Cycle of the Serpent

Maybe it's true that people will adjust to anything, no matter how strange the circumstances. Athenath thought of this as they entered Dragonsreach for the second time that day, the residents of the castle going about their daily duties, unbothered by the events of yesterday. They had been lucky that the dragon was distracted by the elves Shouting, or whatever they'd done. The Altmer still wasn't entirely sure of anything that happened the prior day, the battle at the tower a fresh wound that struggled to close and heal properly in the back of his mind. All they could do was hope that they'd never have to fight another dragon again, but given what he'd learned, that seemed an impossible wish to fulfill now.

Greeting the Jarl and Proventus quickly, Athenath hurried through the pleasantries of usual, polite conversation, all the while shifting his gaze to Irileth. He'd come here to speak to her, and if their line of thought disrupted, there was a chance they'd leave the castle without getting to the reason they even walked all this way.

The Dunmer housecarl stood like a pillar of strength, her wrist resting comfortably on the hilt of her blade as Athenath had seen Emeros do once before. She looked the Altmer up and down, her ruby eyes betraying her curiosity beneath her stern brow. She waited for the bard to approach first, to see if he would even dare to, and when he did, she opened her mouth. "You are a welcome guest, but you must still respect the rules of the Jarl's household," she instructed, observing the Mer, their hair tied back hurriedly.

"I'd hope you could rest easy with a Thane around," they joked in a thin attempt at lightening the mood of recent events, but this only caused the edges of the Dunmer's lips to twitch sullenly downward.

"We can never rest easy, for Balgruuf's enemies will not."

"Oh," Athenath's gaze darted to the flooring beneath them, and after a moment, returned to Irileth, "I was wondering, how did you come to be a housecarl?"

Irileth cracked the smallest glimpse the Altmer had ever seen to a smile on her face. Something echoed in her eyes, memory ignited like kindling to a campfire. "Balgruuf and I share a battle bond," she brushed a stray strand of dark brown hair from her forehead, continuing easily, "we met as youths, and forged our friendship in the fires of war. When he became Jarl, I insisted on serving as his protector. He had no cause to argue." Proudly, she detailed the shared history between she and the Jarl, who was now speaking with his brother about some matter involving the Jarl's children, the two shaking their heads with amusement. "Gods, you are curious. Almost... dangerously so." Irileth again narrowed her eyes at the Altmer, but not sensing that they were much of a threat, she let whatever thought she'd been having go. For now.

Athenath spent a moment absorbing the other's words, and when he gathered the confidence, he inhaled. "Is it- I mean-"

"Speak confidently," Irileth commanded, "or you may not be heard."

Athenath reconsidered, thoughts gathering in shaky lines in the back of their mind, then nodded. "Okay, I was wondering if... maybe you could teach me how to fight? I mean, I know the basics, I'm alright with a blade and such, but if I'm going to be going all the way to the Throat of the World or whatever it's called..." He trailed off, nervous lips catching on the words. He and Irileth had fought side-by-side yesterday, and what a sight Athenath must have been. Graceless, barely able to handle a bow, and their sword skills needed a shitton of work. Every notion ran through their mind haphazard and wild, the idea of anyone seeing their poor combat skills in such a situation causing the Altmer to stifle a grimace.

The housecarl seemed taken aback by the statement, and steadied her footing as though tossing about some idea or other in her own mind. She made a small motion of her head in the direction of the long table behind Athenath. "Why don't you ask your housecarl? As you can imagine, I'm quite busy, but rest assured, Lydia is a reliable and well-trained warrior. I saw to that, myself."

Athenath turned, the Nord woman seated as she read through a book and sipped a chalice, swirling the liquid within as she rested it in her palm. He thanked Irileth before inching back away from the throne and to the Nord woman with awkward, uncertain steps. He'd forgotten about the housecarl, and the idea of having someone assigned to them like a bodyguard almost made him nervous. Some parts of his mind gladdened at the concept, someone to defend the trio, should they be incapacitated. But other parts found it uncomfortable, fumbled on the idea, stumbled past it with a shiver of discomfort, a sort of defeatism, as though the elves had been deemed too weak to defend themselves in Skyrim's harsh landscape.

Tapping Lydia lightly on the shoulder, the woman set her chalice down with a heavy sigh. "Farengar, I'm not running an errand for you when I've- oh," she stopped, half-turned, facing the Altmer. She cleared her throat. "Long life to you, Thane."

Athenath tittered, sitting down beside the woman. "Irileth said you might be able to teach me how to fight."

Lydia, puzzled, perched one brow high, her attention solely latched to the elf. "I heard you and the other Thanes did pretty well for yourselves with the dragon."

"Yeah, but..." Athenath trailed off, "...I'll put it this way, I'm not going to be doing anyone any favors with my skills right now if we have to go up against another one of those things."

"I would be honored. You know, my ma and da were members of the Companions. You've seen their hall, Jorrvaskr, right? It's right by the statue of... Well, you know where it is, I'm sure." The uneasiness in Lydia's shoulders, the way she didn't look away from the bard, Athenath could feel all of it as they sat there, the name of the ninth divine not leaving the housecarl's lips.

"Oh! Talos, yeah, the one that priest is always standing around? I don't think I've noticed Jorrvaskr, actually."

The good humor in Athenath's voice left Lydia releasing a breath she hadn't noticed holding. "Yes, Heimskr. He's certainly a character. Anyways, they wouldn't let me join yet, said I needed more time for such a commitment, whatever that means, but... well, yeah, I'd be glad to train you."

"Really?" Athenath's eyes lit up, smile sprawling on his lips. Lydia laughed softly, resting her elbow on the table, armor glinting in the light, the engravings made all the more prominent, small shadows in the ridges curling in decorative patterns.

"Just don't be surprised if I go harder on you than the usual recruit. I know you may not think it, but you and the others fought off a dragon, that shows some real courage and skill. All of Whiterun has been talking about it."

Athenath tucked their chin to their neck at the idea of the town fluttering with the news of the fight. They didn't want people talking about the battle right now, especially if it increased chances of getting asked for a firsthand account about it. Normally, they'd be thrilled to tell bold tales, but when the memory hadn't even had a chance to scab over with the distance of time, the idea of having to tell everyone the story over and over again just made them tired. Still, Athenath looked to Lydia and straightened his posture, placing a smile on his mouth. "Thank you." After a moment, they looked around, brow furrowed. "When do we start?"

Lydia gave it some thought, tapping her fingers along the wooden surface of the long table. "How about after supper, around seven? I've got some duties I need to attend to, and I'm sure you'll want to let Thane Emeros and Thane Wyndrelis know where you'll be."

Perfect. Athenath thanked Lydia profusely, a bounce in his heel as they left the castle, determined to learn anything the warrior could teach them. If they were going to be on the notoriously dangerous roads of Skyrim, even if traveling with other people, it couldn't hurt to take this opportunity while they were here.

The moment he'd gotten back from speaking with Lydia, a plan had formed in their mind.

The bard checked over the armor from yesterday, examining it to be sure it didn't need too much cleaning. They spent a while outside the inn on a clear patch of grass, scrubbing at the iron with a brush and clearing all the soot and blood from it. The fabric portions of the armor would need more care, but they figured that, for now, it was good enough. If he could wear it, then it would work. Then, they told his friends that he was going to be in the castle, about the fighting lesson, Emeros commenting that it sounded like a good idea. He seemed eager to see if Lydia's training was going to benefit the youngest of the group, and Athenath had cracked a joke about his rough-housing with old friends back in Anvil, just wanting to be sure he could defend himself on the road, was all.

Dinner went down easily, something small and quick. Athenath played tambourine at the hearth for a while, Mikael cracking a couple jokes about the stories the town had been flooded with, the pair playing a few songs together as the Altmer eyed the door. They thought about the training Lydia would give them, they thought about the cool night air and the patrons filtering into the inn, about the path they'd take, about the lockpicks in their bag.

When everyone's eyes were on other people, and the inn filled with evening patrons, Athenath took the chance. He donned his armor. He tied up their hair and silently toed to the door. Wyndrelis sat on one of the long benches beside Emeros, the pair listening to Mikael bicker with another man in the inn. Wyndrelis turned.

They locked eyes.

Athenath grinned at the Dunmer, shrugged, and headed out into the night.

Monitoring the guards carefully, their torches grasped in gauntlet-clad hands, he drew in a breath of the fresh, warm air that permeated the city. Belethor's keys jingled in his palms, the metallic catch of the noise alerting the Mer. They scurried to the shadows, ensuring the Breton didn't see them as they peered out at him. The Breton grumbled to himself about needing to mark which key was which, before locking the door to his shop, turning on his heel in the direction of the Bannered Mare. He called something to Saadia - it sounded like an in-joke, as Saadia's reply struck as rehearsed, routine, a thick laugh leaving Hulda's throat - and wrapped a large hand around the door handle, pulling it shut.

The elf crept with practiced ease into the dark, pressing his spine against a wall as a guard strode by, torch burning holes into the night. Secunda and Masser were in opposites, wax and wane, the stars hurrying behind thin, wispy clouds. The light blotted itself out from the skies, silvery specks disappearing. When the timing came to them, they slipped to the back of the shop.

Wrapping their fingers around the handle, Athenath gave it one firm shake, despite knowing it was locked. Feeling the mechanisms stiff beneath their palm, they confirmed what they had seen moments earlier. It never hurt to check. Locks had never been a problem before, though. He plunged a hand into their pocket.

Lockpicks. A true friend.

They worked diligently, nimble digits turning the picks and pressing up until they heard a click, and with it, a smile snuck against his lips. They easily slid a palm around the handle, and he pushed the wooden shop's door until it was ready, slipping into the the building and shutting it behind himself without a second thought.

Ears strained in the silence, cautiously listening for any noise.

A scent of dried herbs from displays in the shop ahead perfumed the air. Outside, guards chatting. People leaving the inn. Arcadia locking up for the night next door. The distant howl of a wolf and the barking of a dog.

Inside, nothing but the occasional creak and pop of settling architecture.

He didn't dare rise to a full stand, keeping low and steady. They moved, gliding one foot in front of the other, the glint of torchlight on their armor already a threat. He didn't dare extinguish them, though. Too much attention.

He spied the book's tattered spine, leather worn down over the decades, and without a moment's hesitation, snagged it from the shelf. He'd been lucky to think to bring their knapsack, stuffing it into the leather material, and creeping out of the shop the same way he came in.

He would head to Dragonsreach immediately after. No use rousing suspicion by returning to the inn for... What? They had no excuses to randomly reappear inside without heading to the castle, so they would not head back. They would make the walk to Dragonsreach, despite the slight hammering of his heart. The book would easily hide in his knapsack until he got back to the inn, even if the risk was still there, someone accidentally knocking over his bag or them needing to get into it and shuffle around the tome, but they knew how to roll with the punches. Blending into the shopkeepers and citizens on their walks home, Athenath became another face in the dark. They had played this game a thousand times before, and their winnings, thus far, vastly outweighed their losses.