Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement is intended. Thanks for the great game, Bethesda!
Chapter 3: Riften
Svana watched the Stormcloak swing Farandomar over the edge and screamed into her gag. Inside, her chest felt like a bear was clawing it apart.
Please, not Far, too! I can't lose Far, too!
"So. You're either Thalmor up to your pointy ears, or were heading to sign up. That's your second wrong answer."
Her eyes screwed shut with the pain. Tears streamed freely down her face. Beside her, she heard the Khajiit whimper.
DOVAHKIIN!
Svana stumbled as the world bucked. She opened her eyes just in time to see the Khajiit plant a solid kick into the stomach of the Stormcloak behind it. She blinked.
As the Stormcloak hit the cobbles, the Khajiit lunged at Svana, bound hands raised and a snarl twisting its face. Pain flashed across Svana's wrists as pale claws sliced through her bindings. Warm, wet blood welled up from the wounds as her hands flew to remove her gag. The world continued to shake, but the fury of striped white fur seemed oblivious to the tremors.
No sooner had the bindings parted than the Khajiit sprang for the Stormcloak who had been holding Svana, twisting in the air with an ear-splitting yowl. Its feet thudded into the Stormcloak, who slammed into one of the narrow trees before crashing to the dirt in a heap. The Khajiit had rolled to its feet even before its back touched the cobbles of the road.
As the ground stabilized beneath her, Svana spotted an iron sword belonging to one of the downed Stormcloaks. She looked up. The Stormcloak leader hauled himself upright against the wooden railings, while the other two Stormcloaks drew their swords and advanced on the snarling Khajiit. A bolt of alarm shot through her.
They're going to kill him! Her?
Svana's fingers trembled as she wrapped them around her new sword. A bead of blood tickled its way from her wrist down to the leather of the handgrip.
"Rasarin!"
Svana spared a glance down the main street and located the source of the cry. The Stormcloaks also paused to look. An enormously tall, blonde newcomer bore down on the group, tightening buckles on leather armour as she ran. Her blade was already drawn in one hand.
The Khajiit straightened. "Mjoll!"
The Stormcloak leader made a sharp gesture to the rising Stormcloak who had been the recipient of the Khajiit's first kick. "Call the guards! Go! Go!"
Svana flinched as the Khajiit's whiskers tickled her cheek. Its voice was a low whisper. "This one thinks Mjoll will handle them better with our absence. Follow closely."
"We can't—"
Rasarin swung away, overriding any protest. Svana cursed. She ducked to the left, keeping pace with Rasarin's light sprint towards the Stormcloak leader. His lunge halted short when Mjoll grabbed a handful of his cloak. The Khajiit flashed its teeth at him as they ran down the stairs to the harbour. Once they reached the lower walkway, Rasarin spun to face Svana with arms extended and hands spread. A plea. Svana eased her sword between the Khajiit's wrists and severed the bindings.
"By order of the Jarl, all of you stop right where you are!"
"Ignore that," whispered Rasarin. "Wait while this one gets your friend." The slitted green eyes flicked to the ruckus above. "We will need to run."
Svana swallowed the bitterness that welled up in her throat. We're always running. Skyrim was supposed to be safe. Nothing moved at the top of the staircase, although the shouting continued. She heard a splash as Farandomar was hauled onto the walkway. Please be okay, Far.
"Run!" Rasarin jerked Svana's elbow and took off at a sprint, half-dragging the dripping Altmer. "This way!"
Damn you, that hurt! Svana scowled. Golden eyes filled with concern made sure she was pursuing. The scowl deepened. "Watch where you're going, Far!"
They passed several doors, but their guide ignored them all. One loose board flexed beneath Svana's foot. Oh Divines.
The Khajiit released Farandomar and bounded up another flight of stairs. It crouched for a moment at the top, ears and tail twitching back and forth, then made a sharp gesture for them to follow.
Svana exhaled. Here we go.
A large, gentle hand pressed against the small of Svana's back. She reached behind to grip Farandomar's sodden arm. You're still here. I'm still here. We'll make it through this.
They had almost reached the top of the stairs when Rasarin swung to the left. Svana noticed the Khajiit's tail stiffen, erect.
"The building straight ahead—Go!"
A blonde, sad-eyed Nord dropped her broom as they burst through the doors. "The Bunkhouse isn't an inn. I'd recommend—"
"Does it look like this one has need of Dibella right now?!"
The woman froze; the rest of her words dead on her lips. The Khajiit ignored her and pressed its ear against the rough wood of the door.
That was uncalled-for. Svana glared at Rasarin's back as she retrieved the broom, then held it out to the sad-eyed Nord as a peace offering. She attempted to smile. "You didn't deserve that."
The door latch clicked as Rasarin slipped into the night.
"I think you should leave." The woman accepted the broom as if it were a snake. She stared at Svana's bloody arm. "And take your trouble with you."
"But—!"
"Quiet, please, Svana," mumbled Farandomar. He had assumed Rasarin's previous position, but now stepped back. "Someone's coming." Svana swallowed.
A white paw striped with dark brown edged the door open. Rasarin. "All is clear for the moment." The Khajiit motioned for them to join it outside. A broad, friendly grin split its face as it pointed to a house close to what Svana guessed was the city's main gate. "That house belongs to Aerin, a friend. Tell him Rasarin sent you."
Farandomar grabbed the Khajiit as their guide began to creep away. His eyes were narrowed. "Where are you going?"
The Khajiit pried his fingers from its forearm. "This one intends to retrieve what the Stormcloaks have stolen. We can exchange pleasantries—and farewells—then."
Svana found herself trailing behind Farandomar's new tour guide as they dawdled through the market the next morning, bitterly wishing either he or she was somewhere else. Not that there's anything wrong with the man, she admitted to herself. I'm sure I'd be pleased with his company any other day.
Today, however, the thin copper amulet in her pocket weighed far too much.
If only you were here to see this.
Farandomar halted on the bridge ahead. A thin smile was all Svana had to offer the merchant whose wares she had been admiring as she excused herself. Drawing alongside the Altmer, she noted his stiff posture as he stared into nothing and squashed the urge to poke him in the ribs.
"Last night," he muttered.
Svana turned to look again.
The tree.
The edge.
The guards.
She tried to suppress a shudder, with mixed success. Rasarin said she'd smoothed things over, but I don't think it's a coincidence she vanished with the sunrise. The sooner we're done with this tour and on our way to Whiterun, the better.
"Ah, Honorhall Orphanage. Now that's a tale worth telling."
Both Svana and Farandomar jumped at their forgotten guide's reappearance. The wooden railing creaked as the Imperial leaned forward to rest on it. "It's a story best served after a few tankards in the tavern at night, but..." He shrugged his shoulders.
Farandomar cautiously lowered himself to copy their guide's relaxed posture. "Go on, Marcurio."
Oh, here we go again. Thanks, Far. Svana crossed her arms and slouched her hip against the rail, prompting another creak from the aged wood. I hope it's strong enough to hold all of us.
"Five or six years ago, Honorhall Orphanage was run by an old hag named Grelod. Not an actual hag hag," Marcurio amended himself. "But she was just missing feathers, I swear."
Town gossip is so cruel. Svana rolled her eyes and huffed, loud enough to make her displeasure known. Poor old woman.
"No, I stand by that. Guards found shackles on the walls when they searched the place."
"Shackles?!" Anger, shock and horror bubbled in Svana's stomach. Those poor children...
"Why wasn't anything done?"
Marcurio shot them both a dark sideways glance. "Same reason nothing is ever done around here, I suppose. We're jumping ahead of the story, though." He kicked his boot against one of the railing posts. "One of the orphans eventually managed to escape to Windhelm, where he began obsessively trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood."
Good. Svana glowered at the heavy doors. And I hope they got her.
"When Grelod caught word of it, she started killing the orphans."
The wooden rail squeaked under Farandomar's white-knuckled grip.
"Eventually, the Dark Brotherhood sent one of their murderers, posing as an orphan. The guards heard the screaming, and when they finally broke through the door... they found the place awash with blood. Everyone was in hysterics. They found Grelod's head and body in different rooms." His voice had dropped low, but every word was clear and slow. "Her blood stains the floorboards and walls to this very day."
Another shudder swept through Svana. Tiny prickles ran up her arms as every hair stood upright.
All of a sudden, Marcurio clapped his hands and straightened, grinning when the mood shattered. "Like I said, a good one for the tavern at night. Shall we move on?" Without waiting for a reply, he strode off the bridge.
Seconds later, Svana found herself struggling to tune out everything she never wanted to know about Mistveil Keep and its Jarl. Darn it, Far. The copper amulet skimmed across her knuckles as she shoved her hands back into her pockets. Her fingers wrapped it tight in her fist.
An image of a crumpled body dumped in bushes beside the road flashed across her mind.
Without thinking, she reached up to rub the thin cut on her face. The healing potion had done its work well, but the scratch and scar that remained still itched. We'd just crossed the border. We'd made it.
Svana closed her eyes against the hot, wet prickling that threatened to blur her vision. The amulet's edge dug into her palm like a blunt knife as she released a deep sigh. "Marcurio."
"Hm?" The Imperial half-turned, silenced for a moment.
Thank Talos. I don't give a skeever's about Riften or anything in it. Aloud, she asked, "Is there a priest or temple here?"
Amber eyes studied her face. "I can take you to the Temple of Mara." As Farandomar's fingers gripped Svana's shoulder, understanding softened Marcurio's expression. "There's a priest of Arkay there."
Commentary: I do not like this chapter and insult both it and all of its ancestors. I am giving up on it and moving on to the next one. There will never be such a long wait between chapters again.
Edit: No, I owe everyone a better apology than that. Dog and I bought a patch of dirt and all our time had been focused on the large kennel's construction design. I find it very difficult to write and stay serious at the same time, so end up with quite a few "cracked" versions of each chapter that never see the light of day beyond my notebook. Please accept the below "cracked" snippet as token of my gratitude and measure of my apology.
Svana tailed along behind Farandomar's new tour guide as they navigated their way through the market.
"So, we can get the Ratway Pokestop from here," advised Marcurio, giving his phone a tap. He pointed over the bridge to a large stone building. "And over here, we have Mistveil Keep Gym. I would ask that if you are not yet level 5 and/or have not yet picked a team, that you consider joining Team Instinct."
Svana immediately joined Team Valor.
Ahead, Farandomar froze on the bridge. As she came up alongside him, he muttered, "Last night."
The tree.
The edge.
The guards.
"Well, if you'd been looking where you were going instead of chasing after that Zubat, you wouldn't have walked off the edge!" she snapped.
Farandomar's stare was icy. "And you wouldn't have walked into that tree."
(I'm so sorry.)