Amnesia

by Hitomi Zotz

On a stormy night a woman arrives in Riften chained and blindfolded with no memories. Taken in by the Thieves Guild out of intrigue and the possiblity that she might be worth something, the thieves quickly wonder if she is going to prove foe or friend to them. Unable to recall her name, her past or the reason for her imprisonment, it is only a matter of time before it catches up.

11. Chapter 11- The Wilds of Riverwood

"What did the mage put in her water?"

Cynric halted in the doorway, straightening his pose and giving a small, harmless smirk. He knew it had been folly to attempt sneaking up on Mercer Frey; the truth was he wanted to see how far he could get before the master thief noticed. "Did you hear me open the door?" he queried wryly.

"I heard you the moment you started to move," Mercer growled back from the gloom. The room was lit with only a single white candle burning beside Amaris' bed, her only solace in the early evening, Mercer would have preferred darkness of course but he had not argued when Delphine had brought the candle in with the food and drink.

"It was a mild sleeping potion," Cynric rewarded Mercer's answer with one of his own, "which worked well by the looks of it." He turned his stare on the slumbering Amaris who lay awkwardly beneath a brown blanket twitching occasionally. Her soup lay on the same cabinet as the candle, untouched beside the half drunk glass of water Marcurio had spiked with Cynric's reluctant approval.

Mercer shrugged, he did not approve of potions or poisons in the best of situations, even ones that were designed to help could be used to hinder. "She would have been better finding her own peace," he grumbled.

"With all that madness in her mind?" Cynric queried doubtfully. "Unlikely she would have slept at all, and if you're insistent on keeping her near you, wouldn't you like her to have some rest so you can?"

Mercer scowled at Cynric's bold words, making his disapproval clear in his icy stare. "She was lost to the mage in an inn when he let her out of his sight," he remarked coldly, "I would take care that she does not leave us in the same fashion."

Cynric nodded as he took another step into the room and quipped innocently as he looked about. "That is if the mage is to be believed." His brown stare flickered back to Mercer briefly. "Do you still believe him?"

"I never believed him," Mercer grumbled sharply. "Do you believe him?"

Cynric flashed his superior a slightly malicious smile before admitting, "I didn't at first but now, yes. He cares about her, that's real enough and he seems just as confused about everything as us and frightened too."

Mercer scowled harder, unconvinced by Cynric's words. "Is it possible that the leaders of the Brotherhood tried to kill her?" he demanded bluntly.

She gave a low whimper in her sleep causing Cynric to hesitate before answering as he gave her a cautious glance. In truth it was why he had avoided entering the room until now, he had known the questions would come; it was too much to hope that Mercer would forget the former jail breaker's ties to the assassins. The younger thief nodded solemnly. "It was always a great mystery of the Brotherhood," he confessed, "the vanishing of their leaders. I wasn't around when they received the request, in fact I didn't learn of it until they had been gone for two months. You know I don't keep much contact with the Brotherhood anymore; my skills as a thief bring me more wealth than my skills as an assassin could. It was three years ago, maybe less, they had been offered not just gold but jewels too, it was the highest sum anyone had placed on a mark but there was a catch of course, their mark dwelled underground, in Dwemer ruins. They were warned they would have to deal with Dwemer traps and machines, Chauruses and Falmer but ultimately they thought the price was worth it."

"Do you not know who hired them or how they found her?" Mercer snarled.

Cynric shook his head wearily. "No, no one in the Brotherhood seems to know anything about that, only Kester and Quintus know who hired them and what clues they were given that led to her, it was all very secret. They were not to speak of it, even to their own, it was too dangerous.

Kester was gone for almost a year before he returned, I heard from others that he had arrived back but no one was glad about it. I got curious and went to see him but by the time I reached their hideout he had gone again, wandering off rambling about burned bodies, darkness and Quintus they said, some thought he was cursed by Sheogorath."

"Who was so threatened by her that they needed to have the certainty of her death?" Mercer pondered. "Someone who knew she was with Falmer, surely that was enough, why did they need the involvement of assassins? Were they afraid she would escape? Or did they simply need to know without a doubt that she was dead?"

"Maybe they wanted to set her free," Cynric suggested with a dark look. "To give her the peace of death as it was the only peace they felt she could safely have."

Mercer, too mistrustful by nature to have considered that someone's motive might be sympathy or mercy, gritted his teeth in frustration and snapped, "no one knows a damn thing about her! Every clue is just a thousand more questions!"

Amaris' eyes shot open at Mercer's yelling and rolled about in her sockets briefly before they fluttered and she let out a groan. She felt heavy, tired and dizzy still and her nostrils burned with the stench of rotted meat and vomit, her throat was dry and all she could see was Quintus' screaming face.

Cynric hastened to her as he saw her eyes widen once more and her lip tremble. He reached out a hand to her burning brow and stroked it briefly with a tender smile. "You're safe," he murmured knowing it was useless now to insist that her memories were just nightmares.

"I know," she retorted coolly, "at least for now but how long can it last?"

Cynric shrugged with a grin. "How long can it last for any of us?" he queried calmly.

She pushed herself upright and forced back some of her tangled locks from her sweat stained face , her sleep had been empty of dreams and yet she did not feel any better for it though she knew she could not sleep anymore.

"It's only the early evening," Cynric informed her, "so the merchants should still be trading, let's get you some new clothes and find somewhere in the inn for you to bathe." His grin widened slightly as his eyes sparkled with just a hint of mischievousness. "The stench of the wilderness is starting to linger on you."

Amaris frowned at the thief before glancing down at herself sheepishly, knowing that he was right. 'He's putting it mildly,' she thought dryly before nodding as he leaned back to allow her to swing her legs around the bed. "Let's go then," she said quietly as she stood up. She could feel Mercer's disapproving gaze on them and knew that he would be coming too; the man was practically her shadow these days. It should have been suffocating but in truth it was a comfort, at least it meant if the Falmer found her again someone would come. 'Will I ever be unguarded?' she wondered wistfully as she followed Cynric out of the room.

Cynric led them through to the main bar area where Marcurio was leaning against the wall talking to the Nord bard. He spotted the three and immediately headed towards them, giving Amaris a look of concern. "How are you?" he queried quietly.

"Fine," the redhead assured the mage. "What happened...well it's in the past, I can't change it now," she said in a deliberately detached manner, "it was just a shock remembering it again."

The Imperial made his doubt clear on his face though he did not contest her words, instead he quipped, "and where are you going?"

"To get some clothes and provisions," Cynric answered smoothly, "you can come if you want."

Marcurio looked pointedly at the stained windows where the heavy rain that struck the rooftop loudly was visible, sharp, glistening spatters of icy water erupted into blurred streaks against the panes. "I'll pass," he answered calmly, "try not to get too wet."

"Where's the fun in that?" Cynric retorted merrily before turning and leading the way to the door.

Amaris followed after the thief with Mercer close behind her, irritable that he had to face the rain again, unnecessarily in his opinion, and yet unwilling to trust the girl to Cynric. 'She does need clothes,' he thought to himself with a scowl, 'and that stench is almost unbearable but she and we have put up with it for this long, it could have waited until morning.' He looked pointedly at Cynric's back as he led them out into the heavy, almost deafening downpour. 'I almost regret not letting Maven send him to the Mines, it might have done him good and given me peace.'

As the village was small it thankfully did not take them long to find its only shop, a two storey building, made of stone on the bottom and an extension of wood on the top complete with a wooden balcony, supported by thick timber columns, which also held up part of the thatched roof. The worn sign, made of a wooden arch hanging from rusting chain hoops with faded yellow paint naming it and steel scales hanging from below it, swung noisily in the faint breeze, the creak of the chains barely audible above the raindrops beating against it.

Cynric hugged his soaked hood closer about his face as he paused for a moment to glimpse at the sign before leading the way in.

The traders, a female Imperial in her twenties and an older male, looked at the arrivals in surprise. "You're soaked!" the woman exclaimed as she eyed the mud they traipsed in on their boots with mild disgust. When Cynric pushed back his soggy hood and gave his hair a shake the woman's sharp face immediately seemed to brighten up. "Quick," she urged him as she met his vibrant cerulean stare, "stand by the fire."

Cynric gave her a charming smirk before taking a step towards the small cluster of amber tinged golden flames that were starting to devour large logs resting in a modest sized hearth of stone. The shop was well lit with not just the fire but candles and candelabras of horn resting on the wooden shelf above the fire, the shop's counter, and a wooden table. On the counter wheels of cheese and cheap green bottles of wine rested as well as a large, glittering claw of solid gold. Amaris looked at the claw with fascination, to her it somehow seemed terrible and beautiful all at once and she wondered if it was merely decoration or served some higher purpose.

"You're new in town," the woman said to Cynric happily as she took a step towards him, "I can tell."

"Really?" Mercer quipped dryly. "Could it be because only a cluster of people live in this miserable hole?"

Cynric gave a chuckle at this as the Imperial male immediately folded his arms and frowned at the master thief. The woman was ignorant to the jibe, but whether it was deliberate or she had simply not heard it was hard to tell. "I'm Camilla Valerius," she introduced with a smile, "and this is my brother Lucan." She turned back slightly to the scowling male, who had stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing to him with one hand.

The resemblance was obvious; they both had the same swarthy skin, glossy dark hair, small, watchful, brown eyes, and average good looks and carried themselves in the same haughty manner. Camilla's brown hued locks were brushed back carefully from her face and ensnared in an elaborate bun that hung low at the back giving the impression of a bob from the front, her cheeks were blushed, her lips shimmered with gloss and her eyelids lidded with a soft, purple tinge. It was obvious she took pride in her appearance despite dwelling in a simple village shop.

"Welcome to the Riverwood Trader," Lucan commented, trying to sound as welcoming as he could though his eyes remained full of suspicion. He turned his unfavourable stare on the bedraggled Amaris and immediately decided that not only did he not want to learn anything about the strangers but that he did not want them dirtying his store any longer than necessary. "What can we help you with?" he queried bluntly.

"Clothes," Cynric answered as he grinned harmlessly at the older man, "for our friend here." He gestured to Amaris who did not flinch at the looks of revulsion she received from Lucan and Camilla.

Mercer paced about the shop floor with a bored expression, eyeing the odds and ends with displeasure. 'At least this place is dry even if there's nothing useful in it,' he thought bitingly.

"We don't sell clothes," Lucan answered bluntly, "just food, drink, potions, trinkets, odds and ends."

Cynric sighed though his grin remained as he turned his attention back to Camilla. "That's a shame," he said softly, "if we could even barter for some." He looked Camilla up and down, letting his intense blue stare lock with her uneasy yet hopeful stare. "I cannot imagine anyone as beautiful as you has anything but the finest of clothes but if there's just one item or two you could spare, for the right coin of course."

"Your friend is shorter than my sister," Lucan commented rudely, "and my sister's dresses are not designed for wear, tear and filth, they would be impractical and ill-suited for you," he addressed Amaris frostily.

Amaris looked at him coldly and prepared to retort but Cynric spoke up smoothly before she could. "I would agree but we cannot find more practical clothes and I would rather my friend had something fresh and clean than nothing at all." He turned his stare back on Camilla who flushed at the intensity of it. "You would be doing us a huge favour," he said warmly, "and I would be very grateful for it."

Camilla smiled, unable to help herself and nodded. "I'm sure I can find something I won't miss too much," she said brightly. "Give me a moment."

"Many thanks," Cynric said with a slight nod.

Camilla headed for the stairs; purposefully ignoring her brother's disapproving glower. As she headed up the wooden steps Mercer was quick to pocket some ornate bauble of crystal and gold plating and a small pouch of coin.

Lucan looked at the three mistrustfully before stepping back behind the counter and placing his right hand down firmly on the golden claw. Normally he was welcoming to strangers, eager to have their trade as it gave him new stock and fresh coin but Mercer made him uneasy, Cynric's casual flirtation with his sister irritated him and Amaris' stench had him all but retching and fearful that the odour might linger in his shop if she did not leave soon.

The four shared an awkward silence for just under ten minutes before an impatient Lucan went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, "Camilla hurry up, our customers are waiting!"

A flustered Camilla appeared at the top with a small bundle, it had been harder than she had thought to decide what to part with. "I'm coming now," she called back down with a slight frown. She returned to her room to place back a pair of green, silk shoes she thought far too fanciful for the pasty faced woman down below. Surely a simple dress was generous enough but then she did not want the man thinking her stingy. 'I haven't even gotten his name,' she realised as her cheeks reddened again at the thought of his handsome, dark stubbly face. She seized an old hooded cloak she had tossed on her bed, it was frayed at the bottom and hadn't been worn by her in a long time, the initial white had darkened and stained to a dove grey and the silver embroidery had faded and come undone in several places. Decision made, she hurried back to the stairs, hoping the man would see how gracious she was.

"Here," she said as she held the small bundle out to Cynric.

Amaris shook her head slightly in exasperation, did the woman find her too filthy to interact with or did she simply forget that there were people other than Cynric in the room? 'Well he is handsome,' the redhead admitted to herself, 'in a rough way, and charming when he wants to be but still, he's hardly in need of a dress.'

Cynric accepted the bundle with a gracious smile as Lucan commented moodily, "I suppose you'll need a cover for those, no good them getting destroyed in the rain even if they will get wrecked later by your travels."

"If you'd be so kind," Cynric said with a smirk as he followed Lucan back to the counter and rested the clothes on it. As Lucan busied himself with hunting out some paper to wrap the garments in Cynric shamelessly pocketed a couple of lock picks and a piece of charcoal. Once the clothes were wrapped he sat a small, brown, leather pouch of copper and silver coin onto the counter. "For your trouble," he remarked before lifting the parcel. He turned from the counter and gave Camilla another smile and a wink.

"Don't be a stranger," she called to him.

"We'd rather if it's all the same," Mercer grumbled as he pushed Amaris to the door.

Cynric laughed as he led the way back out into the wild rain and hurried back to the inn. The streets were empty save for a few sad eyed cats and brave crows; everyone was indoors avoiding the rain, which had grown heavier turning puddles into ponds and the roads to squelching swamps of mud. The three were equally relieved when they walked and waded through the worst of it and made it back to the heat of The Sleeping Giant Inn. Now all of them were caked in mud up to their knees and dripping from head to toe, their hair plastered to their icy faces with water and their clothes soaked right through and dripping fresh puddles onto the wooden floor.

"You all look like you need a bath," Delphine addressed them firmly.

"That was the next part of the plan," Cynric answered her jovially.

"I daren't ask what plan," Delphine retorted coolly as she narrowed her pale stare. "Come with me, we have a washing room, it's not much but it's better than you dripping mud everywhere."

She turned sharply on one heel leading them to the right of the inn, down a corridor, through a door and down a set of steps to a room slightly warmer than the rest. It had two large wooden basins in the centre; both half full of steaming water, beside them were four buckets of water, two bars of yellowing soap and a single towel. On a wooden stack of shelves pressed against the back wall were some more towels, grubby and worn but still usable, a brush missing some bristles, a cracked comb and a small, dusty mirror. "As you can see you have good timing," Delphine remarked calmly, "we like to brew our baths in the early evening for guests and we don't tend to change the water until the morning."

"Thanks," Cynric said.

Delphine nodded as she prepared to go, looking keenly at Amaris and then Mercer. 'Are they going to bathe at the same time?' she wondered. 'Well they do share a room but they hardly act like a couple.' She frowned briefly at Cynric before turning for the stairs and heading towards them. 'And where do he and the mage fit into it?' she wondered. 'I hope they're not...into something weird.' She shuddered at the thought as she hurried back to the bar.

"You wash first," Cynric informed Amaris as he placed her bundle of clothes down on a nearby stool. "I'll wait upstairs, I could do with a drink and I've brought the muck in already, so I may as well spread it about." He did not bother to suggest Mercer accompany him, knowing well enough by now that the thief was adamant that the girl would remain in his sight. 'Makes sense after what happened with the Falmer,' Cynric thought as he followed after Delphine, 'but then again, I don't think it's likely that there's one hiding in the tub, surely she'd be safe enough to take a bath alone. There's no way for them to get in or her to get out without us noticing.'

Keeping his thoughts to himself, the thief grinned at Delphine's curious look before ordering himself a bottle of mead and joining Marcurio at his two seater table in the corner near the bard. "Where's Amaris?" the mage queried swiftly.

"Getting bathed," Cynric retorted jovially as he sat down and took a sip from his bottle.

Marcurio frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes. "And Mercer?" he growled out.

"Also getting bathed," Cynric answered chirpily. "Don't worry, I'm sure he won't sneak a peek," he teased.

Marcurio's frown deepened and he snapped, "that's not funny. Why did you leave them alone?"

"Would you prefer we all bathed together then?" Cynric questioned teasingly. "Wouldn't you feel left out?"

"I would prefer we all washed privately," Marcurio grumbled, knowing that the thief was just trying to goad him.

Cynric gave a short laugh. "Yes, well Mercer is determined to keep Amaris in his sight but don't worry, he doesn't see her as an object of affection, just treasure."

Marcurio shook his head in obvious disapproval. "She's not an object," he chided.

Cynric shrugged. "She's a grown woman and Mercer made no pretence about why he was coming with her to Solitude, if she finds his motives offensive she can tell him."

"What about you?" Marcurio demanded as he leaned across the table to be heard better. "What's your motive?"

"Mercer's the boss," Cynric answered happily, "and I just do what I'm told, also, I thought following a thin lead across the dangerous lands of Skyrim to solve a stranger's amnesia could be fun."

"You're full of it," Marcurio remarked scornfully.

Back in the underground washing room Amaris was preparing to strip for her bath. She tugged off her ruined garments with some ease and left them in a small, mud soaked pile beside a tub before lifting a bar of soap and climbing into the tub. Mercer was slightly startled by her swift undressing but recalled that he had seen it all before. He eyed the still healing wound on her lower back, now soft and red, turning to a pink scar, and the fresher wounds on her shoulders, deep but also healing. She was still a bony thing, with tangled hair now brown with dirt and skin smudged with muck, bruising and dried blood.

"Aren't you going to ask me to leave?" he growled at her, daring her to do it.

"No," she answered calmly, "I know you won't and I don't care. I know I'm just a means to treasure to you but I don't mind, I'm glad for your help whatever your motives, without you I know I'd be worse off."

'She's so practical about it,' he thought dryly as he folded his arms and frowned. 'I suppose given what we know of her past, being with thieves is a joy in comparison. Well more fool her for accepting it and not striving for better, still she is right, she'd probably be dead or worse if she hadn't found me.'

"I hope I don't let you down," she murmured as she sat in the tub, "and that you can make some profit for me, that I'm valuable to someone somewhere but not to them, not to my captors, even if it means I'm eternally in debt to you I won't go back to them."

"I wouldn't make you," he grumbled, offended that she would even suggest it. "I doubt the Falmer have enough sanity to make trades and even if they did, I wouldn't trade a person to them for gold."

Amaris turned her head slightly over her shoulder to look at him keenly with her mismatched eyes. "Even for all the treasure of Skyrim? They're underground, deep with Dwemer treasures, though you're probably right, they don't have the sense to make trades. They would just take me and kill you if you were in their way, they're monsters."

"Look, I won't trade you back to the Falmer, alright," he snapped in irritation. "Now, we'll get to Solitude and if it turns out you are just runaway thief or beggar I will cut my losses and leave you but we both know that won't be the case. You were running from someone when you met the mage and it can't have been Falmer, you could not have escaped from the twice, and they do not have it in them to pursue one individual above ground, not unless they were being made to." He paused at that thought, it had occurred to him before that someone or something was controlling the Falmer, that they had been ordered or forced to restrain Amaris but never kill her, as their nature should have driven them to, and apparently this assassin Kester as well, he had been captured by them but spared death. It was not in the nature of the fallen elves to think things through, to consider hostages; yes they kept some captives alive to torture but never for longer than a month, certainly not years.

Amaris nodded agreeably before she began to rub the bar of soap along her stained arms.

"Anyway," Mercer grumbled as he looked to the floor, "I'll wait upstairs." He turned and headed up the stairs slowly, confident that they were the only way in and out of the washing room. He did not go through the door there but instead paused and seated himself on the top step; he was out of view but could still hear the faint sloshing of the water.

Amaris knew he was still there, she had not heard the door opening, and for some reason she was happier for it. She wanted him to be near, just in case, a foolish notion given the walls were thick enough and had no cracks in them and there were no holes in the floor, it was a secure enough room but still, she knew she could not relax without someone close. She hurried with her bath, wanting to feel clean and yet not wanting the other bath to get too cold for the others though she doubted they would mind, guessing a hot bath was as much a rarity and luxury for them as it was for her.

Finished, she took a moment to dry off and rake the brush through her tangled locks as best she could. As she tried to tame her once more coppery waves she thought on Mercer's words. 'Are the Falmer being controlled by someone? He's right, there has to be someone or something else behind all of this, perhaps they were connected to Kester and Quintus? No, that's wrong, it wasn't...they...' She struggled over the thought, fighting against images of Quintus' bloody form and Kester screaming. 'Kester told me, but what did he say? Mercy.' That one word stuck in her head, Kester saying it to her, screaming it at the Falmer, pleading it for Quintus, but what memory was the right one? Were they all right? Had the assassins come to her as a form of mercy but then who had told them to do it?

She shook her head in frustration, lowered the comb and finally turned her attention to her new clothes. Camilla had sold her, or Cynric rather, a thin vest of cream silk, a short sleeved, long dress of faded forest green that was designed temptingly low at the bust and tight at the waist, though on Amaris' too thin and almost boyish body it just sagged, a pair of worn, brown, leather boots with greying socks, and a hooded cloak of formerly white grey with silver embroidery that had come undone in several places. She fastened the dress as tightly as she could, pulling the laces as far as they would go but still there was a gap at the waist and an unflattering reveal of the vest, and it pooled at her feet, a couple of inches too long even with the boots on. Giving up, she folded the cloak over her left arm and ascended the stairs at last.

"You're too thin," Mercer scorned her when he saw how the dress hung off her.

"Mercy," she said to Mercer calmly as she disregarded his scorn, "Kester and Quintus came out of mercy, I remember that much."

Mercer grey eyes widened just a fraction. 'Cynric was right,' he thought coldly, 'but who ordered them to her and why reveal it was a mercy kill? To inspire them? No, the assassins are no nobler than thieves, their motivation was coin but who had enough to send them into the Falmer's pit? If they were told it was a mercy kill it was only so they could tell Amaris that in turn. There is definitely some value to the girl, no doubt now but how much and who holds it?'

"Is that all you remember?" he queried coolly.

She nodded. "If there's more I'll let you know. You should wash now, I'll wait here."

He frowned a little, reluctant to have her any further from him, free to wander the inn and flee from them. 'No she won't do that,' he told himself, 'we're all she's got, the worry is someone taking her.' "Go to Cynric and the mage," he instructed her, "and stay with them."

Amaris held her shock back from her face, was the master thief finally trusting her to stay close? 'He must realise I've no desire to leave him or the others,' she thought, 'and that I'm too afraid to be alone now that I know that the Falmer can find me.' She nodded again. "Alright." She turned and opened the door, heading back to the main area of the inn, hoisting up the dress to walk quicker. She was relieved to find Cynric and Marcurio, now merry with drink and singing, or rather attempting to, along with the bard.

She bumped into a tall, muscular Nord as she hastened to them and immediately apologised when he turned to face her.

His pale grey eyes flashed with mirth as he retorted, "think nothing of it." He studied her curiously and quipped, "you look familiar, have we met?"

Amaris shook her head as she stared up at him; he was at least six feet tall, young and blonde with a warrior's body though he was not dressed for battle. He wore a simple brown tunic with a sword fastened to his belt and a telltale discoloured and tattered blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders and chest, the rest left to hang at an angle down the front of his body. 'Stormcloak,' Amaris thought with a bristle, unsure why she should bear them any hostility.

"Ah but you're a stranger in town," he guessed, "hmm wait, could you be the scruffy girl my sister Gerdur was talking about?" He grinned widely at her flashing crooked white teeth that only managed to add to his pleasing yet coarse looks. "Did you pay young Frodnar for the keep of your horses?"

Amaris recalled the name, the boy with the dog and the startled woman who had only lost some of her caution when she had seen Amaris' helpless appearance. She nodded briskly and said quietly, "yes, that was me. I and my friends are very grateful to have found somewhere for our horses," she added sincerely.

The man nodded before reaching out a large hand. "I'm Ralof," he introduced.

She accepted his hand with her much slender one and answered calmly, "I'm Amaris."

He raised a pale blonde eyebrow at her words and shook his head. "Your accent," he murmured, "it's strange, are you from Skyrim?"

She nodded but did not elaborate.

Ralof, guessing that she would not explain, did not press on the matter and instead released her hand and queried, "will you be in Riverwood long?"

"Just until tomorrow," she answered truthfully, recalling that Cynric had said as much to Gerdur so a lie might only cause problems.

"Well that's a pity, it's a wonderful village," Ralof commented happily, "not that I will be here for long myself, the Stormcloaks need me. Anyway, could I buy you a drink? You really do look familiar you know, have you come to Riverwood before?"

"Perhaps a while ago," Amaris confessed, "I do not recall, maybe when I was young." She saw the confusion building on the Nord's face and gave a gentle smile. "I would like a drink," she said, distracting him from her puzzling answer.

His smile widened. "Good, let's go to the bar then." He stepped away from her, leading the way to the bar and giving Marcurio a glimpse of her.

'I wonder who that is,' the mage pondered as he eyed the copper haired woman in the ill-fitted green dress. His dark eyes immediately enlarged when she cocked her head a fraction in his direction and he realised she was no stranger. "There's Amaris," he hissed.

"Huh?" Cynric queried dumbly, unable to take his attention away from the busty barmaid serving them.

Marcurio leaned across the table and nipped the thief's right arm causing him to give a yelp and the barmaid to giggle. The thief glowered at the mage and snapped, "what?"

Marcurio gestured wildly to Amaris following the imposing blonde male to the bar. "Amaris," he retorted anxiously, "and she was talking to that man."

"So?" Cynric queried with a frown. "Sheesh mage she's allowed to talk to other people you know."

"He could be dangerous," Marcurio answered hotly.

Cynric snickered. "I doubt it, besides, she's a bright girl, and she won't leave the inn and neither will we, so she's safe." His blue eyes glimmered with a sudden hint of malice before filling with glee. "Unless of course you're jealous, is that it? I suppose then you should worry, he's a good looking guy." He let out another loud laugh as Marcurio flushed red and flustered at him.

"It's not like that," the mage snapped, "maybe once but...not now, I don't...gah!" He gave up realising that Cynric was already ignoring him and had returned to chatting with the barmaid who did not seem to mind that the thief was smeared in muck and in need of a good bath.

Mercer, who took less time than Amaris to wash, soon arrived in the main room, dry and clean though he remained scruffy with his unkempt greying hair, and stubble steadily forming a moustache and beard. He spotted Amaris at the bar with the Nord and frowned pointedly at the mage and Cynric though they were both ignorant to it, now bickering for the attention of a second barmaid. Marcurio was eager to prove that he was not jealous of the blonde Nord and was soon heard yelling loudly at Cynric, "I am not intimidated by tall men and how dare you insinuate that I am small in other regions!"

Cynric immediately burst into hysterical laughter as the barmaid giggled and Marcurio turned scarlet.

Mercer grumbled a curse to himself before heading to the bar where Amaris had just finished the drink Ralof had bought for her and was trying to deflect his curious questions.

"I can't put my finger on it," Ralof murmured, "but there's something about you. You must be related to someone I know," he insisted, "or a friend of someone, ah I suppose it doesn't matter," he relented, "maybe you just remind me of someone."

Amaris smiled politely and murmured, "I'm sure that's it." 'Is it?' she wondered. 'How could I know? This is so frustrating, what if this is a clue? How can I tell if it is or it's just a coincidence?' She filled with frustration though she tried to hide it as she looked up at Ralof. "Thank you for the drink," she said sincerely, "I should join my friends now."

Ralof nodded even as he placed a hand under his chin and rubbed with a puzzled expression. "You're welcome," he said at last, "come talk to me again if your friends are boring you."

She grinned at this and gave a small laugh. "I will." She turned round to spy Cynric and Marcurio and groaned when she realised that the awful, out of tune warbling she had been trying to block out was coming from them. The pair were now on their feet, their arms around the reluctant bard who they had sandwiched between them as they began to sing loudly to his tune, Cynric adding some crude lyrics of his own.

"The scourge of Skyrim," Mercer commented sardonically in her right ear, "the Falmer wouldn't stand a chance."

Amaris smiled at this and jested, "their singing alone would send the Falmer scurrying back to their caves."

Mercer only just managed to stop a grin from slipping out at this. "Indeed," he grumbled. "Let's get something to eat." He led the way over to a free table and Amaris accompanied him. Neither of them were surprised that it was Delphine who chose to serve them. 'If she's just a barmaid I'm an honest worker,' Mercer thought to himself cynically as he ordered of her.

Amaris was careful to avoid the meat dishes, accepting another offer of soup with some crusty bread rolls instead. She winced as the other bar patrons actually started to clap along to Cynric, Marcurio and the bard instead of heckle them into silence. 'This is going to be a long night,' she thought to herself.