Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, do you know the legend of Fjori and Holgeir?”

The young man sitting beside her on the bench of the carriage shook his head slowly, brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall the name. “I know of it, at least. Nurelion mentioned it when he told me your name, but that’s all.” He paused, studying his companion’s face with interest. “Were you named for the Fjori in the legend then?”

The Nord woman sighed, leaning back as far as she could without falling over the side of the moving vehicle. For just a moment, her eyes wandered across the flat grasslands to the north, where they began to turn into rocky outcroppings. Beyond that, she knew, were the marshes of her childhood. This was not only her homeland, but the homeland of all her ancestors as far back as anyone could recall. Her name had been just one more way of reinforcing her ties to it. “I was. My parents had hoped that I would grow up to be a powerful warrior like she was, the Nordic ideal for a woman.” Fjori fell silent again, this time staring down at the wooden planks beneath her.

“And? What did this Fjori character do in the legend?”

She looked up at her Imperial lover. The curiosity in his eyes and his insistent prodding brought a smile back to her face. No doubt he was trying to solve the puzzle of why she had brought up such a random topic; Quintus was always piecing things together. “She was a skilled huntress who led her forest clan. Her skill with a blade was unmatched. Clearly, my choosing the war axe deviated from the legend a bit, but my parents never complained too much about that. After all, my Da IS part of the Axe-Bearer clan.”

“And Hromir?”

“You mean ‘Holgeir’?”

“Yeah, like I said, Hongir.”

Fjori burst into a laugh. “You are horrible with Nord names! How did you ever learn mine so quickly?”

Quintus smirked. “Because it belonged to a spirited and very kind-hearted mercenary that piqued my interest. Amazing what kind of motivation infatuation provides.”

She laughed again, playfully shoving him. “Hey, Holgeir must have had his appeal too. I mean, he and Fjori fought in a duel to the death representing both of their respective clans, but when the dust settled Fjori ended up in love with him!”

“Hmm, nothing says romance like violence." The alchemist shook his head in confusion. "Dare I say that is a Nord thing an Imperial like me will never understand?"

"You may. I'm fairly convinced it must be. But don't worry; duels to the death aren’t a standard courtship practice or anything."

"Well, that's a relief!” He wiped his brow jokingly. “So, did he at least let her win or something so she'd fall in love with him?”

This earned a scoff. “Any Nord, man or woman, would take that as an insult, not a romantic gesture. The battle ended in a draw. They destroyed each other’s weapons until they couldn’t fight any longer. But they were both so impressed with each other's skill that they became lovers, uniting their clans under the two strongest warriors in the land.”

“They did, huh?” Suddenly, a frown crossed his face, and he folded his arms. Well, it seemed he finally figured out where this was heading.

“In the end, it was a tragedy. He was bitten by a snake, she crossed to Akavir to bring back the cure, then the same snake bit her and she died. He built them a tomb and then killed himself so they could all live happily ever after in Sovngarde.”

“Considering the ending, I’m hoping your parents don’t want to mimic the entire story,” he said carefully, gaging her for a reaction that would confirm or deny his suspicions.

“No. But I’m not sure how much of it they’d like to see replayed…” Fjori reached out and let her hand rest on his forearm. Today, unlike most days, she was not wearing all of her armor, so her gauntlet-free touch was gentle and warm. “I just…honestly, I am worried. Worried they are going to say something to totally embarrass me in front of you. Worried they are going to say something rude about you in front of you. You know how…direct I can be, and I’m a watered-down version of my parents. But I can’t just hide you away, and I don’t want to. They need to know that I’m serious about you, and I could care less about what they might expect.”

Quintus gave a brave smile. “They are pretty much the most Nordic of Nords, aren’t they? I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“We don’t have to stay long,” she assured him quickly, leaning down to rest her head on his shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t want to anyhow. I just need to have a day or two to check the local tombs for more words of power. Perhaps while we’re out exploring you can show my mother some practical alchemy, or at least dabble around with her facilities.”

There was a moment of silence, until finally he unfolded his arms and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her in tighter despite the chest plate she was still wearing. Her hand found his, covering them and fingering the ring he wore. Knowing he wore this gift she'd forged just for him always eased her mind, but the words that followed helped too. “Don’t worry about me. I can certainly do this one thing for you at the very least. Besides, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as we are both thinking…”

“Yeah, because it will be worse!”

The pair both flinched at the unanticipated sound of Lydia’s voice. The housecarl had been draped out on the opposite bench looking very much asleep, and still didn’t move even as she uttered those words. “Have you been awake this whole time?” Fjori demanded in annoyance. While she was coming to terms with being public in her relationship with Quintus, she still didn’t like the thought of such intimate conversations being eavesdropped on.

“Of course. How can I sleep with you two talking over there?”

“I imagine if you were actually tired it wouldn’t be an issue…” Fjori muttered crossly.

Before Lydia could counter, the carriage drove over a loose paver in the road, jolting everyone in the cart. “Sorry ‘bout that,” the driver called back. “The road to Morthal doesn’t see as much use, so they don’t keep it as well maintained. I’ll do my best to avoid those.”

“Thanks,” she called up with a grimace, then turned back to her companions. “Doesn’t see much use. Understatement of the century. Nobody goes to Morthal.”

“What will it look like when we get close?” Quintus wondered, getting himself settled back in his seat.

Like death in land form. That was what she wanted to say anyhow, but she held her tongue lest she fill him with any unnecessary dread. He had enough just thinking about meeting her parents. “You’ll see the marshes. There’s always a mist, at least, it seems that way. It’s too cloudy and chilly for the trees to ever grow many leaves, so there’s more low shrubs and moss, especially the closer you get to the Sea of Ghosts as the water gets saltier. Plenty of deathbell and swamp fungal pods growing like weeds, and you can’t go two steps without tripping on a mudcrab. Mostly though, if these plains are golden, Morthal is gray. Believe me, you’ll know when you see it.”

With that said, Fjori turned away and pretended to study the horizon. Already she could feel the chill sinking into her bones, a chill not even the snowy city of Windhelm could ever inflict her with. Wasn’t going home supposed to be a happy experience? Why did it feel like the closer she got, the more color was drained from her world? By Ysmir, hopefully with Quintus and Lydia at her side this wouldn’t be as unbearable as she anticipated.

Chapter Text

A month had passed since Fjori had failed to slay Alduin atop Monahven, and not a single day went by that she wasn’t reminded of the fact. She’d thought that saving the world would be a simple matter of completing a few tasks, much like her life as a mercenary before discovering that she was Dovahkiin. It was a grossly naïve assumption, she could recognize that now. Despite having a miraculous grasp of the thu’um at her disposal, she was no hero yet. Why, even going back in time to learn a lost shout designed for slaying dragons wasn’t enough to negate her own weakness!

So Fjori did the only thing that she could do if she wanted to save the world: learn more and train harder. It wasn’t enough to know a few handy shouts to give her an edge in battle against mortals; she was no Ulfric Stormcloak, flexing against a human Jarl to assert dominance. She was fighting the leader of the dragons, and to stand a chance she had to make those shouts her own as any true dragon would, flowing naturally from her being. In the weeks since Alduin’s escape, she steeled her resolve and threw herself whole-heartedly into exploring old crypts and learning the words of power they held. Why, she’d just returned from an extended trip out to the Reach, having carved her way through draugr, traps, and even dragon priests to obtain the treasure only she could use.

This outpouring of dedication was a drastic change from her normal behavior of avoidance, and the reason for it was sitting beside her in the carriage. Sure, Lydia would scowl at that, claiming she’d been the one pushing her thane the entire time, but there was certainly a difference between obligation and choosing. For Lydia, this was a duty. For Fjori, it was selfishly chasing after a happy life spent together with the man she was falling in love with, a life which could not be possible until Alduin met his demise. She would give it her all if it meant being able to spend her years beside Quintus Navale.

He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned to address her curiously. “What are you thinking about?”

Fjori blinked. Caught. “Hmmm, just trying to recall the tombs around Morthal that I’ll need to check out. We already cleared Ustengrav, way back before we’d even killed the Butcher, so that leaves Dead Man’s Respite, where they buried Olaf One-Eye. He used the voice to shout down a dragon back in his day, so surely he’d have a word of power somewhere in his tomb…”

“And don’t forget about Folgunthur,” Lydia chimed in from across the way. “It might be tricky considering one of those Gauldurs is sealed in there, but you would think a ruin that old would have something.”

“High Gate isn’t too far either…”

“What about Labrynthian?” Quintus piped up, hoping to be helpful. That one he’d at least heard of in his studies of history.

The mention of the giant ruined city only earned a scowl from Fjori. “You’re not wrong. The problem with old Bromjunaar is that Shalidor took it over and made getting access…tricky. I scouted it out on my way to Morthal last time, and while I can deal with the frost trolls with enough patience, there was a magical maze I’d never be able to get through, and a magically-sealed door that I also can’t get through. If they have word walls, I probably won’t be able to access them.”

“Oh, I see.” He paused, then began to smile. “You might just have to go back to the College of Winterhold to get some help with that…”

Lydia snorted at Fjori’s exasperated groan. Right on point. Quintus was getting better at teasing as he got more used to their company.

“We’ll see just how desperate I become,” she finally conceded, shaking her head. “Besides, three tombs might be enough for one trip to Morthal. I’m not planning on staying more than five days.”

Quintus wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was grateful for that sentiment. He was already nervous about meeting Fjori’s parents, and if things didn’t go well, even five days would feel like an eternity. Before he could respond, however, the wagon suddenly veered left off the main road. He looked around in confusion, unable to see a side road anywhere.

Fjori could read his mind. “Trust the driver, the road is under the snow somewhere. Probably drifted over since the last time anyone used it.”

He pulled his cloak tighter around him. He’d had to put it on once they got near the mountains, an hour or so ago, along with a pair of gloves. Fjori and Lydia both remained unbothered. “I thought you said Morthal was all swamps?”

“It is.” She shrugged. “It’s just that we are south of Morthal right now, in the foothills of the mountains. Besides, if I described it to you as having snow, how different would that be from the rest of Skyrim?”

“Not very.” Quintus was just glad for Fjori’s body heat as he pressed up against her. Nords were impossibly warm-blooded, adapted to the cold climate. He’d never match that even if he remained in Skyrim for the rest of his life.

Even though it wasn’t necessary for her sake, Fjori rummaged around for a blanket on the floor of the carriage and wrapped it around the two of them. The heat didn’t matter much to her, but she was determined to enjoy every second of proximity to her lover as she could, especially after being gone on such a long trip right before embarking on this one. “It won’t be long now, you’ll see.”

Not that there would be much to see when they hit the end of the line.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“This is a hold capital?”

Morthal was finally in sight as the road began its descent from the highlands. Though the temperature was still chilly, the snow had melted away, revealing the dirt path they had apparently been traveling on. It led down to a small collection of thatched huts surrounding a few docks. No gate. No guards on the outskirts. No banners or signs. He would have believed it to be an outlying village if the land wasn’t so flat that he could see a reasonable distance beyond the hamlet. There was nothing else beyond, except for the mist Fjori had promised.

Fjori threw open her arms in mock triumph. “Behold, the poorest hold in Skyrim. Even Winterhold, where most of the city fell into the sea, earns more coin from the mages’ college than a collection of wood cutters and crabbers.”

“Are there any other villages in the hold?”

“Nope! That’s the beauty of it. In the entire hold, there is just Morthal, and this is all it is. Sure, there’s a small mine to the east, but that’s actually owned by one of Solitude’s thanes despite being in Morthal. And there used to be a garrison at Snowhawk back in my grandda’s time, but even that fell into ruin after the Great War. I’d clean it out of all the bandits and necromancers and whatever else has taken over, but without anyone to move in, they’d just come right back, stubborn as a skeever.”

“That’s…strange to think about. An entire area so sparsely populated…”

“Well,” Lydia interjected, reaching for her pack as the carriage ground to a halt, “unless someone figures out a way to grow food on salt-water silt or strikes gold in the hills, Morthal is out of luck.”

Fjori unwrapped the blanket from around them, allowing Quintus to finally get up and stretch his cramping legs. “We have enough to get by, the people that live here. As long as you aren’t expecting luxury.” She paused, studying him as he stood in his nice linen clothes, embroidered and ironed. Looking at him, she was suddenly having second thoughts about bringing him here to this back-water hovel. Shor’s bones, he was the type of man who washed with lavender scented soap and added at least three different spices to a pot of stew! Maybe he wasn’t expecting luxury, but he certainly was used to it. How long would he last before begging her to leave?

“The good news is that they just converted one of the houses into an inn,” she continued, hoping to brush past that last point as she gathered her own possessions. “I saw it last time I traveled through here.”

“You didn’t even have an inn?”

“Why would we? Nobody comes to visit, this far off the main road! I’m honestly not sure how long the inn will stay in business, but consider yourself blessed you’ll have a place to stay that is not my mother’s shop.”

“Fair.” Quintus grabbed his satchel and hopped off the carriage first, then turned to offer her his hand. It was completely unnecessary, but the gesture was so sweet that she took him up on it anyway (never mind that if she lost her balance she’d simply crush him with her weight). He offered Lydia the same courtesy, causing the housecarl to smirk. She likewise couldn’t bear to refuse him though.

“That everything then?” The carriage driver swiveled in his seat to check on his passengers.

“That it is. So, you’ll be back in five days’ time?”

“Aye, that I will. Should be here around midday.”

“Good. I appreciate it.”

With a nod and the gentle flick of the reins, the driver guided his horses to turn, heading back to Whiterun the way he had come. That just left Fjori, Quintus, Lydia, and half the town of Morthal that was unapologetically observing them.

When Quintus noticed, he became a bit nervous. “They are all staring at us…”

“Of course they are. You know how rare it is to see a traveler, much less an entire carriage pulling up to the town. What excitement we make!” She nudged him gently. “Come on. I’ll show you around. Lydia’s already seen it, but she can certainly feel free to get the tour again…”

Lydia shook her head. “I’ll head over to the inn and rent out…two rooms?” She raised an eyebrow questioningly, unsure whether her thane intended to share a bed.

Fjori nodded. “That would be good, though I’m sure there’s no competition for those rooms. We’ll meet you at the inn later.” That established, the housecarl set off down the only road in town, brushing past the guardsmen who were now feigning disinterest in her presence. “Now then…”

“Fjori!”

Her head snapped to the side, recognizing the young girl’s voice instantly even after being gone for so long. Out of the entire shuffling crowd, only one person came running upon her arrival. “Agni! You’ve come to greet me?”

“Of course, Fjori! I never see you anymore now that you travel all the time, and I’ve got BIG news!”

“Do you now?” As Agni reached where she and Quintus stood, Fjori scooped her up and spun her around as if she weighed nothing. Part of it was due to Fjori’s strength, and part of it was because the girl in question couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. “What could possibly be new in Morthal, hmm?”

Agni opened her mouth to make her announcement, but just as quickly closed it as her eyes darted around nervously, taking in the onlookers. She opted instead to lean over and whisper in her ear. “You know that new wizard that moved here? Falion?”

“Yeah?” Fjori did her best not to make a sour reaction. His moving into Morthal along with his sister had caused quite the scandal the last time she had been passing through, complete with a rabble outside the Jarl’s dwelling. She herself was not thrilled with the idea of a wizard living among them. She wasn’t so delusional that she’d accuse him of eating hearts, as some of the other residents had done, but magic belonged at arms’ length. It was hard enough to welcome in normal outsiders. She could still remember as a child how much of a struggle it had been when Thonnir took to wife a Breton. She was already anticipating how hard it would be to introduce Quintus. Magic? An unnecessary complication.

Agni’s next words left her positively flabbergasted. “He’s taken me in, and he’s teaching me magic!”

All she could manage in hushed tones was “You? Magic? Really?” Her personal opinions be damned, she wasn’t about to crush the excitement of a happy little girl.

“Uh huh! He says I’ve got talent!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and Fjori couldn’t help the pang of guilt over her prejudices. Agni hadn’t been this animated in a long, long time. Probably not since her parents had both passed away.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that you are not living alone anymore. This is much better. And it seems you have a new hobby!” Fjori set the girl down, giving her an affectionate pat on the head. She clearly didn’t trust anyone else in town with this knowledge, given the furtive way she had passed it along. Being the one person she did trust was an honor.
The sentiment about her living situation had to be shared, but it did put a slight damper on Agni’s mood. “Jonna took over our old house to make it an inn, but that’s okay. That’s better than leaving it the way it was and always remembering. She and Falion are both so nice, I don’t mind at all.”

“As long as they are treating you well, they have my respect.”

Now, Agni was peering around Fjori at Quintus, unable to hide her curiosity. “Hey Fjori, who’s that?”

“Oh, him? That’s Quintus. He’s here to visit Morthal. I was just showing him around.” She looked over to him, noticing his shy wave. “Quintus, this is Agni. She was just a little girl when I left home, but in a small town like this, she was practically a younger sister to me.”

Before Quintus could make his formal introduction, Agni interrupted with a grin. “Is he MORE than a friend?”

The pair shared a knowing look. They’d discussed this in length after their initial misgivings, and reached the conclusion that hiding their relationship did more harm than good. If they wanted a relationship, they had to own it. They both nodded in agreement. “I am honored to meet someone so important to Fjori,” Quintus added, reaching out to shake the girl’s hand. She took it eagerly, shaking with vigor.

“Did she meet you on her travels? Where are you from? You don’t look like a Nord. What do you do for a living?” She stopped, gasping gleefully. “What made you fall in love with her?”

Quintus had done well controlling his blush before, but that was out the window as Agni fired off question after question, landing the killing blow with the last one. Thankfully, Fjori intervened. “So many questions! We’ll get to all that in time. Right now, why don’t you show us around the village? Give Quintus a tour?”

This was enough to distract Agni from her questioning. “Okay. This won’t take long at all. Follow me!” And she was off, leaving Fjori to reach out and squeeze Quintus’s hand. She was trying not to giggle as she led him along, which eased his tension considerably. He never knew she was so good with children!

“Over here is where Falion lives,” Agni stopped outside a long wooden structure. “Jonna visits sometimes, but usually stays at the inn.” Then, in a lower voice, she added “Falion sells items for magic if you need anything.” Quintus seemed confused by the way she kept lowering her voice whenever magic was brought up, but before he could ask, she was off, scurrying further down the boardwalk. “And here is Alva’s house. Except now Hrogar is staying here too now that his house burned down.”

“His house…what?” Fjori gaped. “That’s new!”

Agni looked visibly upset by the thought, as if she hadn’t considered it when beginning her introduction of the house. “It was so bad. We heard the screaming. Helgi and her ma died in the fire.”

“Oh… Oh, Agni, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Fjori unapologetically pulled the girl in for a hug. “I know you and Helgi played together often.”

“It’s…hard. But not as hard as losing Ma and Da,” Agni smiled bravely.

“I know, I know.” Fjori smoothed Agni’s hair affectionately. “So, what else is down here?”

“The jail. On the very end. Also, it’s where the guards stay. We don’t have to walk down there.” Agni was successfully redirected, much to Fjori’s relief. She instead backtracked, leading them to the main road once more. “The big building is where the Jarl lives. She’s a nice lady, and her husband’s nice too. So is her daughter. Joric is kind of weird, but I guess he’s also nice.” Agni looked directly at Quintus as she continued. “Across from the hall is where Fjori’s Ma works. I bet you haven’t met her yet, have you?”

“Can’t say I’ve gotten the chance, no. I imagine once you are done with the tour we will go get acquainted.”

“She’s fun. She likes mixing stuff together, and it blows up sometimes, but when you get hurt, she has the potions to make you feel better.”

Quintus recalled the day he’d first met Fjori, when she’d mentioned having an alchemist mother who was, to be polite, haphazard in her craft. That was going to be interesting. “Did you know I am an alchemist too?”

“Really? That’s cool! Do you know how to make more potions than Lami does?”

Obviously yes, but that would be rude. “I have no idea. I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yay! I hope you can make something to turn me invisible.” With that, she was off again, leading the pair along. “Right there is the inn where I used to live. There’s also the burnt down house. Nobody goes over there since it happened though, because it’s haunted or cursed or something. Falion says that’s nonsense, but…I don’t want to go anywhere near it anyway.” She shook her head emphatically, then quickly turned her attention to the other side. “And over here is where Thonnir and Virkmund live. Well, and Laelette, but we haven’t seen her in a while. I overheard some grownups talking about how she left to join the Stormcloaks, but Virkmund tells me she’ll be back soon.”

That was also news to Fjori. Come to think of it, for a town like Morthal, that was a lot of news. It seemed…suspicious in a way she couldn’t pinpoint. “How long has it been?”

“I dunno. Maybe a week? It was before Helgi’s house burnt down.” Agni paused at the bridge leading out of town. “Falion says I shouldn’t leave town on my own until I get better with spells, but you can see Fjori’s parents’ house over there. Her Da owns the mill right across from it, see?” It was still a far enough distance that Quintus couldn’t pick out any key features on the two men chopping wood at the mill. He wondered which one of the two was her father that he’d have to impress. “That’s it. That’s the town.”

It was, wasn’t it? Quintus blinked in surprise. “No general goods store? No blacksmith?”

“Nope. Nobody comes out here to trade. If we need things, we have to send somebody to Solitude. But we don’t need a lot, do we Fjori?”

His confusion caused a lump to form in her throat. “No, we don’t. We hunt and fish and gather, and what we can’t come up with on our own we trade our lumber for in Solitude. The men know enough about smithing to keep the blades sharp on the mill and the swords sharp for the guards. You’ve certainly got enough wood and stone to build your houses.” She laughed uneasily. “And when you get sick, my Ma makes you a potion.”

“Huh. I see where you get that spirit of self-reliance from.” Even at the risk of earning Agni’s glee, he reached for her hand again. He was too damn good at reading her emotions. “I’m glad you wanted to show me this.”

But would he still feel that way by the end? Did he even know what he was getting into?