Onmund opened his eyes to an unfamiliar stone room. He gazed at the ceiling, focusing on the precise cuts in the stone to bring him back to a sense of awareness.
“Elara?” he squeaked, attempting to lift his head from the pillow.
“Hush now, no need to get up. Let me fetch a little soup for you,” an unfamiliar voice croaked, and rested her hand on his arm.
“Where--,” Onmund began as he looked into the face of the woman attending him. He should have been startled by the black tattoo spread across her face like a spider web, but the kindly look in her eyes quelled his initial apprehension.
Bothela propped a few extra pillows behind Onmund so that he could better sip the soup she brought from the simmering kettle in the kitchen. He devoured the soup in one gulp, grateful for the soothing liquid on his parched throat. The old Breton chuckled.
“There isn’t much in this world to take a Nord’s appetite for long, I’ve noticed.”
Onmund smiled, instantly liking this spare, strange woman.
“One more bowl before I answer the questions building in your eyes,” Bothela grinned. “I will not risk the verbal lashing from your caretaker if I do not feed your enough. Argis is still smarting from his last night.”
Onmund’s brows furrowed in confusion as the wrinkled alchemist handed him a fresh bowl of soup. He could tell he would get nowhere by the firm set of this woman’s shoulders and her steady gaze. Moreover he was hungry and knew he needed strength. This time he felt the warmth moving through his chest and to his legs. Wait, he thought, he had feeling in his left leg again. Onmund ripped the bedcovers off to look at his calf. He ran his hands over his lower leg, probing with his fingers for some indication of his injury. He fell back against his pillows, a stunned look on his face. He slowly turned to Bothela, who tucked her hands into her voluminous black sleeves.
“Looks like you are well enough for a bottle of mead,” she teased. The old woman handed Onmund a bottle and he absently took a big drink, eyes still fastened on Bothela. His patience was running thin, as much as he liked her, and he could sense she enjoyed having a captive audience.
“It is not every day that I have a young man staring at me like you are, so please forgive me,” she chortled and scraped a chair nearer to the bed.
“She is resting, to answer your first question,” Bothela said, “and I cannot tell you what happened in the ruins, as I was not there. However,” she paused, her eyes holding his gaze, “we need to speak of a few things before she hears us.”
Onmund shifted, feeling uncomfortable under the old woman’s scrutiny. He had the impression that he had to pass some sort of test, but was overwhelmed by the knowledge that he had no clue as to how or why he was being judged.
“Listen carefully, my boy, as Bothela never repeats herself. You have been given a second chance in this life, but it has been at a great cost to your companion.” Onmund thrust the covers away again, suddenly fearful that the old lady lulled him into a false sense of security. Bothela pushed him back on the bed and he shot her a defiant glare. “Orders are to not let you up until she is here to check you. You have no idea how hard it was to persuade her to leave you so that she could sleep in a bed. I refuse to betray her trust, so do not make me summon Argis in here.” Bothela’s eyebrows rose and Onmund submitted, realizing that this tiny woman was a force to be reckoned with in spite of her age. He was not in any shape to be moving around much, as that simple movement wearied him and he fell back on the pillows again, frustrated.
Something in her eyes softened, and she went for another bowl of soup, which Onmund gratefully drank. “Elara is not aware of it yet, and she may not ever acknowledge it, due to the same Breton pride that runs through her veins and mine. This is deep magic, of which I speak, I cannot fully understand it. But you were on death’s door my boy. At my age, I have seen it many times, so I know the signs. It was partially due to the blood loss, but mostly due to the evil poison, I think.” Bothela looked intently at Onmund. “I do not know how she did it, but she left part of herself inside of you, in trade for the poison that almost claimed your life.” Onmund’s eyes studied the frayed edge of the green bedcover, willing his eyes not to water.
Onmund looked up at the old Breton, eyes glistening, daring her to say a word. With a sigh and smile, Bothela gently squeezed his left arm. “You must protect her,” the elderly Breton said softly. “I do not know how to explain it, but by saving you…” her sharp eyes looked directly into Onmund’s grey ones. He nodded that he understood, and she smiled.
A crash from the kitchen turned their heads. “My thane, I do not think it is wise for you to be out of bed, “a deep voice soothed.
“I am sorry that I startled you,” Elara’s voice drifted back to them. Onmund was dismayed to hear the weakness in her voice. And then she appeared in the doorway, auburn hair disheveled, and face as pale as her white nightgown, a smile giving light to the deepest corners of the room.
Onmund and Bothela exchanged glances. Had she always been that thin? Elara moved slowly to the foot of his bed.
“Onmund,” she said softly, blue eyes sparkling to see him sitting up in bed. She glanced at his leg, giving him an inquiring look to ask his permission to touch it. He nodded with a smile, his heart breaking to see her move. She was very slow, but seemed to be oblivious to it. He was content to play along, just pleased to see her and to feel her soft touch. She briefly caressed his leg, and shuffled over to the head of the bed, where she placed her hand over his heart. Elara closed her eyes, and a smile spread over her face.
Onmund grabbed her hand impulsively and kissed it. Elara opened her eyes in surprise and blushed. “You will be well,” she smiled, “but we need to get you up and walking sometime today. Maybe a stroll around Markarth would be good for building up strength in your leg?” Elara glanced at the bottle of mead on the bedside table and laughed. “Thank you, Bothela, for tending to his needs. I am sure you must be exhausted. I can take it from here.”
Elara tucked her nightgown under her thighs as she settled in the other chair next to Onmund. “I expect you have many questions, dear friend,” she smiled warmly, “especially since I know you cannot stand mysteries.”
Onmund looked up at Bothela, who was inching toward the door. “I will be back after I check on Muiri at the shop.”
Elara waved her off. “Please take Argis with you, and give him this gold to stay at the inn. I am afraid that I have inconvenienced you both. I am so grateful for your assistance,” she smiled reassuringly.
Onmund and Elara looked at each other as they heard the door to Vlindrel Hall close. “What is the last thing you remember from Nchuand-Zel?” she asked tenderly. He wanted to fill in his memories, but did not want to cause her any more pain. She smiled, seeming to read his thoughts. “It is all right. Maybe we will start from those two nasty Falmer that chased us into the Dwemer trap?” She was happy to be telling it, as it was hopefully the last time she would have to relive it for a long time.
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