Tomorrow, Tomorrow

 

Previously: Friends in High Places

A/N ~ Look at me!!! Two in one night!

 

As Dawnstar was a harbor, the Jarl's kitchens served an array of fish for supper, some steamed, some roasted, some braised. The chef was an Imperial, so the food was heavily seasoned and flavored with the likes of butter, garlic, lemons, and tomatoes. 

 

The dining hall was on the lower floor, with a fire pit and ridiculously long tables. The servants poured cup after cup of spiced wine from Solitude while a young bard softly played the lute in the background. Bjorg finally joined them after seeing to the carriage and horses. Apparently, the Jarl remembered him as well.

 

"I respect Skald," Brina Merilis was saying, while Horik and Eyvindr cut into their salmon steaks. "I really did," she insisted, when Eyvindr flashed her a subtle look. "Even though he's a stubborn, short-tempered elitist who couldn't see Ulfric Stormcloak for exactly what he was, I respect him. He ruled the Pale for thirty-five years, the last of the great Felgeif family to do so."

 

"It's wise to respect our elders, even if we don't agree with them," Bjorg piped, reaching for a piece of freshly baked bread while a servant filled his up. "That war could have just as easily gone the other way."

 

"And then we would've been at the curmudgeon's mercy," Brina shuddered.

 

"Where is Skald now, Your Grace?" Zahra asked softly, not really interested in this conversation, but remembering her manners.

 

"At the Palace of Kings, in Windhelm," the Jarl replied gravely, her slender wrinkled finger lightly tapping her pewter goblet. Everything on the table was pewter: the cutlery, the candlesticks, and the goblets.

 

Apparently, not all Jarls are spending gold like drunken sailors, Zahra raised an eyebrow. Then again, this woman was not born to a life of wealth...hence her fashion taste.

 

"And just how is Skald enjoying life in Windhelm?" Eyvindr asked. Zahra wondered if he was genuinely curious or just making conversation.

 

"He has a new mistress," Brina shared, visibly amused.

 

Zahra choked on her wine while the rest of the table laughed.

 

"What does a man his age possibly do with a mistress?" Eyvindr asked, incredulous.

 

"She probably softens his food and rubs his feet," Horik chuckled.

 

"When you reach a certain age, that's a dream lover," Brina insisted as the men continued to laugh. "But in all seriousness, the new Jarl of Windhelm keeps the old man busy. He goes on hunts, even though he doesn't hunt, and Lord Brunwulf even lets him go to taverns and brothels."

"Do you have children, Your Grace?" Zahra suddenly asked. She found it odd that Skald, who came from such a supposedly great family, had no heirs. Now Dawnstar was in the hands of a woman not so old as Skald, but well past child-bearing age. Who would become Jarl after her?

 

"I have a daughter living in Cyrodiil with her father's side of the family," Brina nodded. "She has declined the honor of becoming Jarl after me. Instead, she's sending her son, Kjarik."

 

"How old is your grandson?" Eyvindr asked, and this time, Zahra could tell he genuinely wanted to know.

 

"Young," she nodded. "Sixteen. Apparently, he's a decent archer and fairly good with the flute as well. Never been to Skyrim though." Pause. "Suffice to say, he's in for quite a shock."

***

 

When the small talk finally became unbearable, and Zahra had eaten her fill, she excused herself and retired to their assigned chamber. But it didn't finally hit her that was it was their chamber until she saw the single large bed waiting for her.

 

She was tired, and didn't want to have to politely request a second room. Instead, she sat, smelling the history in the ancient walls, wondering who built this hall and how many people had slept in this room. Were they are all nobles? Warriors? Did servants sometimes slip in here to steal a kiss?

 

The pitcher on the table near the bed was empty and as much as she wanted a drink or a hot bath, Zahra was exhausted. She was far from home, and wanted nothing more than to return to the sunny shores of Ilinalta and claim her home.

 

She stiffened briefly, wondering how that conversation with Rayya would even go.

 

"Something wrong with our room?"

 

Zahra looked up and rose to her feet when she heard Eyvindr's voice.

 

"They gave us only one bed," she sighed. "Honestly, what part of 'recently betrothed' are people not getting?"

 

Eyvindr was amused, but mature. "Zahra, in their eyes, we're already married, so sharing a bed is not a big deal." He smiled benevolently. "I promise to be perfect gentleman."

 

Zahra was too tired to panic. "When do we go home?" she yawned, rising to remove her shoes. "We need to talk to Rayya about the manor."

 

"She's in Morthal, if I recall correctly," Eyvindr replied, taking off his furs. "Might be a while before she's back in Falkreath. I'll send a message to her with an opening offer."

 

"I take it this means we are not leaving for Falkreath in the morning," Zahra shot him a look, draping her furs over the back of a chair.

 

"Just one more stop," he assured her warmly, though there was a subtle sadness to his eyes. "Just one more."

 

***

 

It was strange and yet not strange sleeping next to Eyvindr. Initially, they feel asleep in their under clothes as soon as their heads hit the pillow. The bedding was clean, smelling of pine and poplar, but not as comfortable as the beds at Jarl' Balgruuf's River Estate. Zahra kept waking at random intervals, with random thoughts. Her betrothed's skin was smooth, with no tattoos, brands, nor serious scars of any kind.

 

He's no warrior, same as Roggvir, she sleepily mused.

 

When fear tried to grip her, she chased it away by reminding herself that Eyvindr had received weapons training his whole life, and never traveled alone. He could afford guards. He could take care of himself, and her, if need be.

 

It won't be like before. He won't die.

 

And if he does, Zahra suddenly swore, eyes wide open, I won't bring him back.

 

Next: What Should Have Been