The sound of dishes and mugs clinking together mingled with the low din of chattering voices as Marcurio leaned back against the wall behind his usual bench in the Bee and Barb. An abandoned mug of mead sat beside him as the mage slowly turned a vile of healing potion in his hand, watching as the red liquid sloshed lightly in the air pocket just below the cork that kept it from spilling all over the floor.
The Dragonborn certainly hadn't lacked for potions and ingredients. There must have been at least 500 septims worth of items in the satchel alone, mostly healing potions of various grades, and Marcurio couldn't help but wonder how much of it had been made by the bad-tempered red-head herself. That she had given him the entire satchel meant one of two things: either she had a lot of money to throw around and the ability to make mass quantities of potions easily, or she liked him so much she just had to give him all her potions to make sure he made it back to town safely. But while he certainly would have liked to think that it was the latter, he was fairly sure that it was actually the former. She was the Dragonborn, after all.
He had heard stories about her before. It seemed there was nothing the woman couldn't do. There were tales of her fighting giants, bringing down mammoths in a single stroke, and battling three dragons at once. There were whispers, too, that she had tamed a dragon, visited Sovngarde, and even defeated Alduin, the World-Eater, himself. Prior to meeting her, Marcurio had simply dismissed the tales as exaggeration. The Nords were good at making mountains out of mole hills, as the saying went. If it wasn't fantastic enough for a good tale, they'd make it better. Garnishing a story was all in a day's work here in Skyrim.
But Adaria…that was her name, wasn't it? Personally, he preferred Dragon Eyes, but he was also fairly certain that if she ever heard him say it, she'd find a dozen different ways to dismantle him before he could even sneeze, so the nickname would have to be his own little secret. Adaria…Dragon Eyes… Yes, now there was a hero who lived up to her legend. Even as Marcurio aimlessly turned the vile of healing potion in his hand, he could see the Dragonborn fearlessly launching herself at the dragon, hardly even flinching as razor sharp teeth bit into her shoulder, getting up only moments after being thrown across the clearing, burying her sword deep in the dragon's skull, and basking in the light of the soul she had absorbed. Fearless, relentless, powerful…there were so many words he could use to describe her. The woman was almost like a dragon herself, tough as steel and poised to tear you apart at a moment's notice.
And yet…and yet there was more to her than that. Marcurio was certain of it. It wasn't really anything he could lay a finger on, not proverbially and definitely not literally, but it was just a feeling he got. She obviously hadn't wanted him to go with her on that treasure hunt, yet she hired him despite not knowing why she had done so. When the dragon had attacked, she had told him to leave, to protect himself, regardless of the fact that he was a grown man and she really had no reason at all to care whether he lived or died. When he had been injured, she had protected him, then given him, not one, but all of her potions to ensure he got back to Riften safely. The world knew her as the strong, solemn, steel-hearted dragon-woman known as the Dragonborn. She was a legend, a weapon incarnate. But Marcurio wondered if maybe there was a gentler woman hiding beneath that impenetrable, emotionless mask.
He was still mulling over the thought when the main door to the Bee and Barb suddenly burst open, and everyone in the inn turned quickly to see what the ruckus was all about. Instantly Marcurio was on his feet as Adaria practically fell through the doorway, her left arm limp and bloodied at her side, her right arm pressed against a blood-stained area near her stomach. The skin on one side of her face was peeling and discolored, and a broken arrow shaft protruded from her right knee. The woman went down on one knee as she came through the doorway, coughing up blood which trickled down the side of her mouth.
"Gods!" Keerava exclaimed, rushing around the counter and toward the injured woman.
But Marcurio was already there.
"Here," he said, pulling the cork out of the healing potion and pressing it to the woman's lips.
On a normal day, the mage suspected the Dragonborn would have been more likely to bite him than to accept his touch, but at this moment he could see a wild look of desperation in her lackluster silver eyes. Another half hour, and she'd be dead. Of that, he was certain.
Adaria collapsed into a sitting position as Marcurio cradled her head against his shoulder. He heard someone calling for a priest of Mara, but he paid little attention to them as he yanked the cork out of another healing potion and pressed the woman to drink it. He wasn't sure what effect using a lot of healing potions might have on a person, he himself had never needed more than one at a time, but there were plenty of potions around now and ample opportunity to test that question out.
The man watched as skin melded back together along the Dragonborn's neck and cheek, slowly changing from a sickening purple back to rosy white. She was breathing easier now, too, and at last she lifted her left arm, tested her fingers a moment, then pushed away from Marcurio. She still trembled, but the familiar steely glint had come back into her eyes. Her eyebrows narrowed and she clenched her jaw as she reached for the arrow shaft.
"Couldn't even go a night without me, huh?" Marcurio teased as the woman wrapped her fingers around the broken shaft.
Her eyebrows narrowed even further as her silver eyes zoned in on what she was doing. Per usual, the Dragonborn was ignoring him.
"Even took an arrow in the knee while I was gone," the mage continued with a chuckle. "You've been busy, haven't you?"
He was sure she could hear him, even if she was doing a remarkably good job at ignoring him.
All of a sudden, her left hand lashed out at him, and Marcurio jumped slightly as Adaria's fingers clamped around his arm. He half expected her to break his arm in half out of pure irritation, but instead she just held tight as she gave one more tug on the arrow and yanked it free of her leg. At that, she released his arm and slumped to the floor with a groan.
By now a small crowd had gathered around the pair, and a moment later a priest of Mara came puffing through the open door, followed closely by Talen-Jei, another Argonian and the Bee and Barb's second innkeeper.
"Mara's mercy," the priest, Maramal, breathed in disbelief as he knelt down beside the Dragonborn. "What happened?"
"Twelve Falmer warriors, two Falmer archers, a Falmer warmonger, a chaurus, and a Dwarven centurion," Adaria replied through clenched teeth. "That's what happened." Then she pressed both hands to her face and groaned, "Oh, gods, I feel like shit."
Jaws dropped, and everyone but Marcurio glanced at one another in disbelief. The mage wasn't at all surprised, though. Leave it to Dragon Eyes to survive that sort of encounter. And without healing potions at that.
"Here, Keerava," Marcurio said, extending a handful of septims out toward the Argonian. "Let's get a room for her."
The reptilian woman accepted the money only long enough to pass it off to Talen-Jei. Then she turned and headed for the stairs. Quietly Marcurio scooped Adaria up in his arms, half-expecting her to protest and half-hoping she would. But the woman said nothing and, to be honest, the mage was quite sure she had already passed out. Too bad, he thought, because he had so many things he could have said to her right then.
Keerava opened the door to the room ahead of him, and gently Marcurio laid the Dragonborn's limp body on the bed set up against the far side of the room.
"We should clean her up and get this armor off of her," he said, glancing at the blood and grime which seemed to be caked to every inch of the bruised and battered woman before him. "We should make sure her wounds are taken care of as well. I don't think the potions healed everything."
"We are not doing anything," Keerava replied, pushing the mage toward the open bedroom door. "That is a woman's business, not yours. It isn't proper for a man to see a young lady unclothed. Now off with you. I'll come and get Maramal to take a look at her wounds once she's been cleaned and dressed."
Marcurio turned as the Argonian pushed him out of the room and leaned in for a witty parting word, but he had to jump back as the wooden door slammed in his face. The last glimpse he saw was a pool of blood-red hair gathered around the Dragonborn's shoulders, rosy cheeks glistening in candlelight, her expression perfectly soft and serene. And for a moment, as the image flooded his mind, he almost wished that it was his business after all.
The first thing Adaria knew when she awoke was an aching pain in her stomach, shoulder, and muscles. Just about everything, save for her head, throbbed in protest of the abuse her body had received in the Falmer lair.
With a groan, the woman opened first one eye, then the other, slowly testing stiff muscles to be sure everything still worked. Luckily, she seemed to be in operational condition, and with some effort she forced herself to sit up. Someone had cleaned the blood off of her, she was clothed in a simple dress, and though she couldn't see them, she could feel bandages wrapped around her left shoulder and stomach. Apparently she had received so much damage that even after her own healing spells, healing potions Marcurio had given her, and the priest of Mara's healing spells, she still required bandages.
Marcurio…
The memory of the man's arms wrapping around her, cradling her as he pressed healing potions to her lips, flooded Adaria's mind, and with a groan the woman collapsed back on the bed, pulling the bedcovers over her face as though that would somehow chase away the memory of that night. Never had she felt so mortified. Always before she had managed to survive on her own. After raiding the Thalmor embassy, after fighting through the waves of monsters into Sovngarde, after defeating Alduin the World-Eater on the road in front of Shor's Hall, after everything she had been through and done in the 23 years she had been alive, never had she felt so weak and exposed.
But then, never had anyone cared to help her either. In her days as a bodyguard for a nobleman in Cyrodiil, the people she had been with would have left her for dead if she couldn't move on her own. After coming to Skyrim, she had found that people were more likely to head for cover than they were to help her if they saw her wounded on the road, afraid that they would also end up in the same condition. Potions and weak healing spells were what she had relied on. She would have died a hundred different ways a thousand different times if she had relied on anyone but herself. She didn't let anyone get close. It was dangerous. For herself, if for no one else.
So why, then, had she let Marcurio hold her? She had been conscious, and had she needed to, she could have drunk the potions herself. She had been dying, it was true. She could blame it on that. She knew what it felt like to stand on death's doorstep. She had been there many times. But she hadn't died. She had still maintained consciousness until some time after the priest of Mara arrived. She hadn't needed the mage's help. And yet…and yet, for as little as she knew of him, she somehow felt safe around him. And in that moment, with pain so extreme she might have allowed herself to die if not for her stubborn refusal to be defeated by something as repulsive as a Falmer or as inglorious as a machine, she had sought something foreignly human: comfort.
A low grumble rumbled up from Adaria's stomach then, reminding her that on top of everything she had been through, she still hadn't eaten for at least a day. Unless she had been unconscious for longer than that. Then at that point, who knew how long it had been?
Drawing in a few steady breaths to gain the willpower to move, Adaria forced herself to sit up again. She clenched her teeth as another wave of pain exploded from the wound on her stomach, and quietly she called up a healing spell. She could feel flesh mending back together, warm comfort flooding her aching body, and then the light faded away as she drained the last of her magic power, what little there was to begin with. Well, at least she could move without being doubled over now. It would take a few more healing spells, though, and maybe some potions, before she could say she was completely healed.
Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Adaria wobbled to her feet, her left hand pressed against the wall for support. She tested her legs for a moment, then made her way over to the table nearby where her armor now lay. She frowned when she looked it over. There were holes and cracks all over the tightly-bound dragon scales. It would be pointless to wear the armor now. It wouldn't protect much, aside from the heart. She would be better off buying something here in town. It was a shame that she wasn't closer to one of her houses. She wouldn't have had to buy armor then.
Quietly, the woman reached for the two scabbards lying next to the armor, grabbing up the one with the sword in it and looping the belt around her waist. She had left the Oathblade in the Falmer lair, but at least she still had the Blades sword to protect her. She would have to go back to find the Oathblade, though. It had been her constant companion since the day she had retrieved it from Bloated Man's Grotto, in a time long before she had discovered she was the Dragonborn, a time long before the Greybeards, and the Blades, and Alduin, and Sovngarde. She had slain the World-Eater with the Oathblade, too. She would be sorry to lose that sword.
Now having some measure of security with the sword at her hip, Adaria grabbed her coin purse, which was thankfully still intact, then turned and headed out of the room, down the stairs, and into the main room of the inn below. There weren't many people about at this point. It was probably morning, Adaria thought, since most people worked during the day and drank at night. There was one person there, though, and the sight of him almost made the woman turn and go back up the stairs. She would have done so, actually, if she hadn't been so ravenously hungry.
Plastering the emotionless mask on her face, the woman strode up to the counter, taking a seat on one of the bar stools as Keerava turned to her in surprise.
"Well, look what the horker dragged in," Marcurio grinned as Adaria sat down beside him.
She didn't even look at him.
"Dying at night and walking the next morning," Keerava said with a shake of her head. "Either Maramal's healing is better than I thought, or you're good at hiding pain."
Adaria reached into her coin purse and plopped a handful of septims on the counter.
"Food and alcohol," she stated bluntly.
"Well, you can't say it was all thanks to Maramal," Marcurio noted, leaning in toward the Dragonborn. "I helped, too, you know."
He had a sort of glint in his eyes as he said it. Adaria wasn't sure what to make of the look, and she certainly didn't like not knowing how to read him.
"Do you have my satchel?" she asked stiffly as Keerava slid a bottle of mead, a plate full of bread and cheese, and a bowl of stew in front of her.
"Yes," Marcurio replied. "Although I had to use most of the healing potions on you last night."
"Understood. I can take the satchel back now."
"Are you sure that's all you want back?" the mage grinned. "Face it. You were lost without me."
Quietly, Adaria glanced over at him. Had he not turned to stretch at that moment, he might have seen the slight glint of surprise in the woman's silver eyes. He wanted to travel with her? After everything that had happened, he still wanted to leave the relative safety of Riften to wander the wilds of Skyrim with her? Was he not afraid of her power? Was he not afraid of the trouble she attracted and the enemies that dogged her every step?
Most people were eager to get away from the Dragonborn's presence. A few seemed to worship her. Many wanted to use her. But this man? He wasn't afraid of her, that was for sure. He certainly didn't worship her. In fact, she was quite sure he was confident enough in his skills to consider himself on par with her. Did he want to use her? If he did, he was decidedly good at hiding that fact. Ulfric and Tullius could take some lessons from him in that case. He definitely didn't want to kill her. If he had, he would have simply let her be the night before. Death would have taken her naturally. Maramal could not have gotten there fast enough. Though Adaria hated to admit it, she owed her life to Marcurio. Perhaps he thought to use the fact that he saved her to his own benefit. But no. Adaria was fairly certain the mage had no idea just how close she had been to death. He didn't realize he was the only reason she still lived. Or if he did realize this fact, he definitely wasn't pushing it. Yes, though no one could tell by the emotionless look on her face, Adaria was actually quite flustered now. She simply couldn't seem to figure out the man's motive.
Instead of replying to the man's comment, Adaria turned back to her meal, dipping the bread and cheese in the stew's broth and taking a big bite.
Marcurio had turned back to her by this point, and even though she wasn't looking directly at him, she could see a look of curiosity and satisfaction cross his face simultaneously.
"You're not going to deny the fact that you were lost without me?" he asked, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a lopsided grin.
Did he want her to?
"No sense in wasting words," Adaria replied, taking another bite of food before washing it down with a mouthful of mead.
"Well, that's not much of an answer, but I'll take it as a yes. And since you paid my fee recently, I suppose it's only fair that I join you once more."
Only fair. He was practically begging to tag along.
"I never said you could come with me," the Dragonborn said, pushing her empty plate away from herself and downing the rest of her mead.
"You never said I couldn't, either. But you know you need me."
Did she? She had never needed anyone before. Why would she need someone now?
Adaria motioned to Keerava and waited as the Argonian reached under the counter and handed her a second bottle of mead. Instead of drinking it, though, the woman stood up and slid the bottle across the counter to Marcurio.
"I leave in half an hour," she said quietly. "Don't be late."
And with that, she headed back upstairs to retrieve what little of her belongings she still had left. Why didn't she deny it when he said she needed him? She wasn't sure, actually. Did she need him? She didn't think so. But it had been years since she had travelled with someone. It would be good to have the company. And this time, she might be travelling with someone who wanted her company, too.
