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Fandoms: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fantasy, Family, Angst
Warnings: Racism, threats of racially motivated violence, mildly violent bullying, religious drug use, non-consensual drug-use, under-aged drug use, accidental poisoning, harm to children.
Details: Gen, pre-canon, prequel, fantasy, magic, demons, Faustian deals, tragic love, family, cultural differences, distant fathers, questionable parenting decisions, anthropomorphic animals, fantasy racism, angst, lies and deception, stealth crossover, unbetad.
Characters/Pairings: OCs, Frida, Fruki, Skald the Elder, Dro'marash, Bulfrek, mentions of others.
Wordcount: 8,515
Summary: The father he had never met had left him with a Breton name. Growing up in Dawnstar, his mother's people had bestowed the ignoble kenning of "Honeymilk". His mother's friends among the Khajiit caravans outside the city called him ja'ahn kriniit, which in Ta'agra meant "laughing boy". But the caravan leader, Ri'yaan, had always called him ahzi' ja'ahn—"my boy"—and when he was young, it was this name he had loved best.
(The story of a half-Nord boy growing up in Dawnstar, and his friendship with the Khajiit of the caravans.)
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four
Dawnstar
Last Seed 24, 4E179
Kevin all but held his breath as he tried not to move. He could hear Fruki's movements through the trees as she came looking for him. He could tell that she was getting frustrated, and he smiled to himself—he was confident that she could search all day and never find him. But Kevin's perfect hiding place was soon ruined when he happened to see movement coming up the road approaching Dawnstar, and as recognition struck him he betrayed himself with a noise of excitement.
Of course, with this new development, Kevin lost interest in their game entirely.
Careful of the snow still slicking the branches, Kevin dropped from his perch in the tall fir tree to another branch below him, and from there to the next until he could safely reach the ground. His feet crunched noisily in the stubborn late-summer snows that still huddled thick in the shade beneath the trees. He heard Fruki's sound of surprise behind him but didn't turn around, setting off down the road at a run with all the speed he could muster.
The Khajiit were already unpacking their tents by the time they came into view. As he drew closer, Kevin spotted a familiar figure. Grinning, he tried to run just a little faster. Ri'yaan saw his approach before long, and the darkly-striped grey Khajiit dropped what he was doing and threw his arms wide to receive the boy that came barreling into his embrace. Ri'yaan swung Kevin around once before setting him back to the earth, and leaning back to stretch his spine let out a dramatic groan.
"How big you are getting, ahzi' ja'ahn," Ri'yaan said, ruffling Kevin's hair with a clawed hand. "Shooting up like sugar grasses. Soon you will be taller than old Ri'yaan."
Kevin felt his cheeks grow warm.
An early spurt of growth last fall had granted Kevin a good few inches on most of the children close to his age—even a few of the older girls who were coming into their height as well. Unfortunately, rather than the solid height of most Nord men, there was a reediness to him which his mother had said bespoke his father's people, who were much slighter. If that influence held true, she had warned, he had an adolescence full of gangling limbs to look forward to, and though he might come to his full height earlier than his peers, the odds were that his final size would never match theirs.
Yet Kevin knew Ri'yaan had meant it as a compliment, and did his best to hide the embarrassment he felt from it. The other members of Ri'yaan's caravan had begun the task of clearing a space in the which they could erect their tents, and Kevin knew that Ri'yaan would have his share of work to do before the Khajiit had time to spare for him.
"If I help, can you tell me a story?" Kevin asked hopefully.
Ri'yaan's lips drew back from his sharp teeth, jaws parting in what, for a Khajiit, was an eager smile.
"Bring us some wood, ahzi' ja'ahn, and start our fire for tonight and you shall have one."
Smiling, Kevin ran off obediently to complete his task.
Kevin was careful not to stray far. The woods surrounding Dawnstar, like all of Skyrim, were a dangerous place, and no child went far on their own for fear of winding up a meal to wolves, or the sabrecats, or to the giant frostbite spiders that called the forest home. It was cold, tiring work digging for fallen branches and broken logs beneath the snow, but Kevin did it eagerly. By the time he had a good tall pile of it waiting back at the camp, Ri'yaan had pulled out some metal pots to fill with snow to melt for water for the horses.
The cold, wet wood he had gathered was too difficult to ignite by normal means, and so Kevin allowed himself the use of a spell. Kevin closed his hand into a fist, concentrating carefully as he drew upon the energy inside him—what sorcerers and wizards called magicka, the power that existed inside all living things. In his mind Kevin pictured fire and thought of its heat, just as he had been taught, and felt the power grow warm in the palm of his hand. Finally he opened his fingers, releasing the energy he had gathered. Light became heat, and a bright spark jumped from his hand into the pile of frozen kindling. Kneeling in the snow, Kevin leaned forward to blow on the smoldering twigs until they began to smoke promisingly.
Sitting back on his heels to care for the growing fire, Kevin took a deep breath as he waited for the drained feeling that came from using magic to leave him.
Madena, the court mage to the Jarl of Dawnstar, had been somewhat disappointed when Kevin had showed little desire in learning magic. Bretons—like herself, and like Kevin's father—were supposed to be naturally inclined toward it, and she may have held hopes of finding herself an apprentice. Unfortunately, though he had dutifully learned that one spell without any particular difficulty, Kevin had been shown to lack the rich reserves of arcane energy a full-blooded Breton might have enjoyed. In any case, he had felt no draw toward exploring magic further, and though he felt somewhat guilty for it secretly Kevin was glad...
In this one instance at least he resembled a Nord, and those resemblances were often too few and precious for Kevin's liking.
"You do good," Ri'yaan commented as he came to crouch beside Kevin and the fire which was now settling into a blaze. "When Ri'yaan was your age, he tried to make flames once and burned his fur. He did not try again for many years."
Kevin swiftly forgot his earlier lamenting and smiled.
After that, Kevin helped Ri'yaan carry water to the two pack horses that had come with the caravan. Most Khajiit didn't have an appreciation for horseflesh—except perhaps as dinner. According to Ri'yaan, horses were few in Elsweyr—its northern deserts were too hot and harsh, and its southern jungles too dense. And those that one did find there often held the same antipathy for Khajiit that they would one of Skyrim's sabrecats. Traders and travelers in Elsweyr employed Senche—Khajiit that had been born to a four-legged shape which resembled a sabrecat—or Senche-raht who were far larger, for their carrying instead.
Of course, it was for their resemblance to those dangerous animals that such Khajiit were not often seen outside of Elsweyr, Ri'yaan had told him. The cat-folk had learned long ago how easily tragic misunderstandings might be made.
Ri'yaan's caravan was an exception because Ri'yaan himself was. In his frequent trips up north, through Cyrodiil and into Skyrim, the grey Khajiit had come to value the use of pack horses. Though this was as much for their strength as for the prospect of emergency provisions that could carry themselves until needed.
"So, what story does Ri'yaan tell you today?" the Khajiit asked him, shortly later.
Kevin was cutting up an apple to feed to the two shaggy horses, having almost forgotten his earlier request.
"Tell me the one about M'aiq the Liar," Kevin said, after some thought.
Ri'yaan knew a lot of stories, and they were all good, but this was one of the best ones. Ri'yaan seemed pleased by Kevin's choice as well and settled down on a nearby log, his strange legs splayed. Lifting his long tail, he draped it over one knee to keep it out of the snow.
"M'aiq the Liar is a Khajiit," Ri'yaan began, "although some say that he is not a Khajiit. Some say that he is many Khajiit who have passed the name down, father unto son. And some even say that M'aiq is a name shared by many Khajiit at once, though for what purpose none claim to know."
When the apple was gone, Kevin let the horse lick the last of the juices from his hands before wiping them on his clothes, and moved to sit beside him. Though he had heard the story many times—at least once each time the traders came—Kevin listened closely, enjoying the sound of Ri'yaan's rough, rich voice, and the rhythm it fell into whenever the Khajiit told his tales.
"Others say that that it is the name of any Khajiit who would take it to leave his home and wander the skin of Nirni in solitude," Ri'yaan continued. "And still other's say that when a Khajiit comes upon an understanding of things other Khajiit may not know that he becomes M'aiq. For M'aiq knows many things that others do not...perhaps some of them are true."
That part always made Kevin smile.
"Many believe that M'aiq is a mystic," Ri'yaan said, "but many more believe that he is mad. When this one was a cub, it was told to him that M'aiq was blessed by Sheggorath, or that he was Sheggorath himself. It was also said that M'aiq traded his reason to Clavicus Vile in return for a life long enough to walk every road there is, and that because Men are always making new roads he will never die."
"Whether any of these is the truth no one knows..." Ri'yaan told him, finally. "Or perhaps all of them are true, but either way it does not matter. The answers exist only to remind Khajiit that it is the question which is important. Perhaps one day you will meet a lone Khajiit on the road, and you may ask M'aiq for yourself."
And as he quite often did after telling a story—and that story in particular—Ri'yaan turned to look at Kevin expectantly.
"Now...are there any questions for Ri'yaan?" the Khajiit asked.
Though it likely could have waited, Kevin couldn't help himself.
"Did you see my father when you were away?" he asked. "Did you give him my letter?"
Ri'yaan nodded solemnly.
"Of course," the Khajiit told him. "He read it over many times. He is always happy to receive word from you."
Feeling relief for he knew not what, Kevin smiled.
"And did he send me anything?" Kevin asked hesitantly, feeling a little guilty.
Though Kevin was always happy to read the letters his father sent him in return, often his father also sent Ri'yaan with gifts for him. While he did not want to seem greedy, he always looked forward to it.
Ri'yaan cast an eye over the campsite, which aside from the Khajiit unloading their wares at the other end of the camp, was empty save for the two of them. Looking at Kevin, Ri'yaan smiled with a silent nod.
"Ri'yaan will give them to you when you bring your bedroll down to the caravan tonight," he said, nudging Kevin's shoulder. "So go. Get your things."
He only needed telling once.
Kevin would not have imagined that anything might have cooled his excitement, but as he ran back into Dawnstar he was shocked back to reality. That shock took the form of a cold, solid, impact stinging the back of his head. Kevin let out a surprised shout as melted snow trickled down the back of his neck. Though his feet slid in the muddy snow of the thoroughfare Kevin managed to turn quickly toward his attacker, ready to defend himself, but he melted a little himself when he saw who it was.
"Kevin, you skeever brain! You left me!" Fruki shouted as she threw another snowball, hitting him square in the chest.
"Ow! Hey!"
"You're a jerk," Fruki said, bending down for more snow, "and a rotten cheater too!"
The next one she flung Kevin managed to dodge.
"I didn't cheat!" he objected hotly.
Because he was smart enough to realize—in hindsight—that he had been thoughtless running off on her. He regretted that, but he wasn't about to stand for abuse he didn't deserve.
"You did so!" Fruki insisted. "It's not fair hiding in trees when no one else can climb that high."
"Then you should have known to look up," Kevin said. "I would have come down once you found me, so it's perfectly fair."
That much was true, and she probably knew it, because Fruki couldn't seem to find an argument for that. Her anger cooled just a little.
"You still left me," Fruki repeated sullenly.
Kevin's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry, Fruki," he said, "I just got excited. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
Fruki huffed, but she seemed to accept this.
"You'd better."
Satisfied that he had secured her forgiveness, Kevin turned around to continue his way down the thoroughfare.
"Hey!" Fruki objected. "Where are you going?"
Kevin stopped, looking back.
"Home to get some things," Kevin answered her. "I'm staying with the Khajiit while they're here."
Fruki frowned as he said this, crossing her arms. Though rather than angry at him, now she seemed almost uncomfortable.
"I don't know how you can do that," she said uneasily.
And now it was Kevin's turn to feel uncomfortable, a cold tightness forming in his belly.
"They're my mother's friends," Kevin told her softly. "And they're my friends."
"But they're so strange," Fruki said. "My dad says they're all liars and thieves, and that they sell people poison. Some of them are even spies for the elves. He said that's why they aren't allowed into town."
Kevin did his best not to be angry with her. Many of the people in Dawnstar said those things about the Khajiit because they didn't know them. As much as it hurt, his mother had cautioned him before that he really shouldn't blame Fruki for things her father had said, even if she was repeating them.
"Ri'yaan and his friends aren't like that," Kevin said simply, but emphatically. "You'd know that if you took the time."
Fruki seemed uncertain. She looked at him quietly for a while and then shrugged.
"Just don't forget your promise before you come back, okay?" she said.
"I won't," Kevin reassured her.
Satisfied with that, Fruki left him and headed toward her home. Kevin continued on his way toward his.
Kevin was not naïve—he had long been old enough to realize that not everyone was as friendly with the cat-folk as he and his mother were. Still, if it hurt hearing people say those things, from Fruki, who in the past few years had become the closest friend that he had at home, it hurt most of all...
Kevin's father was a Breton trader from the Imperial Province of Cyrodiil to the south. Years ago, he had come to Skyrim looking to trade for quicksilver from the mines near Dawnstar. There he had met Kevin's mother, and he had wound up settling down with her instead. But though Kevin had been told these things about him—by his mother, by others in the town, and by Ri'yaan—his father was a stranger, for he had never met the man.
Just days after Kevin was born, his father had been called away to manage problems for a business associate back in Bravil. He had not been able to come home. Settling accounts had taken longer than expected, and the war between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion had started before he could return. The seas hadn't been safe after that, and once the Imperial City had been taken, neither had the roads. If it hadn't been for his father's business partner Ri'yaan and his caravan, Kevin and his mother would likely have spent years never knowing that his father was still alive. The kingdoms of Elsweyr were under the protection of the Dominion, and the Khajiit and the high elves allies. During the Dominion's occupation of the Imperial City, the cat-folk could often safely go where humans could not, and it had been Ri'yaan and his caravan who had carried messages of Kevin's father home.
The war had lasted for four long years. It had devastated the southern cities of the Empire, and with its proximity to Elsweyr, Bravil had suffered most of all. With the Khajiit in Leyawiin controlling passage through the Lower Niben, the river trade which had once been Bravil's lifeblood had suffered badly—and even that trickle had dried to a halt once the elves had taken the Imperial City. Though once the war was over he had desperately wanted to return, with all of Cyrodiil trying to rebuild itself Kevin's father had found himself with duties in the south that could not be abandoned.
Kevin, who had now seen nine summers pass and was looking forward to his tenth, had never seen his father's face. Which was not to say that Kevin did not love his father—he did, even without meeting him, and very much so—but unfortunately Kevin had very little to show for it. Just the name he had been given before his father's departure, and their letters, and an amulet that his father had left to him, which Kevin he had worn since he was too young to remember...
And Ri'yaan, of course, which Kevin thought perhaps the best of all.
Kevin had never been quite as strong or as hardy as the other children his age. He took sick more easily, suffered more in the cold, and was nearly always hungry. During the bitter heart of winter, when he was very small, his mother had struggled just to keep weight on him. The town healer, Frida, had suggested warm milk fortified with herbs and honey, and it had worked—and to this day it was a remedy his mother forced on him when he was ill. But it had earned him the derisive kenning of "Honeymilk" among the other children of the town, and Kevin despaired that even as an adult he might never be rid of it.
But Kevin had been saved from the grief he might have earned from the other children for being the son of a foreigner who was not there to protect him. Though he would never be as tall or as strong as a full Nord, Kevin was faster than most, and he was clever, and Ri'yaan had taught him to think and to be evasive, and to never let his disadvantages become a weakness.
In fact, no Khajiit had ever treated him as weak the way that other Nords did, and most of the other traders of the caravan were very fond of him, for one reason or another. They called him ja'ahn kriniit, which Ri'yaan had once said meant "laughing boy" in their language of Ta'agra. But Ri'yaan—and only Ri'yaan—called him ahzi' ja'ahn.What that meant was "my boy", and of all the things Kevin was called, it had always been his favorite.
Kevin liked all of the Khajiit, but none of them more than Ri'yaan. Ri'yaan always tried to make time for him. He always seemed to enjoy seeing Kevin as much as Kevin enjoyed seeing him, and Kevin loved to hear Ri'yaan's stories as much as Ri'yaan enjoyed telling them.
And Ri'yaan had taken the time to teach him very important things.
Most Nords looked at the caravan and saw only Khajiit, but from Ri'yaan Kevin had learned to see other things. Ri'yaan had taught him words—like Pa'alatiiniit, and Ne Quin-aliit; like Senche, Cathay, and Ohmes—for other things Khajiit could be. But Ri'yaan had also taught him that these were all still just words, and that every Khajiit was always different from every other Khajiit, for no two were ever born with the same stripes. Ri'yaan told him stories about the Moons, and about Rajhin the Thief God, and M'aiq the Liar. He had told Kevin about Anequina's deserts and the jungles of Pelletine, and of the cane groves in Torval, where Ri'yaan had been born—
Though that last was only when Kevin's mother was not around to hear it.
Two summers ago, with his mother's blessing, Ri'yaan had begun teaching him the Two-Moons-Dance—a Khajiiti way of fighting barehanded as it was taught in the southern cities. Ri'yaan had thought it suited Kevin's lighter frame better than the heavy-bladed styles common to Nordish warrior tradition. With clever hands and quick feet Kevin could easily be a match for the stronger, pure-blooded Nord children in the town, Ri'yaan had said, if only he knew how to use them. And several months ago that spring, before the caravan had departed, Ri'yaan had promised that the next time he came he would teach Kevin to fight with daggers. For Ri'yaan had told him, almost sadly, that what he had already learned would be nearly sufficient if he were a Khajiit with claws and fangs of his own, but that a nice sharp blade of iron was almost as good.
Kevin loved his father, and his father's letters, and his father's gifts, but Ri'yaan was real to him in a way his father was not. Beside his mother, Ri'yaan was the only family that Kevin had.
When Kevin got home his mother, Sigun, was hanging the wash over the fire to dry. It was for this reason, he thought, that she seemed so displeased at the sight of him.
"And what were you up to?" his mother asked, turning him around to inspect his clothing. "You're soaked straight through. Tell me you weren't off making snow forts in the thickets again."
"No, Mama," Kevin told her quickly, shaking his head. "Fruki and I were playing hide and seek, and I climbed up a tree to hide, and I was just a little damp, I swear. But then I looked out over the road and saw Ri'yaan's caravan coming, and so I ran out to meet them, and I helped Ri'yaan with the fire. Only Fruki got mad at me for leaving her, so when I got back into town she threw snow at me."
The corner of Sigun's mouth twitched as he spoke, and Kevin felt his cheeks heating. She schooled her expression quickly, giving him a soft push.
"Go put on some dry things before you start to pack," she told him firmly. "I keep telling you, if you catch cold again it's going to ruin the rest of the summer for you. And you're having something to eat before you go."
"Yes, Mama," Kevin said, and went off to change.
Kevin stripped off his wet tunic, leaving it draped across his bed to dry some. Though a fire had been burning in their home for several hours and the air was warm, the amulet he wore concealed beneath his clothes felt, as always, unnaturally cool against his skin. With the sudden exposure of his damp flesh, that chill left goosebumps crawling across his arms, and rocked his thin frame with a shiver.
Lifting the amulet away from his chest, Kevin looked into the strange, leering face that stared back at him.
The amulet was made of silver—or at least something that was almost like silver. Whatever metal it really was, it had a dusky, dull shine, and it always felt cooler than it should and somewhat slippery, as if it had been coated in a very thin layer of oil that refused to be washed away. Its medallion hung from a thin chain of the same metal, studded with several very small, very dark stones. The face it bore was a strange one—Kevin had worn the amulet for as long as he could remember, and yet he had never been able to decide whether the face was of a man or a woman, human or elf. Its ears were strange, and not like either one—long, almost like a goat's ears, which made an odd kind of sense in a way, because its horns were like a goat's as well. Though the face wore a smile, as though laughing, Kevin had never liked the look of it... Something in its expression had always struck him as cruel.
Fighting off another shiver Kevin dressed himself warmly, tucking the amulet safely out of sight beneath his tunic.
Before he left, his mother would check to make sure he was still wearing the amulet. She did so every morning before he went to play, and again every evening when he came home. Kevin's mother had told him, a long time ago, that the amulet was very important. She hadn't said why, simply warned him that bad things would happen if he ever lost it or even took it off. Keeping it safe for his father was a big responsibility, she had told him, and she had made him promise to wear it at all times, and never to let anyone see it, or even tell them about it.
His questions about its origin and its purpose had always been met with vague answers: It was important. It had been his father's. It kept Kevin safe—though from what he never knew. Once, he had caught part of a conversation between Ri'yaan and his mother as they spoke about it. Ri'yaan had called it "the Ornament", but Kevin hadn't known what that detail might mean. And because he hadn't been meant to overhear, he hadn't been able to ask.
Kevin knew almost nothing about it, not for certain, but he had begun to have ideas about it, and they worried him. And though he could not pinpoint when those ideas had begun to form, he knew exactly when he had first realized they were there.
It had happened during the previous winter. The Vigil of Stendarr had come to Dawnstar, visiting from their nearby hall. The Vigilants had come to offer healing to the sick and the lame, and to speak with the Jarl, Skald the Elder, about rumors of daedra worship within his Hold. While this audience had taken place, one of their number had stood upon the steps before the White Hall to deliver a sermon on the teachings of Stendarr, the Divine of Justice and Mercy. Kevin and Fruki had stood among the crowd, suffering the cold of the thoroughfare as they listened. The woman had spoken of the importance of charity and humility, and of strength of convictions as well as strength of the body, and of remaining forever steadfast against the unclean who had allowed themselves to fall prey to the influence of the daedra.
The stay of the Vigil had been the only interesting thing to happen in Dawnstar for several long, cold months, and both he and Fruki had been captivated. And the woman's words had stirred up an eagerness in him, so that afterward Kevin found himself telling his mother about it excitedly. But his mother had not shared his enthusiasm, and when he told her about his wish to some day join their ranks she had looked at him, her expression sad and somewhat fearful. And she had warned him to stay clear of the Vigilants as much as possible, and that an encounter with them could put him in danger. Kevin had been confused and disappointed, and oddly hurt, and he had badly wanted to know why—
Because the Vigilants were holy warriors who fought for justice—they fought monsters and protected people—and Kevin didn't understand why he should be afraid.
And his mother had agreed that this was true, but that it was the way they did those things that was dangerous, for the Vigil emphasized Stendarr's Justice over his Mercy, and the latter was not something they bestowed upon everyone equally. For it wasn't just the monsters which preyed on people that they stood against, she told him. The Vigil had formed in the wake of the Oblivion Crisis two centuries ago with the pledge to oppose the daedra and their worshipers at all costs. But, she reminded him, not all daedra were like Mehrunes Dagon—the Daedric Prince of Destruction whose followers had enacted the Crisis, and almost succeeded in securing their patron's conquest of the mortal world—nor all of their worshipers like his Cult of the Mythic Dawn.
Kevin had known these things, of course, though he hadn't realized until then that he did.
A few of the guards who traveled with Ri'yaan's caravans were followers of Hircine the Huntsman, who the Khajiit called the Hungry Cat. Many of his other associates had been worshipers of Azura. Ri'yaan, on the other hand, followed the traditional faith of Elsweyr which honored the Moons. Yet while the grey-furred Khajiit spoke little of other gods—daedric or Divine—outside of his stories, Kevin had always felt there was an imperative note to Ri'yaan's stories of daedra that his other tales lacked. Whether it was Rajhin the Thief and the ring that had made him the God of Thieves before abandoning him to his enemies, or the victims of Sheggorath's cruel and incomprehensible pranks, Ri'yaan's stories never seemed to condemn those who bargained with daedra.
And yet, at the same time, Ri'yaan was always emphatic about the lessons those stories held regarding the danger that lay in begging favors from the lords of Oblivion.
Kevin's mother had finally gone on to reassure him that he likely had nothing to fear. As unrelenting as the Vigil could be, she did not think they would harm a child. But, she had warned, if they discovered the amulet he wore around his neck they would not let him keep it.
"If anyone discovered that amulet we would have to leave Dawnstar," his mother had told him solemnly. "We would never be able to come back. Things would be very different without it, and our lives would never be the same again."
And though her words had frightened him, beneath his fear Kevin had felt strangely proud that she would trust him with something that important. Yet between his mother's warnings and the lessons Ri'yaan imparted with his stories, it had lead Kevin to wonder about the father that had left him with such a responsibility. If the Ornament really was an artifact from Oblivion, that would beg questions about its purpose, about what bargain his father could have made for it, and what price had been paid in return. And of course there was the question of whether or not any of those things might explain why his father had never come back...
Sometimes Kevin thought he might not want to hear the answers.
Kevin took a deep breath, expelling the dread the memory inspired from his lungs. Today was not the kind of day he wanted to spend thinking about those things. It was the day he inevitably spent the beginning of every summer—and often the start of every autumn, and most of every winter—thinking about. Ri'yaan and the other Khajiit came only twice a year, at mid-spring and late-summer, and during the three weeks the caravan usually camped beside the road outside of Dawnstar, Kevin would reside at the camp with them.
His welcome among them was something that no other child in Dawnstar was offered, a privilege that was reserved for him and for him alone. Not that it was an honor he was envied for, but in a way that only made it more unique and special, for the others didn't even understand what they were being denied. The other children—the Nord children—all had each other as well as their siblings and their parents, their aunts and uncles and sometimes even grandparents, and lived a life free of scrutiny in the eyes of their elders. Kevin had no one but his mother, most days, and Fruki when he was lucky, and he often suffered the gaze of townsfolk who viewed him as a curiosity at best—
To others he was nothing less than an ill considered mistake, and many were not shy about sharing their opinions within earshot.
Kevin was used to being different from the other Nords in Dawnstar, and one might think that when he was with the Khajiit he would feel his pronounced differences from them even more keenly. Yet somehow that was not so. In fact, when Kevin was among the Khajiit, he was afforded freedoms that he could not honestly feel were his when he was at home. He was free to ask questions when he did not know the answers, free to bounce and fidget with the restless energy that often overtook him, to let his mouth run with his often rambling thoughts, and to be honest about his limitations—to voice it when he was cold, or tired, or hungry—without feeling he was being judged for them.
Among the Khajiit, Kevin was never made to feel that being different was somehow a crime.
This was because Khajiit were naturally diverse, Ri'yaan had once taken the time to explain. Due to the force which Khajiit called ja-Kha'jay—the Lunar Lattice—their shapes were dictated by the phases of the Moons at their birth. The large, powerful Cathay-raht were taller than most Nords; the slight, hairless Ohmes were almost indistinguishable from wood elves; the tiny Alfiq walked on four legs, and many humans mistook them for house cats—yet in Elsweyr it was accepted that all three could exist within a single family, and might even be brothers. To the Khajiit, a difference was only a weakness until one discovered its purpose, for what made one Khajiit weaker than another in one way often gave them strength in another.
Ri'yaan was Pakseech of his trade-clan, and well respected by the Khajiit in his caravans. All of them knew their leader cared for Kevin the way he would his own cub, and for most of them that was enough. They accepted Kevin's presence easily—often fondly—and to many it was no different than if he were a young Ohmes growing up amongst them.
His eagerness and high mood rekindled, Kevin finished packing his things. Then his mother made him sit down to a lunch of beef stew and buttered bread—and being quite hungry from his earlier activities, he did so without complaint—as she made her usual admonitions to stay dry and warm, to mind Ri'yaan and the others, and to be careful.
She also made him promise that he would eat some real food whenever possible.
Kevin had always been mad for sweet things. When the weather allowed, he and Fruki would go out picking snowberries together. Other times they picked flowers and plants that they could offer to the town's herbalist, Frida, in return for pocket money—and once their shares were divvied up, sweets were invariably what Kevin spent his on. The Khajiit, as a rule, were also fond of sweetness, and often when he spent his time with the caravan they chose to spoil him. His mother knew this, and she allowed their indulgence though she often pretended otherwise. Though he seemed to have hit his growth early he was still underweight compared to his peers, and his mother often worried about him.
So long as he was eating well alongside, however, she clearly felt it could do him little harm.
When Kevin was finished, his mother checked his pack to make sure he had everything he needed. Then she made sure his father's amulet was safely around his neck. Satisfied, she kissed him on the forehead and sent him off with a smile and a final warning to take care.
By the time he returned to the caravan the tents had all been set up, and the Khajiit had settled into their usual business. Ri'yaan's young protege, J'draash, was busy splitting firewood. One of the guards, Ma'shiija, was gone—Kevin thought she was likely off checking the surrounding woods for danger. The other, Marash, stood before Ri'yaan's tent, alert for trouble, and Kevin could see Ri'yaan speaking with Thoring, the innkeeper's son, inside.
Thoring's father was one of the few people in Dawnstar, besides Kevin and his mother, who generally looked forward to the caravan's coming. While the miners and fishermen who lived in the town were often content with the locally brewed mead, the sailors who came in to port from Windhelm and Solstheim had more coin to spare on drink of higher quality. Ri'yaan's caravan often brought him wines from Cyrodiil. The grey Khajiit also had some kind of arrangement with a brewery owner in southern Skyrim who could supply the tavern with finer meads. Though Thoring's father could have dealt with them directly, over the long haul ordering his stock through Ri'yaan cost much less.
Kevin did his best not to feel disappointed. He knew it was business that brought Ri'yaan and the others to Dawnstar. If Ri'yaan was busy, it wouldn't do to interrupt, and so Kevin took his pack and settled down on the log that had been drawn up next to the fire.
"Aww. Is it lonely?"
Kevin nearly jumped, turning so quickly on the damp log that he slid onto the ground. Which left him looking up into the face of the caravan guard, Ma'shiija, who was smiling.
"Tss," Ma'shiija hissed softly, with exaggerated affront. "Caught off guard like a blind fool. Has it forgotten all it has learned? This will not do. Up."
Kevin scrambled up from his prone position obediently, dusting snow and frozen earth from his clothes to present himself properly. Ma'shiija made a pleased sound.
"Come, ja'ahn kriniit," Ma'shiija commanded brusquely. "Show Ma'shiija what it remembers of the Dance while Ri'yaan is engaged, and this one will decide if it may hunt with her later."
Kevin wasn't as fond of Ma'shiija as he was of Ri'yaan. Ma'shiija had only been coming to Dawnstar with the caravan for the past two years, while Kevin had known Ri'yaan for all of his life. There was nothing wrong with the other Khajiit, of course, simply that she wasn't Ri'yaan. But Ri'yaan might not be finished with his business until it was time for dinner, and though Kevin preferred his lessons from Ri'yaan there were times when her instruction was necessary.
As Ri'yaan had taught him long ago, there were many kinds of Khajiit. Ri'yaan was Suthay-raht, which were smaller than most Men—though taller still, Ri'yaan was always careful to insist, than a good many other Khajiit—and his back legs bent as a beast's legs did so that he walked on his toes at all times. His feet were clawed and heavy-padded, and he though he wrapped them against the biting snows he did not wear shoes. Though his legs were swift and powerful, his stride was different than a Man's stride, and sometimes he had difficulty adapting the movements of the Two-Moons-Dance into something Kevin could manage. Ma'shiija, on the other hand, was Cathay. She was taller than Ri'yaan, and her legs more manlike, and it had thus fallen to her on more than one occasion to teach Kevin the footwork and moves that Ri'yaan could not.
Of course Ma'shiija was often quite merciless.
In spite of the cold air, Kevin was sweating by the time Thoring returned to Dawnstar, but he had satisfied Ma'shiija enough that she had promised he could accompany her hunt the following evening if Ri'yaan allowed. With his business concluded for the day, Ri'yaan had joined them at the fire. J'draash had prepared an early-evening meal of roast goat glazed with honey, and a sweet, milky soup made from apples. Kevin sat close to Ri'yaan, sharing the warmth of a thick quilt as the Khajiit told him of his recent travels in the south and answered Kevin's questions about his father's well being and the affairs occupying him in Bravil. Then Ma'shiija had packed a pipe of Nibenese tobacco to share with Ri'yaan as Marash and J'draash bandied lewd insults back and forth—a lighthearted sport which Marash always won.
Later that night Ri'yaan prepared a second light meal of cheese curds warmed in honey-sweetened cream. Kevin spent the time watching J'draash display his tricks of the hand. Ri'yaan had told him once that the younger Khajiit possessed not an ounce of real magic to speak of, yet J'draash could appear to make objects vanish or change just as easily as Madena. Even if it was not real magic, Kevin found it spectacular, and loved to watch hoping to figure out how it was done, and sometimes if his guesses were close J'draash would teach him.
When they were finished J'draash and the two guards disappeared into their tent and Kevin and Ri'yaan retired to the other.
Kevin had already laid out his bedroll earlier in the night, but he wasn't ready to sleep just yet. He waited patiently, sitting on his bed as Ri'yaan tied the tent-flaps tight against the chill wind and carefully banked a few coals from the campfire in a brazier to keep them warm for the night. Then Ri'yaan settled down onto his own bed, and from a bundle of furs he brought out the gifts sent by Kevin's father.
Kevin read the letters first, though he already knew most of what was in them from what Ri'yaan had told him beside the campfire. In any case he could always read them again later—and usually did, more than once—but in addition to the letters and books and the other gifts his father had sent, Ri'yaan brought out a small wooden box, and soon curiosity and anticipation had Kevin all but trembling...
For Ri'yaan and Kevin had a secret that they had been keeping for...perhaps as long as Kevin had even understood what a secret was. Sometimes, when Ri'yaan returned from his trip to the south, he brought Kevin a very special sort of gift—
Sweets, from Elsweyr.
Candied fruits, glazed nuts, sticky pastries flavored with lavender, soft, dark candies that melted away in his mouth... Each time he brought them they were different, but whatever their kind or shape there was always the same taste beneath it. It was a flavor that was dark, like honey got when it began to burn, with an odd spiciness that left his whole mouth tingling for as long as it stayed on his tongue. It was very distinctive, and like nothing else that Kevin had ever tasted. That flavor was called je'm'ath, Ri'yaan had told him once—an ingredient both widespread and precious in Elsweyr, though it was not often used anywhere else.
Though Ri'yaan had never come out and said so, Kevin knew from the solemnity with which the Khajiit gave them that these gifts were very special. Ri'yaan had made him swear by the Moons and on his mother's hidden shrine to Talos never to share them, or to speak of them with anyone...
Not even his own mother.
Kevin opened the box slowly. Inside sat a half-dozen small shapes, wrapped up in waxy paper. At Ri'yaan's encouraging nod, he drew one out, unwrapping it to reveal a small, orange-gold ball. Pulling it free slowly so that the wrapper would not tear, Kevin gave it a careful taste. The candy was sweet and tart, bright in a way that was unfamiliar, and hard as a rock against his teeth. Licking his lips as they warmed with the je'm'ath, Kevin glanced at Ri'yaan curiously.
"I don't know this flavor," Kevin said.
"It is orange," Ri'yaan told him, smiling.
Kevin frowned, for a moment convinced that Ri'yaan was making a joke at his expense. But Ri'yaan laughed, leaning over to ruffle his hair.
"Ri'yaan does not try to fool, ahzi' ja'ahn," the Khajiit said softly. "In the Imperial tongue it is simply called 'orange'. It is a fruit with a thick, bright rind that grows in the groves of southern Elsweyr. Perhaps next year Ri'yaan will bring one for you, so you can see."
Kevin accepted this easily, and laid down on his bedroll with the orange candy tucked in his cheek. Kevin liked the candies Ri'yaan gave him best before bedtime. They left his body warm and his thoughts light and happy, and he often had the most exciting dreams once he slept.
"Can you tell me another story, Ri'yaan?" Kevin asked quietly as the Khajiit drew the thick quilt over him, tucking him in tightly.
Ri'yaan considered briefly before nodding.
"Of course," Ri'yaan said, lying down in his own bedroll beside Kevin's. "Which would you like?"
Kevin hardly had to think about it.
"Tell me the one about the Moons," Kevin said.
Ri'yaan smiled proudly and began his tale.
"In the beginning were the First Two," Ri'yaan said. "Their names were Ahnurr and Fadomai, and they were the great parents of all that is. In their first litter were born the gods who Men and Mer call Divine. In their second, they birthed those that are called Daedra. And Ahnurr was content with his many children, but Fadomai tricked him into fathering a third litter. And so it was that Fadomai gave birth to the Moons, Masser and Secunda. Also she gave birth to Nirni, who is the world, and to Azurah, who is the dawn and the dusk, and always the two sisters were rivals. And Ahnurr was angered by Fadomai's deceit, so that she and her children hid in the Great Darkness, where she gave birth to Lorkaj last of all..."
A few years ago, Fruki had been given a copy of A Children's Anuad for her birthday, which held the story of creation as it was told to worshipers of the Divines. Many of the names and concepts were similar to the Khajiit story Ri'yaan that had enjoyed telling him since he was very small. Anu and Padomay had been brothers in those myths, and Anu's wife, Nir, had given birth to Creation. Padomay had been the villain. Kevin thought Lorkaj was probably Lorkan, who some said the high elves demonized, but who in ancient Nord legends was called Shor, who was the patron of Men.
Yet the Khajiit legends reserved the greatest roles for the Moons, and for the Daedric Prince Azura.
"After her birthing, Fadomai lay dying," Ri'yaan continued solemnly, "and to her last litter she bestowed her gifts. To the Moons she gave ja-Kha'jay, the Lunar Lattice, to protect the world against the rage of Ahnurr. To Nirni, she gave the gift of having many children of her own. Pleased with her gift, Nirni left to create her children, and did not see the gift given to her younger sister. And to Azurah, Fadomai gave the gift of Three Secrets. And with her last words, Fadomai commanded her daughter to take one of Nirni's children when they were born, and to make them the fastest and the cleverest and the most wonderful, for they would need to guard against Ahnurr's anger should the Moons ever fail."
"And Lorkaj created a place for Nirni's children to live," Ri'yaan continued, "and she filled it with many litters. But soon she knew sorrow, for the Forest People, her favorite children, did not know their shape. And Azurah took pity on Nirni. She spoke her First Secret, and the Moons let her come into the world. Azurah took to herself some of the Forest People, and because she was wise she gave to them all of the shapes they would need. And Azurah told them her Second Secret, which was to know the value of secrets, and she bound them to ja-Kha'jay, to aid the Moons in their defense of Nirni. And Azurah placed them in the deserts and in the jungles, and she named them Khajiit. Finally, she spoke her Third Secret so that the Moons blessed the waters with their light, and with the twin tides that carry it to the shore. And in the great marshes fed by the sea, the grasses drink in the light of the moon, which becomes je'm'ath."
Ri'yaan leaned over to rake Kevin's hair gently with his claws.
"And so it is that every Khajiit knows its shape from the Moons of his birth," he said, "and in consuming the je'm'ath we partake of their continued blessings, for this is our part in preserving the life of Nirni for generations to come."
Ri'yaan had once told him that Khajiit were not much for books, and that their stories were rarely written down. Most learned their history from the mouths of their parents when they were cubs, or from the Clan Mothers who guided the wisdom of their tribes. Ri'yaan's stories had all been told to him by Ri'yaan's mother, and to her by her father, and he by his father before him, and so on back into time beyond mortal memory. And it was for this reason, more than any other, that Kevin enjoyed his stories so much. When he was listening to Ri'yaan's stories, Kevin almost felt like he too was a part of the trader's family.
Which reminded him...
"Do you tell your son these stories?" Kevin found himself asking sleepily, once Ri'yaan had finished.
Kevin immediately wished he hadn't. Though he had never heard the reason, he knew that Ri'yaan rarely chose to speak of his son. Kevin didn't even know his name or how old he was. He also knew what the answer must be, in any case...
"Of course," Ri'yaan told him softly. "Whenever Ri'yaan is there to do so."
Kevin turned over to look at Ri'yaan then.
"Does he live in Torval, where you're from?" he asked.
Ri'yaan huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.
"No," Ri'yaan said quietly. "Torval stopped being home to Ri'yaan long ago. This one met his wife on the road as a trader, and it was with her Ri'yaan left his son when he was born."
"Oh," Kevin said, disarmed by the Khajiit's sadness. "I'm sorry."
Ri'yaan offered him a gentle smile.
"Do not be sorry for questions, ahzi' ja'ahn," Ri'yaan told him. "There are no bad questions in this world."
"Do you stop to see him often?" Kevin had to ask, since he was apparently being given leave.
"Whenever it is possible," Ri'yaan said. "Which is less than this one would like."
"You miss him a lot, don't you?" Kevin asked, and he felt a pang that he was ashamed to realize was jealousy.
Ri'yaan looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before ruffling his hair once more with a soft smile.
"Always, ahzi' ja'ahn," Ri'yaan said, "but always less when you are here."
And those words made Kevin feel warmer than either the brazer's fire or the je'm'ath ever could.
That night, Kevin dreamt he was back in Dawnstar, playing with Fruki. It was his turn to search, and though he looked in all the usual places he could not find her. It was in the nearby woods where they had been playing that day that he picked up her tracks in the snow, but the trail was quickly lost within the trees. Instead of searching with his eyes, Kevin put his back to the tree trunk, using his other senses in his hunt the way Ma'shiija always urged him to do. But no sooner had he tried than he saw snow drifting down in front of his face.
Looking up into the branches, he heard Fruki giggle.
Kevin wasted no time in climbing up after her, lifting himself nimbly into the lower branches with his usual ease. Yet he didn't find her where he thought he would, for it seemed Fruki had climbed farther up onto the lighter branches where she was usually too afraid to go. Kevin soon reached her, only to find her attention focused elsewhere, higher up in the tree. He thought to use her distraction to catch her by surprise. Very cautiously, he crept up beside her, only as he reached out to tag her she laughed again. Following her eyes upward, he soon saw what she was looking at, and his own eyes widened faintly in surprise.
A Khajiit cub close to their own age perched comfortably in the branches there.
Kevin knew immediately who he was. His fur was a light grey with dark stripes just like Ri'yaan's, and Kevin didn't doubt for a second that he was looking at the trader's son. His earlier jealousy forgotten, Kevin climbed eagerly up into the high branches to meet him. The cub crouched lightly with his back to the tree trunk, weight balanced neatly on the balls of his clawed feet. His tail curled loosely around the branch he sat upon. When Kevin made it onto the closest branch beside him, the cub looked at him and smiled.
And without even being asked, the Khajiit had joined them in their game.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four
