It hardly ever rained in Windhelm.
The capital of Eastmarch was too far north for much precipitation. Most of the year the land was covered with snow making growing most vegetables impossible. There were a few plants that thrived in the cold, but not enough for the Hold to survive without imports. Thankfully, there was the lucrative fishing industry to export in exchange for greens from the south.
"There are two seasons in Windhelm, little brother," Galmar used to tell Rolff when they were children, "winter and Summer's Height,"
Rolff Stone-Fist sighed as he remembered that sweet memory from when he and Galmar too young to know better, but old enough to get into plenty of trouble. It must have been at least fifty years ago, long before the Civil War and the Great War.
He missed his big brother. Galmar had always watched out for him, even when he was disgusted with Rolff. There had been years when they had been far apart. Galmar always had his duties to take him away. First, his role as an officer for the Imperial Legion in Cyrodiil when he was young had taken him to far lands to fight for the Emperor to keep the peace. Then later when Ulfric Stormcloak denounced the Empire, he had sworn his axe as the Bear of Eastmarch's housecarl. The two would travel most of Skyrim finding new soldiers and inspiring them to the cause to save Skyrim's native culture.
Ulfric had been practically an adopted brother for Galmar and by extent Rolff too. The younger charismatic man had been adored and fiercely protected by both Stone-Fists. No one would be allowed to lay a finger nor speak a harsh word against the jarl as long as they were around to defend him.
Except now Ulfric and Galmar were both dead, killed in battle in Windhelm when the Legion made its way into the heart of the rebellion's headquarters. Fighting had been insane on the streets. Galmar had warned Rolff to stay home where it was safe. "I can't protect Ulfric if I'm worrying about you and your bad leg," he had growled before leaving for the Palace of the Kings. "Stay safe and we'll get drunk or something afterwards to celebrate." They were the last words his brother said to him.
Rolff drained his tankard, grimacing at the weak ale. The seat to his right was painfully empty. Even his nights were alone nowadays.
Angrenor had gotten married after the civil war ended and decided that he wanted to be "respectable." What a joke! How could the Nord believe that after he had married a Khajiit of all things?
The last time Rolff had seen his old friend, he had been knocking on the door of the taller man's residence, Hjerim. The cat had bought it after Brunwulf Free-Winter became jarl. The bastard had relaxed many of the rules that Jarl Ulfric had enforced and one of them was allowing the cat-kin into the city walls.
"Angrenor, come out now!" Rolff had called, slamming the metal door. It had been well after midnight when he had drunkenly stumbled there. He had been mulling all night on how he was going to confront his friend about abandoning him and rubbing uglies with a stupid furry cat.
The taller Nord had slipped quietly out of his house, closing the door behind him. For a brief moment, Rolff could see the stupid furball poking her head over her husband's shoulder as she glared at him. He scowled at the sight of her. The cats had no business in the Windhelm's walls. Stupid thieves and drug dealers the whole lot of them.
"Rolff," the ex-solider said as a way of greeting, "you can't be coming here in the middle of the night screaming your head off. It upsets Meena and it bothers the neighbors."
"Screw your neighbors," Rolff spat. "And screw your wife." He snarled. "No, scratch that. Don't screw your wife. It's sick that you're sticking it in a cat. You might as well be sleeping with a horse. They're at least useful creatures."
He had not been prepared for his old friend to suddenly grab him by the shirt and haul him a few inches off the ground. "Listen, man, I've been patient," Angrenor growled. "I am not going to forget the stuff we used to do together, but that's in the past. I don't do that stuff anymore. The war is over. The Empire won. Men, mer, and beastkin are all friends now. You wanna keep disliking them, that's your business." He shook Rolff once for emphasis. "But if you disrespect my wife again, I will personally rearrange your face."
Rolff managed to keep his feet when Angrenor let go of him, but only barely. He tried to regain some of his dignity by brushing his tunic off. "You used to be someone, Angrenor."
"Yeah, I was a homeless, drunken bully," Angrenor said softly. "Meena helped me remember who I used to be and how much that mattered. I was someone who helped protect the people of my home and I was someone people admired. It might have only been for my strength or my stamina, but that's a hell of a lot better than being pitied for being a drunk."
"No one pities me," Rolff snapped.
"Everyone pities you," Angrenor replied. "I think the saddest part is no one pities you more than you do.
"Shut up!" Rolff yelled. "That's a lie!"
"It's the truth," Angrenor sighed. "Look, man, we were friends for a long time. You were my only friend. If you could learn to accept Meena, there's a bed here for you. You don't have to be alone anymore."
"I wouldn't be alone if you hadn't abandoned me!"
The door to Hjerim flew open and the small female feline darted out of it. Her fur was standing on end. "This one has had enough of the drunken Nord's screeching," she hissed. "If Rolff can't respect Meena's home, she will call the guards on him. They have looked away for long enough, but no more. Now there are Imperial soldiers, not Stormcloaks! If they are summoned, they will throw you into jail until you are sober for the first time ever." Each word was punctuated with a jab to the chest with her claw. "Understand?"
"Fine," Rolff growled as he backed away. "I don't need no cat-loving freak as a friend anyway. I got plenty of friends. I don't need you!"
That had been a week ago? Two? It was hard for Rolff to keep track days any more. He spent his nights in the Candlehearth Hall's loft drinking and listening to Luaffyn singing. It was long past midnight and they were the only ones left awake in the inn. The rest of the patrons had stumbled home or to their rented beds hours ago.
It was you
who could get me high
With whatever you say
Telling me something real
What we do
It doesn't matter now
He hated to admit it, but the elf did have a decent singing voice. It was soothing really. The Nord placed his head on the table with his arms as cushions. He would close his eyes for just a moment and then he would go home. Just a few minutes.
When Rolff opened his eyes next, he was being tucked into his bed. A cool hand ran over his forehead, brushing his bangs back. "Eira?" he murmured, reaching for the long fingered hand.
"No," a female voice replied, "it's Luaffyn." The damn elf!
"What are you doing here?" Rolff snarled as he sat up. The motion made his head explode with pain, but he tried to ignore it as he glare at the Dunmer bard. Not an easy feat with how dark it was in his house.
"Elda wanted you out of Candlehearth after you passed out," she explained calmly. If Rolff's outburst bothered her, she didn't show any sign of it, but then she never did. "She said that if you weren't going to pay for a room, then you didn't get to sleep there."
"She could have just woken me," Rolff grumbled.
"She tried. As well as Nils. Finally, I offered to take you home." Luaffyn waved her has nonchalantly as if it was nothing, but Rolff knew that she lived in the inn and bringing him home was completely out of her way.
"I don't need an elf helping me," he growled. "And I don't need a woman walking alone in the dark afterwards."
"Why worry? The Butcher was captured months ago. Windhelm is safe again."
Captured? More like killed, which was even better in the opinion of most people's minds. A freelance mercenary had offered to help look for the serial killer since the war was still going on and all of the guards were spread too thin to properly investigate the murders. Thanks to Ulfric's court wizard, the mercenary had been able to track down the Butcher before he could kill again.
The Butcher died when the mercenary confronted him and a fight occurred between them. It had been revealed that the monster had been Calixto Corrium, an owner of a museum that highlighted various items he had collected as a young adventurer. He had been trying to harvest body parts to resurrect his dead sister. Clearly insane…and not a Dunmer.
No, the monster that had killed, raped, and mutilated his poor Eira had been an Imperial. It had been about that time when Angrenor stopped helping Rolff beat up Dunmer in the Grey Quarter. Rolff had never told him directly that he was searching for his wife's killer, but the other man must have had a similar thought and was horrified to find they had been wrong in their search for justice.
It didn't matter to Rolff. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, but as far as he was concerned the Dunmer were still to blame. They were a leech on Windhelm with their constant requests for more money and repairs to their part of the city. The lazy bastards had refused to contribute in the war stating it wasn't their concern. If they hadn't been so pathetic and useless, maybe Eira wouldn't have been down there the day she died. Maybe she would still be alive.
No, he knew she would be alive if it weren't for the Dunmer.
And here one was in his house of all places. She was running her hand along his face as if she knew him, as if they were more than people who happened to know each other. "Get out."
The bard quietly put her hand in her lap. "I was just about to leave." She stood and turned to leave. "I'll see you later." Of course he would. Every night she would be playing and he would be drinking.
The next night was exactly as expected. Rolff had woken at sundown and shuffled to the Candlehearth. If he could go someplace else to drink to avoid Luaffyn he would, but the only other inn was the New Gnisis Cornerclub and it was located in the Gray Quarter so the owners and most of the patrons were grayskins.
Luaffyn had played her songs, alternating among her lute, drums, and flute. She didn't even look at Rolff when he ascended the stairs with his mug of ale. Despite the other regulars in the room, it felt like they were the only two people there. Maybe it was because Rolff always sat alone and no one had any interest in talking to him. Maybe it was because Luaffyn's voice always carried over the conversation, filling the room. Regardless, Rolff found his gaze returning to her time and time again.
Last night wasn't the first time she had made sure he had made it home. There had been numerous times Rolff had wandered down to the Gray Quarters and ended up either passing out or getting beaten unconscious after picking a fight with a Dunmer tougher than he thought. He'd wake up with Luaffyn humming over him like last night or with her arm around him as she dragged him home.
It bothered him. Why did she care if he lived or died? He didn't care about her. He hated the grayskins, the worthless leeches. He remembered how Galmar would tell him of the endless requests from them to Jarl Ulfric for more resources while the jarl was busy trying to win a war. How many times had they been forced to refuse the petitions after patiently explaining there was no extra funds for a race who didn't work or contribute to either the city's defenses or the war effort?
Customers came and went. Some stayed for hours drinking and singing with friends, while others came in for a quick bite to eat before going back downstairs to fall asleep in their rented rooms. It was warm, dry, and a pleasant atmosphere from companionship.
So why did Rolff feel so damn alone?
It was almost 2AM when Luaffyn took a break. She came over to his table holding two mugs. "Care to drink with me?" she asked, offering him mead.
"I don't need an elf buying my drinks," Rolff snapped. His head was hurting and he was feeling particularly lonely tonight.
"Then I'll just sit here as I wet my throat," Luaffyn replied. She sat down and sipped her drink. The extra mug was closer to Rolff than she.
Rolff started to tell her to bugger off to another table, but the words just wouldn't come to his lips. "What's the name of the song you were singing?" he asked instead.
"Which one?" Luaffyn smirked. "I sing many songs."
"The one you were singing last night right before I rested my eyes," Rolff clarified. "The one about going high or being real or something." He tried to hum a few notes, but he had no sense of tune.
"Oh, that one," Luaffyn smiled. "It's called 'Caught in the Rain.' I learned it in my travels and always thought it sounded nice. Now that the war is over, I can sing something other than propaganda."
"It hardly rains in Windhelm," Rolff commented, his brow furrowing in thought. "Hardly seems appropriate."
"Oh, you Nords and your literal sensibilities," Luaffyn chuckled. "Songs are rarely so exact in their interpretations."
"Meaning?" Rolff growled. She was talking fancy and it made him uncomfortable.
"Meaning that the rain doesn't have to be a literal rain. Instead it can be a metaphorical rain," Luaffyn answered, gesturing. "It mostly snows here because it's so cold, but when it does rain it means that spring has come. A time for new beginnings and a chance for change. The world has warmed enough that the stagnant ice has melted and the gentle showers can nurture gardens hopefully long enough for something to grow." The Dunmer sighed. "I hope Windhelm gets caught in the rain of the post-civil war and finds change."
"You meant the Stormcloaks," Rolff accused.
"Not just them," Luaffyn shook her head. "I mean all of Windhelm. The Nords, the Imperials, the Altmer, and so forth, but especially the Dunmer."
"Why the Dunmer?" Rolff asked. "They weren't part of the war."
"That's part of the problem," Luaffyn said. "I've known many Dunmer who joined the civil war. Some on both sides, in fact. But almost no Dunmer from Windhelm got involved."
"Why would you support the Stormcloaks?"
"Because we are unwelcome guests who have overextended our stay," the bard explained. "I was one of the original refugees who came here almost two hundred ago when the Red Mountain exploded. I was a young girl, almost a woman, and I watched the smoke pour from the mountain as the boat sailed for two days. It was only the last part of the second day that I couldn't make out the ash in the air anymore.
"Seven generations of men have been born, raised, had their own children, and died in that time, but still my people linger. Time passes different for us so it barely feels as flowed by at all. But here we are living in the Gray Quarter long enough that your people have changed its name to suit us. My people live in houses with holes in the floor, skeevers in the basement, and gnawing in their bellies wondering when the Red Mountain will finally stop spewing its foul ash and they can go home. Our own children have been born and raised here, never knowing Morrowind, but never thinking of their birth land as home either. They are as frozen as the snow on the ground waiting for something that may never happen instead of going forth and finding a life to live instead of simply surviving."
Luaffyn paused to drink and Rolff realized it was by far the longest conversation they had ever had.
"Ulfric Stormcloak inherited our dilemma as much as he inherited the Palace of the Kings," Luaffyn continued. "His father and his father's father and so forth had given us sanctuary. Some view the segregation of the Argonians from the city a horrible racist maneuver, but it was done with some sensitivity actually. The lizardkin and my race have poor history from the slavery of the natives of Black Marsh. It would have added more powder to the already volatile situation.
"People saw his 'Skyrim for the Nord' campaign as problematic since it would cause isolation for Skyrim and the Empire would lose yet another province, a devastating blow after losing Valenwood and Elsywyr," Luaffyn said as she took another sip. "Yet, I had hope for something more. Ulfric's goals also included 'Let the races enjoy their sovereign cultures. If he could stabilize Skyrim and make it a land proud of its heritage, maybe he could finally send aid to Morrowind so those who wanted could finally go home. The Nords were his original goal, but maybe the Dunmer would profit too."
She sighed as she sat her glass down. "Maybe that's why I agreed to come here to sing and spread the word of the war when Viarmo the Bard Headmaster asked me to. We needed someone here to keep the residents informed and Viarmo thought that a Dunmer singing Ulfric's praises would be much more memorable than a Nord. Some said it was more ironic than inspiring. I can't disagree since I've gotten my fair share of hate over the years from Nords and Dunmer alike. Ironic given they always asked, 'How can you sing a song that supports Ulfric Stormcloak?'"
She stood and stretched. "I think I'll go down to the New Gnisis tonight. It's been a while since I've mingled with the Dunmer. You're welcome to the drink if you want it." Without waiting for Rolff's reply, she turned and left.
The next day when Rolff woke, he went to Hjerim instead of the Candlehearth. The evening sky was full of gray clouds rolling eastward. There was the smell of a storm coming in the air. After he knocked on the door, Rolff had a horrible thought.
What if the cat answered instead of Angrenor?
He debated about whether he should just leave and come back some other time, but thankfully it was a moot point when his friend opened the door.
"Rolff, what are you doing here?" Angrenor asked. This was the first time he had arrived at Hjerim in any resembling a civil manner.
"I need to talk to you," he admitted, shuffling his feet. "May I come in?"
"Sure," Angrenor moved to the side and motioned for Rolff to enter. "Would you like some water or juice to drink? We don't keep liquor in the house."
"No thank you," Rolff muttered as he took in the furnishings. This was the first time he had been in the house.
Angrenor had done well for himself. Rolff had known that the house had used to belong to one of the Shatter-Shield daughters, a wealthy and respected family, but he had never considered how nice of a house it was. Everything in here was new and clean unlike his small one room home.
He glanced at Angrenor and noted the quality of clothes his friend was wearing compared to the rags he used to own when they were nightly drinking buddies. His face didn't have the gaunt look of someone who hadn't had a meal in a few days and the black bags under his eyes were gone.
"What's up?" Angrenor asked as he sat. He placed a bowl of fruit between them. It was a subtle gesture, but it spoke volumes. Fresh fruit in Windhelm at the end of winter was something only the wealthy could afford.
"Why the ca- Meena?" Rolff asked abruptly. He had never been known for his honeyed words. It was better to be blunt and this over with instead of fumbling for the best way to say it. "Why did you marry Meena?"
If his friend was offended or confused by the question, he didn't show it. He simply chuckled at the memory. "It's sort of dumb. I was begging as usual. I had tried convincing one of the guards for coin by telling about how I used to be an adventurer until I took a sword to the chest." Angrenor rubbed his chest where the scar was. "Meena had happened to be passing by when I said it. She stopped and ran back to me. Her eyes were as huge as saucers.
"'Really?' she had squealed. 'Did you really take a sword to the chest?' It was the first time in a long time anyone had looked at me with interest instead of pity or scorn. She gave me a coin and said I had more than earned it with my bravery," Angrenor chuckled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a septim. "I still have it. I never spent it. I think because that was the moment I started to fall in love with her.
"She would see me again, always randomly, and ask more about my time as a soldier. It reminded me of all the heroic deeds I had done, the battles I had fought in, and the lands I had seen. It reminded me that I was someone, that I wasn't just a bum." Angrenor picked up an apple and played with it. "After Windhelm fell to the Imperials and Brunwulf allowed Khajiit properly into the city, I noticed she was wearing an Amulet of Mara. I was surprised she knew the custom, but I wasted no time in letting her know my interest."
"Didn't you ever feel weird that she was a cat…Khajiit?"
"Why should I? Meena didn't mind that I was a Nord. You don't love someone for what they look like," Angrenor said as he pointed to his chest. "You love them because of who they are here."
The windows shuddered as a gust of wind rattled them. Tree branches tapped angrily against the panes.
"I should go," Rolff said, standing. "It's going to storm soon." He looked at Angrenor. "Thank you."
"You're always welcome here, Rolff," Angrenor said gently. "Don't wait so long to visit again."
"I'll think about it," he muttered, honestly not sure if he would or not.
The clouds were darker when he went outside. The wind was almost strong enough to snatch his hat away. Thunder and lightning rumbled across the sky.
When he had woken today, he was humming the song Luaffyn had sung instead of reaching for Eira. It was the first time in years he had woken to something other than looking for his dead wife and it left him feeling uneasy.
Rolff found himself hurrying towards Candlehearth Hall despite his home being closer. He picked up his pace trying to outrace the oncoming storm. Luaffyn would be there performing. Maybe he would make a request for her song tonight.
Big fat raindrops suddenly started falling from the sky, splattering on his shoulders. The sky opened to let the torrent come down. The loud patter of the rain filled his ears. Rolff put on a burst of speed so he was running for Candlehearth Hall.
It looked like despite how much he tried otherwise, he had gotten caught in the rain after all.
A/N: This is an entry for a contest on Deviant Art for the GamingLoveInterests group. The theme was "Caught in the Rain" and used the song of the same name by the group Revis. I must have listened to that song over a hundred times and now it's stuck in my head. XD
I really liked writing this, although it's a bit hard to let myself feel too sympathetic for Rolff. He is one of the most disliked characters of the game for a reason! But I did love getting to explore him, Angrenor, and Luaffyn since they have almost no characterization in the game.
Angrenor's marriage is based on my first character who was a Khajiit who did marry him for the reasons stated in the story. =)