Work Text:
4E 216
Snow blanketed the jagged rooftops of Dragonstar, the ancient city perched precariously on the border between Hammerfell and Skyrim. Once a city torn by war, it now held an uneasy peace, its citizens a mix of Nords, Redguards, and a sprinkling of other Tamrielic races. On this Saturalia, the air buzzed with anticipation and the promise of fleeting unity.
Sahlah, a young Redguard alchemist, adjusted her thick woolen scarf as she navigated the bustling market square. Her breath misted in the frigid air, mingling with the sweet scent of honeyed treats and the tang of spiced mead. Lanterns cast golden light over stalls where merchants hawked their wares, their cries interspersed with the laughter of children pelting each other with snowballs.
At the edge of the square, near the towering statue of Leki, the Goddess of Swords, a Nord bard strummed a lute, his deep voice recounting tales of Ysgramor’s exploits. The crowd, usually divided along cultural lines, gathered together, swaying and clapping in time.
Sahlah’s gaze drifted toward the city's northern gate, where the imposing silhouette of Durgan Fire-Mane, Dragonstar's Nord captain of the guard, stood watch. He was speaking with a Breton traveler clad in frost-covered robes. For weeks, rumors had swirled of strange lights in the Reach and of marauding Forsworn. Yet tonight, the captain’s stern demeanor softened; even he seemed to bask in the festive spirit.
As Sahlah reached her stall, a familiar voice called out.
"Happy Saturalia, Sahlah!"
She turned to see Aedrin, a Bosmer ranger and her closest friend, carrying a bundle of mistletoe and a mischievous grin. He wore a garish red cloak embroidered with golden stars, a Saturalia gift from his grandmother.
"You look ridiculous," she teased, though her smile betrayed her amusement.
"And yet, you still grace me with your company. How fortunate I am." He placed the mistletoe above her stall, ignoring her half-hearted protests.
A chorus of voices erupted as a troupe of children arrived, dragging a makeshift sleigh piled high with gifts. Among them was a Nord girl holding a small, crudely wrapped package. She approached Sahlah, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
"This is for you," the girl said, placing the bundle on the counter.
Surprised, Sahlah unwrapped it to reveal a tiny bottle of frost salts, a rare ingredient she had been unable to procure for months.
"Where did you find this?"
"Papa said the alchemist lady deserved a gift too," the girl replied, darting off before Sahlah could respond.
Aedrin leaned against the stall, his grin softening. "Even here, in a city scarred by conflict, kindness finds a way, doesn’t it?"
Sahlah nodded, her fingers tightening around the bottle. For a moment, the ghosts of the past faded, and the cold city felt warm.
Above, the stars glimmered like the lanterns below, and the sound of joy echoed through Dragonstar. Saturalia, it seemed, had brought a rare gift to the divided city—a fragile but genuine peace.