Chapter Text
Notes, notes, more notes …
Ah. There it is.
Doing a quick look over of the detailed sketch, I carefully tear it out and hand the paper to the kid behind me, not missing the awed gasping sound he makes when he looks at the creature detailed on the page.
It's a dragon, an ancient frost dragon to be more specific. The damned thing has been roosting up in the hills, too lazy to even sent a thu’um at me from where I sat sketching him in ink. Bastard was probably enjoying getting drawn, hence why dragons strike me as arrogant beings. That would explain Miraak's weird god complex. Then again, a lot of people seem to have god complexes in games.
This isn't exactly a game anymore, though. Not when I passed through Iverstead and saw a Khajiit woman making her way towards the steps with a follower that looks a damned lot like Lydia with her. It's kind of hilarious that the Dovahkiin in this reality is a Khajiit, dunno how many people I've heard dismiss it as a rumor until she comes walking through their village or city.
Only a matter of time until she makes her way to the terrible place that is Riften, I do hope to be gone before then. Hell if I know whether she’s displaced like me or just another person, but where she goes, so does trouble. Thus is the terrible burden of being a main character/savior.
Thank god I’m not stuck in her place. Ugh.
“So you really got this close to a dragon?!” The kid says, crouched in front of my mat. I nod with a grin.
“Definitely. He was a bit busy sunbathing, so I don’t think he minded a few sketches,” I state, then poke the paper.
“Ancient Frost Dragon, and he was bigger than this paper leads you to believe.”
“A load of horse shit,” Snilf says with a sneer to my left, peering at the sketch with narrowed eyes. I lift an eyebrow at the beggar, head tilting.
“If you’re so certain, why don’t I take you to see it? Then again, I’m not so sure about how the dragon will react to you,” I state, before turning back to the boy. Samual, if memory serves. He’s got the close cut hair.
“Stuff that down your shirt, dear. I don’t want to risk Grelod taking it when you sneak back in,” I tell him, reaching and patting his shoulder.
Samual nods, folding the paper carefully and putting it away.
“Do you have anything else?” He asks with a grin.
I hum, flipping through my journal.
“I suppose. Though these would be for viewing only. I wouldn’t mind parting with a few if any of your friends sneak out and want one, of course.”
Encouraging defiance? Me? Why, I’d never. You’re looking at the most innocent looking person around, how could I do something so heinous?
You aren’t a delinquent if you never get caught.
“Alright… but I’m not making any promises. Old Grelod likes to use the paddle when she catches anyone outside,” Samual says with a frown. I try not to let any anger show at that statement.
“Got it, kid. Now you run along, I’ve got art to draw,” I say with a smile, ruffling his hair before he takes off.
“You shouldn’t be givin’ things away. People ‘round here will get the wrong idea,” Snilf grumbles, looking at his worn mat.
“People can think whatever they want, old man. I’ll just keep being kind,” I state. Then, I reach into my satchel and pull out two pieces of beef jerky, handing one to the elderly man.
Snilf doesn’t say no to the food, he needs it, but the look he gives me shows that I’ve probably only made him more concerned for my survival.
I’m happy I got more than one sketch of that dragon, though. No matter how happy it made the kid, I really do get really happy looking at them. How many people can say they drew a living breathing dragon only fifty feet away from them? Not many living people and certainly no one from back home.
Two people stop by and ask a few questions, buy sketches. One of a recently emptied Bleak Falls Barrow, another of Whiterun in the distance. A birds eye view of Whiterun from the cloud district, and a guard looking contemplatively at a bird who’s landed next to him.
Skyrim is beautiful and it’s right before my eyes. If I can capture even a little of it before I get killed, I don’t mind being here so much.
At least I’ll never have to go to Highschool again, though I do miss the nice accessible art supplies in art class. And by accessible I mean finders keepers. Everyone knows you don’t leave crap lying around in there, Art kids are vultures.
I make enough money for another week at Haelga’s, even if she doesn’t like me much. I’m a bit too close to adventurer and beggar for her tastes, but I pay on time. That’s good enough for her.
I don’t mind parting with my drawings as much as I used to. I can’t really make copies and not selling them means getting a normal job or starving. It’s not fun, yeah, but they’ve all got my name scribbled on them. At least everyone knows who made them?
I draw Riften’s market later in the day, when there’s fewer people about and it’s almost time to close up the stalls. Brynjolf is still letting his elixir be known to all around, but it’s all quieter now. I wish I had my watercolor to capture the way the sunlight hits everything right now. Fills this place with warm color in contrast to its very nature.
I’ll settle for my ink, though. I know it’s better than nothing.
The market takes shape from where I’m standing. I’m not in it, a little ways away, but it’s better to get the full picture than nothing. I wonder how much colored inks would cost? Or normal paint. Though paintings would have to take longer than my drawings. I’ll have to think on it.
I move closer and browse the wares, trying to find the right angle to start another drawing. I lean against the edge of the stone wall, next to Madesi’s stall, and start drawing what’s in front of me. The well, Madesi and his stall, and a curious looking Brynjolf looking at me, elixir in hand from where he stands. That and the buildings behind them.
I finish when everyone is putting their things away, smiling triumphantly at another good ink drawing. It’s odd, how consistently good everything I’ve made so far has been. I won’t test my luck and question it though. I’m hoping it’s some sort of gift for dealing with losing everything.
Ha. Morbid.
I gently hold my sketchbook/journal open as I wait for it to dry, watching quietly as everyone finishes up. Madesi walks up to me.
“I saw you drawing, Artist. May I see what you’ve made?” He asks, hands carefully clasped in front of him where he stands. I nod with a grin, turning my sketchbook and stepping a bit closer so he can see.
“This is well made. What are you doing in a place such as this?” Madesi says, looking up from my picture to me.
I shrug. “Enjoy the beauty of Skyrim, wandering until I meet my end, the like. What’s a fine man like yourself doing in a place such as this?” I hum with a smile. He’s a good man, and he most certainly deserves better than this city. It’s bigger than in the game, more people, more canals, more badness. It’s a wonder how these people stay afloat.
“You jest, fair lady. A wish to travel is what brought me here, this city keeps me here. Willing or unwilling,” the Argonian tells me. Oh my goodness he’s so respectful. I’m going to be his best freaking friend.
“Well that’s unfortunate. Would you like to get dinner together? I’ve seen you at the Bunkhouse, but I tend to avoid eating there if I can,” I offer, rolling on the balls of my feet. He looks surprised, but nods.
“I would be happy to, if you’re heading there as well. May I ask why you avoid it?”
We start walking now, and I hum in thought.
“The other men aren’t very nice to Svana. Tythis specifically,” I explain, absentmindedly closing my now dry sketchbook. “I don’t like it, and I don’t think my butting in would stop it. I’m squishy.”
“I agree that it is uncomfortable. Tythis listens to very few people, though, so my interference would do as little as your own.”
We enter the bunkhouse, Madesi holds the door open for me and closes it behind us. Tythis is already settled at one of the tables and hasn’t started harassing anyone yet, but I definitely don’t want to sit anywhere near him.
Why do some people have to act so shit to others?
I settle down away from the dark elf, and Madesi sits in front of me.
“So you wander and draw your illustrations?” Madesi asks. I nod, laying my sketchbook down on the table. I don’t set my bag down though. This is Riften and I’m not that gullible.
“Yep. I’ve been from Whiterun, Falkreath, here and most in between. I wanted to try and walk up the thousand steps, but there’s wolves and things that far up the mountain, not stuff I want to deal with,” I explain, propping my cheeks on my palms. “So far I’ve mostly avoided any altercations, but once I move on from here that may change. Somebody can only be lucky so long.”
“A grim view, but a logical one. Are you moving on soon?” Nearby more and more are coming into the bunkhouse. The food here is cheaper than the stuff at the tavern. Doesn’t taste as good, but it’ll do the trick on a budget. Haelga herself is greeting people now, and I can spot a tired looking Svana peering out from the kitchen.
“Depends. There’s lots to draw, but I don’t know if I want to be around the Thieves guild for long. I have a feeling I know who’s in and who isn’t,” I say. “Shady individuals selling snake- er, suspicious stuff or accosting people when they come into town.”
Madesi nods at this, looking unhappy himself. “The guards like to talk as if they’re scampering only in the Ratway. Were you too bothered by Maul at the gate?”
I make a so-so gesture with my hand.
“He was mighty intimidating for sure. Didn’t get roughed up though, he just asked what a little girl was doing wandering around. Thought ‘drawing’ was a funny explanation.”
Svana and Haelga are taking orders now it seems, starting on the other side of the room. I don’t mind. As long as I get food at all, I'm good.
My eyes narrow when I spot Tythis pat Svana’s butt.
Bitch is getting fish in his bed, fuckin watch. I sleep in the same room as the idiot. Bet.
“From what I’ve heard his brother is apart of the Guild, though you didn’t hear that from me. If you see anyone in dark leathers and a hood, walk the other way.”
“And if I can’t walk the other way?”
The young man sighs. “Give them what they want, or shove a dagger in their ribs.”
Enlightening. I’ll be sure to file that one in important.
Sneaking around in the middle of the night in Riften. Not one of my brightest ideas, but fish doesn’t find itself.
There’s barrels everywhere just waiting to be plundered. They’re practically asking to get used for my nefarious purposes, alright?
I’m shoving fish in a sack, in the middle of the night, in Skyrim. Funny where life takes you, huh?
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up and my head snaps to the side. I’m making eye contact with Brynjolf.
“Uh. Sup.” I’m clearly articulate and intelligent, can’t you tell? That AP English class clearly didn’t go to waste.
Damn. This is where it ends. Hope the redhead gets a kick out of this story though.
“Am I interrupting something?” Brynjolf asks, looking completely at ease and with a smile on his face.
“A bit. Ah, look at the time. I’d better be heading back to bed. Was just enjoying the fresh air, y’know?” I hum, face the perfect picture of innocence. My stance is carefully one of casual calm. One could almost ignore the sack of fish at my side.
“Clearly. What are you doing with that fish, lass?” Brynjolf asks, playing along in the whole innocent conversation bit.
“Bunkmate if mine is asking to wake up next to some bedfellows. Figure he’ll stop harassing other people if he gets some,” I practically hum quietly. I pick up the small sack of fish almost silently and start walking past the thief. I’m stopped by a big hand on my shoulder.
“Mind me asking what bunkmate?” I wonder where he’s going with this interaction. He could’ve just ignored me, but whatever. I can roll with this.
“Tythis. There’s only so much one can take, you see,” I say. My expression hasn’t slipped once, and I’m quite proud of that.
“I do. Tell me, Artist, would you be interested in a job?” Then my expression slips, a grin that I can’t stop appearing.
“Ah, no. I know your ilk, Mr. Thief. I’m content drawing pictures and being dirt poor, thank you.” I gently lift his hand from my shoulder and take two steps away from him. “Tell me, how’s that tavern look down in the Ratway? I heard you sell Black Briar mead half price.”
Brynjolf only laughs with a weird look on his face. “Fine, fine. You’ll be back though. You know where to find me.”
“No, no I don’t think I will be. Have a lovely night, sir. The moons are bright.”
I walk back to the bunkhouse unseen by guards, then I manage to slip the fish under Tythis’s blankets undetected.
Pro tip, the easy kid is always the one best at hiding the bad things they do. You’re looking at a first born with a habit of sneaking up on siblings.
Tythis wakes up and screams like a little girl in the morning.
It’s glorious.