“You think you can steal my girl?” Halvdan threatened.
“She is not yours – never was.” I stood loosely, gauntleted hands by my sides, though they itched to reach for the greataxe strapped to my back. “Yield, or this time you die. Both of you.”
He snorted as they drew steel, Halvdan a greatsword, his companion a handaxe and shield. Almost immediately, I realised that Halvdan’s skills had improved since I had humiliated him – twice – but then, mine had as well. Even so, it may not be an easy fight, two against one.
Halvdan circled to my left, his compatriot the right; they had apparently rehearsed this encounter, as they both, bellowing, attacked at once. I sprang back, plucking my weapon from the ready hooks built into the back of my armour. Halvdan’s slash twisted him as it met aught but air; his friend nearly took him in the shoulder, as I was suddenly not there. Yet they avoided collision as I leapt forward, swinging horizontally at them both, wicked curve of my axe clipping shrubs in the courtyard; they evaded me. I parried his cohort’s blow, returned it; jolted as he took it upon his shield, I was unable to take advantage, having to counter Halvdan’s swing at my bare head. Ducking, I spun round; but he was quick, dodging as I caught air once more. Both came at me again, and perforce I had to back up. Anon, I sensed the high stone walls of the courtyard behind me as they pushed me into an outdoor alcove. I managed a crashing blow against Halvdan’s friend’s shield, gouging away a chunk of it, driving the man to a knee. Turning toward Halvdan, I was surprised and irritated to be on the defensive once again, parrying his powerful swings one after another. From the corner of my eye I caught movement, was not quite in time to evade the handaxe chopping against shoulder and arm; though it barely penetrated, I was suddenly hurt. Sweating and bleeding, more than a little concerned; this was not going well.
A stroke from Halvdan battered against a leg; buckling, I barely fought off a series of hacks from the second ambusher. Another slice of the greatsword chinked along the side of my breastplate, the underpadding absorbing little of the blow as I grunted in pain. Again, it did not pierce, but it dented and hurt some more. I became angry. I shouted a battle cry, my axe whirling in a blur, driving both attackers backward as they parried. Once more, however, I was distressed, this time to find myself tiring; would that I had my vampire or werewolf stamina now.
Halvdan swung backhanded; sluggish, I took another blow, this time to hip and thigh. I was further weakening, almost falling to my knees. His friend dived in, yelling something like, “Ha! I have you now!” He almost did. A blow that would have split my pale locks abruptly stopped before my eyes, a virtually identical axe intercepting it; the clash accompanied by a shout assailed my ears.
“No you don’t!” Iona, my Riften housecarl.
As though asleep, like watching myself in a dream from above, the drama’s conclusion unfolded. The odds now even, we took the fight to my foes. I drove the second attacker back; a smash upon his shield staggered him; I swung my battleaxe up, under it into his groin. He made a strangled sound, eyes rolling, head falling forward; I powered from above, sending the fool’s head tumbling away in the grass. Gouts of blood from his severed neck washed across my wedding outfit and further besmirched the courtyard as I spun. I heard Iona battling Halvdan, her grunts of pain as she took more blows meant for me.
Iona fought him off, backed against the far wall. I plunged in just as, with another a cry of pain, she took another stroke against her shield, this one knocking her to a knee; another, barely countered, sent her axe spinning away against the wall. Seizing my turn to save her, I swung as though at a tree; axe hewed through the upper back of Halvdan’s steel-reinforced leathers, cleaving spine, lungs, heart. A strangled gurgle burst from his mouth amidst a geyser of blood as he bent almost double backwards. I thrust my boot against his lower back, yanked my weapon out amongst another fount of crimson. Kicking the body free, I stood, gasping for air. Vilja’s would-be suitor lay half supine, legs folded awkwardly beneath him; I watched him twitch, light fade from pale eyes as blood gurgled from his mouth, adding to that further saturating the ground.
I felt nothing but relief and fatigue. Sweat poured from me to soak my underpadding, no doubt mingled with not a little blood of my own. I looked toward Iona; she was rising, trying to retrieve her weapon with an arm that appeared not to work. A true housecarl, her first concern was for her thane.
“M-My… th-thane. Are… are you… all r-right?”
“Yes,” I lied. “But you are not.” She bore several wounds, the worst a rent in her side that had split her steel armour, through which blood seeped; I knew that as bad as the surface might look, inside was usually much worse. Her arm may be broken, too.
“T’is n-nothing… m-my thane,” she denied, the pain in her voice obvious withal.
“What… happened?” Ingjard, eyes and mouth both wide, stood on the lower steps of the temple in her colourful wedding finery. “We… were waiting… and I… Are you… all right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? Help me with Iona.”
We half-carried my seriously wounded housecarl to Honeyside. Yet, a healer would not be necessary, since I had modest skill and we had plenty of potions. Withal, it still hurt, and we would carry more scars even after our lameness mended and the pain receded. As I tended to us both, Ingjard disappeared, murmuring something about returning to the temple to reassure the wedding party. When she came back, Iona and I had washed, changed, and so – although Iona’s arm was in a sling and I struggled to hide a limp – we departed once more for my wedding.
Though splotches of blood remained discernible here and there in the courtyard, Ingjard – or persons unknown – had cleaned up the gruesome scene. Had it been left to me I would have nailed both scoundrels naked to a tree – just as I had served a number of bandits and bounty hunters. Yet, a poor sight that would have made for my wedding party as they emerged from the temple following the service; thus, perhaps it was well that I had not been in any condition to do so, notwithstanding my concern for Iona.
Inside the temple, the gathering waited expectantly, thus I endeavoured to push all other thoughts aside as I gazed upon my bride, awaiting me at the altar. Though at first evincing something like curiosity – doubtless at my tardiness – at my reassuring smile Vilja otherwise appeared the epitome of Mara, all modesty and chastity, blue eyes slightly downcast yet following me, a tiny smile curling her sweet red lips. A wedding wreath of white roses and greenery adorned her shining blonde hair, a similar bouquet held against the bodice of her floor-length gown, it the colour of un-melting snow at the Throat of the World. A pendant – an Amulet of Mara, I wryly observed – hung round her ivory neck.
My heart gave a lurch, as blood began to pound in my ears; I felt a flush at my throat, heat rising beneath a second, inferior set of daedric armour I had some time ago ‘retired’ to a display stand in my home. Though I felt a tingle in my female parts as well, this was different; I knew I loved her, that I would do anything for her; that I would face Alduin and all the Elder Gods, plus the entire Daedric pantheon, naked and unarmed, to protect her.
I stood before my girl, unable to stop my slight tremble. “Are you l-looking for marriage, then?” I teased her. She had often been similarly questioned by certain of our companions, when she confessed her desire to find one of the popular love tokens – not to advertise for marriage, she vehemently denied, but “for its mayical properties”.
“No,” she murmured. “I’m already taken.” She kept her gaze on the floor at our feet.
“Yes, you are.” I lifted her chin with one gloved finger, poured my soul into her moist blue eyes as she sought mine; held them. The crowd, temple, city… the world retreated as I recalled oddments of a conversation not long ago, when I asked her when she knew she loved me…
“Strangely, I think it started to dawn on me when we met Halvdan in Riften. I looked at him, and he was everything I did NOT want. And then I looked at you…”
“Yes…?”
“I looked at you… and it was like I saw you for the first time. Your beautiful eyes, the colour of your hair, your soft dark skin… I never thought I’d feel this way for a woman, but that evening, I couldn’t stop looking at you, wondering what it would be like to be loved by you. But I didn’t expect that you would feel the same.”
“So that was when you realised you loved me?” I wondered.
“No… not really. I knew you were very special to me, that you meant more to me than anyone else. And I also knew that I found you very attractive. But I still was mistaking it for friendship.”
She went on to tell me that she only gave herself pause when Wilbert suggested she go with him to Cyrodiil. “You see, it didn’t matter that I had dreamed of becoming a bard. Suddenly, all that mattered was that I wanted to stay here, with you. And I was so happy when you asked me not to leave.”
“Would you have left if I had asked you?”
“Yes, I would. I knew for sure that if you really cared for me, you would ask me to stay with you. And you did.
“Tell me honestly,” she continued, “did you ever think of telling me to leave with Wilbert?”
I admitted that I had. “I knew how you dreamt of becoming a bard.”
“You mean… you were thinking of it for my sake? Oh, sweetheart! I’m touched… and at the same time the thought is scary. If you had said so, I would have left, and I wouldn’t have returned. You see, I would have been terrified by the thought of returning here only to find you gone…”
Wrenching me back to the present, my heart felt clenched in a giant’s fist as I recalled how I had almost driven her away withal.
Maramal – I wondered at the priest’s name, seemingly a derivative of his goddess’ – had begun the ceremony. Even so, I recalled little of it, enraptured as I was by my beautiful bride. The giant let go, and my heart swelled…
Leave a Reply