There was a peculiar kind of beauty in the dissonance, an attraction to the rough chaos of the orchestra's music. Not all of the guests thought so, but Ren was stubbornly clinging to the music like a child clings to a useless toy. The celebration was not for her, it was to show her off like a prized possession as Jarl Balgruuf bragged that his thane had just slain Alduin, the World Eater himself. She'd had little say in the matter, but she was determined to extort something out of her presence, so had demanded the first thing that had come to mind-an Imperial orchestra.
Balgruuf had been extremely hesitant to do so. With Whiterun still on the brink of disaster, torn between the Stormcloak rebels and the Imperial Empire, bringing in a distinctly Imperial-based form of entertainment could be enough to send the entire city into war. Ulfric Stormcloak was finicky like that.
She had told him to suck it up, and that she would take the fall for it. He had caved, but only after she had threatened to let a dragon friend of hers take up permanent residence in his keep. Wisely, he had agreed.
Ren winced, shifting from foot to foot even as she leaned heavily on the pillar behind her. She hadn't been allowed any type of rest after returning, and her wounds still needed attention. Unfortunately, even the court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire, had tossed her a few healing potions and called it good. They weren't as effective as they had been seven years ago, however, and they'd done nothing except stop her bleeding. Her bones ached harshly, like Delvin complained his did when she stayed with the Guild. But the people of Skyrim needed reassurance that their nemesis had been defeated, and she was the only one who could give that to them.
Another hand clapped against her bruised shoulder and she offered the man-a member of the Companions, she believed-a tight smile.
"If there is anything you require, Dragonborn, the Companions will be happy to assist." He declared, voice booming over the orchestra's noise. Ren's eyebrows lifted with amusement. She seriously doubted that the honor-obsessed warriors would help break her out of a jail, should she get caught doing any Guild business.
"Thank you." She muttered as she bowed her head slightly in thanks as the Companions trod off towards the mead. Finally, some peace.
She slid to the ground, unable to bear standing a moment longer. Her body screamed at the movement, then sighed in relief as she sat. She stretched her legs out in front of her and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.
She hadn't seen Hroar yet. She doubted he wanted to go up to Dragonsreach just to greet her when she would be home later that night, but she was worried. It had been almost a month since she had last seen her son. Brynjolf had promised to take him to Whiterun when word got to the Guild of her return, but he could get sidetracked-and very easily find testing Hroar's growing skills with a lock-pick more important than bringing him to her.
A sudden hush snapped her to attention. The guests had frozen, the orchestra had stopped playing, and all were staring at the massive doors to Dragonsreach. Slowly, she pushed herself up-and froze with shock.
Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion and murderer of the High King, stood calmly in front of the entrance.
Jarl Balgruuf stood slowly, expression carefully guarded.
"Jarl Ulfric…Whiterun greets you, provided, of course, you understand our neutrality and understand we will tolerate no act of violence within our walls." Balgruuf said, after a brief pause. Ren rolled her eyes. Nords were not known for their subtlty.
"Do you think so little of me, Balgruuf?" Ulfric asked, his deep voice carrying clearly across the room, as if he was talking to each and every one of the guests, whereas Balgruuf had simply been talking to Ulfric. The lack of the title of 'Jarl' was, however, very clear. Ren noticed Irileth, Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, stiffen and discreetly reach for her blade.
"Tonight is a night for celebration. Tonight is a night for joy. Be glad! The World Eater has been destroyed! Skyrim is safe! Tonight is no night for bloodshed and death, Balgruuf. Tonight is a night for good mead, good company, and peace!" Ulfric roared, casting an arm at the tables, laden with food and drink. Despite the fact half of the guests were loyal to the Empire everyone lifted their tankard and bellowed out their agreement. The festivities continued almost immediately, the Companions leading the bulk of them.
Ren wrinkled her nose as a servant offered her a tankard of mead, shaking her head. She had a flask of Black-Briar Reserve in her pocket that she'd been sipping at when her wounds started to flare with pain, but she had no desire to get drunk or drink gallons of the sour mead that Balgruuf liked so much. If he had been serving some of the other types of drink she'd heard of-Ashfire Mead, Cyrodiilic Brandy, Argonian Bloodwine-she'd have been up on the table with the Companions. Regrettably, most Nords didn't drink things based on how intriguing its name was.
"Ah, Ren. How are you doing?" Ren blinked and turned, surprised that someone had managed to sneak up at her. She relaxed when she saw who it was-Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal, a dear friend of hers.
"Injured. Tired. Nothing unusual. And you?" Idgrod chuckled and embraced her briefly.
"Morthal is doing well. We've received quite a few visitors lately…I hear you've dropped some very well-placed praises of our little town." Idgrod said, pulling away. Ren grinned.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She replied, folding her arms across her chest.
"How is Joric doing?"
"I'm fine." Ren turned to her left and found Joric standing there. He was the same age as Hroar, about fifteen, and thin for a Nord. The vacant look in his eyes wasn't as overwhelming as it usually was, despite the vague tone to his voice.
"Where's Hroar?" He asked. She could see how much of an effort it cost him to focus on her.
"He might be in town-I've no idea, but I haven't seen Nelkir here either, so I assume that if he is, they're together." Joric nodded and wandered off.
"He doesn't get as lost as he used to, but I still worry." Idgrod murmured, the lines etched into her face suddenly standing out all the more than they usually did. Idgrod was gifted with visions that allowed her to see glimpses of the future and past, something that Joric had inherited. The boy, however, possessed much stronger gifts than hers. Joric reminded Ren of an Elder Scroll. He saw visions, like his mother, but had no control over them. He would grow distant and walk through a thousand events at the same time. Once, he had confided in her that he had seen a terrible battle waged over Morthal, but that those who fought were not Nords. Perhaps that had been a vision of the past, or perhaps it had been a vision of the future.
"I think the boys keep him a bit more grounded. Nelkir has somewhat similar problems." Ren replied, eyes still on the spot Joric had previously occupied. Idgrod looked at her curiously, but the older women did not press matters. It was a good thing, because Ren wasn't going to explain that Nelkir spoke to a Daedric Lord who seemed to have taken up residence in his head
"Idgrod Ravencrone…I have not seen you in years." Ren looked up slowly, dreading what she knew was about to come. Ulfric Stormcloak smiled pleasantly, if coldly, at them. Ren couldn't ignore the slight twinge of guilt she felt when she nodded solemnly in response.
"Likewise. I've little desire to speak with the one who is tearing Skyrim apart by the seams at the time when unity is most crucial." Idgrod replied dryly. Ren let a small smile touch her lips. Idgrod supported the Empire, but only out of the fact the Stormcloaks were too radical for her tastes and because of the proximity of Morthal to Solitude, the capital and headquarters of the Empire in Skyrim.
Ulfric nodded seriously.
"I agree. That is why I have come to speak with you, Ren Arex." Her eyes went wide as he turned his focus to her.
"Skyrim is now safe from the great threat of the dragons. While I do agree celebration is in order, I've only come to hear your answer."
"…Answer?" Ren repeated, staring at him blankly.
"You seem to forget a lot, Dragonborn." He mused, eyes not leaving hers.
If anyone other than him had said it, her face would have burst into flame. But Ulfric…He was different. She held respect for him, but no true liking. He was an extremist, a man of action first, thought second. If a single attempt at diplomacy failed, he dove into bloodshed. But he had been the man to ask if she was injured, when she had no idea who she was or even what her name was. It was he who had tried so hard to protect the few men he had and her, the stranger who had been destined to die on the same axe as him.
She supposed this was what having a sibling would feel like.
"Why don't you remind me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Very well. You told me you would not make a choice in regards to the war until Alduin lay dead at your feet. Now that he is dead, I want an answer." Ulfric said firmly. Ren shifted uncomfortably.
Now she recalled it. She'd been drinking too much Honningbrew mead-afterwards, it had been the reason she'd helped the Guild shut down the business-and she'd happened to be wandering the streets in Windhelm. Eventually she'd bumped into Ulfric, who had been out for an evening stroll. They'd had a conversation and, as always, he had tried to recruit her. She hadn't wanted to offend him, as she had Guild business in Windhelm and wanted to get it done without having to sneak back into the city, so she'd delayed by promising him an answer after Alduin-or her-died. And then she had promptly passed out cold.
"Ulfric…." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was still matted from her hood-blessed Nocturnal, she hadn't even changed her armor!-and flecked with ash and dried blood.
"…No. I've seen the way you treat those who aren't Nords. They've lived in Skyrim just as long as you have and have just as much a right to their homes as you have to yours. I won't be a part of something so…racist. But I do respect you, Ulfric, and I understand what you're trying to do. It's why the negotiations went the way they did. If it's any consolation, I've no desire to join the Empire either." She added, seeing the cold look coming to his face.
When she had helped craft a peace treaty between the Empire and the Stormcloaks, she had convinced the Empire to give the Stormcloaks a few locations that seemed insignificant to them, but held a thousand subtle advantages. Resources, numbers, land….
"Your ancestors weep." He stated coolly, no emotion at all in his voice. She laughed.
"If they haven't already, I would be shocked. Goodbye, Ulfric." Without saying another word or waiting for his farewell, she slipped past him and headed for the doors. The guards nodded respectfully to her as she passed them.
There was no one on the bridge or the walkway surrounding Dragonsreach. She was alone when she leaned against the fence, gazing out at the dark plains of Whiterun. A cold breeze pressed its fingertips to her face and played with the edges of her cape, pushing clouds in front of the ivory circle of the moon. She dropped her head into her hands, shutting out all of Skyrim's wintry glory.
A hand against her shoulder blade, a body brushing her side. Only one person would bother to sneak up on her to hold her instead of kill her.
She lifted her head and dropped it onto Brynjolf's shoulder.
"You're bleeding, lass." He murmured.
"Too many Companions." She muttered. He laughed softly.
"I've dropped off Hroar. He's with the other lads, breaking into the Battle-Born home. And we've received a rather unique job in Dawnstar. There's supposedly a strange door built into a cliff, and our client wants us to break into it and steal whatever is behind it. Apparently a jester lived in it for a time and that jester made an enemy of our client."
Ren frowned. A jester? In Skyrim? She'd seen the door-why would anyone want to live in there?
"It sounds suspicious. In my experience its things like this that leads to danger." She said slowly.
"Should we take it?"
"How much are they offering?" Her tone was entirely business-like.
"Five hundred septims."
"Don't take the job. I've heard too many horror stories about what that door contains. I don't want anyone dying." She could feel Brynjolf frowning, but she didn't bother to elaborate. She was terrified her position as Guildmaster would get someone killed. She knew Brynjolf felt she was overly cautious, and she knew she usually was when lives other than her own rested in her hands, but something had felt wrong about that door-and it was such a strange request…
"You're still wearing your armor."
"I know…It slipped my mind. That's why I'm out here, partially." She added, pulling a face. He shifted as if to speak but a shout from behind them made Ren separate herself from Brynjolf and turn. Three strangely dressed figures were walking towards them, one of them shoving a guard with their shoulder a little harder than necessary as they passed him.
"Are they headed towards us, lass?" Brynjolf asked suddenly.
"I think so…"
"You there! You're the one they call Dragonborn?" The one in the lead demanded. Ren could tell he was male by his voice, but he had an unfamiliar accent. All three of them wore identical white masks, shaped like a many-pointed star with rounded tentacle-like spikes.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She said immediately, resorting to what usually worked with the guards of each Hold.
"Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver! We know you are the False Dragonborn! You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn's return. He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart! When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!" He roared, drawing a dagger from his side and summoning a spell to his fingertips. Ren's eyes went wide.
Thank Nocturnal she hadn't taken her armor or weapons off.
She yanked out her sword, ignoring the tingling hum it released at the prospect of tasting blood. Daedric metal flashed as she lunged at the leader. Brynjolf shot past her, whipping his dagger across one of the other stranger's chest. Her own attack was blocked, but just barely. A spear of ice grazed her hip, shredding her armor and freezing her flesh. She let out a hiss of pain but didn't falter. Her sword slashed across the man's arm, opening it to the bone. He screamed as she snapped the blade up, and he crumpled to the ground, silent. Brynjolf had killed his own opponent and was locked in battle with the remaining stranger. A bolt of purple lightning shot over her head and she jerked herself into movement, hurrying forward and swinging her blade. The stranger was swift, however, and managed to escape with only a slight nick to the thigh. Purple sparks began gathering in the stranger's hand. Brynjolf stepped forward and slashed at the hand, surprising the stranger. The spell vanished and a screech escaped their throat-her throat, Ren realized, as that was a woman's scream-as she staggered back. Blood sprayed from the place her fingers had just been. She fell back-right into the oncoming arrow of a guard. It struck her in the throat, and she gasped at them as she slowly sank to the ground. Ren turned away as the woman gurgled a few moments longer before going silent.
"Dragonborn! Are you alright?" A guard asked, skidding to a halt in front of her. She nodded wearily as the adrenaline wore off, suddenly leaving her more exhausted than she remembered every being in her entire life.
"I'm…fine." She sighed. Brynjolf was searching through the pockets of the strangers methodically, one by one.
"Corpse-looting doesn't suite me, lass." He said, catching her gaze. She smiled slightly.
"Excuse me…" The guard began, frowning at Brynjolf.
"They tried to kill me. I think we have a right to know why. Go back to your post, at least until we're done, alright?" The guard looked at her uncertainly, but slowly left. Brynjolf stood, shuddered violently, and held out his hand. A folded slip of blood-splattered paper drooped from his fingers. She took it carefully and unfolded it. The ink was smeared and indistinct in most places, but she could still make it out.
Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Ren Arex before she reaches Solstheim.
Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.
Ren slowly looked up at Brynjolf, frowning.
"Do you know of a place called Raven Rock?" She asked. He frowned as he slowly shook his head.
"I've never heard of the place. Is that where they were from?"
"No, but-"
"Mom!" Ren started and turned. Hroar was running up, Joric and Nelkir fast on his heels. Nelkir gave her restrained sort of nod when he saw her and Joric let out an audible sigh of relief, but they both stopped a few feet away. Hroar tackled her, reigniting the fire in all of her bruises and cuts.
"She's going to bleed all over you, lad!" Brynjolf warned. Ren groaned as Hroar released her, but quickly drew him into a suffocating hug of her own.
"Nelkir said the Lady told him something bad was happening to you so we came as soon as we could! Are you okay?" Hroar babbled. She caught his face in her palms and studied him intently for a moment.
"You've grown." She murmured. Hroar scowled at her. He was a tall, wiry boy with a very short golden hair-unlike most Nord boys, he didn't let it grow out-and wide dark eyes. He'd grown taller since she'd last seen him, and a pale scar now decorated his cheek. He had gotten an ear pierced, and a small bird hung from it-a Nightingale.
"I'm fine. It was just an assassination attempt." She murmured, more to soothe him than herself. If they would send men after her for being the Dragonborn….Nocturnal knew what they would do to Hroar if they caught him. She released him and looked at Brynjolf, exhaustion replaced by a cold, hard determination.
"Brynjolf, can you send for Karliah? Tell her I need her to watch Hroar here." Brynjolf nodded, something akin to relief flickering across his face.
She wasn't stupid. It had been a bit much to saddle him with Hroar for a month. She knew he was courting a woman in Riften and that watching Hroar took a large part of his time for her away. But Karliah….Ren trusted her shadow-sister as much as she trusted Brynjolf, and Karliah had dropped hints on more than one occasion that she'd love to watch Hroar.
"Mom, where are you going?" Hroar demanded, grabbing her arm as she shoved the paper into a pocket and sheathed her sword.
"Windhelm."
-XXXXXXX-
So, this is my Nanowrimo story, actually. xD It's divided into three parts, this is part one. Tell me watcha think, this is the only thing I've ever tried like this. ^^"