Chapter 1 (The Ashes Settle)
Riften lived up to every bit of its reputation as a bustling port. The city was a beautiful assault on the senses; alive with sights, sounds and smells. The market served as the center of business, surrounded by various shops, a temple, and what An'wyn could only classify as a small castle. A good portion of the city had been built on a wooden platform with canals below. The labyrinth of waterways had been useless for decades, but the soft lapping of water helped most visitors forget that fact. Not that many visitors often traveled to the lower level, there wasn't much to see in any case. The Ratway was the most frequented area there, and visitors weren't welcome. The poor, homeless and otherwise derelict folks laid claim to the tunnels under the city. If you weren't a familiar face, the Ratway wasn't a safe place. Down there, being a well-known face didn't guarantee your safety anyway.
It wasn't quite what the young Khajiit had expected, its main reputation revolving around the nefarious Thieves' Guild. Then again, having never been to or heard of Skyrim, much less Riften, An'wyn hadn't been sure what to expect at all. Most of the time it appeared to be a busy place, full of people who seemed to be constantly on the move. Though they were always on some mission or errand, most people seemed rather friendly.
She spent her first few days watching interactions in the market between all of the strangers. At first she assumed they were mostly humans because they lacked fur. But, as the days passed and she could pay closer attention to the repetitive faces, she realized how wrong she'd been. There were just as many elves as humans; a decent amount of Argonians; and a handful of Orcs.
An'wyn recalled the brief lessons from her mother, on the different races while they journeyed across Tamriel. Humans were similar in height and shape to Khajiit and came in various colors and sizes. Unlike her people, they had no fur and their ears were on the side of their heads instead of on top. That had made An'wyn laugh as she'd imagined them turning to catch sound like her own did. (Her mother had told her, the Khajiit were the most beautiful of all Nirni's children, and that was why the Khajiit had fur.) She saw elves, which she picked out by their varying skin tones, all more appealing in her opinion, than those of the humans. The Orcs were easier yet for her to distinguish because of their dark color skin, hulking size, and mashed faces. They had traveled with a group of Argonians through Cyrodiil, so she was most familiar with the lizard-men. The elders had warned the cubs to stay away from the Argonians as they traveled, though An'wyn was still uncertain why.
Still, she couldn't tell who might be connected to the Guild, and she doubted asking about the group would get her any answers. So An'wyn resorted to asking a few of the more social citizens if they knew how she could find Sapphire. If anyone had the knowledge, they weren't willing to part with it.
After a kind looking blonde woman asked where her parents were, the girl went back to silently watching. A few days later she overheard some guards asking patrons if they had seen a small Khajiit who seemed to be traveling alone. An'wyn kept out of sight then, until she found a spot to hide and wait for nightfall.
She slept lightly, her ears twitching frequently as she listened for a sound like distant thunder. There were no dreams, just remembered moments from the past ten days: The smell of flowers in the wilderness, the scent of deer and goats, a canopy of stars wrapped comfortingly around Jode and Jone. More recently: Lake Honrich's clean breezes, the smith's forge burning bright and hot at twilight, the sound of many feet shuffling over cobblestone and wooden boards.
An'wyn thought Riften at night was a rare and spectacular treasure. There were so many shadows, she could easily move around almost the entire city unnoticed. The smell of nightshade and deathbell seemed to permeate the dark air when the sun set. She witnessed a few shady dealings go on in the city's darker corners and soon guessed who some of the players in the Guild were.
For a few nights she managed to scrape by, finding hidden stashes of food or stealing. Her mother had taught her how to pick locks at an early age and the skill was put to good use in those early nights. She particularly enjoyed sneaking down to the canals to watch the moons' reflections travel across Honrich's dark surface. She'd even discovered a few hidden chests to explore, but, made sure to avoid the Ratway.
One night she followed a cloaked figure for some time as the thief snuck through the alleys and gardens like a maze. She wasn't sure why she suspected the person was a thief, other than the silent, measured way they crept through the city's shadows. For a moment, An'wyn feared she'd lost her mark and rushed forward. A shadow suddenly detached itself from the wall in front of her as she rounded a corner, nearly causing her to scream with fright.
"You're not as sneaky as you think, child," a feminine voice hissed. "I'm a very private person and it upsets me greatly when people don't respect that," the figure warned, her features hidden in the shadow of her cloak.
"An'wyn is sorry," the girl squeaked, unsure what she should say. "This one seeks the woman they call Sapphire. Sitara, the mother to this one, has need of her. Can you help?" She wasn't sure if she should trust the thief with the full truth of the situation.
The figure snorted softly, but her features remained hidden, giving the little Khajiit nothing to work with. "Sapphire? There's a name I ain't heard in a while," the woman said thoughtfully. "She retired back when Sibbi Blackbriar was Jarl, and left Riften. Last I heard she'd been hired to escort a group through Cyrodiil. Ain't heard from her in a few years."
The woman seemed to size up the girl, her arms crossed over her chest in a surly manner. It unnerved An'wyn that she couldn't read the woman's face. Eyes could tell many things about people, her mother used to say; the core of them, who they were. She frowned, though her gaze kept searching the shrouded face.
"Sapphire never mentioned having Khajiit associates. Are you sure you heard the name right?" She asked.
An'wyn shrugged. In truth, she couldn't be positive that's what her mother had said. Here, in the safety of Riften's walls, the night of her mother's death felt like it had been years ago and doubt began to creep into her thoughts. "An'wyn is uncertain, forgive this one for following you. No disrespect was meant by An'wyn," she gave a slight bow of her head and turned to leave.
A brisk wind blew, fluttering the woman's cloak and the girl's skirt. The night was damp, the smell of rain hung heavy in the air. The thief had seen the little Khajiit lurking around the market before, many days in a row. She was nearly certain the child had nowhere dry or warm to sleep, perhaps no one to go to. The wind blew again and she saw the girl shudder. A sudden pang of sympathy touched the woman and she sighed softly.
"The Temple of Mara never locks the doors, not even in the midnight hours," she called to the girl. A slight twitch of ears was the only indication she had heard.
An'wyn managed a few more days scavenging. The little lean-to in the alley was comfortable enough for times she slept. But, her second week in the city found her hungry and cold more often than not. She recalled what the thief had said about the Temple, but, couldn't bring herself to go in.
Another night brought another storm, this one more ferocious than any of the others. She could hear the lake crashing hungrily against the walls from where she huddled. All of her clothing, except the dress she wore, had been lost in the attack. And after nearly three weeks of travel and wear, her dress was in desperate need of some repairs. Luckily, she'd stumbled across a cloak drying in the sun early in the week. It was entirely too big for her, but worked well as a blanket when she curled up in it.
Thunder had been rumbling in the distance for a few hours now, creeping closer as the time wore on. The fury of the storm grew louder, the wind shrieking through trees and alleys. Lightning turned the darkness brilliant in a flash, and An'wyn recalled her brush with the dragon. Another roar of thunder had her heart pounding. As the storm's rage increased, the young cub felt trapped in a waking nightmare: Stuck between her knowledge of the current storm, and the vicious attack that haunted her. Lightning lit up the sky again and she did the only thing she could; she ran.
As she hurried through the open now, the rain was blinding. It came down in sheets, turning the dirt path slick beneath her feet. Ahead and to the right, she spotted the muted torches through the onslaught. She stumbled up the stairs as another blast of wind hit her with gale force.
An'wyn came to a dead stop as she recognized the Temple doors. Her amber eyes searched the area, desperate to find another option. Thunder crashed again, louder this time. She shuddered as images of fire-breath and snapping jaws flashed through her mind.
Her heart pounded loudly as she stared at the door. She was unfamiliar with the Gods of Skyrim. What if their Mara was nothing like hers? The Mother Cat had always been a guardian of love, from the moment Fadomai brought her into being. An'wyn jumped as another crash of thunder shook the air and she pulled the cloak around her tightly. She'd heard a few of the priests and priestesses preaching around the market on some occasions. She was revered as a Goddess of Love here, a protector of the weak and families. Would a Goddess of men, who seemed to share so many attributes with her own Mother Cat, be able to look past the grime and faults to accept her? A Khajiit? Could Skyrim's Mara perhaps find a cure for the loneliness that became more crushing with each day?
Lightning and thunder came together this time and suddenly her fear of the Temple was forgotten. An'wyn slipped inside the darkened temple, her feline eyes adjusting almost instantly. Another crack of thunder shook the windows but, this time the sound was muted through the walls. She crouched near the door for a few heartbeats, calming her nerves and scanning the layout.
When she was certain she was alone, she crept to the fireplace at the front of the room. She risked standing in the open long enough for the warmth to take hold. Under the hood, her ears twitched back and forth as she listened for anyone walking about. A subtle scent caught her attention. Her nose twitched and she licked her lips as she identified it as some sort of stew.
Silently she followed the mouthwatering aroma, sniffing the air to navigate the building. Down some stairs and towards the back of the basement was the kitchen. An'wyn took a quick peek inside and found the room empty. The smell was stronger and her hand went to her stomach as it grumbled hungrily.
Her gaze swept the hall quickly, reassuring herself she was alone before creeping into the room. She went to the pot simmering over the fire and inhaled deeply. Her stomach growled again at the delicious scent and she licked her lips to keep her mouth from watering. There was a spoon on the table next to the fireplace that she grabbed and used to stir the stew. A fresh whiff of cooked meat invaded her nose as she filled the spoon and brought it closer to examine.
The girl picked a piece of hoarker from the spoon and popped it into her mouth. The fatty meat was hot but she didn't mind, it tasted delicious. She sipped the broth tentatively and decided it should have more garlic. Her gaze roved the herbs above her head, looking for the white bulbs she was familiar with.
An'wyn stepped onto a stool next to her, needing the extra height to reach what she wanted. Her fingertips brushed against the braid of garlic but she still couldn't quite grab ahold of it. She sighed softly and tried again, determined to achieve her goal. Unfortunately, she overestimated her balance and before she could react, she tumbled to the floor noisily.
She frowned as she glanced around her. The stool had ended up on its side after spilling the cooking pot onto the floor. The stew was a massive puddle, slowly seeping closer to where she was just now getting her bearings. The noise was enough to bring someone running, she thought as she stared at the mess for a moment. What if they found her, she wondered.
An'wyn scrambled to her feet, an ear twitching at the sound of a door opening and closing upstairs. She dashed back to the hall, her heart hammering in her chest as she scanned the darkness. A creak on the stairs prompted her to quietly run to the door at the far end of the hall. Luckily it was unlocked and she quickly ducked inside, closing the door as silently as possible.
In the far back corner were a bunch of barrels, holding stocks of food or ale no doubt. She wiggled her way among them and crouched down to wait. She took a few calming breaths as she willed her heart to slow down. Her gaze settled on the door, her tail twitching as she anxiously strained to hear what was happening outside the room.
Priest Dirkas sat at the table in the library, working on his book about the recovery of Riften since the Stormcloak Uprising. The few other priests and acolytes had retired nearly two hours earlier, leaving him to silent reflection. It was a break that he was, as always, grateful to have.
Dirkas had been in Skyrim for thirty years now, having taken up with a group of mercenaries after he'd left Morrowind. During his twenty years of traveling, he'd been many places and had learned a great amount of things. But, since arriving in Skyrim and settling in Riften, the old Dunmer had given up discovery for sharing what he'd learned by putting ink to paper.
His first book, a brief account on distilling troll fat and falmer blood then mixing it with powdered blisterwort to make a burn salve that was especially effective on horses and Orcs, had been very popular and the Priest decided it was a worthy pursuit. He'd published a few more books on various new techniques he'd learned traveling Tamriel, and had come to enjoy his quiet life. The nightmares still seemed to come to him every few nights, but his work with the Temple had greatly reduced their power over him.
His crimson gaze dropped to the manuscript again as he dove into his editing once more.
It is a well known, though little discussed, fact that the Blackbriars have had a hand in the political and daily running of Riften for generations. The Stormcloak Uprising had little effect on that. The family has always had strong ties to the Empire, and when Ulfric was finally defeated, their loyalty was richly rewarded. Maven was named Jarl and held onto the title until her untimely death, fifteen years later, when her son Sibbi gained it. There were some rumors that the Dark Brotherhood was involved in some way. After all, Sibbi gained the most with his mother's passing.
Riften prospered under Sibbi's twenty year rule. More homesteads sprung up around Lake Honrich and trade with Cyrodiil blossomed. The city seemed to attract even more of a variety of culture and people, even welcomed the influx of refugees from Black Marsh and Elsweyr. The last few years of his reign were dedicated to tamping down the control the Thieves' Guild had managed to gain, stating that he thought no one group should have so much control over the trade and merchants in the city.
Rognir Blackbriar has been Jarl for five years now, having risen to power once his father's health forced him to step down. If the city had done well with Sibbi at the helm, it just got stronger under the rule of his son: Shore's Stone had began to benefit from the increased trade and travelers. The little mining camp had become quite popular with people leaving Riften in pursuit of their own space. A few farms dotted the countryside around the little area, and a sprawling estate of a well known carpenter brought more business to the town. His shop was located in what was now called the town proper. The Thieves' Guild thrived again, the neglect they'd suffered with Sibbi was at an end under Rognir. They gained a firm and unchallenged hold over the Rift.
All in all, Riften has fared well over the four decades since the Uprising. None could complain, even if Jarl Rognir had recently started restricting certain trade and imposing higher taxes on anything that didn't come from the East Empire Company directly. The city is alive and growing every day, and no one can seem to find a problem with that.
A loud crash came from the kitchen, drawing the priest's attention. He wondered if a skeever had found a way up from the sewers. After a moment he remembered he had put some hoarker stew on to simmer about an hour ago. "Damn rodents," he cursed and set aside his quill.
As Dirkas neared the kitchen, he heard the distinct creek of the storeroom door down the hall. He risked a peek into the open door of the kitchen as he passed. The pot of stew had been the source of the commotion and now lay in a puddle seeping over the floor.
"Wonderful," he sighed as he continued on to the end of the hall. He paused outside the door and cast a detect life spell. He could see the energy of the small creature hiding inside.
Dirkas opened the door slowly. "I know you're here," he demanded in a harsh whisper. "Show yourself now and I'll contemplate letting you live."
There was a small whimper from the back corner. He moved towards a group of barrels with a silent grace he hadn't had use for in nearly fifty years. He paused just on the other side, a hand ready to cast a spell if the need arose. "I won't wait much longer. Come out now, this is your last chance," the Dunmer warned.
He watched with calm indifference as, what appeared to be a shadow, wiggled out from behind the barrels. But his indifference quickly became sympathy as the figure drew closer. It was a Khajiit cub, very young, maybe seven or so, if the man had to guess. The child shivered, wrapped in a soaked cloak that was grossly too large on its wispy frame and probably did little to keep it warm. He frowned slightly as long buried memories began to stir and he remembered another time he'd coaxed a child from the safety of a hiding spot.
"Please, sir, do not hurt this one. An'wyn did not mean to make a mess of your delicious stew. This one is so hungry. When An'wyn was warming by the fire, this one could smell the stew and could not help but find it," the cub said softly, her gaze dropped in shame.
Dirkas snorted softly. "No, I suppose you didn't mean to waste all that food, but still, it's been done," he sighed. He reached out a hand to push back the hood, surprised when she stood trembling in acceptance. He'd never spent much time with Khajiit, Elsywer was the only province he hadn't visited in his travels, but he knew they had little trust for people not of their clan. "What of your parents, child? Or your clan? Surely a young one such as yourself isn't traveling alone?"
Amber eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety, her ears constantly twitching as she watched him. Her tail flicked back and forth in small, jerky movements and she seemed to sniff the air in his direction. Those eyes though, he thought, seemed to be able to look deep into your soul it seemed. And despite her nervous fiddling, there was a deep stillness in her gaze. Briefly he wondered if she were a spectre sent to haunt him for the contentment he'd discovered here. She's simply a child, he chided himself for his momentary superstitious thinking.
She seemed to have decided something and she took a shaky breath. "The caravan was attacked before it reached Skyrim. An'wyn is alone now. Mother said for this one to find Sapphire in Riften, ask for help." The child said softly and shook her head. "An'wyn is sorry to cause trouble."
"Attacked?" Dirkas asked. "By bandits? Surely you must have had warriors to protect you?"
An'wyn shook her head again. She looked at him skeptically then shrugged. "A dragon," she whispered.
A dragon? He thought the last had been hunted and slain by the Blades a few years back. She seemed like she was pretty sure of what she said, but also that she didn't quite expect him to believe her.
The man studied her for a few silent moments. He'd never had the chance to meet a Khajiit cub, but knew the Khajiit themselves were tribal people who tended to raise the young amidst the whole clan, each having something to offer in the way of knowledge and life experience. What would happen to her if she were just set to roam alone with no one to guide her? If she was looking for Sapphire, she was bound to end up on the Thieves' Guild's doorstep. The only other option was to bring her to Honorhall in the morning. Neither option sat very comfortably in the priest's mind.
The priest shook his head to clear it. "Well, how about we make a deal? If you'll come and help me clean up the mess in the kitchen, I'll find you something to eat. Does that sound like an equal trade?"
An'wyn stared at him with barely hidden desperation and nodded eagerly. "Yes."
"Good," he nodded and led her back towards the kitchen. "And then after you eat you can tell me more about this dragon that attacked your family. What did you say your name was, child?"
The cub followed silently, noticing as he glanced behind him to be sure she did. "This one is called An'wyn, sir," she said softly. She continued to follow him as he gathered some water and rags. Then, still silent, she set to work scrubbing the floor.
Two hours later An'wyn curled up near the kitchen fireplace. The Priest had tried to talk her into sleeping in one of the extra beds that were scattered around the tight living quarters of the temple, but she had asked if she could just sleep near the fire on some furs. He had reluctantly agreed, though made sure to let her know that it made him uncomfortable, especially considering the beds that sat empty.
"It is what An'wyn has always done," she tried to assure him it wasn't upsetting or demeaning for her. She simply enjoyed fire and furs, and she had missed it greatly over the past few weeks. It was like regaining a little piece of her clan.
Dirkas stood near the door, his crimson gaze still settled on her. "If you need anything, I'll be up for a while still, in the library," he offered.
An'wyn nodded once then closed her eyes tiredly. She was curious about what would keep a priest of Mara up so late, but her restless nights were starting to catch up to her. The warmth of the fire and a full stomach was more than she'd had since she'd been thrust into her new life, and it didn't take long before sleep claimed her.
Dirkas sat at the table in the library again, staring at the unfinished manuscript he'd left a few hours before. Silence had descended on the temple once more and he figured he could edit at least another chapter or two before retiring. He picked up the quill, but his thoughts went to the cub and the story she'd told.
She'd never known her father, or at least couldn't remember him. Her mother had told her he was killed in some sort of freak accident. She had been raised in a clan of extended family, though her mother and grandfather were the primary caregivers. She had talked fondly of them, and he imagined her journey alone must have been hard on the girl. It was amazing how resilient she seemed.
Dirkas wondered what he should do next. Honorhall was just across the market from the temple, it wouldn't be hard to find accommodations for her there. But who would adopt a Khajiit cub? Would she be snatched up by a mill or something? Forced to slave away as a maid of sorts? What sort of love or hope could that provide?
He shook his head slightly and sighed. It wasn't likely he'd do that, he decided. But what could he do? What sort of hope or love could he offer her either? Briefly his fingers rubbed the Amulet of Mara that was tucked in the pocket of his robes, his thoughts turning to the Altmer girl who'd given it to him, and her dying pleas. The true meaning of love, Dirkas thought as he took the amulet out to contemplate.
He didn't have much experience with love, it was even a bit difficult to remember his childhood now, though he knew it was a happy one. But, he'd dedicated a majority of his life to other things. Sure he'd had lovers from time to time, but never something he thought about holding on to for his whole life or some nonsense like that. Nor had he ever had much of a desire for children himself. What did he know about love and its meaning?
Dirkas thought about that for a while, his gaze sweeping over the shelves of books. History was his love. Perhaps, discovery and mysteries. He looked down at the waiting manuscript and was suddenly struck with an idea.
What if he taught her? She could stay at the temple and he could tutor her in history, tactics and politics. Perhaps one day she could become an ambassador and maybe strengthen ties between Elsweyr and Skyrim. An'wyn could prove that the role one was expected to play, didn't have to be the only role to play. With enough effort and desire, anyone could find their own destiny.
The thought was dismissed as quickly as it was formed. He'd be a fool to think that he'd have anything of use to offer an orphaned cub. A cast off of the Morag Tong and now a priest who lived in poverty and the charity of the good people of Riften. Raising a child was the last thing he needed on his plate.
Dirkas sighed softly and turned his attention back to his editing. Yes, he would bring the girl to Honorhall first thing in the morning. At least there someone would be able to give her a bed and feed her during the day. It was the best he could do.