Disclaimer: I do not own skyrim.
The story takes place in up to date skyrim, but there is no White-Gold Concordat, and no civil war.
Marcus gazed upon the pathetic Vilemyr Inn. To him, it looked like a Waterfront shack with a porch and a sign. Still, it was pointless to look elsewhere, for Skyrim was a vast and desolate as a plane of Oblivion, and far colder. Not to mention Marcus's bags were reaching a new level of heavy; he needed a hireling.
Upon entry, he received a barrage of befuddled looks from the local patrons. Sure, he was probably the first traveler they had seen in weeks. Sure, Imperial heavy armor with gold inlay and silk lining was unusual. But respect was respect.
The proprietor was a large Nord man who was slightly past his prime. he looked as if he must have been in excellent shape back in the day, but now a thin layer of sagging skin covered his muscly arms.
"You have an empty room, I presume?" The innkeeper looked as if Marcus had just woken him up.
"Yeah, sure. That one on the left is the last one open. Ten gold," He drawled as if he did not really expect Marcus to take the room.
"Hear you are. Do you know where I might find a hireling? These bags are worse than lead." If there was one thing that consistently amused Marcus, it was how the Nords had such low prices, and were still upset.
"You're gonna hire a mercenary to carry your stuff? (The innkeeper sounded as if this was both ridiculous and conceited.) Well, there's this Imperial feller been hanging out in the corner for a while. Don't know how much use he'll be."
Marcus looked over at the Hireling. His short and curly black beard and hair gave away his Gold Coast origins. He was probably one or two inches taller than Marcus and he was built like a bull, wide and thick with muscle.
"You looking for a job?" Marcus asked the man smugly.
The man gave Marcus's armor a once over, "If I'm going to be your pack mule I'm charging a thousand gold." The man had a rural accent, he probably had'nt seen Anvil, much less the Imperial City. But he was not stupid, he was charging twice the normal amount for the job, and he knew Marcus could pay it.
"Sure, sure, and your name is?" Marcus questioned smugly.
"Alexander Magna. You know, I think the Proprietor has some wine somewhere…" Alexander's tone insinuated that Marcus would be paying. Marcus let his bags drop to the floor then and there, "Get these to my room and I will see to that wine."
Alexander grumbled in a dissatisfied manner, but complied nonetheless. The two sat drinking in the hall and listening to the bard until it was late in the night. When they went to their room, Marcus realized there was only one bed.
"uhh…" before Marcus could actually say anything, Alexander interjected.
"I'll sleep in the chair, beats my bedroll out on the porch," He said quickly.
Marcus flopped on to his bed, rather tipsy.
"So are you going to tell me your title or what? Face it, with this kind of luggage you must be some sort of Imperial City aristocrat," Alexander questioned.
"I don't want to talk about it. Not in this inn, not while I'm tired, not while I'm drunk,"
"What're you the Emperor's third cousin or something?"
"Or something," Marcus rolled over to face Alexander. Alexander's hide armor was of exceptionally low quality, but it fit him… well. At some point, Alexander probably noticed Marcus looking, "You're drunk, go to sleep."
The next day Marcus and Alexander set out towards Riverwood, with hopes of making it to Whiterun the day after. Alexander started up the conversation,
"So who exactly are you and what brings you to this iceberg?"
"I just needed to get away from my family for a while, so I'm going to travel around, test my sword, that kind of thing," Marcus evaded the real question.
"Yet you can't be bothered to carry any of your own things," Alexander snarked.
Marcus stopped and turned around to look at Alexander. Sure, he was laden with a mountain of things, but he didn't show even a drop of weariness.
"Listen, I paid you, so if you would stop asking questions, that would be great." Marcus watched Alexander's eyes narrow as he talked.
Marcus was completely off-guard when Alexander pinned Marcus to the rocky ledge lining the road.
"You listen, I don't do illegal work, so if you're corrupt or a fugitive or something, you need to tell me," Alexander interrogated Marcus, while keeping him pressed against the ledge.
Marcus felt both threatened and aroused. Alexander could try to kill him, but Alexander's hands on Marcus's shoulders, and he was so close. Even so, now was the time to be honest.
"I am Marcus Mede, Crown Prince of The Empire."