Chapter 11: The Men of Whiterun

The lower level of Jorrvaskr was quiet and still; eerie almost, when compared to the clamour upstairs. I found myself in a long, neat hallway, containing several smaller hallways which I assumed led to sleeping areas, for even the mighty Companions had to rest their heads somewhere.

Recalling the Imperial woman's instructions; all the way to your right; I turned. Two figures sat at a table at the end of the long hallway in quiet discussion, in stark contrast to the bawdy scene taking place above them.

The doors clicked shut behind me, and the muted conversation stopped. Two sets of eyes turned on me.

I smiled and strode toward them, focussing on the older of the two men. The younger sat back and crossed his arms, but I paid him no mind. I set my sights on and prepared my words for the fair, bearded older man with the bearing of a warrior and the eyes of a scholar. I did not need to be told that this was Kodlak Whitemane.

"Good afternoon," I swept into a traditional bard's bow a few paces from them.

"And what manner of wind-tousled creature is this, swept into Jorrvaskr on the afternoon breeze?" Kodlak asked with any easy warmth.

His tone calmed me; made me feel welcome. I glanced up, unable to mask my gratitude, then rose to my full height. "Apologies for bursting in on you, Master Whitemane. My name is Celeste, and I have been led to believe that the Companions may be interested in exchanging my services for food and lodgings."

In the corner of my eye, the younger man shifted uneasily. He might have said something, but the older man shot him a swift glance.

"Many seek out the Companions under similar pretence, but few prove to be worthy," Kodlak replied as his gaze settled on me again. "Come closer," he beckoned. "Let me look at you," his voice drifted off thoughtfully.

Confused, I took another step forward. "As you wish," I murmured.

His silvery eyes met mine, awash with a gleam like moonlight through a lake, and I felt myself being measured.

"Now, there's an old soul," the corner of his mouth rose.

No wonder bards don't come by the Companions very often. I fidgeted, glancing briefly to the man by Kodlak's side to distract myself from Whitemane's sudden intensity.

The younger Nord was large, but not as hulking as the men upstairs had been, with lank, black hair pushed behind his ears and dark warpaint around his eyes, making them appear more sunken and fiercer than I thought they really were. He was scowling at his leader but there was a hint of something else there. Confusion? Dismay? I couldn't decide. He settled back into his chair when he noticed I was looking at him; though still he said nothing.

"This is your family's sigil?" Kodlak brought my attention back, reaching for the Passero seal.

I nodded, lifting it out to him; letting him take it. "Yes. It was my late father's ring, and has been in my family for several eras."

"It's a dove," he muttered, glancing up to me. "You're a Passero. Your father was Imperial? I took you for Breton."

I nodded, wondering at all the questions, and a little surprised he had recognised the family connected to the design. "You are right on both accounts. My mother was Breton, my father Imperial. But, I am a daughter of Skyrim; I have lived in Solitude all my life."

"I see," he released my ring gently; sat back. "Well, Celeste, you wear your spirit on your sleeve, and it is one that will soar, given the right support."

I quirked an eyebrow at this riddle, but before I could determine a response, he continued.

"Perhaps you can loan some of that spirit to our halls."

That sounded like an agreement, though was still wrapped in a riddle. When I tried to thank him, I was cut off by the dark-haired man sitting across from him.

"Master, perhaps now is not the right time to be taking in outsiders," the words burst from him in a heavy Nord accent; he seemed unable to contain himself any longer.

I startled; stared at him with widened eyes. His silvery, sideways glance made me shiver with doubt.

Leaning toward his master, he added, "There is plenty of work to be found at inns or in private contracts-"

I didn't like the way he spoke about me as though I wasn't there, and intervened.

"I would rather work here, if it is all the same, and if your Master agrees," I cut him off smoothly. I couldn't let him talk Kodlak out of giving me the job. What did it matter to him if I sang a few songs for his fellows? He didn't have to stay and listen.

The old man shook his head. "I am nobody's master, young ones. And we have empty beds aplenty for those with fire in their hearts and souls."

I flushed at his words; this was a compliment, though I wasn't certain how he had determined any of this by simply glancing over me and my family's ring. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you."

"That remains to be proven," Kodlak leaned back with a weary stretch of his neck. "Vilkas, I would have you take young Celeste upstairs, and test her form."

I baulked; my unease escalated. "My form?" I stuttered.

The younger man – Vilkas – begrudgingly rose to his feet as though I hadn't said anything. "All right, master," he grumbled.

"Wait – there's been some mistake-" suddenly, I realised why the conversation had been so confusing. "You think that I wish to become a Companion?"

Vilkas and Kodlak exchanged an odd glance. Something passed between them, and Kodlak settled back further into his seat, nodding for Vilkas to proceed.

"If you do not, then what is your purpose here?" Vilkas asked in that growl of his.

Did he always sound as though he was ready to tear a person's ears off for looking at him? I tried not to laugh, but surprise and relief bubbled out of me. "I'm a bard, not a warrior," I held my hands out, placating. "I would make a terrible Companion. Perhaps I might begin again."

I was met with silence. Turning away, I took two paces, a deep breath, and spun back to face them, sweeping into the bard's introductory bow once more. They mustn't have recognised it, when I had first done it.

"Hello! My name is Celeste," I said brightly, rising to address them. "I humbly offer my services – of singing, and storytelling – in exchange for a bed for a single night, and breakfast on the morrow."

Kodlak was chuckling by the time I finished, and Vilkas huffed, crossing his arms and maintaining my gaze, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Was that all the show of amusement I was likely to get out of him?

Apparently so. The serious fellow remained standing, and I wondered why he had taken over my negotiations. Was he Kodlak's second, perhaps? Maybe I should have paid more attention to him when I had entered, instead of judging him to be insignificant to my plight.

It was Vilkas who responded. Kodlak's mouth was firmly closed, though his eyes shone, creased at the corners; a trace of restrained mirth.

"A wanderer, eh? Jorrvaskr's not an inn, lass," Vilkas tilted his head. "You'll have better luck at the Bannered Mare," he nodded down the hallway. Signalling that it was time for me to leave, I supposed.

It honestly didn't feel as though he was refusing me; merely making me work for my position. I didn't want to beg, yet wondered if it was what he required? Surely not. I just needed to be firm; convince him that I wanted to be here. I smoothed the desperation out of my words with a small smile.

"I have it on good authority that the Mare already has a bard, and it is my deepest wish," I lowered my head and voice respectfully, "to avoid him at all costs," I murmured, hoping to encourage some manner of chivalry in the surly brute, if not his master. "If you take my meaning," I glanced at Vilkas, praying to whichever Divine might be listening that I wouldn't be forced to explain this. Mikael was the sort of man whose reputation would precede him, so proud of his conquests he was.

Vilkas' eyes flashed in realisation and he stood a little taller, regarding me with less gruffness than before. "I take your meaning," he assented in a quiet rumble. He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand toward me. "And what sort of bard travels without her instruments?"

My mind raced for a plausible excuse. I didn't want to mention Helgen; the conversation in Dragonsreach made me wary of mentioning it again to anyone, until I understood what Farengar and Jarl Balgruuf had told me. Or, hadn't told me.

And truly, if I wanted to offer a performance worthy of the legendary Companions, I would need to procure an instrument of some kind. Lydia had been kind, but my voice was not all I would need, or my performance would lack greatly in both atmosphere and diversity.

Perhaps the general store, or someone in the marketplace, would be selling a lute. Surely Whiterun was a large enough town that someone, somewhere would be selling musical instruments?

Taking this chance, I smiled as though I was pleased he had noticed. "It's being cleaned, in town," the words spilled out of me. "My journey here was long, and both it and I require some attention before we are fit to be stared upon. Shall I retrieve it, and return here?" I prompted, lifting my eyebrows.

The large Nord sighed and the corner of his mouth twitched again, as though he wished to smile, but wouldn't let himself. "All right. Yes, we have an accord," he emphasised, settling into his seat next to Kodlak. "Be back in the mead hall by six. That's when we take dinner."

I nodded, assuming that the mead hall was the name of the large, open room upstairs. "Six. I'll be ready," I curtsied gracefully to take my leave. I would have to act quickly to secure an instrument in time, and then there was the matter of tuning it properly, if I happened to locate a lute.

"Should you change your mind about the lonely path set before you," Kodlak spoke a little gravely, "a bed can be made available to you for more than a single night, and your shield-siblings would willingly teach you that which you feel you lack in physical strength, if you decide it is time for you to acquire some."

My lip curled up in amusement, and I cast the brooding Kodlak a glance. My eyes flickered to the staunch-faced Vilkas. The doubtful expression on his face almost made me want to agree, to spite him; but I had more important matters at hand, and honestly, I simply didn't want to.

I shook my head, addressing the more agreeable leader kindly. "Thank you, Master Whitemane, but I do not wish to fight," I backed away, lifting my hand in polite farewell.

"What we desire and what we must achieve do not always align so easily, little dove," Kodlak sighed, raising his hand in acknowledgement.

No more was required of me, so I turned and moved away, mulling over the poeticism of Kodlak's words, and the musical quality to his voice. He could have been a bard himself; seamlessly winding wisdom and metaphor in that relaxed, natural manner.

Also, you just won the job.

I dismissed my musings with a swift shake to my head. Yes! I had done it!

Now all I needed to do was locate the instrument I had told Vilkas was being cleaned. I still had Alvor's necklaces to sell, and after my success with Adrianne, I was confident that I would be able to both secure a good price for them, and retrieve an instrument of some kind from the general store. Perhaps if the Companions were moved by my performance, they'd offer a tip, and Alvor and Sigrid would never need to know that I had temporarily dipped into their funds.

With a spring to my step and my immediate needs taken care of, I ascended the stairs to the mead hall and left Jorrvaskr; paying what remained of the rowdy upper-level group no mind as I made haste to the marketplace.

They would not be my problem until the hour of six, after all.

–

"How much?"

"Lutes don't come by all that often, darling," the shopkeeper, a Breton man called Belethor, tilted his head and half-frowned in a practised manner. "Least, not of this quality. They're 200 gold apiece, non-negotiable."

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was swindling me. "I can assure you that the quality is not as fine as you profess it to be, and furthermore," I added quickly, "you have three of them. They are practise instruments; barely fit for real performances, at least by anyone with an ounce of training to their names."

Belethor shrugged and held up his hands, mock-frowning even more. "Hey, I'm not twisting your arm to buy one, sweetheart. I'm just telling you what they're worth to me."

Even I was surprised by the frustrated growl that left my lips in a snarl. "Practise lutes cost one-tenth that in Solitude!" I turned, offended. I was getting nowhere, and made for the exit. "Good luck selling them to anyone who knows anything about music."

I slammed the door behind me before Belethor had responded, and stepped out into the brusque afternoon air and warmth-less sun. I leaned against the store, breathing deeply, trying desperately to calm down before I hit something.

I felt hot; enraged; my blood was boiling. I closed my eyes, trying to listen to the sounds of the marketplace and not my own internal, furious monologue. My heartbeat thumped through my ears, slowing as my calming technique gradually grounded me, and the fury abated. I listened; there was a deal taking place at the game vendor's stall; a high then low pitch of a conversation between the old lady selling silverware and a little boy; the uneven tap-tap rhythm of someone scuffing their boots against the ground idly a few paces from where I stood.

You forgot to sell the necklaces, I reminded myself bluntly.

I bit my tongue. Someone in the marketplace would buy them.

And you didn't ask about organising a line of credit to your account back home.

I cursed; my eyes flashed open. A sad-looking blonde man was watching me, leaning on one of the pillars supporting the general store's awning. I nodded a tight-lipped good-day to him and turned away. My eyes flickered around the marketplace, praying that somebody – anybody – would be selling instruments of some kind.

The shopkeeper had been so smarmy, and so self-assured of a sale when I had walked into his store, that I had been immediately put on guard against him, before we had begun 'negotiations'. Only the sight of the three practise-lutes, hanging high on his back wall, had convinced me to remain in his presence, for as long as I had been able to bear.

And then you shouted at him and stormed out of his store like a spoilt child.

He deserved it, I grit my teeth. It would be fine.

Glancing at the old lady selling silver across the way, I grimaced. I could sell Alvor's necklaces to her, but I didn't have time to play the bartering game these merchants all seemed determined to uphold any more. I had an hour, or thereabouts, to locate a lute, tune it, and get back to Jorrvaskr. Surely somebody would have something I could use; I would just have to be more resourceful.

My eyes drifted beyond the silver stall to the permanent building behind her.

The Bannered Mare.

I glanced over the hanging sign, realising with a start; Mikael will have a spare lute.

I groaned, bringing my palms to my forehead. After dragging my hands down my face, I noticed an uncertain little girl had come to a stand-still before me, mid-play.

"Are you unwell, milady?" she asked in a quiet, lilting accent.

"I'm fine," hastily, I lowered my hands. "Sorry for startling you. I ate something funny for lunch," I glanced back up, fixing on the one place in Whiterun that I really didn't want to go.

The helpful little girl pointed out the alchemist's store to the side of the markets, then ran off again.

I didn't respond as she was gone. With a steeling puff of air, I pushed myself forward. My boots dragged along the cobbles and I glared at the closed, carved door leading into the tavern.

Be professional, I schooled, pushing the door open. Warm air and conversation rushed out to meet me, bursting past to dance with the sounds of late afternoon. The rumble of voices, smell of ale, and glow of the central hearth seemed to absorb everything when I side-stepped inside. The door clicked closed behind me.

My distress abated. The Mare was quite a pretty tavern. The tap room was open and welcoming, and the smiling patrons and waitresses all seemed to be having a fantastic time. Were it not for the resident bard, who I couldn't see from the entryway, I could have happily taken a room here for a night.

Just as father did. A shiver ran down my spine. He had stood where I was, not so long ago.

Get to work. Yes, there was no time to wallow in grief. My eyes flit about, searching for my target. It was the work of a moment to find him, sitting along the far side of the room, tuning his lute.

I sidled to the bar and ordered two snowberry juices from the hard-eyed, soft-cheeked publican. I was singing within the hour and facing Mikael any moment; I couldn't risk a glass of wine, and I couldn't remember what he drank. The woman passed over two wooden cups wordlessly, then returned to her previous customer; a Nord woman with short red hair. They appeared to be in the middle of some rather serious negotiations about ownership of the tavern.

Turning, I sighted Mikael again. He was still tuning, and in idle conversation with a heavily-muscled, dark-eyed Nord woman wearing a full set of expensive steel armour. The woman had to be a mercenary, perhaps offering herself for hire from this very tavern. Why else would anyone wear armour in the common room?

I sighed as I regarded the blonde man, recalling the scandal that had resulted in his expulsion. The Dean involved had lost her husband and resigned her position. That had been when Dean Ateia had returned, to fill her place as a favour to Master Viarmo.

"Mikael?" I stopped beside the table he and the mercenary sat around.

For all of my avoiding him and nerves, I was not prepared for the utter disinterest in his gaze when he lifted his head.

"Yes?"

What were you expecting? I blinked, glancing to the mercenary as she shifted back in her seat; her steely glare convinced me to look away at once. Remembering that I was holding it, I held the snowberry juice out to Mikael. "A word?"

He tilted his head, regarding the cup in confusion as he continued to idly pluck the strings of his lute, so softly that from where I stood, I could not make out the melody.

"Do I know you?" his dark brown eyes narrowed slightly.

"Stop it," I murmured, reaffirming my offering with a nod toward it. "It's snowberry juice. I find it helps lubricate the vocal chords before a performance– ," faltering, I shook my babble away, wanting to hit myself for using a word like lubricate in Mikael's presence. "Anyway. Can we talk?"

"All right," he threw the mercenary an apologetic glance. "I won't be long, Uthgerd my love."

Ah. He was working his talent on this Uthgerd woman. Well, she'd probably clobber him into Oblivion if he put a toe out of line, so perhaps it was for the best.

Stepping away, I cast about the Mare for a suitable place to retreat to. Somewhere out in the open, I prayed. There were a couple of vacant tables on the other side of the room, and I made my way to them.

Mikael sat after I had; slowly, purposefully, placing his lute gingerly on a third chair between us. "Celeste Passero," he glanced up to me; the corner of his mouth lifted. "I did not expect to see your delicate curves gracing the likes of the Bannered Mare," he murmured.

Of course he knew who I was; indignation flooded me. Clunking the cups on the table, I pushed his toward him and wrapped my fingers around my own.

You need his help, I reminded myself before I could snarl at him. Mess this up and you'll have to go back to Belethor. C'mon. You can do this.

My cheeks flamed but I inclined my head; a small, shy tilt that I knew Mikael would find appealing. "I didn't expect to be in Whiterun either. It's left me in quite the quandary," I sighed.

His smirk grew into a grin. Mikael lounged back in his chair then took a sip of the juice. "That doesn't sound like you, but time has a way of changing us," he echoed my sigh.

"Indeed," I continued quietly. His sigh had been so false, and I was so wary of him that I was at a loss for how to ask for assistance. Out of nowhere, I teared up and found myself saying, "Doubtless you have heard about my parents?"

Don't cry, for Shor's sake!

Mikael's brow furrowed, and he frowned. "Your parents?"

I nodded, swallowing my tears. How could he not have heard? "Killed by Stormcloaks," I managed, "on the night of the High King's murder."

"Murder?" Mikael's confusion deepened, then he shook his head and half-laughed. "The High King was challenged by Stormcloak to combat over the right to rule. It's the way of the Nords, not murder, Celeste," he frowned sympathetically at me. "I know it must be difficult for you to understand, given your heritage. I'm sorry to hear that your parents were caught up in it," he took another nonchalant swig of his juice.

My knuckles turned white and my nails dug into the hard wood cup as I glared at Mikael under my lashes. That story was still being circulated; there were still people who thought that Ulfric had conducted himself with a shred of honour?

Fury burned through my veins, demanding I use it; to lunge across the table, and strike him.

Calm down, I pleaded, lifting my cup to my lips. My hand shook as I sipped, and when I swallowed, my control returned.

"Anyway," I murmured, clearing my throat. "It is in the past. As it happens, I've managed to secure a contract with the Companions tonight, but my lute has been damaged. Would you be able to loan me one of yours?" I asked directly.

If he wouldn't help, then I could leave. I would pay Belethor his 200 gold, and I would prepare as best I could with a practise instrument.

Realisation struck Mikael, and he nodded swiftly. "Of course, of course – anything for a fellow bard. I have a few spares in my room," the corner of his mouth twitched.

My expression levelled.

"Would you...care to select one?" he stood, offering me his elbow as he flicked his hair back. "You can take your pick."

Don't go to his room. I stiffened and motioned toward the lute on the chair between us. "What about this one?" I reached, brushing its neck idly. Glancing up to Mikael, I didn't miss how he watched my fingertips dancing over his lute, or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Okay, I smiled sweetly. Perhaps, somehow, I could play him?

The thought gave me power, and the furious force within me stirred and swelled. "It such a fine instrument; finest I've seen in years. The lines are..." I looked to the lute, searching for a word. "Captivating," I settled.

Perhaps he guessed what I was doing; an amateur, trying to dupe a master, at least in the art of innuendo. He smiled at me, but it was a dangerous, tight-lipped curl of his mouth. His eyes narrowed in a sultry manner and swerved to lock mine. "You could convince me to part with my beloved for a single night. But the price," he tilted his head, his gaze unfaltering. "Would be you. For a single night."

I withdrew my hand from the lute as though it had burned me.

"You cannot be serious!" I hissed as my cheeks flamed.

He leaned forward, across the table, his eyes hard and his words fast. "Without your father interfering in your life any more, there's nothing to stop us-"

Smack.

I didn't realise I had slapped him until the red haze obscuring my vision cleared and I saw the red welt forming on his cheek. He hurriedly raised his hand to cover it, and I hastily withdrew mine, planting it firmly in my lap.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked dumbly.

"With me?" I stood, fuming; glared down at him. "How dare you?"

His shock morphed into realisation, and he leaned forward, thunking his head on the table. "Oh, Shor's balls, you're still a virgin, aren't you? Honestly, Celeste, how can you call yourself a bard if you're yet to experience-"

"That's enough," I grated, cutting him off through clenched teeth.

Mikael lifted his head, just far enough to look up at me through his lashes. His eyes were full of understanding, as though he knew everything about me. His chin was so close to the table top that I barely resisted the urge to slam his head into the wood.

Then a small, scandalised, frightened voice within me desperately begged that I stop being so violent, and leave.

I listened to it, spinning toward the exit. Realisation dawned on me as I met several pairs of eyes; we had drawn quite a bit of attention.

There was nothing for it. At least nobody here knew who I was; with luck, they would forget the encounter by sunup. Steeling myself against the curious gazes, I forced myself to walk, not run, from the Mare.

Belethor's store was in my direct line of sight across the marketplace. I glared at it, out of options, and time. I would have to give the smug git his 200 gold for a practise instrument, and it burned.

Better than the alternative, I huffed wryly. I felt deeply mortified and furious over Mikael's implication; that my ability as a bard relied on anything but dedication and training. I had seen and felt so much more than that little man, and he was so incredibly wrong to challenge me, and find me wanting.

Control, I schooled. The afternoon had worked me up into a veritable frenzy of insulted anxiety. I would have to let it all go so I could prepare for my performance.

–

"Ah! You've returned. I thought you might."

I placed 200 gold on the countertop, staring with humourless eyes at the smirking Breton on the other side.

"Give me a damned lute," I muttered.

A/n: thanks again for reviewing, Cake-san! I love Whiterun as well and I'm so relieved that you think I did its introduction justice. This chapter was a little more difficult to write - with some more well-known characters, but I'm hoping that I managed to portray them half-decently...would love to know what people think.