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Chapter Text

Four Years Ago…

There’s something about having knowledge but not being able to do anything about it that slowly takes apart your insides.

This was a feeling Ebony knew all too well. The burden of knowing without the ability to confront it was a demon she’d carried all her life.

Or worse, knowing and not being allowed to do anything about it.

There was a glaring, insurmountable amount of lies in her life that she couldn’t talk about, and with every single day, week, month, year that passed, those feelings of worthlessness and frustration only grew.

And with it, so did the dread.

She was heading towards a very dark end, and worst of all, she saw no way to thwart its arrival. It was coming and it wouldn’t stop until it swallowed her whole.

Her eyes darted around her as she took in her surroundings.

Skyrim was a…very…odd place. Not only did it look and feel like an entirely foreign plane of existence, it actually was.

Because where she came from was dead. Lifeless. All it knew was suffering, and despite that, it also subsisted off the suffering it caused others. It was fueled by it, the tears, the anger, the misery. All of that and more was how it fed itself, and Ebony had known for a very long time that she was its favorite meal.

Her eyes darted around the surrounding scenery. This world was alien to her, and she immediately, desperately, wanted to leave, to go back to the only place she knew, even if it was where hope came to die. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she forced herself to focus on where she was and not where she had come from.

She took it in in snippets. Flashes. Tiny pinpricks of facts.

A blue sky, vacantly interspersed with white fluffy clouds.

Scattered evergreens across mountaintops, branches shaking lightly in the wind.

The distant sound and sight of civilization: the low hum of conversation, the incessant barking of a dog, the misplaced joy of children playing. Weathered farmhouses with thatched roofs and plumes of smoke rising from the local blacksmith, tinged with the taste of life.

Ebony’s heart twisted but she took another deep breath.

You know what you need to do, she told herself, mentally steeling herself for whatever was to come. Focus on that, and only that. Anything else will only distract you.

Seed discord and malice within the all-too-susceptible Skyrim population.

Yes, she could do that.

She just didn’t want to.

But wanting had never played any sort of role in her life.

If it had, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t have the father she did, the ‘childhood’ she did, the memories, the trauma…none of it.

Lifting her chin, she put one foot in front of the other and forced herself to walk forward.

And as she came ever closer to the first set of people whose lives she’d been sent to ruin, all she could think was, I am so sorry.

Now

Hands were everywhere. How that was possible when it was only the standard two, she’d no idea, but she wanted so desperately to be free of them that she was willing to do anything.

No, more than anything, what she wanted most was to die, but she knew that was the one wish she’d never have granted. Fortune had never been hers to enjoy, and she knew it wasn’t about to start now.

As they drifted even lower, she bit down on her bottom lip so hard she drew blood. As the tangy, coppery taste flooded her mouth, she shut her eyes fiercely to hide the tears beginning to inhabit her tear ducts.

A soft, satisfied purr against her skin was all she could hear before everything went dark.

She was alone once more, but, she knew, never for long.

***

When she was able to finally open her eyes again, she was more than a little relieved to see that despite her nightmares, she was not back…there. At least, not right now. Her body shuddered as she ran a hand through her long black hair, trying her best to shake off not only the nightmares, but also the memories.

It did take her a few moments to reorient herself, to realize that she was still in Skyrim, in particular the Rift. Breathing deeply, taking in the glorious fresh air of the aspen trees looming overhead, creating the world’s most beautiful autumnal canopy above her, she struggled to her feet.

You’re okay, she forced herself to think. You’re safe.

For now, added the dark, sadistic part of her mind, which she was actively choosing to ignore. Yes, the safety was always temporary, but she would enjoy it for as long as she could.

Some days, it was all she had.

As she stood, she straightened her tunic, tugging on the bottom, irritated that, as always, it never did hang down long enough. No decency here, courtesy of her father.

By her side, her mace, also courtesy of her father, began to vibrate. Perhaps not literally, but it made its presence known—there was an enemy nearby, and judging by how insistent it was being, most likely not an easy one, either.

It was, by design, meant never to be removed unless in the throes of battle, which was frustrating, of course, but at least her father had the foresight to make it weightless. At this point in time, however, it came undone effortlessly, the weight of it much more emotionally taxing than physically so, and she ground her teeth together.

All of a sudden, seeming almost as if at the speed of light, a brownish-red blur appeared in front of her and then lunged, tackling her to the ground.

She cursed under her breath, knowing exactly what had her pinned before it even happened. Fucking frostbite spiders, she thought angrily. They’d been the only things attacking her for the past three days, and she was very, very tired of it. Luckily, they were fairly easy to kill, and she was now spurred by rage rather than exasperation. If there was one thing anger was good for, it was getting things done.

With a roar of fury, she kicked it off her, sending it flying into the dense brush, but that didn’t faze it for nearly long enough before it came back with a skittering noise, front pincers clicking.

She eyed it warily, tightening her grip on her mace, and barely managed to dodge as a large spray of venom left its mandibles. Cursing once more, she poised to lunge at it, but it beat her to it.

Thankfully, this time she was able to wound it before it could tackle her again, but now she’d really made it angry, and, even worse, she could hear more rustling in the bushes—great. It had friends.

More clicking began to surround her and she straightened, tightening her grip on her mace while deciding which one she’d rather be eaten by.

Well, that one was kind of thin, it could clearly use the sustenance. She wouldn’t provide it with much meat, but—

“FUCK!” she yelled, as one let out another spray of poison in her direction, hitting her squarely in the midriff. Her legs buckling, she gritted her teeth and prepared for death.

Death by spider.

How mortifying.

She could hear all three moving in on her and she silently prayed to whatever Skyrim god definitely wasn’t listening to make her death, if not painless, then quick.

As another launched itself at her, she dug deep and swung the mace in a wide arc, cutting open its midsection. It squealed in pain as green goop went flying everywhere from the enormous cut she’d made in its abdomen and rolled to the side, legs splaying in every direction.

Slowly she stood and glared—for whatever that was worth with giant spiders—at the remaining two, who actually looked…nervous?

While that would be hilarious, it seemed far more likely they were both reassessing the situation to figure out how best to kill her without ending up like their friend.

One of the spiders found its courage and lunged in her direction, but she sidestepped it and threw her mace at its retreating form as it went barreling past her. It shrieked and then settled, limbs still moving back and forth even as it was very clearly dead.

Stomach clenching in disgust, she narrowed her eyes at the remaining one. The poison in her system was slowly dissipating (another ‘skill’, courtesy of her father) but she was still feeling light-headed and knew she needed to dispatch this last one quickly.

When it didn’t immediately jump at her, she decided to cut it off at the pass.

But before she could kill it, it screamed, a sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She slowly walked towards it, looking around to see what could have caused its demise and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw an arrow jutting out of one of its many eyes.

Then immediately alarm overtook the relief when she realized what that meant.

Someone else was here. Someone human, which always meant danger.

She had to get out of here. Immediately.

She didn’t make it very far before something else brown and red and blurry came at her, and she inwardly thought, You know what? I’m just going to stand still. Make it easier on them. With any luck this spider can launch me into Oblivi—

But then she realized the red-brown blur was fluffy.

Alarmed, she opened her eyes and saw a wolf tugging at the hem of her skirt. Cautiously she put her hand out. It didn’t seem to want to kill her—yet—but she wasn’t taking any chances.

This was clearly not your average wolf, and it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.  

It took her a moment to realize she was covered in the disgusting green goop from the spider whose guts had exploded all over her and she barely managed to hold back the bile that leaped into her throat.

Then she heard it. A whistle, sharp and shrill, piercing the air.

The wolf licked at her leg and she shoved it off. Not to be mean, but because it was definitely going to get indigestion if it ate the spider innards she was currently covered in.

Or it would die.

You know. One of the two.

“Karnwyr!” she finally heard a voice say, and the wolf now lying at her feet—presumably ‘Karnwyr’—jumped up and ran full-throttle towards the voice.

She knew she needed to leave, like, now, but her legs had turned into tree stumps and she had somehow managed to become physically incapable of moving.

And it was too late, anyway, when a dark figure came rushing into view.

“Karnwyr,” a deep, rumbling voice said. “Seriously. Where did you go? I told you not to go running off like that—”

Ebony finally managed to extract her legs from the immovable objects they had become and began to creep away, doing her best not to attract attention—

To no one’s surprise, it didn’t work.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect to come across anyone else out here, but—whoa.”

She turned slowly, feeling the spider slime creep down her back, causing another wave of nausea to filter through her. “Uh. Hi,” she croaked, her voice rusty from disuse.

The man in front of her cocked a dark eyebrow. “That’s quite a look you’ve got going on there. Everything okay?”

She blew out a breath, causing a few strands of pitch-black hair to fly upwards as she forced herself to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Sure,” she said, taking a swipe at the line of spider sludge inching down her cheek. “Fine.”

Ebony was immediately discomfited by the fact that her first thought after a slow perusal of the man was, He’s…attractive. Mentally kicking herself, she raged at the thought. Not important right now, Ebony!

Looks aside, though, it was the way he carried himself. Lackadaisically, like he didn’t have a single fucking care in the entire world. Boredom plain as day on his face, as if the world itself would kneel at his feet the first time he said the word.

But most of all?

The pain. The gleam of agony in his eyes that she knew he wanted no one to see, so she averted her gaze and pretended she hadn’t witnessed it.

“You don’t look so good,” he observed, taking a step forward.

Ebony took a healthy step backwards. “I’m just fine, thanks!” she chirped, but the venom still flowing through her system seemed to indicate otherwise, as the world became choppy, everything swaying side to side slightly, until there was two of everything and nothing of her and then she realized: the world wasn’t swaying, she was.

“Are you—”

“Fine,” she said, just before she passed out.

Chapter Text

The woman was decidedly not fine, and Bishop watched, a bit slack-jawed, as she collapsed directly in front of him, her body wavering for a few moments before she finally fell.

Bishop’s lightning-fast reflexes had him darting forward and grabbing her before she hit the ground, doing his best to avoid being covered in the suspiciously-colored green goop she was wearing all over herself.

Next to him, Karnwyr yipped, a sound of excitement, and started to run circles around his master. Bishop raised an eyebrow at the wolf, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or did and didn’t care.

Now here was his dilemma…what was he going to do with her? It didn’t seem right to leave her here. He was a bastard, but not that much of a bastard. But his other option seemed to be to stay here with her until she woke up, and that didn’t seem like the right response, either.

Rule #1 for not trusting anyone: never get involved.

And here he was, getting involved.

“Fuck,” he growled, running a hand through his hair. Sighing, he laid her down gently on the ground and realized she wasn’t moving. Her chest wasn’t even moving, was she not breathing?

Damnit, he swore internally. Good to know people weren’t safe just by virtue of being around him.

Panic seizing him, he put his hand to the ground and lowered himself, listening for any sign of life. She was so deathly still, it took him a full minute to realize she was, in fact, breathing…but it wasn’t normal breathing by any account.

It was stilted, stuttered, the kind of sharp inhales that sounded more like wheezing than breathing, but at least she was alive.

For now.

He jostled his leg, hoping she would wake up soon so that he could leave and go back to his solitary existence of him and his wolf.

That was all he needed, and it was all he wanted.

As he sat there, Karnwyr lying down by his side, he cocked his head, taking the time to study her. It was…difficult, for obvious reasons, to discern what she looked like, covered head-to-toe in spider guts as she was, but there was just something about her that didn’t…

…didn’t feel right.

It was slightly off-putting, this feeling of wrongness, but he forced himself to stay where he was and wait.

Miraculously, he didn’t have to wait too terribly long before her eyes shot open and she sat up, gasping for breath, panic overtaking her face in entirety.

“SHIT!” she swore, jumping to her feet with an athleticism Bishop couldn’t help but admire. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Her head whipped around wildly, switching between Karnwyr, him, and herself. Her nose wrinkled in disgust when she looked down at herself, but then the disgust was swiftly replaced by confusion and terror when she realized they were still there.

“I need to leave,” she murmured, backing away. Gaze going to his, she said, “Uh…thank you. I appreciate it.”

Before he could even think about the wisdom of it or why he’d even said it to begin with, he found himself asking, “Do you have a name?”

Even as she was backing away, she managed to get out, voice choked, “Ebony.”

Then she turned and ran.

***

“You idiot,” Ebony was growling at herself by the time she’d vacated the woods and could no longer see the man anywhere. “What were you thinking?!”

You never get involved. Ever. End of story. How could you have done the—

After stumbling away, panic clawing at her throat, begging to be let out, she’d finally calmed down enough to be rational. Neither of them had done anything bad, it was very unlikely her father would punish the man—or her.

Although it wasn’t as if he’d ever needed a reason to do so before.

Grinding her teeth at the reminder, she stopped and shut her brain down. It would do her absolutely no favors to go there, and so…she wouldn’t.

Always easier said than done, of course.

That was when she became acutely aware of the dried spider innards still coating her body. She winced and decided it was definitely past time for a bath.

Heading down the embankment to Lake Honrich, she continued inwardly berating herself for her stupidity. Could she have known she would have run into someone there? Of course, there was always the possibility, but it wasn’t as if she’d gone looking for him…

The water lapping calmly at her legs snapped her out of her derisive self-beratement and she dove in, adoring the feel of the water that felt both frozen and temperate on her skin, washing away both the sludge and everything she hated herself for.

Until her head bobbed above the water again, and then the hatred returned to her full-force.

As she emerged from the lake, she realized that while everything else sucked, at least she was clean. That had to count for something…right?

Sighing, she swiped a hand across her forehead, squinting against the midday sun searing her retinas as she idly wondered where to go from here.

She felt…contaminated. What was stranger, the feeling didn’t come from the goop she’d had covering her body only moments before. No, this feeling of violation came from being around someone else. If nothing else, she had always been told never get involved. Never expose yourself. Never spend more time than necessary around humans.

Not for the first time, she wondered, If I’m not human…then what exactly am I?

To no one’s surprise, on this topic her father had been less than forthcoming.

Because what fun is clarity when you can be infuriatingly vague instead?

She shuddered involuntarily, feeling as if an army of miniscule frostbite spiders were marching their way down her spine. Damn her for allowing herself to…to pass out in front of someone and—

Dryly, she thought, Seriously? Yelling at yourself for passing out when it’s literally not your fault? Really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, aren’t we?

She laughed aloud, but the sound didn’t have much mirth in it. How could it, knowing the real reason behind her constant paranoia and fear? This inability to ever cut herself a break, to take on the problems of the world even knowing she’d probably fail or, more likely, die trying to solve them—it all stemmed from her life as a victim.

But she wasn’t there, and she would not allow herself to be that here.

Straightening, she pushed her hair back off her forehead and started the trek to Riften. She needed something, and normally she’d stay as far away from civilization as possible. She was afraid of people and in turn, people were terrified of her. It was only a matter of time before her presence was met with pitchforks instead of open fear, but her father had given her instructions, and like always, there was no ability to be defiant.

She would do what he wanted, because she had no other choice.

She took a shaky breath, but forced the fear and anger back into their cage as she put a hand atop her mace for comfort and started walking.

Afternoon turned to evening by the time Riften’s gates were in sight. Mentally steeling herself, she forced a friendly smile as she approached the guards.

The one on the left, even though his face was covered entirely by his helmet, still gave off apprehension and loathing in waves as his head turned ever-so-slightly in her direction.

“Do you need something?” the one on the right asked, his voice neutral—but his stance was anything but. The way he was standing denoted fear, and that he was one step away from running.

Or deciding to murder her.

She guessed it depended on the day. Hopefully he was in a good mood.

She did so hate blood right before dinnertime.

Gave her indigestion.

But she held her rising anger back and forced the friendly smile not to waver. “I would, uh…like to enter?”

“No.”

This from the one on the left, his tone full of reproach and not leaving any room for argument.

“…No?” she repeated, not understanding. “Is Riften on lockdown?”

The guard on the right cleared his throat. When he spoke, there seemed to be some sort of apology in there somewhere, but hard to figure out where, exactly, it was. “No. We, uh…just…can’t let anyone in.”

Ebony’s eyes narrowed. “Anyone, or just me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Somehow she could see the left guard’s face pale, even covered as it was. “N-no, anyone. The Jarl gave us explicit orders not to let anyone in or out—”

Just then, the gates opened and out walked the very last person she expected—or had any desire at all to see.

She just about groaned, either in confusion, exasperation, or anger—or some mixture of them all. Barely resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands, she felt a muscle in her jaw tick as she very blatantly pretended to ignore the person who had just come through the supposedly locked-up gates.

As the man breezed through, he clicked his tongue at the guard on the left. “Thanks, I really appreciate it—”

When their eyes met, he froze. She had carefully done her best to avoid catching his gaze, but it didn’t work.

When he looked at her, her world narrowed to one thing: fear.

Feeling like she was coming out of her skin, she slowly backed away. Her father could yell at her for not doing this one thing. She would even take whatever punishment he’d dole out, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—stay here.

Not with him.

She didn’t know him, but already the fear and loathing in her veins was becoming overwhelming. It had to be more than what he was, or what he represented.

But she had no idea what, exactly, it actually was.

So instead she focused back on the guard who seemed much more likely to break. She forcefully jerked her head away from the man and said to the one on the right, “No one comes in or out, huh?” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re doing a great job.”

“Now listen—” he said, stepping forward, hands turning into fists by his side. “You need to—”

“Oh, there you are!” the man said, stepping forward—too forward. It took everything she had not to back up.

Or run away, like she had earlier.

“Uh—” she started, but he beat her to it.

Turning to the guards, the man went, “Sorry about that, my wife needed something from the market and I told her to stay home, but you know how women are—”

Ebony’s teeth began to grind. Now she wasn’t fearful, only homicidal. Who did this arse think he was? And wife?! What the fu—

She spun, ready to give him what-for, but then she sensed the guards relaxing. The one on the left went, “She’s yours?”

“Yes, she is,” the man said, his tone cheerful. “Lovely, isn’t she?”

“That’s, uh…one word for it,” the right one choked.

Knowing he was referring to her scars, she felt her eyes narrow.

“Excuse me—” she began, rage a whirlwind through her. “What do you think you’re—”

“We need to head home,” he interrupted, apparently unbothered by her fury. “I think my wife needs sleep.”

Then he grabbed her arm and started pulling her away.

The only reason she let him do it was because if she didn’t, the only other alternative would be to murder him, and when she did that, she preferred to do it out of sight, where no one would see and she could kill in peace.

Once they were far enough away, she yanked her arm from his grip. Seething, she snarled, “What in Oblivion was that?! And don’t touch me, or I swear to the gods you’re getting a knee to the groin next—”

“Careful,” the man chuckled. “I’m really quite attached to my parts. It would be a tragedy were you to harm them.”

“You and your parts can go cliff-diving, you son of a—”

“Hold on,” he said, cutting her off. “I just saved you, didn’t I? Doesn’t that warrant me some slack?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, you saved me? How? In what part of your tiny brain does that make any sense?”

Voice low, he said, “You know as well as I do that guard was two seconds away from attacking you.”

She swallowed, and took a step back. She knew it didn’t escape his notice, and her hands curled into fists. “No, he wasn’t—”

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “The look on your face says you know otherwise.”

Her jaw clenched, she said only, “Get out of my face.”

“How were you going to deal with that when he did, out of curiosity?”

If she survived this encounter (meaning they both lived, and she didn’t end up offing him), she was going to have to find a place in the woods to scream.

Something to get this rage out of herself. She was a conduit for fury, and she could take no more.

“I can take care of myself,” she said furiously. “Regardless of whether or not you believe it.”

The man stepped back and looked her up and down. She made her expression neutral, doing her best not to give anything away as she felt his eyes rove over her.

It felt invasive, and she instinctively wrapped her hand around the top of her mace. For comfort or because she was hoping it would come loose so she could kill him, she didn’t know.

But probably the latter.

She was pissed.

“Clearly,” he said, after his lazy perusal of her came to an end. “At any rate, you should be thanking me. If they were to attack you—”

“First off,” she growled, “I don’t see how that is any of your business. And secondly, as I said before, I can take care of myself. Believe it or not, I’m a big girl and I don’t need someone like you to protect me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Figure it out.” Turning, she moved to leave when something fluffy brushed her hand. She paused, looking down at the wolf from before.

The wolf—Karnwyr, she remembered—barked and rubbed his nose against her fingers. She went still, not exactly sure how to deal with the sensation. Worse, she could feel the man watching her, and every single bone in her body was screaming at her to get away, now.

“This has been very fun,” she said, gently extricating herself from the wolf, “but I really do have to leave. Take care, I hope you find many more damsels in distress who desire your services.” Batting her eyelashes, she spun on her heel and stalked off.

She didn’t get very far before she was stopped, again, by him. Standing in front of her, he just stood and stared at her. And somehow that was more infuriating than anything he could have said in that moment.

“Has anyone told you,” she said tightly, “that you’re extremely annoying?”

The grin on the man’s face told her everything she needed to know. “Once or twice.”

“You know, after being told that, most people would try to better themselves.” She squinted at him. “Obviously that’s not something you care about.”

“I’ve found that people will see what they want to see. And bettering yourself for the sake of other people? I’d rather slit my throat than do that. Other people are worthless. Selfish. Always taking, never giving. So no, princess, it’s not something I care about.”

“I would tend to agree—wait.” She narrowed her eyes into slits as they regarded each other. “You had better hope you did not just call me ‘princess’.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And if I did?”

“If you did?” she repeated. “I’m contemplating murdering you. So here’s a thought: you could, you know, leave. Before I kill you. Because it is very, very tempting.”

“I would love to see you try,” he said, his voice low.

“Funny, I don’t think you would.” Glaring, she said, “I’m leaving. Permanently. And if I never see your face again, it will make my eternity.”

She blanched when she realized what she'd said. “Eternity, huh?” the man said, looking at her with renewed interest.

Ebony was just about to make another run for it when her father’s soft purr interrupted her. I have a better idea, daughter.

She stopped, fingers twitching by her sides. And what is that, father?

Ebony could imagine his dark laughter as he watched this scene unfold. You will travel with him.

She just…stopped…moving. I’m sorry. I’ll do what?

You heard me.

Then, with nothing else, her father’s presence melted away, a snake disappearing into the grass.

“Are you okay there, princess?” he asked, openly laughing at her now.

Deep breaths, in through your nose. “Yes,” she said shortly. “Fine.” She paused. "And don't call me that."

She was just about to start panicking over how she could possibly do as her father had ordered, now that she had made her disdain and loathing of the man abundantly clear, but, fortunately, he made it easier on her.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, boy, this ought to be good.”

A jagged smile. “I have something I think you want. Desperately.”

“As desperately as I want to get away from you?”

“No, I think this wins, actually.”

“Oh? Then by all means, please, enlighten me.”

“Freedom.”

And the world dropped out from under her.

Chapter Text

There was a roaring in her ears and the familiar sensation of panic clawing miserably at her insides came back over her. “F-f-reedom?” she stuttered, her heart starting and stopping in her chest.

“What?” the man’s brow furrowed. “Freedom?”

She looked at him. “You just said I want…freedom. Right?”

Now it was his turn to look at her funny. “Noooo…” he said, drawing the word out like she was slow. “What I said was, companionship.” He tilted his head. “That’s not really the same word. Did those spider guts do something to your brain, too?”

Consequences be damned, she was going to punch him. Or bite him.

She even raised her fist to do so, but he caught it mid-swing and forced it back down to her side. “Now that wasn’t very nice,” he said, his voice low.

“You know what’s really not nice?” she returned. “Murder. Be happy I only tried to slap you.”

“Pfft, as if you could possibly take me.”

“You want to bet?” she said, cocking an eyebrow as her fingers curled around the top of her mace. “Don’t try me. Your “rescue” or whatever you think you did, was not heroic and was, in fact, annoying. And for the record, I don’t require, nor do I even want “companionship”. You and your bloated ego—”

“My bloated ego?”

“Yes, yours,” she huffed, unamused. “Notice I never asked for your help. In fact, I very clearly wanted nothing to do with you. And the fact you acted like you own me—”

“Because I was trying to help you. Foreign concept, yeah?”

She lapsed into silence, and that silence must have unnerved him, because the anger in his eyes immediately subsided, replaced by what looked suspiciously like concern. “You…damn. No one ever helps you, do they?”

She chewed on her lower lip. No point lying, it was obvious this man, this irritating, infuriating, rage-inducing man—it was obvious he was able to ferret out her secrets.

Which meant she would have to tread very, very carefully here.

Especially since, by order of her father, she was to travel with this bastard.

“No,” she finally bit out, the word nearly a snarl.

“You’re very angry,” he observed.

Count to ten.

Ten.

Nine.

One.

Oh, he’s still annoying, guess that means I can murder him now—

“Yes,” she said finally, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “I am very angry. It’s my one constant personality trait. Does that make you happy?”

“Elated,” he said dryly. “But you’re avoiding the subject. You’ve been alone all your life…you really don’t want company? Ever?”

She almost laughed. “No. And especially not yours,” she added, before she could help herself.

He looked affronted. “What’s wrong with my company?”

“…Everything?” she said, crossing her arms. “At any rate—”

Heed my order, daughter.

Now.

She inwardly prepared herself for the all-too smug grin that was about to grace the ranger’s face. “Fine,” she said stiffly, after a long beat of silence. “I…I will travel with you.”

The man paused, appearing confused at this abrupt turn of events. “Didn’t you just say you don’t want company? Especially mine?”

She grimaced. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He smiled, a predator’s grin. “I have a feeling you already do.”

Well, he was right on that count, at least.

He stuck his hand out. She stared at it like it was a foreign object she was unable to identify. Finally, seeing that he expected her to shake it, she sighed and took it. “I don’t suppose you have a name? If you don’t, I’m happy to call you Irritating Man wherever we go.”

“That would be fun, alas I do have a name.”

She stood there, waiting for him to say it. When he didn’t, she groaned. “Are you going to tell me it, or do I have to guess?”

“It would be entertaining, to be sure. But no. My name is Bishop.”

“Great,” she said, then turned. “Well. Let’s get going.”

“Of course…princess.”

If she didn’t end up murdering him by the end of the day, it would be a miracle sent by the gods. But Ebony had never relied upon them for help before, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

Instead she grit her teeth and rolled her shoulders back.

And so it begins, daughter.

***

“Would you care to tell me where we’re going?”

She barely spared him a glance as she picked up her pace. But she knew he wasn’t going to let up with the question, so she huffed out a breath and answered, “Morthal. I have…business there.”

“Oh? How very mysterious, ladyship.”

She spun around and fixed him with her most intimidating glare. Judging by the look of glee on the ranger’s face, it wasn’t working. “What did you just call me?” she demanded.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he didn’t know why he’d called her that, either. But finally, expertly avoiding the question, he said, “Would you rather I call you princess?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. I’d rather you call me Ebony. You know. My name. That’s how most people address others.”

“Ah, but I’m not most people, princess.”

“I’m starting to understand that,” she muttered. “Can you stop talking? ‘Companionship’, as you call it, isn’t very nice when every time you open your mouth I want to strangle you. Or bite you.”

He raised a dark brow. “Biting? That escalated quicker than I expected.” His eyes simmering with something she couldn’t decipher, he added, “Biting can be fun, though. Provided it’s happening in the right place.”

Hands curling into fists, she forced herself to take more deep breaths, despairing when she realized it wasn’t working. Were it not for the fear of what would happen if she didn’t go along with her father’s wishes, she might have said to Oblivion with it and left him there.

She didn’t pretend to understand her father’s mindset. He was a Daedric prince, after all—their motivations rarely made sense.

But he had some sort of ulterior motive here…she just didn’t know what it was.

Maybe he was testing her mettle. The limits of her patience. But that seemed a petty reason to order her to do this.

Shoulders slumping, she realized she’d not be able to decipher his intentions until he decided to share.

Fine.

But if I end up killing him, I refuse to be at fault for it.

Startlingly, her father responded, even though she hadn’t been using their mental line to say it to him. I'm terribly afraid that I must inform you that that is not how murder works, daughter.

You don’t think this…man…should have your mace buried in his chest?

A dark thread of laughter. Oh, I absolutely do. But that’s what makes this so entertaining, is it not?

She ground her teeth but forced herself to stay silent. There was no point in continuing this line of ‘conversation’—he wasn’t going to enlighten her on any of this.

Inhaling deeply, she cut off their connection and looked ahead of them. If she wanted to make it to Morthal by tomorrow, they’d need to hurry.

It was growing very dark, though, and during the time they’d spent arguing, exhaustion had set in.

Slowly she turned around and said, “I need to rest.”

“Huh. With your boundless sarcasm and snark, I didn’t expect you to need sleep.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I’m pretty sure one has nothing to do with the other.”

“As you say,” was all he said. “Camp here?”

Behind them, Karnwyr yipped, as if in agreement.

“The wolf has spoken,” Bishop said with false gravity. “It seems we have no choice but to stay here for the night.”

She looked around them. Open woods, excellent places for bandits and possible assassins to lie in wait.

And that wasn’t even including her father’s literal bloodthirsty army that he enjoyed siccing on her occasionally.

It hadn’t happened for a long time, and so the worry she felt was natural.

But she couldn’t say any of this to the ranger. He could never know who she was, what she was. It was a truth she needed to keep hidden at all costs. Regardless of her father’s orders, it wasn’t free reign to open her mouth and spill her every secret.

Not that she would say any of it voluntarily.

It wasn’t as if being the only human daughter of Molag Bal was something she was proud of.

Well. Human. She wasn’t, not truly. But she pretended she was. This ability to pretend was made far easier by the fact that though she wasn’t human, the fact still remained that she had no idea what she was.

Besides being the daughter of a Daedric prince, of course.

She stared out into the penetrating darkness and said, “Of course. What Karnwyr says goes.”

The ranger’s brows knit together. “I was kidding, but…well, Karnwyr does have a sense for this.”

“Sure he does,” Ebony said, turning away from Bishop. “Get some sleep,” she finally said after another round of extensive silence followed. “We can regroup in the morning.”

“And you won’t get up and leave?”

She was flustered by the question. “What difference would that even make to you? We know nothing about each other.”

A pause. Then: “You’re a puzzle, princess. And I don’t like leaving them unsolved.”

She sputtered for a few seconds before settling on, “Well, this is one puzzle you’re never going to solve.”

“Oh? I so do enjoy a challenge.”

She groaned. “Of course you do. Just go to sleep. We have a long trek ahead of us. Unless you’ve decided against traveling with me?”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of the ranger’s insufferably gorgeous mouth. She narrowed her eyes, hating herself for noticing. “And leave behind the most intriguing person I’ve ever met? Not a chance.”

“You’ll tire eventually. People always do.”

“I’m not just people, though.”

She fixed him with a glance. “Then what, exactly, are you?”

“Determined.”

“Clearly,” she sighed. “Goodnight, ranger.”

Surprisingly, he let her go, watching as she walked away from him, settling herself against a tree. The roughness of the bark scratched miserably at her back, attempting to sleep upright as she was, but if there was to be an ambush during the night, she would not take it lying down.

If there was one thing her time in Skyrim had taught her, it was that humanity was dangerous. People always had ulterior motives, wanting to harm her in some way, shape, or form.

She would not go to her death blindly.

***

To her never-ending surprise, she got a full night’s sleep, devoid of any attack or assault. Despite sleeping practically upright with her back against a tree, she felt refreshed, like she could take on anything.

Then her eyes landed on the body across from her and that resolve dissipated immediately.

He was still there. Of course.

She wished more than anything it had been a bad dream. That her father had asked anything else of her, anything else.

But no. Her father enjoyed watching her suffer.

This was all the proof she needed.

Savoring the peace and quiet, she pulled herself to her feet and dusted the dirt from her loincloth. Her stomach rumbled in protest and she mentally yelled at it to shut up.

Ignoring her silent order, it grumbled once more and she groaned when she heard the ranger stir across from where she was standing.

Maybe if she made a run for it—

She had just turned around to leave, consequences be damned, when she heard his voice, laced with obvious humor, say, “Going somewhere?”

She wanted to say, “Anywhere to get away from you,” but a silent prodding from her father silenced that. Instead, she said, “Just going to find food. I’m hungry.”

He looked her up and down. “You don’t carry anything with you. Why?”

Because I don’t need to, she thought to herself. Aloud, she said, “It’s a waste of energy. I…use that energy for other things.”

He looked at her again, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. “And your…outfit?”

“It’s all the rage here in Skyrim,” she said dryly. “What, you haven’t noticed everyone else wearing the same thing?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Me? Deflect? I’d never.”

Eyes narrowing, he said only, “I’ll figure you out, don’t you worry.”

That…that is exactly what I’m afraid of, Bishop.

Chapter Text

Bishop’s vow to “figure her out” grew less and less terrifying as a prospect as she began to realize how little he would ever actually be able to know about her.

She hadn’t grown up in a kind setting, surrounded by loving parents and insufferable siblings. No, her upbringing was very unorthodox…and terrible. And yet, this horribleness protected her at the same time. She was quite adept at steering him away from anything he could use to identify who she really was.

At the moment, he didn’t even know she was Dragonborn.

That one she might not be able to hold onto for long. But if knowing she was Dragonborn kept him from realizing her true parentage, then she would willingly give it up. And anyway, the next time she went charging at a dragon might be a bit of a giveaway.

An interesting fact about her: she was never hungry. She could eat. She wouldn’t enjoy it, but she could. And despite this, her stomach would still make noise when it thought it was hungry because at her core, her body was human. It was fortunate that she was able to eat without vomiting. She used to throw up as soon as she put anything in her mouth, but over the many years of being in Skyrim, she had worked up an immunity, of sorts. So while she got no satisfaction or pleasure from it, it was handy when around other humans.

Of course, she’d never had to be around another person for this long. And it didn’t appear that her traveling partner was going anywhere anytime soon. So it was a damn good thing she could put on the appearance of a mortal.

No doubt thanks to her father. Another debt that must be paid.

So when the ranger had shot a rabbit at a pretty impressive distance, after it had become edible she forced it down, even though her mind was yelling at her to stop. Her body, however, gave a quiet purr as it finally settled, now satisfied—for the moment.

After packing up and dousing the fire, Ebony put her hand to her mace. There should be nothing comforting about its presence at her hip, and yet, it was just about the only thing she could count on.

“Ready to get a move on?” Bishop asked, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Sure,” she said tonelessly. “Can’t wait.”

***

Ebony was…not like anyone Bishop had ever met. Of course, having spent the majority of his life going out of his way to avoid most human interaction—whenever possible—this statement might not mean much.

But what it did mean?

He was intrigued. And Bishop was never intrigued by anyone.

For starters, the fear in her eyes was always at odds with the sarcasm and snark leaving her mouth. Her reaction the day they’d met, the absolute terror he saw in them…

He had never provoked such fear in anyone, ever. He couldn’t imagine why she had reacted to him the way she did.

But he had to know.

As they walked, Bishop studied her. She walked with her shoulders rolled back, staring straight ahead with an unnervingly single-minded focus, though what, exactly, she was focused on he couldn’t say.

What was clear, however, was that she was also single-mindedly focused on pretending he wasn’t there. Why she had abruptly agreed to go with him, despite her words and posture saying she wanted to be anywhere else but there, and her current behavior…it made no sense.

A lot of things weren’t making sense. But being on his own all these years had given him an insight into others that most people didn’t have. He’d quickly learned that when you stop being so consumed by the opinion of others, it’s far easier to strip them down to their core, to the very crux of their being.

Most people who proclaim not to care about what other people think are lying through their teeth. Bishop had even cared. Once. A long time ago, right before he realized humanity was corrupted and miserable and irredeemable—and that he didn’t have the energy nor the will to expend to try and change it. Try to change them.

His focus shifted to the mace hanging at her hip. It was like no weapon he’d ever seen, and there was something distinctly unnatural about it. Some sort of…aura, maybe, that made him instinctively want to stay far, far away from it.

That was when he realized his first impression, that feeling of Ebony being off, wasn’t correct. It wasn’t her, no. It was her mace. But why?

Another mystery to be solved later, he supposed.

“Can you do me a favor and stop boring holes into my back?” she asked without turning around.

Bishop jerked out of the trance he’d somehow dropped into involuntarily. “Sorry, princess, every favor has a price.”

She came to an abrupt stop, such an unexpected move that he nearly crashed into her. “What’s the price, then?” she demanded. “A body part? My sanity?” A pause ensued, where she just glared at him. “No, scratch that, you’ve already made a considerable dent in my sanity. So what, which body part do I have to give up for you to be quiet?”

Bishop pretended to consider this.

Ebony narrowed her eyes as she watched him ‘ponder’ his response.

Finally, he said, “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

Now her eyes were slits. “You—”

“Hey, don’t ask the question if you don’t want to hear the answer.”

Eyes darkening, she looked like she was gearing up to yell at him. Without thinking about it, he took a step forward and put his finger to her lips. She froze, for just a moment.

Then she bit him.

“Shit!” he cursed, jerking his hand back. “What the fuck!”

Ebony smiled at him a bit crookedly. “Don’t touch me if you don’t want to get injured,” she responded blandly. “I could have done a lot worse.”

Examining his finger, he swore again. “Are you sure you’re not a vampire? The bite certainly felt like one.”

It was fascinating to watch as she just…stopped…moving. Her posture was tense, feral—she was poised to run.

Desperate to talk her off the ledge, he went, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”

Her eyes flew to his, and there was no fury there anymore, just panic. She blinked several times in succession, and when their gazes clashed once more, an impenetrable mask slammed down across her face, like prison bars locking into place.

“It’s fine,” she said, and her tone was nonchalant, breezy. “Just know that I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

Bishop couldn’t help it. He never could. “As long as you promise that the next time you bite, it’s in a better place—”

“If you’re not careful, ranger, I might chop your head off. So I’d watch your wording if I were you.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re so quick to violence,” he murmured. “Why is that, I wonder?”

She picked up her pace. Bishop was sure she was going to ignore the question, but instead she said, so softly he had to strain to hear it: “It’s the only way I can truly protect myself.”

But before he could ask for clarification, an iron arrow whizzed past his ear.

“Speaking of—”

***

Ebony darted to the side, narrowly avoiding getting an arrow through her shoulder. Mace coming undone, she squinted past the midday sun to see where her enemy was.

She could see nothing, but fortunately, Karnwyr could. He barked, once, then lunged past them.

Next to her, she could hear Bishop draw his dagger and she nearly laughed. But as another arrow flew through the air, this time actually nicking her arm, all humor faded away and instead she was furious. She would heal from this, easily—another ‘perk’ of being the daughter of a Daedric prince.

But it could still hurt like a son of a bitch.

Following the wolf’s lead, she hurled her mace forward, smiling in grim satisfaction when she heard a loud grunt. All of a sudden there they were, and there were a lot of them.

Karnwyr was busy yanking at one bandit’s arm, probably trying to tear it from his socket, but the other four rushed them. Her mace, buried in a sixth—and now dead—bandit dislodged itself from the man’s chest and flew back into her hand. She didn’t have time to see if the ranger had noticed, because then they were on them.

As she spun, throwing her mace out in a wide arc, she saw Bishop shove his knife into one bandit’s chest and then drive it upward, grabbing it back with a terribly wet sucking noise before the body fell, lifeless, to the forest floor.

One of them got tired of playing dodge with her mace and instead lunged for her, hands aiming for her neck.

This was a new tactic. Ebony couldn’t say she’d ever had a bandit try to choke her to death before. As the bandit’s hands grew closer, she gripped the mace and swung it outwards, hitting him squarely in the chest. He let out a low groan as he dropped to the ground, dead.

She was about to turn around and deal with the last bandit, but Karnwyr had done it for her. He’d tackled the remaining one and had ripped out their throat. Any protest the bandit might have made ended in a sad little gurgle.

Karnwyr bounded back towards her, tail wagging. She smiled softly and kneeled in front of him, waiting for the wolf to smell her hand before she reached out for him. “Good boy,” she said, meaning it. “You did a very good job.”

The wolf let out what actually sounded like a purr, though she of course knew that wasn’t what it was. But whatever sound Karnwyr had made, it was a pleased one.

“He really likes you.”

Ebony startled, for some reason forgetting the ranger was there. “Of course he does,” she said after a pause. “I’m delightful.”

Bishop muttered something that may not have been the most flattering, but she chose to rise above. “He doesn’t like just anyone,” he continued, as she slowly rose to her feet. “He’s very picky.”

Ebony looked down at the wolf, still happily wagging his tail. It was hard to believe Karnwyr could dislike anyone.

But he was, at his core, a wild animal. The ferocity with which he’d ripped out the bandit’s throat was more than enough proof of that. Sighing, she moved her long black hair over her shoulders and straightened. “Is he,” she said, not a question.

“Yes. He is. But he likes you. Do you know why that is?”

She sent him a look of we both know you’re going to tell me anyway.

“You understand what he is. You understand who he is. But you don’t try to tame him. You don’t try to change him. You know what he is, and you’re not scared.”

“I could be,” she said. “It’s only been, what, one day? Give me time, I’m sure I can be scared of him, too.”

She’d meant it sarcastically (well…kind of? Hard to tell) but Bishop’s gaze sharpened as he regarded her. “You’re afraid,” he remarked. “But not of him.”

She expected more, but that seemed to be it. She turned away and prodded with bare feet at the inert body of one of the bandits, as if testing to make sure he was truly dead.

“I don’t think he’s going to come back to life,” the ranger said, his tone amused.

Ebony chose not to comment further. Especially when she heard her father rumble, Oh, how little he knows.

If you know so much, she returned, is there some sort of reason why I can’t know any of it?

Ah, there it is. Come, daughter, you know as well as I do that there would be no enjoyment if you understood why I do what I do.

No enjoyment for you, she replied, going still when she realized she’d said it to her father, and not simply thought it.

Ebony.

Here it comes, she thought, panic beginning to overtake her again. I’m sorry, father. Please…forgive me for my insolence.

There was humor when he responded, Your insolence is a part of why I find you so appealing. Her stomach turned over and she briefly had to fight the need to vomit. Do not worry, Ebony. When you truly have something to apologize for, I promise, you will know.

A pause. And then.

You will be begging at my feet.

Chapter Text

Bal’s words didn’t leave her for the rest of the day. You will be begging at my feet.

His favorite version of her, to be sure. She’d done it before and would undoubtedly do so again, and soon. Subservience and fear were what he desired, craved. He might claim to enjoy her sarcasm and backtalk, but she knew he would only tolerate it for so long before that so-called patience devolved into something far worse.

Squaring her shoulders, she squinted against the setting sun as the familiar dark, swampy marshes of Morthal came into focus. Gloom was everywhere, a mockery of her own inner turmoil. Fog and darkness and feelings of hopelessness permeated the entirety of the swamps.

Morthal was…her least favorite place.

No doubt why her father had sent her here.

He hadn’t even bothered informing her why she was supposed to come here, only that it was an order to be followed.

Swallowing down disgust at her own acquiescence, she glared into the darkening marshes but paused when she felt her mace begin to vibrate at her side. Narrowing her eyes, she saw nothing…

And then a spray of venom was heading in her direction at top speed. For whatever reason, she stood there, almost dumbfounded, shocked when she felt the ranger’s hand wrap around her arm and yank her to the side.

As the poison whipped past where she’d formerly been standing she blinked, casting the ranger a surprised glance. “You…why?”

“Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to touch you,” he said awkwardly, hand going for his knife at his side. “But I also figured you might not appreciate getting poisoned, either.”

Before she could even bother to respond, something moved with unsettling speed towards them, and it took only a second for Ebony to realize it was a chaurus.

I. Hate. Things. That. Crawl! she thought, glaring at it. Her mace sprung free and she darted to the side again as more venom began to leave the creature’s pincers.

But she wasn’t able to make a move as the chaurus lunged forward and pinned her to the ground. She yelped and began to swing blindly at its abdomen but it lowered its head and began to try to bite her.

Absolutely not, I did not survive a bunch of fucking Frostbite spiders less than two days ago just to succumb to an overly-large and nasty insect, she thought furiously, and with all her strength she kicked it off of her, sending it flying into the bushes.

She’d dealt with chaurus before, but she couldn’t say that biting had ever been one of its tactics in the past—and she was glad. Biting wasn’t fun in any situation, but definitely not in cases like this.

The creature began to come for her again, but before it could lunge for her (presumably for the last time) Bishop hurled his knife forward and struck the insect directly in one of its legs, crippling it as it faltered, unable to get to her.

He nodded and she nodded back, understanding, scrambling to her feet and throwing her mace directly at the flailing creature. It let out a shrieking noise she’d never heard before and crumpled in on itself, but not before releasing one last spray of venom in her general direction. She ducked but felt some of it land on her leg. Gritting her teeth against the immediate pain, she sprung forward and removed her mace from where it’d landed in the giant insect and then brought it down, again and again and again, any place she could reach. It had been dead as soon as she’d thrown her mace the first time, but this was just personal. She couldn’t believe she had been poisoned again!

Worse, even, she could feel a thread of dark laughter emanating in her head from her father, and she forcibly shoved him out, even knowing she’d suffer the consequences for that later.

She watched, hazily, as Bishop removed his knife from the chaurus’ severed leg with a disgusting sucking noise and calmly wiped its innards off on his pants, then slid it back into its sheath at his hip.

His eyes lifted and fell on her, on her knees in the grass as she ground her teeth together against the pain. She was (usually) naturally immune to poison of any kind—yet another ‘perk’ of her being the daughter of a Daedric prince—but this wasn’t going away.

It seemed to settle into her bones and she shut her eyes, willing it to subside. How she’d never been poisoned by a chaurus before she didn’t know, but she was happy that she hadn’t, because this—this hurt like a son of a bitch, and every part of her leg was screaming out in agony.

The ranger raced towards her, coming to a sudden halt in front of her as he took in the situation. Thankfully he didn’t ask if she was okay, because if he had she might have had no choice but to strangle him.

Then he did what she could honestly say she didn’t expect. He rummaged through his pack and took out a bottle of what looked suspiciously like an anti-venom.

And gave it to her.

“No,” she croaked. “Save it. Please.”

Bishop’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What, and let you lose your legs? Not happening.”

She groaned. “Keep it. I’d rather lose my legs than owe you anything.”

“Wow, that’s quite the dedication to refusing help, but too bad, you’re not winning this one.” Ignoring her further protests, he uncapped the bottle and let it drip onto her legs. She sucked in a breath as the pain eventually began to subside, and the jagged green lines pockmarking her skin faded until they were gone completely.

Ebony wiped at the sweat on her forehead and looked away from him for at least a minute, jaw working.

She hated this part.

She had to thank him—she had no real choice. And if there was something she loathed doing above anything else, it was putting herself into the debt of another.

Someone she barely knew anything about, no less.

Struggling to her feet, she wavered for a few moments before steadying, and then finally, finally allowed her gaze to drift upwards. She despised the unmasked concern she saw in the ranger’s face and pretended not to see it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said shortly. “I’m fine.”

They stood there in awkward silence for a few beats before she finally forced herself to bite out, “Thank you.”

The ranger began to laugh, and the urge to smack him came back in full force. “What?” she demanded, glowering. “What is so funny?”

“I’ve never met someone so adverse to the words thank you. You sounded like you were being tortured.”

Ebony paused for a moment, considering. Then thought, You have no idea.

No idea at all.

“Well,” she said finally. “I…appreciate you letting me keep my legs. Very kind of you.”

Breezily, Bishop went, “They’re very nice legs. It’d be a real shame not to be able to look at them anymore.”

Any gratefulness immediately went out the window at that comment. “Would you be quiet?” she growled, placing her mace back at her side.

Karnwyr came bounding towards them and ambushed her, licking at her legs.

“Hey!” she said sharply. “Karnwyr! Not helpful!” She pushed the wolf off, albeit gently, and then threaded her hands through his fur as he leaned up against her side.

Bishop watched silently, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Are we heading to Morthal or not, princess?”

“What have I told you about calling me princess?”

A maliciously smug grin on his face, the ranger said, “That you love it. Don’t worry, I’ve been listening to you.”

“I don’t love anything when it comes to you,” she growled, hands fisting by her sides. Forcing herself to take a calming breath, she inhaled deeply and looked away, off into the foggy distance for a few moments, before returning her attention to the ranger. “Yes,” she said finally. “We’re still going to Morthal—”

Change of plans, daughter.

Ebony shut her eyes, wishing she could force him out, but knew she couldn’t. And even if she were able to, she wouldn’t—the price of doing so would ultimately never be worth the satisfaction it would grant her in the moment.

If there’s a change of plans, it’d be great if you could tell me what the change is—kind of dealing with someone who’s going to get suspicious any second now.

A dark chuckle. Go to Morthal. I will alert you at your discretion.

My discretion? What does that—

But Bal was gone before she could get any further ‘answers’. If his response could even be considered as such.

She could feel Bishop looking at her strangely, but she turned her gaze away, refusing to acknowledge it. “If we can get there without any further, shall we say, interruptions, we can rest at the inn.”

“How very civilized of you,” Bishop said, wryness in his tone.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’d also appreciate a bath.” Looking at him directly, she added, “I don’t think you should be saying no to that, either.”

Wrinkling his nose, he said only, “As long as you acknowledge you need it far more than I do.”

“You—”

“Hey, turnabout’s fair play, ladyship.” Eyes sparkling with amusement, he said, “Don’t play the game if you can’t take the heat.”

“Ha! You’re lukewarm at best.”

“How little faith you have in me, princess.”

“It’s based on evidence.”

“Oh? And what kind of evidence is that, exactly?”

“Repeated proof you’re obnoxious,” she responded blandly, picking up her pace to get ahead of him. “Here’s a fun game we can play. How about the silent game? Ten to one you can’t make it twenty seconds.”

“Oh, sweetness, I never play games I know I can’t win. And besides. Where’s the fun in silence?”

She ground her teeth at that, because…well, because silence was her oldest and darkest friend, and truth be told, these back and forth witticisms weren’t nearly as upsetting as she made them out to be.

In fact, they were…nice.

It was a wicked sort of wonderful to no longer spend her every waking moment in painful, forced solitude, her terrifying and abhorrent father her only company.

And yet, despite this wonder at a type of company she’d never imagined, there was also fear, so much fear. Because the same source of this newfound enjoyment still stemmed from the root evil of everything in her life: Molag Bal.

Were it not for her father, she’d have left the ranger far, far behind. She’d never have allowed him to be here with her. She could not allow herself to forget that whatever joy she might be experiencing right now was, at best, temporary.

At worst?

Earth-shakingly horrible.

It might seem a melodramatic thing, to believe something so unassuming could do as much damage as she knew it would, but she hadn’t lived—survived—this long out of luck.

No. It was paranoia, waking terror, and perpetual anger that allowed her to continue on in the way she had.

But even more than that, it was her ability to see the worst in everyone that kept her alive. Whatever Bal wanted with the ranger at her side, it could only mean destruction—and certainly not hers alone.

Unfortunately, an eventual lapse into silence was inevitable. Bishop appeared to be deeply lost in thought, and Ebony didn’t dare expend the energy it would require to snap him out of it. Nor did she even have a true desire to.

Beyond their mutual sarcasm and apparent exasperation with each other, Ebony didn’t feel much else towards the ranger, certainly not concern.

At least, that was what she told herself. It was far easier to swallow than the truth.

***

Ebony was lost in thought. Again. It appeared to be a common occurrence for her. So common, in fact, that Bishop was beginning to realize she spent far more time locked inside her own head than she did in the outside world.

He had absolutely no idea the damage that would come from the curiosity he had at the monsters residing in her mind.

Bishop had monsters of his own. The only true difference was that he did his damnedest to never spend more time in his head than he could possibly avoid. Because if he did, he might start feeling, and feeling…

It wasn’t something he did. Ever.

Ebony was interesting, fascinating, really. But at the end of the day, that was all she was. She had no more meaning to him beyond that than his dalliances with tavern wenches did.

Although, if he could include her among them, that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing, either.

She was beautiful, but not in any so-called ‘normal’ way. Her beauty was a harsh one, cold and unforgiving. It was what lent her that distant allure, that façade that said she had no room for him, for anyone, in her life.

Not that he cared. This was an enjoyable distraction until the next one, and when that happened she would be easily forgotten.

As was the case with all of them.

It was only after feeling a tug at his pants leg that Bishop realized he had, in fact, become deeply entrenched in thought. Grimacing, he forced his focus back to the present and glanced down at Karnwyr, who was currently looking up at him and barking to get his attention.

“When did you become such a drama queen?” he demanded of the wolf. In response, Karnwyr’s ears seemed to deflate a little and the ranger sighed. “What, you want an ear rub? You’re getting spoiled.”

“No such thing,” he distantly heard Ebony say from somewhere in front of him.

Grinning to himself, he gave the wolf a short pat and straightened, forcing his tense body to relax.

As the endless expanse of fog and mist gave way to dim lanterns and distant sounds of civilization, Bishop felt something inside of him begin to form, a knot in his chest, a lump in his throat, a pulsing thrum in his ears.

But he ignored it. As he always did.

Only this time would he learn the payment he would owe for his own ignorance.

Somewhere incredibly far away, in a place the ranger didn’t even know existed, red eyes and a black heart sat on a throne of bones and laughed.

Chapter Text

“Why do you look like you’re suddenly allergic to the sun?”

Ebony spun to face the ranger, her face paling considerably more. She could sense her father’s offspring nearby, and if there was one thing she hated with deep, burning passion, it was the children of the night.

Vampires.

Her chest felt like it was imploding while the rest of her was so light-headed and fatigued with panic that she almost passed out right then and there.

“Princess? Are you…okay?”

There was what appeared to be genuine concern in the ranger’s voice, but she couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it. Not to mention she barely knew him and blabbing her every dark secret was just about the most idiotic thing she could possibly do.

Thankfully, she had quite a bit more self-preservation than that and swallowed the panic down before facing him, smoothing out her expression. “Yeah,” she said, shaking out her hair. “Fine.”

As she spun back around, forcing herself to walk past the lair of vampires and not sprint, one of her braids smacked her in the face and she spit out a mouthful of thick, black hair. That was the problem with hair as long as hers, to be sure.

Too bad Father Dearest liked it that way.

Almost every aspect of her and her life was controlled or tainted by her existence as his daughter. It was unavoidable, and yet it was an honesty she’d spent the majority of her life circling, refusing to ever let herself get close enough to recognize it for what it was.

The truth.

She fully expected Bishop to continue the interrogation, but something in her face must have quieted his desperate need to know more, because he fell oddly and eerily silent.

With every step, Ebony wondered what her father’s “change in plans” were. Every so often she would send a gentle prod down their mental line, to test if he was there—because even if he wasn’t, he was always listening—but it was silent.

Typical.

By the time the worn farmhouses and subdued townsfolk of Morthal came into view, Ebony felt…heavy. Like she was carrying around an arsenal of steel on her back. She might travel empty-handed, but the oppressive phantom weight more than made up for it.

Even in the daytime it was difficult to distinguish light from dark in the swamps of Hjaalmarch. What might have been late morning could just as easily be just after midnight, and rarely was one ever able to tell the difference.

Her original plans were to return to Aslfur for her rightful reward after killing yet another dragon stupid enough to leave its mountaintop, but when she found herself in front of the door to Highmoon Hall, she felt her legs turn to lead. Why, she didn’t know, but something…

Something wasn’t right.

And whatever it was, it was something much worse than vampires. Or at least the individual threat of vampires.

A short bark from Karnwyr snapped her out of her daze as everything came back into focus. Slowly, she turned around to address the ranger. “Stay here, please.”

Bishop cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” she said shortly. “Do I need a reason?”

“Actually, yes.”

“And I need a reason because…?”

“It’s suspicious.”

Ebony finally focused in on him. Putting her hand on her hip, she just said, “Fine. You can be suspicious out here.” As she turned for the door, she tossed one final, “Don’t follow me" over her shoulder, hoping she'd been firm enough for him to get the hint.

“Fine, princess,” Bishop said breezily, settling back against the wall of the longhouse. “As you say.”

She huffed but said nothing more, heading inside. Aslfur was where he usually was, warming his hands over the fire, but Ebony had always suspected he was far smarter and observant than most in Morthal gave him credit for. There was a sharp-eyed keenness she saw in him, though she hadn’t at first. But that’s how they get you—they catch you when you’re completely unexpecting, and it never ends well.

Ebony had long ago learned how to identify such behavior and how to avoid it.

It was one of the only things that had kept her alive this long.

“You’re back.” The flatness in his tone indicated he wouldn’t have cared if her corpse had returned instead.

“I am,” she said evenly. “It’s dead.”

A slight flicker of…something, in his eyes before whatever it was disappeared. “Very well. I’ll fetch your payment.”

She nodded, then leaned against a wooden post, examining her fingernails. Every time she did she could see the ghosts of her victims’ blood coating her hands. It was an unnerving feeling that remained with her every moment of every day, gory phantoms unwilling to leave well enough alone. 

Because this blood, this evil in her veins…it couldn’t be erased. It wouldn’t matter how many times she might try to scrub it away, rid herself of it. It wasn’t going anywhere.

As long as she was alive, blood and ruin and death would be her legacy.

There was no room for anything else.

She jerked her head up at the sound of Aslfur approaching, then reached out and took the coin purse from him.

Then she heard the door open behind them.

“There you are. I trust that’s sufficient, then, Dragonborn?”

“No.”

But the no hadn’t come from Ebony.

No. It had come from Bishop. Who she had very clearly ordered to stay outside.

She whirled, the pouch falling to the floor as she turned on him in simultaneous surprise and anger. “Did I not tell you to stay outside?!”

But he, too, looked angry. “You sure did, Dragonborn.”

“Oh, you’re going to be pissy now because you feel, what, slighted?”

“Actually, I’m not pissy at all,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Though I am contemplating strangling you at the moment.”

“Go for it,” she seethed. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

Ebony barely noticed when Aslfur slipped away, clearly not caring enough to intervene should blood happen to spill.

And judging by how murderous they both were, spilt blood was entirely possible.

“What is your problem!” she yelled as they stared at each other in mutual loathing. “What, it’s my fault I got the short end of the world-saving stick?”

“No, it’s a problem that you didn’t tell me,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw as they squared off. “You’re the Dragonborn. And you didn’t think to mention that at all?”

Ebony briefly considered responding with “It’s not important” before she realized that yes, it actually was important.

But she’d be a frozen corpse on the side of the road before she willingly admit to doing anything wrong.

“If you’re getting your britches in a twist because I didn’t tell you, then you can go do that somewhere else. I don’t have time for drama, and definitely not yours.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic?” he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That is absolutely hilarious coming from you, who acted like death would be a welcome alternative to saying fucking thank you!”

“Because it WOULD BE!” she screamed.

Bishop fell silent. Anything he might have been about to say halted before it could leave his lips. Now he was just staring at her with a mixture of rage, concern, confusion, and general shock.

“You…”

She shut her eyes and turned away, not even bothering to pick up what she’d come for. This. This right here. This was what she had dreaded.

Why was it that being the so-called “savior of Tamriel” didn’t come with any perks? Why was it that the only things that went along with saving the whole damn fucking world were people either hating her for what she represented or despising her entire existence for no reason other than the fact that their world needed saving in the first place?

Neither of those were necessarily bad things. At least, not to her. But all she had ever wanted was to go unnoticed. To be ignored. And hatred?

The exact opposite.

Ha, if it weren’t for the fact they’d all be dead if she wasn’t alive, they’d probably have all chased after her with pitchforks and reveled in her fear.

And then tried to kill her.

Many had tried.

None had succeeded.

“Just go, ranger,” she said finally, weaving the words past the growing lump lodged in her throat. “I think that would be better for us both.”

“No.”

Slowly she turned around to face him. “No?” she repeated. “You were the one who told me you weren’t going to leave until you figured me out. Well. Here we are. Here I am. All figured out. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

But now the ranger’s expression was free and clear of anger or concern or anything—now there was just curiosity.

“You’re right,” he said after a beat. “I did want to figure you out. As a matter of fact, I still do. You think just because I know you’re Dragonborn that I suddenly find you uninteresting?”

“Um,” she said, confused. “Yes?”

“Any normal person would be dying to tell everyone who wasn’t aware they were someone important that they are, in fact, incredibly important. And you hid this from me. Why?”

She growled. “None of your business,” she said, folding her arms.

“Actually, since we’re traveling together, I’d say it decidedly is my business.”

“That can easily be changed,” she growled again, narrowing her eyes.

He eyed her keenly. “Tell me something, sweetness. Why did you hide this from me? You knew I was going to figure it out eventually.”

“Here’s a question for you. Why are you so infuriating?”

Bishop chuckled. “Nice try. Your deflecting skills need some work.”

“Maybe so,” she agreed. “But that still doesn’t mean I owe you any answers.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a dangerous grin. “I plan to get them all by myself.”

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

Then: “Arsehole.”

“Ladyship.”

She threw her hands up and walked out the door, hoping she was leaving him behind.

Of course not.

“Where are we going now?” Bishop asked cheerfully, jogging to keep up with her steady pace.

Father, is this really necessary?

She wanted to add, Haven’t I suffered enough? but knew the answer to that was Never.

Can I kill him yet?

Now her father did deign to appear and purred, Of course you can’t, and end your misery so soon? Come now, daughter. You know as well as I how utterly un-entertaining that would be. For both of us.

Oh, yes, she thought to herself sarcastically. This is so entertaining. I’m having so much fun.

To him, she said, You told me there was a change of plans. I’ve gotten what I came for—can I leave now?

You don’t have to ask for permission, Bal said, darkly amused. Do not misunderstand me, I enjoy it immensely when you do. But for now…you are clear to do as you wish. But I would ask something of you, daughter.

She swallowed thickly. Which is?

Come visit me when you sleep. I have…things I must tell you.

She nearly keeled over right then and there. Hearing and communicating with her father over their mental line was traumatic enough, and happened on a daily basis. But physically going to see Bal in Coldharbour? Her home, his territory?

She felt frozen. It was a good thing their communication was solely in her mind, because she could say no words aloud. I…yes. I will come.

A glint of scarlet in his otherwise black eyes. She didn’t need to see it to know it was there. Ah. You always do, don’t you?

Ebony swallowed down disgust. Yes. I guess I do.

Then she finally exhaled a long breath when she felt her father’s dark and corrupt presence slowly fade from the frayed vestiges of her mind.

Appearing no wiser to the inner turmoil she was suffering, Bishop went, “Did you still have plans to stay at the inn?”

“No!” she said loudly, startling the guard standing next to them. Bishop eyed her in confusion. “I mean…no. Not right now. There are other places I need to be. I can’t afford to sleep right now.”

The ranger’s brows knitted together, not understanding. “But you said—”

“I know what I said.”

“Then—”

“Leave it, Bishop.”

 “But—”

“Leave. It.”

It was far too early to stay at the inn, anyway. And even if she’d only be planning on going to the Moorside for a bath, there were far too many beds there for her comfort.

She was going to stay awake for as long as humanly—or, she supposed in her case, inhumanly—possible.

She would go to meet her father, yes.

But not until sleep itself dragged her under, kicking and screaming.

Chapter Text

Even though Ebony didn’t truly need sleep, Bishop was thoroughly mortal and as a result, required necessary shut-eye. Her vow to stay awake until sleep dragged her under faltered under the weight of Bishop’s own waning energy.

She sighed, brushing her hair back from her face. “Fine,” she said, after his third yawn in as many minutes. “We’ll go to the inn. You could use a bath, anyways.”

The ranger’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I need a bath? Have you smelled yourself lately, ladyship? You’re not exactly emanating spring flowers.”

“Shut up,” she growled, elbowing past him.

She could hear the laughter in Bishop’s words when he said, “Now that wasn’t very nice, princess.”

If it were humanly—or inhumanly—possible for a head to do a 360-degree rotation, Ebony was pretty sure hers would start spinning with a vengeance.

As she entered the inn, the ranger on her heels, she stopped and took stock of the room. Completely empty, save for an orc in the corner…a bard, but not a very good one. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she headed for the innkeeper. The joy on Jonna’s face was palpable—judging from the way she seemed to wilt in relief, it had clearly been some time since the Moorside Inn had seen any visitors.

“Two rooms, please,” Ebony said politely, rooting around for the gold she’d salvaged from Aslfur before the Dragonborn debacle.

Jonna’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Two rooms?” she repeated, looking behind Ebony at the ranger standing close.

Trying to be nice, she said, “I…like my space.”

“You’re not—together?”

“Yes!” Bishop said, at the same time Ebony gave an emphatic “No.”

After a pause, in which Jonna stood looking very confused, Ebony said, feeling a little bad, “Look, it’s not like your inn is overflowing. Can we please just have the two rooms?”

Jonna’s expression shuttered and Ebony forced past the feeling of guilt. Really, it was none of Jonna’s business what her and the ranger’s ‘relationship’ status was. There was no status, as far as she was concerned, but still.

“Sure thing,” the innkeeper said stiffly, coming around the corner to give them the keys. “The two doors on the left. Sleep well.” The sleep well sounded about as sincere as Aslfur’s “you’re back” from earlier, but Ebony wasn’t about to waste more time talking to a woman who was clearly more interested in Ebony’s non-existent relationship status than she was her money.

“I’m taking a bath first,” Ebony announced, dumping what few possessions she had on the bed before heading for the inn’s basement, where Jonna had indicated the bath was.

“Want company?” Bishop said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.”

“Ha! That was an answer in and of itself, sweetness.”

She threw her hands up in disgust. “Just…go to bed. Okay? Maybe you’ll be less annoying in the morning.”

With a half-smile, Bishop saluted her and unlocked his door, he and Karnwyr slipping inside.

After finding the stairs leading to the basement, she locked the bathing room door with a soft snick and sighed deeply at the sight of the warm water rising from the tub. She gave her mace a cursory tug at her side, and was relieved when it came loose. Placing it up against a bench by the wall, she dipped a toe into the water and almost shivered. Hard to believe a simple bath could bring her so much joy, but here she was, enjoying.

But she was in the tub for less than all of five minutes before the water at her neck began to feel like a noose. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t kick the feeling. No matter the enjoyment she was feeling before, there was only panic and fear now.

She practically launched herself out of the bathtub and stumbled back, hitting the wall, feeling her chest rising and falling unnaturally. After a few moments of deep breathing, she felt that same uncertain calm wash over her. Everything was fine.

For now.

She didn’t know why bathing had been terrifying for her, only that it was. Fortunately, she never took long to get clean, and she was significantly cleaner than when she’d gone in, so she’d take that as a win.

Wringing out her hair and her tunic, she inhaled deeply and headed for her room, but not before hollering at the ranger through the door that the bath was free. He mumbled something in reply and she shrugged, sure that he was probably already half-asleep. As she locked herself inside the room, she eyed the bed with bitter discomfort. She was tired, but not that tired. Not nearly exhausted enough to subject herself to her father’s whims quite yet.

Outside the door, she could hear a bark from Karnwyr and then the sound of Bishop’s door opening and closing, as he presumably went to find the bath. Ebony sighed and slowly lowered herself onto the bed, trying to get comfortable, but not too comfortable, because that would mean she’d fall asleep, and she absolutely did not want that to happen.

She continued to switch positions on the bed, but it felt like beneath the layer of furs there was a hard bottom of rocks digging into her back. And her stomach. And her side. What is this? She thought, frustrated. Maybe talking to my father wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Then, almost automatically: Oh, I don’t know about that. But I do so miss our talks. Fortunately for you, what I have to say can wait. Sleep, daughter. I will come find you when it is time.

Ebony wasn’t certain she believed him, but she also had no other choice. Her eyelids were drooping and she knew sleep would claim her any minute.

Finally, when the exhaustion was too much to bear, she shut her eyes and allowed it to come for her, to wrap her in its slumbering embrace.

As it did, she vaguely heard the sound of something metal hitting the ground.

But she was out before she could think to wonder what it was.

***

She had slept dreamlessly. No dreams, no nightmares, no…nothing. Which felt odd, and worrying—when was the last time she’d had a truly dreamless sleep? Never, from what she could recall. Still, she wasn’t about to question the miracle that had been the seemingly full eight hours of sleep she’d gotten, and swung her legs over the bed, shaking off the morning haziness as she forced herself to stand.

Emerging from the room, she saw Bishop at the bar, chatting Jonna up. Ebony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Then she realized something, in two parts.

First, the weight at her side—it was gone.

Second, casually strapped to Bishop’s belt was Molag Bal’s mace.

Oh, no. Oh, fuck no. She was getting killed for this, for sure. Incredible panic, the kind that overtakes everything, swept over her and she had to fight to maintain an air of calm as she practically leapt to the ranger’s side.

“Morning!” she chirped, her falsetto clearly not fooling anyone, least of all Bishop. When he looked at her, a smug grin twitched at the corners of his lips. Ebony fought the overwhelming urge to strangle him. Instead, she thanked Jonna, grasped the ranger’s arm (none too gently) and yanked him towards the door, trying all the while to look like what she was doing was perfectly normal.

After pulling him outside, Bishop shook his arm out from her hold. “What’s the matter, ladyship? You seem…frazzled.”

Frazzled? That didn’t even begin to describe the depths and layers upon layers of fear now hurtling her towards a full-blown panic attack.

She gripped his arm again and nearly hauled him out of town. Once they were behind a copse of trees and out of sight of anyone, she whirled on him.

“It seems like there’s something you want to say to me, sweetness,” Bishop said, cocking his head to the side. “I wonder what that might be?”

Ebony could read the challenge in his gaze and she said, eyes narrowing, “Oh, no, I am not fighting you for that. Don’t look at me like that. No. Give it back to me right now!”

“Come take it from me, princess,” he said, his words an infuriating taunt. “If you can,” he added, looking oh-so-satisfied with himself.

Unbelievable! What an ass. As if he could ever beat me!

She glared. “I know I can. Question is, are you ready to have your ass handed to you?”

“Am I ready for a beautiful woman to attempt to wrench her lifesaving weapon from me by maybe straddling me at some point? Absolutely.”

Narrowing her eyes she growled low in her throat and launched herself at him, but he only chuckled and jumped out of reach, taking Bal’s mace with him.

She stopped, planting her hands on her hips, and said angrily, “Fine! I will get it back, but the real question is will you still have all of your fingers when I finally do?”

He appeared to be having far too much fun while she was barely restraining her fury. “I’ll make it easy on you, okay? You win, you get your mace.”

She was almost afraid to ask, but… “If you win?”

“I get to ask you a question,” he said. The words were simple, unthreatening. And yet, Ebony felt her entire world beginning to unravel. Since she very much could not answer anything he might ask her, she was spurred on with fervor as she lunged for it again.

“You look worried, princess. Do you not think you can get it back from me?”

Ebony threw her hands up in the air. “Are you kidding me right now?! Are you five years old? This isn’t a game, I need it!”

Bishop sobered, his eyes glinting dangerously in the early morning darkness. “Oh, I’m aware, sweetness. But that’s what makes this so much fun, eh?”

“Don’t call me that!” she growled, and once more lunged in his direction, but he darted to the side, still holding Bal’s mace over his head as if it were a toy and not the very dangerous weapon of the Lord of Domination. “Give. It. To. Me!”

He tsked at her. “Come now, aren’t you going to try a little harder? I’m a little disappointed, truth be told. So much fight before, and now it’s like you’re not even trying—”

That was it. That sent her rage spiraling out of control and she knew she was no longer able to hold herself or her abilities back. Now when she leapt at him, he clearly wasn’t expecting the amount of force behind it because he was unable to duck out of the way in time.

She took him down with her and they went tumbling, Bal’s mace still dangling in Bishop’s vice grip, as she did her very best to get it from him.

It was a startling thing to realize she might actually not be able to forcibly get it away from him, and she grunted in frustration at that knowledge.

That was when she also realized that his earlier prediction had come true: she was, indeed, straddling him, and because of the extremely thin piece of cloth her ‘armor’ was made of, she could feel…well. Everything.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! she thought, and if she were panicked before, somehow the idea of death at her father’s hands didn’t hold a candle to the feeling of Bishop’s excitement. Now utterly freaked out, she jumped back, not even caring about the mace anymore.

He got to his feet, dusted off his leather pants and approached her. In the dim light, what she had felt she couldn’t see, but she still knew it was there, and she was having trouble dealing with that knowledge.

“Holy crap,” he said when he saw her face, his eyes widening to a comical degree. “You’ve never…I mean…no one has ever—?”

“NO!” she shouted, backing away again. Where is Karnwyr? she thought disjointedly, not exactly sure why she was wondering but also thinking he’d make a great distraction at this point in time.

Now he just laughed, and he wasn’t laughing with her, he was definitely laughing at her.

She had lied, she had felt that sensation before, but it was not connected to anything remotely pleasant. It was another reason she had absolutely no desire to mingle with men, human or otherwise.

And Bishop was not the exception to the rule. Or at least, she wouldn’t let him be.

She had to get out of here. Fast.

To her absolute horror, a single tear began streaking its way down her face and she inhaled sharply; the last time she had cried was also the last time…

Nope. Not going there.

“Please,” she said, not above begging at this point. “Please…give it to me.”

Bishop looked thoroughly shaken by this whole ordeal and immediately handed her Bal’s mace before retreating to what he probably thought was a safe distance from her.

“I didn’t realize…are you okay?”

She choked out a weak yes before the mace once more made its way to its permanent spot at her hip. She couldn’t explain the inexplicable feeling of loss coursing through her when the weapon was once again unable to be removed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and to his credit, he did seem genuinely apologetic. The good news was, there was not yet any sign of her father, so he either somehow hadn’t witnessed what had just gone down or he had and had found it amusing. Knowing him, it could really be either. “Although to be fair, it is involuntary.”

Now Ebony was feeling less than charitable and her eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you done?” she demanded.

“No. I won, so now you have to answer one of my questions.”

“Absolutely not,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you didn’t win, you cheated.”

“How, exactly, did I cheat, princess? I’m genuinely curious.”

Ebony gritted her teeth. “You—your—pants—oh, for fuck’s sake, no. I am not answering your question.”

“Me? My pants?” Bishop looked down at himself. “Ah. Well…fine. We’ll table this. For now. But I expect to be able to collect, ladyship.”

She felt herself pale. Bishop didn’t seem to notice, but those words, the way in which he’d said them, with such authority…it rang like Bal’s, and she did not like the comparison. But she knew Bishop was nothing like her father. If only that could actually grant her some semblance of reassurance.

With her weapon returned but not yet her sanity, she took a deep, steadying breath and raised her gaze to meet the ranger’s eyes. “Well, come on then,” she said, when she started walking but didn’t hear Bishop behind her. “I do have places to be, you know.”

“And here I thought you just wandered aimlessly, capturing hearts and killing anyone who looks at you funny.”

She turned. “Capturing hearts?” she repeated. Then she snorted. “You’re delusional.”

A chuckle from the ranger. “More than you know, ladyship. More than you know.”

She’d have plenty of time to wonder over those words for the journey ahead. But more than his words, she waited and waited for her father to say something. Bishop, a mortal, had been able to hold Bal’s mace. That didn’t make any sense, but what really worried her was Bal’s silence.

Biting her lip, she focused on their quiet footfalls as she fought back the unnerving fear of something being amiss. Everything was fine, right?

…right.

Chapter Text

Three days later, they were still in the marsh, running an…errand for Bal, though of course the ranger was none the wiser on that. And three days later, Bishop was still driving Ebony crazy, this time with his sexual innuendo.

“Keep going like this,” she muttered, “and you’ll be lucky if you can sire children.”

“Are you volunteering? It does take two to accomplish that feat, you know,” he said from behind her.

She rolled her eyes, and he must have sensed her doing it, because he said, “If you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’re going to be permanently stuck up there.”

She stopped and turned on him. “Maybe that would be a good thing,” she huffed. “Then I wouldn’t have to look at your smug face every time you make yet another annoying comment!”

“I’m offended,” the ranger said, looking anything but. “I will have you know I am an absolute feast for the eyes.”

“You’re a feast for something, alright,” she grumbled. “Careful that doesn’t turn into a giant spider or a ch—”

There was a hissing and spitting noise from behind them and Ebony’s stomach dropped in dread. Another one? AGAIN?! “—chaurus,” she finished, going for her mace. But before she could even reach for it, the creature shot in her direction at lightning speed, tackling her to the ground.

“Ack!” she shrieked, frantically trying to kick it off of her while simultaneously going for her mace. That was when…it didn’t budge. She put one arm up as defense against the poison ready to leave the chaurus’ mandibles, using the other one to tug at her father’s mace, but it didn’t come loose.

Fucking hell, she thought, livid. Is now really the one time you want to do this? She was directing this thought, of course, at her father. Though if he could hear her he was choosing to ignore. Typical.

The chaurus was making clicking and clacking noises, and she knew she was primed to be its next meal, assuming she was to die today via giant insect.

Ducking her head as the chaurus went in for a bite—did they bite? She hadn’t encountered many, but the ones she had hadn’t been biters—she mentally cursed Bal with every swear she knew as the mace sat unmoving at her side.

“BISHOP!” she screamed, using her arms as a shield to keep the creature away from her while frantically trying to buck it off of her at the same time. “BISHOP!!!!!”

From nearby, she heard his dry voice say, “Oh, my bad. I thought you had it covered.”

Does it look like I have it covered?! she wanted to scream.

The ranger was definitely getting murdered after this was over—no question.

Just as the chaurus was about to let loose its poison and likely kill her, succeeding where its brethren had failed before, it was flung off of her, flying into the tall grasses. She rose quickly, her bones protesting every movement, going for her mace again but finding it still unwilling to come loose.

Her eyes met Bishop’s and he shot towards the creature, temporarily down for the count, and gripped his knife, driving it into the chaurus’ right eye. It squealed in pain and then seemed to fold in on itself as Bishop kneeled and removed his blade with a disgustingly wet sucking sound.

Ebony wiped her brow and tried to stop her shaking. She was fine.

Well. Fine was a relative term. Without Bal’s mace, how was she going to be expected to kill anything? And how on earth was she going to explain this to Bishop?

Bishop walked over to her, wiping his blade on his pants, uncaring of the green goop now coating the fabric, and raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’s incredibly rare you turn down a chance to kill something,” he said after a beat, watching her with a narrowed gaze. “What happened?”

Ebony paused. What had happened? Obviously Bal had changed the rules somehow, made his mace unable to be removed at all, but…the real question was, why?

Then it hit her. Bal never did anything without cause. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but he had no wish for her to die, at least not yet. This was punishment.

All because she’d allowed the mace out of her sight.

Fuck.

And that could mean only one thing: a visit to Coldharbour was inevitable. It would happen.

And soon.

Dully, Ebony said, “I must have blanked.”

Bishop’s voice was bone-dry when he said, “You were being attacked by a chaurus, about to die, and you blanked.” A pause. “Right.”

She waited for him to say something more, expecting it, but he said nothing else, though she could feel his questioning gaze on her back as she rolled her shoulders and started to walk.

Screw the errand. She didn’t care enough, not anymore. She could apologize when Bal came for her, which, she knew, at this point wouldn’t be far off. An apology wouldn’t do it, but at this moment, she didn’t have it in her to care.

It’s official, she thought. Chaurus are now on the very top of my shit list.

Perhaps it was the waning light or maybe just Ebony’s persistently terrible sense of direction (or lack thereof), but she realized, too late, she had walked them back to Morthal, not away.

When they got to the gates, she stopped dead. The undead didn’t really have a smell, per se, but they had an…aura. Either that or being the daughter of Molag Bal meant that she had an undeniable connection to his spawn.

In any case, it didn’t matter.

There were vampires. Close.

A gift, Bal said into her mind, shocking her with its suddenness. From me to you. Do tell the Jarl I said hello, won’t you?

“Shit,” she whispered. Although every part of her wanted to get the hell out of there, if Morthal was about to be under attack by Bal’s spawn, then it was her fault. She didn’t have to intervene, but what kind of ‘savior’ would it make her if she turned on her heel and left?

I’ve had quite enough of your ‘gifts’, father, she said to him, angry. But Bal had slithered away into the dark vestiges of her mind, a snake disappearing into the grass.

She was on her own.

“Come on,” she urged Bishop, hurrying her speed as she practically lunged through the gates.

Morthal might be no stranger to vampires, but that didn’t mean they deserved this. Just another day of spreading torture and misery everywhere she went—she didn’t even have to try.

To his credit, the ranger wasn’t far behind, drawing his bow as he began to sense the danger lurking nearby.

By the time Ebony made it to the center of town—not a huge feat, Morthal was hardly the largest hold in Skyrim, but knowing people’s lives were in imminent danger made it feel like miles—it was fully dark. The moon had crept upon them, and with it, so did those that lurked in the shadows.

Morthal’s townsfolk were running in every direction, screams echoing in the night. She heard someone yell “To arms!” and though she didn’t know the voice it belonged to, she hurried towards the sound.

As she reached the center of town, she saw Gorm drawing his greatsword, and the brief flash of genuine fear in his eyes, sparking in the darkness.

Ebony’s stomach churned with disgust. You did this to punish me, she accused her father, taking the momentary reprieve before his spawn attacked to speak to him. Why bring these innocents into this?

A pause. And then a purred, You and I both know no one is innocent.

And certainly not you.

Jaw clenching, she wrapped her hand around the mace’s hilt, more than a little relieved when it came loose. While there was a certain irony to be had in fighting Bal’s own spawn with his weapon, she had no other choice.

“You want a fight?” she yelled, as red eyes and bloodied fangs assaulted her. “You’ll get it.”

Then she raised her mace and swung.

***

Unbeknownst to her, Molag Bal sat on his throne of blood, leaned forward, watching the fight below.

She was his, and this was to be her reminder. Ownership meant something different to a Daedric prince; it was dark obsession, pure, unadulterated madness, a sickness that would never ease.

This ‘gift’ would not kill her, he had made sure of that, but it would serve as a reminder for her to be on her best behavior and not try anything ill-advised. With each day that passed, he could sense her rebellion grow. She still groveled at his feet, as was expected and desired, but he knew she wouldn’t stay that way forever.

Ebony had a fiery spirit that refused to be tamed, and it would find its way out eventually.

He hoped that day wouldn’t come any time soon, because he’d truly hate to have to kill her.

Oftentimes, as he watched his daughter and her mortal traveling partner, fury raced through his veins, knowing the thoughts of the mortal, and loathing in every inch of his being at being unable to be in control of the situation…at least for now.

The task set before her was not one she aware of. But it would be soon. He would make sure of it.

The mortal had to die. And though Bal could do it with a single lift of his finger, he found no enjoyment in such an easy end. No. It would be her task, her duty, to end him.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Should she fail, he’d take up the mantle in her stead and kill the useless, weak mortal…and then punish her accordingly.

Eagerness pulsed in him at the idea of such a bloody demise, but for the moment he forced himself to push it back.

All in due time. As a Daedric prince, he had nothing but time, and he could wait for the outcome. No matter what, it would end, and it would end exactly how he wanted.

He saw Ebony roll her shoulders back, his mace springing into action once more, and a slow, self-satisfied smile began curling at the edges of his lips.

Ah, but she was beautiful when she fought. The mace became an extension of her body, her lithe figure twisting, turning, moving in tune to the battle.

Thoroughly enjoying himself, he leaned back and watched.

He was Molag Bal, and he would not be denied.

***

Chest heaving, sweat pouring, Ebony’s grip on her mace was growing slippery but she put every ounce of energy, of force, into her fighting.

“This is a little gift from your father,” snarled one of the vampires, a cruel smile twisting their bloodstained lips. “He wanted me to tell you—”

Before it could finish, Ebony’s mace sliced through flesh, and its head went flying, only to land several feet away, rocking back and forth, blood-red eyes staring lifelessly upwards.

“What was that?” Ebony yelled. “You didn’t finish!”

Before she could celebrate that victory, however, another was on her, its steel dagger pressed against her throat. “We have orders not to kill you,” it hissed, rancid breath hitting her full-on as she fought the urge to gag. “That doesn’t mean we can’t maim you a bit.”

Behind her, she saw Bishop’s dagger being driven straight upwards into another bloodsucker’s heart. Sweat was pouring off of him as well, but to his credit, he wasn’t giving up, wasn’t giving in. It seemed as if he had a boundless supply of energy, but she knew that wasn’t true. They kept coming, and there seemed to be no end to them.

She didn’t understand this particular punishment. She had allowed his mace to be taken from her—and she had known she would pay for that. But why this? Why punish humans who had done nothing wrong except exist?

Gorm and Benor were fighting beside her, as were several other townsfolk, but they were losing. She knew it. They knew it.

Her father knew it.

This was cruel. Even for him, a Daedric prince. Though she’d never expect anything but cruelty from Molag Bal, this felt like he was toeing a line she’d never seen him cross before. And it was her fault. Her own wickedness that had caused this, that had brought this suffering to Morthal, to people who didn’t deserve such terror. Who, no matter what they might have done, would never deserve such terror.

She was jerked out of this despair when she heard Gorm let out a roar beside her. Her eyes widened in horror as one vampire lunged forward, driving their sword directly into his chest. There was no fear in his eyes now, just an unbridled rage.

While the vampire stood there, gloating, Ebony watched in disbelief as the Jarl’s housecarl narrowed his eyes at Bal’s spawn, wrapped his hand around the blade, and quite literally yanked it out of his chest.

Bloodlust. She’d heard of it before, of great warriors who could push past the sort of pain that would easily bring lesser men to their knees, but this…this was like nothing she had ever seen.

The blood that gushed from his chest was a waterfall, no mere trickle. And why wouldn’t it be? He had been impaled, and yet there he stood, blood spurting from the wound, readjusting his grip on his greatsword as he swung, cleanly separating the vampire’s head from its shoulders.

Before she could admire further, she was forced to duck when another spawn lunged towards her, swinging his sword haphazardly. Ebony almost had to laugh.

As she raised her mace, feeling the fatigue truly beginning to settle in, something absolutely bizarre happened.

It just…collapsed. Directly in front of her. Ragdolled to the ground mid-swing, not letting out so much as a groan as it fell.

All around her, though there must have been at least twenty vampires, not including the ones she’d already killed, each and every one began to fall, none of them making a single sound as they did so. Karnwyr, mid-lunge, looked entirely confused—and disappointed, if such a thing were capable for a canine—as his teeth snapped only at air. Meanwhile, Bishop, nocking an arrow, lowered his bow in bewilderment as the vampire he’d been about to aim for collapsed.

“What in the…” trailed off Benor, as they all stared at the array of corpses now lying neatly at their feet.

Don’t say I never did anything for you, her father said into her mind.

She immediately slammed imaginary bars around her mind, forcing out his despicable presence. Especially so he couldn’t hear her think, You haven’t. You did this. This suffering is because of you. Just because you’ve stopped it now makes you no less of a monster.

But somehow, he still heard. Ah, it takes one to know one, does it not, daughter?

I might be a monster, she thought furiously, but at least I admit it.

Then came the next emotion: panic. How in Oblivion was she going to explain this?

Thankfully, it didn’t appear that anyone was looking to her for answers. Of course, it also helped that no one knew it was due to her parentage that this had happened at all. And yet, she still felt responsible. Maybe because she was responsible. She hadn’t asked for it to happen, of course, but it was her father, her wickedness that had made this happen. Were it not for that, Gorm and Benor and all the others wouldn’t be standing wide-eyed, helplessly taking in the carnage.

Because not only vampires had been slayed tonight. At least five townspeople had been killed, including—

“Joric?”

Ebony’s heart sank to the deepest pits of her stomach when she heard Jarl Idgrod’s rough voice call out from Highmoon Hall.

Joric, the Jarl’s son, lay stiff and lifeless at the base of the Hall’s stairs, eyes staring upwards, glassily empty. Dark red blood stained Joric's tunic, spreading outwards into a puddle of horrific gore.

As the Jarl’s face went through a torrent of emotions, from behind her daughter came rushing out, and if the look on the Jarl’s face was tearing Ebony apart, Idgrod the Younger’s expression was absolutely and utterly devastating.

“Jarl Idgrod, look away, you don’t need to see this—” Gorm started, apparently fully recovered from being impaled, when the Jarl turned on him, fury in her gaze. Ebony had always gotten along quite well with Morthal’s Jarl, and had never seen her angry…until now.

“He is my son,” she said furiously, and though tears had yet to fall, her voice broke on the word son. “Of course I need to see it.” Her eyes drifted reluctantly from her fallen child to her still-living daughter, who was on her knees in front of her dead brother, sobbing into her hands, uncaring of the captive audience all around her.

“How,” Jarl Idgrod demanded. “How did this happen.”

There was no question there. There would be an answer, a response, or there would be mutiny. Murder was in her gaze, and on the array of corpses littered lifelessly in front of her.

Ebony tried to drag her gaze away from Joric, poor, sweet, innocent Joric, so full of pure childhood innocence, so kind to her, now ripped away by her own father’s spawn—when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

“Ladyship,” Bishop murmured, his voice quiet and subdued. “We should…get out of here.”

“I killed him,” she choked, again unable to look away from Joric’s corpse. “He is dead…because of me.”

“Ebony—”

“Jarl Idgrod,” she started, not entirely sure what she was going to say but knowing she had to take the blame for this, one way or another, ignoring the ranger’s grip as it tightened around her wrist. “I—”

“Dragonborn,” the Jarl said, slowly shifting her now tear-streaked gaze to Ebony. But there was no blame or anger in it as she looked at her, only a lifeless sort of acceptance. And, somehow…gratitude. “Morthal thanks you for your aid. If you hadn’t shown up, the losses would have been…” she trailed off, dragging in a deep breath. “Greater,” she said finally, clearly trying to keep herself from crying even more. She took a step down the stairs, towards her. “Do you know how this happened?”

“Well, I—”

Ebony didn’t know what she was going to say, but as it turned out it didn’t matter, because the Jarl’s gaze turned once more to her son—her dead son. “I don’t need the answer,” she said finally, her words grave and her voice graver. “The damage has been done. We will need to bury our dead. Please, Dragonborn…leave us to mourn.”

Before Ebony could even open her mouth, Idgrod the Younger stood and stumbled backwards, almost drunkenly—though no alcohol had been consumed in this case. “You,” she said, tears falling more rapidly down her cheeks as she walked, almost menacingly, towards Ebony, accusation in every step. “You did this.”

“I—well. Y-yes,” Ebony said, stumbling over her words, as much as Idgrod had been stumbling over her own feet.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” she demanded, and just as Ebony could tell she was about to lunge for her, suddenly the Jarl was there and intervening.

“Daughter,” she said, her voice tired but stern. “She has done nothing to earn your ire. We need to—”

“And you, Mother! Did you ‘foresee’ this? Did you know this was going to happen? And if you did, did you just pretend it away like you do everything else, like you’re not crazy, like I’m not broken, like this town isn’t one more vampire attack away from—”

“That’s enough.”

This time, the words didn’t belong to Gorm, Idgrod the Younger or the Jarl. Instead, Aslfur stood in the doorway. “Come inside, both of you.”

Though tragedy was resplendent in every step both mother and daughter took, Ebony’s focus had returned to her father’s spawn, strewn haphazardly across the stone. So many lives taken, and for what?

A reminder, Bal said, try as she might to shut him out. We’ll be seeing each other soon, daughter.

Very, very soon.

“Come on, Gorm,” Benor said, wrapping an arm around the housecarl. “Let’s take care of Joric, then we’ll see about your wound.”

“I’m fine,” insisted Gorm, though he was becoming markedly paler. Bloodlust only lasted for so long, she supposed. “Joric is the higher priority.”

Ebony’s heart was crippled. So not only had a village been attacked, a housecarl had a sword shoved into their chest, and she was coming up on a visit with her father, but she had gotten a child murdered, and had ripped apart an entire family in the process.

She could feel her father’s sick satisfaction at this knowledge and she gave him one violent mental shove until she finally, finally felt his presence fade entirely from her mind. He would be back, of course, with a vengeance, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight.

“Ebony—” Bishop started, but the look on her face stopped him.

She felt like she was leaving far more than just Joric’s corpse behind as she turned and walked away, maybe her entire morality, but it didn’t matter. It never did.

Her choices would never matter, because at the end of the day, the only great truth in her life was that she was Molag Bal’s daughter, and with that came everything that it entailed.

When she felt Karnwyr nudge her palm with his cold, wet nose, she smiled slightly and pet him. “You did a good job,” she told him, rubbing his ears just where she’d learned he liked it. “You’re getting the good roast tonight.”

With a happy yip, Karnwyr trotted along behind them.

Ebony might not have had to explain what had happened to the Jarl, but this would come back to haunt her…as these sorts of things inevitably always did.

And too late, would she find out the cost.

Chapter Text

For the next five days, Joric’s death haunted Ebony’s every waking moment. Not to mention, uncertainty. Her father had promised to come for her, why hadn’t he? Five days may not seem like a particularly lengthy amount of time, especially considering the immortality of a Daedric prince, but for Molag Bal, who didn’t have a large reserve of patience even at the best of times, it was notably odd.

Not that she was complaining…necessarily. While she was of course relieved to be free from the burden of his presence, she understood this was a temporary reprieve, and knew that his continued silence meant something much worse would be coming for her by the time her father finally called upon her. Not very reassuring, but she’d lived her life like this, in constant fear. Why would it change now?

It wouldn’t. All she could do now was wait.

Bishop had been unnaturally solemn as she led them towards Whiterun for the past few days, only interjecting to suggest they make camp or to occasionally speak to Karnwyr since she was failing in her duty as a talkative traveling partner.

Finally, unable to take the silence, she said, “You’ve been very quiet.”

Suitably quiet in response, he said, “I thought you might want my silence. My…comments in the past have seemed to bother you.”

She stopped and spun on him. “That’s never stopped you before. Why now?”

He looked at her for a moment, a long, lengthy look she didn’t like one bit. Then: “You witnessed the brutal death of a child, Ebony. I imagine my commentary wouldn’t be particularly welcome while you come to terms with that.”

Ebony was rightfully taken aback. Thoughtfulness hadn’t exactly been the ranger’s strong suit while they’d been traveling together for the past couple of weeks, so this switch in demeanor was noticeably strange for him. He usually wielded sarcastic commentary and sexual innuendo as his weapon of choice, so she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with this serious, subdued version of him.

“I am capable of kindness…occasionally,” he said, with a fleeting grin that was there and gone too fast.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. Barely. “Well, thank you, but I’m not fragile. You don’t need to protect me. I’m not a child.”

“No.” He eyed her keenly. “You saw a child be cut down without a single thought. I’m not treating you like a child, Ebony. I’m simply giving the situation the gravity it deserves.”

“Well, stop it,” she said, before she could think better of it. “This is weird. I don’t like when you’re serious. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Carefully, Bishop said, “You seem to be taking Joric’s death…rather hard.”

Her expression hardened. “And why wouldn’t I? His death is on my shoulders and my shoulders alone. Had I been able to save him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you trying to suggest a bunch of asshole vampires assaulting Morthal is your fault?”

She went silent. Because. Well. Yes. It was her fault, very much so. But how on earth would she explain that to Bishop without giving away her every secret?

Chewing her bottom lip, she finally settled on, “I guess not,” the lie sitting like a boulder in the pit of her stomach, uncomfortable and too heavy. “I should have been better, though. Quicker. More brutal.”

Bishop stopped walking and gripped her wrists. Ebony went stock-still, not used to the ranger’s casual way of touching. It was so…human, and it spun her off-kilter. She had undergone a lifetime of cruelty, such simplistic, benign touches were beyond her. But she swallowed, forcing herself to lift her gaze to meet the utterly sympathetic one of Bishop’s.

“You did the best you could in the situation you were given, Ebony,” he said, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “No one blames you for what happened.”

Except for me, she thought darkly. Aloud, she said only, “Maybe they should.”

“Pitying yourself isn’t something you do often. And let me tell you, princess, it’s not a great look on you.”

She ripped her wrists from his grasp and stepped back, glaring. “Was this supposed to help?”

“That last part? No. But I was doing great up until then, wasn’t I?”

She really did roll her eyes then, and there was something therapeutic about the action. “Come on,” she said finally, as the sun continued to fade on the horizon. “We’re close…ish. We should make it to Whiterun within the next day.”

“Mind telling me what super-secret Dragonborn business has you dragging us to Whiterun?”

She shot him a sideways glance. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be terribly super-secret, now would it?”

“Fine. Keep your secrets. It just makes you all the more fascinating.”

As it turned out, Ebony had no desire to be fascinating, and the ranger most likely knew it, because the truth came spilling out. “We’re going to see someone.”

“Oh? Very mysterious, ladyship.”

“Delphine,” she spat, not expecting the name to mean anything to Bishop, but she was intrigued when his gaze noticeably darkened.

Jaw tightening, he said only, “I see.”

“Something I should know?” she asked, turning her head slightly to meet his increasingly angry expression. “You don’t like her,” she said slowly.

A muscle in the ranger’s jaw ticked. “Whatever gave you that idea, princess?”

“No need to be snarky. What is it about her that you hate so much?”

Bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me something, ladyship. In all your dealings with her, have you ever enjoyed her company?”

“Well, that’s a stupid question with an easy answer. No. I hate her guts. In fact, I’d like to split open her stomach and spill her guts, but unfortunately that’s not an option. Right now, anyway.”

Bishop grinned. “Bloodthirsty. I like that in a woman.”

Now it was Ebony’s turn to narrow her eyes. “You don’t even know what you like. For all you know, I could be a cleverly disguised maniac with a foot fetish. And you don’t find that attractive, do you?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Cleverly disguised? Sweetness, there’s nothing disguised about you at all. I’ve known you were a maniac from day one.”

“If you say anything about the clever part, I will off you.”

“But you’re not offended that I’ve called you a maniac?”

Ebony lifted a shoulder. “Should I be? I’ve been called worse.” As she forced herself to start walking, she could feel Bishop’s gaze boring holes into her back. “Could you kindly stop staring? I’m going to have burn marks in my flesh from how hard you’re glaring at my back.”

“I’m not glaring,” the ranger insisted.

“Uh-huh. Tell that to the sizzling noises my skin is making as we speak.”

“Forget maniac. Drama queen might be more appropriate.”

As they walked, Ebony found herself chuckling despite her own best interests. Drama queen had never been a phrase she’d attributed to herself, but the ranger might have had a point.

Maybe.

“Back there, in…Morthal,” Bishop said suddenly, drawing her attention away from her own thoughts as she turned her head to look at him, “You were going to say something to the Jarl. What was it?”

Taken aback, she said, “Why would I remember that?” even though she knew exactly what she’d been about to say. Or maybe not the exact words, but it was definitely something along the lines of, I’m so sorry, because everything this town has suffered tonight has been because of me.

Because of me…and my father.

Directing an inward glare to Bal, just in case he happened to be listening, she thought a not directed, Fucker.

Then, of course, his response: Such language, daughter. I am, quite truly, shocked. And…delighted. I see we have much to talk about.

Shut up! she mentally yelled at him, uncaring of the consequences. Just. Shut. Up! A child is dead because of you, and I carry that weight now.

Shielding her thoughts so that she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear them, she added, And I will not rest until you carry that weight, too.

Only to realize seconds later how fruitless such a vengeful thought was. When had Molag Bal ever felt remorse for any action he’d taken? It certainly wasn’t when he killed Ebony’s only friend in front of her. Or pushed her down the winding staircase to his throne room, just to see what would happen. And he certainly had never felt remorse for all the disgusting unwanted touching, stabbing, and emotional and other physical abuse he had heaped upon her for the past twenty years. Just because he’d ‘spared’ her the torture for five meant nothing.

He was certainly making up for that oversight in spades now.

You are so full of rage, he purred. Ebony fought the need to vomit. It’s…delicious. A low, darkly amused laugh. You and the mortal should rest, and soon. We have much to discuss, dear daughter.

She had nothing to say to that, so instead she welcomed his presence slithering from her mind and shut the mental door behind him, slamming it as hard as she could so he could know how absolutely unwelcome he was. And he did, if his trailing laugh of amusement was any indication.

When she broke out of the trance-like state she’d been in, she realized Bishop was staring at her oddly. “Uh…ladyship? You okay over there? I asked you a question almost three minutes ago and you’ve just been staring at me the whole time.”

Oops. “Right, sorry,” she said, rubbing her brow just as the sun truly began to sink below the horizon. The tall, brittle grasses rubbing at her calves indicated they were nearing the outskirts of Whiterun, but even if they ran the entire way to Riverwood they still wouldn’t make it before night fell completely. Not for the first time, Ebony cursed the immense amount of space in Skyrim. Coldharbour might be large, truly epically large, but at least it was familiar. Ebony had been in Skyrim for almost half her life now, and she still struggled to get from Ivarstead to High Hrothgar. And that one was particularly sad, considering its path led the way with steps.

“So…?” Bishop prodded, apparently not letting this go.

She sighed. “So, what? I’m sure I was about to say something, but if I was, I have no idea what it would have been. Why do you care, anyway? Hasn’t the time for it to be relevant already passed us by?”

“Sure, but try telling that to my curiosity.”

Ebony rolled her eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time in only the past hour. “I don’t know, okay? Probably something stupidly insensitive, like I’m sorry.”

The ranger appeared to consider this for a moment. “Why has Joric’s death hit you so hard? I mean. I know he was a child, and the loss of an innocent is always…difficult, but—”

“It hasn’t,” she said sharply, cutting him off. “I’m fine. I’m a cruel, heartless bitch who doesn’t care about anyone, not even about the ‘loss of an innocent’.”

“Well, I think we can infer from that statement how patently untrue that is,” Bishop said mildly.

“FINE!” she yelled, throwing her hands up. “I care. All right? Is that the truth your incessant prodding was trying to uncover? Because there it is, ranger. I care. I care that I caused the death of an innocent. I care that almost an entire town was decimated to pieces by a vampire horde that I could have—” she cut herself off, chest heaving. She saw Bishop’s eyes widen and she sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Bishop,” she said with an air of finality. “While I would love to change what happened, I cannot. And—neither can you. Trying to talk to me about this is useless, so let’s just stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, sounding less than appeased but also very aware how unwelcome further questioning would be.

“Thank you,” she said irritably, turning away. “Now if we could just get on with—”

Just as the sun finally disappeared and the night began to sweep in, she felt herself begin to sway. Oh, no. No. Not this shit again—

“Ebony?” she distantly heard Bishop call. “Ebony!”

But there was no saving her from this fate.

Like it or not, the time to reckon with Molag Bal had come, and it would indeed drag her to Coldharbour kicking and screaming.

Kick and scream she did, but it made no difference. It never did.

When she shut her eyes and reopened them, she knew where she was.

And all she needed to hear was Molag Bal’s harshly uttered, “Daughter” to know that the knot continuing to grow in her stomach was not unfounded.

He had brought her here.

Only time would tell what he wanted.

Chapter Text

“Bow,” he ordered, and her body complied without thought. As she lowered herself to the ground, nose nearly kissing the frozen, lifeless rock, Molag Bal’s satisfaction was palpable as he towered above her.

After keeping her in that position for at least a full minute, he finally spoke, his words dark and rumbling. “You may rise.”

Slowly, Ebony did, not daring to lift her gaze, lest she draw his full attention, and she wished to put that off for as long as she possibly could.

“Daughter,” he said, the words a terrible purr, low and satisfied. “I am overjoyed you could join me.”

I wasn’t aware I had a choice, she thought with no small amount of irritation. There also happened to be no real sense of joy or happiness anywhere on Bal’s face or in his demeanor, belying the so-called enthusiasm of his words. Of course, enthusiastic wasn’t a word many would attribute to the Lord of Domination.

Although he was definitely enthusiastic about some things…namely torturing her. She was sure that while he’d brought her here to talk initially, he had other plans, as well.

Molag Bal always did.

“Yes,” she said, attempting to hide the dryness from her tone. “I, too, am overjoyed at my presence here.”

Bal appeared to choose the route of ignoring in regards to her snarky comment. It was rare that her father ever turned down an opportunity to turn her own words against her, or to use her unthinking attitude as an excuse to hurt her. He eyed her, his dark-as-midnight eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at her with a scrutinizing expression, as if he could see right through her. She shifted positions uncomfortably, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Finally, he did. And she might have rather he’d said nothing at all. “I have a task for you, daughter.”

She couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Another?”

Bal’s eyes flashed scarlet through the permanently bruised purple pallor of his domain. Ebony, even with her resistance to cold, found herself shivering as the full weight of his attention finally fixated on her and her alone. Whereas prior he’d only been looking at her, something had shifted between those few seconds, and now his gaze on her just felt…heavy. Uncomfortably heavy, and she was starting to feel like if he stared at her any longer, her head might explode.

It was always cold in Coldharbour, no doubt a large part of how it had gotten its name, but usually that didn’t affect her. She couldn’t tell if she was shaking now because the frozen atmosphere was sinking into her bones, or if the terror of what she knew was to come was what had her stuck in place. But whatever it was, judging by the familiar smirk on her father’s face, he was enjoying her fear immensely. Just like any self-respecting Daedric prince, he fed on negative emotions: fear, anger, worry, jealousy, pain. Indeed, pain was probably his favorite emotion to feed on—but more than enjoying its sting, he delighted in inflicting it.

Typical, of course, for a Daedric prince. Though Molag Bal might believe himself all-powerful and have the biggest ego, neither of those things made him special. Having dealt with some of the other princes…Ebony could tell you straight away that they all thought they were the most important, and they were all wrong.

Brutality and cruelty didn’t equal strength. If that were the case, her father would win by miles. But who was going to tell them that?

Certainly not her.

“Yes,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. “Another.” A slight raise of an eyebrow. “Is that a problem, daughter?”

She swallowed. “No,” she said, uncertain how believable an answer it was. Not that it would matter if it were a problem. She was Molag Bal’s daughter, and she was, above all else, beholden to him…and his whims. If he were to ask her to walk off the edge of one of Coldharbour’s many cliffs, she would.

She would, because she would have no other choice.

“Good,” he said, a telltale gleam in his eyes. “Now. You have something you’d like to say to me, don’t you?”

She forced her lips shut. No way was she falling for this trap. Of course she had things she wanted to say to him. A lot of things, and none of them nice or at all flattering. But if he truly expected her to say them, out loud, here and now, he was crazy.

Crazier than she already knew he was.

“No,” she said again, this time with no tremble in her voice. “I don’t.”

“Oh, no? You’ve spent the last few days rather upset over that urchin’s death.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Urchin?” she repeated, her voice nearly a shriek. “He had family. A mother. A father. A sister. All of whom have fallen apart at his death. And now I carry that weight.” Chest heaving with emotion, she yelled, “And his name was Joric!”

Though Ebony had seen it coming, somehow when his fist sent her spiraling there was still a part of her that hadn’t expected it. But why on earth would she think she’d get any other response? She had stood up to him, yelled at him, and that was not the version of her that Bal appreciated.

His eyes were flaming discs as they regarded each other.

The force of Bal’s punch had sent her reeling and she clutched at her cheek as she picked herself up off the ground.

His voice deceptively pleasant—or as pleasant as it could possibly be—Bal said, “Now, if you’re done with your little temper tantrum, I’d like to move on to the reason I brought you here.”

She bit down on her lip so hard it began to bleed. She knew the moment Bal sensed it, because a wide smile broke out across his already terrifying features. A smile was the last thing that should ever grace the Lord of Domination’s face.

“Of course. My apologies,” she said stiffly, every word a mouthful of nails. “I remain, as always, at your bidding.”

If he could sense the sarcasm—and she was sure he could—he chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, he said, “I’ve had a change of heart, daughter. About your traveling…partner.”

“Oh?” she said, falsely nonchalant, forcing down the fear.

“Yes, oh.” There was barely a second of pause before he came right out with it, which was exceedingly strange for Bal, who enjoyed drawing everything out like it was the next big dramatic reveal. “You’re going to kill him.”

“Sure, I would—what?”

Bal’s eyes were gleaming again. “You have ears, daughter. Need I repeat myself?”

She swallowed again, but this time the lump in her throat only grew, refusing to go away. “Uh…no,” she said finally, still reeling from his newest ‘orders’. “But I admit I don’t understand. Only a few weeks ago you asked me to travel with him—and now you want me to kill him? In cold blood?”

Bal’s eyes were the darkest shade of soulless black she’d ever seen them as he said, his voice a terrifying whisper, “Is that a problem? Oh, don’t tell me you care for him.”

Ebony almost laughed. Her? Care for the ranger? Sure, maybe he wasn’t as much of an asshole as she’d originally believed, but that didn’t mean anything beyond the fact that the urge to smack him was a little easier to ignore now. But saying that wouldn’t win her any favors, so instead she said only: “No. Not a problem. I just…don’t understand the turnaround.”

“Good news, daughter: your understanding in this matter is not required.”

She ground her teeth. Typical response.

But what wasn’t typical was when a heartbeat later, he actually explained himself. Surely, the world had tilted on its axis somewhere and now they were all going to die. “Though you were the one to make it easy on the mortal, he managed to get it away from you. To hold it. To wield it.” His eyes burning again, he growled, “And that I cannot abide.”

Like you’ve ever needed an excuse to kill someone, she thought darkly.

Though the last thing she wanted at this moment was to acquiesce to anything Bal said, she was also acutely aware that to say anything in this moment other than a resounding “yes” would equal instant death. “I…understand,” she forced out, hating him, hating herself, for having to hear herself say that. She was not a part of the Dark Brotherhood, it had never been her intention to kill on orders of another. But she had no choice. This was the corner the gods had put her in.

Her only option was, and only ever had been, to agree. To do whatever was required or asked of her, or expect pain and fear otherwise. Swallowing thickly, she once again raised her gaze to meet her father’s, barely managing to hide her shudder as they locked eyes, Bal’s steady black orbs never wavering from her face.

“Do you, daughter?” he asked quietly, and the response wasn’t what she expected.

“I…do?” she said, then mentally screamed at herself. Yes, that’s convincing! Can't you do anything right? It’s not supposed to be a question! “I mean,” she forced herself to say, hoping she wasn’t digging her own grave, “I do. I do understand. He will be dead…before you know it.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Bal said, and for once she couldn’t quite untangle the mystery of his tone. He almost sounded serious, but such a statement from anyone would sound ridiculous. “You have until the twentieth of Morning Star.” His eyes narrowing, he said, voice low and deadly, “Do you understand me, daughter?”

She was too focused on the date to respond immediately. Of course that would be the day her father would choose. Barely resisting the urgent need to roll her eyes, she swallowed back an attitudinal retort and said only, “I do. It will be done as you say, father.” She lowered her gaze, feeling the too-heavy weight of Bal’s still lingering on her.

It was currently the beginning of Last Seed. Five months. Five months to find a way to kill Bishop…and live with the consequences. It wasn’t lost on her that Bal had given her an extremely long time limit.

Bal wasn’t the patient sort. He liked instant gratification, and things tended to break if he did not receive it. Such as herself. The only reason he would even consider giving her all that time was if he thought—or knew—she would fail.

So as much as her earlier breakfast wanted to climb up her throat and splatter all over the cold, dead ground, she forced it down, refusing to give Bal exactly what he wanted.

What Bal didn’t understand, had never understood, was that above all, Ebony’s sense of self-preservation ruled her and everything she did. It was for the same reason she obeyed her father’s every order that she would kill the ranger, kill Bishop.

Not because he had done anything. Not out of any sort of misplaced, cruel satisfaction. She would do it, because the only other option was death.

And as much as she despised living, there was still an unnaturally large part of her that hated the idea of dying more.

Her father must have seen the dark resolve in her face, because his earlier smirk had begun to fade. He most likely still didn’t believe she’d be able to do it—which was why she would so enjoy proving him wrong.

“I have faith in you, daughter,” Bal said, though his face betrayed the lie in the words. He thought her too weak, too mortal, to do what he had ordered to be done. And Ebony would make damn sure that was something he'd come to regret much sooner rather than later.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, through an ever-growing lump in her throat.

Bal’s answering smile was terror in its purest form. “As am I. Return to the human, daughter. And endeavor not to fail me. We all know what happens when I need to…punish you.”

She forced herself not to betray a hint of fear, though judging from her father’s cruel grin, he could sense it anyway.

“Go now, Ebony. And don’t fret…I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other very soon.”

Chapter Text

Don’t fret, Ebony repeated inwardly to herself, with sarcasm in every repetition. Don’t fret, I’ll be back for you, and when I am, the fun will just continue!

As she came back to herself, she felt someone staring at her. The ranger, obviously, who was eyeing her with a look of deep confusion.

And suspicion.

“You have a bad habit of passing out on me,” Bishop said, his confusion plain on his face. “Am I so boring that I keep putting you to sleep like this?”

“Er…” she said, staring dumbly at him, still somehow unable to process that she was back in Skyrim. Finally, she found equilibrium, and said only, “No, you’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met,” in a full-on deadpan. “I look forward to your vocal contributions every minute of the day.”

“Now, now, no need for sarcasm,” Bishop said, a slight smirk quirking at the corners of his full lips. “It’s not a good look on you.”

Ebony raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no? I think you like me when I’m sarcastic.”

Bishop’s face registered utter surprise before his expression smoothed out into benign neutrality. “You flatter yourself, ladyship.”

“I would never,” she said lightly, threading her fingers through Karnwyr’s coarse fur as he came over to her and plopped down in front of her, waiting for a scratch. “Flattery isn’t exactly my strong suit, which I think you already know.”

“Considering how often you insult me? I do indeed.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Like you don’t deserve it.”

“That is incredibly rude,” he said, with another incorrigible smirk on his lips. “Whomever did you get that mouth from, princess?”

Before she could respond, her father’s orders came slithering back into her mind and she shivered. How could she rightfully sit here and joke around with the ranger, knowing she was going to have to kill him? Knowing that if it weren’t for her, none of this would have happened?

Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, she couldn’t help but think, A lot of Skyrim’s problems would be solved if I just…died. But selfishly, despite the serious lack of anything remotely resembling happiness in her life, she desired deeply to live. Even if that were never something she would admit aloud.

“Princess?” Bishop prodded when she didn’t respond.

When she still didn’t respond, he pressed, “With a name like Ebony, your father’s got to be what, a blacksmith?”

Ebony could barely hold back maniacal laughter. Thankfully, though she was unable to hold her laughter completely at bay, it was slightly more normal sounding when she finally let it out. “Um…something like that,” she managed to get out, skin crawling when she heard a raspy chuckle in the corners of her mind.

“Something like that,” Bishop repeated, looking less than believing.

Turning away from him, she squinted out into the distance. It was fully dark now, and the moon wasn’t nearly bright enough to guide their way. Sighing, she raked a hand through her braids and said, “Come on. Time to sleep. We’ll have to get an early start tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Bishop said, but she could feel his stare on her back as she settled on the ground.

She struggled to get comfortable, the tall, weedy grasses poking and prodding at sensitive areas, thanks to her constant state of perpetual undress. She rolled over on her side, clasping her hands together and laying her head down upon them as she forced herself to calm, listening to the wolf’s quiet chuffs and the ranger’s occasional snoring, allowing them to finally lull her to sleep.

****

When Bishop awoke that morning, he took the few moments of quiet he knew were going to be sparse to study his traveling companion. She was an enigma, a puzzle of endless contradictions, and he had to figure her out.

Bishop didn’t like other people. Didn’t spend time around them that wasn’t being actively forced upon him. He had, once—and had gotten far more than he’d ever bargained for regarding that mistake. Molars grinding, he put the face that had surfaced aside. Much as he’d like to turn back time, while the ranger had many talents, bending time and space weren’t among them. With a heavy sigh, he slowly sat up, watching Ebony’s slight frame rise and fall with extremely short breaths. He’d never seen her sleep before, he realized. It was an odd sight, to be sure. She slept soundly, in the way that she didn’t move at all and was so pale she almost looked dead. But more than that, there was an expression on her sleeping face he instinctively disliked.

Maybe because it read a lot like fear.

She was terrified, he was realizing now. Of what, exactly, he didn’t know, but something haunted her. Something she remained so afraid of that she would never give voice to it. And damn him, he knew his curiosity would be his downfall, but he had to know. Had to understand her. Had to know why she was so scared, all the time.

Bishop’s curiosity in this matter wasn’t his only crime.

Her. Vinea. The only light he’d ever known, a light he had single-handedly managed to snuff out. Bishop didn’t have very many regrets in his life, but she…she was most definitely one of them. She alone remained the reason Bishop stayed far, far away from other people, for unsaid fear that he might get them killed the same way he’d managed to with her.

If he were completely honest with himself, he wasn’t the true villain in her tale. He was also not the one to kill her.

But if he’d had the courage, the morality he knew he lacked, he might have gotten there in time. Might have prevented her murder. Might have killed the one who had done this to her…to Vinea, and to so many, many others.

She had died ten years ago, and yet every day Bishop could recall holding her lifeless body. Her cold, dying flesh against his own retreating warmth. Even now, he could remember thinking, I’ll never be warm again.

And yet…

His eyes shifted to her. Ebony wasn’t a replacement. She wasn’t meant to be. At the moment, she was no more than an enigma Bishop had vowed to figure out. But if that was the case, if that was truly all she was, then why did the coldness that had followed Vinea’s death retreat at the very sight of her?

She was beautiful, but it was an unconventional beauty. It was a beauty with sharpened knives and otherwise jagged edges, the kind of beauty that could and would cut you if you got too close. Those brown eyes threaded with gold, eyes that saw too much and yet never enough at the same time. Her lithe, toned body that enabled her to fight in a way that was almost inhuman. That long, braided, midnight-shaded hair that somehow remained glossy and perfect with no upkeep—and then, the juxtaposition to it all, the line of markings across her belly and the three angry, jagged lines marring her left eye. They were the most obvious type of scar, and they were there, plain for all to see, but Bishop wasn’t so superficial that he couldn’t tell the real scars, the ones that hurt her the most, ran far deeper.

Something flickered as he continued to watch her take quick, short breaths, her body rising and falling with the motion. What are you doing? he demanded of himself. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. No, he couldn’t take this any further. Ebony was confusing, a bundle of contradictions, but that was all she was. All she could be. Maybe, if she ever allowed him past her clear-cut boundaries, he might lay with her, get her out of his system. But no. This was ridiculous. Bishop had promised himself he would never get involved again, not least with a woman—

Ebony shifted and rolled back over, one slitty eye slowly opening, then the other. “Bishop?” she said, her voice muffled with the last vestiges of sleepiness.

“Yup. Still here, princess,” he said, tossing a leftover piece of venison to Karnwyr, who caught it and quickly gobbled it down. “Disappointed?”

She slowly rose up on her elbows and rubbed at her eyes. “Are you hoping for an honest answer to that question?” she asked, and there was a slight spark of amusement in her expression. Slight. So slight, in fact, he might almost have missed it if he weren’t actively looking for it.

“No,” he said decisively. “I think not.”

“Wise choice,” she returned, standing on shaky legs as she began to pack up her meager belongings. After a moment, when she must have sensed him staring at her, she sighed and turned to him. “Are you ready to go? We still have a bit of a hike to Riverwood if we want to be there by late morning.”

“Am I ready to go? Sure. Just as long as I don’t have to visit Delphine with you.”

Ebony pinned him with the look he had come to know so well. “What is your problem with her, anyways? I mean, yes, she is a bitch through and through, but what has she done to you personally to make you hate her so much?”

“She exists,” Bishop said shortly.

And that was that. Though her curiosity lingered, she didn’t dare push him. Not right now, anyway. He was clearly telling her to drop it. So as much as she enjoyed not following directions, she decided to follow his cue and gave Karnwyr a distracted pat as he rubbed up against her leg.

“Well, then,” she sighed. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

****

Bishop was unnaturally pensive as they followed the winding road to Riverwood. Probably something to do with his clear hatred of Delphine, but surprisingly, Ebony found she had no desire, or maybe no energy, to keep pushing him for answers.

As the simple stone bridge leading into the village came into view, Ebony took a deep, shuttering breath. She hated the Blade. Loathed her, in every sense of the word, with every fiber of her being. But unfortunately, she needed Delphine’s help to defeat Alduin.

Well. For now. While Ebony would like to kill her, she wasn’t actually planning on it. What she was planning on, however, was abandoning the Blade’s sinking ship as soon as she lost her usefulness. Just because she needed her now didn’t mean she’d need her forever. Ebony longed for the day that Delphine no longer had anything to offer her, and she could save the entire damn world on her own.

“You can stay here,” she told the ranger as they approached the Sleeping Giant.

Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Already planning on it, princess.”

Huffing, she elbowed past him and headed inside. As it was very early morning, the only people left were either Orgnar and Delphine not doing any innkeeping work or patrons working off the ale they’d consumed the night before. Embry was snoring so loudly it was a wonder it didn’t wake up Jarl Balgruuf all the way in Whiterun. Smiling slightly, oddly happy to see that some things never changed, she headed straight for Delphine’s anything-but-secret door in the wardrobe, leading to her also not secret basement room.

Orgnar cocked a brow in her general direction as she marched right past him, but otherwise said nothing. He was probably used to the Blade’s bizarre comings and goings enough that her walking into a room she hadn’t rented like she owned it was nothing to write home about. As Orgnar continued to clean the same mug with the same dirty rag for the last five minutes, she slowly cracked open the wardrobe door and descended the stairs.

As usual, Delphine greeted her with: “Dragonborn.”

Ebony inwardly rolled her eyes. Attempting politeness, she said only, “Delphine.”

“Good. You're here. We have things to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“Shut the door,” the Blade ordered, though Ebony was pretty sure Orgnar already knew about her ‘secret room’—he had to have seen her disappear into that room of beds, and it wasn’t like she was in there sweeping for four hours. But she did as she was told, swinging the door until it clicked shut. Something akin to relief was on Delphine’s face, which felt odd to her, but she also didn’t care enough to ask if she was okay.

The sooner they both got out of this, the better.

“You need to figure out who’s waking up the dragons. I need to get the Thalmor off my back.” At the word Thalmor Delphine’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Fortunately, I have come to the conclusion that they are the same problem.”

“Oh?” Ebony said, feigning interest.

Apparently she wasn’t a very good actor, because the Blade grumbled something particularly unflattering about her that she chose to ignore. Rise above, she told herself.

And her inner response: if only it were that easy.

“Look,” Ebony said on a sigh, “I don’t want to be here, and let’s be honest, you don’t want me here, either. Why don’t you just tell me what you want from me so I can leave?”

Glaring, Delphine said, “That’s rather forward of you, Dragonborn. Your attitude needs adjustment.”

“Yeah? Well, you can get in line behind everyone else telling me that.”

The Blade took a visible deep breath, like she was fighting the urge to strangle her. Finally, after a few moments, she said, “We—or, rather, you—are going to hit them where it hurts.”

“Are you going to elaborate, or am I going to be forced to guess?” Ebony had started off with trying to be polite, to be respectful to her elders. And all she ever got for it was being bossed around and told she wasn’t enough. Well, if that was how Delphine wanted things to be, then that was honestly fine by her—so long as she didn’t expect continued politeness. She’d spent the majority of her life sucking up to everyone around her, trying to make nice in a world that loathed her.

She’d be damned if she was going to do that here any longer.

The way Delphine was grinding her teeth was almost hilarious. It was a comfort to Ebony to know that her ability to piss people off was unmatched.

“Very well,” Delphine said, her tone clipped. “There is a party coming up at the Thalmor Embassy in a few days. You are going to go to that party and find out what they know.”

“Find out what they know,” Ebony repeated flatly. “You think me of all people will be able to sneak in undetected?”

Delphine’s smile flashed like the edge of a knife. “Of course not. Looking as you do?”

Ebony fought the urge to flinch. But she would hardly give the Blade the satisfaction.

“It would be a disaster,” she continued. “No. I’m aware we cannot get you in as a guest. Which is why you’re going through the secret passageway to sneak into their headquarters.”

“Secret passageway?”

“Yes. The basement of the Embassy leads into an ice cave. It’s where they deposit dead bodies.”

She said it with such blasé delivery that Ebony wanted to leap forward and strangle her. How could she be so casual about Thalmor brutality? And furthermore, how did she even know about this mysterious ice cave? She had always gone on about how she stayed far, far away from anything Thalmor, including their headquarters (presumably). Why would Delphine risk her freedom and life to get that close?

“You think me cruel,” the Blade said, studying Ebony closely.

“Your self-awareness does you credit,” Ebony replied dryly. “But yes. I do. How do you even know about this secret entrance, anyway?”

“I am not cruel,” Delphine said, tossing that supposed self-awareness out the window. “I am merely practical. What good is it to dwell on previous Thalmor victims? I cannot do anything for them.”

“That could be you,” Ebony said, eyes narrowing. “And you wouldn’t be okay with your own death, would you?”

“I don’t see how it would matter,” the Blade responded. “As I would no longer have the ability to care.”

Enough of this. “The secret entrance. Where is it?”

Delphine paused, as if she didn’t want to abandon this line of conversation. Finally she settled for actually answering for once. “The outskirts of Solitude. I will mark it for you on your map. It’s hidden by a large bush, but once you see it it’s hard to miss.”

“What exactly am I doing once I get inside?”

The Blade fixed her with an annoyed look. “Searching for any evidence that damns them. We need to know who’s bringing the dragons back. They may not be behind it, but no doubt they know who is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Delphine said sharply, tone broking no argument. “I cannot do this. Only you can. I suppose the question now is…how badly do you want to save this world?”

Not bad enough to work with you, Ebony thought spitefully. But unfortunately, that was untrue. If this was the only way, then so be it. Ebony would get in and get out.

And the sooner the better. The sooner she got the needed information, the sooner she could hopefully stop being another servant for the Blade.

She was already one for her father. She might bend for Delphine, but break?

Never.

“I’ll do it,” she said after a beat. The words rang with finality, but Delphine didn’t seem to notice.

“Excellent,” she said, her smile all teeth. “I will see you when it is done.”

Yes. I suppose you will.

***

Bishop was leaning against the Sleeping Giant sign when Ebony left the inn. “You okay, ladyship?” he asked, eyeing her warily, like she might snap and yell at him. But she didn’t have the energy. “You were in there for a long time.”

“Yes, well, it’s Delphine. She does like her speeches.”

“Ah, waxing poetic about how she is the true savior of Skyrim again, is she?”

“Something like that,” Ebony said flatly. She told him the plan and Bishop’s eyebrows raised.

“That…seems like a really stupid idea,” he said finally. “She is aware what the Thalmor do to those who trespass, yeah?”

“She knows,” Ebony said, “but I highly doubt she cares. After all, it’s not her life on the line.”

She knew the Thalmor wouldn’t kill her if they caught her. Not immediately, anyway. No, they’d rather torture her for days first.

But she wasn’t about to let that happen.

What Ebony lacked in subtlety she made up for in stubbornness. She wasn’t going to give them any opportunity to take her unawares. She wanted to live, and she was going to, even if she had to kill everyone at the Thalmor Embassy to achieve it.

Bishop must have read the determination on her face, because he chuckled and said, “You’re actually going to do it, aren’t you?”

Grumbling, Ebony said, “I don’t really have another choice, do I? If I want to figure out what’s happening and get Delphine’s help, I have to do this…even if it’s the absolute last thing I want to do.”

“Well…” Bishop said, blowing out a breath. “Do you want me to come?”

Ebony’s head jerked up at this. “No. Why would I want that? I might be able to get in undetected, but you? And Karnwyr? The bigger the party the more noise we’re going to make. And besides, if I get caught, I don’t want you there to witness it.” Or to be tortured alongside me, she silently added.

She watched in horror as a slow smile spread across the ranger’s face. “Oh my,” he said, with a smirk. “You like me. You want to protect me.”

“What? No!” she said vehemently, positive she was turning about a hundred shades of red.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Bishop informed her, his eyes still dancing with laughter. “But that’s fine. Lie to yourself. I know the truth.”

“I do not like you,” she said fiercely.

“Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yup. And proud of that fact.”

Huffing in exasperation, she turned on her heel and started down the road leading out of Riverwood. They’d have a long trek ahead of them to get to the Thalmor Embassy by the time of the party, but fortunately Ebony knew her way to Solitude from Riverwood fairly well.

Karnwyr trotted along happily beside her, and she inwardly smiled. When…well, when she did what she had been ordered to do, she would miss the wolf most of all.

If Karnwyr didn’t rip out her throat for killing his master first.

Her smile, inward or not, automatically fell and she tried to hide her shudder. She had been forged to be a weapon, but her father wanted her to be more than that—he wanted her to be a monster. And worse, she was afraid she already was.

After all, she had acquiesced to his demand, had she not? Maybe she had felt like she had no choice, but was that really true? What was worse, to kill someone innocent under orders of a Daedric prince, or to say no and be killed for defiance?

Her father was many things. Cruel, implacable, obsessive—but what he was not was patient. He had zero tolerance for defiance, even from her, and while he might say that he enjoyed her impertinence, Ebony knew that when push came to shove, it would ultimately be the thing that would get her killed.

She just wished she’d had the courage to say no. One little word. No. How hard could it truly be?

What was even keeping her here, anyway? Her duty to save the world? That was laughable. No one in Skyrim wanted her to save them, even as they all knew they had no other choice. She might not have done anything to them specifically, but everyone knew there was something not quite right about her.

She had a feeling that even Bishop knew it. But for whatever reason, he had decided that the benefits (hilarious) of going along with her far outstripped the detriments. Why, she had no idea—what had she done to instill confidence in him?

Or, maybe he was just as crazy as she was. It was a possibility for certain. Too bad she might never know the answer.

“Uh, ladyship?” she distantly heard him say.

She whipped her head around to look at him, having been violently pushed out of her own head by his—quite frankly, welcome—interruption. “What? Sorry, were you saying something?”

The ranger cocked his head in her direction. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did Delphine say something…worse to you?”

“Pfft, no,” Ebony laughed. “I have pretty thick skin. Nothing she could say could hurt me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Bishop was persistent, dogged in his pursuit of what he perceived as her truth. “You look…haunted.”

“Haunted? No. Irritated, maybe. She is irritating. But nothing worse than that.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” she insisted—perhaps a bit too much. Shaking her head, she jerked it in the direction out of Riverwood. “Up for a walk?”

“With you, princess? Always.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Just a few more. Surely I’ll stop calling you that if you remind me ten more times.”

She rolled her eyes. “Or maybe I’ll just smack you upside the skull. That would help.”

“You’re so violent,” Bishop said, but the sparkle in his eyes told her he liked when she threatened him. Weirdo. “Anyways. Shall we?”

As she led the way out of Riverwood, she felt her stomach tumble over itself. She had a feeling that whatever would happen in the next few days would be nothing good. She’d had enough experience over the years with her father to always expect the worst.

Expect the worst, and rarely will you ever be disappointed.

Sighing, she raked a hand through her hair, trying to push back the fear. She didn’t think it was working, but maybe if she knocked herself over the head, she’d be fine.

Subtly, when she was sure the ranger wasn’t looking, she slapped herself on the side of the face, as if to wake herself from a dream. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, but her cheek stung from the blow. Gritting her teeth, she reached out to her father. What do you have planned?

There was an unexpectedly long pause before he answered. Nothing I would inform you about, dearest daughter.

You’re despicable, she seethed, and Bal’s only response was dark laughter. As he faded from her mind, her shoulders slumped but she forced herself to keep walking.

It was all she could do.

For now.

Chapter Text

To Bishop, Ebony’s motivations were a mystery. She was the supposed savior of Tamriel, but…there was something off about it. Not that he believed she wouldn’t wholeheartedly ‘save the world’, but the recalcitrance of her actions and how blasé she appeared to be about the whole thing unsettled him. How was there anything the least bit casual about the weight of the world she was carrying on her shoulders? And had she carried it alone all this time?

Bishop couldn’t imagine the pain she must be carrying. To falter under that pressure day in and day out…the fact it hadn’t destroyed her spoke volumes—of her character, of her stubbornness, of her unwillingness to bend.

Bishop might not care about much outside himself and his wolf, but there was just something about her, something deeply intriguing, he had to discover more about.

Even if that was the worst possible idea.

Sighing, he watched as Karnwyr rubbed up against Ebony’s bare leg and inwardly smiled. The wolf didn’t take kindly to just anyone, and his trust and desire for affection from her spoke volumes as well.

“I can feel you staring at me, Bishop,” she said from ahead of him.

Bishop’s head jerked up. He hadn’t realized he’d been boring holes into her back from getting lost in his thoughts, but yep, that was exactly what he’d been doing.

“Do you not have anything better to do besides burn your eyeballs into my back?”

Recovering, he said lightly, “I can think of a few other places my eyes could linger. If you were so inclined.”

He saw her shoulders lock up. “No, thank you,” she said flatly, still not turned in his direction. “I’d rather you keep your eyes to yourself.”

Too late for that, he thought with amusement. Ebony carried herself with the countenance of someone who thought they were heinously ugly. Which was almost hilarious to Bishop, because beyond her scars, she was beautiful. And as someone who had plenty of his own…to him, they only added to her allure.

He shook his head violently. No. Never get involved, that was rule number one. Here he was, involved, but to get romantically involved? No. He couldn’t afford that. Not to mention Ebony was about as accessible as the Divines when it came to anything vaguely amorous.

This was ridiculous. No, no, no. They’d only been traveling together for about three weeks, that couldn’t possibly be long enough to form a romantic attachment.

Then she said, “If you keep thinking that hard, your brain is going to start to malfunction.”

“It already has,” Bishop responded. “A long time ago.”

He heard her chuckle but keep walking. It occurred to him then that the tall, swampy grasses and muck coating his boots indicated they’d finally made it back to Morthal. The marshes of Hjaalmarch was one of his favorite places in Skyrim. They weren’t particularly nice to walk through, but what they were? Honest. Unashamed of their terror and ugliness.

And in a way, Bishop felt that Hjaalmarch had its own kind of eerie beauty. With the tall grasses and murky water and twisting, bending trees—while none of that might sound lovely, it was truthful in a way that much of Skyrim was not.

“It’s getting late,” Ebony commented, flicking a torchbug away from her face. “We should rest before it gets too dark.”

“And where, exactly, do you suggest we camp, princess?” Bishop asked her, cocking a questioning eyebrow. “There aren’t exactly many camp-friendly places in the swamp.”

“I promise to protect you from the big, bad frostbite spiders,” Ebony said dryly. “Just drop your bedroll and get some sleep.”

“I have to ask, ladyship—before we met, before we traveled together, when I first saw you…you weren’t carrying anything. Is comfort a foreign concept to you?”

“Yes,” she said shortly, cutting off further discussion. “Go to bed, Bishop. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

Bishop didn’t bother replying, instead attempting to clear a space free of marsh grass before dumping his bedroll down on the ground. “Sleep tight, princess,” he mumbled, turning on his side. “Don’t let the torchbugs bite.”

If Ebony responded, he didn’t hear her. Sleep quickly swept in, whisking him away to dreamland.

Sleeping so deeply, he never heard her scream.

***

Blood. Blood everywhere, staining the marble floor. So much blood that as it grew in size, drops began to trickle over the edge, disappearing into bleak nothingness.

“It had to happen,” her father said, and Ebony could have sworn there was some semblance of attempted reassurance in those words.

She was so filled with fury she spat at his feet. “When does murder ever have to happen?” she demanded, wiping away her tears that were still freefalling with abandon. “This…was senseless!”

“Murder is such a dirty word to mortals,” Bal rumbled, toeing the motionless body in front of him with absolute emptiness. “And yet, you murder mortals in cold blood every day. Tell me, dear daughter, how is that any different?”

“Usually they try to kill me first,” she said dryly, the tears now drying in accusatory streaks. “Tell me, father, what did she ever do to you?”

“She tried to take you away from me. Is that not a punishable crime?”

Shutting her eyes, Ebony’s hands fisted in the ground. So it came back to this. To her. It was always, always her fault. She had gotten her killed. She had brought misfortune to everyone. She was the problem.

And it was about damn time she stop denying it.

“Ahhh, there we go,” Bal said with dark satisfaction. “Finally, you come to realize it. Took you long enough. You see now, don’t you? You see what you’ve done? She is dead because of you.”

Ebony jerked awake, biting down on her lip to stop the scream she knew was coming, but it was useless. Her hands fisted as she grabbed onto the fur of the bedroll for stabilization, hoping to anchor herself to the here, the now.

Across from her the ranger’s chest rose and fell in silent slumber, and she took an unsteady breath. Fine. She was fine.

I am not fine.

Fine—what did that even mean? At least in her own context? When could she ever say with actual honesty that she was fine? She hadn’t been okay for a very long time, and she knew it. If she had ever been fine, she certainly didn’t remember it.

The moon was still in the sky as she flopped over on her back, forcing her breathing to slow. A dream. Or, well, a memory. Either way, it was in the past. It wasn’t real.

It was too real.

Ebony could still remember the feeling of her blood-soaked hands. The bright red staining them permanently with all the sins she would never serve penance for.

Her lifeless eyes, staring up at a dead, starless sky. Her cold, dying flesh, so utterly frozen against Ebony’s own, such a stark reminder that she did not deserve to live.

Not even a little.

Sighing, Ebony rubbed a hand over her face, a dead girl’s eyes flashing before her own.

As much as that memory would haunt her for however many days she had left, she couldn’t afford to linger there. Not only because she had a job to do—save the world—but also because she did not want to give her father the satisfaction of her fear, anger, grief.

He didn’t deserve any of it.

She tossed and turned the remainder of the night, hoping and praying sleep would take her away, to a dreamless slumber, but there was no respite to be found. Instead, she peeled herself off her bedroll and stood, taking care to be as quiet as possible.

Almost against her will, her eyes drifted to Bishop’s still, sleeping form and she grit her teeth. How easy it would be to slide a dagger through his ribcage, end this all, earn her father’s favor and not his ire.

But Ebony had never desired her father’s approval, and instead raised her chin, making sure her mace was secure at her side. Did she have a choice in acquiescing? Not particularly. But she would make damn sure that no matter what happened, she would feel nothing beyond cold detachment.

She almost laughed. Cold detachment? How had that been going for her so far?

Across the crackling fire she had started after Bishop had fallen asleep, she watched Karnwyr crack a single, watchful eye open. She gave him a reassuring smile, though to be honest, there was nothing the least bit reassuring about this entire situation.

“It’s okay, buddy,” she whispered, walking over and leaning down to run a hand through his coarse fur. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Just your master, she thought derisively. Bishop. Kill Bishop. For fuck’s sake, why am I hesitating? I barely know him and already I’m balking at the idea.

Jaw grinding, she ordered herself to get it together. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night, but it would have to be soon. The longer this went on, the greater the chance she’d never be able to do it.

And that…that, she simply couldn’t abide. She couldn’t let Bal win.

Not again.

In the tally of her wins and losses, it rested somewhere at zero versus a thousand. Her father always had the upper hand. For that single reason alone she needed to do this.

Even if it would destroy her remaining morals in the process.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, discovering its many knots. She rolled her eyes and sat back down on her bedroll, deciding that unknotting her unkempt hair would keep the thoughts at bay for a few minutes, if nothing else. Blowing out an annoyed breath, she let her fingers drift through her tresses, feeling, for the moment, almost at…peace? That couldn’t be right. But something about the simple motion was soothing, and by the time she was done her eyes refused to stay open.

She lay down on her side and let her eyes drift close, hoping and praying that dreamland this time would be blessedly, wholly silent.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned hazy and humid. As Ebony shifted on her bedroll, she opened her eyes slowly, hoping against hope the ranger might have magically gotten up and left during the night. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Instead, Bishop was sitting on a stump tending the night’s now dwindling fire, with Karnwyr lying at his feet, gnawing on some sort of animal bone. With a groan she felt all the way down to her bones, she raised herself up on her elbows and took a slow, deep breath.

“Good morning, ladyship,” the ranger said, his tone and expression inscrutable.

“Ergh,” she responded eloquently, now sitting upright completely. Gathering her bearings from the horrific nightmares she’d only just woken from, she yawned and stretched, then got to her feet, though she wavered a little, unsteady on her feet—a fact which did not go unnoticed by the ranger.

“Are you doing okay?”

“What?” she said, still attempting to shake off the veil of darkness she was continuing to suffocate under. “I mean. Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.”

Bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Could have fooled me.”

Ebony’s entire body felt like it tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re a terrible liar,” he said darkly. “I woke up early because you were screaming, Ebony. Are you going to go ahead and tell me that’s normal?”

“I had a bad dream,” she snapped, standing and folding her bedroll. “And I am deeply sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep, ranger.”

For the first time since she’d awoken, the slightest of smiles crept upon the corners of his lips, but then it disappeared just as quickly, there and gone in a flash. If she’d amused him, he didn’t want her to know it.

“Well, for starters, I know you’re not,” he said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “But that’s beyond the point. I don’t care about myself; I can track for days on three hours of sleep, I got at least five last night so I’m fine. I’m worried about you, princess.”

“Don’t be,” she said sharply, turning away so he couldn’t see the muscle in her jaw tick in frustration. “I’m absolutely fine.”

“Oh, you are, are you? Then tell me: who is Aranea?”

Ebony’s entire body tensed. “No one,” she said after a long, torturous moment. “She is no one.”

Bishop opened his mouth but her eyes flashed, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say—or ask. “Stop pushing the issue, Bishop,” she ordered. “I don’t care what you want to know or how you want to ask it, I’m not going to tell you so you might as well give up now.”

Now the ranger was standing, and there was no longer any amusement anywhere on his face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to give up?”

She threw her hands up, exasperated. “Yes! Finally! Yes, that is exactly what I want you to do!”

She could see, or rather sense, Bishop’s jaw grinding. “Answer me just one question, then, Ebony: why are you so damn determined to do everything alone?”

The answer she gave him hadn’t been the one she’d been meaning to, but it slipped out nonetheless. “Because I am alone,” she said, the words almost a whisper.

Bishop’s expression softened and she turned away, jaw clenching. That was exactly the kind of look she did not want to see on his face, now or ever. Disgust or loathing or…well, anything else but acceptance and sympathy would be great. Because that? No. Just no. She had to put a stop to this, right now.

“Ladyship,” he began, and she hardened her own expression into one of unyielding dislike and uncaring.

“Don’t look at me like you want to help me, ranger,” she said after a long, drawn-out silence. “I know your type. I’ve dealt with it before. Your version of help will only make things worse, and trust me when I say you are not in the least equipped to handle my issues.”

Apparently Bishop didn’t like that challenge, because he came closer to her, getting right into her personal bubble, and stared down at her. Ebony glared back up at him, not for the first time cursing her small stature. “You want to bet?”

“Sure,” she said, forcing boredom into her tone. “I guarantee you would run away screaming if you knew what you were actually dealing with.”

The ranger let out a low growl of frustration. “Then for fuck’s sake, tell me what I’m dealing with!”

She laughed, but the sound lacked any amusement. “I can’t,” she said, finally. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. You don’t deserve to know. You never have and you never will.”

Harsh, she felt Bal whisper inside her head. But fair. Does this mean I can trust you to kill him sooner rather than later?

Her spine crawling, she attempted to force him out of her mind, but not before saying, Yes. Now. Get out.

Oddly enough, Bal left of his own accord, but not before scraping his claws down the insides of her mind like a demented caress. See that you do, daughter. I’ll be watching.

Ebony watched as Bishop’s expression shuttered. When his eyes reopened, his normally golden wolf’s eyes were the darkest shade of amber, and there was no warmth in them. “You know what, Ebony?” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t deserve to know. So have no fear, I’ll drop it.” Eyes flinty, he added, “Just try to scream a little quieter in your sleep next time, okay? So that you don’t interrupt my beauty sleep.”

Teeth grinding, Ebony packed up her bedroll and slung it over her shoulders. Her plan had clearly worked. The ranger would never admit it, but she’d hit a sweet spot—for her, at least, it was obviously a painful one for him.

Killing him would be easy. She just had to find the right time to do it.

No time like the present, right, daughter? Bal taunted in her mind.

Rage flashed inside her and she mentally shoved him out, cursing when he only laughed. You gave me this task, she said, infuriated. I will do it when I am ready.

As you say, her father said before disappearing.

But Ebony couldn’t help noting the underlying tone of victory in Bal’s voice as he exited her head.

He thought he had already won.

She looked forward to showing him just how wrong he was.

***

The walk from Morthal’s swamps to the secret cave Delphine had marked on Ebony’s map already would have been painful, but it was a million times more so as it was a journey taken in absolute silence.

Only their footsteps and Karnwyr’s occasional whine broke the miserable quiet between them. Neither of them had anything to say to the other—or, alternatively, too much—and neither was willing to break first.

Although Ebony regretted her words, she knew, deep down, that they were necessary. She and the ranger couldn’t go on as they had, with understanding, and, dare she even say it aloud, kindness between them. Ebony had never known kindness before, but somehow she was able to recognize it for what it was.

Or rather, for what it had been.

Of course, she knew Bishop’s kindness and understanding were conditional. He clearly wanted something from her, even if she didn’t exactly know what it was, but what she’d said had to be said. Any softness he might have had towards her had to be destroyed.

She was evil. Monstrous. A bloody blade that killed without mercy. Perhaps she was only that at her father’s behest, that he had created her to be that way, but in the end the result was the same.

Corruption was in her veins, and it would never go away. She had been born of rage and fire and blood, and that was a legacy she knew she’d never be able to walk away from.

No. Maybe it was time to embrace it, instead of pretend it didn’t exist. Or, worse yet, run from it.

Finally, Bishop’s voice broke the silence, piercing her wicked inner debate. “Isn’t this the cave Delphine marked on your map, Ebony?”

Ebony. Not surprisingly, ever since she’d said what she’d said, the ranger had dropped all pet names. And while a large part of her was happy about that—there was only so much princess and ladyship a girl could take—because of it, she also knew how deeply she had hurt him.

Opening her eyes, she glanced up. “Oh. Yes. That’s it.” Taking a deep breath, inhaling the clean Skyrim air one last time—or at least for a couple of hours—she rolled her shoulders back and put a hand on the hilt of her mace for comfort, just to reassure herself it was still there. “Well…” she blew out a breath. “Goodbye.”

There were so many things she wanted to say to him, sorry ranking among the top, but she forced the words back. She had successfully hurt him, she didn’t want to undo it just to have to go through it all again.

Bishop’s expression gave nothing away. “Goodbye,” he echoed, looking at her but not really seeing her.

With nothing else to say between them, Ebony nodded, heart sinking even lower in her chest, and crawled through the bushes, entering the darkness of the cave.

As she left the entrance tunnel she’d been forced to crawl through on her knees and entered the actual cavern, a thunderous roar shook the walls of the cave, and a stalagmite dislodged from the ceiling above her and fell in front of her, nearly impaling her foot.

Grimacing, she reached for her mace as she crept forward, keeping a close eye on the very large frost troll Delphine had conveniently forgotten to mention had taken residence in the cave.

Another enraged roar and Ebony felt the walls actually shake, causing her to gasp—only to draw the attention, and ire, of the frost troll. All of its eyes were now focused solely on her and she swallowed. She stood, now that she’d been spotted, and adjusted her grip on her mace.

The frost troll growled and beat its chest with its fists, before starting towards her. Well, while trolls had never been on her list of favorite creatures, at least they were fairly predictable in their combat skills. Swing and pummel. They were large and strong but clumsy and slow.

Fortunately for her, she might lack strength, but she was small…and fast.

She stood her ground for a few moments, waiting for the frost troll to grow nearer, and just as it was feet away, it started to charge for her. She darted out of the way just in time, rolling to the side, watching as the creature growled again in frustration.

Ebony jumped to her feet and now it was her chance to charge at it. So she did, and as she neared, she took a chance and threw her mace at it. The mace had lodged itself in the creature’s throat—not exactly where she’d been aiming, but at least not it couldn’t growl at her anymore.

The frost troll was enraged and beat its chest again, then shook its body side to side until the mace came loose and went flying across the cavern. Ebony went to go after it but the frost troll was, for the first time, faster. As she ran past it, it swung one of its enormous arms at her and she was tossed across the cave, landing with a bone-breaking thud against the back wall. She had definitely just broken a few ribs, but now was not the time to be focusing on that.

Luckily for her, where she’d ended up was only about three feet away from her mace, and she quickly crawled over to it, gripping it and forcing herself to stand. She was in immense pain, far more than the frost troll was, but now she, too, was enraged. Red blurred her vision and she waited for the creature to once more come to her. As it did, she swung the mace and swiped it directly across the frost troll’s abdomen. Blood spurted and the creature roared once more, this time probably from pain more than anything else.

Ebony quickly realized that the only entrance into Thalmor headquarters was up above…and there was no convenient ladder to take her there. Eyes shifting once more to the injured frost troll, she gritted her teeth, took a running leap, and launched herself onto its shoulders. Helpfully, in its haze of pain it had stumbled close under the ledge, and if Ebony was careful, she could get up there in one go.

The creature was now swiping its arms out in random directions, trying to buck her off its back, but she was able to ignore its attempts and shakily stood, then once more launched herself off the frost troll’s back and right on the ledge’s edge.

Breathing hard, she rolled a little to the right, just enough to get away from the edge so she wouldn’t fall back down, then lay there on her back for a few moments, gathering her wits.

Well, she thought, annoyed. That was fun.

Finally, now able to work past the pain, she stumbled to her feet, relieved when she felt the familiar weight of the mace back at her side. Raising her chin (and more than a little proud of what she’d already accomplished), she headed down the darkened tunnel, unsure what awaited her, but knowing she had no choice but to get it over with.

When she finally reached the trap door, she hesitated. She could not kick the gut feeling that something was wrong. What exactly was wrong, she couldn’t say, but nothing about this felt right. Maybe because Delphine had all but ordered her to do it, but it felt…deeper than that. Swallowing hard, she fisted her hands and hoisted herself upwards.

Here goes nothing.