Chapter 3

Rinin woke up, the sunlight streaming gently through a window and playing across the floor in narrow beams of light. Almost immediately he winced at the fierce headache he had, but..oh well. He'd had worse. Rubbing the back of his head, dark hair still tousled from sleep, he sat up, flinching as wave of lightheadedness hit him like...like...well...the aftershock of potent or voluminous liquor.

Frowning at his dizziness, he slowly made his way down the stairs, stepping carefully down the worn, wooden steps and hearing...music?

He silently made it to he foot of the stairs, red eyes aglow with curiosity. Making it to the foot of the stairs, he saw one of the most incongruous images he had ever seen.

Arrow, clad in his dark leather armor, blades strapped in various places all over his body, wearing items that literally shown with magical power and an elf who was perhaps among the deadliest of mortals to walk the face of the world, was sitting on a stool, playing a lute.

Agile fingers more suited to picking a pocket or manipulating the mechanisms of lock were splayed across the strings, precisely moving across the instrument to bring forth a quiet melody that brought to mind the images of long years and memories.

Eyes that were always on the move, searching every corner of every shadow due to long years of practice were closed and calm.

Taking another step forward, the heel of Rinin's foot scuffed the ground.

The melody immediately stopped, and the Nevarine's eyes slowly opened.

"Well now," he said. "You're awake." Arrow's scarred face lit up in a tired smile. "We have to talk."

"Of?" Rinin casually leaned in the doorway, prompting the wood elf to continue.

Arrow easily turned to face him, moving with an ease and quicksilver grace despite his apparent state of relaxation. "Not here," he remarked, indicating the room. "Outside."

* * *

"You want me to do what?"

The Bosmer looked to the seething dark elf, a faint gleam in his eyes as he regarded the Dunmer spellsword. "You know..." he began uncertainly. "Become my apprentice. I don't really know how to go about this."

"Clearly."

"You aren't making this any easier," Arrow retorted. "This isn't my decision. It's an edict of Azura!"

Rinin calmed somewhat at that, but when he spoke it was a voice that neared contemptuous. "And why would I care about her?" he asked, a faint tone of condescension apparent in his tone. "She already has one pet to play run and fetch for her."

When Arrow finally replied, it was with deadly calm. "I bend knee to no one." The Nevarine said, cold as steel and just as unbending. "I have spoken with an avatar of Zenithar. I do not serve him. I have spoken with Azura. I do not serve her. I slew Amalexia and came upon the murdered corpse of Sotha Sil. I speak with Vivec as an equal and he holds me in the same respect. I have spoken with Sheograth, and he has no hold of me. I fought with Hercine and won. Speak not to me of serving, boy. Speak not of me as you would of some pet, some beast of burden for the immortals. I bow to no one, and if I do something, it is by my choice. I live too long and have shortened the lives of too many others to be impressed by power any more."

Tat set the Dunmer back on his heels, and for the first time he truly comprehended the force of nature that was the ranger. He truly realized just how formidable he was, to have achieved the golas he had that had already become legend.

"I'm sorry," Rinin began. "But if not for her, then why do you want me to be under your tutelage?"

"Just because I do not serve the gods does not mean I will not follow their advice. That is simply being a fool."

"And why," said Rinin, "should I agree? Why should I spend my time as your servant, your apprentice, when I have other things to do?"

For just a moment, a smirk flashed across Arrow's face. "Because I know you," he said. He looked up into the sky, into the clouds as they drifted by overhead. For a moment, he was silent. "I know you cannot step down from a challenge. And I know," he said, poking Rinin hard in the chest, "what has happened to you. I read your journal, remember?"

Rinin looked down at the Bosmer, and thought for a moment, realizing he had just been played. The whole thing had been predicted, and Arrow knew his reactions every step of the way. Like it or not, the Nevarine did know him. He frowned for a moment, then cursed under his breath. "You're good," he admitted.

He thought Arrow's smile may have taken in his ears.

"So we have a deal?" the Nevarine asked, trying very hard to at least appear solemn, for the boy's sake.

"Aye."

Suddenly, Arrow held out his hand. "Shake on it?" he asked.

Wondering what the tricky Bosmer was up to, Rinin complied. The next few hours passed in a blur, with Arrow showing him around Rethan and even arranging for quarters to be found for the spellsword. As it turned he had, apparently, been sleeping off the alcohol in Arrow's private room. Leaving Rinin in his new room in an accommodating (and relatively clean) inn, Arrow sped off for his manor or whatever destination, to the ultimate detriment of its inhabitants, he had in mind.

It wasn't until several minutes later that Rinin realized that the tricky little Bosmer had stolen his pouch and all of the gold therein. Smirking at the apparently-experienced thief's naiveté, he reached into a hidden compartment in his armor for his second one.

Which turned out to be gone as well.

He cursed again, this time loudly.

* * *

Making his merry way along to his manor, Arrow realized something. Coming to a stop in the middle of the street, he gave a long, profound groan.

"I don't have a clue as to what to do."

It was then that he started laughing. He continued back to his home, juggling a pair of stolen purses all the while. Each mortal had his own way of having fun, he supposed, and even some of the immortals, too. This was his.

To each his own.