The inn rippled with a chorus of song in half-slurred voices. I moved along the shadows, the lit areas heavily occupied by residents back from a day's work. As such, the room smelled strongly of stale sweat and mead, while muddied tracks littered the entryway. When the bard struck up a tune about the Stormcloaks, the boisterous Nords both cheered and hissed in one loud boom of noise. I used the distraction to slip through the crowd near the fire, sitting down on the warmed flagstones for some much needed creature comfort.
After a few minutes, a Redguard woman took my order and delivered upon my request of milk wine and stew. I ate around the vegetables, listening to the conversation around me. It sometimes was worth being small in stature. People tended to overlook you easily.
"Thorald's been missing for weeks," mused a burly-looking Nord.
"Tsch. Serves those Gray-Mane's right. Breeding traitorous wretches like him," sneered an Imperial.
"Don't let them hear you say that, Mallus. More workin' folk support Ulfric than Tullius."
"It matters not."
"What if it wasn't the Thalmor like people 'r sayin'?"
"What are you talking about, Sinmir?"
"Well, you know Thorald hardly never left his house. I only saw him in here. After dark."
"So, what, he's a shut-in as well as an irritating thorn in the Empire's side," shrugged Mallus.
"So...what if the Dawnguard's hauled him away?"
"Those vampire hunters? You think Thorald is a vampire?"
"He could be. They could be torturin' him at their fortress. That one near Riften," offered Sinmir, taking a long, swaying swig from his tankard.
"You've had too much of the drink, my friend. Thorald got what's coming to him by the Thalmor. Make no mistake about that." The two returned to drinking in silence, and by the time I had finished my dinner, the Imperial disappeared into the night.
My legs began to fall asleep, so I stood to stretch and shift to another part of the inn. Someplace more secluded. "There you are!" called a voice. I turned, and found Valindor standing casually in the doorway to the kitchen. "Hiding in with the crowd, I see," he continued, his face splitting into a smirk.
"Just keeping my ear to the ground."
"Oh? And what creatures have been trampling across the land?"
"The Dawnguard. Current rumors are not favorable," I pondered as I stared into the fire's hypnotic embers. "We'll take the pilgrimage to the Eldergleam, and then I think it'd be best if we investigated these people. There's someone I need to protect from them."
"That little girl from Darkwater?"
I glowered at Valindor in suspicion, "How did you know about her condition?"
"You were raving about her after you returned to Solitude. I heard the soldiers mentioning it to Hrollod in passing at the inn one night. But it's a good idea. No child to be subject to the treatment you received." My friend's face clouded over in a dark gloom as if a far more sinister memory stirred there than my surprise visit from the vampire hunters.
We observed the other inn patrons for a while, Valindor consuming a bottle or two of wine in the process. With each swallow he became more bold and grabby. I'd find his arm about my waist, or holding my hand, or playing with my hair. Eventually, I had enough and slipped upstairs when he spent several minutes showing the bard how not to play a lute.
I was lying on the bed in the room I rented, almost asleep when stumbling steps shuffled into the room.
"Why'd you leave me alone downstairs? I hate being alone. It's not fair," burbled my friend in Bosmeri, teetering excessively.
"Because I was tired, and you were groping me," I murmured sleepily.
"Groping? I wasn't groping. Groping is like this." He made a crude and sloppy set of gestures on an invisible female form. Eyes dropping lopsidedly, he regarded his imaginary female. "I'd like to do that to you. I would. Can I?"
"No, Val."
"Why not?" Valindor leaned over the edge of the bed, his face far too close to mine. "Come on, I know you want me to. I can see it in your...your...thing... Face. Yes! Your face. Gods, I'm drunk."
"Yes, you are, and you should probably stop drinking if you know what's good for you. We have to meet Maurice down by the gate in the morning."
"Him! Pah! We don' need him. We have us. Each other. Us. Together." His eyes flicked down my body, then back up to my eyes and a sheepish grin stole its way onto his face.
"Danica thought it would be a good idea, and I happen to agree with her," I replied as I sat up on my elbows. Our noses were inches apart, and I instinctively felt my breath hitch for a moment. There was a pregnant pause, then Valindor pulled away, his expression contorted with disgust.
"Well if he's coming, I'm not going!"
"Don't do this, Val. You're being childish."
"Not going. No way. He's annoying, even when I annoy him." He stumbled back several steps, attempting to pace the room, but only managing to slump into the far wall.
"Please, just go with me. I don't want to be stuck with him the entire way to the shrine. It won't be so bad, I-- Valindor?" There was a heavy thump as the Bosmer melded with the floor, his tankard rolling away under the bed in a noisome clatter. Gently, I shook him, trying to wake him. Then, seeing that was impossible, I rolled him on his back and slipped my arms under his armpits. I tried to drag him onto the bed so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor, but he was too heavy for me to move. "Oh, this is ridiculous," I huffed. With resignation, I arranged him in as dignified a manner as possible for a comatose drunk and left him to sleep off the alcohol.
My own sleep was hardly comfortable with the clatter of locals below me lasting well into the night. Even then, once they had all gone to bed or left for their homes, Valindor's snores could have woken the dead. Of course, such thoughts left me shivering at the memories of Nordic ruins where ancient alchemical artifacts rested and dead bodies walked freely and maliciously.
By early morning, I was too awake and too tired to sleep any more. Giving up any hope of rest, I tramped downstairs for breakfast where Hulda, the innkeeper, tallied her inventory on a well-worn slab of slate. I left Valindor upstairs with a hastily scrawled note on his chest. The pilgrimage couldn't take too long, no more than a day or two at most, and I expected to be back by the time his hangover had completely dissipated.
When I reached the gate, Meeko in tow, recovered from some corner of Whiterun, the morning chill still hung in the air as the sky stretched into grey, pre-dawn light. Maurice stood waiting impatiently by a brazier, dressed in the shabbiest clothes I could ever imagine, completely unarmed. This was going to be an arduous trip.
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And drunken snores ... more