Cycle of the Serpent

With the late sun vanishing and the moons set higher above the plains, the Bannered Mare's usual patrons made their way along the winding grids of the city and through the front door, the main hall boasting of full seats and plenty of mead in mugs, ale in bottles, and fresh meals cooked over the hearth. The trio budged their way into the small inn, surprised at its warmth and the laughter rattling the walls. Emeros heard the innkeeper's voice and took quick, light steps up to the counter, exchanging a couple words and a few coins before he disappeared into the kitchens, already examining the ingredients available and his own provisions and what he could hope to make from them.

Athenath slipped into a chair at the counter, Wyndrelis following suit apprehensively, the innkeeper busy in conversation. They caught her name, Hulda, and the name of the other woman now busied with a tray full of ale, Saadia. The Altmer rested his chin in the heel of his palm, asking Hulda various questions about the city and the Bannered Mare itself. The older woman gave a few quick answers as she brushed a few loose, greying strands from her forehead.

"So, I'm assuming with a town this size, there's some interesting rumors around." The Altmer's sharp grin and elbows dug into the counter's surface reflected in the bottles of ale set out, Hulda arching a brow at the Mer as she replied to someone across the room, the tiniest flicker of grief set in her eyes.

"I assume you saw the Gildergreen?" The other two shook their heads. "Big tree, all burnt up, in the middle of the Wind District. It's part of the Temple of Kynareth. People want Danica to do something about it, but I don't know what they expect." Hulda shook her head as though she, too, thought that the tree could be fixed with an easy handwave and a spell or two, but had tossed these hopes out with the dishwater long ago.

"So, speaking of temples, where's the Temple of Mara in Skyrim?" Athenath crossed an ankle over their knee, foot bouncing restlessly like a dog wagging its tail.

"That would be Riften," Hulda replied, "though, I'd be cautious about heading that way. Riften is... it's not what it used to be. The way I've heard it from folks coming this way, the Thieves Guild runs the place, now."

Athenath's arm laid on the counter, posture leaning towards the innkeeper, curiosity piqued. "Skyrim has a Thieves Guild?" The sound of their voice set Wyndrelis in an uncomfortable mental pause, his eyes following the Altmer from the corner of his vision, not entirely facing, not entirely away. His hands clasped over his wool-clad knee, he could feel the sharpness of the bard's intrigue, and the disapproval in Hulda's own speech.

"Yeah, though I don't know much about them," Hulda scoffed through her laugh, but the suspicion in her eyes cut the Mer back from the lightness of the comment, "way I hear it, they've become more like hired thugs for Maven Black-Briar. I'd keep my nose out of it if I were you."

It wasn't so much a threat as a tiny worm of a warning, the kind that wriggled around in one's brain and buried itself deep in the soil of thought. Athenath leaned back and gave a mild-mannered shrug of their shoulders. "Yeah, of course. I just figured that was a Cyrodiilic thing."

The evening crowd dampened all chance of getting any more information out of either Saadia or Hulda, both busy with mead and meals and a million little tasks that never seemed to end. Athenath wondered how two people could run an inn by themselves, but every time he mulled it over, he'd watch them seamlessly tackle every corner of the establishment and handle every little, minute detail like Dwemer clockwork machines. They had it down to a fine art, even if Hulda made comments here and there about selling the inn to someone else in town. The laughter grew and the songs from the local bard carressed the warm room in a practically saccharine atmosphere, as if he were playing for the pleasure of hearing his own voice and found the audience to be secondary. Still, his voice was fine, and his skill with the lute finer. Occasional tensions made a crawl up the ceiling and walls, the palpable kind whose hands dipped into the very atmosphere and pulled at the roots of calm, not enough to tug it out but enough to reveal the scuttling insects clinging to it. Some folks skirted around one another. Some bumped into one another as if the other were invisible, and glared, and walked away. Hulda would shoot a look, and the tension would melt away, if only for now.

Athenath and Wyndrelis quietly spoke to one another, Emeros still in the kitchens, his ears twitching with the little fragments of conversations overheard, his gaze here-and-there observing his friends. Out of the corner of his eye, Wyndrelis spied the blond in Imperial armor from earlier, who marched up to the strange Mer at the counter. The mage tapped a grey finger nervously on Athenath's shoulder. The Altmer shed a nervy glance to the man who now stood behind them, beard neatly trimmed, face strong, arms hard and sturdy from years of labor and soldiering.

"Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?" His voice came out icier than a snowstorm in Bruma, the question hefty on his tongue. The two Mer shared a look, uncomfortable in the other's presence.

"What?" Wyndrelis choked out. The Nord rested two large fists on his hips.

"Got stones in your ears?" He growled, "I asked what side you're on. Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?" The question came out more urgent than the one before, and Athenath inched their seat closer to the mage. From across the room, the eyes of the Bosmer bored holes into the armor-clad blond's shoulders. Sharp and ever-present, he'd chat with a few patrons who passed him by, but his focus never split too long from the figures of his friends, or from the stranger.

Several patrons took notice of the Nord. Another similarly built Nord watched, lip curled and breath taut. Wyndrelis thought back on earlier, with the blacksmith, what she'd said and how she'd said it. How could he tell Athenath what to answer if he couldn't verbalize it without the man hearing? Athenath gave an anxious glance to the mage, as if asking the same question. Taking a gamble could be risky. Would this result in a fight if their answer disatisfied him?

"Um- Battle-Born, uh-" Athenath stammered out, Wyndrelis nodding emphatically. Visibly relaxing, the Nord gave a warm grin.

"Then I say well met, friends. I could tell you were sharp ones the moment I laid eyes on you." He craned his neck, searching for something. "And your other friend?"

"Oh, Battle-Born, no doubt." With a light hand, Athenath waved the tension quickly away and gave the brightest grin he could muster, the Nord's nod and smile enough to give the pair some peace. With a 'long live the Empire' and a wave, he left them alone, the room again relaxing, the world back into its rightful place, even if Athenath's spine crept with the look given to them by a few other patrons.

All thought of the family feuds of the city left their minds as Emeros carefully made his way over, bringing with him a platter laden with small bowls of stew and grilled vegetables. Some of it had been there when the trio arrived, some of it he'd cooked himself, a ruddy hue at his cheeks from the heat of the cooking pot.

"What the devil is his problem?" He grumbled under his breath as he sat beside the pair.

"As Adrianne said, let's keep out of their way," Wyndrelis spoke in a low voice between the three as Hulda made her walk back to the counter for something. She gave one cautious look to the Mer as if to ask if the Nord had been bothering them, and with the unanimous shake of their heads and return to their meal, they chose to answer no.

The decently-sized room bore and equally well-sized bed, with the bonus of being large enough for the three without worrying about squishing against one another uncomfortably. The green blankets crooned the sweet song of sleep, and the trio agreed on the arrangement they'd held in Riverwood, with Emeros on one side, Wyndrelis on the other, and Athenath between. Might as well, as it was familiar, and none of them had enough room in their brains for the debating on sides of the bed.

Laughter drifted up the stairs and ghosted along the balcony attached to their room, music accompanying like an unconventional lullaby. "I hear this inn has a bath," Emeros pulled the blankets high to his shoulders, facing the other two, "we should wake early, bathe, and do laundry. Gods know I'm not going to see the Jarl in this state," he added with a sleepy chuckle, Wyndrelis propped up on his elbow to face the Bosmer, Athenath already closing his eyes.

"Good idea. I just hope this is the end of our dragon business," the Altmer murmured, raking their fingers through their hair.

Wyndrelis set his glasses on the nightstand before nestling under the blankets, a grin at his lips. "Gods help us, if I never see one of those things again, it will be too soon."