A Dragonborn by any other name

Hangovers and Netch Piss

When Gwen woke, it took her a moment to realise that the pounding was not just in her head. As soon as she did, she was out of bed, dagger at the ready, and tensed, ready for fight or flight. It proved unnecessary as the door opened and she saw the redheaded Nord, Brynjolf, her fuzzy mind said, filling in the blank from what Delvin had told her. Their drink last night had turned into two, then three, and after that she had lost count. Putting away the dagger, she shot the Nord a look when he tried to speak, holding up a finger, asking for him to wait a minute. He seemed amused as she stumbled across the room to her back, feeling like she had been run over by the corrupt carriage driver. With a groan, she found the hidden, reinforced pocket in her pack, and fished out a healing potion, downing it on one, and screwing up her face.

"That stuff tastes worse than netch piss." Her first words of the day, combined with her accent, spoke of a time in her past she would rather forget. Before Brynjolf could react, however, and begin speaking once more, she turned to look at him, sapphire eyes cold and hard. "Get out. I need to change out of this stinking armour, and you are not watching." With a chuckle, he complied, shutting the door. Once she felt more human, or mer, or halfling she supposed, and with her coffee hair tamed in a braid, she pulled the amulet out of her dress, glad it hadn't shown itself during the night, she hoped at least. Holding it to her forehead for a moment, she hummed, then tucked it away again, opening the door. "Now you can speak." Brynjolf chuckled.

"Had a bit much to drink Lass?" His smirk was infuriating, but she held herself back from reacting, just lifting an eyebrow and waiting for him to say what he had come to say. "Alright, alright lass. Mercer's not happy that you kept him waiting lass, and if Mercer's not happy, around here, nobody is. He was just about ready to throw you out, until Delvin convinced him otherwise. I suggest you get down there as soon as you can. Pack your bag, you won't be coming back here." When he finished, it was a trigger to look around, and realise that this wasn't the inn. Frowning, but mutely, she followed Bryn outside after she was packed, noting the name on the plaque beside the door before she was dragged off. Riftweald Manor. Filing it away for future reference, she looked around Riften. Nothing seemed to have changed since her visit the day before, apart from the fact it was a little earlier.

When she saw where they were heading, Gwen dug in her heels and stopped. "I'm not marrying you Nord." The stubborn words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she made no move to take them back. He chuckled again, moving her to narrow her eyes. She had the feeling that she would eventually find that sound infuriating.

"I didn't bring you here to wed you lass. I'm taking you the quick way in." At that, Gwen's curiosity was piqued. And she followed again. As the large false coffin moved back with a scrape, she winced. Perhaps the headache wasn't quite gone yet. Taking a steadying breath, she descended into the bowels of Riften once more, the stench of the sewer hitting her worse that the taste of the potion had that morning. The pessimistic Breton who met them in the centre of the room set her teeth on edge, and Gwen knew, immediately, that things would come to a head between them in a violent manner. But, for now, he was her Guildmaster, and she had to at least appear to respect him. Only parts of the conversation that ensued made it through to her brain. Bees, honey, no killing. Those parts she got. Burn three beehives, and clean out the safe. Brynjolf protested, but it was shot down. She was told which trunk would be hers, and where to get her armour from. That bit reached her, that she would finally have a decent set of armour. She was in the middle of compiling a mental list of the spells she would need to protect her trunk when she was interrupted by a single sentence. "And you may want to hide that bit of jewellery a bit better if you don't want anyone asking questions, elf." Automatically, Gwen went to reply that she wasn't full elf, until it sunk in. Her skin went from being toned slightly golden to deathly pale, and her eyes widened in panic. Hand flying up to where the amulet was hidden beneath her clothes, she searched her mind for ideas on how to explain it. She came up with none, and was left shaking, though the laugh startled her once more. "We don't care who you are down here, elf, if that's what you are, we just care that you get things done. Any trouble though…" He trailed off, and Gwen nodded mutely, taking her escape as soon as she could. The amulet was pulsing with her heartbeat, but still hidden, for now at least. She wondered how long she would be safe, how long it would be before she had to flee her responsibility once more.