She looked like a ghost in the moonlight. It sapped the colour right out of her, till her hair was the colour of bone and her skin paper white. Even the new, foreign, golden eyes seemed dimmer. Suddenly, Eyja was very sad... soft and quiet now, with her eyes cast down.
“Eyja,” I went to her, holding my arms out. With the privacy that the night lends, she let herself fold into my embrace. I felt a whisper of her lips against my cheek, and her eyelashes tickle my ear.
“I didn’t realise,” she spoke to me in quiet tones. Let me wrap my arms around her and pull her as close as we could get. I'll spare you the details Farkas; no need to worry.
“Didn’t realise what?” I asked. She pulled away from me and turned her face to the stars. The two moons were full but the sky swirled with dark fat clouds. It was a habit of Eyja to watch the skies. She was always wondering if a dragon soared above the clouds where she couldn't look.
She replied in more of those foreign words. Deliberately this time, I think, for her voice was smoother, and far more controlled. I didn’t like them. Those words were for shouts, not for a private conversation between she and I. Words best saved for battling dragons. So I reached out for her again. Tucked that one little curl that always falls over her eyes behind her ear. I kissed her, to stop those strange words.
I was pushed back. Eyja started to walk away.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the Shrine of Arkay,” she replied.
“Why?”
“To pray for the dead, why else?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me why you lied?” She wasn’t.
She said, “stop pestering me, Vilkas. Let Aela know we’ve returned. Or go back to the tavern, I don’t care.” I don't care. Go back to drinking.
I couldn’t handle the mood swings. One moment screaming, then sad, then nothing. “Fine,” I growled back at her. Eyja sneered.
“What was that about?” Hulda asked me, when I returned. The room was slowly gaining its previous volume, with Mikael telling an account of what had just happened, despite it just happening, in the corner. Aye, the subject on everyone’s lips was Eyja: what she had just down, and why she did it.
“Never seen her act like that before.” I heard someone say.
And someone else. “It was Mikael combined with Ragnar the Red. I don’t blame her.”
“Do you think she might be pregnant? That turns all women into dragons.”
I’d had enough or the night. Left again... Thought about finding Eyja anyway, but I didn’t. It felt too risky with her sudden rage still ringing in my ears…
**
…Vilkas became less and less interested in the story he was telling as the embers began to dim and their food began to grow cold. Farkas watched his brother with a solemn, but confused expression. He knew there was much more that Vilkas wanted to say, but he could be equally reticent when it came to speaking about such matters.
“Do you think she could be?” he said.
“What?”
“Pregnant--”
**
“The Dragonborn and this Vilkas were really lovers?” Once again you can’t seem to stop yourself from commenting. But it was hard to concentrate on this stretch of the man’s tale. As he progressed he had become less and less coherent in his speech; and you’re quite sure he left some details out, though you couldn’t think why.
“Aye,” he replies, with none of his usual irritation for your interruptions. He seems to have exhausted his desire for speech.
Are you excited or disappointed by this information? You aren’t sure. On the one hand, a lover can add a romantic, even tragic, element to a piece. On the other… well... You had been of the idea to buy the Dragonborn drinks, and hear the story from her lips. Everywhere you went you’d get the same account. Tall, strong woman. Blond hair, coy smile but with the strength of eight men, so tales went.
You saw her in your minds eye, so flattered at being the subject of your masterpiece, your magnum opus as it were. Women like to be the subject of such things, in your experience. You know many a bard who wooed in that way.
"...pregnant?"
"...no."
“In all my journey, I never heard of a Vilkas,” you tell the man.
Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [5c/?]
“Eyja,” I went to her, holding my arms out. With the privacy that the night lends, she let herself fold into my embrace. I felt a whisper of her lips against my cheek, and her eyelashes tickle my ear.
“I didn’t realise,” she spoke to me in quiet tones. Let me wrap my arms around her and pull her as close as we could get. I'll spare you the details Farkas; no need to worry.
“Didn’t realise what?” I asked. She pulled away from me and turned her face to the stars. The two moons were full but the sky swirled with dark fat clouds. It was a habit of Eyja to watch the skies. She was always wondering if a dragon soared above the clouds where she couldn't look.
She replied in more of those foreign words. Deliberately this time, I think, for her voice was smoother, and far more controlled. I didn’t like them. Those words were for shouts, not for a private conversation between she and I. Words best saved for battling dragons. So I reached out for her again. Tucked that one little curl that always falls over her eyes behind her ear. I kissed her, to stop those strange words.
I was pushed back. Eyja started to walk away.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the Shrine of Arkay,” she replied.
“Why?”
“To pray for the dead, why else?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me why you lied?” She wasn’t.
She said, “stop pestering me, Vilkas. Let Aela know we’ve returned. Or go back to the tavern, I don’t care.” I don't care. Go back to drinking.
I couldn’t handle the mood swings. One moment screaming, then sad, then nothing. “Fine,” I growled back at her. Eyja sneered.
“What was that about?” Hulda asked me, when I returned. The room was slowly gaining its previous volume, with Mikael telling an account of what had just happened, despite it just happening, in the corner. Aye, the subject on everyone’s lips was Eyja: what she had just down, and why she did it.
“Never seen her act like that before.” I heard someone say.
And someone else. “It was Mikael combined with Ragnar the Red. I don’t blame her.”
“Do you think she might be pregnant? That turns all women into dragons.”
I’d had enough or the night. Left again... Thought about finding Eyja anyway, but I didn’t. It felt too risky with her sudden rage still ringing in my ears…
**
…Vilkas became less and less interested in the story he was telling as the embers began to dim and their food began to grow cold. Farkas watched his brother with a solemn, but confused expression. He knew there was much more that Vilkas wanted to say, but he could be equally reticent when it came to speaking about such matters.
“Do you think she could be?” he said.
“What?”
“Pregnant--”
**
“The Dragonborn and this Vilkas were really lovers?” Once again you can’t seem to stop yourself from commenting. But it was hard to concentrate on this stretch of the man’s tale. As he progressed he had become less and less coherent in his speech; and you’re quite sure he left some details out, though you couldn’t think why.
“Aye,” he replies, with none of his usual irritation for your interruptions. He seems to have exhausted his desire for speech.
Are you excited or disappointed by this information? You aren’t sure. On the one hand, a lover can add a romantic, even tragic, element to a piece. On the other… well... You had been of the idea to buy the Dragonborn drinks, and hear the story from her lips. Everywhere you went you’d get the same account. Tall, strong woman. Blond hair, coy smile but with the strength of eight men, so tales went.
You saw her in your minds eye, so flattered at being the subject of your masterpiece, your magnum opus as it were. Women like to be the subject of such things, in your experience. You know many a bard who wooed in that way.
"...pregnant?"
"...no."
“In all my journey, I never heard of a Vilkas,” you tell the man.