Many thanks to everyone following this story-I hope you're enjoying it so far. Also, please feel free to give me feedback. I appreciate outside opinions.
Note: Apparently I'm an idiot and thought Riverwood was in Falkreath Hold for some reason. Minor edit, doesn't detract at all from the story. Hopefully you can forgive me. XD
Chapter 3: Riverwood
The walking was easy. Years spent practicing the Two-Moons Dance had toughened Kharza's feet, so he did not pine for boots. The problem lay in that Kharza hadn't eaten since before he was captured, and although burning images of the morning's events suppressed his appetite, the fear and the anger and the nerves and the fighting and the running and everything else had taken a toll on his body. Weak though he felt, he pressed on; if Riverwood was half a day from the cave, then he figured he was halfway there.
Kharza stopped only when he knew he needed water, and he kept his trips to the riverbank brief. Ralof had warned him to stay off the road, after all. Kharza did not want to risk being seen any more than was necessary.
Kharza thanked Khenarthi for the trees. The forest was unfamiliar, but he knew how to take advantage of the cover they provided. He kept his axe in hand but prayed he wouldn't find cause to use it and weaken himself further.
Many hours passed, but the sun still shone brightly in the sky, a reminder of how far north Kharza was. The midsummer air was warm, and the birds and cicadas filled the forest with music. Every tree began to look like a good place to stop and rest for a while, but Kharza knew that he would drift into slumber if he did. There would be time for sleep once he reached Riverwood.
The sun's warm glow began to fade as it started its slow descent into the western horizon. Kharza breathed a sigh of relief as the outskirts of town at last came into view through the trees. He made his way back to the road and quickened his pace as much as his aching legs allowed. He tucked his axe into the waistband of his ragged trousers; the blade was covered in dried blood, and he did not want to be perceived as a threat.
As Kharza entered the town, he saw a man step off the porch of a large wooden building to the right and walk into the middle of the road-a constable or guard of some sort, by the look of him. The man held out his hand, signaling for Kharza to stop.
"What business do you have here, Khajiit?" the man asked in a stern voice.
"I seek a woman named Gerdur," Kharza replied. "This is Riverwood, yes?"
"Aye, this is Riverwood. What do you want with Gerdur?"
"I was told by her brother that she might be able to help me."
Kharza noticed the man's eyes take a quick glimpse at the axe in his waistband.
"You look like you just had the fight of your life," the guard said. His hand moved noticeably closer to the hilt of his sword. "You in some kind of trouble, cat?"
"It's all right!" said a familiar voice. Kharza looked toward the source; it was Ralof. He'd been too focused on the guard to see the blond man approach.
Ralof was beaming as he grasped Kharza's forearm. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Come on, Gerdur's just finishing up at the mill."
"Wait," said the guard. "You know this Khajiit?"
Ralof gave the man a serious look. "This man saved my life earlier today."
Ralof turned and started down the road toward a sawmill at the river's edge. A giant water wheel turned lazily as it was fed by the current. Kharza saw a number of men and women chopping wood. Among them were a number of Wood Elves, which Kharza thought was odd; he hadn't seen a Bosmer since he left Bruma.
"Gerdur!" Ralof called.
A woman leaned over the railing up top. Kharza could see the family resemblance immediately.
"Is this your friend?" the woman called back. "Hold on, I'll be right down."
Moments later, the woman Gerdur came up to greet the two men.
"Ralof told me what happened. Divines bless you for helping my brother get to us in one piece. What's your name?"
"Kharza, at your service," the Khajiit said with a tip of his head. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
Gerdur smiled before turning back to the mill. "Hod!" she shouted.
No answer. Gerdur groaned.
"Hod! I need you a minute!"
A burly man with an even burlier moustache peered out from around the corner. "Shor's bones, what is it, woman?" he called back. "I'm busy over here!"
"Hod, just come here!"
Kharza caught a brief glance from Hod, whose whole demeanor changed. The stocky man walked briskly over to where everyone else was standing.
"So, you finally made it!" Hod laughed. He extended his hand to Kharza. "I'm Hod, Gerdur's husband."
"My name is Kharza," the Khajiit said, firmly grasping the big man's forearm.
The hefty man smiled through his thick moustache. "Well, Kharza, Ralof told us about what happened to you two. Words aren't enough to tell you how thankful we are to have our Ralof here in one piece. We're just finishing up work for the day; stick around a few minutes and we'll head back to the house for supper. Gods know you look like you could use some food and rest."
The last of the cicadas were singing their final verses as the group walked through town, but the crickets and bullfrogs were only getting started. The moons had just begun their nightly trek across the sky. Mothers were calling children inside to eat, husbands were just coming home to their wives, and many of the townsfolk headed into what Kharza took to be the local inn for some downtime after a long day. Some of the houses had little yards with chickens wandering around. Riverwood reminded Kharza very much of the home he left years before. In that moment, his heart sank a little.
On the far side of town were several small farms; Gerdur and Hod's was the largest, but their house was modest. Out in front were a boy of maybe nine or ten years and a dog adorned in a ridiculous array of sticks and leaves. The boy was no doubt Gerdur's son; even in the pale moonlight, the resemblance was uncanny.
Gerdur sighed. "Frodnar, what are you doing?"
The boy looked at Gerdur with a smile. "What do you think, Mama? Doesn't Stump look just like a frostbite spider?"
Kharza shuddered at the thought.
"Frodnar, this is no time for your games," Gerdur scolded. "We have company."
The boy looked at Kharza as Hod unlocked the door to the house. "Are you Uncle Ralof's friend? The one he was talking about?"
Kharza smiled. "Even so. My name is Kharza." The Khajiit extended his hand, and Frodnar gripped his forearm. "Ah, a strong handshake! Well met, Frodnar."
"Well met," the boy replied. "Are we eating soon, Mama? I'm pretty hungry."
Kharza was the last inside. He locked the door behind him, as he was used to doing.
"I'm afraid we don't have anything special tonight," Hod said. "Work days are long during the summer so there isn't much time to cook. There's plenty of smoked salmon, though, and we have all the cheese and bread you can eat."
Kharza attacked the food mere seconds after Gerdur put it on the table. He loaded his plate with a mountain of salmon and took for himself a loaf of the crusty bread and a quarter of the massive cheese wheel. The Nords just looked at him as he savaged his meal; Gerdur hadn't even passed out the mead yet. Kharza was about to sink his teeth into another piece of bread when he felt his hosts' eyes on him, and took a look up with his mouth still wide open. The Nords burst into laughter.
"You've certainly got a healthy appetite!" Hod chuckled.
"My apologies," Kharza replied, setting down his piece of bread. "I have not eaten for quite a while. This cheese is delicious."
"Make it myself," Hod said with a proud grin. "There's always plenty to go around."
Kharza smiled. "My father used to say that one must eat to live and one must live to win; therefore, one must eat to win."
"I fear for anyone who crosses you when you're well-fed, then," Ralof laughed, turning his eyes to his kin. "You should have seen him this morning. I've never seen anyone fight like that."
Kharza tipped his head. "You honor my father's memory, friend; he taught me well."
"He's no longer living?" Gerdur asked, handing the Khajiit a bottle of mead.
Kharza sighed as he took the drink from Gerdur, setting it down in front of his plate. "He was taken from us when I was still very young. The Thalmor broke into our house and stole him away in the night. The man would not go without a fight, though—three of the elves lay dead on the floor before the Justiciar subdued my father with magic." He took a long pull of his drink. "When my mother tried to intervene, she was struck to the ground. She never recovered from her wounds, neither the one in her leg nor the one in her heart."
Silence gripped the room. Kharza took another gulp of mead.
"My father was taken because he refused to accept the elves as the saviors of Khajiit. The Void Nights were terrible times for my people, and when the Altmer came to us and said that they were responsible for the return of the moons, many Khajiit were too happy to throw themselves under the heels of the Thalmor usurpers. My father never believed a word of it—he knew that the elves took credit for closing the gates of Oblivion when they had no hand in it, just as he knew they had no hand in the moons coming back to us. He spoke out against the elves, and for that they punished him. I have missed my father very much."
More silence. Kharza turned his bottle back and forth on the table in front of him for a moment before taking another drink. Ralof spoke.
"What happened to you after that?"
"Ah," Kharza said, setting his bottle back down. "My uncle knew our home was not safe for any of us after that. He made arrangements, and within the week we were all on the road to Cyrodiil—myself, my mother, my cousins, my uncles and aunts. My family had connections in Cheydinhal, so that was where we went. My uncles were good traders and superb blacksmiths, so we did not go hungry for long. I learned how to smith, and my cousins helped keep the books. My mother did not live for long; they say she died of a fever, but I knew she died of a broken heart."
Another long drink, and Kharza's bottle was finished. He placed the empty vessel in the middle of his table and wiped his lips. Gerdur handed him another bottle of mead; he nodded politely with a sad smile. He paused for another slow sip and continued his story.
"Things went well for us in Cheydinhal. Many among the town guard and even the local soldiers came to the shop to buy weapons and armor. It made me proud whenever they picked things I had made, and as I grew in skill the customers came in greater numbers. My uncles made sure I trained in my arts every day. I put all my heart into my smithing and my fighting, and both helped me bring in much coin for my family.
"One day, when I was fourteen, I found myself alone in the shop. My uncles had gone to the mines to buy more metal, and my aunts and cousins were at market. A Khajiit girl came in to buy jewelry. She was the tailor's daughter—I had seen her many times before, but we hadn't spoken before then. She lingered at the counter after she made her purchase. Her name was Zaynehb. I still remember her smile, and the impatient soldier behind her telling her to get on with it.
"Zaynehb and I began spending a lot of time together. Before long I was making up stories to tell my family so I could run off into the night to be with her. Sometimes we would manage to get our hands on some brandy or moon sugar, and on those nights we spent many hours …"
Kharza paused, remembering that Frodnar was in the room.
"… Many hours 'entertaining' one another. A month after we met, she came to me with tears in her eyes and told me she was with child. We were both so young.
"I can still feel the sting in my cheek from when my aunt slapped me. I remember seeing her hang her head, but she embraced me and held me close and told me things would be all right. My uncles were clearly disappointed, but they surprised me by telling me they knew I could handle everything. Oh, how they argued with the tailor. The man was furious; he said he would cut off my tail and use it for a new belt. My uncles confronted him and told him it was unwise to make such threats, and the man backed down. My uncles had a reputation in our neighborhood, and the tailor knew better than to cross them. We all agreed that Zaynehb would move into my room, as it was my duty to care for her while she carried my child.
"The months passed. I worked very hard at the smithy and began fighting in the larger underground tournaments for extra money. I would return home late at night battered and bloodied, but my drive to win ensured that my pockets were lined with gold. Some days I thought of taking every last Septim and stealing away in the night, but I quickly removed such thoughts from mind. My parents might have been gone, but I knew they were watching me, and I would not shame them by shirking my responsibilities.
"The day my son was born was the happiest day of my life. There were tears on my cheeks when I held him in my arms and kissed his forehead. I named him 'Markun,' after my father. He was my heart. That night I swore in blood to the gods that I would do everything in my power to protect him."
"You never mentioned you had a son," Ralof said quietly.
"My apologies, friend," Kharza smiled sadly. "We were heading to our doom, and my mind was troubled."
"A fair point," the Nord conceded, taking a swig of mead. "But with a son in Cyrodiil, what brought you to Skyrim?"
"Ah," Kharza said. "Sometimes things do not play out as simply as we wish them to.
"The first years of my life as a father were quite simple. My steel was strong and deadly sharp, and my skill as a fighter grew so much that nobody could best me. I worked hard beside my uncles and trained hard beside my cousins. When my son grew restless in the night, I told him stories and sang him back to sleep. Zaynehb, though … she talked to me less and less. When Markun cried, she would complain of headaches. I began to notice money missing, and whenever I confronted her she would snap at me and tell me that she was the one ensuring our son's health and happiness while I occupied myself with my silly endeavors. I began keeping my money under lock and key.
"Then one day I found two empty skooma bottles. I tried talking to Zaynehb about it; I said I knew our lives were difficult as young parents, but our son came first. Zaynehb just shrieked at me and told me she needed it to get through the day knowing that I had ruined her life. Too many nights we fought. Too many nights my son came to me with sorrow in his eyes, asking if his mother was all right. One morning I awoke before the sun to find Zaynehb gone.
"Things went from bad to worse. My uncles were playing cards with friends one night at the tavern. A couple of newcomers had joined the group and were displeased with the piles of Septims my uncles had in front of them. They accused my uncles of cheating. Things escalated, and both men wound up dead. My uncles were arrested and imprisoned for life in some Gods-forsaken mine down south. The authorities never told us where to find them, and we never heard from them again.
"Then, my cousin Atehbi took ill. She suffered terribly for a week before dying in the night. I can still hear her, whimpering in agony late at night. She was my best friend; I lost a part of my heart when she passed.
"Business was suffering. Everyone knew of what happened with my uncles, and we became pariahs as a result. The business accrued a massive debt, and Zaynehb's father refused to help us. Our creditors told me I could pay them off by fighting in the lowest circles of the underworld, where men fought to the death with blades. I've never felt as sick in my life as I did when I killed for the first time. I was eighteen. All I could think about when I closed my eyes to sleep was my father hanging his head in shame. The visions still haunt me.
"I felt I was losing my soul. My cousins and I were forced to close the store. Fortunately we had some friends left, and my cousins made arrangements to move to the Imperial City. Markun was to go with them. I was thankful that my son would not have to remain in the pit of despair Cheydinhal had become for us.
"I lost my home, but my remaining savings ensured that I had a roof over my head and food in my belly. I became assistant to a butcher in the market place; he was a serious but kind man, and he made certain I had coin in my pocket and plenty of fresh meat. He let me make the trip to the Imperial City every few weeks to see my family. Things were starting to look better for me, and I found myself smiling again. Being away from my son was difficult, but my life was simple and the days were good.
"Years passed before trouble found me again in the form of a thief. I was taking on my way to the cobbler one afternoon to have a hole in my shoe repaired when a man bumped into me. He apologized with a smile as if he had simply not paid attention to his surroundings, but I did not trust the look in his eye. When he passed by me I searched my pockets; my coin purse was missing. I turned and saw him weaving his way through the crowd. I followed and caught up with him as he was turning into an alleyway, and I beat him. I took back my money thinking that there would be nothing more to it, but I found out later that the pickpocket was well connected. Men came after me with daggers, and I killed them. I remained out of sight for the rest of the day, and when night fell I made my way to the stables outside the city walls. I stole a horse and made for the Imperial City.
"It did not take me long to find my cousins. I told them of what had happened, and they in turn told me that they were once again in debt. Cyrodiil had clearly become unsafe for us. My cousins mentioned that a good number of Khajiit were running trade caravans up north in Skyrim. It was the only thing left to do. We were to meet in Bruma, cross the border together and make for the city of Solitude. I told my son to go with them, that I loved him and that I would see him soon.
"Circumstances would force me to stay in the capital for a few days, so I told my cousins I would catch up to them in Bruma. I traded everything I had for gold, even the clothes I had on my back. I used to wear gold hoops in my ears and braids; I traded them for a sword and made for Bruma. It took me longer than I had expected to reach the city, and when I arrived my cousins were nowhere to be found. I remembered the name Solitude and struck out for the border. What happened after that … well, I think you already know what happened after that."
The only sounds in the room were those of the fire crackling and Stump the dog snoring softly.
"Mara's mercy," Gerdur said. She stood up and walked around the table to Kharza's side, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Kharza did not speak, instead favoring his mead and the food on his plate.
"If there's anything we can do for you, Kharza … you just let us know," Hod said.
"I thank you, friend," Kharza replied. "I would be grateful for a few days of rest, if I'm not asking too much."
"It goes without saying," Gerdur said. "You and Ralof will stay here to mend. Other business can wait."
The evening wound down peacefully. Frodnar was sent to bed, but the adults sat at the table and continued to talk. There was still plenty of mead and plenty of cheese and bread. Kharza ate and drank and listened to Ralof talk of the war, of the Stormcloaks and Imperials and the cursed Aldmeri Dominion. The talk turned to Helgen and the dragon attack.
"Kharza, I don't mean to burden you by asking this, but you'd be doing us all a great service if you went to the Jarl in Whiterun and told him of the dragon attack. Our town doesn't have many guards, certainly not enough to take on a dragon. Would you do this thing for us?"
Kharza nodded. "Of course. You are my friends, and I will help in any way I can."
Gerdur and Hod headed for bed shortly thereafter. Kharza told Ralof to take the spare bed, shushing the Nord when he tried to argue. There were many blankets, and Kharza was happy to sleep on the floor. He was happy he would get to sleep at all.
When Kharza finally lay down, he felt the full effects of the food and mead. He closed his eyes, and within moments was sound asleep in front of the dying fire.