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Riverwood had never been so busy, nor had it ever had so much to talk about. Between dragon attacks, Falkreath refugees, Imperial soldiers, would-be thieves and bandit purges, they'd have had plenty to keep them busy for the next decade or three. But there was a drama even greater than all of these -or at the very least, more salacious and grounded in their lives- on offer: the abrupt, and indeed violent, divorce of Gerdur and Hod.
No one had been entirely sure how it started, though rumors had abounded until Gerdur had finally lost her temper with the murmurs and given them a full explanation. They had only seen an enraged Hadvar bodily throw the other man through the front door of the couple's home, a bloody-lipped and bruising Gerdur behind him. His demands for his son had been thoroughly, fiercely, rejected, and he had vowed revenge -though he called it 'justice'- before leaving town to make for Whiterun and the jarl that resided there.
The truth of the matter had come out quickly enough, of course, for all that Gerdur and Hadvar had insisted on not airing 'dirty laundry' to the rest of the town until the trovärdig's patience had been thoroughly exhausted. As it turned out, Hod had forgotten that -though he was the man of the house, and Gerdur often let him have the say of things in the house- his wife was the one with the founding bloodline of Riverwood in their veins, not he. He had also forgotten, or apparently considered himself above, the fact that the relationship that his wife had with Hadvar was far older and in many ways deeper with the one she shared with him.
Well, that wasn't quite true. His awareness of and jealousy over the close relationship that his wife and her childhood friend possessed had doubtlessly been a strong precipitating factor when he had tried to drag the still-recovering man from the house and throw him out into the street. Gerdur hadn't liked that, of course, and protested. Strongly, vocally, at volume, firmly, and physically. Which had resulted in Hod backhanding her across the face hard enough to draw blood and throw her into the table, bringing about more injuries.
To say that Hadvar hadn't approved of that would be an understatement. Casting his injuries aside in the face of such a thing being done to his most precious friend, the woman he loved for all he had never had the willingness to say it aloud before it had been too late, he had risen to the occasion. Quite literally, as it happened, lurching up from the bed he had been resting in and levelling Hod with a blow to the gut that would have left a lesser man unconscious, before hauling him back to his feet and doing to him what Hod had intended for Hadvar.
Much to his chagrin, and guilty pleasure, Gerdur had rewarded him with a fierce, thorough kiss after that, and a lustful promise to reward him more extensively once the marriage was confirmed annulled by the jarl. Even if she probably didn't require that annulment -she was a trovärdig, well-respected in her härad, and under the circumstances she doubted any Priest or Priestess of Mara would voice any objection, to say nothing of Skyrim's more ancient traditions-, she wanted it to make sure that there was no pall hanging over the new life that she seemed intent on building.
I, of course, was nothing short of thrilled. Gerdur and Hadvar deserved their childhood love, Jon deserved a better father, and Hod was an asshole that didn't deserve anything at all. In, of course, my ever-so-humble-and-unbiased opinion.
Of course, I now also had bigger problems, or at the very least 'more significant matters' -that sounded more pleasant, didn't it?- than Hod getting his ass kicked to the proverbial curb. Now I had to deal with the fact that a woman who had been introduced as Lydia had arrived with two full platoons of troops in Whiterun colors. One to protect the town, she said, and the other to help escort her uncle's honored guests back to Whiterun. Guests like Gerdur, Elisif, Rikke…and my sisters and I. Apparently, she informed me calmly, neither smiling nor frowning but seeming for all the world as if she was simply reciting the weather, her Uncle had heard much of 'The Valerii' from Hod, from Gerdur's letter, and indeed from elsewhere. Thus, our presence was expected, and required.
Why was that a problem, one might ask? After all, did I not fully intend to be in Whiterun? Did I not fully intend to 'wow' Balgruuf and his court with my knowledge and insights and start securing the support based I would need to build a power base? Did I not fully intend to make sure my sisters were safely with me, not here in Riverwood? Yes. Very much yes, for all of that. But I hadn't expected to really have Balgruuf's attention on me specifically yet, never mind my sisters, and I definitely hadn't expected Lydia. Not for her to be sent -though, honestly, I should have. And expected Balgruuf's attention thanks to Gerdur's letter!- nor for who she was, because like Rikke and Elisif, I recognized her. I recognized her all too well. And she was very much not the canon Lydia.
Which made sense, I supposed, given here she was -another headcanon confirmed, thank you very much- Hrongar's daughter, and thus Balgruuf's niece. A princess, by any measure, in a nordic land.
So why wouldn't she be Elsa fucking Arendelle.
Who, by the way, looked far better in armor than I had ever imagined that Disney's Snow Queen could.
I'm sure she noticed me staring, and she fortunately seemed somewhat flattered if anything, but I couldn't help it.
Rikke looking like Kassandra, sure. Sexy brunette warrior woman, mixed ancestry, totally and theoretically possible to happen by sheer chance.
Elisif looking like Artoria, somewhat less easy to explain. Sure, she was blond, a queen, incredibly beautiful and, provided Amorous Adventures was also canon, a talented fighter and good with a sword. A pretty unique appearance though, compared to Kassandra, given that she even had the bloody hair antenna thing if she didn't spend special attention to flattening it down.
But now this?
I was a big believer in the power of coincidence, but that explanation just didn't fly anymore. Once was chance, twice was coincidence, but three times was deliberate action, and three of the women I found most desirable in media all finding their way across my path in a handful of days was certainly indicative of something. What that something actually was, I had no idea, but it was probably the same something that had brought me here in the first place. Frankly, I was also somewhat confused by the fact that she was Lydia, in spite of my earlier thoughts. Elsa would have made more sense as one of the major mage characters in the game, like one of the students at the College, but not 'sword and shield angel clad in steel'.
Not that I was going to complain. If she did become my huskarl when I was named thegn, I would have an incredibly beautiful woman at my beck and call in a far more reliable and permeant way that my time with Rikke could possibly provide. Not to mention the diplomatic and social influence and power that would come from the niece of Whiterun's jarl being my lover and huskarl, which would without a doubt be significant.
I shook those thoughts away. Beautiful or not, I needed to focus on the task at hand: getting to Whiterun and establishing myself without looking like an opportunistic outsider. Besides, I had no guarantee that this Lydia would be assigned to me at all, it was entirely possible that Balgruuf would have no interest in sending is extraordinarily beautiful niece off with some random man to wander the wild of Skyrim as his sworn servant.
"When do we depart, Lady Lydia?" I asked, trying to sound respectful rather than flustered, and not entirely sure I had succeeded, though at least I didn't sound completely off-kilter.
Her ice-blue eyes assessed me coolly, though not coldly, a hint of approval there. At my aplomb, perhaps, or the way I wasn't fawning over her. "Immediately, Master Valerius," good God did hearing her use the word 'Master' in my direction, context be damned, to things to me. "My Uncle and his Court need to hear your words as soon as possible. Even if the Thing Gerdur trovärdig has requested cannot happen so swiftly, depending on the travel time of the various men and women that are required there, you can at least prepare those within Whiterun itself."
I nodded, trying not to let my excitement show too plainly on my face. The next phase was beginning, and I had to wonder how it would play out. I was looking forward to it, honestly. "Of course. We'll gather our things right away." I turned to find my sisters already standing behind me, their packs assembled with remarkable efficiency. Camilla wore a self-satisfied smirk that told me she'd anticipated the need to pack quickly and lightly when Lydia had announced her Uncle's commands, while Lucia's eyes were fixed on Lydia with undisguised curiosity and shy interest.
"Your sisters are prepared, it seems, and quick to move." Lydia observed, the faintest hint of amusement creasing the corners of her eyes, eyes sparkling briefly in the sunlight. "The rest of our party will be ready to leave within the hour. We'll ride quick and long, and the distance to Whiterun is some forty miles, so I hope all of you are ready for a long day of riding."
"We'll manage. The ride up from Skingrad wasn't short or easy, and we didn't have soldiers protecting us in the effort. We'll be fine." Camilla responded confidently, eyeing her riding leggings and making sure that they were properly covering the tops of her boots, tweaking the hemline slightly. She glanced over at me and grinned. "Lucy and I helped Elisif jarlskona get dressed as well. My spare pair of riding pants weren't the best fit for her, but it's certainly better than riding in that dress of hers. She and Legate Rikke should be out in a moment."
Out in a moment they were, and I almost swallowed my tongue at the sight of Elisif in riding pants. Which would be a jaw-dropping enough sight, of course, but when Camilla had said that the pants 'weren't the best fit', I had expected them to be too large, not too tight, which exactly what they were. I briefly, and somewhat guiltily under the circumstances, thanked whatever deity that had deigned to send me here as I drank in the sight of one of the most beautiful women in the world's long legs and perfectly formed hips clad in tight cotton and leather. Her ass, I knew, would be even more deadly once I was to see it, and I suddenly had the deep and unyielding urge to offer to help Elisif mount when the time came.
But no, I had to control myself, I had to be respectable, and so I turned my gaze to Rikke. She had doffed her heavier plate, switching it out for leather-and-chain, and she smirked directly at me when she caught my eyes admiring her form. She knew I was checking her out, she knew that I knew she knew, and both of us were fully aware that the other was enjoying the entire situation immensely. Man, I hoped I would be able to fuck her again when we reached Whiterun. We'd had to be quiet before, for Elisif's sake, but in Whiterun itself we could probably find some proper damn privacy. Might even use a bed, this time. Then again, might not. Fucking her in the chair had been great, fucking her against the wall had been even better.
Shaking my head and glad for the armor I was wearing as it concealed a growing erection, I tore my gaze from them both, reminding myself that staring too obviously at Rikke in public would hardly help maintain the discretion that she had been so intent on maintaining. Not to mention risk pissing her off and sink any such carnal plans before they could even get out of dry dock. Instead, I turned my attention to the practicalities of departure, moving to help Lucia secure her pack to her horse, one of the more mild-mannered mares that had been sent along for those unused to riding warhorses. Camilla, for her part, had already done so and swung herself up into the saddle, and I couldn't help but shake my head in amused affection. Always charging forward, was Camilla.
Once I'd helped Lucia up onto her own horse, I turned to find Lydia watching me with that same cool assessment, interest and contemplation in her eyes in equal measure as she scrutinized me.
"You've experience with horses, warhorses and long travels in particular." she observed thoughtfully, not a question so much as a statement of fact, and I dipped my head in a small nod of acknowledgement.
"I wasn't always a shopkeeper." I replied, adjusting my own pack before swinging myself up into the saddle of my own mount, a rather larger and more formidable gelding. Spotting the expression of polite surprise on her face, I grinned rather boyishly at her. "No need for that, Lydia verðr. You and your Uncle are doubtless well aware of that fact, and you've no need to pretend otherwise. I can only imagine what Gerdur's letter and Hod had to say about me and what I've done these last few days."
Lydia quirked an eyebrow at my use of the honorific, a flicker of genuine surprise and pleasure crossing her features before she settled back into that measured composure. "You speak our old tongue well for an Imperial, Master Valerius." she observed, swinging gracefully onto her own mount, a magnificent black destrier that seemed perfectly matched to its rider. "And yes, my uncle has heard quite a bit about you. The Imperial merchant who speaks of dragons and doom, who knows our ways and bears a blade with unexpected skill. And who is the cause of hundreds of refugees and Imperial soldiers flowing into our Hold."
She adjusted her reins, hands encased in supple leather gloves, a small half-smile on her lips. "I shall reserve judgment until I've seen more than words, Master Valerius, especially when those words come from two men who clearly have very different, and very significant, views of you. I hope you don't disappoint me."
"I'll do my best not to." I assured her, though I wasn't entirely certain which of the men she was referring to. Hod was obvious —he would hate me for my part in his humiliation and for 'supporting' the Empire— but was the other Hadvar? Ralof? That didn't make sense, both were in our company and preparing to ride as well. Ah, no, the messenger carrying Gerdur's letter. Balgruuf must have questioned him to some degree. That made sense. "Though I fear Hod's account would scarcely be a flattering one."
"It was not. Though, in pursuit of fairness and honesty, his wrath was rather more focused on his wife and the 'invasion' that she has apparently been encouraging." she replied, her tone as dry as the dunes of Hammerfell as the lead riders of the escort nudged their mounts into motion. I didn't even try to restrain the scoff, shaking my head in disgust.
"Any man or woman that would willfully, and happily, see men and women -civilians, not soldiers- die because of their differing beliefs and ideals is worthy only of contempt. That's the sort of thinking that leads to exactly the sort of monstrous, bloody purges the Thalmor used to take and keep power." I spat, working my jaw tightly as I resisted the urge to actually spit. God, I hated people like that. "As for his wife, well, I invite him to try hitting her again. Hadvar might gut him properly this time, instead of bloodying him with a fist and throwing him into the street, and good riddance I would say."
Lydia's lips twitched at that, not quite a smile, but a visible reaction nonetheless, and a positive one at that. "Strong words, Master Valerius. Though I would point out that Hadvar's intervention has caused quite the stir among my uncle's court. Some question whether an Imperial soldier, a guest, should involve himself in the domestic matters of Nord households. No matter where it was that he grew up."
"And what do you think? And please, call me Constantine." I asked, unable to help myself, genuinely curious about her opinion on the matter.
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, that icy blue gaze seemed to look rather deeper than the surface alone. "I think anyone who hurts their spouse because their spouse spoke against them or disagreed with them will find themselves living a very unpleasant life indeed. And, as you say, good riddance to them. But, ultimately, my Uncle will hear testimony, and he will decide the matter. Though I guarantee the marriage will be annulled regardless of his decision. The only real question is who shall gain primary custody of their son."
"I imagine that will be Gerdur," I said with confidence, born of meta-knowledge and 'reborn' knowledge alike. "given Hod's behavior. Absent serious mitigating circumstances, which I cannot imagine exist, what court would award custody to a man who struck his wife bloody? Certainly not a jarl of Balgruuf's character."
Lydia nodded, her expression thoughtful as we rode side by side, each of us guiding our mounts with the same absentmindedness that came with long practice and honed skill. "You speak as if you know my uncle well, Constantine."
"I know of him, really." I replied carefully but honestly. "His reputation reaches far. A man of justice and fairness, who puts the well-being of his people above politics. It's... refreshing. At any rate, I imagine Hod will try to leverage the fact that Jon is his son, not his daughter, to try and gain an advantage on that field."
The ghost of a smile played across her lips again. "An accurate assessment. Though I wonder what other assessments you've made of those you've yet to meet. Hmm." she eyed me for a long moment, before looking back at the road and nodding in agreement, her platinum-blond braids -rather more martial, though no less beautiful, than the long one she had possessed in the first film- swaying with the motion. "Still, I agree with you on his intentions, and many would agree with him as well. A boy needs his father to teach him how to be a man, they would say, and with good reason. But if a man is willing to, as you said, bloody his wife, than what sort of man would that produce in the end?"
I found myself appreciating her perspective, and her company, more with each passing moment. This wasn't the silent, dutiful Lydia of the game, or even the somewhat judgmental (and then extraordinarily lustful) Lydia of Amorous Adventures. This woman had opinions, intelligence, training, and a quiet confidence that commanded respect. It was quickly becoming painfully clear that she hadn't only been sent because of her social rank nor whom she was related to. This Lydia, I had no doubt, was a prominent mover and shaker of Whiterun society, one trusted and given responsibilities and authority alike by her jarl.
"Precisely," I nodded, relieved that she seemed to share my views on this matter. "A child who grows up watching one parent abuse the other will either become an abuser themself or spend their life in isolation, terrified of becoming one. Neither outcome is desirable."
Our horses maintained a steady trot as the convoy moved along the forested road toward Whiterun, the White River burbling and gurgling and rushing alongside us as we worked out way down the mountainside. Ahead, Camilla was chatting animatedly with one of the guards, while Lucia rode quietly beside Elisif, occasionally glancing back to ensure I was still within sight, even as she chatted on and off with the jarlskona. It was cute, really, how nervous she was and how reassuring she found me.
"You care deeply for your sisters, I see." Lydia observed, her gaze following mine, eyes crinkling slightly at the way Lucia promptly flushed and looked forward again when their eyes met.
"They're all I have." I replied simply, strongly, then shrugged. "Well, all I had that I could say I was truly close to, but I am hoping that that will change soon enough. The world is changing, after all, so why shouldn't this change as well?"
Lydia's gaze sharpened with interest at my words, and I almost grimaced internally. That was an opening that I hadn't intended to give her, but clearly she was going to take it all the same. "And what changes do you foresee, Constantine? Beyond the dragons, of course."
I considered my answer carefully, aware that my response would likely be reported back to Balgruuf, and even mroe aware after my blunder a moment ago that I was getting comfortable, and therefore loose-lipped. "War is coming, if it isn't already here. The Empire and Stormcloaks will tear Skyrim apart unless something changes the course we're on. And there are... other threats. Ancient ones, awakening. The dragons are merely the first sign."
She continued to study me, her mount -a stallion, large and powerful and probably weighing as much as three of her or more- keeping perfect pace with my own gelding as we rounded a bend in the road, starting another downward slope, and after a full minute of silence spoke again. "You speak with such certainty. Not about the war, anyone with eyes can recognize that truth for themselves, but for the other threats."
"Some things follow patterns, and ever do those patterns possess clusters of events." I explained, waving one hand vaguely back in the direction of Cyrodiil as I continued. "When the gates of Oblivion opened, two centuries past, it was not the only disaster that threatened Mundus. The Greymarch of Jyggalag, The King of Worms wiping out the Mage's Guild, Umaril the Unfeathered's return…they all happened at the same time. When the Nerevar fought against Dagoth Ur, he also laid low the False Tribunal of Morrowind, and put an end to the Great Hunt of Hircine upon the isle of Solstheim. This is just…how these things happen."
Lydia nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought, accepting my claims at face value, though I had little doubt she would look into them further when given the chance. "So you believe we face not just dragons, but a confluence of threats. A pattern of disasters." She adjusted her grip on the reins as her mount navigated a particularly eroded portion of the path. "That is... concerning. Dragons alone is a great enough danger to us, especially with a civil war more or less raging and the Thalmor…ah. I see what you mean, about how these things all happen together. The Thalmor are simply one more, aren't they?"
"Exactly right, yes." I nodded, pleased at how quickly she'd grasped the point I was trying to make, and glad that she immediately and firmly considered that Thalmor a threat to boot. Which is exactly what I would hope and expect, given her Uncle's religious inclinations, but still. "The Thalmor are a threat in their own right, with their own designs that will doubtless come to a head in the midst of all this chaos. It's never just one crisis at a time, is it? The gods aren't that merciful."
The path was starting to widen, now, leaving us several more feet of space on either side, and I took mental note of places where the road was washing out or crumbling and needed repair. Not exactly the most obvious priority of discussion with Balgruuf and Proventus, but important all the same, and wars relied on logistics. The better shape the roads were in, the faster troops and civilians could move between locations. Not that even the finest medieval roads in the world would help horseback riders or those on foot escape a striking dragon. Especially not on the broad plains of Whiterun. But, ultimately, dragons weren't the only thing that one needed good roads for, and even the slimmest margin of assistance could make a difference in some situations.
If nothing else, it could hardly hurt.
"My uncle will want to hear these theories in detail." she declared, quite unsurprisingly, after several long minutes of silent consideration, her brow furrowed lightly in dissatisfaction and concern. "Your words are compelling, I'll admit that readily enough, and I certainly lack the knowledge required to refute them, if that's even possible. So, instead…"
I was confused for all of half a heartbeat when she trailed off, but then she raised a hand and whistled, high and clear, and kneed her mount into a canter. It seemed that we wouldn't be taking our time on the road to Whiterun after all.
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Irileth had considered herself quite the cunning individual, when she had come up with her plan to doff her normal equipment and dress herself as a regular member of the Household Guard. Her jarl wanted her to take the measure of these Valerii, and to observe them, before reporting back. What better way to do that than riding amidst them? A brilliant plan, if she had to say so for herself, and she had certainly been given the opportunity to do exactly that as everyone prepared to ride for Whiterun.
At first glance, she could see why some -civilians most especially- would be impressed by this 'Constantine'. He certainly cut an imposing figure, tall and broad and powerfully built, and the plate he was wearing only added to the image. Likewise, she was honest enough to admit that he was quite handsome, with his olive skin, trimmed hair and beard, and golden-bronze eyes. In fact, she was going to have to tease little Lydia -who wasn't quite so little anymore, she was finding- about how interesting the girl found the mysterious man to be. Not that most would be able to tell, of course, Lydia wasn't the most expressive young woman in the world when it came to her face and body, but Irileth wasn't exactly 'most' was she? Likewise, it was quite obvious that the man found Elisif jarlskona to be entrancingly beautiful -which was entirely reasonable, especially in those too-small riding clothes the girl was making do with- and that he had something going on with Legate Rikke, given the way the officer had been smirking at him.
All of which was interesting, and valuable, and good to know.
Unfortunately, it was all the direct observation that she'd been able to make, because she had promptly found herself as the sole focus of the energetic, curious attentions of one Camilla Valerius. She supposed she ought to be deeply flattered, that the girl had picked her out of all people as 'the best person to talk to', and it was certainly convenient for her to have Camilla so interested in talking to her when the entire point of her presence was getting information on the three Imperial siblings, but answering an incessant stream of questions wasn't exactly the best way to gather information. Or, rather, not the most efficient way, because she was still learning plenty about the family. Nothing particularly ground-shaking or profound, but things that could be useful all the same. Camilla being a talented swordswoman who dreamed of adventure, Lucia being a talented healer who dreamed of a quiet life, and Constantine being their watchful, protective elder brother who had trained them personally and extensively.
"So your brother, he was a soldier once?" she prodded when Camilla's latest stream of questions had finally been answered, desperately trying to give herself a break from the whirlwind and to try and make some measurable progress in her own mission. The human blinked at her, surprised by the question, and she made herself give a casual hand wave in his direction. "It's obvious he's not wearing that armor for show, but I know I'd have seen a man like him in the Guard!"
"Oh, you noticed?" Camilla's eyes lit up, a pleased and proud smile creasing her lips, and Irileth was glad for the protection of her full face helmet as she rolled her eyes slightly. As if anyone could miss it! No civilian man could move that smoothly in full plate. Gods, many of the Whiterun Guard wouldn't be so smooth or flexible as he seemed to be in armor that heavy! "Yes, he was in the Legion for a long time, before he came to find Lucia and I and bring us north to Skyrim. I don't know how long, exactly, or what he did while serving, though. He doesn't want to worry us by telling us about frightening things from the past, he says. Though his scars tell me it wasn't a peaceful life in some cushy garrison."
"Scars?" Irileth asked, her ears pricking up slightly beneath her helm. The man's face was unmarked, but that told her little. Many veterans bore their most telling wounds beneath their armor, and if she could discern something about the ones he carried, it might tell her what it was he had done. "Most Legionnaires -any soldier- really- have more than a few, of course, but you make it sound as if your brother's are... exceptional."
Camilla's expression shifted, taking on a somewhat conspiratorial air. "He doesn't like us to talk about them. Says they're just reminders of mistakes." She leaned closer to Irileth, lowering her voice. "But there's one that I know well, where he says a dremora nearly killed him in battle, and again through the lingering effects of the wound. And another that..." She trailed off, suddenly looking guilty and anxious, glancing over at her brother, who was conversing quietly with Lydia. "I shouldn't say more. He values his privacy, and does not like to brag."
Irileth nodded solemnly, making a soft sound of agreement and understanding, even as her mind raced. A dremora? That was unusual. Most conjuration cults couldn't hope to summon a daedra of that level, and she rather thought word would have spread if one had. Of course, if a daedric cult of that power had been roaming Cyrodiil during the last twenty years, it very likely could have gotten buried by the Empire, with strict orders for silence, in order to maintain stability and the faith of the citizenry.
Or, she considered with a frown, he could be lying. But to what end? If he was trying to establish himself as a man of skill and power, certainly, but such a claim was easily disproven if someone were to demand he display the alleged scar. Not to mention the fact that he was living a quiet life as a small-time shop-keeper in a small village on the fringes of a sparsely-populated province, and that sort of lifestyle hardly meshed well with trying to make himself seem overly impressive. Perhaps he had lied to his sisters, then, to seem more impressive to them? No, that didn't feel right either. Few brothers would feel the need to lie about such things to younger sisters who already seemed to adore him.
"I understand, of course." she assured Camilla aloud, nodding again and finding herself meaning it, even if it frustrated her mission. After all, she would happily never speak of many of the things she had experienced in the Morag Tong or in Balgruuf's service. "And I respect your brother's wishes, I assure you. Still, a man who has faced dremora in battle and survived victorious is not someone to be taken lightly."
Camilla beamed at her, nodding eagerly, clearly thrilled by the genuine compliment to her idol. "Constantine is amazing. He's strong and smart and kind, and he's been looking out for us since..." she paused, her expression clouding briefly, and Irileth wondered at it. "well, since he found us, really. He's taught me everything I know about swordplay. Says I'm a natural talent."
Irileth bit back a smile at the girl's transparent pride. There was something endearing about her enthusiasm, even if it was making Irileth's job more difficult, and even if she was getting something rather like whiplash from Camilla's mood swings. "And what brings your family to Skyrim? It's not the most hospitable place for Imperials these days."
The question dimmed Camilla's smile again slightly, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "Constantine said it was better for us to be here. He was pretty cryptic about all of it, but I don't disagree with him that I prefer Skyrim to the way that Cyrodiil felt when we left. And it's beautiful, you know? Cold, crisp, aye, but beautiful in a wild sort of way."
Well, Irileth certainly had to agree with that. Skyrim's beauty, and her love for and devotion to Balgruuf of course, were the only reasons that she would willingly live in such a frigid land as this, so very different from her own birth-land. Well, that and the fact that she probably wasn't terribly welcome in the lands of Morrowind and longer. Not to say that she was banished, or had a death-mark on her head, or something of the sort, but the simple fact that people didn't want her head on a silver platter didn't mean that she would have a particularly comfortable time there. As it turns out, Tong Executioners that go 'off the reservation' for the love of a Nordic jarling weren't well thought of.
Her thoughts on Morrowind -not home, not any longer- were interrupted as the pace of the group suddenly increased, Lydia's sharp whistle cutting through the air. Camilla's face lit up with excitement at the faster gait, and Irileth found herself forced to focus on keeping up as she immediately kneed her horse into a brisk canter.
"Come on, friend!" Camilla called to her, eyes bright with excitement and impish delight. "Surely you can keep up with a simple shopkeeper's sister!"
Irileth shook her head with a chuckle, even as she clicked her tongue at her mount and nudged it into it's own canter. If nothing else, the girl had spirit and a taste for adventure. She'd fit in well with the Nords, and would probably make fast friends with the Companions in so doing. The thought brought a grin to her lips, one that was perhaps a mite unkind, and she imagined the male Valerius trying to ride herd on an already-rebellious and rambunctious sibling that had made friends with the likes of Jorrvaskr's children. Mmh. This could prove amusing, actually…
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