide nor hair had been seen of the dragon since that day one year ago, after all. Perhaps it would finally leave her thoughts now.
Then, at some point, she closed her eyes, and the dragon was staring her in the face.
She froze. The dragon—the very dragon from Helgen, with all its mountainous spikes and ebon horns and bony, smoke-filled snout—was eye-level with her. It gazed straight into her soul.
She had never noticed, not in Helgen and never in her nightmares, that its eyes were brilliant red. Rubies the size of her head, with fire shining through them.
An overwhelming urge to fall to her knees pressed upon her. So she did. When had she even stood?
The dragon's head lifted, a sound like a thrum of approval rumbling in its colossal chest. Its jaws parted, and began to move. She recognized the voice that emerged as the impossibly deep one she had heard in Helgen, but had no idea what it was saying. As in Helgen, she felt the syllables rebounding off her heart, her veins buzzing. She wasn't sure if the voice was actually causing the earth to vibrate or if that was all coming from the rushing in her bloodstream. This was different from the spider venom; the fire inside her was accompanied by a torrent of air and wind. It was exhilarating.
Her limbs were shaking as she rose cautiously to her feet, but not from pain or weakness. Far from it.
The dragon's head dipped low, drawing close. A gust of hot air blew from its nostrils and scorched over her face.
"You do not even know our tongue, do you?" the voice rumbled.
She stopped breathing.
The dragon's jaws snapped in displeasure. "Dukaan. Truly pitiful. A disgrace to your soul."
Just as suddenly as it had drawn near, the dragon pulled back. Its enormous clawed wings and feet shook the ground as it thundered over and past her. She turned, her feet instinctively carrying her to follow it.
She found herself standing on the crest of a hill, looking down on a village in flames. She could see people running. A few people in uniform firing bows. Screams rose in the air with the smoke.
Her exhilaration ceased. A slow dread welled up in her stomach.
Above the village another terrible shape was roaring, green wings outspread as it breathed a column of fire over a line of thatched rooftops. Humanoid figures immediately fled from the buildings. The green dragon veered sharply, tilting its wings at an angle that brought it swerving back around. It crashed to the street of the village before the scattering, shrieking people.
Deirdre watched it snap a body into its jaws. The scream the man made was awful. The dragon gnashed its teeth a few times before throwing its head back to swallow the man in one gulp.
Deirdre felt sick.
"And here we are again, we two," the dragon beside her rumbled. "Just as well that you witness my second coming, as I sensed your presence for the first. Our dezze are tied together."
She couldn't turn away from the village. She watched the green dragon sweep a house aside with one blow of its mighty tail. She watched the sharp end of that tail slam down on a woman like a guillotine, severing her in two. The dragon seemed to possess a malicious desire that not one fleeing human make it past the border of the village. It spared none it saw.
"Now that I have recovered from my brush with the kel, I am ready to once again teach this world its place. Many centuries have passed since I ruled over the joorre. They have forgotten me. They need to be reminded."
Despite the horror unfolding before her, Deirdre's eyes were bone dry. The energy that had made her body shake only a minute ago had drawn back to her center, where it churned, a maelstrom of power that steadily added to her nausea.
Her view of the village was blocked by a vast black wing. She stumbled back, startled, as the dragon at her side turned its head to ensnare her with its gaze.
"It seems you have been rendered dumb," it spoke. It paused to observe her, a low hiss spilling from between its teeth. "Do you even remember what you are? Or has Bormahu hidden your being too deeply within that sad, little shell?"
Its wing circled around and behind her as its face loomed closer, so that when she inevitably skittered back in alarm, her escape was prevented by the barrier.
"As I said, pitiful. Even now, I sense the glory of the soul trapped inside. To be without a thu'um is a fate I would not wish on any of my kin."
It watched her as if it could hear the rapid pounding of her heart, and wanted to count its thuds. As if she were an oddity, a tiny, ingenious toy, breathing and moving before him.
"Do not worry. I shall free you from your cage when next we meet, little one. And then I, in turn, shall be free to devour the world."
The dragon let out a roar. Her legs froze in place as its wing swept out from behind her, its head rearing up only to surge forward, jaws wide. She met darkness in one bone-snapping bite.
She woke screaming.
She vaulted up in bed still feeling the jabs of pain all over her body—in this bone, in that muscle, in her spine most of all, where the great teeth had impaled her.
But her screams were nearly mute in her ears. That strange fiery wind was still swarming through her, too loud, overtaking everything now. The nausea that accompanied it rose in a wave. People were dying. A village was burning. Children were screaming. She could feel it. She was being eaten; she was doing the eating. She was both of them. She was flying. She was burning.
A bone-jarring shake brought her back to her senses. Gerdur was sitting in front of her, both hands on her shoulders, the candle on the bedside table lit. From elsewhere in the house, Mona was wailing.
Deirdre lurched to the side of the bed and promptly vomited all the contents in her stomach. Having done that, she was racked by dry heaves before she could convince her body to give up. Her gags were replaced by gasping sobs.
Gerdur pulled her into her arms and held her tight.
"It was only a bad dream," Gerdur tried to soothe.
But it wasn't only a bad dream. It was something else. She'd never had a dream like that before. It had felt so real. She remembered every detail.
She wanted to explain—to warn. The dragon was back. The dragon would kill them all. People were dying; a village was burning.
But she couldn't speak. She couldn't find her words. It was as if she had just escaped Helgen.
She heard a loud knocking from below, where the front door was, and a few seconds later heard Hod answering it. She could just make out Faendal's voice through her sobs.
"I thought I heard a scream," he rushed. "Is everything all right?"
Hod replied, "Everything's fine. Just a nightmare, I think. We're fine."
"Oh. Are you sure? Do you need anything?"
"No, thank you. It's taken care of."
There was a pause, wherein they no doubt could hear Deirdre crying, and hear Gerdur's ineffectual words of comfort. But Deirdre couldn't quiet herself. It wasn't like earlier, where if she focused she could hold back tears of shame. She was shaken to the marrow of her bones. The dragon's last words repeated in a dreadful refrain inside her head, over and over.
"I shall free you from your cage when next we meet, little one. And then I, in turn, shall be free to devour the world."
Author's Note:
Last week I caught a sentence that ffn had mysteriously eaten half of (luckily, pretty quickly). If you guys ever notice weird typos, please don't hesitate to point them out so I can fix them ;)