Soft sounds of dripping water in the distance were the first sounds Torina heard as she started to come to again.
Her ebony armor had been removed, likely by Serana, since she laid under some furs wearing naught but her underthings and a very light shift she kept in her knapsack. Keeping a set of plain clothes on her had saved her more than once when performing stealthier missions for the Dawnguard since joining a year ago.
Keeping her eyes shut against the pounding headache throbbing across her skull, she took the moment to reflect back on the day she first found this set of clothes.
One of several children in a refugee caravan, Torina had wound up where hundreds of her kind did: Windhelm. The Honorhall Orphanage wanted nothing to do with children who weren't of Nordic descent. Once she learned more about the treatment of those children under the watchful eye of Grelod the Kind, she thanked Azura and her ancestors for sparing her that fate. Her belly stayed full and her needs were met as she worked in the Grey Quarter, living in one of the basement rooms of Sadri's general goods store.
The elf hadn't been pleased to see one of his extended family's whelps on his doorstep - she'd been too old to be cared for by one of the widowed matrons taking the task of raising young Dunmer children - but not old enough to be left alone. Truthfully, she didn't know her age. It wasn't something that felt important to keep track of, and the almost everlasting winter in Eastmarch made it more difficult to track.
But, working for Sadri to earn her keep did give her a chance to look back at the ledgers and determine she'd been on the mainland of Skyrim for nearly five years before she was taken. The time before that was almost lost in her memory, filled with nothing but carriages over ashland, a long boat ride to Skyrim, and more carriages through snowy fields.
It wasn't uncommon for young Dunmer girls to be snatched in Windhelm. Sadri had warned her constantly of the way she indulged in her curiosity, wandering the streets at night after her work was done at the store for the day. Too many Nords riled up with the promise of war against the Empire to defend the worship of Talos, fermented with the long nights and harsh climate of the hold, and tempered by the sweeping poverty of the Grey Quarter all coalesced into a steaming pile of dragon dung of a life for the Dunmer. An orphan girl was both easily missed and another name quietly muttered in remembrance when prayers were said to the trinity.
By Azura's grace Torina was able to escape her captors mostly unharmed. She never knew what the gang's intentions for her were, but she could guess based on horror stories she heard from her brethren that she was one of the lucky ones. Never had she been forced to fight for her life like she did when running from the gang taking her south through Eastmarch, but she had, and she'd won her freedom.
She didn't dare go back to Windhelm for fear of retribution and recapture. Besides, she'd never been away from the city since she'd entered it's high stone walls as a refugee years before. She followed signs towards a town's name she recognized, taking shelter beneath the porch of an inn in Kynesgrove for the night.
A man named Roggi found her the next morning, smelling of mead and sweat. Torina had nearly lashed out against him since the sheer smell of him reminded her too much of the gang of bandits she had been a captive to just hours before. He'd managed to collect one of the innkeepers who allowed her to work for her bread alongside the man for the day so she could get her bearings. That was where she'd gotten the set of clothes she wore now, though they were a bit finer when she first received them, a replacement for the near-ruined garments she had.
Torina hadn't understood why the small village of mostly Nords so quietly accepted her for the day until she met another of her same skin. Dravynea the Stoneweaver.
Her lips pinched at the memory of the Mer's face and she brushed it away like a frostbite spider's web. With effort, she tried to open her eyes to collect her bearings, the dull shine of walls made of ice confusing her for a moment.
"How are you feeling?"
Serana's voice echoed off the walls even though she whispered. Turning her head on the pillow made of rolled up garments, Torina met her companion's eyes and took a deep breath.
"Much better, though my head pounds as if Alduin himself were knocking around inside."
"If you are able to sit up I can help you drink some water. You've been asleep for several hours now."
Torina set her elbows against the firm mattress beneath her and rolled to her side, her head protesting the entire time. But she'd lived through worse pains than this. She knew she just needed another healing potion and she'd be right as rain.
Holding a wooden cup with ice-cold water up to her lips, Serana helped Torina drink slowly, her hand resting against her chin. The gentle touch of the vampire's fingers against her skin soothed her mind and helped her continue to push unpleasant memories of her past away. Of all the companions she'd had working with the Dawnguard or the years spent vagrantly wandering before, Serana was the only one to truly earn her trust.
"Thank you," Torina said with a slight gasp as she finished the last of the water.
"Gelebor is cooking something in one of the kitchens mostly unharmed by the Falmer."
Torina looked at Serana with concern as she started to sit up, bringing the furs with her to keep herself warm. The room was near solid ice, after all. Serana read her concern easily.
"I've enough blood potions to last me, thanks to my mother," she explained, laying a hand on the small satchel she kept tied to her waist. "Don't worry about me."
"I trust you do," Torina said. "But...I worry because of our next steps. Are you ready for what Isran will ask of us?"
Serana sighed, sitting back on the bed that sat opposite to Torina's. Her legs folded under her, she looked down at her hands as they played with her rings, one enchanted by Torina specifically for her and the other a heavy gold ring she'd never spoken of. But the blood-red ruby set in the metal had an image etched onto its surface that Torina remembered seeing on the banners in Castle Volkihar in her brief stint in the keep. She'd assumed it was a family heirloom without feeling the need to ask and risk making Serana uncomfortable.
"There's only one clear path forward. My father...I don't even see him as that anymore. He's done so much against us as a family, our kind. His lust for power, well, it's just that. He's not working in our kind's best interests anymore."
Torina let her speak, listening intently. As she watched her, Serana slowly worked the heavy gold ring off her middle finger and set it down lightly on the table between them. The metal seemed almost dull compared to the clear and glittering ice all around them.
"Once you're ready to travel, we should take the bow back to Isran, show him what we have." Serana stood slowly from the bed and rested a hand on Torina's shoulder for a moment. "There is still so much to do."
