Having delivered Skyrim from the threat of Alduin, the Dragonborn—a formidable Nord of immense stature and strength—sought a well-earned reprieve. His powerful arms, once burdened with the heft of sword and shield, now longed for the tranquility of home and isolation.
Even with his impressive stature, the Dragonborn bore the heavy burden of recent ordeals. The numerous conflicts, the myriads of lives rescued, and the constant pressure of fulfilling the prophecy had exacted their price. The time had come to withdraw to his abode in Markarth for rest and recuperation.
Markarth, hewn from stone, offered a unique tranquility. Its venerable Dwemer architecture, with cascading waterfalls and intricate stonework, provided a serene and majestic haven for the hero's well-deserved rest. As the Dragonborn traversed the cobblestone pathways, he received respectful nods and words of gratitude from the townsfolk.
Upon entering his dwelling, he closed the door, secluding himself from the incessant demands of the outside world. His home was decorated with the spoils of his triumphs and keepsakes from his adventures. The hearth crackled, enveloping the room in a cozy radiance. He shed his armor, relinquishing the day's burdens with each piece. He settled into a solid chair, pondering his recent meeting with Delphine. The Blades' commander had insisted he slay Paarthurnax, the venerable dragon who had been his ally. The mere idea of such treachery soured his palate.
Reclining in his chair, the Dragonborn let out a tired sigh. He vividly remembered his sharp rejection of Delphine's pledge as a Blade, imagining Cicero, the whimsical jester, delivering such a dismissal with his characteristic flamboyance. The fire's soothing warmth enveloped him, and despite his annoyance, he found solace within the familiar walls of his home. The gentle popping of the flames and the distant murmur of waterfalls lured him into a state of peace.
No sooner had the Dragonborn settled than the door of his dwelling burst open. Argis the Bulwark, his faithful housecarl, entered with a look of resolve. "My thane, your courage matches mine. Surely, you wish to carry on—"
Before he could complete his sentence, the Dragonborn abruptly lifted his hand, gesturing as though mimicking a speaking mouth. "Yeah, I am hearing this—" He began, his voice tinged with frustration. Then, he shifted his hand, signaling for silence. "And I want to hear this," he added, his voice firm and resolute.
Argis stood his ground. With a quick movement, he seized a sturdy oak chair close by, hoisting it single-handedly and placing it before the Dragonborn. "My Thane, we must not remain idle. There are perils that demand our attention. I will not tolerate indolence," he declared, his tone as commanding as his formidable presence.
The Dragonborn leaned in, his gaze sharpening. "Laziness? Do you believe that after all we've endured, I deserve such a label?" He shook his head. "I am weary, Argis. Weary of the constant mantle of heroism. Just once, I yearn to be merely a man within the walls of his own abode."
Argis folded his robust arms, his armor straining over his muscles, and held his position, his gaze steady. "You are the Dragonborn. Now, more than ever, your valor and guidance are indispensable. The time for respite has not yet come," he declared, his voice firm.
The Dragonborn's gaze intensified. "Listen to me, Argis," he spoke in a low, threatening tone. "I've stood toe-to-toe with Alduin himself. I've fought my way through Oblivion and returned. When I say I need a break, I mean it. The world can hold on for a few hours while I regain my strength."
Argis stepped forward, his imposing figure nearly too much to bear. His fingers curled, muscles undulating under his skin. "Dragonborn, don't force me to intervene. Recall our last encounter?" he cautioned, his voice carrying both a challenge and a sense of fellowship.
The Dragonborn smirked, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. "Oh, I remember. You cleaved that target in two with a single swing. Impressive, but can you let me have this one moment?"
Argis narrowed his eyes but couldn't hide a small smile. "Point taken, my thane. But still, our duties await."
The Dragonborn rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into his chair. "I know, I know. But just give me this one break, Argis."
Argis's expression grew stern again. "Dragonborn, if you don't stop being lazy, I'll—"
"You wouldn't," the Dragonborn interrupted, his eyes opening in panic.
"I would. Now, up!" Argis commanded, his voice brooking no argument.
"Fine, Argis, I'll go," the Dragonborn groaned, reluctantly pushing himself up from the chair. "Just don't hoist me on your shoulder again."
Argis let out a chuckle, his usually stern features relaxing a bit. "Then let's proceed, my Thane."
Following this, Argis gave an approving nod and retreated a step. The Dragonborn let out a sigh, passing a hand through his hair. The disruption had brought to mind the constant pressures he faced, yet he acknowledged the truth in Argis's words.
As he braced himself to confront the world anew, the Dragonborn found a moment to value the steadfastness and might of his housecarl. United, they stood ready to defend Skyrim, one conflict after another.
The Dragonborn, basking in an unusual sense of liberty, opted to meander through Markarth's vibrant streets. The city buzzed with life, compelling him towards the animated market square. During his promenade, he noticed a cluster of women by a stall, their mirth and conversation permeating the atmosphere.
He approached them with a winsome grin, his self-assurance fortified by numerous victorious encounters. Engaging them in dialogue, his resonant voice and striking appearance swiftly drew their focus. The women responded with laughter and coy smiles, evidently charmed by his presence.
However, as the Dragonborn was immersing himself in the playful exchange, an ominous figure cast a shadow upon him. Caught off guard, he felt a firm grip on his ear, pulling him from the convivial circle. He grimaced, both in discomfort and astonishment, only to find Argis the Bulwark behind him, wearing a look of disapproval.
"Dragonborn, we have more important matters to attend to," Argis growled, his grip unrelenting. "Stop wasting time."
The Dragonborn squirmed, trying to free himself. "Alright, alright, let go! You're making a scene," he hissed, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"You should be focusing on your duties, not on flirting," Argis persisted, disregarding the protests as he pulled him away from the market square. The women, with whom he had been flirting, shared amused looks, their laughter trailing behind them as they departed. The Dragonborn's cheeks flushed with shame while being marched through the streets, with Argis maintaining a firm hold on his ear. The stares and murmurs of the townspeople bore into him, intensifying his embarrassment.
When they had finally escaped the public's gaze, Argis loosened his hold, giving the Dragonborn the chance to soothe his aching ear. "Was that really necessary?" he grumbled, his pride wounded.
"Absolutely. You are the Dragonborn, not some tavern minstrel," Argis replied, crossing his arms.
The Dragonborn sighed, knowing Argis was right. "Fine, but do you always have to make such a spectacle?" he muttered.
Argis didn't relent. "If that's what it takes to keep you on track, then yes," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
The Dragonborn groaned. "Alright, alright. Let's get back to work," he said, his tone resigned. "Just don't yank my ear off!"
Argis chuckled, his stern expression softening slightly. "Then let's move, my thane."
As they resumed their responsibilities, the Dragonborn let out a chuckle at the situation's sheer absurdity. Beyond the momentary embarrassment, he valued Argis's steadfast loyalty and strength. United, they would persist in defending Skyrim, facing each battle as it came.
Argis had only looked away from the Dragonborn for a brief moment before he realized the space where his thane had stood was now vacant. A soft growl of frustration slipped out. "That man is impossible," he whispered under his breath, embarking on a quest to locate the elusive Dragonborn.
The search was brief. Guided by the echo of mirth and the subtle clinking of tankards, Argis made his way to the local tavern. Amidst the crowd, there was the Dragonborn, ensconced at a table, a mug of mead in his grasp, regaling the barmaids and patrons with tales, his laughter mingling with theirs.
Argis made his way through the thronged room, his commanding presence clearing a path with ease. Nearing his destination, the Dragonborn raised his gaze, a bashful smile unfolding upon his visage. "Um... I am working on a quest..." he began, the excuse sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.
Argis crossed his arms, his expression stern and disapproving. "A quest, you say?" he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The Dragonborn sighed, knowing he was caught. "You're going to grab my ear, aren't you, Argis?" he asked, resigned to his fate.
Argis leaned down, his face inches from the Dragonborn's. "You can count on it," He growled and seized the Dragonborn's ear, lifting him from his seat.
Laughter filled the tavern as Argis hauled the Dragonborn to the door, the spectacle of the renowned hero being overpowered by his housecarl causing mirth among the onlookers. The Dragonborn's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, yet he understood it was wiser to not resist.
Once they were outside, Argis released his grip, allowing the Dragonborn to rub his sore ear. "Must you always make a spectacle of me?" the Dragonborn grumbled.
Argis smirked. "If that's what it takes to keep you focused, yes," he replied, his tone firm but not without a hint of amusement.
The Dragonborn shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Fine, fine. Let's get back to work before you decide to drag me through the streets again."
The Dragonborn, always resourceful and seeking a brief respite, enlisted Cicero, the unpredictable Keeper of the Dark Brotherhood. Cicero's eccentricities made him an ideal diversion, at least in the Dragonborn's estimation.
Meanwhile, Argis kept vigilant watch over the streets, safeguarding his thane from mischief. It was then that Cicero, adorned in his jester's garb and with eyes wide, burst forth. He commenced a spontaneous performance, captivating the townspeople with his extravagant antics.
"Ah, Argis, my dear friend!" Cicero called out, twirling and capering. "A fine day for mischief, wouldn't you say?" His voice was loud and dramatic, designed to capture and hold attention.
Argis paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched the jester's performance. "Cicero, what are you up to now?" he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
"Oh, nothing but a bit of fun!" Cicero replied, his grin widening. "Come, let us entertain the good people of Markarth together!"
Amidst the chaos, the Dragonborn took advantage of the distraction to quietly make his way to the city gates. He allowed himself a quiet chuckle, assured that Cicero's theatrics would engage Argis sufficiently to ensure his unnoticed departure.
Yet, Argis was not one to be easily deceived. Despite Cicero's amusing antics, he was too familiar with the jester's ways to be fully diverted. His keen gaze swept over the assembly, swiftly detecting the conspicuous absence of his thane.
"Where is he?" Argis growled, his gaze shifting back to Cicero. The jester's grin faltered slightly, but he continued his act, hoping to buy the Dragonborn more time.
Frustrated, Argis growled and shoved his way through the crowd, making a beeline for the city gates. Nearing his destination, he caught sight of the Dragonborn, who was stealthily attempting to slip away unnoticed.
"Dragonborn!" Argis called out, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "You're not getting away that easily."
The Dragonborn froze mid-step, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned slowly to face Argis, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Just taking a little stroll, Argis," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Argis crossed his arms, his expression stern. "A stroll out of the city? Really?"
The Dragonborn sighed, knowing he was caught. "I suppose I wasn't very subtle."
Argis approached with purpose, his presence towering over the Dragonborn. "Not at all. Now, let's get you back to where you belong."
The Dragonborn raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, you win. Just don't manhandle me in front of everyone again."
Argis shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "No promises, my thane. Let's go."