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Breezehome was a humble little cottage. It was small–very small–but it had its charm, and the cozy atmosphere was exactly what Midri and Vilkas needed, as they both had grown a bit restless the past few days. And so Vilkas proposed the idea of staying there to Midri, his beloved dark elf wife, and she happily agreed; though at first she was a bit worried about using the space without his father, Unalla, who was absent from Whiterun, knowing.
Vilkas reassured her, as Unalla was gracious enough to allow him and Farkas to stay in his home if they ever needed time away from the almost suffocating close quarters of Jorrvaskr. It’s not that Vilkas disliked staying there, but sometimes, it was difficult to spend time alone with his beloved when anyone could walk in on them, or eavesdrop, any time. Besides, it was nice to get a little peace and quiet.
Midri sat on the floor next to the cooking fire, all bundled up in a furred blanket. She watched as Vilkas meticulously measured out ingredients for a classic Nord dinner: a simple yet delicious stew.
“You are spoiling me,” she teased. “I’ve never been so pampered.”
Vilkas shook his head, but he could not conceal his grin from his spouse. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Hmm… I think I will. You could become my househusband. I expect home cooked meals delivered to me directly in bed. Oh! And massages whenever I desire–” Vilkas playful threw a carrot slice at Midri, who was swift enough to dodge his calculated attack. “Hey!”
“Aye, what did I just say, miss?”
Midri giggled. “Fine. I’ll reconsider, but only because you were so polite about it.”
Vilkas returned to his cooking, and Midri simply sat and watched as a warm smile creeped up on her face. Years ago, she couldn’t even fathom that they would have a decent relationship, let alone married to each other. It once seemed like Vilkas felt a kind of bitterness towards Midri that would never yield, yet there they were, just the two of them, living in pure domestic bliss.
Funny how things turned out.
It was not long before all the ingredients were pushed into the pot: carrots, potatoes, celery, deer meat, and assorted herbs and spices. Vilkas washed his hands before sitting next to Midri, who promptly rested her head on his broad shoulder.
Vilkas planted a soft kiss on the top of his wife’s head. “I am lucky to have you, you know,” He said. “Even if you insist on tormenting me.”
Midri’s pointed elf ears perked up. “Sorry? Could you say that again? So I know that it wasn’t my imagination?”
“You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”