Loredas, 10th of Hearthfire, 4E202
Leif was a much better dancer than Farkas or Aela. His lead was practiced and sure, and he seemed to adjust to Deirdre's mistakes before she even made them.
He asked where she was from. She said Riverwood, which wasn't technically a lie.
Leif was a Whiterun native, and his family owned a farm outside the city walls.
She thought it must be convenient to live near the city.
It usually was, but he preferred the relative quiet of the farm. Was she here with her family?
Her adopted family.
Did they enjoy the tournament?
Oh yes, very much.
How long had she been an archer?
For almost as long as she could remember.
They talked and talked. Whenever their steps didn't take them too far apart or require too much exertion, he had another question, or she did. And though she had to tell many half-truths, the conversation was easy. Leif never seemed bored of her. And that smile—it was sunshine incarnate. Her heart was doing double time and she never quite caught her breath. The fact that Leif seemed to be in the same boat, that the blush never fully receded from his face, pleased her greatly.
Leif had long, strong fingers with calloused fingertips—the better, he said, for playing the lute. She stumbled at this. She almost recoiled when he told her he was a bard in training, preparing to attend the Bards College after the new year. He noticed her reaction and paused, uncertainty flooding the burnt-honey of his eyes.
Deirdre felt instantly terrible. This wasn't Sven. She shouldn't hold it against him.
She recovered and tightened her grip on his hands.
"I love music," she said.
Leif brightened. "Are you musical?"
He led her through a turn before she answered. "I wouldn't really say so. But I can read music a little."
This evidently intrigued him. "But if you can read music, you must've learned an instrument? Are you self-taught?"
"Someone in Riverwood taught me. I didn't learn an instrument, I only sing."
In accordance with the dance, he spun her so her back was to him, and wound her arms around herself. When he leaned in to speak over her shoulder, butterflies rose in her stomach, stealing some of the air from her lungs. "Can you sight read while singing?"
"I'm not the best at it," she said, a little breathlessly.
He spun her back around and drew her close enough that the butterflies stopped breathing too.
"That's still impressive," he said.
Impressive. She liked that she'd impressed him. She liked it as much, maybe more, than she liked hearing she'd made Gerdur and Hod proud.
Forget Sven, she thought, with a surge of determination. She should be able to appreciate music on her own terms. She didn't have to abstain from using her talent just because of him. And she didn't have to hate bards because of him.
A little voice in the back of her head told her she was being fickle, swayed by nothing more than a pretty face.
Forget you too, she said to it.
Street food was, generally, the only thing Vilkas liked about festivals and holidays. Since Ria was their most junior Companion, she was elected to go and buy some. By the time she returned, Athis had escaped from Aela's clutches, and Aela had deigned to rescue Farkas from the feminine horde.
"If you would only be mean sometimes," Aela chastised. "Today it's dancing, but what about tomorrow? Are you going to let some village girl bully you into marriage?"
She clucked her tongue and snatched some spicy jerky from Ria, handing a piece to Farkas and shoving another into her mouth. Farkas obediently copied her.
"Speaking of village girls," Vilkas said, "you lost your kitten."
Aela twisted round to look back at the dancing crowd, still chewing. She sucked noisily on the drool in her mouth. "Damn, you're right. Anyone see her?"
"There," Farkas said, pointing. Between the dancers, little Deirdre was just visible, hand-in-hand with a young man about her age, the pair of them much more in sync than she and Farkas had been. Vilkas could see their mouths moving as they danced.
"Ew," Aela said.
Vilkas snorted. "What do you expect? She just turned sixteen and it's her first time in Whiterun."
"That's the problem. What if he's a pervert? Tries to lure her away somewhere?"
Looking at the girl, the moonstruck expression on her pretty face, Vilkas figured she'd be lured away quite easily. But the expression on the young man's face was just as naive and just as smitten.
"He looks nice enough," Farkas offered, echoing his thoughts.
"And she's got the knife you gave her," Vilkas added.
Aela grunted. "If she's not too afraid to use it."
As if they'd heard Aela's words and decided to prove them right, Deirdre and her new friend stopped mid-dance, the young man saying something excitedly, Deirdre nodding in reply, and she let him begin leading her away.
Farkas grinned. Aela made an exasperated noise. "You see?"
Vilkas said, "You're not her babysitter."
"No, but who're her owners going to question first if she goes missing?"
She put her fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle, drawing the attention of half the square, including Deirdre and the young man. Deirdre pointed in their direction and said something to her friend. They changed course and came back toward the Companions.
She was all flushed cheeks and bright smiles when she reached them. "These are the Companions," she said. "And this is Leif. I just met him dancing."
"No kidding," Aela said, arching a brow. "You heading somewhere else? Where are Hod and Gerdur?"
"Oh." She sounded as if she'd forgotten her guardians entirely. "They're still at the Bannered Mare."
Aela pointedly eyed the young man, then leaned toward Vilkas without taking her eyes off him.
"What do you think?"
Vilkas gave her an irritated look that she didn't see. He sighed and addressed the kid. "Leif, was it?"
"Yes, Companion."
Polite. He was a little wide-eyed, staring up at them. Shorter than Aela. He was dressed simply, but something about his demeanor screamed of gentility. His face was familiar too, though Vilkas couldn't place it.
"Just so you're aware," Vilkas began, "if you turn out to be a shithead, the Huntress will make us hurt you."
"Vilkas!" Deirdre exclaimed, aghast.
Aela held up both hands, a helpless gesture. "What? It's true."
Leif's face had turned almost as red as his hair, but he met Vilkas's gaze steadily. "I promise I won't be a shithead."
Vilkas tested to see how long he would hold eye contact, and the kid broke after a few seconds, looking at his feet. Not bad though.
"You should tell Gerdur and Hod where you're going so they don't worry," he said, focusing on Deirdre. "So Aela won't worry either."
Deirdre, annoyed and embarrassed, deliberately took Leif's hand. His red head whipped around to look at it. "That's a good idea. I'll do that."
"Great. Go nuts."
Her face shifted in such a way he could have sworn she wanted to stick her tongue out at him. She didn't. She turned to Leif and pointed her free hand at Farkas.
"Farkas is the nice brother."
Without missing a beat, Vilkas said, "Sure is."
Aela—and Ria, Njada, and Athis, who'd heard the entire exchange—burst into laughter.
Leif had several friends, all around their age, that he introduced her to. Some of them were also bards in training, but their clothes and the way they talked suggested they were from different classes. They welcomed her with all enthusiasm, and they seemed so energetic, so vivacious, that Deirdre realized for the first time how truly boring Riverwood was. Camilla, Faendal, and Sven were about the only people within five years of Deirdre's age.
Leif's friends also knew lots and lots of games. She, of course, didn't know any of them, and she didn't know if they assumed she was sheltered or if they assumed she was just a small-town rube, but whatever the case, they explained each game without judgment.
Leif ended up being the blind man during one round of blind man's buff. Deirdre may or may not have made a show of not wanting to be caught, but ultimately "failing" to evade him. He knew it was her the instant he grabbed her and pulled her to him. She may have let him hold her for longer than was necessary.
When he lifted his blindfold, mussing his bright hair in the process, he still had an arm around her shoulders. He smiled his dimpled smile, and she reveled in the feeling of her heart melting.
There had not been a single day since she woke up in the back of that prison wagon that had felt so full of possibilities as this one. She could be a master archer, acknowledged by even the Jarl. She could win contests, win money, win respect. She could make friends with anyone from a Companion to a bard in training. She could meet someone lovely, who looked at her with admiration and made her heart race. She could live this way. She could have things to look forward to. She didn't have to only look back at a blank past, or back at the destruction of Helgen.
The bards in training later coaxed her into singing, and the awed look on Leif's face afterward made Deirdre insanely happy. She hadn't cared half so much, a quarter so much, when Sven had jabbered about her voice with his endless, flowery metaphors. But Leif looked at her like she'd hung the moon. She'd never been so glad to be able to sing as in that moment.
She'd promised Gerdur and Hod to be back to the Bannered Mare in time for them to leave and arrive home by sunset. It wasn't nearly enough time, with fall creeping in and shortening the day, and it pained her to tell Leif she had to go. He looked disappointed before hiding it. He offered to walk her back. She of course accepted.
He didn't just walk her to the Bannered Mare, but also followed her and her family from there to the stables to retrieve their horse and now-empty wagon. Gerdur and Hod seemed amused with them, and Frodnar, funnily enough, seemed jealous of how Leif tried to monopolize Deirdre's attention.
Finally Gerdur and Hod had the horse situated, Mona again in Gerdur's lap, Frodnar loaded in the wagon. Leif helped Deirdre up after him.
"Will you be coming back to the city any time soon?" Leif asked, still holding onto her hand over the side of the wagon.
Deirdre scrambled to think of any reason she had to come back. She had none. "I don't know," she admitted.
"I'll be here until just after New Year's, until I go to Solitude," Leif said. "If you come back, or if you want to—to write to me, you can address anything to the Bannered Mare, with my name, and I'll get it."
"I will," Deirdre said, thinking how she'd have to purchase writing materials from the Trader. "Thank you for today. It was … wonderful."
Leif nodded. He looked down. Swallowed. Lifted his head. "I would really, really like to see you again," he said, face pink.
Deirdre admired the way his blush mingled with the dappled golden freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "You can write to me in Riverwood, too."
He nodded again. Opened his mouth. Shook his head. He lifted her hand and placed the lightest of kisses on the back of it.
"Have a safe trip home," he said, and without giving her a chance to reply, he released her and fled.
Deirdre stared after him until Gerdur called her name, bidding her to sit down. She obeyed in a daze, missing the knowing looks that passed between Gerdur and Hod. Hod flicked the reins to get the horse moving, and the wagon started back into the streets of Whiterun.
"Sounds like you had a nice day," Gerdur remarked, suppressing the mirth in her voice.
"Mm," Deirdre said.
"I'm glad to hear it."
Deirdre sat with her back against the side of the wagon and closed her eyes. She remembered wondering if, as Gerdur had theorized, she'd been a young bride in her past life. If she'd had someone special to her. Because if she did, if there were someone looking for her …
Well, so what if she did? It had been a year. Was she supposed to just sit around waiting to be found? She'd thought so for a long time. But she finally realized she had different possibilities. She had Whiterun, she had Leif, as a possibility, now.
She brought her knees up to wrap her arms around them and hide her face against her skirt, covering a smile she wasn't ready to share with the rest of the world just yet.
The sun was setting when the wagon pulled up to their house. Frodnar had fallen asleep with his head on Deirdre's lap. She was singing quietly, running a hand up and down his back, while Gerdur and Hod leaned into each other on the driver's bench. Dierdre was drowsy herself.
She was brought back to alertness by a sudden, sharp, "Whoa!" from Hod, and from the jerk of the wagon as he yanked the horse to a stop. She sat up straight and looked out of the wagon.
For a moment, she thought they were in the wrong place. There was another horse-drawn wagon next to their house, and more horses nearby. There were men in red uniforms standing in their front yard, and a tall, golden-skinned elf in black leather hanging back behind them.
Deirdre felt a shock. The last elf she'd seen in that black attire had been in Helgen. Gerdur had told her what they were—Thalmor. They had overthrown their native land and its government, the Aldmeri Dominion, then launched the Great War and forced the Empire through a peace treaty to ban Talos worship. Not all elves hated humans, but all Thalmor did.
A soldier with a plumed helmet stepped forward. He was clearly middle-aged, Imperial, with a large, aquiline nose and a well-trimmed black beard turning gray.
"Good evening, folks," he said. "Are you the Hod and Gerdur who own the local lumber mill?"
Deirdre caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see Faendal and Camilla running up from the direction of Faendal's house, halting at the edge of the yard. Camilla made eye contact with Deirdre. She grabbed Faendal's hand.
"Yes, that's us," Hod said coldly. Deirdre tore her gaze from Camilla, uneasy, to look at Hod. "Somethin' I can help you with?"
The man with the plumed helmet signaled to his handful of soldiers. All but one moved in unison toward their wagon.
"My name is Captain Kensley. By the authority vested in me as a captain of the Imperial Legion, I'm placing you under arrest for aiding and abetting war criminals and traitors."
END OF PART ONE