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Another day. Another pain.
Omluag beat her again; such a waste of effort. How can he think that fear and pain are motivators when they only make her slower.
Cairine limps into the Warrens, her side simmering with bruises and pain. She had made herself the fool by catching the eye of the Dragonborn. How could she not, with the sheen of the Dragonborn’s fur and the shine of her armor? An exotic beauty that shines like the sun. To be blessed with beauty is worth such pain.
Cairine nearly trips over a mess of rubble, with what her twinkling daydreams. She stumbles, all of her remaining strength draining away. Cairine lands sideways against the rise of dirt, much to her displeasure. She even landed on her bruised side, the poor dear. She groans against her teeth, turns away from the others. In shame or otherwise, she wouldn’t tell.
She sits among the grime and mud, feeling pitiful and shamefaced. She stares as a firepit on the other side of the room. She notices every moment and every breath, passing by slowly, so slowly. It seems like hours pass before Degaine emerges from Weylin’s old room to bring her food. He places a dusty plate with a half eaten bread and a pheasant breast onto the ground beside Cairine.
“I managed to get spices roasted on it, tonight.” Degraine says, his grainy tone somehow soothing, the mead in his breath grounding. They guide Cairine to present time.
She lifts the plate, feeling the weight, the texture of the wood, the grain grazing against her fingers. She blinks at the ground pepper, the rosemary, crisping the meat. The bird flesh is no longer hot, it’s wisps of flavor muted, and delicious. She lifts the meat to her mouth, her teeth breaking the skin and digging into salvation. Only warm, now, juices and sweet relief dripped in her mouth, quenching a thirst she did not know she had.
Cairine swallows, and looks up, and gazes at Degraine, as if awoken from a cursed slumber. She smiles at him, and utters, “thank you, Degaine. I really… needed that.”
The old, one-eyed man smiles at her, smiles at her as a father stares at his daughter. Such a softie. He’s not that much older than her.
“I already ate, so I’m turning in.” he merely replies, departing with a pat on her shoulder. Cairine’s eyes follow him as she rips bread apart with her teeth. She revels in the soft texture, surprised that it wasn’t stale. He really is a softie, getting her a fresh meal instead of buying more of his own mead.
She sits higher after her meal, her bruises calmed and her belly fed. She turns as the door to the Warrens opens, and a divine walks through the threshold. The torches and fire light the Dragonborn with gold. Oh, how her dark fur lights like wine, and her armor glows like a smith’s forge.
The Dragonborn nods towards Garvey as she passes and walks further in, closer to Cairine. She walks with purpose, like any city guard could wish they could. She passes Cairine without a glance, and into the room that Degaine has. The Dragonborn pauses in the open doorway, seeing that Degaine had already passed out from his drinks. She sighs, leaning against the doorway, lounging so casually. The divine Khajiit turns away from the doorway, and takes a step towards the exit when she spots Cairine, dirty and dull, sitting in the dirt.
“Hello, there.” she says, warmly, joyously. Cairine forgets to breathe when the Dragonborn smiles with her sharp, dangerous, charming teeth. She is kneeling before Cairine in the dirt before Cairine could manage to even think of a reply. “My name is N’yao. What might your name be?”
Cairine can only blink at her raidiency. Why would such beauty talk to such a poor pauper. What would she, with so much wealth and power, possibly want in such a desolate place? She is the type for kings, not for beggars.
“You don’t want to be here.” Cairine says serenely, as if she had not heard what the dragonborn said. “No one wants to.”
The beauty smiles again, her teeth mostly hiding, and shakes her head gently. She settles in her kneel, her smile warming Cairine’s heart hotter than any ale could. “I came here for degraine, but I suppose you’d know a battered soul I could talk to?”
Battered soul? A man who is too crippled to work? A woman too weak to live?
Like me, “Don’t know anybody without the Rattles or Ataxia.”
The dragonborn looks at Cairine, gently. She pulls a knapsack from her shoulder and places it at the pauper’s feet. “I want you to have this. It will help you leave this place.”
Leave this place? What could she possibly give, to have Cairine rid of this place?
“Everything in this bag,” the Dragonborn says, guiding Cairine’s hand to touch the fine leather of the knapsack. She places paper in Cairine’s grips, and lets it remain. “Is all you will need for your journey and beyond.”
Cairine listens, staring at the knapsack and the letter, trying to ignore that their hands are overlapped. She listens to know that she must read the letter before opening the bag. She gathers her resolve, ready to bear the responsibility of the task, she looks the dragonborn in the eye and nods. There are her sharp, charming teeth again. Cairine could stare at her smile for hours.
The dragonborn returns a nod, and says, “I must depart. I will see you again.”
Cairine almost falls back to nothingness as the beauty left into the night, back to some adventure, she bets. But her grip on the knapsack kept her from falling, much to her gratitude. Cairine breaks the wax seal to find a thin journal within the wrapping, each page filled with beautifully curved lines, all in neat rows and rows and rows.
“Garvey!” Cairine calls, knowing that he’s the only one in here that knows a little reading. “Come over here!”
The scout turns to her, and immediately begins to approach. He looks at the satchel and journal in her possession curiously as he settles in the dirt beside her. “What’s the trouble?”
“The Dragonborn,” Cairine manages to say, holding out the journal to him. “She-- she left this to me. Can you read it?”
Garvey takes the journal and begins to read, as requested.