A/n: this has been sitting untouched in word for three months. I had to just finish it, I apologize for the shortness, but there is a new plot twist… don't knock it yet, the last words of the chapter will have some importance later on…
Windhelm was unbearably cold, even Aewen, ever the apathetic young elf, could not bear it without a grimace. She trudged through the soft ivory streets, pure exhaustion clear in the heaviness of each dreaded step. She finally came to an inn, and stayed there for the night; after drinking twelve bottles of mead, that is. The bed was soft, but the thin sheets felt insubstantial against the cold outside. Even the fire blazing warmly in the main hall was not enough. Aewen tossed and turned restlessly, shoved her hands in her armpits to preserve heat, and curled up so tightly in a ball that it would have made a kahjit turn green with envy. It still wasn't even near enough. Aewen exhaled and it felt like she was expelling a particularly sharp ice spike out of her throat. She lay that way all night, incapable of dozing even slightly. She finally got up and stole into the main room and bought a bottle of mead, a frost resistance potion, and an extra shirt to wear overtop of the one she had on. She then sat by the glowing warmth of the fire and finally rested there in a haze from exhaustion. The stone bench was hard, but the warmth was all that mattered at that very moment.
In the morning when Aewen woke she retrieved her stuff from her room, only to discover that she had brought nothing with her. I need to refill my satchel… where is the alchemy shop I wonder? Never mind I will deal with this Aretino kid, so I can get out of this thrice damned snow hole. How the void do the nords live in this?! She asked the innkeeper calmly about the Aretino residence, not a fleck of emotion flashed across the cold depths of her vermillion eyes; not even when the innkeeper grew fearful and suspicious of her for asking about the child. The wary nord gave her directions and she was out the door and heading through the confusing labyrinth of streets that all were the same before he could utter another word. The ground was white with the pure fresh snow that gently cascaded down around her face, and occasionally landed in her hair, weighing it down with moisture. Aewen was right in front of the house, about to try the knob on the door when a familiar sound bellowed out from the sky. Aewen didn't give a second thought; she just picked the lock of the door, and ran inside.
He'd been circling around the skies above the town. Watching. Waiting for his opportunity. He watched as the lesser dovah he'd sent down began to shout. He watched as she stepped calmly into a building. As proud as he was of her lack of care for the nords' lives, he'd hoped her lust for battle would keep her outside. The only thing that would cause her to leave during bloodshed would have to be a prior commitment to some one else. He wondered jealously what could be so important to her, it infuriated him that she had lost her memories because the chances now of training her again were slim. And that meant he would have to allow her to humor someone else for now.
"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me…" The boy was chanting frantically, if it wasn't such a dark ritual the tone of his voice would have been rather endearing. As it was Aewen had no sense of such things as that, and calmly slipped her arms around his neck in a way that was awfully threatening. "Are you one of the dark brotherhood? Yes, I knew it would work!..." Aewen ignored his blabbering, and listened to what he wanted. Riften, Orphanage. Oh, how much she wanted to get out of this tiny room and go right to the little fishing town. The prospect of a den of thieves only excited her even more. Still, she couldn't just leave while there was a dragon outside. She slid her hands of the boys neck and said simply,
"You realize, you belong to Sithis now?" and she left before the fear really sank into Aventus's eyes.
She walked outside calmly, and unsheathed her bow. The dragon in question was merely a skeleton by the time the guards reached it, the hole in the side of its head was immense, the daedric arrow still steadfastly encased in the hard bone. And next to it all was Aewen, the victorious smirk on settled on her face, and the blissful agony of taking the dragons soul claimed the brightness of her eyes. When the guards stared at Aewen in awe she walked calmly away, reveling in the moment. She walked swiftly to the carriage, and sat in the back. She handed the man the money, and waited. The rickety old wood jarred her bones with the constant rattling and bouncing. The road to the rift was rocky, difficult terrain, and thusly difficult to traverse comfortably. She sat there for what felt like months, even though it was likely closer to a duration of four hours, with a stiff neck and a sore back. She decided that she would walk from now on if she could help it, as this was the worst experience of her life so far. When the accursed woodpile finally arrived in front of Riften she was to rushed to get out of the thrice-dammed thing, that she forgot how sore her back was until she tried to get up and go. She nearly fell on her face, and, much to her embarrassment, was caught by a kahjit merchant. He helped her straighten up, and get into the town. She hastily thanked him, and dashed to the center of the town. She was distracted by the site of a red haired nord who, clearly, was trying too hard to look like he owned the place. She rolled her eyes and kept moving, only to stop when he asked her if she'd like to help him. She was curious, so she nodded yes, and listened to the plan. She broke into the safe without difficulty, and Brand-Shei, who she realized was not an argonian, wasn't very observant. She put the ring in his pocket too easily. She went back to the man- Brynjolf, he called himself- and he was fairly impressed by her work. He offered a position in the thieves guild, and she declined. She was busy enough as it was. Besides, she was rather unnerved that no one else noticed the dragon that seemed to be following her around. She could feel his gaze steadily on her back, and she wanted to get inside to get away from it. She wasn't in the mood to battle something else today, and he seemed to be scheming another "distraction". She walked right into the orphanage, and didn't even hesitate to run the old woman through with her blade. She laughed a bit at the panicked lady, and the grateful kids. That was pretty interesting. She didn't feel like going back to Windhelm, but the Kahjit caravan was packing up to head that way. She asked him to give her note to a guard, saying it was addressed to the recipient. She stayed at the inn for a few days, and woke up with to a courier with a reply, as well s a sheet of parchment with a large black hand on it. She had gotten to them. So Lucian was right. She walked outside for some fresh air, and once she left the gate she saw 'him' again. She looked up at the scaled menace.
"What do you want?" She was blunt with her question. He chuckled at her
"I want you to regain your memory. Is that wrong, Tsuki?" He had an infuriating manner of speech that really had no effect on Aewen.
"You keep calling me that. I'm getting to wonder if that's my name." She wanted to no more than she let on, but he answered none-the-less.
"Once it was, Dovahkiin. You seem to have fashioned a new one, have you not?" He was pushing. She gave nothing away. "Aewen, you call yourself. A fitting name for an elf, yet it wasn't an accident you thought of it. Aewen was the name of the first person you ever killed, if I'm correct."
Memory flashed through her head of a pale wood elf with watery doe eyes, eyes that were wide with sheer terror and wet with tears. Bright, tangled hair fell slowly around the round innocent heart shaped face of the ten year old with a serene grace. She had a somber innocence that was portrayed in her sad beauty. Her white dress was now stained crimson with blood.
Aewen snapped out of her reverie, and the look on 'his' face showed that he knew she remembered. He wondered why she had taken such a name, it was quite ironic in a way. That Aewen had been everything that Tsuki would never be. Innocent, pure, frightened, weak. Yet she remembered that name most clearly. Maybe it was a sign, a sign that she was changing.
