Kael had grown used to the smell of steel and sweat in Jorrvaskr, but when Skjor shoved a rolled parchment into his hand and told him to run it to Dragonsreach, it felt strangely refreshing. For once, he wasn't being ordered to wrestle a shield brother to the ground or carry casks of mead like a glorified servant. Felt like he was finally gaining some trust—or so he wanted to believe.
"Don't wrinkle it," Skjor had said with a smirk. "The Jarl won't be impressed if you deliver it smelling of dog hair."
Kael had muttered something under his breath and left before the laughter of the other Companions could dig deeper under his skin. The truth was, he welcomed the excuse to leave the hall. He still wasn't entirely sure where he stood with these hardened warriors. Their camaraderie was real, but so was the scrutiny.
The long stone steps of Dragonsreach loomed before Kael, the evening light catching on the carved dragon motifs etched into the doors. He tightened the strap on his bracer, still feeling the faint sting of the last skirmish. By the time he climbed the stone steps to Dragonsreach, Whiterun's great palace looming above him, Kael had calmed his nerves. At least, until he pushed open the heavy oak doors.
The guards recognized him as he approached, giving curt nods before opening the doors. The great hall stretched wide, the timbered ceiling high above. The smell of burning logs and roasted meat clung to the air. Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne, his features lined with both weariness and authority, while his steward Proventus whispered something at his side.
Near the fire pit, half-hidden behind a lectern stacked with scrolls, stood a young woman in deep blue robes. Her hair, a shade of midnight darkened further by the fire's glow, was gathered loosely at her shoulders. She was speaking animatedly with Farengar Secret-Fire, the Jarl's court wizard. Her tone carried none of the usual respect one had when talking to someone with as high of an authority as the Jarl's wizard.
He remembered her. She was the one who gave him the piercing stare when Skjor just brought him in.
"I'm telling you, the runic structure is unstable," she said, tapping a parchment with her finger. "If you attempt to bind the essence directly without reinforcing the containment sigil, you'll invite backlash. Again."
Farengar gave a long-suffering sigh. "Elara, I have studied these principles since before you could walk. You may have your theories, but I assure you, I know the limits of what I can and cannot handle."
Kael lingered by the fire a moment longer, watching. There was a fire in her eyes that reminded him of the storm before a hunt. Unyielding, bright, and impossible to ignore.
"Companion," the Jarl's voice cut through his thoughts. "Step forward."
Kael obeyed, giving a respectful nod as he approached the throne, handing it to Proventus, his steward. "Jarl Balgruuf. I bring word—the bandits troubling your roads have been dealt with. Their camp is destroyed, their spoils recovered."
Proventus scribbled notes on a parchment. The formality dragged on for a few more minutes, questions of numbers, locations, whether the roads were secure enough for caravans. Kael answered dutifully, though his gaze kept flickering.
At last, dismissed, he turned to leave — but his path intersected hers. She had left Farengar's side, arms laden with scrolls, and nearly collided with him at the hall's steps.
"Watch where you're going," she said sharply, her voice softer in tone yet edged with steel.
Kael blinked, catching one of the rolls before it slipped from her grasp. "My apologies. Didn't mean to trample your parchments."
Her eyes flicked to his—bright green, startling in their clarity. For a moment, her expression faltered. Then the edge returned. Finally, she seemed to remember herself. "You're new to the Companions," she said.
He frowned. "And how would you know that?"
"Because you still look around the hall like you're trying to measure it against your own worth." She tilted her head. "The others don't."
Kael opened his mouth, but before he could find a reply, Farengar's reedy voice cut through the air. "Elara! If you're finished interrogating errand boys, I need your help in here."
Errand boy. That's all I am in their eyes huh...
He offered a wry half-smile. "And you're the apprentice who argues with her master in the middle of court. You should get back to your master."
The faintest flush touched her cheeks, though her chin lifted in defiance. "When my master is wrong, it would be more irresponsible to stay silent. Knowledge unchallenged stagnates."
Kael chuckled under his breath. Bold. He liked that. "Spoken like someone who's never had their nose broken in a spar."
Her eyes narrowed. "And spoken like someone who thinks muscle outweighs thought. Tell me, Companion, how many of those bandits would you have slain without steel in your hand? Could your fists catch fire at will? Could your speed outmatch lightning?"
Kael tilted his head, amusement sparking. "Maybe not fire or lightning. But I didn't need them."
Before either could speak again, a sudden crack split the air. One of Farengar's experiments at the table sparked violently, a contained orb of light rupturing with a loud pop. Sparks and smoke billowed, sending a guard cursing and stumbling back.
Without hesitation, Elara raised her hand, weaving a quick incantation. A shimmer of translucent blue enveloped the orb, containing the burst before it could spread. The smoke fizzled harmlessly within the shield, dissipating.
Kael had already moved, stepping instinctively between the guard and the blast, shield raised. When the danger passed, he glanced at Elara. She had controlled it neatly, her fingers were steady and her breathing calm.
Their eyes met again. She lowered her hand slowly, lips pressing into a thin line.
"Quick reflexes," Kael said at last, his tone softer.
Her gaze flickered before settling again in cool poise. "It was nothing. Anyone with training could have done the same."
Kael wasn't convinced. There was skill there—and confidence. Especially that unmistakable steadiness of someone who had honed her craft under constant scrutiny. He found himself wanting to know more.
Farengar bustled over, muttering under his breath. "Blasted miscalculation. Elara, enough interruptions. Back to your studies."
"Yes, master," she replied, though her tone carried the faintest trace of irritation.
Kael stepped aside, allowing her to pass. She brushed by him, her robes trailing lightly against his arm. He caught the faintest whiff of lavender and parchment ink.
She did not look back.
But Kael did.