When Faendal and I left the Khajiit camp hours later it was as a very different pair of individuals than the two who had run in during the pre-dawn hours. Instead of a Bosmer archer with a small brown pony carrying some saddlebags, there was a Vigilant of Stendarr leading a shaggy black packpony down the road.

We headed down the road that headed east, leaving behind us new friends and a fair bit of coin for their troubles. Atah, for all her skill with equines, never seemed to quite catch onto the idea that my ability to speak and reason wasn’t some clever elf trick with a smarter than usual pony. At least I hoped that’s why she kept offering Faendal increasing amounts of gold to have me “cover” one of the smaller mares of the caravan.

Faendal had to put his foot down when she literally stuck the rear end of a mare into my nose trying to get me to react. To her delight, my body did indeed get ready for mating while my head swam from the perfume filling my brain with things other than coherent thoughts. Not even Mara’s help with my libido was able to shut off pure pony instinct. Lucky for me, Faendal was able to pull me off and into clear air before things got too… interesting.

“Okay, where are we supposed to be going?” Faendal asked me, as we crossed the bridge over the river that went along the east side of the big city.

“Turn left, head up the road a bit, and watch for a trail coming in from the right,” I told the big elf. “Expect some trouble on the road before we see it, though.”

“How do you know that?” Faendal asked, curious.

“Oh no,” I said, laughing a bit. “I just finished getting a muzzle off of me. I am not, repeat not, looking to have another one slapped on me.” I felt a phantom hand slide down my back in an ethereal caress as the words left my mouth.

“He can be trained,” said the laughing whisper in my ear.

Fuck off, Mara, I whispered back in the vaults of my mind. I don’t know if the goddess heard me or not, but I did get a sense of her retreat. I still wasn’t really sure why Mara had taken such an active interest in me. All I knew for sure was that there was no way it could be good.

“Fine,” Faendal said, having missed the entire byplay. “I’ll keep an eye—” The lean Bosmer stopping talking as a long and rangy wolf leaped out of the bushes just ahead. The wolf turned and began to charge toward us, only to get an eye to arrow view of its death as Faendal’s shot cleanly entered the hungry beast’s skull.

“Nice shot,” I said, impressed.

“Thanks,” Faendal said, as he bent down and made an attempt to retrieve his arrow. “Hey, I think I see that path you mentioned up ahead.” I tried not to sound too smug when I replied.

“That should be the one. For some reason there’s always a baddie hanging out in the area down here,” I said, moving beside Faendal and looking up the slope. “Whatever you do, remember that we’re here to do a job. Not engage in fights or condemn these people for what they’ve done.”

“Get in, get out,” Faendal said, standing up again and putting away his bow. “Got it.”

We headed up the rough path leading up the slope until I could just see the beginnings of some rough structures. The sun was out and shining and we were pretty visible and out in the open. It was time to see if we could talk our way in and out of things.

“Hello, the camp!” I called out, feeling very, very exposed to any random arrows that might come our way. Sure enough, one zipped down to plant itself in the ground not two feet away.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, traveler,” a man’s voice growled from above. “How about you hand us about 200 gold for directions?”

“I’m a courier, I’ve got a delivery for your boss,” I called back up the slope. “It’s for him only.”

“Did that pony, just talk?” a woman’s voice above asked her companion.

“Yes, he did,” Faendal yelled, calling back up the slope. “He’s a courier and I’m his bodyguard. We’ve got a delivery here.”

“Never heard of a courier needing a bodyguard before,” the male voice said, and I could hear the creak of a bowstring. “Just hand over that 200 gold before I get myself some fresh horse hide.”

“Maybe you folks might have seen the, oh I don’t know, the FREAKING DRAGONS in the sky?” I yelled back up the slope. “And that’s on top of a damned CIVIL WAR.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your bridle in a knot,” snarked the female bandit standing up. “If you’ve got a delivery, come on up. But no tricks or you’re for the stewpot.”

“No tricks, Oh Jarl of the Rocks,” I said, snarking right back. “I just want to make my delivery and head to my next job. There’s a nice salt lick waiting for me back home.” Both bandits laughed at that one and they waved us up.

Faendal was asked to unstring his bow, which he did without protest, and we were led into the depths of the bandit cave complex. As we were led past the old blind guy whose name I never could remember, I was forcibly reminded that this wasn’t a game anymore.

The smells in the place were awful. Unwashed bodies, the stink of crap and piss coming out of honey buckets, and everywhere the smell of mold. I actually had to stop a couple of times to sneeze repeatedly while my system tried to clear out my nose. It didn’t work of course.

There were freaking mushrooms everywhere in this cave. Anyplace that those little buggers could grow had been colonized. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mushrooms needed food, water and darkness, and this cave had all three in spades thanks to the number of bandits here and how messy they were. Bits of discarded food and drink made for great landing spots for mushrooms spores after all.

Then there were the bandits themselves. Most of them were dirty, smelly and repeatedly eyed me up in ways that made my hooves itch. More than a few of them made open threats to Faendal, who wisely kept quiet, especially in how badly outnumbered we would be if an actual fight broke out. I started to get worried when two of the bandits started following us and studying us carefully while looking at a parchment.

They were just starting to move forward when we reached the far end of the cave system, emerging back out into the light. Faendal and I stood there for a moment blinking as our eyes re-adjusted to the light.

“Who the hell are you?” growled a big, big man in heavy armor. The guy was huge. He looked like he could eat me like a bucket of KFC and then pick his teeth with Faendal’s bow.

“Septims is what they are, Chief,” said one of the bandit bastards, stepping around us to wave the parchment he was carrying. “Look at this.” I heard the scrape of a blade leaving its scabbard and I froze in place while keeping my mouth shut.

“We’re just couriers here to make a delivery,” Faendal said, spreading his hands wide.

“Delivery?” the big, bad bandit asked. “What do you have for me?”

“Tribute,” I said, stepping forward. “We were hired by a merchant to bring this to you.” Reaching back to my saddlebags I pulled out a small cloth sack that jingled nicely. What Hajvarr didn’t know was that along with a handful of gold coins, Meridia’s Beacon was also in the sack.

“I don’t have any merchant friends. Why would a merchant send me something?” Hajvarr asked, looking at the sack until he found the attached scroll with a snort of surprise.

“To the bandits in the mountains near Whiterun,” the bandit chief said, reading the words I’d written earlier. “Please accept this tribute in exchange for safe passage. My caravan will travel past Whiterun in two days flying blue flags. If this is acceptable to you, I will make similar tribute every time I pass near Whiterun.”

“So, when we gonna jump them, boss?” asked the bandit behind me.

“You idiot,” sneered Hajvarr to his minion. “Don’t you see, this is perfect. We don’t even have to leave here anymore. The gold and loot will come to us.”

“I don’t get it,” said the bandit, and it took a force of will the size of Everest to keep me from facehoofing.

“We’ve got the beginnings of a protection racket, only on a big, big scale,” the bandit chief laughed. “Now, take these other two with you and get back to your positions. Our front door’s been left unguarded long enough.”

“But what about…” the minion trailed off as his boss glared at him.

“Get. Back. To. Your. Post,” Hajvarr said, enunciating each word with enough malice for a dragon. The four bandits left, while Faendal and I breathed a sigh of relief. Right until the big man in armor spoke again.

“As for you two,” he growled, slapping the pommel of a huge sword with the flat of his hand. “I know who and what you are.”

“Uh,” I said, trying to think of something to say.

“If you’re trying to hide, you really need to learn to keep your mouth closed,” Hajvarr said, looking the two of us up and down. “Don’t worry though, I have plans for you two that don’t… What in the Nine?”

The sound of metal on metal echoed out from the entrance back into the cave complex, along with shouts of anger, followed by cries of pain. Hajvarr looked at us for an explanation and saw only confusion there. The sounds of battle drew closer, and the big bandit put on his full face helm and drew out his massive sword.

Faendal and I moved over as far as we could to one side of the rocky shelf that was the bandit chief’s favorite spot. Both us knew that there was about to be a fight and both of us knew that we were safest as spectators. Faendal crouched down and threw an arm over me as the body of the bandit who had recognized me flew out of the cave to land at Hajvarr’s feet in a bloody heap.

“Who the fuck are you?” Hajvarr asked as the camp’s attacker burst out of the cave, sword in hand. She was a tall lean woman, clad in a sort of leather armor with steel plates over her vitals. In one hand she carried a gleaming green blade, and her black hair streamed out behind her like a war banner.

“I’m the Thane of Whiterun,” the woman said, aiming a slash at the big man’s head. “You’ve pissed off my Jarl and now I get to play.”

“The only playing you’re going to have is on the end of my cock,” Hajvarr snarled, blocking the strike with the crosstree of his sword and coming at the woman with a huge overhand blow of his own.

“The only cock that gets near me has feathers,” the dark haired Nord taunted, parrying both the verbal slash and the physical one with her sword at an angle. Hajvarr’s huge blade struck sparks as it bounced off the rocks that made up the fighting surface.

“Fucking bandit,” the woman said, hair flowing as she whirled and flung out a beautiful horizontal strike at the big man’s ribs. Hajvarr grunted in pain at the blow, and while there was some blood his armor turned most of the sword’s deadly accuracy. He went to one knee though, so he must have been hurt more than he looked.

It was a feint. As the Thane closed in to strike at the back of Hajvarr’s neck, he brought his sword around far faster than a man of his size should have been able to. Certainly faster than anyone had a right to move a mass of metal that size. The blade whistled up from down low in a rising swipe toward the belly of the woman. Who had only enough time for her eyes to widen in surprise as the strike caught her full in the belly, sending her flying.

Hair again streaming, only in the wrong direction, the tall lean woman flew through the air to impact on the living rock of the mountain itself. It was her turn to collapse to her knees now, blood dripping from her stomach. Her armor had done its job though by turning an instantly fatal wound into something survivable, with treatment. Hajvarr stalked towards her, two handed sword held in a single hand as he lifted the visor of his helm.

“Good try. Now throw that pig sticker down and I’ll let you live,” he said, with a smile that promised a thousand indignities. “‘Course, you’ll have to earn my mercy keeping my dagger well polished. What’s it going to be? Death, or a good fucking whenever I feel like it?”

“I’ve got only one thing to say to you, asshole,” the woman gasped, one hand supporting her while the other fumbled at her belt. “FUS RO”

The edges of the Shout battered Faendal and I, but it had to have been way worse for the bandit chief. The power of the ancient Nord art blasted into him, knocking him back a few paces and staggering him. As the bandit chief recovered his footing, the Dragonborn pulled a pair of slim bottles out of her belt and downed their contents. Almost instantly colour returned to her cheeks and vitality to her limbs as she bounced back up, and leaped back into the fight.

Hajvarr had barely set himself back onto his feet before he was forced to block the next blow from the verdant blade the woman carried. He tried to resume the offensive, but his foe wasn’t having any of that. Head, throat, ribs, knees, all came under assault. Most of the time Hajvarr was able to block the blows, or let his heavy armor take the strike, but enough of slashes and stabs got through to vulnerable points that the big man was in trouble.

“Wait,” he yelled, holding up his hand. “I yield. I have coin, treasure. I can buy my life. I surrender, Thane.”

“Really?” the Dragonborn said, cocking an ebon eyebrow with suspicion. “I’ve had others try to surrender, and then go for my head when I accepted it.”

“No tricks,” Hajvarr said, lowering his sword and taking off his helmet. “I’ll even tell you a secret. Something no one else in Skyrim knows.”

“Talk,” the woman said, still on her guard but not as ready to chop the big guy into sausage either. “I’m still learning about Skyrim, so you’ve got my attention.”

“It’s that pony, and his elf companion there,” Hajvarr said, pointing at where Faendal and I were still huddled together in a crack in the rockface. “That’s the talking pony everyone is looking for. He’s worth 2,000 septims.”

“Two—,” the Dragonborn said, turning to look at me and the elf. As she did, Hajvarr stepped forward and raised his sword so that he could chop the woman in half from behind. Sadly for him, he must have let her know what he was doing somehow. Maybe she saw his shadow, or heard a pebble crunch, or maybe she just expected an asshole to be an asshole.

Either way, she was ready for him. Even as his sword began to descend once more in it’s deadly, gleaming arc she spun back toward the bandit and with a single, flowing motion drove her blade clean through his stomach and out the other side.

“Every, fucking, time,” the Dragonborn said, as Hajvarr began to collapse over her blade. “FUS RO DAH!”

The power of the full Shout exploded from the throat of the woman and quite literally blew him off the end of her blade. Like a gory comet streaming blood, Hajvarr flew out into the empty space off the side of the mountain, before gravity took hold and began to carry him to the road, far below.

“Thank you,” Faendal said, getting up as the woman began to go over what was left lying around.

“Don’t fucking move,” said the Dragonborn, swinging her sword over to cover me and Faendal. “I don’t know who in Oblivion you are, and frankly I don’t care. As long as you stay out of my way and don’t look like a threat I’m willing to assume you aren’t bandits. Got it?”

“Excuse me,” I said, addressing the Dragonborn and I could see her eyes go wide. “I’m a courier. I’ve got a delivery for you. Is it okay if I come over there and hand it to you?”

“Like you’ve got hands,” she said, and I snorted and smiled. I liked her. She was a tall woman, dark hair in an ebon wave down to her lower back, neither scrawny nor overly built. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, nor was she ugly, but she carried herself with a power and a purpose that I couldn’t help but like.

“Okay, good point,” I said, stopping just out of sword range and tucking my hooves underneath me as I sat back down. “There’s a box in my left saddlebag. That’s for you.”

“Fair enough,” the woman said, stepping behind me. My breath caught for a minute as I felt her grab hold of my mane with one hand, while the other went into my saddlebag. Her hand left the bag a moment later and the hand in my mane shifted from holding me down to giving me a gentle stroke along my neck.

“You’re a brave one, I admire that,” she said, and I found myself being submerged in her golden eyes. “What do they call you, pony?”

“Ja—James,” I stammered out, obeying the driving force of will coming off of the woman. “You are?”

“Call me Aelinna,” she said, and as she opened the box her face went from kind, to confused, to angry in as many breaths. “Who sent this?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, suddenly very aware of how close the woman, and her sword were to me. “Why? What’s wrong?” Aelinna, the Dragonborn, the now very angry Dragonborn who had a sword less than six inches from my tender and much loved hide pulled out an ornate necklace from the box and shook it at me.

“Who, in all the hells, would send me an Amulet of Mara?” she demanded, yelling at me with such volume and fury Faendal started to go for his bow, unstrung as it was. The schling of an unsheathing blade sounded behind me and I saw the front half of Aelinna’s blade over my head. “Unless you want a second mouth you better drop the fucking bow, elf.”

Faendal was smart and did as he was told. He made a show of also dropping his quiver, his belt knife and his own belt pouch on the ground. The display seemed to calm the woman standing over me a bit. I was still getting pretty freaked out though as she used her sword to punctuate her next words.

“Tell me the godsdamned truth, pony,” she demanded. “Who sent this to me?”

“An extradimensional Spirit of Chaos,” I blurted out, and I saw confusion in those golden eyes that were making me think of a hungry wolf. “He didn’t tell me what I was taking with me, just who the deliveries were to.”

“That has got to be the biggest load of horse crap this side of the Bard’s College,” the Dragonborn said, and I breathed a sigh of relief as she put her sword away. “But for some reason I think you’re telling me the truth.”

“Good to see you again,” Faendal said, still not moving. “Just so we know, are we to be your prisoners, your victims or something else?”

“Oh get up,” Aelinna said, rolling her eyes. “I was just so fucking pissed. Every time anyone sees me it’s not as a warrior, or the Dragonborn, but as a mare to be broken and bred. Pisses me the fuck off. And now I’m getting bloody letters with Amulets of Mara in them. Next thing I know the shit eating bards are going to be singing about me everywhere I go. Argh!”

The woman stalked away with an inarticulate cry of frustration and distracted herself with the loot from a chest, loading herself up. I kept my mouth shut as I saw her pick up the bag that held Meridia’s Beacon though. This was not the time or place to mention another obligation she was about to be shackled with. It also became clear why I’d been directed to get the Beacon here. The gods had known Aelinna was going to be coming this way, and they had maneuvered me like a piece on a game board.

“FUCK!” shouted the woman several minutes later in disgust.

“What’s the problem?” Faendal asked. He’d restrung his bow and gathered up his stuff, making sure that Aelinna knew what he was doing as he did it.

“I broke down and bought some property a little while back,” Aelinna said, dumping out her impressively loaded pack to go through all its contents. “It’s fucking harder than a city guard in a whorehouse to find enough coin to buy all the things I need just to get the place up and running. I’m just glad that creep Belethor is willing to pay for anything I bring him.”

“Um,” I began, reminded of the huge bounty on my head.

“I don’t deal in flesh,” Aelinna said, coming over and giving my mane a ruffle. “Particularly not that of someone willing to stand in front of me without a weapon when I’m pissed. If you like, you can stick with me for awhile. You and Faendal both.”

“You sure?” Faendal asked, frowning a bit. “You and I didn’t exactly part on good terms when you left Riverwood.”

“Fuck it,” Aelinna said, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m willing to give you a second chance. Besides, with Lydia staying at the house as my housecarl it will be nice to have some company on the road again.”

“We should probably lay low for awhile too,” I said, nodding. “At least until all the uproar over me dies down a bit. I’m not really sure how to thank you though.”

“Well, with Lydia back at the house I could really use some help carrying all this loot around,” Aelinna said, and her eyes were studying my body to the point I began to blush. “You are a pack pony, right?”

“Well, I can do the dance if you play the tune,” I said, still confused about that look. Could the Dragonborn swing that way?

“Good,” she said, picking up a bundle of leather strips from Hajvarr’s table. “Come here.”

About an hour later, the three of us emerged from the lower entrance to White River Watch, and things had changed a bit. I’d managed to make two deliveries in a single go, but I was going to have to hide for a few days. The biggest change was that I now wore a harness and was hitched to a cart piled high with loot from the cave. Thanks to me, Aelinna’s smithing ability with leather and Faendal’s sharp elven eyes, we had cleaned the place out and were hauling away all the valuable bits. All of them.

As we paused for a bit near the road Aelinna came back up alongside me, and tightened the harness in several places I’d worked it loose and it had begun to slip. The harness started with a broad collar on my neck and shoulders. From there it flowed down my chest and along my spine to meet at a wide band that wrapped my middle tightly. The last bits were the sections that carried on down my spine to my tail, and the side portions that gathered around my hips.

It was an efficient, utilitarian design that had been engineered long ago to get the best performance possible out of the equine wearing it. I was pulling easily four or five times my weight, but what worried me though was that the harness felt good on my body. It somehow filled a void inside me to be a beast of burden, and it didn’t help that as the Dragonborn readjusted the harness yet again a little voice in my head said, Get used to this. You’re going to be in harness for a very long time. My little pony.

Author's Note

One or two more chapters and that's it for Skyrim. Promise. Things can't get much more intense than James working directly for the Dragonborn.

For those of you who are wondering, where I got my interpretation of the Dragonborn from, I am using the version created by one of my editors, Coyotethetrickster

You can find her Patreon here!

Speaking of Patreon, you can support me on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping word Sherpas like me in keyboards, coffee and chairs. Some months you folks really make the difference.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
and
Machara.