Writer's Notes: Hello, again! It's been a while since the last update, so here's an extra long chapter :) I hope you guys enjoy it. And thanks to Agent 94 for leaving helpful commentary in a review of chapter five!
P.S. For anyone who's wondering how I translate dragon words for the chapter titles, I found a wonderful online resource. It's an extensive Dovahzhul dictionary, which I've found to be incredibly helpful :) I've linked it in my profile for those who would like to check it out.
Hahnu Do Keizal
By Toasted Panic
Chapter Six
Ahrolsedovah
(Whiterun)
The ebony arrow flew past the dragon as it reared its horned head. A scream erupted from its gaping maw, piercing through the air like deafening thunder. Erik's eyes darted to Lanre, watching as she drew closer to the creature, its eyes trained on her with wild bewilderment. The others were on their guard, bows drawn, steel arrows ready to fly at any moment.
That voice. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest.
No. It can't be.
The dragon bared its teeth, watching Lanre with glowing white eyes. The thane stopped to stand in front of it, sword raised. Clouds of frosty breath crawled in the air as the dragon opened its mouth, the razor sharp spikes on its back bristling. The world felt like winter.
"FO."
A ring of ice blasted through the air, scorching the ground with frost.
Lanre met the dragon's shout in a heartbeat.
"YOL TOOR SHUL."
Her voice tore through the dragon's icy blast with clouds of fire, rending air with searing fog and the stench of burning rock. The dragon screamed, its wings flailing wildly as it was covered in flames. Lanre darted back, avoiding the chaotic swipes of its razor talons.
"ARROWS," she roared.
The air was filled with sharp whistles as arrows sailed overhead. Steel shafts tore through the dragon's wings, robbing it of flight. The creature slumped to the ground, writhing and howling, uprooting the earth beneath it.
As quick as lightning, Lanre swiped at the joints of its wings, her ebony blade shining with dark blood. She ducked to avoid the dragon's snapping jaw and took a running leap. Erik heard a sickening crunch as the ebony blade sank into the dragon's chest, more arrows feathering its vulnerable underbelly.
Lanre moved with the wind, swift and fluid, her sword an extension of her arm. She ripped her blade out of the dragon, spraying the ground with drops of red, leaving behind a large gash pouring blood. She swung again, splitting its throat, filling the air with icy mist as the ground glimmered scarlet. Erik never saw death dealt so fast.
The sky seemed to shake as the dragon released one last long scream as it fell.
Panting, Lanre strode to where its head lay helpless on the ground. Erik watched, feeling as though a pair of hands were wrapped around his neck, ready to close tight.
Her golden eyes were calm as she stared down at the beast. When she spoke, Erik felt the air flood with her voice in waves of dreamlike tones, as if Lanre's words were present everywhere.
"Wo los hi?"
The dragon's laboured breaths grew weaker. Its white eyes darted to her.
"Dovahkiin," the dragon's voice rumbled. "Hi fen mindok voth dii sil."
Lanre nodded. She planted her sword in the ground, looking down at her slain foe. The dragon watched her for a few moments longer, then closed its eyes. Everything grew still and quiet when the creature breathed its last.
Erik didn't dare to move as he looked on.
The air was suddenly filled with a crackling sound as the dragon's body began to emit strange bright flames. Its scaly armour started to flake, burning off in a warm bonfire of what felt like sunlight, until nothing more than its colossal bones remained. Threads of golden light from the fire swam in the breeze, gathering in a single wave, stirring the air with warmth. They flowed towards Lanre, wrapping around her where she stood, sinking into her skin. Her black hair whipped around her face as she closed her eyes, letting the golden threads caress and twine around her.
When the last of the light faded, the dimness of dusk sank in. The sun was low over the western horizon and the world was quiet again.
A creature of legend that devoured men and wiped kingdoms off the world became nothing more than gaping hollow bones at the hands of the great hero.
Lanre took her sword and returned to them. Her eyes were on Erik, troubled and guarded. He watched her approach, unable to move. The ebony bow and its black arrows lay at his feet.
"My lady," Lydia rushed to the thane, her brown eyes wide with concern. Erik was surprised when the housecarl placed her hands on Lanre's shoulders, drawing the thane closer to look her over.
"Are you hurt?" Lydia asked, her tone softer.
The thane shook her head. She handed the housecarl her sword, placing her palm over Lydia's hand as she did so. "I'm unharmed," Lanre spoke softly. "Is everyone else safe?"
Lydia gave their group a quick glance and nodded. "Yes. And Rhonwen cast a spell over the horses so they wouldn't bolt."
"Good. We need to keep moving."
Lydia opened her mouth as if to say something. She seemed to think better of it and complied with a curt nod. The rest of them moved slowly at first, casting cautious glances at Erik, before making their way to the horses. Lanre was the first to swing into her saddle, her eyes purposeful and unwavering as she set her sights east.
When Erik found his voice, he was the only one left who had yet to mount his horse.
"But ... but wait a minute ..." he said breathlessly. He stared at Lanre, willing her to look at him. "What ... what was that?"
She remained silent. He saw her bite her lip, hard enough that the muscles of her jaw grew taut.
Erik took a step forward. He swallowed, feeling the dryness of his tongue.
"You're the Dragonborn," he whispered.
The words left his mouth with careful reverence, hanging in the air long after he said them. Erik shook his head, his blue eyes wide with astonishment. "I can't believe it," he said, letting out a nervous laugh. "You're the Dragonborn. The great hero. All along, it was you. I never would have ..."
Lanre slowly turned to look at him. Erik was caught off guard to see the sadness in her amber eyes. He felt the need to approach her, to laugh at the wondrous discovery, to talk about surviving a dragon attack with the great hero herself. But the sorrow that creased her brow kept him in place.
"Aren't you?" Erik asked, his voice deflating, growing quieter. "Aren't you the Dragonborn?"
Lanre's voice was soft and tender as she spoke.
"Please, Erik. We'll discuss this further when we reach the city. Get on your horse."
Erik felt his mouth open, but words failed him. He could only stare in bewilderment.
"Do as your liege says."
Erik turned to look at Rudo. The man's voice was composed but the way his black eyes stared coldly left no room for argument. All of them watched him silently with guarded expressions.
He didn't understand.
When their silence refused to yield, Erik let out a breath of frustration. He picked up the bow and quiver as he complied and mounted his horse.
Their formation the same as before, they set out east once more with Lydia, Rudo, and Lanre leading at the front. They took off at a slow canter, with Rhonwen, Giant Bard, and Erik following behind.
Erik glanced at Rhonwen, who rode beside him on his left. But she wouldn't look at him. Her lips were pursed together, hazel eyes stubbornly set on the eastern horizon.
The stars and moons lit the world when Erik spotted a tall shadow in the distance. They had taken to the road an hour ago, following it east at a steady pace.
"I can see the Western Watch Tower," Lydia announced.
Erik looked to the shadow ahead of them on the right side of the road. As they drew closer, the taller it seemed to rise until Erik had to crane his neck up to look at its jutting peak. There were ruined stones lying at the tower's base and soldiers holding torches patrolled along the perimeter. A red flag hung over the tower entrance with a black dragon in the middle.
"Who goes there?" one of the men called out.
They drew their horses to a halt as the soldier approached, raising his torch high up in the air. He wore the familiar garb that marked him as a guard of Whiterun.
"The thane has returned," said Lydia. "We'll be travelling straight to the city."
Recognition flooded the soldier's voice when he caught a glance at Lanre.
"Welcome back, m'lady. Glad you're with us once again."
Lanre nodded. "Thank you. May your watch be peaceful tonight. Carry on."
They nudged their horses forward, quickening their pace. Erik kept his eyes forward, seeing a shadow in the distance, sitting atop a bluff, jutting high and proud into the night sky. He could see that the road led there and he kept his eyes trained on the city.
Dots of light came into view as they drew closer, torches and braziers illuminating the high stone walls of Whiterun. Erik felt a rush of excitement sending pinpricks of sensation up through his legs from the bottom of his feet. In the distance, he could see a mill with pristine fields, and beautiful white stone houses as they ascended the slope. From this close, the towering keep and the golden roofs of the city stood like mountains from behind the white walls.
They drew up by the stables where a large Nord man with sun burned skin was leaning on one of the stable pillars.
He seemed surprised when they began dismounting. The man approached Lanre with a friendly nod.
"Good to see you again, my thane," he said in a thick brogue. "Glad to see the gods have brought you back to us." He looked over them, counting their mounts. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall you had more than this here six horses when you set out."
"You would be right, Skulvar," Lanre said as she handed him the reigns to her destrier. "More will be back in a few days' time, but I'm afraid most of them will be with the soldiers garrisoned at Riverwood and Rorikstead."
Skulvar nodded thoughtfully. "I see, I see. I worry about them though, m'lady. I've been taking care of those horses all their lives and they've never had a journey as far as Rorikstead before."
"I assure you, they will be cared for," Lanre insisted. "But if you find yourself troubled over the matter, I'll speak to Lillith about sending an apprentice to the settlements."
"If it isn't too much trouble, m'lady, that would ease my mind."
"Consider it done, then. Oh, and I have someone I'd like to introduce." Lanre gestured for Erik to come closer. He moved to stand beside her, giving Skulvar an easy smile. "This is Erik of Rorikstead, my new charge. He'll be residing in the city from now on. Erik, this is the stable master, Skulvar Sable-Hilt."
"Pleasure to meet you," Skulvar reached out and shook Erik's hand in a firm grip. "If you need to talk to anyone around here about horses, I'm the man to come to."
Erik nodded. "Thank you, but I don't suppose I'll be riding soon after today."
Skulvar chuckled. "If you're from that little village out west—Rorikstead, was it? Yes, then I don't suppose you have much experience riding. Enough to get here, but not enough to travel to the Rift. Come to me anytime and I'd be happy to lend you a horse for riding practice." He smiled at Lanre. "Any friend of the thane's is a friend of ours."
"Thank you, Skulvar," Lanre said. "We must be heading to Dragonsreach. Give my regards to Jervar."
"Always a pleasure, m'lady."
Lanre lead the way up the cobbled path, passing underneath a grand stone archway. Erik looked around him at the fortifications, seeing soldiers patrolling along the walls and wooden walkways. Even in the dim of night, the braziers lit the path up to the gates, perched high up on the outlook posts. Underneath them, water from the river ran across the stones beneath a drawbridge.
They made their way across as the road sloped further uphill until they arrived at a set of tall oak doors flanked by black iron braziers. Two soldiers stood guard on either side and immediately reached for the heavy brass handles once they caught sight of Lanre.
"Welcome back, Lady Solveig."
"Long life to you, thane."
As the doors parted with a low creak, Erik couldn't contain his breath of awe.
Lanre smiled at him as they finally entered the city.
"Welcome to Whiterun, Erik."
Erik couldn't decide which way to look first. Beautiful pale wooden houses, one after the other, lined the cobbled streets all the way into the heart of the city, with beams and poles carved into intricate Nordic knots, holding up golden roofs that shone underneath the moonlight. Inside the city walls, the air felt warmer and Erik could hear the hum of voices filling the night as people milled about, their faces aglow with laughter and merriment.
"I never thought it would be this ... magnificent," he admired aloud, turning his head this way and that.
"This is Breezehome," Lanre told him as they passed a quaint house beside what appeared to be a forge.
Erik nodded, glancing over it. He'd be staying in a house, a real house. Even if he had the smallest room with a haystack for a bed, Erik knew he wouldn't mind. The thought occurred to him that he wouldn't have to get up before the crack of dawn to pull cabbages out of a field.
He grinned as they proceeded down the street, passing by a square lined with stands in front of an inn and a few shops. Every person who passed them by nodded or bowed in courtesy, some even shouting cheery greetings. Erik resisted the thousand questions fluttering in his head like songbirds in spring. He couldn't wait to find out everything he could about all the places and people of Whiterun.
As they turned a corner, Erik's eyes widened upon seeing a flight of stone steps at the top of which he could see the sprawling branches of a magnificent tree. Clouds of pink petals floated above them as they ascended the steps, some fluttering down with the wind.
"This tree is called the Gildergreen," Lanre began to explain. "It was born from the branches of the Eldergleam Tree and followers of Kynareth revere it. The sap has the extraordinary power to heal injuries and cure illnesses. Many embark on a pilgrimage to Whiterun because of this tree. Perhaps you should receive a blessing in the temple. Come morning, that is."
Erik gawked at the Gildergreen as they passed it. It was something out of a fairy story.
They faced yet another flight of steps and began their ascent to the keep. Erik craned his neck to see to the top, eager to know what the jarl's home looked like.
The climb was long, but when they finally arrived at the bridge leading to the keep, Erik let out a whistle. Lining the path to the entrance were intricate wooden arches, each carved with knots so delicate that each must have taken years to complete. The keep itself was the grandest, most ornate structure in the entire city, dwarfing the rest of Whiterun with its colossal shadow.
"Do all jarls live in places like this?" Erik wondered aloud.
Giant Bard let out a hearty laugh. "Only the ones that matter."
"You should see the Blue Palace in Solitude," Rhonwen said.
They proceeded to the doors where they were greeted by two guards.
"Lady Solveig!" one of them called out. "We heard you'd arrived."
"How did they find out so fast?" Erik muttered.
"Word travels like wildfire here," Rhonwen whispered to him. "Especially within the barracks."
The other guard chimed in, "The jarl has been informed and will be ready to receive you."
Lanre nodded. "My thanks."
As the guards pulled the doors open for them, Lanre and Lydia proceeded inside first. Before Erik could set foot beyond the threshold, he felt someone grab him by the back of his shirt. He almost startled but went stiff when he heard Rudo's voice in his ear, quiet as a fly.
"You will say nothing of what you've seen today. You keep that to yourself from now on. Speak only when you're spoken to. Mention nothing of our camp splitting ways. Understood?"
Erik nodded stiffly and continued forward when he felt Rudo release his grip.
The inside of Dragonsreach was just as magnificent as the outside and overwhelmingly warm. The entire hall was brightly lit, so much so that even the impossibly high carved ceilings were illuminated. As they proceeded further into the keep, down a path lined with pale wooden pillars, guards and servant women extended shallow bows and greetings in Lanre's direction.
In the middle of the great hall, past a flight of wooden steps, was a roaring fire pit flanked by two long tables, laden and shining with silver plates and goblets and all manner of sumptuous food. In front of the fire pit, on a raised dais, was an older man seated on a carved wooden throne and beside him stood a finely dressed Imperial man with brown skin and a bald head. The man who sat in the throne had a thin beard and golden hair that shone in the firelight and was clothed in exquisite furs and silks embroidered with gleaming threads. His head was adorned with a gold circlet that sparkled with fiery rubies, glowing like fire in the light.
His blue-grey eyes lit up as they approached.
"Greetings, Jarl Balgruuf," Lanre called out as she arrived at the foot of the dais. "We've arrived from our journey to Rorikstead." When she lowered herself to one knee, everyone followed. Erik bowed his head as his knee touched the floor but couldn't help glancing up at Jarl Balgruuf. The man didn't appear so old up close. He couldn't have been older than Mralki.
Everyone rose when Lanre stood on her feet.
"You've made good time, Lady Solveig. Better than expected," Balgruuf remarked, his voice, though commanding as it rung against the high ceilings, was filled with warmth and kindness. "I have to commend you. I've heard of good things from Riverwood. None so far from Rorikstead, but I don't doubt that you were well received."
"It is my honour to serve, your grace."
"Now that you're back, I don't doubt that you'll have many tales you wish to share with me," Balgruuf said with a smile. "Stories that you can tell while we dine. You and your companions must be famished. Proventus?"
The Imperial standing beside the throne nodded. "I'll arrange for supper in your quarters, your grace." He swiftly took his leave, leaving the thane and her guard in the presence of the jarl.
"I will gladly dine with you, your grace," said Lanre. "Before that, I'd like to introduce to you my new charge."
Erik took this as his cue to step forward. He felt as if his legs were wooden and he had no idea how he should speak to a jarl. A glance at Lanre reassured him as she gave him a small smile.
"I present Erik of Rorikstead," the thane announced. "He has pledged his life in service to me and I've accepted his vow. He will be residing in Breezehome with Lydia by my leave."
Erik felt the jarl's eyes on him. Balgruuf had a look that put Erik at ease, an air of fatherhood and warmth. His face, though worn and older, looked like it was made for laughter.
"It's an honour to meet you, Jarl Balrguuf." Erik swallowed and remembered what it was like to talk to his own father. The thought of Mralki put him at ease. "I'm honoured to be in your beautiful city for the first time. In serving Lady Solveig, I hope to be in service to you as well."
The jarl examined him for a heartbeat, but to Erik it felt longer. When he spoke again, Balgruuf's voice was as warm as his smile.
"Erik of Rorikstead. You seem almost a man. And yet until tonight, you've never set foot in Whiterun? Why is that?"
"I had duties back at home."
"Your grace," Lanre murmured softly.
"D-Duties back at home, your grace," Erik corrected himself. "My father, Mralki, he owns the Frostfruit Inn in Rorikstead. I helped him keep it, and tended to the farms as well. And I'm afraid we never had enough coin to travel farther than our hunting grounds."
Balgruuf nodded, his gaze unwavering. "And are you the only son or have you been blessed with siblings?"
Erik felt a sinking in his gut. "I don't have any brothers or sisters, your grace."
"Will you have any?"
"No, your grace."
"I see." Balgruuf paused in thought. Erik almost shrank underneath the weight of his steel-blue eyes, but stood tall and kept the jarl's gaze, unwilling to shame himself in these proud halls.
"Then it seems to me that your place is with your father, seeing as you're his only heir. Are you?"
Erik felt his cheeks flush. He knew it was ample reply when Balgruuf shook his head.
"Grand as it may seem to chase after a position in the noble guard, it is no less admirable to till the fields and do your duty by your blood," he chided. Though his voice was soft, the jarl's words carried loud enough for all to hear. "If Whiterun was filled with youth seeking little more than fame and glory, we would all go hungry."
Though the jarl's voice was not unkind, he made Erik feel foolish all over again.
"Did it occur to you that a high lord would have little use for a green boy? Do you know how to fight?"
"Well enough, your grace."
A lie.
"Do you know your letters?"
"Somewhat, your grace."
Somewhat true.
"Do you have a mind for strategy?"
"No, your grace."
Painfully true.
"Do you know how to cast spells and brew potions?"
"No, your grace."
"Then it seems to me that this isn't good enough."
Erik felt his skin run cold. He clenched his fists and tried to quell the fury in his heart. Lanre's presence beside him bore down stronger on his shame as the hall was filled with nothing more but the crackling of the fire.
"But perhaps, I'm wrong to say so," the jarl continued, his voice growing quiet. "Tell me, boy. You must have good reason to swear a binding oath. But if what I suspect is true, and you spoke those words in folly, as jarl I have the authority to relieve you of your service.
"I understand, dear boy. I know very well what it's like to chase after dreams without a second thought to all you may leave behind. Courage is admirable, aye, and so is wisdom. There is no shame in prudence, only in reckless pride. So speak. Tell me why you stand in these halls tonight."
Erik's mouth ran dry. He feared the moment he opened his lips, his tongue would crack and turn to dust. He thought perhaps the jarl was right—he was unfit for service to the thane. He knew so very little of the world and had no skills to boast of besides pulling cabbages from the earth. Was he fit to walk the halls of places such as this if he could barely hold his own in a battle?
Erik thought of returning home, of seeing Mralki's face again—and he knew he couldn't turn back without having made something of himself.
"With all due respect, your grace, the only shame I see is in leaving without trying to prove myself," Erik said., hoping that his voice wouldn't lack conviction. "I have no prowess in battle or enough brains to write a decent letter—aye, I know that. But I'm willing to try my hardest. I'll give my very best and do what's asked of me. And if then I prove inadequate, dismiss me. Only then can I go home with my head held high. I wish to be a man of my word. I cannot turn my back on this oath, otherwise all I say and do hereafter will weigh nothing more than leaves in the wind."
Erik bowed his head, willing the truth to be enough.
"Lady Solveig saved my life on a hunt gone awry," he explained quietly. "A great wolf was about to tear my neck open when m'lady shot it through the eye with an arrow. If not for her, the beast would have killed me. I owe her my life and I am willing to serve her until the end of my days."
"Or until your failings bring Lady Solveig ill-repute," Balgruuf amended. "Or worse, death. In your service to her, you bear the name and honour of Whiterun on your shoulders. That, among plenty of others, remains your duty as long as you uphold your oath, Erik." He turned to Lanre and raised a brow inquiringly. "You're oddly silent, my thane. Surely you wish to speak on his behalf?"
Lanre frowned. "I hardly need to. My charge has proven more than capable of speaking for himself."
"That I can see. But you are the thane. It is your judgement and wisdom on the line."
"Erik's honour speaks for my wisdom."
"Or your foolishness. What is honour without strength or knowledge?"
"Everything, my liege." Lanre's voice was as hard as steel. "You know this more than I."
Balgruuf sighed and looked upon her as he would a difficult daughter. "So you say." Turning to Erik, he said, "Truly I see your earnest nature. I understand why our lady has taken it upon herself to accept your vow. But I will remind you of something very important, lad." With a wave of his hand, Balgruuf gestured to Lanre's guard.
"Giant Bard. Rhonwen. Rudo. Lydia. Tell us how you've earned your rightful place in the thane's guard."
"Aye, your grace," came Giant Bard's booming voice as he spoke smilingly behind his great black beard. "Near everyone here knows the tale, but I shall never tire of telling it.
"Some years ago, a sellsword got it into his head that he could slay a giant. When he proved to be a sodding milk-drinker, the fool came running back to the city walls shouting 'Arrows! Arrows!' as one big angry mammoth herder chased after him, mad for blood. The poor fellow flew thirty feet in the air when the giant clubbed him to death—couldn't get away fast enough in all that steel armour. But the soldiers were still shooting at it. The giant would have torn the walls apart to eat their flesh had I not been outside in a Khajiit camp, playing a game of fortune telling.
"So I walked up to the giant and asked it, appropriately, in giant-tongue, 'Wherefore dost thou leave thy cattle to the mercy of the thief who lies in wait 'neath the shadows, lusting after your mammoth cheese?' The giant just screamed, of course—you would too if you were being feathered with arrows. So then I yell to the soldiers, 'Hold your fire, you brutish louts! Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation with this fellow?'"
"The short version, if you please," Lanre whispered underneath her breath.
Giant Bard raised his bushy brows, as if to say "where's the fun in that?" but complied with a shrug as he continued.
"This tale ends with victory and kinship, your grace. Victory, because I challenged the giant to spar only with our fists, and won fair and square. Kinship, because nothing brings brothers and sisters closer than a hearty boxing match. Only a fool died that day and henceforth Whiterun has had an amiable treaty with our tall brothers and their hairy elephants."
Balgruuf extended a nod to him. "And you have our thanks to this day. The rest of you?"
"I am the youngest disciple to have completed the training at the College of Winterhold in three centuries," Rhonwen said, bowing her head to the jarl. "What takes most scholars a lifetime to master, I have managed in eight years' time, your grace."
"I served as one of the commanders under Emperor Titus Mede II when he reclaimed the Imperial City during the Great War, your grace," said Rudo.
"No man or woman has bested me at the sword, your grace," said Lydia. "And I have duelled with more than a hundred men and women in my lifetime."
Erik clenched his jaw tight. Dreading what remained of the conversation, Erik looked up to see Balgruuf watching him intently, waiting for a response. He gave none and stood silently, awaiting what would surely be his dismissal. His great deeds were comprised of little more than planting cabbage seeds.
"One does not simply swear service into the thane's guard," Balgruuf stated plainly. "Otherwise you'd have every starry-eyed lass and lad spouting meaningless words. These men and women stand before you, not only prepared to die, but also prepared to sacrifice personal greatness in their service. You, on the other hand, are as green as grass with no achievement to your name."
"I understand your concern," Lanre interceded, much to Erik's relief.
"I understand very well, your grace. We carry the honour of your hold upon our shoulders. Tarnished honour is as good as none. I understand this very well. However," Lanre placed a hand on Erik's shoulder, her grip warm and firm, "I am right to believe in Erik. He has yet to prove himself, yes, but great deeds do not make a good man. Despite endless question and any number of discouragements, he has remained true to his word and will continue to be good and true. Surely, that is worth something."
"So you will assign him to your guard?" Balgruuf asked, impatience seeping into his voice. "Despite all my advice against it? Would you have your other soldiers paying the price for his novice blunders?"
"Will you have me dismiss him now? With all due respect, your grace, I would rather not."
"And I would rather you do dismiss him. The boy can't protect you or serve you properly. Remember your place, my lady. Remember what it means to be thane."
"I never forget, your grace," Lanre retorted evenly. "As to dismissing my new charge, I swore an oath to him as well, to keep faith with him in exchange for his service. So it isn't as simple as sending him home. But I propose a solution. Should you oppose this, then I won't protest if you relieve Erik of his responsibilities to me."
Watching her intently as if to read the mind behind her amber eyes, Balgruuf paused in thought then nodded with an aggrieved sigh. "Very well. What is this solution?"
Erik longed to speak, to shout, to protest how they carried on as if he wasn't in the room. His better judgement told him to keep his mouth closed and trust in Lanre. He watched her as she spoke, unable to control the feeling of ice in his belly.
"I will give Erik a year's time to perform one great deed. If he succeeds in doing this, he will be inducted into my guard and serve for life. Until then, his service to me is strictly confined to pageboy. If he fails, then I shall take responsibility. I will dismiss Erik myself and be known for an oath breaker for the rest of my days. This means I will be stripped of my lands, titles, and riches. Or you, as jarl, would have the power to relieve Erik of his duties. I will not protest then, but only until then and not a moment before."
A heavy silence settled over the great hall as Lanre finished speaking. The jarl seemed, for a moment, to look at her with incredulity, but hid his countenance behind a mask of thoughtfulness. The rest of Lanre's guard looked at her as if she'd gone mad.
Erik felt the temptation to argue against her proposal but his tongue was tied to the roof of his mouth.
When Balgruuf spoke, it felt like the final nail in the coffin.
"I accept these conditions. Erik, starting from tomorrow's sunset, you have a year to accomplish one great deed to prove yourself worthy of service to the thane. Do you accept these terms or do you wish to abandon your oath now?"
Erik imagined a gold coin making the decision for him. If it showed the face of Tiber Septim, he would accept the terms. If it showed the seal of Akatosh, he would abandon his oath.
In his mind he flipped the coin and knew the answer before it landed.
"I accept these terms."
The journey from the steps of Dragonsreach into the city was short and quiet. While Rudo and Lanre remained in the keep, Rhonwen and Giant Bard made their way to the Bannered Mare to have supper and arrange for lodgings. Lydia led Erik back to Breezhome.
The housecarl was silent until they reached the steps of the quaint house.
"You've gotten yourself into quite the dilemma."
Erik was so lost in thought that he almost didn't hear her. He looked up to see Lydia procuring a small brass key from her pocket. As she unlocked the wooden door, he let out a sigh.
"Now the question is how to get out of it," he said wearily.
They both stepped into the dimly lit house. Lydia closed the door behind them and the room was swallowed in darkness, only faintly illuminated by the moonlight through narrow glass panes in the walls.
"Set your pack down on that chair and help me build a fire," Lydia instructed. "Then I'll arrange us some supper while you settle into your room. It'll be the larger one at the top of the stairs."
"Won't you take the larger room?" Erik asked, puzzled. "Your the thane's housecarl after all. I'm just the pageboy."
"No need for that," Lydia said as they both knelt over the fire pit. "You can have the thane's room. I'm more comfortable guarding the house from where I can see and hear everything."
Once they had a roaring fire that lit and warmed the house, Lydia went to work on roasting salmon as Erik took a candle and ventured upstairs to his new room. The house was small but inviting, and held grand treasures and tapestries the likes of which Erik had never seen. Gilded shields, ornately carved staffs, and finely forged spears hung from hooks on the walls, flanked by bolts of cloth embroidered with colourful pictures. One depicted a battle underneath two swollen moons, another a quiet scene between two lovers in a garden, and another with a thousand different bright colours portrayed an opulent coronation in a palace overlooking the sea.
Erik opened the doors to his room and stood wordless beyond the threshold. Not even the finest room back at Frostfruit Inn could match the comforts of the thane's lodgings. It was a wide open room with sloping ceilings, a comfortable chair and round table for private dining, two large wooden chests, one at the foot of a splendid bed, and another was set to the side, with a large sabre cat skull resting on top. The mahogany bed was carved with posts in the shape of dragon heads, its thick downy mattress covered in fine cotton sheets, laden with supple blankets, furs, and pillows.
Above the bed on the wall hung three greatshields. On the left was a pointed triangular shield divided in four parts, each depicting a unique animal: a silver bear against blue, a black wolf against red, a gold buck against green, and a silver stag against blue. A similar shaped shield hung on the right, again divided in four parts, this one depicting a grey three-pronged wind against dark purple, a golden star against grey, golden crossed knives against purple, and a dark green three-pointed crown against grey. The shield in the middle, a round one larger than the two beside it, was the brightest. Painted with painstakingly intricate detail in gold and silver, it bore the image of a prancing silver stallion underneath a blooming tree, whose white blossoms fluttered and danced in the breeze.
Erik closed the doors behind him and slowly walked in, lighting candles on the tables. He inspected the shields up close and saw no signs of wear on any of them. Setting his bag down on one of the bedside tables, Erik changed out of his dusty travelling clothes and found a fresh set of garments in one of the wooden chests. He supposed he would have to wear finer clothes like these, made out of soft dyed wools and cottons, instead of the ugly brown roughspun tunics that he wore on the farm. Those weren't appropriate for wearing in the city. Erik glanced down at his worn, ratty boots and supposed that if he found enough coin, he could at least get a decent pair that wouldn't fall apart in the winter.
He approached a washbasin on the dining table and dipped a rough white cloth into it. As Erik cleaned himself off by wiping his arms, neck, and face, he noted three different bottles of wine sitting on the tabletop, as well as leather bound books arranged neatly in one pile.
One of the books was a hefty volume bound in scarlet, its cover hand painted with blossoming tuberose flowers. Its title was absent from the spine, while the other books proclaimed theirs: The Aetherium Wars, The Art of War Magic, Atlas of Dragons, The Betrayed, The Doors of Oblivion, Fall of the Snow Prince, The Firsthold Revolt, King, and The Madness of Pelagius.
Picking up the curious red book, Erik took it to bed. He sat to remove his shoes and lay down on the mattress. He let out a deep, long sigh as he sank into the cloudy softness, feeling the furs and blankets around him.
"I would want to be a high lord too if I slept on one of these every night," Erik sighed to himself as he sat up against the pillows with the red book in his lap. It wasn't often that he read—Mralki only had three books back at the inn, all of which were simple fairy stories that Erik had committed to memory when he was a young lad. He hoped it would be enough to read one of the thane's books, all of which appeared to be scholarly and dull.
"But this one looks interesting," Erik said about the red book, letting it fall open in his lap. On the first page was an inscription written with dark red ink, in a strange language that Erik couldn't decipher.
"That's odd," he muttered as he ran his fingertips across the beautiful calligraphy. "And it looks painted."
Erik flipped through the next few pages, which contained more of the mysterious red script. When he came across a painted scene, he almost flung the book across the room.
He slammed it shut, his face almost as red as the cover. Erik worried that Lydia heard the loud bang—the book was rather large—and listened for any noise from downstairs. When none came, Erik stared down at the tome in his lap, feeling the room suddenly become much too warm.
He had half a mind to put it back where he found it. He knew all about that sort of thing anyway—Mralki explained it to him when he was younger, when Erik saw something rather strange happening between a stallion and a mare by the stables. And it wasn't as if he never thought about girls. Some of them passed through Rorikstead on occasion. But either they were too old or too young and rarely if ever did Erik find himself near a girl his age, let alone one who was pretty.
Since leaving Rorikstead, however, that circumstance shifted to become radically different. Well, three pretty girls was radically different when compared to none, Erik decided. And all three women in his company were much closer to his age than any other he had met in ten and seven years of living. Before he could think twice, his thoughts started to wander.
Lydia was pretty, in an ideal Nord way. She had smooth rosy skin, soft brown hair, and large brown eyes, and stood as tall and fierce as any man, and any man with two eyes and working parts would obviously desire her. But she was rather formal and aloof, which Erik was a little thankful for because talking to pretty girls, apparently, made him illiterate. The less he had to say, the less often he could make a fool of himself.
He sighed as he thought of Rhonwen and wished very quietly, in a very remote part in the most silent chamber of his mind that he was lodging with her instead. The way she made him feel at ease with her bright smile and talk of stars filled him with a warmth that was, if he was painfully honest with himself, not entirely innocent (but mostly innocent). Her small stature was beautiful to him, with the way her womanly curves appeared much more pronounced. She extended him friendly touches and was far from shy—Erik almost wondered if any one of those could be taken as an invitation.
Lanre on the other hand—
"No," he groaned.
Erik grimaced and rubbed his palms against his tightly closed eyelids. No, he knew nothing about "that sort of thing." He could vaguely remember a blurry explanation that his father gave him when he was still half a child, but other than that, Erik was at a complete loss. He was ten and seven years old and he had yet to touch a woman. Yet another mistake on the list of things that made him so green he could piss grass.
Erik vaguely recalled the night he met Jormund and Willas. Before Jormund could mention when exactly Willas had his first woman, Willas delivered a rather swift punch to Jormund's arm that quickly stopped his string of words. So Willas had been with women and way before the age of ten and seven. If he had his "first" girl, surely that meant that there was at least a second one.
"Yet another thing he's better than me at," Erik grumbled as he remembered his friend. "I bet he has no problem talking to girls. He has no problem knocking me into the dirt or shooting deer from two hundred yards either. If he was in my predicament, he would have no problem performing one great deed in a year." Pausing to think, Erik grunted in dismay. "Willas could accomplish twenty great deeds in a year."
He stared up at the low ceiling, letting his mind churn through all manner of desperate thoughts. He could wrestle a bear? No, Giant Bane already won a boxing match against a giant—and then proceeded to make a pact of friendship between Whiterun and any giant that passed through her lands. Wrestling a bear would look silly and stupid in comparison.
"What about twenty bears?" Erik wondered aloud. "I could die in battle and earn my glory that way. Plenty of warriors are happy to die in the heat of a splendid fight. But then again ..." he paused to think further. "Lady Solveig swore to keep faith with me as well. If she let me do something as reckless as wrestling twenty bears, would that count as breaking faith?"
The thought made him want to pull out his hair.
"What could I possibly do ... what great deed could I accomplish? If I don't do this, Lady Solveig will ..."
Erik could curse her for putting not only her honour on the line—she had to stake all her worldly riches as well. But he was the one who swore the damned oath in the first place and for better or for worse, she now stood by him, with a heavy price. Could she really believe in him that much?
After accepting the terms, their meeting at Dragonsreach was concluded at once. Before Lanre met in private with Jarl Balgruuf, she pulled Erik aside to speak to him. She told him in a calm voice that seemed oblivious to the newly complicated situation, "I shall meet with you come morning. I owe you many explanations, and I'm sorry you have to wait even longer. But please set your mind at ease and focus only on rest for tonight. Worrying will do no good."
"No good, indeed," Erik muttered. "I have to wait until morning."
Dragonborn.
He shook his head.
Could she really be the one?
She was definitely the great hero, Erik had no doubt. Back when the thane's entourage arrived in Rorikstead, Ennis had given an account of a dragon attack he heard from one of the soldiers, the story of when the Dragonborn was first sighted just outside of Whiterun. Ennis said that when the hero slayed the dragon, its scales burned off at the bone, leaving nothing more than a skeleton—and the Dragonborn absorbed the light from its dying flames.
"That all happened today," Erik whispered. "It all happened exactly as Ennis told it. She even spoke to the drag—" He cut himself off, as if afraid the walls had ears. "And I can't talk about this to anybody? Why are they keeping it a secret?"
Everyone in the thane's guard knew who she truly was—and they were all frustratingly tight-lipped about it. Come morning, Erik hoped to have answers, but the back of his neck itched with insatiable curiosity.
"I guess I can't tell Willas and Jormund, but I know I've won my two hundred septims," Erik beamed proudly. "It can't be a secret for too long—one day I can claim my prize. One day."
Thinking about the future made him sigh with disappointment.
"A year from tomorrow's sunset," he wondered. "What will I accomplish until then?" Erik remembered the thane's words and saw no point in worrying. "A year is a long time to think of a plan. I'm sure there must be something I can do. I can't fall into despair. I said I would try my best, and I would. But tonight isn't the night for worrying. A great deed isn't going to fall in my lap if I worry all night."
Erik allowed himself a smile as he once again realized where he was, how wonderfully lucky one had to be to sleep in such beautiful quarters.
"I guess this is home now," he realized. "This is where I'll sleep every night from now on. I'll have my meals here, too. I suppose I'll have to study my letters here as well ..."
That reminded him of the book that still remained in his lap. Erik blushed as he held it up in the candlelight, inspecting the delicate tuberose flowers painted on the soft leather cover. It was truly a work of art, from the craftsmanship of its cover and binding, to the ornate foreign calligraphy on the inside. And the erotic painting, Erik added silently.
Why on Nirn would the thane have a book like this?
Or maybe it was Lydia's? Erik thought about the possibility for a moment and then decided it to be highly doubtful.
Maybe the book wasn't the thane's at all? There was no sign or emblem that marked it as hers. Then again, Erik hadn't looked through the whole book.
He glanced toward the doors to the room. The house was silent and if Lydia were to climb up the wooden stairs, the creaking of the wooden boards would give Erik ample time to put the book back on the table.
"There's no harm in looking," Erik whispered, reasoning to himself. "I just want to know what it's about. Nothing wrong with that."
Slowly, he opened the book again, flipping through pages laden with red ink and foreign words. Turning to the first painting that startled him moments ago, Erik examined it, feeling a flush creeping up his neck into his cheeks.
Within a bedchamber, a bearded man and a beautiful woman were depicted entwined on a cushioned seat by an open balcony, exotic flowers in clay pots hanging from the ceiling beams, perfuming the air and their lingering sighs. Their vibrant silk garments were undone as their dark, foreign eyes locked in heated gaze, their golden fingers caressing each other's golden skin. The woman had thick black hair entwined with pearls and jewels, her scarlet and purple robes in disarray, revealing her full breasts and a patch of dark hair between her supple parted thighs. The man wore a bright blue cloth wrapped around his head, adorned with gold chains and jewels of every colour, his robes open as he poised his erect manhood above the woman's centre.
Erik breathed in sharply, devouring the imagery with his eyes. This was no book from Skyrim. The lovers, the flowers, their rainbow silks, inky black hair and dark eyes flourished in a different, far more opulent and sensual world. They made the mysterious act look so beautiful and exciting, locked within a moment before a powerful tidal wave sank in between them.
With shaky fingertips, Erik traced the outlines of the lovers, taking in their half naked bodies. He lingered over the woman's form, wondering what it would be like to hold a girl in such a way, to feel her soft body pressed against him.
He shuddered at the thought, not to recoil at it, but instead to meet it with overwhelming anticipation. He was a man now, and soon he would have to take a woman to bed. It was natural to desire these things, Erik knew.
Turning the page with a lingering look at the image, Erik then took in a different sight. In the centre, there was a woman who looked similar from the previous painting, but here she was larger with different features. She had the same golden skin and inky black hair, which flowed in waves down her back and shoulders. Atop her head was a high golden crown that looked like a tall blossom with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds for dew. The woman sat within the pale pink folds of a lotus flower, her skirt parted along her left thigh to reveal a plump leg, her ankles embraced by golden bangles, silver threads, and strings of iridescent pearls. She wore only the scarlet cloth draped over her legs, her chest left bare, overwhelming breasts creating a valley for the the river of gold chains and circlets hanging from her neck, glimmering like spun threads stolen from the sun. Her face was captured as if in the middle of a loud, raucous laugh, soft mouth open in joyous exclamation, raising her pink cheeks into plump, rounded peaks. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners, thick black brows raised, and painted in between them was a perfectly circular red dot.
The odd part that struck Erik was that she had four arms, two on both sides of her body, each poised in graceful symmetry as the woman held up a different object in each dainty hand. In her left hands, she held a white porcelain water vessel, and a budding pink lotus flower. In her right hands, she held a small golden egg, cracked open to reveal a green serpent, and a ripe pomegranate with its blood red juices dripping from its broken skin.
Surrounding the woman was yet another set of the flowing red calligraphy, filling the gaps around her lotus throne.
"I wonder what this story is about," Erik mused, wondering what a four-armed woman had to do with a pair of lovers.
He continued to the next page and found a new pair of lovers, but they looked different from the first. They were naked in bed, tangled in an interesting position that left Erik wondering if one could really bend that way. There was writing that accompanied the painting, and again with the following picture, which depicted a different set of lovers in an even more thought-provoking tangle of limbs.
Erik was starting to wonder if there was much of a story involved at all as he sifted through the wild intensity of the various ways there were to sway and rock in each intimate dance. The book became much more intriguing when it started depicting pairs of lovers who were both men and both women, then transitioned beyond pairs into groups of three and four, sometimes five, some involving more men or women, others portraying groups of only men or women.
His head seemed to spin with overwhelming warmth when Erik finally closed the book. There was so much he hadn't known was possible. Were these things only done in whichever foreign land the book came from? Erik wondered as he tried to calm his breathing and cool his flushed cheeks. Now that he thought about it, the paintings and their accompanied writing seemed to be purposefully informative.
"Maybe it's a book about pleasure," he murmured, stroking the soft leather cover. "If that's the case, there seems to be a lot to learn. I never knew there were so many ways to please a woman."
Erik must have been more exhausted than he thought, because that was the last thing he remembered before falling into a deep, restful slumber. His face buried into the pillows and blankets, Erik's dreams that night were filled with the heady scent of lavender and long jet black hair.
"Lanre, attempt to enlighten me—why this boy?"
Lanre almost groaned into her wine cup. But even within the walls of the jarl's private quarters, she couldn't abandon courtesy, at least not entirely. So she settled for drinking heavily from her cup and placed it gently on the tabletop, hesitated for a moment, then poured more wine from the emerald bottle that was already half empty. She reasoned with herself that to make it through this dinner with her wits completely about her would be an exercise in nightmarish headaches.
"Since when have you taken up drink? You're too young to gorge yourself on wine," Balgruuf muttered from across the round table, his voice exasperated and weary.
Lanre shrugged. "I haven't taken up drink, uncle. That was only my second cup. And this has simply been a trying day."
"You haven't answered my question," Balgruuf persisted. "Explain to me why you've taken it upon yourself to indulge some urchin's careless whim. You have your own duties to think of, and where does the care and training of some farming lad fit into all of that?"
"Erik is of an age with me, so when you talk of him as if he were an infant, I find it rather insulting," Lanre murmured as she rubbed her temples, willing to keep awake. "He can take care of himself. I swore to be his liege, not his mother. Why are you so opposed to having him in my service? I saw no harm in letting him hone his skills, and when he was ready he could have joined my guard—and only if he was ready. Now he has a rather narrow time-limit, wouldn't you agree? Tell me, how long did Ulfric Stormcloak spend holed up in High Hrothgar before he could finally shout Torygg to pieces? Not a year, I presume."
"And you also presume it safe to speak of such things, even within these walls?" Balgruuf whispered ominously. "You watch your tongue, Lanre. Your title can't always protect you."
Staring into the dark red pools quivering within her silver cup, Lanre nodded. "I'm well aware of that. But don't worry, we're completely alone. I'm also aware of how concerned you are for my safety. Rest assured, if Erik makes a big enough blunder, I will kill him myself."
"You sound very sure that you have this entire situation under control. That worries me."
"Uncle, I have served you as thane for five years," Lanre sighed in exasperation. "In that time, I've assembled a strong guard and council, restored the city's infrastructure, brought in more coin and trade, more than the city has seen in the past ten years, and just recently began fortifications in the settlements." Lanre looked up at Balgruuf, her amber eyes hard, her lips drawn together in a deep scowl. "Young I might be, but inexperienced I am not. I grow tired of you treating me as you did years ago."
"You're accomplished and more than capable. I never said you were not," Balgruuf's tone grew warm and kind as he reached to grasp Lanre's hand in his. "You are the greatest of all my lords and ladies. We both know that. You've done the most for this city. You have shown Whiterun your love, and she flourishes and loves you in return."
Lanre closed her eyes, letting out a rush of breath. "Thank you," she whispered. "Uncle, those words mean the world to me."
"They are true." Balgruuf gave her palm a gentle squeeze. "But I always try to remind you that no one is infallible. Not even you. Not even those of us blessed with extraordinary gifts."
Grimacing, Lanre looked down at the table setting. Her plate of ham, and spiced potatoes, carrots, and leeks had yet to be touched.
"I never forget who I am," Lanre whispered. "I never forget, uncle."
Balgruuf nodded as he let go of her hand. "I hope it remains that way, Lanre. Now tell me more about your Erik."
She raised her brows at the jarl's use of words but said nothing of it, and began telling the story of how she saved Erik's life, of the first time he knelt before her and said the words that sealed his fate.
"After he swore the oath, I told him to meet me the next morning, seeing as I had to give it some thought—which I did," said Lanre. Pausing, she remembered being up all night, arguing with herself over how she should proceed with a response, before an idea occurred to her. "Of course I had my doubts about him and his honesty. So before Erik was supposed to meet me, I arranged a farce with someone I knew to be his friend, to test Erik's true nature."
The memory of that morning was as clear as yesterday in her mind. Lanre knew she would never forget it.
"Willas. That's his friend's name. I asked for Willas to join me and Erik for breakfast. Our arrangement required us to act. He would insult me underneath my roof, and in answer I would threaten to take off his head—he was never in harm's way," she quickly added, seeing Balgruuf's scowl. "I worried it wouldn't be convincing, but Erik is ... simple. You should have heard him speak, uncle."
Balgruuf gave her a questioning look. "What do you mean?"
Lanre's voice softened as she told him, "When I threatened Willas to have my guards seize him and take his head off for all the villagers to see, Erik spoke against me at once to defend his friend. I remember what his words were as if he just said them: 'If you do such a thing, then consider my oath broken. I would not follow one like you with such blind cowardice.' I knew then, for certain, that his nature was good and true."
"That may be so," Balgruuf said, "but of what use will he be to you? You heard him today. The lad can neither fight, nor cast spells or brew potions."
"He can be taught."
"And you will pay for all of this?"
"Enough so that he can manage on his own eventually. Erik is my responsibility now."
"You speak far too lightly of this," Balgruuf chided her. "The lad is charming, I'll admit—in an earnest, boyish way, but charming nonetheless. Yet with that and his farming skills combined, I still don't see why you chose to accept his oath."
"He will be true to me," Lanre said, her voice firm with steadfast certainty. "I will never have to doubt his loyalty. My trust is something I can give him freely. You may call me a fool for that, and I can see why—I know less about him than I do my butcher. But I know without a shade of doubt that Erik will serve me well, and serve me faithfully. My guard is strong, that goes without question. Yet how many of them would I trust with all my heart?"
Balgruuf's eyes looked upon her with the deep sadness of one who understood such loneliness. He knew how she felt without her having to say a word about it, and it gave her cause to worry. A heart easy to read was a heart easy to pierce.
Lanre steeled her voice as she continued speaking, "You may question me about Erik all you like. That doesn't change the circumstances. He swore an oath and so have I. And on my honour, I cannot let you dismiss him without letting him prove his worth."
The jarl appeared to concede when he silently nodded his head.
"We shall see his worth in a year's time," Balgruuf said, drinking wine from his own cup. "And if the gods are good, then maybe sooner. I hope this boy doesn't prove a distraction. If I didn't know you better, I would say you've found yourself enchanted by a handsome face."
Lanre stared at him. "I beg your pardon."
The jarl chuckled. "A jest, my niece. Now, enough talk of your farm boy. What of your work in Rorikstead? You have yet to explain your early arrival."
"Pardon me, but I was preoccupied with the subject of my new charge," Lanre said dryly. "Our trip to Rorikstead went as planned. The village looks as if it would have done well in the winter, even without rations. Their lands are oddly fertile for a settlement so far northwest and with so little people to work the soil. Fortifying Rorikstead will start off slow and small, but in a year's time I'm hoping to see vast improvement and expansion of the lands. I met with the village leaders, Rorik and Jouane Manette. Humble and hard-working men, from what I could tell. West Whiterun is in good hands."
Balgruuf nodded, pleased. "I believe I met Rorik some years ago when he bought the land. I would like to arrange a meeting some time in the future to further discuss the settlement fortifications and acquaint myself with him. For now, their focus should be more on strengthening the Rorikstead guard against dragon attacks and the coming winter. The expansion can wait."
"Another thing I noticed, uncle," Lanre said, "most of the villagers are veterans of the Imperial Army. I wondered if that would complicate our position in the civil conflict."
The jarl clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing. "Our lands are on the side of Whiterun. Besides, you said so yourself that there are hardly any people in Rorikstead, and they have remained silent and peaceful all these years, despite the war. I can't imagine they would cause us trouble. Even if there was some rebellious folly stirring underfoot, the guards we've placed there answer to Whiterun only."
Lanre nodded. "Of course. I only thought it was worth mentioning."
"Duly noted. Now what of your early arrival? I expected you back tomorrow evening, at the earliest. And two of your guard are not with you."
Bracing herself, Lanre thought that a month wouldn't have been ample time to think of a better way to word an explanation.
Clearing her throat, she spoke slowly, deliberately choosing every word.
"On our journey back to Whiterun," she said, refusing to make eye contact, "we made camp a few miles southeast of Rorikstead. My plan was to continue to Lake Ilinalta the next day and camp on its northern shores so that we would all be well rested and supplied before returning to Whiterun."
"And what changed your course?"
Lanre set her wine cup down on the table, running her fingertip around its rim. "My scouts sighted spies."
Balgruuf raised his brows, his tone low and silent as he spoke, "Spies? Are you certain?"
"Quite certain," she nodded. "They may have been watching our movements before we even arrived at Rorikstead. There was no way to be certain of their numbers or allegiance, so I thought it wise to have my scouts track them instead and find out more."
"And did you trace their origins?" Balgruuf pressed, his brow creased with concern.
Lanre braced herself.
"The spies were seen travelling back to Falkreath."
Balgruuf groaned.
Lanre scowled at him, courtesy be damned. "We don't know for certain if they were actually Falkreath spies—"
"But you had Ilona and Zhago travel there to follow them?" Balgruuf said knowingly, his frown proclaiming his disapproval. "You realize that if they were indeed Falkreath spies, they would recognize your guards strutting about in the city?"
Lanre calmly leaned back in her seat, giving Balgruuf a level stare. "And if they were Falkreath spies, then perhaps I want Jarl Siddgeir to know that he doesn't have the upper hand."
"By Akatosh and Sovngarde," Balgruuf cried, exasperated. "You hardly know if he was the one who sent those spies to watch you!"
"Come now, uncle," Lanre scoffed before gulping down more wine. "We both know it was likely his doing. Quite frankly, I was expecting this sooner."
Balgruuf gave her a pointed look. "Perhaps this wouldn't be a problem if you finally agreed to meet with him. It's hardly an unreasonable demand."
"I have far more important matters to deal with."
"He is the jarl of Falkreath," Balgruuf rebuked. "That's hardly unimportant."
"From everything I've heard about him, Siddgeir seems to be just the kind of man I would like to avoid at all cost," said Lanre, straining to keep the disdain from her voice. "The empire could have found a better puppet. One far less lazy and incompetent."
"That would require a puppet to think for itself," Balgruuf scoffed. "I understand that his intentions are questionable, but people will begin to talk if you insist on ignoring his requests."
Lanre narrowed her eyes. "His intentions are perfectly clear. He means to marry a thane of Whiterun, the only hold in Skyrim that has retained neutrality during the civil war. Siddgeir must want to either curry favour with the empire or increase his obscene wealth—or both, which is likely. And he must be desperate indeed if he's set his sights on your bastard niece."
"You give him more credit than he is due," Balgruuf said bluntly. "His courtship smells entirely of empire machinations. Siddgeir is too much of an upstart young pup to have thought of this himself."
"Either way, he's put me in a precarious position."
"Lanre," Balgruuf began, his tone weary but gentle. "You must know what this means for our city. If even Siddgeir and his court have figured it out, so too has everyone else. You're of a marriageable age, with great status and beauty, let alone the most favoured thane in all of Whiterun. Siddgeir will not be the last suitor on your doorstep." His blue eyes bore into her, years of putting duty first showing themselves in every line and wrinkle. "I am not asking you to choose a husband. I only advise that you keep in mind our place in this war. We must not burn any bridges."
Lanre nodded thoughtfully, feeling Balgruuf's words on her skin like a dull burn.
The room was silent for a few moments as solemnity blanketed them both. As the stillness lingered, Lanre imagined several meetings and formal encounters, a hundred forced smiles and clipped, polite conversations between her and lords she did not care for.
When she broke the silence, she left the bitterness of defeat from her voice.
"Very well, uncle," she nodded almost genially. "I'll arrange for a meeting with Jarl Siddgeir and see his character for myself. I'm sure it shall make for an interesting story."
"Good. Now what of the guards you sent to Falkreath?"
"I gave them specific instructions to gather information about our spies and nothing more," Lanre explained. "Whether or not Siddgeir was the one who sent them remains to be confirmed. They are there under the guise of a trade assignment. I bid them to speak of themselves as little as possible and to make their way to Whiterun within three days. However, I instructed Zhago to ride ahead within a day."
Balgruuf nodded as he massaged his temples. Lanre knew this as a sign that their dinner would soon conclude. The jarl always made a point to leave off meetings in favour of a good night's sleep.
"I believe that will be all for tonight," he said as he picked up his cup of wine. "You and I are both weary and in need of rest. We'll meet with the city council tomorrow to further discuss the settlements."
"As you wish." Lanre stood from her seat and extended Balgruuf a shallow bow. She made her way to the doors, but before she could exit Balgruuf called out to her.
Lanre turned around with an enquiring look.
The jarl watched her with tired blue eyes, crinkled up at the corners with a small smile.
"All those years ago," he began quietly, "I knew very little of the strange golden-eyed girl who suddenly appeared and swore herself wholeheartedly to my service. And yet I knew to trust in her. Now you stand before me, a woman grown, the brightest and most diligent of all my court." Balgruuf's smile broadened, pride warming his face. "And I trust in your loyalty with all my heart."
Lanre felt a tightening in her chest as he spoke. What should have brought her comfort only served to make the burden on her shoulders heavier.
She nodded stiffly as she pulled the wooden doors open, uttering quietly, "Good night, my jarl. I pray that you sleep well tonight."
She exited the room and shut the doors behind her without a backward glance.
Writer's Note: Here's the translation for the short exchange between Lanre and the Frost Dragon: "Who are you?" "Dragonborn, you will know with my soul."
I hope this chapter was a good one. Please feel free to leave me a message or a review!