Pierrot to the Crown
A D Gray-Man and Skyrim Crossover
A weary sigh escaped the lips of the cloaked traveler, forming a wisp of white breath that spiraled skyward and vanished before monochrome silvery-blue eyes. Snow had not fallen on this part of the land yet, despite being so far north, but even this ideal warmer time of the year the air was crisp with the promise of frost and snow soon to come. Crystal shards glimmered on the surface of the soil in the darkness of mid-nightfall.
Insects and frogs chirped their raucous songs from the cover of trees and tussock in a steady hum that the teen liked to think of much like one of nature's many songs, for lack of any better way to describe it.
Without even thinking of it, having taken this route many a time before, he took right at a fork in the main road heading downhill rather than up. He had been travelling for some time and was ready to reach his destination and say To-Oblivion with everything else.
He was very much travel-weary.
Exhausted, foot-sore, irate, thirsty, hungry…mostly hungry.
He had passed up room and food at the Four Shield's Tavern, passing it up in favor of reaching his destination and calling it quits at that instead. He could always stop at the Winking Skeever if he really didn't want to go the extra distance home, but his levels of tiredness were quickly catching up with his levels of hunger.
Sleep was starting to look a lot more appealing than food, which was saying a lot for the albino boy, who was infamous across many a town for his appetite.
The stone structures appearing over the rise and at the bottom of the hill were a welcome sight and the boy, whose hair was as white as freshly fallen snow and skin only a few shades too dark to match, picked up his pace a little, feeling just enough of his energy and enthusiasm renewed to put forth a little more effort to his steps.
Solitude at last! he silently exclaimed, a small smile twitching at his lips, white cloak lined in fur furling out behind him as fine leather boots slapped down on stone-and-dirt roadway.
He passed by the watchtower, and through the outer gate, the main walls of the city coming into view. With a brisk stride, he crossed the distance and pushed open one of the heavy doors to enter the city, greeted by the lights of various tall structures of stone and wood – shops, mostly.
Still, it was good to return to his home city of Solitude.
For the most part, the streets were empty. An older man holding a mug for mead stood outside a double-story tavern, half-grumbling and half-singing some folk song familiar amongst the land's people, another figure obscured by shadow hanging out under a building with eyes gleaming out of the darkness, and a few guards walking up and down the streets patrolling.
It was a familiar scene and one that the boy welcomed.
Walking along the path, the whitette made his way under a large bridge and into the residential district, passing several homes and coming to stop at the doorway of a rather impressive home; Proudspire Manor. Truly a much befitting name, the building only outmatched in size by the Bard's College and the Blue Palace as far as residence went, and occupied by far less people.
Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The inside immediately looked rather plain and was just as chilled as the outside, cast in darkness that made it difficult to see. Eliciting a sigh, the boy felt his way around, having become more or less accustomed to this, until finding what he was looking for.
One of the things anyway, feeling his way around again until he found the others. Laying some wood in a stone pit, he set to work lighting it with some kindling and flint until he had a steady fire going, warmth already filling the room to replace the cold that the very walls seemed to emanate otherwise. Having removed his cloak already, he warmed himself up by the fire a bit before gazing around, tiredness still tugging at him but he still had something important to do.
Walking down the short hall, he turned right to head up a flight of stairs. A brief scan of the second story told him that the person he was looking for was still above, though he had expected as much, and ascended to the third floor, which had a table and a separate bedroom with door hanging only a crack open, of which had a large canopy bed and various other furnishings about the room.
Nestled on the bed however was a man with wild red hair, much older than himself. What made the teen avert his eyes was the company he shared, both momentarily seeming unaware of his presence. A bit of clearing of his throat made short work of how much longer he remained unnoticed by both the man and woman.
"Oi, idiot apprentice, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"
I'll remember that next time, he retorted silently. Of course the teen never outwardly made such remarks or disobeyed the man and instead forced a polite smile, looking a little sheepish.
"Sorry, Master. I assumed you would be asleep," he apologized. "But I've returned with what you asked me to bring for you."
The man regarded him for a moment through harsh, almost red-brown eyes. "Just leave it on the table outside my room, and shut the door on your way out," he ordered crisply.
"Of course," the boy said, turning to leave. Once again, the man's voice stopped him.
"Oh, and Allen."
"Yes, Master?" Normally he would have turned a questioning look towards him but decided it better not to in this case.
"There's going to be a party tomorrow bright and early at the Blue Palace, and you're going to attend. Take a bath and get cleaned up and ready for it, you're absolutely filthy."
The adolescent nearly wanted to scream at the man. Of course he didn't like to be dirty and sweaty but he'd been walking for over a day and right now sleep took priority over absolutely everything else in his mind.
Even so, he only sighed in resignation and nodded his head, knowing that he didn't have much choice in the matter.
"Yes, of course, Master. It shall be done."
"Good, now leave us be." The man said in something of a husky tone. "I have other matters to attend to."
Resisting the urge to make a face, Allen shut the door and left the bag of coin on the table, deciding it wise to take the man's advice and leave them alone, walking off to go and draw a bathe to get washed, and then would have to pick out something nice and formal to wear afterwards and hope he had time for a little sleep in-between, before being dragged off to some 'party' against his will.
Unlikely, but one could always hold out hope.