Author's Note: Obviously I like memory sequences :D
--
"Gods above, you weren't kidding," Ingar said, as a look of both horror and shock crossed his face. Nhiilaa looked triumphantly at her father.
"You thought I was kidding?"
"Well, you can't blame an old man for being skeptical. I've seen a lot of things in a lot of years, Nhiilaa, and none of them have involved honest-to-god vampires. People who've thought they were the damn bloodsuckers, sure, but real vampires? Never. Always thought they were the stuff of legends, myself. And you say you killed it?" He laughed uncomfortably, attempting to make a joke of the situation. She let out a deep sigh and wondered why he always had to do this to her. Ever since her mother died, Ingar had never been serious about a single thing, let alone those that mattered most.
"I'm not bad with a blade anymore, Papa. But to be fair, he was extremely weak with hunger. Even then, I could have been killed. After breakfast I planned to visit Azzan and train a bit down at the guild. I escaped too close for comfort, and I don't want it to happen again," she said slowly, a serious look adorned her face. Her father frowned deeply. Quickly she interrupted him as he opened his mouth to speak. "I know you don't like him, Papa, but he's good with a sword and can at the very least direct me in the direction of a good trainer. Besides, he's a friend. I don't know why you hate him so much."
"I never said I hated the boy. I just don't trust him is all."
"Whatever you say, Papa," and with that, she rose from the table. After sighing almost disbelievingly, he too followed suit and began to walk her out the door.
"You're not still using that old steel sword, are you?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes, why?"
"It's ancient! You need a good blade, girl. S'time you had a REAL sword," he said with a devilish smile and a certain gleam in his eye. One of her eyebrows involuntarily rose, giving her a quizzical look. The old man dashed up the stairs and after a few moments, she followed him to the attic. Before she could ascend the ladder, however, her father returned, a bundle underneath one arm nearly hitting her as he made his way down. With a rather mischievous look in his eyes, he presented the bundle of white linen cloth to her, muttering, "Here, take this!" The cording that held the fine cloth around whatever was inside was of fine golden silk. As she untied it, she marveled at the beauty of it; it was much finer than the coarse horse-hair ropes that were used in the Bloodworks. She pushed the corners of the cloth away gently, afraid that she might damage whatever lay beneath. A gasp escaped her lips; inside was a beautifully crafted silver blade in a polished leather sheath. Silver filigree wrapped delicately around the sheath in a sophisticated pattern, and it caught the light and sent glimmering sparkles dancing across the stone walls. The sword slipped from its scabbard easily, and she saw that Nordic runes of protection, courage, and power had been engraved masterfully into the blade. It was a magnificent sword. It was light enough to swing easily, but heavy enough to have plenty of power. The blade was thick enough to not break easily, along with the handle.
"Do you like it?" Ingar's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes.
"It's so… perfect. Are you sure you want to give it to me?" Doubt and longing resonated in her voice.
"My adventuring days are long over. It's served me well, and I know it'll serve you better." He smiled fondly at the sword. "It's called Arpenalatta."
"Ayleid, I assume."
"Your mother named it. Said it means 'light of nobles'. I couldn't give a rip about what it meant, I just thought it fit."
"It does." After removing her steel sword, which now looked pathetic and wretched in comparison, she buckled Arpenalatta to her belt. It sat comfortably at her hip, and, unlike her steel sword, the sword did not look dingy next to her newly polished armor. She spun a bit and her father smiled in approval. Gruffly, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.
"You'll make me proud, Nhiilaa," he muttered into her hair.
"Alright, Papa." Her voice came out in a whisper, almost childlike.
--
Houses in Bruma were not like the houses in the rest of Cyrodiil; they were constructed so that the bedrooms were on the floor below, underneath the surface of the earth in order to conserve heat. Nhiilaa sat shamefully on her bed in her downstairs bedroom, awaiting her punishment for fighting. Hjotra had sent her immediately down the stairs as soon as she had gotten into the house. "Just you wait until your father hears about this," she had growled angrily as she led her daughter hours ago. Three hours had passed with Nhiilaa frozen fear on her bed. A loud slam of the door had broken the silence, followed by boisterous yelling from the both of them. Tears rolled softly down her cheeks; surely she thought she would be locked in the attic along with the rats and ghosts and whatever else inhabited it without food or water for weeks on end. Quietly, she slipped underneath her bed as the heavy thud of her father's footsteps descended the staircase and stopped in front of her door. It opened with an annoying and awkwardly loud squeak. All she could see from her position under the bed were Ingar's heavy leather boots that he wore while he wasn't roaming some ruin.
"Hmm, my wife said that my daughter was in her room, but it doesn't seem as if she's here," he said loudly. Nhiilaa scooted further back underneath the bed, a little louder than she would have liked. The bed creaked loudly as Ingar sat down, squishing Nhiilaa under his weight. Involuntarily she let out a squeak, and she attempted to turn around to get out from underneath it. The weight was released, and an iron grip caught her by the ankle and pulled her out from underneath the bed. Being six-years-old, she was very light compared to some of the game that her father brought home for supper. Easily, he held her aloft by both ankles and looked at her in the eyes. Immediately she burst into hysterics.
"Papa, I'm sorry! Please don't lock me in the attic!" she sobbed as she flailed about. With a chuckle, he laid her down on her bed softly and sat next to her. She scurried into his lap and buried her face in his fur vest, which was still a bit moist from the falling snow outside. His booming laughs resonated as he wrapped her in a warm, tight hug, and she looked up at him confusedly.
"The attic? Who ever said anything about an attic?" he said in between laughs.
"But…aren't I in trouble?"
"Oh, yes, little one, you're in a heap of trouble. But we're not going to lock you in the attic. I doubt we even have one!" Her face now expressed one of shock mixed with mild embarrassment of being laughed at. After the laughing subsided, Ingar looked at his daughter with a rather serious gaze. "Your mother's explained what happened to me, already." At that, Nhiilaa's mouth flew open in protest.
"It was Suurootan's fault, Papa! He called me a crazy barbarian! And… and he said th-that none of the other kids would like me because I'm a barbarian!"
"And just when did he say that?"
"Yesterday and today." Her voice came out in a pitiful whine contrast to the one that had yelled at the young Altmer in anger only hours ago.
"Did you hit him first?"
"Well, yes, but he deserved it!" With a heavy sigh, Ingar shook his head sadly. "He—" Nhiilaa was silenced abruptly by a finger placed on her lips. After it was taken away, her cheeks puffed up and she crossed her arms in defiance. She hated it when her father did that.
"Listen, Ijorta. He may've deserved it, but you proved that you were a barbarian by hitting him. Don't you know that only barbarians get into fights?" he said with a regal air, straightened his back, and put a very 'sophisticated' look on his face. When he saw that her angry disposition refused to fade, he let out another sigh and relaxed. "All you did was prove his point. You're not going to make very many friends here if you go around punching them all in the gut when they say something mean."
"What am I supposed to do then?" she cried, frustrated. Ingar looked about, as if to make sure that his wife wasn't listening.
"Tell 'em that Altmer are all uppity know-it-alls and that the only friends they can make are idiots so that they can feel smarter'n they actually are," he evilly commented. "Fightin' fire with fire. Any idiot can hit an Altmer and hurt 'im. That takes absolutely no skill. It takes gall and courage to get in an argument with 'em and win." The two laughed, her braids jiggling with it. Ingar took his daughter into another bear hug. "As for the matter of your punishment, your mother has suggested that an extra hour of studying be added on for two weeks." Nhiilaa let out a groan. "I disagree. A half an hour for a week should do it." It still was torture, but she would take what she could get.
"Thank you, Papa," she muttered as she yawned loudly. With one hand Ingar patted her head, and with the other he laid her blanket over her.
"Go to sleep, you little hatchling," he murmured as he tucked her in. At the doorway, he looked back at her. Sleep had taken her quickly, snores softly echoed through the room. Quietly, he blew out the candle that rested on a small table and shut the door.
--
"Alright girl, don't you be going all soft on me. Get yourself down to that damn Fighter's Guild and go train," her father's voice broke her thoughts open. A smile spread across his face as she broke away from his hug and looked him full in the eyes.
"I'll be back later, so don't lock me out again."
"If I can remember. I'm getting too old to remember most thinks you see," he said with a wink.
"You don't look a day over sixty," she teased as she walked out the door and shut it behind her. Fortunately enough, the Fighter's Guild was only a brisk walk from her father's house, and within a few minutes she was standing on the doorstep. She ignored the hails from the porters and even the fact that they began following her as if to make sure that she didn't steal anything as she walked up to Azzan's office on the third floor. After shooing the porters away with an annoyed shake of the wrist, she opened the door slowly. The Redguard was sitting at his desk, of course in steel armor that looked much like her own. Apparently he did not hear her enter, because she sat in a chair adjacent to the desk and still he did not look up from his paperwork. A muffled cough startled him enough into looking up at her.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Nhiilaa Ijorta." A smile played on his lips as he stood to shake her hand. Instead, she gave him a quick hug and returned to her seat.
"It's been a while, Azzan."
"Five years, hasn't it been?"
"You lose count in the Bloodworks."
"Oh yes, I would assume so. How is the hell-hole by the way?"
"Eh, hellish and reminds me vaguely of a hole." At this, Azzan let out a laugh that very much reminded her of her father's. He noted the blade at her hip and pointed to it.
"New blade?" he asked calmly. It was much finer than his own, a simple silver short sword.
"Yes. My father gave it to me today. Glorious, isn't it?" With a glance down at his own sword, he nodded. Her heart swelled with pride. Finally, she had something that was better than what he had.
"That it is. The question is, 'do you have the skill to match?'" A devilish smirk signified that he knew that she didn't. For a moment, her cheeks burned scarlet, and she prayed to Ysmir that he didn't notice.
"Well that's why I'm here. For training."
"What's this? The mighty Nhiilaa Ijorta needs a humble guild member's training? I thought that you Arena types were so skilled at fighting. Too good for us folk," he joked.
"I've decided to grace you with my presence. Who knows, Azzan, maybe you'll learn a thing or two about real fighting?" she said with a grin. "So you'll help me then?"
"You'll have to be prepared to lower yourself to our standards."
"Oh, I know. I figure I can deal with that for a while."
"Training begins at 6 AM sharp tomorrow."
"Yes'sir!" As she said this, she rose and saluted. With a chuckle she began to leave the room. At the door, Azzan stopped her.
"Hey, it's good to have you back in town," he said wholeheartedly. A smile lit up her face as she nodded and said, "It's good to be back, Azzan."
