He glares at you, blearily through the sheen of his drunken stupor. “They were a very private couple,” he says, and remains close-lipped on the matter. The two of you finish your drinks in silence; the stranger (can you call him stranger now?) seems lost in thought.
What did she say?” you eventually ask. Many of the locals have retired to their beds. Indeed, it is just you and he now. Only you two have rooms for the night, and only the two of you remain. This would have been the perfect time to hear his tale, if only the stranger were more capable of telling it.
“What?” The man looks up at you in confusion. You see how he struggles to maintain a grip on his bottle. You fear you might have to let him sleep and figure out another way to hear the rest of his tale.
“Eyja to Vilkas,” you try to talk slowly, and remain unpatronising at the same time. “The part he couldn't understand. The dragon tongue. Thu’um?”
“I don't know.”
Disappointing. “…Did Vilkas ever find out what she said?” you ask. You want to know, and wonder how long it took for Eyja to learn it. If you could learn it and put a little in your song. No, poem. Judging from this tale, Eyja didn’t much like songs…
The stranger looks at you for a very long time. It is the weirdest sensation, to be pinned beneath those sad, bloodshot eyes that regard you with dislike, and yet at the same time seem grateful. For what? For the company? For the free drinks, you expect. His tale burned a hole in your pocket. You hope it is worth it. But, how does this stranger know Vilkas and Eyja, from the story? And can you trust his words?
He talks very awkwardly. Not a natural story-teller, but then you are a bard. You know how a story is meant to be told, and how to retell it.
“No,” the man replies after a while. He stands up. He sways. For a moment you think that the weight of that lethal greatsword on his back might topple him over. But he steadies himself and clambers off the bench-seat.
“What's your name friend?” You surprise yourself in asking.
“None of your business.” He strides away from you, a little crooked. You see Barkeep give him one of his worn smiles and nod. The man disappears into his room.
The story is over, for now. Perhaps you will hear the end in the morning.
**
Whilst no one in the story finds out what Eyja said (Vilkas being able to recite dragon speak to the bard seemed stupid) it’s something along the lines of: Alduin had a far easier job than I, taking over this pathetic country e.t.c How unfair it is, that I suffer, and great creatures die, so that weaklings can carry on with their drinking, and their warring, and their songs. It’s just a very angry rant in (Draconic??) basically... :p
Oh and then there’s her sad little confession to Vilkas near the end… but I quite like nobody but Eyja ever knowing what was said in that moment. So forever wonder... :p
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timeasmymeasure
Eyja Went Up The Mountain F!DB/Vilkas [5d/?]
Date: 2013-04-09 04:19 am (UTC)What did she say?” you eventually ask. Many of the locals have retired to their beds. Indeed, it is just you and he now. Only you two have rooms for the night, and only the two of you remain. This would have been the perfect time to hear his tale, if only the stranger were more capable of telling it.
“What?” The man looks up at you in confusion. You see how he struggles to maintain a grip on his bottle. You fear you might have to let him sleep and figure out another way to hear the rest of his tale.
“Eyja to Vilkas,” you try to talk slowly, and remain unpatronising at the same time. “The part he couldn't understand. The dragon tongue. Thu’um?”
“I don't know.”
Disappointing. “…Did Vilkas ever find out what she said?” you ask. You want to know, and wonder how long it took for Eyja to learn it. If you could learn it and put a little in your song. No, poem. Judging from this tale, Eyja didn’t much like songs…
The stranger looks at you for a very long time. It is the weirdest sensation, to be pinned beneath those sad, bloodshot eyes that regard you with dislike, and yet at the same time seem grateful. For what? For the company? For the free drinks, you expect. His tale burned a hole in your pocket. You hope it is worth it. But, how does this stranger know Vilkas and Eyja, from the story? And can you trust his words?
He talks very awkwardly. Not a natural story-teller, but then you are a bard. You know how a story is meant to be told, and how to retell it.
“No,” the man replies after a while. He stands up. He sways. For a moment you think that the weight of that lethal greatsword on his back might topple him over. But he steadies himself and clambers off the bench-seat.
“What's your name friend?” You surprise yourself in asking.
“None of your business.” He strides away from you, a little crooked. You see Barkeep give him one of his worn smiles and nod. The man disappears into his room.
The story is over, for now. Perhaps you will hear the end in the morning.
**
Whilst no one in the story finds out what Eyja said (Vilkas being able to recite dragon speak to the bard seemed stupid) it’s something along the lines of: Alduin had a far easier job than I, taking over this pathetic country e.t.c How unfair it is, that I suffer, and great creatures die, so that weaklings can carry on with their drinking, and their warring, and their songs. It’s just a very angry rant in (Draconic??) basically... :p
Oh and then there’s her sad little confession to Vilkas near the end… but I quite like nobody but Eyja ever knowing what was said in that moment. So forever wonder... :p