In Which Nora Is Offered a Warm Hand

January 3, 1158

"You know, I can cook every once in a while, Nora," offered Ceidrid from the other side of the kitchen. "I know I'm not as good at it, but you can't do everything, you know; it's not good for you."

Softly inhaling the soup's aroma, Nora shook her head. "You're busy enough with the farm. With Grandpapa's back as it is, I don't want you stressing yourself over anything but that."

She expected Ceidrid to reply, but he didn't; perhaps he had just given up protesting.

"Cheat!" snapped Alsina as Rifden sprung backwards, away from her. "I hit you!"

"Nuh-uh!" Rifden argued. "You missed by a mile!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"What are you two doing?" demanded Nora, not turning her back on the pot of soup.

"We're being archers," Alsina explained, "and I hit him, but he's still up, because he's a cheat."

Rifden pouted. "Am not!"

"Just shut up, both of you," sighed Ceidrid. "I'm tired. Nora's tired. It's nice that you're trying to keep up morale here, but you're both tired too."

Nora bit her lip--'tired' wasn't the right word, and her brother knew it. "Ceidrid..."

Before she could tell him off, however, someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" she called, welcoming the arrival of an outsider; the only joy the house had known in the past few weeks had come and gone with those who lived elsewhere.

"It's Jothein," replied the carpenter from outside. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, come in," Nora insisted.

"Jothein!" Rifden squealed as the carpenter made his way into the house. "Alsina's trying to shoot me!"

Jothein gave a half-hearted smile as his gaze fell from Nora to the playing children. "I hope you're good at dodging, then."

He'd called on them nearly every day since their mother had died. Oftentimes, he brought things--food, cloth, toys for Rifden--but more than anything else, Nora appreciated his company. It was good, being in the presence of someone who had not watched her mother decay over the past several years; someone strong, someone who could keep her from falling apart. If it hadn't been for the kindness of others, she may not have found the will to press on, to care for her siblings as best she could--there would have been nothing else left for any of them.

Today, however, he had nothing with him but a sense of purpose. With a devout resolve, he locked eyes with Alsina and requested. "Perhaps you would like to step outside and enjoy the fresh air? It's unseasonably warm."

Alsina frowned. "But..."

"Go on," Ceidrid urged, "both of you."

Jothein turned and glanced his way. "Actually, Ceidrid... I'd like a word with Nora alone, if that isn't too bold."

"It's fine," she assured him. "Get out, all of you."

With a chorus of grumbled "Fine"s, the three of them filed out, Alsina slamming the door behind her.

"Sorry about that," apologized Nora, giving the soup one last stir before setting down the spoon.

"It's quite all right," Jothein insisted as he sat down at the table. "I suppose I could have been more polite myself; I shall apologize to them later."

Forcing the largest smile she could--which was not particularly large at all--she turned away from the pot and made her way to the seat across from Jothein. "Anyway... what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Jothein was normally a man to begin a conversation with a joke, she had learned, but this time, he merely made eye contact; whatever it was, it was serious.

"Firstly," he began, "I'm terribly sorry about your mother. You and your siblings are all old enough to remember her, but not quite old enough to have spent as many years with her as you all deserved. I know that nothing I can say can change anything, but I am simply stating my sympathies."

She would not cry, she reminded herself; no longer had she any tears. "Thank you," she choked, somehow managing to meet his eye as she coughed out the words.

A somber expression glazed his face, from his wintery eyes to his bearded chin. "It is never someone who deserves it, it seems. That husband of poor young Thetis is in perfect health, there is nothing wrong with the baroness, and your hated sister-in-law and her father prosper--and in the end, your sweet, gentle mother is the one to go."

"At least we knew it would happen," she whispered softly as he stood and began to make his way to her side of the table, "if nothing else."

Jothein sighed. "In either case... well, your grandfather is getting up in years; who knows how much longer he will be with you children? Your older brother has a cruel wife, and now two babies of his own, so it is doubtful that he can care for you in the event of some unexpected tragedy. And as for yourself... you are only sixteen, not a day older, even. You have a good job, and a kind employer, but regardless, you would not leave a ten-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a five-year-old alone--at least, not all day, every day."

"No," agreed Nora, pulling herself to her feet. "They need someone here, or at least Alsina and Rifden do. Ceidrid's doing a lot of the farm work now, so they'd be practically alone if anything happened to my grandfather."

Suddenly, he took her cold, trembling hands in his own. They were rough, as any skilled craftsman's would be, but both strong and gentle at the same time, as well as a pleasant sort of warm she had not known since her father had died all those years ago now.

"What if I was here?" he asked her.

Stunned, Nora looked up at him--never had there been eyes so clear. "But your shop..."

"I can work from here," he told her. "I can be at the shop a few days a week, and that will be enough. If I am needed on other days, my customers can come to me here. Or perhaps I can take Ceidrid--or Rifden, when he's a little older--as an apprentice, and when I feel he is ready, he can run the shop for me some days."

She tried to piece together exactly what he was saying. She thought she knew--she knew she knew--but at the same time, she wanted to hear him say it outright, to spell it out as he would have had she been a more stupid girl than she was. There was something more definite in that.

"Are you... asking me to marry you?" she blurted out bluntly; she had never been one for phrasing things delicately.

Jothein smiled slightly. "Are you saying you would?"

"Well, you would have to ask first," Nora informed him with whatever grin she could muster.

He nodded. "All right. Leonora Wythleit... will you marry me?"

For a moment, all she could do was press herself to him, burying her face in his shoulder. A thousand thoughts flew threw her head, and at the same time, her mind was empty--empty except for his face, and those of her siblings, and that of their poor mother.

Finally, she managed a quiet reply of "Yes."

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