Note: Rated M for violence, alcohol use, and bad language. May be mild sexual content later. I'm not sure yet. Also the usual disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own the rights to Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls or any of the other awesomeness that goes along with it. But I think we already knew that. Anyway, hope you enjoy the story!
Different. She had always been different. It wasn't just the way that people stared or shied at her tall, thin form, her blood red hair that hung to her hips in a simple ponytail, and her piercing silver eyes with their slitted ebony pupils; it was something else…the snarl that had the habit of breaking away from her lips when threatened, the feral glint in her eyes when she had killed a foe, the fact that she could hear heartbeats and smell fear. It was everything in her being that told her she was not one of them…of any of them. She was Adaria, the Dragonborn, no more human to those surrounding her than she was Dov in the eyes of the dragons she had been born to slay. It was all she had ever known, the reality she was outwardly indifferent to…the reality she inwardly mourned.
"My thane!"
Adaria gave a nod of silent acknowledgement as the guards outside Dragonsreach brought their fists to their chests in a sort of salute. The pair seemed a little too eager, Adaria thought, and the air was rank with nervous tension. For a moment, a feeling of irritation flooded the woman's body, but it dissipated almost as quickly as it had come. There was no point in becoming angry. It wasn't as if this was an unexpected occurrence.
Adaria was glad she had already passed the guards when the feeling struck. Though her stoic facial expression was as impenetrable as a steel mask, she knew from experience that her eyes had the potential to betray her. Everyone knew an angry dragon when they saw one, and Adaria's eyes were as much a dragon's as those belonging to the once-great Alduin whose bones now decorated the road to Shor's Hall. Her eyes were the only aspect of her being that she had never truly mastered.
The groan of the heavy doors rang hollow in Adaria's ears as she stepped into Dragonsreach, great hall, palace, even, of the jarl of Whiterun. Tall wooden pillars, intricately carved and sturdy as an ancient redwood, supported a high, vaulted ceiling while tongues of fire played in the wide hearth in the center of the room below it.
The warmth was the first to meet the Dragonborn as she stepped inside. The scent of roasting meat soon followed, and the young woman had to swallow quickly to keep from drooling. Damn her dragon sense and its affinity for roasting flesh.
Jarl Balgruuf was seated on his throne speaking to Avennicci when Adaria mounted the stairs that led to the main part of the room, and both men glanced over curiously when they spotted her crossing over to them.
"Dragonborn!" Jarl Balgruuf greeted.
"My jarl," Adaria replied softly, pressing her right fist over her heart and kneeling to one knee in front of the throne.
There was a reason Adaria preferred to serve Jarl Balgruuf over all the other jarls in Skyrim. There were some who reeked with fear of the Dragonborn; there were others who thought to tame her. Jarl Balgruuf was neither. And even now Adaria could sense the pleasant feel of a friendly, honest spirit. This jarl didn't respect her out of fear or ambition. He merely respected her. The feeling put Adaria more at ease, if nothing else, though ease was a relative term for her. Only the faint reek of Avennicci tainted that ease now.
"Please, rise," Jarl Balgruuf smiled, motioning with his hand for emphasis. "There's no need for such formalities, my friend. It has been some time since I last saw you. What can I do for you today?"
"I have just returned from Solitude, my lord. General Tullius asked me to deliver a message to you," Adaria replied, standing to her feet and reaching into the small pouch at her hip.
Immediately the jarl's smile melted into a frown as the woman handed the letter to him.
"What does he want this time?" the man sighed, breaking the seal and unfolding the slip of paper.
Adaria remained silent as the jarl began to read. She knew that the question was more rhetorical than anything, and she wouldn't have been able to answer it in any case. She liked neither Tullius nor Ulfric, and had never had any care for their intentions or ambitions. The peace conference at High Hrothgar had been more traumatic than her battle with Alduin ever could have been, and so Adaria had essentially avoided both parties thereafter. It was only because the general had sought her out that she was compelled to deliver the message the jarl now read, and she had asked no questions when he came to her. If it was meant for her ears, she would hear it in time.
A sigh escaped the jarl's lips and he leaned back slightly, rubbing his temples as though he had suddenly gotten a massive headache. Adaria could sense a feeling of frustration that rolled off him in waves. If she had known how to express it, she might have tried to let him know that she could empathize with his predicament. The very sight of the mewling Imperial quim was enough to make her blood boil. As it was, though, all Adaria could do was stand quietly and wait for further instruction.
For several painfully long moments, the only sounds that reached Adaria's ears were the quiet roar of the fire in the fire pit and the almost inaudible breathing of the 3 of them who were located in the vicinity of the jarl's throne. Adaria was glad when Avennicci broke the silence.
"What does it say, my lord?" the man inquired, his dark eyes fairly glittering with curiosity.
"What it always says," the jarl replied, his tone obviously exasperated. "That Ulfric is a threat to Whiterun and that we need Imperial troops for protection. Tullius is requesting an audience with me a fortnight from now."
"Will you see him?"
"Do I have a choice?"
The jarl sighed again, then gave Adaria a half-hearted smile.
"Thank you, my friend," he said, heaving a forced chuckle. "At least I can say I was forewarned."
At that, the man stood to his feet, turning toward the stairwell that led up to his private quarters in the upper levels of the palace.
"I suppose I had best write a response. Good day, Dragonborn."
Adaria nodded slightly in response. To some, the gesture might be taken as rude, but Jarl Balgruuf only smiled and raised a hand in salutation as he left. Anyone who knew Adaria knew that her responses were always brief and silent.
"Well, I suppose I will return to my duties," Avennicci sighed.
"Avennicci," Adaria said, her voice brisk and low as usual.
"Yes, Dragonborn? What can I do for you?"
"Are there any warrants needing tending to?"
"There are, actually," the man replied, crossing over to a small satchel leaning against the wall and fishing through it.
"Here," he said, handing a stack of papers over to the waiting Dragonborn. "I was just about to send someone out to deliver these to the local innkeepers. Bandits, giants, the usual lot. Take which ever jobs you would like to handle and I'll send the rest out."
Without a word, Adaria sorted through the small stack, then turned toward the exit.
"I'll take them all," she grunted, briefly holding the stack up in the air for emphasis.
"All of them?"
Avennicci sounded appalled, as usual.
"All of them."
She could hear the man trotting along behind her.
"Don't you ever get tired of doing all that work by yourself?"
Adaria paused at the head of the last set of stairs leading to the entrance of Dragonsreach. For a moment, all she did was study the ornate designs on the great doors in front of her. Grand craftsmanship, she had to admit.
"It's fine," she replied at length, setting off again. "I'll let you know when I have finished. Good day, Avennicci."
Blood pumped like fire through Adaria's veins, thrumming in her ears in a savage war song as the edge of Bolar's Oathblade bit deep into the chest of a nearby bandit. The man's war cry shifted pitch as he howled in pain, but he didn't have long to feel it before the Dragonborn crossed her two curved swords and severed his head from his shoulders. The woman's nostrils flared as warm crimson spattered her chest, arms, face, and neck, and her lips pulled back slightly into a feral snarl of victory as she watched the helmeted head skitter across the dirt floor of the bandit's hideout.
She watched briefly as the headless body crumpled to the floor, then lifted her gaze to something of far more interest: a pile of gold glittering in the half-light of a burning candle on the table. Stepping over the lifeless form before her, Adaria made her way over to the table, running her hand reverently through the pile of septims. She didn't smile, though she thought she might have if she had known how. She loved the sound of coins clinking together.
A dark, heavy feeling pressed against her heart and she shook her head, stepping away from the table and focusing on the cave wall until the feeling passed. Yes, that side of her loved the sound of coins clinking together. Better that she was constantly having to part with septims for healing potions and alchemy ingredients. It kept that side from taking over.
Adaria quickly shoveled the coins into a purse, hiding it securely on her person before turning toward the giant chest located in the corner of the room. A quick perusal of the chest's contents revealed a steel great sword, a jewel-encrusted circlet, and a full set of steel armor. The sword was enchanted, if the burning sensation it gave off at the touch was any indication, but everything else seemed to be rather normal. It ought to fetch a pretty price back in Whiterun, though. It wasn't as though Belethor was particularly picky with what he bought.
The woman grunted as she lifted the great sword from its resting place and slung it onto her back. The weakness in her arms reminded her just how tired she really was. Perhaps fighting off two giants, several mammoths, a saber cat, and an entire bandit clan was a bit much for one day's work. Even for the Dragonborn. Still, it kept her busy, so it was worth it. Avennicci was right, though. She did get tired of doing all this by herself. Not that she'd ever admit it.
Now having firmly secured as much loot as she could possibly carry, Adaria turned back toward the exit. The great sword on her back and the steel armor slung over her shoulder, though, put her off balance, and the next thing the woman knew, she was teetering off to one side. Quickly, she put out one calloused hand, reaching for the table to balance herself. In her haste, a pile of books went scattering across the table and down onto the floor behind it. Out fluttered a small slip of folded paper, which landed neatly on top of the pile that had found its way to the floor.
For a moment Adaria blinked at the slip of stained paper, wondering whether or not she ought to attempt to retrieve it and risk falling on her face. She wasn't about to put the armor down, for fear she wouldn't have the strength to lift it up again. And her stamina potions had long since been used up in her life-or-death match with an angry mammoth herd an hour or so before.
Far be it from the Dragonborn, though, to let her curiosity go unsatiated. Pressing her hip against the table for support, Adaria stretched one long arm out toward the little slip of folded paper. Bandit notes were always so fascinating. If it wasn't a message of secret plots or threats to throw someone to the pit wolves, it was a hint at the location of another hideout or the place where one might find hidden treasure. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: bandits were never boring.
Pressing the fold between her thumb and forefinger, Adaria slid the note open, her slitted silver eyes gliding along every pen stroke. Interesting, indeed! The lines scrawled across the page bent and met to form the vaguest hint of an image, a rocky outcropping to be exact, with a red X placed neatly underneath. This was a treasure map. It had to be. And by the looks of it, it was probably a place out in The Rift, not far from Shor's Stone, if she remembered correctly. Now there was a region she hadn't been to in a while.
Quietly, Adaria slipped the piece of paper into the satchel secured to her waist and, shifting the steel armor slightly to reduce discomfort, set off down the winding tunnel that led to the entrance of the cave. The Rift it was, then. After all, few things could excite a dragon soul the way the thought of a good treasure hunt did. Almost nothing, except for flying. And that…that, Adaria knew, would have to remain in her dreams alone.