It was a cool morning when the Dragonborn and Faranirr crested over the rock and Forsworn-infested hills to see the high stone walls of Markarth. Faranirr was out of breath-even though his dragon scale armor was considered light, it was still head to toe armor in addition to everything the Dragonborn saw fit to horde. And that was everything that wasn't nailed down.
The Dragonborn stopped to look over her shoulder at the wheezing Faranirr and wait for him. "You're rather slow today," She commented, a note of disdain creeping into her voice.
"If you did not shoulder me with so much of this garbage," Faranirr grunted as he tossed down his pack.
"Watch your tongue, Ranaesi. What I choose to take and leave are my business. Besides, aren't you… I don't know, 'Sworn to carry my burdens'?"
"You are thinking of a housecarl."
"Perhaps. You're more of a house cat, no?" The Dragonborn asked.
"Mockery is hardly becoming of someone who is able to kill a man just by screaming at them," Faranirr grunted as he rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, what do you even need this dwarven bowl for?" Faranirr asked as he pulled a dented bowl from his pack.
The Dragonborn snatched it from him, polishing it with the pad of her armored glove as she replied, "It will fetch a good price when we sell it."
"Ah. And I assume you feel the same about the ninety-seven cheese wheels you've saddled me with as well," Faranirr said as he crossed his arms.
"What if we run into a dragon? We will need them for healing then," The Dragonborn argued.
"You could arm-wrestle three dragons without needing so much as a healing potion!" Faranirr said.
"I did not say they were for me. You're higher maintenance than you like to give yourself credit for being." The Dragonborn said.
"You know, Dragonborn, I am beginning to think you have a hoarding problem."
"So I like shiny things and cheese wheels. That is hardly a problem-" The Dragonborn began. Faranirr picked up his pack, wordlessly turning it upside down to dump the collection of hammers, swords, greatswords, shields, staves, daggers, armor pieces, and sensitive Daedric artifacts he'd been forced to carry through the last five holds. And he hadn't even bothered to open the pocket where she made him keep the food.
The Dragonborn looked down at the pile, up at him, and back down wordlessly. "Well, that doesn't prove-" Faranirr opened the pocket containing the food, never breaking eye contact as the piles of apples, cheese wheels, pies, slabs of cooked meat, and sweet rolls clattered out on top of the previous pile loudly. When it was empty, he dropped the pack and spread his arms out in what could have been interpreted as a 'fight me on this' gesture.
The Dragonborn picked up an apple, polishing it against her front plate nonchalantly. "I see no problem here, except that you are lacking the physical ability to carry my spoils and not whine about it."
"Does that helmet blind you to the fact that we are carrying more food than most Jarls keep in their holds?!" Faranirr asked, recalling briefly that they'd also looted a Jarl's table in a mad rush once.
The Dragonborn shrugged and said, "I see nothing wrong here."
"I know you have the soul of a dragon and love to create little hordes of 'treasure', but this is going too far! We either sell or drop some of this off or I will start giving it to beggars!"
The Dragonborn gasped with something akin to genuine horror. "You wouldn't dare," She growled as she pointed a finger at Faranirr.
"I will! I do not know what you have against giving to the poor, but I will!"
The Dragonborn sighed. "Fine, Faranirr, we will drop some things off at my house in Riften."
"We are almost at Markarth! Why not sell it there?" Faranirr asked.
"I would hate to have you part with all of this after you spent so long talking about it. Pick it up. We have to set out for Riften immediately if we're to get there in a week or so."
"You are truly an evil creature," Faranirr growled.
"What's that you say? You want to use the long roads? If you insist, Faranirr."
"I hate you," He grunted as he picked up the pack.
"Of course we'll be able to investigate a Dwarven ruin or three on the way there!" The Dragonborn said so sweetly it was sickening.
"I want to die," Faranirr groaned as he followed the Dragonborn's sprinting pace.
"The day's still young! Who knows what will happen?" She said. Citizens of Markarth later reported that they could hear the sound of violent sobbing in the hills long after the strangely armored pair had vanished.
By the time Faranirr and the Dragonborn had made it to Riften's gates, the Khajiit felt tears of joy in his eyes. He had never felt so exhausted or hungry in the entirety of his life. A life that was nearly ended several times as the Dragonborn had made good on her word. Four Dwarven ruins, an uncountable number of bandit encampments and Falmer infested caverns, but sweet, sweet release now hovered just in the horizon. "Oh, we're almost there," The Dragonborn sounded slightly disappointed.
Faranirr all but sprinted to the front gates, kissing the guardsmen's masks when they were within arms reach of the overwhelmed Khajiit. The Dragonborn paid them not to arrest him for assault and disturbing the peace. When they were within the walls of the hold, Faranirr's first destination was to the Pawned Prawn, but the Dragonborn stopped him with a sharp tug on his tail.
"I thought you said we were going to sell some of this junk!" Faranirr exclaimed in a voice of desperation.
"I said no such thing. Merely that we'd drop off some of my loot at my house."
Faranirr's anger was pushed aside by confusion. "When did you get a house in Riften?"
"I had it before we met. I'm a Thane of the Rift," The Dragonborn explained casually.
"What else do I not know about you?!" He asked.
"Besides being a Thane of Riften and leader of the Thieves Guild?"
"You're the leader of the-" The Dragonborn covered his mouth swiftly.
"Just because I own most of the guards in this hold, doesn't mean you should go around announcing my titles," She chastised Faranirr, her voice holding some amusement.
"How do I know none of this?!"
"Maybe if you stopped complaining for twenty minutes and actually pulled your head out of your rear, you could ask questions."
"But you never talk about yourself!"
"Especially not to complainers," The Dragonborn said as she went to her house. Faranirr was surprised to find it was fully furnished with piles of gold, dragon bones, and scales all sorted nicely where they didn't fit, the work of a housecarl, no doubt. The Dragonborn sat down on one of her chairs and stretched out with a book on Restoration magic while Faranirr set to sorting through all of the junk that had burdened him.
"Why are you reading that book?" He asked while he worked.
"I thought a little Restoration magic could be useful when you get hurt."
"You care about me that much?"
"No. I just don't need you to guzzle my healing potions any more than you already do," The Dragonborn replied. "It would also finally put this to use," She said as she shuffled under her armor to pull out an Amulet of Mara.
Faranirr tilted his head at the Dragonborn and asked, "Do you know what that means?"
"A boost to my Restoration magic. It was a rather lucky find off some dead bandit's body."
"I mean-" Faranirr stopped, remembering the weeks it'd taken to get to Riften and the pain he'd endured. "It works better when you have it out for all to see," He finally said.
"Why?" The Dragonborn asked.
"I don't know exactly how magic works, or amulets, but I've read that the amulet you wear functions better when visible."
"So you believe everything you read? In that case, The Lusty Argonian Maid must be true," The Dragonborn's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"You've read The Lusty Argonian Maid?" Faranirr asked.
There were several beats of silence between the two of them before the Dragonborn let the amulet fall, exposed, over her chest and put the book up to her face once more. "We will not speak of this again," She quietly said.
"My lips are sealed," Faranirr promised with a smirk.