(a/n: if you see lydia/lilija repeat words, don't worry, those aren't mistakes. That's just my stutter lmfao. I repeat whole ass words once, twice, sometimes three times. It gets worse when i'm flustered/excited/angry/any extreme emotion. I'll edit in her stutters into the previous chapters, eventually. It never occurs to me how much i stutter until i'm fuckin writing it down)
Today was just another day for Farengar. Grinding up herbs to create potions for Balgruuf's various whims, recharging an enchanted sword or circlet or ring for nobles and adventurers, these were the general themes of the court mage's day-to-day. He had time for his own studies, of course, yet, with his recent contact being less than forthcoming, his research had come to a halt. Boring and complacent.
He contemplates- not for the first time- whether or not to give up his position and take on a traveling researcher role. It would suit him better, if he were not so sedentary. Maybe he could figure out a mobile workspace, but no, arcane enchanters must be stationary on specific lines to tap into Aetherius… Strange things, arcane enchanters. No one has been able to identify the language used, the knowledge long dead to the ages. The only knowledge modern day scholars knew was which specific conglomerate of letters made which enchantments, not to try to make your own words in the mysterious glyphs, and that it had no spoken equivalent and it would take a miracle ancient discovery to figure it out further than weapons and armor enchantments. More than once Farengar wished he had a warmth-enchanted wash tub. But alas, all he, and all other magic practitioners, had was a measly catalog of enchantments.
So engrossed in his thoughts, Farengar failed to notice the small group of beings approaching his workspace. Someone, a woman judging from the pitch of the sound, cleared their throat loudly and pointedly. He leaned up from his alchemy workspace with a frustrated sigh, turning halfways away from his desk, cutting the woman off as she opened her mouth,
"What do you want?" He asked, his accented tone rather annoyed at his line of thought being interrupted.
"You'd do well to be a bit more polite to these folk, Farengar, I believe they may be able to help you with your….dragon project." Balgruuf said from beside her. Shit, didn't notice the Jarl there.
"Apologies, my Jarl." He apologized quickly, bowing his head slightly to Balgruuf. At the clearing of Balgruuf's throat, he added, "...and guests." At that, the Jarl was satisfied, and returned to his throne.
He glanced over the guests; a very large sandy-rust toned Khajiit in shabbily fitted imperial armor, and a strangely garbed red-haired Nord- uh… Breton? No, that's not it... Her face did not betray any race he could think of. She was dressed in very strange attire, no materials he could recognize, not to mention the pants without armor to them. Her upper outer garment was one of the most brilliant purples he had ever seen, and that made him very intrigued. Purple was such a rare dye, and to get such a vibrant shade…
"Look, can we help you with your… dragon quest, or or are you just going to stand there and catch flies?" The woman asked, her expression impatient even throughout her stutter. She crossed her arms. He snapped his jaw closed and collected himself, standing up straight. The woman barely reached his shoulder, hah, she must be some sort of mutt. The stutter was ridiculous anyhow.
"If my Jarl thinks you may be of some use, then I'm sure you're worth something." He started off with, which elicited an offended scoff from the woman, ignoring that he continued, "I'm in need of someone to go delving into an old Nordic barrow to retrieve an ancient stone tablet that may, or may not, be there."
"Just tell us what you need us to do," The Khajiit spoke up and stepped forwards, placing his furred hand on the woman's shoulder, his rough voice less than pleasing on Farengar's ears. Just who let the cat in, anyhow?
"You are eager to begin your adventure, I see. Sooner begun, sooner done, eh?" Farengar attempted at lightening the mood; he doesn't mean to be condescending, it's just hard when everyone else is less intelligent than him. When blank stares and uncomfortable silence followed, he sighed. "It's in Bleak Falls Barrow, right outside of the dusty little hamlet Riverwood. I'm sure you are competent enough to read road signs."
The Khajiit groaned and his shoulders visibly sagged. The woman looked equally as disgruntled, then grumbled, "We just came from there. We'll have to rest a day or two before completing your request."
"Fine by me, not as if it is going anywhere." Farengar said, then turned back to his desk, a clear dismissal of the two adventurers. Now, what was he contemplating about enchantments…?
"We only agree to this if you answer some of my questions, Farengar, when we return." the woman continued, but Farengar waved it off with a noncommittal grunt. He wasn't listening anymore.
Lydia and Joe were rewarded differently in reality than what Lydia remembered was in game. Most likely because Jarl Balgruuf saw how much Farengar irked both adventurters, especially after brushing them off like that. Both him and her got a total sum of 300 septims, and an enchanted piece from the Jarl's armory. Joe chose a steel mace of Scorching and Lydia chose a necklace of Muffle. Best to be silent and unnoticed than seen and dead. Joe made a face at her choice, as if wanting to comment, but kept it to himself. They were given a very small bag of holding with the coins, and Lydia marveled at it, turning it over in her hands as they descended the steps of Dragonsreach.
"This is so so so cool. I I never thought that so many coins would fit into a bag smaller than a… I dunno, a, uh, potato. A medium-ish sized potato. Would you say this is about the rough shape and size of a medium-to-large sized potato, Joe?" Lydia held the pouch up, looking hopeful for a response from Joe. Joe just looked down at her with confused amusement.
"You just described two different potatoes. Is it medium-ish, or is it medium-to-large?" was the Khajiit's answering question, continuing to walk in long strides towards the market. He wanted to find an inn for some mead, a bed, and a bath. Amenities not usually afforded to most Khajiits in caravans. Lilija struggled to keep up with the large Khajiit's strides, slipping the coin bag into her pocket. She kept her hand in that pocket, just in case. Don't want anyone filching their gold off the bat.
Soon enough Jo'shak had led them through the open market section, into the actual wooded shops and inns. According to the pictures on the signs, if Lilija only glanced for a moment and ignored the swimming text, there were a lot more than just one of each type of shop here in Whiterun. She swears at one point she saw Adrienne Avenicci talking to Jon Battle-born, and a little later she directed them around an irate Nazeem. She was starting to think that this was real life, not just fantasy. As she followed Jo'shak, she noticed his unsure glances, shirking behavior when anyone came near him, twitchy and agitated tail. She rested her hand on his arm, stopping the both of them. She led them to the side of the path, out of the flow of people,
"Joe, how about I try to find us an inn? If you can read me the the signs, I can go in first." She offered in a gentle tone, looking up at the tall Khajiit through long red eyelashes. He was clearly disgruntled and flustered for a moment, jaw working but no words coming to his lips, then deflated and nodded.
"This one is unsure of who would accept a Khajiit to their halls." He mumbled, looking down and away. He was surprised when Lilija placed a gentle hand under his chin, forcing it up and shifting his gaze to her again.
"Never be ashamed of who you are, or or what you are. Anyone who discriminates because of race is a piece of shit." Lilija said firmly, then placed her hand in his furry one, lacing their fingers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Lead the way, Joe. We'll find a place to stay."
Okay, maybe Lydia spoke too soon. They went through literally every single Inn they could find- none would accept Joe, the racist bastards. The best response they got was a simple 'no' and an ask to leave. The worst was a crossbow pointed to their heads, to which they quickly absconded from the premises.
The sun was starting to set, and they were tired and foot-weary from standing and walking near the entire day, and the day before that, and escaping Helgen the day before that. Lydia looked like she was on the verge of frustrated tears, and Joe looked completely shut down. Eyes fixed downwards yet alert, limbs drawn in to protect his core, body on high alert yet no emotion other than melancholy tension pervaded his being.
"Look, look, there's one last Inn we haven't tried… may- maybe the Gods are telling us we need to be here, instead of in them other shit-ass places." Lydia offered to Joe, hand reaching out tentatively to steer the large fuzzball towards the last Inn Lydia knew was in Whiterun, the Drunken Huntsman. He followed robotically with no protest. In game, they never had any rooms, but this wasn't in game. Lydia couldn't afford to make those assumptions, especially when a decent place to sleep was on the line.
They entered the establishment cautiously, Lydia first, turning immediately to face the counter. There was an unremarkable looking Bosmer behind it, looking bored as he wiped a damp cloth along the smooth, worn wood surface. Lydia approached the counter, and he looked up. No immediate reaction to having a Khajiit in his establishment, that was a good sign.
"Excuse me, would would there be any beds available?" Lydia asked with more confidence than she felt.
The Bosmer regarded them for a moment, looked them up and down, then nodded slightly. "Yeah, but it's a single bed room." He said, folding his cloth away into his apron.
"We we'll take it, how much?" Lydia barely let him get his sentence out before she was whipping out her coin purse.
"10 for the night, plus 6 if you want breakfast and dinner, plus 4 if you want a bath." He rattled off, and the gold was on the counter faster than one could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Bosmeri man swept them into his palm and proceeded to show them to the small living space. It was spartan, but thank God for unstandardized bed sizes because it was big enough to possibly fit both parties. Jo'shak let Lilija's bag down gently onto a chest situated at the foot of the bed, before sitting down in the only chair. He immediately propped one foot up and started to massage his sore paw pads.
"Thank you, Lilija," Jo'shak murmured to her, not raising his eyes to meet hers. She nodded, even though he wouldn't see, and said,
"No need for thanks, I should be thanking you. You were my bodyguard for the for the day." Lydia smiled tentatively at the large Khajiit. He chuckled quietly, glancing up at her briefly. "I'm going to go see about that bath, okay?"
An hour later saw the two adventurers freshly cleaned and sitting in the main room of the inn, eating a hearty portion of split pea and ham stew, mead, and some crusty bread. Lydia was having the time of her life stuffing her face; food always made her feel better, and the past two days weren't doing her any favors in the stress and anxiety and sheer mortal peril and terror department. At least for tonight, they'll have some peace and quiet.