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Eorlund rarely bothered to think of her, and when he did it was never by name. She was “Avenicci’s girl”, or “Ulfberth’s wife”. She meant no more to him than gnats in the summertime – a vague annoyance, that was all.Until she was gone.He heard Ulfberth outside Jorrvaskr the morning after it happened, pleading with the Companions for help. His normally gruff voice was hoarse from a sleepless night. Eorlund came slowly down the stairs from his forge to listen.“—got her as she was walking home,” Ulfberth was saying. “It had to have been bandits. There’s no sign of, of...” He shook his head as though willing away unpleasant thoughts. “I mean, if it had been animals, there would have been traces...”“That there would have been,” Vilkas agreed.Beside him, Farkas nodded. “The bandit presence in the hold is getting worse each year.”“But that’s the hold guards' problem, not ours,” Aela reminded him. “We’re not common swords-for-hire, nor do we meddle in the hold’s business.”“Please,” Ulfberth begged, with no attempt at dignity. “The guards, they won’t do anything. They’re spread thin as it is. And they wouldn’t know where to start. You could track the bandits, find their lair. Adrianne might still be alive... “Ulfberth’s voice broke, and Eorlund felt his own throat go tight. His hand went to the sword he carried strapped to his waist, and he drew the blade in one clean sweep. The sound made the Companions look up in surprise. Eorlund took advantage of their silence to march down the remaining stairs and stand beside Ulfberth. “I will go.”“What?” Farkas asked blankly, but Eorlund shook his head.“I’ll hear no arguments. Just say if you’re with me or not.”“But—the forge,” Vilkas protested.“The forge has existed since time immemorial,” Eorlund informed him. “It will last a day without constant tending.” He turned to Aela. “What say you? Will you hunt with me, an old man?”“It would be an honor,” the warrior woman replied without hesitation. “Vilkas? Farkas?”Both brothers nodded. “The honor is ours, Gray-Mane,” Vilkas added respectfully.Eorlund turned to Ulfberth, who was looking dubious. “Are you sure about this?” the younger man asked awkwardly.Eorlund scowled at him. “I may be as gray-maned as my name suggests, but I still have fights left in me. Those bastards took a smith from this city, and by Talos, I’m going to get her back.”“It may be an impossible task,” Aela pointed out. “Bandits aren’t known for keeping captives alive.”“If they wanted her dead, they’d have killed her right there,” Vilkas countered. “I say we track them, find out where they’re hiding, and turn the place inside out.”“Prepare for bad news,” Aela warned Ulfberth. “But be assured, the thr—the four of us will do our best to bring her home.”“That’s all I could ask,” Ulfberth replied weakly. “Thank you.”Aela turned to Eorlund, one brow arched. “Are you ready now, old man, or do you require time to prepare?”“Don’t patronize me, whelp,” Eorlund answered tartly. “I’ve been serving the Companions for longer than you’ve been alive. I know how hunting works.”“Good,” Aela retorted, seemingly impervious to the insult. “Then let’s get on with it. I’ll lead, since I’m the best at tracking. You and Vilkas can follow. Farkas will bring up the rear.”Eorlund expected one of the two young men to argue, but to his surprise they took Aela’s orders without question. Eorlund’s estimation of the huntress rose a notch. She must be quite the natural leader, to keep two young bucks under her control. The group of them slipped silently through the plains district and out of the city gates.
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“Poachers.”Aela’s nose wrinkled in disgust. The four of them were crouched behind a massive slab of boulder, behind which there lay a palisade wall of sharpened logs that hid a bandit enclave. “I can smell them from here,” she continued. “Mammoth poachers, is my bet.”Vilkas whistled under his breath. “Wouldn’t want to be the one to get between a giant and his mammoths. Either these bandits are incredibly lucky, or there are more of them than we’ve managed to spot from here.”So far they’d seen four sentries patrolling the gate, but no one else. “There used to be a mine here, long ago,” Eorlund grunted. His back ached from keeping up with the young Companions, but he wasn’t about to complain. “What I can’t see is what a group of poachers would want with a smith.”The others said nothing, only exchanged looks. Eorlund ignored them, forcing his mind away from the dark, swirling thoughts that threatened to overwhelm it. He knew full well what a group of lawless men would want from an unarmed young woman. But he refused to connect that knowledge with his memories of Adrianne Avenicci. He was certain the brigands were after their prey for a reason other than animal lust.Aela gave the signal to the others, then stood and fired a shot that buried itself deep in the nearest sentry’s neck. Vilkas and Farkas moved swifter than Eorlund would have believed possible, beheading two more sentries as Aela took out the final man with her bow. It was over before it began.Eorlund hung back as the group headed into the abandoned mine, impressed in spite of himself at the speed and professionalism with which the Companions had dispatched their foes. They didn’t require his assistance, that much was certain. Nonetheless, he was glad he’d come.They reached an overlook. Below them lay the gutted carcass of a mammoth and a forge that glowed with heat. Four more bandits were spaced throughout the cavern, and a fifth stood on a platform with his back to the scene. He was an imposing orc wearing more elaborate armor than his fellows, and Eorlund guessed he was the leader. “That one’s mine,” Aela murmured, gesturing to the orc. Drawing her bow, she fired a pair of arrows in quick succession. The bandit leader fell with a cry and a dull thud. The other Companions swept in, and the poacher’s den descended into utter chaos. Eorlund ignored the fighting, searching for any sign of the Avenicci girl. There were too many hidey-holes, places where an injured or unconscious woman might be stashed away. He shuddered to think of what condition she might be in when he found her, but he refused to consider the possibility that she might be dead.It was as he began his second pass through the cavern that he heard it: a whispered voice, calling out his name. He froze, eyes darting around until he spied a figure curled up at the base of the forge. His heart contracted painfully, and the noise around him seemed to fade away.Adrianne’s face was streaked with grime. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of pain. Her dress was blackened by soot, and he could see below the hem of her skirt that her legs and feet were bare. His gaze was drawn, however, to her left side. Charred holes in the fabric of her gown revealed bright red burns along her hip, and her arm was seared and blistered as though it had been held over open flame. He dropped to his knees at once. “Adrianne, can you hear me?”She did not answer. Eorlund looked around the now-still cave until he spotted Farkas nearby. “Farkas, you’re needed,” he called, trying to sound commanding. He had seen a hundred men killed in agonizing ways, come across slaughtered civilians that had fallen prey to Imperial brutality, yet somehow this felt different. Adrianne…Farkas was at his side in an instant. “Alive?” he grunted.Gently, Eorlund laid a finger against the vein that ran beneath Adrianne’s jaw. A pulse, weak but even, beat against his fingertips. “Alive,” he confirmed. “Can you carry her?”Farkas did not dignify the question with a response, simply reaching down and gathering Adrianne into his arms as though she weighed no more than a lapdog. “The arm looks bad,” he told Eorlund bluntly.“That it does,” the old smith agreed. “Come. Let us get back to Whiterun and find a proper healer.”
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Thankfully, Warmaiden’s was near the entrance to the city, and they were able to bring Adrianne home with minimal fuss. Once inside the gates, the Companions scattered, each going their own separate way. Farkas carried a still-motionless Adrianne into the house and up the stairs, depositing her carefully on the bed before nodding his farewells and leaving Eorlund alone with the unconscious young woman. Adrianne’s husband, Ulfberth, had taken off running for the Temple of Kynareth the moment he’d seen his wife’s condition. Eorlund hoped the man would find a competent healer soon. Adrianne needed attention fast if she was to keep from losing the arm entirely. It might already be too late.Unwilling to leave the injured woman alone, he drew up a chair to the bedside. “Fine thing,” he said gruffly to fill the silence. “Getting yourself kidnapped. Seems you Imperials just cause no end of trouble.”Her eyelids twitched, and a moment later they opened to reveal bloodshot brown eyes. “Eorlund,” she croaked, her voice like sandpaper.He started at the sound, then leapt to his feet and raced to a nearby jug of water, filling a cup. Raising the water carefully to Adrianne's lips, he held it steady as she drained the entire thing. “More?” he asked her.She shook her head, grimacing. “Not for now. Thank you.”Eorlund’s eyes flicked to her injured arm, then back to her face. “Sparked a great deal of fuss, you have,” he said, with more ire than he felt. “Mind telling me what happened?”Adrianne’s eyes were level as she surveyed him, and he could tell at once that she saw through his act. “I believe you already know what happened,” she replied, “Or at least, enough to find me.”“I know you were taken, woman,” Eorlund said impatiently. “I don’t know why, or what happened between then and now.”“Why do you think they took me?” Adrianne asked with a hint of her familiar dry manner. “They needed a smith, and you were busy.”Eorlund glanced at her arm again, and this time she saw the direction of his gaze. “Ah,” she murmured. “That.”“How were you hurt?” Eorlund’s voice was softer than normal, gentler as he surveyed the burned limb.Adrianne attempted a smile, but gave up after a moment. “Just because I can smith, doesn’t mean I’ll work for anyone,” she murmured. “I refused to do their bidding.”“They can’t have liked that,” Eorlund remarked.“No,” Adrianne answered, an odd, wistful note in her rasping voice. “They didn’t like it at all. So they tied my hands and feet and threw me into the forge.”Eorlund gaped at her. “The—forge?” he managed. “You could have died.”“Easily,” Adrianne confirmed. “Their leader had me hauled out after only a moment had passed, and he berated those that had done it for the better part of an hour, but it was too late to repair the damage.” Her eyes dimmed, not just from the pain. “That was when they stopped seeing me as a smith.”Pounding footsteps on the stairs signaled the arrival of Ulfberth and an orange-robed Temple healer. “I’ll leave you be,” Eorlund said hurriedly, rising to leave.“Eorlund, wait,” Adrienne protested weakly.He turned back at once to see her reaching towards him with her uninjured hand. “Eorlund, I must ask something of you. Must beg one more favor.”“Ask,” he instructed.She looked away. “Eorlund, I cannot work. Not like this, not for a long time. But there are several pieces on commission, weapons and armor that lie half-finished. A pair of daggers and a breastplate for a mercenary and… a sword for an Imperial captain.”“And you wish me to complete the work for you?” he asked coldly, “Make a weapon for someone who would gladly slaughter all the proud sons and daughters of Skyrim?”“I—” she broke off. “Forgive me. It is too much to ask.”There was a moment of silence as the healer moved forward, checking Adrianne’s vital signs. Eorlund watched the man work, then sighed inwardly. “I’m using your forge and tools,” he informed her. “Those Legion bastards aren’t getting their hands on Skyforge steel.”Adrianne seemed to wilt with relief. “You are more than welcome to use anything you’d like. Thank you, Eorlund.”Eorlund nodded and left without another word.
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He waited a day before returning to Warmaiden’s to begin work on Adrianne’s commissions. He knew the mercenary in question, knew the man wouldn’t mind a slight delay, and he would be damned if he was going to rush about to get a sword to an Imperial invader. But he had promised Adrianne help, and a Nord did not go back on their promise.The day would be a warm one, he could tell by the cloudless skies, and so he hurried as he made his way to what he had always mentally dubbed the “Other Forge”. Ulfberth had been there before him, ensuring the forge itself was warm and laying out Adrianne’s tools on the workbench as though presenting them for inspection. Eorlund looked the tools over with interest, picking some up to get the feel of them and weighing them in his hands. They were of mixed quality, some of fine make, others barely passable. All were smaller than he was used to, and he realized she must have accumulated the collection over the years whenever she found a tool that would fit her hands. While women smiths were hardly unheard of, the implements of the trade themselves were invariably designed for men.The commissioned pieces were wrapped in oilcloth beneath the home’s overhang. He examined the breastplate first, deeming it of good (if not exceptional) quality. The daggers were better, evenly sized and weighted for dual-handed fighting. They would require tempering and honing, nothing more. The last piece, the dreaded Imperial sword, was only half-finished. It would take work to make it into a serviceable weapon.Eorlund eyed the blade, wondering what route to take. The Stormcloak in him wanted to include invisible flaws within the weapon’s hilt that would cause the blade to warp and fail within weeks of its first use. It would be easy enough to manage. Yet he knew that taking petty vengeance upon the captain would amount to betraying Adrianne, something he was loath to do. Moreover, it could damage his own reputation as a smith and fray the already tense relationship between Imperials and Stormcloaks in the supposedly neutral city of Whiterun.With a sigh, he drew the blade out of the oilcloth and brought it over to the fire to begin heating. He would forge to the best of his ability, his skill tempered by unfamiliar tools and surroundings, and the anonymous captain would be free to brag that he had a blade crafted by the greatest smith in Skyrim. Damn the man to Oblivion.He smithed all that morning and the next, his resentment of his task slowly disappearing as he became immersed in his work. The more he hammered and honed the metal, the more respect he gained for Adrianne. Her forge had half the power of the Skyforge, if that. It required far more tending to keep a constant heat. Moreover, the inconsistency of the tools tripped him up half a dozen times, and he cursed the ungainly things more than once. He wondered at her ability to craft fine pieces with such restrictions placed upon her. What could she do with a set of tools made for her hands alone and a forge that worked with her, not against her?Ten days after their return from the poacher’s den, the commissions were finished. Eorlund handed them over to Ulfberth with a grunt, then hesitated, thoughts drifting to the home’s upstairs bedroom. “How is she?” he demanded.Ulfberth’s expression became bleak at once. “She is… somewhat better,” he admitted. “The burns are healing slower than we’d hoped, but there is no sign of infection. She has appreciated hearing you work, though. I think the sounds of the forge comfort her.” He looked away. “Thank you, Eorlund. You didn’t have to get involved, didn’t have to go after her, and certainly didn’t need to help with these.” He gestured to the weapons and breastplate on the counter. “I will never forget your kindness, nor will Adrianne.”There was an odd break in the man’s voice when he said his wife’s name, something that indicated all was not as it seemed. Eorlund chose not to comment, however. Truly, it was none of his business. As Ulfberth had so rightly said, he had done his duty and more. He turned to leave, noticing as he did so that one of the war hammers that had hung on the side wall was gone. Another weapon, an axe if he remembered right, was missing from above the door. Pieces began to fall into place. He looked back at Ulfberth. “Where d’you expect to get your new weapons from?”Ulfberth seemed taken aback by the question. “Well… the caravans, I suppose. Not much profit to be made that way, but we’ve little choice. I—” he winced. “I suppose there’s no way to know when she’ll be fit to smith again. Or if she ever will.”Eorlund was silent for a long moment, thinking. “Can’t say I minded the change of pace,” he grunted. “Not much going on with the Companions, and I know those brawlers so well I could fix their weapons in my sleep. Not promising anything, mind you,” he said quickly. “But I could cast a few pieces worth some coin.”Ulfberth seemed unable to find words. He nodded silently, turning away to hide his face. Eorlund left quickly to spare the other man the shame of being caught with tears in his eyes. As the smith stumped back to the Skyforge, he found himself thinking once more of the limitations Adrianne faced as she forged. Those mismatched tools…A memory came back to him from his time as an apprentice. His master had insisted Eorlund learn to make every tool a smith might use, from the smallest fullers to the largest hammers. At the time Eorlund had balked, but the exercise had proven invaluable. Not only had he learned the properties of metals, the correct way to temper and hone, but he’d come out of it with his own set of personalized tools. That had been nearly fifty years ago, and he’d never tried to make a tool set again. Perhaps it was time.He knew there was a good chance he was living in a fool’s dream. He’d seen the burns on Adrianne’s body, knew she might never recover the strength and dexterity necessary to work a forge. But his heart refused to give up on her, this odd Imperial with the determination of the bravest Nord.
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His days took on a pattern after that. Every morning, before he began his work for the Companions, he would tinker with the plans for the tool set. The hammers would come first, then the smaller pieces, all forged in a combination of heavy iron and Skyforge steel. Around mid-afternoon he would walk down from the Skyforge to Warmaiden’s and work for a few hours on some project or another. He could easily have crafted axes and swords at his own forge, but he remembered how Ulfberth had mentioned the sounds of the forge being soothing for Adrianne. It was little trouble to switch forges, and anything he could do to ease her recovery was worth the effort. He had not seen her since the day of her rescue.Six weeks after their return from the bandit camp, Eorlund heard the sound of a door slamming. He looked up from his work sharpening a greatsword in time to see Ulfberth stalk out of the house, face dead white and jaw clenched. As Eorlund went to stoke the coals of the forge, quiet, desperate sobbing met his ears. It was coming from the upstairs window – Adrianne’s window. Eorlund stood for a long moment, indecision gnawing at him. He wasn’t fool enough to involve himself in marital disputes. Whatever was between Adrianne and her husband was private, their business and not his. But he knew Ulfberth well enough by now to understand the depth of affection the Nord had for his wife. For him to leave her crying alone… well, something enormous must have happened. And while Eorlund wasn’t ever one to pry, he didn’t like the thought of Adrianne suffering with no one to comfort her.With a sigh, Eorlund set down the greatsword and made his way into Warmaiden’s, climbing the stairs to the bedroom. Adrianne was lying on her side in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were closed, but they opened when she heard him approach, and she jumped. "Eorlund?"Eorlund took the chair beside the bed, surveying her tearstained face. "Didn't cry like this when the bandits had you. Not that I saw, anyway," he said conversationally, as though they were chatting over mead. "Heard you from outside, and saw Ulfberth leave. Can't say I can guess what's got you in tears now, if I'm honest, but if you want to tell me, go right ahead. I'll listen, good as any."Adrianne's eyes closed again. "Ulfberth left, then? I... didn't hear."Eorlund nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Aye," he said. "Seemed upset.""He's a Nord," Adrianne muttered. "Of course he's upset.""Here, what's that supposed to mean?" Eorlund asked, though his words had no fire.Adrianne sighed, opening her eyes and turning onto her back so that she could stare upward at the ceiling. "It means there are some things we'll never agree on. Some things that will always drive a wedge between us. I never thought this would have to be one of them. Gods, I've prayed for this for so long. But now...""Speak plainly, woman," Eorlund urged.Adrianne looked at him sidelong, as though considering whether to trust him. "Eorlund..." she said at last. "I'm... with child."Eorlund blinked. This was not what he'd expected at all. "And that's something worth weeping over?" he asked blankly.Adrianne made a soft sound, a miserable chuckle. "Oh, it is. It is. If I were in Cyrodiil, perhaps it wouldn't feel this awful. People judge, of course they do, it's in their nature. Yet they'd understand. But Ulfberth, he..." she shuddered. "He's a true Nord, for all he married a southern wife. No matter what I do, he'll be hurt. No way around it now.""I don't understand," Eorlund admitted. His skin was prickling, his instincts trying to tell him something, but his mind was blank.Adrianne sighed. "Imperials are taught that no woman should be forced into motherhood. But Nords believe a woman should do everything she can, even forfeit her own life, for the sake of bearing a child. Ulfberth will never forgive me.""You intend to kill the child?" Eorlund said, shocked. "Just because it doesn't please you to become a mother?"Adrianne inhaled sharply, her eyes glimmering defiantly. "I have longed for a child for years. I have prayed, laid offerings, tried potions and incantations. All in hopes of conceiving." Her gaze locked with Eorlund's. "But I want my husband's child. Not a monster, living proof of my agony and shame. Gods," she bowed her head, shoulders trembling. "I don't even know if it's human."True understanding struck Eorlund for the first time. He'd been content to fool himself into believing a group of cutthroats would see a captive young woman purely as a smith. An asset, not a plaything to be passed among them. His throat tightened as he remembered the bandit leader, a fearsome orc with muscles of iron. The idea that such a creature had forced himself on Adrianne made Eorlund's fists clench in rage. Adrianne must have seen the movement, for she glanced at his hands, then back to his face, her jaw set mulishly. "Go on then," she urged. "Hate me. Call me 'murderer', tell everyone in town that I'm a child killer. I don't care. I can't bear this babe. I'd rather die."Eorlund swallowed, his mouth dry. Like any good Nord, he'd been brought up believing all children deserved to be born, and that their mothers should see the babes as a blessing from Mara. But it was hard to reconcile that view with the memories of Adrianne covered in grime, her skin blistered and burned, her legs and feet bare. Those men had tortured her for their own amusement, used her to sate their lusts. Did she deserve to bear a bastard half-human baby, never knowing which of her attackers had been the father? To live the rest of her life with a permanent reminder of the torment she'd endured? "Couldn't you just give the babe away?" he asked."No." Adrianne shook her head. "I can't so much as stand the thought of it existing. And all of Whiterun would know. It would bring such shame upon us, upon Ulfberth, and none of this is his fault." She bit her lip, a single tear running down her cheek. "My poor husband. Made a cuckold by highwaymen."Eorlund paused. "What will you do?" he asked quietly. "Use a dagger...?"Adrianne's lips curved, a ghost of a smile. "Nothing so violent. A simple potion will work. I'm not so far along yet that a healer will be needed. I'll ask Arcadia.""An Imperial," Eorlund said, more cynically than he meant to.Adrianne looked at him, pity in her eyes. "Nords know how to make the potion too," she assured him. "Women need what they need, be they Nord, Imperial, or Redguard."Eorlund was silent for a moment. He had never thought for a moment that a Nord woman would attempt to rid herself of an unborn child, but Adrianne was far from being the only woman ever to have fallen prey to men's cruel desires. And what of the women too sickly to give birth and live? What of the poor farmers' wives, with too many mouths to feed already, who knew that another child would mean starvation for their entire family? Nord women must have found a way out. And the fact that he hadn't known about it meant that it was all kept very secret indeed. Women's troubles. Women's remedies.He surveyed Adrianne's body. She hadn't started to show, which was something at least. Perhaps, if Ulfberth held his tongue, all of Whiterun wouldn't have to know the truth of Adrianne's condition. "What now?" he asked. "What can I do?"Adrianne's lips parted in surprise. "You? But..." she paused, looking at him searchingly, then seemed to make up your mind. "I would be very grateful if you would tell Arcadia I need to see her as soon as she can spare the time. I'm not yet up to going myself, and besides which, I'm not prepared to chat with well-meaning neighbors at the moment. I'd prefer to remain here, in private."Eorlund stood. "I'll let her know," he said simply. Closing the distance between him and Adrianne, he laid a tender hand on her shoulder. "Ulfberth will come around," he assured her gently. "Send him to me, if he doesn't. I'll set him straight."Adrianne swallowed, her eyes bright. "Thank you, Eorlund," she said in a half-whisper. "I will always be in your debt."Eorlund gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then left. His feet took him straight to the alchemist's shop, where he delivered Adrianne's message to a curious Arcadia. "Is she in pain?" the Imperial woman asked. "Should I bring anything to her?"Eorlund shook his head. "Let her tell you," he said, unwilling to divulge anything Adrianne had said to him.Arcadia nodded, and he made his way out of the shop, still in a daze. His head was reeling, snippets of thoughts and memories darting in and out of his mind. Adrianne, captured and bound. The bandits, leering as they surrounded a young woman with dark hair and burns along the side of her body. New pictures, scenes from a nightmarish future, joined the others. A half-orc child laughing mockingly. The citizens of Whiterun whispering behind their hands. And an image that sent chills through him: Adrianne's body laid out on an embalming table, her face white and her eyes closed in death. He could not let such a thing happen, not after everything she'd survived. Whether he agreed with her choice or not, he would ensure that she got what she wanted.
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He held off on returning to the Warmaiden's forge for the next several days, wanting to give Adrianne and her husband time to work things out in private. He kept himself busy forging the set of unique tools for her. When he'd gone to her room, he'd noticed how much easier it had been for her to move her arm. She was recovering, and the injury was to her non-dominant side. Moreover, she was strong-willed. She would forge armor and hammer steel again. When she was ready, she would have proper tools to do it with.He spied Ulfberth going into the Drunken Huntsman several times during the week, though he never saw the man leave. He wondered how Ulfberth was handling his wife's decision. From the look of it, not well.On Morndas, one week after speaking to Adrianne and learning the truth of what had happened during her kidnap, he sent a message to Ulfberth to meet him at sunset by the Skyforge. The last time he'd set eyes on the man, Ulfberth had looked as though he'd aged ten years. Somehow, Eorlund doubted the couple had managed to work things out on their own, and while he was usually reluctant to stick his oar in, he couldn't live with the thought of Adrianne suffering alone.He finished up tempering his last piece, a new strap for Njada's shield, then leaned on a boulder by his forge and waited as the sky grew dark. The sun had just met the horizon when he heard footsteps approaching. Looking over, he saw Ulfberth crest the top of the stairs. The Nord man looked positively haggard, his mouth set in a thin line. "You wanted me, Gray-Mane?" he said when he caught sight of Eorlund, a hoarse rasp in his voice that the smith guessed was from lack of sleep.Eorlund nodded, tilting his head to indicate that Ulfberth should approach. "Got a question to ask you," he said stolidly."Ask," Ulfberth replied. "I'll answer best I can."Eorlund grunted. "D'you still love her?" he asked. "After everything? The kidnap, the weeks spent recovering? The babe?"Ulfberth tensed. "She told you, then," he said, his voice hushed. "She must have, for I've told no one.""Good," Eorlund said. "It's no one's business but hers."Ulfberth snorted. "You're a father, Eorlund. Two strong, healthy sons, a beautiful daughter. Grandchildren soon, if Olfina finds a match. Bet you never had to wonder whether you'd spend your twilight years alone." He shook his head. "Eight years since we were married. Every day spent hoping for good news. We've wanted a child so badly. Or at least, I have. Seems Adrianne feels differently about that.""She wants a child," Eorlund assured him. "But she wants it to be yours.""And if that never happens?" Ulfberth demanded. "This could have been our only chance. A gift from the gods, who knew we couldn't have a babe together.""Mara doesn't deal in sorrow and woe," Eorlund said sharply. "Nothing good can come out of what those men did to your wife.""We could have made it work," Ulfberth insisted. "Children resemble the mother's race, in appearance if not temperament. No one would have had to know.""She would have known," Eorlund reminded him. "As would you.""By the Nine, Eorlund," Ulfberth swore. "You think I would have cared? I would have loved any child of Adrianne's, regardless of who sired it. That babe was hers.""Aye," Eorlund agreed heavily. "Hers, not yours. And she couldn't have loved such a child, not without constant suffering. It hurts to think of, but as her husband, you only have one choice to make: scorn her for ridding herself of a child you might have loved, or care for her and help her heal from the pain of all she went through." He leaned back against the boulder. "I won't try to tell you which way is better. That's for you to decide. What I will say is that your Adrianne is a smith. We're a stubborn breed, smiths, but we understand our own limits. Adrianne said having the babe would kill her. That she couldn't bear for it to exist. Me, I believe her entirely. That woman understands her body and her mind far better than we ever could." He turned his head and met Ulfberth's bloodshot eyes. "I'll ask you one more time. Do you still love her? After everything that's happened, do you love her?""Yes," Ulfberth whispered.Eorlund sighed. "Then go to her," he urged. "Let her know she isn't hated, that her husband doesn't despise her. She's suffered enough."Ulfberth swallowed, then nodded. "Thank you, Eorlund."He returned the way he'd come, leaving Eorlund alone atop the Skyforge. The older man stood staring at the sky, thinking of all that had just been said. A memory came to him, one he rarely dwelt upon these days. Nearly thirty years ago now, when he and Fralia were still just youths starting their life together as husband and wife. A winter's night. Blood dying the bedsheets a sickening red. Running for a healer, knowing it was too late. And then the silence that followed. The grief, so all-consuming, when a child was lost. That babe had been their first, and Eorlund had mourned its passing, his heart as frozen as the ground in which they buried the lifeless little corpse. It had been a girl. They'd only just decided on names. She would have been called Edela, after his great-grandmother. In that moment, as they'd lain the tiny babe to rest, he'd felt as though there was no hope left. It took him weeks to realize that joy had not died that night. That happiness sat by his hearth, cooking his meals and humming softly to herself. Fralia was his childhood sweetheart, his first love; she felt the babe's loss as deeply as he did. But they had each other. And so, day by day, their world came back to life. So would it be with Ulfberth and Adrianne. The pair would not forget what had happened, the heartbreak of it all. Yet they would move on, as couples did who truly loved one another. Whether they would ever be blessed with a child of their own, only the gods could say. But they had each other, just as he had Fralia.Feeling oddly content, Eorlund returned home to his wife.
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Two months after Adrianne's rescue, Eorlund was working at the Warmaiden's forge when he heard a soft rustle behind him. Turning, his heart skipped a beat. Adrianne was standing a few feet away, watching him thoughtfully. She wore a plain red gown quite similar to the one she'd had on when he'd found her in the bandit camp, but something seemed wrong. He realized, after a moment, that it was because she wore only the dress, and not the long smith's apron he'd become accustomed to seeing her in before her kidnap. She was slimmer than he remembered, but the muscles in her arms and shoulders strained against the roughspun fabric of her dress. She was still a smith, and her body clearly longed to forge again. He gestured toward the steel sword he was holding. "Nearly finished, and I'll be out of your way.""No rush, Eorlund," she said at once. "I'm not here to kick you out, far from it." She approached him slowly. "I didn't thank you, when we last spoke.""Your thoughts were elsewhere," Eorlund reminded her.Adrianne nodded, grimacing. "They were indeed. But I've been meaning to thank you properly for weeks. I just couldn't find the words. The things you've done for me, Eorlund. Finishing the commissions was a boon, but making these extra weapons has helped keep Warmaiden's afloat while I've been recovering. And Ulfberth told me you were responsible for getting the Companions to agree to search for me in the first place." She looked down, her next words spoken in a half-whisper. "He also told me that you spoke with him at the Skyforge. In the course of two months, you've saved my life, my business, and my marriage.""You didn't deserve to lose any of those things," Eorlund told her gruffly. "And as I told the whelps up at Jorrvaskr, no one takes a smith from this city and lives to brag about it. Your place is here."Adrianne stared at him, speechless. "I... yes," she said at last. "It is."She looked around the forge, eyeing the hammers laid out on the workbench. "I thought you said you were going to work with my tools."Eorlund felt his face growing hot. He'd taken Adrianne's tools up to the Skyforge to use as a comparison for the set he was secretly building her. The new set was nearly done, but he hadn't brought her tools back to Warmaiden's yet. "It's easier to just use mine, these days," he said, trying to sound casual. "Not hard to bring some hammers with me when I come."Adrianne nodded. "I imagine the sizes of mine were all wrong for your hands. But you certainly managed. The pieces you've crafted for the shop are works of art.""Didn't think I'd just put some bits of iron on a stick and call it an axe, did you?" he asked. "When I make a thing, I make it right.""That you do," Adrianne agreed, smiling slightly. "I'll let you work. I didn't mean to interrupt.""Not going to try your hand at anything?" Eorlund asked, trying to sound casual.Adrianne paused, then shook her head. "Tomorrow," she said. "I want to be out early to beat the heat of the day. And I'm not sure how long I'll actually be able to forge. But I'll start with a few nails and work up from there, like an apprentice."Eorlund glanced down at the sword he held. He could finish it, given another hour, but he had more important things to deal with at the moment. "I'll be back for this in the morning," he grunted. "Won't warp if I leave it overnight."He collected his tools, then nodded to Adrianne and headed up to Jorrvaskr. Normally he would have cleaned up more in preparation for the next day and stayed long enough to ensure the forge was dying down properly, but he had the feeling Adrianne wanted to be alone with her smithy. And he had work to do. If she was to begin work again tomorrow, she would need tools. The set he'd made her needed another round of filing and smoothing, something he'd been doing in stages as he completed his other work. But now he had no time to lose.He reached the Skyforge and walked straight past it, intent on the little area he'd set up to craft Adrianne's tools. Reaching the workbench, he retrieved the first of the many hammers he'd crafted for her. It was a fine piece, a ball peen hammer beaten and rounded to perfection, and the weight balance was ideal. He'd chosen to use ash handles and had treated them with oil to harden them and make them shine. He compared the hammer in his hand to the ball peen she'd been using, smiling as he glanced between the two. Both were the same weight, so she would not have to adjust the amount of force she used, but the new hammer had a firmer setting, a better grain for the wood of the handle, a more even striking face, and a stronger tempering. That, and the fact that the new hammer was of Skyforge steel, made the old tool seem like little more than scrap metal.He grabbed a set of small files and set to work, doing everything in his power to ensure that the striking face was smoother than the surface of a lake in summer. When at last he was satisfied, he picked up the next piece, a rounding hammer, and repeated the process. Hours passed, and he did not look up from his work. When at long last he had checked each tool and found that there was nothing more he could do to improve them, he carefully laid them out on an old tool roll he'd had tucked away and arranged them in order of size and function. Then he went home, unaware of how late it was and not caring. His work was finished. Tomorrow he would know how well he'd done. He was all-but-certain the tools would suit her, but if they did not, he would work the metal again until it was right. She needed tools that would fit her properly, if her finished works were to match her ability.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He woke at dawn and did not bother with breakfast. He'd brought the tools home with him, unwilling to let them out of his sight, and he tucked them under his arm as he headed for Warmaiden's, wondering when Adrianne would choose to begin work.She was already at the forge when he arrived, her expression puzzled as she searched the area around the workbench and the grinder. He had a feeling he knew what she was looking for, and his suspicions proved correct when she caught sight of him. "Eorlund," she said, her brow furrowed. "Thank the Eight. I have no idea where my tool set has gone. All my hammers, my fullers..."Eorlund did not answer. Going to the workbench, he set down the tool roll and undid the ties, unfurling it to reveal the dozen different tools he'd forged for her. He did not watch Adrianne approach, merely waited until he heard her gasp. "For you," he said simply. "To help you work."He stepped aside so that she could see the set better. She took two hesitant steps forward to stand before the workbench, her expression stunned. "These are... Skyforge steel," she breathed.Eorlund grunted, then reached out to grasp the handle of a planishing hammer, lifting it and holding it out to her. "Take a gander," he said, gesturing at the unfinished steel sword he'd left at the forge the previous night.With trembling hands, Adrianne accepted the hammer and went to retrieve the sword, bringing it over to the workbench. Eorlund moved the other tools aside, then stepped back to watch her work. He'd intentionally chosen the planishing hammer because she could shape the metal cold and take her time with it, stopping if she got tired. He eyed her left arm, wondering how the burns had healed. Luckily, it wasn't her dominant side. She'd need strength to hold the pieces in place as she worked, but not dexterity. That would come from her uninjured right side.Adrianne examined the sword, searching for raised bumps or odd contours in the metal. When she found one, she adjusted her grip on the hammer and began to strike. Eorlund couldn't help but smile. The sound was so satisfying, the ring of a proper tool on good metal, and the head of the hammer shone mirror-bright. After only three strikes, she stopped, examining the sword's surface. "Gods," she murmured. "So much cleaner.""It'll take getting used to," Eorlund told her. "You'll have to be careful not to overdo things. You're used to having to work a lot harder to get things shaped properly."Adrianne nodded. "I'd always meant to attempt a proper hammer set. But there was never time, and I didn't feel like the tools I had were up to the task. Nothing I could ever have made would possibly compare to these, though." She turned to him, worry in her eyes. "Are you sure about this?" she asked him. "Skyforge steel for an Imperial smith?"Eorlund grunted again, crossing his arms. "I know what you are, girl," he said gruffly. "I know you make weapons for both sides of this war. But you shouldn't have your skill hampered by bad tools.""Eorlund, I--" she took a deep breath. "I've never seen their like."Uncomfortable emotions welled within Eorlund's chest. He hadn't expected to feel such relief, but seeing her in her smithy again made his throat go tight. This was where she belonged, the "other smith" of Whiterun. This was who she really was. Not a helpless captive, not an invalid. She was a craftsman, an artisan. A woman, whole and strong.He noticed that she was eyeing the sword, and he gestured to it. "Finish it," he told her. "It was for the shop anyway."Adrianne nodded. "Thank you, Eorlund," she murmured. "For everything."Nodding stiffly, Eorlund turned and headed up the broad street towards his own forge. Behind him, he heard the immensely satisfying sound of a hammer striking metal.He did not regret the time he'd spent making the set, nor the hours he'd worked to create the pieces for Warmaiden's, nor even the work he'd done on the Imperial captain's sword. He certainly did not regret urging the Companions to go and find Adrianne when she'd been captured. No, his one regret was that he had not taken notice of her earlier. He had assumed that, as an Imperial, she would be unable to forge real weapons. Thin little daggers, perhaps, and things with flourishes. Those were the sort of pieces she could create. But not a true battle axe or a warhammer. Not armor worthy of Nords. Those sorts of things were beyond her skill, her understanding, or so he'd thought. What a fool he'd been.He knew, now, how difficult it was to use her forge and her old tools. That she'd managed to craft decent blades at all was impressive. But she'd done more than that. He'd taken the time to examine a few of her weapons one afternoon when Ulfberth had been out of the shop. She took such care with all of her work. Edges were razor sharp, planes and faces were even despite hammers that he knew full well had been working against her, not with her, for perhaps her entire adult life. She was an exceptional craftsman, and she loved what she did. Why else would the sound of him hammering soothe her as she recovered? She'd been stolen away from her peaceful life simply because she was a smith. She could have resented the profession that had drawn her attackers to her. Instead, she'd missed it so terribly that the rhythms of a working forge had brought her comfort, not pain. The smithy was her home.He would watch her, maintaining his distance. Their relationship was an odd one, and he didn't want to impose. But he would keep an eye on how her work improved with the new tools at her disposal. He expected he'd see a marked jump in quality, and if that was the case, then her work would begin to rival the many great smiths of Skyrim. Most of those smiths were Eorlund's age, hardened men with grown children already. But Adrianne was young, full of fire. She still had time to learn, to become a true master.They'd resent him for it, all of them. Every Nord in Tamriel would think him mad, if he went ahead and did it. If he taught an Imperial woman to be master of the Skyforge. And perhaps he would be. Perhaps it was a foolish idea brought on by sentiment. But it was an idea, one he'd keep in the back of his mind. There was no use giving the forge to a man his own age, and he'd heard little about the next generation of smiths. No one was making a name for themself, not like he had done in his younger years. But Adrianne, she had potential. When she was in peak form again, he might offer to show her a few things, just to see whether she was willing to learn. If she was... well, he'd simply have to see.Smiling to himself, his mind full of nebulous plans for the future, Eorlund reached the Skyforge and set to work.