Chapter Text
Of all the warnings and horror stories about the Black Marsh, none had gone nearly enough into detail about the rain. The suffocating humidity and heat? Yes, that was described at length. The actual weather patterns and just how quickly a quick “sprinkle” in the Marsh might end you, not so much. When attempting to deter travelers from entering the fens, the emphasis was usually put upon other more shocking things, such as the carnivorous plant life and insects of a size comparable to livestock. And, of course, outsiders were warned of the Shadowscales. Considering the hushed whispers and darting eyes that came with such tales, it was difficult not to wonder if they were perhaps just some sort of boogeyman.
Yet, risking the wrath of Argonian assassins seemed worthwhile to Grenna Sidoric if it meant getting right the hell away from High Rock. Running away was the last resort, but some things just could not be dealt with otherwise, and it was better if she were thought to be dead.
Lightning streaked across the black sky, thunder cracking violently in its wake. Grenna flinched as she stood ankle-deep in muddy water on what she hoped was still the road. Her clothes were soaked through, including the allegedly water-resistant cloak. She was supposed to have reached Stormhold by now, but the sudden onset of this deluge had waylaid her substantially.
The little pack guar, with her belongings strapped to its back, plapped his feet happily in the muck. His owners called him Puddle, a name aptly given as she watched how much he seemed to like them. Grenna was certain that the crotchety Dunmer she’d hired him from in Deshaan believed she’d die and thus had given her the runt of his herd. Calling the creature little was a gross inaccuracy considering that she could look it in the eye without stooping. The not-runty guars were much bigger, though. Grenna was almost above average height for a Breton, and upon leaving Glenumbra, learned that compared to the widely varying peoples of Tamriel, she was actually a rather squat little thing.
Stormhold was not the destination she’d intended, but each place she’d stopped at before it didn’t put quite enough miles between her and where she’d come from. Solitude, Windhelm, Riften…though it didn’t help that in Skyrim, she was basically the size of a Nord toddler. Every aspect of Stonefalls was a hideous nightmare, from the wildlife to the scenery and its rather unwelcoming residents. Grenna was as surprised as anyone else might be to find herself heading for Black Marsh.
So far, it was not going well.
Circumstances plummeted from deeply unpleasant to outright terrible when the guar’s leather lead abruptly leave her hand. Whirling around, the water splashed against her calves; the creature was nowhere within sight.
“Hey!” Her voice was all but drowned out by the rain. The trees and rocks were nothing more than amorphous shapes in the dark. “Puddle! You…damned bipedal…thing…” The road markers had been sparse or nonexistent to this point; there was no way to know if she was even on the road still. Raising her hand, she filled it with light, trying to find her way, trudging through the now knee-deep water. Her heart was pounding and nearly stopped altogether at the sound of a low, rumbling growl which was, assuredly, not thunder or her stomach.
Grenna moved faster, or rather, tried to. When the darkness growled again, it was from behind, and her heart leapt from her chest, lodging firmly in her throat.
“Shit, shit, shit…”
She nearly stumbled, but the water was a little less deep in that direction. It was fast-moving, though, and the rushing current slowed her traversal even more. Some other wretched swamp thing hissed. Or perhaps it was the same growling thing making a different sound. There was no telling, and it was not wildly impossible that something that lived here could make a wide variety of threatening noises.
Her foot caught on an unseen obstacle, and she fell, crying out. The light extinguished, but she grabbed onto what hopefully was a branch or a sapling and pulled herself back up, seeking to find higher ground. Lighting flashed again and again, and in the strobing light, there was a ridge up ahead. At this point, it didn’t matter if it was the road or not; she needed to be someplace the water wasn’t. Traveling didn’t matter as much as remaining alive just then. She was in the dark…in a storm…in the most dangerous, venomous place in all of Tamriel. With her level of skill in survival…the odds weren’t really in her favor.
Something was moving near her, and a branch cracked. Grenna stumbled again but didn’t fall. Instead, she walked right into a mass of hanging vines and jagged branches, letting out a scream. A growl became a roar, and she flailed, trying to get away and becoming tangled further. Then, the darkness itself reached out and grabbed her. She thrashed, frantic, but whatever it was, had her around the waist. Golden flames erupted in her palms, and she was at once dropped, experiencing a tiny flash of triumph, until it grabbed her by the wrists and plunged her hands into the water, the flames fizzling out with a defeated hiss.
“Stop that.” The voice was deep and irritated. Surprised by it, Grenna stopped resisting altogether, blinking into the darkness in shock before shrieking as whoever it was, plucked her up out of the water, tossed her like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder, and carried her off.
It was difficult to choose between wriggling violently in obvious futility and keeping still in the hopes that she was in some way being taken out of danger…well, out of some of it at least. There were only brief glimpses of the flooding swamp when the lightning flashed, and there was no way of knowing how far or for how long she was carried. Her unexpected savior grabbed her by the waist and none too gently put her feet on the ground. It was wet, but it was solid gravel, no running water, and she nearly toppled over before the big hands righted her yet again.
Lightning flashed, and Grenna’s nose was level with the chest of a dark leather jerkin. She gasped, lurching backward, but he caught her by the arm. In his other hand, he held up a lit torch that, firstly, had come out of nowhere, and secondly, somehow burned despite the rain. He was the biggest Argonian she had ever seen…not that she’d seen a great many of them. His skin was dark, but his eyes were yellow, and he looked as confused about her as she felt about him. At least she thought he did. Argonian faces weren’t particularly expressive. The reading she’d done about it had been woefully unhelpful.
It took a moment for her mind to actually begin functioning again, but now, in the light, she took in the appearance of this stranger who’d kept her from drowning…or being eaten by a crocolisk…or both. He wore dark leathers, daggers on his hips, a hood, and carried a general air of foreboding. Puzzle pieces dropped into place, and she gasped.
“Are you going to kill me?” It was a logical question to ask when coming face to face with a Shadowscale. He sighed and actually rolled his eyes.
“Think about what’s just happened and that question for just a moment.” He let go of her, folding his arms. “I’ll wait.” Grenna frowned. Now he seemed less ominous and more…rude.
“I suppose you aren’t.” She huffed, standing up a bit straighter. “Which…I’m grateful for…” A loud crack of thunder made her flinch, though. It did seem silly that he’d drag her out of the water just to put a knife between her ribs up here on the road. Who could blame her, though? Presently, her mind was just a bit taxed, all things considered.
The pack guar plapped up, seemingly materializing from the hellish, surrounding abyss, looking pleased to have found people. Her things were still strapped on, thankfully. The Shadowscale reached out and took the leather lead, shoving it into Grenna’s hand.
“Follow the road.” He pointed and stuck the torch in her other hand. “The guar knows where to go.” The oddly cheerful, bipedal lizard thing shifted from foot to foot expectantly.
“That probably would have been the smart thing to do from the get-go.” Grenna let out a long breath and turned to thank the Argonian, but he was gone. She made an exasperated noise. “Right.”
As the adrenaline receded, the fatigue of dangerous and challenging travel was setting in. Grenna’s vision was blurring, and the torch had spluttered out. It felt as if she’d been walking for hours, and she wasn’t sure how long it had actually been. The guar made a happy sort of grunt, tugging her along, its desire to be fed, no doubt ensuring her survival. To her astonishment, the rain stopped. Except it hadn’t.
She was standing under an overhang, and the guar sat down on a pile of mostly dry straw. They’d made it. Probably. They were somewhere, at least. It was as far as she was getting tonight, anyway. Grenna’s legs gave out, and she landed in the hay next to the creature, unmoving, thoughts fading.
Grenna’s dreams were strange, mostly darkness and noises, things chasing her through the flooding fen, though none of them were the Shadowscale. Hazy consciousness trickled back slowly. Wherever she was, it wasn’t raining, nor was it outdoors, but clammy dampness still clung to her skin. Grenna opened her eyes to find various boxes and crates full of food, as well as bottles lined up on a shelf. A storeroom, then. And the walls were mud. This was probably Stormhold, then.
An Argonian woman came through a doorway, pushing aside the curtain that served as its door, appraising her. Her skin was bluish-green, and there were long sort of fins on either side of her head that swept backward, almost like hair.
“Not dead, I see.”
“Where am I?” Grenna pushed herself up to sit.
“Stormhold. Someone found you unconscious in the stable near the outside of town. More specifically, though, you’re in my pantry. This is the Coin Brothers. Inn, tavern, whatever else it needs to be. Hospital, at the moment, for strange wandering Bretons that almost died in the fen.” The Argonian chuckled dryly. “I am Ahdra.”
“I’m…” Grenna nearly forgot herself and cleared her throat. “Uh…Sid.”
“And I’m a guar’s scaly backside.” Ahdra folded her arms. “Fake names mean on-the-run. Is whatever you’re running from going to follow you here to us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is it something you did?”
“No.”
“Alright. Then tell me your name. I don’t care what you tell anyone else. You’re here in my pantry, and I’m helping you. So…” The Argonian waited, expectantly.
“My name’s Grenna.” She sighed, then added: “Sidoric.”
“Alright. I’ll get you some hot water. You can wash up and change.” Ahdra’s nostrils flared a little. “You smell like the swamp.” She turned, then, and was gone.
Simply being clean and dry could make nearly any situation feel a hundred times less terrible. At least, it always seemed that way. Grenna scrubbed the fen off her skin then washed her hair, which, given its length, was a feat of its own. Ahdra brought her some soup and a mug of ale but didn’t leave her alone, instead watching, perhaps assessing.
“So. You’re not the sort I would expect to see in Black Marsh. Is there some…skill you possess? Or is there something specific you came here to find?” The Argonian's questions didn’t seem typical for a bar matron to be asking, but then, Grenna didn’t know very much about this place or its people, so, perhaps it was.
“I’m a healer. It’s the only thing I’m good at, really. I’ve had a knack for alchemy ever since I was a little girl…” Grenna shrugged. “I use it to do what I can to cure ailments.”
“So, you came here to be a healer?”
“I came here to not be somewhere else. I’m hoping that being a healer at least gets me enough gold to set myself up somewhere out of the way to just…exist quietly.”
“Do those scars have something to do with it?” Ahdra pointed to Grenna's face.
She stiffened. “I’d rather not discuss that if you don’t mind. It has no bearing on anything, so…”
“Apologies.” Ahdra gave a nod and then, thankfully, moved on. “Are you well versed in healing Saxhleel?” Grenna knew that word, but her still-fogged brain reached, grasping nothing. Ahdra translated: “Argonians?”
“Ah.” Grenna nodded. “In theory, yes. I’ve studied the writings and research of various alchemists as well as the works of three different Argonians who were masters in the fields of botany, alchemy, and healing. I’d never be so foolish as to think what might work for one physiology would apply to another. I’ve spent my entire life learning about it…”
“That’s unexpectedly broad-minded of you. Most outsiders come in here treating us like beasts.” Ahdra shrugged, and Grenna stared at her aghast. “I think you’ll be alright here…for as long as you decide to stay.”
“Thank you,” Grenna murmured quietly, looking into her soup bowl. She’d heard how the Argonian people had been treated, and it had simply never occurred to her that they were anything less than people. Such travesties left a bad taste in her mouth. Not wanting to delve into such dark topics, she changed the subject altogether. “On my way here, I met a Shadowscale out on the road. I’m pretty sure, anyway. Seemed…shadowy enough.” She shrugged a shoulder. “He pulled me from the water and set me on the road. I don’t think I’d have lived otherwise.” Hungrily, she consumed the soup. It tasted a little strange, but she wasn’t accustomed to their cuisine. It wasn’t bad, though.
“Is that so?” It was difficult to tell if Ahdra believed her or not. “What led you to believe that’s what he was?” Ahdra tilted her head a little and amended: “Or she.”
“His dagger belt, it was very well cared for but well used. And the hilts of his daggers were very sleek. Not the sorts of weapons just anyone might carry around.”
“So, you’re clever and observant. That’s good.”
“I suppose.”
“What’s in that box you brought?” Ahdra glanced in the direction of the pantry. There was certainly no beating around the bush with her, but directness was appreciated.
“Medical supplies. Poultices, balms, alchemical reagents…things to make medicine with. Bandages, sutures…” Grenna shrugged.
“Your healing supplies.”
“Yes.”
“Did you intend to come to Stormhold?”
“Um, well…” Goodness, this woman asked so many questions. Grenna sipped her ale, thinking a moment. “I’m not sure. I stopped a lot of places on my way, none of them felt right. So far, in the…two hours I’ve been conscious here, I’ve yet to feel like running, so…”
“Well, if you’re any good at your healing craft, your services will no doubt be welcome here.” Ahdra sat back, still watching Grenna closely.
“I’m happy to offer whatever help I can…and I can pay you for your hospitality as well, of course. I don’t expect that any of this is…”
“Nonsense.” Ahdra gave a dismissive wave. “I’ll tell you what. Forget paying me anything. I could use a girl for cleaning up and taking drinks and food to the patrons. If you’re willing. When you’ve worked this off, I will pay you. And you can sleep in the pantry until you figure something else out.”
“That’s…very generous.” It was the most kindness Grenna had encountered since leaving High Rock, to begin with, and she felt unexpectedly emotional, blinking back tears. “Thank you, I will do my best…though…I’ve never…”
“You don’t look like common folk. I’ll make sure you know what you’re doing before I let you do it. Don’t you worry.” Ahdra chuckled again. Grenna neither confirmed nor denied the assessment, though it was correct.
“I really didn’t expect anyone to be…so nice.”
“Are the people cruel where you come from?”
“They can be.” Grenna looked down again, and despite the unpleasantness of the past, it was possible that perhaps here things might be better.