The Jarl
Whiterun is unlike any city Malenia has visited in the Lands Between. In her homeland there is an unsaid but implicit understanding that the cities were built for Marika and her demigod children first, their worshippers second. Whiterun very clearly has no such preconceptions; it is a city built for humans, by humans. The meandering streets are filled with all manner of mortals, surrounded on all sides by clusters of homes and markets seemingly at random. It is a city that utterly and thoroughly lives in the moment, from its design to its people.
Yet paradoxically, it is a city that feels utterly ancient to can feel it in the air, in the streets she walks in, and when she looks at the city walls and buildings. The walls alone may have stood for centuries if not longer. There is a history in Whiterun, a lineage of people. Every family home, every merchant store, every smith at work, each has a legacy in the very stones of this city.
Perhaps this is why the people, more than anything else, stand out to her. Once, a simple walk through the streets of Leyndell would see her swarmed by clamoring worshippers and holy men pleading for her attention. An exhausting proposition that caused her far too much personal stress. But in Whiterun, the people react more with an indifferent curiosity.
Few bother to hide their stares or their whispers, but none actively bother her. She is an oddity, something different but not necessarily a figure of worship. Who knows exactly how many strange oddities this city has seen; the wars, the heroes, the monsters. To the people of Whiterun, Malenia is just another thread in the tapestry of the city. A larger than average visitor, no more no less. She is unsure of how to feel about this shift in status.
At the very least, if this is the norm across the whole of Skyrim it would certainly explain a lot about the people she has met so far. Tradition and legacy are anchors for every culture, for better and for worse.
These thoughts end after she passes through a market plaza and crests a set of stairs. A large gateway hangs over her, perhaps as an indicator that she has passed into a new city district. The road leads directly into an open courtyard where a large tree stands dominant. A white pergola has been built in a circle around the tree, casting cool shade on the stone path that circles it. Four paths branch out from the courtyard. One goes back the way Malenia came, one goes further into a collection of houses, another flows up a series of steps to a large structure filled with sounds of merriment and cheering. And the final one follows a long winding stairwell to the keep.
But the tree itself catches the whole of Malenia's attention. She stares up at it, her chest aching with sorrow. Its bark is bleached from the sun and its many branches are bare and withered. Few leaves remain, and those few break from the tree to lazily drift upon the cobblestone path.
These fallen leaves tell a story, and it is a foreboding tale.
"It's a shame, isn't it?"
A voice shakes Malenia from her reflections. She looks down and sees a woman in warm robes tending to the ground around the tree. Though dying, life teems about the tree's roots. Flowers and ferns of all kind are in full bloom, kept only on check by the careful tending of this lone woman.
"The Gildergreen has survived in Whiterun since the days of the founding. Go figure that a blasted thunderstorm is what finally does it in." the woman dusts off her hands. "It feels appropriate though, given the state of Skyrim these days."
"Is there nothing that can be done?" Malenia is surprised by how tight her voice is.
The woman stops and glances up at Malenia for the first time. Her eyes go wide and she whispers, "Kynareth preserve me."
Malenia frowns, and the woman hastily apologizes, "Sorry, your question. Despite appearances, the Gildergreen isn't really dead. Tree's like this don't die. They only slumber. If we had some sap from its parent tree, the Eldergleam, we could use that to wake up the child."
"Done." Malenia says.
The woman's voice chokes in her throat and she blinks, "Wait what? Just like that? You didn't even hear where you'd have to go."
Admittedly, Malenia herself is surprised by how quickly she agreed to help with the Gildergreen. Though she always understood the importance of the Erdtree in the Lands Between, she never saw herself as particularly faithful. Yet even if the Gildergreen did not serve the same purpose, to see a tree of such clear divine purpose be so irrevocably damaged hurt.
More than hurt, it aroused painful memories that were best left forgotten. Yet another failure to hang upon her shoulders. At least in Whiterun, such disasters could be prevented. Such disasters would be prevented.
Malenia focuses and asks, "What is your name, Priestess?"
"I-uh… Danica. Danica Pure-Spring."
"Danica. The Gildergreen is tied to this city. To let it die would be to let this city die. I will help you restore it once I have completed my business with the Jarl, and Eorlund Graymane."
Danica is openly staring at her now, "You… really mean that. Wow, okay. Once you're finished with your business, then you can find me in the temple of Kynareth."
She gestures at the temple that looms next to the Gildergreen. Malenia bows her head, "If not today, then tomorrow. Until then, continue your duties, Danica Pure-Spring. The Gildergreen must be tended to until it is healed."
And then she is gone, striding towards the Jarl's keep. Danica calls after her, "Wait! You didn't even tell me your name!"
For a moment, Malenia hesitates. The titles she has earned mean little in this land, and even if they did, she is unworthy of them. But there is at least one title that sticks out to her, one that tells of her home and her status. A title that may not necessarily be grand, but is at least accurate and lacks the demeaning aspect of her other titles.
"Malenia. Lady of the Haligtree."
Once upon a time, Jarl Balgruuf had rejected the duties he would inherit, more interested in a life of adventure than a life as a politician bound to one place. But, what young man could resist the enticement of adventure. To travel the lands, saving villages and vanquishing mighty foes in the process. The alternative had seemed lacking at the time.
Yet as he had grown and the reins of leadership had been passed to him, the Jarl had found that the life he had been dreading was not as bad as he feared. There is a simple satisfaction in a job well done, after all. But the last few years have tested this theory well.
First the war with the Thalmor, then the Civil War, then the winters that had devastated Whiteruns harvests several years in a row. Were it not for Whiteruns location and status as Skyrims central trading hub, Balgruuf knew that his people would not have survived such disasters. And on top of all of that, were the rumors of dragons.
The first report from his men at the watchtowers had been dismissed as a little too much mead and not enough guarding. The second had roused the Jarls' attention. The third had sent his court into a frenzy of restrained panic. All day they had been arguing over the next steps to take, and it was this aspect of his duties that he particularly despised.
His brother Hrongar argued that the guards should be assembled into a hunting party and dispatched to slay the dragon. An idea that Balgruuf had immediately dismissed but his brother insisted on arguing. Balgruuf himself wished to distribute the bulk of his forces to the villages within his hold. Riverwood in particular was at heavy risk if the rumors of what happened to Helgen were true. But such an idea had gained fierce protest from his steward, Proventus Avenicci.
A cautious man by nature, Proventus excelled when it came to matters of politicking and statecraft. However, when it came to the matter of war and physical conflict… Well there was a reason that Balgruuf kept his housecarl Irileth on hand, among other reasons. The result of this however, was a fierce argument that had carried them through most of the day.
"Dammit, Proventus! These are my men, I will send them wherever I damn well please if it is in the service of my people!" Balgruuf's voice roars through the cavernous halls of Dragonsreach. A bit of burning log crumbles in the bonfire set in the center of the hall, as if to punctuate his words. Balgruuf's patience has never been exceptional, and Proventus has frayed it further.
To the imperial's credit, he remains standing firm before his jarl as he speaks. "My lord. Please. You have to listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true… well, there's no telling what it means."
"What would you have me do, then? Nothing?" Balgruuf slumps in his throne and rubs the bridge of his nose. The worst part is that, at this moment, he knows that Proventus is right. All that Balgruuf and his stewards know of dragons is legends and hearsay. His court wizard Farengar may discover more through his studies, but until then…
The great doors of Dragonsreach swing open with a groan of protest. A groan Balgruuf nearly echoes, before catching himself. His anger is justified, but petty annoyance is not. Even if he knows that it's just another guard with more bad news.
His eyes flick back to Proventus. The man has retained his composure as best he can, given the circumstances. "My lord. Please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just…"
The hiss of steel on leather catches their attention. Irileth has drawn her blade and moved from her shadowed position at the foot of the stairs leading to Balgruuf's throne. Her voice is firm and commanding as she demands, "What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
And what a visitor she is. As always, Balgruuf is impressed by his housecarls' composed personality. He's not so sure he would retain it in the face of this woman that has entered his hall.
She is a towering woman, a giant really, but she moves with the practiced grace of a dancer. Every movement is calculated, no step wasted; even the simple act of circling the hearthfire has a gentle sway to it. An act made more impressive by the staggeringly large pack she carries upon her back.
Scarlet hair flows freely from her head, framing a face that is quite striking in spite of what appear to be faint pox scars running along her temples and forehead. It is perhaps this blemish that adds to her vision. Or perhaps it is all pulled together by her shimmering golden eyes. The high elves may share such similar features, but this woman's eyes look as if they are of molten gold. And none have held the fierce determination that this woman's did. Were the jarl a younger man, he may have been struck dumb by her appearance.
Those piercing eyes regard Irileth with the calculating gaze of a woman that has spent her entire life in battle. When she speaks, there is a hard undercurrent to the soft tone. Silk hiding steel made manifest.
"I come bearing news of the dragon attack on Helgen."
Irileth's eyes narrow before she sheathes her blade, "Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Go on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."
As quickly as she emerged, the dark elf returns to the shadows. Her burning red eyes never leave the visitor for a second. Said visitor pays the housecarl no mind, her attention firmly on the jarl. She brushes her cloak aside and kneels before Balgruuf with her head bowed. It is only then that he sees what a strange body this woman possesses.
She is missing her right arm entirely, and her left is covered in strange golden cross stitching along her forearm and top of her hand. Both her legs are, to his shock, prosthetics that move with a disturbing lifelike motion. Dwemer contraptions, obviously, but impressive nonetheless. She kneels before him with no difficulty and addresses him with that same silken voice.
"Jarl Balgruuf, I bring grave tidings from the village of Helgen."
The jarl grunts, "So I gathered. I take it you were there? That you saw this dragon with your own eyes?"
Her hand twitches at this. A subtle gesture, a less perceptive man may have missed it. But he did not remain the jarl of whiterun by being blind to the obvious.
"Yes. I personally dueled the dragon. Despite my efforts, Helgen was destroyed and the dragon escaped unharmed. I last saw it take flight towards Whiterun."
There is a moment of silence punctuated by the crackling of firewood. The confirmation of what they all feared is sobering. Balgruuf focuses on what is immediate instead of what may be. He leans forward in his throne and regards the woman.
"I assume by dueling the dragon, you partook in the defense of Helgen?"
"Dragons are inherently prideful creatures." the woman explains. "When I challenged it to one on one combat, it could not ignore the provocation. Unfortunately, its power and ability were greater than mine. General Tullius now leads the survivors to Falkreath. I came here to warn you."
"You fought a dragon in single combat and survived?" Balgruuf can barely believe it as he says it. "Remarkable."
The woman seems less than impressed. "I have slain dragons before. I was unprepared for this one."
For the first time in ages, Dragonsreach feels truly silent. Even the fire seems to have frozen in shock at the banality of this statement. There is no boasting in the womans voice, no sign of pride at this legendary feat. She says it so matter-of-factly that Balgruuf feels that his disbelief is almost insulting.
He very calmly folds his hands together and takes in a deep breath. After a long slow exhale, he asks, "I'm sorry… but, who are you, exactly? You never gave your name, and I would know the title of such a warrior."
"I am Malenia, Lady of the Haligtree. I hail from lands far beyond your own." says the woman, Malenia.
"That much is clear." Balgruuf says. He turns towards Proventus and adds, "What say you now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"
His steward has the decency to offer no protest.
Irileth steps out from the shadows again, "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains…"
"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus finds his focus again, unfortunately. Balgruuf trusts him implicitly in many matters, but in this particular instance…
"He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him-"
Balgruuf slams his fist on the arm of his throne. "Enough!"
His words ring through the halls of Dragonsreach and his advisors grow silent. The newcomer, Malenia, remains silent but her eyes remained focus on Balgruuf. He realizes that she is watching him, evaluating him. She's waiting to see exactly what he'll do. The answer is obvious, the only thing he can do. For his hold and his people.
"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." he orders.
The dark elf bows her head, "Yes, my Jarl." and departs immediately.
Proventus takes a step after her, "We should not…"
Balgruuf's next words are in a growl fierce enough to send a cave bear scuttling back into its hole. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people, Proventus."
His steward pauses, and a look of shame crosses his face. He bows to Jarl Balgruuf and says, "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."
A breath he wasn't aware he was holding escapes from Balgruuf, "That would be best."
Proventus departs at a hurried pace and vanishes within the keep. Once he is out of sight, Balgruuf returns his attention to Malenia. She is still kneeling.
"Enough of that. A simple bow is enough, none of this kneeling nonsense." Balgruuf says. He wisely remains silent on how uncomfortable a position must be for someone in prosthetics. A warrior does not appreciate being reminded of their deficiencies no matter how small or big.
Balgruuf rises from his throne, resists the urge to stretch his back and says, "Well done, Lady of the Haligtree. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun service, and I won't forget it. I'll have Proventus ensure you're properly compensated for this act. Consider it a token of my esteem."
"I cannot take credit for the act." Malenia says and reaches into her pack. She produces a slip of paper, childishly small in her hands, and offers it to the Jarl.
"Riverwoods blacksmith, Alvor, asked that I come and warn you." she explains.
"Alvor?" Balgruuf briefly scans the letter. It's a summary of what Malenia has told him and a recommendation that she is someone to be trusted. Balgruuf smiles, "Reliable, solid fellow. Not prone to flights of fancy. I see why he took a liking to you."
He folds the letter and sets it on his throne, "Rest assured, I will do all in my power to protect those within my hold. But this is a situation unlike any I or my kin have faced in generations. I am afraid that I have need of your services."
Her expression is frustratingly hard to read; the woman is practically more statue than she is flesh. "I believe we can come to an arrangement, Jarl Balgruuf."
"Excellent. Come then, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard." Balgruuf starts down the stairs towards his wizard's lab. On even footing, Malenia towers over him, practically twice his height.
More disconcertingly, in spite of her height and her prosthetic, her gait as she follows is silent. Regardless of if her claims of slaying dragons in the past are true, she is certainly a woman of exceptional skill. Taking advantage of that while he can is absolutely in the best interest of his hold.
"Farengar has been looking into anything and everything related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons." Balgruuf explains as they walk, "He's probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps."
Malenia remains silent. Clearly a woman not interested in small talk. Fair enough; she and Irileth will get along swimmingly. Or hate each other with a fury to make the divines quail. Probably both.
"Talos help me." Balgruuf mutters under his breath.
So far, the Lord of Whiterun is making a good impression on Malenia. He clearly cares for his subjects, is generous with rewarding success but does not tolerate foolishness. His temper may be short, but given the circumstances such a vice is excusable. If Jarl Balgruuf is the standard for Jarls across Skyrim, then perhaps her future here may be more stable than she fears.
His court wizard, Farengar on the other hand, is a subject of some debate. On the one hand, for a court wizard he dresses surprisingly modestly. Simple blue robes marked only by a golden trim, and hair cut short. On the other hand, the gleam in his eyes is one of an insatiable curiosity, a concerning amount of curiosity. Such a trait is common among those that study the various magics, this Malenia knows, but the greatest wizards restrain their curiosity with common sense. Looking at Farengar, she does not get that sense from him at all.
The positive to this, is that it leaves Farengar remarkably open minded to any and all information he receives. The moment Balgruuf explains the situation and Malenia's place in it, his only question is, "If you're an outsider, are the dragons of your lands the same as the dragons in Tamriel?"
Malenia pause and glances at the Jarl. Balgruuf makes a gesture for her to speak. She turns back to Farengar and says, "I cannot be certain. I know little of Tamriel. In my homeland, dragons were once one of the great rulers of the Lands Between. The great dragonlord Placidusax was the Elden Lord of his time, before my mothers first consort bested him in combat. 'Twas only the intervention of my eldest brother, Godwyn the Golden, that prevented the extinction of the dragons."
"Fascinating." Farengar rubs his chin and looks at Malenia with interest renewed.
Jarl Balgruuf slowly backs out of the, and says, "I will leave you two to your work. And remember Farengar, time is running. This isn't a theoretical question, I need actual solutions."
"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf. I'll come to you with answers as soon as I have them." Farengar assures the Jarl. Balgruuf gives Malenia one more nod and then retreats into Dragonsreach.
The wizard takes a seat at his desk and lays out parchment and an inked quill. "Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions about the dragon attack on Helgen, Lady Malenia. Answer them to the best of your ability.
Malenia nods her consent.
"Alright. Please describe the dragon."
"Massive." is the first word to come to mind. "A beast greater than this hall, aloft on wings of shadow and eyes that burned with Destined Death. It would bellow, and the world would bow to its whims."
"Well that sounds accurate." Farengar mutters. "Dragons are the inventors of the thu'um after all. It's their native language."
He pauses and looks up at her, "Right, you're not from around here. The thu'um or Voice is… well, it's the projection of a user's will unto reality. Dragons are, if the texts are to be believed, children of Akatosh. The Dragon God of Time and the chief deity of the Divines. When a dragon speaks, they can use this connection to bend reality to their will. It's essentially a primal kind of magic that takes years of study to master. The Graybeards on High Hrothgar are the only group of mortals I know that can use the Voice. Them and Ulfric Stormcloak, but that's a load of politics I'm not interested in discussing."
"The Dragon's from the Lands Between possess nothing like this power." Malenia says. If the dragons hold of reality had been so utter and complete, she is not certain if Marika's Empire would have overcome them.
Farengar nods and jots down some notes, "I had a feeling that was the case. Now, this dragon, did it suffer any injuries during your duel with it?"
Malenia frowns, "None. A blow struck from the legionnaire's or mine blade, it did not matter. The beast left Helgen of its own decision after besting me and reducing the villager to a smoldering corpse."
"Hm, not too surprising. Iron and steel aren't going to be particularly effective against dragon scales. Though that brings me to the most important question." Farengar stops writing and looks up until he stares Malenia in the eyes.
"Who are you. Really. And where are you from? I've seen all manner of races in my studies, Sloads, Argonians, all seventeen breeds of Khajit, and far more dremora than is safe for one man. You stand as tall as a giant but walk on prosthetics that put dwemer artifacts to shame. Your eyes burn with a golden intensity that puts every Altmer west of the Imperial City to shame, but your skin is as pale as snow. You're unlike any man or mer I've ever seen, and you have made no effort to hide that you're not from Tamriel. Are you from Atmora, or are you an Aedra in hiding?"
Though the brutal honesty of his call out catches Malenia off guard, she feels no desire to deny his accusations either. After all, she has indeed made no attempt to hide her origins; if anything, the totality of her story may be necessary to understand why she is here in the first place.
"Very well, Farengar." Malenia places her hand to her chest, "My name is Malenia. Former Blade of Miquella. I hail from the Lands Between, born an empyrean child of the God-Queen Marika the Eternal and Elden Lord Radagon of the Golden Order, both servants to the Greater Will."
Farengar falls back in his seat, eyes wide and hand on his forehead, "An empyrean… A demigod? You're a demigod. There is a living breathing half-god standing in front of me. The theoretical implications of this alone…"
Malenia clears her throat and he straightens up, "Right, right. Sorry. So you're a demigod, or I suppose a minor god of some import then. A goddess of war…perseverance? Perhaps a patron of the crippled and unfortunate?"
"No, that was my brother." Malenia says simply. "I held no station except as commander and champion for my elder twin, Miquella. Only he was ever worthy of the claim towards godhood. I was… cursed. With a disease. A rot."
She clasps her side where her arm once was. "An outer god deemed me a vessel for its power. Thus I was afflicted with its 'blessing'. The Scarlet Rot ravaged me in flesh and mind; had I succumbed to it, I would have ascended into a Goddess of Rot."
Farengar's expression is not one of horror like she expects; it is one of delighted curiosity. She's not sure if this is better.
"Incredible. Your world sounds so different but so similar to this one. Outer Gods are obviously parallels to the Daedra and this Greater Will is probably some kind of Akatosh or Shor equivalent. That would mean that your brothers and sisters were the equivalent of the Divines in your world, hah! The numbers even match, nine demigod children and nine Divines."
He pauses and amends himself, "Formerly nine Divines anyway. Hah! That actually means it lines up even more! Reality is amazing sometimes."
Malenia's stare brings Farengar back to reality and he clears his throat, "Sorry, sometimes I get excited. So, you're basically half divine at least. That explains how you survived dueling a dragon. My personal theory was dragonborn, but this is far more interesting. But the question remains then, was your defeat simply because you lacked the proper tools to land a killing blow?"
"It should not have been." Malenia sets her pack down and pulls out the bag containing the shards of her sword. When she sets it on Farengar's desk, the furniture audibly groans under the weight.
"My blade was forged by my fathers hand, of unalloyed gold, as are my prosthetics. The material is divine in nature, and is resistant to the influence of outer gods. They cannot tarnish it with their power.'' She explains all of this while Farngar opens the bag and pulls out a shard of her blade.
"That explains the name at least. I assume then that your prosthetics are made of the same material? As a safeguard against this 'Scarlet Rot'?"
When she nods he peers closer at the shard in his hand, "Hm. I have a few theories already. Do you mind if I hold onto a few pieces to study?"
Malenia reaches into the bag and pulls out a small handful, spreading it on his desk for him. "I was in search of one versed in the workings of the world for exactly that purpose. The blade should not have shattered against a dragon. This land interacts strangely with myself and my blades."
Farengar barely looks up as he talks, enraptured by the gleam of the shards, "Well that's a whole lesson in cosmology that we frankly don't have time for."
He looks up at her and says, "So why don't you give me a rundown on what tactics you use in your land for dealing with dragons? It'll give me something concrete to give Jarl Balgruuf while I study this 'unalloyed gold'. Then you can be on your way; I imagine you'll want to talk to Eorlund Gray-Mane about this as well."
"That was my next intended visit." Malenia admits.
Farengar sets the gold aside and looks at her seriously, "Well then, let's get started. Sooner we figure this out, the better."
Malenia stands at the foot of the Skyforge. Her talks with Farengar were large and in her opinion, fruitless. Though she shared all that she knew on fighting dragons with the sorcerer, the fact of the matter is that the dragons of Tamriel are too drastically different from the dragons of her homeland. The existence of the Voice alone is a power that, as far as she knows, none possess. And it does little to explain how none of her blows harmed the creature, a feat even Farengar was confused by.
All the tactics and skills in the world are meaningless if they possess no weapons capable of harming the dragons. Which is why she is here at the Skyforge. To beseech Eorlund Gray-Mane to forge for her a dragon slaying sword.
The Skyforge sits upon a hill at the foot of Dragonsreach but overlooks the halls of Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions. Even through its thick wooden walls, the sounds of their celebration are practically deafening. Malenia idly wonders if the celebration is over their survival against the giant, or is a nightly occurrence. Her experience with Radahn's Redmanes suggests it may be the latter.
"You would do well here, dear brother." she stares at the great hall. It is built from the remains of a great longship, supported by great oaken beams. Its roof is lined with ancient shields decorated with faded crests of past clans. Small gardens are well tended along either side of the hall, blooming in spite of the harsh air. Shadows dance along the windows, actors in a silent play. Malenia pulls her attention from the hall and heads up the stairs to the Skyforge.
The Skyforge is truly unlike any smithy she has seen before. An eagle of stone stands over the forge, its great wings spread as if to fan its flames. The forge itself is an open pit of fire surrounded by a half circle of stone and burning with an intensity that forces her to avert her eyes. Yet in spite of it, the air around the forge is cool, though hardly quiet.
Far more mortal tools litter the stone flooring around the forge: hammers, tongs, a grindstone, and an anvil by the forge itself. A man more muscle than flesh with steel colored hair, sits at the grindstone, gently working a blade along the spinning stone and spitting sparks across the floor. Malenia comes to a stop by the forge and waits. She knows better than to interrupt a craftsman at work.
After a minute, the man stops and raises the blade so that the light of the forge catches its edge in the rapidly darkening sky. Like the blades of Aela and Farkas, this steel blade shimmers with a kaleidoscope of colors along its length. Seemingly satisfied, the smith gently sets the blade on a laid out cloth and turns in his seat to face Malenia.
Like most, he has to crane his neck back to meet her eyes. When he does, he says in a voice that rumbles like falling earth, "Huh. Way everyone's been talkin' I thought you'd be taller."
"You know of me?" Malenia asks, brow raised.
He laughs, "Giant one armed woman with golden legs kills a giant with a shoddy iron blade longer than a man, then walks into the Jarls keep and makes talk of slaying dragons. The bigger surprise is that I haven't heard more about you."
At her frown, the man stands up and brushes his hands off on his smiths apron, "Don't take it personally. Rumor travels fast in these parts. But I'm being rude. I'm Eorlund Gray-Mane. And you're the Lady of the Haligtree, here for a blade that can fell a dragon."
"Your forthrightness is appreciated in this case, Gray-Mane. I am Malenia, Lady of the Haligtree. And I do need your help."
She presents the bag containing the remains of her blade and gently sets it on the stone shelf that surrounds the forge. Eorlund reaches in and pulls out a shard of the blade and eyes it with naked skepticism.
"I recognize a shattered blade when I see one. Are you saying you fought a dragon with a blade of gold?"
"Unalloyed gold." Malenia corrects. "It is a divine metal, and it was enchanted to be nigh unbreakable."
Eorlund makes a tsking sound and sets the piece down, "Magic is a tricky business. I respect those that understand it, but I've never had a mind for it myself. But, I'm not one to back down from a challenge. I'll be willing to reforge your blade, if you can afford the price."
"There's a dragon on the loose and you want to talk about your payment?" Malenia makes no attempt to hide her disbelief.
"Monsters rampage through the countryside, wars rage across nations, gods move us mortals about like pieces in a game, but at the end of the day I still have to make sure my family can eat. I'm sure the Jarl will be happy to finance this."
Before Malenia can begin pointing out the flaw in such logic, such as how difficult it will be to eat if the dragon burns him and his family to ash, a voice interrupts their conversation. A strong voice that crackles like gravel under foot. "Money won't be a concern, in this case, Gray-Mane."
Both warrior and smith turn to see another man ascending to the Skyforge.
He's a tall man, clad with cloud white hair and a thick beard. His face is more akin to an ancient carving than flesh, unyielding rock lined with the wear and tear of ages. His eyes are pale with age, yet he walks with the stride of a young man ready for war. What he wears is most familiar, the same armor that Farkas and Vilkas wore. A veteran of the Companions, without a doubt.
Eorlund regards the man favorably, "Kodlak. Are you saying that this woman is part of the Companions then?"
"Not yet, though I hope she will consider it," the man, Kodlak says. "No, this will be a personal commission. I have a lifetime's worth of treasure to spend. I think reforging a promising warrior's blade is a good worthwhile expenditure."
He turns to Malenia with his hands on his hips and says, "You saved two of my shield-brothers today, Lady of the Haligtree. Those boys have been with us since they were whelps; consider this my way of repaying that debt."
"I cannot accept such charity-" Malenia starts to protest, but Kodlak interrupts her with a laugh.
"Nonsense! I'm not a man for luxury and decadence, that money was just sitting under my bed gathering dust. I'm an old man making his last trip to Sovangarde. You're a young woman with a bright future ahead of you, I can see it."
"I've lived for three hundred and thirty two years." Malenia replies bluntly.
Kodlak laughs again, "Then indulge me, my elder. The young should always take care of their elders."
Malenia stares at him and says, "I cannot convince you otherwise, can I?"
"Not in the slightest." Kodlak smiles at her. Then he looks at Eorlund and says, "So, how about it, Gray-Mane? I'll finance the cost, you reforge the blade, and our visitor will slay a dragon. Everyone wins."
"I'll need time to learn how this metal works." Eorlund admits his attention on the fragment of the blade. "It may take a day or two for me to figure it out, but that sounds reasonable. You wouldn't happen to have any more of this 'unalloyed gold' would you?"
Without a word Malenia reaches into her pack, pulls out her ruined prosthetic, and drops it on the stone shelf with a heavy thud. Eorlund stares at it with wide eyes. He and Kodlak both exchange a look.
Finally, Eorlund says, "The arm is going to cost extra."
"As long as you don't need my arm, that will be fine." Kodlak says.
Eorlund grunts and begins to slowly empty the bag filled with the shattered remains of Malenia's sword. While he does, Kodlak gets the woman's attention and motions for the two of them to give the smith his space.
Once they are at the steps leading down from the Skyforge, Kodlak asks, "Now, I understand you're new to Whiterun and you may not have a place to stay. The Bannered Mare may have beds for you, but I offer you the halls of Jorrvaskr instead. A warrior should find their home among other warriors."
Malenia stares at him with an expression of genuine curiosity. "The hospitality of this land has befuddled me since my arrival. But you in particular are far more kind than I would expect. Are you hoping I will join your Companions as a result of your generosity."
Kodlak smirks, an act that sends ripples through his beard. "I won't lie, lass. Having you in the companions would certainly be a boon. But, it's more than that. We respect strength and skill in arms; you brought down a giant by yourself with a speed none of us have ever seen before. Skills like that are to be respected. And if I'm honest, in today's day and age, hospitality is in short supply. I've seen the Civil War consume good people from both sides and have been unable to do anything about it. The Companions place is in battle, but politics would cloud our path. I may not be able to take a side, but I can offer my doors to a warrior that has lost their way."
Malenia makes no attempt to keep her face passive, actively narrowing her eyes in suspicion. His motive may seem altruistic, but Malenia feels that he is not telling her something. He gives no tells to an ulterior goal, it is merely a feeling in her heart. Yet a night with a warm bed and drink is far from unappealing to her. So far, no one in Skyrim has given her reason to doubt their hospitality. Perhaps she is simply paranoid.
Perhaps war took more of a toll on her standards than she thought.
"I'd be honored to join your celebrations tonight, Kodlak Whitemane." Malenia says.
The old man smiles, a warm expression that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Then let's get you inside. There's a barrel of mead with your name on it, and we should get to it before Farkas finds it."
He leads her down the steps of the Skyforge to the doors of Jorrvaskr, and flings them open. A blast of warm air slams into Malenia's face, quickly followed by slurred singing and cheering. She has to stoop low to get under the threshold, but once inside she sees a scene of familiar chaos.
The Hall of Jorrvaskr is wide and open, a hearthfire burns brightly in the center of the room. Tables line three sides of the open pit, filled to the brim with dishes of varying kinds and quality, the smell of which causes her mouth to water. Men and women line the tables to bursting and those that do not fit are scattered across the open floor. At least one hangs from the rafters overhead, and three more are busy beating each other to bloody bits in a friendly brawl.
The sound of the doors slamming shut behind her is enough that the revelry stops and all eyes turn towards the new guest. She recognizes a few faces, but all others are strange and unfamiliar. The silence feels wrong in a place like this. Of course, Malenia realizes they are waiting for her to act. To see if she really belongs.
For the first time in an age, Malenia feels something stir within her. Forgotten feelings, emotions from a bygone time. When the Rot was controlled, when she did not have to wind herself so tightly to keep it at bay. But now there is no Rot, there is no need for such tight self control. In this one instance, she is free.
She strides forward, grabs an untouched mug of mead off the table and raises it high. When she speaks, her voice spills out like the ring of a bell, "To honor and glory! To victory! To Sovangarde!"
Without another word, she downs the entire honey-flavored drink in three massive gulps and slams it on the table. The Hall of Jorrvaskr explodes into a fury of cheers.
"To honor and glory! To victory! To Sovangarde!"
A/N: This chapter wound up being longer than I expected, sorry for the delay. Overall though, I'm fairly happy with it. Next chapter will have some very interesting developments indeed that I'm sure won't result in pages of lore discussions at all. Nope, not a chance.
Oh and that reminds me before I forget. We're gonna need some titles for Malenia soon so I figured I'd let you dear readers throw suggestions my way. If I can't decide on one I like, I'll take a collection of them and leave it up to a poll for y'all to vote on. Or I might just give all the titles to her. She needs a new business card after all.
Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please leave any comments or constructive criticism down below and I will see you guys next chapter!