"That would be--well, it would be a dream come true," Erik says, with a rueful laugh. "But da's old armor doesn't fit me, and we're keeping ourselves fed, but not much else; certainly not after the tax collector comes around. No, I'd best keep my nose to the grindstone," he says. "I'll take care of those horses for you...no charge, as promised. You won fair and square. My thanks for livening up a boring day."
"Maybe when we pass back through here, we'll bet on it again," Miri says, and Erik gives her an nod and a wave as they head inside.
"Your lunch is on the table," the innkeeper says. Vilkas wouldn't have guessed the soldier's life for him before, but now that he's looking more closely he can see it in the way he carries himself, tall and stiff-backed with precise, neat hands as he dices potatoes.
"Mralki, was it?" Miri asks. "We met your son, Erik. He's your only one?"
"Aye. And a good lad," Mralki says proudly. Then his face falls. "I know he's only staying on to humor these old bones," he says. "Begs the adventurers who pass through to spar with him, tell him all about life outside. He got you too, I suspect?" he asks, and sighs as Miri gives him a smile. "His mother and I wanted more children," he says. "Another son, more inclined to settling, and he could go live the life he pleases. But the gods saw fit to take her from us, along with our second."
"I'm sorry," Miri murmurs, and he waves her off. "We're still here," he says, "And Erik is all the joy I could ask for. I've done my best to save up, tucked away a little money for him here and there...but it won't be enough to buy him good armor, the kind that would keep him safe for a life on the road. And he's my only...the Inn will be his, one day. I just hope by then he doesn't resent it."
In the past, Vilkas couldn't have imagined being living the simple life - working the land, listening to others' glories that passed him by. But - if by some miracle, he and Miri finish their quest, if they both live to see a sunrise without dragons of old...it's not so impossible to see, tilling fields at sun-up, coming in every night to his lovely wife. Wife, surely by then, and an image flashes before his eyes - Miri greeting him hot and sweaty from the fields with a cool ale, their son on her hip and her belly swollen with another--
Vilkas pulls himself upright with a snap as his wolf beats at its cage, throwing itself against his mental bars and howling like a mad thing. It's a stark reminder of what he can't and won't have with this affliction - no neighbors are going to overlook his 'furry problem'. The simple life was gone for Vilkas the second he drank the blood, took the oath.
Still. "I love you," he murmurs to Miri, under his breath. She looks at him in surprise, and then smiles, leans her head against his shoulder and laces their fingers together under the table.
...
They leave Rorikstead in the heat of the midday sun, just as Erik is coming in to cool off. And, Vilkas thinks, with a lighter pack - Miri slipped a generous satchel of coin and a handful of steel bars underneath their lunch table before they left. "We won't be back to Whiterun for a while yet," she'd said as they mounted up. "The bedroom set can wait."
They ride hard once again, pushing the horses as they continue the trek northward. Their pace slows as they come to the foot of the mountain range, and let the horses rest as they come upon a broken-down shanty.
"Best chance to let the horses cross here," Vilkas says, and nods at the shack. "This is the narrowest point on the River Hjaal. But..."
Miri looks to him, and he grimaces as he sniffs the air. "Stench of decay," he says at last. "Could be just rotting mudcrabs."
"But you think it could be--otherwise," she says. He nods, and she sighs. "Well," she says. "I can shield the horses' hooves from the crabs. Best not to take our chances."
"That's not all," he says grimly, and points to where a lone dragon circles the peak, shrieking its hunger.
Miri blanches, drawing up short beside him. "We need a plan," she says, her voice wavering with fear.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
FILL: Vilkas/F!DB: "Lovers' Knot" 45/?
Date: 2017-06-22 02:36 pm (UTC)"Maybe when we pass back through here, we'll bet on it again," Miri says, and Erik gives her an nod and a wave as they head inside.
"Your lunch is on the table," the innkeeper says. Vilkas wouldn't have guessed the soldier's life for him before, but now that he's looking more closely he can see it in the way he carries himself, tall and stiff-backed with precise, neat hands as he dices potatoes.
"Mralki, was it?" Miri asks. "We met your son, Erik. He's your only one?"
"Aye. And a good lad," Mralki says proudly. Then his face falls. "I know he's only staying on to humor these old bones," he says. "Begs the adventurers who pass through to spar with him, tell him all about life outside. He got you too, I suspect?" he asks, and sighs as Miri gives him a smile. "His mother and I wanted more children," he says. "Another son, more inclined to settling, and he could go live the life he pleases. But the gods saw fit to take her from us, along with our second."
"I'm sorry," Miri murmurs, and he waves her off. "We're still here," he says, "And Erik is all the joy I could ask for. I've done my best to save up, tucked away a little money for him here and there...but it won't be enough to buy him good armor, the kind that would keep him safe for a life on the road. And he's my only...the Inn will be his, one day. I just hope by then he doesn't resent it."
In the past, Vilkas couldn't have imagined being living the simple life - working the land, listening to others' glories that passed him by. But - if by some miracle, he and Miri finish their quest, if they both live to see a sunrise without dragons of old...it's not so impossible to see, tilling fields at sun-up, coming in every night to his lovely wife. Wife, surely by then, and an image flashes before his eyes - Miri greeting him hot and sweaty from the fields with a cool ale, their son on her hip and her belly swollen with another--
Vilkas pulls himself upright with a snap as his wolf beats at its cage, throwing itself against his mental bars and howling like a mad thing. It's a stark reminder of what he can't and won't have with this affliction - no neighbors are going to overlook his 'furry problem'. The simple life was gone for Vilkas the second he drank the blood, took the oath.
Still. "I love you," he murmurs to Miri, under his breath. She looks at him in surprise, and then smiles, leans her head against his shoulder and laces their fingers together under the table.
...
They leave Rorikstead in the heat of the midday sun, just as Erik is coming in to cool off. And, Vilkas thinks, with a lighter pack - Miri slipped a generous satchel of coin and a handful of steel bars underneath their lunch table before they left. "We won't be back to Whiterun for a while yet," she'd said as they mounted up. "The bedroom set can wait."
They ride hard once again, pushing the horses as they continue the trek northward. Their pace slows as they come to the foot of the mountain range, and let the horses rest as they come upon a broken-down shanty.
"Best chance to let the horses cross here," Vilkas says, and nods at the shack. "This is the narrowest point on the River Hjaal. But..."
Miri looks to him, and he grimaces as he sniffs the air. "Stench of decay," he says at last. "Could be just rotting mudcrabs."
"But you think it could be--otherwise," she says. He nods, and she sighs. "Well," she says. "I can shield the horses' hooves from the crabs. Best not to take our chances."
"That's not all," he says grimly, and points to where a lone dragon circles the peak, shrieking its hunger.
Miri blanches, drawing up short beside him. "We need a plan," she says, her voice wavering with fear.