Delphine had wasted no time in leaving for the trip. Despite the change in plan, the breton had insisted on contacting Malborn in case they needed him later. She was gone before the others had reached the upper floor. Gaeolin stood at the bar, exchanging a few coins to Orgnar in exchange for a few loaves of bread, cheese, and a bag of apples. Inigo munched on a sweetroll, his face a picture of bliss. He stuffed the remainder in his mouth as his friend prepared to leave. “Give me a moment to stop by Alvor’s, my friend. I need to buy some more arrows.”
Gaeolin stopped. “Actually Inigo, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”
The khajiit frowned. “What would you have me do?”
Gaeolin handed him a small coin purse. “I need you to go to Riften for me. Seek Maramal, and give him this letter.” Inigo took the parchment carefully. “Just make sure to do as it says for me.”
Inigo scanned the letter, looking conflicted. “But, what about the Embassy? You might need my skills in that bastion of intolerant bigotry.”
“Auroth and I can take care of it. I know you’ve missed the Rift. This will give you a chance to visit it, and help me at the same time.” Gaeolin looked down to his gloved hands. “You’re the only one I could ever trust to take care of this for me.”
Inigo nodded, tucking the letter into his armor. “It will be done.” His face broke into a grin. “Hehe, I have always wanted to play the part of a courier!” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver, your hands only…”
“Just try to be fully clothed when you meet him.” Gaeolin smirked. “He’s a priest, after all.”
Inigo chuckled. “If I must. Goodbye for now. I will head back to Lakeview after I am done, if you need me.” He looked back at them with a wave before leaving the inn.
“Well then,” Auroth picked up his hammer, “let’s get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
The village faded behind them amid the river valley. Ahead, the pass opened to the plains of Whiterun. The sky was a vibrant blue, painted with wisps of cloud that even the Throat of the world could not touch. The roar of the waterfall echoed off of the cliffs, making Gaeolin smile to himself. Auroth followed close, his face as stoic as ever.
“I love the Rift,” Gaeolin mused, “but there is something about Whiterun hold that just invigorates me.”
Auroth grunted in acknowledgment. He plucked leaves of some sort of plant from his pocket, popping them into his mouth to chew. Gaeolin waited for a few more seconds before realizing that this was the extent of his response to the statement.
“Do you have somewhere in Skyrim you feel… more of a connection with?” He asked.
The High Elf sighed. For a moment Gaeolin thought he had somehow insulted his friend, or pried too much. However, a small smile started to appear over the older Elf’s features. “Honestly, the Reach. It’s the rolling hills, I suppose, the cliffs, the rocky surroundings. But more than that, and I suppose this is odd, it’s the fight.”
“The fight?” Gaeolin repeated.
“The fight between the Nords and the Forsworn. Bretons, natives. The Nords come in and push out the locals, the locals fight back in a war of blood and stone.” Auroth chuckled quietly and cast his gaze at his friend. “It’s almost the purest essence of what I came to love about Skyrim, if that makes any sense.”
Gaeolin saw his point, but nonetheless felt a lump in his chest. “I see what you mean, but would have to disagree on principle.” He let his brow compress a little. “The Forsworn may have been here first, but I have found that they tend to lean more toward barbarics than needed.” He looked at the northern sky. “I failed in stopping them from killing before. I’m sure that wasn’t the last time either. I don’t know… I won’t ever be able to forgive them for what they did to Algafa and Svega…”
Auroth cocked an eyebrow. “An adventure that Inigo never told me about?”
Gaeolin’s face fell. “A failure we aren’t proud of…”
Auroth pulled the stem of one of the leaves out of his mouth, letting it fall to the road. “I’d like to hear about it sometime. I find you learn the most about someone from how they failed, and more so how they moved on from the failure.”
Gaeolin tugged at his amulet. “Maybe some other time. I think it would be better left to when we are with Inigo. He can remember some parts more clearly than I.” The High Elf accepted the subtle hint, letting the topic drop.
They walked in silence for an hour or so, finally seeing the city of Whiterun rising from the plains bellow. A guard nodded to them as they turned to the west. Gaeolin was fully prepared to go farther, but Auroth stopped him.
“Could we please stop here? Maybe just for a few hours. I need to get some things.”
Gaeolin nodded, following him into the city. The Altmer strode to the door of the Drunken Huntsman, the sign creaking on it’s hinges. Elrindir greeted them with a smile. “Greetings, Gaeolin! And Auroth? I haven’t heard from you in years. What brings the two of you to my shop?”
Auroth pulled out his pipe to be, looking at it with disdain. “I’m not as good at whittling as you. I need a new pipe.”
Elrindir picked up the pitiful example, chuckling. “I see what you mean. You’re in luck, I just carved this one last week.” He dipped behind the counter, pulling a slender pipe from the shelf beneath the counter. “Cyrodiilic Cherrywood, excellent specimen too. I haven’t sampled it though.”
Auroth turned it over in his hands. He tapped it to get a sense of the balance. “How much?”
“Twenty Septims, I’ll even throw in some Elves Ear for you.”
Auroth handed over the coin with enthusiasm. He placed the empty pipe in his mouth, striding out the door to head deeper into the town. Gaeolin followed with his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t even bring himself to argue that they had no time to stop and loiter in town. He had too much to think about. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he nearly tripped on the steps into the Bannered Mare.
Auroth sent him a concerned look, his expression enough to render words needless. Gaeolin shook himself, stepping up to join his friend in the tavern. They sat on the floor near the firepit, Sadia bringing them a pair of mugs in case they wanted to drink. Auroth wasted no time in packing his new pipe. He held his fingers over the bowl, a small flame springing to live between them. The herbs took the fire, a small plume of smoke forming as the Altmer started off the pipe. He held the smoke for a moment, his face relaxing as he let out the breath.
“Needed that, did you?” Gaeolin smirked.
“We all have our vices. Mine just happens to be a good smoke.” He nibbled on the stem a bit, testing the taste of the wood. “We won’t stay long. I know this is an important mission.”
“We can afford an hour or so.” Gaeolin stared into the fire. He watched the flames dance on the logs. It was mesmerizing, the weaving of yellows, oranges, reds, and blues. He held a hand out to feel the heat. It was nice to feel warmth again. His mind was still buzzing. It was starting to give him an ache. He rested his head on his hand. He couldn’t think…
‘Drem, goraan fahliil. Fin yolos do smoliinaal vonun vahzen mindoraan.’ [1]
“Wo hi?” [2] He muttered to himself. Auroth cocked an eyebrow to him. Gaeolin grinned at the foolish expectation of an answer.
‘Zu’u aan Grah-Zeymahzin. Mu fen grind ko tiid.’ [3]
He sat up, his eyes wide. He tried a few more questions, careful to whisper and not draw attention. But the mysterious voice did not respond again. Auroth wore an expression of mounting concern. “Are you finally losing your mind? I can understand why you would, but now isn’t the best time.”
“No… I promise I’m sane.” He looked around the tavern. “Ever since I learned to shout, there has been a voice in my head. It speaks in the dragon tongue, only when I feel lost, or if I can’t decide what to do.”
Auroth drew on his pipe. “Sounds like some sort of illusion magic. A means of long distance communication, or something similar.” He was quiet for a moment. “Gaeolin, I know you are preoccupied with what happened this morning. But you have to put it from your mind. The Embassy will test our abilities like nothing has before.” He sent a nervous glance. “I need to know I can count on you in there.”
Gaeolin broke from his thoughts. Auroth, a man he had come to know as brusque, rough, and hard to read… Sounded frightened.
“I’m… I’m not looking forward to this. I suggested going because it might be your best chance to get in. If things go bad, and we are seperated… “ He looked across the room. “I won’t leave that place alive.”
Gaeolin rested his arm on his knee. “I won’t let that happen, friend.”
Auroth closed his eyes, drawing once more on his pipe. “I don’t think I could ask for a better guardian.” He turned to face his companion. “And for the record, I’m not trying to reduce the significance of your situation. I was as surprised as you.” He smirked a little. “Well, maybe a little more.”
Gaeolin sighed. “I just don’t know why he feels that way.”
“It was a gesture that isn’t very common these days. I suppose he feels unworthy. You might not want to admit it, but being Dragonborn does make people hold you on a higher tier.”
The Bosmer slouched forward. “He has always, and will always be my equal. He dishonors me by suggesting otherwise.”
“You and I both know he didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know! I know…” Gaeolin ran a hand through his bangs. “It’s just not the way I would have liked this to happen.”
Auroth considered him, a gentle strand of smoke coiling from his pipe as he listened. “So have you decided?”
Gaeolin sent him a look that was half smile and half anxious. “I think so.”
***************************
Translated Lines:
1} Peace, young elf. The flames of passion may hide true understanding.
2} Who are you?
3} I am an ally. We will meet in time.
Mapes Fiction Publication 