A note on pronunciation: Rhodannel is pronounced R-oh-dan-el with the emphasis on the O sound.
The routine was engraved on her mind like letters on a tombstone. Every morning of her imprisoned life she would find her uniform beside her bed were she had laid it out the night before. She'd pull it over her head with little enthusiasm, and begin a day of work.
Even with her mind not fully awake, she automatically reached out for the familiar fabric. Her groping hand, however, found not cotton; but closed around air as cold and empty as the feeling that rose up inside her.
She was forced to remember.
Within her head, a beast like voice bellowed a deluge of questions: What was I thinking? Where have I ended up? What happened to the others? Did our plan fail? Why can't I remember how I got here? Have I been captured? Was I followed? WHERE BY THE NINE DIVINES IS THE BLADE?!
She struggled to consciousness like a drowning animal breaking the surface of water.
"Gahh!" Startled, Kharjo fell backwards out of the makeshift tent on to the frozen ground. He hadn't expected her to wake so... abruptly. One second, she was lying asleep, and the next, she's sitting up with her eyes wide and stunned. Perhaps she had had a nightmare? Should he comfort her?
"Umm..." he began stupidly, from his awkward position on the ground. He hadn't thought this far ahead. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Maidens don't just wander about mountains at the dead of night... perhaps she was mad? Perhaps she was dangerous? He hadn't stopped to consider that she would be her own person, with her own story, with her own faults...
His fantasy of being a brave warrior, saving a beautiful maiden and riding back home to Elswry on a horse (that he planned to find) seemed to realise it was unattainable, packed up its belongings, and left Kharjo's head.
He didn't even know where he was...
Perhaps he should just grab his stuff and run, evade all responsibilities, live life alone and free ... and then he remembers that he had already done that. And upon doing so, he had only gone and bumped into someone else who probably had an equally depressing life that he was doubtlessly soon to hear every detail of.
Nope? Silence? Perhaps she was a bit dim? It often came with beauty... and she was certainly beautiful. What with her dramatic black markings against her pure white fur... and those big, azure eyes... Traits typical of the Khajiit of Skyrim, himself included, yet he had never before seen such a contrast in the monotone colours of fur. He had always planned to marry a girl native to Elswry, with the characteristic sandy-russet pelt, but his plans could change...
The lack of noise was growing awkward. She could at least thank him. After all, he had just saved her life... sort of.
This was a bad idea...
No, stop being so negative. You left your old life behind so you could start a new, and meeting new people will inevitably be apart of your fresh start. Kharjo told himself. This is the perfect opportunity to leave your old life behind, you could totally re-invent yourself... how about you're a brave, loyal, adventurer, who is in search for a quiet life spent with family? Or a misunderstood criminal willing to change his ways for his true love, a maiden he rescued from a gang of bloodthirsty giants?
Every morsel of doubt left Kharjo body, he drew breath, and began to speak.
Don't lose your head, Rhodannel.
Okay... time to asses the situation. She was in a tent, a wooden structure covered in animal furs, that smelt of must and rain. The grass beneath it was green, therefore it had not been there more than a day. It was early morning, the sky a dull blue, the sun shone through the thick cloud cover, casting light over a dark pine forest. It appeared that she was in a temporary camp, a fire, no more than embers, slowly smoked, a gentle wind catching the grey ash. Just in front of her, a Khajiit lay sprawled on the ground, a look of shock on his face.
It would be best, she decided, if she knew who he was. So she quickly ran through all of the possibilities:
a) a bandit
b)a thief
c) a forsworn
d) a long-lost relative
e) a figment of her imagination
f) a re-animated corpse
g) a figment of her imagination
Rhodannel decided to go with the first one, it was the most plausible.
She had to be strong, she had to be calm; she had gotten this far, she wasn't going to let this get in the way of the new beginning she had worked so hard to get. Things like this must happen to everyone , it's probably an everyday occurrence for, say, a warrior maiden. She would just have to deal with it.
A plan. She needed a plan. A spur of the moment, reckless, ignoring the consequences plan...
And then she saw her blade, lying quite innocently next to her in the tent.