It was snowing out, predictably enough. This storm was a doozy, however, with snow rising from the ankles to the knees in the space between teatime and dinner, and night setting in so fast it looked like Mundus just gave up and rolled over. The inn had a reassuring amount of smoke rising from the chimney, and a man bundled to his ears (not a Nord, obviously) was industriously sweeping snow from the front porch. Inside, the inn was not empty, but not overly full, holding mostly the few travelers that managed to get there before the storm hit and were now reluctant to head back out into it. A Breton in black robes appeared passed-out drunk on one table next to the Bard, who was definitely passed-out drunk and under the table. The innkeeper was scrubbing the counter, chatting with a few farmer-types sitting at the bar. A lone mage in eye-blinding robes sat in the corner next to a clear, freshly cleaned table. He had his arms folded over his chest, and was either dozing or staring into the fire. He was, he fancied, devastatingly attractive, appearing somewhere around thirty with shoulder-length brown hair and topaz eyes, and had the odd distinction of smelling not of road or smoke, but scones.
"Spring cannot possibly get here quickly enough to suit me!" Telki burst through the door in a swirl of snow and bluster to match that outside. The little Dagi-Raht in purple and green traveling leathers quickly bustled over to warm herself at the fire. Three men followed her quickly inside the warmth of the inn, all clustering around the open pit-hearth. The men couldn't have been more different if someone had tried: tall dark haired Nord in plate, a Dunmer in scarlet leathers, and a brown haired Imperial wearing mage leathers. Many a tavern joke had started with such a crew, yet the four comfortably shared space around the pit-hearth. Shared touches and looks amongst them spoke of more than affection, if one knew how to read the signs. The matching knotwork rings winking on their fingers spoke a little more clearly.
"Alright, my fingers have feeling again. Shall I see about playing for a room?" Laughing purple eyes took in the soused bard under the table. "It looks like the inn bard is on break." The Dunmer, Erandur, and the Nord, Gideon, shared a sardonic grin, while the Imperial, Mercutio, openly snickered. She left the boys sorting who would play chanter and who would play drums. "Hey Thoring, mind if we play for our supper?"
"Sure! I haven't heard 'Merry Markarth Merchant' in a while." Telki rolled her eyes; he asked for that song every time she stopped by. Thankfully, it was as easy to play and sing as she was heartily tired of it.
The figure in the corner stirred slightly, but didn't bring attention to himself. He'd been watching the other patrons for a while now, and wasn't really impressed with the quality of entertainment. He needed something if he wasn't going to be...pressed...into making some of his own. There were only so many minutes you could stare into the fire before going, well, a little stir-crazy.
And crazy was something he was strenuously avoiding.
Telki shrugged off her outer layer, revealing her playing garb, and mouthed to her companions "The Usual." Apparently, Gideon lost the draw, and unenthusiastically grabbed the drums. Erandur twirled the chanter into place, and Mercutio drew out the one instrument he wouldn't embarrass himself on: another lute.
Telki launched into the lighthearted and raunchy ballad, complete with dance steps, carefully picking her way daintily all about the pit, tail twitching and kerchiefs flying.
The Breton mage in black made a droning groan that might have been singing along on the raunchy parts. The two-toned mage in the corner looked up, eyes following the dancing figure intently. He'd seen a lot of dancing figures, and was considering doing the fishstick, but he shoved the impulse down, preferring to be himself, rather than Himself, for a while. It was why he was here, after all.
As the song drew to a close, Telki pirouetted in place, and bowed theatrically. "Any requests?"
The drunken Breton yelled out a song that had been banned in Cyrodiil over twenty times, but kept coming back because..well, actually because of him. After his shout, he promptly fell back on his face on the table.
"Any other requests?" Telki slightly winced. The song requested was one her vocal cords would thank her for passing up, but she didn't want to insult the Innkeeper's regulars.
Seeing the pretty cat lady wanted to sing something else, he finally gave in and called out a song that had been classic in Cyrodiil in his youth, and was considered quite courtly now, for its age. If she knew that, he'd be impressed, but it was one of the first things that popped into his head. If she didn't know it, he might even teach it to her. Maybe. If she didn't make fun of him, though Felicia had always said he sounded well enough.
Hearing a request for "The Milkmaid and the Goatherd" Telki felt her eyebrows rise. She knew it; she was probably one of maybe three bards in all of Skyrim that did. She near drove the College batty nosing in all their old choral books and asking to be taught the tunes. She nodded to her fellas, and they took seats to listen as well, and she started the flirty and poignant song. She just wondered what a Cyrodiil nobleman was doing playing vagrant in Skyrim. It was bound to be a ballad worthy tale. Sixteen different plans to weasel the story out of him flitted through her head before she could put down her lute and casually saunter over to him.
A half-full mug near the snoring Breton's head found its way into her hand as she passed by him. A little liquid encouragement never hurt anyone.
The mage clapped with the rest, smirking a little under his hood as he saw the practiced ease with which she "acquired" poor Sam's Mug of Everlasting Cheer. He loved Khajiit, really. Always up for some fun.
"So, how hard are you gonna make me work for your story?" Telki smiled warmly at the fellow. Shor's Halls, but he had eyes bright and gold enough to make a Sathay-Raht jealous. She neatly folded herself onto the seat, tucking her feet under her legs.
The man considered this. He was lonely, she was pretty, and it would be a lot of fun messing with the three men he could tell were all gaga for her. (Yes, gaga was a word in Old Crazy.) He could use the company, he supposed. At least it would keep him from ruminating for a while. Pushing back his hood, he considered her. "It's very boring," he lied, tone completely serious.
"Hmmm. Nope, don't think so." Telki grinned at the look on his face, and started ticking her reasons off, finger by finger. " An Imperial Noble, more, an "Old" Imperial noble, who looks as young as I do, and in hiding in Skyrim? No story involving those elements could ever boring. So? Share, and I'll tell you how I wound up here, and not talking like a sandslinger."
The Imperial's eyebrow rose. "You were kidnapped by Legionnaires off the road thinking you were a Stormcloak?" he asked, making it sound as if that was the most absurd thing he could think up on short notice.
"Nah, that happened after I got here, and doesn't explain why I'm not 'this one-ing' everything, does it?" She smiled at him over her cup, and went to take a sip 'til the smell reached her nose, and burned all the hairs there. No thank you, she wanted to remember tonight. She still remembered that horrid grog Orgnar tried to push off on her last trip to Riverwood. No, thank you.
"I once had a Bosmer...uh...friend that swore by Azura all the time. Mostly, in my experience, Bosmer swear by salad, so it takes all types."
Telki shrugged. "Erandur is a priest of Mara. I thought I was still dreaming when I met him. Yep, more types than you can shake a stick at, most days. So, is there a pressing reason you can't share your story with me?"
He chuckled, letting the full force of a smile that had once won over a hardened thief out to play. "As soon as I tell you, you'll leave, and I won't have anyone to talk to. What reason should I tell you then?"
It started with a little giggle, but it kept growing until she was helpless and silently laughing on the table. Her companion only watched, eyebrows rising slightly, that secretive little grin never fading. It was refreshing to see mirth untainted by hysteria. It took a full five minutes for her to regain her composure. Money silently changed hands behind her at her boys' table.
"You...you think I'd quit talking to you if you tell me? Really? Hi, I'm the chatterbox extraordinaire, have you even met me?"
"I haven't actually. You've neglected to introduce yourself or your gambling friends." The grinned quirked upwards on one side. "Of course, I haven't introduced myself, either."
"What do you think I've been trying to do since I sat down here with you? Silly man. Hi, I'm Telki Tailkinker, Thane of Nine Holds, at your service. My monetarily impaired friends are as follows: Gideon Rainier, Paladin of Shor; Erandur, Priest of Mara; and Mercutio, my darling Imperial mage and arrogant ass."
"Hey!"
"I warned you I would!" Telki called back over her shoulder to her companion. It was more for form than any real upset. She'd kiss it make it better later anyway.
"You sound like a very pious bunch," he said politely.
"Hardly pious. Pious is a word used when someone usually means 'self righteous bigots' and nope. Will we help someone? Absolutely, and probably sometimes when the smart thing to do would be to high tail it outta there, but eh. I'd hope most people would aspire to that much. Your turn." Telki propped her chin on her fist, elbow braced on her folded knee, and regarded him with her full attention.
"Are you asking about my piety or my name?" he teased, echoing her gesture and propping his head on his hand.
"Name first, we can discuss piety later."
With a charming grin, he hopped up, giving her a full blown Court bow over her hand. "Romulus, at your service." Plopping back down in the chair, he added, "as long as service doesn't require going back outside."
"Oooh, classy name. I'm guessing mom was a fan? That explains knowing the classic songs, too. It was from the Champion's time period, if I recall correctly. And no, I wouldn't even send a frost troll out in that mess. Eish."
Rommy twirled a fork in his hand, effortlessly and thoughtlessly moving it from one finger to the next. "It was historic even in that time, actually. Loooong line of famous Romuluses." He winced, remembering a hundred lessons and a thousand swatted knuckles, "Or so I was told. Over and over. All the time."
"Ouch, is that why you're way out here? Either getting away from all that rigamarole, or trying to live up to a legend? I'm rather hoping it's the first. Shows more sense."
Scoffing, he replied, "I have even less sense now than I did then." He was definitely trying to get away from something, but not slapped knuckles.
"Sore subject, sorry shug. So, what would you rather talk about? Kites and strings and sealing wax? Of cabbages and kings?"
He laughed softly. "Alice…" he muttered, as if at a memory, then shook his head. "Actually," he said in a more normal tone, pinning her eyes with his golden ones, "I'd rather talk about your eyes."
"Really?" Telki quirked an eyebrow at him. "They're purple, and they tend to glow in low light, and I have excellent night vision."
Oh, if he was his alter ego, that would probably get her dropped into a Falmer nest for fun. Luckily, Rommy was Rommy and not Sheo at the moment, so she wasn't going to be dropped anywhere or suddenly blinded. "I have a special fondness for purple eyes."
"Oh? Any particular reason, or just because?" Now she was curious. It wasn't like there were violet eyes all over everywhere. She'd met maybe four people in four provinces counting herself. "Someone you knew, or just the idea? It's not a common color."
Leaning around her, he snagged a bottle of brandy that he'd ordered but not drunk, pouring it in a small glass and letting his hand warm it, filling the air with it's smooth aroma. "Actually...It's a sign of royalty."
"...Say what?" Voice flat. That was a new one on her, and she's studied. A lot. She had enough responsibilities, thank you; she wasn't looking for any more.
Giving her Dunmer an arch look, he said, "I'm surprised your Priest of Mara doesn't know this already, actually." Taking a sip, he continued. "The old royal line of Morrowind, the one that Talos killed off-except for Barenziah-all had purple eyes. It was considered a sign of the royal family. Anyone that has those eyes, at some point, had an ancestor from that family."
"Interesting, since I'm Khajiit, and depending on who you talk to, being Dagi-Raht is either a moon form, or there's Bosmer in there. As far as I know, no Dunmer." Telki said. "So there's that." She gave him an impish grin. "Looks like I'm safe from any machinations or responsibilities in Morrowind."
Waving a hand dismissively, he assured her, "They wouldn't let you anyway. The Nords don't have a monopoly on racism. Besides, any Dunmer of that line in your blood would probably have come from…" he trailed off, then had the grace to flush, "...uh...slavery."
"As long as it's history, and not a current practice I have to worry about, I'm good. It's okay shug. History often ain't pretty."
Rommy found that pretty funny, and looked down as he laughed in case anything...slipped out. History wasn't pretty at all. They tried to cover it up, to dress it in flowing lines of honor and self-sacrifice, but he'd lived it, at least part of it. Grand destinies were more than uncomfortable, they usually ended up with the figure in question dead, or wishing he was. Destiny clutched you tight in punishing hands and left your own grasping at nothing, wondering when you lost your grip. "Anyway…" he looked up, waving the hand with the brandy glass to indicate she should say something more.
Honestly, the guy looked like he could use a month of hugs, just to get started. He was starting to worry her, slightly. "Okay, I'll grant you, current company named after history is pretty. There. Betters?"
Eyebrows shooting upward, he smiled and said, "Mistress Telki, are you flirting with me?" fluttering his eyelashes on that last point to make her laugh. Her laugh was lovely, pure and innocent, and it chased shadows back under chairs and into corners where they belonged.
"That depends, you brave enough to get the permission slip signed first?" Telling him he needed hugs would probably have shut him down faster than a Thalmor caught at a Talos' shrine, but challenging him? That might do it.
Rommy glanced over at the three men accompanying her and gave a mock shudder. "Perish the thought. I didn't bring my lawyer to write up a legal disclaimer anyway."
"Aw, darn. I guess I'm just teasin' with you then. Care for an exchange of pithy remarks and witty banter? And scones. I didn't even know Thoring knew how to make scones, but I've been smellin' 'em for the past twenty and I want a bite."
Sputtering on the sip of brandy he'd just taken, Rommy coughed, hitting his chest a few times before giving her an indecipherable look. Reaching into his bag, he "summoned" a scone in a piece of folded cheesecloth and presented it to her, leaning in close so that his breath tickled her ear. "If you want to have a bit of fun, they don't have to know I gave up."
"Aw honey, for you, I'd ask on your behalf, but nothin's happening without clearing it with them. I may have multiple lovers, but I'm no cheater. It's all aboveboard or nothing." She took a nibble, closing her eyes and making the most extravagant sound of pleasure ever heard outside of sex.
Rommy looked shocked for a moment, then shook his head, "You misunderstand. I just want to tweak their whiskers, such as it is. I know I'm not going to bed with you, and you know it, but what's the harm in making them squirm a little before they figure it out? It'll drive them crazy." Driving people crazy was his pastime, after all. It might be fun to include someone else in on it.
"Oh darlin' I do like how you think." A mischievous grin lit up Telki's face. "Make room, and I hope you either have the patience of a saint, or are wearing a cup." Telki made herself at home on his lap, going so far as to proffer part of her scone to him.
"I have the patience of a Daedra, but they can wait a bit, too," he replied, always happy to accept food.
"Eish, Daedra." Telki let her lips turn down for a moment, before consoling herself with the excellent scone, proffering the next bit to Rommy.
Tapping her on the tip of the nose, he replied. "There's nothing wrong with Daedra, so long as you don't talk to them, invite them to your parties, or...interact with them at all, really."
"Sugarlump, that's hard to do when they're practically chasing you across Skyrim, and so many of them have the manners of a ….I can't think of a word bad enough. Even nice ones like Meridia could use a little help in the bedside manner department. So uppity she was. Azura was okay, though. Sheo seemed alright, but that book I found. I dunno."
So she was the Khajiit that had fixed Pelagius's head. He'd wondered. Rommy tilted his head questioningly. "Book?"
"Well, most of the stories, I was even cheering for him, because he was either teaching a much needed lesson, or actually freeing a town from a jerk of a king, but there was one that just wasn't nice at all. I mean, precisely why would Malacath of all Daedra need to be taken down a peg? Isn't being swallowed and…excreted bad enough? And precisely what did that poor Orc do to deserve being just a head for the rest of his existence? He was actually trying to make a positive difference in the world."
Arm around her waist (but hand not anywhere objectionable), he gave her a little, comforting squeeze. "That's the mistake most people make about Daedra. Or Aedra, for that matter. Daedra embody change, which is neither easy, nor always good. Sheogorath in particular is an agent of chaos. He does what his whims say to do. Maybe one day, they'll tell him to return Malacath's son to him."
"Hmm, nope, sounds like an excuse. I mean, change is necessary, and by working for his people and himself, that Orc was changing things around him, improving things. So many of the Daedra embody harmful change, and it shouldn't always be that way." Telki shook herself. "Listen to me, getting all philosophical while I should be feeding you this scone and sending my guys right up the moon. " Telki turned quickly and pressed a large bite into Rommy's mouth, kissing the tip of his nose as she did it, mischief dancing in her eyes.
Rommy flushed slightly, glancing down and then promptly back up as he realized where his eyes had just gone. Well, that was bound to be misinterpreted. Oh well. "Sorry. Daedra are a particularly interesting subject of mine. I...studied them a lot. Worried my parents horribly, of course, which was the point."
"Oh, I wish I could claim something so innocuous! Nope, I had to be the bloody stupid Dragonborn, and get chased by every Daedra from here to there. Thankfully, I haven't had a run-in for….months now. Knock on wood."
Laughing so hard he almost tossed her off his lap, Rommy couldn't get over the irony of that. Finally getting his laughter under control, he asked, "So you're this kalpa's Dragonborn, hmm? That explains a lot. Thank you, by the way, for making sure that brat didn't eat the world. Hate it when he does that."
"Oh, taking out Alduin was my pleasure." Telki startled as the rest of what he said registered. "Wait, wait wait. What did you just say?" Telki was hoping beyond hope he didn't just imply what she thought he'd implied.
Backtracking quickly, he prevaricated, "I told you I studied, didn't I? I know Alduin was Akatosh's firstborn that mantled him. That makes him a brat, in my way of thinking. And who wants the world to end?" Rommy really, really didn't want her figuring this out. It would bring Him out, and He would play this pretty little mortal like she played her lute. Catgut puns included.
"So, that was all hypothetical?" She really wished she could keep the hopeful tone out of her voice. She didn't think she was wearing blinders, but borrowing trouble was never a good thing, either.
Rommy gave her a very sober expression, "Mehrunes Dagon is not this pretty," he assured her.
"Well, aren't all Daedra shapeshifters? I suppose if he wanted, he could be, but no amount of shapeshifting can hide what a complete and utter jerkwad he is. I don't think he'd let me sit in his lap, either, not after killing his Dremora and raiding his shrine." Telki couldn't help but snicker.
"You razed his Shrine?" he asked, eyes warm with approval. "Good for you."
"Yep! Walked off with everything not nailed down. Gideon took his spiffy hammer to the altar. Erandur consecrated it to Mara, and built a shrine to her right on top of the place." Telki fed him the last bit of the scone.
Rumbling with laughter, Rommy stood, placing her neatly on the floor. "I'm getting a bit restless. Do you like to dance?"
"You saw my performance, and still feel the need to ask? What a gentleman. Yes, kind sir, I'd be honored." Telki gave him a proper old world Cyrodiil curtsy. "What dance does my Lord prefer?"
"I'm not fussy," he replied. "But let's let your men continue to relax, hm?" Raising his hand, green sparks of Illusion magic wafted about his fingers for a moment before he opened them, releasing them as if from a cage. A spritely tune filled the air. A few of the other patrons looked up, startled, but one or two laughingly started to whirl each other around the fire pit.
"Dost thou ken the steps to 'Red House' my Lord?"
"My dear Mistress Telki, I have had every dance ever danced in Cyrodiil so pounded into my head your own would ache in sympathy if you knew." Giving her a grand bow, he offered his hand.
"Good, that means you're certain to know the very few I was able to dig up, then. I know this one, Candlebrook, and Gosler's jig." Telki gently laid her hand in his. "I suppose, if you're feeling frisky, you could teach me a new one?"
He laughed gaily. "Perhaps," he said, whisking her off. Romulus, though a great disappointment to his parents for the longest time, excelled at just about anything that had to do with motion. His muscle memory was incredible, and this had made him a very coveted dance partner at the few parties he had bothered to show up for.
Telki was in hog heaven. The boy could dance like nobody's business, and she learned two new dances out of the deal. That was part of what bothered her: A lot of little things were not adding up where Romulus was concerned. It could be that he was simply an oddity like she was. He had muscles, finely toned as Gideon's, if not as bulky. There were callouses on those palms. She didn't notice at first, because most everyone she knew had them, even Mercutio, who Gideon routinely browbeat into learning how to fight, in case he ran out of magicka or was caught flat footed.
And he had just cast seriously hardcore magic. The sort she was pretty sure was even beyond Mercutio, and she had been half convinced he knew all there was to magic. He'd even shown her some of the more impressive spells he'd been crafting on his own.
So, old school manners, really up on old Cyrodiilic culture, knew more about Daedra than most scholars, impressive mage, and seemingly a hellacious fighter if the callouses and muscles were anything to go by. Just who or what was Rommy? And what would the consequences be if she got an honest answer out of him for it?
That was a really harsh pill to swallow, because before this moment, she would have said that an honest answer was always worth it.
"Your fur would probably hide it, but if you keep frowning like that you'll get wrinkles," he informed her, bringing them to a halt but not letting go of her. It was too fun watching the flittering expressions on her boys' faces. Briefly, he thought of seeing what they were thinking, but it was so much more fun not knowing, and letting their actions have less context. Maybe one of them would even try to punch him.
"Oh! Sorry. Just some sad self-realizations. Sucks when you discover you're not as awesome as you thought you were." Whoever he was, he had a nice chest, so she propped her head on it. Now he couldn't see her frown.
"Oh?" he prompted, the music taking a softer tone as he simply moved them into a slow, casual dance.
"Nope, this Little Girl is not opening the Curious Box."
Patting her on the back lightly, he said, "Probably for the best."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it, or that I'm any less disappointed with myself that I'm actually letting it slide, but I'm tired, you've been good company, and I don't want that to change, so shush already." Telki buried her nose in his doublet.
Rommy shook his head. "You wanted to know my story? My parents were very into upward mobility. I had a lot of lessons as a child. They taught me history, and other scholarly pursuits. I had tutors in fighting, and magic. Maybe I'm not the mystery you think I am."
"Rommy, I'm a trained Bard. Lying with the truth is something they teach you first year, if you hadn't learned how beforehand. Shush n' let me enjoy dancing with a very nice, though very sad, gentleman."
With a little sigh, he finished the dance, then pointed out that it was a bit late. Well, what he actually said was "Akatosh's backside o'clock" but he'd had another swallow of brandy by that point.
"Okay, I have to remember that one. That's hilarious." Telki had laughed, "Good night, sweet prince, until we merry meet again." Telki curtseyed low, and sashayed back to her menfolk. She had a lot to share, before burrowing down in the covers between them.
Rommy waggled his fingers at them in a salute before heading over to drag his inebriated brother to a bed. Sanguine was always much happier in the morning if he hadn't been bent over a table all night. Of course, he was always happier if someone was in the bed with him, but Rommy wasn't going to arrange that for him. How he couldn't sleep anymore but Sam could pass out drunk, he'd never know. Maybe that's why he did it in the first place.
"Just what was all that about?" It would be Mercutio to ask. The most arrogant attitudes always covered the biggest insecurities in Telki's experience. Well, maybe she wasn't quite done teasing them.
"He wanted to wind you boys up a bit, and since I knew where I was sleeping tonight, I was hoping to reap some fringe benefits." Telki leaned in, letting her voice deepen to that pitch that was guaranteed to cause the right kind of shivers. "Did it work?"
From another room, a slurred voice with a High Rock accent could faintly be heard calling: "Yes!" Mercutio eyed the wall speculatively before turning back to Telki.
"Minx, you know it did."
"You know the best part, shug?" Telki wrapped strands of his lovely silky brown hair around her fingers. "Even though you know, it's still gonna work."
"I know."