[i]Gilane, Hammerfell - 30th of Second Seed[/i]

Unlike her first days in Imperial City, Skingrad and then Anvil, Meg did not choose to leave the lush and luxurious accommodations the group had been afforded by the man who called himself the Poncy man. She had barely been able to keep up with his long and elaborate welcome, save that they were here to stay as long as they wished to help efforts of freedom. At least that was what her confused and weary mind could understand. As soon as they were lead to their allocated rooms and the guards had left them to their own devices, Meg headed to one of the beds nearest the curtained off balcony, setting her belongings on the bed with a sigh. Following this she opened the chest at the foot of the bed and carefully set her enchanted armour within. She hadn't worn it since that day, and she very much doubted she would in the next few days. The heat coupled with seasickness hadn't been good for her- six days of feeling dehydrated and vomiting had not been pleasant. Even thinking about it caused her to feel weird in the stomach. Without further ado she headed to the curtain and pulled it to the side, allowing a little breeze to enter the room freely.

When she had at last pulled off her boots and set them on the floor by her bedside, Meg flopped down on the soft inviting bed, practically sinking in. Her eyes shut and she let herself get lost in the moment, if only for a little while. She had never touched anything as rich as the sheet on the bed, or the cushion that supported her head. The inns she had visited in Skyrim couldn't compare to this. The textures, the colours, the scent... everything was so different.

Meg turned around so that she was now laying on her belly, face half pressed against the cushion. [i]Skyrim.[/i] A sudden ache filled her chest as her eyes stung; she closed her eyes tightly, unwilling to let any tears escape. A small blink was all it too to let the salty little streams loose. It was hard to admit it yet again, but here she was pining for her home country once more. The mountains, the tall pine trees, the snow glistening under the morning sun... it seemed like years since she had last been there, even though she knew that was certainly not the case. It was silly, stupid, it wasn't [i]her[/i]. Since when had she become someone who dreaded new places and new adventures to seek?

A silent breath escaped her and she once more closed her eyes, though in a relaxed fashion. Her mind was in a turmoil, confusion tumbling in her mind just like food had tumbled in her stomach on the ship. The dwemer were here. They had run away from those murderers in Imperial City, suffered in Skingrad, escaped the Aldmeri Dominion in Anvil... and all for what? To find themselves back under the thumb of the dwemer once more? Memories of the dead bodies littering the streets of Imperial City flooded her mind. All that wanton killing, what had it been for?

[i]They weren't the ones who killed Rhea.[/i] Her hand tightened around the edge of the sheet. After all the Imperial woman had did for them, keeping the group together and leading them to safety, she met her end just as they were about to escape yet again. Altmer, Dwemer.... who were right? Who were wrong? 

Letting out a wrangled sigh, Meg jerked around in bed and sat up, elbows on her knees and forehead pressed against her palms, her fingers pressed against her hair. What was she even thinking? Altmer? Dwemer? Why just them? What about the nords fighting each other? The Imperials and the Stormcloaks? The argonians, the dunmer? Were there truly any race that hadn't harmed the other? 

As much as she simply wished to sleep, Meg knew quite well that her troubled thoughts would allow no such thing. Sighing yet again, she stood up and headed to the dining table, pouring herself a drink before heading out to the balcony. Perhaps the open air and the beautiful sights of Gilane would help. And if that didn't help, maybe a few more drinks would.