i. such a waste

He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door, the pounding of rain so loud outside, but he does. Brandr doesn't often get visitors - never does, in fact, preferring to keep to himself aside from his weekly supply runs to Falkreath. Even if he did get visitors, they wouldn't come by this late, so it's with a deep frown that he opens his door.

"Let me in or I'm burning this place down."

Brandr blinks, staring down at the drowned rat of a kid standing on his doorstep. He's tiny, black robes stuck to him with the weight of the downpour, blonde hair dripping into his eyes and plastered to his jaw and neck. It takes a second for the shaky-voiced threat to process, but Brandr just... stares.

"Do I know you?" he asks, and the boy's glare only deepens.

"No," he says, glancing behind himself, back up the road. Brandr follows his eyes, but there's nothing there. "Just let me in. Please."

Brandr considers for a long moment, but between the kid's robes and magical threat, he decides not to risk pissing him off. He steps back, letting the boy track rain and mud onto his floorboards.

The boy notices the greatsword on the mantel immediately and tenses.

"You're a soldier?" he asks, shoulders about his ears.

"No," Brandr says honestly. "I'm just the idiot farmer who let you in. Who are you running from?"

Big green eyes blink up at him, caught off guard by the question. He can't be over twenty, more likely in his mid to late teens. "How do you-?"

"Answer me," Brandr says, brow furrowing. He steps between the boy and his sword, arms crossed. "Now, boy."

For a moment he seems to consider, eyes flitting around as if he'd find an escape. He's nervous, all the bravado from his threat already gone like he didn't expect to get this far. Brandr wouldn't keep him if he left, but thunder crashes loud outside and the boy steels, like he knows there's nowhere else he can go. He swallows.

"No one," he says at last. "I was- I was arrested. Imperials."

Brandr's chest pangs with sympathy, but his expression only darkens. "What did you do?"

"That's not-"

"Boy."

He flinches as if struck. "Necromancy. I got- I was expelled from Winterhold. I had nowhere else to go, so I found-"

"A coven?" Brandr finishes for him, and the boy nods. That explains his robes, at least. "So the Empire caught wind and cleared you out?"

"I escaped," the boy says. "At first. But then they found me." He averts his eyes. "They were taking me to Solitude, but I- I'm not going to prison. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Aye, I'm sure," Brandr says, rolling his eyes. "So what? They're right behind you? And you brought them right to my-"

"No!" the boy exclaims. "No, I- I... They're not following."

A beat. Brandr bursts out laughing and the boy winces, at first, at the sound. "You're insane. You killed- how many?"

The boy's cheeks go pink. "Four."

Brandr shakes his head, still laughing. "That's- well. Impressive." He glances to the door, runs a hand over his shaved head. "You running anywhere in particular?" The boy shakes his head. "You ever worked a farm?"

The boy blinks. Stares. "No. You- you're offering me a job?"

"You can't run forever," Brandr says, shrugging. He doesn't admit the boy reminds him of himself - except this kid was lucky enough to get caught early, before he'd set down roots, before 'losing everything' meant twenty years of banditry, now a pile of ash and bones. "You can keep a low profile? Won't get us caught by the Empire?" The boy nods, too-fast. Eager. "Then you can stay. We'll figure something out."

The boy just keeps staring, as if Brandr had two heads. He glances back to the sword. "You don't like the Empire," he says, low enough it may have been to himself. "But you're not a Stormcloak?"

"You and I have more in common than you think," Brandr says with a shrug. He extends a hand to the boy. "Brandr Steel-Blood."

The kid only hesitates a moment before taking the hand. "Édouart Langstone."

"Édouart?" Brandr says, making sure he's getting the pronunciation right. He's never met many Bretons.

The boy nods. "You can call me Ed."

"Aye, Ed. Let's get you out of those robes."

ii. save a wretch like me

Ed doesn't intend to stay long.

He's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, no, but it's so infrequent that he receives kindness that he can't help but distrust Brandr. One night turns into a week, into a couple weeks, into a month. Brandr is patient with him through it all, doesn't question his demand for privacy, provides a space in the basement for him to sleep, to change clothes, all away from prying eyes.

The shoe has to drop eventually, Ed knows. He has to get out of here, out of Skyrim entirely - he doesn't know where he'd go, but there had to be somewhere. Maybe he could gain entry to some other magical institution in Hammerfell or High Rock, both to the west. He'd exhausted the Arcane University and College of Winterhold both, and before even turning nineteen, but surely he might fare better elsewhere.

(Some nights he lays awake, dread settling in - he's still so young, but it's clear he's not welcome anywhere. Kicked out of his home, expelled from two of the most prestigious magical institutions in Tamriel, on the run from the law. No one wants me, he knows, and nearly chokes on it.)

His future uncertain, he throws himself into the work on the farm. He may be here only temporarily, but he can't help but feel that he has something to prove. He can be useful, damn it. He learns to clean the chicken coop, to work the garden, pulling his weight and earning his keep. The second Brandr doesn't want him around anymore (any day now, he guesses), he'll disappear. Keep moving west and cross through to High Rock from Markarth, finally see his parents' homeland with his own eyes. He convinces himself he's looking forward to it and ignores the pit in his stomach at the thought of moving again.

"Inside, boy!"

Ed startles, whips around from his work and startles the chickens, milling about around him. Brandr is stomping around the side of the cottage toward him, his perpetual frown particularly sour. He points at the trapdoor down to the basement, half-buried in dirt and unused.

"What?" Ed asks, standing with dirt on his hands, on his knees.

Brandr shakes his head. "Get down there and don't come up 'til I say," he demands, crouching to wrench the door open. It creaks, hinges loud and rusted, and Ed obediently climbs down into the dark.

"What's going on?" Ed asks as he takes the ladder.

"Imperials, heading south," Brandr says, and Ed's blood runs cold. "Just stay down and stay quiet. Understood?"

"I- Yes," Ed says, and the trapdoor closes above him.

His eyes slowly adjust to the dark, light coming down faint from where the stairs are open to the upper floor. He considers casting a magelight but decides against it, navigating in the dark past the haphazardly-stacked boxes to sit under the stairs. Upstairs he hears Brandr enter the cottage and start pacing the floor, footfalls heavy and agitated.

After a few minutes of tense silence, there's a knock on the door. He waits a moment before opening it, and Ed holds his breath to eavesdrop.

"Master Steel-Blood?" comes a man's voice, a stranger with an even-toned Cyrodiilic accent.

"Aye."

"I'm Praefect Sarrius, with the Imperial Legion." There's a pause, and Ed imagines a shaking of hands. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but we've had an incident nearby and are looking for anyone nearby with any information."

"What happened?" Brandr's voice is similarly even, betraying nothing.

Ed is tense, staying crouched rather than settled in place - prepared to fight or flight, to bolt for the trapdoor at any moment. Already he prepares spells in hand, his favorite skeleton conjuration and frostbite, ready to make his escape. He'd let Brandr live, he decides - even if he was betrayed now, he saved him before, and Ed would grant him this one mercy. An even trade, a life for a life.

"A small cohort escorting a dangerous prisoner was killed just up the road from here," the Imperial continued. "Have you seen a mage recently?"

"I don't see much of anyone," Brandr says. "Do you know what this mage looked like?"

"He's a young Breton," the Imperial continues. "Last seen with long, light hair and dark robes. He's a dangerous necromancer and very antisocial - he was recently expelled from Winterhold and we found him in a coven of his kind."

Ed braces himself, already inching out from under the stairs.

"Never seen him," Brandr says, and Ed pauses. He's genuinely surprised, but somehow being protected makes him more anxious. What has Brandr to gain by hiding him?

There's a moment of silence. "Are you sure, Master Steel-Blood?" There's a rustling of papers. "I'm surprised you haven't changed your name. Unless it's a coincidence that you share a name with the-"

"It's not," Brandr cut him off. "I've been living here without incident for four years. I don't suppose you intend to threaten-"

"No, no, of course not," the Praefect says, amiable in the way that betrays his belief that he holds the upper hand. "It would just be rather suspicious if you were found to be harboring a criminal, and with your history, I doubt you'd be a free man much longer."

"Good thing I'm not harboring a criminal, then," Brandr says, voice so low Ed has to strain to hear him. "I don't take kindly to being threatened in my home, Praefect. I'm sure you understand."

"I'm not threatening anyone," the Praefect says. "I'm just making sure you understand the consequences."

"I understand you perfectly." A pause. "If that's all, I have to get back to work."

Another pause - a standoff. The Praefect hums. "Of course, Master Steel-Blood. Have a fine day."

"Aye."

And the door closes. Ed realizes he's shaking - hands trembling, and he dismisses the spells in his hands. Brandr continues to walk around the upper floor for a handful of tense minutes, and Ed wonders if he's changed his mind - if he'll run out after the legionnaire and tell him about the Breton mage in his basement, but it doesn't happen. Eventually, Brandr steps down onto the stairs, the old wood creaking under his weight.

"Ed?"

Ed steps out, casting a magelight to stick to the ceiling. "He's gone?" he asks, still so tense his shoulders hurt.

"Aye," Brandr says, nodding. "You're staying inside 'til I know they're not in town."

Ed glances to the trapdoor. "You're sure? I could- If it's too much trouble-"

"No, you're safe here," Brandr says. "It should only be a couple days. I'll keep an eye on the road-"

"Why?" Ed says, fists clenched at his sides. "Why are you helping me? What do you want?"

Brandr frowns. "Nothing," he says. "If you want to go get yourself arrested or killed, be my guest. But I won't have it on my conscience if I can help it." He pauses. "You heard all that?" Ed nods.

Brandr sits on the stair, settling in. "So you heard what he was saying. I'm not... I haven't always been a farmer, boy. I used to run a band of highwaymen near the Morrowind border. South of Riften."

Ed's interest peaked, he glances up as if he'd see the greatsword upstairs. He nods for Brandr to continue.

"My second in command betrayed us during the war," he says. "The Stormcloaks pretended we didn't exist as long as we kept from attacking their carts, so when the Imperials moved into Riften, we thought they'd keep the arrangement, just switched around. A win-win for them." He pauses. "One night, though, Imperials attacked our fort in the night. Burned it down. Everyone was asleep. I only survived because I was at the highest point of the tower, and was able to jump off and escape."

Ed swallows, feels sick. "I'm sorry," he says, though it feels odd - to mourn the loss of a bunch of bandits seems wrong, but Brandr is right there. A man, regardless of his past, and one who has been so kind to Ed.

Brandr waves him off. "Aye, boy, it's fine. It's been a long time."

"And your second?"

"Gone. Haven't seen him since." He shrugs. "Maybe he died, but more likely he started the blaze himself. Don't know, don't care." Brandr clears his throat. "So I know what it's like to have nowhere to go. I know that I would have killed to have someone take me in when I was your age, and keep me from turning to banditry to survive. So I'm helping you now."

His candor surprises Ed, and the sick in his stomach turns mild. He nods, a little jerky, averts his eyes.

"Thank you," he says at length. "I- I'll stay. For now."

Brandr snorts. "Whatever you say, boy."

iii. in time we'll be fine

And one month turns to two, to three. Over time, Ed gets more comfortable, slowly coming out of his standoffish shell without any coaxing from Brandr.

Brandr isn't one to talk about how he feels - he understands better than most the comfort in silence, in presence, and knows that if Ed wants to share more about his past, it'll only be when he's ready. In the meantime, the legion gives up its search and Ed stops hiding, getting more and more comfortable on the farm. Things are quiet, both generally and between them, but it's not a problem. These things take time.

Sun's Height lives up to its name, and today is particularly hot - Brandr rolls up his sleeves as he steps out of the cottage, having gotten what must be his fifth glass of water since they started working. Ed hadn't taken his offer to take a break - the boy indeed didn't even seem phased by the heat, toiling on his knees in silence, single-minded in his focus. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, but he didn't complain even once. Brandr wonders just how hot it must be, wherever the boy hails from, that this doesn't bother him.

When he steps around the corner back to the garden, though, Brandr realizes he misjudged the situation.

He finds Ed immobile, passed out in the garden, and before he even realizes what he's looking at he's moving - he's picking Ed up, carrying him bridal style back inside, setting the boy on his bed. For a moment he just stares at his charge, Ed's face red and breathing a little shallow, before he gets to work - he prepares a glass of water on the bedside for Ed to drink when he wakes, soaks a rag in water to lay over his forehead, cool him down. After a short internal debate, he reaches for the boy's waistband, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head.

He pauses, setting the shirt aside. Ed is wearing - it looks like bandages, a thin strip of cloth wrapped tightly around his ribcage several times over, obscuring his chest and entirely soaked in sweat. Brandr reaches for the end, tucked up under the boy's armpit, but Ed shifts, whimpering. His eyes flutter open, brow furrowing in pain, and Brandr pulls his hand back.

"Wh-" Ed croaks, and Brandr pushes him back by the shoulders when he tries to sit up. "What happened?"

"Wait a moment, there," Brandr says. "On your side, drink some water." He holds out the glass and Ed is obedient, turning onto his side (the makeshift cold-compress falls to the bed and Ed hardly seems to notice it) and taking a couple of sips before Brandr takes it away, worried he'll make himself sick. "The heat got to you."

Ed hums, distant, and lays back. He grimaced in pain, one hand coming up to touch his damp forehead.

"Do you always wear that under your clothes?" Brandr asks. "It's no wonder you overheated."

Ed frowns, blinks. Then he looks down at himself and realizes with a jolt that his shirt is gone. He sobers, panics, tries to sit up again. His lungs ache, his binding too tight and smarting his ribs with every too-fast breath.

"I- I can explain," he says, already feeling tears in his eyes. He tries to stand, even, but his head swims and Brandr pushes him back down.

Ed flinches at the feeling of hands on his skin and scrambles back to press his back to the wall. Stars dance in his vision and he still feels so hot, brain muddled and sick.

"Don't touch me!" he hisses, pressing his knees to his aching chest and wrapping his arms around them.

He can't escape, he's well enough to know that - he can't stand on his own without collapsing, too hot, too sick, heart in his throat. Oh no, oh no. He took such care to keep this secret, to protect himself from- from people like Brandr, who could never understand, who'd never show him any-

"Boy, relax," Brandr says, rolling his eyes.

Ed blinks. Boy.

Sick curiosity gets the better of him and he... wonders. Does Brandr not realize...?

"Brandr, you don't know what these are?"

Brandr quirks a brow. "Bandages?"

Okay. Fair. "I... yes, but-"

"They're filthy. Do you ever take them off?"

"To sleep."

Brandr shakes his head. "That's dangerous, 'specially with how tight you have 'em. A wrapping like that tightens over time - you'll crack a rib."

Ed just stares.

"When were you hurt?" Brandr says, frowning. "Why didn't you tell me? How long have you been-"

"I'm not hurt," Ed says. He glances at the door, restless. "I... I can tell you what... happened. But you have to promise that this never leaves us."

"Aye, of course," Brandr says, and Ed wants to believe him. He's never felt as safe in his life as he does with Brandr - it makes him sick, to be so vulnerable, but gods he's so tired of running.

If he can tell Brandr... this... and it goes well? He'd never have to run again.

There's a first time for everything.

Ed takes a deep breath and lets his legs fall away from his chest to sit criss-cross on Brandr's bed. He doesn't look the Nord in the eyes, instead reaching for the glass of water and taking another couple of sips, then holds it in his lap.

"I, ah... I wear the bandages to keep my chest... flat," he says, slowly, clearly - he'd hate to repeat himself. He takes a long time to speak again, trying to find the best way of telling the truth while remaining crystal clear in his meaning. There aren't words for this - not in Tamrielic, Bretic, Nordic. He's careful when he speaks. "My parents believed me to be... their daughter."

He pauses, glances up at Brandr, but the Nord doesn't say a word. His face is passive, frowning just slightly as he listens. Ed looks away again. "And when I, ah, corrected them, they didn't... they didn't take it well. I was kicked out.

"I went to the Arcane University, then - I was nearly of age. But when I- I began to change my voice, and my name, the other students- well. They didn't care for it any more than my parents did. And I had to leave again."

"Ed..." Brandr begins, but Ed soldiers on.

"Then I went to Winterhold, and no one knew me there - I was just- I'm just Ed. That's all I want." He picks at his fingernails idly, hardly noticing when Brandr moves to sit beside him on the bed. Ed doesn't move away. "I got in a fight with another student and I- I really hurt him. I didn't mean to, but he- he was going to-" He chokes off and realizes, distantly, that he's crying. His ribs hurt. "So I was expelled. And you know the rest."

The silence is heavy on his shoulders as he regulates his breathing, keeps himself from breaking down. He's going to kick me out, he thinks. He'll demand to know my- my old name and he'll-

Ed nearly jumps out of his skin as Brandr reaches to put an arm around him. He doesn't pull away, though - just looks up at Brandr and, for once, his frown seems sad instead of angry. For a long time they just... sit together in silence, Ed letting Brandr think over what he said.

But Brandr doesn't say anything, and Ed grows restless again. He clears his throat. "Do you... should I leave?"

Brandr's grip on his arm tightens and his frown returns to normal - a little angry, a little confused. "What?"

"I, ah, I just-"

"You're not going anywhere," Brandr says, resolute. "I told you before. You're safe here, Ed."

Ed doesn't say anything, and Brandr wonders if that was the wrong thing to say. He's not good at comfort - doesn't know what to say when the boy starts to cry again, shoulders trembling with the effort to stay quiet. Rather than say anything more he just... lets Ed cry, holds him through it. Ed eventually presses the side of his face into Brandr's chest and, on instinct, Brandr rests his chin on his head.

It's maybe another minute or so before Ed calms, withdrawing to swipe the backs of his hands over his eyes. He finishes the last of the water and hands Brandr the glass, and Brandr lets him go to stand, to fill it back up.

"Thank you," Ed says, so quiet Brandr nearly doesn't hear him.

Brandr hands him the glass again. "For now, go put your shirt back on and take those off," he says, gesturing at the bandages. "You need to breathe fully. We'll figure something safer out." Ed hesitates, nods. "I'll finish up outside. You decide what you want for dinner, and I'll head into town. Whatever you want. Okay?"

Ed blinks up at him and, after a moment, smiles. "Really? Anything?"

"Within reason, boy."

Excited, Ed nods again. "Of course, Brandr, I- Thank you."

"Stop thanking me and go change. I'll see you soon."