Ch. 14
Once again left to his own devices, Teldryn spent time exploring the town and around the lake, or reading out on the deck. He took a job for the Jarl out of sheer boredom; clearing out a small bandit camp in the foothills. It didn't take long and the bounty was decent. Somehow, bandits were no longer the challenge they once were.
In the evenings he drank alone at the Inn or stayed home. He missed Ceirin. He didn't know anyone in Riften, not like he had in Solstheim. Either he was out of practice, or it was harder to make friends here. People were more suspicious. And while he was by no means the only Dunmer in Riften, most of them were outlanders and didn't even speak the language. He found himself homesick for the sound of words and scent of familiar foods. He hadn't expected to spend this much time being lonely.
There were a few residents who would at least exchange greetings with him if their paths crossed, but it was nowhere near the comradery he remembered from the Netch. Although the barkeep at the Inn here mixed up some interesting drinks…not that he would ever tell Geldis that. Unless…maybe he could get Ceirin to steal the recipes?…No.
Solstheim hadn't been great, but it had been familiar. He'd had some things in common with most of the folks who lived there by virtue of a shared heritage and culture. He thought of Blacklight again; how long it had been since he'd last seen his old home. Although, he didn't miss the ash storms; even bad weather in Riften was breathable.
After picking up his pay from the steward, he browsed the market before heading home. Stopping to consider some produce at a farm stand while he tried to decide if he really felt like cooking, he was jolted out of it by the proprietor's attitude. Being accused of thievery wasn't something he was accustomed to.
With further discussion and his pointedly paying for a basket of vegetables he didn't really need, the farmers confided to him that they had been robbed of a family heirloom in the last few days. It was just a bow, but it was the only thing they had left and so forth and so on.
Teldryn carried the basket home with an energy borne of anger. Who robbed poor farmers? Wealthy merchants and nobles, he could understand. They could spare the loss. Ceirin wasn't the sort to do such a thing but his people must've had a hand in this. He aimed to have a word with the altmer when he got back.
No wonder everyone here was so cold to everyone else.
It wasn't until he got home and went to put the vegetables away and get changed out of his armor that he realized the coin purse he'd been paid was missing…
Oh, he was definitely going to have words with that rogue.
That evening, his mood hadn't lifted. He was drinking alone at the bar, chewing on the idea that right at that very moment, Ceirin was probably doing something exciting and worthy of his skill. And here he was, just killing time.
He was startled out of his thoughts by the bartender, Keerava, setting another drink in front of him. He hadn't asked for one.
"Courtesy of an admirer." Her gravelly voice sent a shiver down his neck.
He looked across the bar to see one of the locals, a bosmer named Valinor or Valdinor or something, smiling shyly at him.
Well, there were many ways to kill time. Some were more pleasant than others.
He picked up the drink and headed for the empty seat next to the other mer.