Legend Yet Grown: Chapter 4

This chapter was edited by EVASayajin and commissioned by Georgio

Chapter 4: As Way Leads to Way

I woke feeling well rested.

My feet still ached, and my mouth tasted like dead and dying things, but for the first time since waking up bound in the back of a cart, I felt ready to face the challenges that stretched out in front of me. The first, being a bath.

“There’s the creek,” Valga told me. I looked at her with dismay. “Best go early, to avoid anyone else.”

“Isn’t there…a bath house?” I asked.

She laughed, tinged with her own longing. “Not between Bruma and Solitude.”

I sighed. “Tell me at least I can buy some soap from someone.”

“Look for the Grey Pine plaque, just down the way.” She waved and hand. “Tell Solaf I sent you over, and he won’t try to skin you.”

“Merchants are the same the world over,” I said.

She laughed again, before turning to assist another early riser. I stared at the woodgrain for a few moments more, tracing the way the lines wove back and forth, but never touched. Then I pushed myself to my feet. “Brutus.” I stuck my head back past the thin door to my room. “Time to go.”

He worf’d once as he scrambled off the bed. I’d never been the type of person to sleep next to my pets—spiders were decidedly less cuddly—but even inside it had been frigid last night. If I’d spent another night outside when the cold came in, I might have lost my toes.

Outside, the sun had just crested the eastern wall. In the morning light, I could make out more thatched houses, stretching between a hill and the northern wall. The town of Falkreath sat in a pleasant dell, winding along and up the sides of several hills. Atop one of those hills, I saw another larger building, with banners fluttering from thick pillars.

I doubted the people there would believe me any more than the guards did.

I clicked my tongue twice, before heading down the street. Just across rutted dirt road sat a simple two-story building with a wooden sign declaring ‘Grey Pine Goods.’

Inside was a cluttered room, with all manner of weapons and armor, pots and pans, even a large ape skull, or something like that. Behind a small counter, a man looked up. “Welcome. Let me know if anything catches your eye.”

“Solaf?” I asked.

“Aye, that’s me.”

I nodded. “Valga sent me over. I need soap, camping supplies.” I paused, looking down at myself. “Preferably some clothes, if you have anything I can afford.”

Solaf grinned. “Well, why don’t you start by telling me how much you have, and we can work from there?”

I held back a sigh. In lieu of answer, I set my sack down on the floor, and began pulling out the few odds and ends I’d grabbed from the bandit hideout. A spare dagger, the other bottle of wine, somehow still in one piece, and so on. “How much will this get me?”

“It’s definitely worth a bar of soap,” Solaf replied.

I looked back at him. The man had a broad face, perfect to show off his unrepentant grin. Going by the furrows on his brow, I gathered he made that expression a lot while ripping off people like me. With a sigh, I began shoveling everything back into my bag. “I can wash with water.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” He held up his hands. “My apologies. Can’t blame a man for trying his best, can you? Here.” I paused, watching as he pulled two bars of soap, speckled grey bricks about the size and shape of my fist. He slipped out from behind the counter, pulling a thick roll of fabric tied with leather straps. He sat it next to the soap. “These two and a bedroll. Won’t get a better deal from anyone in town unless you brought in fresh leather yourself.”

I kept my face passive, running a hand over the fabric: thick, warm, and still furred.

“Throw in a toothbrush and you have yourself a deal,” I said.

“A tooth brush?” Solaf tilted his head.

I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. “Something to scrub the plaque from your teeth with?” I tried.

“Ah! You really are from Cyrodil.” He chuckled. “No wonder Valga’s looking out for you.”

“How do you figure?” I asked. “I wasn’t expecting people to just pick that out.”

“Well, you talk funny, even for a southron girl.” Solaf popped open a small chest behind the counter and started rummaging through it. “But it’s not hard to tell, with the coloring. Hair that dark, with skin like yours? Either an Imperial or a Breton. And Bretons wouldn’t be asking for a toothbrush. Half of them just magic themselves clean every morning, or so I’ve heard said.”

I nodded, filing all of that away, including the existence of magic. “The folk up here seem pale as well,” I said.

“Oh, you’re no Nord, lass. Plain as the mountains are—Ah! There it is, you beauty.” Solaf pulled out a small basic looking toothbrush, hand carved wood, with bristles that looked like they’d scrub my gums raw. “Bought this mouth scrubber off a caravan oh, a few years ago. Damn cats convinced me it was worth a fortune. Be glad enough to get rid of it, honestly.”

A used toothbrush. Given his words, I felt like I was still getting the worse end of this deal. But I needed everything he’d put on the counter, I was I desperate enough for a used tooth brush.

“I’ll take it.” I held out my hand. “Then we can talk clothes.”

“Excellent!” Solaf grasped my forearm, squeezing. I managed to do the same with only a half second’s pause, but he didn’t say anything. Just another sign that was a strange ‘southron’ girl.

I packed up my supplies, taking note of how little food I had left. Solaf pulled out a few sets of used clothes, most of them didn’t look like they’d fit me, either too short or too billowy.

“Nord women tend to be thicker built.” Solaf gave me a knowing smile. “Like tree stumps. I prefer a bit of lithe flexibility, myself.”

I put on my flattest smile. “That’s funny.”

My little bit of openness managed to save me a handful of septims on a pair of breeches made from thick wool to go along with a dyed cloak, a used wineskin, and a bone for Brutus to chew on.

“The dog’s name would have been enough.” Solaf said at the end. “Brutus, now what kind of name is that?”

“A Cyrodili one.”

“And what’s your name?” He leaned onto the counter. “Before the wind blows you back out of my shop.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you,” I replied. “When I come back next.” That was enough to extract me from that encounter. Poorer in gold, but at least now I wouldn’t freeze to death.

Starving still remained an ever-present option.

Brutus sniffed at my bag, practically drooling over the bone I’d bought him on the way to the creek.

“After we get that dirt off of you,” I said.

The water was brutally cold. I managed to coax Brutus into it with the bone, soaping him and scrubbing until my toes went numb. Then back out. With a bit of work I got the worst of the mud out of his coat. The matting I’d need a sword to fix.

Then I stripped the rest of my clothes and jumped in. “Fuck!” I swore through chattering teeth and I hauled myself up onto the bank and soaped up. Even with the thick trees, I felt horrifically exposed. Another rinse off, and I let myself dry in the sunlight, shivering. When my shoulders started to spasm, I slipped into my tunic and breeches.

My old clothes, I dunked into the water and scrubbed with soap until I gave up. I wasn’t so rich I could afford to throw them away.

The less said of my experience brushing with soap the better.

With sackcloth hung over a tree branch to dry and Brutus gnawing happily at his bone, I sat down and thought about my next move.

First, there was the dragon. I’d warned the guards and been completely ignored. I could go around and look for evidence, but even then, if dragons weren’t real, who’d believe me? It was a giant flying lizard that breathed fire, eventually enough people would see the damn thing. Or maybe it just hid in the woods right there, and that’s why nobody’d believed it existed.

“Right.” I snorted. “With my luck it’s like Scion, here to destroy the world.”

I needed something I could act on, and the dragon wasn’t it. Neither was somehow going home. I’d held onto some hope that I could find another parahuman, or other refugees from Earth Bet. It’d been a small hope, even at the start, so small I didn’t even want to think it, but this wasn’t just some other Earth. There were dragons, there were two moons. And while I could maybe delude myself that some change in the distant past could cause all of that and still result in humans that spoke English, there were too many stars in the sky for this to be Earth.

However Contessa had sent me here, she clearly didn’t want me to return.

I could accept that, or I could just…pick up some rocks and wade out to the deepest section of the river. I’d done my fight, I’d finished it. I didn’t want to live in some medieval fantasy setting brushing my teeth with tallow soap. I could end it, I knew I was strong enough for that.

Then Brutus dropped his head on my lap. “Woof.”

I looked down at him. He shoved his face into my stomach, wiggling against the ground so he could all but sit on me. I reached out, and placed a hand on his scruff, running fingers through freshly cleaned and no less smelly fur.

Then I cried.

I buried my face in his neck and I cried.

I’d saved the world. I’d saved my friends. I’d saved my father.

Was it too much to ask for someone to save me?

Brutus whined, pawing at my knee.

“You’re a good boy.” I gasped between each sob. “You’re a good boy, Brutus.”

At the end, I didn’t feel better, I just felt less bad.

Brutus stared up at me through the thick brown fur around his eyes. “Thanks, boy.” I rubbed him again.

Slowly, ponderously, I pulled myself back to my feet. My clothes were dry. I had about a day’s worth of food left, and nothing for my already too thin dog. Fortunately, he’d caught himself a fish earlier while I was bathing and swallowed it in one meaty chomp. I filled the wineskin with water, and I filled my skin with what resolve I could gather.

If I wanted to find a reason to keep living, first I had to find a way to stay alive.

Feet carried me back to the Dead Man’s drink while it was still morning. The common room was mostly empty, just Valga and a man I didn’t know sweeping out old straw and dirt. A bucket of water that smelled of something harsh sat on the bar.

“Well, don’t you look like the White Gold Tower after you’ve cleaned up,” Valga said. “Back for some food?”

My stomach rumbled. “… I could use some.”

Another two septims got me leftover stew and a heel of bread from yesterday. I was down to less than a handful. If I spent another night here, I’d be broke.

“Was also wondering if you had a lead on work?” I asked. “I need to get my feet back under me.”

Valga hummed. “What part of Cyrodil were you from again?”

I looked towards the wall. “I didn’t, if it’s all the same…”

Her face softened, she pushed the man over towards the bucket with a quiet word. He started to scrub the tables while Valga led me over to a small table in the corner. “It’s like that then?”

I huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, of course.” She patted my shoulder. “I’d say you could serve ale, but with the war foot traffic’s all but dried up. Not that many came through Falkreath in the first place.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” I replied. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Well, I hope I have more than just sentiment.” She crossed her arms archly. I schooled my features into something playfully contrite. I must have pulled it off, because Valga smiled. “As for work, there are a few things that might suit.”

“Please,” I said.

“Lod, the smith, he’s been talking about a dog for months now.” Valga nodded at Brutus. “He’d probably offer a good bit of coin for a hound as well behaved as yours.”

“I…” I shook my head. “Brutus has saved my life twice. I couldn’t just sell him.”

“Aye, well said.” Valga leaned against the table. “Aside from that, Jarl Siddgeir is always looking for spare hands, though it takes a more…flexible person for some of those jobs.”

I laughed. “Solaf called me lithe and flexible just this morning.”

“Ugh, that man.”

“I’m no stranger to things like that, or to getting into a scrap. Though…things are different here than what I’m used to.”

“They usually are,” Valga replied. “Oh, just the other day, Lod also mentioned a delivery he was going to make. Might be willing to hire you for that, if you can brave the road.” I nodded. “Finally, there’s a jobs board up near the stables, and the Imperial Mail. It’s catch as catch can, but if you see something that catches your eye…”

“Thanks.” I let out a breath. “That’s more than enough.”

“Best of luck, girl. And come back when you’re done!”

“Need that foot traffic?” I asked.

“Didn’t I say as much.” She smiled. “I’ll put a room under your name, or under your dog’s if you prefer.”

I paused at that. Once again, my eyes turned back to the wood grain, tracing the myriad of different paths. No one here would be named Taylor. Valga might become immediately suspicious, given how Roman the names of Cyrodili seemed. Of course, she might also assume it was an awful fake.

On the other hand, if I wanted people to assume I was from Cyrodil, wherever that was…But I didn’t know any Latin either.

Except.

I huffed. Back when I was a child, Emma and I had gone through our history phase. Well, I said we, but really she’d been humoring me, which had been obvious from the name she picked. I’d forgotten everything else, swept away the moment I’d discovered the Lord of the Rings, except the name of Empress Aemilia. I had no allies from home; why not bring along an old enemy?

It would remind me that I couldn’t die before Emma. That was reason enough for now.

“You can call me Aemila. Or Aemma.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Aemma,” Valga replied. “Just Aemilia?”

An urge came to me, and I took it. “Aracne,” I said. “Aemilia Arachne.”

Valga raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be a fan of spiders.”

“I love them,” I said.

She gave a wry laugh. “Stay away from the frostbite spiders up here. They love you too. Or what’s inside of you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I pushed myself to my feet. “Now let’s see if Lod has a job for me.”

“Good luck, Aemma.”

“Thank you, Valga.” I whistled once, and Brutus bounded over to me, drool covered bone and all. “I’ll make sure to s—come here, when I return.”

“I look forward to it.” She raised a hand. “Vale, friend.”

I blinked twice at the strange pronunciation. “Vah-lay,” I replied.

That got a quirked eyebrow, but apparently it was enough to pass muster. The village blacksmith was easier to find than Solaf. Now mid-morning, the sound of a hammer striking steel rang through the air. People walked through the streets, a mix of humans and those with more fantastical features. On the way to the smithy, I saw those with pointed ears and features sharp enough to cut glass. I saw a woman with tusks protruding from her bottom lip, and skin a deep, forest green.

Lod was human, a broad-shouldered man with thinning blonde hair. He had an apprentice, a woman maybe a few years younger than me dressed in a soot-stained leather jerkin. Lod had two rods of metal set in the forge, watching their color with sharp eyed intensity.

He did have a job, not the deliver though. His apprentice had run a pair of boots up to the Half-Moon Mill just the day before yesterday.

“But about that hound of yours…” Lod started.

“Sorry, friend. Not for sale.” I put on another smile. My cheeks ached.

“Ah, well.” Lod shrugged. “I suppose I’d not trust a woman so quick to abandon a bosom companion. Well enough that Brynja spotted another hound on the road north. Would that she’d brought it back.”

The young woman, Brynja, huffed. “I’m here to learn, Master Lod. Not track dogs for you.”

“No.” I rolled my shoulders. “Apparently that’s my job?”

“If you’re amenable.” Lod set down the damp rag he was using to clean his hands. “I’ve some meat I was planning to lay as bait. Best used before it goes bad. I’ll pay you fifty septims if you get me a dog.”

Fifty septims was five nights in the relative comfort of an inn, or maybe enough for me to purchase more supplies. I hummed, making a show of thinking it over. “Do you happen to have a spare belt lying around?” I asked. “I ran into some wolves last time, and I’m tired of holding my mace with some old rope.”

Lod hummed. “I think I have a tool belt I haven’t taken apart yet. Bryn outgrew it last winter.”

Brynja looked away, crossing her arms as Lod meandered back into the house. “Don’t have to make a production of it,” she muttered.

“…I envy you,” I said after a moment.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I never could put on muscle like you.” I massaged my arm. “Could have used a bit more strength for those wolves.”

In my last life, I’d had a knife that could cut through anything. Here, I had to make do with simpler tools.

“Easy enough for you to say. I nearly mistook you for an elf, if you don’t mind me saying,” Brynja replied.

“The grass always looks green on the other side of the river,” I replied. That got me another queer look, but before she could ask me a question, Lod came back with a worn but sturdy looking belt, there was even a loose strap attached to the side for a hammer, or in my case a mace.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” I took the belt. “I’ll see about getting that dog.” It took only a few moments to set my new belt and take a few old steaks from Lod, and then I was on the road north out of Falkreath, looking for a second wild dog in as many days.

Naturally, the dog found me.

Shaggy as Brutus, but whitish grey, it walked out of the trees and onto the road as if it was prancing onto a stage. In the middle of the road, the dog paused, and turned to look at the two of us.

Brutus barked, he backed up, hackles raised, baying loud enough it echoed off the trees.

I held up a hunk of meat. “Hey there—”

The dog opened his mouth. “Ah perfect,” he said. “You’re exactly the kinda gal I was looking for!”