Author's Note: Hi, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that's reviewed and decided to follow this story along. I have no idea what I'm doing, since this is my first fic, but you guys and your generous and lovely comments and compliments make me happy to continue forward. I hope I continue to keep up to your expectations.
Again, thank you. Annnnd back to the story.
Erik stood awkwardly besides Siona as she chatted animatedly to several nobles. The bright lights of winking candles made his head hurt, though the copious wine wasn't helping either. He hated wine. However, he was on the lookout for any signs of tipsiness in Siona; they didn't want a repeat of last week. She could end up kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed. Not that I wanted to be kissed when she kissed me, he thought hastily, his face going a bit pink. Well, I mean, it wasn't bad, I just wasn't looking to be kissed. She's a fine kisser, if a bit sloppy when she's drunk - ERIK, he berated himself. You are arguing with yourself and it is not helping anything.
He shifted his feet and glanced to the side. The Jarl had the Keep turned into a huge feasting hall, with candles lining the walls and at least one decorating every surface. The illumination made the stone rooms seem even bigger. A few maids, dressed in black and silver, waltzed amongst the small crowds of people scattered about the rooms, while guards stood menacingly against the walls, arms crossed (however, Erik had passed one earlier and heard the distinct sound of snoring, echoing metallically in their helmets). In the center of the throne room, past the currently empty banquet table, stood Calcelmo's monstrously large gift to the Jarl, still covered in yards of cloth with the Markarth insignia waving proudly at the front.
Erik felt out of place. Banquets to him were rowdy ordeals, feasts that were rarely made. He could only remember two in his lifetime, but both times, there had been much laughter and general roaring of speech. Here, voices were lowered, quieter, and the soothing sound of a lute played throughout. He glanced around again as Siona was greeted by a balding, middle aged man. He looked important.
Erik spied many Nords, but only one or two Bretons. Not many Mer. Except for that group of Altmer approaching.
Siona glanced at the group and stiffened imperceptibly. Erik wouldn't have even noticed it, if she hadn't tightened her grip on his arm. The Altmer at the lead smirked at the two of them, his figure exuding pretentious conceit.
"Good evening, Lady Dragonborn," he greeted, his voice sickly sweet with false kindness.
"Ondolemar. A pleasure." Her tone said the exact opposite.
"I was wondering when you would come next to this spit of rock," the Altmer said casually, his eyes watching her carefully from underneath his hood. His glance flicked over to Erik. "And who would this be?"
Siona glanced at her friend, waiting for him to introduce himself. Erik waited for Siona to introduce him. There was an awkward silence.
"I'm sorry, are you deaf, or just stupid?" Ondolemar said, raising his thin, arched eyebrows. His small mouth compressed into another condescending smirk.
Erik cleared his throat, realizing the gaffe. "I am Erik the Slayer, from Rorikstead, of the Whiterun Hold."
"A mercenary?" Ondolemar folded his arms. "Lady Dragonborn, are you so unable to defend yourself that you require such manpower? Or are you simply too lazy to do your own dirty work?"
Siona smiled toothily at Ondolemar, but it reminded Erik of a snarling wolf. "Erik is my friend. I'm simply showing him Skyrim as I know how."
"So he's not your lover?" Ondolemar asked, unfolding his arms and flexing his fingers. "That was my next guess."
"No," Siona said, her voice sounding strained. "He's not my lover. Just my friend."
Ondolemar narrowed his eyes at Erik before turning his gaze back to Siona, whose cheerful demeanor was tainted with severe anger. "Well, as I'm sure you know, we are all eager to see who you end up, ah, attaching yourself to."
Siona barked a laugh. "Who I marry, you mean?" She smiled daintily at Ondolemar with a tinkling laug.."Well, you know, I plan on marrying when I feel like it, and not to some pansy Imperial to seal some deal with the Aldmeri Dominion. And, not only is it any of your business, but you can go stick your hairy Thalmor head up your pasty yellow ass if you think that I'm going to even acknowledge your opinion on the subject."
Her last sentence rang out in the Keep, and the entire room seemed to pause, the conversation fading away. From across the room, Erik could see the Jarl's eyebrows rise high upon his forehead, struggling to keep the amusement from his face.
The rage on Ondolemar's face was volcanic. He gritted his teeth before speaking.
"You would do well to show some respect to your higher-ups," he growled.
"I'm sorry, who defeated Alduin and thus saved your pathetic little life? Because I'm damn sure it wasn't your cowardly self, High Elf," Siona growled back. "You want to show some respect to your higher up? Because I'm not hesitant to Shout you apart at the drop of a septim."
The two stared each other down, Siona viciously beautiful in her exotic clothing and golden makeup while Ondolemar was all scowls and angles. Finally, Erik cleared his throat.
"Nice weather you have here in Markarth," he mumbled, taking a long swig of wine. By the Divines, he hated wine. Where the hell was the mead? The Altmer and the Redguard swiveled their heads to look at the redhead. "It's very mild," he continued, trying to fight down the heat he knew was rising in his face. "Back in Rorikstead, the summers would be so hot that we wouldn't bother to work but for a few hours in the day. Here, I wouldn't mind taking a walk. I imagine it's the altitude. Am I right?" he directed towards Ondolemar. The Altmer looked as dumbfounded as Siona.
"Yes," the Thalmor agent said, taken aback. "I suppose it's the altitude."
Erik nodded. "Well, it was lovely talking to you. I hope you have a pleasant evening." He steered a speechless Dragonborn away towards a maid with a tray of wine goblets. The Altmer gazed after them in confusion, but the conversation in the room swelled again. Erik placed his empty goblet on the proffered tray and picked up a full one.
"What was that?" Siona spluttered. Erik shrugged, about to take a swig of wine before changing his mind and placing it on the tray.
"Do you have any mead? For the love of the Divines, get me some mead." The maid curtsied and hurried away as Erik glanced at Siona. The candlelight made the beads in her hair glitter and flash. He leaned on the cane, grimacing as the thrice damned pains began to crawl up his leg again.
"I figured a change in subject would probably save the evening," he said lightly, through the sudden shooting pain. She looked amazing in candlelight, really... The way it reflected off those hidden curves of hers, though, was enough to make him sweat. He dragged his attention back to her eyes, hoping she hadn't noticed his change in focus.
Her face split into a smile. "Erik, you're nothing like I've ever seen before." She nodded to the maid as she returned with a mug of mead. "Ondolemar is a Thalmor agent, with the Aldmeri Dominion."
"Well I could see that," Erik replied over the rim of his mug as he took a draught. "He's a bit of a rat, isn't he?"
"Aye," Siona said grimly. "He, more so than everyone else, is watching me closely. And thus you." She grimaced. "After Alduin was defeated in Sovngarde, I've been pressured to marry, from both sides of the civil war, as well as several factions. From the Stormcloaks, I've heard proposals all the way from Ulfric himself down to one of his soldiers, Ralof; admittedly, I don't find that a bad match. Ralof is a good man, and he helped me escape from Helgen. From the Empire, I've been given the choice of a loyal Jarl, such as Igmund, or a lesser noble of the Empire. The Aldmeri Dominion, on the other hand, was quick to proffer up an Altmer of high ranking."
Her frown grew deeper. "It seems that, because I'm a woman, that I must declare an alliance through marriage." She shook her head. "Everyone is apparently blind to the fact that I am respectfully neutral in Skyrim's political affairs. I see no reason to wedge myself into the government and any politicking. My job as Dragonborn is to keep the people safe; at least, that is what I have burdened myself with. If I were to take my position as Dragonborn literally, my only job and purpose would have been defeating Alduin. I may as well have keeled over and died when he did. However, I'm still around, and so while Skyrim's problems go on, everyone seeks to bind me to their cause, and thus control my actions."
"So you turned them all down," Erik stated.
"Of course."
It was only when relief flooded his body that he even realized that he was tense to begin with. But why was he even relieved..?
"Ondolemar likes to remind me of the fact that there is a high ranking Thalmor agent waiting to wed me." Siona gave Erik a smile. "And I hate him for that. Along with that bitch of an attitude."
Erik hesitated. "Do you think you'll ever get married?"
"Doubtful." She paused. "As long as we were equal, maybe. I don't want to be glorified or belittled by any potential husband."
"Well, you should have someone who loves you and thinks that you're the sun and the stars, but respects you enough to let you wall your own path. I mean, you deserve it, of all people."
Siona glanced at him, startled, before looking down into the drink in her hand. "Thank you," she said softly, lifting her eyes to meet his after a moment. They smiled at each other before they were interrupted.
"My Lady Dragonborn! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight, though you are always ravishing." The Jarl's forced beam was almost brighter than the candles, and hurt just as much to look at. He gave Erik a friendly nod. "And how is the leg, friend?"
"Same as yesterday," Erik replied, irritation with the man's politicking rising, but Jarl Igmund had already turned back to Siona.
"Lady Dragonborn, I have you sitting beside me for the duration of the banquet." The Jarl proffered his elbow to the Dragonborn, and she took it, giving Erik an apologetic look. "Your friend Erin will be sitting beside you."
"His name is Erik, Jarl Igmund."
"Yes, of course. My apologies." His voice floated away as the crowd moved toward the banquet table. Erik was left to hobble on his cane, muttering angrily to himself as he finally reached the table, where everyone was standing.
Erik sank into his seat with some relief. The pain was starting to make his leg stiffen, and he winced with each pang. He looked up at Siona, who was staring at him with a mixture of worry and embarrassment. Ondolemar, standing across from him, let out a breath of scalding laughter.
"Is there something on my face?" he hissed to Siona before realizing that everyone was still standing. No one was sitting down. They were all staring at him, wide eyed.
The Jarl looked at him with some amusement. "I see you are unfamiliar with my court's customs," he stated to the redhead. "Normally, one does not sit down before the Jarl does, but I will allow it, as I imagine your leg is paining you." The man glanced at Siona, obviously hoping to win her favor in his 'mercy', but she was looking at Erik still, worry written plain on her face.
The Jarl lowered himself into his seat, and everyone else followed suit. Erik let out a frustrated breath, gripping his cane tightly.
There was a gentle touch under the table on his right leg, and he turned to Siona. She gave him a comforting smile, leaning towards him conspiratorially.
"It's alright," she murmured. "I didn't know it either when I first came to Markarth. I'm glad that the Jarl was lenient, as he should be: your leg is hurting, I know."
There was a sudden warmth on his leg, and the pain melted away. His tenseness faded and he glanced at Siona, watching him underneath her golden eyelids. At this distance, he could smell her soap; a hint of jasmine floated around her, more subtle than perfume, but it certainly smelled better than sweat encased in dragon bone. She straightened, removing her hand from his knee, and the scent faded.
A familiar red bottle was placed in front of him, and Erik groaned. "Please, gods, no," he sighed. "You already made the pain go away."
"The potion is not just for the pain, it's for the actual healing of your leg, you ninny." Siona's expression grew dangerously serious. "Drink it now." Erik got the feeling this was her diplomacy face, the one that instantly made people do what she told them to do, because the contents of the vile red bottle were already being choked down before she was fully done with the sentence.
He was thankful when the deer was placed on the table, letting a servant cut a piece of choice meat from the platter. He devoured it hastily, trying to mask the taste of the potion on his tongue. The guests around him chattered and clucked, but he paid them no mind.
It seemed only a moment to Erik before a small bell was rung, and the conversation dropped almost instantly. Calcelmo stood in front of the cloth covered gift, looking proud.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he rumbled, taking a quick bow. "The Jarl, I'm sure, would like to thank you all for coming." There was a murmur and the court wizard smiled. "Now, as I'm sure you all are aware, we are honored with the presence of the Lady Dragonborn tonight. We owe you many thanks, my lady."
There was a round of applause and Siona smiled, giving Calcelmo a nod. Erik, however, could see the flash of irritation behind her blue eyes.
"For the end of the night, I am here to give the Jarl my gift, from the depths of Nchuand-Zel - "
"Obviously not very far into the depths, else those Falmer wouldn't have been so numerous, and Calcelmo would have warned us," Siona muttered to Erik when the redhead raised his eyebrows at the court mage's words.
" - what has been hidden since before Nords came to this fair city." Calcelmo paused dramatically. "I give you...the Markarth Centurion!"
The cloth was whipped away, slipping off the sides of the golden giant. There were gasps from the crowd, and even Ondolemar looked impressed. Erik and Siona exchanged glances, but provided polite applause.
Everyone turned to face the Jarl, who was beginning to stand, but Erik found himself caught by something strange on the Centurion. Was that a flicker?
The Jarl raised his glass, and there was a clamor as everyone followed to do so, and stood, goblets in hand.
"Siona?" Erik muttered. There was definitely a spark, by the thing's elbow.
"Stand up and raise your glass, Erik," she hissed in reply.
"A toast!" the Jarl cried. "To Calcelmo, for his wondrous find..."
They got that from Nchuand-Zel, Erik thought quickly to himself, where all the rest of the machines were dead - no, sleeping... He suddenly thought of the Centurion fighting the Falmer on the balcony of the underground city and, like a flash, his mind connected two and two, as sparks began to flicker around the machine.
"Siona..."
"Erik, just stand up!"
"...and to the lovely Lady Dragonborn, for joining us today..."
By the Nine! Their triggering of the defenses had probably turned on this Centurion as well - Erik was unsure how, but the more he stared at the thing, the more it moved.
"Siona!" he barked, and she looked at him, bewildered. The Jarl's speech cut off, and he frowned at the redhead.
"What, Erik?" Siona turned to where he was pointing, just as the Centurion roared into life, gears clanking wildly. There were screams and panic overtook the crowd.
Siona sighed, reaching across to grab a sword from a stupefied guard. "Well, there goes my evening," she muttered before launching into the fray.
. . .
Argis stood from his seat as the door was flung open, banging against the stone. The two adventurers trudged in, and Argis hurried forward. "My Thane!" he greeted, looking worried. Erik was startled by the expression of emotion other than disapproval.
Siona held one hand up, flinging the sword in her hand aside. She pushed a hand through her sooty, half-tousled hair and made an attempt to straighten her burned tunic and trousers. Erik looked as bad - he had nearly gotten crushed under the falling Centurion after he landed the final blow: the arrow had struck the metal giant in the soul gem acting as the receiver.
"Let's just say Calcelmo has the worst gifts known to mankind. Remind me to ask him not to ever give me anything. Ever." Siona stalked over to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, throwing herself on the bed.
Dammit! She'd been having such a good time, barring Ondolemar. She'd actually felt pretty, for once in her life, and Erik had been with her, and they were having such a good time together, and she thought she had seen something in his eyes... Frustration overtook her and she screamed into her pillow, causing the house to rock.
After the reverberations ceased, Argis cast a livid glance at Erik. The two stared at each other before Erik made a bolt to the guest bedroom as fast as his lame leg would allow, locking the door just as Argis reached it. He sighed and sat down on the bed, listening to the banging of Argis's fists against the door. Shaking his head, he placed his chin in his hand, soot dislodging from his hair and dusting his shoulders.
It was going to be a long night.
