Traveler (Skyrim Fan Fic)

Chapter 3

Whiterun was a nice place. The market stalls were quaint and busy with buyers. Children frolicked about, giggling and playing games.

Dragonsreach was far more incredible, though. Fantastic craftsmanship, towering doors and beams, all hugging a large pit fire, warming the room greatly. I approached the Jarl, and a Dunmer woman with red hair to match her red eyes stopped me.

"What's the meaning of this?" she questioned, her voice sharp and stern,"The Jarl is not receiving visitors!"

"I have news of the dragon attack in Helgen." I explained.

The woman lightened up a little,"Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Go ahead, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

I nodded and walked towards the blonde haired man sitting casually at his throne.

"So...you were at Helgen?" the man asked,"You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Um...no, not exactly," I replied, fidgeting with the hem of my cloak,"Its what I heard."

"Hmph," the Jarl surveyed me,"Of course, you haven't looked like you've seen a dragon from the moment you walked in."

Then the Jarl turned to the man standing next to him,"What do we do now, Proventus? Do we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

They continued to converse, everyone seemingly distracted. I had fulfilled my mission in Whiterun, no need for me here now. I backed away and slipped off without anyone noticing me. I walked down the stone steps, ready to begin my trek towards Windhelm, when I bumped into someone. Someone large.

I staggered back,"Oh I'm so sorry, I--"

Then I finally looked at the rather handsome man. He was tall, with big  muscles and pale skin. His shoulder length hair was dark and he had a  scruff on his jaw to go with it. His eyes were a ghostly blue, and they stared down at me softly.

"Watch out, little one." the man said in a deep voice, then began to walk off.

I watched after him, then shook my head and came back to reality, hoping the small red blush decorating my cheeks would soon fade.

My hand hovered over the Whiterun gates, about to open them, when my stomach suddenly grumbled hungrily. I turned and looked at the inn across the way.

...Well, maybe a little lunch won't hurt.

--

A young man of Redguard descent sat in that same inn, telling a tale of his trials and woes to a few drunkards. To the women of Whiterun, this young man was rather handsome. His dark hair laid against the middle of his neck, his dark skin smooth at sight, and kind, sparkling brown eyes. He wore the finest iron armor and carried a great sword on his back.

As the man finished telling his story, a young woman walked through the door. She sported dark brown locks tied into a ponytail, her eyes as golden as the mines of Markarth, and her porcelain skin flushed from the cold.

She paid the young man no mind and walked over to the bar. She bought a loaf of bread, a bottle of ale, and made on her way with haste. She looked to be going somewhere.

The man bid the drunkards fair well and followed the young lady. She was eating on the go, and she quickly made rid of the bread she had bought, the ale going down just as fast. She had to be a Nord, no doubt about it.

The woman stopped when she realized someone was following her.

"What do you want?" she called out, her back turned to the man.

"A fair question," he placed his hands on his hips,"The question is; what do you want?"

The woman turned and looked at the man,"Who's asking?"

"Ah, I apologize." he placed a hand on his chest and said,"Dhaska the Wanderer. Might I ask who you are?"

"Jennavara of Cyrodiil."

Cryodiil? Hm, maybe he shouldn't judge a booking based by its cover.

"And, where are you going in such a hurry, Jennavara of Cyrodiil?" Dhaska asked.

"Do you always ask strangers personal questions?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

Jennavara was silent for a time, staring at him. Then her face broke out into a small smile.

"Windhelm, I'm going to Windhelm."