Chapter Text
"See, Camilla! You're getting the hang of this!"
Sunlight fought through breaks in the dense canopy above; crowns worn by trees as tall as towers, a drop as fatal near the top as the sight was breathtaking. An almost too-perfect trail through tangled boughs was illuminated by Magnus. Camilla's already glowing face shone under the guiding luster, lips stretched in a tittering grin every step she balanced. Graceful. As natural as any bosmer. Until her ankle caught on a knot in a branch - Faendal leaned forward quickly to catch her by the hand.
"Look at that, you put a hex on me!" Camilla laughed still, as though she hadn't been a second away from her death. Leaned into Faendal as she steadied. His face glowed with hers'. "Don't tell me I've got a hang of it again!"
"It's alright! I got you, didn't I?" Faendal reassured.
Their hands remained entwined while they navigated Valenwood's understory. Elk and bears ghosted their path below, through ever-morphing foliage, caught up in a strange, shared harmony. Whenever he could, Faendal stole a glance Camilla's way. Her elation spurred him on.
"You and me are learning this together, you know," spoke the bosmer as they landed on a tree who's branches had been magically warped to form a lookout point. Faendal leaned against the gnarled railing. Watched the mixed herd of animals disperse. Looked up to see Camilla caught up in the same awe.
"I haven't been to Valenwood since I was... well..."
He paused. The forest went silent. A glance down, and the animals were gone - in their place many khajiit had emerged. Some were of similar build to Kharjo and Ko'zajjat - cathay-raht and suthay-raht, he'd learned - while others were half that size. Others appeared more like sabre cats or mountain lions. Others still, conspicuously man and mer-shaped.
Faendal thought to warn Camilla, but within a blink the band of khajiit had already converged at the base of the tree. Axes suddenly in their hands, the cathay began hacking. Faendal flared with disbelief and anger. His bow in his hand as though he'd summoned it with a mere thought. The bosmer knocked an arrow and aimed for a tree-cutter - until a senche-raht invaded his view, claws gouging bark in it's ascent toward Faendal.
"You think you can crush Camilla under the thumb of the Aldmeri Dominion?!"
And riding atop that hulking lion was Sven!
... Sven!?
Faendal... was thoroughly gobsmacked. So much so, that it stayed the hand of his quivering anticipation to let his arrow fly. The bosmer's jaw hung open. Past every racing query, only one left his tongue.
"How did someone as stupid as you learn to ride a lion?"
His hesitation proved to be his undoing, as before he could hear an answer, a weight slamming into his back knocked the wind out of Faendal. Pushed him into the railing - and momentum sent him hurtling over the edge.
... Darkness.
Faendal felt cramped. Limbs tucked close, pressed upon on all sides by something he couldn't see but could hear - about half a dozen voices telling each other to hush. What he could see was the babbling bundle cradled in his arms against his chest. A chubby, scowling face with comically large pointed ears poked out of woolen folds adorned with turquoise beads. The baby sniffled. Their lips quivered. Faendal soothed the impending cry by rocking the babe to the rhythm of a bosmeri lullaby he didn't know he knew; he murmured the words so confidently despite so much of it sounding foreign to his own ears. The melody wrapped around this humid shell of darkness, buffered the grind of wheel and hoof on earth outside. The babe stared vacantly, quieted as their familiar eyes grew heavy. Faendal tucked their head topped with white fuzz further into the wool.
The carriage screeched to a halt - the platform Faendal sat on rocked.
Unintelligible murmurs from outside, to Faendal's back. One with a thick bosmeri lilt; two others with refined altmeri edge to their words. It felt like the entire carriage had tensed. Faendal instinctively held the babe tighter.
Around him, however, he could feel the company surrounding him jostle silently. Somehow he knew they were drawing weapons.
The altmer voices grew louder. Steps sounded around both sides, closing in on the back. Everyone held their collective breath.
Then, the darkness was ripped away - Faendal was blinded by the flash of sun and magic, deafened by desperate cries as bosmer lunged at the Thalmor patrol from their ambush cover.
Faendal's back cried with similar aggression. Forests and khajiit and bosmeri refugees were but an amalgamated haze in his consciousness; grey and brass overtook his waking sight. Dwemer... ruin, no, yes, kind of... Markarth... the inn at Markarth. That's right. The ceiling came into focus while he processed that.
... Ugh. Markarth.
Turning his head on the stone bed's one meager cushion so he could view less depressing furniture, Faendal started when his cheek hit something hard.
... Book.
Faendal yawned. While he lifted the book, he rubbed the crust from his eyes so he could read the title.
Mixed Unit Tactics.
"That explains it..." the bosmer mumbled.
An account of how a khajiit company leveraged Valenwood's terrain to their advantage during the Five Years War.
The realization left him with a bittersweet feeling. It's been rarer to find books on his homeland than it was to find fellow bosmer in Skyrim. And while it did bring him some joy to get some glimpse of Valenwood through a dream inspired by his reading, it felt too faux. Undetailed. More than ever did he wish he could better recall the stories his family told him in his childhood. His Ma's tale of a dangerous emigration while he was a mere babe had always stuck with him the most, but it seemed to leave his memories of her past stories behind, just as his family had long left Valenwood.
Faendal should feel more grateful. He was freer now than he'd ever be had he been raised in Thalmor-occupied Valenwood. His family had risked a lot to ensure that.
But with these mer-crafted stone walls enclosed around him... Faendal couldn't help but feel even farther from his heritage.