Chapter Text
It was the 4th of Last Seed, 4E 169, and there’s a trespasser in the moon sugar gardens.
The only information that the guards had gathered was that they were possibly a suthay, and that they had entered the gardens about an hour after midnight. Compared to other nations of Tamriel, there are very few acts in Elsweyr that are truly considered crimes. The concept of private property did not exist to the Khajiit as it did to the Imperials and the Nords and the Elves. If you have need of something and are clever enough to obtain it, it is yours, and if someone who is more clever and more cunning than you gets a hold of it, you say fair play and move on with your life.
But the moon sugar gardens are sacred grounds. Many know the sugar to be the crystallised form of pure moonlight, making it the most holy of substances to the Khajiit, whose livelihood and culture surrounded the moons. To trespass into these gardens, located outside the palace of the mane no less, was a crime against the Divines themselves.
Against the protests of his advisors, Mane Ra’Shia made his way through the gardens accompanied by his guards in the darkness of the early morning. To say this trespasser was tricksy was an understatement. Evading the mane’s personal guard was far from an easy feat, and to continue to so for hours was practically impossible. And it had been a good number of hours, for the first rays of dawn were starting to peak over the eastern horizon.
It was at this time, as Ra’Shia watched over the rising sun, that he finally got a glimpse of her.
In the North-eastern corner of the garden, where the outer wall met the front of the palace, was a small secluded nook, tucked away neatly behind an old forgotten statue and perfectly cast in the shadow of early morning. And within that darkness, shone a pair cold, piercing eyes, staring out at Ra’Shia. And Ra’Shia stared back. And it was so obvious, looking into those eyes, that the search was over, and this trespasser knew it.
Cornered.
Caught.
When those eyes, which shone a bright pale blue, refused move from the darkness, Ra’Shia stepped slowing closer with his guards at his heel. Gentle, cautious—as one would approach a startled animal. When the light of the guards’ torches reached the dark crevices of the hidden nook, and Ra’Shia could finally, finally see her, what he saw left him stunned.
The girl was suthay, as the guards had suspected, and her fur was short and dark with near invisible tabby striping, with a stark white muzzle. Her ears were long and topped with tufts of fur, and they flicked around in visible anxiety, as did her white-tipped tail. And she was so young. The little thing couldn’t have been older than 17, which for the Khajiit—who while not as long lived as the mer lived a good while longer than man—was very young indeed.
But none of that was what mattered.
What mattered was that as soon as he saw her, as soon as he looked at her face, he knew with absolute certainty that this was a child of prophecy. This was a child that had been chosen by the Divines, for reasons unknown to mortals, to change the fate of the world. How he knew this he could not tell you—he did not see her face in dreams or meditation—but he just knew, deep within himself, that it was the truth. And with that divine knowledge he couldn’t help the ache of pity in his heart, for he knew that children of destiny are condemned to tragedy, and as he looked into her eyes, he feared that the harsh claws of fate have already taken this poor kit into its cruel grasp.
The child spoke, and Ra’Shia was brought back to reality, guards at his side and a trespasser at his feet.
“Well, are you going to kill me or not?” There was venom in her tone, a challenge perhaps, and Ra’Shia couldn’t help but smile at her attitude.
“No, I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Like ‘what in the name of the moons are you doing here?’ Or ‘where on Nirn is your family?’ Those sorts of questions?”
His smile widened and his eyes softened, “How about we start with ‘what is your name?’”
The anxious flicking of her tail stopped. Her ears stood up and forward. The tension in her shoulders relaxed and she looked up at him, not with coldness or suspicion, but with curiosity and wonder in her eyes. Yes, this child would change the world, and Ra’Shia was more than happy to act as a guide on her way there.
In a small, timid voice, she answered, “Rijha.”
“Rijha-Daro”
-
It was the 20th of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 201, and Ri’Saad was in Torval.
Ri’Saad absolutely hated Torval.
The jungle air is far too humid, it made his fur all frizzled and matted, and everything was just so uncomfortably damp. He had hated Torval since the first he stepped foot in the city many, many decades ago as a young khajiit who had never before left the dry sands of Rimmen, and he hated it now, at almost 100 years old. If he was lucky and everything went smoothly, he’d be out of the city by morning. But luck was never really his strong suit.
He sat at a tiny cramped desk, on the second floor of some dusty second-rate inn, sorting through papers and books that he was in no mood to deal with while the rest of his caravanning troupe drank and chatted away downstairs in the tavern. There was an open-air window directly in front of where he sat, and through it he could see a building that he was all too familiar with. It was an estate that had belonged to a family of highly influential merchants, although whether they still lived there, he did not know.
The first time he ever set foot on that estate, it was the middle of the night and he had been unwillingly dragged there by someone who was not his brother, but might as well of been for all the time they spent growing up together.
“I just want you to keep watch, that’s all.”
“And I just think you’re mad for doing this, all so you can talk to a girl you met yesterday.”
His not-brother grinned at him as he hopped up onto a narrow ledge that decorated the outer wall of the main building, “If you had seen her you would understand. Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes.”
A few minutes turned out to be almost an hour, as was the case the next time they visited, and the next dozen times, until the question was finally asked, “Will you come with us to travel the lengths of Tamriel?” and so the three of them—Ri’Saad, his not-brother, and his not-brother’s lover—left that estate together planning on never seeing it again. The last time Ri’Saad visited that estate, he was alone and grieving, searching for an orphaned child that had disappeared into the night. Needless to say, the humidity wasn’t the only thing he hated about Torval.
His brooding was shortly brought to an end by a knock at the door, and a few moments later a young cathay-raht entered.
“What do you need Khayla?”
“There is someone here who has asked to speak with you, says she’s an old friend of yours.”
He had no ‘old friends’ in Torval.
“Tell her I’m not taking visitors.”
Khayla only nodded in response, and once again Ri’Saad was left alone in his room. Sighing, he stood from the desk, gathering his papers and books, and moved to store them away in his pack. The sun was setting, and if he was to start making tracks in the morning, he needed to be well rested. As he went to set his pack down at end of his bed there was the faintest sound of feet touching the floor behind him. His whiskers twitched, his body tensed, and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end. Someone had climbed in through the window.
Slowly, he took out a small knife that was hidden in the folds of his budi, and he turned—
Only to drop the knife in shock, for standing before him was a ghost. She had grown so much, and yet, she looked just the same as she had as a young kit. The most startling difference were the striking white tattoos that adored her face and neck, the very tiger stripes that were worn by those closest to the mane.
When he finally regained the ability to speak, his voice shook, “Ma’Rijha? It’s… it’s not actually you is it?”
The ghost smiled, and spoke softly, “You know, you can’t refer to me as ‘ma’ anymore, I’m far from a child at this point.”
Ri’Saad took one step forward, and then another, and then another, and then he lifted his hands in a silent question, and she answered with open arms. And then he was holding her, and he was sobbing, because she wasn’t a ghost, she’s real, she’s real, and he’s filled with emotions that he cannot even begin to describe. It took him a little while, but Ri’Saad eventually calmed down and pulled away from her, taking a minute to organise his thoughts. That’s when the paternal instincts kick in.
“Where have you been all this time!? You disappeared without a trace for 32 years! Mor kha’jay I thought you were dead! Why didn’t come and find me sooner? I’m your Godfather for crying out loud!” He gestures towards her tattoos, “And what’s all this about? What in Oblivion have you been doing!?”
Rijha laughed, loud and hearty, and in that moment Ri’Saad couldn’t help but think that she’s was just like her father, she’s just like both of her parents, and instead of the crushing emptiness that usually accompanies thoughts of them, he felt a warm in his heart that he hadn’t felt in decades. She sat him down and told him grand stories of the Mane’s kindness towards her, of training at the Temple of Two-Moons Dance, and eventually becoming an ambassador of Elsweyr on behalf of the Mane. It was all very jarring to hear, if Ri’Saad was being honest, the fact that she had done so much over all these years, and all the while he was none the wiser. Still though, he was proud.
“So, why is it that you’ve decided to turn up here now of all times, it seems you are living very well.”
Rijha hesitated before answering, “I heard through the sugarcane that you would be travelling to Skyrim very soon,” there was a pause, as if she was waiting for confirmation. When none arrived, she continued, “I’d like to go with you.”
Ri’Saad didn’t know what to say, and the silence sat stale in the air. There was so much he didn’t understand. Why here? Why now? He watched as she patiently waited for an answer, her ears and tail flicking around. She was a khajiit in the prime of her life, a grown woman who knew her worth and knew it well—she wouldn’t have her current position if she didn’t—but looking at her, her eyes wide and hopeful, all he could see was small innocent child that he watched grow up, and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no to her.
“We plan to leave in the morning, will you be ready by then?”
She smiled, bright as day, and her voice was full of excitement, “Of course, you can expect to see me back here at the crack of dawn.” She moved to exit back through the window, because of course she would choose that over leaving through the door, she really was exactly like her father. But as she jumped up onto the window sill she paused for a moment, as if in thought, before she turned back towards him.
“I should probably tell you this, before we set out on the road, that when I started training at the Temple I… took up a different name. Start of a new life and all that, you know?”
Ah. That explains why he hasn’t heard a word about her for all this time. “Well, what is it that they call you now?”
“Do’Rirri”