Chapter Text
Helón first saw the little dunmer boy at Riften’s stables, hiding behind a barrel. He couldn’t have been much older than four or five. Then, as he entered the city properly, the child dashed in and disappeared in an alleyway. One of the on duty guards yelled at him, but seemingly more out of annoyance.
“Move along, gray-skin,” she said when she caught Helón staring. He shuffled along in silence.
Despite the cold welcome, Helón already enjoyed Riften more than Windhelm. The walls were less foreboding; the wind was more akin to a warm breeze than a chill. He found a room to stay in for a few nights, and settled at the bar for a drink and some food. After being served mediocre, warm ale and a bowl of stew, he felt something tug on his belt. His head snapped down to see the dunmer child as his hands pulled away from Helón’s belt pouch. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, the child’s eyes wide with fear. He put shaky fingers to quivering lips, and Helón knew what he meant.
Helón patted the empty barstool next to him, and slid his half eaten bowl over. The child looked at him with uncertainty, but climbed up to kneel on the stool and started shoveling food in his mouth--occasionally spilling broth. Helón took the opportunity to study him.
The child’s clothes were ragged and dirty, and Helón could not tell what his natural hair color was. He was thin, but not dangerously so. From what Helón could tell, he had no other possessions on him.
Helón was brought out of his observations by the bartender’s voice: “Hey! He can’t be up here,” the imperial scowled. The child froze.
“Why not?” Helón challenged. “The food has been paid for and I will clean up his mess.”
The imperial huffed, unable to come up with a rebuttal, and muttered under their breath. The child finished the soup.
“Better?” Helón asked, to which the boy nodded.
“Th-thank you,” he squeaked.
“Do you have a name?” Helón moved the bowl, using his napkin to wipe up the puddles of broth from the bar.
The boy stared at him with scarlet dinner plates, and shook his head. “Don't remember…”
S’wit, doubt anyone is looking after him. Helón thought. “Where do you sleep at night?”
“Um…” he looked to the floor. “I can't tell you. It's a secret.”
The bartender came back and collected the dishes and dirty napkin. They glanced between the two elves. “He lives in the cistern, with the other street rats. And, again, he is not allowed here.”
It didn't surprise Helón, there were many homeless children--both from refugee parents and nords--in Windhelm. He couldn't help all of them, but maybe he could make the difference for this one boy.