Caution: Mild sexual themes and violence.
Falk Firebeard stood dutifully at his place beside Jarl Elisif's throne, struggling to look concerned as one of the countless commoners whose complaints he endured each day explained why her problems were more significant than those of her peers. It was the end of the day, his legs were numb, and he was weary; there was nothing he wanted more than to fall into bed with mead bottle in hand and a woman by his side. His eyes crept slowly in the direction of Bryling, one of Solitude's thanes.
An outraged exclamation by the commoner in front of him brought the Steward abruptly back to the situation at hand. He nodded vigorously to assure her he was listening, attentively took heed of the next two words out of her mouth, then stifled a yawn as his mind wandered once again. He tried to remember when he had first begun to disregard the complaints of Solitude's citizens, and his thoughts strayed back a year, to the dense Argonian merchant who had tried to get compensation for a jewel that had been allegedly pickpocketed in the city. Falk had found the emerald moments later in the lizard's breast pocket. Or perhaps it was the farmer who had tried to arrange a security detail for her prized goat that had pushed him over the edge. A goat, thought Falk, and he scoffed internally. His thoughts strayed again. He might've agreed had it been a horse; It had been a while since his last ride, and he was anxious to mount up again. His eyes fell upon Bryling another time. Falk! Oh, Falk! Cried a woman's voice in his head, and he smiled stupidly to himself.
"Falk!" The Jarl's shrill voice yanked the Steward out of yet another fantasy, and he cleared his throat and straightened hurriedly. He turned his head towards the throne to find Elisif the Fair and Sybille Stentor, the court wizard, staring at him expectantly. Stentor smiled mockingly at his awkwardness, and began to snigger. Falk shook himself awake.
A quick glance around the throne room revealed a kneeling figure opposite the Jarl's seat; one dressed in merchant's clothes. His many years as Steward meant that Falk Firebeard had seen just about every man, mer or otherwise that Skyrim could throw at him, every kind of merchant and peasant known to Tamriel... and yet this woman struck him as... different. Her clothes were unblemished, recently bought it seemed, and a wan smile on her face communicated a confidence that Falk had never seen in any commoner. He collected his thoughts before they strayed again.
"The, uh," the Nord cleared his throat again, "The Jarl is not to be disturbed with common affairs of court. You direct those concerns to me." The woman's figure straightened and turned his way, giving him a full frontal view of her front. Her raiment matched the average vendor's clothing perfectly... almost too perfectly. The Steward's eyes fell upon an axe hanging in her belt. Intricate carvings in its side depicted a blazing sun, and the metal it was made of shined too brightly to be average steel. No doubt a trinket she had picked up on her travels. The woman curtsied shamelessly, but the almost mocking smile never left her lips.
"Forgive me, my Lord," she flustered. "I was wondering whether the city grounds were... safe for a woman such as myself all on my lonesome." She blushed and blinked at Falk Firebeard. It was quite the performance. The Steward wasted no time in consoling her, assuring her of her security, while his mind dreamt of other scenarios involving the stranger.
"It's just," she continued shyly, "I want to make sure I'm not in danger of any bandit raids, or a wild animal mauling, or... vampire attacks." At the last phrase, the merchant turned her head and smiled sweetly at Sybille Stentor. The court wizard visibly stiffened, and her hand hovered over a dagger hidden in the many folds of her robes. Falk Firebeard was too busy comforting the guest, however, to notice his colleague shifting uneasily. Stentor nudged the Steward, failed to get a reaction, and spoke herself.
"We guarantee your safety, madam." She said coldly, and pointed to the palace doors, never taking her eyes off the woman. Falk turned his attention to the Breton mage and stared at her icily. He'd never liked the court wizard; she was always mocking him for something or other, and she knew about his dealings with Bryling. Now she was sending away a distressed lady; denying her his support. The merchant girl glared at Stentor for a long while, then smiled again and thanked her before turning towards the door. The court wizard appeared to relax slightly.
Falk could barely comprehend what happened then. Quick as anything, the merchant girl was facing the court again, with arm outstretched. In her fist she held the ornately carved axe's handle, and the metal was almost singing as she swung it in a wide, graceful arc. The metal sun engraved on the blade caught a dancing candlelight for a split second, and Falk Firebeard's weary brain thought: ooh, pretty. Then the axe met its mark - Stentor's neck - and the Breton mage's head fell from her shoulders before she could so much as gasp.
The Jarl's entire court seemed to unsheathe their weapons as Sybille's head fell to the ground, but Falk simply stood there, dumb, as the merchant girl swiftly made her escape, and as the guards made futile attempts to capture her. The Steward stared perplexingly at Stentor's severed head, her mouth open in a final defiance, like it had always been in the many quarrels he had had with her. Funny, thought Falk as he surveyed the court wizard's piercing, orange eyes, I'd always thought her arguments lacked body.
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PS: Syb... more