It had seemed a strange impulse, at first, this urge to settle down. It was no time for starting a family, even if he hadn't been Dragonborn and doomed to catch the eye of every petty merchant and Daedric Prince who needed an errand-boy. The world was too uneasy for soft things, simple things. He could feel the strain of change like lightning in the air, could taste it on his tongue. And yet he already had a family, he realized, all unexpected. He had Lydia, always Lydia, and she was all the family a man could want.
At least, until he came upon Lucia. Skyrim made orphans as an apple tree made apples, he knew it did. Men and women broke upon the land; families splintered into pieces. There was no sense in getting soft about it. But Lucia's bright eyes followed him with such hope after he gave her the coin. One coin. What could it buy, really?
But the little girl's hope weighed on him like the hand of a god, and he traded ingots for gold and then gold for a doll, and when he rode back to the half-finished manor by the lake, Lucia rode behind him.
**
"She calls you Papa already," Lydia said, blowing out the candle and joining him in bed. The room went dark until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and he could make out the lines of his wife's face. "You must have made quite an impression."
"I should have talked to you before bringing home a child," he admitted, wishing he'd had as much wisdom hours ago when it would have mattered.
Lydia made a thoughtful noise. "Perhaps. A little warning might have been nice." He could hardly see her smile, but he could hear it in her voice. "But you've brought home stranger things, I believe."
"I would have…" He groped for the words to explain but they eluded him, slipping off his tongue and leaving only naked truth behind: "I couldn't leave her there."
She was quiet a long moment, so long he wondered if he'd made a greater misstep than he'd realized, but at last she settled back into the linens, rested against his side, and said, "I know."
**
They worked the next day, all of them, digging the new garden as the sun beat down on their shoulders. Too late for a decent crop of anything this year, he thought, watching Lucia scramble after a frog, but maybe they could put aside some radishes and onions by fall, if they were lucky.
"I caught it!" Lucia cried, and held up her prize for inspection.
The frog wriggled in her hands, filthy and grumpy as a frog had ever been. "And what are you going to do with it, now that you have it?" he asked, and had no idea why her face fell.
**
Three days of peace and he couldn't put it off any longer: no matter how much he'd like to turn away from duty, duty wouldn't turn away from him. In the gray mist of dawn he saddled up the big palomino, checking his supplies until he caught sight of Lucia by the stable-wall, watching him with a frown. "Thought you were sleeping," he told her, buckling up the saddlebag.
"Mama said you were going away," she said, hesitating at the wall like a cat that couldn't decide if it wanted to be in or out. "But she didn't say where."
"Sky Haven Temple."
Confusion flicked across her face like she ought to know the place, but didn't. "Can I come with you?"
"Oh, no. It's much too dangerous."
Her frown only deepened. "Then why do you have to go?"
He hesitated but there was no way to explain it to a child, not even if he'd been a bard with all the right words ready on his tongue. "I just do," he said, and finished up his preparations.
When he led the horse out to the road Lucia was still following, all that terrible hope in her eyes blotted out by fear. Fear for him, he thought, the idea so strange he hardly knew what to do with it. "It'll be all right," he told her, and she nodded dutifully and gulped air, looking miserable until he said, "Lucia."
When she hurtled toward him and wrapped her arms around his middle his reflexes almost betrayed him. His hand strayed for his axe a moment until he caught himself and patted her thin back awkwardly instead.
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timeasmymeasure
A Peace Unexpected 1/?
Date: 2013-05-13 02:52 pm (UTC)At least, until he came upon Lucia. Skyrim made orphans as an apple tree made apples, he knew it did. Men and women broke upon the land; families splintered into pieces. There was no sense in getting soft about it. But Lucia's bright eyes followed him with such hope after he gave her the coin. One coin. What could it buy, really?
But the little girl's hope weighed on him like the hand of a god, and he traded ingots for gold and then gold for a doll, and when he rode back to the half-finished manor by the lake, Lucia rode behind him.
**
"She calls you Papa already," Lydia said, blowing out the candle and joining him in bed. The room went dark until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and he could make out the lines of his wife's face. "You must have made quite an impression."
"I should have talked to you before bringing home a child," he admitted, wishing he'd had as much wisdom hours ago when it would have mattered.
Lydia made a thoughtful noise. "Perhaps. A little warning might have been nice." He could hardly see her smile, but he could hear it in her voice. "But you've brought home stranger things, I believe."
"I would have…" He groped for the words to explain but they eluded him, slipping off his tongue and leaving only naked truth behind: "I couldn't leave her there."
She was quiet a long moment, so long he wondered if he'd made a greater misstep than he'd realized, but at last she settled back into the linens, rested against his side, and said, "I know."
**
They worked the next day, all of them, digging the new garden as the sun beat down on their shoulders. Too late for a decent crop of anything this year, he thought, watching Lucia scramble after a frog, but maybe they could put aside some radishes and onions by fall, if they were lucky.
"I caught it!" Lucia cried, and held up her prize for inspection.
The frog wriggled in her hands, filthy and grumpy as a frog had ever been. "And what are you going to do with it, now that you have it?" he asked, and had no idea why her face fell.
**
Three days of peace and he couldn't put it off any longer: no matter how much he'd like to turn away from duty, duty wouldn't turn away from him. In the gray mist of dawn he saddled up the big palomino, checking his supplies until he caught sight of Lucia by the stable-wall, watching him with a frown. "Thought you were sleeping," he told her, buckling up the saddlebag.
"Mama said you were going away," she said, hesitating at the wall like a cat that couldn't decide if it wanted to be in or out. "But she didn't say where."
"Sky Haven Temple."
Confusion flicked across her face like she ought to know the place, but didn't. "Can I come with you?"
"Oh, no. It's much too dangerous."
Her frown only deepened. "Then why do you have to go?"
He hesitated but there was no way to explain it to a child, not even if he'd been a bard with all the right words ready on his tongue. "I just do," he said, and finished up his preparations.
When he led the horse out to the road Lucia was still following, all that terrible hope in her eyes blotted out by fear. Fear for him, he thought, the idea so strange he hardly knew what to do with it. "It'll be all right," he told her, and she nodded dutifully and gulped air, looking miserable until he said, "Lucia."
When she hurtled toward him and wrapped her arms around his middle his reflexes almost betrayed him. His hand strayed for his axe a moment until he caught himself and patted her thin back awkwardly instead.