They were awoken by the milk-curling scream of a rooster, the kind of sound that makes you want to strangle all birds everywhere. The sun was showing the first pink signs of its eastern arrival. Thorald blinked against the light, trying to get his bearings, which was hard when you realize you've been sleeping on a roof, of all places.
"You know, maybe we should've used a bed for the one night we're not on the road," he said, groaning at the stiffness in his neck.
Lydia's hoarse voice responded, "Yeah, my back feels as if a dragon took a nap on it. Or maybe it was just a Dragonborn."
"Just making sure you were warm," he grinned, as he tried to shake off the shivers. The grin turned into a ridiculous, crooked smile as he found himself staring at her beautiful, messy hair.
Lydia rolled her eyes, wincing as she stretched. "Warm, my ass. You always were a blanket hogger-"
"Not a blanket- a cloak."
She sniffed, "Whatever. Let's get down from here before anyone thinks we're holding a slumber party on your roof."
"Right," Thorald said groaning, as he got up, the dawn light casted a soft glow over the city. "But you can't deny the view though."
He pulled her up, taking her hand, lingering at the touch. Thorald was savoring every small touch, like he was trying to make up for all the ones he'd missed out on in the last year. A bridge had been crossed last night, yet he didn't feel any guilt or regret about any of it.
Lydia squeezed his hand, watching the surrounding lands slowly wake up. She didn't need to say anything. They both understood that this moment, like the ones from last night, was something rare and beautiful, even if it had started on a roof with a crazy rooster.
As they climbed down from the roof, hand in hand, the city's morning hustle began to come alive around them. Lydia glanced questioningly at Thorald, "We might be running late. You said we were leaving at dawn, right?"
Thorald sighed, he reminded himself to try and be more easygoing, "Taking one hour more or less, won't matter in the grand scheme of things."
Lydia smirked, "Delaying for an hour? You've turned into a whole new person. Alduin won't know what hit him"
Thorald grinned back at her, trying to hide that he was still half-asleep. "I doubt he's that punctual. Twiddling his thumbs, wondering where the fuck we are. Besides, we've still got a long way to go. One step at a time, right?"
"Right," she said, stepping up to kiss him on the cheek.
He blushed. She pretended not to notice, but he knew she did. She always noticed.
"I'll see you in an hour then," she continued nonchalantly. "I'll go gather my pack."
They said goodbye, and after Lydia was out of sight, he entered the Gray-Mane house. The living area was dark, the firepit now almost entirely burned out. Its smoldering remains exhaling just like the snoring sounds reaching his ears from across the room. It seemed everybody was still asleep. On a couch in the corner, he spotted aunt Sigrid in uncle Vignar's arms. A true sign of a happy marriage, if a happy marriage meant drooling on each other's shoulders.
He rubbed his arms, trying to shake off the remaining chill from outside, as he quietly made his way into the kitchen looking for something to get for breakfast. The kitchen gathered a mountain of dirty plates, pots, and cutlery. And also, one plate of leftover flaming tarts, standing like a beautiful treasure on the corner of the counter. Thorald briefly thanked the Gods for such a gift, before he practically launched himself at the plate.
The tart had never tasted better as he felt the warm feeling spread across him, expelling the overnight chill from his body. He savored the dessert, as he started planning his morning. He hadn't really unpacked anything, so getting his stuff together should be a breeze. His eyes fell on the dishes, if he had nothing else to do, he might as well help out here.
Of course, that meant actually doing the mountain of dishes, and Thorald had a deep, philosophical objection to doing dishes before the sun was properly up. But he supposed if he was going to start a new chapter in his life, he might as well start by scaling mountains closer to home. With a resigned sigh, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Fifteen minutes into doing the dishes, he heard the kitchen door creak open as his mother came in.
She quickly overcame her surprise, as she saw him standing there elbow-deep in soapy water. "Oh, thank you, dear. I was dreading this chore," she said, joining him next to a water barrel.
"It's no problem," he said, smiling softly, "Consider it a bribe, to stop you from asking where I went last night."
His mother sniffed, while dunking a plate into clean water, "I should probably just hit you with a pan until you tell me, anyway. I saw who else was missing at the gathering, I'm not blind."
"If only…" Thorald muttered under his breath, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate.
She snorted. "Just friends, huh? 'Just friends' who sneak off together and don't come back until dawn. You're full of it, Thorald."
He rolled his eyes, while handing her another clean plate. "Yeah, yeah, keep your gossip to yourself. It's probably better if you don't know where I was."
"That's just it," she said, waving the plate around, "I never know where you are, I have to rely on the strange tales merchants tell me in the market. When you're out there, for all I know you might be in prison, a bandit camp, or a dragon's belly. I get enough headaches dealing with your father, let alone my absent son who literally goes around waking sleeping dragons."
Thorald looked at her guiltily, "I know I've been gone for too long. But I promise to make an effort to drop by more often. Eirika's wedding is in three months, right? Who knows, it could be fun."
"And you'll write!"
"And I'll write…"
"I'll hold you to that, dear," she said, she said, pulling him into one of those quick, tight hugs that made Thorald feel like he was ten years old again. "Now, let me finish this up. You've got a world to save, and I need you alive and kicking to do it."
"Thanks, Mom. For everything." Thorald replied, smiling as the matriarch affectionately shooed him out the kitchen.
He quietly made his way to his old room, sidestepping any creaking steps as to make sure he wouldn't wake anybody in the house.
He moved quietly through the house, sidestepping any creaking steps, making sure not to wake anyone up.
As he entered his old room, he gathered his pack, and for the next ten minutes, started donning his armor. It was a miracle, worthy of song, really, that he managed to do so without knocking over the countless crates of equipment precariously stacked on top of each other. He was practically offering prayers of thanks to every god that might be listening for not waking anyone up.
With everything securely fastened to his person, he began his descent down the stairs once more. Yet, this time, the clinking of his armor echoed like a distant thunderstorm rolling over the hills. He tried to side-step the creaky steps, yet with each maneuver, another wooden step groaned under his weight, like a disgruntled cat. It was like trying to tiptoe while wearing a full set of wind chimes. He half-expected to hear a trumpet blare or a drumroll accompany his descent.
By the time he was downstairs, the entire household was wide awake. Eyes were peeking from around corners, grumpy faces appeared from all doorways, except for his uncle and aunt, who were still blissfully snoring on the couch, like two ancient mountains unconcerned with all worldly matters.
Thorald didn't waste any time with pleasantries. His apologies were the first thing to greet their drowsy, deadpan visages. As Nazeem, and Eirika sleepily returned to their room, he couldn't help but notice Nazeem's bathrobe swishing around him in a way that could almost be called majestic. If it weren't for the fact that it had a few squeaky rubber ducks sewed onto it. Yet Thorald knew better than to ask and cause a new fashion debate, not this early in the morning anyway.
"You're leaving, huh?" his father said groggily, looking over his equipment.
He nodded uncomfortably, "Yeah. Sorry about the noise."
His father grunted in response, a noise he recognized all too well. It was the sound when his father had run out of lectures and was running on fumes. It could mean anything from 'Good luck', to 'Don't forget the milk on your way back', yet today Thorald interpreted a 'Be careful' hidden deep within it.
Thorald responded with a sleep-addled grunt of his own. And just as he was about to make his grand exit, his sister, Olfina, suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. "Wait!" she called out, "We had to give you something, I almost forgot. Don't leave yet!" she barked, with a frightening amount of authority, before running to her room.
Thorald and his father shared a worried look, as the silence dragged on. He cleared his throat, looking at his aunt and uncle happily snoring away. "We should probably keep our voices down, right?"
His father waved his hand dismissively, "They wouldn't wake if a dragon came crashing down through the roof. They had a pleasant evening, let's leave it at that," he said with a pointed look at the empty bottles of wine and mead around them.
Thorald had a moment to take in the surroundings, the Gray-Mane house that had survived another night. "Well, at least he kept his shirt on this year."
"Don't remind me," his father said, shaking his head. He glanced worriedly at Vignar, as if the man might suddenly decide to stage a shirtless encore performance, even in his sleep.
"You want to wait outside?" Thorald ventured.
"Gods, yes," came the immediate response.
Olfina, along with their mother, met them outside a few moments later, holding a big circular object in her hand. "We made this for you with the materials you sent back. It's to keep you safe," she said, nervously turning the object to him. It was a heavy shield, primarily made out of dragon bones, and scales intricately layered upon each other, while the leather finishes inside the grooves, added a touch of comfort to the deadly instrument.
Thorald's mouth fell open. He reached out and took the shield from Olfina's hands, the weight of it solid and reassuring. Heavy, but balanced. He tested it by knocking his sword against the shield, which caused a clear note to sound out, but otherwise felt sturdy in his arms.
"It's flame, and frost resistant," Olfina said, nervously rubbing her hands. "We haven't been able to test lightning effects on it, of course. But I believe it should grant protection against that as well. Perfect against dragon breaths."
"It's amazing," Thorald said, feeling a little misty-eyed, which was not something he was used to, especially when dealing with giant bone shields. He went over to her to hug her, putting all his gratitude in that one gesture. "You're already a master-smith, Olfina. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Olfina smiled, both pleased and a little embarrassed by the compliment. "Well, I didn't do it alone," she said motioning to their father, who was purposefully looking away.
Thorald raised his eyebrows, "You? I thought you said Dragon Bone was overrated."
"I thought… Some experimental designs, for scientific purposes," his father said, nonchalantly kicking at a rock near his feet.
A warm feeling enveloped Thorald, he knew his family could be much at times. But how lucky was he to have that problem? Without a second thought, he grabbed his father in a bear hug, calling him a stubborn fool all the way through, only releasing him when he heard someone behind them clear her throat.
"Nice shield," Lydia said, admiring it.
Thorald smirked, holding it up. "It is. You ready to show it to its dragon relatives?"
"That's kind of messed up, but yeah." Lydia said.
With a new monstrous family reunion awaiting the shield, he said his final goodbyes to his family, with Lydia getting dragged into as many hugs as Thorald.
"And don't forget Eirika's wedding!" his mother repeated for the third time, "She'll probably require you to come dressed as a cabbage or something, but at least the drinks are free."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he winked at Lydia, "Want to be my plus-one?"
She gave him a wink back, "It's a date."
Ignoring the barrage of knowing glances and smirks from his family, they finally departed, making their ways to the Whiterun stables where they met the same grizzled Nord from before, that brought them here on his cart. After they (or rather, Lydia) negotiated a price, they boarded the cart and started moving.
Thorald settled in, closing his eyes and letting the rhythm of the road lull him into a state of semi-consciousness. It was peaceful, right up until he felt a finger persistently poking his forehead. "Gods Lydia, not again."
"But there's mammoths all around, we need to keep a lookout."
"There's no fucking mammoths, Lydia! They're hibernating."
"Fine, maybe this will convince you to stay awake," she said, her voice turning soft. Before Thorald could process what was happening, he felt her soft lips press against his, and he felt more awake than he had in days.
He cracked open an eye, a smirk forming on his lips. "If I'd known kissing you was on the table, I might've pretended to see mammoths ages ago."
Lydia pulled back, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her smile. "You really are an ass."
Thorald, still grinning like an idiot, locked eyes with her. There was something there, something unspoken and way too big to be stuffed into words, so he didn't even try. Instead, he just leaned back, letting out a contented sigh as Whiterun slowly disappeared behind them, the familiar crown of Dragonreach shrinking into the distance. And he thought of four walls and the people inside it.
Times change, and we change with them, but family remains. Even when all you can see is the road ahead.
A/N:
Thanks for reading my first fanfic story, I hope you've enjoyed it. I certainly had a blast writing it.
It's not a perfect story, there are pacing issues, it could've used more characterization, or a cleaner ending. And the most egregious sin of them all: it's a holiday story written in July/August.
Yet I'm still happy with the result. It didn't need to be perfect, it only needed to make the reader smile once or twice. So if I managed to make you chuckle or even exhale air through your nose once or twice, I'll consider it a success.
Let me know what you thought of it, and where I can improve. And if your feedback involves fewer mammoths or more coherent plotlines, well, I'll try not to take it personally.