Writer's notes: It's been more than a month since an update, and I'm terribly sorry about that! School and writer's block is an effective combo to strangle creativity. But Erik's adventures continue on :) If you're still here and you've stuck around from the beginning, thank you so much.
I hope you enjoy this chapter.
P.S. It may be entirely possible that the rating for HDK will be bumped up to M later on ... (soyesitwillberatedM).
Hahnu Do Keizal
By Toasted Panic
Chapter Five
Fin Jer Lok
(The Eastern Sky)
It was odd to see the thane pitching her own tent. Her quarters back at the village were much grander in comparison to the small shelter she was building by herself. Erik couldn't help but watch as he stoked a fire in the middle of their meagre camp.
It's a strange sight, seeing m'lady doing anything by herself, Erik wondered as he idly rolled a stick between his palms. I thought that being thane meant you had servants to do your bidding
When they arrived at their first resupply point southeast of Rorikstead, it surprised Erik to see Lanre moving among the soldiers as they set up camp. When the gruff Redguard man named Rudo asked for poles to hold up his tent, Lanre hammered them in herself. When the Orsimer lad named Zhago needed help peeling the potatoes for their supper, Lanre assisted him with wordless efficiency. In the plain cotton tunic and leather breeches she wore, the thane looked like an ordinary person, blending seamlessly among their company. Her wolf cloak was nowhere to be seen.
Lanre straightened upon finishing her tent. She turned to one of her soldiers and called out, "Ilona. Do we need anything else?"
The woman who responded had short blonde hair and storm grey eyes. Her voice was gruff and curt. "We have yet to fill the waterskins, m'lady. There should be a bunch in the sack, over there by the cart. The stream's not too far away from our camp—seventy or eighty paces south."
Nodding, Lanre brushed off her palms on her leather breeches.
"Erik."
Erik stood to attention upon hearing Lanre call to him.
"Yes, m'lady?"
"I'll be needing your help with the waterskins. Take the sack and follow me."
Nodding, Erik moved to comply. On their way to the stream, he was able to take in the sight of their humble gathering. The small tents and patches of fires took up no more than a few yards from one end of the campsite to another. The arrangement of the tents also seemed rather arbitrary—nothing denoted rank among the thane's chosen guard. The Whiterun banners were also strangely absent.
I wonder why that is.
"Have you gotten to know much about the men and women in our company?" Lanre asked. They were a ways off from the camp, the noise and bustle fading behind them. Further in the distance towards the south, Erik could see tall dark pines in the shadow of the mountains.
"I'm afraid not, m'lady," Erik admitted, scratching his cheek sheepishly. "Between the ride here and all our work, I haven't gotten more than a few names in my head."
Erik, in the corner of his eye, saw that Lanre was giving him a curious glance.
"I see. All in good time, I suppose."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, with the sack of waterskins hoisted over Erik's shoulder. In the fading light of dusk, the world seemed to move in silence, making the gurgling of the nearby stream seem louder.
Upon arriving at the bank, Erik set the sack down. He knelt over the stream and began to fill each waterskin to the brim, letting the cool water weave through his fingers. Lanre did the same beside him. He lost count of how many he'd filled when Lanre spoke again.
"Is this the farthest you've been from your village?"
Erik looked up. Lanre was watching him curiously as she put a cork stopper into a waterskin.
"Yes, m'lady," Erik nodded.
"Please, Erik. In moments like this, feel free to call me by my name." Lanre shrugged. "The title is mostly for show."
Erik had to blink a few times. The notion was startling to him—to address her with such familiarity.
"As you wish, m'la—I mean, as you wish, Lanre."
Her name tasted foreign and bizarre on his tongue. The crinkling of her eyes at the corners told him that Lanre knew how strange it felt to say her name.
"Pardon me, but—well, it's just that now I'm wondering—"
Lanre tossed the waterskin in the sack and sat back in the grass, smiling easily as Erik tried to gather his words. Hesitating, for a moment, Erik stoppered his own waterskin and sat next to her.
"I was just thinking that 'Lanre' doesn't sound like a Nord's name."
"That's because it's not."
Lanre leaned back on her elbows, looking ahead at the mountains jutting into the clouds. "It was given to me by my nursemaid. She was a Redguard, so my name comes from Hammerfell. She told me that 'Lanre' means 'my wealth is the future.' Quite optimistic, isn't it?" She beamed at Erik. "Your name is Nordic, I take it."
He nodded. "It is. Father told me that my mother chose it. 'Erik' means 'ruler.' I guess my mother hoped I'd be a lord of sheep and wheat someday."
Lanre laughed and it was the only sound that carried in the wind from where they sat. She was silent for moments after, her amber gaze fluttering over the distance, lost in thought. Erik said nothing and picked at the grass, wondering when they would head back to camp. The sky was growing darker in the twilight hour.
"Did you know your mother?" Lanre asked quietly.
Dumbfounded, Erik stared at her open-mouthed until she turned to look at him.
Lanre blinked, her eyes widening.
"Erik, if I've offended you, there's no need to answer that question ..."
"O-Oh, no! Not at all. It was just surprising to me, is all."
Erik stared into his lap as his fingers fumbled in the blades of dry grass. He spoke without looking at Lanre, "I never knew my mother. She died when I was very young. Father says I have her hair and eyes."
"What was her name?" Lanre's voice was hushed and mild.
"Lilja." Erik felt the warmth of a smile blossoming on his lips. "She was the daughter of a jeweller in Windhelm. My father met her when he came home from the war. He says she was the most beautiful lass he'd ever set eyes on—more beautiful than any noblewoman or princess or queen."
"I'm sure that's true," Lanre said gently.
Erik pulled out the locket from underneath his tunic. The silver shone softly in the sunset light, the small sapphire glimmering almost purple. Holding it up for Lanre to see, Erik explained, "Father gave this to me before I left. He said it belonged to my mother. It's the only thing I have left of her."
"That and your eyes and your hair."
Erik looked up to see Lanre smiling at him.
He beamed back as he placed the locket into his shirt. "What about your mother and father? Are they waiting for you back at Whiterun?"
Lanre shook her head. Her gaze drifted away.
"My mother and father are no longer with me."
Erik bit his lip.
"I'm sorry, m'lady. I didn't know—"
"Lanre."
"Lanre ... I'm sorry. Forgive me, I didn't mean to—"
She shook her head, wearing a gentle smile. "It's alright. It was a long time ago. I hardly remember."
Erik fidgeted in silence, feeling heat creeping up his neck. He felt more and more uneasy the longer Lanre stayed quiet. A thousand apologies flooded his thoughts, each more clumsy than the last. He was saved from having to utter any of them when Lanre finally broke the silence.
"I never knew my father," she thought out loud.
Erik nodded, content not to speak.
"In life, he was proud and fierce, as any warrior would be. Cunning, too. My mother would tell me how no one could best his wit or his sword. He went off to war before I was born, and he must have perished on the battlefield because we never heard from him again. So I haven't much to say about the man. People spoke very little of him after he left."
Lanre let out a breath, sweeping her hair away from her face. Her voice took on a wistful tone.
"My mother though ... she was a lady through and through. Noble and graceful, there was never a more gentle woman. She never raised her voice or spoke out of turn. She moved like the sun and the stars shone for her. And you wouldn't have known I was her daughter if our faces didn't look so much alike."
Lanre smiled at Erik, fondness colouring her eyes with warmth.
"She had pale hair, you see. Pale like Secunda—almost silver. And eyes like green mist. She was something out of a fairy story."
"What was her name?" Erik asked.
"Eirlys. Eirlys Solveig."
She said nothing more for a while. Erik ventured no further questions, busying himself by plucking out blades of grass one by one. He looked to the western hills and saw the setting sun low over the horizon. The noise of the camp was dim and distant to the north. No one seemed to be looking for them, but Erik worried that the others would grow anxious over Lanre's absence.
"M'la—I mean, Lanre. Should we be heading back to camp? We've been away for ... a while."
Erik blinked as he glanced down, surprised to see Lanre asleep on the grass. Her face was still and calm, her breathing even.
At a loss for what to do, Erik picked up the last of their waterskins and placed them in the sack, securing the drawstrings. He bent over Lanre, pondering on how best to wake her.
"Looks like I'm not the only one who tossed and turned all night," Erik muttered, scratching his head.
Lanre rolled over to her side, facing away from him.
"You would be right."
Erik flinched away and landed on his haunches. He heard Lanre chuckle.
"I hope you don't mind if I shut my eyes for a while," she continued to murmur, her voice muffled by fatigue. "Just a few minutes."
Perplexed, Erik nodded, before realizing that Lanre couldn't see him.
"No, I don't mind. Um ... would you like me to stay here?"
"Yes, please. Feel free to wake me when the twilight fades."
The venison stew that night was a hearty but simple affair. It was nothing like the feast laid out on the thane's table yesterday. Erik spooned bits of the hot stew into his mouth between bites of brown bread. He sat around a fire with a number of the soldiers. A few he remembered from work around the camp—the young Orsimer lad named Zhago, the gruff Nord woman Ilona, and another Nord whom the others called "Giant Bard."
Giant Bard was laughing raucously through a mouthful of bread and ale. Crumbs and spittle were ensnared in the tangle of his thick black beard as he guffawed loud enough for the stars to hear.
"Tell us again, Zhago, my boy," he said, wheezing, "how was your first sip of moon sugar and how far over Secunda did it send you?"
Zhago made a rude hand gesture, scowling over his bowl. "As far up as your hairy backside, you old grouch."
That only made Giant Bard laugh harder. The others joined him, filling the cold air with their banter. Ilona kept eating beside him, appearing deaf to the exchange happening around the fire. Erik looked on, intrigued.
"How much did you have—one bottle of skooma?" Giant Bard kept egging on.
Zhago grumbled into his bowl, "I've never had the shit before, how was I supposed to know—"
"Why, when I was your age," Giant Bard roared even louder, "I drank almost twenty of those nasty buggers—in a row—damn near killed myself. I was sailing over the stars! Ended up as far as Riften with two stolen horses. And a chicken, but gods know how that got into my sack."
"Lesson learned, Zhago," Ilona grumbled. "Never take offers from strangers on the road. In the middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere."
Zhago threw his hands up in the air, howling in frustration. His empty bowl went sailing backwards into another group circled around a fire.
"Hey, watch it, you runt!"
"Up yours, Farley!" Zhago bellowed back. Turning back to Ilona, he jabbed a finger in her direction. "First of all, someone took my wineskin, so I was thirsty. Second—"
"Then why didn't you drink water. From a stream."
"Quiet, woman!"
Ilona snorted and took a swig of ale from Giant Bard's bottle. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave Zhago a pointed look.
"Her ladyship demoted you to Potato Boy for two weeks. You have no one to blame but yourself. Aye, gods, there was never a stupider scout in all the lands. If I were Lady Solveig, I would have you thrown off the top of Dragonsreach. See you sail to the moon then."
Giant Bard grinned wolfishly. "I like the sound of that. Potato Boy."
Zhago narrowed his pale green eyes.
"Don't you dare, Giant Bard."
"I dare."
"You whoreson's—"
"EVERYBODY, LISTEN."
The camp was silent for a scant few seconds.
"ZHAGO IS POTATO BOY FROM NOW ON."
Without hesitation, the soldiers erupted in simultaneous chanting.
"POTATO BOY. POTATO BOY. POTATO BOY."
Zhago looked ready to lunge at Giant Bard. He seemed to think twice and instead grabbed a bottle of mead from the soldier next to him and took a long swig, draining it to the last drop. The camp erupted in cheers as Zhago groaned and fell on his back.
Erik laughed alongside them. Within the tumult, he found himself wishing that Jormund and Willas were there. He wondered how they were doing in Rorikstead.
Looking around, he noticed that Lanre and her housecarl Lydia were absent among the soldiers gathered for supper.
"If you're looking for her ladyship, no doubt we'll see her come morning."
Erik turned his head to the man seated next to him. In the firelight, Erik could make out the Redguard's features, his large pointed nose and square jaw illuminated in gold and red lines. The man had eyes as black as night, framed by lined leathery skin.
"Uh ..." Erik brushed the bread crumbs off his breeches. "Rudo, was it?"
Rudo nodded, his gaze wandering off into the dark distance. "Lady Solveig usually prefers to keep to herself and Lydia. They do most of the planning on these small journeys to make sure everything runs smoothly. Of course, it takes time, usually all night."
Erik nodded as he listened. "You mean she joins the camp at times?"
"At times, yes. But on this trip, I doubt we'll see much of her or Lydia during meals. We have an important journey ahead of us." Rudo turned to look at Erik. His lined face was hardened by age and years underneath the sun, but his eyes had a softness to them. "You pledged yourself to her. That was you, wasn't it?"
"Yes. I'm Erik. Erik of Rorikstead."
"If you don't mind me asking, Erik of Rorikstead, what on Nirn made you swear that oath? Don't get the wrong idea—a lot of us here admire you for it. But to give your life to someone you barely know, well, noble as I think it is, some would call it rash."
Erik resisted the urge to groan but felt his lips tighten at the corners. He had half a mind to dismiss Rudo's question by giving an answer about wealth and glory. Yet there was a tinge of familiarity in his dark eyes, something that reminded Erik of his father, and seeing it made Erik realize he couldn't lie.
"To be honest," Erik began, his voice a hush underneath the rowdy noise of the camp, "I wanted to be free—free of my small village life. I wanted ... an adventure, I suppose. In all my years, that's all I ever wanted, to see beyond the fields I tended to. When Lady Solveig saved my life, I thought, well ... I thought I had my chance."
Erik rubbed the back of his neck, peering at the fire in the middle of the circle.
"I didn't know the words would mean so much."
He turned to looked back at Rudo, expecting to be met with disappointment or mockery. The older man simply watched him, listening intently. Erik sighed, rubbing his cold palms together.
"I still meant it," he murmured. "The oath. I meant every word."
Rudo nodded thoughtfully. He let Erik's voice linger and disappear in the noise before remarking, "You're bold, I'll give you that. Lady Solveig must have seen something in you if she accepted your oath."
Erik peered at him curiously. "You seem to know a lot about the thane. How long have you served her?"
"For as long as she's lived. Ten and seven years, I think it is."
Erik blinked thrice, bewildered. "I'm of an age with her."
Rudo raised his brows. "That surprises you?"
"Oh, no. Well ... actually, yes. She seemed much older."
"Never tell a woman that to her face, lad," Rudo laughed, his voice deep and warm.
Erik grinned sheepishly. "I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, how did you end up in the thane's service?"
The Redguard's eyes softened as he heaved a sigh. His gaze wandered into the firelight, a reflection like a candle flame flickering in his eyes.
"That's quite a long story, lad, and not exactly the sort of thing I'm supposed to discuss."
Erik cocked his head to the side. "Not supposed to discuss? What does that mean?"
"It means Lanre will tell you in due time, if she trusts you. Before then, you might find this information to be of use." Leaning closer to Erik, Rudo discreetly pointed around the camp at familiar faces. "Ilona. Giant Bard. Zhago. And that Breton girl with the brown hair, Rhonwen. See them?"
Erik nodded.
"All of them with me and Lydia—seasoned, battle hardy warriors. We've lost count of the men and women we've slain, yet here we are, alive and breathing. And we serve Lady Solveig until our dying days. Our allegiance is to her, not to some bloody crown or sullied coin. I tell you this because it's wise to know your enemies from your friends."
Rudo's tone had gone cold.
Erik narrowed his eyes, watching the man intently.
"And are you an enemy or a friend?"
"That all depends on you and your loyalties." Rudo's gaze bore into Erik without a flicker of emotion. "I know nothing about you, Erik of Rorikstead. But you are not my enemy. See to it that things stay that way."
"Oy, you there. Farm boy!"
Erik looked up to see Zhago calling to him. The young Orc had a frown on his face as his pale green eyes flickered between him and Rudo.
"First watch is yours tonight," he continued. "You'll be with Rhonwen."
Erik nodded and stood from his seat.
Casting a backwards glance at Rudo, he frowned and spoke quietly enough for only them to hear, "There's no reason to doubt my loyalties. I have yet to prove myself, I know that. But you can't scare me off. I already said my oath, and I don't plan on turning tail because of the likes of you."
As Erik strode away, he missed the small smile on Rudo's dark face.
He approached Zhago who happened to be gathering bowls and plates, handing them to another soldier.
"Nobody's told me how the watch is supposed to work," Erik said hesitantly.
Zhago barely glanced at him. "Yeah? How interesting."
Erik frowned. "I don't even know where my post is."
"Do I look like a nursemaid? Piss off, rookie."
"Zhago, my dear, are you giving our novice here a hard time?"
Erik turned around to see the woman named Rhonwen approaching them. He felt heat creeping up his neck with the way her lips curled up into a smile.
"If there's anyone here who's had a hard time, it's me," Zhago grunted, heaving a stack of bowls into the arms of the soldier accompanying him. The man almost toppled over with the tower of plates and bowls stacked high in his arms.
Rhonwen laughed, her hazel eyes glimmering. "Is peeling potatoes really that hard? I'll see that I don't get demoted then. I wouldn't want to blunt my sword making dinner."
"Not you, too," Zhago groaned, rubbing his temples. "Gods, you all need to stop giving me shit about the skooma—"
"Is that an Orsimer saying? 'Giving you shit'? I've always thought you were an eloquent bunch."
"—and shut up before I send you to Sovngarde. Show rookie here the ropes of the watch, I'm heading to bed. And praying all the way that you shut your mouths long enough for me to sleep."
Zhago stalked off, grumbling curses.
Erik scowled at his tall retreating figure, resisting the urge to pelt a small rock at the Orc's bald head.
"He's not always so disagreeable," Rhonwen remarked from beside him. "Giant Bard just has a knack for rubbing salt into open wounds. And so do the rest of us, to be frank."
Erik looked down at her, eyebrows raised. Rhonwen was small, more than a head shorter than him. Her wavy brown hair was long enough to reach the nape of her neck.
"What's he usually like then?"
Rhonwen shrugged, "Quiet. Mead and wine make him louder." She strode off to the edge of the camp. Erik followed, keeping pace beside her. As they walked, he could see dying fires and soldiers retreating into their tents. Soon, only the light of the moons and the stars lit the plains and Erik and Rhonwen were on the northern edge of the camp.
She gave him an easy smile as she raised her hands. Without warning, glowing lights burst from her palms in ribbons of silvery blue. The threads swam in the air and in a matter of seconds formed a ghostly wolf in front of them. The creature seemed to look knowingly at Rhonwen for a moment before it bounded off into the distance, trailing silvery light behind it.
Erik watched open-mouthed, his eyes wide as plates.
"It's a spell," Rhonwen explained as she sat cross-legged on the grass. "My familiar will scout the northern plains for any sign of a threat. That gives us a few minutes to sit back." She pulled him down next to her, eliciting a startled squawk. Erik silently thanked the cover of night for hiding his red cheeks.
Rhonwen turned to face him, her small heart-shaped face alight with expectation. Her wide hazel eyes watched him, as if waiting for something.
Erik stared back, confused.
"Erik, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I'm Rhonwen. Rhonwen of Daggerfall." She extended her hand to him. Erik took it and was startled by her firm handshake. When she let go, his arm fell limply to his side. Rhonwen had a breezy way of talking and moving , her words fast and light in the evening air.
"So, Erik," she continued with a broad smile. "What do you think of our company so far? I hope you haven't measured the lot of us by Zhago's unruly temper."
Erik scratched the back of his neck. "Erm, no. I think you're all rather lively. I've never met so many interesting people before in my life."
"I take it that living in your small village hasn't afforded you many adventures with interesting characters?"
"Until yesterday, no, I can't say it has."
Rhonwen patted him on the shoulder and Erik was once again taken aback by her strength—her palm almost knocked the wind out of him. He glanced over her frame once more, noting with suspicion that she was a rather small woman.
"Isn't it strange how fate seems to work that way? One never knows where even the simplest roads will lead," Rhonwen wondered aloud. Extending a pointed finger, she gestured up to the twinkling stars rising from the east. "I don't know much about the art of divination—that sort of magic is beyond me. But some say that the future is written in the night sky. The stars hold the key to all destinies." She shrugged. "I read that in a book somewhere."
Erik furrowed his brows, glancing from the starry sky to Rhonwen. "You can tell the future just by looking at the sky?"
She shook her head, her brown hair fluttering around her face. "It's not that simple, otherwise I might have learned by now."
"Have you tried it then?"
Rhonwen smiled, giving a halfhearted nod. "Of course I have. But as I said, it's not that simple."
"But it's possible?" Erik urged on. "Are there really people who can do that?"
"A special few, yes. Wise sages and old crones with sight beyond this realm. Such a thing is a gift from the gods."
Erik leaned back, staring up at the night sky with new wonder. "I never knew that such a thing was possible," he whispered, his gaze flitting from one star to another, pondering where in those twinkling gems his life was written.
"I bet you're wondering about your fate now," Rhonwen said knowingly, her voice filled with a smile.
Erik nodded. "I've always wondered. But now I know there's a way to tell for sure."
"Perhaps one day you'll have your future divined." Rhonwen stretched her legs out, brushing grass from her leather breeches. "The stars aren't the only way. There's tea leaves and palm reading and crystal scrying among others. I don't know all of them, but the most profound prophecies ever divined have been from the stars."
"How do you know all of this?" Erik asked, cocking his head to the side.
"I've studied at the College."
"College ..?"
"Of Winterhold." Rhonwen raised her thin brows at him. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of the College of Winterhold."
Erik bristled. "I've lived in Rorikstead all my life. I wouldn't know the Reach existed if the Forsworn didn't terrorize our village every now and then."
"Alright, alright," Rhonwen relented. "Fair enough, farm boy. Fair enough. I forget sometimes that not everyone knows about the college. Most folk are at least familiar with it, in an ignorant fearful way ..."
"Fearful?"
"Yes. People fear what they don't understand. The arcane arts require decades devoted to knowledge and discipline of the mind and body." Rhonwen shut her hazel eyes and breathed in deeply. "It's not all so stiff and dry, though some think it is—spending all that time with musty scrolls and Aldmer runes. But I would give my life over again to see the things I've seen through magic." Rhonwen held up her right hand. Erik watched as beads of sparkling light ignited like candle flames, sprouting from the lines of her open palm. They floated into the air, a hundred small gems of twinkling colours fluttering in the night breeze like dandelion seeds. The beads faded the higher they floated until they seemed to wander into the light of the stars.
Rhonwen's hazel eyes filled with warmth as she watched Erik look on in awe.
"What I've come to learn is the existence of the universe at one's fingertips," she explained gently. "It remains in reach for those willing to search."
"Could anyone learn magic?" Erik asked, his voice filled with wonder.
"Anyone," Rhonwen nodded. "All it takes is discipline."
Erik let her words sink in as the last of her magic faded into the night.
"I still think I prefer the sword," he murmured sheepishly. "Not to be insulting—your magic is beautiful. I've never seen something so extraordinary. But I don't think I have the mind for it."
Rhonwen laughed and laid her hand on his. Her touch was warm and kind, her smile broad. "Don't doubt yourself so, Erik, especially when you have yet to prove your mettle. You're more than capable. Lanre did accept your vow."
Erik groaned and let his head fall into his palms. "Why does everyone keep saying that? What reason could Lady Solveig have to accept my oath other than obligation?"
Rhonwen frowned but when she spoke her tone wasn't unkind. Her voice was soft when she chided him, "Foolish as it may have been for you to make that vow, accepting it was wise on Lanre's part. You'll come to know that she does things for a reason. Those who follow her know this."
"Rudo did say that you're one of her closest followers." Erik raised a brow, watching Rhonwen expectantly. "Why is that?"
"Why do I follow her, you mean?" Rhonwen's gaze bore into him. "I hope you trust me when I say I have my own reasons."
"Of course," Erik muttered, unsurprised. "Everybody has their reasons. But so far, no one's bothered to explain to me."
"You haven't explained to me either," Rhonwen retorted. "But I'm one for a fair trade."
Erik sighed and mulled over his thoughts hesitantly. How many times would he have to tell people why he swore his oath? Of course anyone who heard of it would wonder.
"When Lady Solveig saved my life," Erik began, his eyes trained on the dark horizon, "I thought I had my chance at freedom. A life of adventure—it was all I ever dreamed about as a child. So I swore my oath thinking that it was the right thing to do. I also thought that it would take me far away from my dull home." Rubbing the back of his neck, he heaved a leaden breath. "I soon realized that such a vow wouldn't be so simple."
Rhonwen's eyes were wide as she listened, the rest of her face still with astonishment. "And you're prepared to give your life? Your entire life? For a dream such as that?"
Erik nodded solemnly. "I swore a grave oath. Never mind that I wasn't sure of what it meant. It's been said and I want to be a man of my word. I think there's some pride to be found in that."
Silence sat between them for a few moments as Rhonwen watched him, her brow knitted in thought. Erik looked down, the skin over his back straining as his shoulders tensed. He feared that doubt would cloud his heart whenever someone asked why he pledged himself to Lanre Solveig. He feared that doubt like he feared never seeing his father again.
"You're right. You should be proud." Rhonwen's whisper was earnest and solemn in its quietness. "But you're mistaken about some things, Erik."
Erik glanced up at her, hoping that his weariness wouldn't show. He thought it did when Rhonwen's gaze softened as if looking at a lost little boy.
"Gods know I'm wrong about many things," Erik muttered, turning to watch the plains in the distance. "But what could it be this time?"
Rhonwen laughed quietly. "You're wrong to think that your vow is what got you here."
Erik raised his brows at her.
When Rhonwen continued, he could see her silver familiar bounding back to them in the corner of his eye.
"What got you here is your honour."
The silver wolf came to them, standing before Rhonwen with expectant blue eyes. She reached out to touch it, as if stroking its fur, although her fingertips passed through the light. The familiar bowed its head and curled up to sleep on the grass, fading into nothing as it closed its eyes.
Rhonwen breathed out slowly, the line of her shoulders relaxing.
"It seems like our watch will remain peaceful. But the hour's almost up." She smiled at Erik and for the first time that night he noticed the weary shadows underneath her eyes. "I did call for a fair trade. But perhaps my story should wait another day."
Erik nodded, content for the silence of the night to settle in as they kept watch.
The camp rose before first light to begin the journey to their second resupply point. After a short, hasty breakfast, they were ready to begin the ride. Before setting out, Lanre called for a gathering. She was still dressed plainly, same as her soldiers. As everyone circled around her, Erik saw Rhonwen among the crowd. He smiled and gave her a small wave. She beamed and approached him.
"Sleep well?" she asked.
"Much better than the night before. Do you think we'll reach Whiterun today?"
Rhonwen shrugged. "Who knows. The journey back has been much different than our route to Rorikstead."
"Everyone, if I can have your attention."
A hush came over them as Lanre spoke. All eyes were on her as she continued.
"For the ride back to Whiterun, we'll be dividing into two groups."
Erik glanced around and saw everyone exchange questioning looks. It seemed that they were all just as surprised as he was, yet no one said a word.
"Zhago, Ilona, Farley, Dagfinn and Lennart. You will ride together and take the southern route through Falkreath and continue to Riverwood. The rest of you, we ride to Whiterun."
Everyone moved to comply without question. Erik exchanged glances with Rhonwen. Her brow was furrowed, which gave him cause to worry. He looked back at Lanre and saw her speaking to Ilona and Zhago in hushed tones.
Erik gathered with Rudo, Rhonwen, Giant Bard, and Lydia. They mounted their horses and waited for Lanre.
"We'll travel like lightning without the waggons, that's for sure," Giant Bard announced, cracking his knuckles. "But our asses will be burning from saddle sore if her ladyship really plans on riding straight to Whiterun."
"We rode from Riverwood to Rorikstead in a day and a night," Lydia reminded him. "This is nothing."
"And let us never ride that long again, Talos help me," Giant Bard grunted.
"Why the sudden split?" Rhonwen asked Lydia. "I thought the plan was to camp by the eastern bank of Lake Ilinalta for a day."
Lydia shook her head, her lips drawn in a thin frown. She glanced at Erik for a moment before she uttered a whisper that only their group could hear.
"Spies."
Erik saw Rhonwen go pale. Giant Bard scowled and Rudo said nothing.
Lanre arrived and mounted her black destrier beside Lydia's chestnut palfrey. She glanced over their group. From this close, Erik could see dark shadows underneath her eyes.
"We're facing a hard ride ahead of us. There will be no stopping," Lanre said, her voice dry and hoarse. "We'll reach Whiterun well after nightfall if we pace ourselves properly. Once we arrive, Jarl Balgruuf will want to us to present ourselves."
"Straight to Dragonsreach?" Giant Bard asked.
Lanre nodded. "To Dragonsreach."
Everyone readied themselves on their mounts. The other half of their company was prepared to ride south with Ilona and Zhago at the head. Lanre raised her fist high in the air. Ilona saw her signal and barked the order.
"Onward!"
They nudged their horses into a canter. Erik watched as they headed towards the trees, gaining speed the further they went.
Lanre looked over those who remained with her. Seeing them ready, she nodded.
"Onward."
Erik felt the earth move beneath him as he nudged his steed forward. The thundering hooves made their way west against the wind. His heart pounded as he watched Lanre and Lydia leading them, praying to the Nine not to fall behind.
Erik's legs and groin were burning by midday. When the sun was low in the west, the pain became numb and irrelevant. His brow was cold with sweat, his tunic drenched, his palms blistering from the reins. Their horses were exhausted, slowing them down to a steady trot.
This has been the hardest ride I've had yet. I feel every part of me burning.
He had endured the hardest and fastest part of the journey, keeping up with Rhonwen and Giant Bard while Lydia, Rudo, and Lanre remained a few paces ahead. Now their formation was the same, but slower, everyone silent with exhaustion.
"We're close," Lydia shouted. "We'll see the city within two hours."
Without meaning to, Erik let go of a breathy laugh. He felt the wind fill his chest as he beamed widely. His heart raced at the thought of seeing Whiterun's high walls and towers. They were closer to the mountains now, the flat lands morphing into low hills. The sky was darkening as the stars and moons rose slowly from the east.
"My lady, we should stop by a spring," Rudo suggested up ahead. "The horses are weary. We're close enough now that we can afford a short delay."
Erik couldn't see Lanre's face but he noticed her give a curt nod.
"Water up ahead, southwest," Lydia called out.
Erik nudged his horse to the right, following the others toward a clear spring further off in the distance. Their horses slowed to a walk by the time they approached the water's edge. Erik watched as Rhonwen and Lydia dismounted first, noting their careful slow movements. He glanced down at the ground, wincing at the look of the hard earth and brittle grass. Erik dreaded his legs giving out under him—he could feel the burning in his thighs again. Standing would offer no welcome relief, but Rudo and Giant Bard were beginning to dismount and Erik didn't want to be the last on his horse.
He swung off the saddle and felt his muscles scream underneath his skin. White stars burst from behind his eyelids when his feet touched solid ground. A hiss escaped from between his teeth as he clenched his jaw tight, barely tolerating the weight of his body on his aching legs. He feared casting up his breakfast from the nauseating pain searing his abdomen. Breathing was an excruciating trial. Erik swallowed, feeling the scrape of his dry throat, praying to the gods to keep him on his feet.
Erik felt a firm grip holding him up by the arm. He looked up to see Rudo.
The Redguard showed no sign of weariness or pain. His brow was free of sweat. He gave Erik a nod and a small smile as he said, "Was that the hardest ride you've ever had?"
"Yes," Erik grunted through clenched teeth.
"Then you did very well. Here, sit."
Erik mustered the strength to shake his head. "No. Can't move. Saddle hit me in the wrong places."
Rudo frowned but nodded in understanding. "If you think you can remain standing for a little while longer, Rhonwen will be with you."
"Actually," Erik breathed out, "I'll sit. Can't hold up much longer."
"Alright. Easy now, lad."
Erik leaned heavily against Rudo as he was led closer to the clear spring. He groaned as he was gently eased onto the ground, every inch of his body screaming in fiery protest against every movement. Erik focused on his breathing, trying to inhale deeply. The cool, soft grass was a welcome relief as the pain started to ebb. A ways off, he could see Lydia and Rhonwen hovering over Lanre. The thane was doubled over on the ground. Erik could hear faint retching noises.
Giant Bard sat next to him on the grass, looking disgruntled and tired.
"Is Lady Solveig alright?" Erik asked, his voice breathy and quiet.
The older Nord furrowed his thick black brows. "She will be in a second. Rhonwen knows how to fix her right up. I just hope the lass does it soon because I could use a damn healing spell right about now. And so could the horses."
Erik glanced to their mounts and noticed their mouths dripping with slaver, their nostrils flaring with laboured breaths.
A bright golden light caught Erik's eye. He looked to where Lydia and Rhonwen were hunched over Lanre. Rhonwen's palms were on the thane's shoulders, wrapping her whole body in the warm glow. The sound of heaving ceased when Rhonwen took her hands away and the gold light faded. Erik could hear them speaking quietly as Lydia assisted Lanre to her feet.
Rhonwen healed Lydia next then approached Erik from where he sat. She gave him a weary smile as she placed her warm hands on his chest. His vision was filled with bright light and he felt as if he could breathe air like he could drink cool water on a hot summer's day. The pain in his body was washed away. When Rhonwen let go, Erik thought he'd woken from a restful sleep.
He sat up straight, letting out a breath of awe. Erik looked down at his legs. He stood up, fearing the fire that had burned within his thighs, but none of the pain came. He beamed.
"I could run a mile without stopping," Erik laughed, smiling at Rhonwen. "Your magic is ... well, it's truly something."
Rhonwen's weariness vanished for a moment as she gave him a small grin. "I'm glad to hear that. Take a drink of water from the spring. It will feel much better."
Erik nodded and moved to the water as Rhonwen took care of Giant Bard and the horses.
Kneeling over the clear surface, Erik cupped some of the cold water into his hands and drank heartily. Drinking made him realize how thirsty he was, so he gulped down more of the refreshing water. Erik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing in relief.
He noticed Lanre kneeling beside him. She drank from the spring and splashed her face, smacking her pale cheeks with her palms. When she turned to meet his gaze, the smile she gave him was surprisingly sheepish.
"It seems you rode better than me today," she admitted quietly.
Erik gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look. "Not at all, m'lady. You were much wearier than I was. I wouldn't have made it without Rhonwen's help."
"No, I don't supposed either of us would have," Lanre chuckled. "It's not often that we attempt a ride like this. It would have been foolish without a healer."
"We had to, didn't we?" Erik asked, his voice hushed. "Lydia said there were spies."
Lanre's brows knitted, her mouth curling into a deep frown. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, heaving a leaden sigh. "That's part of the reason, yes. But it's of the utmost importance that I reach Whiterun as soon as possible."
Erik nodded. Seeing the exhaustion that it brought to Lanre, he changed the subject.
"Honestly, I'm glad that we've made haste," Erik chuckled, weaving his fingers through his hair. "I'm eager to see Whiterun. I've always dreamed of what it looks like ever since I was a child."
Lanre's face brightened, her frown melting into a warm smile. "You'll be glad to see it, I'm sure," she spoke warmly, with a fondness that Erik only heard when she spoke of her mother. "Of all the cities I have ever laid eyes on, Whiterun is the most beautiful."
Erik felt his face burst into a wide grin. Anticipation bloomed in his stomach, filling him with joy. For once since leaving Rorikstead, he felt the thrill of adventure.
His excitement must have rubbed off on Lanre, because she was smiling wider now as she watched him.
"We won't see much of the city when we arrive. But we'll be heading straight to the jarl. You'll get to see the keep and the noble family and the jarl's courtiers." Lanre shrugged, sitting back on her haunches. "It will be a short affair, nothing too formal. Jarl Balgruuf will want me to introduce you as my new charge. You won't need to stay long," she explained, trying to reassure him. "I'll have Lydia escort you to my quarters in the city, Breezhome. It's nothing grand, just a cozy house by the gates, but it's more comfortable than the inn. I would like you to stay there for as long as you see fit."
Erik blinked, taken aback. "M'lady, you're too kind. I don't know how to thank you. I hope you won't mind being in such close quarters with me. I'll do my best to keep things spic-and-span—I did work in an inn after all."
Lanre laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm afraid you won't see much of me in Breezehome. As thane, I usually stay in Dragonsreach when I'm in the city. The jarl keeps my counsel close at hand. So my work is never too far away from me." She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving Erik a reassuring squeeze of her palm. Her expression turned thoughtful, though her smile didn't waver.
"I've been meaning to tell you, Erik. I plan on making arrangements for you to train at the hall of Jorrvaskr among the Companions. If you accept this, you'll have duties to perform for them. I'll arrange for you to speak with the Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. He's a wise man who's taken in lost causes with little discipline and molded them into proud warriors. You'll be learning from the very best, not just in Skyrim, but in all of Nirn. In time, I know you'll do me proud as one of the greatest Shield-Brothers to walk those halls."
Lanre released her hold on him, her smile unwavering as if she already knew his answer.
"Of course, you'll be fitted for armour as well. Would you like that?"
Erik gaped at her, his blue eyes wide. Any regret or doubt he could have felt during their journey melted away as he realized for the first time that his dreams could come true. He could be a warrior—and not just a regular mercenary or a soldier. A Shield-Brother to the Companions.
He thought of himself gilded in steel from head to toe, with a fearsome greatsword strapped to his back. For years he'd thought it impossible, yet his days had been filled with dreaming no matter if he lost hope. Never before had he come so close. Had it not been for the pain of the ride, Erik would have thought he was dreaming.
Flooded with emotion, he could feel his eyes welling up and he resisted the urge to fling his arms around Lanre. Instead, Erik tossed his head back and laughed, long and heartily, his lungs' first taste of joy since leaving Rorikstead behind. He was breathless by the time he looked at Lanre again, wiping the euphoric wetness from his cheeks.
"All my life, I never dared to dream that I'd become anything like a Companion," he said, his words punctuated by elated breath. "I never thought it possible for a lowly farmer such as me."
Lanre gazed at him fondly. "You have a warrior's heart, Erik. Never doubt that."
He smiled, allowing himself to feel brave and bold. "I shall do you proud, m'lady. I'll become the best Shield-Brother that I can be. You won't be sorry!"
"I know you'll do great things," Lanre nodded, and the way her amber eyes were filled with warmth made Erik believe her.
The thane stood and opened her mouth as if to say something before she went still, her eyes growing wide. Her head whipped up, amber gaze trained intently on the sky. The whole world was covered in eerie silence when the others noticed Lanre's sudden stillness.
Erik stood up cautiously, looking around.
"What's wrong, m'lady?" he asked.
"Lanre," Lydia's sharp voice pierced the air. "Don't move. Please stay where you are."
Lanre paid her no mind. Instead, her gaze flickered to Erik. He saw her fear as she watched him, her shoulders tense, hands balled into fists. He could sense the others giving him restless looks, as if they were afraid of him uncovering the cause of the disturbance. He turned to Rhonwen, bewildered, panic growing in his belly.
The sound of screaming thunder rolled in from the clouds.
Erik whipped his head up to look into the sky. He felt a gasp escape his throat.
From beyond the northern mountains, dark wings glided toward them. The creature soared high above the earth, drawing ever closer, approaching as swift as the wind. What he only knew through tales and legends manifested itself in armour of jagged scales and leather wings so large that their shadows could cast the world into darkness. Clouds of thick, icy air slithered over the beast's horned body, as if the depths of winter lay beneath its rock-like hide. As the dragon drew closer, its glowing white eyes flickered over them, alight with the cold blue flame of hunger and blood lust, as if it could smell the pulsing of their veins beneath thin veils of soft skin.
Erik felt the breeze swirling all around him, growing colder against his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He could do nothing but stare as death hovered closer.
Everything happened all at once.
Lanre sprinted to her destrier, unsheathing her ebony blade and grabbing her bow and arrows, the wood as dark as sin. Turning to the others, she kept her voice calm and steady, her gaze like steel.
"Stay back and use your bows. That's an order."
She cast a backwards glance at Erik and tossed him her ebony bow and quiver. He could have sworn her eyes were filled with melancholy as he caught the weapon.
Erik watched as Lanre ran with the wind at her heels, facing the frost white dragon as it landed a few yards away from them. Even the ground trembled as if in fear while the cold air whipped wildly around them in a frenzy. Horror dimmed the noise, flooding his ears with a rush of pounding blood as Erik watched the dragon's mouth stretch wide to let loose a hellish scream across the land.
"LANRE."
His voice was lost beneath the dragon's cry. It had its eyes fixed on Lanre, glowing jewels of hunger and power determined to devour. She stood her ground to meet its gaze.
Erik scrambled for arrows, hastily piecing together all that Willas taught him. His hands were shaking, his blood flooding his ears in a deafening rush as he nocked an arrow, drawing the string.
Aim for the heart.
He felt the world go silent as he looked down the arrow shaft and pointed it at the dragon's scaly chest. Then ground beneath his feet shook from a cry that reached the rising stars.
"FUS RO DAH."
Erik loosed the arrow as he watched the dragon stagger back.