Always one step ahead. That's what the name meant after all, a name he had always thought was just terribly clever. Takik-Law. Takik being his hatching name, and Law added on last so that he could always say; “Takik is always one step ahead of the law”. He always laughed at that and he really did enjoy it when he would say that and everyone else would laugh with him. There was no laughing today though, and Takik couldn't blame anyone but himself for it. Not the woman who'd been following him, deciding to risk her life to help him. Not the bandits, the people he'd been tracking down and had followed to this very cave. That wasn't their fault, this was his. 

Today was a serious matter. 

Takik took a deep breath, and started to step into the cave. The woman followed, her thin Khajit tail wafting through the air behind her, and he turned to look at her. She paused seeing him looking at her, her expression surprised, then turning to a cocky, though disciplined confidence. Her hand raised and snapped, a flashy flame puffing between her fingers before withering out. Her other hand lowered, patting the scabbard she held her sword in. Takik nodded back to her, before grabbing his axe from his side, the weapon hefting in his hand. He started walking in, tongue flicking out between scales to wet his lips, yellow eyes narrowing to focus on the dark. They went in quietly, though despite having gone through caves like this hunting bandits like them almost half a dozen times before, he was tense. Startling at every miniscule sound, nervous, jumpy…

“Do you know them?” She broke the silence suddenly and quickly, and unashamedly. He turned back sharply and stared at her as if she should be ashamed for even asking such a question.

“No, I don't.” Curt and quick came his reply, sharp as a blade, and she took it as a sign to press further. It wasn't one.

“Ch'ariq’s words meant no offense. You are just tense. More than usual. This one thinks you may be more invested in this mission than you say.”

“This isn't your time to analyze me.”

“It is time to worry about you.”

He was quiet after that, despite not wanting to let her think she had won that little back and forth. He glanced into the cave, and not seeing anything worrying yet, he sighed and confessed. She had told him that confessing his bottled up feelings would always make him feel better, and after having lost a few bets to her, he'd agreed to start taking her advice more seriously. He could see it in her eyes as she stopped and stared back at him, her eyes sparkling with hopes of him finally talking to her. Telling her what she had been wanting all this time to hear, the only reason she still stuck around. This wasn't that, though, so Takik could still hold that over her for a little while longer.

“It doesn't feel right. I'm not a noble hero stopping the bad criminals. I'm a bandit murdering bandits, I just have the dignity to call myself an adventurer instead. It's not that I know them it's tha-”

“You could have known them.” She interrupted him, and he hated when she did that, and he had been sure to let her know. But she was right, and he let her continue. “You could have been just like them. It's like killing yourself.”

“Which I won't. No matter how much you annoy me.” He sneered back at her, finding some gallows humor that could hopefully make the situation better. It didn't.

“Takik…” She began, and was quickly cut off by Takik as he suddenly waved a dismissive hand at her face. 

“No! I do not want your pity, I do not want to tell you anything about me, I want you to shut up and hel-” It was Takik’s turn to be cut off now, but not by Ch'ariq. No, instead he was interrupted by an arrow suddenly piercing his back. Takik’s words turned into a gargle and he stumbled, hard. The iron arrow pierced into his spine, his legs already giving out and he fell forward, barely catching himself. Ch’ariq stepped forward, all pity for Takik gone as she rushed by his body, running forward to attack the bandit that stood at the far end of the cave. Takik heard a second arrow loose, then whistle by his head as he slumped over.

It missed her. Good. 

Takik gave a sigh of relief, or perhaps it was the breath being driven out of his lungs as his muscles seized against the invading object, only driving the arrow deeper. His hand spasmed, before a bright yellow glow left his finger tips, healing the wound. He ground his teeth sharply as he felt his flesh knitting itself back into place, eventually forcing the arrow out of his back with a squelch sound. As Takik forced himself back up to his feet, he heard a shout then another, one from the bandit and the other from Ch’ariq, and then the telltale sound of blade meeting skin and a body falling to the ground with a groan. He stood up properly and turned back around expecting to see Ch’ariq already preparing for more bandits to come running. Instead she had been running back towards him, and seeing he was already back standing, she gasped and smiled. He actually smiled back, grabbing his axe and squeezing tight.

“Potion?” She asked, relieved and hopeful and scared and glad all at once.

“Restoration magic.” He answered, hurting and smiling and aching for the coming battle all at once.

“You know magic?”

Something he'd come to appreciate about her was that despite all her incessant mewling, when it came to a fight, her words were brief and efficient. Always smart, and he liked that part about her. 

“A little. Not enough to help you if you go down. More's coming. Get ready.”

Ch’ariq nodded, and with the Khajit in the front and the Argonian following behind, the two beasts descended further into the cave and chased after their prey.

—

“You know Restoration Magic?”

Ch’ariq grunted her words out in disbelief as they carried the searched and stripped bodies over towards the bonfire in the center of the cave. Ch’ariq handled the arms, Takik the legs, and with one last heft they tossed the body of the Bandit Chief into the fire. The dead Nord shifted in the flames, and the smell alone was enough to make her grimace. Takik huffed for a moment, catching his breath before answering.

“My mother taught me. The dock masters liked to beat those that didn't work hard enough. Children can't work as hard as adults, so naturally, we were the ones beaten the most.”

Ch’ariq actually paused at that, processing his words and putting two and two together. She finally connected the dots and exclaimed, far louder than necessary, “YOU'RE FROM WINDHELM?!”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Takik winced at her shout, his head still ringing from when that same Bandit Chief had slammed his shield across Takik's skull. Even with his limited magic he couldn't heal such a powerful headache.

“It's not anything to shout about. I just happen to be an Argonian from the worst place an Argonian can live in Skyrim.” Despite his words, she continued to be very loud with her realization.

“This one can not believe it! It explains so much, the snow, the letters, everything!”

“Wait, the letters?” Takik interrupted her, suddenly prying. Ch’ariq realized her mistake, and ashamed, confessed her crime.

“When you got those letters… I read them after you fell asleep that night.”

Takik groaned, walking away from her to make sure he could be angry at her without trying to slap her, and once he was far enough, he shouted. “YOU READ MY LETTERS! YOU SNEAK! GAH!” Scowling, Takik stalked the meeting hall of the Bandit's former hideout, now grave. After a bit of stomping around, he went over towards the enchantment table they had set up and leaned over it. He growled as he stared at the arcane letters, the sigils glowing and undulating gently against the table. As he stared, he sensed Ch’ariq walking up behind him, apologetic and worried and nervous and… frustrated? She was mad at him? The idea quelled his own anger, and he gave a huff.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know. I'm sorry too.”

Brief and efficient. He waited for her to continue, but was surprised to see her coming up beside him and offering him a sword. Her sword. His axe had broken during the fighting, blade cracking and breaking off against the stone after a missed swing. Takik looked to the offered sword, and then back to her. “Have it. My apology to you.”

He took it. He hefted the sword cautiously, lifting it about in his hand. He could tell she wanted to talk more, and for some reason, he let her, waiting quietly and patiently for her to gather her courage.

“You never tell Ch'ariq anything about yourself. Not about Ch’ariq’s parents either. This one wants to know about you.”

Takik sighed heavily and, for some reason he couldn't figure out why… he started to talk.

First it was Windhelm. Cold snow, hard work, hot food and drink, stiff beds. Good friends. Good family. Angry Masters. The docks of Windhelm are a rough and disappointing life for any Argonian unfortunate enough to be there, and Takik wasn't any different. His parents weren't from Black Marsh themselves, having been former slaves from Morrowind that escaped and fled to Skyrim. Though they always had stories and scars to tell the young Takik about a lifetime of backbreaking work at the hands of the damned Dunmir, may their lands forever burn, it never made him feel any better about the backbreaking work at the docks. He wasn't happy there, and nobody could blame him for that. Ch’ariq certainly couldn't, from the look on her face, she understood why he would want to leave.

It was the part after that she didn't understand. One day, Takik's parents came to him and told him that they were escaping the docks, moving away. His relief ended quickly, when they told him they'd instead move to Riften to work the docks there. To them, it was the perfect life away from the brutalities and discrimination of Windhelm. And so he ran away. To him? It was trading one Master for another. Ch’ariq looked surprised now, surprised that he would run away from the idea of living in a good city like Riften. He knew she would have loved to live in a city like that. He could tell she was wondering if he regretted running away. He didn't. He gladly told her how he did it, that one day standing out on the docks, he just simply stood up and leapt into the water. Everyone thought he was dead, seeing him disappear under the ice cold waters and fall underneath one of the ships, and so nobody followed after him to rescue him. He was glad they didn't, they could've drowned if they tried. He was lucky enough to swim over to the other side of the water in time before he froze to death in the waters. 

From there it was wandering for a few years. Surprisingly enough he had managed to wander his way to Winterhold, surviving the cold through staying at the campfires different hunters would set up and getting directions from them. From Winterhold, he got a carriage, and from there, the world opened up before him like a broken chicken egg, spilling its golden contents out onto the floor. Takik found himself exploring the land of Skyrim, instead of merely wandering around. But alas, for a young Argonian so far from home, it was all too easy to get into trouble. He quickly fell in with bandits, and it was this part of his life that he actually began to regret. He could've easily become a worker elsewhere, he could've become an adventurer sooner or joined a guild. But no, fighting the law gave him a sense of power, and a sense of brotherhood with his companions. He robbed lone travelers, and then he began robbing caravans, and then before he knew it, he was sieging villages! Robbing and pillaging Rorikstead, taking what he wanted, when he wanted. Whatever it was, he could just take it, law be damned. He'd killed people, of course he had. He killed guards and mercenaries hired to protect rich and stupid travelers, and even the occasional traveler who thought himself strong enough to handle an entire gang. They got into so much trouble with the law, the Jarls put a 700 Septum bounty on the gang’s head!

“Why'd you leave?” Ch’ariq interrupted him, and in the flash of annoyed anger that followed he realized he'd gotten too into his story, too swept up in the excitement of the past. Takik stopped and took a breath, before chastising her with a snappish “Shut up and I'll tell you”, and continued.

That bounty was the height of his career as a criminal, because with it came far more trouble than they'd ever been ready for. Bounty hunters came in droves, and soon the gang went into a cave with their spoils and hid. For over two years did they hide, waiting for the world to forget about them, and eventually? It did. But even after the hunters came and their name stopped being whispered fearfully in the night, they hid. For four years, Takik lived in a cave behind a waterfall with the gang, only going out to buy food and drink. It was horrible, easily the most boring life he could imagine, worse than the work at the docks even. He'd felt powerful, no, he felt alive when they were criminals, fighting the law and taking what they wanted! And so he left. He left the gang behind, cursing them and their fear, damning them as he left. Including two Khajit, a man and a woman he had known for what felt like his whole life, and who he knew had long since abandoned their daughter so she wouldn't be dragged down into their life with them.

He looked to Ch’ariq, expecting her to interrupt again. But she didn't. She sat there, stunned and shocked, not only by the truth but by the fact he had finally told her. No begging, no pleading, no seduction or interrogation or anything needed. All she needed to do was listen to a sad old lizard telling his sad old tale to the only one who'd listen. The fact that he knew her parents and wouldn't tell her was the entire reason she had even agreed to fight alongside him, to protect him in hopes that he would finally tell her once the ordeal was done. And now that he finally had, he expected her to shout and scream and run off to go find them. But she didn't, she sat there and listened, and so he continued to talk.

Leaving the gang was the second strongest thing he had ever done in his life, he thought. He was strong enough to decide what he wanted and he left behind everything, and that strength, combined with the intoxicating feeling of freedom, made him feel strong. So strong that, not but three hours after he left the gang and began to wander the countryside, he found an old mill. A mill run by a young woman, all by her lonesome. With not even a sword to protect herself. Drunk on power and freedom, Takik did something that he truly, truly regretted. He killed her in cold blood, axe thudding into her chest with one clean strike. He took everything she had, got drunk off of every last pint of ale and mead she had in her home, and took every coin she had so he could wander into the nearby village and drink some more. But when he did arrive, the guards rushed him. It was only because he was so drunk that he didn't fight back, and he knew now that if he had tried, he would've died then.

Three weeks was what they gave him. They knew about him robbing the mill because he couldn't stop blabbing about it in his drunken stupor, but not the murder or even his past, for if they had known they surely would have executed him there and then. Three weeks did he sit in that cell and pondered just what he had done, wondering just what had happened to that bright, tough Argonian child who braved the fatal cold of Winterhold and Windhelm and survived in the wilds. He'd become a menace, he became someone terrible. And worse? He hadn't been punished for it. He knew that was the worst part, because now that guilt, the need for redemption dug into his scales and are away at his heart day after day. 

“After that?” He winded down, finishing his story as he rested against the table in front of him, sighing heavily. “I became an adventurer. I wanted to hunt down Bandits and, heh, I wanted to explore the Dwemer ruins. I, eh, I had always been fascinated by them.”

“How long ago did you start?” She asked, her voice now just pity and curiosity mixed together into a potent cocktail. He looked at her, shoulders drooping as he answered.

“Five weeks ago. Three more days and it'd be six.”

“But we-” She began, but stopped as he glanced at her, but she had already connected the dots. They'd met only three weeks ago today, Ch’ariq only agreeing to come fight with him because he had recognized her and told her he knew her parents. 

But now she knows. Now she even knew where to go looking, looking for caves in waterfalls around Falkreath. She had no more reason to stay with him, and both of them knew that. Takik looked at her and she looked at him, and for a long time, the two were silent as the grave. Ch’ariq broke the silence first.

“What will you do now?”

Takik swallowed, and regarded the sword in his hand. Her sword. She wanted to find her family, she wanted the one thing he had so happily thrown away. A family.

“I think I will go see my parents. I think I should apologize.”