5 Heartfire 4E201, Lakeview Manor, Falkreath
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Ivar stood at the forge, naked to the waist despite the cool of the day. Iron rods went into the forge-fire, and then under his hammer: pounded, cut, and shaped. Finished nails dropped into a wooden bucket by his feet, forty an hour like clockwork. When the bucket filled, one of the carls came to take it away and leave an empty one in its place.
The carls stole moments from their own work to watch the smith with awe. He worked tirelessly, like an ancient dwemer machine, never pausing for rest.
Clang. Clang. Clang. All the morning long.
Until just before noon, when a new voice sounded across the construction site.
"Ivar Ragnarsson?"
The smith slowed, dropped one last nail into the bucket, and then stopped.
He stared.
The newcomer was worth looking at. A woman, yes, but a most unusual woman. Tall, athletic, her shape subtle rather than generous. Dark skin, strong features, green eyes that missed nothing at all. Her face bore a pattern in dull silver paint, like abstract wings over her cheeks and around her eyes. She wore Nordic armor, but instead of a helmet she had a loose turban that bound her hair, trailed over her neck and her right shoulder. She bore two matched swords, one at either hip.
Curved. Swords.
"I'm Ivar," the smith admitted at last. He stepped to one side, picked up a large waterskin, and drank from it at length. Some of the water he spilled over his face and beard, letting it run down the planes of his chest. "How may I serve you?"
"Say rather how I am to serve you," said the woman. "You are Thane of Morgate. Jarl Siddgeir has assigned me to be your right arm."
"Indeed?" Ivar set the waterskin down, approached the stranger, watching her with interest. "You're to be my housecarl in this Hold?"
"So it would seem." She reached into a belt pouch and produced a scrap of parchment for the smith.
Ivar took it, opened it, read it at a glance. "Hmm. You're very unusual for a housecarl in a Nordic holding. I don't think I've ever heard of a Redguard woman serving in such a position."
"Do you doubt my ability?" Just a hint of warning in her voice.
"Not at all. I have nothing but respect for the Redguard, and their blades. Although I've had some bad luck with Redguard women."
One eyebrow cocked slightly. You will not have the chance to have luck of any kind with me, that look said, as clearly as if she had shouted.
Prickly, this one. Enough pride for a dozen lions.
"Never mind," said Ivar, being very careful not to laugh. "How does a Redguard sword-maiden come to serve a Nordic thane in Skyrim?"
Her face tightened, as if she had been forced to tell the story once too often. "My father was improvident enough to love his wife beyond measure. He sired many children, despite having no fortune to provide for all of them. When I approached womanhood and showed talent with the blade, he sent me to a mercenary company, so that my blood-price could dower one of my more useless sisters. From there I came into the service of a nobleman who had too many enemies. When one of them reached him with a cup of poison in the night, I chose to flee into exile rather than die for his stupidity. Falkreath lay just across the border. Jarl Siddgeir found me intriguing, while his steward found me useful."
Ivar nodded thoughtfully.
It fits what little I know of Redguard customs. Not to mention what I know of the jarl's personality, and Nenya's. Still, she will bear watching. Skilled enough, no doubt, but there weren't enough names in that story.
"What duties shall I assign you?" he asked, giving no hint of his thoughts.
"I fear I have few talents other than those of battle," she said. "I have no skill with reckoning or command. I am educated in the literature and poetry of my own country, but I have no talent for making, and such arts find little favor with Nords in any case. The forms are too different."
"They might find favor with this Nord. I've traveled widely enough not to consider Skyrim the whole world. We'll have to see." Ivar nodded decisively. "Very well. You shall be my battle-companion, travel with me and fight at my side. Does that suit you?"
She bowed slightly, crossing her forearms over her heart. "It suits me very well, my lord."
"Good. I do need a steward here, someone to watch over the lands and keep the construction site busy while I am away. But if your skills lie elsewhere, that's all right. I have another candidate in mind for the steward's position." Ivar cocked his head, considering her. "Do you like to travel?"
She granted him a smile, causing his heart to skip a beat.
Talos best and most mighty. She's rather striking when she's not wearing that grim face.
"Journeys happen whether one wills them or not, my lord, but in all truth I love to travel. Although I was given to understand you might prefer to remain here."
"Well, as you say, journeys happen. I want to settle down and be a smith somewhere. Or a thane, given how my luck has turned. Certainly when this house is finished and these lands have been reclaimed, I hope to make a home here. But recent events have taught me that I'm not going to get what I want."
"Where do you plan to travel, then?"
Ivar turned and pointed to the Throat of the World, brooding on the northeastern horizon, robed in mist and cloud. "Up there, for a beginning."
The woman's eyes grew wide.
"By the way, you have yet to give me your name."
She turned back to him and extended a hard-palmed hand for him to grip. "Rayya."