The New Faces of Skyrim

Chapter Seven - Aira

Aira hated the cold.

Which is why, despite Dunane telling her that she'd regret it once they leave Windhelm, she bought another fur cloak and wrapped herself tight in it. It made it difficult to climb onto Albik with the weight, and she was forced to spend a bone chilling moment without both cloaks to climb onto his back, Dunane waiting patiently nearby with the garments draped over his arms. "I hate Windhelm."

"It's not going to take long to reach Ivarstead," Dunane pointed out. Aira could see him counting something on his fingers from the corner of her eye. No doubt how many times he'd said that since this morning.

"It's still bloody cold." She tucked her face deeper into the fur, wrinkling her nose to hold back a sneeze. Her attempt failed, and she was forced to whip a hand out of its safe place to readjust the clothing around her face. "I'm going to stay like this until it warms up."

And it did warm up, as much as the temperature could possibly increase in a place such as Skyrim. However, as luck usually went, a rain started up to replace the bitter cold; a light drizzle, bringing with it the inevitable humidity of Ivarstead. Aira was forced to shed one cloak, and then the next, despite the fact that she gradually grew wet. Her armor took the brunt of it, but a small hole allowed the rain to go straight down her back. The clammy stickiness of the air deterred her from putting a cloak back on to prevent it.

The two left their horses behind the inn, gathering their packs and gracelessly entering by banging the door open a little harder than it should have been opened. Eager for dry heat, Aira beelined for the hearth as soon as she spotted it and Dunane made his way to the innkeeper to secure a room. Aira barely got time to warm her hands by the flames before Dunane let out a whistle, looking over his shoulder and pointing to the room.

"Oh thank the gods." Aira grabbed the packs, half dragging, half kicking them into the room.

She left the bags near the door, rummaging through them for dry clothes. All of them were slightly damp or partially wet, except for a couple of Dunane's shirts conveniently bundled into the middle. Disgruntled, Aira pulled on trousers with a wet leg and a shirt with a soaked back.

"Are you going to be okay?" Dunane asked when he entered the room. Aira stopped pulling at her shirt to look up at him, distracted immediately by the bowls of hot stew in his hand.

Walking over, she took one, wrapping her hands around the bowl gratefully. "Now I am."

Dunane set his own bowl down, setting to work on taking his armor off. "We should probably leave early in the morning. I bought the room for two nights, just in case we need it again."

"Early in the morning it is," Aira agreed reluctantly. "But... how early in the morning?"

Dunane gave her a withering look. "You wake up early all the time, one would think you'd be used to this."

"Please. I'll never get used to it."

---

Aira woke up early. Dunane did not.

She debated. She mulled over waking him up. In fact, she thought so hard about it, she fell back asleep. Her eyes opened later to Dunane gently shaking her shoulder.

"Aira, love, it's noon. We slept in."

"I know. It was nice."

"Aira."

"Fine. I'm sorry," Aira grumbled, stuffing her face into his chest and pulling the blankets over her head.

Dunane pulled them back, exposing the curled up body of Aira to cold air. "Do you want to see what's on that step or no?"