When he first saw her, she was a Dunmer fugitive coming from Helgen wearing singed, mismatched Imperial armor, and asking too many questions.
She was an outlander, more out of place in the small town than he himself was, smelling of fire and fear.
It was her look of complete confusion and isolation that prompted him to say, "Greetings, sister elf, it's good to see a familiar face so far from home."
She blinked, searching his face for a glimmer of recognition. "Do I . . . know you?" she asked hesitantly.
Something about her seemed off—familiar, but he merely smiled. "No, but it is comforting to know I am not the only mer here."
"Oh," she shuffled her feet, fidgeting with the studs on her armor. "Um . . . do you know where I can buy fresh supplies? I don't have a lot of gold, but . . . " she faded off, looking at the ground, blushing madly.
"There's the Riverwood Trader across from the blacksmith. Lucan may seem harsh, but his prices are fair."
He paused for a moment. "If you're heading that way, would you give Camilla this letter, and say it's from Sven?"
The dark elf smiled timidly as she took the offered letter, their fingers brushing. His strong and calloused from his work in the mill, hers trembling slightly as she pocketed the letter and headed toward the Vallerius' shop, eyes wide and alert the entire time.
What on earth could have frightened her so badly?
She returned several hours later, with newly forged leather armor and news of Camilla's newfound detest for the bard.
"Thank you," Faendal said gratefully, he handed her a small coin purse. "Here, it's not much—Just a little money I've saved from working at the mill. I want you to have it." He knew it wasn't much, but her eyes widened.
"Thank you," she breathed, already thinking of the supplies she could buy once in Whiterun. They said their goodbyes and Faendal was already walking away when she called after him.
"What do you know of Bleak Falls Barrow?"
Faendal took a moment to reply, his voice grave. "I know enough about it that I would never go there alone, or after dark. Why?"
She looked away hurriedly. "I was just asked to get something from it, a golden claw. And I was wondering . . ." She fiddled with the hilt of her sword. "I wanted to ask if . . . If it wasn't inconvenient . . . If you would like to . . ."
"You wanted to ask if I would accompany you," he stated.
The dark elf paled slightly. "I wasn't trying to sound so brash, but I don't know anything about Skyrim's customs or her people or anything."
"Well, I do have my responsibilities at the mill . . ." She tried to hide it, but her face fell. " . . . But, I guess a few days won't hurt. I'll accompany you through the barrow and then safely to Whiterun."
The relief and gratitude in her eyes was immediate. Did all Dunmer wear their hearts on their sleeves such as this one?
"Thank you," she said again.
"I didn't catch your name," Faendal commented as they left Riverwood.
"It's . . . Joi," she said nervously.
"That's an odd name for a Dunmer." The unspoken question was obvious.
"I—I can't remember my name," she mumbled, eyes downcast. "I woke up this morning with no memories, on a cart bound for Helgen . . . and my execution, for something I had no part in, no memory of."
Joi sucked in an apprehensive breath, obviously she hadn't wanted to share that and said in one, babbling breath, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to say something like that and I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable and I didn't mean to say something so personal. I just wanted someone to come with me because I just needed a companion and I wasn't trying to be rude but it just sorta' came out and—"
"It's fine," Faendal reassured. He hadn't known somebody could talk that fast.
"I'm sorry," she said again almost hysterically. "I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not," Faendal heartened quickly. "I apologize for asking."
Joi gave him a small, grateful smile. "I'm the one who chose to tell you." She let out a wry chuckle. "You're the first person I've actually had a chance to talk to."
"It's refreshing isn't it?" he said.
She gave him her first genuine smile. "Yes. Yes it is."
"Well, Joi," Faendal said. "Now that we're properly acquainted, are you ready for another adventure?"
Just like that, the smile vanished.
"No," she replied seriously. "The last one nearly killed me. Twice." Technically it had been more than that if you wanted to count the Imperials that had tried to kill her, the dragon, and the impending doom of her execution.
"Then you're almost as experienced as I am," he joked. The ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow came into view, the crumbling columns looking like dry, broken ribs.
The dark elf glared at him. "Let's try not to break that record."
An arrow whizzed past them, burying itself at their feet.
"Too late," he sang, already loosing an arrow of is own. He charged up the steps, leaving Joi to follow after him.
"Stupid elf," she growled, though grinning. She drew her sword and rushed after him.
Faendal opened his eyes with a start, slipping off the chair and landing with a thump on the floor. For a moment he could've sworn he was still at the barrow, but the he recognized his surroundings.
The Frozen Hearth. He breathed a sigh of relief. They would be safe now. From her secrets and his.