"Gandalf, will I ever return home?" the young woman asked. Her ebony armor twinkled in the dark embrace of the shadows tossed by the dancing flames in the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly against the raven emblem on her chest. Burning ember eyes glared up from under thick, long eyelashes at the wizard seated before her. She came to a little taller than his chin, tall for most men in Middle-earth. Pale skin glistened in the moonlight, long fingers tapping on her upper arm. Gandalf had only heard of eyes like hers in tales, ones he dared not repeat in present company. Raven hair tinged an unnatural shade of violet cascaded down her shoulders, tiny braids laying across the thick mane that ended just past her elbows.
"It is possible," he replied, "but not until you have completed your destiny in Middle-earth." He raised a knowing eyebrow, teething on the end of his pipe. She had come to him by chance, stumbling through a portal that he had been investigating. She had hissed words in an unknown, ancient language, her arrowhead inches from the bridge of his nose. He had finally convinced the young woman to accompany him to nearby Bree, where he slowly coaxed her into learning the common tongue. That had been well over a year before, and she constantly asked him about home. Keizaal, she called it.
His companion sighed. "Ol ulfah do tiid, Zu'u kent thaar tiidro fen." Her alto voice rumbled in her chest, the vibrations echoing through the space that separated them. "Very well. Has your Dwemer friend found his lucky number?"
"He has," Gandalf affirmed, ignoring her foreign common name for the Middle-earth Dwarves. "And I have found our fourteenth. You are to accompany us, as I feel you already know?" Her nod was enough confirmation, and he continued, "We must make him believe he needs you to complete this quest, not the other way around. It is imperative he goes forward with this." She nodded, and Gandalf smiled. "My dear, you are so close to home... I dare say I can almost taste the snow of Skyrim."
She turned her head, staring out of the inn's window. She had taken up residence in the upper rooms of the tavern whilst Gandalf had concocted his plan with the Dwarven king, and while she had been made to feel comfortable and at home here, she desired to return home to Keizaal. "Indeed," she agreed quietly.
"Anaïs, I promise you... once this quest is over, I believe you will be able to return to Skyrim."
Her eyes flitted to him, thin black eyebrows furrowing tightly. "Do you believe we will prevail?" Anaïs asked quietly. She ran her finger around the brim of her mug, empty of the ale she had finished an hour ago.
Gandalf studied her, carefully choosing his words. "I can only hope."
Translations:
Ol ulfah do tiid, Zu'u kent thaar tiidro fen. / As a creature of time, I must obey time's will.
Keizaal / Skyrim.