Chapter V

Rasha stared at the thick iron bars from within a cell in Windhelm prison. While the how she got to be in here was fully known to her, the why was another matter entirely.

All she had wanted was a room for the night at the inn. Now however, she found herself in her tunic and leggings, that she usually wore beneath her armoured robe, which had been taken away; along with her boots and glass dagger.

The Khajiit had been sleeping at the inn, when the guards had suddenly burst into her room. They had demanded that she come along with them. She did as they asked, pleading with them all the while, trying to make them understand that they had made a mistake.

Several hours later, after a short nap, Rasha had tried once again to communicate with them. Ultimately however, it had proven rather fruitless. It was clear that they had no intention of listening, and so far they hadn't given her any water, food, or any clue as to what exactly it was that she had done wrong. What Rasha did know, was that she would have to escape.

While picking the lock was the obvious answer to her predicament, the guard standing at the opposite side of the room in full view, would make that quite impossible.

Observing the shift patterns of the guards would be the first task. Second was figuring out the best moment to undertake the escape attempt, and third was to escape the city and head north as fast as possible.

She had already lost too much time because of her incarceration, and due to the actions of the city guards, her target here in the city was now probably a not an option. Not without the risk of being discovered and put back in here, or worse, executed on the spot.

None of the two options seemed very appealing. But then again, neither did going against the contract she had with the Thalmor. Fortunately they had stated that the Bosmer, Faldan, wasn't as important as the Altmer up in Winterhold. So she hoped that as long as she removed the primary target, that they would see her contract as fulfilled.

"Move away from the bars!" the guard barked in a thick accent, placing his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

Rasha moved backwards, seating herself on the wooden stool that adorned her cell. The last thing she wanted right now was an unfortunate confrontation with a prison guard. Or did she? Perhaps the distraction would help her escape, sooner rather than later. It had seemed futile before, but that had been with a different guard. Or at least she thought it had been a different guard. They all wore helmets that completely masked their identity, making it difficult to tell.

"Why am I here?" she asked him.

"Don't know, don't really care," he replied disinterested.

The truth was there probably wasn't a reason, besides the fact that she was a Khajiit, and not a human. She had seen how the Dunmer were treated here, and they looked almost the same as the Nords, with only a few differences. She was much different, and their intolerance showed, both in the way they both looked at, and addressed her.

Right now, all she wanted was to annoy the guard, and make him slip up so that she could make good on her escape. If he got close enough to her cell, she could grab him, knock him unconscious and get the key. All she had to do, was to somehow, get him to lower his guard.

The Khajiit cleared her throat. "Erm if you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind," he responded, not at all interested in whatever it was she had to say.

Rasha decided to ignore his response and push on. "Could you find out why I'm here?"

"I don't like you," he said. "You're a cat, I hate cats, and your accent is Cyrodilic, I hate people from Cyrodiil."

"Well maybe I can change your mind?"

"Not if I cut out your tongue," he said, as he moved over to a nearby chair, sitting down on it.

It wasn't going quite how she expected. While the guard was being quite aggressive, as she had planned, instead of working for her, it seemed to be working against her. Maybe another tactic would work, appeasing to his Nordic heritage, and sense of honour might be a better strategy. She wanted him near her cell door, not sitting at the other side of the room.

"I like strong, self-willed people. Who do you like?" she asked, attempting the other strategy.

"Nords."

"I like Nords too. A very proud people."

"Yes."

"Some of the best warriors in Tamriel, are Nords."

"Yes."

"You have a standard steel sword, do you like it?"

"Yes."

"How's the balance on it?"

"Yes." His final answer revealed that he hadn't even been listening to her. She could have said anything, and he wouldn't have known. Her tactics were proving to be futile. He wasn't interested in listening to her, and her patience was wearing thin. She had never found herself jailed before, and it was starting to feel like the cell walls were closing in on her. The Khajiit wanted out, but she couldn't. She was trapped, and that made her feel absolutely helpless.

"Please can you find out what I did wrong after your watch is over?" she appealed. "I just want to know so that I can make amends."

"Maybe I will."

"Please?"

"No, because a Nord never begs."

Rasha scoffed at that. She had heard plenty of Nords beg. Either because they were destitute in the street and in need of coin to buy food, or because they were one of her targets, and she had her knife to their throat.

"Sure, Nords never beg," Rasha said sarcastically.

The guard didn't appreciate her response. "You'll stay in there for a very long time, Khajiit."

She'd had enough of the cell, and she'd had enough of him. She grabbed the bars and shook them "You'll regret putting me in here!" she hissed. "Let me out, coward!"

The guard did nothing.

"You just wait!" she yelled. "Come over here, or are you scared!?"

"Shut up, or I'll shut you up!" the guard warned her.

Rasha knew she was getting to him, by his . All she had to do was keep it up, and he would slip up and make a mistake. It was only a matter of time, now. "You're mother was a Sload," she cursed, "and your father was blind drunk!"

He rose up from the chair suddenly. Rasha waited in anticipation. He was moments away from rushing over to the cell to beat her senseless. Instead, much to her surprise, he turned and left.

"I guess I upset him," she said aloud.

Moments later the guard returned, only he had friends with him. Five of them in total. They rushed over to the cell, flinging the door open, as they all jumped her, their fists smashing at her face and body.

It hadn't gone quite as she planned, but Rasha would take what she could get. If they were to treat her like an animal, then she would act like an animal.

In the flurry of fists, she bit down hard on the first thing she could get her teeth into. She heard one of the men scream out in pain as she locked her jaw onto his exposed forearm. The other guards stopped their attack almost immediately, and tried to pull her mouth open.

"Get the bitch off me!" she heard a man yell in clear agony.

Rasha felt them start pulling at her more violently. She opened her jaw suddenly, letting go of his arm, throwing all her weight backwards, pulling the guards with her. Three of the guards all fell to the floor, taking her with them. But she was already planning her next move. She jumped back to her feet, her superior speed and reflexes easily outmatched that of the guards'.

Rasha thrust her way through the remaining two, one still clutching his bloody forearm, sending them both crashing to the ground. With the keys she had expertly taken off one of the guards in her hand, she slammed the cell door shut, and locked it, throwing the keys clear across the room, well out of their reach.

Rasha then ran out of the dungeon, up the stone stairs, and down a stone corridor. She entered a room with chests, a desk and some beds. She briefly thought about looking for her equipment, but that was cut short as she heard shouts from behind her. She quickly grabbed a steel dagger from a nearby sideboard, before quickly leaving the room.

The Ohmes-Raht-Khajiit headed down some more stairs, and through a door, setting foot in the large main room of the Palace of Kings.

Every guard in view drew their swords, ready to either recapture her, or cut her down where she stood. Without a moment to spare, she ran, lowering her posture. A guard swung his sword at her, but she rolled past him, evading his attack. Almost instantly, she was back on her feet, pushing her way out through the large iron doors. The harsh cold of the late winter evening, hit her hard, her thin clothes unable to keep in a single shred of warmth.

She tried desperately to ignore it, continuing to run through the streets, heading into the Gray-Quarter. If there was one place in the city where the people wouldn't help the city authorities, it was there.

She headed down some icy steps, trying desperately to keep up her pace, while keeping her footing. But she slipped on a patch of black ice, and began to tumble head over heels. She reached out her hand in a vain attempt to grapple hold of anything to stop her plummet, but it was useless. She came to a rest at the base of the steps, her crumpled form sprawled out among the snow-covered stone paving.


The Khajiit lay there on the bed, of the small one room house. She was unconscious and injured, wearing rough uninsulated clothing that would do her little good here in the cold city.

For Faldan, a Bosmer, who was currently down on his luck, healing her would be an interesting challenge. Though her fall, also shone some light onto one of the main reasons why he wanted so desperately to leave this place. If only he had the coin.

The slippery stone steps that the poor soul had fallen down, had in the past, not only caused the smashing limbs, but killed quite a few people.

The strange thing was, that the accidents that involved falling down icy steps, tended to only happen in the Gray-Quarter.

The Gray-Quarter was the area of Windhlem, where the Dunmer, or Dark Elves had been placed. Possible because it was the most treacherous area of the city, with the many stairs and narrow alleyways. People could easily fall and not be found for days, or in some cases weeks.

Luckily for the Khajiit, he had been on his way home in the dwindling light of the evening when he had found her. She had been laying in the snow at the base of the treacherous stairs, her form dark against the white in the lamplight. More luckily, was that and he had some knowledge in healing. Hopefully he'd have her up and about in no time. Unfortunately, proper healing required some knowledge of the race of the one being healed, and he honestly had little knowledge in that regard on any race. That meant he would simply have heal her to the best of his ability, which wouldn't be too hard as she didn't seem, at least on the outside, to be too badly injured. He held his hands out over her, beginning the healing process.

In reality, he didn't really know much about the Khajiit, or the why and how of the different breeds. All he knew was the Khajiit in front of him looked oddly mer-like. She had brown hair, an almost regular looking nose, and long pointed ears on the side of her head, as opposed to being on the top, where Khajiit often seemed to have them. If it wasn't for her brown fur and tail, he'd have thought her to actually be actually some kind of mer.

He felt his magicka soon dwindle as he tried to heal some of her wounds. He wasn't really a healer, just someone who knew a few helpful spells. As he began to turn away, he saw her eyes flutter open. She looked up at him, her face ridden with confusion, her cat-like eyes narrowing as they met his. Suddenly he found that she was up, and a dagger was pressed against his throat. He let out a short cry in shock and terror, not daring to breathe, let alone move.

"Who are you!?" she hissed.

"Your healer," he told her, trying not to break down and sob. He was absolutely terrified of what she might do. At any moment she could just slit his throat and end his life.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You slipped," he said, his eyes closed tightly shut, as the dagger pressed against his throat. He felt as though this was it, that his life would last only a few mere moments more.

"Have you told them where I am?"

He dared not speak in case the act of doing so caused the blade to cut into his flesh. He began to shake in fear, his legs felt weak, and his stomach began to churn.

"Have you told them!?" she demanded.

"No," he whispered.

The knife came away from his throat and his knees gave way. He fell to the floor and began to weep.


As the Bosmer wept on the floor with his head in his hands, Rasha began to feel guilty over how she had reacted.

Putting the dagger to his throat was far from the best thing that she could have done, however, when she had awoken she didn't know what to expect. She had needed to assess her surroundings quickly, and that had meant taking control of the situation. Unfortunately that had meant putting the mer through a trauma that he could have done without.

The Khajiit realised that she needed somewhere to rest, and get her bearings. This Bosmer's house seemed like a good place to start. To do that though, she'd need to console him, and try to get him onto her side.

"Sorry, I was caught off guard, I didn't know who you were or what you were doing," she tried to explain, hoping the apology would somehow alleviate his fright.

It seemed to do some good, if only a little. The elf began to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Your not going to kill me?" he asked terrified, his eyes fixed on the wraps the guards had given her to bound her feet in.

The poor sod had thought she was going to end his life. While she was more than capable of killing him, she had no reason to do so. Though, her actual task of murdering an Altmer in Winterhold and some Bosmer here, did cross through her mind. Those were tasks she didn't really want to do.

It made her sick to her stomach to think that she was doing the Thalmor's bidding. Why had she even gone there? The truth was, a bounty hunter with morals doesn't get as much work as one that worked for the Dark Brotherhood, or other amoral individuals. When she did finally get a bounty, the pay tended to be on the lighter side.

She sheathed the steel dagger, by placing it between the cloth belt that held her trousers up, and offered an open hand. "I don't want to hurt you," she said apologetically.

The Bosmer shook his head hiding his face behind his hands. He was still clearly scared for his life.

For a moment she wondered if this was the Bosmer she had been sent to kill here in the city, but quickly dismissed the notion as being too coincidental. "I really don't want to hurt you," Rasha offered. "I was afraid for my own life, I didn't mean to cause you this anguish."

The Bosmer lifted his head and looked at her, wiping the tears away.

"Come on, stand up. let's get those eyes dried."

He nodded before he slowly stood up. She helped him over to the small wooden chair that lay in front of a small table. He sat down, his limbs still shaking from the ordeal.

"I truly am sorry," she said, looking down at him as he wiped more tears away. She clenched her jaw as a pain shot up her leg. She was still clearly injured from the fall.

"I just," he began. "I just wanted to help you."

"I know, It's just that when I awoke, I saw you stood over me and I didn't know who you were, or what you were doing."

The elf was a mess, and she was to blame. She needed to fix it if she wanted to stay here for a day or two and heal up her aching body. The problem was, that she was on a deadline. Or so she had concluded. If she didn't take out her target quickly, then her employers would most likely think that she had broken her contract. She didn't know for certain, if they would see her as a liability, and try to have her killed. Or, if they'd simply hire someone else and let her be on her way. Either way, Rasha didn't want to find out.

For now, she would try to console the Bosmer, as she couldn't risk him revealing her presence here. Though if it took too long then she'd have to abandon it. There might still be a chance that she could find her target here, but that all depended on this mer's coöperation.

Still, she would have to get past the guards. Judging by the lack of light outside the sash windows, it was still dark outside. She was not in any state right now to make an escape, and she knew it would have to be dark for her to go unseen. So for now, She had some time. She might as well use it to apologise and get on the mer's good side.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry."

"No," he began, "it is me who should say sorry. I should have been prepared, I should have disarmed you, and I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"I put a knife to your throat," she pointed out. "A lot of people don't react well to me placing a knife upon their throat."

The Bosmer looked shocked. "You've done this before?"

Rasha realised that she'd said too much. "Do you have any outdoor clothes I could use?" she asked quickly, changing the subject.

"You mean something better than you've got now?"

"Something that'll keep me warm."

"Well I don't have much, but there might be something I could let you use." He stood up and made his way over to a cupboard and opened it.

As he rummaged through it, Rasha sat herself down at the table, feeling like she was taking advantage of him. Truthfully though, she desperately needed something thicker than what she had. Especially if she was going to go to Winterhold, that lay in the even colder north.

"I have this ragged coat. It's not much, will it do?"

"It should be fine." It would have to do because she had no money. The guards had taken it all, they had taken everything. "Do you mind if I stay here for a day or two?" she asked him.

He passed her the coat. "I don't mind."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"What is your name?"

She pondered for a moment. Did she tell him a fake one, her real one, or simply refuse to tell him at all? She guessed there was no harm in revealing it. "My name is Rasha."

"I'm Faldan," he greeted.

Rasha couldn't believe it. This was the Bosmer she was after. How was she supposed to kill the one that had just saved her life? She might be a bounty hunter, but her targets tended to be scourges on society, not those that went out of their way to save another's life.

"So, where are you headed?" Faldan asked her, seemingly unaware that his name was of significance to the Khajiit.

"I cannot say," Rasha responded, feeling her heart begin to race in her chest.

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that I was hoping you'd take me along. I hate it here and would like to get away from it."

"Sorry, but that is not possible."

"I see."

"Sorry."

"May I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"Are you part of the Dark Brotherhood?"

She hissed loudly at him. Faldan's posture sank, as he crept away from her slowly in fear.

"No, I am not Dark Brotherhood," she said mortally offended. She caught herself, breathed deeply before she spoke again, far more calmly. "I am a bounty hunter, I hunt bad people."

Faldan nodded quickly, but he didn't approach the table out of fear.

The Ohmes-Raht found herself questioning herself. If she went ahead and killed this mer, then wouldn't that make him essentially correct? While she wouldn't actually be a part of the Dark Brotherhood, she'd just be as bad as them.

"I didn't mean to make you angry," the Bosmer whimpered.

"Sorry," she apologised to him yet again. "I did not mean to get angry." She gestured to the chair opposite. "Please sit down."

He slowly made his way to the table and quickly seated himself down, gripping his left hand in his right nervously. "Is the reason you don't want me along because you are hunting a bounty?"

"Yes."

"Is the person you're hunting bad?"

She didn't answer, she couldn't answer. When dealing with bandits and murderers it was easy, there was no grey area. They had committed heinous crimes and had to be dealt with.

She now found that she had made an error of judgement and was now trapped by it. Maybe this Taemwyn was bad, but from what she observed from Faldan, he certainly wasn't. Had he been in the past? Perhaps, but now he was certainly making up for any past misdeeds. At least in her eyes. But did she have the right to conclude that? This Bosmer might have been a mass murderer, and he might deserve her blade? she simply didn't know.

The question was, would she be able to kill someone who might not be guilty? The Thalmor had refused to give her any information on what their crimes were, and that was very suspicious.

Perhaps the Bosmer and Altmer were part of disgraced families in the Dominion, and they were to be executed for transgressions that weren't their fault. She knew of such things happening, so it wasn't that far-fetched. Or perhaps they were traitors during the war, sending intelligence to the Imperial Legion. She pushed the thoughts out of her head. She was simply speculating without any evidence for any of it.

"Are you alright?" Faldan asked her.

"No," She replied truthfully. "I fear I'm making a mistake with my current assignment." She clenched her jaw. Before the words had even left her mouth, Rasha knew she had just revealed more than she had intended.

"If you think it's wrong, then maybe you shouldn't do it," Faldan said.

Rasha decided that she might as well continue on with the conversation. She had started and it was too late to change direction now. Not without drawing more suspicion anyway. "I cannot get out of it, I have a contract."

"Can't you tell them you're unable to complete it?"

"It's with the Thalmor."

The elf squirmed in his seat. "Ah, I see."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Faldan rested his hands on the table. "I think that if you're unsure, you shouldn't go through with it."

"I will take it under advisement."

She wouldn't do, she had a mission to complete, even if just the thought of it made her feel sick. Everyone had to do things they didn't want to do, this was her burden and she had to see it through. Didn't she?

Rasha looked down at the steel dagger in her belt. It would have been far better if she still had her glass dagger, and her custom, self-made armoured robe. But it appeared as though she'd just have to make do.

"You can take my bed if you want," Faldan said to her suddenly. "I'll throw some rags down on the floor and sleep there."

The Khajiit shook her head. "I'm okay for now. You should rest, I'll sleep some other time."

"You're still quite hurt," he told her. "You need the rest more than I do."

"I can care for myself," she said. "Besides I've already rested."

"Being unconscious after a nasty fall isn't what I'd call resting."

"Doesn't matter, I'm not feeling tired."

"You sure?"

"Yes, and take your bed for yourself. I'm not going to intrude more than necessary."

"Okay," he said simply as he rose up from the table. "It's kind of been a long day. I hope you don't mind if I go rest now do you?" he asked her.

"Go sleep if you want. I need time alone to think anyway."

"Okay," the Bosmer said, as he made his way over to the only bed, in the tiny house.

She watched him as he lay there, with his back to her. It would be so easy to slit his throat and be done with it. Doing so, however would draw attention. He probably had a job, or knew people who would notice his absence.

Besides, she wasn't Dark Brotherhood and this mer had offered her his home, at least for a little while.

"I should have become a merchant like my mother," she whispered to herself.

Rasha found that she felt rather conflicted, and uneasy. She hated the feeling, and wanted it to go away. The problem was that she felt that to make it go away meant she would either have to carry out the Thalmor's orders, or ignore them.

Her worse fear, was that she would find the same thing up in Winterhold, that both targets were decent people. She had a strong personal sense of honour, and with a stark realisation, she knew she wouldn't tarnish it for anyone. Even if it meant her very life.

Updated 31/03/2014