The Will of Mara - Chapter 1

It was an average night in the Bannered Mare, the bard was singing his songs and Drogon was sitting on his own by the fire sipping his mug of ale. Nord ale was bitter and burned his throat slightly as it ran down his gullet, he liked that feeling, it reminded him of what he was; dragonborn. An idolised dragon-killer from the ancient past. Across the room he noticed a woman sat alone, her battle-axe slung across her back as if she were going to battle right then and there. Her bright blue eyes flickered sideways to his, her thin lips still curved in a begrudging frown. He nodded and lifted his flagon to his scaly black lips, welcoming that burn and slight light-headedness that came with it. He kept eye contact with her as he did so, he finished the last of it and settled it down on the flagstone floor. He stood and walked over to the table where she was sat, she eyed him wearily, “what do you want Argonian?” she muttered as he brought her own cup to her lips, Drogon was used to people being brash towards his kind, they were not native to Skyrim and so, like the Khajiit people, Nords often treated them like lower beings.

“You seem like you have a grudge, Nord” he grumbled back at her.

“I don't know what you're talking about” she said through gritted teeth as she glared at him.

“So looking at me and everyone else that comes near, like you want to kill them or at least try to, is not really giving me the best impressions” he said, humour ringing in his voice. A wry smile crept over her lips and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

“And I suppose you think that you have a shot at beating me, lizard?” she laughed as she took another large swig from her ale.

“I think I'd have a better shot than any other man in the room” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a challenging smile. Her smile faded as she pushed the bench from underneath her with her strong calves.

“I wager one hundred gold that you can't beat me” she said as she placed her battleaxe and her hidden daggers on the table, “but this is a fist fight, so no weapons or magic” she said as he also stood and matched her gaze.

“Very well” he said as he brandished all of his weapons onto the table, 'Stendarr forgive me' he said as he cricked his neck and looked back at where he was previously sat. The bard had stopped playing and the other patrons were watching intently, he looked back at her and took his fighting stance, she did the same.

They circled a few times before Uthgerd leapt at him, throwing her fists straight for the side of his skull, he admired her confidence but he easily sidestepped her and landed a punch in her ribs making her recoil away from him. She took a few steps back, but an angry fire had emerged around her pupils as she lunged for him again, this time pure relentlessness and rage emerged from the power she attacked him with, but he was lighter on his feet and easily evaded her angry punches and hit her weak spots until she had to stop, her knees shaking and her breaths coming in pants. She looked up at him, her eyebrows knitted together in anger, not at him but at the fact she was losing. She looked at the floor, “I.. I yield” she muttered, he nodded and offered a hand to help her up. She looked at his and muttered something he couldn't hear. She ignored his hand and stood up silently.

“May I buy you some ale or some food, Nord?” he asked, hoping he didn't offend her with the gesture. She looked at him as she returned to her seat.

“My name is Uthgerd, and I would gladly have some ale if I may” she said as she glowered into her empty flagon. He nodded.

“And I am Drogon, I'll be back with our ale” he said as he made to walk away.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Drogon” she said, her eyes looking up at him, her expression softening.

"Likewise" he said with a smile before leaving to get their drinks.

Continued in Chapter 2