The Dark Brotherhood

8: The Bard

Aiden awoke late in the night, blinking in the light of a small fire someone had lit near him. He tried sitting up, immediately regretting the attempt as he suddenly grew dizzy from his injuries. He lay down again, noting something soft under his head and behind his back. With further investigation, even in his slightly delirious state, he discerned someone had placed a pillow and bedroll under him, and had also wrapped his head and the small injuries on his arms in soft linen. He could feel the soreness of the deep cuts beginning to become noticeable, but some person had found him and taken care of them.
Come to think of it, he remembered being awakened earlier on. Unfortunately, he could not remember the face of the person who had rescued him, though he was sure he'd dig it up eventually. He lay in silence, concentrating as hard as he could on the memory he had that was slowly draining away.
He remembered a blast of color- perhaps a sunset, so he'd awoken in the evening. He could recall the smell of smoke from a fire- most likely the one burning next to him now- and the strong smell of herbs and cleansing alcohol.
After a short time of this, Aiden grew frustrated. He recalled the taste of fresh bread, and some sort of savory stew. He recalled coming bolt upright to the sharp sting of the alcohol making contact with the crevices made by the wounds he'd received. He could recall the sound of someone sharpening a weapon. All this, and every time he'd see the face of his rescuer, they'd retreat from his mind, leaving only a shadow. He could remember a pair of ice blue eyes, warm only in the reaches, but somehow they soothed him and met his own hazel eyes with startling kindness. He remembered a cool hand on his forehead, though this too threatened to diminish into the farthest reaches of his memory.
As he thought and thought, the scout was overcome once again with an intense drowsiness, and fell into a deep sleep. And when he slept, he dreamed.
He lay on his bedroll in this dream, suddenly becoming aware of a soft and beautiful voice, singing a well-known song to him. He opened his eyes, glancing around and noticing a shadow propped against a log facing the fire. Her face was shrouded in darkness, and her head was covered by a thick, deep cowl. Her back was propped against the rough wood of the log, and she held a sharpening stone in one hand, and a silver dagger in the other. As she sang, she slid the stone down the blade of her dagger, making a slight 'chink' sound.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart,
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes,
With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts,
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.

"It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes,
For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows,
You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come."

After the verses, her voice became etherial as she sang the traditional cadence signaling the end of the song was near. Aiden listened contentedly, memories of his mother's voice flooding his mind. So the person who saved him was a woman- and likely a traveling bard.

"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin,
naal ok zin los vahriin,
wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal,
ahrk fin norok paal graan,
fod nust hon zindro zaan,
dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!"

She finished the song, her voice sounding more haunting and heroic as she spoke the words of the legend in the ancient Dragon. Aiden smiled in spite of himself- it was a beautiful song, and by the end his dream self had been lured to sleep.
He woke again in his own world, taking immediate notice of the intense light shining on his face- it was morning. Aiden squinted, raising an arm to block the sun's rays from hitting his eyes and blinding him. The fire had long since died out, and the coals in the ash where it had been were just giving out. He managed this time to sit up, and noticed his bandages had been replaced. He made a quick scan of the area- which he now saw was in the midst of a forest- and noted that no one was around. So the bard had left. A sickening wave of sudden realization swept over him.
He'd lost the assassin.
How could he be so stupid? Why hadn't he woke hours ago, when she'd probably left!?
He sat straight up in the bedroll, shot toward his armor (which had been removed) and quickly buckled it on. He didn't exactly have a horse, now. So most likely it was a lost cause to go after her. But still, he ran down the small hill he'd been atop and went on, searching the forest for any signs of the assassin.
Suddenly, the glint of metal caught his eye. To Aiden's disbelief, there she was, calmly riding the ever present black horse through the glade. With a sigh of relief, he silently made his way over to her and followed on foot.
'What luck!' he thought several times.
Little did he know. Little did he think.