Preconceived Notions (Elvorn)

[Angmor]

Relaxation.

[/Color] Kyemen thought huffily to himself. What a stupid concept.[/Color]
There was a time when he might have laughed at those words. After all, time to himself was something that he had never really had in abundance, especially since Sierthra had so dramatically changed his life. Time to think, plan, and collect his thoughts and feelings had fast become a luxury in his life, one that he sought out whenever he could.
And now, after enduring five days of it in a row, he was about ready to beat his head against the walls.
The irony was not lost on him for a moment.

After the events of the disastrous peace summit six days before, Kyemen found himself rather the worse for wear. Between the shrapnel in his back and damage to his eardrums wrought by the explosion, the various bruises, cuts, and strained muscles of the resulting fight, it ended up being a tidy package to have to heal up. It was a slow process, one that had left him drained and weak from the expenditure of energy required, even when focusing only on the wounds that could potentially cause permanent harm. Much against Sierthra's protests, he had gutted it out and pursued his duties anyway. After he had almost collapsed right in front of Nasuada in the Varden council meeting a few hours later, he realized that he might have been slightly premature. Nasuada, in that oh-so-endearingly authoritative way of hers, had given him a direct order to cease all activities beyond resting and recuperating, for the period of at least a week. Even after all reason and protest, she remained firm in the decision, and Kyemen was forced to obey rather than to blatantly defy a direct order. Only after heated debate had she even allowed him to stay in Feinster. So he had been relaxing and recuperating for the last five days, and hated every second of it.

Just then, he heard the telltale concussive wingbeats that heralded his dragon's return. He had been so absorbed in self pity, he hadn't sensed her coming. He looked up from the parchments he had been reading, just as Sierthra's wingspan blotted out the early summer moonlight. Looking over his shoulder, he found dropping precisely through the gaping rent in that side of the large room, her claws clicking on the stone floor as she landed.
Kyemen had chosen this house mostly for that reason. It had at one time been a small, charming mansion on the east side of the city. Far enough out of the way that he wasn't bothered by admirers, and yet close enough to the heart of the Varden operations that he could still get news. It was comfortably but not too lavishly furnished, and the previous occupants had apparently fled the city.
Of course, the fact that the house had been hit at least three times by errant Varden catapult stones might have had something to do with that.
This fact only served to make it more convenient. With much of the house in ruins, it allowed Sierthra easy access. This room was especially handy. Originally a large, pillared hall, Kyemen guessed that it had once been a room for the recreation of the previous occupant. This wing of the house had taken a direct hit, and so about half of the hall had collapsed into rubble, leaving one end of the room completely exposed to the sky. The other end of the room however was completely untouched, and this was where Kyemen spent most of his 'vacation'. Here, several plush couches and chairs had been arranged in a wide semi-circle around an absolutely enormous stone hearth.
And how is the patient today?[/Color] Sierthra asked cheerily, furling her wings against her sides. Kyemen huffed.
Impatient. I have a feeling these will be the longest two days of my life. Where were you?
She clicked her teeth, her scales glittering brilliant in the firelight as she walked toward him. The roof of the hall was so high, she did not have to bend her neck to get through, a fact for which she was grateful.
Hunting. Gathering information. Roaming the earth gathering news.[/Color] She answered airily, feigning weariness at a thankless task. You didn't have your mind open? That'd get a stern look from Oromis you know, not knowing exactly what I'm doing at all times...
I know, I know. But I was sleeping most of the day.[/Color] He admitted sheepishly. Much as he hated to admit it, he did need the rest. For the first two days of his enforced rest, he had done very little besides eat and sleep.
Find out anything I should know?
Mm, a few minor things. Oh, there was one interesting fact, but that can wait.[/Color]
Reaching the back of the sofa he was sitting on, she set her huge head atop his own, much the same gesture as a human putting his or her arm about the shoulders of another. Until that moment, Kyemen hadn’t realized just how much he had missed being near her that day.
What are you reading? She asked quietly, staring at the lines of neat human runes in his hands.
Mm. Just reports. Boring stuff.[/Color] He answered, reaching up to scratch the spot just under the scaly jaw. This one is from that spy, Taraak. More details on his investigation into the bomber's demise.
His handwriting's different today.[/Color] She pointed out, humming deep in her throat.
I noticed. Either he changes without realizing it, or he likes to play little jokes on whoever would be reading his reports. He says that he's currently searching through Lady Lorana's staff for anyone who might have known the bomber, and he thinks he might have a lead. What does Nasuada think of it?
She's very straightforward. She's saying that the explosion was all orchestrated by the Empire. We must press on in our plans... And so on. Her basic motivational speech.[/Color]
Kyemen frowned. Hmm...
You don't agree?
Yes and no. Someone at the summit was definitely trying to kill someone else, but it doesn't really make sense. I mean, why kill the bomber? Hell, why use a bomb? That seems like using a warhammer when a dagger will do. There is something that doesn't smell right about the whole affair.
I agree. But still, it would probably be better if you thought about it when you can actually do something about it. At least wait until after we meet with your bodyguards.
Kyemen stiffened.
My what?
Your bodyguards...[/Color]
She lifted her head from him, snaking her neck around to fix him with a single eye.
You mean no one told you about that?[/Color]
Kyemen blinked, forcing down a flare of annoyance. This was exactly why he did not want to have to rest like this. Not even a weak, and already people where forgetting to tell him things.
Apparently not. That duty must now fall to you.
I guess so. As of yesterday's decision, you are, finally, being assigned a cadre of bodyguards. Five or six, I think, very multi-cultural, as part of the Share the Riders agreement with the elves and dwarves. They should be here within the hour.[/Color]
Kyemen blinked, processing everything Sierthra had just told him. Of course, he had always thought that having a set of special guards for Nasuada and Eragon and others was a very good idea, but he had never once considered himself important enough to warrant his own. Besides...
What about our missions? We're the Varden's go-to pair for snuffing out the small fires. Aberon one day, Ellesmera the next, then a quick jaunt to Tronjheim... How is that going to work when we're hauling around a platoon?
I raised that concern yesterday. Apparently, they'll mostly be used for your more long-term assignments, sending them on ahead for you to meet them. Nasuada hinted darkly that she's going to be keeping you closer to home from now on.
What? Why?
Sierthra looked at him for a moment, head tilted just slightly to one side. Then she did just about the last thing he expected; burst out laughing.
You even need to ask? It's for the same reason you're getting bodyguards. No matter where you go, you just can't seem to take care of yourself.[/Color] She said, still making that peculiar bubbling hiss in her throat. Kyemen stood up indignantly, his tired muscles protesting somewhat at the sudden movement.
I can take care of myself just fine. I did it before you came along, and I'll keep doing it now.
Sierthra laid down beside the sofa, stretching languidly.
Uh huh. Think about why you're here right now. You saw an explosion coming, and what did you do? You ran towards it. And this is merely the latest and most serious in a long line of such events. And let us not forget all the incidents where it wasn't actually your fault. I've thought from a long time that you are a person that both attracts danger and welcomes it with open arms. Either that, or you lack all but the most basic survival instincts required for life. Whatever the case, it will be a welcome change for me to not be the only one concerned for your safety.[/Color]
Kyemen didn't really have an answer for that. It was true, danger seemed to follow him wherever he went, and it was a true fact that he did not value his own life very highly. He realized now that it really was not fair to put Sierthra through all that. But still, the idea of hauling around bodyguards...
This would definitely take some getting used to.
Alright, you win.[/Color] He said finally, moving to stoke the fire in the hearth.
When did you say they were coming?[/Color][/size][/blockquote]

[Elvorn]

The unnaturally loud echoes of footsteps and clinking weapons was starting to get on Dólin’s nerves. He had been walking down the deserted streets of Fienster for almost an hour with the five other Varden soldiers who had been picked by Nasuada and one of her generals to have the ‘honor’ of guarding yet another important personage. No doubt some high-up noble contributing tents to the war effort who was convinced that the Black Hand wanted him dead. Dólin was less than excited about this particular assignment. He had served as a personal guard before when, as his surrogate father, Vhozdar’s, shieldbearer, he had gone into battle with Urgals in the Beors, but he never expected to be sent away from the frontlines to play dry nurse to some duster not even important enough to stay at the main Varden military camp to the south.
‘Barzûln.’ He hissed through his beard, tugging absentmindedly on his shield’s strap to make sure that it was tight on his back.
‘What was that, dwarf?’ One of the other guards, a female human, asked in an irritated tone.
‘Nothing.’ Dólin replied tersely, ‘Just mine thoughts on this assignment of ours.’
‘I suggest that you keep such thoughts to yourself next time. If you can’t keep your mind on our mission, I’ll have words with Nasuada about having you replaced.’
I can only hope. Oh yes, this will be a fun assignment. Dólin thought to himself.
The human in charge of the guards was a mage, and an exceptionally irritating one, at that. Riessa seemed to think that her position as head guard allowed her to treat the others in the contingent like cattle, and had proceeded to order them around since the meeting.
‘Yes ma’am.’ He replied, praying silently that this assignment would not be a long one.

After another tense quarter hour, the six guards reached their destination. Surveying the ruined building, Dólin wondered why anyone would set up headquarters in a house with a gaping hole in the side. Humans were odd. Not only did they build weak structures that couldn’t withstand even human catapults, they were foolish enough to try to live in them even after structurally important parts had collapsed. Strange. The dwarf shook his head wonderingly.
‘Come on,’ Riessa said impatiently. ‘Look sharp, and no talking unless spoken to.’
‘I think we damn well know that,’ Bulgar, the other human guard, muttered. ‘We weren’t chosen for this because we’re a bunch of fresh-faced recruits. Worst damn assignment I’ve ever had.’ He trailed off into a string of muttered profanities that were quickly silenced by Riessa’s icy glare.
Double-checking his gear, Dólin hefted his shield higher up onto his back, squared his shoulders and followed the others into the stone building.
There was no light inside the house, but Dólin’s dwarven eyes could use the minute amount of light coming in through the crack in the door, the windows in the next room and down the staircase to see. The rest did not have this advantage, so Riessa conjured a small globe of blue light to illuminate the hallway.
‘Up the stairs,’ she whispered, for the first time her voice sounding slightly nervous. Riessa leading, the six guards ascended the stairs.
At the landing, Riessa stopped them, reiterating her orders to keep quiet and act professionally. The generals’ decision for her to lead the squad was a bit odd in Dólin’s view, as she was actually the youngest person in it. Bulgar outstripped her by a few years and all of the other races were older than she was by a significant amount. Ah well, Vhozdar had always counseled him not to think too hard about why you had the orders you did. It was not an infantrydwarf’s problem.

Following the Kull, whose name Dólin had caught, but found unpronounceable, he mounted the second flight of stairs, filing through a door after the others into a moonlit room that his miner’s sense of direction told him was the smashed one he had seen from the street. Why would anyone want this particular room? This assignment is raising more and more questions. Time to meet mine ward and see some answers.

As he stepped into the room and took in the scene the met his gaze, he decided that there were altogether far too many answers for his taste. Filling a good fourth of the hall was a giant, green-scaled, dragon. A dragon. Dolin froze. He was vaguely aware of the elf cordially greeting Riessa and introducing himself, but he could only stare at the beast at the other end of the hall. Disjointed images flashed through his mind of his mother and father waving as their ship sailed down the Az Ragni for the last time, the young messenger who had come to his grandfather a few weeks later with a piece of official looking parchment, the blackened rubble that he himself had visited years later . . .

‘Dwarf!’
Riessa’s angry voice was enough to snap him back to the current situation. He realized that the elf was staring at him curiously.
‘I— I’m sorry sir. What did you say?’ Dólin said hastily, averting his eyes from the dragon. He tried to concentrate on what the elf was saying, but he tensed every time he heard the rustle of leathery wings or the scrape of claws on the stone floor. He stood stiffly at attention staring at one particular brick in the opposite wall, trying desperately not to think about what the next days, weeks or months would hold.
Barzûln . . .