The dull ache in my stomach roused me from sleep. As I turned on my side, the relentless sunlight filtered through the crack at the entrance, driving away the darkness.
Hunger gripped me. Although Amon was not satisfied with the flavor, he was full, thanks to Nels and his men.
I pushed myself up from my bedroll and noticed him across the fire. His silver hair spilled messily over the edges of his bedroll, his face calm and serene. I stood up with the intention of reaching Riverwood for a proper meal. The southern regions, more welcoming to mer than the north, promised fewer difficulties—at least, that was my hope.
I pulled my hood over my head, stepped out of the cave where we had camped, and began my descent. Heading north towards Riverwood, the midday sun warmed the path before me.
Silent steps carried me into the Sleeping Giant Inn, a hollow space that felt almost oppressive in its emptiness. A single drunk Nord huddled in a corner, his desolate presence amplifying the room's silence.
Behind the counter stood a woman I recognized, her fair hair cascading around her shoulders and her blue eyes sharp and penetrating. She carried herself with an unyielding pride that seemed almost too grand for an innkeeper.
I took a seat at the counter, my gaze dropping to the worn surface as if to hide the pangs of hunger I couldn't ignore.
"Meat. Any meat. And quickly." I ordered, my voice barely more than a growl, as if my ravenous stomach was speaking for me.
"Of course." she replied with a trace of amusement, before turning to the cooking pots behind her. As I waited, I surveyed the inn once more. The ongoing civil war had clearly impacted Riverwood, a small town vulnerable to the conflict's reach, lacking the defenses of larger cities.
The clatter of a plate brought me back to reality. I glanced up to meet her gaze once more. Her eyes held mine for a fleeting moment, searching as if seeking something in my own weariness.
I quickly turned my attention to the plate before me, my hunger surging as I devoured the rabbit stew with an almost desperate ferocity. Each bite was a visceral relief, tearing through the emptiness inside me, offering a brief escape from the turmoil surrounding us.
"From the North, are you?" she asked, her voice firm with an undercurrent of suspicion.
"No." I replied tersely, taking another bite of stew.
"You carry the air of the North about you." she said, leaning closer to the counter. "Bad news, I'm afraid."
My spoon paused mid-air before I placed it back on my plate and met her gaze. "What news?"
Her blue eyes flashed with the clarity of the morning sky. "Dragons." she whispered, her words cutting through the silence and resonating deeply in my mind.
"What do you know about them?" I demanded, my curiosity piqued.
How could this woman have such knowledge? I hoped the rumors had not spread so quickly.
A faint, knowing smile curled at her lips. "I know they are deadly, vicious creatures."
"Go on," I pressed, my tone growing colder. It was clear she wasn't going to reveal much easily.
"And that they are coming to hunt us all down and end the world."
"That much I already know." I said, shrugging slightly as I returned my focus to the plate before me.
"There must be a way." she said, her voice tinged with desperation as if she needed my attention. And, in truth, she had it.
I remained silent, hoping my quiet would prompt her to elaborate, but she just fixed her gaze on me, unyielding.
"How?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Not how," she replied, her breath steady and unhesitant, "but who."
I raised an eyebrow, skepticism mingling with a fragile thread of hope. "And who might that be?"
Her blue eyes faltered for a moment, dropping to the counter as she grappled with her thoughts, struggling to articulate the answer.
"I—"
"Delphine!" a man's voice interrupted, calling from behind her.
"Don't go," I whispered, my voice barely audible but thick with desperation. I clung to her words, longing for the answer that might offer a sliver of hope.
Her eyes lifted from the counter to meet mine, a flicker of sorrow in their depths. "Perhaps some other time," she murmured, her voice almost tender, "when we meet again."
With that, she stepped away from the counter.
"Wait!" I wanted to scream, my silent plea bursting with urgency and frustration.
"I'm coming, Ognar! Stop yelling all the damn time!" she shouted back, her voice fading as she left.
Her cryptic message left me in a storm of emotional turmoil. Could there truly be someone who could counter the dragons' threat? The notion of a savior was both exhilarating and tormenting, feeding a fragile hope that gnawed at me with equal parts anticipation and fear.
Who could it be?
The question burned in my mind, the uncertainty of whether hope was just a fleeting dream or a tangible chance for salvation.
As the inn's door creaked open and a few Imperial soldiers entered, I pulled my hood tighter and lowered my gaze. It was time to leave. I left a coin on the counter and slipped out the door, careful to avoid any recognition.
As I made my way back to the cave, I saw Amon standing by the fire, his figure cast in stark shadows as he focused intently on sharpening his blade. The moment I entered his sphere, his eyes flicked up, the dagger in his hand flipping with a practiced ease before being sheathed with a deliberate, almost provocative finality.
"Where were you?" His voice cut through the air, laced with a demanding edge that bordered on possessive.
"At the inn, I-" I blinked, and suddenly his mismatched eyes were inches from mine, his proximity sending an electric jolt through my senses. His movement had been so swift and startling that it left a lingering warmth in the space he had just occupied.
Vampires and their unnerving speed.
"You went to Riverwood alone?" His voice dropped, each word laden with a concern that felt almost intimate.
I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the sharp edge in his tone, "Why not?" I responded, meeting his gaze with steady defiance.
His jaw tightened, his presence radiating tension and intensity. "I woke up and found you gone, with no trace of where you'd been." There was a quiet rage in his voice, though I couldn't decipher its source.
I crossed my arms, stepping back, as if to underscore my resolve. "I go where I want, and you should get used to it."
"How about you get used to us?" His voice was firm, his step forward resolute.
Us?
We were strangers. Riding together in silence or staying in the same inn for a night didn't change that truth. We didn't know and didn't trust eachother. Why did it infuriate him to think I might abandon him?
"Hearing the names they call me doesn't mean you know me." I said, my voice cool but laced with challenge.
His jaw relaxed, his gaze shifting to a calm that was oddly comforting.
"No," he replied, his tone softer, "I thought you were gone for good. Your belongings are still here, but I know—" He hesitated, causing my eyes to widen slightly. "—to you, nothing or nobody is too valuable to leave behind."
He is right.
I despised admitting it. I could abandon anyone, as those I valued either died or left me in other ways. I could also leave behind anything, carrying only what I needed to remain unburdened. Astrid had taught me that being too attached to possessions was contrary to an assassin's way.
"Let's just say my trust isn't easily earned." I muttered, trying to silence the storm of thoughts in my mind and averting my gaze.
He killed them.
I passed him deliberately, my shoulder brushing his lightly. As I made my way to my bedroll, the silence between us felt heavier than ever. For the first time, I longed for even the smallest sound to break the oppressive quiet. He moved toward the fire, choosing to remain silent as well.
I could just leave, knowing that he wouldn't be able to follow. Yet, the ease with which I had slept through the night next to a stranger, made me realize how much his presence had become, in its own twisted way, a comfort. Trusting him, a vampire, felt like a leap into the unknown, one I wouldn't have taken with my brothers or sisters.
Untill sunset, I spent my time packing my bag and cleaning the blood stained parts of my gear. Pulling my bedroll into a tight row and securing my backpack on my shoulder, I headed toward the cave's narrow entrance, each step heavy with the weight of the silence pressing down on me.
Say something.
A dull ache crept into my neck as I glanced back into the cave. Seeing Amon extinguishing the last flickers of the fire brought a fleeting sense of relief.
Stepping outside, the sun was setting softly over the pine trees, its light painting the lake with hues of gold and amber. With a whistle, I called for Shadowmere. She approached with a graceful urgency, as if she, too, yearned to go home. I mounted her, and behind me, I heard the soft shuffle of leather as Amon prepared his own steed.
As we rode through the enveloping night, the silence felt more oppressive than before. The indifference I had carried yesterday had dissolved, replaced by an unbearable tension. Each tree that passed us and every stone beneath the hooves seemed heavy with unspoken dread.
"At the inn," I ventured into the silence, "the innkeeper spoke of dragons." Just voicing it seemed to lift a fraction of the oppressive weight from the night, making the darkness feel a touch less menacing.
"It'll take a day or two for the news to reach Markarth." he responded, his gaze sharp and his crimson eye glowing faintly, adding an edge to the quiet.
"She mentioned that there's someone, that might be able to end all this." I continued, my voice trembling with the weight of my fears and hopes.
He exhaled heavily, the sound a mix of resignation and contemplation, as he looked away from me, focusing on the winding path ahead. "Another legend," he said, his tone dripping with a touch of disdain.
My curiosity sparked, and I prodded further, "You knew about this?"
He shrugged, his gaze never leaving the road as if searching for answers in the dark. "Well, I am old."
Old? The term seemed vague, and I found myself growing more frustrated. He appeared only a few years older than me, but his ageless demeanor suggested a lifetime of untold experiences.
"How old?" I pressed.
"Just old." he muttered, finally meeting my gaze. His expression was one of resignation, met by my furrowed brow.
I sighed, my determination breaking apart, "What legend?"
"A hero of the Nords," he replied, his voice softer, almost wistful. "The ultimate dragon slayer of the Blades, and the daring ambition of unfortunate Varen."
His words felt like fragments of a broken dream. We were told that the Blades had been eradicated by The Thalmor, their legacy now nothing more than a shadow of the past.
"Just tell me what this really means." I demanded, my voice now a mix of urgency and weariness.
"A warrior with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon." he murmured, his gaze steady, as if daring me to grasp the enormity of what he was saying, his crimson eye was deep, shining like a flawless ruby.
I struggled to reconcile his words with everything I knew about dragons and the teachings of the Thalmor, a flicker of doubt and suspicion began to gnaw at me. Could Amon be spinning a story just to get on my nerves?
"And what is this warrior's destiny?" I asked, my voice trembling with a blend of frustration and vulnerability.
His gaze met mine briefly before he turned back to the darkened forest. "Whatever the warrior chooses."
Before I could react, the rhythmic clatter of hooves grew louder. Amon spurred his steed forward along with his gaze, startling Shadowmere and vanishing into the night with an almost desperate haste. Suddenly, I was alone.
I pressed Shadowmere forward into the thickening gloom, my heart pounding as I scanned the forest for any sign of Amon. The darkness enveloped me, hiding every detail, every hint of where he might have gone. As I neared a clearing, I saw his dark steed standing alone, its serene presence a stark contrast to the encroaching night.
A rush of suspense surged through me, making my breath quicken. I dismounted Shadowmere with a sense of urgency, my eyes desperately searching the shadows.
The clearing was bathed in the dim light of the moon, but beyond it, the forest remained a wall of inky black. I opened my palm, conjuring a small flame that cast a trembling light over the clearing. Shadows danced ominously on the trees, and the only sounds were the anxious breaths of the horses and the distant rustle of the night. The solitude felt almost tangible, a heavy weight pressing down on me.
He was gone, just as I was starting to think I could get used to us.
To be continued…