"Oh, Faranirr," A husky voice murmured. Faranirr stood on top of a pile of dragon corpses, a blood drenched blade in one hand, his other wrapped around the waist of a scantily dressed and attractive female wood elf. "You saved my village from Alduin's Army. How can I ever...repay you?" She asked, planting a kiss on his jaw.
"Well, I would first like to see your library," Faranirr said. A loud slam on a hard wooden surface snapped the Khajiit out of his dream. The Dragonborn's armor was scorched, dented, and covered in a black fluid, giving it an even more nightmarish appearance. She'd dropped a broken dagger in front of his face, the blade still crackled with electricity. The Dragonborn fell back into a chair with a hiss, followed by a sigh of relief.
"What happened?!" Faranirr asked as he scrambled to his feet.
"Nothing much. I finally met Mjoll."
"What do you mean, finally?" Faranirr asked.
"The Thieves Guild has had their eyes on her and Aerin for some time. Her heart's in the right place, but she isn't a threat to us. In fact, I was avoiding her because of my leadership."
"She did all of that to you?!" Faranirr asked.
"No," The Dragonborn grunted. "She talked to me at the bar and the subject of her old blade Grimsever came up. Mzinchaleft wasn't really out of my way, so I let you sleep while I went to get it myself."
"You never should have gone without me! You got hurt! You could have died!"
"And what would you have done about it?" The Dragonborn asked, a hard edge to her voice.
"I could have watched your back. That is my job, no?"
The Dragonborn pondered it before continuing, "Anyway, I found her blade and will return it to her tomorrow." She took out the sword to turn it over in her hands. It looked like a run of the mill glass sword, but it needed polishing and sharpening from years of disuse.
"This is...peculiar behavior for you," Faranirr noted. "You do not typically go out of your way to help strangers. At least, not without the promise of some reward."
"Mjoll isn't a stranger, and this hardly for the sake of being nice. Now, I have to go bang out the dents in my armor. One of those damned spiders snuck up on me." With that, the Dragonborn went to her room and slammed the door behind her. Faranirr sprang to his feet to go talk to Mjoll. The warrior was on the docks, joined by Aerin-as always. The man stepped in front of her protectively, and Faranirr had to stifle a scoff. Out of the three people there, Aerin was the least qualified to protect anyone or stop Faranirr from getting what he wanted. He wondered if this was what the Dragonborn felt all the time.
Mjoll put a hand on his arm and suggested he go to the market stalls while Faranirr and her had a discussion. When the nasally voiced man had left, Faranirr's agitation had reached a tipping point. "The Dragonborn is not your errand girl to send dungeon diving like some demented miner!"
"What are you talking about, cat?"
"You sent her into a Dwarven Ruin to retrieve the blade you dropped!"
Mjoll looked shocked, and her tone of voice communicated as much when she said, "She… found Grimsever?"
"You are missing the point! I-"
Mjoll's surprise was quickly replaced by rage. "I ordered her to do nothing! She did it of her own will."
"You are far too dangerous for her to court if you request such extravagant gifts! Our deal is off."
"The Dragonborn is a grown woman! She can do whatever she wishes for whomever she pleases!"
"Absolutely, just not you! You straw haired serpent!"
"You scab infested son of a Skeever!"
"You scarred back end of a diseased Mammoth!"
"You know what? Forget the gold, I'll seduce her for free! And get farther than your pathetic milk drinking hide could ever hope to get with her!" Mjoll taunted, a fierce smile on her face.
Faranirr made several noises of discontent shock before turning on his heel to go back to the Dragonborn's house. "Of all the mindless barbarians whose help I could have enlisted, I choose the one who decides to be an even greater meathead! I will show her, though. I will not allow this to stand!"
"Faranirr, are you talking to yourself again?" The Dragonborn called from her bedroom.
"I absolutely am! The nerve of some people!" Faranirr shouted back.
"If this is about your theory that Brynjolf is some sort of master thief, you're still not right," She said.
"What would you do if someone was annoying you?" Faranirr asked.
"Kill them," the Dragonborn replied without hesitation.
"You can't kill them!"
"You can kill anyone if you're determined enough. Except for that skeever brained boot licker Nazir," He barely detected her muttering some half-hearted question about his apparent invincibility.
"Well, let's say you can't kill this person. What do you do then?"
"Humiliate them. Beat them at their own game. Put buckets over their head, steal their clothes and gold, take all of the food in their house, slip poison into their pockets."
"You can't kill them!"
"Poison doesn't kill. Immediately. In small doses," The Dragonborn replied. Faranirr turned the thought over in his head. He could try to beat Mjoll at her own game. He shook his head with new determination. He wouldn't try, he would beat the hag in their little game. And Faranirr was never one to do things by half-measures. The Dragonborn emerged from her room, dressed in repaired and shined Daedric armor. She was polishing the clawed fingers of her gloves with a tattered rag when she asked, "So why do you ask?"
"Erm...no reason. I will be busy tonight and tomorrow," Faranirr said.
"Oh? Very well. Try not to get yourself killed without me," The Dragonborn said.
"I wouldn't dream of it. Before I go, though, I will cook you a few items for dinner and breakfast."
"You don't need to do that," The Dragonborn said.
"I must. The food here is disgusting. For dinner you'll have...Elsweyr Fondue and Roasted Venison, and...a Juniper Berry pie."
"You seem angry."
"I am not angry, Dragonborn, merely looking out for your well being," He added under his breath, "In any form that seems to take."
"Very well. I mean it, though, Faranirr. Don't do anything extreme. I don't want to end up in jail again."
"Of course I won't," Faranirr answered confidently.
Faranirr sat at the back of the Temple of Mara, his eyes narrowed at the Dragonborn, who spoke with a bald man in black leather armor. He wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. He was watching for gestures that would indicate if she was angry or bored, like crossing her arms, or shifting so that she faced the exit. So far, things had been calm and quiet. A good sign that she would be in a decent mood.
Faranirr wore a dress and a cloak with slits over his ears. He'd removed the pair of silver earrings he usually wore, and had changed his warpaint. His tail twitched under the fabric, uncomfortably restrained. He had decided that to best Mjoll, he'd have to win the Dragonborn's affections first. And that meant he couldn't be Faranirr-the roguishly handsome former trader. He would have to be Faranirr, the roguishly handsome woman. He thought back to how he'd ended up to this point.
"I want you to make me a woman!" Faranirr said to Keerava.
"Talk to the face sculptor."
"She does not do that. And even if she did, I do not want this to be permanent."
"We are not even the same species," Keerava replied.
"I will pay you."
"Done." Faranirr began to think everyone in Riften had a price tag.
The Dragonborn stood up, nodding once at the man before she began to leave. Faranirr ducked his head until her heard the shift of her armor as she passed. The temple doors opened and closed, and he knew he was free to do as he needed. He stood up, quick to move to follow her. When he got outside, he saw her speaking to Mjoll, who'd been leaning against one of the wooden supports of the nearby houses waiting patiently for the Dragonborn to come out of the temple. She was giving her a damnably cute crooked smile that Faranirr knew would be difficult to trump.
His heart soared when the Dragonborn gave her a few quick nods and walked away, leaving Mjoll looking somewhat confused. Faranirr quickly moved past her and followed the Dragonborn to the market stands. She'd stopped in front of Grelka's stand-though she didn't need anything, Faranirr knew she just enjoyed talking to the surly woman. She left some gold in exchange for a few lockpicks and went to go buy some fish from one of the women who worked at the fishery.
Faranirr suppressed a hoot of joy. The Dragonborn was hopeless when it came to food, and the way into her good graces was often through her apparently bottomless stomach. Faranirr sidled up to her while she was busy examining a Salmon and a River Betty.
"If I may make a suggestion," Faranirr began, his voice at a lower, raspier pitch than usual to match the typical female Khajiit.
"I would rather you not," The Dragonborn snipped. Faranirr forgot how rude she was to everyone who wasn't familiar. Well, how much more rude she was.
"Very well, I-This one merely thought you would enjoy the Silverside Perch more. It has a fantastic flavor and is very versatile as far as a cooking ingredient goes!"
The Dragonborn pondered this and quickly exchanged gold for a bag of Silverside Perches. She walked away, bag over her shoulder, without even so much as a 'thanks'. Faranirr wanted to growl-she really was not good with people. He followed her to another stand, where she looked at jewelry. He wanted to ponder how strange that was-the Dragonborn was not one for wearing jewelry, after all- but shrugged the thought off to continue his plan.
"My name is Fara-" Faranirr stopped himself from saying the rest of his name and decided that would have to do. The Dragonborn didn't respond. "Yeees, Fara Rana'Daro. Are you, perhaps, the Dragonborn?"
"No," The Dragonborn said. The tone of the single word was so flat and certain, Faranirr was almost convinced of the lie.
"Well, if you are at the Bee and Barb sometime, just mention my name and I will be honored to cook for you!" Faranirr chirped. The Dragonborn bought a small box and walked away, going back to her home. When the door slammed behind her, Faranirr snapped in his regular voice, "That heartless dragon!" He threw down his hood with a hiss. He had no idea how Mjoll had captured her attention so quickly. He saw that he would need the aid of a master of seduction in order to do this properly.
"And so, that is why I need your assistance," Faranirr finished. Maven Black-Briar regarded him with a stony silence and a face stuck in a permanent frown. She might not have seemed like much now, but Maven had multiple children, a result Faranirr knew couldn't be reached without some degree of charm and tact. If anyone could help him, Maven Black-Briar could.
"In the time you wasted blathering to me about your problems, I could have had you killed four times over."
"But will you help me?"
"You have some nerve asking me for help after what I just said. I don't know whether to lock you in a dungeon, feed you to wolves, or actually consider your request."
"So you will help me!"
"Absolutely not."
"Maybe we can be of some use to each other," Faranirr said, his merchant sense kicking in. At this, Maven scoffed.
"What could you possibly offer me? I have the whole of Riften under my thumb and then some."
"I am the Archmage at the College of Winterhold. I know you have someone to fence your goods there, but just think of how much you stand to make by selling legally. You could officially supply the college, and all of its inhabitants, with no need to go through some dead end bar or a fence who doesn't know how to keep a secret," Faranirr said.
"Winterhold? As if I would ever be interested in that backwater dead end. You're going to have to offer up more than that if you want my help," Maven said.
"Don't think of it as a 'backwater dead end'. Look at it as an investment. Conflict between the Stormcloaks and Imperials is growing more tense with each day. They will scramble to hold and occupy even the most meaningless of territories if it means they get an upperhand. And when one side or the other comes to occupy Winterhold, you can guarantee there will be thirsty soldiers. Not only that, but I have the ability to extend protection to anyone you send to me. Think for a moment about the destructive capability you gain by having a group of knowledgeable wizards at your fingertips," Faranirr's speech grew heated when he saw the growing greed in Maven's eyes as the prospect. He let the silence settle between them as Maven considered it.
"Give me a day to ponder things and talk to a few contacts," Maven said, rising from her seat like a Divine. Faranirr watched her leave to her room upstairs, and he took it as his cue to go home to see how the Dragonborn was doing.
"Twisted bastard son of a charred Skeever and a lame Slaughterfish!" The Dragonborn cursed. Faranirr found her in the kitchen, a great axe drawn as she buried it into what looked like the failed remains of burnt dough. Her armor was covered in flour, including the apron and the chef's hat that sat crookedly on one of her horns.
Faranirr crossed the room, making sure to stay out of swiping distance before asking, "Having trouble with something?"
The Dragonborn, instead of jumping or reacting with fear as most would when pleasantly surprised, instead slammed her fist against a cutting board, shattering it into tiny, depressing pieces. She growled as she swiped it on the floor and sat down. Leaning against one of the counters as she sighed,"I was...trying to make a cake."
"A...cake?"
"Yes. You may mock me at your own peril," She warned.
"Dragonborn, I would not mock you for trying something you don't know how to do," Faranirr said gently as he adjusted the hat on her helmet. "Breaking my favorite cutting board is another matter entirely, though," He leaned back and looked at her. "Tell you what, I will make you a cake. What flavor would you prefer?"
"No, I was not making a cake for me!" The Dragonborn said.
"Was it for Mjoll, then?" Faranirr asked, a note of disdain creeping into his voice.
"Wha-no. Why would I bake Mjoll a cake?" The Dragonborn asked.
"No reason! Why were you baking a cake, though?"
"For your birthday," The Dragonborn replied. Faranirr could see the 'cake' had a few fish in it. He wrinkled his nose out of sight of the Dragonborn at the thought of fish cake and offered a hand to help her to her feet. She stood up on her own, wordlessly crossing her arms. Faranirr asked, "Why don't I help you make the cake, hm?"
"You cook all the time. This is supposed to be the one day you don't have to," The Dragonborn growled.
"The intent is heartwarming, but I enjoy cooking. It is not a bother to me to assist you. And anyway, I would rather have a cake that is edible," Faranirr said.
The Dragonborn scoffed before she agreed. "Very well. What first?"
"Flour, eggs, sugar, and possibly milk," Faranirr listed off the ingredients by memory. The Dragonborn silently moved to go get the items. As they worked to make a fresh cake, Faranirr said, "This is...odd."
"What?"
"You. Being nice to me."
"Would you rather I call you names?" The Dragonborn asked.
"No. But I don't know what called for the change in attitude."
The Dragonborn mulled it over for a moment. "Being nice on special days...friends and family do that for one another, no?" She asked.
"That is typical behavior," Faranirr confirmed.
"I never knew such a thing. Not until I started to travel on my own. And even then, I never felt the desire to be nice to anyone just because a day held some pointless meaning."
"Why?"
"Everyone has the potential to die at any moment. I learned it is easy not to grow attached and to expect as much. When it happened, it wasn't a surprise. But you have proven...resilient. And useful, despite how annoying you and your experimental verse can be."
"So you are being nice to me because I have been useful and difficult to kill?" Faranirr asked.
"Basically, yes," The Dragonborn confirmed.
Faranirr's face twitched as his eyes watered. His ears flattened over his head, his nose sniffling. "That is the nicest thing you've ever said to me!" Faranirr moved to hug her, but the Dragonborn's hand went to the hilt of the Great Axe.
"Do not push your luck, Ranaesi, 'difficult' does not mean 'impossible'," She threatened, back to normal behavior, though it was hard to take the Daedric armored warrior seriously when her chef's hat was crooked on her horn again. Faranirr ended up making two cakes from different kinds of berries-the Dragonborn somehow wolfing down most of it without ever removing her helmet.
When she'd had her fill, she slid a small box towards Faranirr. He recognized it as the box she'd picked up from Madesi's, but didn't say as much. "What is this?"
"A new horse," The Dragonborn replied. "Open it."
Faranirr opened the box to reveal a pair of polished hoop ebony earrings with small carvings in them that glowed faintly orange. When he touched them, they felt smooth and warm against him. The Dragonborn explained, "Your old earrings are looking a bit...charred from our dragon encounters. These are fire resistant, made of sturdier material." He noticed that they matched his fur and his eyes.
Faranirr gently dragged a claw over the runes as he took in the gift. He smiled at the Dragonborn and said, "Thank you, Dragonborn."
"You're welcome. I'm leaving," She said suddenly.
"Where are we going?" Faranirr asked.
"Not 'we'. Just me. I'm heading to give Mjoll back her sword."
"Very well, have fun!" Faranirr encouraged. When the Dragonborn left, he sprinted to his room to put on his dress.
Faranirr watched Mjoll in the marketplace. She was leaned against one of the stalls, and looked as calm and cool as any self-assured warrior would. It enraged Faranirr to no end. He stayed at the market stall that used to belong to a Dark Elf that he was told was arrested for stealing a necklace. Or something like that. In front of him were all kinds of goods he'd bought from Keerava and some he'd even made himself to potentially attract the Dragonborn's attention. Eventually the Daedric armor wearing warrior walked to the marketplace with a cloth wrapped package that could only be Mjoll's sword.
Mjoll saw the Dragonborn and smiled at her, saying something like, "What can I do for you?" Faranirr silently mocked her, and quickly stopped when the melons he'd shoved down the front of his dress and bound to himself via chest bindings began to shift to an unnatural angle.
The Dragonborn, as ever, was straight to the point. "I found Grimsever," She said, holding out the wrapped blade.
Mjoll looked just as shocked as when Faranirr had told her the news, and gingerly unwrapped it to reveal the glistening, sharpened blade. She gave a quiet gasp and told her, "Thank you."
Then, the unthinkable happened. Mjoll gave the Dragonborn a hug. Faranirr could've squealed with delight. She'd impaled people with their own weapons for less, and Faranirr knew how opposed to touching she was. But his heart dropped into his stomach when, after a moment, she wrapped an arm around her and returned the hug. It was enough to make Faranirr see red. With a roar not unlike that of a Senche-rhat, he lept over the counter of the stall and charged Mjoll, tackling her out of the arm of the Dragonborn and onto the ground.
He stopped himself from digging his claws into his face when he said to himself, "Wait, I cannot hit a woman!" He saw the constellations and an increase in Light Armor when Mjoll punched him in the face hard enough to throw him off of her. He rubbed his cheek and growled, "But then again, you are no woman!" To be fair, neither was he.
Mjoll gave a battle cry and drew Grimsever while Faranirr brought his fists up, claws glinting in the rare sunlight that bathed Riften. He ran at her, or tried to. His efforts were impeded by a sudden, familiar shout that bathed the world in blue. Faranirr was suddenly moving at a snail's pace, though it wasn't what he wanted to move at. He saw the Dragonborn move Mjoll out of the way, and physically pick up three guards to surround Faranirr. He could've screamed with frustration. He hadn't done anything wrong! He just wanted to rip off that smug Nord woman's face. Or at the very least, give her scar a symmetrical twin.
Time resumed and he ended up punching one of the guards the Dragonborn had put directly in front of him. He wanted to cry as several swords shot up to his throat and a manly woman's voice said, "By order of the Jarl, stop right there!"
Faranirr couldn't bribe them. He'd left all of his gold near his armor, so he only had two options. Fight his way out or endure the torture of prison for a month for attacking a guard. He gave a heavy sigh and said, "Take me to prison."
"Smart ma-er...woman?" The guard said as she escorted Faranirr to the jail. Faranirr found himself in the dank, moldy jail cell with his cheek against the palm of his hand as he sat on his cot. Every second he wasted in the cell was one that Mjoll could've used to be getting closer to the Dragonborn, to replacing him as her companion, to holding her hand and reciting experimental verse, and-"Wait, what was that middle one?" He asked himself.
Before he could question the list any further, one of the guards opened his cell, and in front of it stood Maven Blackbriar. She sniffed at him and said, "I've decided to take pity on you and help you achieve your goals."
"Truly?!" Faranirr said as he jumped to his feet.
"I have three rules. Don't touch me, don't look me directly in the eye, and do exactly as I say."
"Of course," He said.
"We've much work to do and very little time to do it considering your actions in the town square. And keep the dress. We may need it later," She said, walking ahead of Faranirr out of the prison.
"What? I have to keep wearing this thing?" Faranirr asked.
"Apart from the muscles you make a rather convincing woman for how much you whine."
"I do not understand how you and the Dragonborn are not friends. You are both rude beyond belief."
"I have no time for niceties with fools and pawns. You and the Dragonborn fall into both of those categories."
"What is the first step so that I may be done with this association as soon as possible?" Farnirr asked.
"Stop talking. Your chances with the Dragonborn will increase exponentially if you speak less."
"I am a merchant! My silver tongue is how I make money! It is how I live!"
"I will give you that relationships are a business agreement but you don't strike me as a very effective businessman."
"How dare you, madam! I could sell water to a blind man and call it paint!" Faranirr exclaimed. This was shortly before he nearly tripped over the bottom of his dress for the sixth time that day.
"Then I suppose you don't need me to help you."
"That is not true! I need your help, Maven," He said.
"Then you will cease to break rule number three." Faranirr shut up and followed her back to the Bee and Barb. She sat down at a table with Faranirr and ordered them both plates of food and bottles of Black Briar Mead. Faranirr wasn't one for drinking, and he certainly didn't drink the watered down swill that was Black Briar Mead, but since his position as the Dragonborn's companion was on the line, he decided to hold his tongue about it.
Maven said, "So you wish to seduce the Dragonborn. What does he like?"
"She," Faranirr corrected.
"Pardon me?"
"The Dragonborn is a woman."
"Really? I had no idea. Well, that lessens my confusion significantly. What does she like?"
"Well, she likes Elswyer Fondue, and Juniper Berry pies, and-" Faranirr paused when Maven slapped him in the face with a loaf of bread.
"Wrong. From this moment forward, you are what she likes. She just doesn't realize it yet, like a fine wine she has yet to sample."
"But the Dragonborn doesn't like people-" He was slapped by the loaf of bread again.
"I will say this once more. You are what she likes. And if anything else comes out of your mouth apart from that I will have Keravva hold you down while Maul slaps you with a severed skeever head."
"I am what she likes."
"Good boy. Now, keep telling yourself that. Women like a confident man and you reek of weakness."
"How can that be? I bathed this morning-" He was slapped with the loaf of bread again. "I am what she likes."
"Now, you've travelled with her for some time and have likely destroyed any chance of making a good first impression. Not good, but I've salvaged worse situations. I've arranged things with Delvin to have the Dragonborn go into a dwarven ruin to retrieve an artifact for the thieves guild. She will be there with Mjoll, you will get there first. Prove yourself as capable and confident as she is."
"I am what she likes?"
"You may speak normally," Maven sighed.
"How much resistance will I encounter in the ruin?" Faranirr asked.
"None. I've sent fifty mercenaries in there already to clear it for you. They're all dead now, so try to get this right the first time you do it," Maven said as she sipped her drink.
"You sent fifty men to their deaths?!"
"Mercenaries. There were women in that group as well."
"You aren't coming with me?" Faranirr asked.
"Of course not. I am far too important to risk bodily harm over something as silly as your little crush on the Dragonborn."
"It is not a crush! I am simply trying to avoid having her become involved with that-"
"Yes, yes, I know. Now, when you see her and you have the artifact in hand, you're to say as little as possible, and what you say should be nonchalant. Do not stutter, do not trip over your words, and if you cannot think of anything to say that is free of those two conditions, say nothing at all when you give her the artifact."