Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Many questions are asked. Few are answered. Someone we all know and hate (I hope) is dead. Spoilers?

Last time…

As I find myself running and hollering after a thief in the middle of the night in my underclothes, guards jumping in to shoot the quick bastard, I decide that no matter how much I like the new faces in the Bee and Barb, I still don't like this city.

Chapter 16 – Getting to know you

…

"Anneke, you know you can't travel like this. You'll have to wait and heal here, before you can even attempt to return to Darkwater Crossing." I admonish the stubborn woman as she sits up on her makeshift cot in Sylgja's house. It had only taken two hours to get to Shor's Stone after leaving Riften in the early morning, but upon arrival, we'd soon been notified of a spider infestation in the mine that the people here rely on. Anneke immediately agreed to help them - before I could even get a word in otherwise. Like Oblivion I'd deal with any nasties voluntarily. Which is why now, she's stuck in bed with a mangled leg. And yeah, I fully blame mrs. Adventurous for that, because she really ought to have known better than to pull that stupid stunt she did.

After all, when we were in Riften I'd expected her to stock up on arrows. But I should have figured that she wouldn't have the coin to buy enough. As things turned out, in the middle of being besieged by a large group of spiders, hard to see in the red mist hanging low above the ground… Anneke ran out of arrows and one of the larger beasts got her from behind. Ugh. Humans.

Now, both mother and daughter are recovering from injuries received in the mine. I'd be laughing about the irony if not for the painful memories their family interactions brought up. Lucky for the man of the house and last member of the family, a courier came by carrying a letter for me from Jarl Siddgeir, about a plot of land being for sale, should I be interested. Maybe in the future, sometime, when I survive all these dragons. Of course, Anneke jumped on the chance to send word to her husband, and the courier?

Well, he was just happy to have business.

He's bloody well insane.

"I can… still walk." The current object of my irritation and worry claims between gritted, unfairly pearly white teeth. "Not long, or very far. You can't even get to Riften like this." I observe slowly, as if explaining the matter to a small child.

This stubbornness all Nords seem to possess might be useful in some situations, but at times like these I wish they'd just shut up and do what's best for them. "Besides, stressing your injury like that might cause permanent damage. You're staying here."

Anneke, blonde hair whipping around her face and charcoal-lined eyes blazing like fire and brimstone, lets out a frustrated growl and opens her mouth to start shouting before Sylgja tactically intervenes: "Mother, he's right. The priest of Mara that healed me told me that even spells or potions can't make up for proper rest. Since I no longer need my letter delivered and the spiders are gone, I can rest easy, and take care of you as you've always taken care of me." I smile faintly at the young woman – she's got a good head on her shoulders, that's for sure. She's not my type, though.

"Anneke, it was a joy to travel with you, but I'm afraid it's time we part ways." I tell the ex-adventurer as carefully as I can, guilt gnawing at my stomach like wolves gnawing on a fresh kill. It's mildly nauseating.

If only I'd been faster to notice her situation, I could have prevented that beast from harming her if only I'd been more alert. She pats my arm a few times, looking off to the side in chagrin, before I rise from where I'd been sitting in a rickety wooden chair, pulled up next to the cot.

I stretch my aching shoulders, feeling and hearing a series of satisfying pops as the tension from the fight leaves me.

"I'll go back to Riften and see if the priests of Mara there might have something better than those potions I gave you to heal her. If not, I'll go on my way." I tell Sylgja as I walk down to the road, the other miners in the settlement calling their thanks after me as we go down to the main road. "Also, thank you for the rations." She smiles genially, crossing her arms and tilting her head pensively as she watches me leave.

"Anytime. You saved this mine from trouble, and carried my mother back out while fighting spiders, no less! I'm thankful. If you need more food, come by. Oh, and While you're in Riften, can you check something for me? I've heard rumours that old Grelod, in the Riften Orphanage, was murdered, but I find it hard to believe. You're passing by here again when going up north, right? Can you verify the rumour for me?"

I glance briefly over my shoulder to nod at her. "Oh! I almost forgot! I'd avoid fort Greenwall if I were you. I've heard the Stormcloaks have settled there!" She'll be a good friend. And a good wife, to whomever will be lucky enough to have her. She's honest, bright, and genuinely cares for her family. I know Dwemer who would challenge each other to a duel to death for her hand. Not me though. I'm not looking for romance right now.

The road back to Riften I only recall vaguely, caught up in my own thoughts as I take the sandy path rather than the cobblestones. I don't feel like being mistaken for a thief or other enemy when facing a large force all by myself.

…

At the temple, someone tells me that no, aside from potions or a healing spell, there's not much they can do besides regularly change the bandages around Anneke's wound. Sylgja will take care of that.

I wind up loitering about the marketplace, to the wary confusion of the vendors as I examine their wares and have a chat with the Argonian jeweller about forging silver versus gold necklace chains. Finally leaning against one of the small walls, I keep one eye out for any pickpockets-to-be as I contemplate what to do next.

The answer, in the end, seems glaringly obvious, like the moons on a cloudless night. Or like a giant club to the face, depending on who asks. Of course, it will all depend on whether or not I find the cocky bastard worthy of my time after the first week of being on the winding, empty Skyrim roads.

Unbidden, a small smile crosses my face before I make a – heh – beeline for my target.

…

The Bee and Barb is more peaceful and empty than last time, I note as I pass through the doors. Probably because it's only two in the afternoon and most folks only come by in the evening, when work is done.

I hear whispers of the orphanage wench everywhere – so, that woman is dead? From what I heard just a few minutes ago, bitch had it coming. Was it the Arentino child Ysolda spoke about, I wonder..?

The mage I met last night is sitting on the bench next to the other exit, eating plain bread – not even a small hump of cheese, or butter, to go along with it - with a look of distaste written all over his face, clear as day.

I stride up to him purposefully, sinking down onto the creaking old wood next to him.

"Do you ever run out of magic during a fight?" To most that probably sounds like a ridiculous question, but… I deem it important to know.

I'm not angry with Anneke, not really, but she should have told me that she was low on arrows. Stupidly stubborn Nords. Maybe this man will be different? He's certainly more intelligent. And not a Nord, if I learned anything from Aicantar.

"Actually, I don't. Just like you never run out of fucking questions." He replies sourly, taking another vicious bite of the sorry excuse of a meal. I glance at the brutally mauled piece of bread blankly for a few moments. Then:

"What was your fee, again?"

Now that catches his full attention. Wasn't one of those Imperial stereotypes that they were overly fond of riches? Coins? Jewels? Maybe I can get away with paying him in armour? I have the materials to spare. The mage leans back semi-casually, eyes sparking with interest as he looks me over like a sabercat assesses prey, then looks around as if searching for something else.

"Oh? So you've finally acknowledged that you couldn't stay away? I get it of course. You didn't even bring your lady friend I see. I suppose I should thank you for that courtesy – the ladies can never get enough of me. As for my fee… It's only a modest five hundred gold, dear traveller."

Okay first of all Anneke is already married you lecherous leech. Secondly I highly doubt he attracts the right sort of women with THAT attitude, though I guess his looks go a long way in that regard. Thirdly…

I can't help but laugh at the ridiculous amount of money he's asking for. What's up with that price? I can get Skyforge steel for less! Good thing I'm willing to, ah, compromise a bit.

"How about a test run?" I offer off-handedly, watching his gaze narrow in pensive surprise, "I hire you for a hundred. Then you prove yourself skilful enough to be worth the rest of the sum, and I'll give it to you... Be warned, though, that I set very high standards for someone claiming to be a 'Master of the Arcane'." I give him a predatory grin, almost sure that he'll back off and decline the offer.

If he does, I guess I'll be off on my own after all.

"Do I get a proper challenge, then? Not just any old Frostbite spider, I should hope. I want to be able to show off when you come with an offer like that."

My mind briefly wanders to the dragons that seemingly always wait for me specifically to show up somewhere in these lands of snow and ice. "Trust me, if you can hold your own against what I have in mind, you're more than worth your fee."

No room for unearned arrogance in this Grand Lift, oh no. I think rather vindictively, having a vague idea of what lies ahead in the near future. Prove your worth in combat, and I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months.

If this man - Marcurio, was it? - doesn't lay off the charm, though, that might give me more trouble of a different sort than I'd be comfortable with… Oh well, he can always be ditched near some cave later.

"Deal." My eyebrows disappear above my hairline as my eyes widen briefly in surprise. Unbidden, a grin crawls onto my face as I take out a hundred pieces of gold of one of my many purses and pass them to the mage, under careful scrutiny of Keerava. "Consider yourself hired. Grab whatever you need, we leave immediately."

He mirrors my toothy smile right back at me. "I'll follow you anywhere, just don't try to walk straight into a spike-filled pit or a filthy Skeever den." As he stands and has a brief talk with Keerava, I observe him silently for a few moments, a strange feeling of uneasy excitement settling in my stomach even as I can't help but wonder…

What am I getting myself into?

…

I got myself into a really irritating mess, that's what.

Does he ever stop talking?

I'd guess not.

Where does he even keep all that air? Must be in his oversized head somewhere. Would that mean he has lungs where brains should be, or does he have a second set of smaller lungs somewhere? Hmm, questions, questions, and no chance to ask because the bastard won't. Stop. Talking.

…Would he stop when I throw a rock at his face? Is what I wonder a scant few hours later, walking down the road with my map in front of my face as I mark the path leading past Fort Greenwall, which I hadn't drawn there yet.

"So… I've also heard you refer to yourself as Forgemaster back there, what kind of job is that? I surely hope it's dissimilar to catching thieves in the middle of the night, screaming in a different language and only wearing underwear?" The infuriating mage asks, humour evident in his voice as his lips twitch upwards sporadically.

The tips of my covered ears burn a bright red with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. "Must you be like this?" I question dully, not even glancing at him as I deftly fold the parchment map and tuck it safely away. Carefully weighing my words to describe my craft without making a lingual error. "A Forgemaster is both a master blacksmith and an enchanter." His eyes light up in understanding, and I sense a thirst for knowledge there, as well.

Perhaps we might be not too different after all..?

"So you're familiar with the Arcane Arts, then? From your questions yesterday I hadn't thought you were. A friend of a magical amateur, at most." I give him a confused look, even as we pass Shor's Stone where the distant noise of pickaxes can be heard. "No. That's what a mage-smith or a Magecrafter does… that is, literally translated, 'Craftsman that works magic'. A… Mage-crafter, so to say. They're the Master enchanters, and pretty much the only ones back home to use magic for other things than that at all."

He frowns pensively as I give a friendly wave to the watchman at Shor's Watchtower, who lazily salutes me in return. I mark the spot on my map, for which we pause briefly. Marcurio takes that moment to ask the dreaded question: "Say, that language and those jobs aren't familiar to me at all. What race uses it? I've been all across Tamriel – it sounds very gluttural, almost Orcish, but it's definitely less growl-y. And you use more consonants in a single word than most people use in an entire sentence."

I don't turn to him as I mentally prepare to give an honest answer. Even if he thinks I'm a lunatic, he's still stuck with me because I paid him. Aside from his mostly positive-seeming opinion of me… I have nothing to lose. But before I can open my mouth, he charges his hands with fire. He's using fire magic, by the forges that's AWESOME. I never actually saw it in practise unless a bandit was trying to turn me into a human torch.

Distracted from the enticing flames that bring to mind a billion questions by a low, inhuman growl, I spot the trolls. The three trolls sprinting at us at full speed. I pause. Blink twice.

Oh.

My axe is in my hands soon after, and I curse out loud, vowing to myself that in the next city, I would ask for nearby Dwemer ruins and I would forge myself a proper second axe and a new dagger. I feel unbalanced with just one weapon. Saved by the bell. Or in this case, the trolls. I think as I quickly look back at Marcurio before charging the creatures with a wild laugh. The mage at my side attacks them from a distance, fireballs impacting close to or against the trolls, and with the help of my axe, they go down with ease.

"You're not going to tell me that this was your challenge, right?" He asks sceptically, and the look on my face must have answered for me, since he just groans and clutches at his chest. "Oh, the pain of not knowing..!" He winks at the unimpressed tilt of my head and my blank expression. "Don't worry, with me at your side, you don't have to fear anything!"

Actually, I fear having to deal with your continuous chatter might be the death of me.

For a few hours, I start to sometimes comment on the mage as he tells tall tales about his previous exploits and skill in magic. It only spurs him on further, and as the man starts babbling about yet another Nordic tomb he supposedly wants to visit, something about a 'Gauldur' and yet another legend lost to the ages, I lose interest, instead observing the landscape when he animatedly jumps into the air, as if facing invisible draughr enemies. But his voice remains just another background noise to me.

I suppose I get used to any annoying sound if I hear it long enough.

The trees, the rustling bushes, the faded yellow grass gently swaying in the wind, the many rocky slides and slopes like sturdy guardians of the land, the colourful, aromatic flora - and the deer and elks scuttling away as my gaze falls on them all together join to form a picturesque view of the area, framed by a bright blue sky. It is a beautiful day, really.

I'm glad, travelling in the rain is annoying.

Scenes like these are why people choose to romanticise dragging your tired, aching feet along miles and miles of no-man's land with only the clothes on your back and the thoughts in your mind. Nobody who's never seen hide or hair of a live wolf would ever think of the treacherous dangers hidden in the beauty.

Still… Marcurio waves a hand in front of my eyes and I startle, sending him a glare as he grins and continues to speak and articulate as if he doesn't realize I'm done with listening.

I roll my eyes at my companion's overly dramatic gesturing, spotting something familiar in the corner of my eye – "Is that a Dwemer construct I see?" I muse to myself, but of course, Marcurio hears it as a question. We pause in the middle of the road, the rocky wilds around us all dancing inconspicuously in the pleasant Second Seed breeze.

"Well, it sure looks like it. We must have missed the right path by a mile." Marcurio drawls, though I can sense his excitement like electric charge tingling in the air. I look back, and sure enough, it's all wilderness where there should have been a cobblestone road.

"Let's see if there's something else rather than just this one building." Marcurio continues, walking up the dirt path and the stairs, underneath the Dwemer arch, and I purse my lips briefly. Shouldn't I be the one calling the shots?

I follow him regardless, curiosity burning brightly when we soon come across a relatively small building, by Dwemer standards, with a domed roof out of Dwemer metal. Far better than the remnants and the tower-like structure we just saw.

"So, we're lost." I deadpan, nevertheless walking up to the construct as the mage follows closely behind. "Looks like a storeroom of some kind. There's probably a city nearby." Inwardly, I'm dancing in joy. If it hasn't been robbed of all valuables, this place is perfect for gathering some metal to forge an axe! The Dwemer doors beckon to me, and as if mesmerised, I run a hand along the carvings. Since leaving Markarth, I hadn't seen any sign of my people's existence. If I hadn't had a lifetime of memories, I'd have started to doubt if they were ever real.

If Dwemer existed. That is.

Biting my lip, I try the doors, and with a loud noise that has both my companion and I wince and scan the area for enemies immediately, one opens. Nothing comes jumping out at me from the dark, and when Marcurio whistles and tries to pass by me, I drag him back by his clothing. "Are you mad? There could be any kind of traps or tricks or beasts in there!"

"A true master of the arcane can handle any threat!" He feebly protests, already falling behind and looking quite pale, though he juts his chin out proudly. I merely groan and drag a hand down my face tiredly. "All the mastery in the world won't save you from being impaled on spears or being pelted by poisoned darts." That said, I carefully check the entryway and the space right beyond it, seeing no tell-tale holes, strings, or pressure plates. "Alright, should be fine. Let's go."

A/N: I want to put in so many details for even the most minor part of plot, it's ridiculous. I spent a whole chapter on a single cave a few chapters back, didn't I? Ugh, Skyrim is so vast, I'll never get all I want on paper. Anyway, reviews are love! (They make my day, seriously)