Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.
Chapter 3: Conversations
I was happy to leave the dreary town of Helgen. Not only because we escaped a freaking dragon, but also escaped with our lives. I'm also pretty sure I won't have any trouble with the Imperial soldiers from Helgen finding me since most perished from the dragon attack. It was a win-win and win situation.
The sun shone brightly overhead, warming me with its rays. Monarch butterflies flittered from flower to flower with their delicate wings. I stuck my hands out to graze over grass plants, the tips caressing my fingertips as we strolled through the fields.
Even after a solid day of resting, I felt exhausted. Everything happened so quickly in Helgen that I was still processing the events that took place. Nothing made sense to me. How did I understand the dragon? How on Nirn could the dragon claim I was a Dragonborn? I didn't possess the Thu'um, and I definitely did not inherit the Dragonborn legacy like Cyrodiil's Septim bloodline. There were too many questions and no one to turn to for answers. My mother was the only one who could help, and she was dead. My queries about my heritage will always remain unanswered. And I seriously doubt Hircine would have any knowledge about my human ancestors. I decided to let it go. There was no point to chase something I didn't even know I was searching for in the first place.
I should have just turned around and headed back to Cyrodiil.
My thoughts were interrupted by the Breton humming.
"Can you get even more annoying, Breton?" I asked flatly.
The twerp insisted he'd travel with me to Riverwood "for my protection." That was a laugh. We barely spoke to each other since escaping Helgen. Both too exhausted to carry on a somewhat coherent conversation. I enjoyed the peace and quiet, however I also enjoyed the Breton's silent company. I've wandered Tamriel alone with only Fang as my companion for far too long.
Speaking of Fang, where in Oblivion was he?
"Madden," replied the Breton.
"Excuse me?"
"My name is Madden."
"I like Breton better," I said waving my hand. "Or better yet, I'll just call you Bret. Simple. Easy."
"Bret, huh?"
"I don't want to know about you, and you don't want to know about me. It makes things less personal. Less messy."
"Oh I beg to differ," Bret smiled. "I do want to know about you."
"What?"
"You are incredibly interesting," he mused. "That Nord was right. You are a tigress. With your issues, I'm betting you have quite a few exciting stories. And when I say quite a few, I mean a lot."
I snorted. I have issues? Please. I considered these "issues" as a method for survival, not as conversation topics.
"I'm not the type of person to open up and spill my life story. So if that's what you're hoping to get out of me, you can forget it."
"Can you at least give me your name?" Bret asked.
That I could tell him.
"Brynhild."
A few seconds passed while he mulled over my name. "Ready for battle."
"What?"
"Your name. It means 'ready for battle.'"
I was impressed. Bret must have been an educated man.
"It does," I said plainly.
Bret smiled, pleased he succeeded in getting me to open up, even in something as insignificant as my name.
"Why did you try to fight the dragon? Why didn't you run?"
That I couldn't tell him. I shrugged my shoulders hoping Bret wouldn't press me further.
"It talked to you. I heard it. I didn't understand it, but I know it said something to you," he stated, pushing for answers.
"I didn't hear anything." Lie. "Like I would really be able to understand a dragon." Another lie.
"It just doesn't make sense. I know what I saw and heard."
Thankfully the conversation stopped there.
We continued to walk in silence. I could tell Bret was dying to ask me more questions, wanting to prod me for information about who I was. I enjoyed being mysterious, an outsider. Most people were afraid of me because I was different or avoided me all together. Bret didn't seem to care. However, my vibe practically shouted, "no talking and no questions." How could he, let alone anyone else, possibly comprehend or even understand me? Hi, I'm a 215 year old half Daedra loner who doesn't age, witnessed the slaughter of my mother and clan, has a chip on my shoulder because I have 'daddy issues,' doesn't trust anyone and can talk to dragons. Nice to meet you. Yea, Bret would never run out of questions.
After some time, I could see Bret was suffering from extreme boredom. He kept kicking the same rock down the dirt path to occupy himself. I needed something to kill time and get my mind off of this dragon business.
"So you're a mage."
My remark surprised Bret. Not because of what I said, but because I was talking, initiating in conversation.
"Yes, I am."
I glanced over at him, waiting for a more detailed answer. Bret continued to walk as if I never spoke.
"And?"
"And what?" Bret asked.
"Well what's your specialty? How long have you been studying? Where have you studied?"
A shit-eating grin spread across Bret's lips. "I thought you didn't want to know anything about me. Less messy."
"Just trying to engage in conversation... like civilized people," I huffed.
Bret smacked me on the back. "Why do you want to know? You developing feelings for me, Bryn? Feelings of lo-ove?" Bret emphasized love in a sing-song way.
I covered my face with my hands. "Oh for Talos sake, Bret!" I shouted. "N-O. There is no way I'd have feelings for you. Can't you be serious?"
"It's Madden, and of course I can be serious." Bret replied. "You should learn to lighten up. It wouldn't kill you to smile."
"I can lighten up, Bret. But right now, with everything I've gone through over the past two days, lightening up and cracking jokes is the last thing on my mind."
"It's the perfect time!"
"Maybe once I get a couple of beers in me I'll spill all my secrets," I joked, giving a half smile.
"Really?" Bret's eyes widened in anticipation.
"No!"
We past a post marker indicating Riverwood was just down the slope and in the valley basin. I could see the quiet town laying in the shadows of the mountains down below. I was looking forward to a hot meal and a decent bath. I've lived in the forests and on the road for most of my life and I've learned to appreciate the finer things like a home cooked meal that didn't comprise of hunting, gutting and cleaning my own kill or a soft bed rather than a tattered bedroll on the hard ground.
I used to have a house. Hard to believe, I know. It was so long ago, the memories so distant they felt like remnants of a forgotten dream. Our house sat on top of a hill in the Gold Coast near Anvil overlooking the endless blue Abecean Sea. I miss those days. I miss him most of all, especially his smile.
"Bryn," Bret interrupted my daydream. "We're approaching Riverwood."
I blinked back a silent tear, certain Bret didn't see my slip in my stone cold facade. Even if he did, he didn't say anything, much to my relief.
Riverwood was nice. It was a medium-sized logging town I could see myself living in. Quiet. Distant, yet close to a main hold. The beautiful White River ran next to town. Multiple escape routes at the first sign of danger. The people seemed nice and friendly and wouldn't ask too many questions.
"I'm starving," said Bret, rubbing his belly. "Let's get something to eat before we search for Gerdur."
My belly grumbled in agreement. I grabbed my coin purse attached to my belt and jiggled the contents. The sound of coins clanged together. My purse was still heavy and full from the last mercenary contract I completed before I crossed the Skyrim border. That felt like a lifetime ago already.
We entered the Sleeping Giant Inn and were welcomed with the aroma of roasted meats and stewed vegetables. The wonderful heat from the crackling fire in the hearth created an inviting ambiance. We sat ourselves at a table out of the way, happy to sit down comfortably. I scanned the room and took note of the individuals in the room. A bard strummed the lute and sang "Ragnar the Red" while a drunken man danced, if you could call it dancing, along to the tune. A group of men sat at a table in the far opposite corner of the room, laughing heartily and conversing. The bartender remained behind the bar, occupying himself with cleaning mugs. I also took note of the nearest exits. Just in case. I'm not paranoid. I just like to have an exit strategy at all times.
"Can't you ever relax, Bryn?"
I looked over at Bret and scowled. The twerp was always smiling. It annoyed me to no end. No one in their right mind can be that happy all the time and be sane.
A barmaid approached us with two mugs of mead and set them down in front of us.
"Anything I can get you to eat?" she asked.
"Two bowls of stew if it's on the menu," replied Bret. She nodded and walked back to the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought of a hearty meal. I took a large gulp of my mead. Ah, the taste was fantastic! I sighed in content and put the mug down. My eyes wandered to the rambunctious men at the corner table.
"I studied Destruction and Conjuration," Bret said, tearing my attention away from the men.
"Huh?"
"You asked me what my specialties were as a mage. I also practice Conjuration and I've dabbled in Restoration. I've been studying for sixteen cycles, ever since I was twelve. My mother comes from a long line of mages from High Rock. She taught me almost everything I know about magicka and alchemy."
The barmaid returned with two steaming bowls of rabbit strew. I quickly dove into the bowl with my spoon and devoured the tasty morsels of meat, vegetables and broth. It was absolutely delicious. So much better than the dried meats and berries I've grown accustomed to living out in the forests. This was absolute heaven.
"What were you doing in Cyrodiil?" I asked with a mouth full of stew.
Bret's smile faded, his cheerful, bright aura dimmed. The lines under his eyes indicated he's experienced quite a few hard times. The stubble along his jawline and chin made him appear much older than he really was. His shaggy brown hair fell over his soulful green eyes, concealing the hurt he felt. He held onto his mead mug and gently tapped the sides of the pewter with his fingers.
"I lived just outside of Cheydinhal for about five years," Bret took large gulp of mead before continuing. "With my wife and daughter."
I sucked in a breath. Boy, did I open up a can of worms.
He took another drink and motioned to the barmaid to bring over two more drinks.
"My wife, Gwen," Bret tried hard not to let his voice crack as he spoke about his wife. "She was an Imperial mage from Leyawiin. So beautiful." He traced the wood grain on the table with his finger. "I was out searching for potion ingredients and Gwen stayed behind with our daughter, Anna. While I was away, bandits broke into our house and killed them both. They didn't take anything, they just walked in and killed them for the sake of killing." Bret slammed his fist onto the table, rattling our drinks and bowls of stew. "The fetching bastards."
The barmaid returned with two more mugs full of mead. Bret downed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty mug on the table. He quickly reached for a full one and started guzzling that one while I sat in uncomfortable silence. I don't do well in "bare-all testimonies" like this. I'm not the type who talks about feelings.
"They even set our small stable on fire, killing one of our horses. When I returned, Imperial guards waited for me at the house. They tried to charge me for the murders of my own wife and daughter. They wouldn't let me plead my case. The guards wanted to arrest me and ask questions later. So I fled."
"Is that why you were heading to Skyrim?"
Bret nodded.
After a minute I asked the question I knew Bret had been waiting for me to ask for the past day.
"Why did you ransack my camp?"
Guilt washed over him.
"I was looking for items I could sell. I needed the money to get to the College of Winterhold. I don't have anywhere else to go and thought the College would take me in as a student. Your bone arrows would have fetched a good price. Did you carve them yourself?"
I chugged the rest of my mead and slammed the mug on the table. "Yes, I did carve them myself. And you're lucky I didn't kill you, Bret! You're the first and only person to steal from me and live to tell about it."
Bret held up his hands, submissively showing me he meant no harm. "Bryn, I know. I am truly sorry for that. Can we not just get over it and move on? Start anew?"
I dragged my hand down my face. Ugh, I hate being a softie at heart. I may act like a hardass ninety nine percent of the time, but that small one percent...will be my downfall. I miraculously managed to pick up the pieces after witnessing the murder of my mother. About sixty cycles later, I found Aron. He healed me, made me whole. Then lost him a few years later. I never picked up the pieces after his loss. I couldn't. I just built up a wall around me, around my heart, and no one had been able to break it down to get to me. I plan to keep it that way.
"Fine," I muttered. "We'll start fresh. Speaking of fresh, I need a bath."
I called over the barmaid and inquired about renting a room with a tub. She told me she would have a hot bath ready for me in ten minutes.
Bret and I stared down at the table in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I inhaled deeply. Damn this. Damn this all to Oblivion. I was developing a soft spot for Bret. Losing his wife and daughter so violently and then being blamed for their deaths. I understood what he was going through. Losing the ones you love, the ones who were your whole life and having to start over alone is something I don't wish on anyone.
"Bret," I broke the silence. Bret looked up at me, his eyes full of sorrow and regret. He reminded me of a baby fawn: so innocent and pure. Bret had a good heart even though he could be a pain in the ass. "I'll help you get to Winterhold. It's the least I can do. After all, you saved my life back in Helgen."
Bret's eyes widened. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Yes," I answered. "But then we're even. The debt between us settled."
"Yes...yes of course," Bret stammered, still coping from shock.
The debt was already settled when I forgave him for stealing my arrows since he risked his own life to save mine. He even trusted me enough to disclose the deaths of his family and why he fled to Skyrim. I couldn't just leave him. My conscious wouldn't allow it. So I decided to throw him a bone and help him out.
The barmaid approached to inform me my bath was ready. I stood up, fumbled in my coin purse for a couple of gold pieces and tossed them on the table.
"Here's for the drinks and stew," I said. "And some extra coin for a room and a bath. I think it would be safer to stay here rather than search for Gerdur. We don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves."
I started to walk away.
"Oh, and Bret," I continued. "I'm sorry to hear about your family."
Bret nodded in thanks with a slight smile and returned to his drink and stew.
I locked myself into my rented room and prepared for my bath.
-0-
Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. With school starting back up, it may take me longer for updates. I write all my chapters on my iPhone (gotta love technology) so at least I'll always have some way to write.
Reviews appreciated! Thank you!
-Lady Luna83