When he was child, he was used to being ignored and unnoticed. It wasn't until he was a man that he realized it could be an advantage. When he came of age, his father sought to placate his surly, brooding nature by naming him thane of the city, and only then did Nelkir miss the days he could drift around Dragonsreach without question. Now, those in court would offer him shallow bows and call him by the title whenever he passed their sights. They noticed him more.
None more so than his elder brother, who had always thought Nelkir was strange and up to no good. Nelkir had been an unwitting punching bag toward Frothar since they were old enough to hold swords. Sparring lessons were Nelkir's personal Hell because Frothar was three years his senior end every bit more brawn than he.
Nelkir was just descending the staircase in the Dragonsreach private quarters when Frothar's shoulder caught his going the opposite direction. Either one could have moved out of the others' way, but both were stubborn and proud.
"Watch where you're walking," Frothar turned and chided with a frown.
Nelkir didn't engage him, only seemed to roll his eyes and continue forward.
He suddenly felt the back of his tunic being pulled before being pushed forward, he stumbled down the rest of the stairs, failing to catch his balance and landed belly-up. After a few seconds to take in the pain searing up his back, he looked up to see Frothar standing at the top of the stairs and grinning down at him with amusement.
The few guards posted in the area didn't say a word; they knew the heir of Whiterun would give them trouble if they spoke against his actions. Nelkir could have gone to his father about it; Balgruuf the Greater was known to be a fair and honest man, but Nelkir held disdain for all his family members.
"If you aren't careful, next time you could fall a lot further," Frothar advised, hinting that it would be more than just stairs Nelkir could fall from. Once Frothar was Jarl, Nelkir expected to be stripped of his title and assets. He could very well be banished from Whiterun; there was no love lost between them.
Nelkir leveled a scowl so fierce that a hint of uneasiness showed in his brother's brow but Frothar quickly concealed it with a small laugh and continued on toward his chambers.
The youngest of the Jarl's children stalked further across the private quarters, meeting his sister-in-law with no way to avoid her. She was annoyingly friendly. Livia Umbranox had never gotten used to the permanent chill of Skyrim air and so was wearing a fur pelt made from snowy sabre cat wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed to wear it everywhere she went.
"Dear Nelkir, why do you frown so?" she inquired and reached up to wipe a spot of dust off of the shoulder of his tunic. She was very short in comparison, being an Imperial female. She had to lift on her tiptoes to reach his shoulder with her fingertips. He must have acquired it from when he landed on the floor.
"Ask your husband," Nelkir replied darkly. She had missed the scene by mere seconds.
"Is Frothar picking on you again?" She made it sound like Nelkir was a child when she was no more than a year older than he.
He didn't confirm or deny, but she pressed her lips together as if she knew the answer already.
He had stopped paying attention to Livia and was eyeing the door that led to his sister's room. Dagny had been in there since the canceled wedding, drinking herself into a stupor and becoming more obnoxious and demanding than usual. Nelkir had never liked her, she was the bossiest person he had ever known and he couldn't help but to think that Joric Ravencrone's absence was a sort of divine comeuppance for her.
He didn't get along with anyone at Dragonreach—no one that held court, none of his family, and the servants were out of the question—Livia might be the only one who showed him any care, but he disliked her patronizing demeanor. Now she was fussing about the dark colors of his wardrobe.
"No wonder you always seem gloomy. I could have the tailor make you something less..." She backed away and appraised him, "Depressing."
"Mind your own business, Livia," Nelkir snapped, his patience was wearing thin. She looked affronted and he left before she could protest. Couldn't he just get some peace and quiet like he used to? He took a door that led to the servant's quarters and descended yet another staircase.
There was someone, though, he supposed, that he did get along with. Here, at the locked door.
He crouched beside it, tenderly smoothing his palm over the doorknob.
"Please tell me what to do. I can't live like this much longer."
Instead of the usual voice he heard at the door, he instead heard Proventus Avenicci calling his name from the floors above. Nelkir cursed and lifted himself to a stand, heading back upstairs to see what the man wanted.
The Steward seemed only a bit more suspicious than usual of Nelkir as he approached, "There is a young woman requesting an audience with you in the hall, my thane, what should I tell her?"
No wonder Avenicci was so keen, no one ever requested an audience with the Bastard of Whiterun. Of course, Nelkir was never openly called that and no one in court dared talk of the fact in front of him either. They all must have known by now because as he grew into manhood, there was a distinct lack of similarity between his features and his siblings'. They were fair-haired, with rounded chins and the deep-set eyes of Balgruuf. Nelkir had dark Auburn hair, stormy blue-grey eyes, and the only traces of his father were contained in his stern expression – the narrowing of the eyes, slight flare of nostrils, and a displeased, thin upper-lip cushioned by a fuller bottom half.
He knew anyone out in the great hall would be curious to hear what he had to say to the peasant girl. But he knew already what she would speak of, and didn't want anyone else to hear it.
"Send her to me, I'll give her a private audience," Nelkir replied.
Avenicci nodded and left the room to return to the hall. Nelkir leaned against the large table that contained a map of Skyrim; in years past, this is where his father and uncle would loiter, strategizing of how keep both factions of the war out of the hold. They had failed. The Legion now occupied the city. Whiterun's heir had wed an Imperial, all but tying Whiterun to the Empire for generations. The only blue flag left was on Windhelm. Smaller flags of the same color dotted in other parts of Eastmarch and in the Rift, signaling small Stormcloak encampments, but their existence posed little threat to the Empire any more.
"Mila Valentia, my thane," Proventus re-appeared, leading the same young lady Nelkir had seen the night before. Nelkir remembered her blithe mannerisms and foggy comprehension, as well as her desperate grasp on his arm as she nearly collapsed in the Bannered Mare's common room.
Nelkir gave the Steward the same stern glare of his father, signaling him to be gone. The young woman, Mila, looked unsure of herself—as she should be—if she could even remember anything from the night before with all the moon sugar swimming in her veins.
She made a quick, clumsy, curtsy that gave him mild amusement.
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.
"To thank you," she glanced up, and studied him for a brief moment before adding, "my thane."
"I didn't do much," he shrugged and let his eyes wander around the room. He was bored with this audience already.
"I disagree," she replied rather sharply, causing his gaze to snap to her. She met his eyes, firmly that time.
"He was going to..." she glanced at her hands, they were clasping together in an unsettled manner in front of her but she stilled them. She looked back to him, "Mikael didn't have good intentions in mind for me and you stopped him. I think that was more than other man would have done in your position."
"You don't know me, and don't assume you do," Nelkir snapped, lifting his weight off the table and began to circle her. "The bard is a known scoundrel, and it was foolish to let him near anything you had been consuming. How did he do it?"
"He offered to refill my drink," she said quietly looking at the floor once more.
Nelkir made a scoffing noise but didn't put into words how stupid he thought she was for allowing it.
But she knew what he was thinking; he nearly loved the way her face contorted to shame. Mila had always been a pretty girl, and her features were far more dynamic when they weren't so tame. There was no pleasure for Nelkir in helping her, he just rather enjoyed causing misery and shutting Mikael down was the highlight of his actions.
"Be kinder to her," a smooth, but malevolent voice suddenly threaded through his mind. There she was. He had to wonder why the Whispering Lady ordered him to do such a thing. This young woman was naive, and far below him – he didn't owe her any kindness.
However, if his Whispering Lady insisted, he would obey. He forced his brow to lift from its stern and nearly permanent place above his eyes.
"My ap-apologies," the words seemed forced through his lips as he tried to transform his voice a gentler tone, "I will talk to my father about the bard's vile behavior."
She gave him an appreciative smile and then a nod of thanks. He daresay the smile made her features just as dynamic as if she were frowning, if not more.
"You are dismissed" he couldn't help his voice turning cold and indifferent once more. He didn't have anything left to say.
Her smile dissipated and she turned to leave.
"Nelkir, you disappoint me," the Whispering Lady's hiss was like ice down his spine. He hated to displease her, but couldn't know why she wanted this of him. He had been as kind as he could be to this girl who didn't deserve it. What more could his Lady want?
"I don't presume to know you, my thane," Mila said without turning back a look. She had momentarily halted in front of the open doorway that led back to the hall of Dragonsreach, "However, despite your reputation, you still have my everlasting gratitude."
He reached out and caught her arm, not missing the passive aggressive tone she used to mention his 'reputation', but immediately relinquished his grasp as she stared at him in wonder, and managed to say, "You're welcome."
"Be kind. Be charming," the Whispering Lady was not making it easy on him. How could he be charming? He gave her a blank stare before asking, "May I walk you back?"
Mila's look of wonder pursed into a puzzled frown, "Thank you, but I can handle myself, Thane—I don't need any more favors."
He almost laughed at her words, remembering how pathetic and foolish she was at the Inn. He doubted she could handle herself if she couldn't take precaution around her own drinks. The doubt in his mind didn't reach his eyes though, instead, he suppressed it and smiled "It's no favor—I insist."
She gave an apprehensive nod and he followed her into the hall. His father side-eyed him from the throne, as well as Irileth and Avenicci. Frothar was now lounging in a chair and drinking wine with their uncle but only gave a half-hearted glance of disinterest. Nelkir gave them no explanation as they passed.
"Nelkir!" Jarl Balgruuf called out after they had started to descend the first series of stairs in the hall.
Nelkir's shoulders tensed and he took a moment before turning around and gave a shallow bow, "Yes, my Jarl?"
"Introduce me to your friend."
His father was goading him, Nelkir could tell by the tone Balgruuf used. Nelkir knew next to nothing about the girl and he would barely call her an acquaintance, much less 'friend.'
The Jarl held his hand out in a half-hearted wave, signaling Mila to come forward. She did so and looked curiously down the middle stretch of the grand room, over the flames of the hearth at the center, and to Jarl Balgruuf the Greater seated on his throne.
Another flick of the wrist motioned her forward to get a better look; she obeyed and moved closer until she reached the bottom of the small staircase that lead to the throne level and curtsied. Nelkir ambled around the opposite end of the hearth and stood next to her.
"My Jarl, this is Mila Valentia—a citizen of our city whom I've only become recently acquainted with. She had come to express gratitude toward me for helping her with a matter."
Mila kept quiet but nodded that it was true. She seemed a bit awed in the presence of the Jarl.
She would be, stupid peasant, Nelkir thought.
He could see his father's curiosity become piqued, for it was known his youngest son was not the kindly sort, much less went around helping others with their 'problems.'
"Pray tell, what matter was so severe that it caused my son to take action?" The Jarl actually leaned forward in interest from his haughty slouch.
Nelkir pretended not to notice the tone in which his father indicated that his youngest son was the most selfish being in Whiterun.
"The Bard, Mikael, he..." Mila began to explain and Nelkir noticed her cheeks blush, "He polluted my drink with moon sugar and had intentions to take advantage of me. The Thane thwarted his attempt."
Balgruuf's amused expression was replaced with concern at her explanation, "That is a severe matter indeed. You feel better now? No lingering effects?"
She shook her head, embarrassment still evident in her face that she had told such a thing to the Jarl.
Balrguuf motioned to his housecarl, Irileth, and they exchanged some low words Nelkir couldn't hear. Irileth nodded and took leave. Nelkir figured Mikael was in for an unpleasant surprise within the next quarter hour.
"Many pardons my Jarl, but I must get back to work," Mila made a small, urgent curtsy that was less clumsy at least.
"I was escorting her," Nelkir added, to remind her and to explain to his father why he was taking his leave as well.
"Yes, that is well," Nelkir could detect a hint of approval in his father's words, and it made him bristle with an unexpected feeling he never had before in his life.
Mila nearly dashed out of Dragonsreach, silly with embarrassment or giddy because she had exchanged words with someone so important. Nelkir had to make a few more strides to catch up to her.
"So it looks like the singing skeever-scat will be taken care of now," he said, keeping pace just behind her. She swung around, her face was fully flushed in pink.
"I made a fool of myself."
He couldn't disagree, he showed no sympathy but looked beyond where they stood toward Jorvaskar. From their vantage, he could see the archery targets but no one was practicing—because the Jarl had sent most of the Companions off to discover why Dagny's groom never showed up.
Mila continued forward without another word.
"I doubt you will make the mistake of taking drink from a scoundrel now." It was the only thing he could think of to say to console her. Not that it was a habit but because the Whispering Lady had told him to be charming. Didn't charming men try to comfort those around them?
He thought for a moment it had worked, she had halted once more, this time to look at him. Her eyes searched over his face and then she asked, "Doesn't Dragonsreach have much finer drinks than the Bannered Mare?"
"Of course," he answered. It wasn't really a question. The Jarl's coffers could afford expensive old wines of every variety across Tamriel, cases of the finest Black-Briar mead, and even that strange exotic-named alcohol from the elves.
"Then why were you at the Inn last night?"
He was taken aback by her question. It was none of her business. His brow plummeted to a frown with indignation. However, he remembered his lady's words and held his tongue.
"I was there to meet someone."
"Who?"
He was the one to continue walking in silence. They passed the Gildergreen tree and over the small bridge covering one of the city's many shallow irrigation canals.
"My Thane?"
He remained silent, figuring she would get the hint.
"Who were you to—?"
"It's none of your concern," he snapped. He couldn't help but to sound annoyed, "They didn't appear. Instead, I was burdened with carrying you home and waking up your hysterical mother in the dead of night."
She frowned but before she could retort, he cut in with a cunning smile, "If you wanted a taste of rebellion, there are much better ways to go about it. All you'd have to do is ask."
Her frown lifted to a look of astonishment, probably one that mirrored his own. What was he even saying? The thought of teaching her how to walk without being detected, or stealing Fangar Secret-Fire's droughts had sort of just formed in his head and came out as an offer. She was so innocent and unrefined, it was a laugh to look at her and assume she was trying her hand at teenage rebellion by staying out past her bedtime and getting intoxicated. He could only suppose that by making such an offer, he was trying to be kind. Kindness did not come easy to him, and that's why he was so astonished that he had done it.
They had made it to the plains district and stopped in front of a small stall covered with an awning that was presumably, where she worked. There were no vegetables at the moment but one of the Whiterun farmers was standing next to the stall with a few crates piled to his waist and he looked hassled.
"By Akatosh's grace, Mila, I can't be kept waiting all day," the man grumbled and held out his hand.
"I'm so sorry Mister Pelagia, I didn't think I would be so long," she fumbled with a pouch tied at her waist and placed it in his hand. He gave it a shake and all present heard the clear jangling of gold coin inside. He didn't need to count it, apparently satisfied at the contents. "I'm going to have to tell Carlotta."
Pelagia wasn't an intimidating man, he was older than Nelkir's own father and a whole head shorter.
Nelkir watched as Mila started forward pleadingly, she looked downright pathetic. He felt a prick of annoyance that she didn't stand up to the farmer.
"Your mother specifically asked me to let her know if you were being irresponsible, and tardiness is a part of that. How can she expect you to run this stand if you aren't here when the goods arrive?"
Nelkir didn't like Pelagia's tone either.
He cleared his throat, used to being ignored by other people.
The farmer finally took notice of the much taller youth at Mila's side. His eyes widened in recognition although it was a rare sight to behold. The Jarl's youngest son hardly ever ventured outside of Dragonsreach.
"She and I had something to discuss. So are you blaming her tardiness on me?"
"No, but—"
"Then you have nothing to report to her mother. You've been paid for your goods, so move on."
Pelagia looked outright offended that Nelkir was talking to him in such a manner but Nelkir was a Thane; a farmer could do nothing but accept his word. The man gave a curt nod and left them, walking down the hill toward the front gate.
Mila had started picking vegetables out of the crates and bent down to arrange them to be viewed in the small holders displayed in front of the stall. She hadn't said a word of thanks and acted as if though Nelkir weren't there at all. She got through a whole row of carrots before Nelkir became impatient with her lack of acknowledgment.
"You're welcome," he leaned over and said in a flat tone.
She turned her head over her shoulder to stare up at him and her eyes flashed in anger, a look on her which he rather enjoyed, "I didn't ask for your help."
"Forgive me, it slipped my mind that you have no need to thank me henceforth, ever since this morning when you told me that I already have your everlasting gratitude," he snidely bit out.
She stood fully and took a step closer to him, in what he thought to be a comic act of intimidation when the top of her head only reached midway up his chest. It was vastly amusing that she was not the tiniest bit fearful of him. Considering his status, his reputation, and his physical advantage over her.
"Why does your mother keep you under such watchful eyes?" He wondered, looking down at her face full of beautiful contempt. He didn't understand it, couldn't—his own father couldn't care less what Nelkir did. He never even knew his mother.
She blinked, processing the question, "She just worries about me is all. I am her only child."
"It sounds like she's more concerned for her business than your well-being in this case," Nelkir couldn't help to observe, as he casually picked up a carrot and bit into it; her lovely frown only deepened.
"You are awful and don't know what you speak of! You've escorted me, and I am here now so thank you and farewell," she said shortly, and not in a tone of thankfulness at all. She was being rather ungrateful for having proclaimed everlasting gratitude. Some of Whiterun's citizens were starting to mill around and pick out vegetables for the day.
Nelkir tossed Mila a coin for the carrot, and turned to leave, amused even now, of how bold she was to insult him in public. He could have her punished if he wanted but he doubted his Whispering Lady would like that for how adamant she was of him being charming to this peasant girl.
Suddenly a ruckus was heard; they turned to see two guards exit the Bannered Mare, with the bard in custody.
"I say unhand me!" Mikael shouted, trying to drag his feet. Just as Nelkir suspected, Irileth had sent her dogs for the man. He wasn't going quietly. The citizens in the market all stopped what they were doing to witness the bard's arrest.
Mikael stopped twisting for a moment as he spotted Mila across the marketplace and the predatory smile Nelkir had witnessed the night before reappeared on his face, "You think I'd try to bed you, Mila Valentia!? Ha! You're just a child with imaginative lies! The Jarl will see it was nothing but a tale concocted by a girl with a silly infatuation too cowardly to admit to!"
Mila looked stricken, all the color washed out of her face as all in the vicinity, in turn, looked to her.
She couldn't run away and leave the stand unattended and seemed too shocked by Mikael's disgusting words to come up with a response on the spot.
"You're the coward, bard!" Nelkir found himself angrily shouting and pointing half of the uneaten carrot in his direction, "Too incompetent to win sober women with your charms so you resort to dosing their cups with moon sugar to make them succumb to your desires!"
The present townsfolk started humming and chattering, casting looking between the Thane, the bard, and the vegetable merchant as if deciding whom to believe.
An older woman handed Mila a gold coin, picked up a tomato from the display, and hurled it at Mikael. It hit him in the face and burst open, leaving a trail of slimy seeds on his cheek. A few people cheered. Someone immediately did the same but with two heads of cabbage which caused even more of the crowd to cheer. Soon enough, everyone was clamoring around the vegetable stall wanting to buy something to throw at the bard.
Mikael realized that dragging his feet was only prolonging being beaten with vegetables, so he eased up and let the guards escort him up the stairs on route to the Dragonsreach dungeons.
Nelkir smirked at Mila and took another bite of carrot. She was busy collecting gold coin from customers who were soon enough chasing after Mikael to get their throws in. She had a prosperous day to look forward to. It seemed that despite her previous agitation, she recognized what he had done for her, and gave him a cordial nod in return.
He hoped that through all his actions, that he had been sufficiently charming enough for the Whispering Lady.