Chapter Thirty Eight

Daybreak brought an array of warm colors to the white stucco of the mansion. The chattering of finches echoed off the high stone faces of the mountains as Gaeolin, Inigo, and Auroth prepared to leave. The first was less enthusiastic as his fellow travelers. He sat on a bench near the door, eyeing the light streaming in the windows in a tired fashion. Faendal packed a few knapsacks with cheese, bread, some dried meats, and what potion ingredients he could spare from the manor’s store room. He looked over to Gaeolin. “You sure there’s nothing you want?”

Gaeolin shrugged. “I don’t need food. It would be a waste of space when you could put something more useful in its place.”

“I’ll take a few extra sweet rolls, if he doesn’t want them.” Inigo chipped in. The steward shook his head, but slid a few more into the pack all the same. 

“Tá seomra i gcónaí níos mó, an ceann sin.” Always has room for more, that one. Faendal muttered. Gaeolin had to keep from laughing. Inigo, not knowing what was said, decided that it must not have been malicious. “Inigo, you can take Beast if you like. Nephenee obviously is still in no condition to travel. But in a few months, we’ll have a foal to deal with.”

Gaeolin had spent a few hours in the night talking to her. The mare seemed content with her new lodgings, and had nudged his head relentlessly while he sat in her stall. She was no longer as slender as she was when he bought her. He knew though that he would need to get her used to obeying him again. Faendal had clearly spoiled her. “You’ve given her bad habits.”

Faendal shot him a playful grin. “You can blame your daughter for some of that.” He turned to Auroth. “Do you need anything specific? We don’t have much in the way of enchanting gear, but there are a few soul gems if you think you’ll need them.”

 Auroth considered the idea. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not really an enchanter. My hammer is, but I don’t care much for anything else. Besides, around these parts the accusations of necromancy are no different than proven practice. I’d rather avoid that kind of attention.”

 Gaeolin rose to his feet, grabbing his sword from the weapon rack in the corner. “Well, we had better get started. I want to get there as soon as we can. I want to spend as little time in the sun as possible.”

 Inigo rushed to the door. “I’ll lead!” Auroth shook his head, not feeling rested enough for such a high energy companion. He followed the khajiit with his hammer in hand to the entrance hall. Ma’isha stood at the end of the dining table, her claws wrapped around a note.

 “Papa?” She unconsciously took a step back as he turned to her. Gaeolin stopped as she did so, trying his hardest to give her a comforting smile. “I… I wanted you to take this.” She held out the parchment, hesitating as he reached for it, but standing there all the same.

“What is it?” He opened it, seeing the fine lines of Ta’gara that the Khajiiti wrote in. He could read it, but had to work at it. 

“My mama used to read that to me when I was sick. It always made me feel better.” Her blue eyes were unnaturally adorable. “I want you to feel better. Promise you’ll read it?”

It was almost too much for him. He reached out, waiting for her to relax before holding her hand. “I promise, I will.”

She smiled, dimples standing out on the sides of her snout. She took a step back, still not quite herself around him. But he could see in her face that she wanted to be. “Bye, Papa. Be safe.” She went off to her room. Slower than before, looking back before leaving altogether. Faendal stayed.

“And you were worried.” 

Gaeolin rolled his eyes. “I feel like it was justified.”

Faendal came around the table, shoving a sack with a few rolls of paper and writing supplies into his hands. “She was just startled. Once you’ve been cured, I’m sure things can go back to the way they were. Write to us. We would feel better if you did.”  Gaeolin nodded, turning to head for the door. “Bí slán, mo ghrá.”

He froze, turning back to Faendal with a curious expression. “Cad a duirt tú?”

Faendal didn’t answer, heading off to the kitchen with Ma’isha. Gaeolin stood alone now, finally shaking himself out of the moment to leave.

*************

“Well,” Auroth leaned on his hammer, examining the carnage, “this one almost got away.” He pointed to a corpse, it’s throat ripped out to leave a pool of blood in the underbrush. Inigo eyed the marks in the wood of the door jam, noting the splinters under the bandit’s nails.

“He tried to claw his way out, but was just a bit too slow.”

“Can we move on please?” Gaeolin asked. “As much fun as it is to hear you guys criticize my eating habits.”

Auroth cocked an eyebrow. “You’re always this messy about it?”

“You think this is bad, you should have seen him right after he turned. He was quite a vicious feeder.” The khajiit drew a claw across his neck for emphasis. “Went straight for the jugular.”

“Efficient, I suppose…”

Gaeolin would have been red if he were alive. “Seriously, guys. Drop it. I’m not proud of it. That’s why I snuck off.”

Auroth took a moment to note the location. This was Pinewatch, a notorious hideout for bandits, murderers and thieves. “Well, certainly not much of a loss. It’ll be quieter with them gone.” 

Gaeolin gave the Altmer the look of a soured prune. “Honest. I’m not joking.”

The wood elf relaxed, instead looking down the road to the southeast. He remembered the last time he had walked here. There was still a scar on his thigh from the arrow. “That was so long ago…”

Auroth tossed an empty purse he had been searching. “What was?”

Inigo nodded as he remembered. “Yes! We are nearing the site where you tried your hand at being a pin cushion.” He grimaced. “I did not enjoy the aftermath, though. It looked unpleasant.”

“It’s a bit of a story.” Gaeolin tugged at his bow strap. “We’ll tell you all about it when we get to the inn. It’s not really the story telling mood for me in all this sunlight.”

The Dead Man’s Drink came into view, the streets seeming less cheerful than it had in the past. A wood cutter walked by them, eyeing the group with suspicion. “What do you want, little elf?” He sneered, clearly not aware of the danger he was toying with. 

“Just stopping in on our way.” Gaeolin allowed him to see his eyes, daring him to call him out. “I always thought this town was full of welcoming people.”

The man gripped his axe, looking both fearful and angered. “That was before the girl was attacked. Folk get a little anxious after something like that.”

“We’re here for supplies, then we leave,” Auroth said as disarmingly as he could. 

The wood cutter frowned. “No offense,” he said after a moment. “The situation has the whole town worked up. Strangers don’t come about as often as they used to. Be safe out there,” 

Gaeolin jogged to him, stopping the man before he left. “The girl…” He looked at the notice board. “Was her killer dealt with?”

The man’s frown deepened into a scowl. “No. The monster’s been put in the barracks until we decide what to do with him.”

“Not really a question to me.” Auroth gritted through his teeth. Gaeolin found the situation strange. Since when did Siddgeir become so lax? The worker left them with a slightly more courteous farewell. “As much as I might like to delve into this, we should go about our business. We should see if there is a carriage heading to Morthal. It would make the trip easier.”

“Elmond?”

Auroth stiffened. He grabbed for his hammer, turning to face the speaker. Runil stood in the road, a look of disbelief on his face. “You?! What are you doing? Daring to wear the robes of a healer?” His words were venomous. Gaeolin leapt between the men, alarmed at the sudden hostility. 

“What in Oblivion are you doing? Starting a fight with a priest?”

“That man is as much a priest as I am a bard.”

Inigo had his ears back. “This man helped Gaeolin recover from an arrow to the thigh. I can attest, he is a healer.”

Auroth sneered. “So you’ve managed to hide what you were, Runil? Does it let you sleep? Can’t hear the screams of the dying when you’re a humble priest in the woods?”

Runil’s face was blank. “I’m not proud of what I did, Elmond. Yes, I might have tried to hide from my deeds, but even in the tranquility of Falkreath,” he looked down, “the nightmares haunt me.”

Auroth did not seem moved. “How many were killed in your fires? How many awards did your… expertise earn you?”

Runil didn’t give in to the taunts. “I couldn’t desert like you. My family would have suffered. I was trapped…”

Auroth gritted his teeth. “We all were. Everyone who thought the brass were in the wrong were held in place by something.” He turned away with a scowl. “Sometimes, it’s more important to make a sacrifice for what is right.”

Inigo looked lost. “Some personal history?”

“It is a long story.” Runil replied.

Gaeolin looked up at the sun with exhaustion. “I’d love to hear it, but can we please… Go inside?” 

The four made their way down the street to the inn, a breeze following them as if it too, wished to learn of the warriors’ history. Inigo grinned, wondering what tales would be shared over the mugs today.