Chapter Text
A cold snap of wind blows through the dimly lit bar, brushing gently against Ronan’s flushed face as he turns to look at the being who had just entered. It was a large man bundled up tightly against the harsh weather. The vibrant red scales surrounding the man’s eyes mark him as Dragonborn. Ronan turns away, dismissing the man, and lets his attention drift around the room. Dark shadows cast by the firelight dance among the small groups huddling together, laughing and drinking as they take shelter from the horrible weather outside. Ronan sits propped up against the wall at one of the only free tables left. Ronan swings his head around as the door opens again, a large grin spreading across his face as he spots a familiar figure.
“Tamara!” he shouts across the room. “Hey, Tamara!”
Tamara turns at the sound. Her golden eyes glint in the firelight as she searches for Ronan in the crowd. Ronan waves his arm widely to grab the woman’s attention, swearing under his breath when the abrupt motion causes his drink to spill. When she spots his flailing, Tamara gives a sharp nod. Pulling her snow-covered cloak tightly around her shoulders, she pushes her way over to Ronan’s table. As she draws closer, her nose wrinkles at the sharp smell of alcohol. Her top lip pulls back, in a facsimile of a smile, to reveal sharp canines.
“Ronan,” She huffs, “what are you doing here? Last I heard you don’t come out this far North.”
As she speaks, Ronan moves to stand up, stumbling over himself as he tries to slide out of the booth, he had been sitting in. When he reaches the end of his seat, he hoists himself forward, tripping over his feet. Tamara’s hand shoots out to grip Ronan’s broad shoulder, preventing him from falling onto his face. Ronan shakes with laughter as he stares into the golden eyes that mark Tamara as a shifter. He brushes his pale blonde hair away from where it had come out of its braid and blocked his view.
“I’m on a quest,” Ronan says, straightening up. “For treasure.” Tamara’s eyes sharpen at his words. Looking around warily, she pushes him gently back into his seat and waves down one of the staff.
“Can I get two ales, please.” Nodding, the waiter moves towards the bar. Tamara removes her cloak and tosses it into the booth opposite Ronan. Taking her seat, she focuses on her companion. “You still working at that bookstore?”
“Yep!” Ronan cheers, sitting up straight at the mention of his sister’s shop. “Tessa’s shop. She built it herself, y’ know? From the ground up! Carved her magic rune thingies into the walls and stuff. Full security system and shields written right in the very foundation of the building! It’s alive now. She taught me everything I know, all by herself. No parents or nothing! Just, BOOM! Magic, spells, ward matrixes.” Ronan’s words rush out of him as he pretends to write runic symbols in the air. He gestures wildly, outlining imaginary wards.
“Right,” Tamara confirms, “your sister’s bookstore. What is she having you get this time?”
“Well, see, that’s the problem.” Ronan starts before the waiter interrupts. Putting the two drinks down, the waiter asks if he could get the two anything else as Ronan takes a large gulp of his ale. Brushing the figure away Tamara focuses on Ronan.
“Wait, what were we talking about?” Ronan asks once the waiter leaves.
“The job you are on. You were saying there’s a problem.” Tamara prompts, taking a sip of her drink. Letting the ale sit heavy on her tongue, she leans back to observe Ronan. Her companion sprawls before her, cradling his mug close to his chest. A bright flush rests high on his cheeks, creeping downward to highlight the dark tattoos peaking above his shirt collar in a healthy blush. Even in such a state, he is beautiful.
“Right!” Ronan agrees, leaning forward to slam his mug onto the table. His brows furrow at the loud noise before he shakes his head, dismissing it. Staring into Tamara’s bright eyes, Ronan lets his voice drop to a near whisper. “I’m supposed to be getting a Grimoire for the High Council. I thought it was up in the Northern Temples, but yesterday, I found inscriptions talking about a peace offering to the sun gods in the South. Which, I mean, fine what’s a couple of transportation circles? Except, a lot of the Southern Temples are uninhabited. Even if I can find the correct one, it’s not safe to excavate ancient temples alone.” Falling silent, Ronan lets his head drop down onto the table.
Tamara watches the man across from her for a moment before reaching out a faintly scarred hand. She gently pokes Ronan with the very tip of one of her claws to get his attention. “I’m not doing anything for the next few days.” Her soft voice rumbling in the stuffy air. “It’s been a while, but I grew up in the Southern territories. If you show me the inscription, I can probably tell you which temple you are looking for.”
“Price?” Ronan mumbles, letting his head roll to the side. One icy blue eye cracks open.
“Same as the last job we worked. An equal portion of anything we find. Though, I guess, in this case, the book’s all yours.” At her words, Ronan sits up and reaches out a hand. Tamara shakes it firmly, sealing the deal.
“We’ll leave in the morning. I can set up the transportation circle out back.” Ronan says, picking his drink back up. Chuckling, Tamara does the same, raising hers in a silent salute.
“So, how have you been?”