Rise of House Sigeweald Book One (Skyrim Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty: And all the World is Football-Shaped

"Other mages may claim to be as good as magic as J'zargo, but they cannot be as charming as he. Thus, J'zargo always comes out on top." He gestured toward Onmund, who was stirring something over the fire. "That is why this one should listen to J'zargo."

"J'zargo," replied Onmund, his patience growing thin, "I am not adding moon sugar to my grandmother's venison stew." And as J'zargo peered into the bubbling pot, Onmund moved to nudge him out of the way. "Go away. I don't want you shedding in it either."

"Leave Onmund alone," said Brelyna. "He doesn't need your advice or your moon sugar."

"Need we remind you that Onmund is the one dining with a woman tonight," teased Aine. "J'zargo is playing cards with Aine and Brelyna. Again."

"J'zargo wonders if Lydia likes fondue." He said, ignoring his friend's ribbing.

"You should go ask her," came a voice from behind. It was Elspeth. "She's downstairs in her room." Aine and Brelyna's eyes brightened at this news. J'zargo was also delighted to hear this, although he tried not to show it. "She's sleeping now, but she will be looking for you guys later."

"Good!" said Aine as she Brelyna gathered up their things to leave. "Come on J'zargo, let's go." J'zargo cocked his head to say something but before he could open his mouth, Aine said sternly, "Now." J'zargo furrowed his brow but relented and followed the women, leaving Elspeth and Onmund alone.

The Hall of Attainment's dining area was not exactly the most romantic eating establishment in Skyrim, but with most of the students done for the evening, it was quiet. Onmund had set a small table in the corner, where he sat Elspeth down and poured some Honinngbrew mead. "I buy this whenever Dagur has it," he said.

"It reminds me of Whiterun," said Elspeth as she took a sip. Onmund smiled and walked back toward the cooking area. He brought back two large bowls of stew and set them down.

"This is my grandmother's recipe. There is not a better venison stew in all of Falkreath hold," he said as he sat down across from her.

Elspeth laid her napkin in her lap. "Is that where you're from?" She was less nervous now, her earlier anxieties assuaged by food and drink.

"I was born and raised there," he replied.

"Is it hard being so far from your family?" asked Elspeth.

"Not at all," he said. "I consider it a blessing. My family was convinced coming here was a death sentence, or worse. It took years of insisting that this is what I'm meant to do." He paused and drank some of his mead. "I write to them once a year to let them know I'm alive, but I haven't seen them since my grandma died. And they made it pretty clear I really wasn't welcome there anymore."

"I'm so sorry," said Elspeth quietly.

"Don't be," he said. "I'm not."

"So, there is nothing you miss from home then?"

"Oh, I didn't say that," he replied. "At Dead Man's drink in Falkreath City, Valga Vinicia used to make the most amazing open face lamb's tongue sandwich—"

Elspeth swallowed her stew and furrowed her brow. "Is that a food or an illicit sex act?"

Onmund laughed and continued, "—which I can't get Haran to make for me at the Frozen Hearth."

"Well of course not! She's not that kind of woman. And, she's married." Elspeth shook her head in mock-disapproval, which made Onmund laugh even harder.

"I do wonder about my sister's little girl. She's about five now. I would have liked to have known her." Onmund paused and took a sip of his mead. "What about your family?" he asked.