Hullo, everybody! Sorry for this insane wait T_T Sophomore year was bonkers, but I'm back and here to stay. Let's resume, shall we? :P Please Read and Review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR
It's evening.
Snow falls in fat, lazy clumps, gently piling in high drifts around the manor. It covers the children's tracks, made hours earlier from romping through the fresh powder. Now, they're all inside, their overcoats dripping dry as they listen to Argis' tall tales at the hearth in the main hall.
We sit on the back porch, peeling potatoes. It's just Idgrod and I, as it used to be, when I was with child and without husband. With Paia far and away and my brothers set on building me a manor, Idgrod was my only solace. We'd sit together, just like this, and we'd talk, both of what had been as well as what was yet to come.
We're silent now, though. And, not for want of things to say.
I'm reaching for a new spud to peel, when she finally breaks the quiet.
"We've been busy, as of late, old friend," she says, a tired but earnest smile playing over her lips.
I shrug my shoulders.
"With the King's Mandate, plenty has changed to make us busy." I give a slow smirk myself, before adding, "old friend."
She laughs gently, shaking her head, eyes shut.
"Whenever I think about it, I grow so excited," she confesses. "You saw it."
"I didn't say I saw it, I said-"
"You said you saw it; I know you saw it; I saw you see it, Rontu."
"Stop saying see and saw, damn you," I hiss.
"You know you did," she insists. "You saw the golden cord, between your breast and his."
"I did not," I insist right back. "And, that's enough of this, Idrgod. Please." I can feel her eyes on me, as she goes quiet. This is wrong of me. Out of all our troubles, mine are lesser as of late. "Have you heard anything of them?" I ask her gently.
Idgrod draws in a deep breath and sighs, shaking her head.
"Not my father or mother," she says tonelessly. "Not my baby brother. My Joric."
We came upon the rented rooms of Idgrod's mother, the last Jarl of Morthal. Ravencrone, her husband Alsfur and her son, Joric tried to stay together after she was supplanted by Ulfric with Sorli the Builder. There was talk of them leaving the country, at least for a little while.
Idrod asked me to come along with her to a meeting with her family, deciding their next move. I offered that she and Joric stay on at the Manor, and Idgrod wanted to propose it to her parents. The Moorside Inn was full of refugees, and so they had been staying in the guardhouse. When we arrived, however, the guards were sitting all in a line along the outside, bound and enchanted. Idrgod's parents and her younger brother were gone.
The guards remembered nothing of what had happened, and nothing was stolen. In spite of the situation, Idrgod remained easy. I kept asking if she wanted Argis and Jarsha and I to track them down, but she declined. Said they were fine. Something told her everything was fine, and she left it at that.
Her courage was great and her words were strong, but I knew Idgrod. I could tell that she was still lonely and scared without Joric. I feel the urge to cry raw on the edge of her voice, but I know that she won't indulge it. She's already told herself that she won't.
"I keep praying for a sign that my brother is safe," she sighs. "There was little love between my mother and I. She was too cold for that. My father cares for us greatly, but I could not relate to him much," She shakes her head, a long, dark brown lock of hair escaping from her scarf. "Joric was all I had, Rontu. I don't rightly know what to do anymore."
She sits there, staring out of the window. A knife in one hand, and a spud in the other. Her face is flushed, and her brow furrowed. I know better than to touch her. Any physical comfort will only help break her resolve not to cry, which I want no part in. I clear my throat.
"I know this feeling," I tell her. "With Jarsha and Adjin, yes, but also Segen. Also Marrick," I admit. "There's not much to do to fight it. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, my mother used to say." I thumb the eyes of the potato in my hands. "We're different, though, you and me. We have the Sight. If yours is telling you your brother is not hungry and not cold and not hurt, I can only advise that you trust it. For now, at least," I say, "that is all you can do."
We are silent for a while. Dusk begins to settle in, and the forest begins to darken as the last light sounds its retreat. All is quiet, between the trees.
"Idgord," I whisper, so thinly I can barely hear myself. "Idrgod."
She turns to me, to see my gaze focused out into the woods. When she follows it, she immediately freezes.
"Those are-"
"Elk," I finish for her. "Can you see? There are four of them."
Her breath hitches as the family travels up the treeline, weaving in and out of the trunks. The first of them is the mother, the cow. Between her and the bull bringing up the rear, are two calfs. They walk, just like that, through the yard and into the eastern part of the forest, fading from sight, and then, from silhouette.
"They haven't left," she hisses, in awe. "All of these dragons- all of these people in the Manor, and they haven't left. Rontu," she goes, shaking her head. She turns to me, and her eyes are brimming with tears. "That's it. That's my sign."
I'm shocked for a moment. But, I suppose it's better to let her believe.
"So it is," I smile gently. "So it is."
She walks to the window, craning her neck to watch after them, though they've already gone.
"You don't believe," she calls to me, "but, visions don't lie. You of all people should know that, Rontu O'Naharis." Idgrod turns back to me, grinning. "Or, is it O'Naharis?"
My eyes narrow, and I lean back in the chair, draping my arms behind its back.
"What do you mean, is it?"
"Depends," she smirks. "Would you like me to tell you what I've seen in regards to your last name?"
"Idgrod," I bristle. "I've told you and told you; I've had enough of having my fortunes told for a lifetime."
She grows quiet.
"Fine," she shrugs, and rises to drag her burlap sack of potatoes into the kitchen.
I relax back into the work, slicing off skins with the paring knife, as she heads off the porch.
Just when she hits the threshold, she clears her throat.
"It rhymes with Koryggton."
"Idgrod!" I can hear her cackle from the other side of the wall. I shake my head, chuckling to myself. "Damn it."
It's been awhile since the Kingsmoot, and there's still so much that I don't understand about that day. I glance down the length of the wool shirtdress, right where that golden cord had flickered between he and I. That had nothing to do with me, anymore. Marrick Stray King would always be a part of me, always. Among other things, he was the father of my son, and he had taught me much and more about myself and the ways of the world.
That world has me backed into a corner now.
I chuckled half-heartedly to myself.
Five years of gaining, and coming into my own, just to give it all up for the person who'd taken it all away. I don't think I could ever forgive him. Not in a million years, especially not for Iman. The end of my life, for the security of his crown?
I wiped my brow and stared off into the frozen forest, snow falling thickly now.
No. Not for Marrick. I was doing this for Segen.
It would be left up to his father to give him the world he deserved. But, it was my duty to give him his best chance while I still could. That wasn't to say I'd given up hope for myself. Before anything else, I had to remain true to Rontu. And, there was no way I was going to let her live out the rest of her days in the thrall of a man who saw her as a trophy.
No way in hell.
I fix my gaze on the white skies- snow blowing wildly, blurring my vision. In the distance- about eight or nine miles out- two dark silhouettes appeared, circling around one another. The dragons, once obscured and called lore, were now everywhere. To have seen one was a mark of envy, at one point, with little boys and girls boasting on who had seen more of the winged beasts. Now, the townsmen saw them for what the truly were. A plague.
"I've booked us passage to Taneth." I angle my head back, acknowledging Shazaa's presence without taking my eyes from the dragons. "You, me and the child. The ship weighs anchor in a fortnight."
"Does it, now," I murmur, my lips pursed.
"I would have liked to travel through the continent, rather than around High Rock," he tells me, taking Idgrod's quitted chair. "We would have seen more of Hammerfell that way."
"I have seen it," I reply tonelessly.
I feel his eye glaze over me in a lazy kind of anger.
"One among us has not," he returns. That have me pause. "If I am going to raise this boy, I would want him to know of his true culture. His true home." I can only stare. Shazaa picks up a fallen spiral of potato skin and flicks it onto the fire where it sizzles and burns. "It is too dangerous, though," he says conclusively. "A ship will have to do." He's quiet, and I'm quiet, and I think we're thinking the same thing. "Rontu," he says. "Rontu, the wolf stays."
"No."
"We cannot take that thing aboard a vessel."
"Well, either we face the wilds, or they make an exception."
"Rontu, be reasonable-"
"For the love of Akatosh, I am not going to fucking drag my child from his home and that wolf both," I snarl. I shake my head furiously. "You're already getting away with murder, Shazaa; don't fucking push your luck."
It's an important moment.
It's the first I've snapped at him, in the midst of all of this. For weeks, he's been throwing his weight around, making his decisions and preparations without any argument from me. I've been letting him have his way, on purpose. In instances like this one, he won't have a choice but to give me what I want for fear that I'll hate him even more than I do. It'll help me in the end, when I manage to sneak Segen away from him.
"We make port in Taneth, then?" I murmur.
This indicates both that Na'el staying is not up for discussion, while also reminding Shazaa that he has won something. Shazaa hesitates, still not understanding why he isn't psychologically able to keep arguing.
He shakes out of his stupor and shrugs, "Yes. Why keep my father waiting?"
"A fortnight, huh?" I say, scraping away at another spud.
"It seems ample time to settle your affairs here," he reasons. "The house, your lands. Your sister."
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Ample," I chuckle, shaking my head. "How generous of you, my lord Ambassador."
He pauses. I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face.
"I am trying," he tells me simply. "That you can't deny." I say nothing in response to this, and he takes it as a sign to continue. "I want to make this as painless for you as possible, Rontu. It seems, however, that all my efforts are in vain."
I shake my head, still impassive.
"It isn't your efforts that cause me pain, so much as your intent itself."
"I only intend to restore you to your proper place," he replies, dismissively.
"Really? So, it isn't to snatch me from my home. Thank the Nine. Segen will be relieved." I rise, gingerly pinching the edges of my apron, full of potato chunks, and I cross to the large, cast iron cauldron to dump them into the boiling water. "Will you tell him, then? Or, should I?"
In his dumbfounded silence, I grab a ladle and begin to stir/
"Why are you so attached to this place?" he half-laughs, in disbelief. "You do know it can't be safe for much longer. Dragons are here, Rontu. On your very doorstep. The Nords- they're looting and dying; they're in worse shape than they were before. Yet, you would stay? I offer you an escape- to paradise. To home, even. And still, you would remain? Open your eyes!" he urges. "Your own manor has become little more than a hovel, teeming with the smallfolk."
"If it meant keeping my right to choose," I tell him, warmed over my the cauldron and my anger both. "Then, even if I were handed the keys to Sovngarde, I would still remain here." I turned to him with a smirk. "My hovel. Teeming as it is with smallfolk."
Shazaa bristles. He stands to his feet, dusting off his clothes, and steps close enough for me to feel at odds with the difference in height. I stand my ground, ladle gripped in fist, as I meet that narrowed golden gaze unflinchingly. It is Shazaa who breaks away first.
"Have it your own way, then," he seethes coldly, stepping through the doorway. "Just be packed by the end of the week." I'm about to say something smart back, when he adds in afterthought: "Please."
I turn around to see what has him changing his tone, only to find him staring off with Jarsha in the doorway. My brother holds Shazaa's gaze for a moment and the nods.
"Much better," my brother says. He steps to the side. Shazaa brushes past him, quickly and angrily, skulking off into the main hall. Jarsha turns toward the door, and pantomimes being welcomed into the room before making a show of stepping over the threshold. "Why, hello there, sweet sister," he says drily. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Hmmm," I go, ignoring him.
He seats himself in the other chair, and picks up a knife to start peeling with me. We sit there, just working without talk, and Jarsha hums a little tune to himself. He stops after a while, and the silence settles in.
"What song is that?" I ask.
"Hmm? Oh. The Age of Aggression." He grins wickedly. "But, the Imperial version."
"What?" I can't help but laugh. "Why the Imperial version?"
"The Down with Ulfric, the killer of kings part." Jarsha shakes his head, chuckling. "It makes me laugh every time, for some reason."
I laugh with him, up until I realize something.
"He killed Segen's grandfather," I say suddenly, out loud.
That gives Jarsha pause. Neither of us had ever thought of it that way.
"You're right," he says, astounded. "He did."
I shake my head, dropping potato and paring knife both.
"This is all too insane; everything's so complicated now. I feel as if every part of my life is just the unfinished business of our elders."
He shrugged, "Isn't that how it has been? In all things?" He nods toward Segen's heavy cloak, hanging by the back door. "Will he not live his life with unfinished business inherited from us?" Jarsha shakes his head. "All life is, is three eternal strings of fate. With every generation, they are braided further and further, but the strings remain untied."
I absorb his words quietly.
"For the one of us to shirk our artistry lessons," I say with a small smile, "you've become quite the poet."
Jarsha smiled back.
"Dragons," he murmured, "War. Great kings, legendary heroes. Dark times are the lifeblood of poems, are they not?"
"You're right," I sigh, and shake my head. "It's all still a complicated thing. And, I don't know how any of it this going to end for me."
Jarsha angles his head back to check the door before leaning closer to me.
"Are you going to let it stay that way?"
I eye him for a moment, before sighing.
"I'm putting some plans in place. Segen'll be taken care of; this you know."
"Have you thought about what you want done with Windstad?"
"I have," I say, with a nod, and look him straight in the eye. "I want you to take it."
"What?"
I nod, ignoring his look of shock.
"I want you to take it. I want you to take care of everyone who's living here, and to make sure they are all safe in this place. Do you think you can?"
He hesitates for a moment, but sighs in admission.
"We'll find out soon, won't we."
"Thank you," I smile.
He smiles back, my brother, and tips his head to take a sniff of the cauldron.
"That smells good," he says brightly.
"Be better with meat," I add slyly,
My brother rolls his eyes, groaning.
"I'm sorry we didn't pick anything off on today's ranging," he goes, shaking his head. "Damn dragons. They scare off any game for a two-league radius."
My brow furrows.
"That can't be; we saw elk just a moment ago."
"We?" h asks, "When?"
"Idgrod and I, not an hour ago," I tell him, pointing. "They went along the edge of the forest. A family of four, headed east."
Jarsha offers a look of concern, shaking his head.
"No, sister," he tells me. "I think between the three of us, Segen, Argis and I would have noticed the tracks."
"You doubt my eyes?" I snorted. "Mine? And, anyway, Idgrod was right beside me. She saw them as well."
"She sees a lot of things no one else can," Jarsha shrugs. "As do you." I hesitate, considering this fact, and Jarsha stirs the pot once, twice, before heading towards the door. "Looking forward to dinner," he smiles, and disappears into the next room.
"Yes," I call after him, distractedly, but my mind is elsewhere.
I rise up from the chair I've been in all day, and I cross to the door of the back porch, and open it. The snow has stopped falling, and a brisk wind whistles through the purple-edged darkness of the outside world.
I step out into the fresh powder, feet sinking down deep into the snow, snow sinking down over the sides of my simple house shoes. I can't bring myself to care. I keep walking, further and further, until I reach the tree line. I could see the truth from the doorway, but to have it right before me makes it hit even harder.
The snow, where we had seen the elk cross through, is completely bare of tracks.
Please review! Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry once again, for the wait! -LR