The evening had been an utter failure.
As I walked slowly down the winding stairs of the Jarl's Keep in Windhelm, I kept wondering where I had gone wrong. I had spoken well and dressed the part but nothing I did or implied furthered my cause with Ulfric. Balgruff had been an easier, much more pliable target.
The night air was just as frosty as my reception in Windhelm, reminding me that I was far from my own hearth and home. In the distance I heard the laughter of happy people and sound of a woman singing the high praises of Windhelm's brave Jarl; narrowing my eyes, I turned and walked on for at this moment all I craved was the comfort of a darkly lit room and frothy mead. I walked past the shopkeepers storing their wares, a few looked at me hungrily, hoping I'd stop. The wind's shrill shrieks easily pierced the flimsy gown I had chosen for this evenings activities, not at all suited for a sub zero stroll. Taking a deep breath I descended into the dimly lit, winding streets of Gray Quarter. In all my trips to Windhelm I had somehow managed to avoid this place. But now, in a mood to face my demons and wallow with them, I found the narrow winding streets a comfort. There had been talk of killer, but I had little fear of such earthly terrors. The rotting wood and mildewed stones were my greatest fear; they were the reason I had appealed to Ulfric in the first place.
I passed a couple Nords who muttered a few words of caution for me 'to be wary of the gray men'. As they moved closer, the knaves usually stopped mid sentence for though as I was tall and pale like a Nord, with deep blue eyes, my features also held the coal black hair, high cheek bones and tale-tell pointed ears of the Mer. I was a hybrid. My people—the people of Solstheim—were all mixed with the blood of the Nord and Dunmer, though this was especially true for me; as I, Annka Kaushibael, was the direct descendent of Annika Blue, Nerevarine and Julan Kaushibael, the Ashkhan of the Ahemmusa.
The sounds of people grew fainter as I walked along the narrow lanes. Slush, refuse and street fires with the unfortunate huddled around them took the place of happy revelers nearer to the palace gates. A soft glow and the faint sound of laughter drew me to the New Gnisis Corner Club. Frozen to the bone, I did not stop to consider the kind of reception I would get from the patrons. Though in Skyrim for nearly a year's time, I had very little interaction with other Dunmer. The few I had encountered viewed me with a mixed curiosity, as if the idea of a Nord/Dunmer pairing was an impossibility. The club was dimly lit and there were but three lonely souls in the room; the bar keep, eying me warily, the mer behind the broom and dust pan, and the brooding Dunmer sitting at the bar who eyed me disdainfully then turned back to his drink. I approached them all with a confident stride, pretending to be immune to stares.
"Excuse me—"
"Come slumming to the Gray Quarter, have you?" the bartender spat bitterly. I shrugged, unfazed. "Think you're high and mighty…"
"No, sera," I smiled pushing back my hair behind my ears. "I think I'm thirsty and need a drink." He gulped then placed a dram of Flin in front of me. "Ah, thank you," I said, downing the burning liquid in a gulp. Instantly, I felt a calming warmth wash over me. "May I order another….sera?"
"Ambarys…and yes… certainly. Though…."
"Yes?" Here it comes.
"It's just…well… I've never seen your kind before. From where do you hail?"
"Solstheim." From the corner stool I heard hardened Dunmer's scornful grunt.
"Did you say something, friend?" I smiled through gnashed teeth.
He turned facing me with a look of disgust in his deep red eyes. "Tell me, are all of Solstheim's daughters so finely dressed?" The mer got up and walked towards me until his face was inches from mine. "What's that hanging round your pretty little neck?" he asked, fingering my necklace, his breath uncomfortably hot against my skin.
"Dres…mind yourself," Ambrays cautioned.
The mer smiled and stepped back. "You know that's worth more drake than I take home in a year's time?"
"By the looks of you," I said eying him up down, "I'd believe it." Stifled laughter came from Ambrays and his helper. The Dunmer's rage was palatable and I knew I needed to diffuse the situation, for I lacked the physical and mental stamina for a fight. "Well, since you're so interested in my jewelry then why don't you join me for a drink?" I asked pleasantly. "Perhaps we can discuss ways in which you can get your own. Though…"
"Yes?" he asked cautiously.
"Well, it's just….I think you should go with red, sera. A ruby would bring out your eyes far more than any sapphire." He chortled deeply and grabbed the drinks as we took a table in the far corner of the bar. "So, I am looking for traveling companion for a few jobs I've decided to take on. I need someone who is ready with a sword, spell and lock pick. Are you up to it?"
"Yes," he answered, though I could hear the reservation in his voice. "Are the jobs in Windhelm?"
"No…not now. Does that matter?"
"Yes. I want out of this shit hole," he mumbled, though stopped suddenly. I knew he had let his guard down and was perhaps ashamed for speaking so impulsively. He took a quick breath and retracted. "No, wait. I shouldn't say that. The Quarter is my home, but there is nothing here for me." From what I had seen of the Gray Quarter, I believed him. His eyes then hardened as he glared into mine. "I also have no desire steal what little my people have. The Nords do a good enough job of that already."
"I see. Well Dres…." I waited for him to finish for I needed more than a first name.
"Atvir Dres, Last Prince of Tear, for what that's worth, though most people call me Dres," he answered wearily. "And you? I didn't quite catch your name earlier."
"Because I didn't give it. I am Annka Kaushibael of Raven Rock, though you may refer to me as Marceline."
"Marceline…" he murmured, his lips curving in a smile. "Why Marceline?"
"It has a pretty ring," I said looking up from my glass.
"So…Marceline... what do you propose?"
"It's quite simple really. I need to make enough money to keep Raven Rock and in particular, House Kaushibael afloat. My desire is to prevent my homeland from turning into this," I said motioning around me. It was true. Raven Rock's ore had nearly dried up. The town and its people had fallen on hard times in the years since our great founder Annika Blue became Raven Rock's first Factor. Our family had also taken several deep hits in the last generation or so. We still presented the image of a noble family, but if one were to look closely, they would notice the poverty of our plate and the tear in our tapestries. "We will do jobs for various Jarls and other guilds. And no Dres, we have no business in this quarter for there is nothing here to steal. I have a bigger quarry in mind."
"Really?"
"Yes. The money that is brought in from various jobs…and associations will be delivered to Raven Rock—after your cut of course."
"And you want me to do the deliveries?"
"In time. Right now I use my Housecarl for that purpose."
"You're a bloody Thane?" his eyes were as large as saucers. "I don't believe it."
"Yes, of Whiterun."
"How did you manage that?" he asked incredulously.
I paused before answering as I wasn't sure how much I should be giving away. "I did jobs both above and below board for the Jarl Balgruff."
"I see," he said motioning to my necklace. "You must have served him well." The irony in his voice was not lost on me and I knew what it implied.
"Yes," I answered honestly. "He was well served—and was well pleased with me, for a time."
"Then why are you here?" Dres inquired bluntly as a smirk spread across his face.
"Well, when he discovered I could kill a dragon with a shout, he soon fobbed me off to the Gray Beards."
Dres choked on his flin. "You're telling me you're the bloody Dragonborn?"
"Jarl Balgruff thought so," I shrugged bitterly. "That's all that matters."
"Ah…Afraid of a repeat performance?" he snickered. I knew, as did everyone, what Dres was referring to. Several months ago Jarl Ulfric had literally shouted Jarl Torygg, the High King of Skyrim, to death.
"Precisely. Your Jarl put the fear of the Nine into him—and my plans were slightly…altered." As I uttered those words my mind rebelled against me. Suddenly I was back in Dragonsreach remembering the fear I had seen in Balgruff's eyes as I approached him shortly after slaying my first dragon. Everything that I had spent the last year accomplishing, every effort made since my arrival in Whiterun was gone the moment my voice took down that beast. After returning from the battlefield, the room parted and all eyes fell upon me in terror instead of the usual admiration or jealously. Courtiers and retainers alike whispered nervously as I walked past them and approached the Jarl, who was sitting stiffly upright with his Housecarl and advisers close at hand. Gone were the sweet whispers and caresses from days before; taking their place was a curt order to meet with the Graybeards.
"Marceline?" Dres's voice whipped me back into reality.
"Yes…I'm sorry," I replied slowly, shaken from my reverie. No weakness, Marceline. Show none. "Now are you in?" I asked unflinchingly.
Dres sat back for a moment, his eyes meeting mine. "Yes," he answered firmly, "and I think we should toast to our new association."
"So Dres, Last Prince of Tear, what shall we drink to?"
He smiled and lifted his glass. "Wealth beyond measure, Outlander. Wealth beyond measure."