Chapter Fifty Three

Gaeolin woke to the smell of apples baking below. He sat up, the furs sliding from his chest as he stretched. The scar from his amulet lay over his sternum. He ran a pair of fingers over it, not yet used to the blemish. He grabbed a pair of pants from a nearby dresser and began dressing for the day. He was searching for a shirt when Faendal came in with a basket of clothes.

“Maidin mhaith.” Faendal sent him a kind smile.

“Maidin mhaith…” Gaeolin massaged his shoulder. “How late is it?”

“Almost midday. Auroth and Inigo are still asleep as well.”

“Ma’isha?”

“She’s playing outside right now. I think she had some grand plan to teach Moy how to fetch pine cones for her.”

Gaeolin smirked. “I have to see this.” He rummaged for a tunic in the basket. “What did you have planned for the rest of the day?”

Faendal thought for a moment before speaking. “I had thought to go hunting later in the evening. The stores of meat are running a little low.” He made to leave, turning back. “Is féidir leat páirt a ghlacadh liom, más maith leat.”^[1]

Gaeolin nodded. “Ní dhéanfadh aon rud níos sona liom.”^[2] He wandered into the main hall, peeking at the crostata baking in the oven. He managed to avoid the temptation to sample the filling through great effort. Climbing up to the second floor, he opened the door to the west deck.

He could see his daughter, watching from a distance as she learned her first lesson in pet ownership.

“No, Moy!” She had her hands on her hips, glaring at the fox with disdain. “You’re supposed to chase it.” She paced down to where the pine cone waited, picking it up to bring it back to the animal. “See? Here’s the pine cone. Don’t you like it?” The fox accepted it, cocking his head at her. “Now let me have it.” Moy dropped the pod, letting the girl pick it up again. “Now, fetch Moy! Go get it!” She threw the cone a short distance, waving her hand in it’s direction.

Moy yawned, scratching his ear with his foot. Ma’isha sighed before sitting next to her pet. “You’re cute, but not very smart, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Gaeolin began, “he taught you how to fetch pine cones for him.” He grinned, seeing a look of fury on the little girl’s face.

“But he’s supposed to get the pine cone, papa!”

He shook his head. “You just have to find a way to make him want to get it. Keep thinking. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” He looked at Moy, smiling at the sly creature with growing fondness. “Go inside and see if Faendal has finished making that crostata. It smelled good, and you will want to get the best part before Inigo wakes up.”

She perked up at the news of sweets, rushing off to enter the house. Gaeolin made his way down the hill to a stand of trees. The shade, in combination with a breeze sweeping through the valley made for a pleasant atmosphere. He laid on the earth, looking up through the branches to the clear sky.

I never thought I would be able to lie in the sun again. He took in the aroma. Sweet and sharp pine. Warm, moist earth. The wind carried the scent of a patch of mountain flowers to his nose. A smile crossed his lips. For the first time in a long time, he felt that life was good.

He plucked a sprig of lavender that sprouted nearby. He twirled it in front of his face as he let his thoughts wander. What did he want out of life?

Though he had not chosen to, he’d been absent from his home for many months. Ma’isha had grown almost a head taller in that time. The thought of having missed so much time filled the bosmer with regret. And then there was his steward…

It was strange to him… How to an elf, years can be mere moments, or span what seems an age. Maybe his tutor back in Bruma had been right, and time was simply a perception. Did it pass faster or slower depending on who was living it? He and Faendal had been friends since he had come to Skyrim with Inigo. Almost four years…

When they had first met, he was no Dragonborn, nor Thane of Whiterun. He wasn’t known for his deeds. He had been a hunter, sellsword, cheap labor for Gerdur. It was during that time that he’d come to know Faendal.

The axe came down on the wood with a resounding thud. It split in two, the pieces flying off to the sides of the stump. Gaeolin put his foot on the chopping surface, pulling for all he was worth to remove the blade from the aging tree. It was hot today. The air was unnaturally still for Riverwood. His shoulders glistened with the sweat of his work. He sighed, drawing his arm across his brow.

“That’s enough for now.” Gerdur approached him, carrying a pail of water. He took the dipper gratefully as she continued. “Between you and Faendal, we might get enough wood cut to fill Hulda’s order by the end of the week.” She handed him a small pouch of coins. “This isn’t your pay, it’s a bonus from me. Go get yourself a real drink. You’ve earned it.”

Gaeolin panted, smiling at his employer. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Think nothing of it. I only wish Sven would put in as much effort. Thank you for your work, Gaeolin.” He made his way over the bridge, turning to head to the Sleeping Giant. He ended up bumping into Sven, who must have decided to try his hand at his job today. The nord scowled at him. Gaeolin sent an expression of apology. “I’m sorry, Sven. I must not have been paying attention.”

Sven scoffed. “Don’t pretend to be my friend, elf. I know you and Faendal are scheming together. Camilla is mine. No sneaking elf is going to get in my way.”

Gaeolin was taken aback by the thorny words. “I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh right, sure! As if elves aren’t always playing at treachery.” He pushed his way past, leaving the poor elf wondering what on earth he had done to deserve that. He continued toward the inn, seeing Faendal leaning by the smithy.

“Chonaic mé ag caint le Sven.” He eyed Gaeolin with suspicion. “An bhfuil tú ag obair air? An chuir sé tú chun iarracht a dhéanamh agus imeaglú domsa?”^[3]

Gaeolin blinked at the use of Bosmeri. He had only ever heard the man speak common as long as he had been in town. “Ní dealraíonn sé. Ní dóigh liom go bhfuil cuid mhaith pleananna agam leat. Fear an-chiníoch…”^[4]

Faendal looked relieved. “You have no idea… Sorry for being so firm, but I had to be sure.”

Gaeolin shrugged. “It’s okay.” He considered Faendal. “Gerdur just gave me some coin. Care to come to the inn with me for a drink? You can tell me about this girl you two are fighting over.”

The elf smiled, stepping down to the street. “Cén fáth nach bhfuil?”^[5]

The Sleeping Giant was devoid of patrons when they arrived. Orgnar greeted them, setting a pair of tankards at their table as they sat. “Are you thirsty, hungry? Or both?”

“Just drink for now.” Gaeolin replied. After they settled in, he turned to his companion. “So, tell me about Camilla.”

Faendal leaned on the table. “She’s Lucan’s sister. Helps him run the store.” He smiled. “She has lovely brown hair, though it looks black to most. I visit the shop every day if I can.”

Gaeolin grinned. “You sound rather taken by her.”

His friend chuckled. “Maybe, but I worry that she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Is that why you’re worried about Sven’s advances?”

Faendal’s smile slipped. He looked at the wall with irritation. “I still think it’s ridiculous that he claims to be a bard. Never has taken his job at the mill seriously.” He smirked. “He thinks his sonnets and songs will woo Camilla. An intelligent, beautiful young woman like her couldn’t fall for that.” He made to take a drink, but paused. He wore a look of concern. “Could she?”

Gaeolin cocked an eyebrow. “You sound much less confident than you did a moment ago.”

“I’ve been thinking…” Faendal set his cup down, eyeing the ale as he pitched his idea. “Maybe Camilla needs a little help seeing who Sven really is?”

“A spoiled farm boy with a fame complex?” Gaeolin jabbed. Faendal laughed.

“I have a plan. Could you take this letter to Camilla, and say it’s from Sven? I think I’ve matched that Nord’s lack of cleverness perfectly.”

Gaeolin took the parchment, staring at it. His face was blank. After a moment, he handed it back. “Uimh.”

Faendal looked surprised. “Just no?” He turned to face Gaeolin more directly. “I would pay yo-”

“Uimh.” Gaeolin repeated. He was more firm this time. “I wouldn’t be doing you a favor if I did.”

Faendal flushed. “But… He’s lazy! He has no respect for women! He treats his mother like a slave in her own home!”

“Then Camilla would be a fool to choose a man like that. Faendal,” Gaeolin pressed the letter back into his friend’s chest, “you shouldn’t have to lie to gain her affection. Moreover, if she chooses you, simply because you showed that someone else is a worse option, is it really for the right reasons?” He stood, dropping a few coins on the table. “Someone once told me that the foundation of every good relationship is love and trust. Make sure your have both halves.”

I wonder if it would have gone different if I had done it back then. Gaeolin sat up. It had been years. Was Faendal truly past all of that?

He laid back, watching as a few sparse clouds began to roll in. He let his breath out of his nose as he pondered. He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his daughter calling him back to the house.

Auroth and Inigo looked as though they had not slept a wink during the night. The high elf had bags under his eyes, and Inigo nearly fell out of his seat on more than one occasion. Tired though they were, both ate as wolves. Faendal smirked at them, commenting to Gaeolin in Bosmeri that the two of them would eat them out of house and home. After everyone had eaten their fill, Gaeolin and Faendal began to prepare for their hunt. Inigo rolled to a standing position, looking around for his gear.

“Just a moment, my friends. I can’t seem to find my bow.”

Faendal sent him a quizzical look. “You are far too tired to be of any use on a hunting trip. Stay here, enjoy the fire and the comfort of home for a change. Gaeolin and I have this well in hand.”

“But…”

Gaeolin put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Inigo. Rest yourself. Besides, we aren’t going far anyway.”

The Khajiit thought about arguing, but a yawn interrupted him. “Very well. I will try to be a decent house guest.” Auroth wished them luck, though seemed most put off. Gaeolin noticed he occasionally patted his pocket with a look of disappointment on the heels of the gesture. As the pair left, he heard the Altmer mutter to himself.

“I need to buy a new pipe…”

Dusk was approaching as the elves made their way through the pines. Faendal’s hair caught the dying sunlight, taking on a fiery facade. They walked with arrows nocked. They listened for the calls of the elk in the woods. Gaeolin stooped down, checking the trail they followed.

“Ní thuigim … Níl na rianta ach cúpla uair an chloig d’aois. Cá háit a bhféadfadh siad a bheith?” ^[6]

Faendal peered through the trunks. “They can’t be far.” He whispered. “Let’s follow a little farther.” He led toward the lake, the last light reflecting off the water like a sea of jewels. Gaeolin was about to comment when their prey revealed itself.

A stag strode on the shore, his antlers six feet from point to point. He stared out at the lake, letting out a mournful call. Gaeolin brought up his bow to draw. He was stopped by Faendal’s hand on his arm.

“Fan ar…”^[7] His face was frozen in an open mouthed smile. Farther down the lake shore, they could hear a series of new brays. As they watched, a doe and two calves wandered out from a group of bushes. Gaeolin lowered his weapon, a slight smile climbing his features. Faendal put his arrow away. “Let’s find something else. I can’t destroy this moment.”

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