Farkas

The moment the girl walked into the hall of Jorrvaskr, he knew that he had seen her before. It took some time, but Farkas eventually recalled where he remembered her from. Months ago, the Companions – of which he was a part – were tasked with responding to a complaint from Severio Pelagia. The man reported a giant had been harassing him and attacking him as he worked on his farm. He’d not been able to work the land for weeks and his cabbage crop was close to eradication. Aela and Ria joined him, making the short hike south to the farm to investigate and ultimately deal with the massive pest.

As luck would have it, Severio had noticed the giant had a particular pattern, and shortly after the three arrived at the farm, it wandered on to the man’s property just as he predicted. It was a fierce foe and despite their incredible prowess in battle, gave the Companions some trouble. The gargantuan creature caught Ria’s leg with its massive club, hobbling her and sending her reeling backwards. With its attention on the wounded woman, Aela seized the opportunity to launch a volley of arrows, striking her target several times in its leg. Farkas was also able to attack the giant, moving in close and slicing a swath down its back with his broadsword.

While the two weaved in and out as if in a dance with the huge creature, a crackle of energy hurtled past Farkas’ ear, striking the giant in its chest. His concentration thrown, he spun around to see a young woman in the distance – apparently the source of the magic. He returned his attention to the giant and they continued to battle with it until at last, one of Aela’s arrows struck it in the throat. The great creature staggered for a moment, gasping for breath before crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Farkas leaned forward, regaining his stamina following the skirmish, but Aela seemed invigorated by the presence of the stranger.

“You there!” she called out.

The woman approached the pair warily. “I apologize if I intruded,” she said.

“Nonsense, mage,” Aela replied. “We welcome your assistance.”

“It appears your friend may require more,” the woman said, motioning to wear Ria writhed in pain. “I know some healing magic. It will not be perfect, but I may be able to ease her pain enough to allow her to walk with assistance.”

Aela nodded, permitting the woman to pass them and approach Ria. The two watched as she knelt down before the Imperial, carefully examining her leg. She looked back over her shoulder at them. “I’m Marieka, by the way.”

“Aela. This is Farkas and the woman who doesn’t much care for your introductions right now is Ria,” she said with a smirk. Ria shot her an angry look as she winced from the pain.

“While it is lovely to meet you, I will need some help. Farkas? Can you please hold her still? I will need to set the bone.”

He quickly approached the two, crouching behind Ria and helping her sit back against him. With his hands on her shoulders, he looked up at Marieka and nodded. He got a very good look at the markings on her face. Where Aela painted marks across her face before battle, this woman had a pattern of dark colouring around her eyes and on her chin permanently. He thought it strange that someone would choose to mark themselves in such a manner that would endure.

She nimbly repositioned the snapped leg and immediately summoned a healing spell to ease the woman’s pain. Permanent growth of the bone would take much more time and she was spent from the attack on the giant, so she looked around for something she could reinforce her attempt to mend the leg with. Finding nothing truly suitable, she requested that Farkas attempt to split the giant’s club to create a splint. He obliged and she quickly secured it to the woman’s leg.

“I would recommend that you try to keep your weight off of that leg as best you can,” Marieka advised Ria, who nodded, looking very grateful for the assistance. She looked at Aela and Farkas. “Are you heading to Whiterun?”

They both nodded.

“I’m headed there myself. Would you mind if I joined you? I can perhaps help carry what Ria cannot,” she suggested.

Farkas looked at Aela who shrugged at him. “Don’t see why not,” she replied. “Ria could certainly use the help.”

They prepared to leave for the city, but not before Severio showered them with praise and coin. Farkas helped Ria to her feet and acted as a crutch for her, allowing her to hop alongside him for the duration of the journey home. Marieka was true to her word, carrying Ria’s weapons and gear, despite treading awkwardly from the additional burden.

“You know, Marieka,” Aela began, “we could use someone like you.”

“Oh?” she replied. “Do you three often find yourself out fighting giants?”

“There are many more than three of us in Whiterun,” Farkas said. “We are a group of warriors and hunters. Our order has been around for generations. A fighter must prove their worth to become a Companion.”

“If you’re interested, come with us to Jorrvaskr. Speak to our Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. He will judge you worthy if you are suitable,” Aela suggested.

But the woman parted ways with the three when they entered the gates of the city. She’d apparently changed her mind to have shown up without warning, so many months later. It was definitely her. Farkas would know those markings anywhere.

He eyed her from afar, watching as she looked around and tried to get someone’s attention. She approached the hall’s caretaker, Tilma. The weathered old woman listened to her speak then pointed across the hall – in the direction of Kodlak Whitemane. So she is here to join us…

Farkas was uncertain that she would be suitable. He knew of the tests that she would face. And while she was obviously a capable mage, he’d yet to see her use any steel. Skill in battle was not always dependent upon combat in close quarters, but the Companions were fighters. They brawled; they did not depend upon the conjuration of magical properties from their fingertips. He just didn’t see how she would even want to be a part of this group. Yet, here she was…presenting herself for inspection.

Kodlak summoned Vilkas to his side. There it was; she was to spar with his own brother to test her mettle. When Vilkas reached Kodlak, the elder man spoke to him briefly. The expression on Vilkas’ face spoke volumes. He was obviously not impressed by the small woman; didn’t believe she’d make an impression upon him even if he gave her the opportunity to do so. Still, he humoured the man and headed for the training yard behind Jorrvaskr. She followed behind, staring straight ahead. She dared not make eye contact with any of the Companions within the hall.

The curiosity of Farkas got the better of him, and he too followed the pair out to the yard. In fact, he was not alone. Several of the others found that their footsteps let them outside as well. They observed from a distance, standing upon the covered terrace as Vilkas handed Marieka a sword and demanded she attack him. She appeared awkward and inexperienced; swinging wildly at the man and missing her mark completely. Vilkas goaded her, all but laughing at her attempt. A few more swings yielded similar results and the man chuckled heartily.

“Perhaps this isn’t the life you’re looking for, girl,” Vilkas said. “We’re looking for someone who can hold their own.”

She handed the blade back to him. “I’m sorry I wasted your time,” she said quietly, her voice carrying much further than she probably wished it to.

Farkas looked down at the ground as she spun around slowly and began to walk shamefully away from his brother. Vilkas was far crueler than he needed to be in some situations and he felt sorry that the man had put her through the public humiliation. As she followed the path that would lead her away from Jorrvaskr, Farkas felt compelled to speak to her. Perhaps she did deserve a chance. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers and hurried down the steps.

“Brother! Where are you off to? Certainly not to follow that whelp, I hope,” Vilkas called out as he passed him.

He ignored the man, quickening his steps in an effort to catch up to the woman. It was not difficult to do so – she dragged her heels as she walked; her emotion showing in her gait. He rapidly caught up to her pace and he slowed when he walked beside her.

“Leaving awful quick, aren’t you?” he asked.

She glanced sideways at him briefly, before her eyes stared straight ahead again. “I’m not wanted. I thought it was rather obvious.”

“That’s one man’s opinion,” he retorted.

She stopped, causing him to halt his steps as well. As she turned to face him, she crossed her arms in front of her. It was evident her guard was up immediately.

“I’m sorry…I don’t recall your name,” she said bluntly.

“Farkas,” he replied. “And you are…Mar—…Marina?”

“Marieka.”

“Right. Sorry about that.”

“Yes…well, Farkas, apparently I’m not wanted by the man whose opinion counts in your…group,” she said.

“Now wait a moment,” he said. “It isn’t just one man who makes the decisions for us all. You ran too quickly.”

“That was…incredibly embarrassing for me,” she admitted, letting her arms fall to her sides. “I’m no warrior. When your friend Aela invited me to speak to your…to Kodlak, she knew that. Why would she have asked me to come if the first and only requirement is to fight with a sword or bow?”

“She saw something in you, Breton,” he replied. “The potential to add something to our group. I admit, it took me some time, but I saw it too. You’re a strong fighter…in your own way.”

“Tell that to Vilkas,” she said.

“Ah yes…let me apologize to you for my brother. He doesn’t always get along well with everyone,” he replied.

“Your brother?” she said, slightly shocked at the revelation. “Though, I suppose now that you mention it, there is some resemblance there. Other than the fact that he’s an ass, and you don’t seem to be.”

Farkas smiled at her. “That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t understand why you’ve followed me out here,” she said. “I obviously am not cut out for your line of work.”

“At first I might have agreed with you. But the way you jumped in to help back at the farm…” he reminded her. “Though, I do want to know why you came back to us in the first place.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I could be useful. Perhaps earn a little extra gold on the side. Does it even really matter?”

“It matters,” he replied. “I’d like to speak to Kodlak for you. He may still be interested in having you around for certain things. There are plenty of jobs that you could handle. Magic can be really intimidating. Especially to me.”

“You’re not afraid of magic,” she scoffed.

“Well, I sure don’t understand it,” he replied. “Actually, there’re a lot of things I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “Do you really think it would be worthwhile?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “I know Ria wouldn’t turn you away. Not after you basically saved her leg.”

She bit her lip tentatively. “I don’t know. I may need to think about it.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “take your time. We won’t be going anywhere. And there will always be plenty of people who need a shakedown.”

She laughed at his enthusiasm. “All right then,” she said. “I’ll give it some consideration. But only because you make it sound like so much fun.”

“Oh trust me,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s the most fun you can have in Whiterun. And after a successful day of intimidation and beatings, we tend to throw back a bottle or two of mead.”

“You don’t say,” she said. “Never took your lot for drinkers.”

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “Most people say it’s the only thing we know how to do right.”

“I was joking, Farkas.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I, uh…I appreciate that you followed me out here,” she admitted.

“Let’s just say that you’re not the first person that Vilkas has embarrassed in front of everyone,” he replied.

“It’s tough being the thoughtful, friendly brother of an ass, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded with a smile. “See? I knew there was a reason I thought you should join us. You understand me already.” He looked over his shoulder back towards Jorrvaskr. “I should probably get back to…”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Please…don’t let me keep you. I’ll think on your offer over the next few days. And I’ll return to you regardless of my decision.”

“That is fair,” he replied.

“Thank you Farkas,” she began. “You didn’t have to do this. But I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Listen, Marieka…a few of us were planning to head down to the Bannered Mare tonight. Aela will be there. And Ria. I think they would be happy to see you…especially Ria.”

“Will your brother be there?” she asked.

“I don’t know really,” he said, “but don’t you worry about him. I’ll keep him in line.”

“I’ll think about it, Farkas. Thanks for the invitation.”

---

Farkas and several of the Companions – including his brother – surrounded a large table covered with bottles of mead at the Bannered Mare. They had been celebrating nothing in particular for the better part of an hour, their level of rowdiness increasing so much so that Hulda had begun to shoot them disapproving looks.

They continued their merrymaking and revelry, drinking and cheering throughout a lively conversation. Stories were told and the mead flowed easily. Patrons in the tavern came and went without the group paying anyone any mind. At least that was the case until the one time the door opened wide, bringing with it a gust of wind, a chill to the bone…and a familiar face.

“Well, well,” Vilkas said smugly. “If it isn’t the whelp…”

Farkas turned to face the doorway, discovering that his brother spoke the truth. “Oi! Breton!” he called out to her with a wave.

Her face lit up with a smile and she began to walk towards them. She hesitated momentarily when she spotted Vilkas among them, but pushed aside her reluctance in favour of the camaraderie the group ahead of her seemed to be offering.

With the Companions, if you put in your fair share, you were accepted. It was all rather black and white. Sometimes all a person needed was a chance. Farkas wasn’t always the best judge of a person’s character, but with Marieka, he felt certain. She would make a good addition to their group. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but in her own way.

He reached behind to the table nearby, pulling up another chair so she could join them. She slid easily into it, acknowledging the group.

“Aela…Ria…I’m afraid I don’t know you two…Farkas…” she nodded to each of the group in turn until she came to Vilkas. “Ass…”

Shock claimed the man’s face at the woman’s affront. He made to open his mouth in retort, but no words came out.

Farkas laughed loudly at his brother. “What’s the matter, Vilkas? Have you nothing to say to that?”

Vilkas growled low in his throat. “Shut up, Farkas.”

“Perhaps you should head back to Jorrvaskr,” Farkas chortled. “After all…aren’t we looking for people who can hold their own?”

He looked at Marieka who smiled slyly at him. The others joined in welcoming her to their table, passing her a bottle of mead as Vilkas stormed out of the tavern.

“I don’t mean to push for an answer – especially since you asked for a few days to think things over – but you wouldn’t happen to have made a decision yet, would you?” Farkas asked her.

“In fact, I have made a decision, Farkas,” she replied. “I would be happy to join…should you wish to take me on for a time.”

He chuckled enthusiastically. “Good!” he exclaimed. “And if you promise to continue to put my brother in his place, we’ll take you on until the end of your days.”

She raised her bottle into the air. “To the future. May it always be full of surprises,” she toasted.

The others joined her in the toast.

To the future, indeed…

---

Previous | Index | Next

Adrianne Avenicci

The sun had risen over Whiterun several hours prior, yet long shadows still covered the entrance to Warmaiden’s in darkness. For that, Adrianne was thankful. Long hours in front of the forge and furnace were not pleasant under the heat of the midday sun. Though she’d never seen herself in any other life.

She wasn’t the best blacksmith in the city, but she was proficient at it, honing her skills to always improve. She had good supplies and good pieces of equipment to use as well. It was doubtful she’d ever run out of business in Whiterun.

Wiping her brow, she stepped back from the tanning rack to look at her latest piece of leather. It would do well for some armour or perhaps a shield. But it could wait until she had some rest. It had been an exhausting morning, as orders had arrived from the Jarl’s court for additional equipment for the city guard. She likely had her father to thank for that. After all, what Steward wouldn’t promote his own daughter’s handiwork to his Jarl? Proventus had been a strong proponent for her work, and she’d never been found wanting for contracts once he had been made Steward to Jarl Balgruuf.

As she dabbed a rag across her brow, she looked north up the long street towards the market of Whiterun. It was a busy day. People milled about here and there; children ran through the city playing with their friends. She smiled to herself, thinking back to her younger days when she had no cares and did the same. But that was a long time ago, and she could no longer afford to have such flights of fancy. She continued to stare up the street until a door opened at a neighbouring home. It was the home of the city’s newest Thane.

The woman, Marieka, frequented her shop quite often enough; selling various weapons, or purchasing armours. They never spoke very often however, as she typically dealt with Ulfberth, her husband. She loved him with all that she was and he worshipped the ground that she walked on. Her father had worried about her when she decided to marry the man – not every Nord was willing to put up with an Imperial such as herself. But the two were madly in love and overcame the many obstacles that their partnership placed before them.

Before her thoughts drifted too far into memory, she saw the small Breton exit her home and look around. The woman immediately noticed Adrianne was outside and waved. She waved back, thinking it odd that she’d acknowledge her at all. Stranger still, she began to walk in her direction. She was coming for a visit.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” she said when she arrived at the door of Warmaiden’s.

“Certainly is,” she replied. “Listen, Ulfberth is inside if you need—”

“Actually, Adrianne,” she interrupted, “I’m here to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you might have noticed that I travel quite a bit,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” the blacksmith replied. “And you bring us some interesting pieces upon your return.”

She smiled. “I face some interesting foes. But the reason I’m here is…well…”

Adrianne waited while she hesitated. She looked nervous.

“I wanted to ask you for some help. Maybe…train me a little at what you do?” she finally blurted out.

“You want me…to teach you how to be a blacksmith?” she asked, skeptical at the suggestion.

“I certainly don’t want to replace you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marieka replied. “I just…I want to know enough for when I’m out on the road. Enough to be able to take care of my equipment. Repair it if necessary. Things like that. I’d still come here whenever I’m in Whiterun. Oh! And I’d pay you for your time, of course!”

Adrianne mulled the idea over for a few moments. It couldn’t hurt. And in slim times like these, extra coin was always welcome. She shrugged.

“Why not?” she replied.

The Breton squealed with glee, as if she were a child receiving a present.

“This is fantastic! When can we start?” she asked.

She had expected the woman to be excited, but her enthusiasm was a little overwhelming.

“Tell you what,” she began. “I’ve got several orders to complete this afternoon, but you’re welcome to come back after dinner. The forge will be cooler by that time, so you won’t be overheated.”

“That sounds perfect! Thank you Adrianne! I look forward to it,” she replied, hurrying back home.

As Adrianne stood and watched the woman leave, she hoped that she wasn’t getting in over her head. She’d never trained anyone before, and was concerned that this whole thing would be a disaster.

---

An hour had passed since Marieka had returned to Warmaiden’s for her first training session with Adrianne. She suggested they start from scratch – melting down ore to create an ingot. Simple enough.

She demonstrated the smelting process, melting down some silver ore and pouring it slowly into the mold to create the ingot. Marieka watched intently as the woman showed her what to do. Though when it came time to pour the melted liquid into the mold herself, she allowed it to fill too quickly and the mold overflowed to the ground.

By the gods! This girl is daft!

“Perhaps smelting isn’t your strength,” Adrianne suggested, pulling her away from the furnace just before the hot liquid silver that was pooling up near her foot reached her boot.

“I’m sorry,” Marieka said. “I…I’m really nervous about this.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

She performed marginally better with the forge. At the very least, she was able to produce a blade from it. They started small – a dagger of steel. She heated the ingot, poured it into the mold – at a much more acceptable rate this time – and then hammered at it to form it properly.

“Not bad,” Adrianne said. “Now try sharpening it.”

The two women moved towards the grindstone. She showed the Breton how to carefully hold the blade’s edge next to the stone while pressing the pedal to spin the wheel. Unfortunately, the blade she created herself was not strong enough to stand up to the stone, and it snapped in half as she attempted to sharpen it.

“This is hopeless,” Marieka cried out in exasperation. “I knew this was going to be a challenge, but this…”

“Now just wait a minute,” Adrianne interrupted. “Did you expect to be able to do this all on your first try? That’s a little insulting. It’s taken me years of practicing…of honing my skills to get where I am right now.”

Marieka sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply that I could pick the skills up so quickly.”

“Here,” she said, handing Marieka a blade that she had created earlier in the day. “Try sharpening this one. Just go a little slower. You’re in too much of a hurry with everything.”

Ashamed, she took the blade and sat in front of the grindstone. She began to press the pedal to spin the wheel, and as the woman advised, slowly applied pressure to the blade against the grindstone. She dragged the blade along the stone a little at a time, sharpening the edge roughly. When she had completed both edges, she handed the blade back to Adrianne to inspect.

“Well now,” she replied. “See, this is an improvement. Right here on this side, it’s quite rough.” She pointed to the first edge. “But as you move to the end, and then on the other edge, the blade becomes finer…sharper. There’s definitely improvement here.”

Marieka’s face lit up at the positive comments. “So, I’m not hopeless then? You think some practice will help?”

Adrianne smiled. “Yes, I think you might be able to sharpen your own blade for yourself when you need to…one day.”

“Excellent!”

“The sun’s going down quickly,” Adrianne said. “And I’ll need to get inside to help Ulfberth close up the shop. Perhaps we’ll call it a day?”

She nodded in agreement. “Thank you again, Adrianne. Oh, and as promised…” She held out a coin pouch with the agreed amount. “There’s a…little extra in there for the materials that I was quite certain I would go through. Please let me know if you require more. I know I was a bit of a disaster.”

A bit?

“Of course,” the Imperial replied. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“That you will,” Marieka replied before hurrying home for the night.

Adrianne chuckled to herself. Now that was an experience…

---

As the sun’s rays filtered into Adrianne’s bedroom window the next morning, she stretched and tried not to wake her husband as she exited her bed. She wrapped a robe around herself, poured herself a mug of goat’s milk and headed downstairs to step outside to greet the morning.

When she opened the door to step on to her porch, she heard a strange noise coming from the side yard where all of her equipment stood. She grabbed a dagger from the wall inside the door and inched her way across the porch to see what the noise could be. As she reached the end of the porch, her eyes fell upon a small form in front of the grindstone.

“Marieka! By the gods! What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

The Breton spun around with a large smile upon her face.

“Practicing!” she called out happily.

Oh for Zenithar’s sake!

Today was going to be a long day.

---

Previous | Index | Next

Onmund II

Mere moments after he had settled down at the table for a few bites of freshly made stew, a tremendous crash from the upper level of Breezehome caused him to jump from his seat and hurry upstairs.

“Love?” he called. “Marieka, are you all right?”

Onmund ran up the stairs, taking two at a time and turning quickly at the top to open the doors to their shared bedchambers. When the doors had opened, his eyes beheld a sight he did not expect. Marieka was underneath a tray of uneaten food, dishes, and had managed to entangle her arm into the back of a chair.

He rushed to her side, carefully extracting her arm from the chair back and picking up the items that had crashed to the floor. He helped her to her feet and made for her to sit on the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of her and looking up at her.

“Marieka, what happened?”

She looked down upon herself and frowned, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I just…I wanted to get up…to try to eat. But I leaned on the tray and it began to flip…and I tried to grab it…and I tripped and fell into the chair. And I…”

He shushed her and took her hands into his. “Oh love,” he said. “You are too weak to be walking around. You need to stay in bed. Here…let me get you something to change into.”

She was covered in broth and water and some sort of liquid concoction that he had managed to brew up for her earlier in the day. It would do her no good to remain in the nightclothes that she was in. The furs and covers of the bed were safe from her catastrophic fall at least. He found a dressing gown – warm and soft – in the dresser in the corner of the room. He helped her out of her soiled clothes and into the gown. She looked up at him and smiled weakly.

“Thank you, Onmund,” she said quietly. “I haven’t been very useful lately.”

“I’ll hear none of that,” he replied. “You’re ill and you need to rest. Don’t even consider going off and adventuring around until you are feeling completely back to normal.”

He helped her back on to the bed and laid her down so she was as comfortable as she could be, then sat at the edge of the bed next to her.

“And you’d best stop putting the fire out. You need to keep warm,” he scolded. He lifted his hand up in the direction of the hearth and summoned flames to his fingers. A few moments later and a small fire filled it, warming the room. He pulled the covers up over her and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“I’m so hot though,” she pleaded.

“You’re feverish,” he replied. “You need to let the sickness out, but it won’t happen if you keep kicking your covers off and extinguishing the fire. And you need to eat.”

“I’ve tried,” she said. “I have attempted to eat everything you’ve brought. But even your potions will not stay down.”

He frowned. “Shall I try another mixture? Perhaps some garlic and juniper berries this time?”

She shook her head. “No, I just…I think I need to sleep again.”

“Of course love,” he replied. He stood up and made to leave the room.

“Onmund,” she began, “if you have nothing terribly pressing to do at the moment, would you please stay?”

He smiled at her. “I will. Just let me bring these dishes down to the kitchen and I will be right back up to sit with you.”

He collected the dishes and reminded himself to bring up a cloth to clean up the spill. As he made his way past the small room in which Lydia slept, a feeling of something…guilt, perhaps, welled up within him. There had been several occasions that the two had laid with each other as his wife had been off travelling. He’d yearned for Marieka’s affection, but she was not there to give it to him. Lydia had seen the looks upon his face…the loneliness…the sense of longing. She confronted him regarding his feelings and they had discussed them – at length.

The first time, Marieka had been gone for almost a month. He’d not had an idea of how long she had planned to be away…or if she even yet lived. At least when she’d gone with Lydia, he had a sense that the women would watch each other’s back; they’d be safer. But his wife had taken to travelling on her own more often – times when she advised him she needed to be stealthy. Or if someone she’d tasked herself to help would prefer to tag along with her instead. And so he’d be forced to return home, to sit and wait until she returned.

“You are lonely,” Lydia had said to him out of the blue one day.

He looked at her and nodded. “I miss her. I worry about her.”

“She can certainly take care of herself, Onmund,” she replied. “You should know this better than anyone.”

“Of course,” he replied. “But that doesn’t prevent me from worrying that she has finally found a foe to best her.”

As the conversation continued, he opened up to the housecarl, letting loose so many of his fears and wishes. She made no moves to lead either of them to the position where they would ultimately find themselves that night. Yet, when they ceased their words, Lydia left to ascend the stairs to her room; and Onmund – for whatever reason – followed.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and he nearly ran her over as she turned to face him.

“Do you need something?” she asked.

“What…what do you mean?” he replied.

“I am housecarl to my Thane. I am charged with protecting her when I am with her. But I am also instructed to take care of her home when she is gone. You are part of her home. Do you need…taking care of?”

The question was not loaded. There was no seduction. No sweetness. It was practical. Business-like. The woman was tasked with a job, and she took it seriously. He suspected that she may have stretched her job description a little far in certain directions, but he…needed the touch of a woman. He wanted his wife, but she’d not been there to provide it. He did not love Lydia. Never even considered the thought.

Onmund nearly tripped up the last step as he ascended towards the woman, grabbing her by the waist and placing hungry, hurried kisses upon her lips. There was desperation in the way his hands fumbled over Lydia’s armour, attempting to remove it while the two staggered together towards her bed. The second they’d entered the room, he pushed the door closed and slammed her against it. His thoughts kept floating to Marieka…comparisons between her and Lydia. How much taller the Nord was…her muscular form compared to Marieka’s small and soft frame. The roughness of Lydia’s touch and her powerful nature – a bittersweet contrast to his wife’s subservient response to him when they were together like this.

He stepped back from Lydia for a moment; put his hand to his forehead.

“Onmund, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I…I don’t know if…” he began, but shook his head to clear his mind of her. He needed this release. He worried constantly about his wife…it was all he could do to hope and pray that these few moments would allow him to just stop thinking about her.

His eyes met those of the woman in front of him and she pulled him back towards her. In moments, their clothing was tossed aside in favour of being wrapped in the other’s embrace.

And suddenly, he found himself in the present…in the kitchen, still holding the dishes Marieka had spilled to the ground. He placed them down on the table and staggered back a moment, reeling from the memories.

“Marieka…what do I tell you?” he mused aloud. He roughly ran a hand through his hair before picking up a cloth to return upstairs.

When he arrived at their room, she had fallen asleep. He quickly cleaned up the mess and piled her soiled clothes into a basket in the corner. He started for the door of their room again, ready to head downstairs, but thought better of it. He instead closed the doors, and then returned to their bed, gently lowering himself on to it next to her.

It was here that he was reminded why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. Her vulnerability…her humility. Before she was Dragonborn, she was simply Marieka. Her confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in the recent months, but he couldn’t fault her for it. She’d have died at the hands of some bandit or soldier or dragon had she not allowed it to happen. But it was becoming harder to see that woman underneath her increasingly cold exterior ever since she left the monastery of High Hrothgar.

He reached out to stroke her hair, softly and gently. She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open.

“Where’s Lydia?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve sent her off for the day. To give her a change of scenery and pick up supplies,” he replied.

“Good.”

His heart leapt into his throat as her eyes closed again and she fell back into sleep. He wondered if she knew. He suspected she knew. For one of the nights he lay with Lydia, he thought he heard something outside of the Nord’s room. And Marieka had returned that night, several hours later. She was lightly intoxicated, but brushed it off as being due to a celebration upon her return. The next day, she had dragged Onmund back off to the College, and when they’d completed their task there and eventually headed back to Whiterun, they’d separated on their journey home. She told him she had business to attend to in Riften, and he hadn’t questioned it at the time. Though now, he could only wonder what brought her back there.

Had she a confidante to confess that she had seen him with Lydia in the most intimate of embraces? Had she perhaps even taken a lover of her own, to work through the pain?

He breathed a deep breath and looked back down at his wife. Weak and on the verge of breaking. It was at this time when he was able to display his true feelings to her…to remind her that he loved her. Would always love her. Even when it may not have appeared that way.

Perhaps one day he would summon the courage to tell her. To confess what he had done by succumbing to his primal needs. And at that time, maybe she would be able to admit the same. He prayed to Mara that it would not change things between them.

After all…they stood together in the face of danger when it counted the most. They faced down adversaries and had each other’s back. And to be honest, he wouldn’t care if she took a thousand other physical companions…so long as he was the one she loved.

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Belethor

It was hard to survive as a shopkeeper in Whiterun these days. Belethor leaned on the counter at his general goods shop, surveying his shelves around the room. They were much emptier than they had been the year before. Trade had slowed so much in the past few months; so much so that the Breton worried he’d be forced to let Sigurd go from his employ. Which was a shame, for the young man was always pleasant with customers, and did a wonderful job spreading word of the shop through the city.

He’d been fortunate enough that whenever he thought the doors of his shop would be closing for good, a savior would march their way into his store, making a large purchase or trading some rare item that provided a fortuitous windfall for the store’s supplies.

And more often than not, his store’s savior was the same person. The Breton girl who typically showed up every fortnight or so.

He had a feeling about her the first day she’d come into his shop. She was alone, looking weary from who knows what had befallen her before her arrival. She wore rags…essentially. Dirty and haggard, she browsed his shelves for a long time, before settling on a piece of light armour and a better pair of boots than the footwraps she wore. He felt sorry for her, but she wasn’t the first traveler…or refugee…or fugitive that had passed through his doors, and she’d not be the last. He wasn’t about to go giving a woman like her a discount just because she was down on her luck.

Everyone was down on their luck.

It was because of his resistance to provide special favours and give extra discounts to his patrons that most of the city’s residents saw him as a sleazy swindler – only out for himself. It wasn’t true. He may have joked about even selling out his own family members, but it was just to put a smile on the face of an unhappy person, browsing his wares. He wasn’t that callous. Or crass. Or any other words that the people of Whiterun frequently used to describe him.

It didn’t matter that he’d actually frequently given gifts of toys to the children that ran through the streets daily. Or that he’d provided supplies to some of his fellow business owners, even going so far as to build a rack for Arcadia to hang her dried herbal ingredients for her alchemy shop. He was kind…charitable…a good man…

Too bad he was the only one who seemed to see it.

Yes, Whiterun was definitely full of tough customers for a shopkeeper such as Belethor. Difficult to get, and even harder to keep. That group of warriors…the Companions…they were a tough group to draw in. But they were an important faction, and he fought hard to provide them with items they needed. In fact, the time the Breton first brought in pieces of dragon bone and scale, he put Sigurd in charge and ran the entire way to Jorrvaskr and its Skyforge to deliver the news to the smith, Eorlund Gray-Mane. The man immediately bought the entire stock of bone and scale happily, and had been a return customer of Belethor’s since then. Yet he seemed to be the only one. None of the others…none of the Companions ever showed at his door.

Bah…what did it matter? He’d likely have to close soon enough. Business was not good. It wasn’t getting better. And he hadn’t seen the Breton girl for close to two months. With all the dragon bone she brought into the store, there was quite a real possibility that she had been finally slain by one. Or perhaps that she had moved on to another Hold in Skyrim. Or just found someone with better merchandise. Someone that could afford to give her a discount.

“Sigurd!” he hollered towards the back of the shop that doubled as his home. “Keep an eye on the place, would you? I need to get some air.”

---

The Bannered Mare. How did he manage to make his way here? Belethor started out “getting air” as he advised Sigurd…working away at the woodpile behind the store for some time. He then perused the market stalls, eyeing the new produce and meat for sale…admiring the steel of the Grey-Manes. Yet, inevitably, his unhappiness led his feet straight to where he could drown the sorrow best. Hulda’s tavern was the best in the city. Technically it was the only in the city, but no matter. It was a damn good place to get a drink. Or several if the occasion called for it. And the sad occasion certainly called for it that day.

If something good didn’t come to his shop soon…that would be it. There wouldn’t be much more he could do.

Naturally, drinking away your last few septims probably wasn’t the best idea. But what were a few mere septims going to do for him anyway? He may as well have invested in some fine mead.

Several rounds passed before he realized he had poured his heart out to Hulda, letting the woman in on some of his darkest secrets – like the time he had overcharged a woman, followed her to her home to return the coin, and the caught her changing out of her clothes after he broke into the house. The door was open – he just didn’t have the couth to knock first.

The woman had the patience of Akatosh. She listened to his troubles, poured his mead and didn’t kick him into the streets. Yet, eventually, even she tired of his long tales of sadness and struggle.

He picked himself up off of his seat and headed out the door of the tavern. Unsteady legs led him into the moonlight. By the gods, he’d certainly been away from the store for a long time. He hurried – or at least thought he had hurried towards home, wobbling unevenly through the streets.

“You there!” a voice shouted.

He spun around, trying to find the source of it. He saw three guards. They all pointed at him.

“I’m of mind to arrest you for public intoxication,” the three guards said.

Belethor hiccupped. “You don’t have to do that,” he slurred. “I live right over there.” He pointed in a vague direction that covered approximately half of the city.

“That’s it,” the guards said. “You’re coming with me.”

“You mean ‘us’,” he corrected.

The guards made to move towards him, but three women stopped them.

“You don’t need to do that,” they said.

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “Listen to these nice ladies.”

The guards looked at the women. Belethor squeezed his eyes shut and refocused them when he opened them up again. “Hey…where’d the other guards and ladies go?”

The woman shook her head. “I’ll take it from here.”

“If you’re certain, Thane,” the guard replied. He continued on his patrol.

“Thane?” Belethor repeated. “You’re a Thane?”

She nodded.

“Hey. I know you,” he said, finally recognizing her. “You’re the girl…the Breton…hey, did you know I’m a Breton? Because I’m a Breton. We have something in common. Do you come to my store because I’m a Breton?”

She sighed. “Belethor, why don’t you come over here and sit down on this bench?”

He complied and flopped down on to the bench and looked at her. “I know you from somewhere,” he slurred.

“Wow. You are…really intoxicated. How much have you—never mind. You probably have no idea.” She dug around in a pouch at her waist and pulled out a small vial of liquid. “Here. Drink this.”

“What is it?” he asked. But before she could answer, he had already slurped the vial’s contents completely.

“Oh!” She rubbed her forehead a little, hoping the liquid would straighten him out a bit. Coherence was a nice quality to have. “Well, it should hopefully help you see things a little clearer. And speak a little clearer. Perhaps help with your memory.”

He shook his head for a moment.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much better,” he replied. “This…this stuff is amazing. I need to sell this at my shop!”

She chuckled. “I’m sorry, but it’s a secret recipe. Perhaps one day we can go into business together and we can sell it as partners. But not until I settle down and stop travelling.”

“When will that be?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Only time will tell me that.” She looked at him pensively. “You know, in all the time I’ve come to your shop, I don’t think I’ve ever told you my name.”

“No, you haven’t,” he replied. “I’ve just called you the Breton girl.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she said with a smile. “My name is Marieka.”

He scrunched up his face. “That’s not a very Breton name.”

“Well, I didn’t pick it. My parents did. I think they smoked a lot of crimson nirnroot in their youth though,” she replied.

He laughed loudly. “You…you have a good sense of humour.”

“I practice a lot. I find a good skeleton or two and sit them in chairs. And I just constantly tell them jokes. If they fall over, then I know I’ve done a good job. And if they don’t, then I kick them. Repeatedly. Eventually, they always fall over.”

“You sure you’re the Thane?” he asked. “I’ve never known a Thane that didn’t walk around with a stick up their arse at least half of the time. The other half of the time, it’s a big stick up their arse. A very big stick.”

She smiled at him. “Turns out that all you need to do to be Thane is to slay a dragon. Did you know that?”

“Heeeey,” he said, “speaking of dragons. You wouldn’t happen to have any dragon bone or scales, would you? We are able to sell those so quickly that I can sometimes close the store for a week from the profits.”

She shook her head. “Sorry…I actually just got rid of the last few not too long ago. They’re very heavy you know.”

He nodded. “Yes, they are. But don’t you usually have that big muscly woman with you? Or at least the little scrawny man in the robes?”

“You refer to my husband,” she replied, laughing.

“Well, he is scrawny.”

“He’s a mage! Of course he’s scrawny,” she said.

“Well, that’s a shame about the dragon bits. Any chance you’ll come across another one soon?”

“Oh, I can practically guarantee it. I can’t seem to get to another city without one circling overhead and dropping out of the sky to welcome me,” she said.

“Very good,” he replied. “So then if you don’t get killed by the next one, remember Belethor’s General Goods is always open for you to sell them.”

“Of course, Belethor. I wouldn’t dream of bringing them anywhere else.” She smiled warmly at him and stood up. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, fellow Breton. I must be off on yet another adventure very soon. Do take care of yourself. And don’t drink so much. Things are never as bad as you think they are.”

“I look forward to your return, dear Thane,” he said gallantly. “Try not to die.”

“Always.” And with that, she turned and headed into the darkness of night.

---

As he opened the door to his shop, Sigurd immediately scolded him.

“Belethor! Where have you been? The store has been busy!” he shouted.

“Easy on the volume there Sigurd,” he replied. “I’m working off some head pain right now.”

“You smell like a meadery,” the man said, disgusted.

“Well, there’s good reason for that.”

“Anyhow, the Breton girl was here today. She was looking for you,” the younger man said.

“Yes, I just came upon her actually. She’s quite talkative. And funny,” he replied.

“And you forgot one more thing,” Sigurd said. “Generous.”

“What do you mean?” Belethor asked.

He hurried away and pulled out the bones and scales from what had to be three dragons, laying them across the counter.

“By the Nine!” Belethor exclaimed. “What kind of coin did you give the woman for all these? We can’t have had enough!”

Sigurd shook his head. “She just…gave them to us. Came in, asked for you, and when you weren’t here she said that she thought you’d appreciate them.”

The shopkeeper’s jaw dropped wide open. The world had a funny way of helping one out when they needed it most.

Or perhaps that was just one of Marieka’s finest qualities.

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