Handing over the coin purse, Dallio gave the man somewhat of a sheepish look and a salute. Though as an auxiliary he was not quite a Legionary, the young Sergeant thought that some sign of respect would be appreciated. Turning to the Breton woman he drew another coin purse, withdrawing a few pieces from it. "As a mage you're entitled to seven hundred and fifty after subtracting from expenses, pension and the likes." The officer smiled to everyone, but the one he gave to the wizard was a lot brighter; it was far easier to keep up his pleasantries to someone that was likewise pleasant. 

"Will that be all?" he said, looking to what remained of the squad after already three of it departed. 

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As Ingjald went into the streets of Solitude, he did not turn his head to make sure that the duo he had selected had followed him. “[b]Do you have any… [i]ideas[/i] as to what you were selected for?[/b]” His tone was indecipherable. Did he expect them to already have figured it out? Or perhaps this was the start of questioning by the socratic method. 

"Some sort of diplomatic purpose, sir? The only thing common between the two of us aside our soldiery, as far as I'm aware, is that we both know how to behave ourselves in a formal setting. A Squire and a noble." Tylmaesa said, shrugging their broad, muscular shoulders. Inwardly, they knew - or at least thought they knew - why Ingjald had demanded their presence, though they weren't about to call him out for using them as a token of the Legion's diversity. Unlike the vast majority of the soldiers, though they wore distinctly red-gold Imperial uniform, they lacked anything resembling armour, instead opting for modest, insulating cloth to protect them against Skyrim's cold. Their clawblade sat securely in a pouch at their hip, Dunmeri hooksword in an intricately engraved bonemold scabbard on the opposite side. It depicted a scene of Saint Vehk himself, Mu'atra pointed downward, piercing the chitinous exoskeleton of the Ruddy Man. 

Edward’s eyes were glued to the floor as they marched along. Ever since his name had been called by the Legate, he had been quietly searching the ground for his organs, feeling as if they’d fallen through his stomach and out his feet. Even the King of Daggerfall was a less intimidating man than the Nord-  at least from a distance- and Ingjald’s tone had given nothing away. “I’m not sure, Sir.” He replied to the Legate, ignoring the Dunmer’s suggestion so as not to get his hopes up. 

Back in High Rock, a request like this hardly ever turned out to be a good thing. Often it was latrine duty or cleaning the stables, or worse, Dragonic lessons. Who knows what it was here, in this strange foreign land, within an army that was so alien to everything he had known. Regardless, it didn’t matter what the Legate wanted or even what they were doing. Edward just knew he had to be ready. “Whatever it is my Lord, I’m up for the task.”

A short rasp of contemplation came from Ingjald as he heard these answer, the slightest motion of his mask betraying that he was moving his tongue through his mouth in a physical motion along with his metaphorical digestion of what was said. “[b]Close. Close.[/b]” he replied to the former, while keeping quiet to the latter. A finger was raised and pointed towards the blue palace. “[b]Before everyone goes to die or record those of us that go to die, an event will be held there. The most important people in Skyrim and many of the greater figures of the Empire t large will be there. Of those that were close enough they couldn’t scuttle off to find their amusements for the day, you were the best selections. Maybe the Altmer, but he does not speak many a word, nor does he bear himself like the silk clad creatures tonight will expect. Your names….” the man paused, cycling through a long mental list. 

“Edward, Tylmaesa. You Breton, will be my bodyguard for the night. I do not need one but you will be such nonetheless. When not draining expensive wines and and other such shite you will tell dashing stories of my, your, our joint exploits before this war began around Falkreath. You, Dunmer, will say you are an advisor to me. When not trying to find the bastards trying to quietly glut themselves on moonsugar, you will feed stories of the complex choices we have discussed together for prosecution of the war, and of our deep discussions of the Imperial state, philosophy, and such things. You are both to tell people what they wish to and what they wish to think; if it is a matter of dispute between two or more parties, you will speak in a manner to please all, or not speak at all.”

Taking a rather large coin purse from his belt and removing some to put into a pocket, he turned his head somewhat to face them. “If you understand, this coin is yours to buy foppish cloth at Radiant Raiments, perfumes at Angeline’s Aromatics, the likes. You are to stand by the guards at the Blue Palace entrance an hour before the festivities begin 
 turned in entirety to face them as he waited for a response. 

[i]Ah,[/i] Tylmaesa thought to themself. Suddenly, they felt themself being launched back to their time among the Hlaalu nobility, of being coached on behaviour by their parents, dressed up in pretty clothing and slathered in makeup and perfumes, and eventually suits and cologne, sometimes a cocktail of the above. They remembered being forced to converse peaceably with arrogant Telvanni wizards, appeasing Redoran Siblings with tales of martial prowess...

[i]This,[/i] they thought, [i]is my element.[/i] "I understand perfectly, sir. I'll use my experience in these fields to my advantage - I'll be able to manage well." they said. Truthfully, they did not particularly enjoy Imperial clothing, but... Perhaps they could find something interesting to wear?

[i]Bodyguard[/i] Edward mouthed silently as he looked towards the Blue Palace. His eyes widening in awe as he studied the grand piece of architecture, built teetering on the edge of a cliff. Elsewhere, his heart constricted with fear. [i]“Stories.”[/i] He thought. [i]“Gotta think up something good for the Legate. Maybe I’ll alter the one with the Ogre and hopefully the people attending haven’t heard too many tales from Daggerfall.”[/i] Stroking the few hairs on his chin, the teen turned back to his commanding officer. “As you wish, Sir. It would be my honour.” He replied, adding a polite bow. 

Taking the coin from the Legate, the Squire hurried away. The raiments Edward had been given by his Lord back in the Order would more than suffice for the evening. That, and the boy doubted he would find much of use in the local shops. Assumedly they’d cater mostly to Nords, with their clothing being well oversized for the boy. Instead, he would use the coin to purchase perfumes, a place to wash and prepare himself at the inn and a small meal to line his stomach for the wine. Money well spent.

“[b]Good, good.[/b]” The Legate muttered at the departing Edward, moving his face a little to gesture that Tylmaesa ought follow him. “[b]Tell the Altmet that truns the place you are from the Legate, it may… help.[/b]” He called out.