Chapter Text
An orc and and imperial sat together among the joyous few guests of the Nightingale Inn. It wasn’t too late, but people had already asked what they’d been here for and how long they were looking to stay. They were just waiting on a friend. One who would hopefully be here any moment now. Between the two lay a map of Skyrim, partially being used as a coaster for a dripping mug of mead, much to the orc’s dismay. Keen green eyes went over the details of the mapped area, until they found the edge of the other man’s drink, and rose to his face with a glint of anger in them. A soft laugh left the imperial, who promptly raised his mug and leaned back in his seat. “Calm down there, pathfinder,” he teased.
Before the orc could respond, no doubt in a rather sour way, going by his expression and body language, he was interrupted by the loud crash of the Inn door swinging open with such force that it slammed against the wall it was hinged on. All the bar goers jumped at the noise and snapped their heads around to see who it was. Well, all but the imperial and orc pair, of course. They merely glanced over, not giving it their full attention until they saw who it was. In the opening stood another larger orc with a fur skirt and braided hair on the top of the head, large axe resting over the shoulder. A soft growl left them as their fiery eyes scanned the room.
“Sam,” the orc shouted once the imperial caught their eye. A tired blink was offered in their direction. The imperial kept giving them a rather impassioned look, but then it finally sank in who it was.
“Mehri,” the imperial shouted, slamming his mug back down as he got up, winning an annoyed growl from the orc at the table. “You finally made it.” With arms spread and a wide grin on his face he walked up to the orc at the door, and went in for a hug. “I hope the divines didn't give you any trouble.” Before he could get his arms even a little around the Mehrunes’ body, he was shoved aside hard enough to almost lose his balance.
“Since getting into Skyrim, no more than they'd give a regular orc,” Mehrunes commented while brushing bits of snow off of his clothes. He noticed the other orc who’d been sitting with the imperial, and quickly identified him as Malacath. “So you did bother to bring him into the world with you, I see.” Mehrunes folded his arms over his chest, glaring daggers. “Do you have any idea how bothersome and tedious it was…” he growled, after which his voice grow into a shout, “...walking all the way from the shrine?”
“He needed the help,” the imperial replied with a shrug as he went back to their table.
Malacath gave Mehrunes a discerning stare, a deep frown etched onto his face. Obviously, Mehrunes had done something wrong. “I wanted to keep my teeth,” Mehrunes explained, having assumed Malacath was upset by him choosing a form of one of his kin. “I'd feel more naked without them than I already do with just two arms.”
That was met with a huff from Malacath as he turned his gaze towards the imperial, who had made his way back to the table they were at and was currently was busy hastily swigging down the last of his drink as though he’d no longer have the chance now that Mehrunes was here. “Sanguine, when are we leaving,”Malacath asked.
Sanguine raised his finger to Malacath as he finished his drink, and let out a satisfied sigh once it was all gone. “It’s Sam, while we’re here, Mal. Don’t forget.”
In the time it had taken for the three to get themselves all introduced, the Inn’s patrons had gotten back to their own business, even after Mehrunes slammed the door back shut to keep the cold from caressing his back any longer. He rolled his shoulders and headed to the table with the other Princes, dropping his axe off his shoulder with the heavy part on the ground. “I’d like to know when we’re leaving, too, Sam.”
“Right. Right.” A sigh left Sanguine and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little as he uttered, “Such a hurry, you two…” With that, he leaned on the table and pressed his finger onto the map. “We are here,” he stated, tapping on the Nightingale Inn. Easing the pressure on the parchment some, he moved his finger over Morthal, and to the north-west, headed for Solitude. “We’re going there. Really, not that hard.”
“Save for the swamp,” Malacath noted. Such a thing was a minor obstacle for a Daedric Prince, but it was an annoyance, certainly when they were in this form, trying to pass as mortals. The cold, the wet, and the painful all affected them. They couldn’t just charge through the map like a bunch of blind fools with a death wish.
“It’ll be fine,” Sanguine dismissed with a hand wave and a scoff.
Malacath argued, raising his voice and jabbing a finger at Sanguine. “You cannot-”
Before he could finish speaking even half of what he wanted to say, Sanguine snatched up the map and a travel bag that was lying by his feet. “Let’s go,” he announced, a lauge smile plastered to his face while Malacath looked at him with lowered brows and wide eyes.
There was a huff from Mehrunes as he slung his axe back over his shoulder, effortlessly, and not paying attention to the patrons around him, causing him to nearly strike one over the top of the head. He only knew this to be the case because a high-pitched yelp came from behind him, causing him to turn around, and he saw a cowering Breton before him. He cast a harsh gaze down at the being that still stood with hands over the hair.
Suddenly, the Breton threw his hands down and opened his mouth to yell. However, there was no sound from him. The moment he laid eyes on Mehrunes, he froze, eyes wide, and mouth closing until only slightly agape. “Ah… Um…” The Breton’s eyes went over Mehrunes’ barely clothed figure, and his face began to run red, before he offered a quick bow while stammering something. Only “Ma’am” was understandable from all of it. The man quickly scurried away, Mehrunes following him with furrowed brow and crooked frown. Once, the man was out of the way, Mehrunes merely popped his brows up for the briefest of moments and continued on to the doos as he let out a deep sigh and cast a glance at Sanguine.
“I see he likes them big,” Sanguine jested, giving Mehrunes a soft nudge with his elbow.
“As though he is even remotely worthy,” Malacath scoffed, casting a cold glare in the direction of the Breton as he followed behind Sanguine with his arms crossed. “Did you not see him cower?”
Mehrunes snorted. “It’s rare for mortals NOT to cower.”
Granted, he was usually in a far more imposing form than just an Orc with thick body and muscles. While he was certainly quite tall, he did not exactly tower over most mortals in this form, and no one know who or what he was. As far as the Breton was aware, Mehrunes was just another killable creature. That was likely why his face became more akin to a ripe tomato. He couldn’t appreciate Mehrunes’ appearance had he seen the way he usually looked. It was monstrous. It was associated with pain and terror. It was a nightmare. This form… This form was merely that of an outcast.
“He probably likes how you could break him in every way…” Sanguine mused, his eyes turning upward as he thought on all the things this mortal may have wanted Mehrunes to do to him in that short moment of visual appraisal.
“I suppose, I could relate,” Mehrunes admitted. He ripped the door out of the Inn open and walked into the snow. “I wouldn’t squirm at anybody’s mere presence, however.”
He had some pride and dignity to maintain. It wasn’t as though he’d had it very easy either, after his defeat at the hands of Akatosh. The loss had been documented in a great many ways, some grossly exaggerated in its shameful nature. Slander was not something he was unfamiliar with. Part of it was what the image of him as a blundering buffoon came from. Being a Daedric Prince meant requiring a thick skin, no matter how tempramental one may have been. That was going to need to be tested on this trip, if he didn’t want to be caught by Alduin’s ilk again.
Flakes of snow clung to the clothing of the three as they continued on, travelling further into the outdoors, their feet sinking deep into the cracking snow. The farther the went from the Inn, the harder it became to see them, until they were little more than light and dull blurs in the distance.