Summary: Don't take sides!

Chapter Twenty-One : Warm Welcome

James couldn't help but notice the continued glances of distrust and outright hatred they were receiving as they got nearer to Windhelm. None were directed at him, Bones, or Sulu; only Spock and Nyota. Montgomery, James guessed, was too small to garner much notice.

As for Dark Elves and Thalmor? James guessed the rules up here were slightly different than they were at home.

Spock was still somewhat weakened with his bout with the monster they never found, and while he didn't doubt that Nyota could hold her own in a fight, James still felt like he had to protect them. He tasked Sulu with looking dangerous on behalf of Spock and Nyota, though, and felt better about it. Sulu sure could look dangerous when he wanted to.

The enormous gates of Windhelm opened to James and company rather easily. The guards didn't ask any questions, didn't even really look at them. Maybe it was too cold for things like that. The snow was whipping down from the clouds in angry swirls, lining the cobblestones and the edges of the walls in little drifts. And, fortunately for them, the first building inside the walls was the inn.

"I can smell the mead now," Bones said happily, striding toward the inn.

Montgomery scurried after him. "Do you think they have sweetrolls?"

James could almost smell the mead, too, but he looked down at the bag he was carrying with him and remembered he had a few random things to offload. The Septims he planned to get for Dwarven scrap metal were supposed to pay for their rooms. "I have to track down the blacksmith first," James said.

"I will accompany you," Spock said.

"I'll come, too," Nyota offered. "I need to get my knives sharpened."

A nearby Nord scoffed. "Good luck with that, Greyskin."

James turned toward the Nord that had spoken and bit his tongue. Granted, he might not have done that at home. He might not have even given the Nord a breath between the insult and James' fist in his face, but he was tired, hungry, aching, and all he really wanted was to sit next to a hearth fire for a few hours.

"Excuse me?" Spock asked, his voice edged like a sword.

"Go home, Greyskin. And you, too, stinking Thalmor."

James closed his eyes and wished upon one of those stars up there that they could just let it go. It was ugly, it was unnecessary. It made him sick. But with monster-attacks, swamp fungal pods, and Bones's constant ribbing today, Spock's temper was already short. "Don't," he warned, but he knew his voice would be ineffective.

"Pointy-eared bastards." The Nord spat on the ground at their feet. "You two would have to stand together. No one else is standing with you, are they, Greyskin?"

"So are we." James sighed, and went to stand beside Spock, however stupid he was acting at the moment. Bones, Montgomery, and Sulu followed his lead. "You're far out-numbered, so I suggest you let all of us go our own way." James waved him away with a slight nod, as though he were sending off a child. "We don't want any trouble."

Before James could even consider what he thought a nice response might be, he felt that distinct twang and crunch of a hook to the jaw. So much for being gracious. He staggered back, felt Bones pushing him back up before he could go further down, fists already coming up toward his head for protection more than to strike back. Not that he wasn't one for hand-to-hand fighting. No, this would be just like home.

Except, as far as James knew, neither of them were drunk.

He jumped forward with a quick jab that didn't land, but forced a feint. When he followed up with a roundabout-sort-of punch coming from the left, the Nord practically walked into it. When he staggered back, like James did, his friends showed up. One of them seemed quite intent on using his sword to skewer him. Another one was doing his best to catch both Spock and Nyota on the same blade.

Sulu was already at his side with his katana up and ready to go, giving James enough time to draw his sword. Just as James swung his blade out to meet the offensive Nord's, a woman on the ledge above them, leading to the inn, James guessed, tossed a bucket of water on them, screaming vulgarities—mostly at Spock and Nyota, even though Montgomery got most of the water. Spock called up his fire magic and Nyota drew her knives that, it turned out, were plenty sharp enough to get the job done.

Before either group could land any damaging blows, since all that had happened was Bones managed to land a punch on one of the offensive Nords, a knot of Windhelm guards descended on them, confiscating their weapons and leading them unceremoniously off to prison.

...

"Are you a Dwarf?" the guard outside the cell James shared with Spock and Montgomery asked the diminutive member of their party. James rolled his eyes. It was either that, or he was a twelve-year-old with a beard. And, this guard didn't exactly look like a guard. He didn't wear a helmet, instead there was a bear's head with the rest of the skin draped down his back.

In addition, James was Nord and even he had a hard time deciphering his words through his accent.

"Um, yeah—can I get a towel?" Montgomery asked, tentatively twisting his beard to extract the dirty wash water as best as he could.

"Under pain of death, you will tell me who these people are and what they are doing in our city," the guard went on, looking pointedly at Spock, who had been rather uncooperative. James supposed he didn't blame Spock. This guard was as racist as the Nord they'd been dragged away from.

"Don't answer him," Spock snapped from his glower in the corner of the cell.

"You will answer me," the guard insisted, glaring at Montgomery.

Montgomery paused, looked at the guard, and then at Spock. He smiled a little, a sparkle in those crazy-Dwarf eyes, and then shrugged. "I'd rather not take sides."

The guard slammed his fist on the wall and shouted a few obscenities regarding the Mer in general, which James guessed included Montgomery, even though there hadn't been a Dwarf around to insult for, perhaps, centuries. While James was thinking that he could come up with five neat insults for a Dwarf offhand, not even thinking about it long, Spock rose from his corner and walked toward the cell door.

"How did you, in particular, get into the city?" the guard asked, looking up and down Spock's Thalmor costume.

"You are the guard," Spock answered, standing face-to-face with him defiantly. "You figure it out." When the guard set his jaw and James cautioned Spock to go sit down, Spock went on, "That doesn't frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation?"

James jumped up from his little rickety chair and latched onto Spock's shoulder. "Spock, stop it!"

"We will determine what you're doing here, Thalmor, make no mistake." The guard took just a moment to spit in his face before walking away down the hallway.

Spock grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve, not looking any more or less angry than when they'd locked them up down here. Then he took a deep breath. His teeth clicked together and, James guessed, that was the last they would be hearing from Spock for a while when he skulked back to his corner like a wounded skeever.

James looked across the hallway at the cell there: Bones was leaning on the iron bars and, even though he wasn't happy with the situation, he was teasing a small grin. "What's with you?" James asked.

"I suffer from claustrophobia."

"You're kidding." He wasn't shocked. Bones wasn't claustrophobic. He was just coming up with a way to make this even worse than before. "Besides, you wouldn't have that stupid grin on your face if you were."

"I'm stuck in this cage with a crazy Blades-kid and a Dark Elf that smells like a wet dog!" Bones had started shaking the cell door, pausing a moment to look over his shoulder. "No offence."

James could see in the recesses of their cell, Nyota held her hands up. "None taken."

"I'm not crazy," Sulu muttered.

Satisfied that Nyota wasn't offended and ignoring Sulu altogether, Bones looked back at James. "We have to get out of here, Jim. The world is being burnt to a crisp by dragons and you're the only one who can kill them."

"I suggest we do our time quietly and leave just as quietly as we tried to come," Spock said from the back. Now, that made perfect sense! The old Spock was back! Well, not the old-old Spock. The old young—damn time-travel. "Winterhold is not far from here. Perhaps a day's travel."

"I don't know how I'm being held in the first place," Bones said, and James tried and failed to ignore him. "I'm a priest. I don't hurt people. I heal people."

"I'm pretty sure that was your right hook that got us in here." James looked over to see Bones stalking back into the shadows of the cell. James slid down the wall to the floor and looked up at Spock. He had wedged himself into the corner on the cot, his arms held around the monstrous lacerations, his breathing shallow. "Are you all right?"

Spock's glower might have lit the room in red if there was anything magical to a look. "I am fine. I have been fine. I fully expect to live a longer and more prosperous life than any guard in this town."

James was sorry he'd brought it up.

Heaving a sigh, James leaned his head back on the wall and watched the ceiling just be for a while. He guessed it was all they could do to do to wait for the time to be up. It wasn't that long, just until tomorrow night, but he didn't want to spend tonight in a jail cell. No, this wasn't his idea of a good time.

To think, the freezing winds of Winterhold were sounding good right about now…