Glory
Tirdas, the 18 th of Last Seed, 4E 201
The sun was sinking low in the horizon by the time the small unit of guards returned to Whiterun, ascending the steps to Dragonsreach with Asling and Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, leading the way. Asling glanced nervously around, unsure if it was a good idea to come waltzing back with the return party like she was some hero. She was a thief, a guttersnipe and definitely not the type of person to be heading into the front doors of the keep.
Why was she here?
Oh, right; she killed a dragon and there was always a chance of a reward. That and that weird light she absorbed out of the dragon, that apparently was it's soul.
Right.
Were it not for the possibility of a reward (or just even a hot meal she didn't have to pay for) she would have slipped off before the little brigade regrouped, but here she stood at the door of Skyrim's capital, awkwardly stomping the mud off of her boots without much effect.
Heads turned as they entered the keep, and she could feel eyes on her from all sides, squirming slightly in discomfort; Asling never was the one for being the center of attention. She absentmindedly glanced down and grimaced at the sight. Her armor was caked with dirt and dried blood – blood that probably was not all her own as the majority of her injuries were bruises – and could feel that her normally well groomed auburn hair was matted with dirt and sweat.
As far as appearances would go, disheveled would be putting it politely, though she doubted any of these people would say so politely under different circumstances. Caked with blood and mud at the foot of the throne; no wonder she was getting all those odd looks.
Oh yeah, and she killed a dragon.
Asling grinned again at the thought despite the fact that she had been very much terrified for her life a little over an hour ago. If only the old gang knew where she was now.
She was snapped out of her thoughts by Irileth speaking to the Jarl, and she straightened, her eyes darting to the side nervously, very aware that she was now surrounded by guards in a foreign city.
“My Jarl, we've slayed the dragon, although most of the work was done by Asling here,” the Dunmer spoke, sending Asling a sideways glace, her expression wary; she had already made it clear that she didn't trust Asling in the slightest. Well, at least someone had her pinned right, Asling thought silently, ignoring Irileth's hard gaze.
“The way you speak of it, surely that's not all that happened.” Jarl Balgruuf spoke and Asling – busy staring at a rather large burly Nord in heavy armor at the time – whipped her head back to face the Jarl, her brows arching up in surprise when she realized he was speaking directly to her.
“W-well, it turns out I may be something called Dragonborn...” She said slowly. Whispers and murmurs flew through the room in a whirlwind of excitement and she instantly regretted saying anything.
“Dragonborn?”
“Truly the Dragonborn comes now?”
“That's just what one of the guards told me,” Asling added hastily, a little louder as the whispering had turned into a dull roar. Balgruuf sat up slightly in his seat, waving one hand to call for quiet. He nodded steadily, his eyes trained on Asling, probing for more information.
“Dragonborn... is that so? Can you use shouts like the Greybeards?” He inquired, asking another question before Asling even had time to open her mouth.
“Where are you from?” Balgruuf asked, making her flinch. She let out a huff and met his gaze; might as well tell him about Helgen too, never mind how she got there in the first place.
“Maybe, I don't know and... Cyrodiil was where I was born if you mean that, but I came from Helgen before it was attacked,” she dodged, a new wave of whispers traveling among the nobles.
“What do you mean attacked? What happened in Helgen?” Balgruuf was sitting up straight now, alert to this new source of information and Asling shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze as she went on.
“There was another dragon... i-it wasn't the one we killed at the watchtower. I think there might be more then one,” she said in a rush, trying to get it all out at once. Balgruuf looked from her to Irileth, the tendons in his neck rippling.
“Thank you for telling me. Irileth, send detachments to Riverwood at once,” he spoke and Asling relaxed, glad to have the attention off of her for the moment.
“Are you certain we should be sending troops so close to Falkreath?” A reedy looking man piped up, his protests quickly cut off by the Jarl.
“Enough! As I said, I won't stand by as a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. As you were Irileth. And Asling,” Balgruuf spoke, turning his attention back on her. “I believe you're just the warrior I've been waiting for.”
Asling believed that Jarl Balgruuf might possibly be mad to think such a thing, but there wasn't much opportunity for her to say so. That and she still wanted a reward.
“My Jarl, if I might suggest something before I go.” Irileth leaned down spoke to Balgruuf in a low voice. They whispered back and forth for a minute, Asling just close enough to make out “Adair” and “something to do” before the Dunmer straightened and the Jarl called to one of his guards.
“Fetch Adair for me. I think I found a cause worthy enough for him,” the corner of his mouth tugged into a smile and Asling scrunched up her nose, sensing that something was off about this whole arrangement. Meanwhile Balgruuf had rose to his feet and was walking towards one of the side chambers branching off the main hall, Asling trailing behind him reluctantly.
Inside the chambers was a mage, busily fussing over a stack of papers and muttering to himself, hardly aware of the two people entering his room until the Jarl spoke to him. “Farengar! I think I've found someone to help you with your project.”
Farengar raised his head, regarding Asling with the same look one would have for a particularly fascinating insect, then turned towards the Jarl once more.
“Project? Oh yes, my research into dragons,” Farengar perked up, seemingly more interested now in conversation. Asling however cut to the chase before he could speak again.
“Yes, dragons, I saw one and then killed it,” she said airily then paused and looked to the Jarl in confusion. “Now... what do you want me to do?”
Farengar snorted, obviously less then impressed.
“Fetch an artifact for me. An ancient stone tablet called the Dragonstone. It's supposed to mark the locations of where the dragons are buried,” he explained, but Asling had stopped listening once she heard what she was supposed to collect; what and where were her only concerns.
“It's housed in Bleak Falls Burrow, west of Riverwood, have you a map?” he asked, not looking the least bit surprised when Asling shook her head no, who was a little miffed by his expression. Hard to buy a map when you had just hopped the border this morning; never mind getting attacked by a dragon.
“What's this about a map?” A new voice cut in. Clad in heavy polished steel, a tall, lightly tanned mer stepped into the room. He stood at attention, wide-set almond shaped eyes peered out of his narrow face, their hue set in a shade of deep gold. A small patch of dark facial hair sat beneath his lower lip, neatly trimmed to a point while beneath it, his jaw was set in a heavy scowl that looked to be permanently etched into his face.
What stunned her the most about his appearance was his jet black hair, the length of his locks loosely brushed back out of his face and tapered down to his broad shoulders.
He was handsome... but looked like an absolute stiff.
“Ah! Adair, there you are! This is Asling; you'll be aiding her on her quest,” Balgruuf gestured to Asling and the newcomer leveled his gaze on her, eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance.
Asling stared back, a slight frown on her face; strange... she had never seen an Altmer with such dark hair. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity to Asling until Balgruuf spoke again, either unaware of the tension or unconcerned.
“And Asling, before you go I've a reward for your services in slaying the dragon; a bit of gold and your pick of a piece of armor or weapon from my armory. Adair can show you the way and I'll have Proventus get your gold for you before you depart,” Balgruuf said, and Asling's face lit up in delight; at least she was getting something from all of this.
Adair dipped his head to the Jarl and left the chambers, Asling looking after him in uncertainty before jogging up to join him.
“Asling,” she said, offering him her hand. He looked at it, then took her hand and shook it once before quickly releasing it.
“Adair,” he spoke in a detached tone.
“Delighted,” Asling replied in the same dry tone he had used. A high elf acting all high and mighty was nothing new to her; if he wanted to act this way, then she was more then willing to play along.
Some time later, Asling skipped down the steps into town, cradling her new bow; a finely polished glass piece that glittered a rich emerald green in the torches as they passed. Adair trudged along behind her with a sour look on his face. All that training and he was babysitting.
He looked to his rather filthy companion and sighed; might as well make the best of it.
“So... Asling? That's it? What's your last name?” He asked in an attempt to start a conversation, not knowing he would soon regret his decision. Asling looked at him and laughed lightly.
“No no... we don't know each other well enough for that. You can have my last name if you buy me a drink,” she replied and sent Adair a cheeky grin, which he responded to with a scowl.
“I don't drink.”
“You don't have to drink; you can buy me one, and I'll drink it.”
“You've got plenty of gold now, buy your own drink,” he growled, wishing he never spoke in the first place.
“Aren't you just a ray of sunshine,” Asling said sarcastically, pushing the door open to the Bannered Mare and slapping a stack of coins on the bar.
“We'd like a room please, and I'll have an order of spiced beef...” her eyes glazed over at the thought as it had been a week since she had anything besides salmon. The innkeeper regarded her with a blank expression, more reserved of her distaste of such a dirty customer in her tavern given said customer had gold in hand.
“And a bath drawn,” Adair chimed in, ignoring the nasty look Asling sent him.
“And with that, you can sleep on the floor,” she smirked, watching gleefully as he puffed up in anger.
“I'll get my own damn room,” he snapped.
“Umm I'm sorry, but there's only one room...” the innkeeper interjected, waving over a barmaid to take their order then scraping the coins off the counter and making them disappear.
“Hmm... floor it is then,” Asling preened in triumph, tilting her head to the side to grin at Adair, who closed his eyes slowly, teeth cliched tight to prevent anything else coming out of his mouth.
This was going to be a long journey.