Author's Note: This story was originally posted (and taken down) under the name of 'Adventures with the Dragonborn'. It's since undergone some significant and desperately needed edits. Thanks for reading.
Many years later, sharing a bottle with a mismatched group in a dank manor house, as they waited out the greatest manhunt in living memory, Dar'epha would relate the story of how she met the Dragonborn. Before beginning, she would delay, scratch at her nose and pretend there was something between her teeth in urgent need of extraction. Eventually, she would begin. Before long, she would be smiling.
". . . and there I was, the place fillin' up with guards faster'n any of you've ever seen, the captain hisself on his way, my cover completely blown, with only seconds to go before the prospect of bein' clapped in irons and led to the block would be the only option."
Dar'epha leaned back in her chair, savouring the reactions of her audience. Erik was a little slack-jawed, his eyes wide and his hands grasping the edge of the table. Sam wore a small smirk, his eyebrows raised in what could have been disbelief. The amiable Breton hadn't called her out on any of her exaggerations yet, but she gave him no time for them nonetheless.
"So what did you do?" cut in Erik. The inn owner's son was clearly relishing any second-hand experience of the world outside Rorikstead that he could bend his ears towards. A big Nord, but with the face and actions closer to that of a child.
Dar'epha folded her paws behind her head, using the movement to pull back the hood of her disguise: that of a Vigilant of Stendarr, filched from one staying Solitude while he'd slumbered. It had seen her all the way to the Frostfruit Inn without any trouble. The guards didn't like to bother the Vigilants if they could help it.
"I climbed my way up the shelves and hid myself in the rafters," she said. "And let me tell you, I'm still pickin' those Gods-damned splinters out of my fur."
She was about to follow it up with a titbit of a tale about how she'd rubbed the theft in the guard captain's face afterwards, but it was then that the inn's door opened and a gust of the night wind shivered over their table. Following it was a figure like nothing she'd seen before. They wore a mismatched selection of armour: high-quality ebony breastplate that seemed to suck in the light from around it; spiked gauntlets of an orcish make; and worn boots of simple iron that made no sound as they trod across the floorboards. But it was their helm that received the most attention from the patrons of the inn, for it was carved in the likeness of Clavicus Vile, curved horns protruding from the forehead. An evil-faced mace was at their hip and on their left arm was an odd convex shield that looked like it had been dug out of Dwemer ruin.
Dar'epha was prepared for trouble, one hand dropping towards one of her daggers, considering perhaps that this figure was a crazy daedra worshipper, or some advanced variety of Forsworn. She'd also pegged them for an orc, given their large build. But the removal of that horrid helmet revealed a woman of Breton origin, her brown hair cut messily short, and her expression not unfriendly.
Sam rose from his seat and bounded towards the newcomer. After some conversation Dar'epha couldn't quite hear and a very careful handshake, the woman joined the others at their table. Sam's grin was wide as the woman sat down.
"Erik, Dar'epha, we are truly in illustrious company tonight. This is—"
But he got no further, for Erik spoke. "I know who you are," he said, awe creeping onto his face. "I was in Whiterun when that dragon got released. You're the one who killed Alduin. You're the Dragonborn." There was silence around the table.
"Please," said the hero of the songs, "none of that Dovahkiin business. Call me Gylhain. It is my name after all."
Dar'epha tried to get her mouth working again. They'd all heard the stories, of course. How she'd ridden a dragon, how she'd walked the halls of Sovngarde, how she'd united the Companions, how she'd massacred her way out of Cidhna Mine.
"I thought you were helpin' the Legion with the war," she managed to say eventually. "Can't imagine that's won you a bunch of new friends."
Gylhain's brow furrowed. "Just doing what I think is right. The Stormcloaks may have admirable passion for their homeland, but that's not going to help when the Dominion comes knocking. And I'm perfectly placed to pressure Elisif to push some reforms through that'll help everyone in Skyrim."
Dar'epha had heard of that last bit spoken of among the downtrodden. The Dunmer, Khajiit, and Argonians of Skyrim were beginning to regard this figure as somewhat of a hero. She couldn't help but smile. An intelligent, well-spoken foreign woman? No wonder she was such a divisive figure. The Stormcloaks would do well to fear her. Dar'epha suddenly wanted to see for herself whether the Dragonborn could fight as well as the stories claimed.
Erik looked to be on the verge of a poorly framed rebuttal, when Sam spoke again.
"Enough politics," he said. "How about something more interesting? A drinking contest, perhaps?" He looked pointedly at Gylhain. Erik excused himself quickly, muttering something about seeing how his father was getting along. Gylhain looked directly at Dar'epha, who felt suddenly less secure in herself than ever before.
"I'm game if you are, Vigilant," said the Dragonborn.
Dar'epha chuckled, remembering her Guild uniform beneath the robes. "Yeah, I'm in."
Sam clapped his hands with joy and called out for the finest drinks to be brought and added to his tab. Dar'epha sat back, scrutinising Gylhain's face, and waited for the night to truly begin.
When Dar'epha awoke nothing existed but hazy filtered light, the world rendered thickly yellow. With a fumble she tore off her stolen hood, which had been yanked down over her eyes. The sky was a uniform grey. It felt like late morning, but she knew not of what day. Her back and legs were rent with aches, as she was slumped against something pitted and stony. It was, in fact, Gjukar's Monument, which she recognised from previous travels.
Squinting upwards, she tried to gain hold of any memory of the previous night. Nights? The tatters of her Vigilant robes were tied in a sash around her waist, revealing her Guild armour. Her gloves were sticky with something, and there were flakes of ash and bread tangled in her braids, most of which were unsalvageable. She spent several minutes tugging them all free to get her hair back to its loose state. She left the robes in scraps by the monument.
Despite its greyness, the sky seemed too bright to her and a dull thudding became noticeable at the back of her skull. Stumbling upwards, she headed north-west until she hit the road, not intent on heading anywhere in particular, but distantly knowing that Rorikstead was not that far away.
Rounding a corner just outside of town, she encountered Gylhain standing over the body of a giant. The woman was hunched over, her arms wide, edging towards a goat that was shying close to the corpse. Noticing Dar'epha, she smiled and held up a hand as a waiting signal. The Dragonborn darted forward. In a flurry of movement, she had the goat tucked under one arm. She seemed none the worse for wear, her movements and mannerisms unaffected by what they had undergone.
"Morning!" exclaimed Gylhain. "Some night, huh? Where did you end up?"
Dar'epha gestured without interest back the way she'd come. She found herself smiling despite the pain in her head. "What . . . what are you doin'?"
"Seems there was a misunderstanding with a farmer and this here goat and this here giant as a result of our actions last night. I'm trying to resolve everybody's grievances, but this fellow wasn't listening to reason."
"Right . . ." Dar'epha was momentarily lost for words. Rubbing her brow, she said, "Passing over that you killed a giant with no trouble, d'you remember anythin' from last night? I've a hunch it might've been more than just a bit crazy."
"And I've a hunch it was a few nights strung together," came Gylhain's reply. "But no, I don't remember anything solid. Sorry."
Dar'epha rolled her shoulders and emitted a low grunt. "S'pose this ain't the first time this has happened to you?"
Gylhain laughed, the shaking movement causing the goat under her arm to bleat a little. "Kind of goes with the territory, doesn't it?" She paused for a moment, frowning. "I do have a vague recollection of you pulling off some amazing throws with those daggers, though." She gestured at Dar'epha's twin glass blades, miraculously still at her belt. "You any good with a bow?"
"Sure," shrugged Dar'epha. "Though I ain't had my paws on one in a while."
A hopeful smile broke out across Gylhain's face. "There's a ruin to the north I've been meaning to take a look into for a while now. Do you want to come with me? I can always use someone competent along."
Dar'epha gave a surprised frown. She wasn't used to this sort of offer. There was always a betrayal at the end, her 'partners' playing her for a sucker or leaving her to take the fall. Things had looked up since she'd joined the Guild, though, and she didn't want to blow that winning streak. But the Dragonborn wouldn't be in it for the gold, and—by reputation at least—didn't seem the type to engage in a spot of betrayal. Although despite helping people in every hold, she was known for being somewhat flippant with the law; if anything, that endeared her to Dar'epha even more. She decided to take the risk.
"Explore a dangerous ruin with someone I barely know? Count me in!"
The Dragonborn's grin was infectious, and Dar'epha found herself echoing the expression.
"Brilliant!" exclaimed Gylhain. "I have to return this goat and see if I can find Sam, but we could meet in Dragon's Bridge in . . . say, four or five days? You've probably got some Guild business to wrap up first, right?"
Dar'epha started a little. "The armour's a dead giveaway, huh?"
Gylhain was still smiling. "Yeah. You're new, right? I did them a favour a while back, they keep me in the loop."
"You did them a favour?" Dar'epha asked. The Dragonborn had worked with or for the Thieves Guild and nobody had thought to mention it to her? "I ain't heard anything about that."
Gylhain's smile lessened a small amount. "If you're interested, ask Brynjolf about what happened to Mercer Frey. He knows it better than anyone."
Dar'epha sighed. Always more stories. "Dragon's Bridge, then?"
"Yes. See you there." The Dragonborn crouched to pick up her helmet, tucked that under the other arm, and turned north towards Rorikstead, off to see a man about a goat.