Work Text:
Saanja very much enjoyed happy days. To her, a happy day meant bright, sunny weather, little wind, and no stupid Nords on the road for as far as her eyes could see. Adjusting the fraying edge of her hood, Saanja thought it would be a very fine idea to buy herself a brand new one.
She imagined the hood all the way up the road from the stables. Firstly, what colour would she pick? A better question: what would be in stock? Saanja considered choosing a blue one, if there was one available. “White trim also,” she pondered aloud, waiting for a group of rebels to finish crossing the drawbridge. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as her day soured very slightly at the sight of the hairless, stinky Nords.
“Saanja must digress,” she told herself firmly. “It is expected, to see foul Nords. It is Skyrim, no?”
The blue hood she was looking for suddenly passed right in front of her face and Saanja instinctively reached out to grab it, walloping the side of the Nord woman’s head in the process. “Hey, watch it!” she exclaimed, hand dropping to her axe on her hip. Saanja flattened her ears and backed away, eyes flicking between the face and the hood. It was a bright blue colour, lined with soft brown fur, and bordered with white.
“Saanja must apologize,” she said. “This one had a fly on head. Saanja scared it away.”
“Oh.” The anger ceased from her face, though she still looked a bit dubious. “Err… thanks, I suppose.” She then turned to the amused faces of her fellow kinsmen and they started off again, recommencing their conversations and laughing. Saanja watched the beautiful blue hood bob away, full of envy and longing.
=^.^=
No matter how much honey Saanja added to her cream, she couldn’t bring herself to forget the rebel’s lovely blue hood.
None of the shops had any that met her expectations; inquiring about such a hood had been impossible, considering that Khajiit were not welcome in the cities and that she would receive a bounty or even face jail time if she revealed her identity. Sulking in the corner of The Bannered Mare, stirring honey into her cream, Saanja sighed sadly, knowing that she would never ever have the hood she wanted so badly.
“Whatever is the matter, kitten?” A red-haired woman was looking down at Saanja. She startled upright but the civilian held up her hand soothingly. “Be well. I will not tell anyone that I saw you within the gates.”
“Saanja is not wanting to talk,” she growled, resuming her seat. The civilian sat down beside Saanja and poured herself a glass of wine; Saanja watched as she snuck a glance over her shoulder and slipped a tiny bottle out of her basket and poured a dollop into the fruity liquid.
“This one uses skooma?” Saanja inquired.
“Yes.” She did not sound very pleased about it. “Once a user, always a user.”
“Fiddlesticks!” Saanja snorted presumptuously. “Stupid Nord is fool.” The civilian looked surprised; her eyebrows arched high on her pale forehead, and she laughed.
“I suppose you are right, kitten. Maybe I’ll make a difference in my life today.” She pushed the glass aside and left the skooma with it; gathering her cloak around her shoulders, she beckoned to Saanja. “Accompany me on a walk, would you?”
The city was busy with noise and commotion. Children ran through the streets, giggling and shouting loudly as they played chase, or begging their parents for baked goodies. Saanja pilfered a glazed puff pastry and tucked it into her mouth, savouring the sweet. The civilian chuckled and adjusted her basket on her arm.
“I could do with some fresh eggs,” she said. “Let’s visit Carlotta and see what she has in stock.”
Saanja shuffled from foot to foot as her companion chose from the variety of brown and white eggs in a large basket kept in the shade. Carlotta was complaining quite animatedly about a bard called Mikael, to which “Ysolda” was answering with equal vigor. Saanja wasn’t listening very closely; attention waning, she whipped her bow off her back, sighted down the shaft of an arrow, and shot an apple sitting on the edge of the counter, sending it flying past the women. Carlotta shrieked and Ysolda straightened from the eggs with a gasp.
“By the Divines, you startled me!” Carlotta said, bending and studying the arrow neatly piercing the apple’s smooth side. “I expect payment for this.” She tossed Saanja the apple and returned to talking to Ysolda, right back to where they left off. Saanja nearly growled in annoyance but kept from lashing her tail, carefully concealed under the long cloak.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow. I’m thinking of making another batch of that venison stew,” Ysolda was saying in tones of farewell. “Would you and Mila like to come by for dinner tomorrow?”
“That sounds perfect. I’ll tell her when she gets back from the farm,” Carlotta smiled. “I finally convinced her to help pick crops. There’s no harm in getting some extra fresh air, and a bit of coin on the side.”
“It will be good for her. Builds character,” Ysolda agreed. “Has Severio gotten past that cold yet?”
“Oh, yes. He’s made a full recovery,” Carlotta blushed. “He believes it was my chicken soup. Does wonders when Mila’s come down ill, so I brought some to him and he was up and about come morning.”
Ysolda smirked, resting a hand on her hip. “And what were you doing there so early in the morning?” she asked teasingly. Carlotta had the audacity to blush, and she set about rearranging the pile of vegetables displayed on the corner of the counter.
“Can you get some leeks and onions?” Ysolda asked. “I think a few potatoes would do nicely, too.”
“Consider it done.”
“All set,” Ysolda said to Saanja, drawing away from the stall and edging through the crowd, Saanja following with flattened ears. She could smell rain on the horizon, and she still hadn’t figured out how to get her hood. She decided to ask Ysolda.
“Hmm, a fur-lined blue hood with white trim,” Ysolda repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve only ever seen them on the rebels that come down from the northern holds for supplies. They’re likely part of their uniforms. Come to think of it, they are very nice.”
“Saanja wants one badly.”
“Well, I certainly don’t have one!” Ysolda laughed. “Why don’t you ask... oh, I suppose I’ll have to order it for you. How long are you willing to wait for it to be made?”
Saanja shrugged and held up two fingers.
“Is that two days? Two weeks? Two hours?”
“Less is better, no?”
Ysolda laughed again. “Well, kitten. You’re in somewhat of a predicament. I’ll see about having a hood made for you.”
Saanja scrunched up her nose and bared her teeth, startling Ysolda until she realized it was the Khajiit’s way of smiling. They arranged to meet by the fallen tree outside the city in one week’s time.
But a week was a long time, and much could transpire in that long of a wait.
=^.^=
Saanja decided to take the carriage to Dawnstar, while she waited for Ysolda to keep to her word. It was blustery and cold when she arrived in the port town, and immediately took up shelter in the inn, where she hunched in front of the fire and refused to move, even for the barmaid who was forced to sweep around her. She was careful to keep her ears and tail hidden, but they were cold anyways, so keeping them close was already in mind.
“Saanja hates the cold,” she whispered to herself, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders. “Saanja miss the warm tropics of home.” It had been a long time since she had traversed the beautiful, exotic deserts and jungles of Elsweyr.
Amazingly enough, at that very moment, a Khajiit caravan was setting up for their week-long stay outside the town. Saanja had gone outside to look for a suitable bush far enough from the inn when she spotted the pointed ears and heard the familiar accents.
There were four. A brief and glowing introduction to Ahkari, Zaynabi, Dro’marash and Kharjo made Saanja feel at home, a miraculous thing in the wintery weather. They Khajiit were more than willing to offer her a bedroll and a bite of venison, made with homely Elsweyr seasonings, and it wasn’t before long that she was curled up between her brethren, purring into a doze.
She was awoken in what felt like a few minutes by the sound of a transaction being made between Ahkari and a customer. Pushing the blanket off of her head, Saanja crawled out of her bedroll and peeked outside the flap, where a Nord was seated with Ahkari, laying out her wares and trading it for the items she wanted. It was morning, and the sky was blue and full of snow clouds.
“May your road lead you to warm sands,” Ahkari told the Nord as she straightened and bid her thanks. Saanja’s mouth fell open as she watched the Nord draw up her hood. It was the blue hooded woman!
“Saanja has made decision,” she mumbled assertively as she buckled on her boots and drew her cloak around her shoulders. “Saanja will follow Nord and ask her for hood. Politely,” she added as a second thought. Her plan was perfect. She would simply tell the Nord how much she liked her hood and, because the Nord would think so highly of her, she would give Saanja her hood! What could possibly go wrong?
“Saanja is very appreciative of this one’s kindness,” she told Ahkari courteously. Bowing deeply to the caravan leader and her associates, Saanja started off down the road and after the Nord with her – oops, the blue hood that would very soon be hers.
=^.^=
The camp the Nord belonged to was found deep in a mountain pass, carefully hidden by the strangely curving formation of rock. Saanja didn’t follow her up the steep path through the knee-deep snow; instead, she crouched beneath a sparse shelter of bushes, surveying the ragged faces of the cliffs. There were several niches where lookouts could easily be on watch for intruders, and word would reach the heart of the camp within a matter of minutes. Anyone who strayed too close likely found an arrow in their face, or were chased away by a ground troop; Saanja was certain there were patrols moving about the area, cleared off trees and little more than a flat expanse of snow. Nothing could sneak up, not even in the middle of night.
Saanja had come to realize that attaining her hood was going to be far more trouble than she’d first imagined. She sat back on her heels and played with a loose thread dangling in front of her nose, again thinking of how wonderful it would have been to buy herself a brand new hood.
Abruptly, Saanja sat upright. No! She would not be defeated so easily! The hood would be hers, no matter what it took to get it. She would have that hood by nightfall, and no one could change her mind otherwise, not even the Divines themselves if they bothered to interfere. Saanja straightened her whiskers and got to her feet, brushed the snow from her backside and began hiking up the path leading into the camp’s hidden canyon. Damn the archers watching her approach! They would see her come and they would watch her leave, the hood in her paws! She would be victorious while they would be fools!
Scrambling on a particularly icy clump, Saanja entered the canyon and paused. It was eerie. There was a faint echo of sound in the rock, which seemed to breathe and groan, and the clatter of a loosened pebble rang sharply and made her ears flicker madly on her head. She envisioned the archers now, their arrows readied, preparing to fire down upon her. It was daunting, but the blue hood called.
Saanja began her slow trek down the passage until she came across the body, and she stooped over the corpse in curiosity. Half-buried but still relatively fresh, the eyes stared glassily upward. A trail of blood ran down their forehead and darted left on their nose, disappearing on the sunken curve of the cheek. An arrow had been shot through their shoulder, and the blade of an axe had cracked their skull in middle. It was disgusting, and Saanja drew back. What sort of monsters left the dead to rot this way?
“Stinky Nords do,” she answered her own question, backing away from the body. “But only stupid Nords rush into battle alone.”
“Hey!” a deep bellow roared. Saanja startled and looked up. At the head of the narrow passage was a big Nord man, cloaked and wielding an enormous steel sword. “You’re trespassin’, Khajiit. Be gone!” He inched forward a step, as though to assert his threat. Saanja flattened her ears and moved closer to the canyon wall, glaring out from under her hood.
“I said for you to leave!” the Nord shouted. “I will not ask again.”
“Saanja does not like this one,” she hissed in response. “Let Saanja through.”
“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he retorted. “Get out of here, cat.”
Saanja snarled. “Stupid Nord! Saanja is no cat!”
Something smacked Saanja over the back of the head and she collapsed, wailing in surprise. Her vision grayed, and the crunch of approaching footsteps was the last sound she heard.
=^.^=
“Wake up, cat.”
Saanja feebly raked out with her claws, or at least she tried to. She was unable to move her arms, and wiggling them informed her that her hands had been bound behind her back. Her ankles were tied up as well, and she was on her side, head covered by burlap. Someone grasped the burlap and yanked it away, and she blinked up at the blonde Nord hunched over her. Saanja drew back her lips and hissed.
“Quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?” he said with some gentleness. This man seemed friendly; his demeanour was kinder than most Nords and his blue eyes had a certain depth about them. Still, Saanja didn’t want to speak to him. She just wanted to leave this place… wherever it was.
“Are you hungry?” he turned to a small basket, from which he withdrew a piece of cold meat and some baked potatoes. Saanja eyed the food hungrily and her stomach growled in response, but knew not to eat it. It could be tainted. The Nord laid it down methodically in front of her and set the basket aside, then climbed off of the ground to arrange two chairs across from one another. He then reached for Saanja.
She exploded, twisting into an unbalanced crouch and lashing her tail to keep her balance. The Nord sighed and occupied one of the chairs, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. He folded his arms together and chuckled when Saanja tipped over, unable to remain upright on her bound feet.
“You’re a right clumsy one, eh?” he said, still laughing. Leaning forward with a small dagger in hand, he sliced through the binding around Saanja’s ankles and tucked it away out of sight. Saanja remained still for several moments before propping herself upward and eyeing the offered food the Nord had presented her with. She reached for the meat and took a cautious nibble, never looking away from her accompanier.
“Do you have a name, Khajiit?”
“It is not for you to know,” she growled in response around a bite of the meat. “Tell… tell Khajiit name first.”
“Quite the negotiator, too?” he smiled. “Ralof. That is my name.”
“Why do you bother Khajiit, Ralof?” The way she pronounced it sounded much closer to “Ralph” but he made no attempt to correct her. Instead, he tilted his head thoughtfully and looked down at the ground, scratching absently with a bit of twig. Saanja heated with anger. “If this one does not speak, then leave!”
“I’m here to interrogate you, Khajiit,” he answered swiftly, meeting her eyes. Steel blue clashed with fathomless blue. “It is my commander’s orders. She wishes to know why you intruded our camp.”
Saanja curled back her lip and scrunched up her nose, emitting a wheezing sound as she rocked back and forth. Ralof looked quite surprised, perhaps a little concerned, failing to realize that this behaviour was merely her odd way of laughing.
“One sole purpose,” Saanja answered, twitching her whiskers. “Bring Nord with hood.”
Ralof looked confused and made her repeat her answer several times; neither did he understand nor did she have much patience left. Saanja made fluttering motions, indicating that he leave and bring the Nord with the hood. Ralof left the tent, leaving Saanja to roll her eyes exasperatedly and wiggle her binds.
It was several minutes before he returned with the Nord in question. Her gaze lighted on Saanja and her eyebrows flew up, arching very high over her eyes. “I am familiar with her. We’ve met.”
“She wanted to see you.”
The hooded Nord turned to Saanja and placed her fist over her heart. “Commander Reika, at your service.” She wore the customary officer armour, but in shades of blue and brown. Her hood was draped behind her shoulders and Saanja’s tail twitched. She had not gone through all of this trouble to not have the hood.
“Saanja would be very respectful,” she began as politely as she could. “This one has something of great value that Saanja would have.”
“And that is…?” Reika raised a brow.
“This one’s hood.”
She threw back her head and burst into laughter until she was wheezing. Streaming eyes and red-faced, the commander knelt before Saanja, grinning. “So you were trying to take my hood, that day outside of Whiterun.”
“Saanja must admit the truth. There was no bug,” she said solemnly.
“And you’ve come all this way, to ask if you could have my hood.” Reika smiled up at Ralof. “Such dedication. If only my officers were of the same cloth.”
Saanja waited in anticipation as the commander straightened with a motion indicating she wait. The crunch of snow announced her return and she motioned for Saanja and Ralof to follow.
“One hood, lined wi’ fur,” the blacksmith announced nearly an hour or so later. “Hope ye like it.” He handed the soft bundle to Saanja, who took it with gusto. She carefully pulled off her old hood and folded it neatly away, and replaced it with her new blue hood. The fur was soft on her head and very warm, and her ears poked out of the added holes at the top.
“Saanja most pleased,” she said, carefully reigning in her joy. She turned to the commander and bowed deeply. “May your road lead you to warm sands.”
Sporting her brand new hood, Saanja strode out of the camp with a bounce in her step and a tune in her hum. She followed the curve of the path out into the open world once more and trekked to the road, where she looked up and down. She supposed she should head for Whiterun.
The clomping of a horse nearby gathered her attention. A fine noblewoman, who appeared to have come from Dawnstar’s port, gave Saanja a filthy look as she trotted by on her steed. About her shoulders was an embroidered woolen cloak, in deep blue, trimmed with brown fur. Saanja’s ears pricked interestedly.
“A cloak to match new hood?” she wondered aloud, then smirked. “It would suit Saanja better than ugly Breton!”