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You strain to press yourself upright, wincing at the flare of pain from broken fingernails as you scrabble against the rough boards.
“Hey,” says the voice, husky and soft and just a bit amused. “Take it easy. You’re alright, okay? I was just letting you sleep since it looked like you needed it. Your stuff’s right here, too. I think my friends were able to grab it all up.”
Footsteps, moving away, Moving closer again.
“Here.” The cloth that’s fallen from your eyes is replaced by a new one, cold and dripping. “Let me wring it out a bit. You should probably keep it there, that’s a pretty nasty bruise. Riften guards are dicks. Do you want something to drink?”
You can’t say anything at all, but a cup is pressed to your lips. Water, cut with mead and a little bit of salt. When you gulp too fast, the voice tsks at you, and a warm hand steadies your head. It strokes along your cheek, rewarding you for finishing the cup.
“Rest,” the voice says.
“Wh’r’m’I?” you manage, a couple of hours later, because even with the rag gone you can see almost nothing, just the glimmer of faint light in the distance and dark-gray shadows against black.
The warmth against your back shifts as your bed-partner sits up. “You’re in the Cistern, and it’s the middle of the night. If you can’t see shit, thank my brother, ‘cause he’s too cheap to fill up the lanterns.” The voice paused. “Well, I guess we wouldn’t want the light anyways. Bet your head hurts.”
You groan.
More water for you, plain water this time, and another blanket tucked around your shoulders. “We can get your hands cleaned up in the morning. I want to sleep now, if that’s alright.”
You startle a little, in the dim grey light. There is a different quality to the light in here. Why is it foggy? You hear the gentle lap of water against stone and breathe the inevitable mildew-scent.
“Not what you expected?”
You don't say anything, because doing so would be rudeness.
The voice laughs, and drops to a low murmur. “I get that a lot. Can I see?”
Your hands are turned, gently unfolded, and swabbed with a damp towel.
“Not so bad as it looks,” says the voice with relief.
And now your hands are washed for you, something that has not been done for you since you were a small child, and it all feels slightly unreal, there in that odd grey light, with the mist rising gently from the water flowing near the bed. “Better,” says the voice, with great satisfaction, and a kiss is placed just at the hollow of your wrist, just there where the pulse rises towards the surface. The warm mouth retreats.
“You’ll probably want to get out of Riften for a bit. I know of a way where you won’t have to walk too far. Interested?”