Chapter Fifteen

Dusk fell upon the streets of Whiterun as Gaeolin and Inigo arrived. Despite the hour, many of the townsfolk were about, greeting each other with warmth. A group of legionnaires nodded their way as they passed. The lieutenant leading them spoke.

“Any trouble on the roads west?”

Gaeolin shook his head. “Nothing beyond a bandit camp past Rorikstead. The road between here and Dragon Bridge should be clear.”

The soldier seemed relieved. “Then our trip back to Solitude may be an easy one.” He eyed the pair of them, sizing them up. “The legion is always looking for capable warriors. We could use some like you. Head to Solitude and speak to Legate Rikke if you’re interested.” Gaeolin gave a curt nod, heading up to the Wind district to the north. 

Amren waved to them as the pair approached the husk of Gildergleam. The ravings of Heimskr fell upon them with the usual amount of irritation. Inigo debated tossing a wedge of cheese at the priest, but decided against it. Gaeolin was on his way up to the keep when he saw her.

She sat on a bench near the tree, her head hanging low. Her dress was worn and bleached by long days in the sun. The young Khajiit looked up at him with a pleading face. “Mister… Could you spare a coin?” 

Her eyes were his undoing, causing Gaeolin to turn over three septims without question. “What’s your name?” 

She took the coins, hesitating at the effortless reward. “M-Maisha, my lord.”

“Why is an adorable little girl like you begging?” He offered a smile, which coaxed only half of one in return. 

“It… It’s what Brenuin said I should do. He’s the only one who’s really been nice to me since… Since mama..” The elf didn’t need to ask what happened. The pain on her face explained it well enough. “The bad man who attacked us couldn’t find me in the woods. He tried, but I was too fast.” She looked at a guard with anxiousness. 

“Did you hear a name? Was he from around here?” Gaeolin took her hand, seeing how scared she was. “It’s okay. I want to help.” 

“I heard one of his men call him Vasha. I don’t know anything else.  I… I don’t know what to do…” 

Gaeolin turned to Inigo with a whisper. “Have you heard of him?”

Inigo scowled. “Yes, and while I have my own share of misdeeds, I would have no problem punishing his. It’s people like him who give Khajiit a bad reputation.”

Gaeolin looked back to the girl. “Do you have any other family who could care for you?” His heart throbbed thrived as she shook her head. She jumped as a guard shouted their way. 

“You! I told you before, we don’t allow vagrants here.” He made to grab her arm. Gaeolin clamped his wrist like a vise. The guard stopped, gasping at the force exerted on his hand.

“You will leave her be.” The bosmer spoke in a hard, cool tone. The soldier looked at him, face going white. 

“My Lord Gaeolin!” He bowed, looking to the child in confusion. “But Thane, she can’t just wander the streets…” 

“My daughter has as much right to enjoy the temple courtyard as any other child in Whiterun.” He stood behind Maisha, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you owe her an apology.”

The guard looked from his Thane, to the child, then to Inigo, who gave him a look that clearly meant, ‘go ahead and argue.’ He took a knee, Bowing his head. “I beg your forgiveness, my Lady. I have disrespected you, and so your father.” He kept his head down, waiting for her response. 

“I-It’s fine… You were only doing your job.” She seemed horribly perplexed by the situation she found herself in. The guard rose, bowing to Gaeolin once more. The elf returned the gesture before leading Maisha away from the scene.

“And I meant what I said. I could adopt you, if you want.”

Her eyes lit up, tail twitching. “Really? Do you have somewhere for me to stay?” 

Gaeolin smiled. “I own the house next to the blacksmith by the gate.” He stopped, changing his mind. “But I think you’d be happier at my home in Falkreath, Lakeview Manor.” 

“Are, are you sure?” She looked almost afraid it was a hoax.

“I’m sure…” Gaeolin hugged her.  He stood, looking to Inigo. “Could you take her to the tavern, get her a good meal?” 

His companion grinned. “Of course! Come on, Maisha. Do you like sweet rolls?” The pair of Khajiit made their way down to the plains district,  the child still looking completely overwhelmed. She looked back at him.

“Thanks Mister… I mean, papa!” 

Gaeolin followed farther behind, planning to stop into Breezehome to relax a bit. He felt filthy. He hasn’t bathed in nearly two weeks, and he’d had enough of smelling ‘ like a wild beast’, as Inigo had put it. As he watched them go into the Bannered Mare, he noticed a new poster on the board outside. He took the sheet to read. 

‘To all able bodied citizens of Whiterun:

By order of Balgruuf the Greater

A criminal has escaped from the Dragonsreach dungeons, and holed up with a group of bandits in Halted Stream camp, northwest of the city.

He is known as Ushmok Gamolg. The Jarl demands that he is returned ALIVE, as he is needed for further questioning.

He is armed and dangerous. 

Proventus Avenicci, 

Steward of Whiterun’

He folded the flier, tucking it into his bag as he passed the well. He heard laughter from the Drunken Huntsman as the sky grew ever darker. He looked over the wall to see the day’s last moments. He let out a sigh, opening the door to his home.

Inside he saw Lydia, half a wedge of cheese in her mouth. She scrambled to greet him. “Honoe ew yew, my Tane!” He watched in disgust as bits of goat cheese fell from her lips, dirtying the otherwise spotless steel armor she wore. 

“It’s good to see you again, Lydia.” He chuckled in spite of the situation. “How have things been in town since I left?” 

“Quiet, for the most part.” She replied, now free of her gag of dairy. “Mikael is still harassing Carlotta. She’s been at the end of her rope ripe for a week now. Everyone still talks about the dragon you killed. The Companions are starting to get angry at your rising fame. Acting like you’re stealing their honor…”

He actually laughed, the sound of it almost alien to himself. “Let them cry about honor, then. Maybe if they would leave their hall and do good deeds, they would find more renown. And I mean without the promise of pay…” 

His housecarl sent him a questioning glance. “My lord, you can’t claim that you never accepted a reward for your deeds. My presence and this house are proof against that.” 

He removed his gloves, hanging up his sword. “Yes, but I didn’t ask, or demand payment for my help. I have heard of times when the Companions turned down requests, after finding the client fell short of their price.” He shot her a smirk. “You know I’m right.” 

She returned the expression. “Perhaps. Is there anything I can do for you, milord?” 

“Could you please ask Inigo to rent a room for Maisha at the Inn? She’d be more comfortable there. There’s nowhere for her to sleep here. In the morning, I’d like for him to go with her to Lakeview, make sure she’s safe.” 

“Are you not going?”

He leaned his bow and quiver against the bookshelf. Maybe he should… To be home, spend some time with his new family. It had been so long since he had one. What was he thinking, taking the girl as his daughter? Could he provide for her, even with the dragons and bandits, and other hauntings of Skyrim?

“No, not yet. There are things I must do before I go. But, give her my love. I promise I will go to her soon.”

“As you wish, my Thane.” She left, not noticing his look of discomfort. 

He poured water into a pot, setting it on the spit to warm. He removed his tunic, gagging a bit at the state of the garment. A combination of sweat and dirt caked his arms and chest. The tattoos he had worked on so carefully were nearly hidden by filth. 

He washed in the alchemy room, the drain in the floor intended for spilled potions working perfectly to carry the dirty water from the house. He shivered when he was done, returning to the fire to dry. 

He marveled at his lack of scars. Even the arrow he had taken so long ago in Falkreath Forest left but a slightly pale mark on his thigh. The flames captivated him, drawing him into deeper thoughts. The events of the past month still spun in his head. The dragon at Lake Illinalta, the Greybeards… Algafa and Svega. 

Despite all he was supposed to be; Thane of Whiterun, Falkreath, Dragonborn, Murmilnur’s Bane… The list seemed to expand by the day. Yes, in spite of the titles and fame, they had died. He shook his head to clear it. It did no good to dwell on these thoughts. He found clean clothes lying down on his bed. A breeze blew through the gaps in the roof. The sound made him drowsy, the warmth from the fire downstairs seeping through the furs. 

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It was Maisha. He heard her cry out in terror. Or was that it? The trees seemed different. Not pines, but oaks. They were spread out, with meadows lit by moonlight. The air was warmer… The salt of the sea hung on the air. The glow of fires loomed behind him, screams tainting the air. He looked out from a hilltop, back towards the blaze.

Ships were on the water, firing burning bolts from large ballista on their decks. Great towering trees flickered as they were devoured, windows of the magical constructs bursting under the destructive forces. Through the streets ran the now homeless and pursued. Shining moonstone armor marked the invaders, sabers slashing at all who opposed as well as those who fled. He saw a small wooden hutch, nestled to the north of the village. He held his breath as a robed man cast his hand toward it. His eyes watered, his throat tearing as he cried.

It went up like kindling. A woman ran out, arms flailing as the sorcerer’s fire charred her flesh. A man rushed to her, trying to put her out, receiving an arrow to his chest. The scene was now a blur, distorted through the emotions that whirled in his eyes.

The hilltop hurt the child’s knees, hard stones waiting beneath the tufts of grass. They had told him to run…. Why hadn’t they run too? He saw more soldiers pouring out into the meadows. He turned, running as fast as his small legs could take him. He didn’t know where he was going… He didn’t care. He had to run from those men. Their golden breastplates, their black robes… and the eagle that flew upon them.

Gaeolin sat up with a start. His breaths were short, his skin cold. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall as his heart raced. 

He left his home, searching the now dark streets with focused eyes. He saw a man in the shadows, just behind Belethor’s shop. He approached him in silence. The man was smoking from a long pipe, the herbs inside casting a foul cloud.

“If it isn’t the great Thane of Whiterun, Lord Gaeolin himself.” He never took down his hood. “What could you have to say to me? What does a paragon like yourself need with a nameless man?”

Gaeolin looked from side to side. They were alone. “You aren’t paid for questions.” The bosmer dropped a large bag of coins to the ground before them. The stranger eyed the purse before taking another draw from his pipe.

“Correct, Milord. What did you need?”

Gaeolin handed him a letter. “I don’t ever want to hear about this again. And I don’t need anyone finding out I did this. Take care of this for me.” The man read the note, his hood turning upward to his client. Only the outline of his sneer could be seen. 

“My, my… So even the righteous stoop so low.” Gaeolin drew his dagger, pinning the worm to the wall.

“Everyone has reasons to turn from their nature. Pray I don’t go farther than I already have from mine.” 

The man just laughed beneath the blade on his neck. “Don’t lose your nerve, Thane. I have someone who will be more than willing to carry it out.” Gaeolin felt his stomach turn at the words spoken as he left. “But passing the Sacrament off to another won’t ease your conscience.”

The elf turned to him, eyes alight. “Perhaps… But don’t worry about my regrets. Mess this up, and no amount of shadows will hide you from me.”