"Master, please! Don't do this! Let's just stay here, we don't need to open the door!"
"Ruthalia," he said her name softly, with a smile that spread over his face. Despite his age, Ruthalia still found his face handsome, its features daring, courageous – it spoke of everything about him. But the master had aged, indeed. They had been on the run for quite a while now. For longer than either of them would have liked.
The master had grown quieter ever since they had received a strange letter, many months ago now. Ruthalia held it in her hands, staring at the door, her legs wary from travel.
All the letter showed was the mark of a black hand, fingers spread, and a single message underneath – We know.
"The Dark Brotherhood," she heard her master whisper when he had first looked at it, the same night they had left their little cottage up in the mountains.
Ruthalia didn't understand and the master avoided her every question. No matter how much she begged, he would not tell her what was going on. All he had said was that they needed to leave quickly.
As they were running from the enemy, the Dark Brotherhood, as her master had called them, Ruthalia had tried to figure it out for herself. Her master had always said she had a lot of wit.
"Are they here because you killed those men, Master?" she asked again. But the master did not answer this time, either. Instead, there was another heavy knock on the door.
They had blown out all the candles in the room and stood in almost complete darkness. All the light they had was the light of the full, bright moon on the cloudless night sky. It shone through the windows like a celestial beacon. A strong breeze rattled against the wooden house, whistling and whispering about untold secrets, conspiracies and betrayal.
"Did Eric say anything, Master?"
"I don't know, Ruth," the master sighed quietly.
"It was Eric, wasn't it? It's all his fault! He told somebody about it, didn't he? And now we're in trouble. I am not letting them get you, Master!" Ruthalia's voice became louder despite the master's hissed advice to remain silent. "Why won't you tell me?! After all we have been through! Am I still too young? I am almost fourteen summers old now, Master! I have proven my-"
Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed Ruthalia around the waist and picked her up, one hand covering her mouth, smothering her words.
She heard a loudcrack, like splintering wood. A lot of splintering wood …
Ruthalia managed to peak over her master's shoulder as ran into the kitchen with her. She saw three people, dressed in pitch-black robes, had broken in the door and were now looking around. It didn't take them long, however, to find their prey.
Ruthalia thought she saw glowing red eyes behind the hoods, and though she didn't see it, she felt their insidious grin on her skin like cold fog.
The master turned left, heading into the basement with her, threw Ruthalia down the hidden trap door. He slammed it shut behind her, and she was alone. Ruthalia heard him lock the door, then draw his blade and charge back up the stairs.
Silence did not last long. She heard the sounds of metal hitting metal. She heard them talk but couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded like they were amused.
Ruthalia shivered.
Why had the master locked her down here? Was she not good enough to fight at his side? Had she done something wrong? Maybe she had been too childish. Maybe her outrage a few minutes earlier had enraged the master! She didn't want to make him mad! He meant everything to her! Oh, how she wished to escape and go to his aid.
She still had her dagger in her boot. Tugging it out, Ruthalia attempted to pick the lock on the trap door.
They had not been in the house for more than a couple of days, and all she knew was that her master had used this room for storage. Why had he thrown her in here ? She could have helped him, could have fought with him!
Aha!
Finally, she heard a barely audible click and the door inched open. Without hesitation she peaked out into the corridor. She didn't see anything or anyone, but she didn't dare call for her master either. He had told her to be quiet, after all.
Slowly, Ruthalia crawled out of the narrow, small room and looked around carefully, her dagger still held firmly in one hand.
Her heart pounded wildly, she thought it would break through her chest at any moment. Surely, the intruders must be hearing it. Any second now they would come down the stairs and get her. And then, the master would be really mad at her.
The silence was so heavy, Ruthalia wondered if the master had made it out safely, or had chased the intruders off, or fled … something. He had to be out there somewhere, waiting for her to meet up with him. He knew that he could count on his little hawk. Right?
Ruthalia tiptoed up the few stairs, flinching with every creak they made.
Oh goddess, please don't let them hear me! she prayed.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she made it up the stairs and peaked around the corners.
Nobody was in the kitchen.
Nobody was in the hallway.
"There you are, little elf! And we were just wondering where you'd gone!" The man appeared out of nowhere. He covered her mouth with a meaty hand and whispered in her pointed ear. She felt his hot breath on her skin, the hairs on her neck stood up and a shiver went down her spine.
"Thought you could escape us, hm? Well, you've been a little overconfident about that, haven't you? But don't worry, you'll be save with us. I am sure you'll turn out to be quite the skilled killer. Just like your master, aha?" He chuckled at her and Ruthalia felt sick. Her every organ tightened up and she was close to vomiting.
She felt something hot and sticky running down her own chin. A metallic smell crawled up her nostrils like something evil and corrupted.
Blood!
He has blood on his hands!
"You like that smell? Good, I do too. We have whole tubes full of it in our little sanctuary. I am sure you will like it there. I am sure you – ouch! You little rat!"
She quickly wiped the blood off her lips and spat several times. The man who had captured her now held his hand close to his chest, nursing the teeth marks in his palm. Ruthalia could see that his face had turned into a grotesque masque of anger, despite the lack of light. But she didn't hesitate much longer. She headed for the exit but, just as she passed through the doorway, she crashed against another person. They both toppled and rolled across the ground for several feet before they came to a stop.
The hood of the stranger had fallen back and revealed the face of a young woman; dark blond hair was held together tightly with a piece of string, but it was the eyes Ruthalia would remember distinctly. Eyes so black and deep, the night itself would have been jealous. Those dark eyes stared back into Ruthalia's, expressing such anger and hatred that it made Ruthalia's skin crawl. With a gasp she leaped off the woman and continued her flight.
Despite the situation she couldn't help but take a deep breath of the fresh air. It felt wonderful after having been locked in the house for so long and she closed her eyes for just a second to enjoy the air filling her lungs as she stumbled over something soft and limp. Ruthalia landed on her knees and hands and turned around to see what it was. It had felt strange and …"No!" she gasped, her eyes big and her mouth dropped open in disbelief. The first thick tears collected in her eyes and ran down her cheek, dripping onto the dry earth.
Her limbs began to shake, her body to shiver, and her heart to pound so heavy and hard against her chest that it hurt. But none of this mattered.
Not the intruders that were catching up with her, not the hooting owl in the distance, not the bugs flying through the humid, stuffy air, not the rustling of the leaves in the wind …
She turned around all the way and knelt before the corpse she had stumbled over. The corpse of the only person left in her life, the only person she had ever trusted and loved. The only person that she could ever call family.
"Haha, oh sweety! No worries, you'll get over it. Trust me, the killing makes it all better. He could have just surrendered, you know, he could have just -"
With a thump the assassin fell to the ground.
Ruthalia reached for another arrow to shoot the other person, the woman, but the second she looked away the woman vanished as quickly as she had appeared. As quickly as they had turned Ruthalia's whole world upside down.
She silently swore herself to get revenge, but for now she would let her go; too tired and too exhausted to even think about giving chase.
Slowly, almost attentive, she put the bow back down next to her master.
Her master's bow.
How many times had she begged him to let her shoot it? … Never had she imagined it would be like this, at such a time, in such a moment.
Ruthalia closed her hazel brown eyes tightly and let the tears flow quietly and the sadness shake her body. She wrapped her arms around herself and bent down, resting her forehead on her master's chest. There was no heartbeat. Not anymore.
She suddenly sat up with a loud gasp and almost fell off her horse.
She looked around anxiously, her hand shooting to the blade on her side, ready to defend herself any minute. But nothing came, no deadly strike nor blow.
She took a deep breath and realized that she had fallen asleep atop her horse as she had been on her way to Riverwood.
"I must have been more exhausted than I thought," she mumbled.
Her horse blew out its nose as if to say it knew that all along. Ruthalia smiled and petted her feral friend gently.
The sun was preparing to settle down for the day as Ruthalia noticed the little village in the distance. Only a few minutes later she stopped before the wooden inn and got off her horse. She hired one of the kids that was playing nearby to take care of it for the night. The boy gladly accepted with a big grin and lead the horse away, his friends following him excitedly.
Ruthalia smiled but hesitated. Bits of the dream were still floating through her head like an angry swarm of bees, and just as painful, but she shook her head to clear her uneasy mind and forced the remaining images away, and opened the tavern door.
The inside was like Vilemyr, yet it had something a little more special to Ruthalia. She liked Riverwood. She had liked it the moment she had first set foot in it. It was a very cozy little village, with a lot of nature surrounding and embracing it, and pleasant people living in it. She preferred it over all the other places she had been to in Skyrim, so far. It reminded her of her homeland.
She stepped in further, thinking about the many tree houses in Valenwood and nearly crashed into one of the servants.
The woman wore a plain, beige dress with a few patches of blue and green that had been sewed on very poorly, by the looks of it. She had long, dark blond hair that was tied together in a soft pony tail that went down to about her upper back.
Ruthalia couldn't quite tell, but she had a feeling that she had seen this person before.
Just where … ?
"We don't get many travelers here in Riverwood. How can I help you?" she greeted casually, stemming her arms - which Ruthalia noticed were very strong and buff for a woman's - against her waist.
"I want to … rent the attic room;" Ruthalia replied.
That was all it took for her opponent to understand who she was dealing with. A little sparkle appeared in the corner of her eye and her smile became slightly mischievous.
"Attic room, eh? Well … we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."
Ruthalia did not catch what she was saying right away and wrinkled her forehead. The woman made a gesture to the left, leading to the mentioned room. With a nod and an uncertain smile Ruthalia dismissed herself and headed towards it.
She looked over her shoulder, despite her usual behavior of secrecy and caution. It took only a few moments before the woman joined her.
"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you are looking for this."
Surprise spread over Ruthalia's face as she handed her a horn, long and thick and spiral; ancient signs and patterns carved into it. She ran her fingers over it admiringly, but was jolted out of her admiration and surprise as the woman snapped her fingers.
"We need to talk. Follow me." With those words she took off, heading to the opposite direction of Ruthalia's room.
Obviously a woman you don't wanna mess with, Ruthalia thought with a scowl, shrugged and put the horn safely away.
The room they entered was a little bigger and fancier than the other ones. It had a luxurious double bed and green blankets were spread over it neatly. A long, wooden table stood next to it and plates with sweet rolls, bowls with apples and carrots sat on top of it. A smaller table was to Ruthalia's right, along with a chair at its side, papers and books spread all over.
"Close the door," the woman demanded, and Ruthalia obeyed but gave the woman another scowl.
The stranger opened the doors of a tall, old wardrobe which happened to be empty. At first, Ruthalia thought this was all a big joke as the woman now knocked against the wooden back but, as it turned out to be a secret entrance, she lifted her brows in surprise and remained quiet.
She followed the woman down the stairs that lead into a hidden room. It was about the same size as the previous one, but stacked with weapon racks, shelves, some hay bays, a dummy holding a shield in one corner, a few chests and in the middle was a wooden table. Sprawling across the entire surface was a big map, which Ruthalia failed to read. She stepped up right next to the woman and looked down on it uncertainly.
"The Graybeards seem to think you are the Dragonborn. I hope they're right," she started the conversation after a moment of silence, pulling Ruthalia's attention back to her.
"I don't like it myself, if that's what you mean," said Ruthalia. "I never asked for all this but I am afraid the Graybeards are right, I am Dragonborn."
"I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Graybeards say so. I just handed you the horn of Jurgen Windaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?" she answered, rather flippant. Ruthalia narrowed her eyes and watched the woman more closely. She didn't like her.
"What do you want with me?" she asked.
"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I am not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."
Ruthalia hesitated for a second. The deeper she involved herself in whatever this was, the less likely it seemed she'd be able to back out. She nodded anyways. "Go on. I am listening."
"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you … Well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."
"How do I know I can trust you?" Ruthalia shot back.
"If you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place."
"Why did you take the horn from Ustengrav, then?"
"I knew the Graybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Graybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."
Ruthalia had never heard of a group called Thalmor before and she wasn't really sure if she was interested anyway. This woman had some issues. She had just sent her a letter, expecting her to go and meet her like a good puppy and then agree to whatever she said and prove to her who she really was; to prove that she was a legend that all these people in this goddamned place seemed to need so badly. But had anyone even asked her?
Ruthalia noticed that she had dug her nails into the wood of the table, so slowly relaxed and let go. She let out a deep sigh and decided to go along some more. "You said the Thalmor are after you? Who are they? You need me to kill them? I am sorry but I don't do killing. If you need me to steal something, fine but -"
"Yes," the woman interrupted. "We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now," she finished, totally ignoring most of Ruthalia's questions, but before she could ask any more, she continued, "What is important is that you might be Dragonborn."
This whole Dragonborn fuss again! Ruthalia thought angrily, trying very hard not to let it show.
Wasn't she already helping the Graybeads? Had they not warned her of something more evil than the Draugr? Maybe this was what they were talking about. Maybe this woman, that had randomly demanded her to come and meet with her, had something planned. Something to overthrow the old monks, perhaps? She definitely seemed rude and angry enough.
"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?" Ruthalia asked, hoping to squeeze more information out of her that way, since the woman was obviously not going to answer much.
"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You are the only one who can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul …
"Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?" the woman pried, her tone hopeful and almost desperate. For the first time, Ruthalia saw actual emotions on the stranger's face, besides the cold mask she had shown her ever since they had been talking.
Ruthalia hesitated again. She had the feeling that she needed to be careful around this woman, she did not know why, however.
Maybe it was her enthusiasm and obvious hatred towards the Graybeards, and what she had called the 'Thalmor'. She didn't sound like she had any interest in Ruthalia at all as a person. It was clear that she saw her as a weapon to end whatever she was afraid of. And something told Ruthalia that it was not just the dragons the woman feared.
"Yes, that's how I first learned I was Dragonborn," Ruthalia finally answered.
"Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough." With those words the woman turned around to gather some things from the shelf behind her.
Ruthalia felt awkward and oddly left out. Had she no say in this?
"So what's the part you're not telling me?" she asked.
"Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it."
The woman's behavior was driving Ruthalia more mad by the second. She acted like a trained soldier – maybe that's what she was? - and seemed to expect nothing but immediate approval and cooperation from everyone around her. Or perhaps she was just treating Ruthalia that way?
What did she know about this woman? Nothing. Other than she seems like a nutcase, Ruthalia thought, watching the woman grimly pack supplies.
"What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?"
"I know they are," she answered without stopping in what she was doing. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. And we're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."
"No, you will tell me what I want to know right now, or I don't know what's stopping me from just walking out of here," Ruthalia growled. She stepped around the table and grabbed the woman's hand, stopping her from gathering her gear.
"That would be unwise," she simply said. Ruthalia felt something cold and sharp against the back of her neck and gasped silently. She tried to look back as far as she could without letting the woman out of sight, and noticed that she pressed a dagger against Ruthalia's skin, pressing harder by the second.
She glared at the woman, wondering how she could have reacted that fast, and loosened her grip on her.
"You expect me to simply come and meet with you, then do what you tell me to and not ask any questions?" In fact, that itself wasn't a question, it was a statement since the woman's behavior was pretty obvious.
"You have no choice in this. If you want help and want to find out more, you do as I say and you will get it when I consider the time right for it." She regarded Ruthalia with a totally calm expression, not dropping a sweat.
"What makes you think the Graybeards wouldn't be support enough for me? They were the ones who called me first and honestly, who seem to be the older and more experienced ones in that matter."
"They are good at making others think a lot of things that aren't true. But it is up to you, you are right. You can choose to either come with me and rely on my promise that I will tell you more, once I am assured that you really are Dragonborn, or you walk away and … well, what Elf? What are you gonna do without efficient help?"
Ruthalia had let go of her by now and she was already turning away, packing supplies again.
Ruthalia watched her quietly for a moment or two, thinking about the question she had asked. What would she really do? Whom did she know in this country? Whom could she trust or turn to? And really, what choice did she have?
The Graybeards seemed convinced that she was The One, and had she herself not seen what she was capable of? Had she not swallowed a dragon's soul whole? Had she not felt the stirrings in her stomach? The power in her lungs?
She closed her eyes and, for a moment, she wished she wasn't here. If only she had been more careful that day the soldiers had attacked a group of hunters she knew. But she couldn't fool herself, never would she be able to just let innocent people get slaughtered. Not after …
"So, where are we headed?" she finally asked, and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the bitter taste that had gathered on her tongue.
"Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it," the woman answered, casual and cool as always. She doesn't even wonder what made me change my mind, Ruthalia thought, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Let's get on the road to Kynesgrave," were her last words when she was finally done packing and, a second later, she was already heading back up the stairs.
Ruthalia watched after her for a while, her mind racing with a thousand questions, doubts and considerations, but she did not say another word. She sighed deeply and followed the strange woman up the stairs.