Chapter 7
[Author's Note: Sometimes what we think we want turns out to be unattainable. And if we're lucky, that's alright. And other times, doing what is right is more important than doing what you intended.]
Lydia was getting concerned. Thane Marcus had told her to wait at the Vilemyr Inn for a fortnight, then return to Whiterun and wait at Dragonsreach for him. And she would have done that, except some very suspicious-looking characters had turned up in Ivarstead, poking around and asking far too many questions about High Hrothgar, the Greybeards, and whether anyone had met this 'Dragonborn' who had been summoned.
They were Dunmer, she thought, by the gray skin exposed between cuirass and gauntlets, and by their foreign accents, but she'd never seen armor like theirs before. It appeared to be made of bone and resin, and the full-coverage helmets they wore resembled some strange, tentacled creature she had only heard of in sailor's stories.
She didn't like the fact they appeared to be waiting for her Thane. They kept to themselves, when they weren't asking the townsfolk probing questions, and eschewed the Inn in favor of camping out just outside town.
No. She didn't like this at all. So Lydia disobeyed her Thane and stayed put.
Going against orders yet again, are we, Lydders? she mocked herself. It was a character flaw she knew she needed to work on. Even Jarl Balgruuf was unsure whether she had what it took to be a Housecarl. But she had begged Commander Caius to nominate her for the position. It had all been very rushed, due to the fact that the Greybeards had summoned a Dragonborn for the first time in centuries, and no one yet knew which of the men and women sent to the Western Watchtower with Irileth was actually the hero of legend.
They had all seen the tall, dark-haired Imperial come in to Dragonsreach a few days before. The story of how he'd put the snooty court mage, Farengar, in his place by producing the Dragonstone before Farengar could ask him to get it lost nothing in the retelling. Many of her fellow guardsmen and women were placing wagers on who the Dragonborn would turn out to be. Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, laughingly suggested it might even be Irileth herself.
Please don't let it be her, please don't let it be her! Lydia had prayed to the Nine in secret. Being a guard under the occasional command of the harsh Dark Elf was bad enough. Being Housecarl to her as Dragonborn would have been unbearable.
When the dark-haired Imperial stranger returned shortly after word reached them that the dragon had been slain, after they had all heard the Greybeards' summons, Lydia fairly danced with excitement. She wasn't sure how the red-haired Breton girl fit into the picture; it didn't seem like they were pledged to each other, but one could never be sure. When her new Thane advanced to the Jarl's throne to be recognized for his efforts, the girl had hung back, assured Lydia that they were not "in a relationship", and had quickly departed after giving her that pleading look not to tell Thane Marcus where she'd gone.
Lydia sighed. They hadn't told her when she got promoted that things would suddenly get much more complicated – to say nothing about dangerous!
Her hackles having been well raised by the appearance of these mysterious strangers, Lydia continued to stay in Ivarstead past the point where she'd been ordered to leave. She made herself useful to the villagers by chopping wood, working at the mill, helping Klimmek with his fishing and killing bears for Temba Wide-Arms, all the while keeping one watchful eye on the path down from High Hrothgar and the other on the strangely-dressed Dunmer.
Finally, nearly a week after he expected to return, Lydia saw her Thane coming down the path and across the bridge into Ivarstead. Unfortunately, before she could reach him, the strangers were there first.
"You're the one they call 'Dragonborn', are you?" one of them, the female, demanded.
Her Thane appeared startled at being so abruptly accosted, though they never laid a hand on him…yet.
"The Greybeards seem to think so," he prevaricated, unsure where this was leading.
"Then it is too late," the woman sneered. "The lie has already taken roots in the hearts of men. So we shall show them the falseness of their hearts by tearing out yours, Deceiver! When Lord Miraak returns, all shall bow down before him!"
Without warning, the woman gestured and summoned a being of pure fire behind him; a being that suddenly started lobbing fireballs at him like Kerry Wood pitching strike-outs.
He tumbled to one side, getting quickly to his feet. The two strangers were still standing closely together, and Marcus let loose with a "Fus Ro!" of his own before drawing his sword. They staggered, which gave him enough time to look around and see where everyone was. He didn't want this to involve any of the residents of Ivarstead, if it could be avoided.
Several guards were headed their way, however, weapons drawn, and Marcus felt reassured at the back-up.
"I'm right behind you, Thane!" Lydia called. "Yeowtch! That hurt!" The flame creature had caught the Nord woman full in the face with her fire blast. Lydia's hair looked singed, but not too badly.
"Why aren't you in Whiterun?" he demanded as she turned back-to-back with him to block an attack from the male member of the duo with her shield.
"Aren't you glad I stayed?" she shot back. "And can we discuss this later, my Thane?"
Marcus swung the axe around at the fire creature, which had glided in from his right side. The axe cleaved the creature in two, and it crumpled to the ground. Lydia's eyes widened in horror as she pulled her Thane back.
"Marcus, watch out!" she cried. "Those things—"
FWOOMM!
The detonation was thunderous as a conflagration engulfed a ten-foot diameter area of ground, catching the male stranger in its blast. With a groan, the man fell to the ground, breathing his last.
"—explode," Lydia finished.
WHUMP!
Lydia suddenly cried out in anguish as she was impaled by a very large spear of ice through her midsection.
Twenty yards away, the female stranger was still desperately fighting a rear-guard action, defending herself against the guards of the Rift, while still trying to take out the Dragonborn. Marcus brought his bow out and swiftly nocked an arrow. Taking careful aim, he let fly, and the steel-tipped arrow pierced the woman right between the eyes.
Lydia was still doubled over, groaning, and Marcus quickly pulled out a healing potion.
"Do I pull it out first?" he asked, distractedly. He'd seen Irileth shooting at Mir Mul Nir with these things, but he didn't really understand how it worked, or how to remedy it.
"No, my Thane," Lydia gasped. "Give me the potion. It will wear off."
"Oh, so we're back to 'Thane', is it?" he teased, relieved she would be alright.
Lydia blushed, and he wondered for the first time just how old she was. He hadn't thought about it before.
The guards came rushing up to be certain they were alright. "We would have done something about them before now, Dragonborn," one of them said, "but they kept to themselves and didn't cause trouble, so we had no cause to interfere."
"It's okay," Marcus said, helping Lydia to her feet. "Any idea where they came from?"
"None at all," the man replied. "Maybe they've got something on them. We'll take care of the bodies. You can be on your way, if you like."
Marcus ended up taking the armor, masks and some potions the two strangers had on them. He also found a note in a strange hand.
"Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Marcus before he reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased."
"Miraak?" Lydia asked. "Who's that, my Thane?"
"I have no idea," Marcus muttered. "Someone I must have pissed off in a previous life."
"Solstheim is a long way from here," Lydia mused. "It used to be a part of Skyrim a couple of centuries ago, but when the Red Mountain erupted in Morrowind, there was a large migration here of refugees. The High King of Skyrim at the time gave Solstheim to Morrowind, and most of the refugees went there. I've heard it's not a very hospitable place, though. The Red Mountain has been spewing out ash ever since it erupted, and the entire southern part of Solstheim is covered with it."
Marcus stared at Lydia for a long moment before speaking. "How do you even know all that stuff?" he asked in wonder. He was lucky if he could still remember details from his American History class in high school, and that only covered two hundred years.
"Part of our training as Housecarls is the history of Skyrim and Tamriel," she said simply. "We're not just warriors without a thought in our head other than fighting." This last was said with a little bit of asperity, and Marcus grinned.
"I'm sorry if I made any erroneous assumptions," he said with all sincerity, though he couldn't stop grinning. It was the relief at knowing she was going to be alright that made him smile. As much as he would like to deny it, he was getting used to having someone watch his back.
"Where to now, my Thane?" Lydia asked as they returned to the Vilemyr. "Did you want to go to Windhelm to find out where these assassins came from?"
Reluctantly, Marcus shook his head. "I can't. Not yet, anyway. I promised the Greybeards I'd recover something for them at a place called Ustengrav, but I don't even know where that is."
"Ustengrav….Ustengrav…" Lydia mused. "It sounds familiar, but I can't remember where it is. Farengar would know, though. He has a map of Skyrim in his study."
"I thought you knew all about the history of Skyrim," Marcus teased.
"History, yes," Lydia huffed. "Geography, not so much." Then she saw his eyes dance and gave an exasperated sigh. "Whiterun, then?"
"Yeah," Marcus agreed, still grinning. He was enjoying teasing her. He used to tease Lynne all the time, just to watch her reaction. Thinking of his wife chased the smile away from his face, and he hurriedly packed up his backpack and went out to settle up with Wilhelm.
Lydia stared after him wondering what had caused the sudden change of mood. One moment her Thane was laughing and teasing, the next he looked as though he'd lost his best friend. She would never know how right she was.
They made good time back heading back. They reached Riverwood just as the sun began to sink behind the peaks to the west, and Marcus decided they could stay at the Sleeping Giant tonight rather than press on. He made the arrangements with Orgnar for two rooms and supper for both of them.
"Where's Delphine?" he asked. "Doesn't she generally run things here?"
"Normally," Orgnar replied. "She said she had some things to do up north. Didn't say what, and I didn't ask. She keeps to herself. You want a drink?"
"Just mead, thanks," Marcus said. "One of these days when I get a place of my own, I may invest in some of that Colovian Brandy you had. That was good stuff."
Orgnar smiled. "Yeah, it was. Haven't had any since that night—" The barkeeper suddenly closed his mouth as if remembering why they'd been drinking the brandy, and what had followed after.
"I'll bring the food right out," he said shortly, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Sven was still pretending to be a bard at the far end of the room, but he shot a look of pure loathing at Marcus before changing instruments and beating out a rhythm on his drum. From the intense glares Marcus kept intercepting, he had the distinct feeling Sven would rather be beating on his face.
"Why is that bard staring at you so angrily?" Lydia asked.
"Guilt by association, I think," Marcus chuckled.
"I don't understand."
"It goes back to when Tamsyn and I were here, before coming to Whiterun," Marcus explained in a low voice. "You see, Sven over there was smitten by the fair Camilla Valerius, sister to Lucan, who owns the general store here. Tamsyn met Faendal, a wood elf who works at the mill – where Sven should be during the day – who was also in love with Camilla. As I understand it, Faendal and Tamsyn arranged to bump Sven out of favor. Since I traveled with Tamsyn, Sven thinks I was in on it, but I didn't know anything about it until afterwards."
"Why not tell him then?" Lydia asked, her opinion of the Breton girl sinking a bit over the perfidy.
"Because I really don't care what he thinks of me," Marcus shrugged, tucking into the venison steak Orgnar delivered.
Lydia shook her head, looking as though she wanted to argue that point. "You're the Dragonborn, my Thane," she said finally. "You should care what people think of you." She concentrated on her food after that, and didn't see the look that crossed her Thane's face.
Damn her, Marcus thought. Why'd she have to go and say something like that? It was just the sort of gentle reprimand that Lynne would have given him when he got out of line.
After several minutes of trying to enjoy a truly wonderful steak that tasted like sawdust in his mouth, Marcus got up and crossed the room over to Sven. Lydia's eyes widened. She couldn't hear what was being said, but clearly an apology was being issued, and finally, accepted.
And then her Thane did something she never dreamed he could do. He picked up Sven's lute and taught the bard a song no one in that world had ever heard before.
"Are you going to Ivarstead Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
"Tell her to make me a cambric shirt:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Without no seam nor fine needle work,
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
"Tell her to find me an acre of land:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Between the salt water, and the sea strand,
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
"Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
And gather it all in a bunch of heather,
Then she'll be a true love of mine."
Her Thane sang in a deep, rich, baritone that warmed Lydia through and through. Though he played the lute awkwardly at first, his confidence grew as the song went on. When he finished, the patrons all applauded and cheered.
"That is such a romantic song!" Sigrid sighed, leaning against Alvor. Her husband put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.
Sven, who had been furiously writing notes the entire time, now spoke quickly and quietly to Marcus, fingering the lute himself as he learned the song. Eventually, Marcus nodded and returned to his now-cold steak, which he tucked into with relish, his appetite restored.
"I've never heard that song before, my Thane," Lydia breathed. "And I'm delighted at how well you sing! Where did you learn to play the lute? Have you been to the Bards' College in Solitude?"
"Slow down, Lydia!" he laughed. "One question at a time! You've never heard the song before because it's a song from where I used to live, in another time and place. I had to change the opening lyrics slightly, because no one here would know where Scarborough Fair was. I learned to play an instrument similar to the lute when I was…much younger, which was why I stumbled a bit when I first started the song. And no, I've never been to the Bard's College. Helgen was my introduction to Skyrim."
"It was a beautiful song, beautifully performed," Lydia smiled.
"It was half a song, done adequately well," Marcus said, self-effacingly. "Sven has agreed to do it again later this evening. There's a counterpoint set of lyrics that I couldn't do at the same time because they overlap. It needs two voices. Sven will sing what you just heard me perform later, and I agreed to sing the Canticle counterpoint with him."
Lydia's eyes shone in anticipation. She dropped them to her plate, however, and said in a low voice, "Forgive me for criticizing you, my Thane. That was not my place."
Marcus blew out a sigh. "No, you were right, Lydia. I shouldn't be so dismissive of people I take a dislike to. I was wrong about Sven, too. He's actually a nice guy, when you get to know him."
Lydia reached out her hand and placed it on Marcus' gauntleted one. "Thank you for making peace with him, Thane," she said quietly. "It would grieve me to have people think badly of you."
Marcus said nothing, but his thoughts were whirling around in his head, far too chaotic to make sense of at the moment. That Lydia seemed attracted to him was obvious from the get-go. That she was also trying very hard to deny that attraction and keep things between them on a much more formal basis was also very obvious. It was also very clear to him she was failing on that front abysmally.
He didn't need an emotional entanglement right now, but was unsure what to do. He didn't want to offend her or reject her out of hand. He actually liked Lydia very much; and since they were bound together as Thane and Housecarl, it meant they were going to be spending an awful lot of time together.
It was probably his fault, he decided. He'd come from a world where the class system didn't exist. Lydia had made it clear she wasn't an employee; she was more of a…a subordinate, he thought. And like any bad boss, he'd made the mistake of trying to be too friendly to his subordinate.
Too late to call that card back, he thought sourly. Oh well, hopefully as time went on and he kept things on a neutral basis, the attraction would wane and they could get down to the business of just being friends. At least, he hoped so.
Lydia lay on her bunk in the room next to where her Thane lay sleeping. At least, she thought he was asleep. He'd bid her goodnight and closed his door, and didn't accept her offer to help him get out of his armor.
"You sleep in yours all the time," he'd said. "I suppose I'd better start doing the same if I want to get used to this thing." He'd thunked the front of the breastplate, gave her a slight smile and said good-night.
Something had changed in the middle of the evening, she felt, but she couldn't pin-point exactly what it was. All through the rest of their meal, he'd kept his eyes on his plate and answered her questions politely, but noncommittally. Had she offended him? She didn't think she had, and he admitted she'd been right to say what she had about Sven.
You embarrassed him, Lyds, she told herself. That had to be it. She might as well have called him up in front of the troops and pointed out his failings. She'd always hated when Commander Caius had done that to her, even if she deserved it. She could hear the other guards sniggering behind her back, glad it wasn't them standing up there for all to see. The mortification she felt, the overwhelming hope that the ground would open up and swallow her, were feelings she wouldn't wish on anyone. Yet she had just done that very thing to her own Thane. She should be dismissed for speaking so far out of line.
Except he wouldn't do it. She knew that. Somehow, in spite of her own shortcomings, her Thane would not send her away, because he simply didn't realize he had the power to do it. Another person might have taken advantage of such an oversight. Another Housecarl might seek to ingratiate themselves so far into their Thane's life that their superior would not be able to imagine a life without their dutiful Housecarl by their side.
Lydia wasn't like that. Fiery-tempered she might be, as Commander Caius often pointed out, too willing to bend the rules, as Jarl Balgruuf often suspected, she was nevertheless loyal to a fault and a fierce defender of her charge, whoever that might be.
Well, there was that one time with Nelkir—
Quickly, Lydia squashed that memory and got into bed, still fully dressed in her armor. Nelkir didn't count, even if he was the Jarl's son. The little brat was about as unpleasant as a slaughterfish, and just about as trustworthy. He refused to come down from the rafters that crossed the great hall. He was just lucky Hrongar was standing right under him when he fell, or—
Lydia pushed the thought away. The boy survived with a broken wrist and a couple of cracked ribs which the healers put right immediately. Too quickly for the lesson to sink in that he should have listened to his elders when Lydia told him to "get down from there."
In spite of the turmoil in her thoughts, the evening had been one of the more pleasant ones she could remember. Learning that her Thane was gifted musically had been a delight. She herself could not carry a tune in a bucket. The entire crowd – which had grown as the evening went on – delighted in hearing the new song her Thane had taught to Sven; and appreciated it even more when Sven performed the song later without a misstep, and her Thane had joined in to sing the counterpoint. It was beautiful, and several rounds of drinks were purchased for the two performers.
Tomorrow they would return to Whiterun; Thane Marcus had mentioned staying in Riverwood long enough to sell off the weapons and armor they'd picked up from the Barrow and the assassins before heading out. She wondered if he remembered wanting to check out White River Watch along the way. She had no idea how much coin was needed to purchase Breezehome, much less how much they still had. Her Thane held the coin purse, and some of it had been spent to pay for her lodgings while he studied up at High Hrothgar.
Oh, this is silly, Lydders, she scolded herself. Just remind him about it. If he wants to go there, he'll go. Why are you making such a big deal about this? You never used to be this indecisive.
She'd never been a Housecarl before, either. And she'd never been a Housecarl to a very attractive man with whom she was desperately trying not to fall in love.
She finally drifted off, restless and wakeful, and the dreams she had were not the kind she would ever relate to anyone. Not even herself.
They limped into Whiterun late in the afternoon. White River Watch was a challenge, but nothing the two of them couldn't handle, though Marcus did sprain his ankle leaping after the bandit chief, Hajvarr, before he could plummet over the side of the cliff, thanks to Lydia's pinpoint accuracy with a bow.
"You could have let him fall, Thane," she reproved gently, supporting him on one side. "He was already dead."
"I knew that," he grimaced. He'd have taken another healing potion for the pain except he'd run out. He'd settled for binding it with some leather strips he'd picked up, but it still hurt like bloody blue blazes. "I just didn't want any more dents in that boss-looking armor of his."
Lydia grinned. "That's Nordic carved armor," she informed him. "And it's better than the steel you have. It takes quicksilver ingots to repair and improve it, though, not steel."
"I take it that's a bit more expensive, then," Marcus sighed.
"A bit," Lydia agreed, "but you've collected quite a lot of coins in the past few days. You can afford to buy a few ingots, if Adrianne has them available."
"Still not enough to buy Breezehome, though," Marcus winced as the ankle twisted again. He really needed to see a healer. Lydia had confirmed when he'd gotten injured that there was one at the Temple of Kynareth in the Wind District, across from Jorrvaskr, and that reminded him that he still hadn't gone to see if they would let him join.
"Very close, though, my Thane," Lydia encouraged him. "Of course, you'll need a bit more to get it properly furnished.
Marcus nodded. He'd planned on that as well, and knew he didn't have enough right now. Perhaps there were some bounty jobs he could do, though he'd have to have this ankle seen to first. And he couldn't forget he'd promised to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. With a heavy sigh that ended in another grimace, he wondered when his life had become so complicated.
When you woke up in that cart, his inner dragon chuckled. He was getting a little tired of that smug voice of brutal honesty.
Hours later, his ankle feeling much better and much of the excess loot sold off, Marcus left Lydia at Dragonsreach while he headed down to Warmaiden's to work on the new Nordic armor he'd picked up. The boots fit like they were made for him, as did the gauntlets, but the helm was a bit snug and the cuirass itself needed some major repairs. He wasn't sure he'd be able to do it himself. Adrianne, however, was delighted to see him again and quickly showed him how to make repairs and adjustments using the quicksilver ingots he purchased from her.
"Not bad," she approved, when he was finally finished. "You've got some raw talent. You're not ready to create something new out of this material, but if you keep working at it, you'll make a fine smith someday."
Privately, Marcus didn't think a career in smithing was what the Powers That Be had laid out for him, but it was nice to know he'd at least gotten this much right. The new armor fit better than the steel, though it was heavier, and though he didn't have a mirror, he thought he looked pretty bad-ass in it. Several of the women he passed in the street must have thought so as well, since their heads were turning and he heard appreciative sighs behind his back.
If I was a more conceited person, I'd be worried about the helmet not fitting, Marcus grinned to himself.
He climbed the stairs back up to the Wind District, intending to stop at Jorrvaskr, when he saw the little beggar girl, Lucia, sitting on a bench under the large dead tree, listening to that priest pontificate endlessly about Talos.
Quietly he slipped up behind her just in time to hear her murmur, "I'm so hungry…"
Immediately, Marcus felt his throat constrict. A stinging in his eyes threatened to cloud his vision. Blinking quickly, he stepped around in front of her.
"Hello, little girl," he said, gruffly, past the lump in his throat.
She looked up at him, large brown eyes staring back at him dully from a pinched, hollow-cheeked face.
"Mister?" she murmured. "Could you spare a coin?" There was no hope in the question. It was as if she already expected the answer to be 'no'.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Who are you, child? Where do you live?"
"I'm Lucia," she whispered nervously, and he realized how he must look to her, towering over her in his new armor. He quickly bent down to his knees, putting himself more on her level. "I live here in Whiterun…now." The last word was so quiet he almost didn't catch it.
"Where are your parents?" he asked gently.
"They're—" the child swallowed hard, and he could see tears welling up. "They're gone. I don't remember my papa."
"Don't you have other family?" Marcus prompted. "Why are you begging?"
"It's what….it's what Brenuin said I should do," she admitted, blushing. Brenuin….Brenuin…Marcus couldn't place the name until Lucia nodded toward a man in rags coming up the stairs. He took one look at Marcus and reversed direction, heading back down the stairs.
"He's the only one who's been nice to me since Mama—" the child's voice caught on a sob. "Since Mama died," she finally finished.
"Well, don't you have anyone else to look after you?" Marcus asked, feeling his heart break for her.
"My aunt and uncle took over our farm," Lucia said hollowly. "They threw me out. They said I wasn't good for anything. I wound up here. I try to get money to buy food, but I – I don't know what else to do." Large, fat tears spilled down her cheeks. "I just miss her so much," she whispered.
He'd been a father, in his other life; a grandfather, too, in fact. Whatever had happened in their thirty-plus years of marriage, he and Lynne had always made sure the kids had the basic necessities of life: food, clothing, shelter, education and medicine. And there was always love, even when they didn't have much else. They'd been through lean times and fat times together, but they remained a family. A deep ache inside filled him as he finally let go of the loved ones he knew he'd never be able to hold again.
But his inner dragon was rearing up in outrage. How dare they? He didn't know who this unnamed aunt and uncle were, but if he ever found out, there would be a reckoning for throwing a child out into the world alone and unprotected, homeless, friendless and riddled with unjustified guilt about her own worth.
This doesn't help her now, he told himself. Lucia is the one you need to think about right now. The aunt and uncle can wait…for now.
Calming himself, Marcus stood and took the child by the hand, pulling her to her feet.
"Come with me," he smiled. "I'm going to make sure you have someplace warm and dry to sleep tonight. And you're going to get a proper meal, too."
Lucia pulled away, shrinking back.
"No, I – I can't!" she exclaimed. "I – I don't even know you!"
He hesitated. "Fair enough," he said finally. "My name is Marcus, and I would like very much to help you, if you'll let me. I'm not going to hurt you. If you won't come with me, then take these coins and go down to the Bannered Mare. Get yourself something to eat. I'll be staying there tonight, so run along, and I'll see you later."
Lucia stared in wonder at the handful of coins he'd given her. Her eyes grew larger, if that were even possible, and something akin to a ghost of a smile touched her lips briefly.
"I – I – thank you, Mister!" she breathed. "Divines bless your kind soul!" She turned and walked slowly away, tucking the coins into her pocket before heading down the stairs.
It was a start, Marcus thought. At least the child wouldn't be afraid of him next time he saw her. And he promised himself there would be a next time. More determined than ever to secure a home of his own, Marcus decided not to visit Jorrvaskr after all and headed down the stairs himself, just in time to see the beggar man, Brenuin, forcibly taking the coins from Lucia, who was struggling in his grip.
Only the barest shred of restraint prevent Marcus from drawing his sword on an unarmed man, but Brenuin would never realize just how lucky he was to end up with only two broken ribs and a fractured jaw. The guards, once they realized it was the new Thane who was defending the little beggar girl from what amounted to robbery, let him go with a warning and hauled Brenuin off to the jail under Dragonsreach.
Hulda was a tougher case, insisting she didn't have time to watch after a small child. Marcus had to part with a bit more of his precious coin to get her to change her mind.
"Oh, all right, then," Hulda muttered. "She can sleep by the fire back in the kitchen," she agreed. "I'm not giving up room for a paying customer to take in a beggar child off the streets. That's what the orphanage in Riften is for."
"And she gets three meals, breakfast, lunch and dinner, understand?" Marcus insisted.
"Only if she'll work for it," Hulda said stiffly. "She can dust the rooms upstairs and sweep the floors. Goodness knows Saadia is too busy with the customers to see to it."
"I promise I'll do a good job, Miss Hulda!" Lucia said solemnly.
"See that you do," Hulda scowled at her. "And this had better be just a temporary arrangement, Dragonborn," she glowered at him. "I'm not running a charitable institution here, you know."
"You're all heart, Hulda," Marcus said smoothly, biting back words he'd rather say. The woman sniffed and returned to her counter.
"What did she mean, 'Dragonborn', Mister?" Lucia asked, wide-eyed, as they retreated to the kitchen to get Lucia settled for the night.
Marcus knelt down beside her again. "What do you know about the Dragonborn, Lucia?" he asked gently.
"Lars told me once that the Dragonborn was a hero who lived a long time ago," she said. "But you don't look that old."
He chuckled at that. "I'm not," he assured her. "But from what the Greybeards told me, every now and again, when there's trouble in the world, a Dragonborn comes forward to put everything right once more." It was a watered-down version, he knew, but he felt it was something Lucia would be able to understand.
The child nodded. "Thank you for helping me, Mister Dragonborn. And please don't be too mad at Brenuin. He's not like that all the time. Only when he drinks."
Which was probably most of the time, Marcus thought sourly, but he steeled his expression not to show his anger to the child snuggling down into the bedroll. Even in this light, by the fire, he could see how small, frail and young she was. It was criminal, he thought, that the people of Whiterun seemed not to care what might happen to her.
You could do something, his inner dragon chided.
Yes, he could. But he'd have to get a house first.
"I said I wanted a child's bedroom, Proventus," Marcus glared. "Did I stutter?"
"Oh, no, Dragonborn!" the Steward of Whiterun exclaimed. "It's just that – I didn't think – I mean, you haven't gotten your Housecarl…you know?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, glancing at Lydia standing respectfully several feet away.
Marcus leaned in closer. "If you ever make that kind of suggestion to me again," he said in a low voice, with a smile on his face that never reached his eyes, "you'll think High King Torygg got off easy. Understand?"
Proventus gulped. "C-completely, Dragonb-born," he stammered. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Good," Marcus smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "A child's bedroom, Proventus. And see that it gets finished first." The arrangements having been made, Marcus dropped off a hefty pouch of gold, turned and left the Steward standing at the top of the hall.
"How long will it take, my Thane?" Lydia asked as they emerged outside.
"A few weeks, at least," Marcus said. "That's why I'm going to need you here to see that everything gets done right."
Lydia stopped. Marcus went down a few more steps before turning with his eyebrow raised. "Something wrong?"
"No, my Thane," Lydia hesitated. "I just thought – I mean—"
"Did I miss something?" Marcus demanded irritably. "Is today, 'Question the Dragonborn's Decisions Day'?"
Lydia stiffened. She was being put in her place, and whether justified or not, she had no right to argue. "No, my Thane," she answered, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. "Will you be going to Ustengrav, then?" Without me? she bit back.
"Yes, it's on my 'List of Things To Do'," he replied. "I'm taking Uthgerd the Unbroken with me. Woman packs a wallop, I can assure you," he continued, rubbing his jaw pensively. "I'm officially adopting Lucia as well, and I'll need you to stay with her until other arrangements can be made." He turned away and headed down the stairs to find Lucia and give her the good news.
So that's it, then, Lydia thought. Welcome to the ranks of the Left Behind. Well, what had she expected? That her Thane would fall in love with her and they'd get married and live happily ever after? That sort of thing might happen in Bards' tales, but rarely in real life.
"I am sworn to carry your burdens," she muttered under her breath. She just hadn't anticipated that a child would be one of them. Adopting Lucia had been a surprise, but not totally unexpected. She knew he'd been worried about the little girl since he'd first seen her under the stairs at the Bannered Mare two weeks previous. Since that time he'd been driven, taking any kind of bounty job, doing any kind of work to earn enough coin to purchase Breezehome and thereby provide a home for the child. It had been a glorious fortnight of adventure after adventure, fighting by his side, watching his back, and seeing him grow stronger and more confident in his abilities. She was quite certain there wasn't a bandit camp, cave or mine anywhere in Whiterun Hold that hadn't felt the wrath of the Dragonborn.
Honeymoon's over, Lydders, she thought sadly. He doesn't love you. He never did. You built up this romantic notion that had no basis in fact. Surprisingly, that thought didn't hurt as much as the knowledge she was being left behind to be a glorified nanny.
You aren't in love with him, either, she realized. You were in love with the idea of love, with the knowledge that of all people, he is the Dragonborn, and you are his Housecarl. That's all you will ever be.
"No," she whispered to herself. "That's not all. I can be his friend, too." Squaring her shoulders and finding that it wasn't as hard as she thought to put a smile on her face, Lydia followed her Thane.
[Author's Note: The lyrics to 'Scarborough Fair/Canticle' are copyright Paul Simon Music, Ed., and performed by Simon and Garfunkle. It was a favorite song of mine when I was a teen-ager, and since I've been playing Skyrim I've often thought what songs I know today might best translate there. I had to alter the opening line a bit, because as Marcus said, "No one here would know where Scarborough Fair was."]