#Geimund

[galoogamelady]

[endawna]

the knights of the nine.

➥ sir areldur, sir brellin, sir geimund, sir gukimir, sir lathon, sir avita vesnia, sir thedret, and sir carodus oholin

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Songstress of Skyrim - Chapter 1: Welcome To Solitude

Disclaimer: The following story is centered around my own character, Mhari Freysri, who is the only character in this piece that I own. All other characters and elements of the world within the Elder Scrolls series is the intellectual property of Bethesda. This story contains, not just massive spoilers, but is in and of itself one very long spoiler, as it is based off of my playthrough of Skyrim: Special Edition. You have been advised. Please enjoy this newest installment of my cringy fanfiction.

Weeks...

It had been weeks at sea, but it had been worth it. Mhari stepped out from the deck of The Salty Seabird onto the Docks of Solitude at dawn, feeling the strange sensation of the unmoving earth beneath her feet, suddenly aware of her nervousness, turning her legs to cottage cheese. She could see the infamous Blue Palace to the east perched upon the stone land bridge; birds circled the great structure as it almost seemed to hold up the hazy golden clouds of morning, and Mhari could only imagine how large the city itself was, considering that the palace was easily the largest structure she had ever seen. She had been so certain of her decision to leave her home in High Rock to attend the esteemed Bard's College of Solitude, and now, staring up the dirt path to the stone walls of the massive city, she found herself overwhelmed with excitement and fear of the unknown.

Everything about this place felt like a completely different world; even the waves lapping at the shoreside reminded her of strange, feral beasts; harsh, wild, and completely untamed. She shivered as she realized just how bitter the northern winds blew, and hastily fastened a cloak over her shoulders, fitting her rabbit fur-lined work gloves over her red-knuckled hands.

She had dressed herself in a set of armor fashioned out of brown wolf fur and cow hide that she'd made for herself back home. Despite the thick furs she'd hoped would shield her from the fabled winds of Skyrim, she felt the frigidness of the air nonetheless. Everything from the sea to the very air itself is cold and biting. This will take a lot of getting used to...

The scent of the ocean faded as she made her way up the path to the gates of Solitude. As she passed a small farm, she noticed two palomino horses standing lazily in the stables, and briefly wondered if they were for sale. Placing her hand on her coin pouch, she decided it couldn't hurt to ask. As long as I have enough gold for a couple nights at the inn and my provisions, I should be able to buy a mount.

She detoured into the farm to see a young boy hard at work, but seemingly miserable about it as he pitched hay into the stables. An older, harsh looking woman in a tattered work-dress swept the stoop of the farmhouse, and a dark-haired stable hand leaned against the side of the building gnawing on a toothpick as he watched a brunette woman lovingly as she tossed a hand-full of feed into the chicken coop.

"Excuse me, sir?" Mhari spoke awkwardly.

"You got business at the stables?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I take it you're the stablemaster?" she asked, tucking her cloak further over her shoulders as a breeze whistled through the farm.

"Yep. Name's Geimund," he replied, flicking his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. "You lookin' to work? Talk to Katla; this here's her farm. If you're lookin' to buy a horse, you're talking to the right man."

"Ah, good," Mhari replied with a smile. She reached for her purse and turned her gaze to the stables. "How much for one of those beauties?"

"1000 gold pieces," he replied. "Another 600 if you're looking for more equipment than just a riding saddle."

Mhari winced sheepishly as she mentally counted the contents of her purse. I don't even have half of that. Are all horses in Skyrim this expensive...? "Oh, I, uh...I could walk more."

"Well, walking never hurt nobody," Geimund laughed. "If you change your mind, I'll be here. You could always ask Katla for work; it won't pay much, but it's better than nothing."

Mhari walked dejected farther up the path to Solitude; she could swear the wind was getting colder by the second, feeling her forehead begin to go numb under her silver and sapphire circlet, and her ears started to ring with discomfort. She spotted a small tent in front of a lit fire where an Imperial carriage driver chopped wood nearby.

"Do you mind if I borrow some heat from your fire?" Mhari called out. The carriage driver looked over his shoulder and gave her a curt nod. "Thank you."

Mhari crouched by the flame, holding out her hands gratefully as it crackled and lapped at her fingers. She could feel her core temperature slowly rising, but she knew the fire would only go so far; the longer she waited, the colder the wind would get.

"What is your name, carriage driver?" Mhari asked as the man took a seat at the campsite just across from where she crouched.

"Thaer," he responded simply. He extended a hand with a piece of cooked beef from the pot by the fire.

"Thaer," Mhari repeated with a nod, politely refusing the offer of meat. "What can you tell me about Solitude? As you can probably tell, I'm uh- not from around here."

"Solitude's been the capital of Skyrim as long as I can remember. Most of the high kings of Skyrim were jarls of Solitude first," he rattled off some of the more common talking points for newcomers to the area. "The Bard's College is here, and the main office of the East Empire Company; and if you need it, you can get a room for a fair price at the Winking Skeever, just inside the main gate."

"Ah, that's good to know." Mhari sighed, relieved to be a little warmer. "Thank you, Thaer; save travels."

"Safe travels."

Just a little further up the pathway, Mhari could see it; the great stone gates of Solitude. A grey, stone wall towered above her, the iron gates themselves being nearly three times her height. On either side of the stone pillars that framed the gate were two banners of Haafingar Hold; a stoic white wolf upon a bold backdrop of bright red. As she approached the gates, she could feel the shelter of the stone walls doing wonders as she removed her cloak gratefully. That's a little better. The cold is still bitter, but I can tolerate it without the wind.

The moment Mhari pushed open the gates, the first thing she noticed was a large crowd gathered to what appeared to be a stage at the right of the entrance. There was a smattering of cheers, jeers, and everything in-between. To her dismay, upon the stage stood a tall, red-headed Nord in rags with his hands bound in front of a chopping block. A hooded executioner clad in black chainmail sharpened his axe at the stone nearby, whistling nonchalantly. Beside the prisoner stood a dark-haired Imperial man in a high-ranking officer's armor. He stood tall with his arms folded, his expression nearly unreadable, but behind his eyes, Mhari could see a complex mix of emotions. Before she could think too long on this, the voice of a young girl caught her ear. A child in a home-made red dress spoke to an Imperial man in black mourning robes and a silver sash.

"They can't hurt uncle Roggvir!" the child mewled. "Tell them he didn't do it!"

"Svari, you need to go home," the man sighed. Svari's eyes dropped to her toes as her eyes started to well with tears. The man frowned and lowered to a kneel in front of her as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Svari, you need to go home and wait until your mother comes. You shouldn't see this."

"You should tell her that her uncle is scum that betrayed his high king." The cutting voice belonged to an Imperial woman with shoulder-length honey-brown hair. She was fair-skinned and lovely, aside from the deep-seeded hatred in her expression. Her eyes met those of the man as he knelt by Svari; he glared at her with an expression that pleaded 'not now.' The woman paid this silent request no heed. "Best she know now, Addvar."

Svari hung her head with a reluctant nod and started to slowly wander off further into the city, sniffling as she shuffled away. Addvar watched her walk away, his brow furrowed. He shook his head as he spoke. "You're all heart, Vivienne."

The Imperial captain noticed this interaction and frowned; his gaze faltered for a moment before his sharp command cut through the air. "Positions."

"Yes, Captain Aldis." The executioner looked up from the sharpening stone and nodded, rising to his feet to stand behind Roggvir, grasping his axe as he waited for the captain to speak.

"Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape the city after he murdered High King Torygg," Captain Aldis announced, as the prisoner's eyes did not leave the dried blood upon the chopping block at his feet. "By opening that gate, you betrayed the people of Solitude."

"There was no murder!" Roggvir stated as boldly as he could. "Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the king in fair combat."

"Traitor!" a female voice screeched from the crowd; a stone pelted Roggvir in the cheek, leaving an instant welt on his skin. He winced with a frown, but lifted his chin once more.

"Such is our way," he spoke, making eye contact with whoever had thrown the stone. He rose his voice in anger and pride as he continued. "Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim; and all Nords!"

The crowd jeered at this response.

"Stormcloak lover!"

"He doesn't deserve to speak!"

"Coward!"

Captain Aldis sighed and steadily pushed Roggvir to his knees before pushing him down to the chopping block. Mhari watched in horror. This isn't happening. They won't actually...

"On this day..." Roggvir whispered almost inaudibly, his eyes clouding over with acceptance of his fate. "I go to Sovngarde."

With those words, the executioner dropped his axe without a moment's hesitation, the Nord's head rolling to the edge of the stage. Mhari let out an involuntary gasp as she took a step backward, covering her mouth in shock.

I've heard of places that hold public executions, but this is just...barbaric...

There was a moment's silence before the crowd started up again.

"Some gate guard you were!"

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

"I think I expected more."

A sad voice from nearby whispered on the verge of tears. "It shouldn't have been like this..."

The crowd dispersed as Mhari could hear Captain Aldis mutter under his breath. "Damn shame, Roggvir. You were a good man." He turned and walked away, shaking his head, eyes gazing onward pensively as he returned to his duties.

Mhari found it difficult to move from where she stood, trembling in every limb. It took her some time before she finally found her footing. I think I'll explore the city tomorrow... she thought to herself. I think what I need right now is a stiff drink, a room for the night, and some time to process.

She looked to the left of the main gates to see a massive inn and tavern with a wooden sign illustrated with a small, white, smirking rat, its tail wrapped around a blue circle. Within the blue circle were the words 'The Winking Skeever.'

Thaer wasn't kidding; the inn really was right by the main gate. Mhari thought to herself.

As the sun started to set over the towering city, Mhari pushed the doors and let herself in out of the growing cold.

The inn was even larger on the inside, it's ceiling extended high, sporting two levels above the ground, lined with many rooms. Mhari approached the bar to speak with the innkeeper, who introduced himself as Corpulus Vinius. He was a chubbier blonde Imperial man with laughter in his eyes and the hands of a practiced cook.

"Welcome to the Winking Skeever, friend!" he chortled as Mhari took a seat at the barstool in front of his counter. She smiled politely at him, but her smile did not reach her eyes; flashes of the public execution burned into her vision. "Can I get you something to eat? Maybe some wine? Or if you were looking for a rumour or two, I think I could oblige."

"Actually," Mhari began. "I was wondering something; why is this place called 'The Winking Skeever?"

"Well, as it turns out," Corpulus looked left and right before leaning in closer to Mhari, waving her over conspiratorially; Mhari leaned in, waiting with bated breath for his response. He dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "I had a pet skeever as a boy. And he used to wink."

Mhari's shoulders dropped. That's it...?

Corpulus threw his head back, laughing at Mhari's reaction. "I'm sorry, friend; I couldn't help myself! You walked in here with such a glum face!"

Mhari chuckled, grateful for the distraction. Corpulus slid a bottle of alto wine over to her. "On the house; you look like you can use it."

"Thank you," Mhari replied as she popped the cork and took a swig. The wine was pungent and bitter, but there was a sickly sweet fruity aroma that filled her nostrils and made her head buzz just from inhaling it. This is decently powerful stuff for it's price point. "Did you really own a Skeever as a pet?"

"They were smaller back then," joked Corpulus. Mhari laughed in response, shaking her head at the lunacy.

"Oh; I've never seen an Argonian before," Mhari stated as her eyes followed a male Argonian with green scales and red-orange tavern clothes strode into the inn and took a seat comfortably at a chair in a side alcove. "I'll bet you've seen folks from all over Tamriel come through here."

"Especially these days. We get some interesting people through here from time to time," Corpulus explained, offering a plate of cheese and chopped vegetables to Mhari. She placed a small pile of coins down on the counter in return, taking the plate gratefully. "People say there's a man wandering the streets near the Blue Palace. He seems distressed, but he's not making any sense. No one knows where he came from, but he's certainly not from around here."

Before Mhari could consider what Corpulus said, her attention was drawn to the sound of a female bard in the main seating area as her voice filled the inn.

Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart,

I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes.

With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts,

Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes.

Mhari listened for a moment, smiling. "She's quite good; though I'd expect nothing less from a bard that hails from Solitude."

"Ah, you've heard of the bard's college, then?" Corpulus leaned his forearms on the bar as he craned in to listen to the song as well.

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.

"I came here to apply at the Bard's College, actually," Mhari replied with a nod, popping another piece of fruit into her mouth. "This song... I've never heard it before. Is it common in Skyrim?"

"Common?" Corpulus guffawed. "It's practically an anthem for the Nords of Skyrim. It speaks of the legend of the Dragonborn. Though I don't know much about the legend myself. I'm sure plenty of books have been written about it."

"I think I'd like to look into that," Mhari smiled at the thought. "I'd bet this land and it's people are rich with the most fascinating history."

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows,

You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come.

"You should play something next!" Corpulus suggested, patting Mhari on the shoulder.

Mhari nearly spit out a mouthful of cheese in surprise. "Oh, I'm not a bard, yet; I've never performed in front of an actual audience before." The small crowd in the inn gave a round of applause for the bard's song.

"This is hardly an audience," Corpulus said with a shrug. "I count about ten people; that's a great number for your first performance. And you can go and tell everyone that you found your start right here at the Winking Skeever when you become a world-famous bard!"

"I don't even have an instrument to play," Mhari replied with a shrug, raising the bottle of alto wine to her lips nonchalantly.

"Oh, you mean like this?" Corpulus reached under the counter and plopped a cow's hide drum on the counter with a comically loud, hollow thunk. "You're out of excuses, bard."

Mhari gave the drum a deadpan stare for a moment before raising an eyebrow at the innkeeper. "You always keep a random drum under your counter? I don't think I want to know what else you've been hiding down there."

"I'll tell you what," Corpulus chuckled. "You play a little song for my patrons; just a little one. And that will pay for your room for the night."

"And if your patrons do not find my playing to their tastes?" Mhari mumbled nervously, eying the small crowd over her shoulder.

"I stand by my offer," Corpulus reassured her, holding his hands up in surrender. "You'll have a room for the night whether you receive cheers or jeers."

Mhari paused for a moment to think. With a resigned sigh, she took one more long swig from the wine bottle and stood from her stool. "Give me a moment to change and get my nerves in check; but I won't turn down a free room."

Mhari popped into an unused room and locked the door behind her, setting her pack on the chair by the small wooden end table against the wall. From her bag, she pulled out a tavern dress; soft blue fabric hung off her shoulders, held together by a copper underbust corset that hugged her form into a more dramatic hourglass-shaped figure. She wore a necklace with the sigil of Kyne, and fitted her wide forehead with a copper and moonstone circlet. I'm going to be playing the part of the bard, I should look the part. This is to be my first performance after all. Mhari rolled her casual gear neatly into her pack and took a deep breath. I didn't expect to be playing in front of an audience so soon. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest...

After giving herself an extra moment to breathe, Mhari strode out of the room with her bag, placing it back on the barstool. An Imperial sailor nearby looked her up and down for a moment, giving an impressed whistle; Mhari suddenly felt more exposed than she ever had before. It may have been a mistake bringing this with me; I should have known it would be too scant.

"Well, you certainly look the part!" Corpulus said, smiling at Mhari's new look. "I must admit, that is a bolder choice of dress than I expected, but it is eye-catching!"

"Maybe too much so..." Mhari mumbled uncomfortably as the eyes of five soldiers at a table by the bar followed her every movement. "Perhaps I should make some adjustments to this dress."

"Why?" a female voice spoke unexpectedly from behind Mhari. She turned to see the female Breton bard who had performed The Dragonborn Comes earlier on. She was lovely, fair-skinned, silver-haired, and stocky; Mhari suspected she was also a fair warrior in her own right. She wore well-maintained scaled armor, fitted with tan furs and leathers; upon her back was a dark wooden lute, and a flute carved from chestnut was tucked safely in a sheath at her hip. "I don't see why you should change your look; you look lovely."

"Thank you," Mhari started hesitantly. "But if I'm going to be a bard, I'd rather my audience pay attention to my music, not my-" she stopped herself, thinking about the most tasteful way to accentuate her thoughts. "...assets."

Corpulus and the bard laughed as Mhari's cheeks flushed with discomfort.

"Forgive our amusement, little bird," the bard apologized, not losing the smile on her lips; her eyes were sincere in her sentiments. "Trust me; people will judge you based on your appearance regardless of what you are wearing. Before you felt those guard's eyes on you, how did that dress make you feel?"

Mhari thought for a moment, remembering the day she'd finished sewing and stitching it together back home. She remembered the swell of excitement as she saw herself in the reflection of the lake back at home, wide-eyed, fresh-faced, and feeling ten feet tall. "Powerful."

"And so you are!" Corpulus cheered, causing multiple patrons to turn their heads to look at them. "Erm; sorry."

"Corpulus is right," the bard agreed, jokingly slapping Corpulus on the shoulder in a mocking scold. "And let no one take that feeling away from you. You think their eyes are on you because you are bearing too much?"

Mhari nodded sheepishly.

"Their eyes are on you because you stand out," she whispered excitedly. "And that is exactly what a bard should do." Before allowing Mhari to interject, she handed the drum to her with a reassuring nod.

"Now, knock them dead, little bird," the bard said finally. "And if anyone gives you trouble, you can tell them Lisette says she will make a new drum out of their hides."

~To Be Continued...~

Note From the Author: Thank you for reading the first official chapter of Songstress of Skyrim! If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider dropping a comment below. I'd love to hear what my readers think; what their favourite parts were, what they'd like to see more of, etc. If I receive any questions, I am happy to either answer them via private message, or even as a short Q&A section in the next chapter. I hope to see you in the next chapter, dear reader. Voth Werid.

~ Pyretta Wychwiggin

[clay7890d]

ガイマンド (Geimund) ＆ ガキミル (Gukimir) 兄弟

この二人全然似てない上に肌も髪も目も色が違うので義兄弟の可能性がある

ドヤ顔のほうが兄のガイマンド、真顔のほうが弟のガキミル

[nine-blessed-hero]

Yoinking an open tag from @bretongirlwrites

I'm on a little bit of a K'Rin kick, so I'll do this for her. (I know this is supposed to be a Skyrim thing, but IMO most of the questions are generic enough I can make it about Oblivion)

Favourite tavern

Rin doesn't drink (ignoring that one time in Aleswell), and with a Guild chapter in each town she rarely needs to use an inn's bed.

But at a push, she'd say the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn. It's cosy, clean, and Mariana Ancharia runs a respectable business.

Favourite drink

Some kind of fruit juice (apple, blackberry, tomato) or small beer (a la what IRL medieval peasants would have drunk).

Travelling companion

None. After the events during the Knights of the Nine, Rin cannot stand the idea of losing anyone else like that.

When Raminus mentions it might be beneficial for the apprentice wizards to accompany her, she baulks at the idea of dragging one into danger - if Geimund, a trained warrior, didn't survive, then what hope for an untrained welp?

This also hits home when she meets the Adoring Fan. She's unnecessarily rude to him in an attempt to dissuade him from following her.

Wealthy or not

As a skilled alchemist, Rin has a healthy income (when time allows), however most of her income goes to keeping her enchanted items charged or feeding the poor. I'd put her on the lower end of comfortable.

Worships the aedra or the daedra

Aedra, with a primary focus on Mara, and secondary focuses on Zenithar and Stendarr. Part of this is how she was raised, but part of this is after a lot of self-reflection during the Knights of the Nine pilgrimages she performs.

Biggest fear

That she's met her biological parents... and killed one or both in self-defence. There is nothing to indicate who they were, she might even only be half-redguard. Rin has no idea. The first time she was attacked at a camp by a redguard woman, Rin had nightmares about it for ages, the "what if" sending her into a nosedive.

Pet peeves

When people are unduly rude to beggars. In her early days, she was too timid to do anything about them but made up for other people's rudeness by pressing food, medicines and money into the beggar's hands. As she gained fame, Rin became bolder about confronting these types of people.

Do they like being Hero of Kvatch/ Champion of Cyrodiil?

She is ambivalent about both titles.

Jauffre asked her to do a task; that task entailed closing an Oblivion Gate, so she did so. It's nothing really to make a fuss about, but people will do so regardless of what she wants, so she may as well be gracious about it.

Similarly, she isn't keen on being Champion, but she understands duty; and her duty is to support Ocato and the Elder Council in their efforts to rebuild Cyrodiil. Her thoughts are always with the common folk, keeping peace and remaining compassionate to their issues; literally being their champion. She thinks that's what Martin would have wanted.

Favourite faction

Perhaps surprisingly, it's the Thieves Guild. She strongly admires the Grey Fox's commitment to protecting the poor of each city and his "robin hood" approach to thievery.

An object of sentimental value

I've struggled with this question a lot. I've kept plenty of knickknacks from my playthrough, but none of what I've kept has seemed like something Rin would keep. And she has nothing to tie her to her old life either, except the house in Bravil.

I may come up with something later, but for now, I'll say she's too practical, and not sentimental enough to keep a specific item.

Hobbies

"Hob-bee? Hobb- No. Nope, sorry. Is that Ayleidoon?" Rin is too serious for her own good. Her "hobbies" include doing alchemy, running through her martial practice, and chatting with her fellow Blades.

Favourite city

She still retains a lot of love for her home of Bravil, but it's Anvil that has her heart. It's warm, the scenery (when she takes time to explore it properly) is beautiful, the food outstanding, and the people friendly. It's restive and tranquil; an easy place to love.

(But between you, me, and the walls, her favourite place in Cyrodiil is the West Weald)

Tagging: I don't know anyone who hasn't done this yet, so if anyone fancies it - you're tagged.