Chapter 2: Homecoming
Last Seed, 3E433
The storm that had begun brewing overnight had rolled in by the time I was running toward the faint light at the end of the sewer tunnel. Although the bolt was stiff with a thick layer of rust, it was not locked, and my shaking hands finally managed to jam it open, leaving me free to step out into the light of day. I gasped, filling my lungs with clean air for the first time in months, and as I stumbled forward and fell to my knees by the edge of the lake, I wasn't sure if it was rain or tears rushing down my face.
What had just happened? Mere hours ago, I'd been in my cell, just a night like any other, and now… Now, I'd come face to face with one of the most powerful individuals in Tamriel, experienced not one but two close brushes with death, witnessed an assassination, and been handed a priceless artifact and press ganged into the Empire's service. I tried to stifle my sobs, but the tears were falling too fast now, and in the end, all I could do was let it out. And when I was finally done, I sagged back on my heels and surveyed my surroundings.
Through the haze of rain on the lake, I could just make out the faint outline of Ayleid ruins on the opposite shore, which meant I was still on the City Isle—probably. The glimpse over my shoulder of White Gold Tower looming above the trees seemed to confirm that, although I had no idea where on the island. The prison was on the north side of the city, but the tunnels we'd passed through could have led anywhere—and with the sun hidden behind a thick veil of stormclouds, I didn't have much hope of figuring it out.
But none of that made a bit of difference if I didn't know where I was going. I slowly rose to my feet, still struggling to breathe normally. Chorrol—that was where the Grandmaster of the Blades made his home, and that was where Baurus—where the Emperor—had sent me. But the thought of facing someone of his importance, not to mention explaining who I was and how I'd gotten hold of the Emperor's amulet left me quivering in my tracks. Chorrol was far, too—how on Nirn was I supposed to get there?
There was something else, though—that despite the horrors of the past several hours, I was free. Yesterday, I'd believed that I'd never again stand in the sun, yet here I was, with no walls or bars or guards to stop me. Emboldened by that knowledge, my inner turmoil faded somewhat, and I breathed a little easier.
As I stood contemplating my current situation, I began to eye the lake nervously. I was filthy—I hadn't had a decent bath since before I'd been placed in prison, and after my mad dash through the sewers, my feet and ankles were caked with a substance I didn't even want to think about. And there was the blood. Every inch of me had been drenched with it: my own blood, blood of assassins, blood of kings—of dragons, if Baurus' words held any truth. But as I tentatively waded in, it all washed away the same, watery rust-brown rivulets coursing down my arms and disappearing into the lake.
I didn't dare go past knee-deep—growing up, we were land-locked, and I had never learned how to swim—but it was a relief to scrub months' worth of grime from my skin and hair. The shock of the cold water also cleared my head, and as I struggled with the stains on my tunic, a plan began to form.
Before I was going anywhere, I was going home. I hadn't seen my mother since the day I'd been dragged away, and she'd no doubt made herself sick with grief and worry at this point. But that wasn't all there was to it. I also needed to explain to her what had happened, why they'd taken me. I had no idea what they'd told her, and I couldn't expect her to understand. She needed answers—and I needed my mother. The Grandmaster of the Blades could wait a few more days to have his precious necklace back.
Satisfied, I dragged myself from the lake, wringing as much water I could from my clothing as I squinted up at the sky. There was still no sign of the sun, but one way or the other, I'd eventually make it to the mainland. Taking a deep breath, I chose my direction—and began walking.
As it turned out, my chosen course brought me around the northern side of the island. The city walls themselves loomed in the distance, concealing the noise and bustle within, but out here, it was quiet, with nothing but farmlands and wilderness and not a soul in sight. As the hours passed, my feet began to ache and my stomach growled in protest. Months of inactivity had also left me weak, and I was growing short of breath, even though the stretch of land I was currently trekking across was a fairly flat, even path cutting through a stand of trees. I was grateful for the rain, though—although it left everything sodden and slippery, it had brought in a cool front. I couldn't imagine how bad it'd be trudging along in the blazing heat.
It was dark when I caught sight of a small cluster of buildings in the distance, lit up by the flicking light of torches. The illumination also revealed another structure down the hill, and I slowed to a halt as I recognized the primary bridge to the mainland. It was clear this was as far as I was going to get today, but my heart quickened as I realize my journey had just become far more difficult. I didn't know what Baurus might have told any authorities—or if anyone had even found him in the first place—but for all I knew, the guard could be on the lookout for an escaped prisoner.
The stables appeared quiet as I crept closer, only a few horses shifting nervously as I approached. It was a risk, but I was shivering in my wet clothing, and I was dead tired, dangerously close to collapsing where I stood and desperate for shelter.
I climbed through the fence rails and slunk across the yard, breathing a sigh of relief as I darted under the overhanging roof. There were several bales of hay stacked in the corner, and I managed to ease my way behind them, settling down in the little nook between the stack and the wall. It was cramped, but at least it was dry, with the rain tapping out a soothing rhythm on the roof above and the familiar horsey smells. And despite the hunger and soreness, I was soon lulled into a dreamless sleep.
It was some time later that I was awoken by the sound of voices, and I immediately froze, fearing I'd been discovered. "Not that one," someone snapped. "The other bay. No, the other one! Right there in the corner!" I relaxed as I realized it was only the stablehands going about their daily business, but I was still mildly irked as I readjusted my position, sitting up to wrap my arms around my knees. Every inch of my body was in pain, my clothes were still damp, and now I'd have to wait until the activity died down to make my escape. Leaning my head against the wall, I settled in, listening as the bustle slowly drifted from inside the stable out into the yard.
Presently, the voices came closer again, and I shrank back into the shadows. "Damn her to Oblivion and back," the voice spat sourly. "We're not equipped to handle this. How's it our problem if she decides to buy out every store in the city?"
"Just get them hitched up," a second voice sighed wearily. "Nothing we can do now. It'll be fine."
"How is losing an entire team 'fine?'" the other protested. "Divines know if anything happens to the others, we're done for."
"It's only for one trip," the second interjected firmly. "Brielus is headed to Leyawiin, too. I'll send word and he'll bring them along when he comes back. Just tell Restita to start getting the crates loaded, and for the love of the Nine, keep your mouth shut in front of the Countess."
As the voices faded back out to the yard, I slowly hauled myself from, my nest of hay, ignoring my protesting body. Creeping forward, I peered around the corner out into the yard, where the stablehands were loading a towering stack of crates onto a cart, while a well-dressed woman stood by supervising, occasionally waving her arms and shouting.
I ducked back around the corner, my mind racing as a new plan occurred to me. A noblewoman traveling to Leyawiin would surely stop in every major city she could—which meant Bravil should be right along the way. And if she'd hired an extra cart solely for her luggage…
Leaning out around the corner once more, I saw the noblewoman had exited the yard, and both the workers were headed for the low building that served as the stable's headquarters. This was my chance, then. Before I could talk myself out of it, I took a deep breath and dashed across the yard, planting my hands on the end of the cart to vault myself inside.
I managed to slither forward between the crates, tucking myself into a narrow gap between them and settling in to wait. Within minutes, however, my limbs were falling asleep and my back was beginning to cramp. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. But before I could edge myself back out or even readjust my position, I once more heard the sound of voices, and then the cart jolted as it began to move forward. Too late now. I was on my way home.
I was no stranger to disastrous mistakes—my current situation was proof of that, but within the hour, I'd begun to realize that this particular one very well might be at the top of that list. It was stiflingly hot beneath the canvas covering the cart, and I wasn't sure which I was more desperate for—water or air. And with every bump and turn in the road, the crates were shifting around precariously, threatening to crush me against the side of the cart. I was wilting further with each passing moment, and although I resolved to make a mad dash for it the moment the cart stopped, when it finally did so, I found myself paralyzed with indecision.
I'd half-crawled out from under the canvas, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air, when I noticed White Gold Tower rising above the trees across the lake. We'd come far—farther than I would have made it on foot. Would it really be worth it to try and make it alone? I had no money, I reminded myself, for food or for shelter. And the roads were filled with bandits and wild animals.
But before I could convince myself to throw caution to the wind, I heard the sound of footsteps, forcing me to retreat beneath the canvas once more. I was truly stuck now, and I was fighting back tears of frustration as the cart began to lurch forward once more.
The light piercing through the canvas' gaps along the cart's edge gradually faded as the afternoon wore on, but never quickly enough. And by the time we finally stopped, there was only pitch blackness, the light replaced by the sound of singing crickets. I could hear the bustle around me as the horses were unhitched and settled for the night, and I managed to contain myself until the voices outside had faded to a low distant murmur—and the I bolted.
Or rather, I wanted to bolt, but as the blood flowed back into my sleeping legs, a stinging pain shot through them and they gave out, sending me falling hard onto the stone road. I managed to drag myself to my feet, though, stumbling across the road straight for the lake. The moonlight glistened off the surface of the water, cool and inviting, and I plunged straight in. My stiff, aching knees sank into the soft silt, and I settled back onto my heels as I cupped my hands to drink. Within minutes, I was feeling better, but there was still the issue of food—and that I'd have to crawl back into the cart soaking wet.
I stood, sending a fresh wave of ripples across the surface as I turned to face the shore. We'd stopped in a small town, it seemed—but hopefully, it was large enough that the presence of a stranger wandering through the streets in the dead of night wouldn't draw too much attention. Because a solution had occurred to me, and although it was terrible, it was my best option, considering the circumstances. Wringing the worst of the water from my clothes, I waded back to shore, inwardly begging forgiveness for what I was about to do.
When I crawled back into the cart, the stars were beginning to dim on the eastern horizon, and I had new—albeit ill-fitting—clothes, permanently borrowed from an unattended clothesline. The shirt was too big, hanging down nearly to my knees and swallowing my hands, but the pants strained at the seams as I crawled back into the cart, not mention they stopped a good six inches above my ankles. Anything that didn't reek of the sewers, however, was a welcome relief—and would greatly decrease my chances of discovery. My old clothes had been discarded, bundled together around a rock and tossed out into the lake. Hopefully, if anyone were to discover a decaying prisoner's uniform in the future, I would be long gone, with nothing to tie me to this place.
I had a full belly as well, thanks to a vegetable garden I'd encountered on the river's edge. I'd probably ingested more dirt than actual food, but I'd been ravenous, and it'd felt good just to have something in my stomach. But as I lay down between the crates once more, I found myself plagued by guilt. I'd never stolen anything before in my life—my mother had raised me better than to be a thief. But then again, my mother had raised me better than a lot of things, and the familiar ache returned to my chest. I had to see her. I had to explain. Soon, I promised myself as I finally began to drift off. Only a few more days, then I'll be home. Then I'll make it right.
The rest of the journey was painfully slow as it passed, but finally, there came a warm, muggy evening when the cart rolled to a stop, and the driver called out to his companions that we had arrived in Bravil. As was my habit, I nervously waited for the noises outside to die down before daring to lift the flap of the canvas and peer out. The stableyard was dark, with only a few untethered horses roaming about. Over near the stable itself, however, I could see the faint flicker of torchlight, accompanied by the murmur of voices. Deciding not to take my chances, I instead scurried the other way when I slid from the wagon that final time, heading for the fence lining the dark edge of the road. Climbing over, I jogged along the tree-shaded stretch, terrified of losing my footing in the darkness. But soon enough I was rounding the bend leading to the stables—with the city rising up out of the dark behind it.
From the moment my foot touched the bridge, my heart began to beat even more furiously. There was a very real chance that I could be discovered here—what would I do if the guard recognized me? Turn and run? Could I make it across the bridge and into the forest before he caught up with me? My stolen shirt was sticking to the back of my neck, and it wasn't just the muggy night air. This could all be over in a second.
For a moment, my stride nearly wavered, and I was tempted to turn and sprint back the way I'd come. But the guard barely gave me a second glance, and I slid past him into the city unnoticed.
Bravil's sad, muddy streets were as dismal as ever, but I scarcely noticed as I skulked along their edge. If I'd made it past the gates unhindered, it was unlikely that I'd be stopped now, but I kept my head down just the same on the off chance that someone from my old life would spot me.
Still, there was a new spring to my step as I hurried along, fighting to keep from breaking into a run. I was close now—so close. My house was in sight just up ahead, and my restraint fell away entirely as I raced forward. I'd despised the second-story apartment from the moment I'd first seen it, but sometime in the past several months, it had become longed-for haven. But as I reached the stairs, I paused. Something wasn't right.
My mother loved flowers. Back in Valenwood, she'd had an enormous garden where she'd spent most of her time. Here in Bravil, there was no room, and so she grew her flowers in planters and lined the steps with them. However, they were currently bare, and I choked back the guilt as I bounded up them. My mother would take on the Legion, the Fighters Guild, and the entire damned Dark Brotherhood before she'd let anything keep her from her precious plants. I could only imagine the state she must be in to have abandoned them entirely.
I nearly reached for my key on instinct as I reached the top of the stairs, but I paused as I lifted my hand to knock, suddenly nervous. Would she be pleased to see me? Or angry? What if she dragged me straight back to the Bravil dungeons herself? Would she even believe my strange tale?
My heart fluttered as I finally gathered the courage—three short raps in quick succession—and only raced faster when no one came to let me in. The windows were dark, I noted, even though no one in my family ever went to bed this early. I had never been more painfully aware of the havoc I'd unleashed on then. My hands were shaking as I reached out to knock again—heavier, more frantic this time.
There was still no response, and as the torch of a passing guard flickered down on the street below, I pressed myself closer to the shadows, beating on the door now. I didn't like being out in the open like this, especially not on my own doorstep. Home was the most dangerous place for me to be right now—people knew me here. All it would take would be for a single neighbor to see me—and I'd be right back in the dungeons.
I'd almost decided to head back and hide out in the stables until morning when I heard it, the echo of footsteps on the other side. My breath hitched, and the door swung open, spilling a crack of yellow light out into the darkness. I drew in a steadying breath as I prepared to blurt out my explanation—only to come face to face with a furious woman—a woman who was not my mother.
"Young lady, it's nearly midnight," she snarled. "What is the meaning of this? Who are you? Why are you on my doorstep?"
I blinked, taken aback, but as I recovered, a burst of fury spurt through my veins. "I could ask you the same thing," I snapped back, my hands balling into fists as I stepped forward. "What are you doing in my house? Where's my mother?"
A quiet warning in the back of my mind urged me to be careful, but I moved to shove the intruder out of the way regardless—only to be met with a surge of pain. I howled, clutching my injured fingers as I stumbled back, and the intruder slightly cracked open the door she'd just slammed on my hand.
"Not another step!" she barked. "Now get away from my door, or I'm calling the guards!" Even through the haze of shock and pain that surrounded me, her warning set off alarm bells in my head. It was clear that my family was not here—and I'd already drawn more than enough attention. And so I did the only thing I could in such a situation—I ran.
Down the stairs and back out onto the street, stumbling along in the dark as I dodged debris and the occasional passerby. I had no destination in mind—after all, I had nowhere to go—but somehow, I found myself down on the docks, where I finally allowed myself to break, slumping forward to catch my breath in between sobs.
My heart and mind were racing, and a horrible sick feeling was blossoming in the pit of my stomach. Oh Divines, what had happened to them? Had they somehow been imprisoned as a result of my crimes? Or were they even still alive? The thought sent bile surging up from my stomach, and I stumbled forward to spill it into the canal. And when my heaves subsided, I stepped back, sinking down to kneel on the filthy dock.
Think! I ordered myself. They didn't just disappear. So what happened to them?
The graveyard. Somehow, some part of me was still capable of logic. If they were dead, they'd be in the graveyard. So check there first.
The thought was almost too terrible to bear, and I felt my breathing begin to elevate again. But I clenched my jaw, pressing my fists to my eyes as the tears once again began to spill over. I would not cry, I told myself sternly as I pushed myself to my feet, standing on wobbly legs as I wiped the slime from the docks on my stolen pants. Not until I knew whether I had something to cry about.
The walk over to the graveyard was a fairly quick one, but as I approached the church, my apprehension began to return. I hung back in the shadow of a building across the street, warily eying my destination. Here was yet another location where someone might easily recognize me—the priests and priestesses of Mara provided education for local children, and my mother had dragged me and my brother here every Sundas. My one saving grace, however, was the late hour, and so before I could lose my nerve, I scurried forward across the street. Vaulting over the rotting fence to the graveyard, I sank down into the weeds, my heart thundering away.
When my breathing returned to normal, I began my walk through the tombstones. Most were impossible to read, crumbling and moldy thanks to Bravil's lovely climate. It was just as well though—I was was looking for recent ones. And I did find some—but they did not bear my family's names.
I should have felt relief, and I did—but there was something else beneath it, an unidentifiable emotion that was rapidly evolving into a sense of panic. I had to fix the mess I'd made, I had to. But I couldn't do anything about it until I found them, and the question still remained—where were they?
I jumped as the bell tower above began to ring, twelve strokes for midnight. There was nothing more I'd be able to do at this hour, and so I dejectedly resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to wait out the night and resume my search in the morning.
Bravil was home to a number of seedy taverns frequented by even seedier individuals, and so the sight of a lone ragged girl drew no attention as I slipped through the door of one such establishment. I found my way to a vacant corner table, where I settled in to begin my wait as I nursed my injured fingers. They were swollen, and I could already see lines of bruising across them, but I could still move them. At least there was that. Healing magic was not my strong suit, but I knew a simple spell. A brief incantation, a ripple of power, and the pain dulled slightly, although the bruises remained. With any luck, I had repaired the worst of the damage, and the rest should be able to heal on its own.
The spell had drained me, and despite the raucous uproar of the other patrons, I found myself drifting in and out of a restless doze throughout the night, nodding off and jerking awake whenever my chin hit my chest. And when dawn finally crept through the window, I rose on stiff legs and headed outside. The next phase of my plan had come to me during the night—checking with the Fighters Guild, where my mother had worked as a clerk ever since we'd first arrived in Bravil. There'd surely be someone there who knew something—but they likely wouldn't recognize me.
It was quiet as I entered, with no shouts or clanging metal to greet me—a far cry from the last time I'd been here. The silence was almost eerie, and I felt gooseflesh rising on my arms as I tiptoed across the main room. "Hello?" I called uncertainly. I jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared, and I turned to see a young Breton peering around the corner.
"Can I help you?" he asked dully.
"Yes." I took a hesitant half-step toward him. "I'm looking for someone who...who works here. A Bosmer woman, tall, dark hair?"
At my words, his eyes widened. "Oh, Talos, do you mean Hasathil?" he groaned. "Come look at this." He led me to a back room where a desk sat, threatened to be buried under the massive stacks of parchment littering it. "You see all this?" He gestured toward it wildly. "This is what I've been dealing with since she left." He slumped against the wall, massaging his temples. "I'm only an apprentice, so I get stuck with the jobs no one else wants. Washing dishes, scrubbing floors, and now this." He shook his head. "I'm a fighter. I don't do bookkeeping."
"So...where did she go?" I asked slowly, praying he wouldn't notice my nails digging into my palms.
"How am I supposed to know?" He threw up his hands helplessly. "One day all's well, the next Tadrose says employing her would reflect badly on the guild and she's got to go. Last I heard she and her son left the city."
I didn't need to ask why my mother's presence would affect the guild's reputation. Tears were welling up in the corners of my eyes, and any moment they'd be spilling over. It was time for a quick exit.
"Thank you," I whispered shakily, but as I tried to slip past him, he grabbed hold of my arm.
"Hold up, don't let my complaining get to you. You needed something, right?" Luckily, I had my lie prepared.
"Yeah, I did some work for you back in...Sun's Dawn? No, maybe Sun's Dusk?" I pursed my lips and frowned, pretending to think hard. "Anyhow, I was looking through my old contracts and I'm a few septims short. I just want to make sure I was paid the full amount."
Even in the faint early-morning light, I could see his face turn grey, and I almost felt guilty. Almost. "I...can certainly help you with that," he said faintly. "What was your name?"
"Lily." A common enough name—if he looked through the records, there'd likely be dozens of Lilys.
"All right, Lily," he was saying. "Let me just take a look at the invoices...Sun's Dawn, you said?"
"I'm not sure."
"All right," he said, rifling through the papers. "All right. I put them just over here, I'm sure of it…"
"I can come back," I offered.
Relief washed over his face as he glanced up. "Thank you."
And so I fled back out onto the street, my heart heavier than ever. I wandered through the streets for a while before settling on the steps of a nearby shop, where I struggled to keep from breaking in tears. During the months in prison, the past had seemed so far away, and part of me had started to believe it truly was past. But here, in my home city where it had all taken place, it was too real. It was too much.
Mother, I'm sorry, I silently pleaded. I'm so sorry for everything. Wherever they had gone, I hoped they found a new beginning and were happy, but the fact remained that I was on my own now. My old life was gone, there was no going back to it. It was time to put the girl I had been out of mind. From now on, there was only Lily.
