A/N: This chapter contains explicit sexual content unsuitable for readers under the age of 16.
She slept deeply, and for much longer than usual. When she finally started awake and went upstairs, she found full sunlight streaming through the thick, wavy glass in the windows, and the house empty—aside from one other person.
Hadvar was face down on the big bed across the room, snoring softly. She found a note scrawled in a feminine, loopy hand on the table, with her name misspelled at the top. It explained that Alvor was outside working the forge for the day, but if she needed help with anything, she could ask him. Sigrid and Dorthe had both gone down the road to help a lady named Hilde with her weaving, as they always did on a Tirdas, but they'd be back by early afternoon. If she was hungry, it said, she'd find breakfast in the pot by the hearth.
She was hungry, but instead of helping herself to breakfast, she found herself watching Hadvar.
She stood several feet away from the large bed that he lay sprawled in, watching his broad, scarred, naked back rise and fall with his breathing. He must have stayed up late into the night with Alvor, talking, and she saw another large tankard that had probably been holding mead last night sitting empty on the bedside table.
Merrin could see half of his face from where she was standing, and noted with interest that it wasn't at all a bad face. For several seconds she stood still there as warmth bloomed in her abdomen, staring at the man who'd helped her escape Helgen, considering her options. And then she walked resolutely across the room and sat down next to him on the bed.
He woke up when she put a hand on his arm, eyeing her blearily, and asked her if she was okay.
'I'm better than okay.' She smiled. 'I slept like a cave bear in hibernation.'
He pulled himself up onto one elbow and used the palm of his free hand to rub some of the sleep out of his eyes, and she watched him as he did. He had kind hazel eyes, and she noted full lips when a huge yawn overtook him. Her blood ran a little hotter.
'What about you, Hadvar? How did you sleep?'
He chuckled. 'Pretty decently, when I finally fell into bed. It's nice to be back in a friendly spot, no?'
'Definitely,' she agreed. 'It was so good of your aunt and uncle to let us stay here like this.'
'They're good people.' The pride and respect were both back in his voice, and she nodded her head in agreement.
'That's part of why I agreed to help them last night. Your uncle asked me to go to Whiterun, to tell Jarl Balgruuf about what happened at Helgen, and ask him to post some soldiers in Riverwood so it isn't just sitting defenseless. I'm going to do it today.'
'Oh.' He seemed pleasantly surprised at this news. 'That was good of you to agree to. Have you been to Whiterun before?'
'No, never.'
'Do you want me to come with you? It would be no trouble.'
His words caused another clutch in her lower abdomen, and she smiled. She was confident that she was making the right call.
'I appreciate the offer, Hadvar. But I know how to handle myself.'
He nodded emphatically. 'After what I saw yesterday, I can only agree.'
Time to make my move.
Merrin looked at him seriously now, tucking her tumbling hair behind her ears.
'Hadvar? I want to..thank you, for all you've done for me since we met. And for believing that I'm innocent.'
He looked at her, amused. 'You've already thanked me for all of that.'
She shook her head. 'That wasn't the thanks I have in mind.'
And then, with her eyes firmly on his, she leaned down and kissed him right on the mouth.
He seemed shocked at first, but far from unwilling; after a moment she broke the kiss, and sat cross-legged on the bed as she unlaced the sides of Sigrid's blue dress, and his eyes riveted themselves to her naked body as soon as she pulled it off. 'Gods,' he breathed shakily, suddenly fully awake, and she smiled demurely as she threw the quilt over the edge of the bed. He was still in his cotton breeches, and she took hold of them then with both hands.
She worked to pull them over his hips; he was already hard, and his straining erection gave her some trouble before he came springing free with an excited groan, and she eyed him appreciatively. She urged him to sit up straighter against the headboard, and then cupped him boldly with one hand as she dragged his breeches the rest of the way off with the other, leaving him naked in the bed.
Then she kissed a trail up his hard abdominal wall and over his hairy chest, straddling him before she stopped to nip at his collarbone.
'M..Merrin...' There was a flush spreading high over his strong cheekbones, and the tone of his voice made her clench with excitement.
'Do you want me, Hadvar?'
He eyed her as if in a powerful daze. 'Yes.'
'Then touch me.'
He obeyed her immediately; Hadvar had clearly known other women, and he grabbed her hips expertly, bringing himself right up to her entrance. Then he moaned in pleasure as he took both of her breasts into his large calloused hands, weighing them and squeezing them before he rolled both nipples between his fingertips, and stared at her to gauge her reaction. She gasped, and it obviously pleased him, because he applied himself with even more enthusiasm.
When he bent forward to take her left breast deep into his mouth, she cried out and fisted both hands in his chestnut hair, holding him there and arching her back as hot need rippled through her. He reached around and let his hands roam her back, igniting her senses even further, and after a while she pulled him away.
'It's time,' she groaned.
'It is,' he agreed, voice strained and heavy with desire.
She lowered herself down onto him then, sheathing him in her warmth, and the bliss hit both of them like a solid wall. It had been a while, too long, since Merrin had had anyone, and she rode him fast and hard and without compunction, reveling in the slap of their flesh coming together and his grunts of ecstasy.
For several minutes her pleasure built steadily upwards, her stomach muscles pulling tight across as the sensations mounted, and her own groans levelled with his. She braced her palms on the damp, bunched muscles of his chest, and as she rode him his hands feverishly gripped and wandered her body, making her shiver at the way his callouses scraped her skin. He murmured compliments that she only half absorbed, and she gritted her teeth when he clamped both hands like vices over her ass and used them to encourage her thrust.
She was close then, could feel her climax gathering like a hot wave around her, and every time she rapidly came down on him, he was exactly where she needed him to be.
After another moment she let her head fall back, and with a strangled, animalistic cry, she came. The hot, spastic clenching of her muscular walls dragged him over the edge with her, and his rough hands slid up to her waist, squeezing her there instead in the fervor of his climax, and he moaned long and hard as he emptied into her. No words were said. No words were needed.
Gradually, they stilled. A warm, flowing, easy feeling stretched through Merrin like fine silk, and she let out a long sigh as she slumped forward onto his sweaty chest. One of his hands came up to rest on her back, and for a short while they lay there in companionable silence. She was the first to move, and when she lifted her head to look at him, they exchanged a heavy lidded stare that cracked lazy smiles over both their faces. She leaned forward a bit to kiss him again, his lips soft and yielding now, and tasted a hint of his tongue. The two eyed each other appreciatively for another moment, and then with no further ceremony she disentangled herself, shivering as she felt him come sliding out of her.
He stayed where she left him, half laying and slumped against the headboard, appropriately wrecked over the encounter, and her smile transformed into a grin as she stepped away from the bed.
'There,' she said, eyes dancing. 'Now we've said our proper thanks, yeah?'
'Best thank-you I can remember receiving.' He sounded a bit breathless, and together with the words he'd said, it pulled a happy laugh from somewhere deep in her gut.
'I'm happy to hear it.'
She leaned over casually in the nude, not bothering to cover herself as she picked up Sigrid's dress where she'd dropped it. She folded it neatly before she left it on top of the chest by the bed, and then she looked at him again. He'd brought both arms up and laced his fingers to rest under his head, and looked the picture of satisfaction.
'Hadvar,' she said. 'I think you'd better...', and smiled mischievously as she gestured that he should put his pants back on.
He blushed then, and seemed suddenly sheepish as he nodded—probably realizing all at once that he'd just had spontaneous sex with a virtual stranger, in his aunt and uncle's borrowed bed.
She hurried downstairs and quickly cleaned herself up, slipping into the tattered clothes she'd escaped Helgen in, and pulling the scavenged armor on over top. Twice, she fumbled the straps and had to redo the buckles, and eventually she laughed at herself, still feeling giddy. It really had been too long since she'd had a man, and Hadvar had exceeded her expectations.
When she reemerged upstairs, the sword she'd claimed was hanging from its sheath at her waist. Her bow was sitting unstrung on her back, beside the rough hide quiver. And the rucksack they'd taken, meager as it was, was packed and slung over her shoulder.
She looked Hadvar over again, and saw that he'd hastily pulled his breeches back on and made his aunt and uncle's bed while she'd been downstairs. He wore last night's linen tunic with the strings left untied, exposing a lot of his chest underneath, and his eyes had a dreamy quality to them as he regarded her.
He gestured to a bowl in front of him at the table and offered her some breakfast, but she only smiled and refused. The time had come for them to go their separate ways, and he rose to see her to the door.
'I don't suppose you'd consider heading to Solitude after this, and joining the Legion? We're always looking for capable men and women.'
He sounded sheepish even as he said it, and at the look on her face, he broke out into a crooked smile.
'I figured as much. It was worth asking, though.'
'Sure it was.'
It would have been silly for them to merely nod or shake hands again after she had so decisively changed the nature of their acquaintance, so they shared a long embrace. She was suddenly tempted to kiss him again, but she held herself back; when she pulled herself away, he was looking a bit forlorn.
'Will we be seeing each other again,' he asked, 'or is this a real goodbye?'
'I don't know, Hadvar,' she replied honestly, and she grabbed the latch of the door with one hand as the other gripped the strap of her pack. 'If the Gods mean for us to cross paths again, then there's no doubting we will.'
He grimaced. 'I'm more inclined to believe in a man deciding his fate for himself.'
She felt exactly the same way, but didn't say as much, and with a wistful sort of smile she turned to go.
'At any rate,' he continued, his voice softer than before, 'I'm thankful to the Gods for having met you at all.'
That was when she whirled back around, grabbing two fistfuls of his tunic to yank him towards her, and gave in to the urge to kiss him again.
Several minutes later, feeling lightheaded and punch-drunk, she finally emerged from Alvor's house, and she had to pull herself together quickly as she walked up to the smith himself.
She let him know that she was leaving for Whiterun, to do for him as he'd asked, and thanked him again wholeheartedly for all of his hospitality. He responded by giving her a crinkly eyed smile, and telling her that he looked forward to seeing her in Riverwood again someday. This man's hand she did shake, and with that, she stepped off the porch and headed down the road.
She didn't leave the village immediately, but turned instead into the general store, a two-storeyed log cabin called the Riverwood Trader; for all of her polite but insistent refusal to take Alvor's supplies, she really was in one of the worst financial positions she'd ever been in.
Merrin had never been so presumptuous as to consider herself wildly successful at her career as a hired sword; she'd owned no property since she'd sold her father's land, and had hardly been swimming in gold. She made enough money to look after all of her needs, and typically some of her wants, too. But there were times that were noticeably leaner than others.
But never before in the four years of her travels had she found herself robbed of every last thing she'd been carrying, forced to scavenge armor to cover herself and shoddy weapons to fight with, without a single septim to her name.
She needed a few provisions, and needed them badly.
When she entered the Trader, she walked in on a heated argument between two Imperials inside that was quickly stifled by her presence. It must've been awkward for the man, who introduced himself as 'Lucan Valerius, owner of the Trader', because she'd stared at him a mere two seconds before he ducked his head and cleared his throat. 'You must be wondering what that fight was about,' he said sheepishly, avoiding her gaze.
'I wouldn't want to intrude,' she replied, and with a huge sigh the other woman in the room picked up her skirts and went flouncing up the stairs.
The man named Lucan explained, still sheepishly, that the woman he'd been arguing with was his younger sister Camilla; she was dissatisfied with his continuing inaction. A fortnight ago, they'd had a break-in at the shop, and while only one thing was taken, it was something of great value—a golden claw relic, the kind of claw said to be used to open the Halls of Stories in ancient Nordic barrows.
'She wants me to get the claw back, but what does she expect me to do? I'm a merchant for godssake, not a warrior.'
Before she could answer him, he cocked his head to one side, eyeing her afresh.
'Actually, now that I'm thinking about it...you seem the adventuring type!'
Merrin opened her mouth to head him off. But then he spoke the magic words.
'Would you be willing to try and get the claw back for us? I have a shipment coming in any day now, and I'd pay you good money as a reward.'
In the end, it seemed that they were both desperate—him for his treasure back, and her for money to live on. She had no other plans beyond seeing the Jarl in Dragonsreach and doing what Alvor had asked, and after a minute's consideration, she agreed.
Then they got down to business.
She had precious few things to sell him, but with the money he gave her for the stamina potions she'd either scavenged or been given by Alvor, and the spellbook she'd taken off of the dead mage in the torture chamber, she was able to buy herself what she'd need to go to Whiterun; a proper tunic and leggings, a cord of twenty more iron arrows to go with the ones in her quiver, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a potion of magicka in case she needed to heal herself.
He very considerately allowed her to use the privacy of the upper floor for a few minutes so she could change into her sturdy new clothes and then slip back into her armor. And then, without further ado, she was actually leaving the village.
Both Alvor and Sigrid had given her directions to Whiterun, promising her that she wouldn't be able to miss the city jutting high into the sky from the surrounding plains. And it was beautiful country that she found herself walking through; the road was gently and continually downhill, and the river was her companion as it rushed along beside her. As she ate some of the bread she'd just bought, she wound her way through an emerald green forest suffused with sunlight and white-tailed deer. The air here was clean and fresh, and she breathed in deeply as she thought about how different the air had been that she'd breathed the day before.
For a while, it was a peaceful journey, full of the chirping of insects and the songs of birds. But she was in Skyrim—before too long, danger presented itself. Several wolves attacked her at a secluded bend in the forest road. She only had to kill one of them before the other two went scattering back into the woods, but the steel sword Hadvar had found for her really needed sharpening; wary after that, she drew her bow instead.
She thought of Hadvar some as she walked alone, her thoughts rosy and satisfied.
He'd ended up being a virtuous and compassionate man, someone she now considered a friend, and she was glad that she'd taken him to bed. She liked him all the better for the fact that he hadn't been put off by her blatant advances, once she'd decided she wanted him. She'd always been an assertive woman, usually sure of herself, and she'd met—and laid with—men in the past who were threatened by it.
But not Hadvar. When they'd finally broken apart again, his eyes had been glowing with emotion and desire, and when she'd stumbled against the door and finally opened it, he'd made as if to reach for her again, before he stopped himself and let her go. They'd said another goodbye, and that time, both of them had definitely been feeling wistful.
She meant what she'd said in the doorway of Alvor's house; if she ever met him again, she'd be glad for it.
In the second hour of her journey she saw another group of wolves. These were skulking in some shade by the road some fifty paces ahead of her, and she cautiously crept into some cover as soon as she spotted them. They hadn't noticed her, and she was able to take one of them down instantly with a well-aimed shot. Reliably, the rest of them scattered.
Soon after that, the scenery changed. The forest thinned dramatically, and the downhill sweep of the terrain got steeper. The river started rushing faster too, churning over some rocky rapids, and she could see salmon leaping in the frothing crests, sunlight sparkling off of their multi-colored scales.
She made it to the bottom of the hill she'd been descending, and the forest dropped away entirely as her view opened up; the ground had levelled out, and spreading out in front of her was the valley of craggy plains she'd been promised, and a walled city in the distance climbing like a vine up the one true peak in the earthen dome.
Merrin had always been the kind to notice beauty wherever she went, and the vista before her took her breath away. She took a moment to simply appreciate it, before she continued down the road.
Despite having her destination in sight now, she decided to keep her bow strung and ready in her hand as she walked briskly over a stone bridge that spanned the roaring river. That choice ended up being very fortunate, because she'd just gotten close enough to start making out individual farms outside of the city walls when she noticed a commotion up ahead.
One of the farms was being attacked by a giant, and a small group of people danced around it, fighting to bring it down.
Merrin broke into a run towards them. Anybody who'd spent any amount of time in Skyrim knew how dangerous even a single giant could be, and when she'd encountered them in the field with clients, she'd always done her best to skirt around them. A few times, she hadn't been able to, and that was why she ran to join the fight in front of her now. She knew they'd need all the help they could get.
The sounds of the battle were growing every second, and as she approached, she surveyed the scene.
The giant was bellowing in frustration as he fought his three opponents—two women in light armors, and a man in steel who was much taller and broader. They were faster than the giant so far, but the giant was trying his best to crush them with an enormous club made of mammoth bone that had a jagged boulder fixed at the top. One hit from that, and it wouldn't matter how fast you'd been.
They'd done some damage, but nothing serious—one of the other women was an archer too, and she could see arrows sticking like quills from the giant's arms and torso. An enraged giant could take a lot of punishment.
He'd wandered into a field full of crops, and as he stomped his huge feet and flailed his club fruitlessly into the earth, she could see the pulverized remnants of cabbages go flying through the air with each raining shower of dirt.
She was close enough now. As the huge man with the greatsword yelled tauntingly at the giant, she nocked an arrow and drew it back, trusting her aim to be true as she loosed it.
She'd been aiming for the back of the giant's knee, and her arrow found its mark with a satisfying thud. It roared with pain and rage, and staggered about-face to lurch towards her, free hand groping at the arrow and snapping it. They'd noticed her entrance into the fray, and the male warrior used the opportunity to slash the giant's other knee with his great sword. With his tendons severed, the giant couldn't walk, and the ground beneath them trembled as he crashed to his knees. Bellowing madly, he swept out with his club, and all three fighters had to jump out of the way; the other woman there barely made it in time, accidentally dropping her sword as she fell to the ground.
Merrin lined up another shot while the path was clear, and took her chances, letting it fly. Her aim was true again; this arrow found the giant's left eye, and his head jerked back, his expression going instantly lax. Then he fell back with another, quieter crash, and lay unmoving in the torn up soil.
As a comparatively yawning silence settled over the farm, she jogged to cover the last of the distance separating them. One of the women walked up to meet her, and called out to her when she was still several feet away.
'You handle yourself well in a fight, stranger.'
They eyed one another. The woman in front of her was also tall, and also a Nord. She had fiery red hair and fierce green eyes, accentuated by a trio of dark, jagged slashes painted over her proud face.
'It looked like you folks could use some help.'
The woman shook her head, but when she spoke, she sounded pleased.
'We didn't need your help to solve this. But it's certainly appreciated.' Her eyes narrowed assessingly, and then she spoke again. 'You have the potential to be a good Shield-Sister.'
Her curiosity was piqued. 'Shield-Sister? Which group do you belong to?'
The green-eyed woman threw her head back and laughed. 'I can't tell if you're new just to Whiterun, or to all of Skyrim, not knowing something like that.' She stood up straight and tall, and continued with obvious pride.
'We are Companions, following in the footsteps of our mighty founder, Ysgramor. We are brothers and sisters in honor, and fight for noble causes across the breadth of Skyrim.'
The Companions. Of course, Merrin knew them; what true Nord wouldn't? Her father had raised her on stories about them and the things they'd done, and as a little girl stuck in a sleepy village, she'd dreamed more than once of running off to join them.
But it hadn't occurred to her when she made her way to Whiterun that she might actually encounter some of the warriors.
The woman's earlier words hit her again, then, and she found herself full of shocked disbelief. She knew her way around a bow and blade, sure...but...
'And...you think I have the potential to join you?' The absurdity of a child-hood fantasy long set aside suddenly walking right up to her and knocking on her forehead had her welling up with skepticism. Just...what on Nirn were the odds?
The woman flashed her a grin. 'I've seen that you know how to fight. You're good with that bow—and I have a good eye in that department.' She jiggled her own bow where it rested over her shoulder to emphasize her point. 'So yes, I see potential in you. But really, it comes down to the person in question. If you think you're skilled enough to join our ranks, then you should head up to Jorrvaskr in the Wind District, and speak to the Harbinger.'
'I've come to Whiterun on other errands...,' she hedged. In the last two days, she'd been arrested for conspiracy, had all her possessions stolen, had nearly been executed, and had then nearly been killed by a fire-breathing dragon. The idea that she'd be encouraged the very next day to join a world-famous company of warriors—by one of said warriors—was just a lot to take in, all things considered.
The woman laughed at her again. 'Well, just think it over, then. My name is Aela—I hope to see you there.'
With that, Aela and the dark-haired Imperial woman she'd come with took off towards the city at a run, hair streaming in the wind, never looking back.
But the hulking Nord with the great sword stayed behind.
He walked up to her from where he'd been examining the giant's corpse, and really looked at her for the first time. As he did, Merrin found herself pinned by a pair of the most impossibly blue eyes she'd ever seen—eyes the color of a clear winter sky, made even more striking by the sooty black warpaint that circled them.
Despite their striking quality, there was unmistakable warmth in them, and the man they belonged to gave her an easy grin as he leaned toward her conspiratorially.
'Aela doesn't mince words. And she doesn't make an offer like that to just anybody.' His voice was deep and easy, and it matched his friendly demeanor, if not his rugged and hulking mass. He had dark brown hair that came down to his shoulders, and as he spoke, the wind pushed it around his chiseled face.
'Er...I see.'
'And for what it's worth, I agree with her,' he continued. 'If you think you can take it, you should come to Jorrvaskr and be a Companion. The gold is good, and so's the company.' He paused to think, and then his grin widened as he amended his statement. 'Most of the time.'
And there it was again—the offer of coin that could keep her going. But there was doubt churning in Merrin's gut, and she had no qualms just then about giving that doubt a voice.
'I'm honored at the offer, I really am,' she said honestly. 'But I just really wasn't expecting something like this. And...' She stared at the man, a perfect stranger, and shrugged as she lifted her palms to the sky in a helpless gesture. 'It seems more than a little unlikely, don't you think? Just walk right into Jorrvaskr, and become a Companion?'
He laughed at her then, a loud and joyful whooping sound that made her stomach do a sudden flip, and shook his head as he regarded her with mirth in his shining eyes.
'Oh, no, don't worry. It isn't so easy as just walking through the door. Not by a long shot.'
She winced, cringing internally at how her words must have sounded to him, but he didn't seem fazed in the least. He put his hand on her shoulder then, an uncommonly friendly gesture in Skyrim for a stranger, and she noted absently that it was such a big hand that it covered most of her shoulder, armor and all.
'But honestly, don't be discouraged,' he continued, and now his voice had a conspiratorial tone to it, too. 'Anything can be intimidating, before you really know what it looks like.'
And with that he let her go, gave her a little wave, and took off running in the direction of the city, leaving her speechless and confused.
As she walked up the long and gradual hill to the city gates, Merrin told herself to forget about the Companions for now, and focus on the task at hand.
After the brawny blue-eyed man had left her alone, a meek looking Bosmer who tended the farm had emerged from the house there and walked up to her. She'd wanted to thank Merrin for her part in killing the giant, but didn't have much to offer her, and in the end she'd handed her two cabbages from the field that hadn't been destroyed. They sat in her rucksack now, making it bulge, and she thought wryly to herself that she'd need to find either a stew pot or a grocer in her very near future.
The guards at the gate didn't want to let her into the city when she approached, but when she told them that she had news about the dragon attack at Helgen, they yielded. They watched her pass with suspicious eyes, telling her they'd be watching her.
The second she passed through the heavy wooden gates, the city hit her like a wall of color, and her hungry eyes tried to take everything in at once.
The sun was still sitting high in a clear blue sky, and its light made everything look bright and cheerful here. A small, man-made river rushed through a tunnel beneath her feet, lending its soothing sounds to the air. A wide cobbled road made of different colored stones beckoned her further in, branching off in three directions and lined with green shrubbery. If she didn't head left past a watchtower and under a quaintly crumbling archway, or up a short hill to a handsome looking tavern, she'd walk directly past a two-storey house with a smithy and a smelter outside. The breeze was wafting towards her, and the smells coming from the forge made her ache with nostalgia.
She saw that the smith here was a woman, and felt immediate kinship with her. She was leaning against one of the pillars of her house, and talking to a beefy blonde man in Imperial armor. As Merrin passed them, she heard some of their conversation.
'I simply can't fill an order this size by myself. Why don't you ask Eorlund for help? He's more experienced, anyway.'
'I wouldn't ask him for spit, Adrienne. Besides, you know the old man'd never make steel for the Legion...'
It didn't surprise her that the conflicts of the civil war were present in the city; it was the same story no matter where you went in the province. She turned her attention to other things.
Her steps were getting lighter as she continued down the main road; she hadn't known what to expect of Whiterun, and the city was filling her with delight. Everywhere she looked housed a sort of quiet beauty, as lovely as it was old and shabby. The houses here all seemed to be made of the same weathered, honey-colored wood, with wrought-iron keepers nailed into every door, and intricate lead piping in every window glass. Small gardens spilled lush and fragrant everywhere, and lanterns hung from the pillars or porches to light your way come nightfall. Paint was peeling and wooden beams were cracked, but it all came together as fanciful.
When she came to an open-air market, she asked a passerby for directions to Dragonsreach, and had her suspicions confirmed; just keep heading up until she'd reached the top.
As she walked up the first set of steps and continued into the Wind District, she discovered that Whiterun was full of rivers; natural and man made, side by side. They circled a courtyard spanned with several footbridges. They came gushing straight from the rockface that held up the Clouds District, where she could already see Dragonsreach, sweeping and grand, water rushing through metal grates to collect in deep pools that hedged the long stairway to the Keep's front doors.
She climbed the long and twisting staircase, and felt the wind pick up to play in her loose, unruly hair. When she reached the top, she was greeted by a magnificent wooden bridge with a trellis, spanning across yet another pool of clear water. These guards too looked at her with suspicion, but she squared her shoulders and ignored them as she passed through the enormous wooden doors.
Dragonsreach had been impressive on the outside, and the inside didn't disappoint. A short set of stairs led up to a massive throne room, with sweeping cathedral ceilings and second-story balconies wrapping all the way around, and daylight streamed through elaborate stained glass windows sitting just below the ceiling. Ornate rugs adorned the rich wooden floors, and two long banquet tables set with fine silver and crystal stretched along either side of an enormous central fire pit. Torches adorned the walls in frequent sconces, and an elaborate wrought iron chandelier hung above her fitted with what must have been a hundred candles—currently unlit.
Beyond all of this sat the Jarl and his court, and far above him sat easily the most impressive trophy of them all—affixed to the wall sat a mounted dragon skull. It was huge, the bone polished to a clean, gleaming white. The horns that sprouted from the skullcap were dark and twisting, and still wickedly sharp, and the jaw hung open to display rows and rows of teeth, the biggest of which must've been five inches long. This was the dragon for which the Keep was named, and this was something that she could respect.
Wealth had never cowed her, even though she'd never known it, and she walked purposefully past the long banquet tables towards the man on the throne.
She was expecting to be apprehended by a housecarl of some sort, and she wasn't disappointed there, either; she was still several paces away from the Jarl when her path was blocked by a Dunmer in leather armor, sword already drawn.
'What is the meaning of this interruption?' the elf spat at her, glaring at Merrin with bright red eyes.
'I seek the audience of Whiterun's Jarl.'
'Jarl Balgruuf is holding court, and not receiving visitors.' The Dunmer's tone was openly hostile, and while she sheathed her sword, she didn't budge. 'You'll need to leave, and come again at some other time.'
'I can't leave without speaking to him,' Merrin persisted. 'I've come to deliver an important message.'
'Whatever it is,' the housecarl hissed, 'it isn't important enough to interrupt court proceedings. And regardless, you won't be delivering your message personally. Whatever you need to tell the Jarl, you can say to me.'
She was quickly remembering why she avoided Jarl's courts whenever possible—housecarls were impossible to deal with. Feeling her anger start to simmer, she resisted the urge to ball her hands into fists, and refused to back down from the Dunmer's challenging gaze.
'I am not leaving, court or no court. Not without relaying my message to the Jarl.'
The Dunmer was looking mutinous, and she took a step forward, getting right up in her face. 'What message could possibly be so important, that you consider yourself above the court's law?'
'A message about a dragon,' Merrin said flatly. 'I come with news of the attack on Helgen.'
After saying those words, Merrin found herself standing in front of the Jarl of Whiterun in no time at all. His housecarl, who turned out to be named Irileth, stood right beside him, eyeing her angrily with open distrust.
Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was a long, lanky man, with a large nose in a pointed face, and a mane of long blonde hair. Understandably, he wasn't happy to see her.
'So you say you were at Helgen when it burned to the ground. And you're quite sure it wasn't brigands of some sort who set the fires?'
'Unless brigands have wings, and fly around breathing fire.'
'You disrespect the Jarl, woman!' Irileth shouted and made to step toward her, but Balgruuf held a hand up to stop her, and stared at Merrin with lips skeptically pursed.
'You say it wasn't bandits, then fine, so be it. But a dragon? That's hard to believe. We haven't had a dragon in Skyrim for a thousand years, girl. Tell me, are you absolutely sure?'
'Yes, I'm sure,' Merrin said dryly. 'I had a pretty good view of the beast from where I was standing.' She hadn't forgotten Hadvar's advice, and she left out the part about her head being on a chopping block.
'Ysmir's beard.' Balgruuf slumped back in his throne, and brought a hand up to his brow in frustration.
'I don't want to believe it. You bring me terrible news, kinsman.'
'That isn't all I've come to tell you,' she replied. 'I come on behalf of the people of Riverwood. The smith there, Alvor, asks that you send soldiers to protect the village, in case the dragon returns and attacks. They have no other defenses.'
'Alvor?' Balgruuf straightened in his chair, suddenly thinking hard. 'Yes...I know the man you speak of. Blonde fellow, has a nephew in the Legion, if I'm not mistaken.' His brow furrowed. 'He's an upstanding citizen, and a sturdy sort of man...never prone to flights of fancy. If he vouches for you that a dragon really did attack Helgen, then I have no choice but to believe it as truth.'
Irritation flickered in her—why would she come here just to tell lies? But she smothered her anger, and kept her voice level.
'So then, will you send aid to Riverwood?'
'...Yes.' Balgruuf stroked his beard with one hand, and looked past her into the flames in the pit. 'If a dragon burned Helgen, then I'll dispatch soldiers to Riverwood at once. Irileth,' he addressed his housecarl without looking up. 'Send a compliment of men down to Riverwood straight away.'
Irileth nodded and turned to go, but a petite and balding Imperial man rushed forward from where he'd been standing off to one side, his fussy face pinched with concern.
'Jarl Balgruuf, I think you are acting in too much haste. It would be unwise to send fully armored soldiers down through those woods. The Jarl of Falkreath might consider it a provocation. He may think we mean to attack him!'
The Jarl scowled. 'Proventus, I understand your concern. But between the two evils, the lesser is clear to me. I'll not sit idly by in this Keep while a dragon burns my Hold and slaughters my people.' He turned to the Dunmer woman again. 'Irileth, send out the troops.'
She left, and now it was the Imperial's turn to scowl. 'Perhaps I should return to my other duties.'
She could've sworn she saw the Jarl roll his eyes. 'That would be best.'
They were now the only two people on the raised platform that held the throne, and after a moment, Merrin turned to go. She wasn't expecting any kind of reward or acknowledgement, and now it was time for her to start figuring out what her next step should be.
Balgruuf called to her as she lifted her foot to walk away. 'Hold there a minute.'
She turned back around to face him. 'Yes?'
'It was good of you to deliver that message for Alvor. Riverwood will be the better for it.'
He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, head cocked to one side, and then spoke again.
'Are you looking for paid work? You seem the right type for a job my court wizard has been trying to get done.'
Internally, she winced; she really did try to stay away from the affairs of Jarl's courts—they'd never done anything but frustrate and annoy her. But how could she really afford to refuse? She barely had any money left from her trade in Riverwood.
Ultimately, the weightless feeling in her coinpurse compelled her to nod her head.
'Excellent, excellent.' He nodded his head at her, and got up out of his throne. 'Come with me, and I'll introduce you to Farengar. You might want to let me do the talking, to start. Farengar, he's good at what he does, but he's a bit...well, you know. Mages.'
Fantastic. She was already regretting agreeing to do the job, and she hadn't even heard what it was yet.
Balgruuf led her through a tall arching doorway that branched off to the left of his throneroom, and into the study of the court wizard. A dark wooden desk dominated the centre of the room, the surface covered in rolled out maps and piled dusty tomes, and glittering blue soul gems of varying sizes. Before she even saw the wizard, she had no doubt he'd be a Nord—he had a troll's skull for a paperweight.
Behind the desk along a back wall stood an alchemy table, its green bottles and tubes currently in the process of refining some dark, strong-smelling liquid over a small blue flame—she'd tried her hand determinedly at potion-making over the years, but was little more than hopeless at it, and she could only guess as to what the liquid was.
Beside the alchemy table was an enchanting table, and there she was much more at home; a tall man in navy robes was bent over the glowing runes, and he turned when Balgruuf called to him.
'Farengar! It would seem I've found you an able assistant to help you with your dragon project.'
Wait. This was about dragons? The Jarl conveniently hadn't mentioned that part.
The wizard turned to face them, and lowered his hood. He was a Nord, with a long pointy chin and massive auburn mutton chops. He looked her over with obvious disapproval, and then met the stare of the Jarl.
'Jarl Balgruuf, are you certain? She doesn't look like she'd be much help to me.' His voice was pompous, his air self-important, and Merrin began to dislike him immediately. First impressions carried weight with her, and Farengar was scoring low.
Balgruuf frowned. 'Come now, old friend, give her a chance. This woman has proven herself a valuable ally to our Hold. I've no doubt she could handle the task you need done.'
The mage looked like he wanted to argue, but after a tense moment he conceded instead. 'Alright, alright.' His cold blue eyes shifted back to hers, and he stared her down as he addressed her directly.
'So, the Jarl thinks you could be of use for me? I need to have something fetched, and brought back to my laboratory. And when I say 'fetch', I mean delve deep into a dangerous ruin, to retrieve an ancient stone tablet that I can't guarantee will even be there.' He smirked. 'Still think you're up to the challenge?'
Her eyes flashed. 'Just tell me where I'm going and what I'm looking for.'
The smirk widened. 'Ah. Straight to the point, eh? No compulsion to pester me with hows and whys—I like that. Best to leave those things to your betters, I'd say.'
She opened her mouth, sharp words on her tongue, but Balgruuf beat her to it.
'Farengar! You forget your place in my court! This is no way to treat an ally to our Hold.' He was looking angry, but not surprised, and he stared down the man in the blue robes until he cowed.
The mage looked embarrassed, and offered her a limp apology that he clearly didn't mean, and she didn't accept. Out of the frosty silence that ensued, he continued, considerably more awkwardly than before.
'I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in a Nordic Barrow not far from here. It's called the Dragonstone, and it supposedly carries a map of ancient dragon burial sites. You'd need to go to the Barrow, find the tablet—probably hidden away in the innermost chamber—and bring it back to me. Simple, right?'
'It shouldn't be a problem,' she said to him tersely. 'Where is this Barrow, exactly?'
'It's in the mountains just outside Riverwood. It's called—'
'Bleakfalls,' she finished for him. 'I've seen it before.'
He seemed surprised, but did his best to recover. 'So no need for further directions, then.'
'No. Will you be giving me the claw now, or before I leave?'
She was met with a profound and confused silence from both of the men in front of her, and their confusion only irritated her more. Surely, they hadn't overlooked...?
'The claw key?' she tried again, raising her arched brows. 'How do you expect me to get into Bleakfall's Hall of Stories without the corresponding claw key? You have it, don't you?'
Now both men were looking thoroughly embarrassed. 'Ah...no,' Farengar finally muttered. 'The thought hadn't occurred...we don't have..'
Balgruuf was quickly going from embarrassed to angry, if his expressions were any reliable indicator, and he turned to Farengar with red tinging his cheeks. 'You mean you've been sending all these mercenaries out there with no way to even get in?'
How many people had tried to do this job before her? Again, unbidden, her mind flashed her an image of glowing blue eyes and grasping skeletal hands, and she had to repress a shudder.
Farengar floundered, and after several moments of uncomfortable silence, Merrin broke back in.
'It should be fine. The locks are specialized, but simple enough. If it comes down to it, I can fashion a dummy key.' She'd had to do it once before, and was confident that she could do it again—the most annoying part was standing around while you guessed at the ring combination.
Farengar was quick to grasp at this news, pouncing on it gratefully, and he recovered a hint of his old hot air.
'There, see? Finally, Balgruuf, you bring me someone resourceful.' He seemed stubbornly insistent on ignoring the fact that he'd blatantly declared her incapable the moment he met her, as well as the glares being leveled his way.
'Before I really take this job, I need one point clarified.' She turned to Balgruuf. 'Your court wizard has made it clear that the tablet I'm supposed to retrieve might not even be in the Barrow. If I don't find it, will I still get paid for my efforts?'
She had no problem working, but she wasn't charging into a draugr-infested barrow for free.
Balgruuf assured her immediately that yes, she'd be paid for her efforts whether she returned with the Dragonstone or not, but at his words Farengar clucked and fussed like a hen.
'But don't let that stop you from actually looking for it—Dragonsreach isn't a charity!'
What a truly wonderful man.
'Then it's settled. I'll set out for Bleakfalls first thing tomorrow morning, and come back with your tablet as soon as I'm finished.'
With the details settled, she couldn't wait to be out of the Keep. But before she turned to go, she stared pointedly at the work Farengar had left sitting behind him on the enchanter's table, and then pointedly back at him.
'And just by the by, you should be more careful. It's dangerous to leave a filled soul gem near an unwarded pentacle.'
Farengar started, and then balked. 'What? I would never...' He whipped his head around to look at his work, and when he turned slowly back around, his shoulders were coming up to meet his bright red ears. 'Ah. I see. So you are a fellow enchanter, then. Thank you for the reminder.'
He was looking properly humbled now, and from the look on Balgruuf's face, there was definitely going to be a conversation taking place once she was gone. Unable to help herself, she flashed him a wide smile, and with that she took her leave of the Jarl.
When she was safely outside again, being bathed in the early afternoon sun, she turned her thoughts to preparing for the trip ahead of her; if she was going to go do a dangerous job, she'd need more provisions—and once again, she had no money to buy them with.
She walked all the way back down through Whiterun and into the open-air market; it seemed to be the city's most commercial section, and when she got there she had a shop-keeper point her towards the inn.
The Bannered Mare was a cozy place, with a roaring fire in a lowered stone pit and snowberry wreathes decorating the walls. The walls themselves had three different looks; they were either weathered old shiplap, crumbling white plaster, or paintwashed a soft, lovely blue. The floor was knotted and scuffed, but there were hand-woven rugs laid down here and there, and candles sat flickering on every table. The barkeep called to her in a welcoming voice, telling her that she'd just put a fresh log on the fire. There were no other patrons just then, and she made her way quickly up to the bar.
The woman who'd called out to her was a sturdy Nord, with nut brown hair gathered up and away from a face with lines on it that spoke of her age, and she introduced herself as Hulda; when she asked Hulda if there was any work to be done in town, she was told that there was always money to be made by chopping wood for the tavern's fires.
So that was what Merrin did; Hulda handed her an axe from behind the bar, and she spent the next several hours outside. She chopped wooden logs and stacked them into piles until her arms felt like noodles, while an endlessly friendly man named Sigurd worked alongside her, making small talk and encouraging her to visit his boss's shop.
When the last of the wood she'd chopped was finally hauled inside, Hulda grabbed a sack of gold and extracted a number of coins that, while not by much, was decidedly worth the effort, and piled them in front of Merrin on the bar. She immediately asked her if the inn had vacancy, and Hulda smiled and named a price. Merrin slid the requested number of septims back over the bar towards her before she slipped the rest into her own coinpurse. And then she went shopping.
In the slanted golden light of the setting sun, she bought apples and sweetrolls from a young girl at her mother's grocery stand, and traded off the farmer's cabbages for a few more coins apiece. After that, she ducked into the apothecary to buy magicka and stamina potions; the shopkeeper was a twitchy Imperial named Arcadia, who seemed convinced that Merrin had advanced Ataxia, and she hurried out of the shop as soon as she could.
She passed over Belethor's shop, despite Sigurd's enthusiastic advice.
But she did go to the smithy named Warmaiden's, and was glad to discover that for a nominal fee, the smith would let her use their whet stones to sharpen her sword herself—'provided you know what you're doing, of course.'
She looked at the tall, tawny woman named Adrienne, and cracked a smile as she set her pack down.
'I know what I'm doing, that I can promise.'
Adrienne gave her a quizzical look. 'Do you have experience with forging and repairs?'
'I do. I was a smith for years and years, before I left the province,' she confessed.
It felt strange to tell another person what she'd done with her life, before she'd taken up mercenary work; in the last four years, it hadn't come up once, and she had no idea why she offered the information now. Maybe it was the sense of kinship she'd felt with this woman, the moment she'd laid eyes on her. Or maybe she was missing her father more than usual.
In the end she supposed it didn't matter—Adrienne's eyes lit up at the information, and as she dragged out a wooden bucket for Merrin to use and filled it with water from the nearby stream, she told her how nice it was to see another female smith in Whiterun.
'It's hard to earn the same respect, as a woman,' she griped as she handed Merrin the smooth river stones. 'You know how it is. It's tough getting clientele to trust you with their precious weapons. Bah. Let alone actually trying to get paid what they'd hand over to a fellow man.'
'You've done well for yourself,' Merrin replied as she nodded. 'So you must've proven yourself in the end. I know what you mean, though; things weren't much different back home. But being the only option for miles helped some—a man is more willing to do fair trade if it's either pay up, or go into battle with a broken breastplate.' Her eyes danced as she looked at the other woman, and they shared a laugh before Merrin got to work.
'That's where our stories differ, then,' the woman said with a sigh, leaning against the same pillar she'd rested on earlier. 'I am far from the only option Whiterun has. In fact, I have punishing competition.'
Something about the woman's words jogged Merrin's memory, and she put down the stone she'd been holding to look at her with sudden awe.
'That's right! You have to compete with Eorlund Grey-Mane.' She whistled. 'I don't envy you.'
Adrienne looked glum. 'There, you see? I'm not surprised that you've heard of him. People come from all over Skyrim for his steel.'
She laughed. 'I'm pretty sure my da was in love with him. All the while I was growing up, it was Eorlund this, and Eorlund that. He came to see the Skyforge once, and I begged him to take me, but he wouldn't. He talked about it for years after, though.'
They were happy memories, but it pained her to talk about them, and soon she let the story trail off. The other woman seemed to sense her subtle melancholy, but didn't press her further, changing the subject instead.
And Merrin was grateful. She'd always enjoyed talking shop with fellow blacksmiths, but it had been years since she'd had the opportunity, and she found herself laughing and enjoying Adrienne's company as she worked her way through the stones and brought her tired old sword to a wicked new edge.
Her initial liking for the woman had only grown as they'd worked side by side, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual, because after darkness had fallen around them outside, and as they cleaned up their messes, Adrienne turned to her and offered for her to come inside the house.
'You should meet my husband, Ulfberth. I'm sure he would like you, and its been too long since we've had company for supper. Won't you come in?'
The offer flattered her, and she gave her a warm smile. 'Under normal circumstances, I would say yes, and I thank you for the offer. But I have an early start and a long journey ahead of me tomorrow, and I need to be getting back to my room at the inn.'
Adrienne nodded her understanding, returning her smile. 'Some other time, then. The offer stands.'
They parted ways then, Adrienne calling out to wish her good luck on her journey before she went into her house for the night. People had lit their lanterns to see by, and as she made her way back to the inn, Merrin was feeling pleasantly surprised. She'd been travelling for the last four years, not really calling anywhere home, and she'd met all different kinds of people in that time. Some she counted as friends, but most she didn't, and it made her happy to have met someone in the city who's company she genuinely enjoyed.
Whiterun definitely had its annoyances, but there were good things about it, too.
As she pushed through the doors of the inn, she saw that where it had been empty, it was now bustling. She really was getting tired, and wasn't feeling particularly sociable, so she decided to take dinner up in her room. She only paused in the kitchen long enough to ask the Redguard serving girl for some roast pheasant and leeks with a bottle of mead, and then handed over the money and headed upstairs to her room.
There was a bottle of alto wine sitting in a bowl on the bedside table, and a goblet perched beside it. So she poured herself a glass of the dry red wine and drank from it as she sat on the bed and went through her purchases, packing for the job ahead.
She was just about finished when there was a knock on her door, and the serving girl came in to hand Merrin her dinner. It was good, flavorful food, and she ate it at the small table set up in the corner, washing it down with her bottle of mead. Then she walked to the door, turned the lock, and blew out all the candles, undressing in the dark.
She crawled in just her smallclothes into the bed, settling into the straw mattress and pulling the red quilt up over her chest, and then she laid there with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The light from the firepit out in the main room just enough to see by.
She thought about the next day's job as she listened to the sounds of the merriment below.
When Hadvar had pointed out Bleakfalls to her on their way to Riverwood, she'd had no reason to believe that she'd ever be going inside. And now, one day later, that was exactly where she was headed—in all likelihood, the stuff of his boyish nightmares was about to be her reality.
The gods had a strange sense of humor.
The long hard day and the strong, dark mead finally caught up with her then, and she pushed thoughts of draugr creeping up behind her forcefully from her mind as she snuggled deeper under the quilt.
It was the sweet sounds of the bard playing his lute downstairs that finally lulled her to sleep.