Stray Ember

She stumbled as Grelond the Kind gave her shoulder a rough push. The old woman, despite her small stature, was a hardened bag of a woman and once again the rumour of her being part hagraven passed through Amelie's mind. Those cruel, claw-like fingers made the young woman wonder sometimes if the whispered murmurs were true.

"Listen, you little Breton bitch, I want you gone by tonight." A rough nail dug into Amelie's arm as the fingers tightened about her bicep. "You hear me, child?"

Amelie nodded, not even a sign of a wince on her face as the nail ripped deep into her skin. She had been at Honorhall Orphanage since she was a babe and Grelond's cruelty was just another part of her life. The woman had given her countless beatings for no reason, abused and used her and the other children at the orphanage and in all honesty, Amelie was looking forward to stepping out the front doors of this terrible place and making her way into Riften.

"You've been here fifteen years now, since you turned up on the doorstep with naught but a letter in your tiny wee grubby hands and wearing the filthiest rags I ever seen."

She said nothing.

"What do you say, imp?" Her arm was shaken viciously.

"Thank you for your kindness, Grelond."

Grelond frowned disapprovingly before shoving Amelie away and stalking off. The young Breton gently rubbed her arm as she walked into the bunk hall and padded her barefooted way to her bed. Two of the younger children, perhaps ten years old, were scrubbing the floor and flashed friendly smiles at Amelie as she passed. Aside from Constance Michel, Amelie was the only older person in the orphanage that they knew and she was likely the kindest. Constance was a very gentle, loving sort but she didn't have the sisterly rapport that Amelie had with the younger children.

"Is she really letting you go?" Hroar the Nord asked, wringing the cloth in his hands to spill water on the floor.

"Grelond never lets anyone go," Samuel frowned. "If that was true, I would be gone already."

"True," Hroar agreed, making circular motions on the wooden floor with the cloth. "Aventus had to run away. Think we'd ever do that?"

Amelie knelt beside her bed and reached under the mattress, her fingers searching as she spoke. "Eventually you get too old to stay here, boys. That's why she's letting me go."

"So she's forcing you to leave." Samuel tilted his head back in a loud sigh. "Seriously? Right when we hear news the dragons are returning?"

"You know, I heard a dragon the other night."

"Shut up, Hroar, I don't believe you."

Amelie frowned, finally finding the small satchel beneath her mattress and tugging it free. "Hey, don't talk like that, Sam. He's right. I heard it too. All the guards were shouting and there were these horrible screams and yells. But I'll be all right. If I stay in the city limits, I should be fine." She tried to give the boys a reassuring smile but she felt it lacked genuinity. They seemed to feel the same thing.

"Dragons don't need to walk through gates to eat you."

"Yeah, they can fly and breathe fire and snow and stuff at you."

"Well, technically they're shouting."

The two boys looked at her with blank expressions then grinned. They knew Amelie tried to get her hands on any lore she could find, and the topic of dragons had arisen many more times than once. She had read them stories and legends, and recited poems and prose learned by heart. It was no secret among the children that she had many books hidden away all over the orphanage, away from Grelond's prying eyes.

"What do you reckon they're shouting?"

"You're all fat!" Hroar exclaimed, imitating an overdramatized deep voice. "I want to eat you!"

Samuel laughed before copying the voice. "Now I'll cook you!"

Amelie smiled a little at their antics before gently shaking her head. "As amazing as dragons are and how... un-worldy it seems for them to be back, it isn't a laughing matter. There are real life people out there dying now from these dragon attacks."

The boys sobered up. Their awkward, deep-furrowed expressions showed they were thinking about Amelie being out there on the streets of Riften. She knew what they were thinking as she had thought it a million times before. She was going to be out there without shelter, a job, or any money. Grelond wasn't going to waste what little coin the orphanage had on setting Amelie up for a life in Skyrim. She was on her own.

"We're going to miss you, Ame."

"I know. I'm going to miss you all too."

She glanced toward the window - the sky was already darkening. A deep sigh escaped her lips and she felt a strange feeling of nostalgia wash over her. It was her birthday today, and the only one who remembered or even knew was Grelond - and the only thing she had done was kick her out of the only home she knew. Amelie hadn't expected it to happen so immediately, but she had known it was coming.

Reaching under her bed, she pulled out a pair of worn shoes a little too big for her. They were hand-me-downs from Samuel's mother, a sickly woman Amelie had known in her earlier years before giving birth killed her. Tugging the shoes on, she sighed again.

"Let Runa and Fran know I will miss them, okay? I have to go."

Grelond slammed the door behind Amelie but she didn't even look back. Before her lay Riften, the dark descending like the shadow of a great bird over the city. She could hear the sounds of sparring from the guards outside the Keep and the chatter of the merchants as they closed up shop. Grelond had turned her out before she could join the children for dinner. Her stomach rumbled ruefully at the scents of food from both the Keep and the houses and establishments through Riften. There was a stink from the canals, but Amelie could happily ignore it with the tantalising smells of cooked beef and vegetable soups drawing her to the inn.

The Bee and Barb didn't exactly look the most inviting place from the outside but as Amelie pushed her way in the back door a warmth stole over her cold body. There were travellers and regulars of Riften eating and drinking inside, a bard playing a lute, a warm crackling fire, and the innkeeper was smiling her reptilian grin. A large group of Nord men pushed in the back door after her and she was swept along with them into the busy throng of all races.

She found herself pinned between a fat Argonian drinking mead and one of the large Nord men at the bar. Perching herself uncomfortably on a stool, she glanced at the Argonian. He was already leaning heavily on the bar and his head seemed to be moving in small circular motions as if he were trying to keep the room in focus. It was only mead, so she assumed he had been here drinking for a fairly long time. She turned her head to the left and found the Nord staring right at her, his yellow beard buried in the fur of his coat but the wide smirk all-too-visible.

"And what are you meant to be?"

She blinked at him owlishly. "Pardon?"

He turned from the bar, shifting on his stool to face his broad body towards Amelie. She felt small and vulnerable being the the sole point of his attention and glanced down awkwardly. He was dressed for travel and snow was melting in his beard and fur clothing. She could see leather armour beneath the cloak he wore and as he shifted the hilt of an ornate blade became visible at his belt.

"You look like something the skeever dragged in. You lost, girl?"

She felt her mouth open but there was nothing she could really say. Then her stomach growled aggressively. The Nord glanced down, brows raised in amusement before he chuckled.

"Not lost, but no better than a beggar, am I right?"

"I don't have gold, no."

"Then I suggest you get off my foot-stool."

In a movement of embarrassment, Amelie stood and turned to look at the stool she had been sitting on, wondering if she had truly mistaken its purpose. Before she could understand what had happened, the Nord thumped his big, dirty boots on the seat of the stool. Only then did she realise he had been trying to get rid of her. He smirked and reached his tongue out to touch the yellow bristles to the side of his mouth.

"Get lost, whore."

She stared at him as he turned his head back to the bar and laughed at something one of his companions had said. It was like she didn't exist, like she truly was just some orphan-scum that Grelond had tried again and again to convince her that she was useless and unwanted. She almost felt tears well in her eyes, but then the warmth rose from the pit of her stomach. There was fury in her heart and it quickly wrote itself across her face and made her clench her fists tightly.

She was out of Honorhall Orphanage. It was time to stand up for herself. She would not let herself be pushed about in the world as she had back in that place. There would be no more Grelonds in her life.

Her fist caught the corner of his mouth.

She pulled back her wrist and held her smarting knuckles as he merely turned his head to gaze at her, the lightest expression of surprise on his face. It immediately turned into an amused and dangerous smirk as his hand flew out and caught her by her hurting wrist. His grip was terrible and her lips parted in a grimace as his knuckles whitened about her wrist. His tongue flicked to the spot of blood on his lip where her fist had connected but he appeared to be in no pain. His companions were laughing, a few glancing jovially their way.

"Aw, poor babe. I stole your stool. Come on, put me in my place, girl."

His grip tightened and she squeaked in pain, certain she could feel a small snap in her bones. His beard bristled as he grinned and dropped his feet from the stool. He abruptly tugged her against him and his free hand reached down to lift up her backside onto his thigh, sitting her on his knee as easily as he would a small child. She tried to struggle against him but his grip around her wrist only tightened even more. He smiled, watching the colour drain from her face as his hand liberally felt the curve of her buttocks and thigh.

"I really don't feel you're doing a good job of showing me who's boss," he murmured in her ear, pulling her too close for comfort.

One of his friends laughed and leaned on the bar to get a better look at her, a scruffy mutt of a man with scars lining his face and several teeth set in gold. "Odvar, she one of those pointy-eared Bretons?"

His hand trailed from her thigh up her hip and waist, making its way over her chest - and lingering - before raising along her neck and brushing dark chestnut hair aside. His fingers again fell and his massive hand closed about one side of her waist as he leaned forward, his tongue flicking at her ear before his lips closed about the tip and suckled for a moment. She felt an unpleasant shiver pass down her spine and she arched her body to get away from him. He let her ear slip from his mouth, a trail of drool dangling before making the plummet to the floor, and smirked.

"Aye, that she is."

Her heart was hammering painfully behind her ribs and she could see her wide, terrified eyes reflected in his cruel, blue pools. She should have just slunk off. She should never have challenged him. What was she thinking!? She was but a Breton girl and nobody here cared about her. They didn't care if this 'Odvar' dragged her upstairs and had his way with her. They didn't care if she ended up floating face-down in the canals the next day. She was to stick up for herself, but there was nothing she could do to actually protect herself.

Odvar seemed to be thinking the same thing. He moved her off his lap and stood, his grip still unbearably tight about her small wrist. Tears were freely streaming down her face now and she stared in stunned silence at the other patrons as she was herded past them. Not one seemed to notice her and her fear turned to terror, her feet feeling heavier with each step as Odvar's free hand closed about the front door's knob.

For a moment there was a glimmer of hope that he would just throw her out into the cold. However, that hope quickly fled as he shoved her out ahead of him and shut the door behind them. Snowflakes fluttered down from the skies and more than just the chill of the worsening weather sent another shiver down Amelie's spine. Odvar tugged her close, his breath warm on her face as he caught her jaw in one hand and tilted her head back. She whimpered as he pressed a wet kiss to her throat and again tried to push him away but his grip squeezed about her wrist. While her hand was in his there was nothing she could do to stop him.

It was so dark, the lanterns were dimmed and there wasn't a guard in sight. A lump settled in Amelie's throat.

He pushed her to the left of the door, backing her up until her back and thighs pressed against a railing on the deck. She turned her head slightly to the side, looking down and realising she was just over the canal. His hand again caught her jaw, this time more forcefully, and his thumb reached up to brush over her lips. She trembled and he grinned that wicked smirk, his face coming nearer. His eyes were drawn to her lips.

She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound his hand quickly slapped across the lower half of her face. The strike was vicious and she dangled by her wrist as he held her up, blood dripping from her split lip. He tugged her to her feet and slammed her back against the railing again, his hips pressuring against her as he reached around her and started unbuttoning the back of her dress.

Her own blood stained her mouth with a foul metallic taste. His sweaty hand pressed across her mouth and abruptly she smushed her tongue into his palm. His face registered a flicker of surprise and his grip lessened just slightly. That was when she buried her teeth in the joint of his thumb.

His scream ripped through the snowy air and he pulled back both his hands, taking a step back. She didn't hold on, the blood in her mouth both hers and Odvar's, but she felt a sickening crunch and tear as she yanked her head back. The momentum of her motion sent her over the rail, head-over-heels, and she flailed her arms wildly as she fell. A blood-curdling scream rent the air but it was lost on deaf ears as she plunged into the icy water of the canals.

The ripples had long settled before Odvar was ushered away by his companions and several guards who had come running at the sound of the scream. Blood had sprayed across the railings and dripped down as little crimson jewels into the cold waters of the canal. At first, groggy and disorientated, her lungs crying out for air, Amelie hadn't realised what had happened. Only when she saw the rapidly paling object floating above her in the water did she understand.

She had torn his left thumb off.

Numbness stole over her body as her cheeks ballooned with what little air she had left, trying to force it back down into her lungs. Only when all sounds above had faded did she allow herself to slowly float up to the surface, bubbles escaping her lips. She gasped, her lungs burning with a fiery pain while the rest of her body just felt like limp, cold flesh.

She barely had the strength to drag her frozen body up onto the nearest boat dock in the canal. Laying there beside the bobbing rowboats, she shivered violently and held her injured wrist to her chest. She didn't know how long she had remained still in the water, or how her lungs had managed to hold out for so long but she didn't care to try and find answers.

Amelie's remaining uninjured fist clenched angrily but what little fury left to muster just melted away into tears. She scrabbled closer to the underside of Riften, hiding herself from prying eyes above and protecting herself from the cold flakes of snow. She tucked her chin and wrapped her arms about herself, her soaking cold dress pressing to her skin. The tears wouldn't stop and she didn't try to halt them.

The taste of blood had left her in the water but she could still feel the horrible snap of bone between her teeth. The doughy, yet leathery feel of the skin and flesh ripping haunted her and she shut her eyes against the memory. Her eyelids did nothing to stop the thoughts and quiet sobs wracked her shivering body.

Cold numbness turned to warmth but it was not pleasant. She knew she was losing consciousness but there was nothing she could do. Soon it started to not even matter. The rippling of the canal, the silence of the snow, the distant howling of a wolf - all sounds and sensations blurred together into a nothingness. The numbness turned to nothing. She felt nothing, and her mind didn't tell her anything - she was meant to feel nothing.

Her ears didn't hear, only feel, the heavy thuds of boots on the wooden decking. A small flicker of heat in her heart warned her to get up; to hide. Her body didn't respond when she tried to scrabble further into the shadows and fear resumed its hold on her. Odvar was coming back to finish her off, not have his way with her, but to kill her. She was going to be another of Riften's dead orphans floating face-down on the canals, just as she had thought earlier.

It was the deep thrum of someone's voice that made her crack her lids open.

She didn't see his face, but the horned helm loomed over her and blocked out what little light the lanterns gave from above the canal. The dark glint of two pinpricks of light shone in the dark - his eyes. A shuddery gasp passed her lips and she tried to turn her head away, afraid of what might happen, but her blurry eyes saw his hands as he raised them. He wasn't missing a thumb. All his fingers were intact and a beautiful golden glow surrounded them.

Bands of golden light spread from his fingers and soaked her body with true warmth. She softly gasped as the magic washed over her, melting away the frozen ice in her bones and garments. His rough hands brushed over her, a worn forefinger oh-so-gently grazing the cut on her lip and sealing it shut. By the time he reached her wrist, her eyes were fully open as she gazed at his dark figure. The bright wash spread over her wrist and sank into the worst of the pain, rebuilding and healing. Still, she shivered as the warmth faded from his hands and dimmed across her body, leaving her in her soaking clothes once more.

He gathered her up in his arms and she felt her head tilt back to gaze at him. The helm he wore masked his face but she could see the glint of his eyes still. Dark stubble covered his neck and he wore a fur cloak with armour beneath it, much like Odvar, but there was something so much more sinister about this man. He was the stereotypical massive Nord, but he exuded an intense sort of power not of this world. A darkness surrounded him, not so much physical but spiritual or perhaps magical. She couldn't understand it.

His rocking steps lulled her into a gentle sleep. Her head lolled back on his arm and she felt the gentle brush of snowflakes landing on her lashes.

The scent of incense and the light crackling of a nearby candle were the first sensations Amelie awoke to. She was warm and comfortable, soft fabric pressing against her skin as she opened her eyes and turned to face the room.

She was tucked snugly beneath blankets and furs on a bed, the room was brightly coloured and a mudcrab's carcass was proudly hanging on the wall above her bed. Glancing down at herself, she found she was wrapped in an orange robe and shifted the blankets aside to get a better look. Her dress was nowhere to be seen in the room, only a table and chairs and anther bed took up the modest room along with a stack of shelves. Despite its sparseness, the room was very clean.

There was no way to tell how long she had been asleep. There were no windows and she honestly felt she had been asleep for a thousand years. She heard some laughter outside the closed door, the haughty chuckle of a female Dunmer. Crawling from beneath the blankets she stood and tightened the belt of the robe a little more tightly about her body before tip-toeing to the door and turning the handle. She nudged the door open just a little to peek out.

A dark eye was peering back at her, sandy blonde hair shaggily hanging over a Nordic face. Amelie moved back from the door as it opened and the smiling Nord monk walked in, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands.

"Good to see you're awake, lass."

She stared at him suspiciously but her gaze dropped far too quickly to the bowl of soup to show any pretense of wariness. She was starved, and her stomach made that claim all-too-vocal. The Nord chuckled and placed the warm bowl in her hands, watching as she greedily started to drink it up.

"You're lucky you were found. A moment longer and you might have frozen down there."

The soup dripped from her chin as she lowered the bowl, staring. The memory of the mysterious Nord slammed back into her memory and the events of last night. Suddenly her appetite was gone and she shakily placed the bowl down on the table, leaning on one of the chairs as she tried to process it all.

"It's all right. You're safe now."

"I... who was he?"

"Arinbjorn, Thane of Solitude. They call him Dovahkiin."