literature

Wanted (Part 14)

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The late afternoon sun slipped behind the mountains behind Solitude, only the orange glow of its setting lighting the landscape. The courtyard before the Bards College was in the process of being lit by a similar glow as colorfully dressed bards swooped about lighting scores of lamps and torches that clung to stony walls. It was much more festive than the previous day; the hard work of the college's many students had decorated the space with bright streamers, plants, and lanterns. A dozen cobbled-together stalls clustered along the wall of a building opposite the college, their occupants preparing pastries and special drinks and highly anticipating nightfall, when the party was expected to be in full swing. Plain wooden tables had been set out, several of them built from scratch the day before, for the pleasure of those who wished to eat and drink. Clumps of performers rehearsed, tuned instruments in general merriment. The atmosphere was infectious.

Braedal, already quite excited at the prospect of becoming a bard and thrilled to be at a festival, reverted quickly to the mischievous, outgoing disposition Jashri had first seen him in. It suited him. His face was permanently plastered with the wide white grin, contrasting dark eyes sparking and glittering with excitement and the reflections of the colorful lanterns. He laughed, talked with students, his movements full of energy. Jashri even saw him stand on his head for an admiring group of musicians; remarkably, not a thing fell from his pockets. But, even with the new, much more interesting surroundings, Braedal always returned to Jashri, spoke to him, tried to convince him to join in meeting and entertaining their soon-to-be classmates. He refused this cajoling, encouraging the elf to socialize on his own. It was something Jashri would not have done before.

He had been feeling strange since getting to Solitude. Perhaps it was the gloomy weather, or the lack of travel, or the walled closed-in feeling of the city, but none of those seemed the problem. As a result, he felt puzzled and troubled, discontent. He chalked it up to anticipation and nerves at joining the college, but the thought lacked conviction. It made it very difficult for the khajiit to enjoy himself. Perhaps after a few hours of festivities, he would feel better. As he waited for the official start of the festival, he loitered near the food stalls and breathed in the delectable scents of meats and sweets and pies.

The small figure of the bosmer detached himself from a cluster of bards and trotted to Jashri's side. “They asked about you,” he said, slightly winded from all the talking he was doing. “Some of them have never seen a khajiit before, can you believe that? One hadn't even met a bosmer! They were mostly newer students, hadn't done much traveling yet.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

Braedal shrugged. “Not much. That you came from Cyrodiil, not a caravan, and plan on joining the college with me. They did want to meet you, but I told them not to bother you and they were disappointed. If you want to talk to them, they'd be delighted.”

“I'll consider it.”

“You should. Might cheer you up. Oh, they also told me the festival should be starting in a few minutes.”

It did. A loud-voiced man announced the beginning of the festivities, and a little band of flutes, lutes, and a single drum began piping out an energetic tune. People cheered and sang, groups whirled in brightly colored, spinning dance in the open spaces of the courtyard, and lights in several residences across the street were extinguished as their owners ambled over to join the fun. The glow of the sun was very faint on the western horizon, stars pricked at the velvet sky.

Jashri blinked at the sudden activity, unable to decide what to focus on. He could see the whole courtyard as clearly as day with the amount of lights brightening the place, wondered how it looked to the humans and elves, lacking night vision. Braedal excused himself, grinning apologetically as a member from one of the groups he had spoken to earlier beckoned him over. Jashri turned to the stalls of food; lines had already gathered in front of every one. They moved quickly, and soon he found himself lounging on a bench against the wall, nibbling at strings of red candy unlike anything he had seen or tasted before, pleasantly distracted from his worries. He'd had enough of worries.

“Jashri, you can't just sit around here all evening.” Braedal's laugh was musical, like the pipes in the background. “Come on, dance a little bit. The night is young. This is your chance to loosen up and have fun before we start training.” He offered a brown hand to help Jashri off his bench and into the crowd. Jashri took it, and soon he found himself in a crowd of churning, dancing people, bright lanterns twirling around him as he spun and stamped his feet and clapped. Clapped at the end of each song, clapped to the beat of he music, clapped to try to enjoy himself. It was working. The corners of his lips lifted as he spun people he had never met, exchanged small talk with others as the bands switched.

“See, Jashri, this was a good idea,” Braedal loudly remarked as he passed by, dancing with a short, pretty, and slightly intoxicated nord girl. Braedal was a good dancer, his feet going through the steps effortlessly even as he spoke. “Happiness suits you. I don't think I've ever seen you smiling before. Looks natural on you. You ought to try it more often!” Before Jashri could respond, the elf had whirled away again, back into the sea of people. He was surprised. Had he really not smiled around Braedal?

Then again, he wondered, suddenly conscious of the weak cheerfulness of his expression, was he truly smiling now? People swapped partners, and this train of thought broke as his new partner accidentally trod on one of his feet when he moved a bit too slowly. Soon he was only absorbed in dancing once again, dazzled by light and sound and motion.



No one was in the inn and it was strange. The main fire burned low in the hearth, all the wall torches extinguished, and a scrap of parchment on the innkeeper's counter explained that he had left for the festival. Ri'kel did the same, letting the door of the dark building slam behind him. The night was dark, but recently fallen, the moons not yet risen in the sky. Immediately upon emerging into the night, the sensitive khajiiti ears caught the high, light piping of flutes wavering through the air and followed the sound through the streets. They were empty and dim save from the red-uniformed guards. Suddenly their abundance made sense. More people would be in town for the festival, and extra people meant a need for extra security. He liked them. He felt safe.

The sound made a good guide. If Ri'kel were not concerned about trampling on people's small gardens, he could follow it with his eyes closed. They were little help anyway. Each turn of a corner yielded more of the music to his ears, adding lute and voice and drum. A hodgepodge of smells drifted along the streets from the same source, a mixture of sweet and smoky flavors of all types. Ri'kel was certain that if he had an appetite, his mouth would be watering. Despite his determination to let go of his troubles, they nagged persistently at his normally capable mind. He would be busily working if he only knew where he had to go. The annoyance caused him to flick his tail agitatedly behind him, but steadfastly he endeavored to keep his thoughts light. That proved difficult in the dark. Luckily it only took several minutes of walking before he could make out the glow of the large party in the distance. Each step made the sound ever louder, the food scent ever stronger. He hoped they hadn't gotten to the historical part yet.

The cool air was suddenly much warmer upon entering the courtyard filled with light, the hot flames of lanterns and the warmth of so many active bodies heating the air to the point that it almost eradicated the northern chill. After several moments standing beside the entry to the small area, Ri'kel would have welcomed some northern chill – the combination of light, sound, color, and smell overpowered him after the long walk in the dark. None of it, however, struck him as unpleasant. The food smelled excellent, the music incredible, the color festive, and the light welcoming.

Queuing for a drink, he admired the surroundings as best he could, the length of the line allowing ample time to do so. Upon examining the bards around him, Ri'kel was impressed by their intricate and boldly dyed garb. His own pale red, though his favorite color, seemed dull and pitiful by comparison. The presence of other dully clothed outsiders was encouraging.

Finally managing to collect his drink, he hurried to an empty table far from the refreshments, where a cool breeze managed to leak in through an overlook a short distance away, and settled down to relax and watch the dancers. He sniffed at his drink. It gave off a sweet, tangy scent not unlike wine, but stranger, more exotic. He supposed it was made with a northern berry. A sip assured him that it was unlike anything he had ever tasted, and quite excellent. Leaning back in the wooden chair, he distracted himself by training his eyes on the open space available for dancing. Color rioted within the space, the garish outfits of bards stirring with the less exciting hue of visitors. He could not pick out individuals, he could not guess how many people were in the mass – his best guess was “many” – but the swirling patterns were calming and mesmerizing, thoroughly enjoyable to a mind busy attempting to forget.



Jashri panted as a rollicking piece ended, bowing to his partner with a light smile as he applauded the performers and tried to catch his breath. A stitch knotted in his side, and he leaned his hands on his knees to breathe. Others seemed tired, too, smooth-skinned humans wiping sweat from their shiny faces. Those who were left were quickly replaced by latecomers to the party or those who had simply waited to dance. Leather boots stepped into Jashri's view of the ground and he gave a soft, breathless chuckle. He would know those boots anywhere. “Tired?” He straightened back up to look the bosmer in the face. Braedal's black eyes glinted facetiously.

“Yeah,” panted the khajiit, “just a bit. I shouldn't have eaten right before dancing.”

“I was thinking about getting off the dance floor, too.” Jashri could see no reason why, the bosmer was hardly even winded. “It's getting a bit warm because of all the lights.” Jashri nodded; he too was getting somewhat uncomfortable under his thick pelt.

“Let's go over there.” He turned to a sort of balcony overlooking the northern sea, nearly empty and barely lit, the shadow appearing cool and welcoming. With Braedal's agreement, the two wove their way through the crowd, which was beginning to move once more as the next song began, and left the yellow glare of the myriad torches to rest under the pale light of the moons.

Jashri leaned on the edge of the balcony, gazing down at the rippling water far, far below the arch of Solitude. Moonlight shimmered silvery upon the surface. He tried to ignore the stitch in his side, willing it to subside. The annoyance wiped the frail smile from his face and some of the euphoria from his spirit. Braedal leaned on the balcony beside him, gazing out over the water at the horizon. He seemed perfectly calm and content, his enthusiastic grin danced down to a warm, satisfied smile. Jashri's tail swished. He liked to see his friend happy almost as much as he liked to smile. Not just usual happy – the journey had been long and tough, and the elf usually cheerful – but really, truly filled with joy. It took Jashri a moment to register his own thoughts. He had been very distrustful of Braedal, but the bosmer had really grown on him, in spite of the misunderstandings along the way. “Hey, Braedal?”

“Hmm?” Curiosity mixed with the contentment in the elf's eyes.

“I remember you said something, once, about thinking you had a friend again. You do.” Braedal was silent for a moment, his already large eyes widening slightly. “Does that mean. . ?”

“I trust you?” Jashri nodded gently. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

An enormous smile split the brown face, so genuine that Jashri looked back down at the water in embarrassment, certain that his face was bright red under his fur. Braedal's voice was hushed and touched when he spoke again.

“Thank you, Jashri. That means a lot to me. I've wanted a friend for a very long time.” The khajiit could find nothing to respond with, and the bosmer seemed to think nothing necessary. Chilly ocean breezes tousled fur and hair and little by little swept away the lingering warmth from the dance floor. The little cramp in Jashri's side ached dully.

He glanced up as Braedal straightened, no longer leaning on the wide stone balcony. The elf still smiled broadly, but not embarrassingly so. “I'm going to get a drink, dancing left me parched. Do you want one, too?”

Jashri ran his tongue along his lips; his mouth was indeed quite dry. “Sure, that'd be great, thanks.”

“It's nothing at all,” fluted Braedal, his voice lifting cheerfully. The elf's footsteps melded into the racket of the celebrating crowd, and Jashri was alone. The cold breeze swiped at the fluff growing along his jaws, made him shiver. He sighed, directing his gaze to the moons pinned up in the sky. If he didn't look at the walls around him, didn't look at the icy sea or the frosted roofs of houses, he could almost imagine he were somewhere warmer, more familiar. Like Cyrodiil.

He knew why he felt strange, and any vestiges of his smile melted from his face. Solitude was almost just like the Imperial City. It had a market, the market had little stalls from an overflow of merchants. It had walls – they were gray, but they were tall and protecting and confining. It had water nearby, and the faint smells of it drifted into the city. There were even a few imperials. It was just like home, but wrong and different. Different because, even with Braedal's friendship, he felt very alone.



A fiddling flourish ended an energetic song. After a sip from his cup, Ri'kel added his own light applause to the wild cheers and claps from the appreciative dance crowd. He licked droplets of the strange wine from his whiskers; they had grown long enough to sometimes get in the way of eating and drinking. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows brushing the table, as another song began, less furious than the previous, and worked to let himself relax, tried to take in the excellent music as he raised his drink to his lips once more. His eyes slid over the crowd, marveling at the variety of color, and what caught his eye next caused him to gasp sharply, inhaling and gagging on a sip of the sweet liquid.

Several figures had detached themselves from the crowd, and one wore blue clothing, a tail peeking out and ears atop its head. Drink burned in Ri'kel's nose and throat, but he made no move to soothe them, so stunned was he by the sight. As his hand crept once more for the drink, he wondered if it could be causing hallucinations. He let the hand fall to rest against the table, blinked, looked again. Still there. Leaning against the wall next to a smaller, shorter figure. If they were speaking, the words were lost as they drifted into the music-filled courtyard. Never in his life had Ri'kel wanted to approach someone more, but he held himself back, his mind reactivated and churning. If his brother thought he was still angry, misunderstood his intentions. . . no, without any idea of what to expect, he hesitated to risk it.

Luckily, the smaller figure began to move towards the refreshments and, in turn, towards Ri'kel. His table stood right in the most direct line from the balcony to the wooden food stalls. As he came closer, the khajiit could make out long pointed ears – elven. He saw the elf freeze in his tracks, turn and look to the other khajiit leaning against the wall and then back to Ri'kel. His heart leapt. The guard at the border had mentioned a “small elven lad” traveling with a light-colored khajiit, and here was a small elf doing a double-take at the sight of Ri'kel. Young ideas, their edges rough, quickly began to take shape in his mind. The elf neared the khajiit's table – had to, it was along the path to the vendors – and before he could truly think his ideas through, Ri'kel found himself beckoning the young man over.

With a glance in the other khajiit's direction, the elf settled himself awkwardly into the chair opposite Ri'kel. So near, the khajiit could make out facial features. A wide mouth, small nose, tanned skin, large black eyes. Although not particularly adept at guessing races, he supposed the elf was bosmeri. He seemed perhaps surprised, confused. Ri'kel swallowed to quell the burn of his choked-on wine and began to speak. “You are traveling with that khajiit, yes?” He saw the elf jump slightly at the rough khajiiti accent. The elf's own voice seemed guarded.

“Yes. . .”

“He has mentioned having a brother?”

“Once or twice. . .”

“That is who I am.” Ri'kel's heart raced. His brother, sought so long and so far, a short walk away from where he now sat. But without that brother's respect, his efforts could be in vain. “What name did he call me?”

“A name? He didn't. . . well, he did give a name once. . .” The bosmer trailed off, appeared to think for a moment, though his eyes darted to where the other pale khajiit lounged against the wall. “Ri'kel?”

Relief flooded through his frayed nerves and soothed his raw anxiety, and he resisted the urge to shout his joy. There was hope if Jashri still respected him enough to call him Ri'kel. “Thank you, bosmer. That is all I needed to know, you have been a great help.” He expected the elf to rise and continue his quest for refreshment, but he did not. His black eyes flashed at the thanks and the muscles in his face tightened. “Hold on just a moment.” The smooth elven voice seemed dangerously low, though still easy for Ri'kel's ears to pick up. “I don't know what you want with Jashri, but I'm not about to let you cause him any more grief. If you're thinking about trying to carry out justice and still trying to get him in jail, you can leave right now, because I'm not going to let you. He's suffered enough for his mistake.”

Only the flick of his tail behind the chair betrayed Ri'kel's surprise at the confrontation.

“I agree. Do not worry, I mean my brother no harm.”

The bosmer blinked. Surprised? “You'd better not.” He rose and headed once more in the direction of the refreshments, melding into the lengthy queues. Ri'kel, too, rose, pouring the remainder of his drink into a plant and setting the container where it would be found. He knew he would not be able to drink it, his emotions running high enough that he would surely choke on even the smallest sip.

Time seemed to slow as he headed towards the balcony over the sea, walking in a dream. Each step lasted an age, met the ground soundlessly. Cooling sea breeze flowed around him as if he were a stone in a stream. Every step that drew him closer grew colder until finally he stood in a wind of ice and gazed at last upon the blue-clothed back of a khajiit nearly identical to himself.



“Jashri?”

All of the blue-robed khajiit's muscles solidified at the sound of the soft, tentative voice; ears stiffened, tail that swished only moments ago petrified still.

“I am sorry I was angry at you, Jashri.” Ri'kel wanted to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, reassure himself that he was not hallucinating, he was not in a dream, but he did not want to accidentally offend, to mar the chance he finally had to set things right.

The waves of Ri'kel's voice washed gently over the blue-clothed khajiit, his brain recovering from its initial shock and carefully trying to piece the situation together as Ri'kel continued to speak.

“I did not mean to snap at you, we were both tired and stubborn and scared.”

Even though the last thing Jashri had heard from it was a threat, Ri'kel's voice was soothing, familiar. Homey.

“If you want to come back home, we will figure something out. I do not want you to have to suffer in prison. We will raise some money, pay off your bounty.”

He was unsure what to feel. A tide of thoughts swirled within his head. Ri'kel? The shop? Cyrodiil?

“It's not the same without you, Jashri.”

Silence stretched across the balcony. On one side hissed the sea, on the other roared the crowd, but strangely isolated was the stretch of dim-lit stone between. Jashri swallowed a lump of mixed feelings and unimportant thoughts that crept up his throat. “You left the shop behind to find me.” The words came out in a breath of air, his voice hardly able to sound. He heard Ri'kel's clothes rustle behind him as he nodded and hissed a “yes.” Jashri's tail waved slowly back and forth. “I've missed you, too, Ri'kel.”

The next thing Jashri knew was his brother's arms around him in a much more powerful embrace than he'd ever have guessed Ri'kel capable of. His own arms wrapped his brother, the scrawny body warm against Solitude's chill. His lips pulled back and up into a real smile, one of those that he had not smiled in such a long time. There was no stitch in his side.

Ri'kel purred, despite the hard metal of his amulet digging into his chest. He was not dreaming. His hard work had paid off. He did not care what was happening at his shop in Cyrodiil. He did not care what happened in Elsweyr, or any other province, for that matter. All that mattered in the world was that Jashri wanted to come back.

The music began to die down, dancers clapped and cheered, Braedal returned with drinks and remarked on Jashri's smile. Lanterns were moved from the dance floor to the balcony, lighting a scroll for a wizened bard to read, to spin a story of dragons and wicked kings, and fire was set to a great effigy. The wood cracked as it burned, smelled sweetly of sharp, clean pine as whirls of smoke wafted to the heavens, losing themselves among the stars in the rich velvet sky.
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This story is based on the settings and lore of the Elder Scrolls games by Bethesda, Oblivion and Skyrim in particular. Only the characters and storyline are of my creation.
© 2013 - 2024 Drei-Korvik
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AudeS's avatar
Well, that is convinient. And it's heart warming to see such brotherly love after all that hardship. Coming across all of Skyrim, which is a province with so many mountains and snow, it's probably not the most comfortable place to travel in. I really liked the story and kinda feel sad that it is over now. It's always sad to end a good story, even if the end is happy.

Right after we come to Ri'kel the first time, you have written: "More people would bee in town"