4E 196
Callae Hanus frowned over the stewpot and turned back to her table. It needed more carrots, that was all there was to it, and she knew that was the case; but the last thing she wanted to think about, touch, smell or – gods help her – eat, was a carrot.
She sighed. She was going to have to put more carrots in, like it or not, because that was how he liked his stew. He liked the sweetness that vegetables added. Anything sweet.
She smiled, even as she reached into the vegetable basket to pull out a pair of them. They were just on the verge of becoming rubbery, but there was no help for it. It was nearing the end of growing season; harvest hadn’t been what she’d hoped this year, and she needed to make those vegetables she had grown last just as long as she could. In a stew, it wouldn’t matter if the carrots weren’t crisp. They would taste just as good in the venison broth as if they’d been newly pulled from the garden.
Callae hadn’t expected to be feeding both herself and a man at this time of the year. Or any time of the year, to be honest. Nor had she expected to be sharing her modest little cabin with one for months on end. But that trip to Bruma, well…
It was all rather cliché, but they’d met in the tavern. He’d caught her eye. To be truthful, he’d caught everyone’s eye. He was the Imperial with the infectious laugh. He’d been flirting with everyone there. Absolutely everyone, as far as she could tell, men and women alike; and he managed to make everyone laugh, including himself.
Including her.
She remembered it vividly. She’d been sitting quietly at a table in the corner, nursing the lone tankard of ale she’d decided to splurge for, and had been enjoying watching the antics going on near the fire and at the bar. The dark-haired man dressed in blue had said something she didn’t hear, something that had created a loud burst of laughter following which the bard picked up his lute and began singing. She’d looked down at the tabletop, smiling to herself. It was good to hear people laugh once in awhile. Life was so often tense and dour these days, as if the entire world knew that the Great War wasn’t really over in spite of having ended years ago, during her infancy. Their entire lives – hers and that of the man in blue, judging his age from the looks of him – had been spent watching people trying to rebuild, trying to create something new, a new normal, all while looking over their shoulders for what the elders had said was the inevitable return of hostilities. It was a hard, gray existence for almost everyone in Cyrodiil, and rumor had it that it was just as hard in all of the other provinces of the Empire.
The laughter had been like a breath of fresh air. She’d basked in it, even though she wasn’t a part of it, and smiled down into her tankard.
“And why is such a lovely lady drinking alone on such a fine evening? Surely you must be awaiting the arrival of a beau, yes?”
She’d looked up at the sound of the voice that had been making everyone laugh and found herself smiling into a pair of flashing, intense blue eyes from which she couldn’t look away. He was still a fairly young man, but old enough to have the lines of experience beginning to show on his face. He wore a mischievous grin, medium-length black hair partially held by a bandana, and short beard. This one is trouble, she thought. It’s written all over him. It’s why he could make everyone laugh: he’s trouble, they know it, and he knows that they know it. If I were as smart as my mother and father always said I was, I’d just send him on his way.
And yet somehow she’d gone right ahead flirting with him, even knowing he was trouble. More than anything, she had wanted to bask in the warmth of that laughter a bit longer.
“Perhaps he’s just arrived,” she found herself saying in her most playful tones, feeling her mouth curl up into a grin. His eyes had twinkled back at her in a way that told her he’d performed this dance a thousand times before and yet was eager to do it once again.
“Perhaps he has, indeed,” he chuckled. He put a hand on the back of the empty chair across from her and said, “May I?” even as he pulled it out and slipped into the seat, not waiting for her reply. He’d waved the barmaid over and ordered them each a brandy, and a sweet roll to share. “I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth,” he’d told her, grinning. “Brandy and sweet rolls. It’s a shame a body requires more than that.”
“Well, you’re in luck then,” she’d said. “I know how to make the best stew, using ingredients that are good for you but taste sweet as well.”
“Is that so?” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Tell me about it.”
And then they’d begun to talk. In spite of the fact that she knew he was simply trying to seduce her – because he certainly made no real attempt to disguise that fact – Callae found herself warming up to him. And even more astonishing, to her mind, was the way he seemed to respond to her. They liked each other. That was obvious within moments. And she had yearned for just such companionship, for a long and lonely time.
They jousted verbally for a bit. She’d teased him about flirting with the barkeep; he’d admitted that he had an eye for a well-built gentleman, probably just as she had. She’d laughed and agreed that they seemed to share the same taste in such matters.
But as the evening had worn on, and the one brandy had turned into two, he hadn’t gotten up from his chair and hadn’t returned to flirting with the barkeep. He’d leaned across the table a bit more closely as the minutes wore on, as the words had accumulated, and as the conversation had become more and more personal. She’d learned that he was originally from Bravil, and happily away from there even though it had been his home and always would be, in his heart. She’d somehow managed to tell him that she was from Chorrol, and like him was now alone in the world, her parents gone. She and her mother had lived in the tiny cabin at the southern edge of County Bruma, overlooking the Imperial City in the valley below, after her father had passed six years earlier. It hadn’t been terribly long since her mother had passed. Now she lived there by herself.
“I never knew my father,” he’d told her with a shrug. “I heard it said that he was just an awful man. Thankfully he wasn’t around long enough to be a bad influence on me.” He’d taken a sip of his brandy, then, the snifter barely covering a grin and completely failing to disguise the mischief dancing in his eyes. “My mother died when I was too young to remember. Thus, I can appreciate the challenges of being on your own. You’re here in Bruma on… business?”
That was deftly done, she thought, nodding. He doesn’t really want to reveal much and yet he clearly longs to talk about himself a bit. Now that he’s done so, he’s flipped the topic again.
“Yes. Well, my little cabin is in need of repairs that I haven’t the skill or the … bulk… to accomplish on my own. So I’m here looking into making arrangements and buying materials.”
Callae smiled to herself as she used her knife to slide the carrots off the cutting board and into the stewpot. That had been the moment. She’d watched his face and seen an entire debate happening in the space of a few heartbeats. He’d taken another sip of brandy, lowered his snifter carefully to the table and given her a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. Oh, he knew how to use that smile and had doubtless used it on hundreds of people before her; but it was still beautiful and utterly irresistible.
“I’m no master carpenter, Miss Callae. In fact, I’m more of a smith and a jeweler than anything else. But as you can see I’m fairly robust; and I do know my way around most basic tools. I’d be quite willing to see what I could do to help. I’m in between jobs at the moment; I work under contract and never really know when the next assignment will be coming. I’d happily exchange a bit of labor for a bedroll in the corner, if you’re at all amenable to such an arrangement.”
To her own astonishment, Callae had found herself agreeing that they should return to her cabin together, the next morning. She was taking a huge risk, and she knew that. For all she knew he could slit her throat in the middle of the night, just to take her property; but she wanted to learn more about him.
“On one condition, sir,” she’d said.
He’d raised one eyebrow. “And what would that be?”
“What is your name? I would need to know that,” she’d asked him, her heart dancing in double-time, her mind wondering what possessed her to be doing these things. She felt certain this was not a man who was used to giving out his name lightly.
He’d laughed. His eyes, though, had revealed that she’d been right about him; there was a moment of surprise and wariness in them that he quickly suppressed.
“Of course. How foolish of me. I’m Vitus. Vitus Perdeti, originally of Bravil, at your service.” He laughed again and shook his head. “I can’t quite imagine why I hadn’t told you that earlier. I suppose I was having too good a time for it to even cross my mind. I’ve enjoyed this evening more than I’ve enjoyed one for a very long while.”
She’d smiled at him, and held her hand out to shake his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Perdeti,” she had told him.
He’d taken her hand; but rather than shaking it he had raised it to his mouth and kissed her fingers while staring at her with those incredible blue eyes. And then, as she had somehow known would be the case and had secretly hoped would be, after another hour or two had passed he’d led her by that very hand to the room he had rented there in the inn and had kissed her mouth as well. He had a soft, sensual mouth and hands that betrayed their experience almost immediately. She hadn’t minded, not a single bit; and she’d happily allowed herself to sink into what had been one of the most exquisite experiences of her life.
It had been quite some time later when she’d turned to him with a satisfied smile and laughed.
“And just what is it that you find so amusing, Miss Callae?” he’d asked her, pulling her a bit closer onto his chest, one warm arm around her shoulders.
“It’s just that I don’t really have room for an extra bedroll in my cabin, Mister Perdeti. I’m afraid you’ll have to share my bed for a time, if you come to help me do repairs. It is poor hospitality on my part, but I hope you won’t mind too much.”
He’d smiled up at the ceiling, a genuine, warm smile.
“No. I won’t mind. I don’t know how long I’ll stay, but I will be very happy with the arrangements while I’m there, so long as you also don’t mind. I don’t like to impose my presence on people unless they are willing. That’s a lesson that I was taught by everyone near me from the time I was a tot. It seems that my sire was not very good about such politenesses.”
And thus it had begun with that partially-unspoken understanding, and the months had gone by while they built a quiet little existence together there in the cabin that had once seemed so empty. They’d long since finished the repairs that had been her excuse for being in Bruma, and he’d stayed on anyway. He’d never told her what he did during those times when he’d received a commission, and his demeanor said both that she would never know, and that perhaps she did not really want to know. She’d pushed the questions out of her mind. It almost didn’t matter. He would be gone for some length of time. She was never sure how long it would be. But she’d known that eventually there would be a quiet knock on the door, and the man with the mesmerizing blue eyes would slip back into her house and her life.
She gave the pot a stir, and then frowned. The stew itself was coming along nicely. It looked perfect. But there was something about the smell of the meat that had her stomach dancing, and not in a good way. She was fairly certain that she knew what it meant. She’d been fairly certain of it for awhile now. And she was simultaneously appalled, terrified, and overjoyed.
How long has it been? Can this really be happening? We’ve been so careful… At least we’ve tried to be careful. Most of the time.
She thought about it, though, and realized that there had been several occasions when careful was not what they’d been, for one reason or another. Vitus was nothing if not an enthusiastic lover. He also had a bit of a taste for skooma as well as for sweets, she’d discovered; and he wasn’t always entirely clear-headed and careful if he’d been indulging. She’d never minded, though.
It’s what you do if you’re in love with someone. Or maybe it’s just me, who thinks this way.
She sighed. It was the truth. She was head-over-heels in love with the man, and had been since midway through that first evening in Bruma. She was also under no illusions about his feelings on the matter.
He liked her; that much was clear. He liked her a great deal. He enjoyed her company, potentially more than he enjoyed most other people’s – he would long since have left her behind if that were not the case. After so long together they were comfortable with each other. They were on an equal footing in terms of having quick minds and quick wits, sometimes talking for hours on end and other times just sitting together quietly. And there was no question about how well-matched they were physically.
But he did not love her. She wasn’t convinced that he was even capable of the emotion. There was something odd about him: a darkness to the man that he hid very well, but not completely. She saw it emerging every time he needed to leave, and lingering around him for a while every time he returned. Whatever it was that occupied his time did not involve love or even caring, for other people. In fact, she was afraid it was exactly the opposite of that. She had no evidence for this fear, nothing other than a gut feeling; but she’d learned to trust her gut over the years. She was certain that darkness enveloped him to the degree that he could only experience superficial relationships with others.
The more time passed, the more discouraged she’d become about any hopes for a future with him. Every time she’d tried to open up a bit about her ever-deepening feelings for him, he’d shied away like a nervous colt. The length of his business trips had grown a bit longer each time he’d left. She was completely convinced that she was not the only bedfellow he enjoyed; and she was fairly certain that some, if not most, of the others were men. And yet she found it impossible to be concerned about that when he was near. The moments when Vitus was present in her world were like glorious splashes of brilliant color on a canvas that was otherwise drab and muted.
I can’t let him know I’m concerned about this. I don’t know what he would do if he discovered that I was with child; and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid to find out.
She heard the sound of his footsteps mounting the stairs and crossing the porch, and she dabbed at the moisture that had spilled over onto her eyelashes. It wouldn’t do for him to see that she’d been upset.
“The wood’s in, my dear,” he said as he stepped through the door and leaned against the wall to kick off his boots. “It should be enough to keep you warm for a number of months, I would imagine.” He glanced up at her and smiled.
Callae Hanus smiled back at Vitus Perdeti, even as her heart sank inside her with a leaden heaviness. He was leaving. She could see it in his face. The politeness of his smile wasn’t the beautiful flash of warmth that meant he cared. His eyes were different, as well. Oh, they crinkled at the corners, as usual; but their depths were closed off to her and betrayed a coldness that she’d thankfully only witnessed a few times. He was making sure that she had enough wood for the coldest months, because he knew he wouldn’t be here to help.
‘You,’ not ‘us.’
You’re breaking my heart, Vitus. But I understand. I can’t hold you. I wonder if anyone ever will. At least I’ll have some small part of you to keep close after you’re gone.
“Dinner’s almost ready, love,” she said, smiling again, and watching the flinch in his gaze that he probably didn’t even realize he was doing. There it was, again; she’d called him “love,” and he couldn’t bear it. He didn’t reciprocate her feelings, except to the extent that he knew it would hurt her if he admitted it. He was cold, but he wasn’t cruel. And thus, he flinched.
She turned back to the stewpot and gave it a stir, then reached for a bowl from the pile atop the nearby shelves. She blinked back her tears, and swallowed hard against the knot in her throat that was part emotion and part the uncertainty of an early pregnancy. After taking a deep breath, she turned to place the bowl on the table and nod.
“There you go, Mister Perdeti. I hope that’ll warm you up after that cold work outside.”
He crossed the room and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Miss Callae. I’m certain it will. You’re not eating?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and being careful not to meet his gaze with her own. “I’ve not been feeling my best today. I think I’ll just chew on a heel of bread and see how it goes.”
“Alright,” he said, starting in on his meal. Some time passed, quietly, with Callae standing quietly by the window, gazing out at the deepening fall colors, trying not to think about the fact that the color would soon go out of her world once more, and probably for good.
“Come sit with me,” he said after awhile. “I need to talk to you.”
She nodded, and took the seat beside him at the small table. He started talking about needing to do a job, far away in High Rock, and how he didn’t know how long it would take or when he might be back. The words washed over her like waves on the shore; and while she was aware of what he was telling her, her consciousness had retreated to a safer place, somewhere inside, a place where she could protect herself and the new life that was beginning to take shape in her body.
Here it is. I knew it was going to happen, and the timing couldn’t be worse. Well, Mister Perdeti, I shall give your child your name, even if you never know he or she exists. I’ll do that because you’ve brought joy back into my life, and because I love you. It will be alright. We shall survive.
“Are you alright?” he asked her, finally.
She gazed into his eyes – eyes that no longer danced with mischief but which did, she was happy to see, reveal true concern for her well-being. She knew that everything he’d ever told her was factual; Vitus didn’t lie to her. But none of it had ever been the entire truth, and she knew that as well. She would never know what he did for a living; she knew that. She would never know who else had been fortunate enough to share some of the sun and light that was Vitus at his best; she knew that, and she knew it was best that it was so.
And so, my love, you will never know that you have a son or daughter. It is best that it’s so.
“I understand, Vitus,” she told him quietly. “And thank you for everything. You’ve been a great joy to me.” Her voice cracked in spite of her best intentions to have it be otherwise.
“Oh,” he said, pulling her up to him. “Don’t say it like that, Callae. I’ll be back. I always come back.”
As he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her into another of the kisses that were unrivaled for their sweetness, Callae fought not to weep. Maybe he didn’t intend it to be so, but he’d just presented her with what she knew to be a lie – the first and only one he had ever told her. And she suspected that both of them knew it was the case, and each was aware that the other knew it.
She stepped outside with him and stood at the foot of her porch steps, arms wound up tight to hold herself together, to keep her heart from flying after him. Vitus nodded to her and gave a small wave, then started trotting down the road that would take him out of her life.
He didn’t look back.
4E 220
Dale stood frozen, his head cocked to one side so as to listen more closely. He’d heard a man’s voice from outside, a battle cry of sorts, and the thwap of a bowstring. He focused his heightened hearing on the sounds and heard a young, male voice shout. Muffled though it was by distance and by the fact that he was underground in a long-forgotten cellar, he could still make out the words.
“Get out of my face! I have things to do!”
There was another thwap, followed by the distinctive sounds of bones falling apart.
Ah. Another of the skeletons rose up, it seems.
He heard another unmistakable sound: a rabbit, fleeing across the grassy mound beneath which his cellar lay. It thumped loudly as it took the two hops across the well-disguised but still wooden trapdoor, and then skittered away, no doubt toward the lake. That was followed by the loud thudding of human footsteps. Well, not loud, not really; it sounded like someone used to hunting animals, a light touch over the land. Compared to his own muffled steps, though, everything seemed loud to him.
The sound stopped, for a moment, directly overhead; and Dale reduced his breathing to near-nothing. The man tapped lightly on the trap door, clearly verifying that it was made of wood.
But how did he know to stop here, unless he heard the rabbit…
It was then that he smelled it: the faint but unmistakable tang of wet dog that meant only one thing.
Werewolf. Human form, but definitely werewolf. And if I can smell a werewolf, he can smell a vampire. He’s wondering whether or not to investigate.
It was only a few moments that he and the werewolf spent, frozen on either side of a wooden trapdoor, but it felt like an entire lifetime to Dale. He wasn’t one to be frightened, but the idea of an unknown quantity dropping down into his home didn’t appeal to him at all. He waited, and waited; he heard another sniff, and then the quiet footsteps moved away, off toward the shoreline.
Dale heaved a relieved sigh and took a seat in the lone chair here in his cellar.
Well, Agryn, your timing couldn’t have been better. It seems that I need to move right away or risk being found out.
I seem to be moving a lot, recently.
Agryn Gernic was his sire. He’d sent a letter; the courier had tracked Dale down in Falkreath just the previous day. Agryn wanted to see him, and had summoned him to the home he shared with his partner Vyctyna, at the southernmost part of the Rift. It was time to meet the other parties to the business Agryn helped to run. And Agryn was the closest thing Dale had to family, now, so it seemed only right to answer the call. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his mind cast back to the day he’d decided to leave Cyrodiil.
He’d been in Chorrol, his mother Callae’s birthplace, taking care of the last legal requirements regarding her estate, when he’d finally given in to Agryn’s prodding that he be given The Gift, as he called it. There wasn’t any reason for him to do otherwise, now that he was alone. What he hadn’t expected was that he would feel so miserable afterward.
He’d made his way back to the tiny cabin he’d shared with his mother, and had spent the first day sitting in front of the fireplace, wondering why he’d done what he’d done. It wasn’t as though he had any other relatives, to the best of his knowledge. His mother’s parents had died before he was born, only his grandfather’s name – Ondale – connecting the two of them. His father he knew only through the things his mother had shared of him, including his surname.
“It isn’t really our family name, hon,” she’d told him. “He didn’t know that you exist, but I gave you his name anyway. I don’t know what happened to him after he left here. But I do know that he’d be proud of you.” She’d so often smiled at him, ruffled his hair, and said “you look just like him. Sometimes it takes my breath away.” And then she would sigh, and her eyes would fill. “He was the love of my life, Dale. But nothing was ever going to hold him in one place. At least I have you to remember him by.”
And now she was gone, and the cabin, although he loved it, was empty and far away from the rest of civilization. So he had gathered up what he wanted from it, leaving some supplies behind just in case, and had headed north.
Agryn’s letters had guided him along from a distance, directing him to the well-appointed and well-hidden hideaway here on the shores of Lake Ilinalta. He’d spent several months building his strength and learning his way around the province, waiting for just this moment. He didn’t know what the future would hold for him, but he was ready to find out.
Tonight. I’ll wait until nightfall, and then I’ll head out.
To Riften.
