I would like to thank AlienSlof, for hosting this fanfic on her site before I decided to submit it to , and Bethesda Softworks, who created one of the most thoroughly enjoyable games I have ever played.

The story has already been completed up to chapter 9 of 10. I am currently in the process of completing the last chapter and revising and editing the first nine.

Thanks for reading!

--Astion

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The Middas night was cold and gloomy. It always was during Frostfall. Masser and Secundus were high in the sky, casting their combined glow on Sadrith Mora. The freezing night air penetrated the skin and chilled to the bone, and thin, wispy strands of mist floated over the beaten streets. The massive silhouette of the Telvanni tower of Tel Naga, home to Master Neloth, reared out of the darkness; magnificent, curving spires reaching up to the stars and casting a black shadow over most of the city. All was quiet, and nothing moved, save for a momentary flickering under the shadow of a certain housepod.

Under the housepod, a small boy of nine winters, whose name was Reyes Drinar, shivered in the dark. He folded his knees up and clutched them close to his body, trying to keep warm. His only possesions were the clothes on his back and what money he could steal from passers-by. No one walked the streets tonight, and seldom did in winter. Reyes began to feel sure he would have no luck tonight.

Still, he sat in the shadow of the house, having nowhere else to go. He had been kicked out several times from the Gateway Inn because he could not pay, The Hole in the Wall tavern was much the same, and Tel Naga itself was completely out of the question. The priests at the small temple at the Council Hall had to 'Concentrate on their prayers,' and the townsfolk in Sadrith Mora did not even open at his knocks. Even the Imperial Cult at Wolverine Hall shooed him away, because they were particularly extremist, fresh from Cyrodiil, and claimed he was heathen.

In fact, he was. He was heathen in the Imperial Cult churches. He was heathen in the Temple. He was heathen in every organised religious establishment this cruel land had to offer, for he no longer believed in anything except that the world was filled with ignorant, arrogant, lofty people who did not have a loaf of bread to give a poor waif, even though their larders were stacked to the top with bread, meat and drink.

As Reyes thought these things, he felt a warm tear slide down his left cheek. He swatted it away like an insect, and shook his head wildly. No tears. Tears would not help. They never did. He snarled to regain his angry composure. They did not help when his mother died. They did not help when he was cast into the streets of the city with no one and nothing to help him. They did not help to turn the Tribunal's or the Divines heads when he sobbed up at the uncaring sky.

Gradually, the ocean of emotions clashing against the rocks of his heart calmed, and he sat there in the strength-sapping cold Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, he lay down beneath the housepod, resting his head on the gravel and trying to block out the cold.

Usually, Reyes' dreams were vivid, colourful – he often found dreams a warm reprieve from cold and frank reality. Tonight, however, it was different. In his dream, he saw nothing, as if a blindfold had been pulled over his eyes. Seeming to come from all around him was a heavy, guttural voice, clearly speaking to him, though he could not understand the words.

There was a shuffling sound on the cobbled street. Reyes half-heard it, and the dream was suddenly gone. He awoke, and lifted his head to look.

There was a cloaked, huddled form trudging down the road, hunched over in the cold. Suddenly fully awake, Reyes' lost interest in the houses lining the cobbled street, and disregarded the curving, moonlit roots of Tel Naga, vaguely visible in the half-dark. All he saw was the bulging, black leather purse that was strapped to the dark man's belt.

Cautiously, not making the slightest noise, Reyes rose into a crouch, supporting himself on the ball of his foot. Spreading his arms wide to steady himself, he began walking in a crouch, bending his knees in a heel-toe step. The houses in this part of Sadrith Mora were close together, and he walked under the small mushroom buildings; upon reaching the edge of the shadow, he would put a small spring in his step, launching himself softly forward and slipping into the shadow of the next house.

The houses Reyes was crouching under were grown out of a long hill curving to the left, parallel to the road. The hill was caused by a massive root growing from the tower of Tel Naga which had slowly caked over with dirt and stone during its many years of existence. As he followed the hill, and the cloaked figure he stalked, the moons, which were on his right, swiveled further right as they progressed. Reyes waited for the moons to be completely behind him, so this man could not easily see him. This happened just as the hill ran into the ground, ending in a gentle slope. Reyes increased his pace slightly, stepping lightly, drawing ever closer to that purse.

Then he was hot on the man's heels, immediately behind him, and was reaching for the black leather bundle.

Reyes considered himself a skilled pickpocket. He would loosen a string bag just enough to allow for a bigger opening, and not enough for it to open up its contents to spill. He would relax his hand, moving it in the same pattern as the swaying of the victim's walk. With his thumb and index finger, he would tug lightly on the strings, feeling them undo slightly. Then, he would reach in with a single hand and withdraw just the first few top coins, one with every step he took, so that the owner would not feel their weight leaving the bag. Then he would creep away into the night, and nobody would be the wiser. In his three years of pickpocketing, he had had his measure of close calls, but he had never been caught.

Which is why he was so alarmed when, almost before he even touched the strings, in a fluid whirl, the man spun around and grabbed Reyes' forearm.

'You!' The man half shouted in a rasping, cruel voice, twisting the boy's arm.

Reyes gasped as the man's strong, somehow sharp hands gripped him tighter and tighter. He uttered a small cry of pain, and sank to his knees. The man just watched him grovel, almost reveling in his pain. 'Come.' He finally said, and tugged on the boy's arm. 'Stand up!' Reyes could do nothing but obey at the harsh command. The man began to half-drag, half lead him through the cold streets of Sadrith Mora.

Reyes' eyes were fixed on the terrifying Dunmer that was hauling him along. Malice seemed to seep out from his very body. He could sense it right through his woolen brown cloak. It was only when he looked around for a second to see if anyone was he could call out to was watching, he realised where he was, and where he was going. He refused to believe it at first, but when he managed to catch a glimpse under the man's arm, he could see the single, thick, perfectly curving root that was the slave market that he fully understood who his captor was. It was Galdin Llethis, the slavemaster of Sadrith Mora.

'You can't do this!' pleaded Reyes 'My father is a Lawman of House Telvanni! When he finds out I've been kidnapped by you, he'll-'

'You are a street brat.' Hissed Llethis 'You have no parents. I've seen you sleeping in the roots of the houses, creeping around and pick pocketing people. I've heard you sniveling about your dead mother. Don't lie to me boy, or it'll cost you. I'm your master now.'

At this point, they had reached the pens. Llethis reached into one of his pockets and produced a key. Holding Reyes firmly, he inserted the key into a small chest on a table at the base of the root. Although it was dark, Reyes could see a glint in the chest. He knew the glint. He had sneaked into Tel Naga once (he still had the scars) and attempted, unsuccessfully, to steal something from the desk of an enchanter, an amulet. It had the same glint on its surface, even though it was made entirely of cloth.

Galdin removed the object from the chest. Reyes could see that it was a shackle of some kind. He pulled the boy forward, and clapped the bracer shut on his arm.

Instantly, Reyes felt all the hope and care drain out of him. He felt completely indifferent to everything around him, save for a dull hot pain in his arm, suppressed with the sapping power of the bracer. He was barely conscious of being led up the root, and shoved into the topmost pod, and was aware of a faraway, grating noise as the badly rusted hinges of the cage brought the wooden bars of the cage around him.

He supposed that the slavemaster had left. For a while he sat mutely in his pod, before sliding onto the floor and falling into a restless, comatose sleep.