Chapter Two:
Shortcut
7 First Seed, 4E 202
"... And that's where I ended up finding your notes."
Taryn stood across from Faralda, who was seated at the small wooden table in her quarters within the Hall of Countenance, the tower at the College of Winterhold east of the courtyard. It housed the more advanced mages of the College such as Tolfdir, Nirya, and (of course) Faralda, amongst others. Each had their own particular rooms on two separate floors. And after all the running around she'd done through the College, Taryn was gladdened that Faralda's room was on the main floor. She could hardly imagine another climb up a staircase. It reminded her of how she had to stop in and visit the Greybeards as per an arrangement she'd made with Arngeir: check in at High Hrothgar every so often, meditate on Words of Power with them, climb to the summit of the Throat of the World to meditate even more with Paarthurnax the Dragon, and then return to High Hrothgar to listen to Arngeir lecture her on the history of the Greybeards and Dragonborn. It sorely reminded her of the lessons she was forced to attend at chapel back in Anvil.
"You found my notes in an apprentice's chest, Miss Greystone?" recited Faralda doubtfully as she investigated the weighted pile of parchment settled on the table before her. "And he had the key?"
"Honestly, he was just playing a prank with a new potion he was testing." Taryn leaned against the archway into Faralda's room with her arms crossed loosely across her chest. Faralda's room was tidied and her bed made until the little alcove she could call her own was spotless, save for a soul gem on her dresser, away from its kin on the shelf beside her bed. A portrait of a faceless mage battling a necromancer hung above the bed against the wall, far from the candle lit on Faralda's nightstand, where a small, bound leather journal lay. "He just wasn't certain how to return it. But now you've got your notes back and the Arch-Mage has had his key returned."
Faralda seemed satisfied that her research was in her hands once again. She stood swiftly and practically glided over to the armoire with her mage robes, and in a moment she had proffered a modest purse heavy with a decent amount of gold. "Thank-you. I'm relieved Nirya was not involved. I am sure you spoke with Arch-Mage Kelco about the boy's punishment, so I will leave my concerns on the matter there."
"My thanks, Faralda." Taryn gratefully accepted the coin and tied it to her belt, right beside Dragonbane. "Keep an eye on your notes from now on, all right?"
"Of course," responded the mage. "I'd see you out, but I'm behind on my research now. I must prepare for my next session with Urag and reserve the books necessary."
With a wave and a farewell to Faralda, Taryn left the warm halls of the Hall of Countenance behind her and walked into the chilled Skyrim air. The wind had died the previous night, thankfully, and a soft snowfall was gradually descending from the clouds above. The sun had managed to peek most of its light around the clouds, and glistened against the flakes. It was a welcome sight compared to yesterday's harrowing wind and dismal daylight conditions.
Taryn marched forward towards the collapsed bridge and tread carefully across the more ravaged parts. Without hindrance from the bitter wind that forced her to pace herself, it was easier to traverse across. After all, her hair wasn't whipping in her face at every chance it got. Which reminded Taryn that she should begin to tie it, or she might just allow her locks to be a wonderful distraction when she would try to defend herself from some sort of assailant.
It was still early in the morning, but past dawn. The guards had swapped shifts hours ago, and the jarl had since taken his morning stroll around his ravaged city. The snow was up to Taryn's shins, and her boots would have been soaked through or chilled if she hadn't purchased some horker blubber from Birna's Oddments. The months in Skyrim had taught Taryn, Milos, and Eduard some little tricks that the locals had discovered decades ago. Taryn and Milos, having lived in Anvil (Milos had also resided in Black Marsh, although it was temporary), really knew very little about the colder climates and how to live through them beyond a heavy cloak and a fire. Eduard was born in Skyrim, although it was a Skyrim long since passed. The Dragon Priests had largely remained indoors during the winter months. And if they had to make a trip north, it wasn't for long. Eduard had experienced it but hadn't truly lived it.
Thank the gods for Heimdall, Taryn thought with a grin. I'll thank him properly for the blubber idea when I see him next.
The trudge to the inn was uneventful. Taryn had noticed a few lingering glances directed at her when she passed the hold guards, but it appeared she was recognized. It seemed easier to believe she was a frequent visitor to the College rather than an Imperial spy conspiring with the mages to bring destruction to Winterhold and harm the Stormcloak rebellion. Just a quick nod to the guards and she was on her way. But the guards were still on edge from yesterday's skirmish between the Empire and the rebel Stormcloaks. The premature drumming on the Empire's side proved to be their downfall, and only a few managed to escape. When the wounded Stormcloaks arrived in Winterhold later that day, Jarl Korir dispatched a few fresh men under Kai Wet-Pommel's command, who was a low-ranking Stormcloak officer, to pursue the remaining Imperial troops. Any questions on whether or not Taryn and her companions were spies would have to wait until they returned, but by then they'd already have departed.
Taryn's entrance to the inn and her habitual kicking of her boots against the doorframe to rid herself of excess snow clinging to the leather made her privy to overhear a conversation between a local and a travelling merchant who were seated at a bench and enjoying a pint of mead together. Neither man was very remarkable, but the merchant was a broad-shouldered Nord with a scar on his eye. And he was older, so Taryn assumed he may have had some hand in the fight against the Thalmor years before Taryn's birth.
"I heard there's trouble on the roads. That true, friend?" asked the local. Milos usually commented about Taryn's impeccable ability to stick her nose into others' business, so he often overlooked how her ears were always eavesdropping when she could. Often times she'd forget that she was doing so. It was one of those times, yet it was interesting enough. Which road?
"Aye." The veteran took a long drink and sighed as soon as his lips parted from the tankard. "South o' here. Windhelm's blocked off. I'm not looking forward to braving those mountains to the west to get to Dawnstar, but the Stormcloaks weren't forthcoming when they told me it was closing. Wouldn't say how long or nothin'."
"What for?" pressed the villager. Taryn kept herself busy to have it appear she wasn't being completely rude. Sure, she felt badly. But the information would certainly help their trip and save time.
"Dunno," the man admitted. "I'll have to hire some help to get to Dawnstar the hard way, or I stay here for an extended period and watch my earnings dwindle like my pint."
"You may not want to go east. Battle happened a night ago between those Imperial dogs and Ulfric's army. Idiots sounded their war drums too soon, and Kai Wet-Pommel set out after them."
"Ah. So risk looking like some horse-shite Imperial spy or stay here with the mages. You know the saying about the rock and the hard place..."
The Imperial decided she'd heard enough and made for her room across the hall. Milos and Eduard were likely still asleep, since the night previous they'd enjoyed the tunes of the local bard and drank merrily, though to what Taryn had no idea. As per Javin's instructions, Taryn was helped (forced) into bed at an early time to help the recovery process. Nothing made her feel more useless than being in such a state, but she had no choice. She and her resolve would endure. Though it had certainly surprised her that Eduard was enjoying the songs, much less listening to them. And drinking with Milos? The man never took his mask off in the presence of others.
Though... There had been an exception once. Taryn was bedridden for weeks after the battle with Alduin. She thought she'd never recover, to be honest, but being comatose for the majority of her time appeared to help. That and her lycanthropy. And Javin's skills as a mage... There were many factors that aided in her recovery and she was thankful for each one. But once she'd awoken she was faced with the Dragon Priest. His god defeated, he poured a cup of water for them both and quirked his mask upwards to drink it. Taryn hadn't seen the whole of his face, of course, but she had always felt it to be some sort of gesture. Even if it wasn't intended, she guessed he wouldn't blame her for thinking it.
A few minutes after gathering her things in a pile on her bed and throwing her fur cloak on top of it all, Taryn exited her room, crossed the floor in a few long strides and knocked on Milos' door. She heard some kind of grumbling, but also movement, and he carefully lifted himself from his bed. Satisfied, Taryn walked one door to the right and knocked there as well.
"Eduard?" called the Imperial. "Time to wake up. We're Labrynthian-bound."
"Forgive me if I don't immediately believe you," came Eduard's brusque reply from beyond the door. Taryn was relieved she wouldn't have to deal with awakening a grumpy Dragon Priest. He sounded as though he'd been awake for a while.
"Unless you'd prefer we head to Riften, I suggest you pack your things for the road."
"I suggest you stop being sidetracked by these piteous fools desperate for aid but reluctant to part with their coin."
"You're a true gentleman, Eduard. Silver-tongued and righteous, I see."
The door opened a crack and Eduard, who'd donned his mask, peered at Taryn from the safety of his room. The light wasn't shining correctly into his mask for Taryn to properly witness his glare, but she could feel it like a dagger to her side.
"You're one word from having your tongue ripped out, Dragonborn. It'd be difficult to Shout in that state."
"It would be equally difficult to insult me if I smashed my foot between your legs, wouldn't it?"
Eduard nearly emerged fully from his room, palm brimming with ancient magicka, but Milos appeared and yanked Taryn towards him. Taryn's back struck his gleaming glass armour a bit more roughly than he'd probably intended. Immediately, his hand went to her head and began to ruffle her hair vigorously. All the while, he was watching Eduard.
"Don't mind her," said the Argonian. "She's just a bit more lippy than usual. Always happens when she doesn't get enough sleep at night. Taryn's like an old woman, see. Got a schedule to adhere to."
Whether Eduard actually accepted Milos' pitiable excuse on Taryn's behalf or not, Eduard appeared to sneer but stopped drawing from his magicka pool and stomped back into his room. Taryn watched the door for a few seconds while she mulled over the exchange, then tried to tame the mess Milos had caused on top of her head. Meantime, the Argonian was frowning deeply at her. His hands were at his hips and his chest puffed out indignantly, like an annoyed elder brother.
When she finally met his eyes, Milos clicked his tongue. "You might be in less danger picking a fight if you hit a sleeping bear over the head with a stick," growled Milos. "Or did you forget that he's about as stubborn as you are?"
"I just like to test the boundaries," Taryn grumbled, unamused by the jest. "It helps knowing just how quick he'll be to temper in the day."
"You might be more effective if you just stayed out of each other's way and tried really, really hard to not poke a grumpy Dragon Priest, aye?"
"Oh, but he makes it so easy—."
"Taryn," hissed Milos, and he lowered his voice. "The last thing you need is to get mad at each other. You could eat him, ever think of that?"
With a wry smile, Taryn replied, "I've been tempted." But at her friend's expression of shock and anger, she rolled her eyes. His yellow ones bored into her like hot coals. "I'm teasing, Milos. He's probably stringy under all those robes."
Milos growled in his throat and let his eyes wander around the inn. Nobody appeared to have heard her. Those within were too deep in conversation to notice or even care, but that didn't comfort the Argonian in the slightest.
"Oh, don't curl your tail. I'm only teasing."
Milos' lip curled up in annoyance, exposing a few sharp fangs. "Try not to tease when others could hear. Rather, how about you don't at all? Something like that isn't made to joke about."
Taryn's hands settled on her hips, and she glared indignantly at the Argonian, the perfect imitation of his own posture. "Well, what would you prefer as an alternative? If you want I could just be a husk of sadness and woe while I curse the Divines for my shoddy luck and keep it bottled inside until it eventually explodes. I've read all the bad adventure novels, I know how it goes. Jesting makes it easier to deal with." She lowered her voice, which was already hushed because of Milos' hot scowl. "Besides, it only happens once a month. Twice on some occasions. It's not like it's a nightly thing. That would be trouble."
The two old friends startled when Eduard's door opened again. Everything about his bearing presented his irritation, although Taryn was pleased to see his satchel full at his feet.
"If you two would please take talk of the Dovahkiin's monthly cycles elsewhere, you would oblige my relief."
The Imperial's face turned crimson awkwardly while Milos' entire intimidating figure buckled forward with laughter subduing his previous tension. That earned a few guarded looks from patrons within the Frozen Hearth, the only time they appeared to deliberately pay attention to the motley crew in the few days they'd been housed there.
Eduard lifted his satchel and tossed it over his shoulder, where it smacked him in the back but did no visible harm. His dagger, an ancient, curved, Dragon Priest relic gleamed from his belt, and he placed a gloved hand on it. "The torchbugs will find a home in your mouth if you refuse to close it, Dovahkiin."
As Eduard made for the door of the inn, all the response Taryn could muster was sticking out her tongue at the priest's back. And Milos pounced upon the opportunity she handed to him with sordid glee.
"There she is, the mighty Dragonborn! Saviour of Nirn, slayer of World-Eaters, sticker of tongues."
"Milos, I'm really going to hurt you someday."
_/-\_
7 First Seed, 4E 202
The last time their troupe had slogged through the frozen north was months ago, back when retrieval of the Elder Scroll hidden in a humid Dwemer ruin was the most important thing on their minds. But the group had long since dwindled from then, and Taryn had never laboured through the snow with Eduard before. In fact, it was that very Elder Scroll read at the summit of the Throat of the World that brought him from the Merethic Era to the present day. The only two who had truly gone through the Elder Scroll ordeal was Taryn and Milos, and both were not eager to drudge through the snow again. Snow banks half the size of frost trolls slowed their march, though Taryn was grateful for the soft snowfall as opposed to the harrowing winds yesterday. It made an already arduous journey easier to amble along.
High noon was when the three had finally left Winterhold after a few delays regarding the Stormcloak movement. The direction they were marching was the same bearing that the Stormcloaks were pursuing what surviving Imperials had retreated from the battle. As a result, their odd group would attract attention from the soldiers, so Taryn decided they take a more treacherous route near the ice crevices and jagged rocks directly under the shadow of the mountains separating Winterhold from the Pale.
Taryn was unsure whether or not a trip on the roads would have shortened their journey by a fair margin or given them pains in the head with all the checkpoints the Stormcloaks would have established to stagger the journey of Imperial spies. Despite the debilitating climb through the snow, it seemed the best option. With no papers for identification, Taryn, Eduard, and Milos would have been escorted to the prison in Windhelm almost immediately, especially because of their strange companionship. But as long as they kept to the mountains Taryn felt they would bypass the Stormcloaks chasing the Empire's soldiers and make it to the Labrynthian with only a few incidents of engagement with the local wildlife. A narrow escape or battle with a frost troll or snowy sabrecat wasn't uncommon in the hard north of the Nordic province.
By evening, the three were slowed tremendously by the sleet they toiled in. Shaky looks at the map and the sky for direction led Taryn to believe they'd barely walked a whole twenty kilometres from Winterhold. They intended to enter the Labrynthian from the north, and once Eduard was safely back in the Merethic Era, Taryn and Milos spoke about making a return to Whiterun and visiting the Greybeards soon afterward. As thanes of Whiterun, they had to be present often to keep up with current events. Their absence was hardly of any consequence, but Proventus Avenicci, steward to Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, was keen to remind them of how often they departed to pursue one of his bounties without asking about the progress of the Civil War or the stance Whiterun had yet to take. Taryn had once rebuffed him by telling him to leave politics to politicians. Avenicci pointed out to herself and Milos that they were in a position of politics with their titles, and the Imperial had laughed, admitted she forgot about the title, and said Balgruuf was doomed with her in such a position. Milos had never seen Avenicci so furious with someone before.
The sun had slipped under the horizon, dropping the temperature drastically, by the time Taryn thought they had found some form of shelter. Unfortunately, before they could alert the sentry perched on the rooftop of what looked to be a rear entrance to a nearby fort, Milos spotted a bird perched on a lycanthrope's skull on a stake, picking away what was left of the flesh, and they averted their course. The wide berth they gave the fort that finally loomed above them left a few sentries suspicious, and Taryn noticed two scouts following them until they felt assured Milos, Taryn, and Eduard were not spies or scouting their position. The scouts retreated back to their fort without incident.
There was only one faction Taryn knew would place such an explicit display of brutality towards lycanthropes: the Silver Hand. While Heimdall Jorgenson, the new Harbinger of Companions, had led an assault on them after the death of the previous Harbinger, they were not as powerful or influential as they once were, though they flourished still in small pockets. These were the radicals who had no intention to enter the priesthood of Stendarr, and while they also hunted those who worshipped or were influenced by daedra, more often than not they would choose to torture them into madness to justify slaughtering them. The Vigilants of Stendarr would at least offer the afflicted their last rights and attempt to kill them quickly, whether they wanted to die or not. It was that kind of complicated issue that made Taryn wonder if, given the choice of death, she would fight to live.
The trio were debating to try their luck at finding an alcove near the mountain to help shield themselves from the cold while they set up their tents. The wind began to pick up, bringing with it swirling snowflakes that cut against their skin like icicles. Eventually, after only another half-hour of wandering west, they spotted a large wooden building that appeared to be an inn. Its roof was beginning to blanket with snow, but Taryn could see it was made with straw. Icicles hung low from the wooden porch and fused with the ground below. A large, thick log had an axe stuck fast into it, and smaller logs for kindling were stacked neatly in a pile beside it. There was also a tanning rack with a deer's hide strung up beside the stairs onto the porch with snowflakes burying deep into the fur.
"There's no sign," called Milos over the frosty gales.
Taryn steeled her nerves and marched up to the door. Her left hand found Dragonbane's grip for some form of assurance. As Milos and Eduard stepped onto the porch Taryn knocked loudly on the door. The flickering lights under the entryway were momentarily blocked as the sound of heavy boots began marching towards the door. Under his breath, Taryn heard Milos mutter, "I don't think this is an inn..." just as the door swung inward. A heavy-set Nord man with thick, red-blond mutton chops at the far end of middle-age towered in the doorway. Pale, belted, light blue robes covered his torso, while steel boots and gauntlets shielded his arms and legs. A prominent amulet of Stendarr was clearly visible over his robes.
The Nord examined the trio with equal parts confusion and concern. His blue eyes lingered on Eduard, as most who met him did, and then he regarded Milos with a weighty tone, "Do you seek shelter?"
The relief Taryn felt matched her newfound nervousness. No, the hall wasn't an inn. But the amulet of Stendarr gave away the hall's true purpose: it housed the Vigilants of Stendarr. Even the warrior-priests wouldn't turn away the trio, but she felt an anxiety that wouldn't be quelled until the morning, when they could leave.
Milos properly asked for shelter from the wind from the Vigilant, who introduced himself as Tolan, and the Nord stepped to the side to allow them entry. The interior was much like the Frozen Hearth, although there was no fire pit at the centre. Two rows of benches facing an alter adorned with shrines of Stendarr, books, amulets, and a wolf pelt took up most of the space within the Hall of the Vigilant to Taryn's left. Four tables and their joined benches were to her right, a modest amount of bread, dried meats, and assorted fruits set on top. The Vigilants within were praying to Stendarr before they retired to their quarters. A selection of Nords, Redguards, Bretons, and the occasional Bosmer were on their knees before Stendarr's altar. None so much as spared them a glance as they entered.
"Please keep your voices down for now," whispered Tolan as he shut the door calmly behind them. "I'll speak with Keeper Carcette to see where we can place you."
"Thank-you, sir," the Argonian replied when Taryn's words failed her (and Eduard was never expected to respond, anyhow, else some brash or curt words would fire from his mouth). Milos jostled Taryn and focused on her with a pointed stare. Softly, he whispered to her, "Only until sunrise," and then gave her a sly grin of encouragement.
She nodded with heartened response, and returned the friendly bump. In mere moments, Tolan had returned from a private room to the right of the altar with a woman in tow, dressed similarly to him; light blue robes with belts carrying pouches, steel gauntlets and boots, but the presence of a warhammer strapped to her back immediately set Taryn on edge. She was a Breton woman, with short blonde hair, brown eyes that immediately began investigating us the moment she turned the corner, and a thick, protruding jaw set with a grim determination Taryn recognized from Delphine, one of the ancient Blades.
Carcette didn't walk gracefully, but her strides were tired and, frankly, so were her eyes. Taryn couldn't help but notice the abundance of small red veins in her eyes and the dark circles that hung beneath. But any mortal or daedra could see Keeper Carcette was making an impression. She simply could have instructed Tolan what to do, but her appearance forced Taryn to question whether she'd placed Milos and Eduard in some sort of danger, as though the Vigilants could tell what she was from a mere glance. Taryn swallowed the rising terror in her throat and took deep, guileful breaths. She'd been human most of her life. Surely it wasn't that difficult to keep up the facade?
Tolan and Carcette deferred to Milos, the one who'd been kind enough to provide replies to Tolan in the first place. The Argonian extended a clawed, scaly hand to Keeper Carcette and inclined his head slightly as Carcette grasped his offering. "My name is Hides-His-Heart. These are my companions, Taryn Greystone and Eduard. We seek shelter for the night."
There was some sort of collective agreement that passed through the Vigilants praying at the altar of Stendarr; they rose and began bidding their comrades a good night just as Keeper Carcette replied, "I am Carcette, Keeper of the Vigilants of Stendarr, upholder of Stendarr's justice and His mercy. I would ask before I give you shelter: why do you travel during this storm? And on such a treacherous path?"
"Unfortunately, our travelling papers were stolen during a recent visit to Winterhold." Something Milos and Taryn had learned when they lived in Anvil was if one must lie, keep as close to the truth as possible. One would be less likely to falter with one's words. "Using the main road to Windhelm in wartime would only make myself and my friends more suspicious than we already look, and we've really no inclination to sleep in a dungeon." With a cheerful Argonian grin, Milos added, "Though if you've only dungeons to spare, we won't dispute it."
Carcette glanced over to Tolan and the emptying hall as she released Milos' hand. Thankfully, whatever trepidations the Keeper had seemed to abate thanks to Milos' sly tongue. "We only have to storage room to offer you three," Carcette admitted, and immediately Tolan disappeared behind the altar, descending steps Taryn hadn't noticed before. "Tolan will clear it and ensure it's an adequate space. We live simply here, so I apologize if the room seems cold."
"We've had worse. Thank-you, Keeper Carcette."
The Vigilant motioned for them to follow her behind the altar, and they did quietly, though Taryn noticed how Eduard shook his head the moment they passed the shrine to Stendarr. Then again she hadn't expected anything less. As a Dragon Priest, his only allegiance was to the Dragons, not the Divines, despite Alduin's claim to being the spawn of Akatosh. Thankfully Eduard had nothing to say about the shrine. He once made an abrasive comment about Arkay and was nearly lynched by some angry Nords that heard him. A quick escape and a near thrashing from Milos ensured that the boundaries of the Pantheon of Divines and Eduard's ancient religion remained separate. The "agreement" also entailed Taryn could no longer taunt in the Dragon Language, whether it be a Dragon or an irritable Dragon Priest.
At the bottom of two flights of steps was what appeared to be a storage room. Straw was scattered about the stone floor, caught beneath burlap sacks of grains and buckets of fruit and vegetables, and also three animal furs that were being placed on the ground by Tolan. A simply carved wooden chair was settled in the left corner beside the stairs with a small end table established beside it. A bookshelf at the far wall, directly across from the stairs, was housing more potions than its namesake, though it was not completely vacant of them. A map of Skyrim was fastened to the left wall above an empty shelf. The right wall suspended weapon racks bare of any steel. The room was chilled, though it was not unexpected, and Taryn was glad again for the furs around her shoulders.
"This is what we can offer you," said Keeper Carcette as she gestured about the room.
Milos grinned and inclined his lizard head. He'd had to bow his head earlier to slip under the doorframe and into the storage room. "Much appreciated. Thank-you."
"Stendarr's Mercy be upon you." As soon as Tolan had been kind enough to light the candle on the end table, the two Vigilants exited the room and shut the door securely behind them. The three waited for the Vigilants' footsteps to recede up the steps before there were any conversations to unpack their bedrolls and make a meal of dried venison and water.
Milos, who had earlier volunteered to carry most of their things because of his bulk, had fallen asleep almost immediately beside the chest on the wall to the right after the trio had nibbled on their rations. His light snores was the only sound permeating the room. Eduard was leaning comfortably against a bale of hay on the far wall next to a slanting training dummy. As per usual, Taryn couldn't tell whether he was awake or asleep. His gloved hand was never far from his ancient ceremonial dagger, though he appeared to be candid about it. Taryn, herself, could find no solace in sleep. She was, admittedly, still far too anxious to rest blissfully beneath the base of the Vigilants of Stendarr. Instead she thought to read and sat in the chair in the corner, but the only book that didn't include magical incantations and how to properly cook a clam was one that made her stomach churn: The Physicalities of Werewolves.
Despite that, Taryn picked it up. The title was splattered in bold letters on its cover and spine. From what she could garner, the book had been read many times because of how wrinkled the spine was. The cover had not yet been worn through, but many pages were dog-eared. Her curiosity drove her to read a few entries. She couldn't call the author a sick, twisted man, despite how the two entries about lycans made her cringe. Honestly, if she'd read the books a few months prior to her jaunt into Skyrim, Taryn probably would have found it fascinating. One was about a Breton man who could change at will, and was driven to do so as fast as he could until he simply expired. The second was detailing a Nord woman who was dissected alive. Taryn could not have slammed the book closed faster, though she flinched when the sound nearly woke Milos. The Argonian simply skipped in his snoring, but resumed almost immediately afterward.
Taryn sighed quietly and blew the flame of the candle out. In the darkness she carefully waded towards where she believed her bedroll was. She misjudged, found the bookcase, and cursed quietly. Then, as she slipped away from the wall, a small ball of light formed beside her bedroll. Taryn moved towards it, but just as she came within an arm's reach it disappeared. It was unmistakably a candlelight spell.
"Thank-you," whispered Taryn as she climbed into her bedroll.
She thought she would not receive a reply, but Eduard mumbled back, "You're welcome." Just as she began to think of how out of character it was for the Dragon Priest, he added, "I thought to watch you struggle for a while more, but I became worried you would dislodge the bookcase and kill me."
Ah, there he is, Taryn mused inwardly.
He continued, "What were you reading?"
Lengthy conversations were not something Eduard would typically carry with Taryn, but the few they did have eventually led to some sort of agreement about the state of the Civil War, denouncements of the ruling body of the Elder Council, or simple history lessons, things to come that Eduard had not, and probably wouldn't, experience in his lifetime. As much as Taryn didn't know what kind of a man he was, she could at least discern that he was no elf and certainly no dwemer. He was a man who would die of old age one day just like herself and Milos (ideally).
"A book about some of Hircine's creatures," replied Taryn as she adjusted her body to face him. "I realized too late that it wasn't ideal for late reading."
She could almost picture Eduard considering her words. "The Nord Heimdall suggested I ought to read some book about an Argonian maid. What was her name? Lifts-Her-Tail or something equally provocative?"
"That's about right." Taryn grinned at him through the darkness. "If you're going to read any literature from this day and age, I think you'd feel more at home with The Warp in the West. Interesting read."
"I've heard of it."
Taryn thought he'd nearly settled in comfortably, so she chanced at continuing the conversation. "How are those tomes Urag set you up to?"
"He seems to enjoy the progress far more than I," answered the Dragon Priest. "I uncovered a common recipe from my time and he nearly choked on his water. Though he managed to save himself and read the tome with true eyes for the first time."
"You uncovered an ancient cookbook?"
"The Orc believed it to be a book of alchemical ingredients. I suppose he wasn't far off."
"I suppose not."
Another period of silence hung between them, and Taryn settled in her bedroll on her back rather than face him. It seemed they both were finally ready to sleep. Taryn closed her eyes and hoped she would fall into slumber promptly, though until she finally did, she could she the words from her most recent book on the back of her eyelids, haunting her like a ghoul.
All you need to do is act natural, she told herself. Think like you always have. As long as you don't show whatever warning signs there are, you'll be okay. And in the morning we'll leave this place behind. Act natural.
While the encouragement didn't dispel the thoughts of the book, Taryn finally slipped into her dreams. There would be no more thought of Hircine's creatures within the Hall of Vigilants that night.