It was cold, so very very cold. The chill of the whipping wind stabbed straight into the bone, the freezing snow stinging skin. All around was nothing but white, shimmering under the glow of the moon which was just as baron as the world around. A shudder wracked the small Bosmer's body, her hands gripped tighter to her frozen tan arms as more snow hit her bare skin. She tried looking around once more as she forced herself up on weak shaky legs. She was so cold she could barely feel anything, accept the constant sting of the ice collecting on her body. Squinting her dark black eyes she saw something burning in the distance. With pure will power to live she pushed forward against the wind, seeking warmth and refuge from the blistering cold.
The caress of soft warm fur against her bare body pulled her eyes open once more, her mind was hazed as she looked up at the wooden rafters of the ceiling above her. The smell of a fire and cloves hit her nose, filling her with another sort of warmth…not physical but emotional. It felt familiar, safe. A hand suddenly rested on her forehead, rough and calloused but gentle. It was only moments before she found who it belonged to, an elder woman whose face was as worn as her hand. A soft smile broke through the wrinkled crevices of the woman's face, her thumb brushing over the elf's soft skin.
"You've finally woken, good. I was beginning to think you were lost." She hummed; it was no surprise that her voice was as gruff as the rest of her. What caught the elf's attention though was the accent; it struck her as foreign…though she couldn't seem to recall anyone sounding any different from her. "I found you outside of my cabin, half buried in the snow and barely alive." The woman continued regardless of the Bosmer's silence. "It's a miracle one of your kind survived, you are a fighter. That's good."
The woman's hand slipped from the soft tan skin as she stood and turned towards the fireplace. "I was just about to prepare something warm for us to eat, do you have any preferences?" she asked in a polite town, keeping her gaze on the many herbs and such hanging from the mantel piece.
"Venison." The word escaped the elf's mouth before she'd even had a chance for thought, though her own voice was soft and smooth compared to the other woman's it held a familiarity to it. It took her a moment to realize it even was her voice, she'd half expected to turn and find someone else in the home as well. Her accent was a whimsical lilt compared the harsh one of the elder woman currently putting a pot above the fire.
"Mm as I should expect from a wood elf. I have to ask, what brought one of you so far from Valenwood? Especially in such condition, the winter here in Skyrim is harsh even to the most well-dressed Nords." A gruff laugh rumbled in the woman's lungs. The Bosmer frowned, not seeing the humor in her words, but even more so because she couldn't answer her question. She tried to remember but all she could see was the harsh white of the snow, a shudder ran through her and she curled up further in the furs trying to force the chill out. This didn't go unnoticed by the Nord, but she left it at that. There was no need to pry into the poor woman's past if she didn't want to share; it was none of her business anyway. "Well you should rest more; this may take some time to finish cooking." The elf didn't have to be told twice, almost instantly she was pulled back into dormancy her eyes slowly closing as darkness shrouded her.
Fuzzy figures danced around her, faces blotted out of her vision, out of her memory. Distant voices called to her, distant and indistinguishable…until they said one word. Her name, Eliana. It danced around her like a whisper on the wind growing louder and louder as so many voices called out. It grew into a deafening roar, her sharp pointed ears pounding as she curled up and tried to force the sound back out. She cried out as it only got worse, she felt her body shaking, a strong grip on her shoulders but no one else was around.
"Eliana!" a voice snapped, her black eyes opening in an instant only to be met with the pale white eyes of a very gruff looking man. He had wild dark brown hair; his skin was weather worn but tight and still young. Dark paint surrounded his pale eyes, smudged and faded. His face didn't look familiar to her in the least bit but he seemed to know her, he knew her name when only moments ago she herself didn't. He looked relieved suddenly and pulled her into a tight embrace, his strong arms squeezing around her lithe body. She grunted slightly, tense in his hold, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through his thick armor. His smell was familiar, a husky woodsy smell, like that of an animal. Noticing the tense set of her body in his arms he pulled back, a frown on his face as her searched hers. "What's the matter, love?" his voice was gruff and husky and full of concern.
Her black eyes stared at him in silence as she tried to figure out who he was and why he knew her name, why had he called her love? "Who are you?" she breathed after a moment, finding her mouth was dry and her throat a bit hoarse. She could see from the way he flinched that her words had been like a dagger stabbed straight into him, as if he donned no armor at all. He tried to push out a laugh in response, forcing a smile to grace his features.
"I'm Farkas, your husband." Despite trying to hide it there was a certain desperation to his tone, a slight shake in his voice. How could she forget him? They'd been married for almost a year now; they'd been through so much together. The elf's brows furrowed as she looked away and down at her exposed naked form, the furs having pooled at her hips, though her nudity didn't seem to bother her. She had no recollection of him or having ever been married but sure enough she looked down at her hand and saw a small single ring on her finger. She looked to his hands and found he had one identical to it on the same finger.
"…Farkas." She said softly, thoughtfully, the name felt right on her lips. It felt familiar but she couldn't remember him. She slowly turned her gaze to meet his once more, her lips parting to speak but nothing came out of her dry throat. Then, as if on cue, the woman from before was by her side with a tankard full of cool water.
"Here, drink this." She hummed before glancing at the man giving him a slightly cold stare. "You need to give her space; she has been through much and doesn't need you hovering over her like that." He gave an apologetic look and backed off but still glanced at Eliana with a longing and hurt gaze. He wanted desperately to just hold her, to revel in the fact that she had survived despite the belief of the rest of the Companions. His own brother, Vilkas, had said it was a lost cause and that they should simply return to Jorvaskrr. Farkas wouldn't give up so easily though, Eliana was the love of his life and he'd never known as much happiness as she gave him. He had to find her, he had to know for himself if she had survived or not. Only then could he move on.
Farkas sat down at the rickety wooden table as instructed by the older Nord woman, she set down a bowl of soup in front of him before moving to give another to Eliana. He followed her with his pale eyes, staring until those black eyes locked with his own again. There was no recognition in them at all and it stung, he saw no love no joy…they were as empty and soulless as the day they'd met. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the bowl in front of him. He remembered far too clearly watching her fall from his gaze, the roar of the fearsome beast that had knocked her off the cliff echoing through the rocky snow covered mountains. He'd transformed in his rage, and tore the throat out of the troll; he could still feel the warm blood running down his fur. He sighed and closed his eyes trying to block it out.
The others had watched in just as much horror as he had as Eliana had disappeared from their gazes. Vilkas swore he'd heard her howl out, most likely losing her control in her fear as she dropped at a frightening speed. They all knew it was a straight drop down to your death from that cliff, she'd hit sharp jagged rocks before she'd finally meet the solid snow covered earth below. After his rage had subsided he bounded over to the edge, trying to see if he could find her but the sheet of snow blowing around him blocked his line of sight much further than a few feet down. He'd let out a desperate forlorn howl which echoed in the mountain around him.
Vilkas had tried to talk to him, calm him down, but it was a lost cause when he was like this. The beast blood coursing through his veins blocked out all reason, his emotions and instincts took over entirely. He'd barely given his brother or any of the other companions a chance to tell him she was long gone before he was darting off. His hands and feet crashed into the snow pushing him forward and back down the mountain the way they'd come up it. He had to hurry, he had to find her before the snow had buried her. He had to find her.
Farkas was snapped from his thoughts when he heard the sweet song of his wife's voice, a soft whisper that sounded more like a yell in the eerie silence of the cabin. Still it was like honey to him, it made his body warm and his heart light even if the words stung. "You are my husband?" is what she'd asked, as if she needed to hear it again to be sure of its truth. He gave a small nod, turning his gaze back to her. He could feel the scrutinizing look of the Nord woman by the fire, watching him like a hawk as if to attack should he say the slightest thing wrong.
"…Will you tell me how we met then? I…I want to remember but all I see is snow and…it hurts." Eliana let out a heavy sigh, turning her gaze to her half eaten bowl of now lukewarm soup. She assumed she'd hit her head on the way down, though she didn't remember any blood or pain until she tried to think about her past. She stared into the broth, poking at the pieces of meat and vegetables with her wooden spoon and watching them bob…waiting for her supposed lover to answer her.
"Yes…I will." He hummed, in his gruff tone though somehow it seemed soft and understanding. He shifted in his seat, resting his arm on the table so he could look at her, watch and gauge her reaction as he told her the story of her first day in Whiterun.