[sup]with [@Hank][/sup]


[hr]

In the centre of the long kitchen of Ken Muhyr stood a woman. She was glowing radiantly around her face, suspended in one of the days last beams of sun that poured in its last drop through the beautiful bay window. Her auburn hair was aflame with it, an aura of white at her crown. Several loose hairs floating free of her bun, flickering in the still air. So delicate and free. 

She held her knife with a firm grip. It was beautifully crafted, barely fit for the hand of such a soft woman, but that hand held it with such precision it wouldn’t look at all right in another. Her keen eyes focused solely on the task at hand, the body splayed out across the branch, flayed the pelt now, the innards already having been disposed of. Nothing but empty space inside.

With an easy thrust she brought it between the leg and the loin, starting with a graceful singular motion from flank to hip. Like she’d done this before. The Nord just thought of Bruno. How he’d carried the meat of his flock from his abandoned home to the keep. That it had not been an easy task. 

The menu may have stated soup, but Joy would make art from Bruno’s sacrifice. 

Her blade met bone, and she worked around it — humming a song in her undisturbed workspace. 

The sound of butcher’s work echoing faintly through the great hall attracted Solomon’s attention, and he stepped into the kitchen to see what Joy was up to. He had a few things to discuss with her anway, so it was only convenient. His old armor still draped over his arm as he entered the Nord’s workspace, he quirked a brow at the sight of the beautiful and diminutive woman expertly cutting flesh from bone. She was a cook and a Nord, so it made sense, but it was a rare sight for the Imperial -- their cultural sensitivities regarding this kind of work were very different. 

“We’re to eat well tonight, I see?” Solomon asked and a half-smile attempted to hide behind his mustache. “Good. I’m starving.” 

He hadn’t really noticed how hungry he was, but taking care of the vermin-infested store rooms beneath the hall with Bruno and Janus had taken up the last of his reserves and he surely felt it now. They were all in need of hearty food and a night or two of solid rest. Solomon looked past Joy at the last rays of sunlight. Damnably early, once again. He hoped that the coming night had no surprises in store for them. With an old man’s groan, Solomon rested his weary bones on one of the kitchen’s chairs and put up his feet.  

“Well,” Joy answered, looking up from the carcass to greet Solomon with a welcoming smile. She was pleased to see him, and to perhaps share a moment with him, away from the rest of the party. “Henry wanted soup, but it’d be a shame for this to waste. It’ll make a good breakfast come morning,” she added, pausing to place the knife on the bench beside her. 

“Nice place this,” the Nord said, raising a brow. “For the circumstances anyway,” she clarified with a slight shrug before pulling away the leg, taking the knife once more to slice through the last of the muscle hanging on. “If you’re hungry now, there’s bread and cheese under that cover.” With a free hand, Joy pointed in the direction of a platter, covered with a smooth wooden dome. 

It seemed that Joy was taking to her new role quickly. He cast a nod of gratitude in her direction before he got up, placed his armor over the railing of the chair and promptly helped himself to the food that Joy had pointed out to him. “She needs some work, but she’ll do,” Solomon said about the castle, echoing his words to Janus from before. “At the very least, we’ll be safe here from the undead. Now that the frostbite spiders are dead, anyway. And there’s enough room for all of us to sleep.” 

Despite his ravenous hunger, Solomon took the time to slice the bread and cheese properly. One slice of cheese per one slice of bread. Soldier’s rations. He remained standing and looked around the kitchen while he chewed. “Quite spacious, isn’t it?” He looked at Joy and his normal businesslike demeanor returned. “Is there anything you need to do you work that we don’t have yet?”

“Truth be told,” Joy began quietly, looking around the room, “never been in a place this big or stocked before.” Taking a rag from the counter, she dried and rubbed at her hands, removing any of the wet residue from the meat. From the corner, she took a bowl of water and rinsed off again, just pottering through the room as the man talked. She paid close attention to his words, to his manner. Ever curious about him, especially since the conversation with Henry. 

At his question, she simply gave a tilt of her head, her eyes finding the shape of cloth and plate metal hanging over the chair. “I always can make do with what I have,” she nodded with a smile, attention snapping back to Solomon - and the way that he was so careful with the food. “But I’ll let you know if there is.” 

There still happened to be hot tea, simmering in the cast iron kettle on the simmering coals, and without needing to be asked, she poured out a steaming cup for the man. “You found yourself way through to the armoury fine enough?” Joy asked as she ran a finger around a section of hair that had fallen loose from the back of her bun, hanging in a curl at her shoulder. The mention of Frostbite Spiders just about had her shudder. She might have liked the small creature from earlier, but their much larger relatives were a different story. 

Solomon hummed in assent as he chewed another mouthful of food. “Well enough,” he said, but the sound of Bruno’s pain and rage still lingered in the back of his mind and the words came out a little more tersely than he had intended. “Janus found himself a new sword,” he continued, sweeping past the uncomfortable subject that he wasn’t allowed to speak of, “and he has agreed to teach you and Henry how to defend yourselves in return.” 

He watched her closely to see how she would respond to that. “He wants to start the lessons tonight.”

“Course he did,” Joy almost chuckled, placing both hands on the windowsill to stare out. “Course he does.” She glanced down at the floor. “I should learn what else needs doing… So I’ll do it.” It was hard to imagine that, an actual blade in her hand — even just for practice. Somehow that made it feel real. As real as the undead arm that choked her by the window at the inn… The memory made her recoil from this one, just a back step away from the glass. “I’ll do it.” 

“Good.” Solomon didn’t fail to notice the mixture of resolve and trepidation that Joy felt. That was to be expected from a civilian. He just hoped that she would rise to the challenge. It was nice to have a cook around, but if she would always require saving whenever they were threatened she would be a bigger liability than a boon. 

Solomon cleared his throat and put the plate of food down, taking a conservative sip of tea before he spoke up again. “Which brings us to the matter of your employment. The inn is no more, of course, and that means I am no longer an innkeeper, and therefore no longer your employer, miss Joy. I don’t have the means to compensate you for your efforts in monetary terms and given that you are now here out of your own volition, I can only conclude that our verbal contract has been dissolved. Do you agree?”

She picked her head back up, and gave a smirk in the corners of her mouth that bore an almost feline quality. “Not my employer anymore. Of course.” Joy was reminded of her conversation with Henry, and she did wonder whether the boy would be off the hook too. Likely not, that was different. They had history. She was a woman he’d just met, after all. No obligation there, not like with Henry. “Needn’t call me “miss” either. Told Henry not too, now I’m telling you. I’m not a miss. Just call me Joy.”

“Very well,” Solomon said. The tea did him good and he felt its warmth spread to his toes. It dawned on him that if she wasn’t his employee, a communicable sense of gratitude was probably in order. “Thank you, Joy,” he said. “For the food and the tea. I’m glad you’re finding ways to make yourself useful on your own initiative.” That reminded him of something and he looked around the kitchen. “Have you seen Henry recently?”

“Let me guess,” Joy said quickly, giving a playful roll of her eyes in Solomon’s direction as she folded her arms over her chest. “You expected me to sit on my behind and do nothing but that?” It was partially condescending of him, but not unsurprising. There was a twinkle in her eye as she made her way back to the lamb laid out on the bench, and she eyed him over once more. “I told him to find himself a room, so I would imagine he’s making a space his own.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. [i]She[/i] was telling Henry what to do? He harrumphed quietly into his tea. Had the boy’s sensitive nature endeared her to him? Is that what was happening? Solomon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Very well,” he said. He had plenty of work for Henry, but it could wait until the next day. “And no, I didn’t, but I didn’t necessarily expect you to be so… expeditious, either. Let’s call it a pleasant surprise.” In a rare moment of levity, Solomon’s eyes twinkled back. 

Joy was surprised too, by that. “Well thank you, then,” she said with a smirk. The truth of course, was that she’d been doing this her whole life, but she wasn’t going to downplay his compliment - small as it was. “When the going gets tough, us women get tougher,” she added, her smirk becoming a real smile. She’d noticed his displeasure too, the way his moustache had quivered into the steam of his mug. She noticed that.

The Nord gave a nonchalant shrug all of a sudden, finding an opportunity to play with Solomon, even just a little bit. “He seemed to only want a window, so maybe I put some zest in him to seek such a room out.”

“A room with a view,” Solomon grumbled. “Soon he’ll be doing nothing but staring out over the valley instead of working. He needs discipline, Joy, not encouragement. The boy’s a dreamer. But fine. We’ve all been through the wringer. I’ll concede that some creature comforts to help him recover and ground himself probably can’t hurt.” The Imperial chuckled. “Before Janus gets a hold of him.” 

That brought him back to Joy, and he scrutinized her without shame. What she’d said about women wasn’t necessarily true, but it could be. Solomon had known some tough ladies in his time. The Nord had spirit, as was befitting of her heritage, but he still doubted that she had the grit to really make a fighter out of herself. She’d initially frozen when the zombies entered the inn. In his experience, that was a tough response to condition oneself out of. “Are [i]you[/i] ready, do you reckon?” he asked, quite seriously now, but without scorn or sarcasm. 

“No,” Joy answered plainly, and without hesitation. That soft shrug of her shoulders with an easy smile. Not that she was taking it lightly, but she was honest about it. “No I’m not, but what is [i]ready[/i], anyway?” She looked the Imperial over with a keen eye, placing a hand on her hip as she leaned against the bench.

“What I’ll say is, I’ve been in plenty scrapes, Solomon. Don’t much care to get into the what’s and the how’s, but I have.” She nodded along, affirming her own words. One look at the man sitting in front of her was all she needed in order to know that he didn’t have much belief in her, if any at all. That was just fine. “I’ll get through this same as I did them…” pushing herself away from the bench, she made a display of stepping back over to Solomon’s side. “One step at a time,” at his side, she placed a hand on the back of the armour laden chair, tilting her head to catch his dark, blazing stare. “Are you?” 

He didn’t much care for theatrics and Solomon met her gaze levelly. Still, the determination he saw in her bright blue eyes was a good sign. It was the very least that she needed. “I was ready thirty years ago,” he followed her arm with his eyes until they fell on the armor that she’d placed her hand on. He nodded at it. “See for yourself.”

“This yours?” Joy asked, picking up what she could from the chair, before placing it down and tugging up at the cloth sections. Worn, frayed at the seams, and somewhat falling apart. She could tell. One gentle touch at the hem and her forefinger slipped through a hole. “Oh my,” she commented quietly, her usual expression faded and dwindled into a look of absolute concentration as she eyed the garment. “This’ll do you but…” Her lips pursed, and she drew in a breath through her teeth. “You tried it on?” 

“Yes, it’s mine,” Solomon said in a low voice. “It was Legion armor first. I was a Tribune by the end of the Great War, you know. This is an officer’s uniform. After that, I kept it for my work with the Penitus Oculatus. I’d wear it whenever we had to kick down someone’s door. Eagles, cape, dragon sigil, the whole nine yards. Put the fear of the Emperor in their hearts.” He looked at it while he talked before glancing back up at Joy. “No, I haven’t tried it on. I don’t think it still fits. I was a bigger man in those days,” he said and smiled ruefully. “What about it?”

The Nord observed as the man chased through his own memories. The way that his chest puffed out ever so slightly, barely noticeable in fact. There was that glimmer of pride that crossed his expression when he spoke of what it meant to wear the armour. Her hands dropped a little as she listened. “I can make it fit you again,” she said - clearly not just asking if she could, or if he even wanted that. “Maybe you were bigger then, but you’re wiser now, bolder—“ as she spoke, once more she lifted up the piece, raising a brow curiously as she inspected it. “I bring it in a little, run a new thread… You’ll be as big as you can dream of being.” 

The offer caught him by surprise and Solomon didn’t reply immediately. He merely looked between Joy and the armor and back again, eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t know you were an armorer,” he said after a few seconds, mildly suspicious. “Can you really do all that?”

“Armorer?” Joy scoffed, “no.” 

Placing it back down gently she smiled down at Solomon, “but I sew… Reupholster things, fix things, make things outta other things.” With a slight smirk she pinched at her trousers, the velvet like material was soft in her hand, and softer on the contours of her legs. “Made these trousers out of old drapes, I’ll have you know.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Solomon said truthfully. The trousers she was wearing were as fine as any he had seen from a shop. “Well, then… yes, please. That’s very kind of you.” He flashed her one of his rare smiles, but it was clear that he was slightly out of his element now. He wasn’t shown such kindness very often. “I’m going to need a real set of armor, one way or another, and it’ll be good for the people of Daggerfall to see a symbol of Imperial authority when we attempt to free the city,” he said, thinking out loud as he talked. He’d been staring out the window but he looked back at Joy with a sparkle in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

That made her stand up straighter, caught her off guard, even. “Yeah?” she asked, running a hand through her hair as if to play it off cooly. “Maybe I’ll save some more of them for the rainy days,” she smiled. Joy remained quiet for a moment, playing with a corner of the armour between her fingers. “It’s the least I can do -- help everyone be ready, be comfortable.” She could tell it wasn’t often that Solomon spoke from a gentler place, if ever. “That includes you, too.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Solomon said and waved away her concerns with a grumble. He hadn’t needed comfort when he was hunting elves in the snowy woods of Cyrodiil. It wouldn’t win them this new war either. They needed to be hard and sharp, not soft and pampered, so he just hoped it wasn’t [i]all[/i] she could do. Either way, he would be grateful if she could indeed make his armor fit for him once more. “You just make sure to really apply yourself in Janus’ lessons. I’ll feel better once I know you can swing a sword.”

“Looking out for someone isn’t the same as worrying, Solomon” Joy said, waving a finger at him. “I’m not worried about you,” the Nord continued nonchalantly, barely skipping a beat in her speech. She knew that the worries of women were of little concern to old soldiers like him. “You might even change your mind when you see me swinging a sword,” she chuckled. “But sure.” 

“You reckon? Alright,” he said abruptly and got to his feet. Instead of the falchion sheathed at his waist, Solomon reached for the gladius he’d slung over his shoulder and pulled it free from the scabbard. He flipped it over in his hand and held out the ivory pommel for her to take. “Take it. Show me where you’re starting from.”

Joy looked at the blade, at the way it was weighted. It was smaller than what her mind might have had her believe, which did a good job at dispelling the intimidation. She gave Solomon something of a stern glance — silent, for once. The Nord took hold of it, exhaling a long breath from her nose. It wasn’t too heavy, she’d held heavier cleavers and swung them with ease. 

“It feels fine but…” she said after a moment. “It’s not right, doesn’t feel right. I…” Joy stammered, taking a step back to move the sword slowly from side to side, not fast enough to put any power behind it, but the way that her wrist turned was promising, at least. “Is this really what you want?” She asked, frowning slightly— knowing the answer already. 

“Would you rather try to fight off the undead with a pan again?” Solomon asked. It was a rhetorical question and he made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “It’s not about what I want. This is what the times call for. I made a promise to Janus not to put you in undue danger and I intend to keep that promise, but I cannot guarantee that you will not come face to face with the undead again, or with a bunch of homicidal doomsday lunatics, or any number of threats.” 

The Imperial closed the distance between them and closed his hand over hers, tightening her grip on the gladius’ pommel. “Widen your stance,” he said and nudged her lower back to straighten her spine. They were intimate touches, in a sense, but there was nothing warm about Solomon. This was just business to him. “Feel the weight of the sword, turn it over a few times, and then try again. Like what you were doing to that carcass.”

Solomon stepped away again and nodded encouragingly. “Don’t hesitate. Just strike.”

Joy did as was asked, widening her stance. Her feet shuffled over the freshly cleaned tiles, and yet she still maintained an elegant poise about her. The sword felt foreign in her hand… But so did the lute. So did that cleaver that she kept thinking about. He talked of discipline, and the Nord felt that aching severity of him, from his words right down to his touch. “When I was a girl,” she began explaining as her grip found it’s comfort around the hilt of the blade, the leather warming to her palm. “I used to freeze the tips of my fingers in an ice bath before I would play. It was agonising,” she continued, pushing forward slightly, resting her weight on the balls of her feet. 

“Still do, from time to time,” she added with a light sigh, lifting the blade higher. It was feeling less and less uncomfortable, the more that she likened it to any other challenge. “Used to make me play better, more precise. Notes were clearer when they were struck cold.” Without really thinking, instinct perhaps, she lunged forward quickly. It wasn’t a sweep or swing of the sword that her body found - but a straight forward, aggressive stab that cut the air enough to [i]whoosh[/i] and flutter the hanging edges of the tablecloth. “I’ve never hurt anyone before,” she admitted quietly. “But I make a promise of my own… Nobody will work harder than me to keep up. Whatever it takes.”

Maybe she did have the grit after all. “That’s enough for Janus to work with. Good.” Seeing her like this, with determination writ on her face, it was easy to imagine her torturing herself to get the notes from her flute just right. For a brief moment, Solomon wondered where she came from -- [i]really[/i] came from. But he pushed the thought aside, since that wasn’t his business and he had more important things to think about. He held out his hand, requesting the sword back in silence. 

As soon as she had handed back the blade, as if a spell had been broken her smile returned - and colour to her cheeks. “Janus’ll have to keep up with [i]me[/i],” she said - it was spoken as a joke, but… “You gonna distract me all afternoon, anyway? I ought to kick you out of my kitchen for getting under my feet. Dinner’ll not cook itself, you know?”

Solomon opened his mouth to protest but he closed it instead and just chuckled. “Alright, alright.” He turned around to leave and stopped halfway, pointing to his armor. “I’ll leave that in your care then, yes?”

With a carefree snicker of her own, she cast him a sidelong glance and nodded; “I’ll even deliver it to you, free’o’charge. You can try it on in your tower.” Joy said, waving her hand half-dismissively. “Go and relax for a while… I’ll call for you when it’s ready.”

The spymaster conveyed his gratitude with a curt nod and strode out of the kitchen, his gladius still in his hand. Solomon could feel the residual warmth of Joy’s hand on the hilt and he sighed once he was out of earshot. It was a shame that hands like hers had to get used to instruments of death. 

Without thinking, he rubbed the ivory with his thumb. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered to himself.