Chapter Text
Two days later, they left Riften for Whiterun, catching the carriage yet again. Kaidan insisted on paying and since she had no income of her own, Ami was forced to accept his charity, much to her chagrin. Talen-Jei had gifted her the entire Eslaf saga for her assistance with the Guild and it turned out that Kaidan was quite literate and a fan of the books. Reading the ridiculous tales and arguing their merit with him chewed up the long hours of the ride from the autumnal forests of the Rift to the dark, dour pines of Falkreath before it grew too dark to read and debate alike. The bounty hunter cloaked her with his bearskin cloak as well as her wolfskin one, seemingly dozing comfortably in the chill air despite his lack of Nord ancestry while she huddled under layers of fur. But the constant exhaustion stole in like a thief and she fell into darkness after laying down on the hard wooden bench. Her back already missed the comfortable mattress back at the Bee and Barb.
It was dawn when the light pierced her eyelids and awoke her. Stiff from sleeping on a hard bench in the cold, she sat up with a groan, keeping the cloaks wrapped around her as they rolled into a village of steep-roofed cottages and guards in deep blue tabards. Kaidan was already awake, his ebony carving knife shaving away slivers of ivory from the curved section of mammoth tusk he carried. “Morning,” he said as the carriage stopped. “We’ve reached Falkreath. Driver’s having an hour’s break, so it’s a good time to stretch your legs if you want.”
She shrugged off the bearskin cloak for him to take, stomach growling. Talen-Jei had packed some smoked fish, cheese and flatbread for the journey and they’d eaten some last night, saving the rest for breakfast. It was simple enough to hand him half the food before he tried to insist on her eating it, because big meals still made her stomach feel too full after months of gruel and broth, and he took it with a long red-eyed stare that made her keenly aware of how little she had. His insistence on sharing everything and that the debt was on his end made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to people caring about her.
Kaidan helped her down from the carriage and it was good to stretch her legs as they walked into the village. Falkreath was smaller than she expected for a Hold capital, its buildings solid and built from the native pine, and drizzle fell from the endlessly weeping sky. Wasn’t this town called Skyrim’s graveyard or some such? There was so little she knew about this province despite being a Nord.
“Ho there, Red-Eyes!” greeted an older man with greying hair clad in iron armour. “I thought you were leaving for Hammerfell weeks ago?”
“Been there and back,” Kaidan responded, raising his hand. “Collected the bounty on Thorn. Well, part of it. The Redguards assembled a crack team for it.”
“Well, raids on caravans have halved since late Mid Year,” the Nord observed with a sigh. “In the mood for a quick errand?”
“If it can be done before the carriage leaves, sure,” Kaidan agreed readily.
“Just…” The silvering Nord sighed again. “Berit’s old wounds caught up to him again. We burned him yesterday. But I haven’t had the heart to take his ashes to Runil for interment.”
“He was a good man,” Kaidan said sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” The man walked up to them and handed over a large leather bag. “Old Runil knows what to do. I just can’t bear to say goodbye yet even though I know I must.”
“He’ll be laid to rest, I promise,” Kaidan said softly. “I’ll go take them now.”
“Thank you,” repeated the widower.
“I’ll be back in a few,” Kaidan told Ami. “Just got to run these down to the Hall of the Dead.”
Ami nodded silently and he took himself off down one of the beaten-earth tracks that served Falkreath as streets. Only the main road was cobbled through the village. The villagers were mostly shorter and browner than Nords from the east or north, the influence of Cyrodiil and Hammerfell clear in their geometrically embroidered tunics and cloaks, with rounder faces and noses. She was surprised to fit right in with her new appearance, curious glances thrown her way as they went about her business. Hadn’t her mother come from this Hold? There was so little she knew and remembered about her family.
It was easy to stand there, nibbling on cheese and smoked fish wrapped in flatbread, as Kaidan completed the errand for the grieving Nord. He’d told her that running errands was always a good easy way to earn some coppers and anyone who turned their nose up at such menial work was a fool. Pity her own lack of strength hobbled her because she could have earned a few septims of her own.
After about fifteen minutes or so, Kaidan returned without a bag. There was a ponderous grace in his movements, clearly trained to be comfortable in heavy armour, and he carried the steel and ebony of his gear with no discernible discomfort. He raised a hand to the widower, who nodded and tossed him a small bag of coins. Well, that was all to the good because she feared her needs were draining the bounty hunter’s coffers faster than he could replenish them.
“Well, that’s enough for the Bannered Mare tonight,” Kaidan said after counting out three gold septims. “It’s pricier than the Bee and Barb but worth it.”
“I can sleep on a pallet again,” she told him quietly as he tucked the coin into his beltpouch. “I don’t need a proper bed.”
“Hmm. Think I could probably talk Hulda into letting me put a pallet down in one of the bedrooms,” Kaidan mused as they walked back to the carriage. “Depends on how busy it’s been this summer.”
“Summer’s the height of the trading and travelling seasons,” Ami observed.
“Aye.” Kaidan knuckled one of his eyes with a big fist. “We’ll need to find somewhere to stay in winter. It’ll be that long before you’re healthy again.”
She hadn’t thought that far. “I’ll find something,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel.
“Bah, I’ve got the next few months to collect enough bounties to cover shelter for the winter,” Kaidan said dismissively. “Whiterun’s always good for them as bandits breed on the plains like flies on horsesh*t. Between the loot and the bounties, we’ll be fine.”
“I’ll find a job,” she promised softly.
“You worry about getting better. I’ll worry about the coin.” He helped her climb back into the carriage, where she sat down on the bench while he retrieved his cloak. “Reckon you’re smart enough to get higher prices for the loot anyway.”
Ami gave a strangled rusty sound that she realised was a laugh. How long had it been since she’d laughed? Not since before Neela-Tai’s disappearance. “I doubt they’ll be impressed with someone who’s skin and bone and hair.”
“You’ll fill out soon enough,” Kaidan assured her. “You managed to wrangle Cynric into an agreement after all.”
“That was knowing how the Cyrod Guild runs,” she said softly, shrugging. “Nothing great.”
“Well, you impressed Talen-Jei and Keerava.” Kaidan leaned back against the bench’s backrest. “I suppose Brynjolf would have been happy to have you but the Riften Guild’s cursed somehow. Didn’t want you mixed up in that.”
“I’ve heard about it myself,” Ami admitted. “I think Brynjolf was angling for me to join.”
“Aye and you shut him down well. He’s a good man but… I don’t trust Mercer.” Kaidan sighed and looked over the village. “Whiterun’s better than Riften. I’m sure you’ll be able to find some sort of work there. Until then, I’ll make sure you want for nothing.”
Ami nearly growled in frustration. Yes, she was weak from months of deprivation, but she wasn’t some invalid to be coddled like a child! Kaidan seemed to be the overprotective sort and now she had the opportunity to live a life free of the Empire…
The bounty hunter closed his eyes as the driver climbed into the seat and flicked the reins to get the horse moving again. If they’d been in Cyrodiil, she’d have suspected him to be a Cyro-Nord with those sharply defined features, that straight black hair and the bronze cast to his skin thanks to the Akaviri ancestry prevalent in that blood. But the clans were killed off or scattered and she’d never heard of Akaviri clans settling anywhere else in the Empire after the Second Era. To further complicate matters, his stark black tattoos were Nord in design, especially the interlaced one on his arm. His accent was Rifter, as she’d come to realise after several days in the Rift, and he spoke as one familiar with Nord ways. She realised that she knew very little about him.
“So where are you from?” she asked softly.
“Me? Never had a home. Always wandered the provinces with my guardian.” Kaidan sighed and tilted his head back, letting the drizzle fall on his face. “Grew up in the wilderness, learning how to survive where other lads learned a trade. For the most part, it’s been a good life.”
Until you ran afoul of the Thalmor, she reflected. “Are your kin from Cyrodiil?” she asked curiously. “You have the look of a Cyro-Nord.”
“Ah, I’m no Nord, though I was raised as one by one,” Kaidan responded. “Not sure what I am, actually. I have no Colovian Star or Spirit of Shor to strengthen me. Brynjar said little about my mother beyond that she was brave and clever and beautiful.”
“You said your blade was hers,” Ami noted.
“I did. I’ve never been able to understand the script etched into its blade but I do know it’s Dragonish as I’ve seen Word Walls.” Kaidan opened his eyes to look at her. “I was… tracking clues… when I ran afoul of those we killed in Eastmarch.”
“I see,” she said softly. “Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s languages. If we can find a library, maybe I can help translate the blade.”
“Aye? A regular scholar, are you?” Kaidan gave her a warm smile that softened the harsh planes of his face. Scars or not, he was a very handsome man, though she doubted he thought that of her. “I’d welcome the help, truth be told. But setting you up takes precedence.”
Ami groaned. “I’m not some invalid that needs to be coddled!”
“No, you’re not. You’re one of the toughest women I’ve ever met. Enduring what you have…” Kaidan sighed and looked at his hands. “You’ve said little about yourself. I know why, of course, but…”
“Not much to tell,” she said cagily, aware of the driver. “I was part-time Guild until the purge in Bruma, then I was captured and thrown in prison until you arrived.”
“Explains how you knew things were run in Cyrodiil,” Kaidan observed. “Reckon we’ll find something else for you to do.”
The carriage rolled on through the pine forests until it reached a border town called Helgen, where more passengers came on board and forced them to silence. From Helgen, it went to Riverwood, a lumber village on the banks of a river (hence its name) before leaving the pine forests for the open tundra of Whiterun Hold. If the Rift was a glory of flame hues and Falkreath darkly dour, then Whiterun soared above a carpet of rainbow-dusted rusty green-gold with all the legendary presence of the semi-mythical Nord city. Lush farms and many buildings spilled out from the crumbling walls and a mighty fortress oversaw it all.
Ami couldn’t help but gasp in awe and Kaidan nodded. “Aye. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Well, it’s the most prosperous city in Skyrim. If we can make it here, we can make it anywhere.”
