AN: Hey folks, Winter again! Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I'm up to my neck in exams, and seeing as I've stupidly left everything to the last minute, the chapter suffered for it. I will try my best to update weekly, but I cannot guarantee it. Thanks to the feedback, chapter 1 has been heavily revised since its release. I've tried to keep description in balance with plot this time, and not overload you guys with 'floral' paragraphs. There is plot in this chapter, as well as some character portrayal. Talisyn is relatively young for a Dunmer, 60/70ish - which in our AU is equivalent to mid twenties - and may seem quite black and white in her views. Just a heads up, as she's in development.
R&R please!
- WBR
Fate Deals Series:
The Honest Hand – Vol. 1
Chapter 2:
The level of ruckus was far louder than Talisyn had anticipated as she stepped into the Bannered Mare. A solid wave of heat hit her the moment she entered, a stark contrast with outside. The elf's nose wrinkled ever so slightly, the pungency of ale, sweat and cooking invading her nostrils. Her lips curled at the corners though, now this was familiar. A rowdy inn filled with harassed looking bar wenches and patrons of all shapes and sizes.
It was a fair job making her way to the bar, dodging and weaving passed the standing, the seated, and the somewhat lopsided. Her hand stayed firmly upon her leather pouch. They may seem jolly, but one could never be too careful. A cheery Nord was serving at the bar, and looked up at the Dunmer as she hopped onto a stool.
"Evening to you" she greeted, the wrinkles about her eyes deepening as she smiled, "What can I get you?"
Talisyn peered over the woman's shoulder, eying the assortment of alcoholic beverages. A sharp pang went through her, making the elf frown in disappointment. Of course, this wasn't the Cornerclub. The Nords wouldn't sell sujamma. Or matze. Blast it!
Sullenly, the Dunmer pulled down her hood and shrugged, "Something strong"
She could feel the brunette's gaze, and a few others along the bar, and started to regret her actions. Perhaps she should be a bit more…discreet? But another glance over the patrons revealed that they were already turning back to their drinks…interesting.
"You're not the first elf we've seen, traveller" the Nord had caught the elf's trepidation, a lilt of amusement in her tone. Talisyn raised her head, finding the bartender still smiling, "So long as you don't cause any problems, you should be fine. No need to look so worried"
"I'd have thought given the-" the elf lowered her voice, watching as the Nord began pouring liquor into a tankard, "-rising tensions I wouldn't have been so welcome"
The brunette's face tightened a bit at that, but her eyes were still warm as she brought Talisyn her drink. The Dunmer took off her gloves so she could savour the heat the beverage gave off. Sniffing the substance, a dark brow began to rise. Honey?
"I'm not sure if you've met the Jarl's housecarl?" Talisyn paused, her tankard half way to her mouth, red eyes hardening. That got a chuckle from the bartender, the lingering tension slowly diffusing, "Irileth is a force to be reckoned with, and is well respected within the hold"
The elf licked her lips, pleasantly surprised by the drink. It had a minty taste despite its smell, "But she's an elf?"
"And?" the woman rebuked, wiping up a spillage she'd missed. The man next to Talisyn slapped down his coin, excusing himself with a quick farewell, "She's saved the Jarl countless times, and has proven her worth. That is more than can be said for some folks"
"That's not the attitude in Windhelm" Talisyn snarled as she spoke it, though it was not aimed at those around her. She took another gulp of her drink, gripping her tankard a little too tightly. The hold of the Bear was highly unwelcoming towards her kind, the Grey Quarter nothing more than a rundown slum. Yes, they had shelter, a licence to sell, food and water…but respect? The Dunmer snorted at the thought, they were lucky if they were treated any better than the cattle.
The Nord's face lost its brightness seeing the Dunmer's downcast expression. The brunette prided herself on making her customers welcome, that they left the Mare with a smile and a belly full of warm drink. Her lips pursed as she picked up the coin, stashing it safely away behind the counter. It seemed she was going to have to work extra hard with this one.
"Aye, but this isn't Windhelm, lass" the brunette replied at last, coming to lean upon the now clean bar top. Talisyn watched her from over her tankard, her thirst getting the better of her as she downed the rest of the mead. The bartender's smile widened, delighted to see her beverage gain such approval, "Each hold is governed by its Jarl, and his views are upheld within his land. Where Ulfric Stormcloak judges and separates, Jarl Balgruuf judges and acts fairly. Those who prove themselves are rewarded, he is as fair a leader as you find within Skyrim"
The elf lowered her now empty tankard, licking her lips as her brows furrowed ever so slightly, "If so, why are the Khajiit barred from the city, when elves and Redguards can walk freely?"
"Because them cats are nothin' but trouble" the growled response sounded from their left, both women turning with mild surprise. A thoroughly drunk Nord sat slumped at next to Talisyn, glaring at his tankard as if it were the offending Khajiits. She could tell he was young, but the alcohol has cast a shadow over his face. He sniffed loudly, taking another slurp of his drink. He slammed it down afterwards and eyed Talisyn with a glare, "All of them, sneakin' and stealin'. You think the Jarl's gonna want furry filth like that in the city?"
Her tankard creaked ominously beneath her grip, ruby eyes narrowing, Talisyn's tongue readying a verbal assault. How dare he sit there and blackwash the entire Khajiit race with the same brush! Lips pulled back into a foul snarl, only to be cut across by the bartender.
"You would say that, Jervar. That was a one off, and all of Whiterun knows that the little cat was disciplined for assaulting you" Talisyn watched as Jervar coloured, his glower turning into a look of utter indignation. The bartender laughed at his expense, turning back to her elven patron, "He was on the receiving end of a Khajiit's fist, seems the cat's mate was washing by the river and he didn't take kindly to Jervar's ogling"
"It wasn't anythin' like that! I'd seen them skulkin' around the stables, and I got suspicious" he rumbled embarrassed, "How was I to know they were lookin' for some privacy?! And anyway, they're all fur, what's there to wash?!"
By then the conversation had utterly derailed, much to Talisyn's annoyance. She drowned out the rambling Nords, turning her attention to the surrounding bar. It seemed to have grown far busier since her arrival, the evening ushering in off duty guards, merchants and weary travellers. She'd have to where she was, unfortunately, for the tavern was full to bursting. So much for getting away from Jervar the Peeper.
Idly the elf drummed her fingers upon the bartop, feeling a bit out of place. What was she going to do now? How in Oblivion was she supposed to spread word about the caravan's wears? Her watch would be fast approaching, requiring her to return to camp. It left her with limited time, and a mild headache.
The bartender tapped her tankard recapturing the elf's attention, "Need a refill? You might need it if you intend to linger"
Talisyn raised her brow, following the Nord's line of vision until she caught sight of a lute being brought out. The elf groaned; she'd thought Jervar was bad. Someone strummed the strings, followed by what could only be described as a dying hound of a voice. Despite the embarrassing display, the Dunmer couldn't help but smirk, "I think I'll take you up on that, -"
"Hulga" the brunette offered as her smile brightened. The elf tried the foreign name, finding her tongue twisting and sticking horribly, leaving her feeling foolish. Hulga's laughter meant all was forgiven, and the pair settled into amicable banter whilst the Nord served her patrons and Talisyn drank her share of mead. The brunette regaled her Dunmer audience with the history of her fine establishment, something about a filly and a banner. There was interesting information of Whiterun itself, its cultural and political importance. Hulga spoke about the hold's famous, and nefarious. She told Talisyn of the services and amenities available. And finally, when the conversation fell onto the building shaped like an upturned boat, the elf's ears pricked up.
"You mean Jorrvaskr? That is home to the legendary Companions!" the Dunmer had found herself surrounded by varying levels of drunkenness by this point, her nose wrinkled from the smell. She'd resorted to focusing mostly on Hulga, hood up and a hand upon her leather pouch, "Founded by Ysgrimor himself, they're Skyrim's finest warriors. Kodlak White-mane sits at their head as Harbinger, though he claims he is but an advisor and that the company is in fact, leaderless"
Now this was more like the fabled stories Talisyn had heard during her time in Windhelm. Red eyes failed to hide their interest, shining a bit more brightly thanks to the drink in her veins. Rumbles and cheers from those around her seemed to back up Hulga's words, encouraging the hostess to continue.
"Their meadhall is the oldest building in Whiterun, and was the reason for the hold's expansion. That and the Skyforge, of course" the Dunmer's breath caught in her throat, her eyes now wide. It took her a few moments to compose herself, but she couldn't help the gush of excitement that filled her. The Skyforge?! It was but a legend, surely?! The fires of the Eagle would burned hot and produce the strongest steel in all Tamriel. The most balanced blades, the hardiest of shields.
"It is said that Jorrvaskr was built to guard the Skyforge" Hulga passed a pair of bickering guards at the end of the bar their drinks, "Now, only Eorland Grey-mane tends the forge's fires, crafting Skyrim's best arms and armour"
"But he's not the only smith in Whiterun" an Imperial piped up from behind the rabble, her smile worn but pleasant. Behind her followed a mountain of a man, a dark haired Nord who stared down those who stood in their way. Many parted to let the pair by, Jervar even giving up his seat next to the Dunmer. Talisyn had never been so relieved, the man stunk.
"I see my father wasn't exaggerating, you are as heavily armed as he says" the Dunmer blinked at her owlishly, surprised by the sudden interest. The smith's smile curved into a smirk, her companion conversing with Hulga, "Whiterun isn't all that large, and gossip spreads quicker than fire here"
"I'm not sure I'm happy being the topic of town gossip" the elf grumbled, gulping down more mead to steady her unease. The woman laughed at her expense, leaving Talisyn to glower at the bartop. Coming to lean against the surface, the Imperial pursued her attempt at conversation.
"Your wear armour unusual armour, elf. And that weapon you carry, it is no ordinary hammer" much to the Dunmer's chagrin the woman tapped her pauldron, eyes sharp and uncannily observant as they scrutinised the chitin, "These plates show signs of reforming"
"Do you take pleasure in invading folk's personal space?" the elf snapped, shuffling over on her stool. Talisyn's discomfort only amused the smith further, her intrigue growing as she spotted the Dunmer's hands. Grey, calloused fingers curled about her tankard with a powerful grip. Similar in appearance to that of the Imperial's hands. Brown eyes creased at the corners, yes, this was definitely the lass.
"Only those worth my time" Talisyn regarded her with open suspicion. A tankard found its way into the Imperial's grasp as her husband joined in the unexpected meeting, "You have the hands of a smith"
Talisyn paused, glancing down at her uncovered fingers with a scowl. What was this woman getting at? The elf didn't want any hassle, nor did she mean any harm. Yet it seemed that Whiterun wasn't satisfied unless she was pestered to exasperation.
"And I would wager a guess that those hands are responsible for the equipment you carry?"
"What is it you want?" she'd had enough, her temper beginning to simmer at the edges. Talisyn fixed the Imperial with a firm stare that bordered on a glower. Yet, the tanned smith seemed unfazed, merely grinning with triumph at her victory. She took her time answering, sipping at her tankard whilst the elf stewed. He'd mentioned she was spirited.
"Why are you here, elf?" there it was, a terrible Dunmeri glower. The smith couldn't help it, this lass was just too easy. Sadly, it seemed the elf's patience was limited by drink, and the Imperial needed more evidence. She had to prod deeper, "You're obviously a capable fighter, crafting her own weapons and armour. That's no easy feat. But to work as a caravan guard?"
The elf's knuckles popped as she gripped the tankard ever tighter, her jaw too. This woman…Talisyn didn't even know her name, and yet the Imperial already knew a lot about her. Paranoia bubbled at the back of her mind, a terrible unease sending the hairs upon her neck standing on end. The Dunmer had to forcibly release the tankard, the metal clattering against the bartop as it fell from her grasp.
"What do you want?" the elf repeated, tone as sharp as a blade. The Nord male tensed, sensing the silent storm brewing within the Dunmer. His wife was playing a dangerous game, but as he made to warn her, he was stopped by her hand. Adrianne knew all too well what she was doing.
"Surely one as capable as yourself finds the duties of a guard…demeaning?" the smith lowered her tankard, turning to face the Dunmer with a nonchalant smile, "Why are you wasting your time with such menial labour? That's what I want, elf. An answer. Why? Why are you playing the guard?"
"Why are you here?"
The stool scraped back loudly, the legs squealing against the wooden floor. An unexpected gasp sounded from behind Talisyn as she stood, fists clenched tight. Her heart thumped in her chest, pounding like a drum within her ears. A drum of blood, a drum of anger. The drum of Rage. One she danced to only in battle, a dangerous beat that could prove fatal in her current predicament.
The elf had to get out into the fresh air. This room…it was…it was too bloody hot. The air about her was heavy, suffocating her, coiling about her throat like a snake. Her teeth grated together audibly, her blood starting to boil beneath her skin. She felt like she was on fire, a familiar searing heat that scorched everything it touched. And the source of this sat naught but two feet away…grinning like a satisfied cat.
"What, you leaving so soon?"
"Adrianne, I think that's-" the smith cut across her Nord companion, his silence a reluctant one. Brown eyes pinned the seething elf to the spot.
"You run away because you fear the answer, Talisyn" that ire froze for mere moments, but long enough for the Imperial to catch a glimpse. A glimpse of fear. It was so deeply hidden that the poor elf had managed to delude herself into believing it didn't even exist, "You don't know why you're here, do you?"
The tension had reached its peak, teetering in those last few moments of silence. It seemed the confrontation had captured an audience. The feel of dozens of eyes - eyes she'd been keen to avoid - were suddenly upon her. A well of humiliation rose in her gut, riding upon the wave of unburied doubt the Imperial had disturbed. But it wasn't enough; her rage was already too far gone. And it returned and burned anew with her indignation to fuel it.
"You speak of me as if you know me, fetcher" the Dunmer's voice was glacial with its bitterness, sending shudders down the spines of those that heard it. The air was painfully tight, the anticipation maddening. Many patrons desired nothing more than to flee from the elf's proximity, but dared not to move. Talisyn could bare it no more, her lips twisting into a leer as she spat out, "But you know nothing"
That searing glare remained upon the smith for final moment, before the elf threw down some coin and tore through the crowd.
Adrianne let out a spiralling breath, watching the elf bruise her way out of the tavern. Like a bull in a china shop, the Dunmer was anything but subtle. The smith had wondered just what kind of apprentice she'd be getting, and after reading Fervyn's latest letter, she realised he hadn't been exaggerating.
"Well…that could have gone better" Ulfberth rumbled from behind her, utterly weary from the exchange. Adrianne turned about as the inn door slammed shut, lips still curled at the corners. He knew that look. That delightfully coy smile the smith wore when she was up to no good. He groaned quietly, realising what had just happened. The Imperial merely chuckled.
"No. In fact, it went better than I could have hoped"
The elf was yet again grateful for Skyrim's icy chill upon her burning skin. But it was a distant, idle thought, drowned out by the ongoing maelstrom of a headache. Her temper was far from through, and as she thundered down the stone steps from the Bannered Mare, she could see no end in sight.
The tenacity of that woman! She hadn't done anything to antagonise the Imperial. She hadn't even known her name! But the smith had known hers, her craft, her occupation…and every other bloody thing too! The elf felt herself growling and grating her teeth all over again. The smith had been taunting her, goading her deliberately for some sick reason. It mattered not, not now. Talisyn was more concerned about the fact that she'd risen to the bait; that she'd almost given into her Rage. That she'd been made a fool of for the second time that evening.
So wrapped up in her thoughts, the Dunmer failed to notice the company of warriors heading up towards her. It wasn't until she was upon them, colliding painfully with a tall, dark haired Nord, that the elf refocused. The mead in her gut made her balance precarious, and her temper more fluid. Both showed as she stumbled back with a snarl, "Watch it, s'wit!"
His silver eyes were uncanny, glaring down at her with irritation. Despite her bubbling anger, she felt a cold spike of alarm shoot through her. The man's very presence put her on edge, making the Dunmer sober up somewhat. Talisyn held her glare however, defiant in the face of her unease. Growling she pushed past him, noticing his entourage. A near identical man stood not too far behind, eyes trained on her warily. He was heavy in build, and gave off the same eerie intensity. At his side lingered a young Imperial, evident disbelief upon her features at the Dunmer rudeness.
Forcing down the shudders, the elf grumbled and quickened her pace. She had no more patience for the locals' 'delightful company'. In fact, Talisyn had had more than enough of Whiterun for one night.
R&R please!