The Bound - A Tale Of Tamriel

4

4

i. Öenthir.

She awoke with a pounding headache, an aftereffect of the binding. Rubbing her eyes before rising, she wondered how she was going to explain all of this to Loremaster Dukhat or, Y'ffre forbid, the Guild Master. They wouldn't allow it if they knew.

She flipped the fur bed cover aside and, with a dainty twist, placed her feet on the cold, straw covered stone floor. It smelled like a farm and was as cold as a cellar in deepest winter. Then she remembered. It was winter. Winter in Skyrim, no less, and it didn't get much colder than the Northern holds.

The New Life Festival was a mere couple of weeks away and, if this imbecilic situation wasn't resolved before then, she would miss the celebrations with her friends back in Auridon.

Standing, she moved to the far wall, passing the other beds and their sleeping occupants, where the wash basin sat upon a table carved with Nord symbols, beneath the tiny window. The water was freezing but, thankfully, not iced over, as she had feared it would be. She made her ablutions as quickly as possible, shivering the whole time, drying herself with the coarse towel hanging beside the table.

The rough woollen nightdress they had provided for her itched and she ached to get back into proper clothing and, glancing at her dress, neatly folded upon a chair beside the bed, she also wished she had her luggage. Wearing the same clothing as yesterday was not something she approved of, not even when it was made from the finest Elsweyr silk. It was just not done.

The headache was still there and showed no signs of receding, but she soldiered on and got dressed as soon as she could. She needed to see the Jarl. Needed to explain that she couldn't possibly be part of this ... this whatever it was. She had duties. Boring, repetitive duties, but duties nonetheless. She'd never make initiate at this rate.

"By the Eight!" One of her cell mates, (the Khajiit, Revna, she presumed by the sound of the thick Nord accent), was stirring, "How much did I drink last night?"

The Khajiit threw off the fur covers and almost jumped from the bed, completely naked.

ii. Revna.

Revna had been far too warm during the night, removing the soft woollen shift that had been provided for them all. It was too tight, anyway. Even then, the thick, luxurious fur blanket had kept her warmer than she would normally like, too. Winter down here in the Rift was almost like Spring back home, thanks to the surrounding mountains providing protection and a milder climate. She felt like she had sweated pounds off her and the searing headache didn't help anything.

She made her way to the washbasin and gave herself a thorough cleaning, the water feeling refreshing upon her fur. The Bosmer mage, whose name Revna couldn't even begin to pronounce, had been shocked at her nakedness, she could tell, but now Revna could also feel the mage's eyes upon her and an eerie feeling that she was almost crying.

"Is there something wrong, mage?" She didn't turn around, continuing to wash, "Do you expect me to lick my paws to clean myself?"

Revna could tell the mage had been shocked that she could tell she was looking. A little bit ashamed, too, perhaps. She began drying herself and then turned around. The mage was trying to look anywhere but at her.

"No, it's not that. I've met a lot of Khajiit. I know you're not a cat. It's just ..." Finally the mage looked at Revna, her eyes misty and filled with pity. "Your back. The scars. I'm ... I'm so sorry you had to suffer that."

Revna considered this for a while. Most other people didn't care about the scars. She was only a Khajiit playing at being a Nord. They never considered why they were there, whether she had earned them in battle. She was only a figure of fun and scorn. Yet here was an elf, a Bosmer from far away, and she was the first person to show concern for her, about anything, since her mothers had died.