Morndas, 3rd of Frost Fall, 4E202
At the sound of boots trudging up the stairs from the living quarters, Deirdre dropped her basket of scones on the dining table and practically ran into the hall that led to the kitchen. She darted just out of sight and stopped, pressing her back to the wall to listen.
Not everyone was home. Ria had left yesterday on a contract with Vilkas, Skjor had been gone for three days, and Torvar might return that afternoon. Since Skjor and Vilkas were the two whose criticisms she feared most, she had decided to implement her plan this morning.
From their voices, the ones on the stairs were Njada and Athis. They were talking—complaining, really—about the weapon drills Vilkas had assigned them. Deirdre stayed in position as they made their way to the breakfast table and tucked in.
Njada was the first to notice. "Dibella's tits," she swore, cutting Athis off. "What's with this porridge?"
Deirdre pressed her knuckles to her mouth.
"What?" Athis said.
"Try it. It's …"
It's what? Deirdre thought. It's what?
"It's got flavor," Njada said, incredulous. "There's apples in it."
There came the clack of spoon against dish. "Apples and something else," Athis concluded.
Molasses, Deirdre answered silently.
"I didn't know porridge could have flavor," Njada said, tone bordering on … angry?
"Of course it can have flavor, s'wit," Athis replied. "You're just deprived from growing up in that pathetic mining camp."
"I ain't no s'wit! I've been here for five years, and I've never gotten flavored porridge!"
"That's 'cause Tilma lost her sense of taste in the last era."
Neither of them spoke for a minute, presumably too busy eating. For once, not talking around their food. That was a good sign, wasn't it?
When Athis did speak again, he'd lowered his voice, so Deirdre had to strain to hear. "If I'd known it would improve the cooking, I'd've advocated for getting Tilma help ages ago."
Deirdre exhaled in relief, dropping her hand to her heart. She had improved the cooking. Not ruined it. Not gotten ahead of herself. Improved it.
Njada grunted dismissively. "Well, it's fine if this keeps up. Means she's not just a freeloader."
Deirdre's relief dimmed. She stared at the opposite wall.
She could have said worse, she reminded herself. Though it still stung to hear.
Athis said, "Don't be a hypocrite. How many years did you say you've been here?"
"I fight for my gold, troll-brain."
"And she works for hers."
"Yeah, sure."
They continued eating, conversation drifting elsewhere, and Deirdre was about to return to the kitchen when she heard a knock at the front doors. She emerged from the hall and hastened to answer it.
Predictably, it was a courier. They received them often at Jorrvaskr, sometimes multiple times a day. This one was a young Nord with an amiable voice and a rather unfortunate crooked nose, one of their regulars. He smiled as he held out a handful of letters.
"Morning," he greeted. "Gonna be a chilly one today, looks like."
Deirdre breathed in the cold air as she accepted the letters, noting the frost on the strip of grass in front of Jorrvaskr. "Seems like it. Thank you."
He raised and lowered his worn cap. "Of course. Have a good one."
"You too."
She closed the door tight as he turned away, so as not to let out any more of the warmth than she already had. Rifling through the letters, she saw they were addressed to the Companions—but for one, with her name on it.
Normally, the letters would go to Vilkas. There was a tacit agreement that he was the best organizer, and he had the authority as a member of the Circle to assign jobs. When Vilkas was away, Skjor, the second most senior in the Circle after Kodlak, deigned to take the letters. And when both were away, she gave them to Kodlak, who rarely worked contracts anymore. Deirdre didn't really understand this; there seemed to be something unspoken, besides his age, that kept Kodlak homebound. He often went out only to come back with new books, which he would lock himself in his office to study. Deirdre's only theory was that he'd taken an interest in scholarship now that he'd gone gray.
She proceeded toward the basement stairs to find Farkas coming up. He brightened when he saw her.
"Breakfast smells good," he greeted. As he reached the top, he dropped a heavy hand on her head to give it his customary pat.
Encouraged, Deirdre replied, "Tell me if you like it."
He nodded, heading to the table as she went downstairs. She slipped the letters under the door to Kodlak's office, except for the one addressed to her, which she tore open on the spot.
"Dear Miss,
"Thank you for your recent inquiries regarding the wellbeing of Frodnar and Mona of Riverwood. My name is Constance Michel, and I am the new headmistress of Honorhall Orphanage. I am pleased to inform you that the children are doing well. Truth be told, Frodnar has struggled to adjust, but he is a sweet boy and is receptive to reassurance. He was glad to know you are thinking of him and looks forward to your arranging an appointment to visit.
"Regarding your other questions, we have several requirements for individuals looking to adopt any of our children. Please keep in mind that we adhere to these standards for the sake of the children, as it is our duty to ensure that any home we send them to is fully able to care for their needs.
"Firstly, any prospective adoptive parent must be able to provide proof of property ownership with sufficient lodgings to accommodate the child or children in question . . ."
Deirdre's heart sank lower with each line. The headmistress gave some options besides owning her own home, but they required recommendation or permission from someone of gentility, who could vouch for the adequacy of her lodgings or agree to let the children live on their property. It would take Deirdre years to be in a position to adopt the children. And what if she took too long? In those few years, Frodnar would be at an age where someone might adopt him to mold into an apprentice. Or what if some barren couple adopted Mona, immediately, to raise from infancy? What if they were separated before Deirdre could claim them?
She folded the letter carefully, closing her eyes. She concentrated on taking a deep, slow breath. She had to keep it together; this news wasn't unexpected. For now, she just had to stay on target. Keep busy.
A sluggish voice broke through her thoughts. "What're ya standing around for?"
She turned to see Aela, who had just emerged from her room wearing a nightshirt. She had the dazed look of a person not fully awake.
"Just reading a letter. I heard back from the orphanage."
"Mm," Aela said. She stifled a yawn. "What's the news?"
Deirdre shook her head. "I have to own a house before they'll let me have the children."
"Damn. Can't say I'm surprised, though."
Deirdre couldn't either. The Divines wouldn't make it that easy.
"You heard about Kensley?" Aela asked. She stuck her forefingers into the corners of her eyes to dig the crust out of them. "From the notices?"
Deirdre pursed her lips, averting her eyes back to her letter. "You mean the ones plastered all over the city?"
"Yeah. Jarl really wanted everyone to know he booted him out of the country. Fat lot of good it does now."
Deirdre kept silent. She supposed it was a good thing Captain Kensley had been deported. Camilla had written to her that they had a new captain managing Gerdur's mill. A "mild-mannered" and "nice" captain.
As if there's any such thing, she thought bitterly.
Aela's arm dropped around Deirdre's shoulders, giving her a jostle. "Hey. You eaten yet?"
Deirdre had sampled a little of everything she'd set out, but had not in fact had a proper meal. She accompanied Aela upstairs and sat next to her at the table, across from a glowing Farkas.
"Deirdre, you made breakfast today, right?" he asked as soon as she'd seated herself. When she nodded, he nodded energetically in return. "I never liked porridge till now."
Deirdre smiled gratefully. "I'm glad. Tilma didn't seem to notice I'd changed it …"
Under her breath, as she was filling her bowl from the porridge pot, Aela muttered, "No taste buds."
"These egg things are good too," Athis commented from Aela's other side, tapping his plate with a fork. "Did you come up with them by yourself?"
Deirdre began dishing up her own food. "No, I got them from a cookbook I bought. Carlotta from the market recommended it."
Aela, spoon in her mouth, paused. "You spent money on a book? Thought you were s'posed to be saving." She closed her eyes as she withdrew the spoon, swallowing. She hummed happily. "Not that I'm complaining. Dibella's tits."
Athis snickered. "That's what Njada said."
Njada just shrugged, shoveling more porridge into her mouth instead of responding.
Deirdre smiled again. She didn't intend for new dishes to be a one-time event; she wanted to become more proficient and earn all the Companions' approval. But she had to do it carefully, so as not to step on Tilma's toes or disrupt their routine too much.
"Books are an investment," she said. "I want to buy a spellbook soon."
Farkas, stopping with a scone halfway to his mouth, looked mystified. "What for?"
Deirdre ate a small bite of porridge. "Aela's been showing me some things to do with a dagger, in case—I meet someone like Captain Kensley again." She avoided eye contact and took another, quick bite. "But I can only do so much with it. I just want to find out if I have enough magicka to learn a basic destruction spell."
Athis snorted. "Is that all? You don't need to throw away septims on a fancy book. I know a few spells."
Deirdre leaned forward to gawk at him around Aela. "But you use a sword? You're a Companion?"
"So? Any Dunmer who grew up in Morrowind should know at least the basics of destruction magic. In my case, it's just easier to run at a mage and gut him before he can blast me."
The others at the table all nodded, as if the idea of rushing a mage were common sense. How powerful a mage would it take to make a Companion nervous? As powerful as the mages from her dream?
As if reading her mind, Aela said, "Unless it's one of those College mages. Gotta be careful with those bastards. I don't want to one-on-one someone who can kill a dragon."
"They didn't kill it one-on-one," Njada argued. "They teamed up, didn't you hear?"
"The whole College killed it," Farkas said, through a mouthful of scone.
"Hmph. Mages." Aela flicked her spoon as if to flick the thought of them away. "Cowards and lunatics, all of them. They're gonna blow Winterhold right off the map one of these days."
Deirdre said nothing. She'd been sitting in the main hall, weeks ago, when Skjor had come in with the news that the infamous College of Winterhold had defeated a dragon. When she'd asked for a description of the College, it had perfectly matched the place in her dream. Since then, she hadn't dreamed of the Helgen dragon again, but did frequently dream she was flying. Or breathing fire as she was flying. Or swooping down on a sabre cat, or an elk, the way a hawk would descend on a mouse.
"For Deirdre though, knowing a couple spells is probably a good idea," Athis said, nodding at her. "I'll show you some things if I don't get a contract today."
Shaking off thoughts of dragons, Deirdre sat up straight. "That would be great. I don't want to waste too much of your time, though."
Athis skewered a piece of egg fritter with his fork. "It's no trouble. Gives me an excuse to ignore Vilkas's blasted drills." He smirked at his egg, pleased to have come up with this plan, before popping it into his mouth with relish.
Turdas, 6th of Frost Fall, 4E202
More often than not, the meat served in Jorrvaskr had been hunted by one of the Companions themselves, since the plains around Whiterun were ripe with game. Aela in particular loved to hunt—they didn't call her The Huntress because she could shoot a target.
But, for domesticated meats, Tilma typically did business with Anoriath, a Wood Elf with a stall in the marketplace. Anoriath was perhaps in his forties (though who could tell with elves, long-lived as they were?), and though he dressed like a Nord, he trimmed his beard to a sharp point and wore a topknot, like an elf. He was pleasant and well-spoken, and seemed to have made friends with all his regular customers.
Deirdre had started a discussion with him about the best ways to prepare a beef roast, doing her best to absorb his knowledge and brand it into her brain. The cookbook she'd been using was an immense help, but she wanted to make no mistakes with the supper that night, since everyone but Njada would be present.
Their conversation was interrupted by an elated exclamation. "Deirdre!"
Hearing someone call her name outside of Jorrvaskr caught her by surprise. She turned to see none other than the young man she'd met the day of the tournament, Leif, approaching Anoriath's stall. Surprise struck her again. He had the same sunshine smile, the same brilliant, blood-orange head of hair, and the same expressive, golden-brown eyes (fixed on her), that she remembered. A jolt ran through her.
"Leif," she blurted, swiveling toward him.
"I'm so glad I came to the market today!" he beamed, as he drew within speaking distance. "What are you doing in town?"
That's right. Last he knew, I should be in Riverwood. I said I would write to him, and I completely forgot.
"I—actually, I live here. In Whiterun. Now," she stumbled. "I'm so sorry I didn't write, it's been—A lot has happened since the tournament."
Something seemed to dawn on him. He rubbed the back of his neck, posture slipping toward rueful. "Oh, that explains it. I, um, wrote to you. But I addressed it to Riverwood, so you must not have gotten it."
Deirdre could have slapped herself. "I'm so sorry. Like I said, a lot has happened."
She heard her pitch grow strained, and Leif must have noticed. His pale brows furrowed. "Did something happen to Riverwood? I haven't heard of anything like a dragon attack. Is everything all right?"
She hesitated. As she was considering how to answer, Anoriath cleared his throat.
"Did you have any more questions for me, Miss Deirdre?"
Deirdre realized she was blocking the stall, her roast wrapped up and ready to take. She reached for it, smiling apologetically at Anoriath. "No, thank you so much. I'll be seeing you."
He dipped his head. Deirdre hefted her purchase into her arms and stepped back.
Leif immediately held out his hands. "Could I carry that for you? Where are you headed?"
She felt another jolt. The roast wasn't even that heavy. But she'd never had a boy offer to carry something for her (not counting, of course, the few men who'd actually needed to carry her, but that was different).
"If you like," she said shyly. "I'm going to Jorrvaskr."
His eyes widened. He stepped up to take the roast. "You're not a Companion, are you?"
The sheer awe in his voice, as if he were totally unaware of the absurdity of the question, hit her so suddenly that she laughed. And the way his expression turned sheepish, but his eyes lit up, made the mirth pool pleasantly in her chest.
"No, I'm just a housemaid," she giggled, lifting a hand to her mouth. "I'm not exactly a warrior."
"I guess that makes sense," he admitted, beginning to step in the direction of Jorrvaskr. She followed suit, and they walked together.
"What about your family?" Leif asked. "I'm assuming they're here too?"
And just like that, the pleasant feeling went away. How to even begin telling him what had happened?
He must have seen the change on her face. "Something isn't all right," he said, subdued. "Is it maybe something to do with the war?"
After a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. "Sort of."
They walked for a while without saying anything, Deirdre watching the street. She felt guilty for spoiling the mood. He hadn't approached her expecting a depressing conversation.
"Listen," Leif said. "Hulda is going to let me play at the Bannered Mare tonight. If you have some time, maybe you could come?"
She met his eyes. A wave of red rose up beneath his freckles. "And after, if you can stay for a bit, we can … talk. You can tell me about it. If, you know, you want to."
Deirdre could only hold his gaze for a few heartbeats before she had to look at the street again. She felt warm. "I can come after supper," she replied. Her pulse quickened—partly because the thought of telling someone what had happened last month was daunting. And partly because, even though she wanted to do it, the thought of spending time with Leif made her nervous.
"You're sure? It's not too much trouble?"
She assured him it wasn't, and he seemed both pleased and relieved. He kept the conversation neutral the rest of the way to Jorrvaskr, and walked her up the steps to the front door. Before he gave her back the beef roast, he extended a tentative hand. She just as gingerly placed hers atop it. His fingers gave hers a reassuring squeeze.
"I'll see you tonight then," he promised.
She just nodded, her tongue failing her. But she gave him a grateful look as he handed her the roast, and he beamed back, stepping away from the door and waving slightly.
She ducked into Jorrvaskr and closed the door, leaning her back against it. Athis and Torvar were going at it in the sparring pit, and no one watching their bout so much as glanced at her. She made her way to the kitchen.
She dropped the roast onto the center counter and brushed off her hands. Seeing that Tilma was not there, she went to the laundry room next to the kitchen. Sure enough, Tilma was on her chair sewing up a gaping hole in someone's tunic. She glanced up when Deirdre walked in.
"Find us some good meat?" she asked.
"Yes. Thank you for letting me experiment with supper, by the way."
Tilma chuckled. "Far be it from me to squash your interests."
Deirdre, a mix of buoyancy and anxiousness swirling in her heart, approached her. "Speaking of which, Tilma, would it be all right if I left for a while after supper? Someone invited me out."
Tilma's needle paused. "Oh?" she said, interest piqued. "What kind of someone?"
Deirdre looked at her hands to avoid the old woman's eye, running a thumb over a small cut on one finger. But, now that she was looking, her hands were not in great shape. Nails too short and unshapely, a few nicks and scrapes, a small, fading burn mark. Leif wouldn't find them unsightly would he?
"His name is Leif. He's playing music at the Bannered Mare tonight."
"Ah-ha. A bard then." Tilma nodded as if this explained everything. "Of course you should go out. Let's keep on top of the dishes so they're mostly done before supper is through, and I'll finish up whatever's left."
A little too eagerly, Deirdre thanked her, and a little too quickly, she hastened back to the kitchen to begin preparing supper.