Qaralana pushed open the door of the house she’d grown up in and smiled, if somewhat wistfully. It seemed very large and very empty now, even though it hadn’t been that long since the days when she and Chip, and sometimes Harald, had made a racecourse out of the ground floor, running around and around and sometimes knocking furniture over.
She grinned, remembering the times when her father – or one of her uncles, or even High King Ulfric – would scoop one or the other of them up into the air, as the target being scooped giggled in glee and mock terror. She could remember her father’s voice pretending to scold, in an exaggerated version of his own accent: “Slow down, ye wee reprobate!”
It was past now, the delightful childhood. She’d moved out just recently; not very far as the bird flew, but emotionally it was a huge distance. The other side of Riften sometimes felt a million leagues away.
Even Harald’s left home now, and he’s the youngest.
She heard a noise to her left, and peeked around the corner to find a petite Redguard woman, humming to herself as she worked at something on the kitchen counter. She remembered when her mother’s hair had been black. Now it was a faded brown, as the gray crept in more and more each year. It didn’t matter. She was still beautiful. Qaralana often wished she resembled her mother more; but while she had many of her mother’s features she was tall and red-haired like her father, and had his stocky frame.
“Mama!”
Her mother, Sayma Sendu, turned her head and smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Hello, sweetie! I’m happy to see you.” She looked down at her hands and grimaced. “Give me a second to clean up. I’ve been kneading some bread dough and I’m all covered with oil.”
“Keeping Daddy well fed, I guess?”
Sayma grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped her hands on it. “Him and those men of his. He ends up dragging at least one of them back here pretty much every day. He says it’s to talk business but I think he’s just showing off the fact that I’m a better cook than I used to be.” She grinned at Qaralana and tossed the cloth down on the counter. “I have more time to practice, these days. So what’s up today?”
Qara shrugged. “Oh, um, well, I guess I was looking for some advice.”
That’s one way to ease into it, I suppose.
“Well, good. I’d hate to think I was beyond being useful for advice now and then. Let’s go outside to talk. It’s so nice today.”
The two women made their way out into the sunny afternoon, and into the gazebo that had been the site of many a fine picnic for Qara and her brother when they were small. She smiled at her mother and started talking about the garden outside her new cabin. Pretty much everything was where she wanted it to be inside, but she wasn’t much of a landscaper; and she knew her mother was an expert with herbs and flowers.
Her father Brynjolf had objected, long and loud, to the idea that they would demolish the old fishing shack on the shores of Lake Honrich. She remembered eavesdropping one night when she couldn’t sleep, and her parents had been arguing – as quietly as they could manage – before the fireplace.
“It’s falling apart, Bryn,” Sayma had said. “Pretty soon it’s going to be downright dangerous. What if one of the kids is in there when those rotten timbers give way? How will you feel if someone gets hurt?”
Qaralana remembered the long pause and the resigned harumph from her father.
“I know. I know you’re right. It’s just that…”
Sayma had tsk’d, a sound of frustration. “It’s just that Vitus used to live there and you still can’t quite give up on him, even after all these years.” She sighed loudly. “I get it, Red. I really do. It’s hard to give up on something that’s so much a part of you. But it’s just a cabin. An old, nasty cabin that’s turning into a hazard. It isn’t him. You won’t be throwing him away if you tear it down and put something better in its place.”
Brynjolf sighed.
“I don’t know how you still put up with me, lass,” he murmured. “I must be quite the trial to live with.”
“Not as much of a trial as living without you was,” Sayma responded without so much as a heartbeat of hesitation.
Qaralana remembered a long silence, then, and had always wondered what her parents had been doing during it. Sometimes she giggled to herself, imagining a long, romantic kiss. Sometimes she imagined them just ignoring each other, or possibly exchanging dramatic, soul-baring gazes instead. Whatever it had been, the silence was broken by Brynjolf’s exclamation.
“I know! Let’s take it down, and build a cabin for Qara. She’s getting to be grown, now, and she probably wants a place of her own just like Chip did, and it’ll take us a few months to get it done right. By the time we’re finished she’ll be past fifteen and it’ll be time. If she’s right there on the lake she’ll be close, but it’ll still be something that’s hers…” He trailed off.
“Yes. That’s a great idea. It’ll be hers, and not a leftover of days gone by like Honeyside is. Let’s do it.”
Qaralana had drifted back to sleep after that, so she’d never known what her parents might have talked about after that. She didn’t know who “Vitus” was, or what connection he’d had to her father; but it didn’t matter. She was going to get her own house. A house, all to herself!
Qara smiled, listening to her mother talk about what crops would be the most valuable in the long run to plant in that garden. A house of my own, and I don’t even know what to do with it. Ah well. I have plenty of time to figure it out.
After a few more minutes of discussion, Sayma carefully folded her hands onto her lap and smiled. She had several smiles, and this was the knowing one.
“Now that we have that sorted, are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?” she asked quietly.
Qaralana winced. “That obvious, am I?”
Sayma nodded. “Well, I’ve known you since before you were born. ‘What should I plant’ is a question that didn’t require a special trip home while you knew your father was already occupied.”
Qara winced again. It was true; she’d heard her father’s distinctive voice from the marketplace, and had decided it was the perfect time to go get her mother’s advice. Sayma was sharp-eyed and wise; but Brynjolf was a master at reading people’s intentions and situations, and she’d known better than to approach him with this concern.
“Ok, you’ve got me. Mama, I’m…” She rose, and started pacing back and forth. “I’m not cut out to be in the Guild. I’m just not. It’s not… right for me. And I don’t want to tell Daddy. I’m afraid I’ll be such a disappointment.”
Qaralana loved her parents, and she’d done her very best to follow in their footsteps. She’d joined the Thieves’ Guild after her first decade and done small jobs for her father for some time now; and everyone involved seemed pleased with her work. But it felt… wrong. It wasn’t the thefts that bothered her. She was always sent to take things from people who had too much, and she’d been reassured that the money made it to those who had too little.
It just felt as though she was meant to be more than a common footpad.
Sayma nodded slowly. “You’ve never worn your uniform. I always wondered why.”
Qaralana’s nose wrinkled. “It’s because it’s ugly as sin, mother.” Her own chosen armor was dark, almost a scaled pattern with a few deep red accents and a scattering of lighter pieces that helped her blend into the foliage like light sparkling through the leaves and their shadows.
Sayma chuckled. “There is that. I hope you realize that you couldn’t be a disappointment to your father if you worked at it for the rest of his life. He’s just that proud of you. So tell me; what do you want to be?”
Qara stopped short and turned to stare at her mother. “I don’t know, Mama. That’s just it. It’s a feeling, and it’s been getting stronger by the day. Especially the last few weeks. It feels like something’s about to happen.”
One of Sayma’s eyebrows rose. “You and Harald aren’t running away together, are you? His mother would never forgive me.”
Qara paused for a second, her mouth open. She couldn’t believe her mother was even saying such a thing.
“Me and… Harald?”
Sayma grinned. “Stranger things have happened than people in their teens getting together, you know.” The look on her face told Qara that Sayma had stories tucked away in her mind that might not be truly appropriate for a daughter to hear.
“Harald’s my buddy, Mama. We enjoy each other’s company, but… eww. I can’t even picture it.” For a moment, the vision of the blonde Nord prince with the thick beard kissing her flitted through her mind, and she giggled at it. They had kissed, once; more because everyone expected them to be a couple than for any other reason. It had been like snuggling up to a pet dog. They’d tried it, and ended up laughing at each other. Harald was her playmate and friend, not a romantic interest.
Sayma nodded. “Well, don’t worry too much about it, Qara. I started out with the Guild, too. I’m technically still a member, but my primary responsibilities are elsewhere.”
“And that would be…?” Qaralana asked, knowing that she would have no answer from her mother. Sayma tended to disappear for several days at a time, every so often; and neither she nor Brynjolf would divulge where she went.
“Something that is not for me to share,” Sayma said in a tone that allowed for no further argument. “Listen, sweetheart. It takes time for us to find our place in life. We’ve always suspected that there were bigger things in store for you, but nobody knows what, exactly.”
This was new, to Qaralana. She’d never heard any of the older generation talking about her future before.
“We… as in you and who else?”
Sayma frowned. “Your uncle Roggi, for one. Speaking of that,” she said, “I wonder if you’d be willing to do something for me?”
Of course. Change the subject, don’t tell me what you know, and distract me with a job.
In spite of her momentary annoyance, Qara nodded. “Sure. Shoot.”
Sayma’s face and voice turned very serious. “I need to know that my brother is alright. Roggi’s very worried about him. He’s got a cough that won’t quit.” She frowned. “Roggi tries to put a brave face on things but I know him. And I’m afraid of what might he might do if something bad happens to Dardeh. Will you take a couple of days and go to check on him? Maybe take some of my herbs along. Roggi will know what to do with them. He’s a better alchemist than I am. And make Dardeh pay attention and take his medicine! The man’s only half-Nord but he’s as stubborn as two of them put together.”
Qaralana wondered for a moment why, if her mother was so concerned, she didn’t go herself. Sayma stared at her with the penetrating pale green eyes that unsettled so many others, and shook her head.
“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is that I have to make a business trip in a completely different direction. Please do this for me?”
Qara sighed. Then she smiled, and nodded. “Of course. Maybe being on the road for a couple of days will clear the cobwebs out of my head.”
They spent another hour or so together, while Sayma gathered some ingredients to send west. They had a bite to eat, and talked about inconsequential things. Sayma was a serious woman, and sometimes it felt to Qara as though she had a dark cloud following her. It had always felt like an accomplishment to make her mother laugh; and so it did on this day, as well. Finally, she gave Sayma a hug and headed out. She’d stop at her own house first, and then double back through Riften to take the road on the southern side of Lake Honrich.
It was a beautiful day for a trip: warm, with a soft breeze. She made good time; for once there were no aggressive animals interrupting her progress. The lone set of wolves she passed, across the lake from the old Faldar’s Tooth ruins, was well on its way to being dispatched by a Stormcloak patrol; and she felt no need to join in the fight. She picked a few ingredients along the side of the road, wandering down to the shoreline to scrape a few barnacles off the rocks and scoop some slimy but valuable slaughterfish eggs out of their beds.
But as she meandered westward, her sense of unease grew. It was just a gnawing feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It had been bothering her for several weeks now; and she was annoyed that her pleasant walk along the lakeshore was being interrupted by it yet again. She was almost to the turn-off to Ivarstead when the feeling went from just an annoying nagging sensation in the back of her mind to something more insistent, more immediate.
Something’s about to change. I don’t know what it is.
“Well, maybe it’ll be a good change. Maybe I’ll finally figure out what I’m supposed to…”
Qara stopped, frozen in place, as shouts – sounds of anger and of fear – drifted up the hill from the town. She started to trot down the slope toward the sawmill, drawing her daggers in case she might be of some use.
It was then that she heard it: the rushing of enormous wings and the piercing shriek of a roar, followed almost instantly by great gouts of fire strafing the center of Ivarstead.
A dragon!
Qaralana had grown up hearing about dragons. Uncle Dar had, it was said, killed the greatest dragon of them all and saved the world – a notion that was romantic and exciting but unrealistic. “Dragonborn,” they called him; she’d never paid much attention to the stories because, after all, old people liked to exaggerate the tales of their youthful glories. Still, she knew the dragons existed; rumor had it that someone had killed a forest dragon just outside the gates of Riften not long ago, while she’d been in Windhelm visiting Harald. But in spite of more stories from her uncles than a child could tactfully sit still through, she’d never seen one close up.
And if we don’t kill it, this whole town’s going to go up like a torch!
She sprinted toward the town, swapping her blades for her bow. The dragon was far too fast, and too high up in the air, for her daggers to be of any use whatsoever. The great creature banked and took aim at Ivarstead again. Saplings bowed before the rush of the huge wings, and a horrible, ear-splitting keening erupted just ahead of a wall of fire. A shudder ran up Qaralana’s spine. There was something odd about that roar; but she was too busy trying to get a shot at the creature to figure it out.
“You’ll die this day, dragon!” one of the guards bellowed, only to be rolling on the ground screaming, trying to douse the flames on his clothing the next moment.
Qara shot at the dragon, but missed horribly. Chip’s the archer, not me; how am I supposed to help?
Get DOWN here!
She shrieked at the dragon, mentally. She needed it to be on the ground so that she could go at it with her daggers. Qaralana was very good at fighting with daggers; she’d had the best instruction that her father and his people could provide, and that type of battle seemed to come naturally to her. But it was of no use to her when the adversary was above her and out of reach.
“Get DOWN here!”
This time she yelled aloud. The dragon, though, howled its fire breath at them all again. Between Qara, the guards, and a couple of hunters and citizens that had bows at hand, there was an absolute storm of arrows arching up through the sky – and then, for the most part, falling back to ground. She fired as quickly as she could, fuming at the lack of power in her draw and wishing she had something else she could use.
The guards were also shouting at it, and several people were screaming because they’d been burned. Qara stepped under the overhang of the inn’s porch as the dragon strafed them once more, just barely out of reach of its flames; even so she felt her exposed skin heating up and was afraid she’d singed some hair. Her ears rang from the noise.
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard!” she shrieked, stepping back out into the street with her bow drawn all the way back, hoping she could hold the shot long enough to get a solid hit on the dragon; wishing she had biceps like her strong brother or her big Nord father. Her mouth opened in shock.
The dragon was flying away, up toward the top of the great mountain known as the Throat of the World. One man with a bow dashed for the base of the Seven-Thousand Steps, screaming that they should follow him; but Qara couldn’t imagine how they could possibly catch it, or have enough energy to fight it after the climb even if they did. Instead, the rest of them milled about in the street outside the inn, shouting at the dragon to come back and fight; but it slowly rose and circled until it eventually vanished into the cloud of mist that forever obscured the top of the mountain.
“I can’t believe it,” one guard said, shaking his head as he walked down the street. “I can’t believe it just flew away.”
Qaralana stood staring up at the mountaintop for a long time, holding her bow in one hand. Perhaps the beast would come back. She wanted it to come back. In fact, she needed it to come back; as the moments ticked by she realized that she’d never been so angry at anything, ever, as she was at that dragon for burning innocent people just trying to make ends meet and then fleeing like a coward.
Finally, shaking her head, she stowed her bow and looked around. The street had been emptying, slowly, as people took the injured home to recover, or resumed grinding wheat; or, in many cases, meandered toward the inn. She looked at the sky and realized the light was fading rapidly. Just about the last thing she wanted to do was head into the pass in the dark. There always seemed to be something there waiting to waylay unsuspecting travelers.
Or even travelers that do suspect, of which I am one. I guess I stay here for the night. Daddy would be proud that I’m not taking chances.
She pushed down her hood and knocked the dust off her boots and leggings before entering the Vilemyr Inn. It was very busy inside, and very noisy. Not only were the regular customers settling in for an evening of food and drinking; but most of them, along with the few travelers who’d been in the area, were completely abuzz talking about the dragon attack. Qaralana pushed slowly and quietly through the crowd, moving as best she could toward the bar, but keeping her ears open as Delvin and Vipir had taught her to do. Some people were anxious about the souls who had been burned. Others were concerned about the damage to town buildings. She heard one man ask an older, bent fisherman whether the monks would be alright up at High Hrothgar if a dragon was flying up there; she heard his low rumble – a reassuring tone – but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Behind her somewhere she heard a woman’s sharp, angry voice, complaining. “As if those damned bears aren’t enough for us to deal with, now we have dragons burning the roof of the mill? How are we supposed to make ends meet?” Qara turned her head to see a sour-looking, middle-aged woman shaking her finger at an elf. She wasn’t sure whether it was an old elf or a young elf; he looked like a Bosmer to her by his slight build and fairly short stature, but it was sometimes hard to tell.
Qaralana was turning to continue toward the bar, but ran headlong into the Bosmer and nearly lost her footing. He put out a hand to steady her, and then took it away almost immediately. The man was obviously very quick; and he’d moved away from the sour woman just as Qara had turned.
He laughed. “Excuse me for being so clumsy! I’m very sorry. I should have learned long ago to watch my step, but…” He cast his gaze around them and dropped his voice. “Miss Temba is always so very angry. I do what I can to cheer her up, but first it’s the bears and now a dragon, of all things. It’s been years and years since we’ve seen a dragon. Had you ever seen one? We used to get a lot of them but it’s been a long time…”
Qara found herself just gazing in awe at the elf as he nattered away, his words flowing so quickly that she couldn’t find a place between them wide enough to interject her own. All she could do was smile and shake her head, until a man cleared his throat behind them.
“Excuse me,” she heard a distinctively Imperial voice say, “I don’t mean to pry, but is this man bothering you, miss?”
She turned to look at him and had to fight down the urge to smile broadly.
He’s gorgeous. Wow.
The Imperial standing behind her – or, rather, beside her now – wore dark robes with a heavy, light grey fur collar and matching fur peeking out from his dark leather bracers. His hair was either dark brown or black – hard to tell in this dim light – and was impeccably styled; and while he had a narrow mustache the rest of his face was clean shaven. He was so very different from big, fuzzy, blonde Harald, or the scruffy and sometimes grubby men she’d grown up around in Riften that her mind started cataloging his every feature so that she could think about it later.
Then she realized that she needed to answer him, and felt herself blushing furiously.
By the Eight, he’ll think I’m an idiot. And so will this very nice Bosmer.
She smiled at the Bosmer and then at the Imperial. “No, no not at all. We just were trying to get to the same place at the same time. Not a problem. It’s more crowded in here than I would have expected.”
“I’m so sorry,” the Bosmer said. “My name’s Gwilin and, well, I guess I just get excited. I hope I didn’t bore you to death.”
She smiled at him again, quietly hoping that he’d go away so that she could talk to the Imperial man and figure out whether they were even remotely close to the same age. “Not at all,” she repeated. “Nice to meet you, Gwilin. I’m Qaralana.” She frowned then, knowing that what she was about to say was completely true. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t get that dragon out of your town. I don’t know why it makes me so angry, but it does. I’m sorry I’m not a better archer.”
She heard the Imperial man chuckle, and turned to find him smiling at her. “None of us was especially good today. It was rather a surprise though. One doesn’t usually expect a dragon to drop out of the skies like that. I’ve heard they do, but I have to admit it’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure.”
She found herself grinning at him, and was just barely aware of Gwilin excusing himself and moving away.
“Um,” she said, and then mentally kicked herself.
Um? UM? What a stupid way to start a conversation!
“Yes?” the man said, a tiny smirk playing about his mouth.
“Oh. Um,” she said, then made an exasperated snort and stomped her foot on the floor. “Good grief. It’s like this. I’m hungry; I’m going to get something to eat and a room for the night. Would you care to join me?”
She watched the man’s eyes widen a bit; then he tossed his head back and laughed. “I’m going to assume you were inviting me to join you for a meal. I don’t think we’ve known each other long enough to share a room quite yet.”
Qara wanted to die, or to sink into the floor, or to use the ability she’d learned from the standing stone outside their home and turn invisible. Again she was grateful for the dim light.
“Um, yes,” she finally managed. “That’s what I meant, of course. That came out not at all the way I’d intended it to but I’m glad you got the idea anyway.”
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “Let’s have a seat.”
They each ordered a mug of ale, and Qaralana got some stew and bread. He started talking to her, asking her about herself, just the kind of conversation to set her at ease; and so it did. She learned that he was from the southern end of County Bruma in Cyrodiil and had just arrived in Skyrim a few weeks previously. She nodded, and made impressed noises at appropriate times, telling him all about how she’d had a feeling that something big was about to happen just before the dragon attack. She’d been eating and talking for some time when she realized that he was sipping at his ale, but that was all.
“You’re not eating?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, I’ll get something later. I like to travel at night. It’s easier for me. Quieter, fewer things out and about waiting to attack.” He grinned. “My name is Ondale, by the way. It’s a family name, and kind of awkward on the tongue, to my taste. My mother called me Dale.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dale. Speaking of names that are a mouthful, I’m Qaralana. Don’t even ask. My family calls me Qara, unless I’m in trouble for something.” Both of them laughed.
“Are you… often in trouble for something?” Dale asked her with a smirk. Something about the tone of his voice made her stomach start dancing in a most unsettling way, but she couldn’t help grinning back at him.
“Not often enough to suit me. I haven’t been out of my parents’ home for all that long.” Then she sighed. “And I suppose I won’t be in any for the next few days, either. I’m heading out to the west end of Lake Ilinalta to see my uncles. I have to behave around them.”
To her surprise, Dale’s brow furrowed. “Really. How odd; I’m just coming from that area. There’s not much out there except for the mill, and the big manor house.”
She shouldn’t have been so excited that this man she didn’t even know knew her uncles’ place, but she was. “Yes! Mammoth Manor, they call it. That’s where Uncle Dar and Uncle Roggi live. I’m supposed to go deliver some stuff to them.”
He chuckled. “What a small world. And I’m heading in the other direction. I have some friends in the Riften area who have invited me to stay with them for a time. I fear I’m quite the old man compared with you, so it’s good that someone will take me in. I’d hate to end up wandering the streets on my own.”
Qara wasn’t sure whether it was the warmth of the ale, or the warmth of the knowledge that she was walking a slightly dangerous line, but she felt herself flushing again, with excitement. “That’s where I’m from! Riften, I mean. I live just outside the city. Maybe we’ll see each other again soon. I expect I’ll be back there in a few days.”
“Perhaps we will, Miss Qara,” he said, taking a last sip of ale and putting it down with a sigh. “Well, I am sorry to say so but I think the sun is down, and that means it’s time for me to be on the road.” He pushed himself off his stool and she followed in spite of herself, walking down the length of the inn with him as he started for the door.
“I’ve really enjoyed meeting you,” he told her.
Then he did something that startled her completely, as it was unlike any gesture any man or boy had ever used in her presence. He reached for her hand and took it by the tips of her fingers, then raised them to his lips and gave them the briefest kiss, keeping his gaze on hers the entire time. She felt completely unsettled; the butterflies in her stomach began dancing again, and she could do nothing but smile.
“Likewise,” she said, trying to keep the smile on her face from becoming an utterly stupid wall-to-wall grin. “I hope we’ll run into each other again soon.”
“Maybe not literally,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll leave that to the Bosmer.” Then he turned and left the inn, waving briefly before the door closed behind him.
Qara went back to her barstool and reached for the last bite of her bread. The innkeeper chuckled and stepped nearer.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Um…” She grimaced. By all the gods, I have got to stop doing that! “No, I think I’m good; but I do need to rent a room.”
“Sure thing. It’s yours for a day.” The innkeeper took her coin and snickered. “I was wondering if there might be two of you in it, for awhile there. That one certainly had eyes for you.”
“Oh! Um…oh, no. We just met,” she found herself stammering. And yet, as he showed her where her room for the night would be, Qaralana couldn’t quite wipe the smile off her face.