An Appropriate Response to Reality

by Intrepid_Inkweaver

Summary:

The Dragonborn is prophesied to save the world from Alduin the World-Eater. Unfortunately, it turns out that the Dragonborn is also the Champion of Sheogorath and has been sealed in a time-lock bubble for a little under two hundred years for Madgod only knows what reason. She'll have to learn to either reign in her insanity or use it to her advantage to be of any help to anyone.

Notes:

“It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.”
― Philip K. Dick

Chapter 1: Dancing Draugr and Clouds of Butterflies

It looked like an ancient Nord crypt. It even acted like an ancient Nord crypt, what with the annoying fucking traps and the annoying fucking dead people and the annoying fucking puzzles—but it wasn’t an ancient Nord crypt. Maia had known that the second she’d entered. She’d been pushed into exploring enough of them lately that she would know. Hadvar had been more dubious. He had been complaining about what a waste of time this was ever since she’d heard the rumours about this place when they’d been in Dawnstar. When the Draugrs started singing “Ragnar the Red” and dancing to the flute, and the traps started releasing clouds of butterflies, he’d stopped complaining.

          After Helgen had been attacked by that damn dragon, Maia and Hadvar had found sanctuary in Riverwood with Hadvar’s uncle Alvar for a few days. They’d been heading to Whiterun to warn the Jarl of the danger when they’d received word that the Imperial troops were in need of aide in the Pale. Two soldiers might not turn the tide of the battle, but they had a duty to the Legion. By the time they arrived, reinforcements had made it there from Solitude and driven the Stromcloaks back. Legate Rikke had never-the-less appreciated their presence.

          It was when they were patrolling the newly-re-taken Dawnstar that Maia had heard about the strange goings-on out near the ancient crypt. People that went near the place came back mad, or didn’t come back at all. Other-worldly creatures had been seen wandering around, strange sounds emanated from the caverns, and other widely varied things had occurred. Maia remembered well the last time she’d visited Dawnstar some years ago when the town had been plagued with their chronic nightmares. She also vividly remembered that the nightmares had been the work of a nefarious play-thing belonging to a Daedric Prince. It was those memories that convinced her that there had to be something behind these occurrences.

          She had considered visiting Nightcaller Temple and enlisting Erandur’s help in the matter, but the crypt was in the opposite direction of the old temple and she doubted Hadvar would have agreed to climb the mountain only to double back down. She would have to visit the old priest another day.

          She still wasn’t certain that this peculiar crypt was the work of a Daedric Prince, or if it was something else entirely, but she wasn’t disappointed that she’d come. The deeper they got into the crypt, the weirder things seemed to get. The Ancient Nord appearance vanished altogether as the tunnels got rougher and roots began appearing along the walls and ceilings and strange plants and oddly shaped glowing fungi made appearances more and more often. This made it all the stranger when they came upon a puzzle door like many others that Maia had come across in her travels. But this time, she lacked the key.

          As she walked up to the door to examine the puzzle, though, there was a bored voice that said in her ear, “Miss, you might need this to get through that door,” and before she could react, a slip of parchment fluttered seemingly from the ceiling. Picking it up, she saw that it had the puzzle key drawn on it.

          “What in Oblivion…?” she said, staring up at the ceiling and seeing nothing particularly unusual. Hadvar came to stand next to her.

          “What?”

          “Well, apparently this came out of nowhere because someone thinks we need it.” Without further adieu, she began arranging the puzzle to open the door.

          “Wait! Hang on a second!” Hadvar grasped her shoulder and pulled her away from the door. “Do you really think this is a good idea? Because this seems a bit weirder than I’m used to.”

          “Everything is weirder than what you’re used to. We came all the way down into this madhouse, I’m not going to leave just because another strange thing happened.” She went back to putting the key into the door.

          Behind her, she heard Hadvar mutter, “Curiosity killed the Redguard…” but she didn’t answer.

          As the last tumbler fell into place, Maia stood back as the door ground aside with a low grumble. Hadvar came up to stand next to her again with a hand on his sword. Maia put her hand on her own sword and made sure he could see the movement just so he knew she wasn’t completely reckless. The precaution was unnecessary, they saw, once the door opened fully. Hadvar swore and stepped backward. Maia stepped forward, speechless, ignoring Hadvar’s attempts to keep her there.

          Dominating the center of the chamber was a large sphere of swirling purple mage-light, crackling around the edges with electricity. On the floor around it were what appeared to be rotate-able stone circles with runes carved all around the circumference. At the other side of the room, nearly obscured by the sphere was a statue of a gentleman with a cane. Maia knew enough about the Daedric Princes to recognize a shrine to Sheogorath.

          As she started around the sphere to get a better look at the shrine, Hadvar circled around in front of her and held her back with his hands on her shoulders. “Maia! What are you doing? We have no idea what is going on here. Messing around with the Daedric Lords is not a smart idea. Especially with the one that no one ever has any idea of what he wants and what he might do!” He had to practically yell over the crackling of electricity from the sphere.

          “Relax, Hadvar! I’m not going to do anything stupid. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse Princes than Sheogorath. I can handle a little madness.” She gripped his upper arm and squeezed in re-assurance. He looked doubtful, but moved out of the way.

          Maia moved to the base of the shrine and examined it. There were no offerings there as she had seen at other shrines, only a large metal rod. Carved into the stone above where the rod lay were four circles inside one another with the same runes carved into the ones on the floor. Glancing at the ones on the floor she noticed holes in each one of them just big enough to put the rod into. Taking a deep breath and wondering if she really was mad, she reached out and grasped the rod, studying the circles for the pattern. Finally, she looked up at the statue and said, “I really hope this isn’t one of your jokes.”

          Ignoring Hadvar’s cautionary comments, she fit the rod into the first of the stone circles and spun it so the runes were in accordance with the ones on the second one. They spun impossibly easily. She did the same for the remaining three circles. Hearing the bangs of each of the circles settling into the ground, she backed away from them. One by one, the runes started to glow and the sphere began to spin faster, its electricity becoming more active. Just when Maia was pretty certain that she should have listened to Hadvar and left it alone, the last rune lit up and suddenly—the sphere collapsed into the ground. The sudden silence was so deafening she almost didn’t hear the sentence continued as though it had never been stopped.

          “—ould please my Lord.” There was a dunmer woman standing in the center of the circle where the sphere had been. She had dark auburn hair and a face that wasn’t quite as narrow and pointed as other mer. The armour she was wearing was unlike anything Maia had ever seen. On one side it was mostly red with spikes on the shoulder guard and on the left it was purple and the shoulder was decorated with a leaf. Her breastplate was decorated with an elaborate butterfly. She had her helmet tucked under her right arm.

          Shock and confusion registered on her face as she looked around at her surroundings. She spotted Maia and Hadvar and studied them for a few seconds. Then she spotted the statue of Sheogorath.

She blinked a few times.

And then she began to laugh.

Chapter 2: Two-Hundred Years

Notes:

Hello, It's been a ridiculously long time since I posted the last chapter of this. It did take me quite a while to finish it, but not this long. I actually had this finished several months ago, but I ended up spilling water on my laptop and having to get a new one. I hadn't backed this story up before hand, so I had to wait until we got the files off the old computer to post this baby. I hope you like so far!
~II

Maia and Hadvar unconsciously moved closer together as the woman from the sphere laughed. They exchanged glances. Neither one of them had expected a person in the sphere. The last thing they thought they’d have to be dealing with was a crazed dunmer. But after a couple seconds, the woman seemed to gain control of herself and sober up.

She turned back to Maia and Hadvar. “I hope you’ll excuse my outburst there. It was rather rude. My name is Niiryn Dai’Gyrri, Champion of the Prince of Madness. May I ask your names?”

It took Maia a couple seconds of opening and closing her mouth soundlessly before she could reply. “Maia—er, my name is Maia Swiftfoot.” She elbowed Hadvar. He glared at her.

“I’m Hadvar of Riverwood,” he grumbled. Niiryn gave them both a small bow and then grinned widely. But suddenly, the grin fell off her face and she looked around with a grim expression.

“…You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?” she asked in an almost nervous voice.

“We’re a couple miles south-west of Dawnstar,” answered Maia gently, ignoring Hadvar’s looks. If he didn’t expect the Champion of Sheogorath to be completely out of her mind than she didn’t know what to tell him.

Niiryn blinked incomprehensively. “And where is Dawnstar?”

This time it was Maia who blinked in surprise and she exchanged a confused look with Hadvar. He was the one that answered. “Dawnstar is the Hold capital of the Pale, in Skyrim.”

“Skyrim? We’re in Skyrim?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, muttering, “He couldn’t have left me in Cyrodiil, at least? He had to dump me… however far away it is from home?” She looked back at the pair. “Are we underground?”

Maia nodded. “Yes—it looks kind of like an ancient Nord crypt from the outside. There were strange things going on recently, so we—I mean, I—decided to investigate.” A tiny smile tugged at Niiryn’s lips at that—there and gone again as fleetingly as if it had never been.

“Would you mind terribly guiding me towards that town you mentioned—Dawnstar, was it?”

“Not at all,” Maia answered.

“Alright, just let me check on something.” The dunmer went to the base of the shrine and circled around it as though looking for something. Hadvar took that moment to pull Maia a little farther aside.

“Maia, what if she’s dangerous? Did you see the size of that sword on her back? I’ve got the distinct feeling she knows how to use it, too. Or what if Sheogorath had her imprisoned there and he’ll be angry that you freed her?”

Maia shook her head. “She seems…benign enough. Besides, Hadvar, if I recall correctly—and I do—both of us are pretty good with swords ourselves. And Sheogorath definitely wanted us to find her and free her. Why do you think all the commotion suddenly started around this place? Why do you think we were able to get all the way down here? Why do you think the key to the sphere was carved into the base of the shrine?” She folded her arms and waited for him to answer. Her waiting was interrupted by a triumphant “aha!” from Niiryn behind the statue. She emerged, riffling through a leather knapsack.

She smiled at Maia and Hadvar. It looked as though she had gone through another mood swing. Holding up the knapsack, she said, “I knew Haskill wouldn’t leave me with nothing.”

“Haskill? Who’s that?”

“Lord Sheogorath’s chamberlain. Dour fellow. But practical. And according to Sheogorath, a right snazzy dresser.”

For about half the walk back to the surface, Niiryn chattered inanely about various things, commenting on the species of butterflies still fluttering around, the alchemical properties of the fungi growing in the caves, and many other things. Her enthusiasm even seemed to rub off on Hadvar, whom Maia caught smiling at several points. However, almost abruptly, she grew quiet and withdrew from any more conversation. The look on her face seemed troubled, and she kept touching her head and frowning as though worried at what was going on within it.

It took considerably less time to get out of the “crypt” than it did to get in, not only, Maia thought, because there were no more Draugrs to worry about, but also because the way itself seemed so much shorter. When they finally stepped outside, it was to the waning sunlight of twilight, and it was starting to snow. Niiryn closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been back to Nirn,” she said quietly. “I’d almost forgotten how different the air smells.” She paused and, seeming embarrassed, fingered at the helmet that she was still carrying under her arm. When she looked back up, she said, “I feel I must apologize for my…manic behavior earlier. I don’t usually get like that.” She paused, and the troubled look returned to her face. “In fact, I haven’t dealt with anything like that since….” She trailed off and placed her hand to her head again. Finally, she said, “It hasn’t happened in a long time.”

They made a camp in a dell a little ways away from the crypt, since it was too late to make their way back to Dawnstar. Luckily, Maia and Hadvar had come prepared and had their packs with them. As they ate a meager dinner, everything was quiet but for the crackling of the fire Maia had started until Hadvar cleared his throat.

“So…Niiryn…May I ask why you were stuck in a ball of mage energy?” he asked. Niiryn pursed her lips and was silently thoughtful for a moment.

“I don’t actually know to be honest,” she finally answered. Maia had noticed that she hadn’t had another mood swing since leaving the caves. “As you probably know, Lord Sheogorath rarely has to have much of a reason for anything he does. I do think he had some reason in his mind, though, when he did this.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Maia curiously.

“I lived in the Shivering Isles for fifty-two years. I kept Jyggalag from razing them to a barren wasteland and sat on the Throne of Madness for ten years before His Grace returned to us, and after that served as his Champion for the remaining forty-two years. In all that time, I was never the victim of one of His crueler pranks. Of course, all in the Realm of Madness must occasionally endure some pranks, but most are smaller ones.”

At this Hadvar interjected. “Wait—who is Jyggalag?” Niiryn’s face twisted into a scowl. Clearly, the name was not one she was fond of.

“Jyggalag is the Daedric Prince of Order. You have never heard the stories of him?” Both Maia and Hadvar shook their heads. She sighed and her voice gained a story-telling cadence. “Long before Nirn was populated by men and mer, there were the Waters of Oblivion, and there were the Daedra. Jyggalag was one such, and he was so powerful that all the other Princes feared him. They decided one day to move against him together, and they cursed him with the Madness, and the Madness was Sheogorath. Once every thousand years, though, the curse was lifted for a time, and Jyggalag was free to spread his Order like a disease. Every thousand years he came and destroyed all that Sheogorath had built, and when the Greymarch ended, the Prince of Madness was left alone in a realm of ash and bones.

“For long millennia, Sheogorath tried to halt the coming of the Greymarch. He was unsuccessful. It wasn’t until he opened a door to Mundus and invited in a mortal champion that any ground was gained. I was hesitant at first, of course—I had a deep-seated mistrust of all Daedra—you can probably figure out why. But the Shivering Isles—they changed my mind.”

“How so?” asked Hadvar.

Niiryn smiled, as though at a pleasant memory. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. And the people there—so many of them are such good people. I mean, there are bad ones, too, of course, but that is everywhere. Madness does not make someone less worthy of saving, contrary to what so many sane people believe. I wanted to save them if I could. It was no less than what I’d done for Tamriel in the past.”

There was no pride in this last statement, only a sense of duty, but something about the distinctive way it was said made Maia pause and feel like she was missing something. So she asked, “What do you mean, ‘it was no less than you’d done for Tamriel in the past’?”

“Oh,” dunmer said, waving a hand dismissively, “I helped out a lot when the Mythic Dawn started opening those damned Oblivion gates everywhere.”

Maia and Hadvar exchanged a glance. Hadvar’s expression clearly said, Well, she’s even crazier than we thought she was. Maia wasn’t so convinced. Who knew how long Niiryn could have been frozen inside that bubble. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that she might have been down there for more than a couple days.

Niiryn had noticed their incredulity and her brow had furrowed. “What?” she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Quietly, Maia answered, “Niiryn, the Oblivion Crisis was over two hundred years ago.”

Niiryn’s large crimson eyes widened in shock and her mouth opened and closed a few times, though no sound came out. She glanced fearfully around the clearing they were camping in, as though a familiar place had suddenly become unfamiliar and hostile.

Quietly, Maia said, “I figure you must have been time-locked in that bubble a lot longer than any of us realized.”

Slowly, still not looking at Maia or Hadvar, Niiryn began shaking her head. “No… No, that can’t be right…” she said softly with a note of desperation in her voice. She continued shaking her head as she raised her fingers to her temples to start rubbing them, as though in response to a severe headache. She still wasn’t looking at Maia or Hadvar.

“Niiryn?” Maia said tentatively. The dunmer seemed to have completely lost awareness of her companions.

“Why would you do this to me?” Niiryn whispered, still ignoring Maia and Hadvar. She put her face down into her hands and let out a long, mournful moan. Again, louder this time, she asked, “Why would you do this to me??” Maia stood up and started to move toward her. Then, in a level voice, Niiryn said “Get out of my head.” Maia stopped moving toward her. Niiryn suddenly jerked to her feet and screamed, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

Maia flinched backward as Niiryn began ripping impatiently at the straps on her armour. As she succeeded in getting her gauntlets, and then her shoulder guards and pauldrons off, she threw them to the side and hissed, “I don’t want anything to do with you!”

After ripping off her breastplate, she almost yanked a ring off of her hand, but stopped herself. Her back spasmed and she put both hands over her ears, her face screwed up in pain.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” she screamed again, and without warning, started clawing at her own face and tearing at her hair.

“Hadvar!” Maia yelled. “Help me!” The two of them approached and attempted to restrain her arms. She fought them, though, and she was strong—as she would have to be to wield that monster of a sword now thrown on the ground outside the ring of fire. Thinking quickly, Maia pressed her palm to Niiryn’s forehead and whispered a spell. Just like that, the dunmer went limp in their arms.

Hadvar looked perplexed. “What did you do?”

“Sleeping spell. I didn’t want her to hurt herself. All of us that went undercover with the Stormcloaks learned them.” She hesitantly looked at Hadvar and glanced away again. He knew that look.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, already resigned to the fact he probably wasn't going to like whatever she had on her mind.

“I think we need to take Niiryn to visit Erandur,” she spit out quickly. Puzzled, Hadvar narrowed his eyes.

“Isn't that that priest of Mara that lives up above Dawnstar? Why?”

Looking sheepish, Maia said quickly, “He used to be a priest of Vaermina and I think he might be able to help Niiryn.”

“You do realize that this really isn't our responsibility, right? She's not a lost puppy.” Maia glared at him.

“What would you do? Leave her here? She's in a strange country currently torn by civil war and two hundred years have gone by since she was last conscious. Not to mention the fact that she's clearly unstable.”

“She's also a grown woman who chose to serve Sheogorath knowing the consequences.”

“I understand if you just want to head back to camp in the morning. But I'm taking Niiryn to Nightcaller Temple, if she's willing,” Maia said quietly and firmly. Hadvar held his breath for a moment before letting it out in an explosive sigh.

“Fine. I'll go. Maybe some day I'll grow a backbone and say no to you, but today is not that day.” He was rewarded for this statement with a tiny smile.

“Thank you. I just feel like it wasn't an accident that we found her when we did. I feel like she's important, somehow.”

“Well, I guess we just have to hope this isn't some joke on us, then.”

 

Chapter 3: Dawnstar

Niiryn came partially awake to the realization that it was freezing cold. Her sleep-addled mind wondered if Sheogorath had decided to make it snow in the palace again. With an irritated grumble, she attempted to cuddle down further into her covers to find warmth. This, of course, gave way to yet another realization: She was not in her bed in the Palace, but on the ground in a bedroll outside. And it was snowing. Why did it have to be snowing.

As Niiryn's mind shook off the cobwebs of sleep, she remembered exactly why it was that she was sleeping in a bedroll on the frozen ground as snow fell and not comfortably warm in her ludicrously large bed in her beautiful chambers in Sheogorath's Palace. Grief—and no little bit of confusion—filled her mind at the memory of the night before. Not only had she been cast out of her home with no warning and no explanation, two hundred years had passed her by without her knowing. Nearly everyone she had known would now be dead. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Anxiety rose in her throat to combat her grief. She tried to take deep calming breaths, but it wasn't working. Panic choked her and she sat up quickly, gasping for air that she should have no problem breathing. The Redguard woman who had found her hurried over and seemed to to be trying to speak to her, but her words weren't registering. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on Niiryn's back and began rubbing soothing circles. After a minute, Niiryn was able to get control of herself and calm down. Niiryn appreciated the comforting gesture, even if it was from someone who was little more than a stranger. Everyone in the world is a stranger to you now, a vicious little voice in her head hissed. 

As she pulled away from Maia, she noticed the pile of armour lying in a neat pile near the fire. Uncomfortably, she remembered her uncharacteristic episode the night before. It had felt like reality was unraveling around her, and her mind along with it. She had been so scared and angry and disconsolate and all of it had physically hurt. And she had just...lost control. That scared her. She hadn’t lost control at all—not since the Greymarch had forced her to become the ruler of the Shivering Isles for ten years. When Sheogorath had returned and she stepped down, her mind had returned to her normal state. She had figured the madness had just gone with the job.

Now she had left the Realm of Madness and she had lost her balance again? Shouldn’t the opposite have been true? Her level-headedness had always been a trait she’d taken pride in. how was she supposed to live like this?

As Maia stood, Niiryn said quietly, “I’m sorry about last night. I’m not used to losing control of myself. I think something is wrong with me.”

Maia nodded. “It’s okay. I...was thinking about that, actually. I know someone who may be able to help. He’s a priest of Mara, but he’s had…experience with Daedra. If you want, we could take you to him.”

“I would appreciate it greatly. In any case, I suppose I now have nowhere else to go,” she answered, looking down at her cold feet. Her boots were part of her Madness armor, crafted specially by both Cutter in Crucible and Dumag Gro-Bonk in Bliss--she was still quite pleased with herself for getting the two master smiths to work together, they even became friends--and the armor had not been made with cold weather in mind. The weather in the Isles was quite temperate most of the time--unless, of course, Sheogorath was in the mood for snow. In which case, it snowed everywhere. The buildings. Underwater. The fountains spouted snow. People were buried in avalanches, trapped under ice in the ocean. Et cetera. Fairly normal happenings for the citizens of the Shivering Isles.

Niiryn didn’t notice that she had been going on about this out loud until Hadvar asked incredulously, “How in the name of Oblivion did it snow underwater?”

Niiryn shrugged. “It was very odd. I didn’t understand how it worked, and I was Sheogorath for several years.”

At this, Hadvar seemed confused and opened his mouth to ask another question before seeming to think better of it. Niiryn clamped her mouth shut and prayed--to what god, she knew not--that she didn’t babble any more. Not only was it embarrassing, but she might also end up revealing many things that she didn’t really want to try to explain. Like becoming Sheogorath.

The three of them cleaned up the campsite relatively quickly before Niiryn began to don her discarded armor.

“Your armor is very beautiful,” said Maia.

Niiryn grunted in acknowledgement. “It’s too flashy for Skyrim,” she said, fingering the butterfly carved on her helmet distractedly. “I suppose I’m going to need to find a place to store it. And I’m going to need to buy a mundane set.” Though Madgod only knew where she would get the coin for that. Haskill had left her about a hundred Septims in the knapsack he’d left for her, but that was literally all she had.

She remained quiet along the walk to Dawnstar, following a little behind Maia and Hadvar, but coming up on the town, she realized she knew very little about Skyrim. In Cyrodiil, Dawnstar would have been considered a ‘town’ only in a very loose sense, and definitely not a city. Quickening her pace, she caught up to her two companions.

“You say that’s a Hold capital?” she asked skeptically. “It’s barely more than a large village.”

Maia let out a bark of laughter at that. “Most of the ‘cities’ in Skyrim look like that,” she said.

Hadvar glared at her. “They do not. Solitude, Whiterun, Riften, Windhelm, and Markarth are all large cities.”

“Large for Skyrim, perhaps. Not by Cyrodiil’s standards. Solitude and Markarth come close, I suppose, but they’re the only ones.”

"I'd never been outside of Cyrodiil before I went to the Shivering Isles," Niiryn stated quietly. 

"Well, few places have cities quite like Cyrodiil has, but still; most of them are definitely larger than the ones in Skyrim."

After making their way into town, Hadvar said, "Let's stop at the inn and get some breakfast. We didn't get very much to eat last night and a hot meal would be nice."

Niiryn gritted her teeth together nervously. "Maybe I should wait outside, then," she said, automatically looking for somewhere she could sit out of the wind. 

"Don't be silly," Maia replied, grabbing Niiryn's arm to pull her towards the door. "You're already freezing. You need some time in front of the fire." 

Niiryn dug her heels in, forcing the much smaller Maia to stop abruptly. "What happens if I have... an episode while I'm in there? What if I hurt someone? Or if they get scared and attack me?"

Maia paused and glanced at Hadvar. "She has a point, Maia," he said. She glared at him with a huff. She'd been hoping he'd surprise her with some tactful reassurances. 

"How about this," she said after a moment. "Give me your sword. I'll hang onto it while we're in there so that if you go into some kind of murderous rampage or something you won't have your weapon and it'll be easier for us to restrain you."

Niiryn hesitated and glanced between Maia and the door to the inn. Finally she sighed and began unbuckling the great sword from her back. "If I do go into a 'murderous rampage' I've got the feeling you're still going to have trouble restraining me even without my weapons, but at least I won't be too lethal. My hand-to-hand is very rusty." She gave a small smile as she handed over the sword and a dagger that had been on her hip. "Don't touch Shadowrend's hilt, though. It's enchanted so that only I can use it and it will start draining your life-force if it thinks you're trying to use it."

Maia's hand jumped away from the hilt where she'd been examining it. It was made from a strange, smoky, grey-blue material that almost looked as though it wasn't corporeal. The weight of the sword seemed to be in contest with that. "What is it made of?" She asked curiously. 

Niiryn shrugged. "Shadow, I guess."

As the three of them entered the inn, Niiryn felt the blessed warmth wash over her, and for a moment she just stood and enjoyed it. Unfortunately, that gave the patrons of the inn long enough to start staring at her. She'd known her armour was far too flashy for Skyrim. Feeling her cheeks flaming, she quickly made her way to a shadowed corner to sit with Maia and Hadvar. 

Notes:

I've had this chapter partially finished in my drafts for a while and ended up finding it because I'm thinking about completely rewriting this story. I'm posting it because it was on here anyways. If on the off chance that there are actually people who really enjoyed this story, you might want to keep an eye out for the new version of it. Hopefully it will be a bit better than this one. I noticed a lot of sort of awkward stuff in this version, and a lot of my headcannons about Niiryn and her timeline have changed since I wrote this. So, enjoy this chapter and I hope to see you on the revamped version once I get it up.
~II