Middas, 2nd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 202
Distracted by the thought of sleeping in a bed, Deirdre hadn't taken much notice of the city when they'd finally arrived after dark. She remembered thinking the inn was huge. She remembered thinking her room was tiny. And she remembered thinking she was glad not to have come alone, when Vilkas reminded her he'd be right next door.
When she and Vilkas stepped out of the Bee and Barb into the sunlight, she remembered one final detail—Riften smelled terrible.
The city's marketplace sprawled out before her. To her left ran a wide boardwalk, elevated high above the stagnant waters of the canal. To her right, a line of tall, ugly wooden buildings curved along an arc, forming a huge circle around the market plaza.
The buildings surrounding the plaza may have been nice once. Now they all appeared to be in some state of disrepair. Even the inn, while comfortable and clean on the interior, had an exterior with sagging and weathered wood.
Worse than any of this was the stench. It hung in the air, equal parts fish and musty water. It emanated from the canal, from the direction of the fishery, and from the many, many fishing stalls in the plaza.
Judging by sight and smell together, Deirdre had to assume there was mold under every wooden board and rot in every wooden beam.
"Who would live here?" she wondered aloud.
Vilkas plucked at her cloak to get her to follow him. "Be careful where you say that. They know it's a shithole, but they don't like it when outsiders say so."
Deirdre stuck close as he made his way into the market. They were immediately shouted at by every vendor they passed; an aggressive baker, a coaxing tailor, an impatient grocer. And of course, several fish-sellers, who rather than praising their own goods, insulted those of their neighbors. Vilkas ignored them all, seemingly unbothered. Deirdre gave them half-smiles and apologetic shakes of the head.
She watched a thin-faced woman lean on a jewelry stall and snap something at the vendor—an Argonian. Deirdre had only ever heard about Argonians, and couldn't help but stare. His build was almost identical to that of a human male, but from the side, Deirdre could see a long, scaly, tapering tail emerging from the hem of his tunic. His face was just like that of a lizard's; elongated, hairless, covered in shimmering green scales. His overbite showed a set of sharp, triangular teeth, and his eyes were yellow with slitted pupils.
"Don't stare at the Argonians," Vilkas muttered.
Deirdre guiltily averted her gaze.
"I've never met one before."
"The owners of the inn are Argonians. You didn't see the female behind the bar?"
"No. Are there many of them in Riften?"
"A lot."
Deirdre felt a tug on her cloak and stopped short. An old man, sitting on a ratty blanket on the ground, had the hem of her cloak in his bony hand. His clothes were threadbare and dirty, and in lieu of a cloak of his own he seemed to have wrapped his limbs in any stray rag he could get his hands on.
"Spare a coin for a veteran, lady?"
His eyes were milky and clouded as they peered up at her. Deirdre thought she could feel him shivering through the grip on her cloak. Simultaneously, pity and nervousness cut at her heart.
"Oh, I—"
Vilkas took her by the wrist and drew her away, forcing the old man's brittle fingers to release her cloak. Her head whipped from Vilkas back to the old man, who'd already forgotten her and reached for another passerby.
"Wait a minute," she said, pulling against Vilkas's grip.
He neither let go nor slowed down. "Don't hand things to people, remember? The ground rules?"
"But you're right here," she protested. "It's not like he could hurt me. And I can spare a septim—"
"No," Vilkas interrupted, throwing a glare over his shoulder. "One septim for him, another for the next one, another for the next one, until half your purse is gone and you don't have money for the inn."
"It's just one old man!"
Vilkas shook his head, not loosening his hold. "You're too nice, Deirdre."
It was not a compliment. She followed him for a minute without saying anything, debating whether to wrench free and march back to the old man, or abide by Vilkas's judgment. But then they had already walked too far, and it would be nerve-wracking to go back through the market crowd without him.
"You can let go," she said sullenly.
He did so. "Just focus on where we're going. The less you have to ask for directions to get back, the better."
Deirdre crossed her arms beneath her cloak. She walked like that the rest of the way, squeezing her arms every time a wheedling voice called out to her. As Vilkas predicted, there were several more. More than she expected.
At least she was getting used to the smell.
Who would live here? she repeated to herself. She was both morally and physically uncomfortable.
Eventually they reached a quieter part of the city where the buildings were newer, or at least better-tended. The clothes of the people appeared warm and well-made, and there were no more beggars crying out.
"There's the Temple of Mara," Vilkas said, as they rounded a corner.
The stone building at the end of the street was the tallest around. It sat atop a high foundation and then rose two stories, plus the height of a central turret. The steep-sloping roof was covered with pretty, dusty-pink shingles, the color peeking out through half-melted snow. In front of the temple sat a decorative stone fence. On either side of the fence's entry point hung a red banner, each emblazoned with the symbol of Mara in goldenrod yellow.
"It's lovely," Deirdre said, surprised. As they drew closer, she thought she could hear music floating out from the high turret.
"It's a temple for the Goddess of Love. What else would you expect?"
She hummed. "No one wants to get married in an ugly building, I suppose." That was the only explanation for this picturesque place in such an otherwise hideous city.
"And that must make that one the orphanage," Vilkas said.
Deirdre perked up. She followed his line of sight to the last building on the right side of the street before the temple. It was almost perfectly square and made of logs, with many small glass windows and a red door. It had a double gable roof with the same pink shingles as the temple, tinged sooty-gray by the smoke emerging from the chimney.
Deirdre darted to the building, stopping at the wooden sign posted in the ground outside the door. It did, indeed, read "Honorhall Orphanage."
A jumble of feelings rose in her throat. Just through that red door, Frodnar and Mona were waiting for her. After more than two months apart, she would finally have the chance to see them with her own eyes, hold them, hear them. The headmistress's letters, while helpful, had not sufficed to reassure her of their wellbeing. But now it was time. She was finally here.
"This is where I leave you," Vilkas said behind her.
She turned. Staring up into his inscrutable, dark eyes, she felt a surge of gratitude.
"Thank you for bringing me. Really. It would have been a nightmare on my own."
His gaze shifted away. "Just remember the ground rules. You can probably trust the people here, but when you leave, be careful."
She took in the way he wouldn't look at her, the way his brows were lowered. And it came to her, quite clearly and suddenly: he hadn't been barking orders and warnings for the past two days just to be bossy, or just because he thought she was an idiot. He was trying to be considerate.
She could not help smiling.
"You're nicer than you pretend to be," she declared.
His head snapped toward her—he looked positively offended. Considering how he'd called her nice a few minutes ago, she was not surprised. She laughed.
Vilkas chuffed, taking a step back. "I have a job to do. I'll see you back at the inn."
"Yes. Good luck. Stay safe!"
He made an odd expression. He seemed about to say something, but shook his head and strode away without further ado.
Deirdre faced the door of the orphanage. Anticipation filled her stomach as she walked up to it. Before knocking, she stuck her hands into the inner pockets of her cloak. In one, she had slipped the storybook. In the other, her coin purse sat secure, just as heavy as when she'd left the inn. So much for having "please pick my pocket" on her forehead.
She knocked firmly on the red door, and shortly heard muffled footsteps. The door opened to reveal an Imperial woman, a bit plain, probably in her twenties. Her brown hair was held back in a simple tail, and she wore an apron over a sturdy, gray wool dress.
The woman lit up. She blurted, "Oh, you must be Deirdre! Of Riverwood?"
Deirdre blinked. "Yes, that's—me. The letter I sent ahead must have arrived?"
The woman beamed, transforming her features into something warm and pretty. "It did indeed. Frodnar will be so glad to see you! Please, come in."
She stepped aside and waved Deirdre in, closing the door behind her. The next thing Deirdre knew, the woman had looped Deirdre's arm with hers and was escorting her past a writing desk, toward another door on the other side of the room.
"I'm Constance Michel, the headmistress. I've been the one writing letters to you."
Deirdre drew slightly away, to better assess her. "You're the headmistress? But you're so young!"
Constance, pausing at the door, dipped her head humbly. "Yes, I know. The previous headmistress, Divines rest her soul, passed away a few months ago. I was just her assistant back then, but Lady Black-Briar asked me to take charge, and so, here I am."
"Black-Briar? Isn't that the name of a mead company?"
Constance tilted her head. "Do you not know of the Black-Briars? They do own the meadery, but they're a noble family, here in Riften. Maven Black-Briar has been leading them the last decade or so, I think. The orphanage runs almost entirely on her patronage."
Constance pulled open the door. A wave of noise poured out; children babbling together, a few little voices especially loud. Deirdre took in a large room lined on both sides with triple-bunk beds, and a couple dozen children scattered throughout. She looked anxiously for one particular yellow-haired boy.
"Frodnar, could you come over here?" Constance called, cupping a hand around her mouth.
And there, popping up from a circle of children playing pick-up sticks, was that familiar little face. Deirdre's heart leapt. Frodnar stared. Then he sprinted across the room.
Deirdre dropped to her knees to catch him. Frodnar barrelled into her, his thin arms locking around her neck in a death grip. Deirdre's eyes stung. She squeezed them shut and held him tight, feeling him shudder with a sob.
Constance put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't we close this door for a minute?" she suggested.
Deirdre, scooping Frodnar into her arms (was he bigger, already, than when she'd last seen him?), stood and backed into the office. The other children had quieted somewhat and were staring at them, until Constance closed the door and hid them from view.
Constance indicated a chair she could sit in. With Frodnar still clinging to her, Deirdre sat with him on her lap and rubbed his back as he cried. His hair had been getting shaggy the last day she'd seen him, but now it was short and neat. Constance, or someone else, must have recently cut it for him.
Why did that simple thought make her want to sob, too?
She held him for a good while. Eventually, his crying wound down, though his breath continued to hitch. He swiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and lifted his head from her shoulder, eyes shiny and red.
"Hey, kiddo," she said softly.
He blinked, sending a tear down his cheek. Deirdre used her cloak to wipe it away.
"I missed you, Dee."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I missed you too."
He smiled a watery smile. "Constance said you were coming. I told all the other kids about you."
"Do you like the other kids?"
He nodded. "Everyone except Britte. She's mean. But Samuel makes her leave me alone."
"That's good to hear." She hugged him again, reveling in the warmth and solidity of him. "Where's your baby sister?"
Frodnar slid off her lap, giving a great sniff and wiping his nose again. He took Deirdre's hand and pointed to a second door on a different wall than the first.
"That's the baby room," he explained.
Deirdre glanced around to where Constance had taken up a post at the writing desk. Constance gestured toward the door Frodnar had indicated.
"Go right ahead. Our staff know you're coming, too, so if you see them, just tell them who you are. You can ask them for help if you need it."
Deirdre thanked her, and with Frodnar's hand in hers, they walked into the other room. Frodnar led her immediately to the correct bassinet, where Mona was swaddled and asleep. Deirdre reached out a finger to stroke her soft, round cheek.
"She's already so much chubbier," she said quietly. "Newborns grow so fast."
"Constance lets me hold her," Frodnar said.
"What a good brother you are."
Frodnar leaned into her side and put his arms around her. "Constance says I can help take care of her when she's a little bigger and she moves into the big kids' room. But I said, when she's bigger, maybe my mama and papa will come back, and we can go home."
Deirdre's heart panged. She knelt to meet Frodnar at his level.
"Frodnar. Do you know why those soldiers took your mama and papa away?"
After a moment, he gave a slow nod. His voice lowered as he leaned in. "Constance said, the Empire made a law not to pray to Talos, but my mama and papa loved Talos too much, so the elves took them."
Deirdre hesitated. She was not sure if this was Constance's conclusion from things Frodnar had told her, or if the people who'd brought the children had told her this story. It was not completely inaccurate, and Frodnar would probably not understand any explanation more complex.
"That's mostly right," she said. "The elves don't like Talos, but Nords love Talos. That's why Ulfric Stormcloak started the war. The Empire is friends with the elves, so if we make the Empire leave us alone, the elves have to leave us alone, too, and we can pray to Talos. Do you understand?"
Frodnar nodded. Deirdre took his small hands in hers.
"If Ulfric wins the war, and we can tell the elves to leave us alone, then your mama and papa might be able to come home. So we must pray that Ulfric wins the war."
Frodnar nodded again. His young face was too serious. Sad and confused, but willing to trust her. How much did he actually understand? Had she said too much, expected him to grasp ideas too heavy for his age? Had she made him feel worse?
"Can I come live with you, Dee?" he said in a small voice.
Deirdre squeezed his hands. "Not yet. I don't have a house yet, but I'm saving lots of money so I can buy one. When I have a house, I'll come and get you and Mona. But it might take a while. Can you be brave until I come get you?"
He nodded vigorously. Deirdre lifted both his hands and gave the back of each one a kiss. "Good. I thought you were brave."
She let go of his hands to shrug her cloak back off of her shoulders and tug Gerdur and Hod's wedding bands out of the front of her dress. Leaving them on the chain around her neck, she laid them on her palm so he could see them.
"These are your mama and papa's wedding rings. They sent them to me to tell me they were all right. When you're old enough to take care of them, I'll give them to you. For now I'm keeping them safe, until you're a young man. Does that sound good to you?"
Frodnar extended a careful finger to touch the rings. He pointed to the bigger one. "That one's my papa's?"
"Yes. He has really big fingers, doesn't he?"
She slipped the bigger ring onto her thumb to demonstrate its size. She took it off and let Frodnar try it on his thumb as well.
"Someday, this will fit you," she said.
"Will my mama's ring fit you?" he asked, taking off Hod's ring.
Deirdre shook her head ruefully as she slipped Gerdur's ring onto her third finger and showed him how loose it was. "Not me, unfortunately. My hands have stopped growing already. I'm not going to get any bigger."
Frodnar examined the ill-fitting ring. He puffed up with determination.
"You should marry me when I get older. Then we can take care of Mona."
Deirdre stifled a laugh, not wanting to wound his young ego. "What if you want to marry a different girl once you're older? You might find someone you like better than me. I'll help you take care of Mona anyway."
Frodnar scoffed and crossed his arms, in imitation of some grown-up. "No, girls are stupid. I only like you."
Deirdre, standing, brushed off the front of her skirt where she'd been kneeling. "You might not always think that, though. If you change your mind and like another girl, I won't be mad. Deal?"
He nodded gravely.
In the bassinet, Mona made a noise. Deirdre turned to find her tiny eyes struggling to open, and her nearly-invisible eyebrows scrunched together unhappily. Deirdre reached into the bassinet and carefully took Mona into her arms, bouncing her. Mona blinked, looking confused. Deirdre smiled.
"She's probably hungry, if she's just waking up," she said, glancing about the room.
There was already a woman walking toward her. A plump Nord woman, older than Constance.
"You're the Riverwood lass, I take it?" the woman asked.
"Yes, that's me. I'm visiting Frodnar and Mona today."
The woman gestured to Frodnar. "Of course. I'm one of the wet nurses here. I can take the little one."
Deirdre reluctantly handed Mona over. This, too, on top of a house, was something she could not supply to Mona. And thus far the orphanage did not seem like a bad place. Frodnar was not skinny, his clothes were not ragged, his hair and face were clean. It was a relief and yet it made her jealous—the children were better off here than they would have been with her.
Frodnar took her hand as the wet nurse walked away with Mona. "Let's go play with the other kids," he suggested.
He led her back to the room filled with bunk beds, standing tall with pride as he paraded her before his peers. Several of the children hung back, eying her with either wariness or bashfulness, while others warmed up to her immediately.
Deirdre soon found herself seated on the floor with Frodnar on her lap and a half dozen children sitting around them, asking her questions or showing her their toys. She had a passing thought that this was the only thing her lack of intimidating features was good for. Someone like Vilkas would have been given a wide berth.
"Dee, sing a song," Frodnar piped up, interrupting a little red-headed girl who was speaking to Deirdre through her rag doll.
Deirdre pet the doll's head in apology. "What would you like me to sing?"
"Sing Little Deirdre!"
She looked around at the other children. "Do any of you know Little Deirdre?"
They clamored, yes, of course they knew it.
"Dee sings better than anyone in Skyrim," Frodnar boasted. "Better than anyone in the whole world!"
"I want to sing Little Deirdre too," said the red-headed girl.
"You can sing with me. Ready?"
Most of the children started singing with them, a few miming the actions that went along with the song. Frodnar, who used to love acting it out, stayed on her lap without participating. By the middle of the second verse, however, the children's voices had petered out, and they were watching Deirdre with rapt attention.
By the end of the third verse (Deirdre was not about to sing the song's depressing second half), the room had gone totally silent. A sea of wide eyes stared at her.
"Sing more," said the red-headed girl, who had sat beside Deirdre and leaned against her.
"What other songs do you like?"
"I like Moon Song."
"That's a baby song," countered a Redguard boy. "Sing Ragnar the Red!"
"It is not a baby song!"
"They're both good songs," Deirdre interrupted, before the boy could snap back at the redhead. "We can sing both of them."
She wondered, at the end of Ragnar the Red when Ragnar's head was "rolling around on the floor," if it was entirely appropriate to be singing about beheading with a room full of children. But they all seemed to get a kick out of it, the boys especially, and the older woman caretaker in the room didn't say a thing to stop her.
Ragnar the Red seemed to have given the children a burst of energy, and they began clamoring to go outside to the backyard to play games. Deirdre felt like a guest of honor, escorted there by a gaggle of children all trying to talk to her at once. The way they swarmed her, they must have been starved for adult attention.
They played until Constance came to call them to lunch, which Deirdre was invited to partake of. After lunch, she sat with Frodnar on his bottom bunk and read the storybook she had brought. The same children who'd gathered to sing with her surrounded them this time too, as well as a few shyer ones who stayed near the back. Most of the smaller children, tired from play and sated from lunch, fell asleep.
The wet nurse who'd taken Mona earlier came in to hand the baby back to Deirdre. Mona's big blue eyes were bright and alert, staring in fascination at the new face before her. Deirdre set Mona on her knees and cooed and carried on a one-sided conversation with her, while Frodnar observed. Mona, tiny fists waving in the air, occasionally made little noises as if she were dying to communicate something, but didn't know how.
"My goodness," Deirdre said, raising her brows as high as they would go. "What a thing to say, lass."
"What did she say?" Frodnar demanded.
"She said, when she grows up, she wants to become just like the Shieldmaiden Matilda, and go around chopping off heads."
Frodnar laughed. "She didn't say that!"
Deirdre, smiling down at Mona, caught her breath when Mona's small mouth opened in a smile of her own. Warmth flooded Deirdre's heart, spilled over, and turned painful. Mona had been too little to smile two months ago. But she was smiling now. And Gerdur and Hod couldn't even see it. They'd missed their daughter's first smiles.
Her vision blurred with tears. She cradled Mona's delicate head in one hand and wiped her cheeks with the other. Frodnar put his arms around her neck and leaned his chin on her shoulder. She readjusted Mona to draw her up and kiss her silky-smooth cheek.
"Why are you crying?" Frodnar asked quietly.
Deirdre shook her head, nuzzling Mona's soft face. "Because your baby sister is just so cute."
He didn't inquire further, though she suspected he didn't believe her. She watched him play with some of the other children for a while, and the older caretaker she'd seen before came to sit beside her and chat, telling her about the orphanage's day-to-day operations. By the time Frodnar came back and jumped up onto his bed to join her, Mona had fallen back asleep. The older woman left her to tend to a boy who'd started crying across the room, and Deirdre and Frodnar talked.
Frodnar described how scary the ride from Riverwood to Helgen had been, with his parents tied up in the soldiers' wagon. He snuggled up to her side as he spoke.
"And I asked the soldier why you couldn't come with us, and he said you stabbed the captain, so you went to a different jail. But I said you were nice and didn't stab people. And the captain said—"
He paused, and thought something over.
"Dee, what's a slut?"
Deirdre's eyes flew wide. Frodnar peered up to gauge her reaction. She glanced about quickly, to make sure no other children or adults had heard.
"Did that captain say that word?"
"Yeah. He said it a lot."
"… About me?"
He nodded.
Humiliation and rage, which she'd thought she'd tucked away, bubbled up in Deirdre's chest. Could this man sink any lower? To say something so crass to a child, while Gerdur and Hod had been forced to listen? After he had attacked her?
"It's a very mean word that very bad men say about women. It's an ugly, ugly word. You shouldn't ever say it. The captain shouldn't have said it. Do you understand?"
He nodded again. "Did you really stab him?"
Deirdre took a deep breath. "Yes, I did. But I only stabbed him because he tried to hurt me. The captain was wrong to send me to jail, too. He was a very bad man."
"How did you get out of jail?"
Deirdre thought of Vilkas, and wondered how his job was going. "Do you remember the Companion who came to Riverwood? I ran into him when we were playing tag; the big man with the armor?"
Frodnar sat up straight, face alight with excitement. "Yeah!"
"He found me and rescued me."
"Wow," Frodnar breathed. "Did he kill any bad guys?"
Unfortunately, no, she thought.
"No, he just told the guard about the bad captain, and the guard respects him, so he let us go."
Frodnar deflated. "That's not rescuing. That's boring. Rescuing has fights with swords. He should have killed the bad captain and all the guards, like this." He mimed a stabbing motion, then put his hands to his gut and fell back onto the bed as if dead, tongue sticking out.
Deirdre laughed. "That would have been more exciting."
Frodnar rolled onto his knees and turned to face her. "Can I be a Companion when I grow up?"
She scrutinized him, humming in speculation. "If you grow up to be as big as your papa or your Uncle Ralof, I think you could. But Vilkas—that's the Companion who rescued me—says that Companions don't usually get married. So you wouldn't be able to marry me after all."
He frowned, thinking hard. Deirdre grinned and mussed his hair. "You have time to think about it. Don't worry."
Frodnar decided he wanted to play pretend and rescue her properly, and enlisted some other children to be the jail guards he needed to slay. An older boy named Samuel, about ten or so, leant him a toy wooden sword that every child seemed to revere as if it were a legendary blade. Deirdre made a mental note to get Frodnar his own wooden sword and mail it to him. She was sure she could buy one—but, come to think of it, didn't Vilkas know how to carve? Perhaps she could coax a favor out of him.
Deirdre spent every possible minute with Frodnar and Mona. They played, they talked, they laughed, they sang, they told each other stories—and the hours slipped by too rapidly. Before Deirdre had gotten her fill of time, the light coming in through the windows began to slant and dim. She knew she ought to leave before it got too close to sunset.
Vilkas had told her back at the inn that his job would likely take him all day, since he apparently had to hunt someone down who did not want to be caught. Deirdre hadn't asked for details, but knew she would likely return to the inn before he did. Her time was running out.
She stayed for supper, after which Constance approached her with an apologetic expression.
"It's about that time. We have cleanup and bedtime preparations to take care of."
Deirdre told her she understood, keeping a straight face despite how her heart protested. She bid goodbye to Mona first, managing to get one more heartbreakingly beautiful smile from her. She tried not to tear up when she knelt to hug Frodnar, and failed spectacularly.
"Can't you stay here tonight?" Frodnar asked, hugging her as if afraid to let go.
"I wish I could. But there's nowhere for me to sleep, and I don't want to bother Constance. She's been very gracious to let me stay all day and let me eat with you. And I have to leave before it gets dark."
Frodnar tightened his grip, and Deirdre squeezed him back. Reluctantly, she pried his arms loose and took his hands, once again kissing both of them. She wiped the tear that fell down his round cheek.
"I'll come visit again, I promise. This won't be the last time. And when I have enough money, I'll come get you and you can live with me for good. Remember, you promised to be brave."
"I'll be brave."
His voice did not sound brave. Deirdre put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. He would look so much like his father when he got older.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Dee."
She hugged him. Pulled away. Stood, ran a hand over his short hair. She bent to kiss his forehead, smiled at him, and before she could start crying, she turned and followed Constance to the front door.
"Thank you for your hospitality," she said around the ache in her throat.
Constance spoke gently. "Of course. It's a comfort to me when the children still have family who care about them. I only wish they were all so lucky."
Deirdre nodded. She could not speak. Constance opened the door for her, they exchanged parting bows, and Deirdre walked out into the unseasonably mild evening. When the door closed behind her, she did not look back. She was too busy swiping away the water on her face.