Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. Lokir - Intro

“Hey you, you’re finally awake.”

Lokir looks at the last occupant of the cart to awaken, an argonian who had gotten caught in the same imperial ambush as him and these stormcloaks.

The foreigner seems to barely paying attention to what the rebel is saying, looking around the surroundings of the cart as best as he can in their bound state.

He looks right at Lokir and speaks, voice that sibilant hiss of his people, coated in amusement. “First time?”

Lokir stares at his fellow prisoner. He shakes his head and looks at the other stormcloak in the cart, this one with a gag around his mouth.

“What’s wrong with him, huh?”

It’s Ulfric Stormcloak, which means… oh gods, no.

Lokir prays. They stop at Helgen. End of the line, the stormcloak said.

He’s the second off the cart, right behind Ulfric Stormcloak, but he’s not a rebel! They’ve made a mistake, the imperials. They have to realize it.

The officer reads out his name. No. No, he can’t die here, he won’t!

Lokir runs. Lokir dies.

Just off the wagon, the argonian shakes his head. Not surprised, but still pitying.

2. Lydia - Travel

Her thane is a strange one. Not only because of his reptilian characteristics, mind you. Lydia’s not much of a “skyrim for the nords” woman.

He has some strange aversion to traveling well-known paths, seeking shortcuts in the wilderness, uncaring of her ability to follow, seemingly trusting that she will manage to find him wherever he ends up. (She does, but that’s not the point)

He is fascinated by every landmark they come across. Stopping for a few minutes to stare at the mouth of whichever cave or barrow they pass on the way to their real destination.

They’re being sent to Rimerock Burrow, on some quest from a Daedra’s statue. That’s how much Lydia’s been able to glean, at least. Her thane is a bit of a heretic. Lydia doesn’t mind. She’s not very religious either. “That’s very far from Haemar’s Shame,” she tells him.

He stares off into the distance for a moment, the way he sometimes does. She’s stopped questioning that particular habit. “Yes, but it’s close to Northwatch Keep.” Her thane gets on his horse and rides off.

He’s always quiet, but never more than when he is focused on getting somewhere fast.

3. Marcurio - On death and dying

His new employer is absolutely infuriating. Has an inability to stick to the roads. Stops to gawk at every ruin and cave they get close to. Keeps insisting on using him as a pack mule. Calls him by the wrong name. “Come on, Merc.” Not short for mercenary, which Marcurio could deal with, he supposes. The argonian insists on calling him Mercutio, despite how many times he’s corrected him on his name.

Still, the gold is good, and it gives Marcurio the opportunity to put his formidable skills into practice. But then there are other things that are… odd, about the dragonborn (and there is no doubt of this, not when Marcurio has seen him shout so many draugr apart.)

Like when he stops seemingly at random in the middle of a dungeon, or the road, or atop a mountain, always just a few seconds at a time, for no reason Marcurio can tell. That happens a lot.

The dragonborn stands on top of a cliff, seemingly looking for a way down the mountain instead of the perfectly usable path - impatient man that he is. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

The dragonborn, as always, ignores him.

***

The dragonborn stands on top of a cliff, seemingly looking for a way down the mountain instead of the perfectly usable path - impatient man that he is.

Marcurio opens his mouth for an admonishment, and the argonian turns around. He looks disgruntled. “Shut up, Mercutio.”

Marcurio does not call the lightning at his fingers.

***

He follows the dragonborn into a dungeon, not without grumbling at being forced to carry yet more of the useless trinkets his employer collects, knowing very well the weight in the argonian’s pockets will be replaced with whatever they find in these ruins.

Best to find out who those cultists work for.

***

“Wait here,” the dragonborn says.

Marcurio blinks. “You can’t possibly mean to go in there alone.”

The dragonborn is skilled, but Marcurio is well aware of how often he prefers to let his fire and lighting do the talking before even raising his sword.

“I mean it,” says his employer. There is a strange look on his face. “Stay here. I’ll come find you when I get out.”

Likely in some place completely different, as the exits to ruins are seldom the same as the entrances. Still, it’s not his place to argue with his employer. Marcurio nods.

The dragonborn relaxes visibly, then his shoulders set, and he steps inside the stone door.

4: Balimund - Crafting

The argonian is a strange man. Stands right at Balimund’s back while he uses the forge, a hovering presence until he steps away and lets him use it himself. A strange man, indeed.

Balimund is sure he’s seen him jump into the canal once. Just went right over the railing. It’s not the argonian thing. Balimund has met Talen-Jei, Keerava, and Madesi. He would bet his last fire salts they wouldn’t jump in the dirty canal if he paid them.

The newcomer is just a strange one.

(He comes to him with 10 portions of fire salts months after Balimund had made the request. Conveniently, since he’d started to run out again. Still, it’s strange for a man to remember it all this time later. He’d ended up getting more at the alchemist’s shop twice between then and now.)

(Regardless, he rewards the traveler for the service and the product given)

5: Bandits - Food and healing

Sladel momentarily pauses when the dumb upstart he’d just clobbered with his mace - definitely cracked a rib, this one will be easy - pulls out an entire cheese wheel out of seemingly nowhere and eats it in less than a second. This is followed by grilled leeks, a rabbit haunch, a full goat roast, three potions, and fifteen apples. And also the poisoning of his sword. All seemingly in the time it takes for him to heave his mace again.

His attack hits nothing. The argonian performs a truly hideous jump, and proceeds to stab at him enough times that he doesn’t notice anything else ever again.

+1: Nura Snow-Shod - Bonus

Most of the thieves guild members at least try to be subtle while leaving their hideout through the cemetery. All except the argonian, who leaves the passage wide open, regardless of the time of day, or of how clearly in ear-shot she is from the grinding stone.

Nura has gone to close the portal herself far too often since that one joined the guild. So much for her plausible deniability.