#short little piece today. the dragonborn before she was the dragonborn being a normal and regular guest

[ehlnofay]

 The woman sits at one end of a crooked-legged table, concentrating hard on her plate of blood sausage.

It’s nice. Warm. The soldier and his family are chattering, but between trying not to drop the sausage before it reaches her mouth and the ringing in her ears, she can’t make out what they’re saying.

She overcompensates and squishes the sausage in between her fingers, the dark mince inside bursting out of the skin. Gerdur taps the table to get her attention and asks, “You sure you don’t want me to cut that into pieces for you?”

It’s the first time she’s eating something solid, that isn’t porridge or mashed-up vegetables. She can’t tip it into her mouth the way she’s gotten used to, and even that was something she often struggled with – spilling it down her front more often than not. Gerdur always asked her to use the spoon, but utensils are too fiddly.

She pinches the crumpled sausage between her finger and thumb and takes a bite. Gerdur turns back to the conversation.

She’s a little more tuned in now, and she listens as Gerdur says, “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to get away. We’re so busy, and of course this is a priority, but it’s such a time commitment, too…”

“I’d do it,” Ralof declares, “but –”

“I wouldn’t let you.” Gerdur slices off the end of her own sausage. “And I don’t know who else. There’s no-one I’d trust to ask – Frodnar, don’t eat your peas with your fingers, you’ll get sauce all over your hands.”

The child, seated by the woman, scowls and jerks his head at her. “You don’t tell her off for eating with her fingers.”

“She’s a grown woman, and you know full well that that’s different, you little rascal.”

Gerdur’s husband chews and swallows. “There’s enough mercenaries come through Delphine’s inn. I’m sure one of them could carry the message.”

“But I don’t trust them to do it right,” Gerdur counters. “I can’t ask the first hired sword I find to tell the Jarl there’s dragons afoot, Hod, why would he believe them? Would they even believe me? It should be someone like Ralof, who’s seen it with his own eyes, but it just isn’t safe, and I wish I could do it myself but I can’t leave you and the mill for so long.” She places her fork down next to her plate and drops her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know.”

She wants someone to tell the Jarl there’s dragons afoot.

The woman licks her oily fingers and says, voice gruff and husky from disuse, “I can go.”

Gerdur’s head snaps up. The end of her braid is dipping in her vegetables. Somewhere to the side the woman can’t see very clearly, she hears a fork clatter onto a plate. The child next to her whispers loud enough that she can hear through the ringing in her ears, “She talked.”

Gerdur is still staring.

Everyone is staring.

The woman picks up her next sausage.

“Did you –” Gerdur cuts herself off, shakes her head. The movement of her heavy plait flings peas over the edge of the table. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, love,” she says more gently. “You’re still mending, remember? Amantina said it could take over a year for your head to settle.”

If that, the healer Amantina had said. The effects could be with her for the rest of her life. The woman remembers. She doesn’t see how that’s relevant.

“You’re not ready for travel,” Gerdur tells her. On the blurry side, Ralof is still staring.

She is ready for this travel, though. She can’t stay in this house. It’s only right that she be the one to tell the Jarl about the dragon – she was there when it attacked, after all; it looked her in the eye; she has dreamt of it since. It’s only right, because she’s restless, getting tired of bowls of porridge and patient voices. It’s only right for reasons that don’t need to be articulated. She feels the rightness of it in her bones.

“I can go,” she repeats, and stands, chair scraping back from the table, to pack her bags.

[nova-kismet]

just finished the first chapter of a quick little fic i’m writing (based on a couple of characters from the d&d homebrew campaign i’m putting together). figured i’d drop it here on the offchance that anyone would like to read it. more below the cut.

~1~               

“It has come time to serve your family once more.”

Mother’s words still tugged at the corners of my subconscious as I hitched my horse by the Market District gates. With an exhausted sigh, I pulled my plain black cloak closer to my shoulders and made my way from the stables up the darkened flagstone streets. Even for near-midnight on a Sunday, the typically busy center of Starfeld commerce seemed strangely deserted. As nice as it was to be able to make my way up the main path without having to weave through a sea of people, I couldn’t stomach another moment of quiet. At this point I was desperate for anything to distract myself from the thoughts racing through my head.

Just a few feet ahead, a weather worn wooden sign marked my destination; The Crossroads Inn. My home away from home.

A tall, iron-framed wooden door stood before me, flanked by two thick stone columns. I could already hear the soft, lilting tune of a lyre coming from within as I approached, accompanied by clinking dinnerware and muffled voices. Sounds like I had dropped by in the middle of one of Hilda’s weekly performances.

As I stepped inside, the strong scent of heady wine and cooked meats filled my nose. The flames in the gilded lanterns lining the crimson-painted walls were low, bathing the few patrons seated underneath them in a subdued orange glow. The diminutive halfling form of the lyre-wielding bard, Hilda, stood front-and-center of the room, swaying languidly with the tempo of the music that flowed from her fingers. A large stained glass window set into the middle of the ceiling reflected shimmering, multi colored light in an intricate geometric pattern on the floor with the full moon just visible beyond its surface.

I made my way straight to the counter off to the right, which was being tended by a familiar Dragonborn man by the name of Alzax. His scaly brow raised as I approached and sat down on a stool. I could tell I was about to receive an enthusiastic welcome, as I normally did, so I raised a hand to him and smiled. Understanding my intentions, he nodded and grabbed a glass from under the counter. While I normally enjoyed his exuberance, I just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

“Evening, Zax.” I said as he began pouring a drink. At this point, I didn’t even have to tell him what I wanted.

“Ezra! I wasn’t expecting you here tonight. How’ve you been?” He placed the white wine in front of me and leaned on his elbows as he responded. I pulled a few gold pieces out of my coin purse and laid them down for him.

“Oh, just splendid,” I replied, almost musing to myself. “This past week has been an absolute shitshow.”

Realization dawned on the red-tinged lizardfolk’s face, and he nodded. “I just heard the news today. You’re gonna end up with some Laurelian princess, right?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

“Ah,” Alzax reached across the counter and gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder as I took a long sip of my drink. “Hang in there, big guy. Arranged marriages never last anyway. And besides, I hear Laurelians are big party people. At least there’s a chance she won’t be boring.”

It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep myself focused on the conversation, as the prospect of my future (or lack, thereof) being the topic is nothing short of exhausting. My so-called “Princely Duties” were precisely what I was trying to distract myself from in the first place.

I sighed and held my head up with the heel of my palm, my other hand focused on halfheartedly swirling the glass of pale alcohol in front of me. “As much as I enjoy the notion of living out the rest of my years in eternal party mode, I think I would prefer to do something that actually matters. I couldn’t care less about some King I’ve only ever met twice at political gatherings.”

“Such is the nature of ruling a nation, my friend. If you inherit the throne, dealing with people you don’t give a rat’s ass about is going to be part of the everyday minutiae.”

“I’d rather give that responsibility to my sister. She seems more patient than I am with these things.”

At that moment, Hilda’s final song finally tapered to an end, eliciting a wave of applause from the modest number of patrons across the room. She bowed, left her tip jar and lyre on the table beside her, and sidled up to the counter, taking purchase on a stool at the other end. Alzax regarded me briefly, then moved to attend to her.

With this newfound solitude, I turned to survey the people behind me, searching for any other familiar faces. They were all strangers this time around, but a group stationed in the corner briefly caught my eye-- there were six of them sitting around two tables they had pushed together, carrying on a lively conversation, each with large steins in their hands. As my gaze passed over them, I couldn’t help but notice one of them staring at me.    

I was met with ocean-blue eyes. The emerald-skinned man making careful eye contact with me had his studded leather boots propped up on the table, his feet crossed at the ankles. Covering his shoulders was a Sea Captain’s coat, open at the chest--inky black with silver and red trim. He appeared to be Triton, which was a rare sight in Fallreven, much less so far inland. His watchful eyes made me the slightest bit unnerved, but at this point in my life I was used to people gawking. I almost had to double-take when I saw a faint, wry smirk play across his lips. Shaking it off, I turned around and went back to emptily watching my drink swirl in its glass.

About an hour passed without major incident. I was beginning to feel restless, and the alcohol sitting in my stomach didn’t help. I bid Alzax farewell and exited the inn, not sure where I was headed next. As long as it wasn’t home.

Once back out on the city streets, I walked to the nearest fenced-in platform overlooking the Twine District below and leaned on it, trying to gather my thoughts.

I knew this arrangement would happen eventually, but now its inevitability hung over my head like a dark stormcloud. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to pretend to be in love with a perfect stranger, just so we received outside help for the war with Zhilthorn. I didn’t even want to broach the subject of having kids.

But, Laurelia has what we need to turn the tides. As much as the thought irks me, I would do almost anything to put an end to this ridiculous fighting.

A few minutes passed as I stared blankly at the sprawling residential district below, the cool Autumn breeze ruffling my hair and playing at the edges of my cloak. I couldn’t help but wonder what life as a working-class commoner was like--what it would be like to wake up each morning and not have three handmaidens fussing over me, dressing me up like a doll. Perhaps a simpler life would be more fulfilling.    

I was about to make my way back to my horse when a shout from a few feet away dragged me from my quiet contemplation.

“Oi! If you were trying to be sneaky, you’re not doing a very good job of it!”

I whipped around to face the source of the voice, then was immediately tackled and pinned down by a brawny, shadowed form--almost taller than myself. As I fell to the ground with it, the sound of quick, distant footsteps pounding across the flagstone towards us met my ears. I hardly had time to recover from the initial shock before the glint of a dagger poised above my throat demanded my immediate attention.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I attempted to free my pinned arms and wriggle out from under the masked man’s crushing weight. The knife came down and I threw my head to the side to dodge it, the sharp steel making hard contact with the stone beside me. Not enjoying being pinned against the cold, hard ground, I reared back and slammed my horns into the assailant’s forehead, eliciting an agonized yell. While he was still recovering from the headbutt, I leveraged my weight against his and threw him off, finally scrambling to my feet.

Before my hand could touch the hilt of the sword sheathed at my side, a lithe figure sped up behind the attacker and pierced a rapier through the back of his throat. The would-be assassin’s hands weakly reached up to the hole in his neck as blood began to trickle down, a wretched gurgle bubbling from his mouth. The blade was pulled from his skin and wiped off with a handkerchief as the man eventually quieted and slumped to the ground, a pool of blood gathering by his head.

I let out the breath I’d been holding in through the entire scuffle, and finally got a good look at my savior--it was the Triton man I had seen at the inn just a few moments ago.

“Shit...What a terrible assassin.” I breathed, mostly to myself. After affixing the thin blade back to a belt under his coat, the Triton let out a soft chuckle.

“I’m sure you had it all handled, I was just feeling generous.” He spoke with a pleasant Northern lilt. If honey was a sound, it would be his voice.

He then reached out and brushed some of the dirt off of my cloak with the same smirk he had given me the first time I saw him. “No way he could’ve taken out a battle-hardened Prince such as yourself, hm?” Before I could open my mouth to respond, he winked at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

Something about his face made it difficult to focus and find the right words. I instead found myself blushing under his gaze. “Th...Thanks.” was all I managed to get out. Clearly amused by my floundering, he clicked his tongue as he looked down to the corpse at our feet. “The guards’ll take care of him, right?” he quipped, an ironically light tone to his voice.       

“I should hope so.” I replied as I knelt down by the body and peeled his cape away from his chest. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted a scroll poking out from a pocket on his hip--an illustration of a boar’s head in profile, surrounded by a wreath of thorny vines marked the heading of the parchment. The crest of one of Zhilthorn’s wealthiest families. The letter contained information for a hit and bounty on my head. Not surprising, but not really enjoyable to read with my own eyes, regardless. I sighed and pocketed the note. “I always knew the Vargharods hated me.” I muttered to myself as I straightened back up to my full height. The still unnamed man watched with a curious glint in his eye. Before he could ask any questions, I stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder.  

“I know we were both just in there, but I believe I owe you a drink…Uh,” I trailed off, just then realizing I didn’t know what to call him.

“Arin. And don’t worry about that, friend. We--or you in particular, should probably stay sober if there could be another hitman on the loose.” he said. My hand dropped back to my side and I nodded, the shock finally wearing off, then the reality of the situation starting to set in.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“If you’re so insistent on repaying me, you could give me a ride up to the palace.” Arin continued. I looked at him for a brief moment, bewildered by his request. 

Seeing this, he pulled a folded note from his own pocket. It bore my family’s seal and the Queen’s own handwriting. “Your ma wanted to see me.” he explained, flashing the note at me.

I suppose I did remember Mother mentioning that she planned on receiving a guest sometime this week. I just nodded and started back on the road toward the Northern Gate. “This way, then.” He followed behind me without a word.