Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. Hey readers, I'm thankful for each follow or fave I get. The follow-up to Legionnaire is in a much better place now, so I thought I'd push this chapter early. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you all drop a review soon.
Hours passed. Images of exhaustion and pain filled Breezehome where a surgeon and her assistants labored to save Aela: Healing spells and sharp blades, exposed ribs and stitched gashes, bowls of water, and bloody rags. The healers left.
I woke later to the sensation of a weak hand squeezing mine. I peeled my head off the sticky kitchen table to see Aela's slivery eyes gazing at me. She smiled weakly. "I'll live," she said.
"You scared the shit out of me," I whispered back.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to Lydia moving around her room above us. Soon her booted feet were on the stairs, "It's about time you woke up," she said to me.
"Thank you for staying with me Lydia. How are the rest of the Companions?"
Her tone was subdued, "Not well. We lost another dozen and Aela was one of twice that who will be out of action for a while. We have no shortage of applicants, but Thane, we can't continue like this."
I nodded my agreement, never looking away from the woman I almost lost. "And we won't Lydia. This is our last battle for a long while. I said we'd help Balgruuf get back into his city and we have. We'll take normal contracts still, but I'll tell the General that we're out of the battles at least until the end of the summer."
"You should be the one to tell the Companions," she said.
"And I will. Head on up. I'll be along after I get cleaned up."
After Lydia left I stripped and stood by the household basin, scrubbing away last night's filth. Aela and I looked on my growing collection of scars while I washed. My jaw still popped in and out of its socket from my near decapitation in the Ratway last year. Before every rain my left wrist ached where it was broken at Northwatch Keep. There was a hairless patch on my chest left over from my first arrow wound. Years later I would wake in the night craving whatever the Thalmor had drugged me with. Burns and raw patches decorated my forearms. If I was not careful on uneven ground, my ankle would buckle treacherously: a souvenir of my flight from Helgen. When I chose to be a ranger, my father told me this career would have a way of taking its toll. I didn't have so many scars when I was sixteen.
I was upstairs pulling on clean clothes when I heard the front door open and feet clomping on the floorboards below. "I think you're lost," I heard Aela say.
I came down to see three grim looking men: an Orc and two Nords standing in my kitchen.
"I think you know why we're here," the Orc said into the silence.
I just nodded and reached to my waist for Revenant. With a gasp, my hand closed on nothing. My weapons were still upstairs with the rest of my filthy gear. The three men smiled without mirth, brandished their weapons, and began to close with me.
My eyes darted about the room, desperate for inspiration. Since the fires that burned the first Breezehome during the First Battle of Whiterun, my house held little in the way of weapons or furnishings. The world was slowing down as the three men made their way through my kitchen. I was debating using a Shout in my house when I heard Aela cough to get my attention. She let her arm dangle off the table, her fingertips just brushed the hilt of her short sword where it was dropped on the floor.
I smiled my relief for just a second before reaching out with that stolen telekinesis spell to call the elegant sword to my hand.
One of my Nord accosters moved fast. His club swatted Aela's sword off its path. It clattered on the floor somewhere behind me. I ducked beneath his next swing and came up with an uppercut that clacked his teeth together but little else.
I flung myself back as the Orc and the second Nord edged around their stunned sidekick. The Orc lunged to block my path and got a punch to the throat for his effort. His two human allies recovered before I could finish crippling him.
By then it didn't matter. A quick roll to my right and I was up with Alea's sword in an awkward reversed grip. My first slash cut upward into a scarred Nordic face. The second cut passed through his neck, the keen blade severed veins and muscle like parting yarn. Fresh blood stained our home.
The two survivors held back briefly, allowing me a second to correct my grip. Ash from the fire pit flew up into my face, followed by almost 300 pounds of Orc. With a bellow he drove me hard into the cupboard at the back of my dining area. Flatware flew out around the house-shaking impact in a lopsided splash of wood and clay. He grabbed me by the neck and drove his club into my stomach. I felt something give inside me and the taste of bile climb my throat.
He drew back to drive his cudgel into me again. I lurched forward and clawed my fingers into the tender skin just beneath my foe's eyes. It was a desperate, filthy move. But it worked. The Orc reeled away with a curse and trickles of blood dripping down his face. The final Nord let the beaten thug twist out of his way before stepping in for a two-handed swing that carried enough force to crack the boards behind my demolished cupboard.
He was the least of my worries as I kicked off the wall beneath his swing. The blinded Orc was still flailing in panic and drifting dangerously close to Aela. A livid growl escaped me as I reached out and grabbed the Orc's shoulder. I drove the curved sword deep into the small of the man's back and drew it out again with a twist, pushing him aside viciously as the sword came free. My final attacker started edging to the door, keeping as far away from me as he could.
"Who hired you?" I demanded, expecting to chase him when he bolted.
He shrugged instead, "Ubba said some old man at the Nightgate Inn would pay us once we brought your head."
"Don't let my door hit your ass," I commanded the mercenary.
He nodded his thanks and left without another word.
After a brief check on Aela, I limped over to the bodies and knelt to begin a grisly task.
Perhaps half an hour later four figures walked beneath the heads of the Orc and the Nord tied together by their braids above my door. Three of the people were armed, two towering men and a shorter woman. The fourth man's features were hidden in the deep shadows of his robe and cowl. A heavy book and a short piece of rope dangled from one of his long sleeves. None of them gave the warning above my door a second glance.
"What's going on?" Aela asked when the robed man pulled back his hood and she recognized Heimskr. The town priest's face was alive with delight.
Behind the street preacher I clasped arms with Farkas and Vilkas.
"I'm so happy for you Aela," Lydia replied as I came over and took Aela's hand.
"I promised you," I explained, "When we could be home and among our friends; whatever else might be, I would make you my wife."
After shifting some broken furniture, Heimskr wrapped the cord about our wrists. With a few quiet blessings, our friends looked on as he tied the knot.
I don't know where my soft spot for Heimskr comes from. In real life I find street-preachers deeply annoying and skilled only at driving people away from God. But Heimskr just seems like a nice guy.
It's not the wedding I had in mind for I & A; it's certainly not what they'd hoped for, but the deal has been sealed.
I've been mulling over doing a series of chronicles from other characters' points of view, especially Ghent and Morgan's. Any requests?