A/N: This is a short piece I began writing about the Dragonborn character I created in Skyrim. I wrote it ages ago but just found it and decided since it is fanficition that I should post it.
The leather of the book felt good under fingers, and her mother's arms wrapped around her, holding her in her lap. Her mother, Anya, read to her every night, whatever book she picked from the shelf. Sometime Skjor would pass her something new he'd found while he was out on a mission.
""I'm afraid I don't understand," replied Scotti, turning toward the brambled tree, thick as a wagon, where the voice had issued." Her mother's voice was rough and warm, like the leather book, and she always did voices for the characters in the stories when they'd talk. Lately they'd been reading A Dance in Fire, and Arya had had to wait four months before she'd come across a copy in a store in Winterhold.
""But you needn't be afraid of me,"" Her mother continued, ""My name is Decumus Scotti. I'm a Cyrodiil from the Imperial City. I came here to help rebuild Valenwood after the war, you see, and now I'm rather lost.""
A loud noise from the hall upstairs cause the pair to pause and look upward, straining to hear what the commotion was about.
"Hold the page, jarta," Her mother commanded softly, slipping from their bed. Arya was still young and slept in her mother's quarters instead of taking a bed with the initiates. She slipped her finger in to hold their place but closed the book around her finger and hurried to look out the door and into the hall. Her mother walked past the other rooms, towards the stairs that would lead up to the mead hall, where the rest of the Companions were sitting 'round the heart.
As the door that led to the mead hall opened, Arya could hear the clash of metal on metal, and blinked in confusion. Tilma would skin anyone who dared make a mess of the mead hall. But then her mother was running back towards her.
"Mama?" She asked, as Anya ushered the little girl back into the room, putting a wooden bar up on the door. "Hush little one," her mother instructed. She double checked the bar and then knelt in front of the young girl. "Listen to me Arya, you need to hide under the bed, up against the wall, and you can't make a sound, no matter what happens. Promise?" Anya asked urgently.
Young and confused, the little girl simply nodded and climbed under the bed, realizing as she ducked behind a few of the boxes of keepsakes that she'd dropped the book and lost her page. The minutes passed quickly and Arya began to fidget. She could hear her mother donning her armor, and wondered who was stupid enough to attack Jorrvaskr. Even if they did hurt anyone, all of Whiterun would be out for blood. A loud noise struck the door to their room and Arya put a hand over her mouth to silence herself. Her mother didn't move the bar, but she could see the large sword.
Pressing herself as flat as possible against the floor, she could just barely see over the top of the boxes. Arya squeezed her eyes shut and curled up slightly, making sure her feet couldn't be seen. Mother would kill them and then they'd be safe.
The wood splintered and the door swung or broke, or something. Arya couldn't be certain. Though she knew that war cry, her mother had imitated it several times over in her stories to Arya. It was too difficult to see what was happening, but she could hear the sound of swords clashing again and the yells and taunts of whoever had made it into the room. Where was the rest of the Companions? Siv and Tydak, and those other two initiates? Was Tilma home already, or had she been hurt? Hearing her mother cry out in pain, Arya put her hands over her ears and tried to block out the sounds. But it didn't. A loud thump followed by a few grunts made Arya peer over the boxes, but she had to put her hand over her mouth again.
Anya Wolftamer was laying in a large puddle of blood and Arya felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Mama, no. Where was Skjor, and Kodlak? Stupid Markarth, and their stupid Dwemer ruins and Forsworn. Why? Please Talos, Mara, someone help! Anya met her eyes, pleading her silently to stay still, to stay safe. And then a sword came down and it was so different from the one time the man had been executed in the square. This was her mother. Her mother.
No… The feet retreated and she could hear them checking the other empty rooms. Arya couldn't take her eyes off her mother. Mama, no…
When the men finally left, she strained to hear their steps in the hall above, but the stone foundation offered nothing but silence. So she waited. And waited. She waited until her tears had dried and the fire in the hearth had dimmed. Finally she uncurled and crawled out the foot of the bed, trying to keep her eyes from her mama. On unsteady feet she peaked into the hall, and then again into the mead hall. Siv, Tydak, and the other two… they were all laying around the hall, their heads taken from them. But the men weren't there.
She opened the door of the mead hall and stepped out into the night. Suddenly, a burst of energy surged through her and before she could begin crying again, her barefoot pounded on the flagstone as she ran towards Dragonsreach.