CHAPTER FOUR – NEW BLOOD

'And here we are.'

The carriage drew to a halt as Jenassa spoke, and Sissel threw herself against the side so that she could lean out over the edge and take her first look at Ozan's home – and her home. It wasn't a word she was used to thinking of positively. Back when her father had been alive, home meant being around him and Britte. It meant having to pick her words carefully and keep an eye on their fists in case they started heading in her direction. It meant time that wasn't spent with Jouane, learning about magic, or just talking. No, she wasn't used to thinking of home as a good thing, and so she was surprised by the leap her spirits made as she caught sight of the building that stood ahead of her.

Ozan had warned her that his home wasn't in a warm area, but that hadn't troubled Sissel; she was a Nord, and growing up in the Whiterun plains had forced her to become accustomed to cold winds. Still, she'd been expecting Ozan's home to be surrounded by the golden grass she'd grown so used to, and so she'd been a little startled when the ground had vanished around them, hidden by a thick blanket of snow. Of course, snow had often covered Rorikstead in the winter, but she wasn't used to having it around permanently, and something told her that snow was going to be a fact of life here.

Amid the snow and the rocks, Heljarchen Hall stood at the foot of a slope, a building of a kind Sissel simply hadn't seen before. For ten years of her life, the grandest building she'd known had been Rorik's home, and even that had only a single storey. In Riften, she'd often gazed in awe at the Temple of Mara, and at the Jarl's palace of Mistveil Keep. But those buildings had been made for people who were rich and important. Ozan was not a Jarl, or a Divine, and his home was neither a palace or a temple. It was just a house, a place to be lived in – but it was easily twice the size of Rorik's place. Two storeys, with a kind of tower built against one wall, and a balcony along another. A sheltered corner housed what looked like a vegetable garden, protected from the snow by a wall of woven branches. Not far away from the entrance, a small wooden building stood beneath a patch of trees. A stable, Sissel realised, noticing the brown horse standing within it. There was another horse, too – a sleek black one, not in the stable, but standing with its head down close to the garden, nosing aside the snow to get at the grass underneath.

'I think your horse got out,' Sissel remarked, pointing at it.

Ozan shook his head. 'She won't run.'

'We let Shadowmere wander where she pleases.' Jenassa jumped down from the cart and collected Sissel's bag for her. 'She… isn't like most horses.'

The horse – Shadowmere – looked up as Ozan disembarked, and let out a high-pitched whinny. The snow crunched under her hooves as she trotted towards them, and Sissel shrank back a little, making sure that she was standing behind Ozan. She might have sat in carriages pulled by horses, or watched people ride through Rorikstead, but she'd never been up close to one, and this one was a little too large for her to feel comfortable standing close to it.

Ozan lifted his hand, pressing it against the horse's face, and when Shadowmere let out a soft nicker at his touch, Sissel thought it safe to draw a little closer. There was no denying that this was a beautiful animal – except, perhaps, for the fact that its eyes were bright red. Really, really bright red.

'Her eyes…' Sissel said faintly, staring at them.

'Not dangerous.' Ozan gestured for her to come a little closer. 'No ordinary horse. But not dangerous.'

'If she's not ordinary, then what is she?'

Ozan frowned for a moment before responding. 'Not natural. Created by magic. Very intelligent.' He glanced down at Sissel. 'Nothing to fear.'

Sissel breathed in deeply, and dared to reach up to touch Shadowmere's nose. Her muzzle was smoother to the touch than she'd been expecting, and she carefully laid her hand flat over the soft black skin. 'Hi, Shadowmere. I'm Sissel.'

'She lives with us now,' Ozan added, and the slow dipping of the horse's head looked oddly like a nod. As if she were responding to his statement, saying, all right, I understand.

The chink of coins made Sissel turn her head; Jenassa was pressing a handful of Septims into the carriage driver's palm. Sissel felt an unfamiliar emotion – eagerness – rising up within her as the Dunmer finished the exchange of money and headed over to join them. She wanted, she realised, to see inside the house, to find out where she would be staying, to start living within the same walls as her new family.

'We've always had a room for guests,' Jenassa told Sissel, as Ozan led the way towards the door. 'It'll be yours now. Since your coming to live with us wasn't anticipated – ' She cast a meaningful glance at Ozan, who responded only by raising his eyebrows – 'It's not exactly set up for you right now, but we can sort that out easily enough.'

Ozan pushed the door open and stood back to let Sissel and Jenassa through. Glad to be out of the cold – it might not trouble her, exactly, but that didn't make it pleasant – Sissel hurried inside. It was a little dark, but she had a feeling it would be much brighter once the torches on the walls were lit, and there was enough light trickling in through the windows for her to take a proper look around. She was standing in what seemed to be an entryway, or a short hall. The roof was high and arched – it looked a bit like the underside of a boat, Sissel mused. A pair of elk heads, stuffed and preserved somehow, were mounted high on the walls, facing each other, and on either side of the hall was a long, low table, each with a glass case resting on top. Sissel edged closer to the nearest, and saw that there was a weapon beneath the glass, a dagger with a blade that appeared to be ebony.

Ozan let out a satisfied sound and pulled down his hood. Sissel realised now that she'd never seen him without it up before, and she was glad to see that his face looked a little less forbidding when it wasn't surrounded by the dark cloth. His black hair was cut short, probably for practicality's sake. Long hair, Sissel guessed, wasn't a useful thing to have if you lived an adventurer's life.

She stood back, watching, while he and Jenassa unbuckled their weapons from their belts, placing them into the racks attached to the walls. Jenassa's sword and dagger were simple weapons, made for nothing but the purpose of combat, but Ozan's arms seemed more elaborate. His scimitar, for example. She remembered a time when a pair of Redguard men had lodged in Mralki's inn, and both had carried weapons like this, with a smooth curve to the blade and a circular golden hilt. As he shrugged off his black jacket-coat, he revealed two daggers, one at each hip, and neither was a functional object like Jenassa's. One was slightly curved, with a red-bound hilt and a hook-like shape forming the pommel. The second was harder to get a close look at, since it was contained within a black sheath trimmed with silver, but it even then, it was lethal to look at. It was only about as long as Ozan's hand, but something about the jagged spikes of the hilt looked… dangerous. Sissel tried to picture Ozan jumping on a dragon from above, driving this blade into the creature's head and stabbing the life from it, and it didn't seem at all unrealistic.

Once his weapons were set aside, though, the man who'd adopted her seemed far more real and normal. With his coat-thing gone, too, she could see that his clothes weren't anywhere near as outlandish and fierce-looking as his weapons; a jacket and tunic, mostly black and red, though with intricate gold and white patterns. It wasn't the kind of thing people in Rorikstead would have worn, but it was near enough to being normal for Sissel to like it.

'I'm going to change out of my armour,' Jenassa reported, pushing open the door at the far end of the entryway. 'I'll join you in a little while.'

Ozan nodded, took Sissel's bag from her, and gestured for Sissel to follow him further inside the house. The hallway opened out into a large room, mostly dominated by a long wooden table, with a fireplace at one end and a staircase leading up to the house's second storey on either side. While Jenassa headed towards the right-hand stairway, Ozan led Sissel towards the one on the left.

'I've never had to climb this many stairs before,' she remarked, as she started up them.

Ozan turned to glance back at her, amusement flickering across his face. 'You should see High Hrothgar.'

Sissel's eyes widened. 'Have you been there?'

'Climbed it.'

'All seven thousand steps?'

'With interest.'

Sissel didn't understand this last remark, but she took it to mean yes. 'Wow. I'd like to climb them someday.'

Ozan let out a quiet chuckle. It surprised her. She hadn't heard him laugh before. Maybe in his own home, he felt more comfortable doing it. More able to relax.

'Maybe,' he said.

A grin spread across Sissel's face. This was already a whole lot better than living in the Honourhall.

They had reached the top of the steps; from here, a short walk across a landing and the opening of another door led into a small room that Sissel could tell instantly was intended for her. There was a small bed, a dresser, a low cupboard – probably nothing much if you were a Jarl, or someone as rich as Maven Black-Briar, but for Sissel… for Sissel, it was more than had ever belonged to her in her life.

'Yours,' Ozan said, gesturing around. 'Not much now, but… there'll be more.'

'It's great.' Sissel's smile was so fierce now that it was hurting the sides of her mouth. 'Thank you.'

He didn't smile, but a warmth entered his eyes that amounted to the same thing. He set her bag down on top of the dresser and watched as she pulled the trivial amount she owned out of it. When she'd said yes to the question of whether or not she'd want to be adopted, she'd never really considered how much money her prospective family might have. But having seen inside Heljarchen Hall, it was obvious that Ozan was wealthier than anyone in Rorikstead – probably wealthier than all of Rorikstead's inhabitants put together. She'd been very, very fortunate. She could have as many warm clothes as she needed now. As many books as she wanted. It was more than a little overwhelming. Adventuring must pay well.

Adventuring. Sissel frowned. 'How often will you be at home?'

'Jenassa and I work most days.' Ozan clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. 'A friend in Dawnstar might look after you when we're not here.'

He seemed uncomfortable saying so many words together, so Sissel decided that from now on, she'd phrase her questions in a way that required him to give only short responses. 'What's their name?'

'Erandur. Mentioned him earlier.'

'You said he was a priest of Mara?'

He nodded. 'Good man. Clever.' He frowned. 'Could teach you.'

Sissel tried not to show how excited this statement made her. 'Teach me what?'

'Magic. If you want.'

'I do.' The words poured from Sissel's mouth. 'I really want to learn – Jouane never got a chance to teach me well, and I didn't really much, just little spells, like how to put out candles…'

Ozan gave a short nod. 'Erandur can teach you. I'll ask. Other things, too.'

Other things was almost as exciting as magic. Sissel assumed he meant the basic things like reading and writing and adding up – the sorts of things that Jouane had started to teach her. Things that might not make colourful explosions, but which would be useful. It never seemed to have occurred to Lemkil that she and Britte might need to know such things. Constance had given them lessons at the Honourhall; it was a relief to know she wouldn't have to stop learning now.

Ozan took a step back and hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. 'I'll let you unpack. Call you down for food.'

'Thanks.'

She watched him back out of the door and pull it shut, and listened to the sound of his footsteps receding down the stairs. And when the sound had faded, she put her bag on one side and sat down on the bed.

A day earlier, she'd been living in an orphanage with one friend, a bad-tempered sister, and a pack of noisy boys. No magic lessons. No clear future. And now, she was in a grand house with her own room, adopted by a man who could kill dragons and who knew someone who could teach her magic.

A thought occurred to her: should she be thinking of Ozan as her adopted father? It was strange, attaching the word father to a man she barely knew. She wasn't sure she could do it. Family is more than shared blood, Jouane had said. Well, already Ozan felt a bit like family, and maybe Jenassa would too, in time, but… calling him her father seemed impossible.

Maybe it reminded her too much of what had happened to her real father. It still hurt, to think of him lying there among the iced droplets of his own blood.

She decided not to dwell on it any further. It was too soon to know. All she knew for certain was that right now, she felt something she wasn't used to feeling.

She felt absurdly happy.

The rest of the day passed quietly. They ate a simple meal from the rations Ozan and Jenassa had bought as they passed through settlements on their way to Heljarchen Hall, a meal through whose duration Jenassa occasionally glanced up from her food to ask a question about Sissel's life and interests. Ozan asked no questions, but let the occasional word slip here and there, and he listened intently to every answer Sissel gave. Around Jenassa, he was quieter than he had been upstairs – probably because the Dunmer was speaking for both of them. More than once, he swapped a glance with her, and she would instantly begin a sentence with, 'I think Ozan's wondering…' or 'Ozan would like to know…' Sissel hoped that, with time, she'd become equally skilled at reading the Redguard's face.

After that, they showed her around the house – the room where they stored weapons and armour, the tower where Ozan stocked his alchemical ingredients ('Don't touch,' he warned her, and she hastily promised not to), the area for preparing food. Sissel took note of the fact that they referred to the room with the double bed as 'our room.' More evidence that they were a couple. Though it was still beyond her why they weren't married. Especially if they had a friend who was a priest of Mara.

It was as Ozan talked her through some of his alchemical ingredients – or rather, as Ozan provided the names and Jenassa added the explanations – that she finally learned a little more about him. He showed her a crumbly white rock which, he said, could be mixed with certain substances to create the white paint that decorated his face. 'Why do you wear it?' she asked. 'The warpaint, I mean.'

He frowned and lifted a hand, tracing the lines. 'Tradition.'

'What kind of tradition?'

'Redguard.'

Obviously, Sissel thought, with a trace of irritation. 'Do a lot of Redguards have it, then?'

'Not uncommon in Hammerfell.'

'So do you come from Hammerfell?'

A nod.

'Does the paint mean anything?'

'Depends.'

Jenassa rolled her eyes. 'Try to string more than a few words together, Zan. Sentences aren't all that intimidating, you know.'

He shot her a half-indignant, half-warm look. 'Depends. On who wears it. And why.'

'Very good. Now tell her why you wear it. Conversation needn't be like getting blood out of a stone.'

Ozan snorted, but complied. 'Redguard warriors often use traditional patterns as face decoration. Shows respect for forebears. I was raised to fight. Redguard tradition was always important to me.'

Jenassa had been counting on her fingers. Now she held up both hands, smirking. 'Twenty five words. We're seeing improvement.'

Sissel couldn't help but laugh. Jenassa was growing on her. Maybe she'd been too quick to decide that the elf didn't want her around.

'Do you follow a lot of Redguard traditions, then?'

He shrugged. 'Some. Warpaint. Curved sword.'

'Some Redguard warriors stayed in Rorikstead for a little while. They had curved swords too. The village guards kept asking everyone if they'd seen those warriors from Hammerfell with their curved swords. Curved. Swords.' She tried to say it the way the guards had said it, and was rewarded with another chuckle from both adults.

'Nords are particularly unimaginative with their weapon designs,' Jenassa remarked. 'But to give them their due, a curved blade is unusual.'

Ozan stuffed his hands into his pockets. 'A straight blade with the same weight as a scimitar has more reach. Other races think them impractical. But they're made to slash, not stab. Perfect for horsemen. And the curve gives it more force on impact.'

'And there we are. He says barely a word for hours, and then you ask him a question about his beloved scimitars, and he opens up.' Jenassa threw her hands into the air in a gesture of surrender.

Ozan shrugged. 'What I say about scimitars is fact. There's none of me in it.'

'What?' Sissel blinked, running the statement through her head to double-check that she didn't understand it. No, it still made no sense.

'He has a theory.' Jenassa folded her arms across her chest. 'That the more you speak, the more danger you're in. Words, he says, express our thoughts, and the more the people around you know about what you think, the more they have to use against you. The fact that nobody in the present company has any reason to want to hurt him apparently doesn't occur to him.'

'It does,' Ozan protested. 'That's not the only reason. Words are dangerous. Weapons. Weapons should be used sparingly.'

Jenassa shot Sissel a see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with look. 'You know, he can be very good conversation if you can get him to string enough words together. Give him some time.'

Ozan responded with a noncommittal grunt.

With the tour of the house finished, Ozan looked through the meagre collection of items that Sissel had brought with her, and compiled a list of what needed to be bought for her. And when he was done, there was a long silence, as Sissel wondered what she would do for the rest of the day, and Ozan seemed to be considering the same thing.

'Not much here for a child to do,' he said. 'That'll change.'

Sissel thought back to their earlier conversation. 'You said you were brought up to fight. Were you always being taught? Even when you were my age?'

'Most of the time, yes.'

'But you must have done other things.'

'I read. Mixed potions.' A wistful look crept into his eyes. 'When I was very young, my sister used to tell stories.'

His face closed off suddenly, the emotion draining from it, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. As if he regretted revealing something so private and now he was retreating inside himself for protection against the consequences.

'You have a sister?' Sissel asked.

A slight pause; then he gave a short shake of his head. 'I had a sister.'

'Oh.' Sissel guessed that he'd had a sister in the same way she'd had a father. 'What happened to her?'

He didn't lift his gaze from the floor. 'Thalmor.'

Sissel remembered how he'd said the same yesterday evening, when she'd asked him what kind of bad experiences he'd had with mages, and bit her lip. 'Sorry.'

No reply.

'What was her name?'

'Meerah.'

There was so much pain in his voice that Sissel couldn't help but think of Britte, and how she didn't think it would hurt her very much at all to lose her. 'Did you love her?'

'Very much.' He lifted his head at last, but though he looked at her, his expression was distant. 'She was seven years older than me. Always took care of me.' The ghost of a smile flittered across his face. 'Told the best stories.'

'What were the stories about?'

His gaze focused on Sissel at last, and she noticed that it had grown thoughtful. He stood there for a moment, then crossed the room and sat on the bed beside her.

'The ancient fables,' he said. The tales of great warriors. Have you heard of Cyrus?'

Sissel shook her head.

'Understandable. Not a name most Nord children would know.'

'Who was he?'

'The best and the bravest of Redguard warriors. His tale was always my favourite.'

'How did it go?'

Ozan stared at her for a second, then drew in a breath. 'I'm not Meerah. She made the words sing. I can't. Words never came easily to me. But a story doesn't come from inside me. I never had trouble speaking a story aloud, because the words aren't mine.'

He closed his eyes for a moment. And then he spoke again, and there was something different about his voice. As if he were no longer holding back, counting his words. As if he was just letting everything come easily.

'In days so ancient that the rocks of then have been worn down to sand, so fierce that the sun would fear to rise above the horizon, so great that to presume to give them a name is to do them a dishonour, a man who would become a legend walked on Nirn. His name was Cyrus, and wherever he placed his feet, he set stories into motion…'

Sissel closed her eyes and let the words form pictures in her mind. She sat there beside her foster father, listening to his voice, following the warrior Cyrus on his quest to find his sister.

When Ozan finished, it took them both some time to realise that night had fallen.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, the snow so fiercely white in the full glare of the sun that it was hard to look at. There was a cold breeze, though, beating against the pines, and Sissel was grateful that Ozan had warned her to wrap up warm.

About an hour after her waking, they were ready for the journey. Jenassa and Ozan had both kitted themselves out in their armour and weapons again. When Ozan called Shadowmere over, Sissel couldn't stop herself from gulping – she'd been trying to prepare herself for this, but the idea of riding such a large animal was still somewhat terrifying.

'I've put an extra pad behind the saddle. Firmly strapped,' Ozan assured her. 'Hold on to me. You won't fall.'

'You won't go too fast, will you?'

'No faster than you're comfortable with. Are you ready?'

'I think so.'

Getting onto the horse was easier than she'd anticipated – Ozan swung himself up ('Always mount from the left. No risk of your weapons hitting the horse'), and then Jenassa lifted Sissel up after him. As for the actual riding… it was frightening at first, being so far from the ground, but Shadowmere kept to a pace no faster than a brisk walk, and once they were out into the wilderness, it was easy to watch the trees sliding by and forget how badly hurt she could be if she fell.

Still, it was a relief when Dawnstar came into view ahead of them, a string of wooden houses along the shore of what could only be the sea. Sissel gazed at it, breathless, as Shadowmere went past. The lake at Riften had been big, but this was big on a different scale. The thought of water that just went on forever, water that could have anything stirring far beneath the surface…

They didn't stop in the town itself; instead, Ozan and Jenassa led the horses up a hill just beyond it, where the thick dark mark of a tower stood out against the grey of the sky. Here, at last, they dismounted, with Ozan helping Sissel down. Wincing, she stretched out her legs and rolled her shoulders back to shake the stiffness from them. Maybe she'd take to horse riding in time, but right now, she wasn't sure how much she enjoyed it.

Jenassa tethered her horse outside the tower, while Ozan simply left Shadowmere standing in the snow and approached the building's door. The tower itself, tall and sturdily build, constructed from thick grey stone, was forbidding to look at, but its otherwise ominous appearance was softened by the banners that hung on either side of the entryway. Sissel had seem similar decorations outside Riften's temple to Mara. They were a comforting sight.

Ozan pulled open the tower door without knocking, gesturing for Sissel to follow him inside. The place was warmly lit by candles and lanterns, casting a faint amber glow over the iron-coloured walls. Sissel stamped the snow from her boots, watching as Ozan stepped into the centre of the room, cupping his hands around his mouth, called out in the loudest voice Sissel had heard him use yet. 'Erandur?'

There was a short silence, filled swiftly by the sound of footsteps. Sissel watched the doorway, waiting for Ozan's friend to appear in it – as indeed he did a few moments later. A Dunmer, like Jenassa, dark hair and a neatly-trimmed beard visible beneath his hood, wearing the familiar yellow-brown robes that she recognised from the Riften priests. His face split into a smile as he saw them standing there, and he crossed the room in a few quick strides, grasping Ozan's hand in both of his. 'Ozan. And Jenassa. It's good to see you.'

'And you, Erandur,' Jenassa replied, while Ozan smiled and nodded. It took a moment for the priest to notice that Sissel was standing there, but when he did, she decided instantly that she liked him. It would be hard not to like someone who beamed at her so widely and so readily.

'Welcome to the Temple of Mara, my daughter.' He gave a soft chuckle. 'At least, it will be a Temple of Mara once I'm through with it. I'm Erandur. Head and currently only priest here.'

Ozan's eyes flicked between them. 'This is Sissel.'

'Another foundling for me?'

'Not this time.' Jenassa shook her head. 'It's going to take some explaining.'

Ozan frowned slightly. 'It's not. We adopted her.'

Jenassa raised her eyebrows, but did not protest at the we. Erandur glanced towards Ozan, a mingled look of surprise and pleasure on his face. 'I see. So, you need me to take care of her while you're… working?'

He received a nod in reply.

'If you could, at least,' Jenassa added. 'It would be appreciated.'

'But of course. It'd be a pleasure.'

Sissel felt comfortable enough now in her new acquaintance's presence to speak. 'Ozan says you can teach me magic.'

She would never have expected eyes that were so startling to look at – blood red, slanted in a way very unlike a human's – could contain so much warmth. 'You're interested in the arcane, are you?'

Sissel nodded quickly. 'I already know a little. My friend taught me when I lived in Rorikstead, but I've not practiced for months…'

Ozan took an abrupt step forwards. 'Erandur. I need to talk.'

The priest dipped his head slowly. 'How about I take Sissel downstairs to meet Alesan? Then I'll come back up and we can discuss whatever it is you need help with.'

When this statement was met with a grunt of approval, Erandur turned, beckoning for Sissel to follow him. She felt no qualms about doing so, stranger though he might be. There were some people, like Jouane, like Constance, who simply emanated a sense of safeness. People who you just knew wouldn't try to hurt you.

The interior of the temple was formed of winding corridors; here and there, Sissel spotted them opening out into rooms. Some were brightly lit; others were too dark to see into, with cobewebs clustering their entrances, and others were sealed tightly behind closed doors.

'This place hasn't been a temple for all that long,' Erandur explained, clearly spotting her looking. 'It had been abandoned for years when I came to live here, and it had been used for… less than holy purposes before that. Alesan and I have spent most of the past year taking out the inappropriate contents and cleaning up the place, and we're still not finished.'

'Who's Alesan?'

'My apprentice. Ozan brought him here, actually. Found him on the streets of Dawnstar, an orphan without any home or family. He guessed that I'd be willing to care for him, and he guessed right. He's learning my trade now. I left him down in the living area.'

On reaching the area in question, Sissel was surprised to see that Alesan could only be a year or so older than herself. He was a Redguard, like Ozan, clad in robes that looked like am smaller, homemade version of Erandur's. He was seated on one of the beds when they entered the room, flicking through the pages of a book, but he stood up quickly when they entered.

'Sissel, this is Alesan.' Erandur opened out his arms, gesturing to each of them. 'Alesan, this is Sissel. She's Ozan's adopted daughter.'

Alesan blinked. 'I didn't know Ozan had an adopted daughter.'

'He didn't, until he adopted me,' Sissel replied.

The boy stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and grinned. 'Fair enough.'

'She's going to be staying with us for the day,' Erandur said. 'Maybe frequently. Ozan and Jenassa can't look after her while they're working. You won't be alone in your lessons from now on.'

'Great,' Alesan said instantly, and from the smile on his face, Sissel was fairly sure that he meant it. That was nice. It was good to feel wanted.

Erandur half-turned back towards the door. 'I've got to go and talk something over with Ozan, but it shouldn't take too long.'

'Of course not.' Alesan let out a quick laugh. 'It's Ozan. Talking with him never takes long.'

'Mmm. That's generally true.' Erandur gave them both one last smile, then headed back up the stairs.

Alesan looked after him, waiting until he was gone, then turned to face Sissel. 'Well… hi.'

'Hi.'

'Where do you come from?'

'Rorikstead. In Whiterun Hold.'

He shook his head. 'Never heard of it.'

'You don't need to have heard of it, it's tiny. How about you?'

'My dad was a sailor.' He bit his lip. 'But then he got sick, and the other sailors threw us both off the ship in Dawnstar. He died, and… I was on my own, until Ozan found me.'

'My father died too,' Sissel said, glad to find a connection with this potential friend. 'Someone murdered him. The people in Rorikstead said that it was the Dark Brotherood.'

Alesan's eyes widened. 'Why would someone want to have assassins kill your father?'

'I don't know. He was a farmer. But he was rude to a lot of people, so…'

She let her voice trail off. It was surprising how much it hurt, to talk about what had happened to Lemkil. Even to think about it.

'How did you meet Ozan?' Alesan asked, and she was grateful for the change of subject.

'Well, we met in Rorikstead. He was passing through, and he helped me when I was hurt. Then after my dad died, he found out, and he came to check that I was OK. He ended up adopting me.'

Alesan nodded. 'Sounds like him. He did pretty much the same thing with me.'

Sissel was surprised by the flicker of jealousy that stirred within her at his words. She'd already, she realised, become accustomed to the idea that she was special to Ozan, that he was in some way hers. It made it somewhat less special if he had a habit of helping orphaned children. But then, he'd simply bought Alesan to Erandur. For some reason, he'd taken in Sissel, into his home, into his family.

'Erandur told me that he brought you to live here,' Sissel said slowly. 'I wonder why he adopted me himself.'

'Don't ask me. Maybe he just wanted a family.'

'He's not even married to Jenassa, though. They are together, right?'

Alesan laughed. 'Oblivion, yeah. That's just about the most obvious thing in the world. If they're trying to hide it, they're failing. I mean, really failing.'

It was impossible for Sissel to stop herself from grinning; it was good to know that she wasn't just imagining things. 'Thought so. But you'd think that if he wanted kids, he'd have them with her. Unless Redguards can't have kids with Dunmer.'

'Humans and elves can have kids. Erandur's got this book, Racial Phylogeny, that explains how it works. Though he did tell me to take anything that book said with a pinch of salt, because there's a mistake in chapter seven, apparently, about the biology of Khajiit forms or something like that.' Alesan shrugged. 'But I don't that that's the reason.'

Sissel raised her eyebrows. 'So what do you think the reason is?'

'I only know what Erandur's told me. But he said something once about Ozan having a condition that meant he couldn't have children.'

'What kind of condition?'

He shook his head. 'No idea. He just said that, a condition. You know that face adults make when they don't want to talk about the thing they're talking about?

Sissel snorted. 'Nine Divines, yes.'

'Yeah, well, Erandur had that face when I tried to get him to talk about it.' He shrugged again. 'I don't know. I never know when it comes to Ozan, he's so… you know. He barely ever says anything. But he comes here quite a lot, to talk to Erandur, mostly. Sometimes he helps us with cleaning out the temple.'

'That's not all you do here, right?'

'Course not. Sometimes we go down into the town to help the people. You know, healing and stuff. Erandur's teaching me spells.'

'I know some magic too,' Sissel said eagerly. 'A friend of mine taught me when I lived in Rorikstead. I don't know any healing magic, though. Just how to make lights, and a spell that shows the way for you when you're lost, and a bit of fire magic.'

'I know all that stuff. And healing, and some Illusion spells.' Alesan seemed to notice her expression of disappointment, because he quickly added, 'But Erandur can teach you everything I know.'

'Do you like Erandur?'

'Oh, yeah, he's great. I swear, he knows pretty much everything. He's more than three hundred years old, and he's just, like, the best ever at magic. There was this one time we were walking to Dawnstar and a frost troll attacked us. I thought it was going to rip us apart, but Erandur just stood in front of it and threw fire at it…'

Alesan didn't have the same kind of intricacy of speech that had made Ozan's tale so beautiful to listen to, but the story was exciting enough, so Sissel was happy to listen. She hoped that some day she'd be able to watch Ozan in action, so that she could boast about him the same way Alesan seemed to enjoy boasting about Erandur. Seeing as Ozan fought dragons, she could probably have some fun telling stories like this.

As Alesan reached the part of his story where the troll collapsed onto the snow, its fur going up in flames, Sissel's ears pickled up a new sound beneath the sound of his voice. After a few moments, Alesan seemed to notice it too, for he quickly described the troll's death, then turned towards the door to listen. Sissel thought perhaps she heard the low murmur of Ozan's voice; then Erandur's joined it, a little more clearly.

'You know I don't agree with what you did,' he was saying. 'But I know that you're trying. That's clear. You want to make amends, and that counts for a lot.'

Ozan's husky voice echoed along the corridors in reply. 'I hope so.'

'It matters, believe me. Never doubt that it matters. Never doubt that you matter, either.'

Jenassa let out a chuckle. 'I can remind him of that, if it ever seems he's forgetting.'

They emerged into the room together. Jenassa and Erandur lingered in the doorway, while Ozan strode down the steps towards Sissel. 'We're leaving now. Might not be back until late. But we'll be back.'

Sissel smiled and nodded. 'OK. Have a good day.'

He dipped his head to her and turned towards the door. Then he stopped, stood with his back to her for a moment, then spun back around and walked over to her. Crouching so that he could look into her eyes from her level, he placed one hand on her shoulder.

Some deep-seated instinct in Sissel told her to flinch away. Because Ozan was a powerfully built man who was, at least on paper, her father. And the last powerfully built man who she could have called father had only ever touched her to hurt her. But she didn't flinch away. Because Ozan wasn't Lemkil.

Lemkil had never put his hand on her shoulder. The thought made her both angry and sad.

'I'm sorry. To be gone for so long.' Ozan pursed his lips, turning his head away. 'If things were different… if I were different…'

'It's OK,' Sissel said hurriedly. 'I don't mind.'

He straightened up. 'Good. Thank you.'

Suddenly looking awkward, embarrassed even, he took a few steps backward. Then he headed up the steps and out of the doorway, Jenassa following close behind him.

There was silence for a few moments after they were gone; then Alesan whistled softly. 'You're already getting complete sentences from him. That's a good sign.'

'Have some consideration, Alesan. Ozan might be…' Erandur hesitated, as if searching for the right words. '… Taciturn, but he has a good heart.' He shot Sissel a smile. 'You're in very good hands.'

Sissel grinned. 'I know.'

'Good to hear it.' Erandur clasped his hands together. 'Now. How about we get started on those magic lessons?'

About Shadowmere's gender... I know s/he's referred to as a male in Skyrim, but I've just got used to thinking of her/him as a female, as s/he is in Oblivion. I hope no one minds.

If anyone's wondering, I imagine Ozan's gear as being similar to the Regal Assassin Armour mod – I play on Xbox, so I don't have it myself, but I think it looks both vaguely Redguard-ish and less… overtly assassin-y as the Dark Brotherhood armour. As for his black jacket-coat-thing, that's something of my own invention. I think at some point I'll draw Ozan in his gear and put it on DeviantArt, so you guys can picture him a little more clearly.

This chapter may have been a bit quiet, but this will probably be the last of the chapters involving Sissel settling into her new life. From now on, things will be getting more interesting... Thanks for reading!