The rain fell heavily upon the slate rooftops of Virehall as Mistress Elowen Hargrave hurried through the courtyard of her family's estate. A sharp wind tugged at her cloak while servants scrambled to secure lanterns against the coming storm.
The newest member of the household stood calmly amidst the chaos.
He was a dragonborn of bronze scales, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed in the dark livery of House Hargrave. A polished silver pin bearing the family's crest rested neatly upon his collar.
Unlike the other servants who rushed about in panic, he appeared entirely unbothered by the weather.
"Steward Kael," Elowen called.
The dragonborn turned and bowed politely.
"My lady."
Elowen frowned.
"You always say that as though you know something I do not."
Kael's amber eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"I know many things, my lady. It is, after all, my profession."
"And what do you know now?"
"That the storm shall worsen within the hour."
She folded her arms.
"Anyone could tell that."
"Perhaps."
He glanced toward the distant hills.
"I also know that the eastern retaining wall will collapse in precisely forty-three minutes."
Elowen blinked.
"How in the Seven's name could you possibly know that?"
A small smile touched the corner of his muzzle.
"I inspected it yesterday."
The wall collapsed thirty-nine minutes later.
For the remainder of the evening, Elowen found herself increasingly annoyed by how often the dragonborn proved correct.
The following morning, Elowen descended to the estate library intending to review financial records.
Instead, she found Kael already seated at her desk.
Several ledgers lay open around him.
A stack of accounting reports sat neatly organized by date.
A fresh cup of tea waited beside her chair.
The dragonborn looked up.
"Good morning, my lady."
She stared.
"Did you reorganize my entire library?"
"Only the inaccurate sections."
"There are inaccurate sections?"
"There were."
Elowen slowly approached the desk.
"You have been employed here for four days."
"Five."
"Four."
"Five."
She narrowed her eyes.
Kael opened a ledger.
"Four days, twenty-two hours, and sixteen minutes."
Silence lingered.
The dragonborn adjusted his spectacles.
Elowen hated how attractive competence was.
Unfortunately, Kael possessed dangerous quantities of it.
She sat heavily in her chair.
"What exactly did you do before becoming a steward?"
Kael paused.
"I served several noble houses."
"Doing what?"
"Correcting problems."
"That sounds suspiciously vague."
"It usually is."
Elowen noticed the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
For reasons she could not adequately explain, that bothered her even more.
Several weeks passed.
The estate prospered.
Missing funds were recovered.
Trade agreements improved.
A feud with a neighboring vineyard mysteriously resolved itself.
Nobody knew how.
Everyone suspected Kael.
One evening, Elowen discovered him standing alone upon a balcony overlooking the city.
The setting sun painted the bronze scales of his face with streaks of gold and crimson.
For once, he appeared thoughtful.
Almost distant.
"Enjoying the view?" she asked.
"A little."
"You rarely stop working."
"Neither do you."
"That is different."
"How?"
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Kael chuckled softly.
The sound surprised her.
Most dragonborn she had encountered possessed deep, booming voices.
His laughter was quieter.
Warmer.
The steward rested his arms upon the stone railing.
"The city is beautiful at sunset."
"It is."
"The towers."
"The river."
"The bells."
"The woman standing beside me."
Elowen nearly tripped over her own feet.
Kael immediately straightened.
"My apologies."
"You just compared me to architecture."
"I did."
"Was that supposed to be flattering?"
"It worked in a novel I once read."
She laughed despite herself.
The dragonborn looked relieved.
Rumors spread quickly throughout noble society.
Some claimed House Hargrave's steward possessed secret royal connections.
Others insisted he was a retired mercenary.
One particularly imaginative gossip column suggested he was actually three dragonborn standing atop one another beneath an exceptionally convincing coat.
Kael refused to comment.
Elowen suspected he enjoyed the speculation.
Their friendship deepened.
Then deepened further.
Then wandered dangerously close to becoming something neither wished to define.
One snowy evening during Frostwane, they found themselves trapped in the library by a fierce blizzard.
A fire crackled in the hearth.
Outside, snow buried the gardens beneath white drifts.
Inside, silence lingered.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Kael looked up from his book.
"You have been staring at the same page for twenty minutes."
Elowen jumped.
"I have not."
"You have."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated.
The dragonborn waited patiently.
Which was entirely unfair.
He always waited patiently.
Finally, she sighed.
"About you."
For perhaps the first time since she had known him, Kael appeared genuinely surprised.
His tail stopped moving.
His eyes widened slightly.
A smile slowly spread across his muzzle.
"A dangerous pastime."
"You're impossible."
"I have been told that."
"Frequently."
"Almost daily."
Years later, when visitors asked how the Lady of House Hargrave first fell for her dragonborn steward, they expected a dramatic story.
Perhaps a duel.
A rescue.
A grand confession beneath moonlight.
Instead, Elowen always answered truthfully.
"He balanced the accounting books."
The visitors invariably looked disappointed.
Yet Kael would always laugh.
And every single time, Elowen would smile.
Because beneath the jokes, there was something strangely romantic about it.
No dragons had been slain.
No kingdoms had been saved.
No ancient prophecies had been fulfilled.
Two stubborn people had simply found one another amidst ledgers, storms, libraries, and ordinary days.
