Wuffles
Member
"What was Balgruuf thinking, making it a thane?"
Lydia winced internally at the great table, tearing a chunk out of her bread with a little more force than was strictly necessary. The minor nobles, guards and even the servents of Dragonsreach were clustered some feet away behind her, swapping gossip about Whiterun's newest Thane. Even the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes had, temporarily, dropped their feud in their ever growing need for the latest gossip. The object of their attention was currently sitting at the furthest table, alone besides a plate of salmon, hand cooked in the kitchen upon arrival, and a pile of septims, fingers sliding coins into rows of tens. Occasionally he would grumble and lift his pack up from near his feet, examining the contents.
"I heard that he slinks about, collecting loose Septims from the ground... Honestly, is that the kind of person we want to associate with?"
Her fist gripped the hilt of her weapon, knuckles turning white before she took a breath, relaxing. It was not her place to defend against gossip and words, no matter how hurtful. So long as they didn't pull out a dagger, or charged a spell, she simply had to sit there, listening. It was the same every time they arrived back in Whiterun after a mission, either as a bounty, or request from a citizen. Recently, they had returned a precious family sword from a group of bandits. Lydia noted that her Thane's features were set a little too firmly in a pleasent expression when his reward was revealed to be simply training in a fighting style he had no interest in learning. She had to admit, she might not have been so generous in his position.
Come to think of it, there were quite a few people in the city who were aided in some way by her Thane. He helped clear out the Hall of the Dead from reanimated skeletons, brought back a precious tree cutting that saved the Gildergreen and ran Divines knew how many small errands for people. In her modest opinion, her Thane had done far more for Whiterun than any of those who consider themselves to be "noble", even without taking the dragon attack into account. What was worse perhaps, was that she knew that sooner or later the discussion would move on to...
"It's poor Lydia I feel for really. Imagine, having to travel with that beast... I shudder to think as to what the poor dear has to go through..." That slimy skeever Nazeem turned his head slightly to take in Lydia's profile, making the Nord woman feel bile in the back of her throat. As if he hadn't thought of it, and more besides, and him a married man...
"It can't even afford a home! Honestly, if this is the kind of people Balgruuf is advancing to Thane, then Whiterun is doomed."
Control. That was the key. For a moment her gaze swept up towards the Jarl's throne, and the ever present Irileth, meeting the Dunmer's gaze for all of a few seconds. Understanding flashed between the two bodyguards followed by a sympathetic nod before she returned to her constant vigil. She really had to thank her properly for those self-control techniques one of these days.
Lydia then cast her eyes back towards her Thane, the pile of coins being slowly swept back into his pouch. Even from here, she could tell that he was dissappointed once more as he stabbed into his salmon with a little more force than usual, seperating the flesh from skin. Shaking her head, she returned to her own meal, a slightly better fare... But then again, she was still being fed at the Jarl's table.
Bitter words and harsh, unfounded accusations washed over her ears despite her attempts to block them out, though mercifully ebbing as the afternoon slid into evening. She scowled at the back of Nazeem's head as he left, once more heading for the Bannered Mare. The sheer audacity of the man, sneering down at her Thane when even he couldn't afford a home! Times like these made her wonder if it was worth bothering one of the mages. Surely there had to be some kind of spell that let you kill people by staring as hard as she was. With a sigh, she lifted herself onto her feet, approaching the grey furred Khajiit sitting alone at his table.
"Honour to you, my th-"
"Lydia..."
The nord repressed a slight chuckle.
"As you wish Ja'Miresh... I'm still not pronouncing that right, am I?"
The Elsweyr-born feline grined wide in what she recognised as amusement, pushing the only other chair out slightly with his foot.
"The tongue of another is hard to master. Ja'Miresh does not mind. You try. That is more than many."
Lydia sat down next to he who she had sworn to protect, looking over the cat's appearance. Before the whole mess involving the High King, she had only heard of, never seen, one of the Khajiit people. The idea of being totally covered in fur was certainly appealing during the harsher winters, but she had witnessed him shivering countless times when swimming, or in the middle of even a mild snowstorm. How someone with a pelt like that could feel the cold, she'll never know. His colourings and markings were perfectly suited for the snowy north too, white and black, striped and blotched. She had personally watched him step into a group of spindly, leaf-less bushes while setting up an ambush, and saw him practically dissapear before her eyes. He was made for Skyrim, Dragonborn or not.
Still, it was amusing watching him haggle and debate with Farengar for some kind of enchantment that would keep his armour warm.
The two fell silent, the crackling of the fire in the centre of the hall filling the air between them. Lydia debated with herself, wondering how much she should tell her Thane. Would he retaliate? Complain to the Jarl? That would probably make things worse... On the other hand, if someone was talking about her behind her back, she'd want to know...
A delicate purring noise brought her out of her thoughts, glancing up at the feline with wide eyes. Ja'Miresh grinned that same grin, throat rumbling.
"You think too much. It makes you gloomy. What ails you?"
Lydia flexes her grip on her weapon, a particularly well made blade that had probably cost the snowy Khajiit a fair number of septims. Did she have the right to expose him to the vicious barbs and comments of her fellow nords?
It was funny... Before, she would never have thought as much before. The Dunmer were not to be trusted, the Argonians were poisonous liars and tricksters, the Altmer were muderous fanatics... And the Khajiit were theives, skooma addicts and would gut you for a single septim.
She had traveled with her thane, the Dragonborn of Legend. She watched him shoot and shout down several Dragons, leaping to and fro as he avoided their breath. She saw his generous nature when it came to those less fortunate, something that many Nords had failings in she noticed. He refused to use his natural skills to "obtain" items for people, despite the ease and coin on offer. And that was just him. She met Argonians, scales of deep emeralds, a fact which did not go unnoticed by Ja'Miresh she noticed. She had never seen his tail so... Wavy before. Pleasent and friendly, Scouts had geuinely wished for co-operation. Then there were the Dunmer, packed into buildings that even the most ruthless of Jarls would have admited were far too small. At least, if the occupants were Nords.
She still wouldn't trust an Altmer as far as she could throw them, but these days her hand did not rest upon her weapon's hilt on sight.
With a sigh, she lowered her head, about to speak before the feline raised his hand.
"If it is about our... High Standing friends, do not worry. We Khajiit have long since learned to ignore such slings and arrows."
His eyes sparkled, though through anger, sadness or amusement, she couldn't tell. Wordlessly, he pointed to the triangular ears upon his head, swiveling them left and right.
"They are not merely for show, no? Khajiit hear all, and say little."
The feline glanced over to where one of the Battle-Born clan was walking, probably meeting with the Jarl over some trivial matter. It would be a simple matter of sneaking up to him, bandit scouts had let their gaze slide over him, unseeing, even when right in front of him. His coin pouch was fat, the coins within jingling audibly to the Khajiit's enhanced hearing. It would be easy, beyond easy, to reach out and with a simple flick of the wrist, sever pouch from belt. He'd be gone before anyone knew what happened.
But then, that would be proving them right. Maybe he wouldn't earn their respect. Too much coin in their hands to think about those beneath them. But the masses in the city will, and do, see him differently.
It started slowly. One or two people in town would have a problem, and he would offer to help. Of course, not everyone would trust him. An obvious thief. But somehow, jobs would get done.
Then word got out through the guards. A dragonslayer in their midst. A Dragonborn of legend. There was no boasting. No trophy waved through the streets. Just a weary rogue, a scent of singed fur following behind him.
And when the vampires turned up, Whiterun was not found wanting. Addriane at the forge was outnumbered... The Guards already dead, though they did not stop walking. A few well aimed arrows turned corpses to dust, forcing the fanged hunters to step back. A quick burst from one of the few spells he cared to learn got the blacksmith on her feet again, and the vampires were quickly routed.
Again, no praise was expected. And while none was given, it was a well known fact that the Warmaiden was saved by the furred newcomer.
Ja'Miresh smirked at his companion, tail snaking calmly behind him.
"Words will not wound. Actions will change expectations."
The Dragonborn stood, grasping his bow and slinging it over his shoulder, hefting his pack onto his back before turning to face Lydia.
"There is a small matter with a bandit camp over in Silver Moons... Beautiful name... Ja'Miresh will travel during night, catch them unawares, yes?"
Lydia nodded, and made to stand, but the Archer shook his head
"Silence will be key Lydia. You... You are... Direct with problems. An admirable trait."
The houscarl nodded, accepting this. She was hardly as stealthy as her Thane, and more than once his hide had felt blades and arrows due to this. Ja'Miresh's grin tugged up at the corners of his mouth as he felt in his pack, dropping a money pouch on the table before her.
"Breezehome... Interesting name... And those bandits will sure to have some... Valuable items afterwards."
Lydia allowed a small smile on her face as she stood, taking the pouch and weighing it. Perhaps after this next bounty? The Nord nodded, already seeking out Balgruuf's advisor as the Khajiit left. As he pushed open the doors of Dragonsreach, she glanced back, following him out. Odd, how a total stranger to this land would earn her respect more easily than those she had lived with all her life. Bowing her head towards the door, she wished him well in his hunt.
"Honour to you, my Thane."
Lydia winced internally at the great table, tearing a chunk out of her bread with a little more force than was strictly necessary. The minor nobles, guards and even the servents of Dragonsreach were clustered some feet away behind her, swapping gossip about Whiterun's newest Thane. Even the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes had, temporarily, dropped their feud in their ever growing need for the latest gossip. The object of their attention was currently sitting at the furthest table, alone besides a plate of salmon, hand cooked in the kitchen upon arrival, and a pile of septims, fingers sliding coins into rows of tens. Occasionally he would grumble and lift his pack up from near his feet, examining the contents.
"I heard that he slinks about, collecting loose Septims from the ground... Honestly, is that the kind of person we want to associate with?"
Her fist gripped the hilt of her weapon, knuckles turning white before she took a breath, relaxing. It was not her place to defend against gossip and words, no matter how hurtful. So long as they didn't pull out a dagger, or charged a spell, she simply had to sit there, listening. It was the same every time they arrived back in Whiterun after a mission, either as a bounty, or request from a citizen. Recently, they had returned a precious family sword from a group of bandits. Lydia noted that her Thane's features were set a little too firmly in a pleasent expression when his reward was revealed to be simply training in a fighting style he had no interest in learning. She had to admit, she might not have been so generous in his position.
Come to think of it, there were quite a few people in the city who were aided in some way by her Thane. He helped clear out the Hall of the Dead from reanimated skeletons, brought back a precious tree cutting that saved the Gildergreen and ran Divines knew how many small errands for people. In her modest opinion, her Thane had done far more for Whiterun than any of those who consider themselves to be "noble", even without taking the dragon attack into account. What was worse perhaps, was that she knew that sooner or later the discussion would move on to...
"It's poor Lydia I feel for really. Imagine, having to travel with that beast... I shudder to think as to what the poor dear has to go through..." That slimy skeever Nazeem turned his head slightly to take in Lydia's profile, making the Nord woman feel bile in the back of her throat. As if he hadn't thought of it, and more besides, and him a married man...
"It can't even afford a home! Honestly, if this is the kind of people Balgruuf is advancing to Thane, then Whiterun is doomed."
Control. That was the key. For a moment her gaze swept up towards the Jarl's throne, and the ever present Irileth, meeting the Dunmer's gaze for all of a few seconds. Understanding flashed between the two bodyguards followed by a sympathetic nod before she returned to her constant vigil. She really had to thank her properly for those self-control techniques one of these days.
Lydia then cast her eyes back towards her Thane, the pile of coins being slowly swept back into his pouch. Even from here, she could tell that he was dissappointed once more as he stabbed into his salmon with a little more force than usual, seperating the flesh from skin. Shaking her head, she returned to her own meal, a slightly better fare... But then again, she was still being fed at the Jarl's table.
Bitter words and harsh, unfounded accusations washed over her ears despite her attempts to block them out, though mercifully ebbing as the afternoon slid into evening. She scowled at the back of Nazeem's head as he left, once more heading for the Bannered Mare. The sheer audacity of the man, sneering down at her Thane when even he couldn't afford a home! Times like these made her wonder if it was worth bothering one of the mages. Surely there had to be some kind of spell that let you kill people by staring as hard as she was. With a sigh, she lifted herself onto her feet, approaching the grey furred Khajiit sitting alone at his table.
"Honour to you, my th-"
"Lydia..."
The nord repressed a slight chuckle.
"As you wish Ja'Miresh... I'm still not pronouncing that right, am I?"
The Elsweyr-born feline grined wide in what she recognised as amusement, pushing the only other chair out slightly with his foot.
"The tongue of another is hard to master. Ja'Miresh does not mind. You try. That is more than many."
Lydia sat down next to he who she had sworn to protect, looking over the cat's appearance. Before the whole mess involving the High King, she had only heard of, never seen, one of the Khajiit people. The idea of being totally covered in fur was certainly appealing during the harsher winters, but she had witnessed him shivering countless times when swimming, or in the middle of even a mild snowstorm. How someone with a pelt like that could feel the cold, she'll never know. His colourings and markings were perfectly suited for the snowy north too, white and black, striped and blotched. She had personally watched him step into a group of spindly, leaf-less bushes while setting up an ambush, and saw him practically dissapear before her eyes. He was made for Skyrim, Dragonborn or not.
Still, it was amusing watching him haggle and debate with Farengar for some kind of enchantment that would keep his armour warm.
The two fell silent, the crackling of the fire in the centre of the hall filling the air between them. Lydia debated with herself, wondering how much she should tell her Thane. Would he retaliate? Complain to the Jarl? That would probably make things worse... On the other hand, if someone was talking about her behind her back, she'd want to know...
A delicate purring noise brought her out of her thoughts, glancing up at the feline with wide eyes. Ja'Miresh grinned that same grin, throat rumbling.
"You think too much. It makes you gloomy. What ails you?"
Lydia flexes her grip on her weapon, a particularly well made blade that had probably cost the snowy Khajiit a fair number of septims. Did she have the right to expose him to the vicious barbs and comments of her fellow nords?
It was funny... Before, she would never have thought as much before. The Dunmer were not to be trusted, the Argonians were poisonous liars and tricksters, the Altmer were muderous fanatics... And the Khajiit were theives, skooma addicts and would gut you for a single septim.
She had traveled with her thane, the Dragonborn of Legend. She watched him shoot and shout down several Dragons, leaping to and fro as he avoided their breath. She saw his generous nature when it came to those less fortunate, something that many Nords had failings in she noticed. He refused to use his natural skills to "obtain" items for people, despite the ease and coin on offer. And that was just him. She met Argonians, scales of deep emeralds, a fact which did not go unnoticed by Ja'Miresh she noticed. She had never seen his tail so... Wavy before. Pleasent and friendly, Scouts had geuinely wished for co-operation. Then there were the Dunmer, packed into buildings that even the most ruthless of Jarls would have admited were far too small. At least, if the occupants were Nords.
She still wouldn't trust an Altmer as far as she could throw them, but these days her hand did not rest upon her weapon's hilt on sight.
With a sigh, she lowered her head, about to speak before the feline raised his hand.
"If it is about our... High Standing friends, do not worry. We Khajiit have long since learned to ignore such slings and arrows."
His eyes sparkled, though through anger, sadness or amusement, she couldn't tell. Wordlessly, he pointed to the triangular ears upon his head, swiveling them left and right.
"They are not merely for show, no? Khajiit hear all, and say little."
The feline glanced over to where one of the Battle-Born clan was walking, probably meeting with the Jarl over some trivial matter. It would be a simple matter of sneaking up to him, bandit scouts had let their gaze slide over him, unseeing, even when right in front of him. His coin pouch was fat, the coins within jingling audibly to the Khajiit's enhanced hearing. It would be easy, beyond easy, to reach out and with a simple flick of the wrist, sever pouch from belt. He'd be gone before anyone knew what happened.
But then, that would be proving them right. Maybe he wouldn't earn their respect. Too much coin in their hands to think about those beneath them. But the masses in the city will, and do, see him differently.
It started slowly. One or two people in town would have a problem, and he would offer to help. Of course, not everyone would trust him. An obvious thief. But somehow, jobs would get done.
Then word got out through the guards. A dragonslayer in their midst. A Dragonborn of legend. There was no boasting. No trophy waved through the streets. Just a weary rogue, a scent of singed fur following behind him.
And when the vampires turned up, Whiterun was not found wanting. Addriane at the forge was outnumbered... The Guards already dead, though they did not stop walking. A few well aimed arrows turned corpses to dust, forcing the fanged hunters to step back. A quick burst from one of the few spells he cared to learn got the blacksmith on her feet again, and the vampires were quickly routed.
Again, no praise was expected. And while none was given, it was a well known fact that the Warmaiden was saved by the furred newcomer.
Ja'Miresh smirked at his companion, tail snaking calmly behind him.
"Words will not wound. Actions will change expectations."
The Dragonborn stood, grasping his bow and slinging it over his shoulder, hefting his pack onto his back before turning to face Lydia.
"There is a small matter with a bandit camp over in Silver Moons... Beautiful name... Ja'Miresh will travel during night, catch them unawares, yes?"
Lydia nodded, and made to stand, but the Archer shook his head
"Silence will be key Lydia. You... You are... Direct with problems. An admirable trait."
The houscarl nodded, accepting this. She was hardly as stealthy as her Thane, and more than once his hide had felt blades and arrows due to this. Ja'Miresh's grin tugged up at the corners of his mouth as he felt in his pack, dropping a money pouch on the table before her.
"Breezehome... Interesting name... And those bandits will sure to have some... Valuable items afterwards."
Lydia allowed a small smile on her face as she stood, taking the pouch and weighing it. Perhaps after this next bounty? The Nord nodded, already seeking out Balgruuf's advisor as the Khajiit left. As he pushed open the doors of Dragonsreach, she glanced back, following him out. Odd, how a total stranger to this land would earn her respect more easily than those she had lived with all her life. Bowing her head towards the door, she wished him well in his hunt.
"Honour to you, my Thane."
