A light breeze greeted John when he stepped outside. He stood by the door for a moment, hands on his hips, looking on. The city was just starting to wake up. Merchants were emerging from their houses. Children running out in the streets, well rested from the night before. John watched two girls with a fond smile and shook his head. Lifting a hand to scrub at his hair, John went down the steps and turned the corner around his house. He reached over and opened the short wooden gate, slipping inside Harry's small garden. "Blue mountain flowers," she said. "I'm running low on healing potions!" John crouched and began to pick the flowers out of the patch, setting the ingredients beside him in a pile.
It was only him and Harry now. The change was different, but John didn't mind. He liked Harry and appreciated her company.
When he was twelve, his mother died. Harry and he came home after a day of exploring to find their mother dead at the table, slumped over, a bottle of mead on the floor. Harry told John she had found a poison recipe stuffed in a book next to the fireplace. John never knew why she had decided to take her own life, and his father refused to mention it. It felt as if he were holding something back, a secret, the truth, but he said nothing. The loss really shook his father, and he was never the same after that. They remained in Dragon Bridge, getting by the best they could, until the uprising started.
Ulfric Stormcloak killed High King Torygg in a duel, and years of built-up tension were released. John's father went off to fight for the Revolution, for Ulfric and many others' cause, like a true Nord. John and Harry sent him off with heartfelt goodbyes, and they were kept in the dark for weeks, hearing rumors about dragons and what really happened to the High King.
"Torn apart, did you hear?"
"By Ulfric's voice."
Months later, John received a letter.
It's with our deepest regrets to inform you, Watson, that your father, along with the majority of his regiment, went missing on the 12th of Sun's Dawn. He is presumed deceased. We would like to thank him and the rest of his comrades on their support to the uprising.
Galmar Stone-Fist
Unable to stay in their quiet home for much longer, they moved from Dragon Bridge to Solitude. Harry opened up her own apothecary shop, after watching and learning from their mother. John, now twenty-seven, helped Harry around the shop and poked around the capital for meager jobs.
Being in Solitude was an experience. The atmosphere was lovely, and the tall walls around the stronghold brought an added sense of security. And ever since the threat of dragons was rising, that was all people talked about nowadays.
"Did you hear about Helgen? Terrible business."
"No walls. It's their own fault."
"Dragons won't come near the capital, though. They'll cower in fear of the Empire!"
The crimson red banner of the Imperial Legion was supposed to bring comfort to the people of Solitude, but to John and Harry, even to their parents when they were alive, it did not. It brought terror and unnecessary compromises.
While his father was not a native of Skyrim, he was still a Nord. He was born and raised in Solstheim, in Skaal village. John didn't know much about the customs of the Skaal, but when he asked his father, he would say the All-Maker was responsible for everything. He often quoted one of the elders he was friends with from the Village: "You are an outsider, and I don't know if I can make you understand. I will try. The All-Maker is the maker of all things, and it is from the All-Maker that life flows like a great river. As all rivers must return to the sea, so all life returns, in time, to the All-Maker. I know our ways must seem strange to you, but the nine gods of the Empire are equally strange to us."
Still, despite the condescending attitude he was raised around, when John's father traveled to Skyrim and caught the eye of a young Nord woman, he was able to open his mind and set aside the differences. At the very center, they were both Nords, and that was that. It didn't matter that their Chief God was a dragon or that there were many temples for many gods and many of them looked exactly the same. John's father accepted his mother for who she was, and she did the same in return. She accepted the strange customs of the Skaal with open arms. "Perhaps a bit too willingly," John remembered his father saying, laughing afterwards. John didn't understand what he had meant by that, but he was a boy of four, and his mother had given his father a stern look afterwards.
As time passed and his parents grew older, John found his father losing touch with his Skaal roots and accepting his mother's Gods fully. He prayed to Akatosh, to Julianos, and to Talos, and all the Divines in between, rather than thanking the All-Maker. Seeing his father in town, no one could tell he was originally from Skaal village. The hunk of Stalhrim around his neck gave him away, though, but most didn't approach him and yank the chain around his neck. That was a dangerous action, and people knew better.
The Watsons loved their faith, and during the evening, they prayed, in fear, to Talos. That was life under the White-Gold Concordat. With the Empire in power, worshipping Talos was not permitted. The Temple of Divines even struck their Shrine to Talos. When the uprising began, and there were calls for help with the rebellion, it wasn't a surprise to John when his father pledged his service to the Revolution. He was a Nord, after all, and even if not of Skyrim, he still knew that restricting religious freedom was wrong.
But his mother had committed suicide, no reason was discovered, and his father had gone missing, half of his regiment slain. Sometimes a rebellion shattered a family. The loss of his parents made John's skin crawl. Harry stayed strong. She always stayed strong.
John stood and let out a huff, wiping his brow. His amulet slipped from out of his shirt, the symbol of Talos hanging in front of his chest. Shaking his head, John quickly shoved the talisman away. He looked around for a moment and took a deep breath, grabbing the stack of blue mountain flowers. He went back around to the front, the Bard's college seeming to be awake now, the sounds of flutes and drums resonating down the street. Simple, relaxing. Solitude was nice, at times.
The small bell above the door chimed as John walked in. Harry was behind the counter, tying an apron around her waist. She glanced at John and shook her head, quickly walking over and taking the flowers. "Did you go sightseeing or something?" John breathed out and gave his sister a look. He shook his head, too, and moved to the front counter, tapping his fingers against the surface.
"You still have a quarter of an hour before you open." John furrowed his brow and cocked his head. He reached over and grabbed a piece of parchment that wasn't there the day before. Pursing his lips, John studied the paper. On it was a warning for the citizens of Solitude—Talos worshippers were not allowed. John looked over his shoulder and stared at Harry. "When did you get this?"
Harry lifted her head from her alchemy lab, busy with crushing the flowers. "Huh?" John waved the notice. She scrunched up her nose and shrugged. "Oh, that? It's nothing. Everybody got them yesterday, I heard."
"Why?"
"Why does the Legion do any—?"
"—Harry, if you get caught—"
"—John, hush." Harry lifted her head and gave her brother a hard look. "I will not get caught. Everything is fine." Brother and sister stood there, each staring at the other, testing. Harry looked away first, concentrating on her crushing.
John set the paper down, behind the counter. "What about Mrs. Abernathy? She's a bit of a gossip."
"Oh, she stopped coming after I told her off." Harry smiled and sped up her crushing. "Doesn't respect me anyway. Tells me I'm not old enough to spread the word of Talos. Wasn't an apprentice to anyone or, or, schooled." Harry stopped and raised her head, laughing. "Ridiculous."
John paused and turned his head, staring at Harry. He didn't like the sound of that. He bit his lip and took a step towards her. "Mrs. Abernathy is a bitter old woman, Harry. Are you sure she wouldn't spill?"
Harry opened her mouth to speak, but froze. She glanced at John and pursed her lips. She returned to her flowers. "Of course not. Besides, she'd have to give herself away. And she doesn't have any proof."
"All the proof she needs is an amulet, Harry."
John jumped when Harry dropped the mortar and whipped around, facing him. She held out her hand, pointing the pestle at him accusingly. "John, I said hush." Harry held her position for a minute before dropping her hand. "I won't get caught," she said quietly, fingers tapping against the tool.
He didn't want to pester Harry any further, knowing he had already crossed a line. John nodded and walked over, lifting a hand to cup her face. He kissed her forehead. "Okay." John rubbed her cheek and smiled. "I'll be in town. Send someone if you need me."
Harry shoved at his shoulder, smiling. "Yes, of course." She turned away from him and picked up her mortar. "Bring your sword."
John was already on his way to his room upstairs, grabbing the scabbard with his steel sword. Lightweight, one-handed, John loved his sword. He had it for years, and it never failed him. John stepped out of the room and gave Harry a smile. "Read my mind." He tapped his weapon and moved out of the building. "Be safe."
"You too."
John didn't know where he was going. He just wanted to taste the fresh air. The sun was warm on his skin as it started to rise. He decided to walk down to The Winking Skeever. Have a drink or two. See if there was anything going on. That might contradict his original intentions of stepping out, but it was fine. Harry didn't need him hanging around the shop. He didn't understand a lick of alchemy, and he would just be crowding her. Yes, she was fine.
John was still worried, though. No, not about the shop. About the meetings. Harry had organized a one-time thing a few weeks ago. Members of Solitude were welcome to meet at the apothecary, in one of the basement rooms, and pray, to Talos, of course. Harry had told John she just wanted to do it once, to see if anybody would actually show up, and... they did. Elves, Nords, Bretons, many showed up. Everything went smoothly. No trouble came up, which was surprising. Harry had expressed her concern over the wrong people finding out, but nothing of the sort happened. Then this thing that was supposed to be a one-time deal, suddenly turned into a weekly, and then an every other day thing. Harry even managed to have customers in her shop during the work day, who weren't customers at all, but random commoners who would whisper to her when she was crouched behind the counter. "Talos guide you," they'd say, and when she'd lift her head and look on them, they'd smile and leave. More people were becoming aware of what Harry was doing, and it scared John senseless. Harry would always tell him that it was so popular because it was new, and after a few weeks, it'd die down. It did not, and with the Stormcloak Rebellion growing, it only seemed to grow along with it, even in Solitude, even right under the Imperial Legion's nose.
John didn't like it. This was a huge risk, but Harry often reminded him that she could make her own decisions. "I'm four minutes older than you, remember?" Then she'd ruffle John's hair, because in that moment, those minutes equaled years of wisdom he didn't have. Apparently.
It was still early, and only the true beggars and drunks were scattered about The Winking Skeever. The tavern was better than most of the ones John had been in, but it was a tavern all the same—dirty, smelly, and full of gossips and gamblers. John didn't mind the gossips that much. He occasionally scored a job from one, and extra coin was always good. Gamblers made him uneasy, just because of the fact John could easily slip in with the crowd, and all of the gold he had brought with him that day would end up in someone else's pockets. Not today.
He sat himself at the bar and requested an ale. As he drank, John let himself grow quiet and listened.
During his time, John discovered three things. One, Ulfric Stormcloak was set to be executed at Helgen. Two, a dragon conveniently swooped in and burnt the town to the ground. Three, the Dragonborn was here.
John knew of being Dragonborn, but he needed to see it to believe it. Like the men discussing this, they seemed skeptical as well.
"Absorbing a dragon soul? I don't believe it."
"Aye, but it's true."
"It's just a legend!"
"Dragons were thought to be legends, dead and gone, too. Tell that to the people of Helgen."
The idea of a dragon swooping down and breathing fire upon a town was terrifying. John thought of Dragon Bridge, of the irony, and drank. He couldn't even imagine fighting one. He hoped that day never came. He'd rather face a bear, a pack of wolves, hell, a giant, any day. John drank some more. Nords prayed to Akatosh, the deity depicted as a dragon, and now they were too scared to leave their homes because of the threat of a winged beast. The world was cruel.
The men at the bar continued to chat at the absurdity of dragons and the Dragonborn, while John polished off his ale. He pushed the empty bottle away, catching the eye of the barkeep. "Anything in?"
"Heard there was a dragon needing to be taken down," the old Nord replied, taking the bottle and sticking it underneath the counter.
John laughed, sliding off his barstool. He patted the countertop and shook his head. "I think I'll pass."
The barkeep hummed, wiping down the counter with a dirty rag. "Some poor idiot will think they're brave enough to take it down. Don't worry." John nodded at that and turned his head to scan the growing crowd. The Nord cleared his throat, then, and leaned forward. John turned towards him and met him halfway. "I have a friend, and he tells me there's been some suspicious activity in the woods near his house. He lives a bit out from Dragon Bridge, yeah? Sort of a recluse, only comes out when he needs to."
Narrowing his eyes, John tilted his head. "What's this suspicious activity?"
"Says there's an increase in wolves. They're acting strange. More of them, behavior's odd." The barkeep shrugged. "Might be worth looking into."
Suspicious wolves did not seem interesting at all. John attempted to consider, picking at a spot on the counter before taking a step back. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Wolves, you say? Are they barking a bit too loud? Howling more?" John laughed. "Maybe your friend should get more fresh air. The woods are full of wolves."
He shrugged again and returned to his cleaning. "He's lived out there for years. Knows the wildlife. That's all I'm saying."
John shook his head and turned away. He waved a hand back and bid him farewell, walking out of the inn. The sod had probably been cooped up by himself too long. Wolves were wolves. Not worth John's time. If he were desperate for coin, it'd be another story.
The sun was shining brighter than before, and John had to squint as he walked through the streets. Better than the cold that frequented the mountains, though. He wouldn't know how to handle that. John crossed his arms over his chest, his sword hitting his leg as he walked. The sound was familiar, and he wondered what it would be like to walk with a suit of armor on. John never had the opportunity to don some steel. The only combat he experienced was with a few deer and wolves. He had been in a scuffle with an Argonian before, but that ended quickly when John had given him a slash on his tail. Other than that, he was inexperienced. He practiced when he could, with the dummy in the basement, and he imagined when his first real battle occurred, he'd be ready.
It had been a few hours. Harry might need his help, John thought, as he turned onto their street. He had nothing better to do. Maybe she'd find the talk of dragons terrifying and wolves amusing, too. Once he reached the building, John paused at the front door. There were scratches on the lock, as if a dagger had scrapped against it. Had a thief come in? Was Harry okay? Without any hesitation, John opened the door and marched in, drawing his sword and bracing himself.
"Harry?"
The shop was empty, and it was a mess. Ingredients on the shelves were scattered along the floor. Books, papers, were thrown haphazardly on the counter. It looked like the place was thoroughly searched, but what for? And where was Harry? John carefully walked further in, tightening his hold on his sword. Ransacked, this place was ransacked. That was the only way John could describe it. Why? Harry didn't have any real enemies. They were generally well liked in the city. They didn't tread on any toes or ruffle any feathers. Maybe it was a random thief, hoping to steal enough to scrap up a few coin. Where was Harry, though? Hiding?
John slowly lowered his sword as he checked the basement first. Unlike the shop, it still looked relatively clean. To be fair, there wasn't much down here to go rifling through in the first place. Just a few benches, chairs, a podium. John's practice dummies were still in the corner, unmoved and untouched. No sign of Harry. He went upstairs, then, poking in Harry's room first. This was searched through, too. The bed covers were thrown aside, and the mattress was askew. Was someone looking underneath it? What could Harry have hidden underneath the mattress? John's stomach sunk. Oh no… He turned, noticing how her bedside table and dresser were open, the clothes picked through, probably moved aside for the search. This could have been a thief, or it could have been someone else. As John traveled down the hall to his room, he hoped it was the former.
Like Harry's room, John's covers were thrown back, mattress shifted from where it had been lifted and searched under. Nothing of import was in here, though. Everything of significance was kept on John's person, in the event of disaster striking. John concluded that Harry was no longer in the shop and reluctantly sheathed his sword. He stepped down the stairs with a grimace. At the foot of them, a piece of paper caught his eye. John kicked aside Harry's mortar and crouched, picking up the paper. His eyes slowly widened, the dots that were forming in John's head finally connecting. The amulet of Talos around his neck suddenly felt heavy. Very heavy.
Talos worshippers were not allowed in Solitude—a warning from the Thalmor.
They must have found out. That was why the entire shop had been turned upside down. Someone blabbed about Harry's godforsaken secret meetings, and they came snooping. Those damned Thalmor, a group of Altmer who helped police and uphold the White-Gold Concordat. They falsely accused Nords who seemed like a threat, tossing an amulet of Talos into their house, which were the grounds for an arrest. Nothing more—just an amulet was enough. While Harry was, indeed, leading the meetings, it would have been difficult to prove. Sometimes words and rumors were not enough. They raised suspicions, and an innocent walkthrough of a residence could end badly if an amulet was found.
"That's not mine!"
"I don't know how that got there!"
"I've never worshipped Talos in my life!"
John had heard them all, the tragic stories of families being ripped apart by the Thalmor's accusations and so-called "evidence", but nothing could stop the inevitable. That was what happened to Harry. She'd been taken away. John couldn't protect her. He wasn't here. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He crumpled up the parchment in his hand and tossed it to the floor. They must know Harry had a brother, or at least someone else living in the house. There were two bedrooms, both slept in, both containing clothes. They could be watching the house. Oh, Gods, they know. John stood in the middle of the shop, frozen for a second. This wasn't safe, staying in the building. They could have it surrounded—as soon as he stepped out, they'd get him. Not without a fight.
Harry had supplies he could take. Potions, ingredients, gold, just enough so he could leave. She would have wanted that. She'd want John to get out of the city, and go far away. John would find her. He'd find Harry, rescue her… somehow, and then they'd both leave. Go someplace safe, where ever that was.
John went around the counter and crouched, pushing aside empty vials and bundles of flowers, and snatched her coin purse. He peered inside and estimated that there were about a hundred septims. Maybe a bit less. He'd managed. He'd be fine. John reached over and grabbed an empty satchel, starting to throw whatever he could find into it. Blue mountain flowers, health and stamina potions, a few apples, some linen wraps, a small steel dagger, a jar with a single lightning bug in it. Why did Harry have this? Into the bag it went. When it became as full as it could be, John buckled up the bag and looped it around him, the strap digging into his neck. Uncomfortable, but it'll remind John what he had to do.
Slowly standing, John lowered his hand and touched the hilt of his sword. It had gotten dark while he had packed, and he knew his risk of getting caught as he stepped outside the door had grown. The Thalmor would want to take him alive, but John wasn't going down without a fight. He had no armor, though, only the thin tunic and trousers he usually wore, and a simple poke with a dagger in the right place could silence him. That couldn't happen. John had to be careful.
He went down to the basement and slipped out of the door there. John shut the door behind him and held his breath for a moment, listening. Nothing. He pressed his lips together and walked up the small set of stairs, looking around every which way. The streets of Solitude were vacant, and the only sounds he heard were the occasional bark from a dog and the yammer of a beggar on the corner. Nobody was coming after him. John seemed to be in the clear, at least for now. They could visit in the morning. That was a possibility. No, returning to the shop wasn't safe. John had already decided. He was leaving.
It wasn't unusual for people to come in and out of Solitude at all hours of the day. It was the capital after all, and a guard was posted on the top of the gate. Anything suspicious would be reported, but John didn't look suspicious, or at least he hoped. He was just a traveler leaving for an early start on his trip. Yes, that was what he was doing.
Once out of the large gate, John took a breath of fresh air. It felt a bit freeing to be gone from those walls. John had always loved it when a job he took required him to leave the high walls of Solitude. Nothing beat the open space. There was more room to run, more room to jump around and shout. John almost broke out into a sprint, but he decided against it. He needed to save his stamina for Harry. The Thalmor Embassy. She would have been taken there. They took all Talos worshippers there, where they'd be subjected to endless questioning and sometimes torture. Ratting out other people was common, but Harry was strong. She had always been strong. She could handle whatever those ruddy elves threw at her.
He could go there tonight. It was just an hour's walk from Solitude. John could make his way into the Embassy, scour around for Harry, and then break her out. It seemed like a solid plan. Their defenses wouldn't be as high in the nighttime, and only an idiot would plan on sneaking into the Embassy… John was, obviously, an idiot. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head, looking over at the mountains that lay before him. The Embassy was nestled in those mountains, covered in snow—something John was definitely not used to. He looked down, frowning at the thin clothes he wore. He couldn't brave the mountains in this. A wanderer would find him, frozen to the path with his arms wrapped around himself. What a way to go out. No, he had to plan this better. Get some armor, something to protect him. John had a sword, but that wasn't enough for the dangers out in the woods, the mountains. He fought wolves and bears before, but trolls, saber cats, giant spiders, and even dragons? Only in his dreams.
Maybe it was the sudden feeling of nostalgia or just the want of being somewhere familiar, but John remembered Dragon Bridge wasn't far from here. About a three hour walk, and there would be no mountains to pass. He could spend the night in the inn, get a few hours' rest, and then head out in the morning. Besides all inns were the same: the people in charge loved to gossip.
John attributed it to the silence and the chill of the night, but Dragon Bridge came quicker than he thought. He stopped in the middle of town and looked on. John spotted the bridge, which covered the Karth River, and at the peak of an archway was the infamous dragon's head statue. It still gave John goose bumps whenever he saw it. When he was a child, he would stand on his porch and spend hours staring at the marvelous thing. Back then, John didn't know any better and thought the dragons were long gone. They were only alive in stories and songs. But now, he knew different. Stories and songs were still enough for him.
Four Shields Tavern was up the road, so John started his trek, keeping his pace steady. He didn't want anybody to peak out their windows and find a strange Nord running across town. It was nearing one in the morning, though. Everybody should be asleep. John should be asleep, back in his bed in Solitude. The lumpy cots at the inn would have to do.
Inside, the inn was occupied by a couple patrons. They were minding their own business, pushed off into their corners and drinking from a tankard. John heard some small chatter amongst them as he walked past, but he couldn't make out anything. There could be a slight chance he would be recognized here. The last time John had been in Dragon Bridge was a few months ago. The letter carrying their father's fate came, and there was no use hanging around any longer. Harry and John went to Solitude. There might be a few people in town who could recognize his face, but those people would be in their houses, tucked away for the night. John was planning to leave in the morning. No lingering, no taking chances.
The innkeeper was grouchy and growled at John a few times when he requested a room. "Ten gold," the old Nord grumbled, tapping the counter. John slipped out his coin purse from his bag and counted out the ten pieces. He dumped them on the countertop and watched the Nord sweep them off with a single wave of his hand. "On your left," he huffed out, then, jerking his head in that general direction. John slowly turned and left the innkeeper's presence, hanging his head low as he marched to his room. He shut the door behind him and looked around the small room, a frown growing on his face.
The bed cot did, indeed, look lumpy, and the blanket looked scratchy. The room did have a nightstand next to the bed and a small table off to the side. That was a plus… Maybe. "Let's make this work," John muttered darkly, pulling the bag off and setting it on the table. The piece of furniture immediately wobbled, making his bag slide to the right. John stared ahead at the wall and shook his head. He undid the scabbard around his waist and dropped that on the table again, causing more wobbling and sliding. John didn't care. He was tired.
He sighed once he collapsed on the bed. John laid there for a moment, above the covers, and stared at the ceiling. Outside his room, John could hear more people talking, but of what, he didn't know. Just gibberish. He could hear bottles and tankards being slammed down onto tabletops. He even heard the sound of a deck of cards being shuffled. Gamblers were in every city, he supposed. John turned over in bed, reaching behind him to pull the ratty blanket over him. He stuffed his face into the pillow and thought about how this could be happening to him. Harry was trying her luck every day she continued those blasted meetings, but she never stopped. John never stopped her either. He would scold her and try to reason with her, though that was the extent. Harry had her own mind, her own thoughts, and she figured she was doing the right thing. There was nothing wrong with worshipping Talos, and people needed to know that. Nobody should be punished for worshipping whoever they wanted. Their father knew that, and he even fought for that right. But he was dead now, and Harry was probably on her way to the same end.
John groaned into his pillow and covered his head with the blanket. In the morning, he thought. He'd deal with it in the morning.
For something that was so monumental in John's life right now, he was surprised nobody was talking about Harry's disappearance.
He already had his bag over his shoulder and his sword securely attached to his hip when he left his room in the morning. John found an empty table off from the individuals already in and sat down. He glanced around for a moment, eyeing the man seated at the table next to him. He had a book open in front of him and seemed entirely focused on it. John couldn't tell what he looked like; the hood of his robes was obscuring his features. Overall, there was nothing out of the ordinary. No special attention was on John. The only talk he heard was about the Dragonborn and what happened at Helgen. Gods, it had been months and people were still talking about it. They would be talking about it for years to come, John imagined.
John opened up his bag and peered inside, biting his lip for a second. He didn't want to spend any more coin than he had to. Reluctantly, John pulled out one of his apples and placed it on the table. He, then, took out his dagger and turned to fully face the table. Apple in one hand and the dagger in his other, John worked on cutting the apple into slices and eating them. Had to be careful… One slip could result in a nasty…
"John? John Watson?"
He froze, tightening his hold on the apple. John slowly lifted up his head and looked over, seeing a Nord approach him. Portly with brown hair, the face seemed familiar, and then it came to John, just as the Nord sat across from him. "Mike? Is that you?"
Mike laughed as he nodded. "Yeah, it is! Fancy seeing you here, John. What have you been up to? Last I saw you was after your—"
"—yeah, I know. Harry and I needed a… change of scenery." Mike had been one of the people he had told about his dad, but that didn't mean he wanted Mike to go talking about it.
"I understand. Staying here wouldn't have done you two any good." Mike looked around, brows furrowing. "Where is Harry? She's not with you?"
John pursed his lips and lowered his gaze, sticking his dagger into the apple. "Ah, no, she's not. She's…" he trailed off. Should he tell Mike? No, no, of course not. "She's back in Solitude. Had to mind the shop." John looked across at him, putting on a smile. "Bit of a workaholic. Harry."
Mike didn't seem to notice the lie, and he nodded in agreement. "I remember her always trailing after your mother, nose in one of those alchemy books. Couldn't understand any of that rubbish."
"Oh, yeah. She's gotten quite good. Gets a lot of business." John lifted a slice of fruit to his lips. "Impressive, actually." He bit into the apple. Now, she was gone. Holed up in a cell with a damned Altmer questioning her.
"Well, if I'm ever in the capital, I'll pay her a visit. I just stopped by to get some things from the innkeep. The wife's with child, did you know? Due any day now." John raised his eyebrows, and Mike chuckled. "I know. I'm going to a father."
John shook his head. "Well, don't let me keep you." He gestured with his knife. "Best of luck, Mike. It was good seeing you." He stuck the dagger into the apple again.
"You, too, Watson. Don't be a stranger! Stop by more often. I'm sure there are others wanting to catch up."
Pressing his lips together, John tried to hide his grimace as he nodded. He held his smile until Mike stood from the table and moved to the innkeeper. John lowered his head and roughly cut a bit off his apple. The last thing he needed was to catch up with the people he knew from his childhood. He would have to lie again and again and again, and John was never fond of lying. He wasn't very good at it. He was surprised Mike believed him, to be honest.
John raised his head, bringing a piece of apple to his lips, and froze again. Seated in front of him was another man, and he believed it to be the same person who was at the table next to him. He stared at John, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. The hood he wore went down to the middle of his forehead, but John could still see some dark curls poking out. They sat there for a few seconds, silence creeping in, and John slowly lowered the apple slice from his mouth. "Er, hello?" He received no response, and that only heightened his nerves. John loosely gestured with the piece of fruit. "Can I help you?"
Finally, the man breathed in and cocked his head to the side. "I think you need to be answering that question," he said, the voice coming out deeper than John imagined. "Can I help you?"
John slowly narrowed his eyes and bit into the apple slice, snapping it in two. "What can you help me with?" What was this man doing pestering him? He wasn't significant, didn't seem suspicious or anything. Why come to him?
"Your friend," he started, "wanted to know about Harry, your sister, yes? And you lied. There has to be a reason why."
"I lied?" John felt foolish saying that, but there wasn't really anything he could do. He wasn't going to sit here and tell this stranger his predicament. "I don't know what you mean."
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "You grew up here. Why else would your friend there mention other people wanting to catch up? Something happened to your father, which caused you and your sister to leave Dragon Bridge and move to Solitude. The phrasing of the comment made it seem as if a major event in your life took place, and that caused the relocation. A death, a marriage, the prospect of having a family—all of these might constitute a move, but you mentioned your mother with no problem. She's out of your life, too, because you said only you and Harry had moved, and you seem like a man who is big on family, so why would you leave your mother behind? She's dead, then, and your sister was the one to grab up the pieces she left behind. But that's not why you left Dragon Bridge. You didn't mention having any other family back in Solitude—no children, no wife—so packing up and leaving wasn't due to a marriage or a pregnant wife. No, it was your father's death. You were close to him, compared to your relationship with your mother." He waved his hand. "Regardless, your sister, no matter what you said, isn't in Solitude. She's in trouble, in danger, and you know it. You don't want anybody else to know, because you believe this is your duty. You have to be the one to save her. Maybe if you had been in the right place at the right time, she would be safe."
John didn't know how to react. He sat there, staring at this man who had told John his own life story and even came to the conclusion that Harry was in trouble. It was amazing, remarkable, impressive. He didn't know how to describe it. "How did you know she's in trouble?" he asked quietly.
The man smiled. "I saw you last night, well, early this morning. Stumbling into this inn like you were on a mission. Not to mention you woke up just before the town started to get busy. Whatever happened to your sister happened last night, you left Solitude as soon as you could, and spent the night here." He scanned John. "And now… after you finish that apple, you'll be on your way again."
"I'm John," he found himself saying, waving the other half of his apple slice. He ate it and shook his head. "That was… amazing."
John received another smile and a chuckle. "That's not what people normally say."
"Well, what do they say?"
"Piss off."
John laughed himself, looking down at the rest of the apple in his hand. It had started to brown. He cut into it again. "I was about to tell you that. In the beginning."
"No, you weren't. Tell me about Harry, John."
John didn't want his face to be as open and inviting as it probably looked right now, but there was no stopping it. "Harry…" He roughly swallowed and took a deep breath. "I think she was taken by the Thalmor." And here John was, spilling everything he knew, everything he had gathered and found to this stranger in the inn. He wouldn't even tell Mike, someone he knew ever since he was a child. But there was something about this man. John trusted him, and he didn't know why. Besides, he looked genuinely interested and eager to help. He knew if he had told Mike he would have only received a skeptical look and the advice of going to the Jarl. John was not going to do that.
"And those bloody elves are probably torturing her right now, and I'm sitting here, doing nothing." The man raised his eyebrows at John, possibly at the foul mention of the Altmer, and John's face paled. He stared at him again, more thoroughly this time, and there was no mistaken the elongated features of his face. "Oh, Gods, please don't tell me—"
"—no, no." His hands lifted, and the hood was pushed back, revealing a mess of curly dark hair and a pair of short ears. He laughed at John's expression. "There's some elf on my mother's side, but." He shrugged.
John blinked. "So, you're a—"
"—Breton, yes."
"I would have guessed an Imperial. If it wasn't for the—"
"—elfish features? Tad bit racist, don't you think?" he teased, and John rolled his eyes. The Breton stood, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he looked at John. "Name's Sherlock. In about ten minutes, I'll be at the end of town."
John stood himself, knitting his brows together. "You're serious, then? You want to help me?"
"Can I help you?" Sherlock asked, lowering his hands. He stood there silently, waiting for John's answer. John wasn't one to disappoint.
"Yes, of course." He nodded, frowning after a second. "I don't know exactly where I'm going. I was just going to barge in and slice off a couple heads."
The corner of Sherlock's mouth curled, and he gave John an amused look. "Well, you're in luck. I have an enormous amount of knowledge, and I know where we're going. One question, though. How do you feel about fire?"
John crinkled his nose and shook his head. "Fire? What are you—?" Sherlock held out his hand, then, palm up, and, in the center, a small fireball was produced. It crackled in Sherlock's hold, and John laughed.
He would be traveling with a mage. Brilliant. Harry had absolutely nothing to worry about.