Stable Boy
#1 of The Stable Boy (The Elders Scrolls)
Well, my 700th story post, a little something I wrote, and will expand upon, but I wanted to post this as standalone, especially since I haven't posted anything i na few days and I just want to keep the momentum. Seems that my quiet weekend is finally over. Do tell me what you think!
*
The day was quite fine, as far as Falkreath days went when it came to weather. The sky was cloudy but free of rain. The winding road heading southwest out of the small town of Riverwood offered few surprises for the young Khajiitt wandering about the cobbled stones. He'd set out at the crack of dawn from the local inn and walked the road following the curves of the White River, and followed it until he reached the lake at the basin of the valley. The young male, mottled with many shades of earthy pelt, sat on a rock and ate his meal of mead, cheese and meat with good appetite from the walking, looking at birds diving for fish on the lake. The food supplies in the cat's backpack were not particularly numerous, and he longed to wade into the lake and try his paws at catching fish, but he knew he had places to be.
He continued for further hours on the road, feeling his weariness grow along with the miles spent on his paws. He was in good spirits, but a trepidation tickled the bottom of his thankfully filled belly. He was working on hearsay and rumor, and If this was to be a poor venture, he would have to either trace his road back to Riverwood and then try his luck either further north or over to the east - he'd already heard that Falkrath itself was rather gloomy and with few prospects, but the friendly peasants at the Riverwood inn had spoken of another opportunity.
Whether he was to find luck in this venture, he decided, would come soon. The smell of freshly fallen wood, smoke and sand in the air brought a comely image into his mind, and he headed into that direction, along a newly built road that felt different under his paws. He could see the smoke curling up from fires, heard the braying of cattle, and found himself approaching a large farmstead. There were fields, growing wheat, an orchard with many chirping birds that sounded almost as delicious as the fish he had been longing for earlier. The sight of a milkmaid brought a smile to his muzzle, as he approached the stone fence keeping the cattle at bay.
"Good evening, miss," spoke the Khajiitt, his ears friendly and his tail flicking by, "this one wonders on the Master of the house, miss."
"That way," the milkmaid told him, with a mildly curious air to her.
"Thank you most kindly."
The Khajiitt headed on his way past a few outbuildings of the estate, obviously holding either the harvest or equipment for gathering it, as well as what looked like a house for the farmhands. A horse was meandering about, seemingly free to go as it pleased, and that put another smile to the Khajiitt's muzzle. He'd worked with horses ever since he was little and knew their ways, and they seemed to innately know that he meant no harm to them, and they allowed him to approach and tend to them, even if they were considered to be of jumpy nature. That, he knew, might be his best asset, now that he was standing besides a fine house, with a great hall of two stories high, and adjacent wings that surely held magnificent rooms.
The Khajiitt looked about the courtyard for a few moments before another farmhand was noted, a blonde Nord boy about his own age, he mused, and he gave his most polite wave.
"Good evening, sirr, I'm looking for a Master or a Steward to present this one to, sirr," the Khajiitt murmured in his natural drawl, the local tongue coming with some effort, but understandable none the less.
"You'll be wanting to ask for Holger," the boy said, pointing out the big house, "go round back there and knock on the door, that's the big kitchen and that's where Holger eats."
"Thank you kindly sirr," the Khajiitt smiled toothily, "you are most kind to this one."
The blonde boy shrugged and wandered along, carrying a bucket of slops. Its smell was unattractive to the Khajitt who enjoyed most farm smells, but that one didn't amuse his nose. He made the little journey, still in awe of the fine house, and then knocked at the door that he believed must've been the one he was supposed to find.
A pale Nord girl opened, in the apron of a kitchen maid and looking shy at the face of the smiling youth at the door.
"Good evening miss miss," the Khajitt rumbled," may this one speak to Holger?"
"I'll see if he'll speak to you, mister," the girl said and disappeared, leaving the cat to stay on the stone step and waiting with a little anxious twitch to his tail. The door remained open a crack and the sweet odor of cooked meat and vegetables lingered out of it. He felt hungry again, and now that he was no longer on the move, his legs were starting to give signs of exhaustion. He knew they might grow stiff if he didn't stretch them before settling down for the night.
The door opened further and this time the girl seemed slightly more confident with speaking to the stranger.
"He'll see you right 'ere," she said.
She allowed him to enter and he stepped into a large, well-equipped kitchen, its hearth warm and welcoming and glowing with heat and stocking several large iron and copper pots, one of them sending out the lovely smell of meat stock, he could tell. A plump woman wearing a cloth over her dark hair stood by it, and glanced at the visitor. The Khajiitt smiled politely before giving all of his attention to a sizeable man sitting on the end of a table like the man of a house would, although his simple garb and the wooden eating utensils told that he too was a servant in this estate. His bushy black beard and curly dark hair seemed to meld together into a veritable mane of fur and reminded the Khajitt of some of the Dros of his own community, before he had decided to wander away and try his luck.
"Agnes says there's a cat on the door," said the large man, chewing on something in his mouth still, "come on to stand 'ere."
The Khajiitt approached and gave his most polite nods and headshakes.
"This one's Ja'Skaro and this one's looking for work, sirr," the Khajitt explained himself, "this one's hard working and can prove himself if let to, sirr."
The man had large, blue eyes and looked long at the guest, obviously weighting up whether the stranger, a walking man-cat, none the less, could be trusted on his word and his honor.
"Many come asking for work these days," the steward of the house spoke weightily, "harvest is to come soon enough if the weather stays fine. Got many hands waiting in Falkreath and Helgen and Riverwood who usually come up to work with us for that."
"This one can work fields," Ja'Skaro said, "but this one also work beasts."
"Beasts?" the man's brow rose.
"This one works with horses, sirr," Ja'Skaro explained, "know all of them, sirr, always had them around and worked with them, and other farm beasts too, sirr."
The man used a sizeable knife to stab a piece of meat on his plate and put it into his mouth. Ja'Skaro felt envious of the succulent bite and hoped that even if he would not be hired, he could at least persuade them to give him a little bit of supper before he'd be on his way in search of any new fortunes that might befall him.
"That so?" Holger questioned.
"Yes, sirr!" Ja'Skaro's ears flicked, to show his earnest honesty, or at least his kinsman would have seen it as such, should the large Nord actually been a fellow Khajiitt, rather. "And this one's a hard worker, too, and won't ask for much."
The Nord let out a bellowing laugh before sipping from a wooden cup full of what Ja'Skaro smelled to be mead. Droplets of it hung to his beard once he finished drinking and he did not wipe them off, even after belching loudly, and smelly.
"You ain't look that 'ardy though methinks," the man mused.
"You're wrong, this one says!" Ja'Skaro yelped. "This one's strong and good worker!"
"And what's of those hands?" the man squinted while looking at the paws resting against the Khajiitt's hips. "What do they know to do?"
"Take care of horses, this one speaks," Ja'Skaro explained, "tending for them and their leather and other wares, little building and crafting, too! And I get along with all farm beasts, and can help with any work about the farm!"
The Nord chuckled roughly.
"And those hands aren't keen on taking things from pockets and chests?"
Ja'Skaro yelped.
"Naw, never!" he gave his oath, "this one not one that steals!"
"Seen many of yer sort and you all seem to like anything that glints and isn't nailed down," the Nord proposed.
"Naw, this one never taken another one's gold!" Ja'Skaro declared. "This one's the Ja of good Khajiitt, this one no steal."
"Zzza?" the Nord buzzed quizzically.
"Sorry, this one speaks," Ja'Skaro said, "it is the word in my tongue that means youth, sirr, like this one...ah...lads? Boys?"
"Those are words I understand!" the Nord chuckled from the belly. "You speak our tongue though, where'd you pick that up?"
"In Bodrum!" Ja'Skaro spoke up, "many travelers and traders pass by. This one speaks with everyone and pick up words!"
"Smart lad, eh," mused the fierce-looking Nord, "but don't necessarily need smart, just strong and good workers who do what they're told to."
"This one does!" Ja'Skaro asid, And this one don't let anyone down."
"So where is that...Bodrum?" Holger asked.
"In Morrowind," Ja'Skaro explained. "On the...fork of road leading to the provinces! Saw many travelers. Learned words and stories of lands far and near!"
The Nord looked somewhat impressed, despite the doubts he was unquestionably having in regards to the visitor in his rooms.
"Tis awfully far away from Morrowind."
"This one been walking a long time," Ja'Skaro replied, "been many places. Working and making my wages, sirr."
"Got any reason for not staying in one place?" the Nord proposed.
"Naw, sirr, not easy to get apprenticeship at this age and the times are tough," the Khajiitt explained, "coin is sparse."
The Nord let out a chortle.
"When have the times not been tough?" he stated. "Strife in *Markath, fighting in Harmmerfell, the Elves still in arms about us, the Empire in shambles, whispers of dragons and creatures of Oblivion..."
"Not easy to make a living anywhere, so this be as good place as any this one speaks!" Ja'Skaro replied.
"You sure are eager," said the Nord, "do you know whose house this is?"
"No, sirr, but this one hears it belongs to a rich man," he said.
"This is the house of Tandram Reloth and his family," said the Nord, "rich friends of the Empire, his people. Make Septims, war or peace. Ships, mines, trade, fields..."
"That be a Dunmer name," Ja'Skaro said.
The big Nord resorted to using the tip of his blade as a toothpick, making a rather noisy spectacle of it.
"Dark skins, sure," he said.
"No quarrel with them, this one," said the Khajiitt.
"Kept your people as slaves didn't they?"
"Been two hundred years ago," Ja'Skaro said, "no need to think of those anymore."
The Nord put down his knife to the table and went for his cup of drink again.
"Don't know...if ye're a wanderer...might walk out on us...possibly with the house silvers in your pack..."
"This one intends to stay, sirr!" the Khajiitt explained. "Wish to make a good coin and live here, this a good area I hear. Too cold near the Sea for this one."
"You been up to Sea of Ghosts?"
"This one has worked the docks in Solitude," he replied. "T'was too cold and wet for this one."
The Nord laughed heartily.
"You like it dry and warm?"
"This more dry and warm here," Ja'Skaro smirked. "And prefer horses to mudcrabs."
"Holger!" the plump woman by the stove spoke up, catching the Khajiitt's attention as well.
"Yes, me'dear?" the man spoke boisterously.
"Shall I put a bowl down for the cat too?" she glanced at the smiling Khajiitt.
Ja'Skaro looked at the woman curiously, then looked at the thoughtful man at the table, who was now rubbing his beard.
"Sure, get 'im some grub," he said, "and more good mead for me!"
She laughed, but fulfilled his request by bringing a bottle over to the table. Ja'Skaro gave a hopeful look at the woman and her big pots, which she did seem to note, for she winked on her way back to the shove with its inviting scents- The Nord, Holger, took out a pouch out of which he procured a pinch of imported Cyrodiil tobacco, and began to fill a meerschaum pipe that'd been carved into the shape of a dragon's roaring head.
"Sit down, cat-man, and tell me more about Morrowind," the Nord said.
"Thank you, sirr!" the Khajiitt purred happily.
*
Night fell over Lake Ilinalta and shrouded the land in the darkness, but the twin moons and lights gleaming from windows cast a friendly glow onto the courtyard when Ja'Skaro exited through the kitchen door. There was a cheerful swing to his tail from a half a bottle of mead he'd been treated to once Holger had enjoyed his third mead, and the Khajiitt found that it warmed his stomach pleasantly. He'd been an occasional Sujamma drinker back home in Morrowind, but he was sure he could develop a taste for the honey-flavored drink preferred by the big men of the North.
Holger lived up to his people's reputation, though managed to walk with a mostly stable gait, a lantern in his hand. They walked through the cool night air, the lantern pointing the way as they moved along, to Ja'Skaro's surprise, past the lit windows of the long, narrow building he had presumed to be the accommodations for the farm's workers.
"That's where I live," the Nord pointed out a dark window at the end of the building, with a wooden bench placed next to the door, "there are six beds in the bunkhouse but it's full so you'll have to be sleeping over there."
He pointed onto a tall building some way off the manor house and the bunkhouse he had indicated previously.
"That's where the Master keeps his horses and carriages," the Nord spoke up as he led the Khajiitt along the well-stomped path crossing the yard, "there's a loft above it, it's dry and nice and there's a smokestack up from the stables to keep it warm if there's a chill."
"That's very nice, thank you ,sirr!" the Khajitt murmured happily.
"You'll climb up from there," Holger pointed out narrow, steep steps on the end of the building that led to a small landing and a hatch-like opening into the loft, "will send Snorri to knock on in it in the morning so you'll known when to get up to feed and water the horses."
"How many are there again?" Ja'Skaro asked. He knew it had been mentioned before, but the food, the drink, the warmth and the smoke in the room had made him slightly hazy on the topic.
"The Master has four grown and one foal," Holger said, "only two are in there now because the Master is out in Whiterun with the carriage and Thurek. You'll have a week to prove what you can do with the horses before the Master is back and then we'll see if he'll want to hire you for a longer time, you got that, cat-man?"
The bigger male's breath smelled strongly of mead, but Ja'Skaro kept his calm.
"Yes, sirr, this one understands!" he stated.
"Good," said the Nord, "now, you go up, and I'll head to my own bed before I'm seeing the crack of dawn far too early to me liking!"
The man laughed on his way across the yard, which left the Khajiitt to stand by the house. He was curious to see his charges, but decided that the sniff of horses was enough for him for the moment. He didn't want to interrupt their sleep and meet them in such a manner for the very first time. It'd be easier to approach them if he'd come bearing the gifts of food come the morning.
He was smiling all the way up, scaling the steps and slipping into the dry, musty-smelling space above the carriage shelter. The floorboards creaked and he could see between some of them, but it was not too cold, and there was no unpleasant stench in the air, as one might imagine when animals were about. He didn't mind sleeping close to his charges, it made it easy to tend to any urgent needs, but sleeping under the same roof could also become rather crowded.
This space suited him well. He could see enough with his ample night vision. There were a few bales of hay and some straws spread along the floor, and they smelled fresh enough. He could very well make it into a comfortable nest for himself, given the chance. Just needed a lantern and a few articles of comfort and it'd be just perfect for one wandering cat.
The weary traveler put down his bedroll onto some straws, slipped under the cover of the familiar blankets, and murmured a quiet blessing for the Divines before he drifted away to sleep.
*
Thank you for reading!