But it was not a peaceful day.
It started off with Bretagne being rudely awoken by the shrill clanging of a bell at the ass-crack of dawn. She was hoping to sleep in a little, have a leisurely breakfast, and then get started on work around mid-morning. Apparently the Companions did not understand the concept of a lie-in. Much to her dismay, Bretagne learned that that damn bell would ring in the whelps' quarters at five-thirty every. Single. Morning.
Bleary-eyed Bretagne muddled her way through morning meal, clutching a mug of tea like a lifeline, willing herself to wake up. It was from that point, as she got dressed and put her hair up, that the day went downhill.
Her desk was a nightmare. Loose papers littered the surface, many stained with drips and rings from drinks sat on them carelessly. Some were stuck together, so Bretagne had to carefully peel them apart–luckily, most of them didn't rip. There were also flecks of what Bretagne hoped was tobacco ash, at which she wrinkled her nose and flicked onto the floor.
The ledgers were in no better shape. None of them were sorted chronologically, as current records and books from years past were all mixed together in boxes. "We were packing in a hurry," Brill had said. It took two hours to simply get the record books in the proper order.
Then came actually making sense of the ledgers themselves. Granted, she had to give credit where it was due: not everyone had the luxury of being literate. But by the gods, that chicken scratch was nigh impossible to decipher! It looked as though three different people wrote down details for various jobs–some were missing the client's information, some neglected the locations or the job description itself, and a couple were even missing the total sum! The hall's purchase records were also in quite a state, and seemed to lack rhyme or reason. At least the dates were right. It seemed like things began going downhill rather quickly, starting a few months prior. Either things were exponentially more expensive now than a few months ago, or someone wasn't writing down all their supply runs.
How did they keep afloat like this? Bret wondered in astonishment. They didn't even know how much money was coming in or going out!
She worked until late afternoon, sorting and organizing and getting absolutely nothing of note done, before breaking for something to eat. But when she returned to Brill and Vignar's room…
"Hey, hey! What are you doing?!" she exclaimed. Two burly men were packing her newly-inherited desk out the front door.
"Sorry ma'am, Sir Gray-Mane's orders," one replied.
Bretagne just stood there, dumbfounded, before panicking that they had carted off important documents. Luckily, the movers had the foresight to take the drawers out of the desk before lugging it off–drawers that were being dumped haphazardly by two other movers, and then stacked and carried away.
Bretagne looked down dejectedly at the pile of papers and ledgers she had spent all day organizing and sighed. "Now what?"
.
.
After finally re-doing all of her clerical work, Bretagne paid a visit to Kodlak in his quarters. She blustered into the room like a leaf in a storm, slamming the door behind her, a shield against the cacophony upstairs. All she was missing was the messy hair and clothes askew. "Do you mind, Sir Whitemane?"
The old man waved her in. "Come in, child. And please, call me Kodlak." He motioned to the seat at the table next to him. "How was your first day?"
She set down her record books and rubbed her forehead. "I got absolutely nothing done. I don't even have a desk anymore!"
Kodlak chuckled. "You're welcome to work here for the time being."
Bretagne smiled. "Really? That'd be wonderful. It's nice and quiet back here."
"When you get to be my age, you'll come to miss the raucous sounds of youth," Kodlak said, pouring the girl a drink. "Strange, I know."
Bretagne considered it. "Hm, not really. My pa's said something similar."
"Wise man."
"Yeah." She looked down at her cup. "Can I ask you something? Why did you join the Companions?"
Kodlak took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. "Like most of our band, I found this family after losing my own."
"Oh, my condolences," Bretagne said quietly.
"'Twas a long time ago. I traveled the length and breadth of this land, learning all I could of the sword and the axe. I was just a boy, but I had the fire of a man in my heart. Eventually, my body caught up to my spirit. My predecessor, Askar, found me in Hammerfell."
"You mean, the previous Harbinger?" Bretagne cut in.
"The very same. Anywho, I was serving as bodyguard for some weak-necked lord out there. He brought me back here, and I realized... that I was actually coming home. I work to bring honor to this family, and to the family that I lost. For my mother, my father, and my grandfather. For all my Shield-Siblings. Family and honor. That's what it means to be one of us, girl."
"Family and honor…" Bretagne repeated. "In a way, I suppose I'm doing something similar."
"Ah yes," Kodlak said, "your folks told me about that. You're betrothed, are you not?"
"I am," Bretagne admitted, though she wasn't sure why she felt embarrassed telling him that. "I'm apprenticing for my dowry. It was my idea. I didn't want my family to have to pay for me, especially with my pa's health the way it is…."
"A bit unconventional, perhaps, but no less honorable," Kodlak said approvingly. "I think the lot upstairs could learn a thing or two from you."
"From me?" Bretagne asked incredulously. "I'm just the numbers girl. I haven't even been here two days."
But Kodlak had a look in his eye, like he knew something she didn't. "Ah, but you see, for us, the difference between a noble band of warriors and a ragged bunch of assassins is as thin as a blade's edge. I try to hold us to the right path. As an outsider, you have a unique perspective. Don't take that for granted."
Deciding it was time to retire for the evening, Bretagne gathered her belongings and bid him goodbye. "I won't, Harbinger."
.
.
That night, Bretagne was greeted by her first nightmare since leaving for Whiterun.
She was back in her childhood home. Her father lay collapsed on the floor, clutching his chest, gasping for breath. Her mother knelt at his side, willing him to stay calm.
Bretagne tried to move, to say something, but her tongue was frozen and her limbs sluggish.
Her mother looked up at her with contempt and disappointment. "I am ashamed of you, Bretagne. You should have helped more. It wasn't enough. This is your fault!"
Panicked, Bretagne patted for her coin purse. "No, no, no! I can fix this, I swear! I have the money right here–"
But then she brought out an empty purse, horrified as she saw a huge hole in the bottom. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" Bretagne fell to her knees, searching the floor for gold. She found one piece, but as soon as she touched it, it crumbled to dust. "No!" As she frantically searched on the floor, her hand touched something warm and wet. Confused, she turned to look and saw a pool of shiny red steadily growing larger underneath her father's body. She stared in horror at her hands, now covered in his blood.
"See?" her mother spat. "This is why I can't trust you! You are the reason your father is dying!"
Bretagne awoke suddenly, relieved that it was just a dream, but still shaken. After that, it was hard to resume sleep, so she decided to read a book until drowsiness set in again. She only managed a few hours' sleep before that blasted bell started ringing, and a new day began.