The Tale of Megana the Kind
17th Sun’s Height, Evening,
Falkreath Town Square
When Ivy exited her tent, she looked like a different woman completely - more like a creature in fact. She was wearing very little, only a fitted leotard in a shade that matched her dark skin tone almost completely, with a cut out below her chest to her hips. The contours of her stomach and waist were painted in a lurid red colour that was both striking and beautiful. The same red paint had been used at the side of each thigh, and to graze her collarbones. The Dunmer was yet again barefoot, only this time she was in conforming socks in a golden colour that cut at the heel and at her toes, she wore sleeves around her forearms in the same colour that were bandaged down into fingerless gloves.
But all in all it was the crimson hair that stood out most - she’d tightened it back into a thick and well-teased braid that stood coiffed perfectly atop her head before falling to the back of her knees. Her edges had been slicked down at her hairline with a wax in enchanting spirals. The braid was adorned with scale-like flecks of metal and hoops of copper and the way in which it cascaded down the graceful curve of her spine to below her bottom was reminiscent of a dragon’s tail.
Her face was highlighted with a silver-white shimmer that clung to the sharpness of her cheekbones and sat below her brows, at the tip of her nose, and dotted daintily on her plump cupids bow. She gave a smile out at the town square before her, inhaling the evening air with a sense of pride in her chest as it filled. Ivy blinked in quick succession as she glanced up at the stars, pressing together the thumb and forefinger of each hand to create a square viewing box which she peered through. Her lips pursed and she nodded thoughtfully; “prosperous evening for some, but a darkness lingering on the outskirts… I should be careful.” Ivy’s voice had an accent to it that was difficult to ascertain as being from any one place. There was the clear lilting purr of the Khajiit of Elsewyr, the occasional harshness of Dunmeris and even hints of an Imperial accent blended into one. It was the accent of a well-travelled woman, who’d picked up bits and pieces along the way and had refused to let go. Which, all things considered, was the way that Ivy chose to live out every aspect of her life - as evidenced by the many trunks of trinkets and spoils that she hoarded in her tent.
Finally, in her hand she held one of those trinkets. A mask. It was made of darkened metal, but bronze came through in the places where some of the coating had worn down, around the eyes and at the tips of the fangs. It was shaped like a dragon's head, and was just big enough for Ivy to tie it behind her braid so that it sat over her forehead - her blazing red eyes peeking through the holes. She giggled to herself and offered a quiet roar and growl against the night. The gradually increasing rhythm of faint drumbeats began in the square…
The square itself looked very much as a town square should. It was worse for wear, sure. The war had done that much, still, there was something endearing about it. There was hope in the tattered town. The hope was in the smiling faces of the nords as they danced in circles with tankards in hand to the music played. The music added a warmth to what should have been a rather biting evening. The plum and black sky sat over them - a ceiling of stars that also wanted to celebrate with the men, women, and children of Jorwen Red Bear's war band. They had built a great fire in the centre, from a hollow in the ground, and the flames licked at the air and crackled loudly.
The great fire was the guest of honour. It brought the warmth, the inviting orange glow that cut through the tensions and through the black and white of the world with its luminance. It was more than a fire, it was a beacon. It was a tower of hope that passed it's spark to every soul that danced around it, or warmed their hands against it. It was a celebration at its most primitive. Fire was violence, burning, and pain - and yet here, peace radiated from it. Fire was the very breath of Falkreath's savior.
"Whursssss the acrobab??!!" Yelled out a large and bearded Nord from behind his tankard, ale spitting out from his wet lips, his arm around the shoulders of an equally drunk female companion. "To our new guestseseses!" He called out again, raising the tankard to the sky, "to Jorwen Red Bear," he continued, swaying in a breeze that was not there. "To… fucking Skyrim!!!!" He finished with a triumphant bellow of finality. He only had to say the word and his Nord brothers and sisters raised theirs in turn to toast to their beloved province.
The man tumbled backwards into a haybale after that.
A blanket was draped over the man’s prone and almost immediately snoring form afterwards. Do’Karth had elected to pace himself with the festivities, always preferring to keep a clear mind and striking the balance between appearing to involve himself with the dynamics of the warband while maintaining his own personal code of ethics. Besides, he thought, his attention turning to Ivy with an affectionate smile, he never missed a show.
“See?! La’Shuni told you that you wouldn’t want to miss this!” the young girl exclaimed, dragging Daro’Vasora to the edge of the crowd. La’Shuni was adorned in a light brown embroidered tunic and white trousers, unperturbed by the chill while her sister wore a heavy cloak, wishing she was by a fire at that particular moment. The cold was forgotten for the moment as a pair of identical emerald eyes regarded the visage of a dragon beginning her dance, the cadence of drums acting as the heartbeat of a great beast.
“Well, isn’t that something.” Daro’Vasora smiled, pulling closer to her sister for warmth and affection. La’Shuni gave it freely.
As she warmed herself up and into the dance, the Dunmer led with her hips, letting them shimmy sensually in time to the drums. This display of belly dancing was simply the tease before the rest of the delights she had in mind…
Ivy had noted where each of her props were laid out. This was just about grabbing her crowd… Her stomach rolled and she held her arms out either side of her, their movements fluid and beautiful. Her feet carried her around the place she had named her stage in a hypnotising flurry. The poi was to the left, batons to the right, and hoop above. She smiled at the forming crowd, and gave Do'Karth a wave of acknowledgement. She liked to give the Khajiit special attention, and he wasn't the only one - she shuffled toward La'Shuni, giving her a playful wink too.
Do’Karth smiled at Ivy’s wave, responding with a hand over his heart. He did not wish to draw too much undo attention to himself; others might have thought the gesture was for them, and he did not want to deprive others of the sensation of acknowledgement from the alluring entertainer. But he knew it was for him, and him alone… it always was. The two had been close for weeks now, kindred spirits in many ways. He helped set up the displays Ivy put on, and he never tried to reign in her free spirit. Like a fire, she was her most alive when nothing tried to contain her spirit and expression. And so, like a fire out of control, she consumed the attention of all around her in a mesmerizing display forged from many different cultures that came together to form something that was distinctly
Ivy.La’Shuni giggled at the wink, her friend had always gone out of her way to make her feel special and acknowledged even from the first day the Khajiit had arrived with mister Francis, feeling like an outsider. She wondered where her mentor was at that particular moment; she was rather hoping to introduce Vasora to him. She’d tried hard to keep her sister to her right, concealing the scars hidden beneath her mane to the left of her face. It didn’t seem the time to bring up difficult discussions, not here.
“Are you two close?” Daro’Vasora asked.
That pulled La’Shuni out of her thought, prompting her to smile apologetically. “Ah! Yes, yes we are. Miss Ivy’s taken a liking to this one, she’s been looking after La’Shuni… they all have! And this one has been looking after them.” she explained mildly, deciding to keep her Nord-name to herself for the time being. The less her sister knew about what La’Shuni had been up to for the past couple of months, the better. She didn’t want her to worry about things that had already happened. She clutched the jade necklace that was about her neck, the one that Ivy had given her shortly after her Naming. It brought comfort and warmth to the Suthay-raht.
Elsewhere in the crowd, Calen swayed in the cool, familiar Skyrim air to the comforting, familiar sound of mirthful Nord men and women around a crackling fire. It felt like he was home again, even if Hjaalmarch was many miles Northwest from here. Yet it was hard to remain at ease with the knowledge that a few of his friends were missing. Not just that, but he was surprised to find himself searching the crowd for the face of a familiar Nord girl -- one who, while not responsible for getting him into this wild adventure, was at least the catalyst that brought him here -- causing him to absentmindedly play with the objects in the bag at his side. His hand was bandaged, a product of Raelynn’s handiwork shortly before she disappeared, but most of the healing was his own doing. His thumb twiddled around the outer ring of the dynamo-core he ripped out of the centurion. He lied before about having one, before he approached the Imperial City. Before he helped bring the refugees to Skingrad. Had she ever made it back home?
He abruptly pulled his hand out and refocused his attention on the ravishing dancer to distract himself. He'd do well to heed the lessons of his father -- “worry not what could be.” Though honestly, that often was in conflict with the College, so who was to say what was right? There has been a lot of loss and grief on the way here. He should enjoy this. In fact, he found his foot tapping along -- not to whatever sound or music was playing, but to the footsteps of the dancer herself. Even his swaying mirrored her movements; he longed to perform again, at least to wash the melancholy of the last few months off of him, but watching the beauty and grace unfold before him was good enough.
Meg was unable to keep the grin off her face. It was almost as if she hadn't been kidnapped or had to escape and travel for two days through the hills and forests with an injured companion. The energy in Falkreath was so unlike what she had felt here before. Now filled with survivors of all races, with laughter and excitement, it was almost like a Newlife Festival. More than that though was seeing her friends alive and well. It had been touching to know they had been concerned for her, and she was more than happy to reassure that she was indeed fine and well.
Once she had freshened up and helped herself to a little mead, the Nord woman felt a new surge of energy bubbling within, and she was ready to see what the night had to offer Falkreath. It seemed everyone was enthralled by the beautiful dunmer woman with flowing red hair, and truth be told, Meg couldn't blame them; she too had been gawking before letting out a whoop and cheering.
Mara's love, it's good t'be back, it's good t'be free. Daro'Vasora had been right all those days ago in the desert. The Nords weren't folk who simply rolled over and showed their bellies in submission. They were brave warriors, and to see their bravery and hospitality had brought so many others from different races together had Meg feeling warmer than even the mead in her belly had.
Affectionately playing with the loose end of her green and gold scarf, she began to scan the crowd for familiar and new faces, eager to have a chat or two. After a little perusing, she caught sight of one of her Nordish companions not too far away. Meg easily made her way over, making sure not to obstruct anyone's view or bump into them accidentally and cause some grumbles. "Heya!" she called out, reaching over to tap his shoulder. "I'mma bet you're just itchin' to join, eh?" His swaying hadn't gone unnoticed.
“Mm… perhaps.” Calen said coyly, look to Meg with a boyish smirk. He gently elbowed her arm as he teased, “Perhaps I sense projection. Who knew Megana had a fondness for
exotic women.”
"Wha'?" Meg blinked at the blond Nord, shaking her to correct his assumption before seeing the expression on his face. "Ahh, you're jokin' with me." She chuckled lightly as she looked back in the direction of the 'exotic woman'. "I dunno who wouldn' wanna -
want to- see this show. The way she looks and moves makes m'think of Dibella." The Imperial Nord didn't often speak of that goddess, but to her it seemed only fitting. She also recalled her lessons in enunciation with Zaveed and felt it was probably a good idea to practice speaking properly in the presence of a bard.
“Indeed she does.” Calen replied wistfully, prompting a hand to grab at the wooden amulet beneath his shirt. He looked down warmly at the shorter woman beside him, remembering how it was only shortly ago did she return with Zaveed after their disappearance. He was glad she was safe. So, in a fit of sentimentality, he wrapped a single arm around her in a hug and pulled her in close, and with a breathy sigh, he said, “Thank Talos, we’re finally home.”
"Aye," Meg agreed, leaning into the friendly hug, a grin lighting her face that had nothing to do with the festivities. Just like with Fjolte, it was nice that Calen knew exactly the feeling of being long gone and finally returning to familiarity.
The thought of the other Nord caused her grin the waver, but she powered through. He would be home, hopefully, with his sister and nieces, and hopefully one day find a lovely lass to marry and have children with.
"It almos' feels like the dwemer an' all that was just a bad nightmare," she said after a moment. "It's real nice that even when times're tough, we can still be happy an' have some fun."
“Almost.” Calen said, almost in agreement, but there was a somewhat somber tone in his voice that suggested otherwise. “You know it’s been bad when this doesn’t feel real. Like this is just a good dream, and when we wake up, the real world will be waiting…”
Calen paused for a second and looked at Meg, before sharply exhaling and forced a smile as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just keep thinking about what’s happening in Solitude. And Markarth. And all the other towns and villages in Skyrim. It’s hard to rest when we’re a day’s ride away from my family.”
"I know," Meg replied with a nod, smile still on her face though it seemed to be touched by a tinge of sadness. "My Pa's in Whiterun- well, he was. Same with his wife, an' my little brother, Sylven. I know Whiterun's... not quite right at the momen' but... I'm hopin' an' prayin' they're fine. We're tough people. I have faith in us an' them."
While doing the rounds with her dancing, Ivy had spotted in the crowd a beautiful looking gentleman, who seemed to be moving in time with her in his own way. The Dunmer had an incredible talent for spotting incredible talent and so she made her way with an alluring haste to his side. Her slender arms moved in tandem with her hips and legs. It was as though each part of her was dancing to its own routine, and yet together, it looked so exotic and foreign. The dancer’s moves were so outré, but her confidence and spirit sold them.
“Hello there handsome,” she purred in his ear, performing a pirouette at his side. “Come join me, show me what you can do…” And with that, she was moving backwards again – her footsteps were so soft that it appeared as though she was gliding across the ground back to her spot, her finger pointed at Calen as she beckoned him to her side on the ‘stage’. The Nord regarded her with pleasant surprise, a flattered blush coloring his face as he smiled and gave Meg a sideways glance, but he wasn’t timid. He ducked his head under the strap of his bag and handed it to Meg so that she may hold it for him as he commented, “Well, you know me: gotta give the people what they want! Take care dear, the bag is heavy.”
Soon after, encouraged by the hooting and hollering of his Nord kinsmen, Calen followed after Ivy with a swagger in his step. Truthfully, he was no saint and should admit to himself that watching Ivy walk away was not done purely for the sake of studying her dance pattern -- but it helped. When she spun around to meet him, the flow of her movements suddenly paused for the briefest moment so that he could ready himself and start in tandem, he matched her pose. Their arms, one wrapped around the waist of themselves and other high in the air, and the moment she led, he followed as they circled one another. They made it look easy, but Calen was working overtime trying to match her movements with Ivy’s mask hiding her facial cues. There was a hybrid style at work here, he noted. The movement and angles of her body were distinctly Dunmeri, but her footwork and handwork reminded him of Khajiiti, whose dancing were directly influenced by their martial arts kata. The College had been generous in their teachings, but this was challenging -- if she decided to mix it up a little, he might have to as well.
And change she did. Meeting Calen’s eyes with her own, Ivy stepped in time over to her left, turning on one foot again but taking a small leap into the air this time. As she came back down she slipped to her knees and scooped up her two batons into her hands. “Alright, so you dance – let me see you keep up to this…” she sang with a giggle. As she held each baton in the centre, her hands lit up with an orange light that manifested as two flames bursting at the end of each baton. With ease, she span both of them and the flames at each end appeared as two flaming circles in each hand. “So, handsome,” she began as she walked towards Calen again – the drums had slowed and quietened to the point where the whooshing of the pinwheel flames could be heard.
“How is your catching?” Ivy knew that the man was a performer, he had to be. Perhaps even schooled in it – unlike her. She had enough faith in Calen that before waiting for an answer, she tossed a flaming baton high into the air and left it to him. It had been too long since someone had
really danced with her. So far, she was impressed.
And catch he did. Granted, his eyes were wide with surprise, not expecting this firecracker to act so spontaneously. He could juggle, yes, though it wasn’t necessarily his specialty and the novelty of fire juggling was generally lost on the locals given the number of wooden buildings with straw roofing -- but he caught it nonetheless and recovered smoothly to the pleasure of the proud locals, and gave Ivy an eager smile and waggling of his brows as he twirled the fiery baton around his fingers and around his wrist, getting a feel for the handiwork again before catching it in the crook of his elbow. He spent enough time in the desert that the heat wasn’t going to get to him so quickly.
”My lady... ” he said, strutting up to Ivy and letting the baton roll down his arm and into his hand as he offered it back to her. However, as he did, a wave of his fingers from behind the flames reshaped the flames on one end in a fit of illusion magic so that they resembled a bouquet of roses. “I believe you dropped this.”
Ivy clapped her hands at the creation of flowers from flame, but cast her eyes back to the crowd - to the female companion of Calen who was watching happily on at the show. “They’re beautiful, handsome! But you know,” she began, slipping out of the beat to approach Meg. “I think this beautiful young miss here would love flowers!” she yelled out, taking the girl’s hand and raising it to the sky - her voice addressing the crowd and not just Calen. “What do you all think?”
“Aye!” And Francis’ voice was not the only one shouting the word, the crowd exploding into a cacophony of raised tankards and cups spilling bits of their mead and ale as they were thrust in the air.
Meg's face went from somber to bright red, not at all used to being the center of attention. Green eyes wide, she looked around herself frantically before reminding herself that this was supposed to be
fun, not a panic infused situation. "Ah- ah aye, I sure love flowers," she blabbed, wiping at her flushed face with her free hand, followed by a nervous giggle.
Ivy’s voice softened as she took both of her hands, reassuringly. “Just have fun young miss, keep them entertained. Your beautiful friend will help you…” she said quietly for Meg’s ears only as she led her to the front, letting go of her hands and standing her beside Calen. “Now the two of you get a solo spot,” she sang - handing her second baton to Meg. “Don’t be scared now, relish your moment in the spotlight,” she winked. “Keep them happy - and when I get back my handsome friend… You’re going to have to throw me in the air. You got that?” She did not wait for her answer, instead giving the two a grin before turning on her heel and making her way to the crowd. The eyes were now on Calen and Meg.
"Er... so you're gonna havta help me out here," Meg muttered to Calen. It was very hard to take the Dunmer's word's of not being nervous when she knew very well she was no entertainer and the only thing she had ever done for show was fight Brynja for gold, all those days ago in Anvil.
“To be frank,” Calen murmured back as he smoothly took the flaming baton from Meg’s hands, “I have no idea what to do with these either. And since you’re not a performer…
just relax.”
Both batons were suddenly juggled into the air, prompting a few oohs and ahs before the batons were suddenly discarded over his shoulder and landed in the dirt behind him -- Calen looked around at the crowd around him with an over-emphasized shrug, fetching a few snickerings from those who seemed to be in an unspoken agreement with the bard that juggling the batons, even flaming, was a little bit lame.
“Ladies and gents,” Calen called out as he circled the clearing, posturing himself, walking in confident strides like a rooster fluffing up its colorful plumage before he finally made it back to Meg, and took her hand for a dance, “allow me to introduce you to the benign,” he declared as he pulled her in, “the beautiful--” as he spun her away, “and the brave--” and released her into the center of the clearing, “--Megana the Kind!”
Amidst the whooping and cheering, as the locals knew that it was not every day a Nord would be immortalized in song, and for sure, tonight was a night when her new honorific title would be christened with merriment and drink, Calen cried out, “Lute!” and the crowd repeated the word, and somehow, from someone, a lute was indeed procured for him. The strumming that followed elevated the tension up to a crescendo until a rest relieved it, and then Calen turned to Meg with a smile.
“Ooooh… you’ve heard of Ragnar of Red, but who gives a damn ‘cause that man’s still dead?
Oh sure, the Dragonborn comes, but woe, the poor girl--”
The bard paused his playing to stage whisper to the crowd,
“She di’n’t feel a thing, except maybe a thumb!”He hoped the Dragonborn wasn’t around to hear this, given how he watched them shout down two Dwemer airships with the utterance of three words. Still, he continued.
“Let me tell you instead, my good friends of mine,
A story of a Nord named Megana the Ki-nd!
Delved into some ruins in the Jeralls,
Slaughtered some Falmer -- wait, I thought she was Kind?
Expectin’ to come back with some kind of haul--”
The song’s rhythm was suddenly cut off with the candid frankness of Calen’s voice, “Aw, shit, who stepped on the dwemer scrawl?”
Shrugging, he continued on. “Those damned cats… anyways…
“We’ve a new lightshow down in the South -- over there --
‘Let’s call it a day,’ she said,
With blood in her mouth.
Ran inland for food and supply,
Had their fill in the city and looked to the sky…”
Calen paused again and said, “What a queer little drago-oooh, Stendarr, those are
dwemer. A little bit uglier, eh?”
“Friends of assassins and cutthroats and thieves,
They fought their way past and into the leaves.
Skingrad’s no good,
Anvil ain’t better,
So li’l Megana the Kind got her hands even wetter--”
Calen groaned and added another interlude, “Thalmor now, mind you. You know, I’ll never understand some of those elves. Look, I’ll give everyone a chance, but talk about
too soon. Take a recess or something!”
“Her search for refuge brought her to sand,
And as you may know--”
Calen’s voice escalated into what sounded like a bout of incredulous yelling, as if he was expressing a frustrated sentiment that seemed obvious to him and hadn’t been able to voice before,
“HAMMERFELL IS OLD DWEMER LAND!”With a sigh and a shake of his head, he added, “Stendarr’s mercy, of
course they were there.”
“She found herself in the town of Gilane,
Covered in dwemer and redguards enchained.
But there were a select few that fought ‘gainst the power,
And they sought out Megana and friends in their dark hour.
Three missions were given and all three went sour!
“For li’l Megana the Kind, somebody had fumbled,
Alerted the guard and their plan had crumbled.
Shed some more blood did Megana the Kind,
Accidentally loosed an arrow, nay, accidentally loosed twice… three times… six? A dozen?”
Calen cast a sideways glance at Meg, and mouthed the words,
‘Damn, Meg.’ Then he smiled and resumed his playing.
“All in the same man, too.” He added matter-of-factly.
“The dwarves didn’t take kind to Megana the Kind,
Or the trail of blood that she left behind,
So they took her friend and put ‘em where she couldn’t find,
Thinking that was the way to give a piece of their mi-nd.”
Calen sucked air in through his teeth and looked nervously side-to-side as if to say,
‘We know enough about Meg now to see where this is going.’“They sent her an army, but they sent her too few,
She carved a path through the men that she slew.
With her friends at her back, and their counterattack,
She showed those dwarves
the Nord way to coup!”A loud cheer came from the Nord men and women in the crowd as they crashed their tankards together, spilling mead and ale over one another as Calen strummed his lute and danced circles around Meg, periodically prodding her with his shoulder to show how every verse were humored gestures made in good faith.
“Let that day be a lesson in war,
She might be nice, but she’ll show you what for!
If you laugh at Bloody Megana the Kind,
You won’t be laughing
WHEN SHE FUCKS YOUR BE-HIND!”
“How do you like it?” Jorwen smirked softly, addressing Sevari. The two had shared few words but between them there was a bond between men who had seen war and violence and survived. “Nord spirit. To sing and celebrate amongst a war.”
“I noticed.” Sevari grunted as he shoved hard at a shoulder that had strayed too close to him, the drunken couple not even noticing as they continued on in their fuzzy-headed writhing.
“Lighten up, Mister Sevari. You should laugh as much and as hard as you can while you yet live.” Francis winked, “It’ll be hard to after.”
“Don’t you have a little girl to dote over?” Sevari frowned at him. Francis’ benevolence and optimism didn’t quite strike Sevari as well as the Breton might have expected it to. Whereas Jorwen was quiet and stoic, Francis could be known to have a mouth on him.
“Oh, if only you knew. I doubt Ten-Thanes needs a doting hand on her shoulder.” Francis raised his cup to Sevari, “But I think I will seek out her conversation. Good evening to you, Mister Sevari.”
With that, Francis turned and headed deeper into the crowd to find Shuni. Sevari had no idea who the fuck Ten-Thanes was, but he found the insinuation that it was the little girl comedic. Then his mind went to his own young woman in his life, wondering how she was doing. Meg had tried and succeeded where Francis had not, awakening the smiles on his lips and a feeling of bonding. To see her dancing and smiling felt like a victory for himself, and so with a curt nod and slight grin he looked to Jorwen, “I’ll see you, Red-Bear.”
The Dunmer moved with ease through the crowds, away from the firepit and towards a recognisable face. The Ohmes from earlier. She had spotted him, drink in hand and a hat atop his head. He was moving away from the Red Bear and so Ivy snaked her way in between bodies to reach him by a pile of wooden crates that had been set up presumably for seats. She tapped him gently on his shoulder to grab his attention. "Say there, big man," she said quietly, "think you can help me wet my whistle?" Ivy asked, indicating to his drink.
Sevari turned at the voice, the familiarity of it tickling the back of his neck almost. It was the Dunmer. He was at a loss for words almost, but he recovered in step. He gave her his smirk, tipping his head at her in a little bow as he offered his cup. “What gentleman would I be if I wouldn’t?”
Ivy responded in kind with a small bow of her own head, taking his cup into her hand and lifting it to her lips for a small sip. The drink she had taken was tiny, but she breathed a sigh of relief regardless. “Ahhh, so you’re a gentleman?” she asked playfully, an eyebrow raised beneath the mask and she smiled. “There was me having you figured as more of a rogue,” she said, quieter, tracing a finger over the rim of his cup while she shrugged. “I hope you’re enjoying the festivities…”
“Little bit of both.” Sevari dipped his head and winked. To her question of the festivities, he gave a soft chuckle, a corner of his lip drawing upwards in a slight smirk, “A little more now. To what do I owe such attention from a mesmerizing woman?”
“Like I said, I needed a drink,” she said with a coy smile before casting a glance back to the stage to see just what antics Calen and Meg were busy wowing the crowd with. “And I thought it best to be hospitable to our new guests…” Ivy drew closer to him, her voice grew softer and before long she had a finger placed against his chest. “So you know…” she whispered, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his ear, “if you do happen to need any help adjusting to the place, maybe I'll give you a most thorough tour…" as the last of her words left her mouth, she moved her finger to the brim of his hat and pulled it down over his eyes. Then, she lifted his cup again - filling her cheeks with the last of the alcohol. Ivy put the cup back into his hand before stepping backwards away from him, and then she was gone.
His eyebrows rose when she came closer and his eyes went wide with surprise as she pulled the brim of his hat down. He lifted it off of his head to find she had gone with the wind. He bit his bottom lip and scanned the crowd to no avail before he turned back to the direction he was walking before. Godsdamn, he needed to know more about this woman.
As he sighted on Sora, Shuni, and Francis he lifted his cup to his lips and tipped it back only to find it empty. At that, he only laughed, setting the thing aside and making his way to the three.
It had taken some time, some effort, and some mead, but Gaius was finally getting into the swing of things. Half-drained tankard sloshing in his hand, he whirled apart from his latest dancing partner and mirrored her movements with a deep bow. Red-face and breathing heavily from the dancing, he smiled at her before weaving his way into the rest of the crowd. He loved Nord parties, and it had been a long time since he’d been to one.
Moving through the square with just a bit of a mead-sway to his step, he finally made his way to the edge of the crowd and took a deep breath as he broke out right in front of Jorwen. Gaius tossed a nod his way. “Jorwen.”
“Aye.” The towering Nord nodded once at Gaius, “Haven’t met you before. Seen you, but not spoken.”
“Gaius Milonem. I haven’t been making a habit of speaking much in the past month or so. It’s been a trying time. Still,” he held up his tankard, “thank you for your hospitality.” He took a long drink, then offered it to Jorwen.
“So, you can use the...oh, what was it that the Nords called it during the war…? The thu’um. Sounds like there’s a rather long story behind that one.”
Jorwen shook his head, huffing a chuckle through his nose, “Not me. The Dovahkiin. The only talent I have is with steel, my friend.”
He regarded Gaius for a moment before speaking, a brow raised, “The war? Which’n, I’ve lived through both of them, friend.”
Gaius pursed his lips slightly, wondering whether it was a good idea to speak about his role in the civil war so openly in a room full of rowdy, drunken Nords. A moment later, though, he discarded this view; these people had better things to think about at the moment. He sighed. “The civil one, all the way through Windhelm.”
“Legion man, then?” Jorwen nodded, “I was too, upon a time.”
Jorwen crossed his tree-trunk arms over his huge chest, his eyes grew distant for a time before he looked back at Gaius, “I was there too. Windhelm.” He paused, thinking over his next words before saying them, “I was sworn to Aelfgar. I was one of his Housecarls under the Blue Bear. I won’t pretend to expect you to know him, but a good man he was.”
He nodded, “There’s good men on both sides. Always.”
“Pardon me,” a woman’s voice said as their footsteps approached, “I hope you gentlemen would forgive my intrusion over the course of some conversation?” Jorwen would not have recognized her, but Gaius would -- it was Aries. She’s rarely been seen by anybody ever since they first arrived in Falkreath, save for the few sightings where she was making her rounds around the town, and on this night, she wasn’t wearing the typical merchant robes she’s been wearing since Hammerfell. Instead, she was draped in a long, beautiful red silk dress with a low cut V, and a golden colored toga cinched by gold jewelry like the ornate necklace that rest between her collarbones and the bracelets that spiraled around her wrists. A circlet sat atop her head, on freshly washed hair that curled and waved after being released from the pins that kept it in place before. If she didn’t look like an imperial ambassador before, this utterly patrician livery made the fact a dead giveaway.
Gaius turned, raising a single eyebrow at Aries as he beheld her clothing and realized belatedly that she was absolutely gorgeous.
If I were five years younger... He appraised her, then grinned ruefully:
ten years younger. At least.Of course, he didn’t vocalize any of these thoughts. Instead, he opted to chug down the last of his mead and snap off a quick salute. “Ambassador Machella. Not at all, feel free. As long as Jorwen doesn’t mind?” He glanced sideways at the enormous Nord in question, seeking confirmation and clamping down on whatever remaining thoughts of Aries’ beauty lingered in his head.
“No.” One shake of his big head was all. The woman radiated power, and what was more she radiated a sense of being owed respect. Jorwen had never met her. He introduced himself to the woman. “My name is Jorwen Red-Bear. I lead men for the Dovahkiin.”
“Indeed? It is my honor then, Red-Bear.” Aries said, a hint of respect finding its way into her voice. She stuck her hand out to Jorwen in greeting, and with a curtsy she added, “Lady Aries Machella, Ambassador for the Septim Empire. You must be quite capable for the…
Do-vah-kiin to have selected you. I’m sure there is a lot you could do with the intel we’ve collected over the last few months.”
The Breton helped herself to stand beside Gaius, and among the other two men, stood much shorter than either of them -- and yet that didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. She’s stood comfortably shoulder to shoulder with her chin up to face them, making her seem almost as if she was still standing as high if not taller as she looked down her nose. She cast a sidelong glance toward Gaius, and with the corner of her mouth slightly curling up in a teasing smile, she jested, “I hope you’ve left a good impression. There’s too few of us left to start pissing off the North, hm?”
Gaius gave vent to a chuckle, shrugging his burly shoulders. “As far as I can tell, a decent one. Just two old men grousing about the wars that they’ve fought in and telling stories about how shit their commanders were.” He grinned disarmingly at Jorwen to show that he meant no offense: the Nord sounded fairly fond of this ‘Aelfgar.’
With her mouth still full of whatever Sevari's spirit had been, and little time to spare, Ivy made it quickly back through the crowd. She was trying hard not to laugh and lose it, but Calen's song had been wonderful. What a charming young man he was, and she waved her hand out as she made it back to the stage - only then noticing that her batons were too far away. Her eyes widened and she pointed to them, trying to grab Meg's attention. Meanwhile, she made a gesture with her other hand to Calen, he was going to have to be ready to do that throw… And do it quickly, the speed of her run would be the momentum that got her high enough…
Calen saw Ivy rushing back to the circle -- it wasn’t hard to miss between the mask some of the crowd parting for her. It looked as though she was waiting for him to be ready. For… ah! Right! The throw! He moved into position and winked at her with a wide smile to indicate his readiness -- again, this wasn’t his specialty, so there was a hint of nervousness fluttering in his chest (or was that the adrenaline from his performance just seconds ago?) Given that, he was prepared to react in case something (or someone) went sideways. So far, he was absolutely in love with the performance the dunmer was giving and was eager to see what else she was hiding up her sleeves. And her suit, too, honestly. She flirted first, so he felt pretty safe from judgement.
And she made the jump, with Calen beneath her, and the strength he had behind him, she made it high enough to grab the alloy of her hoop with both hands. Without skipping a beat, she lifted her legs above her - feeling the stretch in her stomach as she wrapped her ankles around the top of the hoop, where it fastened to it's hanging rope. The nords had done a good job pulling together the apparatus to make it possible.
She was moving in a slow circle, having been pushed by the jump. Ivy released her hands from the hoop, letting her ankles hold her weight as she rounded on Meg, who would be handing her the baton…
It was a surprise to Meg herself that she actually noticed the red haired Dunmer motioning to her despite the waves of heat radiating off her face. She'd heard many songs in her years of travel, but this was not just any song, it was about
her, what had transpired, and it painted her in all sorts of lights that Nord folk enjoyed, even if probably all of what he mentioned wouldn't have been possible without everyone else in her group. She was embarrassed to the core, but there was a happy warmth within as well.
She easily turned to meet Ivy and handed her the baton before stepping back, happy to have been part of the moment but grateful her moment to shine was closing.
Ivy's hand wrapped around the baton and as she had done so earlier, her magicka lit the ends again. As her hoop began a second swinging circle, she turned the baton again until it took the form of the same flaming wheel. Quickly, she stopped - letting one hand steady her as she let a leg drop through the hoop to instead sit inside of the circle. Her jaw was beginning to ache, and the alcohol stung the inside of her mouth - it was time.
The Dunmer pointed her face upwards, and brought the baton arms length from her face. Then she spat out the alcohol in one shot through pursed lips so it sprayed, instead of simple dribbling and making a mess. It hit the flame at the tip of the baton and the vapors of alcohol caught flame - and in that moment, the Incredible Ivy truly was a fire breathing dragon.
There was a rapturous applause and she slid her bottom over the hoop, letting herself slip slowly again, her arms behind the hoop, torso and legs in front, and then she held herself on the slowly spinning piece of apparatus by her neck, arms held out straight and graceful like wings. She enjoyed herself in the pose until it was time to come back down to solid ground. She hoped La'Shuni had seen it. She hoped Do'Karth had too, but once her feet had touched the stage she grinned out. Taking both Meg and Calen by the hand.
"Applause for my two new friends, Megana the Kind and the Most Handsome Bard!" She exclaimed, voice filled with joy. She probably should have asked him his name earlier, but first - their applause.
Not yet then. Meg couldn't flush any further than she already had- it was strange how the cool Skyrim night actually felt as hot as an afternoon in Gilane right about now. An embarrassed grin on her face, the Nord woman scanned the faces of the crowd, seeing the folks cheering and applauding, grins and smiles gracing everyone's face that she could see. Her embarrassment shifted and she lifted her fist in the air, a sense of pride filling within. They were happy, and she had helped!
Sensing that Meg had perhaps had enough of the attention, Ivy let go of Calen's hand and instead enveloped Meg in her arms. She was taller than the Nord and so she leaned over the girl, giving her as much of an affectionate squeeze as she could before whispering into the woman's ear, "you were a wonder, but you can fly now young miss. Won't keep you any longer!" She let Meg go and beamed at her. What a lovely individual Meg was - Calen had not been wrong, for she truly was kind. That much, even Ivy knew.
Megana returned the hug with equal vigor, grinning at the beautiful Dunmer. "I think ye- you're actually the wonder 'round here!" She stepped back and gave a hearty wave before continuing into the crowd, the cheers and chattering almost deafening. It was true what Calen had said, this was like a dream, and soon she'd have to wake up.
Maybe a little mead before she did? It had always been Meg's drink of choice.
Calen smiled upon Meg and the bright red that had colored her face; this was a day that was well deserved and long coming. He hoped he had done his best to have her be known for her best qualities without her exploits being forgotten. She was kind, yes, but some of them wouldn't have gotten this far without her. He let her retreat to the nearest watering hole without further molestation and let that lingering warmth fill his chest, before sighing it out and turned to face Ivy.
“You're quite a spectacle, m’dear. I might have to write two songs before the night is over.” Calen cooed. “Ivy, is that right?”
"It is," Ivy replied with a smile, untangling the ribbon behind her to finally remove the mask from her face. The cool hair kissed her forehead and cheeks where the mask bad been sat and she gave a groan of relief. "And just who are you?" She asked with a curious tilt of her head in his direction. "And
where have you been all this time?" Her head shook in wonder at him, she was still finding herself impressed by Calen.
“Calen,” he answered, “of the Bard’s College in Solitude. As for where I’ve been… well, someone had to record the tale of Megana the Kind, eh?”
As if to emphasize his point, he began rifling through his bag as he continued to explain, “Her tale is not just a song of embellishment… I reckon I owe many friends of mine some songs of their own.”
Finally, he procured an inactive dynamo-core, warped and damaged, with his bandaged hand and gave it a careful appraisal. He added, “Ripped this one out myself. What about you though? Please, spare no detail! I could listen to your voice all night!”
’oooooh’ Was the sound the Dunmer mad when she caught sight of the contraption in the Nord’s hand. She hadn’t seen one so close before - not that she had too big of an interest in fandangled pieces of machinery like that. It was interesting that he held in
his hand that which powered and supported the Dwemer machines. Knowing what he had achieved on stage, she could believe it… The thoughts that circled through her mind were not shown on her face - but hidden well behind surprise and awe. “Calen the Handsome,” Ivy repeated with a snap of her fingers, narrowing her eyes at him in something of a charming fashion before she swayed back to his side, placing her hand on the small of his back to slowly usher him from the stage and towards some seating in the near distance.
She was of course flattered in his interest in her, but it could be said that she was more interested in him, and so she sidestepped his request in lieu of a request of her own… “So you say you have been recording your story so far? I want to hear more of it,” she began, tilting her head closer to his ear, her voice lower now. “I don’t know that my travelling across the provinces to reach myself here is all that much of an exciting story…”
It was followed by a shrug of her shoulders, and she gave Calen’s back a friendly tickle before removing her hand and taking his in both of hers, squeezing gently. “I’d love to hear more of
your story, Calen the Handsome!”
“Oh, Ivy...” Calen purred, comforted by the physical contact she made with him. Were he a weaker man, he’d have melted in her hand. “You flatter me, but from one charming performer to another, we could go at this all
night! I showed you mine, why not show me yours? Where did you find the time to pick up on Khajiiti kata? I noticed it in your footwork… Whispering Fang?”
That elicited a soft chuckle, and a raised eyebrow to go with it. “I suppose I can do this one thing…” He had tapped into her own curiosity again by having recognised that her movements came from other cultures - that they were learned by herself. Maybe not in a Bard’s college, but on the road. “I’ve been to Elsweyr, I enjoy the journey from Riverhold to Senchal. I’ve done it many times…” Ivy smiled over at him, she knew the game he was playing. “So yes, maybe you’re right it was from some of the monks I have seen, or from somewhere in Elsweyr…” She gave another noncommittal shrug, but she was playing it coy. “You’re very astute, you must have been the best student…”
“Far from, I think,” Calen replied, “I’ve a poor habit of only paying attention to what I’m
interested in…”
Calen placed the dynamo-core back into the bag, but he didn’t take her eyes off of her, and offered a hand as soon as one was available. “How about this? We fill our bellies with some sweet, sweet mead -- oh, Gods, how I miss Skyrim -- and we can spend the rest of our night sharing stories. Among other things, perhaps. What do you say,
sera?”
“Oh my, oh my,” she sang in response, wagging a finger at him while a glimmer of mischief fell over her eyes again. “Now who flatters who?” Ivy asked with an accusatory tilt of her head. She bore no real striking authority, just a keen playfulness – as evidenced by the chuckle that his words brought about. “Just a small mead,” she requested, making a pinching sign with her fingers to add emphasis to such a request. “In any case – I would love to share stories…”
“Tsk, tsk, darlin’. You’re well traveled, you know how it goes: when in the Imperial City, do as the Imperials. When in Skyrim… get blind drunk!” Calen laughed, finding himself wrapped up in the merriment around him. “I joke! Can’t be called a good bard if I don’t remember anything, eh? And why would I want to deprive myself of such a wonderful sight?!”
“Come, come, let me show you a good time!” Calen continued, ushering onward with an arm around her back as honed in on closest source of honey mead. “Tonight, we will
sing!”
“I’m not much of a singer, Calen,” she said with a smile. “But, I did know a
wonderful singer some years ago, and I helped her to write a song, actually…” she smirked, proud of herself. “She became quite a well known artiste. Her songs were so beautiful and clever. Like yours!” Ivy said, smiling, pointing a finger at him. “Just Priscilla and her lute and she could bring a whole room to tears...” The Dunmer leaned further into Calen and whispered, “including me... Not a drying eye in the house.”
“It’s not about the outside!” Calen said eagerly, leaning in with a grin from ear to ear, mere inches from her face. He suddenly looked down at his shirt, and with his thumb, pulled out the wooden amulet of Dibella around his neck and dangled it in the air for a brief moment. “Though it helps, of course, but beauty? Beauty is not just skin deep! It can be found in all things, inside and out. Your
heart! Outside you’re beautiful, yes, but I’ve also an eye for people! You. You’re
good, I can tell! Kindred spirits, you and I, who just want to see the world and make the people in it smile.
That’s beautiful too, I think, and so is singing to warm your heart, not because you’re ‘good.’ Your intent matters!”
Her eyes were drawn to his amulet, and she traced a finger across the pendant as he held it up in the moonlight. She nodded in acknowledgement of his words, he was an old soul, and that radiated from him in the wisdom that he spoke so fluently, wise beyond his young years. “If you really want us to sing, I’ll sing with you. Happily in fact!” Ivy replied, wrapping her own arm around Calen too. She felt a strong fondness for the bard, he was right in that they were kindred spirits. He was also much of a smooth talker with quite the experienced silver tongue too. Being complimented so was flattering and lovely surprise for an evening such as this one. “So let us get our mead, we’ll find ourselves a spot under the stars… No blind drunk behaviour - just two kindling spirits. I want to hear about your adventure! Maybe after that, we can sing.”
“That sounds lovely.”
By the time her vigour had returned after being the center of attention, Meg was a little unsure of how much she had consumed. No longer red due to embarrassment, her cheeks remained flushed, but for once instead of reverting to her usual sobbing mess, she seemed giddy and still mostly in control of her inhibitions. As she teetered and tottered through the still jubilant people, giving a few waves and grins at complete strangers who were now calling her 'Bloody Megana the Kind', her eyes fell upon a most familiar face.
"JU-" She clapped a hand over her mouth, snickering to herself. She had a better idea.
In her scaly red hands Judena cupped a warm tankard of mulled wine, not ever developing a taste or liking for Nord Mead during her time in Skyrim over the years. Found among new company, new ways to test her memory once more - for once, perhaps their names would finally stick. Delighted by Calen’s performance, gently clapping alongside the others - happy to see Meg and even Zaveed back in one piece. Their disappearance coupled with Fjolte and Raelynn’s departure was nearly too much. Complicated as her feelings rippled through out her, able to remember form new memories that lasted more than a day was a reeling experience.
Just in time to remember new faces, she still meticulously wrote in her logbook but it stayed in her shirt for longer periods of time.
Despite being among allies, she gravitated toward the calmer energy exuding from the bearded Khajiit, sidling up beside Do’Karth she introduced herself, “Hello! My name is Judena Callisar, it has been a pleasure to be among a company of kindred souls this evening. What is your name?” Offering her hand to shake.
The Suthay-raht took it, smiling warmly at the Argonian who approached him, his eyes glowing in the night from the dancing firelight of the performance. “It is my pleasure, Judena. This one is Do’Karth… it is an interesting group of companions you keep.” he observed, grinning at Calen’s dramatic story. The bard certainly was talented and could keep a crowd entertained, much like a storyteller at a fire.
“Tell this one, is there anything he could do for you? Are you warm enough?” he asked kindly, not wishing to insinuate that she shouldn’t be there in Skyrim’s chill, given her lizard-like form. He bowed his head politely. “Do’Karth is at your service.”
Gently squeezing before letting his hand go she tugged at her collar to show the fur lined robes, she said, “Oh I am quite warm, thank you! I am no stranger to Skyrim’s chill, I am prepared.”
“We are diverse. Various minds, skills, and backgrounds. While we have had our struggles from inside and outside forces, I believe we all carry a seed of good. In some form.” Judena said, finding it rather difficult to describe how they are together with the good and bad, their shadowy members lingering at the edges and the ones that sang their songs. “Diversity is our strength, our teeth, our warm embrace, our collective burgeoning of intelligence.”
Rolling the tankard in her hands, she said, “I am warmed by your hospitality, Do’Karth.”
Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around the Argonian woman, followed by a familiar voice. "Judena!" Meg squeezed the older woman, giving her a hug that was probably long deserved. "I've missed ya!"
Holding her tankard up, careful not to spill, Judena gummily smiled twisting at her waist to see Meg. “Do’Karth would you mind terribly if you held my drink for a moment?”
He nodded freeing Judena’s hands. Scooping Meg in her arms, Meg balancing on the tips of her toes as the argonian hugged her, rubbing her face into Meg’s hair. “Megana! Or should I say Megana the Kind?”
"Ahh... ehehe." Meg giggled, unable to quite stop herself. "That's what the bards’ve been sayin', so I'm guessin' it's true?" The smallest bit of embarrassment that had tried to swell up was squashed by Judena's return of affection. "Just Meg or Megana's good though, please!" She loosened her hold on Judena, though she didn't quite let go yet. It just felt nice to be around someone who was pretty much her family now.
She blinked. "Ah!" Meg had been so engrossed in the Argonian that she hadn't noticed she'd probably crashed into a conversation. "Sorry, I didn' realize y'were talkin' t'someone." Freeing one hand to give the unfamiliar khajiit an awkward wave, she spoke once more. "Hallo! I’m Meg!"
Do’Karth took Megana’s hand in both of his and a nod of his head. “Hello, Meg. This one is Do’Karth, he is pleased to meet you… he heard so much about you already.” he grinned at the pair, recalling the performance their compatriot had performed with Megana at the stage. “From the sounds of it, you have been on quite the journey. Do’Karth would love to hear about it when it would be preferable for both of you.”
"Oh righ'," Meg replied sheepishly, looking from the Khajiit man to Judena and back. "The song... But like, lotsa that was really exaggeratin'! I wouldn've been of much use if I was all by m'self." Her hold on the Argonian woman tightened just a little. "Jude was there righ' from the start too. We're all like family now, really!" She smiled up at Judena before adding, "Jude could pro'ly tell ya what happened better 'an me, t'be honest." The older women wrote everything down, after all.
Judena nodded fairly, “Perhaps, do not discount your ability to tell a good story Meg.”
“If you are truly interested, Do’Karth, Calen’s ability to masterfully weave it into a wonderful song will not be compared to my perspective of events. History is subjective, try as we might to be objectively in agreement to facts. The more perspectives the better!” She replied cheerfully.
Shuffling her logbook from her shirt, she sipped generously on her mulled wine while it is still warm.
Her eyes focused on the old pages of months ago, Jerell Mountains. “Our journey began with strangers, on the snowy capped mountain range of Jerell Mountains at the base of a Dwemer ruin. A brave surefooted leader, a sharp tongued lockpicker, a charming thief, mages and scholars,” She patted her chest referring to herself and Anifaire, “Brawny stern elves, knights mighty as bears but one with healer’s hands and another with a shield to protect, a talented bard with a song in his soul, and the famous Megana the Kind.” Judena winked at Meg, “Or as she prefers Meg.”
Judena read down the list of names she remembered, her logbook remembered, on the original expedition. Sending a shiver up her spine as she told their story concisely as possible, introducing new people as each area they ran to. Skirting around sensitive facts, not outright lying but careful. . . Do’Karth as kind and hospitable as he was.
"I won' lie, I was a wee bit scared I was gonna die tha' day," Meg piped in, scratching the back of her neck before adjusting the scarf wrapped around it. "Never learned how t'swim even though I lived in Riften..." She smiled as she put her hands proudly to her waist, the mead quite helpful in adding to her confidence. "But I didn', swam back t'the shore an' met up with the rest. Mostly." She'd never forget how worried she'd been when Sora and the then Latro had been missing.
Do’Karth cradled his fingers, looking to Megana with a warm glint in his eyes. “Never undersell how valuable one person can be, for many important things have occurred from the efforts of one person. From the sounds of things, there were a number of things that only occurred because you were involved, Meg. This one is honoured to be in your presence.” he placed his hand over his heart, turning his gaze to Judena.
“It is a remarkable thing, that you have been able to record so much of your travels. This one is ashamed to admit, he has never learned to read or write… his education was, ah, a bit different than most. Perhaps not as endearing or useful.” Do’Karth said with an apologetic smile. “There are many things that Do’Karth wishes he could recall, or had some way of preserving, but perhaps it is best that we simply live in the moment, yes?”
“Memories are precious, Do’Karth.” Judena began closing her logbook, “There is no shame, illiteracy is not a mark of lack of intelligence.” Sincerely, she continued, “I have surely met a great deal of literate individuals who still performed quite poorly in their chosen fields. That is not to say we cannot make mistakes. Arrogance is often a defining trait where foolish people strive in. In my own experience, of course.”
“Lengthy debates are a hallmark for mages, scholars, and researchers. It is not a simple matter to discover new evidence but to argue and defend it as it is.” Judena noted, elbowing Meg affectionately, “When the world returns to a semblance of normal perhaps you can see this old one’s debating skills in action.”
Do’Karth placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in humility. “You are too kind to say so, this one appreciates your insight. He has an appreciation for one’s ability for fine speech, so please keep this one in mind the next time you decide to engage in such an activity. Where do you hail from, Judena? Forgive me for saying so, but Do’Karth has never seen an Argonian dress or speak in a manner such as yours.”
“I was born and raised in Soulrest on the coast of Argonia. Born under the Mage, I was taught and educated by a troupe of alteration mages when I was young and have since travelled the world as we know it. Tamriel is a remarkable place.” She commented, “I strive to speak clearly, and have since admittedly lost some of my home’s regular idioms and phrases. A result of spending so much time away from home I would presume.”
Chuckling a little at the nudge she received from Judena, Meg soon quieted to think- perhaps a little strenuously given her slight inebriation- about what Do'Karth had said about feeling ashamed. She found she could relate to that feeling of embarrassment, especially when she was around those who were more learned than she was- she'd always feel like she had to hold herself a different way, portray a false confidence so that fancier folk wouldn’t think she was ignorant. Meg could read and write, yes, but the quality of the latter was as Sirine had astutely observed, 'atrocious'. And as Zaveed had mentioned during their trip to Falkreath, people took that sort of thing in account when dealing with others, whether she liked it or not. Wasn't that why she was sincerely
trying to better the way she spoke?
After a moment, she let out a "Hrmm", crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot against the ground. "Uh... if y'w-
you want, maybe I can help ya learn how t'read?" Her arms uncrossed and she awkwardly scratched her head. "Only if ya want! I just kinda know how it feels... I'm learnin' to write better now." It sounded rather lame in the end, but her words had already been said and couldn't be swallowed back.
Judena nodded with Meg, “She has improved remarkably, we occasionally write our letters home together.”
Do’Karth pressed his hands together. “Do’Karth would feel privileged at such generosity. Perhaps we can teach this one to write his own name, for a start?” he asked invitingly, looking between the two women with a kindly expression. “But let us save that for another time; forgive this one’s lack of hospitality. Is there anything either of you require? Do’Karth wants to make sure that you feel welcome and comfortable among our rather lively group, yes?”
"O' course!" Meg couldn't help but grin at the Khajiit man, feeling rather elated that her offer was accepted so readily. "Uhm, I'm thinkin' I'll just have another drink an' some food maybe.. But ‘sides that, I’m all good!" She felt a yawn creeping up on her and hastily clapped the back of her hand over her mouth, looking sheepishly at the two. "Uh, sorry, been a long two days."
Anifaire was grateful that her position in the room was at a distance from the main attractions. A chair near the fireplace, a comforting mug of warm wine in her hands, she felt relieved to be inside a proper building again after so long travelling, even if she had become accustomed enough to it that her feet no longer screamed at the prospect of a day’s walk.
The festivities brought on a sense of nostalgia; watching the Dunmer perform across the stage was reminiscent of entertainers she had seen with family, back in Auridon. Focused on the event at hand, it would have been easy to feel like she were there again if not for the radical difference in environment. The Nords were loud, rowdy, and… friendly. The shouts, the way the entertainers interacted with the crowd, was alien. In Auridon, the crowd watched and the entertainers entertained; there was a rigidity, a professionalism which was lacking here.
She didn’t miss it. As little as two months ago, the whole affair would’ve had her in a panic. Instead, the boisterous attitude of the party and wine left a warm feeling creeping through her, though an underlying feeling of nerves remained. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on watching the enjoyment of others. She wished Alim were around to enjoy it, like in the Alik’r.
“May I trouble you for some company?” Came the sound of Aries’ voice from behind. Whipping around, she saw her appearing worn down, apparently from either the baudy festivities or a particularly long day, despite the baroque ensemble she was wearing.
“Of course!” Anifaire replies quickly, broken from her daydream. She focused in on the ambassador, lifting her skirt to shift her knees and face her. She had barely noticed the woman’s approach as she was watching the festivities, but it was a welcome one, even if she felt nervous. The sight of Aries ruthlessly slashing a Dwemer’s throat had faded to the back of her mind in the time they travelled. “This Dunmer is really talented,” Anifaire commented.
“She’s quite something,” Aries agreed as she sat beside the much taller Altmer, “though it might be ironic for me of all people to say, the spectacle was quite lurid. I’ve met too few to make a proper judgement, but she reminds me of the Baandari, ah… gypsys, for lack of a better term. Dazzling yet specious, I suspect… but don’t quote me on that. How are you?”
“She reminds me of watching performers at events with my family,” Anifaire commented. She smiled, making her best effort at a warm welcome. “I’m doing well, thank you. The journey was certainly not something I’m accustomed to, but I think the blisters on my feet have finally turned to calluses. It is nice to be able to relax at long last.” She gestured back at the ambassador. “How are you doing?”
“It’s been a rather… long day.” She sighed, stretching her neck from one side to the next to pop out whatever tension she’s been holding in. “You wouldn’t think so to look at it, but Falkreath has been through a lot. Even with the Dragonborn in Skyrim, I’m concerned about Markarth and Solitude. They’re strongholds.”
As she explained, she put out both her hands with her thumbs facing down, her index fingers stretched out to meet with the rest of her hands in tight fists. It was the shape of Solitude. She continued, “If I were the Dwemer, I would take out the land bridge with the same airships that were used to topple the Imperial City. Separate the Blue Palace’s seat of power from the rest of the city while allowing the fallen rubble to dam the inlet connecting the ocean to the harbor. Blockading the road would be the only thing left to starve the city and its leaders of all its resources. That would destroy the College too. It would be a tremendous loss.”
Aries hesitated for a second and dropped her hands with a sigh, which was meshed with a tired chuckle. “I apologize, you didn't ask for all of that.”
Anifaire, listening intently, tried to process all of what Aries had said. It reminded her of something she might hear her father say to her mother. She always listened, but rarely thought hard about those conversations.
“I am unfamiliar with Solitude, but I think I see what you mean,” she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Aries really seemed concerned, like she hadn’t shut herself off like Anifaire had when they arrived in Falkreath. The Altmer has just been so relieved to be in civilization, and trusted the instincts of the others in the group.
“You really gave this a lot of thought,” she commented, perhaps a little concern showing.
Sequestered a bit away from the rest of the dancing crowd Francis found Sora and her ghostly-white haired sister. As soon as he stepped up beside them, so did Francis, breaking free from the crowds with that fucking grin of his. The Breton regarded Shuni, raising his cup, “My Thane!” He chuckled, “How do you fare, Miss La’Shuni?”
The young girl giggled, exaggerating a bow. “My knight. This one is splendid this evening! It is good to see everyone so… lively!” she exclaimed. She pulled Daro’Vasora closer, her older sister blinking at La’Shuni’s strength; since when did
that happen?
“Mister Francis, this is Daro’Vasora, she’s my sister! It occurs to La’Shuni that we had not acquainted you two. Vasora, this is my mentor; he saved me and taught me how to fight and survive. La’Shuni owes him everything.” she said solemnly, offering a slight smile to the Breton.
Daro’Vasora put out her hand. “Thank you, for looking out for her… I’ll admit this is strange to me, seeing her like this, in a place like this… and apparently the Nords call her Ten-Thanes?” she asked, glancing back at her sister. “Leave home for two months and this is what happens, I suppose…”
“Good, to see her so confident and sure of herself?” Francis smiled warmly, regarding Shuni like a loving father might a daughter, “Isn’t it.”
He raised his cup to her and sipped at it, turning to Sora and taking her hand in his exercising his time in Breton courts by bowing his head, “I have heard about you, Daro’Vasora. A steadfast and cunning woman if there ever was one.” He smiled, “Your sister speaks highly of you.”
“Flattery will get you far.” Daro’Vasora said with a grin; the man was a gentleman, at least. She knew La’Shuni to be a fairly good judge of character, and it was hard to not feel fairly at ease around Francis. She looked to La’Shuni, “Oh, is that right? What kinds of stories have you been telling in my absence?”
A noncommittal shrug. “Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that.” La’Shuni replied. “Mainly that you are notoriously stubborn and a fairly well-regarded finder of ancient trinkets and you live in the big city.”
“Ah, yes, the master of underselling statements still reigns.” Daro’Vasora said, ruffling her sister’s hair. “So, she called you ‘her knight’.” the Cathay observed, regarding Francis curiously. “Hedge knight, or just a noble mercenary type?”
“I wouldn’t claim to be a hedge knight. I’ve found no lord or king worthy enough to swear fealty to. I detest mercenaries, men a half-step above bandits cowards use to swing the sword so their hands stay soft and unbloodied.” A sour look crossed Francis’ face for but a moment before he inclined his head, a soft smile on his lips once more, “I travel. I teach. I right wrongs. No oaths sworn, no gild given.”
“Sounds like my sister lucked out by coming across quite the gentleman.” Daro’Vasora observed with a faint smile.
“She certainly did.” La’Shuni replied affectionately, suddenly crossing the distance and giving Francis a quick embrace. “Mister Francis has been the best thing to happen to me, and this one is making a difference here, with these people.” she said, gesturing around her. She placed a fist gently between her ribs.
“Vasora, they
Named me. Shuni Ten-Thanes, they call her! She came to Skyrim to help people who could not help themselves, much like she was when the kindness of strangers kept her alive…” her voice swelled with pride, but tapered off with a frown. “La’Shuni knows that this must be difficult for you, sister; she has had to take lives and learn how to fight, to kill when needed. She has raided Dwemer outposts on her own and fended off Falmer. She’s… she’s getting good at it.”
It was something that Daro’Vasora had begun to anticipate, studying her sister’s armour and changed physique, the scars she noticed hiding behind her hair that had once been a beautiful braid. She frowned, walking over and parting the mane away from La’Shuni’s face to see the scars that had marred her, and she was surprised by her sister suddenly grabbing onto her wrist and pushing it away.
“No. Please, do not do that.” La’Shuni cautioned.
Daro’Vasora frowned, pulling her hand back. “When I last saw you, you were buried in a pile of books and brooms and washcloths and afraid to talk to that boy you liked… it’s hard to recognize the woman in front of me. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I’m not going to pretend I’m happy to hear any of this, but you are alive and that’s what matters.” she closed her eyes, sighing. “It still hasn’t sunk in… my sister has had to kill someone. You used to cry when you found a dead bird that had flown into the window, or had been taken by a cat. I never wanted you to fall into a life like I have.”
“Vasora… it’s okay. La’Shuni is okay.” she said, pulling her sister into an embrace. “We do not need to speak of this right now. Just know that La’Shuni is happy, and many people are alive because of her, just like she is alive because of people like mister Francis. Besides,” she chuckled, pressing her forehead against Daro’Vasora’s, “if my older sister is allowed to leave Leyawiin to go on big adventures, it is only fair that this one eventually did so as well.”
“Right.” Daro’Vasora forced a smile before looking towards Francis. “Well, at least let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do to say thank you for keeping my sister safe.”
“Mead for me!” La’Shuni piped up enthusiastically, drawing a raised brow.
“You don’t drink.” Daro’Vasora remarked. “You used to spit wine back into cups at family dinners.”
La’Shuni smiled, crossing her arms. “A lot has changed, sister.”
