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Chapter Text

@@@ of Sun's Dawn, 4E 202

Fralia Gray-Mane was @@@@@ so unhappy, I promised her I would find out what happened to her son Thorald. And now I have found out--the Thalmor have him. Just knowing that had me wondering what to do at first, but at the same time I knew I couldn't simply leave him there to rot. I couldn't let my foolish need to avoid conflict @@ get in the way.

I told her other son Avulstein I would...@@@ do it on my own. No need to risk both he and his brother, when I've put myself against worst odds and still made it out in one piece. I'll save him. I promised them I would.

I was trying to avoid being pulled into the war. May Nocturnal hide me, because once I do this, there's no going back.

Why did I ever think I would be able to avoid it? Did I really believe I could just sit in the mountains with the Greybeards and Paarthurnax?

@@@@@By the Divines, mind, please be still. Just once, be still. They call me a hero...if they knew how inept I truly was, they would never look at me the same way again. Akatosh, you should have chosen someone else, someone less fearful, someone stronger, and braver, someone who doesn't have to swallow skooma on the regular. With all respect, what were you thinking?

"But why would you do this to help a stranger?" Thorald, still shivering even in the fur armor Sadrith had given him, looked entirely confused.

Deep breath, Sadrith. He's looking for you to say something reassuring. Just give it to him. This isn't hard.

Sadrith took a moment to think. Your mother, your brother, a mix of the two, the thoughts tumbled together and nearly left her mute. But somehow she managed to force out, "Your mother, I happened to meet her in Whiterun. She was--she knew you were alive. I couldn't say no to a mother so worried. Your brother wanted to come after you, but I didn't think she ought to lose both of her sons."

"You thought me dead?"

"Well you can't simply go back home, you're in the records," Sadrith replied quickly. It was only half a lie, really. She hadn't seen the records themselves, but the letter stating he was in Thalmor custody was good enough. "Your brother Avulstein was sure of that, and I found evidence of it--elsewhere."

She was tumbling mentally, and thanked the Divines that Thorald wasn't looking directly at her, but more so vaguely over her shoulder.

"I knew that, alright. My best bet is to join up with the Stormcloaks, and likely Avulstein will join me. Whiterun is the first place they'll think to look for me, after all. Would you mind giving my mother a message?"

"Of course, let me get some paper out." She saw he was staring and tried to ignore it. "I want to be sure I get it all right, it's a long way from here to Whiterun."

And if I don't write it down I'll forget at least half of it.

When she had quill and ink ready, looked back up at Thorald.

"Tell her to suffer the winter's cold, for it bears aloft next summer's seeds," he said, and waited as she wrote it down. "Thank you again, friend. You've given me my life back."

There was a pang in Sadrith's chest, and a strange feeling of flurried, anxious guilt. She wanted to say that anyone would have rescued him, but knew instantly that wasn't the case. So instead, she merely smiled and said, "You're welcome. And before you go--have something to eat. You look half-starved. I've got some food here, but you should go back inside and gather a bit of their stores up. I don't believe the dead will eat it."

She handed over a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and some preserved horker meat. Then as she was tucking the paper back into a pocket, she drew out a dagger.

"I can chew it just fine, they didn't rip my teeth out." Thorald only half-joked. He was silent after that--eating consumed his entire span of attention.

"It's not for you," Sadrith replied, "I want to give the Thalmor a message."

After all, if she was going to get dragged into this anyway, she might as well earn it. There was a rush beneath her skin at the idea, pictured frightened Thalmor, once-arrogant faces contorted in terror, the flurry of panicked planning. And then the image was gone, and she imagined herself on the run from angry Thalmor...

Deep breath. It didn't help. It never did.

Sadrith went back to the door leading into the keep, drew out an elven dagger, then stuck it in the door. She took off one of her several packs and started rummaging through it. This was the apparel bag, after all, there ought to be something she could use. The folded paper of the Dark Brotherhood, that warning that they knew, that came to mind, but it didn't seem to fit here. Too threatening, too unclear.

Then she had a moment of realization, and sorted through the messy jumble until she pulled out an amulet of Talos. She'd always kept one to help with the shouts, but since Alduin's defeat she hadn't used shouts often enough to need them. She experimented, certainly, but no longer bothered to use them for every battle.

She hung the amulet on the dagger, and then bent back over her pack. She glanced aside, to see that Thorald was still busy with his food, and then looked back to the bottle in her hands.

Last bottle. I need to find Ri'saad, or I'll be good for nothing by the time I get to Whiterun.

She took a sip from the bottle, and then stuffed the cork back into it.

Her heart would race for hours, and she would barely be interested in eating, but with the skooma in her gut she would at least be able to direct the whirlwind inside her. And that was all she'd ever really wanted.

Chapter Text

Internal Debate

DO NOT PUT IN POCKET OR BAG. BURN AFTER MAKING CHOICE. DO. NOT. PUT. IN. BAG.

Who To as Speak To

Paarthurnax

Reasons to ask: Old, wise, fought against Alduin the first time, experienced

Reasons not to ask: Greybeard.

@@@@@@@

Delphine & Esbern

Reasons to ask: Hates Thalmor

Reasons not to ask: I would have to kill Paarthurnax to get their favor back, and I don't want to do that

Maven

Reasons to ask: Well-connected, ruthless, etc.

Reasons not to ask: I'm the Dragonborn and she still scares me, if this goes ill it could be fatally.

Ulfric

Reasons to ask: Hates Thalmor, has army. Dossier.

Reasons not to ask: Doesn't like Dunmer. @@@@@ Rebellion. Thalmor wants the rebellion to happen, and I prefer to stay on Imperial good side.

Tullius

Reasons to ask: Imperial head. Army.

Reasons not to ask: Has to stay officially on side of Thalmor.

Daedric Princes

Reasons: ARE YOU TRYING TO GET ME KILLED, MIND? Already blessed by Sheggorah Sheggorath, shouldn't risk any attention from the others. Maybe Nocturnal.

Divines

Reasons: Unsure of answer. I do not speak well, prayers might not be taken favorably. Talos? Kynareth?

Myself

Reasons: Dragonborn. Defeated Alduin.

Reasons no: Am only one person, no matter how strong. Planning is not my strongest att@@@ something I would call myself expert at

Resolution: Pray to Divines first for wisdom or guidance. Wait @@ for a day or two for reply and hope I didn't offend any of them.

Sadrith lowered the paper, and fed it to the flames of the campfire. Then she lay back in her bedroll and stared at the wood top of the shelter overhead.

I enjoy speaking to Paarthurnax, perhaps I should do the praying in High Hrothgar, and then speak to him. I could at least learn something...he is unlikely to try to stop me, whatever I decide to do. At the same time...

She shut her eyes. The rush of thoughts continued.

I'm closest to Whiterun, though...perhaps I should just pray to Talos first, and then go to High Hrothgar to pray to the rest of the Divines...

Going to High Hrothgar felt like a good idea regardless of what she decided once she was there, as well. It was quiet up there, and there wasn't the overwhelming noise of hold capitals, or the overpowering silence of smaller villages like Rorikstead. If she was in the courtyard or outside, there was only the sound of snow crunching under her boots, or the wind whipping about. A good kind of altered silence that made her feel for once still and at peace.

Whiterun, then.

Chapter Text

On Prayer

2nd Of First Seed, 4E 202

I got slightly...lost...on my way back to Whiterun.

I have a map, but it does not do much good as it doesn't exactly show the roads. I've tried to add lines of the roads but I almost always end up getting @@@ to wherever I mean to go late. I try to take carriages as a result, but @@@ wandring I like wandering about.

I got back on track, but of course that was when it started to rain...

Sadrith still saw Sovngarde in her dreams now and then. From the spot she had appeared, to Shor's Hall, the Hall of Valor, and everything in between, it all flitted in and out and tended to leave her sorry that she had woken up.

As the rain pounded down outside the little shelter that could charitably be called a cave, she hunched over a scroll of paper and focused on yet another drawing of the whale-bone bridge. The third attempt--the first she hadn't been satisfied with the way the bones curved, and the second, she had torn the paper after shifting the wrong way.

But this one...

Tsun stood watchful, the whalebone bridge arched gracefully, the foreboding statue stood ominously, and the Hall of Valor sat in the background over it all. Ensuring the details were right was a welcome distraction from the anxieties she had been feeling, still felt, really. It was almost as if she were there, back in Sovngarde, approaching Tsun at the head of the bridge.

She took such pains with the arch of the roof that she only noticed the wind was kicking up when her fur boots started feeling wet. Suddenly she was yanked from Sovngarde and back to reality. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared after it.

Sadrith jolted, but moved up carefully as she tried to avoid tearing the paper like the first. There was an altar--

--wait. An altar?

She set the charcoal drawing down, then looked up...and up.

Lightning flashed suddenly outside, illuminating for a second or two a statue of Talos. Suddenly, there was a rush of memory in her mind. Solitude, Elisif, Torygg's war horn. She looked, and the horn lay still where she had left it months ago.

The drawing was instantly forgotten, and she stepped around the side of the altar, feeling a little bit sheepish at having yet again forgotten something. There was a rush of urgency a second later--she had to pray before she forgot to do THAT as well, before she sat down and lost why she was here in the first place.

With one hand on the dual-headed ax of the shrine display, Sadrith kept her eyes on the statue. Words never came easy, and they didn't feel so now--but they burst from her lips in a stumbling flood.

"I don't pray, because I'm not good at it. I can't s--I don't speak well, so I try to do it as little as possible. But I do it now. What am I to do? Alduin has been defeated, with the help of the heroes of Sovngarde. But they're dead--and I am alive. I want to do something about the Thalmor. But I don't think Ulfric's rebellion is going to help matters, and the Imperials are over a barrel about them, at the same time."

Deep breath.

"What am I to do? Give me a sign. An omen. Something to show me the right way."

Nothing.

There was no feeling of being seen or heard, no tingling in her fingers, no pains in her head, no sudden urge to sleep, nothing that would indicate she had been heard.

What did I think this would accomplish?

Deep breath. It didn't help.

But what if no answer is the answer? she thought, Maybe Talos just wants me to use my own judgment and my own gifts.

And that was perhaps more frightening than the idea of visions. She was the Dragonborn, but still felt as if the entire Alduin situation was as (relatively) easy as it was because there was no question of what to do. It had all been very simple, or simple enough once she got over the initial panic it took a day to recover from. Go see the Greybeards, everyone said, and she had. Study the words, retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, deal with Delphine, see Paarthurnax, get the Elder Scroll. Dragonrend, Odahviing, Sovngarde...

Sadrith stood breathing hard at the sudden rush of memory. She couldn't stop it, she could only endure it, and when she was finally just alone again the surge didn't stop. She fumbled in her food pack for a bottle of mead, hoping that would help.

If the skooma spurred and sped her mind into action, the mead slapped it in the face and told it to calm down.

And this is the hero of Skyrim. This is your Dragonborn, she thought. Mead, please do the job swiftly.

Deep breath.

The thunder and lightning was beginning to ease up, but given it was getting dark she decided to just set up her bedroll by the benches and lay down.

It took finishing the bottle before she was finally numb enough to sleep.

Morning came, and with it the realization that nothing had happened.

There were no unusual dreams, portents, omens, no obvious symbolism. Nothing but a dream she had had many times before with only slight differences between each iteration. She was wandering about the wilds of...somewhere that felt like Morrowind, but looked like Skyrim. She was looking for something important, not knowing what--only that it was lost and had to be found.

For a moment, everything else was out of mind. She sat back, mindlessly rooting through her food bag and eating as she thought over it. Trees, but shaped like those enormous mushroom manor districts. Stops at familial tombs, but they were like the barrows of Skyrim. Two worlds were blending, and yet in the midst of this confusion, she was looking for the unnamed item. This time, the khajiit caravan had been with her, familiar and safe and yet she knew them not.

Then as she was taking a long gulp from her waterskin, Sadrith's eyes crossed the statue of Talos and everything rushed back. What she had been meaning to do, what she had done. How it had accomplished nothing.

She wrapped the remains of the food and stuck it back in the bag, then stood facing the statue.

"If you want me to use my own judgment, I'm not sure you've been paying attention," she said quietly, "I need a sign. I need--something."

Nothing. The chiseled stone simply existed, as it had before, and Sadrith's mind felt no different than it usually did.

She turned to head down the hill. Whiterun was close by. Perhaps Kynareth would answer her, where Talos did not?

And then, suddenly, a voice rang out. A cry of pain.

Sadrith hid behind the tree to the right of the cave's entrance, and peered down towards the road.

A Nord man, fair haired and muscular, wearing rags, was being shocked with magic by some sort of Thalmor agent. Perhaps one of their wizards, or justiciars, or whatever they were calling themselves. The entire group was walking slowly if steadily forward.

"The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshippers," the wizard, a woman, said. She shocked the Nord again. "When will you learn?"

"I will not renounce Talos as y--" The Nord protested, only to be rewarded with more pain.

"If you keep doing that, there'll be nothing left of him by the time we bring him back." Another of the Thalmor, this one in elven armor, drew a dagger and prodded the Nord in the back with it. "Just cut something off if you want to harm him so badly."

"You would hear about it later," said a third, also in elven armor. "How they manage to make torture so banal is beyond my understanding, but anything you take off--"

You asked for a sign, did you not?

Sadrith's heart leaped and began to race in her chest. Was that her own thought, or had Talos put it into her head? Or had the Madgod finally decided to claim the rest of her mind?

But it was true. Regardless of the thought's origin, it was true. She had asked for a sign, and she was not a woman often found praying to the gods, but all the same if she were, this would be something she would take as a sign. A nudge or a shove in the direction she had asked about.

But...

You asked, the thought came, He sent. You go.

Taking a deep breath, Sadrith reached into her apparel bag. If she was going to do this...if she was going to take this plunge, she was going to be smart about it. The Nightingale hood was foremost in her mind, but what she pulled out was one of the dragon priest masks.

Nahkriin.

Everything seemed to slow down as she slipped on the mask, drew the Nightingale bow, crept slowly forward with an ebony arrow nocked. The Nord appeared to have tripped, and one of the Thalmor was laughing. The wizard had paused and was looking down the path the other way, before turning--

The arrow pierced her eye, and sent her stumbling backward. Quick as a flash, Sadrith dropped the bow, unsheathed Chillrend, and charged forward.

"You'll pay for that," the first armored Thalmor snarled. He swung a bound sword down at her and she parried several blows. She was trying to aim for the chest, but the next parry forced her sword a bit higher and buried it in his throat. When she drew it back, blood poured down the breastplate of his armor in a horrible crimson river. Somewhere in the back of her mind his helpless gurgling registered, heard but forgotten almost instantly.

Sadrith turned to the second warrior and only barley escaped the slice of a second bound sword that she thought later would have taken off her head. She ducked and swung upward, grabbed his shoulder and pierced his chest with the blade. Then, just as quickly, she pulled it swiftly back out and shoved him to the ground.

All that remained was the Justiciar. She was trying to summon a fireball, or something of that sort, while hiding farther back--but there was no escape for her, either.

"I subm--"

She got out not even two words before the sword came down and her head rolled away.

Beneath the mask, Sadrith was breathing hard. She half expected one of the others to strike again, having healed themselves up, and turned several times to look at the other two, waiting, but no such blow would come.

The Nord.

Suddenly, she remembered him, and looked wildly about, finally spotting him farther up the hill, near the tree she had hidden behind.

"What--what do you want?" His voice trembled as he looked down at her approach.

Deep breath.

No turning back.

"To give Ulfric Stormcloak a gift," she said.

"Then--then you are an agent from the St--"

"I am neither a Stormcloak, nor an Imperial," Sadrith replied. Her voiced steadied with this brief focus, and it buoyed her up and onward. "But the Thalmor are my enemy."

She drew out a dagger and cut his bonds, then dug through her apparel bag for the only clothing she had large enough to fit him--a robe. Then, once he had put that on, she opened another bag, one she kept her books in.

The dossier had been in her mind since she wrote the list debating who to speak to, and it would be a blessing to get this taken care of. To have one less thing to worry about.

"This is my gift to the Jarl." There was a pause, and she drew out the Thalmor dossier bearing Ulfric's name. "Present it to him, and remind him who the true enemy is."

She handed the dossier to the Nord, and then reached into her food bag to bring out a half-loaf of bread and some eidar cheese.

"And this is my gift to you. You look hungry."

The Nord devoured the food eagerly, and as she had gathered her things and was preparing to leave--certain that this first step was over--he spoke again.

"Friend, if you will not show your face, I would at least know your name."

Sadrith froze in place, not knowing what to say. The fighting was simplicity itself, the words for once just so. But this was an answer she had to think about and that was where she faltered most. Her mind ran instantly in a dozen connected directions, and finally ended with one string of related words.

Talos, it should be related to Talos, Talos, emperor, Atmora, Old Hroldan, Tiber Septim, Tiber Septim room..

After what felt like forever, along with a certainty that her breath would leave her all at once, she answered.

"Hjalti."

Chapter Text

Distraction

My quest journal is full of possible quests and poss@@@ things that need doing all over Skyrim. It is like a portrait of my state of mind, full of bookmarks and arrows things circled due to what I thought of as @@@@@@@@@@@@ important. And because I can never retain what is important, none of it seems to matter. Red ink, blue ink, black ink, underlines, circles, tis all the same.

I hate it.

It was in this condition that I approached Whiterun. But when I saw the khajiit caravan, my spirits lifted instantly.

To everyone else the skooma may be a lifter, something to send them up, to make them fly, but for me it is the only thing that keeps my feet on the ground.

Sadrith's eyelids were drooping, but she kept walking. It wouldn't do to use the skooma now when there wasn't anything of particular importance to do--besides the prayer, of course. She had made several notes, even written 'pray to kynareth' on the wrist of her gloves, but she figured that if she were actually in the city it would be much less likely that she'd forget.

I never lose by betting on my memory being poor. Pray to Kynareth. Pray to Kynareth. PRAY TO KYNARETH.

She saw Whiterun's stables in the distance and started walking faster. A thought passed through, a tug in the direction of the bottle of mead in one of her bags, but she brushed it aside. If she drank anything stronger than water right now, she was sure that she'd fall right asleep. Seizure of panic or no, she didn't want to risk it.

Not after freeing that Stormcloak. What if she had been seen by someone? What if there was another troop, and they were already pursuing her? What if--

No one is after you right now, Sadrith said to herself, No one is after you. No one but that Stormcloak soldier saw you and lived to tell the tale.

It seemed as if she blinked, and she was standing in front of the stables. A guard passed, and muttered, "Stay out of trouble, elf."

Sadrith kept walking, and when she spotted the khajiit just past the stable, felt the tenseness in her muscle evaporate. She was down to a little more than half a bottle, and now she wouldn't have to worry about what to do when it ran out.

Ri'saad was sitting on his customary rug in the tent entryway, and seemed to smile as she approached.

"You look as tired as this one feels."

"I am," Sadrith replied, yawning mightily, "Are you willing to sell to me now, or should I wait until the morning when we are both better rested?"

"That depends on what you wish to deal in. What is it you desire to buy? The--"

A Whiterun guard passed by, and Ri'saad pivoted instantly.

"--the healing potions?"

"Of course," Sadrith was confused momentarily, but out of the corner of her eye saw the guard as he went on up the path. "How many can I get?"

(She had heard his steps and yet not comprehended them. It was nothing that had not happened to her before, but to have it happen now, as she was replenishing her stock of skooma was even more unnerving than usual)

"Business has been very good, you understand, but we can provide you with five bottles."

She took out her coin purse and paid him. Once they were both certain the guard was not going to return immediately, Ri'saad handed over the bottles. Sadrith stashed them away quickly.

"Thank you. I was beginning to worry..." she shook her head, and her mind drifted to a new thought. "Have you had any more troubles because of the war?"

"The war has only made business better, particularly in the sale of the wares we offer," Ri'saad went on, "Our link with the guild and by extension the Black-Briar family has improved our odds of moving about unbothered by the law. I thank you again for bringing that offer from them."

"It was nothing," Sadrith replied, "It only makes sense to establish trade with the caravan. As I could say, even before I joined the guild myself."

"Many bandits died to swell our supply of armors and weapons, yes, I remember that time. Now, perhaps, things are different. You have not brought us bandits' remains in quite some time."

"I mean no offense by it." She looked away. "It seems hard to catch you--"

And from nowhere, at least from her point of view, a courier appeared, and walked right up to her. She jolted, though managed to keep the mask of tired complacency on.

Oh, no, what now...

"I've been looking for you," the man said, as he reached into his pocket. "Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only."

"What is it?" Sadrith managed to keep her voice steady, though her muscles ached from the clench that the shock of his appearance had brought on. "A letter?"

"Let's see here..." He pulled out a letter, and handed it to her, "From the College in Winterhold, it looks like."

"That's--"

"Looks like that's it. Got to go."

As he left, Sadrith sighed. How they managed to sneak up on her like that no matter where she was in Skyrim was unclear, but the shock was always unpleasant. If she weren't so tired it would likely have made her yell.

"Perhaps you should go on into the city and have your rest," Ri'saad said.

"You're right. Thank you for the--potions."

She hurried on into Whiterun, but not until she made it into Breezehome did she fully relax. The letter would not wait until morning--she wouldn't be able to put it off that long. It could be anything--an angry letter about interrupting some research due to her cave exploration, a request for soul gems, or a report on side effects the Elder Scroll she'd sold the librarian was, or...

As she sat back under the covers, she opened the letter.

To Sadrith,

The courier promises he will deliver this as quickly as he can find you. I hope he manages it soon, I would prefer this issue to be taken care of as soon as possible.

You are known to be discreet when necessary, and that is what I have need of now. I have a dear friend who is slightly less than alive. He has suffered a severe series of facial burns and I have need of the face sculptor to repair this damage. I have heard she has made her home somewhere in Riften. I recall that though she did not previously work on the undead, there are certain rumors that she has begun to work on them due to the proliferation of vampires in Skyrim, and if there is even a chance of my friend regaining his features I need the attempt made.

I have tried reaching out to the Thieves Guild but it seems my letters never reach them, as I have never received a reply.

Please make a trip to Winterhold as soon as you are able. I promise that if you make the trip, I will reward you handsomely regardless of whether the face sculptor is able to do the work.

Sigurd, Archmage of the College of Winterhold

"Great," Sadrith said. "I can't turn this down."

She set the letter on her bedtable, along with the written-on glove turned bottom side up. At least this way she could not fail to see either, and thus, would not forget either of these tasks.

Whatever anyone might think, a great reward from the Archmage of the College of Winterhold would most likely be invaluable in the fight that she was sure to be starting.

Chapter Text

Silence

4th of First Seed, 4E 202

I managed to remember, and after I dressed and ate made certain to go straight to the temple of Kynareth. I prayed before the shrine, I spent several hours helping the priestess heal injured soldiers and one farmer who was suffering from a terrible illness. But I heard nothing.

What have I done to displease the Divines? Well...the entire situation with the Thieves' Guild and pledging myself to Nocturnal probably didn't help. Surely they wouldn't see clearing bandit camps as evil?

Please, Kynareth, Akatosh...one of you, I don't care who, give me guidance. I cannot rely on my own judgment. How clear must I be?

I wish I could simply be led...led, by someone sure of their course. If they are sure, then perhaps I would be as well. But then if they wanted to take me astray--it would be so easy for that to happen.

But if I think in that way, then surely the only LOGICAL course of action is to operate alone, and I cannot do what I wish to do by operating alone.

I feel lower than the bowels of Blackreach today, but the abyss that has created in my mind has given me a thing I don't often have. Silence. I complain that my mind never stills, that it always wants to run about. But when it stops, when all is silencet, it feels like a tomb.

And then, then all I want is for the noise to return.

@@@@@@@@@@

It is beginning to look like I will have @@@@@@ to form a plan on my own. Talos helps those who help themselves, and his people. At least I could have him in my corner.

Note: Speaking of corners, clean out that chest in the corner of the room.

Sadrith had the idea that she would sell a few of the healing potions she had made and not needed during the long trip back from Northwatch Keep, but as she left the Wind District she realized that there was something else she'd forgotten about. She rushed over to the jewelry stand, purchased a silver ring, and thanked Fralia Gray-mane. As she slipped the ring onto her index finger (it seemed too large for the others) she leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice.

"He is free."

"Is he?" Fralia looked almost panicked for a moment or two. "Is he, truly? Or...or do you mean he is--"

"Worry not, he lives," Sadrith whispered. "Truly, he does."

"How do I know you are not simply trying to ease an old woman's heart?" Fralia asked, "How do I know you are not simply telling me what you think I wish to hear?"

The paper, she remembered the paper. Had remembered it, but forgotten the fact, a paradox that mercifully didn't happen on the regular.

"He says for you to suffer the winter's cold..."

Fralia's eyes filled up with tears, and she interrupted, "...for it bears aloft next summer's seeds. That's him, that's my son."

She wept then--silently, but she wept. Sadrith automatically moved around the side of the stall to hug her.

"Oh, my boys...my precious boys, both of them..."

"I wish I could say something to make you feel better," Sadrith said quietly, as she let go. "But..."

"You've already done so much. The least I can do is--I had this made for Thorald, but given he won't return, I'll give it to you."

Fralia handed her a steel sword with a small smile. There was a tingle in Sadrith's fingers as she took it in one hand and touched the flat of the blade with the other--a slight chill. Frost damage.

She smiled briefly.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you," Fralia replied. "I hope your parents are proud of you. They have every reason to be."

"I should visit my mother," Sadrith said automatically. The words were out before she could stop them, taking this small link and going straight to a new subject. "Once I...once I grew up, she moved back to Morrowind. Thank you for...for reminding me of what's important. There are always so many things I think of doing, that I--I never thought..."

"Yes, go and see your mother," came the quick agreement.

After I go to Winterhold, Sadrith thought as she walked away. I could pray to the rest of the Divines, but if two have already refused me, what good will praying to more do? Paarthurnax--I can see him later, at any time. If anything, I could bring that dear friend there, as I...as I used to bring Lydia.

There was a sudden pain in her chest, and she scurried off towards the Temple of Arkay.

Lydia, I have to pay my respects to Lydia.

Chapter Text

The Wraith

14th of First Seed, 4E 202

At times like these I miss Lydia most. She was always happy to see new lands, or at least she seemed so to me. She would have loved to see this town as it is now.

I arrived in Winterhold late last night, (asked for room and bath) and what a world of difference there is from my last visit! I remember that the Jarl was replaced by Kraldar when the ceasefire was arranged, and I knew he wanted to believe that Winterhold could recover, but I never thought this empty frozen waste could be made anything more.

There are six buildings here now, one of them being a barracks for those that work in the mine. It seems they still use it as a prison, too, which only makes sense.

And it seems that the Archmage of the College has changed. He is a nord, and seems to have a good relationship with Jarl Kraldar, who had only nice things to say about him. I wonder what happened to Savos Aren?

I suppose that eases my mind a little bit...I have been feeling terrible about deciding to come here rather than going to the Greybeards. Or to pray to the Divines. I should still do that. I WILL do that. But first I must see what the Archmage wants.

The Frozen Hearth was a welcome warmth. Sadrith had gone out earlier to sell her healing potions to Birna, bought a few soul gems, and then come back--even in that short walk she had felt half iced over. She sat down at one of the tables, and Haran came over after serving a drink to someone else.

"Ready for breakfast?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely," Sadrith replied, "I have to go up to the College, I don't even know how long that will take, so I want to be as full as possible. Give me something filling and a bottle of mead."

Haran took her gold and then moved off.

Someone moved out of one of the other rooms, and Sadrith looked over. A nord man with a lute had emerged.

Since when does this place have a bard? I suppose things HAVE gotten better...

"This is a song about the bond between battle-brothers," the nord said. "And of the love borne between them, so great that the sorrowful survivor worked tirelessly to save his truest friend from insanity and death."

Sadrith turned to watch. She found she could hear better if she could focus on the source, and it had been a while since she'd heard a good song.

With heavy heart and weary soul,
I mourn my brother, once so bold.
We fought as one, through thick and thin,
Our bond unbreakable, our love within.

But war can change a man, twist his mind,
Turn him from friend to foe unkind.
I saw my brother lost in battle's fray,
But back I'll bring him, come what may.

His eyes burned bright, his sword swung wild,
He struck me down, his mind defiled.
I fought with all my might and will,
To bring him back, to heal, to fill.

With herbs and potions, and healing art,
I tended to his wounded heart.
I sang him songs of battles past,
And prayed his sanity would last.

But war can change a man, twist his mind,
Turn him from friend to foe unkind.
I saw my brother lost in battle's fray,
But back I'll bring him, come what may.

Slowly, but surely, he returned to me,
The brother I once knew, strong and free.
Together we fought, side by side,
In battles fierce, with courage and pride.

So let us raise a toast to those we've lost,
To those who paid the ultimate cost.
And let us fight for what we believe,
For our brothers and sisters, and those we grieve.

Sadrith's eyes were misting by the time it was over. The nord who had sung it had a beautiful voice, and it sounded so...haunting. The grief woven in the first verses brought a sudden heaviness in her chest, and she was suddenly back to that moment--

Lydia. Oh, divines, I thought you were right behind me. Lydia!

Her thoughts spiraled quickly, down paths traveled a hundred times or more before. When Haran returned with horker stew, Sadrith practically inhaled it (and ordered a sweetroll as well), as if she could bury the feeling beneath a pile of food. It never worked, not really, but the fullness from overeating was better than the emptiness that was there before.

I could use the extra weight anyway.

In silence she returned her dishes to Haran, and gathered her things to leave.

Tolfdir had greeted her and gone up to inform the Archmage of her presence. He'd soon returned saying she was expected, and to meet with the Archmage in the Arcanaeum.

Sadrith was still shivering a bit when she finished the trip up the steps, but she was soon distracted by the wealth of books lining every cabinet and bookcase on the walls.. Even when she had briefly attended before there was a sort of mystic feel to this library, not knowing what she might find yet knowing the wisdom of the ages could be found here. Urag took his job so seriously, and built on the collection where possible (she had even contributed a time or two), and it looked if possible, even more packed than it had before.

It was a beautiful sight, and the scent of old books and paper was enchanting.

If only she could while away the time here, reading whatever thing struck her fancy. Even if she didn't retain it, it was still the best feeling simply to read the tomes for pleasure and fill the days--

"Ah, dragonborn! Come, come, have a seat."

A nordic voice sounded off then, snapping her out of her thoughts and redirecting her attention to its source.

Up ahead, at one of the tables in the center circular area, was seated who she assumed must be the archmage. He was wearing robes that felt vaguely familiar--that triangular design on the front and the fringe had stood out to her before.

It was his bright red hair that was most noticeable, though, and for a second or two it distracted her before she tore her gaze away from it and walked forward.

Alright, now, Sadrith, try to sound smart.

"Archmage," she gave a slight bow before taking the seat across from him, "I received your letter, though I admit I'm surprised you would ask for me."

Up close she could look at his face. Apart from the warpaint that started at his hairline and spread down and out to either side's cheekbone in two red lines, he seemed paradoxically young and old. His face was lined with some wrinkles but none too deep, and yet in his eyes there was--

"More natural to ask for a guard, you might say? Send my friend with wizards, perhaps mercenaries?" The Archmage shrugged. "Perhaps, but given your association with the Thieves Guild and your reputation for discretion...well, I would hazard a guess that you are far better suited to my needs."

"No questions asked about your dear friend, I assume."

"No questions answered, but that is why you'll be so well rewarded." The archmage gave half a glance over his shoulder. "Torovan! Come on over, the dragonborn is here."

From the back of the room came a tall, slender Dunmer in fur robes, with hair that fell past his shoulders in an inky black river. As he approached Sadrith felt the strange sensation that she'd forgotten something important, mixed with a vague fear. He wasn't just tall, this man, he was unreasonably so; he was more than a head above the archmage. The bandages wrapped securely around Torovan's face didn't much help the sinister feeling, nor did the one uncovered eye that seemed to pierce her straight through. That eye, she recognized that kind of eye. The vampire's eye.

He was a faceless ghost and looked like something that would haunt the College of Winterhold rather than study there.

"This is Torovan Gyhd, my oldest and dearest friend," the archmage said as the man approached and took the third seat.

Torovan looked at her, his head tilted slightly back. It was as if he were looking down his nose at her.

He spoke in a deep tenor, "You didn't tell me she was a Dunmer, Sigurd."

What am I forgetting? The feeling seemed to intensify when he spoke.

"He didn't tell me you were a vampire," she replied in a low voice, "My name is Sadrith."

Torovan snorted.

"Well, now that we're past the introductions," Sigurd said, "Let us get to our business."

Chapter Text

Escort Mission

14th of First Seed, 4E 202, Evening

The situation was laid out, and the agreement, well...agreed upon. That ghost of a Dunmer sets me on edge, but a lot ofthe of other things do too. Judging from what I've been promised already (for the trip), and the reward promised if I make it to Riften and back, I cannot afford to be held back by these worries like I am every other day. With this I will have to forge forward.

Yet, somehow...I'm not sure. There is something that needles at me about the way Torovan speaks, almost like I am not necessary. But if I am not, why did they ask me to travel as his guard?

I'm glad I replenished my supply of skooma, I can clearly see I am going to need it regularly. I cannot show this pompous man anything but my best face

But at his height, I doubt he can properly see my face @@@@@ when he looks down.

Vampire, vampire, vampire.

That was the first thing on her mind. Sadrith could understand wanting to keep a friend hidden, but something about all this felt very...

She looked down at the table, at the mug that Torovan reached for. Something glittered on his hand, a green-stoned ring that drew the eye immediately. It looked like two smaller, segmented rings stacked atop each other. It was a fight not to stare at the thing, as it stood out so from the ruddy-grey skin of his hands.

Burns...perhaps a summoning accident.

Silence, as she tried to imagine how it might have happened, and the usual accompanying stare into nothing which at the moment happened to be in the direction of the ring.

She was broken out of this little reverie when his left hand covered his right, and blocked the ring from view.

"First let me see what sort of route you would want me to take for this kind of...job," she said. There were certain questions she wanted to ask, but to ask them at the start felt wrong somehow.

"It would be simple enough if you were to take the main roads or a carriage or something of that nature, but I would prefer not to use either of those, if possible," Sigurd said. He took out a map of Skyrim and laid it on the table. "Winterhold keeps a decent stable now, but they're horses fit for winter work more so than a long journey."

"My compliments on that, by the way," Sadrith said quickly. "The last time I saw Winterhold there were three, maybe four buildings and no stables."

"The new Jarl did most of the work," Sigurd gestured dismissively. "I was merely making up for certain...incidents...that took place in the College. But back to the map. I'm thinking you cut south..."

"That should be easy enough. I know some of the Dwemer ruins connect through Blackreach, but--"

"Blackreach? Disgusting place, to say nothing of the frozen trip getting there. Sigurd has dragged me there on more than one occasion." Torovan spoke up suddenly, "It was nothing that couldn't be handled but those Falmer..."

"And the chaurus, don't forget them," Sigurd said. "I'm sure the chaurus at least have replenished their numbers."

"They're nothing I can't handle," Sadrith replied. "But if you want to stay off the main roads, I'm assuming there's someone that would follow, and going down there would be a good way to shake them off."

She paused, and on a sudden whim added something more.

"What would I be facing? I understand you don't want questions asked but I have to know what I could be up against. An angry set of wizards, perhaps? Mercenaries with more of a weapon focus?"

"A fair question," Sigurd said. "Let us say they are spellswords, with a tendency to use summoned weapons."

Again, he went back to the map.

"I know Alftand connects, and this..." Sadrith pointed, "This is the Tower of Mzark. I've got it marked on my map...a little south is the homestead I purchased in Dawnstar. I keep a few horses there, so we could make a faster go of it afterwards."

"I was under the impression your property was near Solitude," Sigurd said.

"Well...there too." She shrugged. "It's a bit of a long story. The one nearest Solitude is actually more of a fishing village than anything."

She knew she would go on forever if they let her, and given this Archmage was presumably an intellectual she wanted to look at least somewhat intelligent before him. Thank goodness she had taken a dose of the skooma beforehand, or she would surely have rattled on about the little fish hatchery and how well it was doing, or perhaps what sort of fish it raised. She had gotten better about noting when others were uninterested in hearing things, but there was still that present fear. She stopped talking, and waited for further direction.

She wished sometimes that it did not hurt to control herself, to hold back when she wanted to gush information like a river...but that was why she never took that Amulet of Articulation off. Without it she was sure she would be a gibbering mess.

"In any case, your homestead isn't going to be the issue, it's going to be Whiterun."

And those bloody Thalmor, Sadrith thought.

Sigurd looked thoughtful for a few moments before adding, "You're going to have to cross the main road there at some point, but with a chameleon or invisibility spell used at night, should lessen the risk."

Who in Oblivion is this man, that the Archmage is being this careful? I know Skyrim doesn't like us Dunmer, but...no, no, wait until he's done to bring this up. Or don't ask at all, he probably won't answer the question either way.

"I don't currently know a chameleon or invisibility spell, but I always carry a few invisibility potions," she suggested. "When I'm transporting...delicate items..."

"When you're stealing something, you mean." Torovan spoke up again with that head tilt, that stare down his nose at her.

"I won't deny it. I like to be prepared for the worst at every possible opportunity. I have equipment enchanted to muffle the sound of my movement, and several hoods that cover nearly all of my face. I hesitate to use them because of that--" She stopped, and took a deep breath. "It would probably be easier to learn the spells, though. Apologies...I tend to ramble on."

"Clearly."

"Would you prefer we go through Helgen, perhaps? We could cut across the mountainous region there..." Sadrith pointed, "I'd rather avoid Riverwood if possible, and as for Ivarstead...too many pilgrims trying to make the journey to see the Greybeards. Even with the Stormcloak Rebellion still ongoing..."

She shook her head.

"She's more paranoid than you are," Torovan remarked to Sigurd, before looking back to Sadrith. "Did you steal something from someone important?"

"The Archmage asked for discretion, and I'm giving it. I'm not paranoid, I'm operating within...nevermind. We'd run the risk of coming close to an Imperial Camp about...here, though. Time for another round of invisibility checks, I suppose. I mean--potions. Spells. Whichever is preferred."

She bit her tongue--could already feel the thoughts tumbling together, falling down the stairs.

Panic, panic, panic.

Stay calm. The words came out wrong, it doesn't mean they noticed. You're fine. You're fine, don't try to force it out because it'll only get worse. Move past it. Keep going

"My point is the back way is going to have just as many dangers as the main road's way. The advantage is that they're not as organized and less likely to speak to each other. Bandit camps here and here, a dwarven ruin there, an orc stronghold there. Southeast of Riften there's also..."

She indicated each spot as she mentioned them, then looked up--finally realizing she hadn't given them time to respond but wanting to get one last thing out.

"Not that any of those will present a problem. I've made a fortune looting the bandits and ruins, and the orcs are happy to leave you alone so long as you leave them alone. Going this way, we can enter Riften from the south."

"I haven't been to Riften in a while, myself," Sigurd moved on, "But I would hope you might find no trouble there, considering your involvement with the Guild."

"No problem at all." Sadrith gave a quiet smile. "The guards will be inclined to ask fewer questions about any visitors I may have. But as for talking about it amongst themselves, that will be a different story. City guards pass more gossip than a sewing circle. Is there any sort of official story you might want me to have prepared? I could always try being honest...that is, saying he's there for the face sculptor, but that would depend..."

"I would say if you're pressed, that would be fine. Thoughts on that, Torovan?"

"I dislike the idea but it will be adequate if I don't think of anything else." The tall Dunmer's tone had gone a bit icy, over and above the superiority it had already displayed. Like a Thalmor, almost.

"Alright..." Sadrith took a breath, and decided to finally address the issue. "With the trip mostly sorted, I want to ask what your plan is for keeping him--fed. I'm...hopeful...this isn't some plot to turn me into cattle."

"Shouldn't you have asked about that first?"

"It's less of a worry for me than the trip itself." She shrugged slightly. "A concern, not THE concern."

Torovan huffed. "In any case, there's no need to worry about that. I dislike taking the blood of another Dunmer. In the absence of other types, animal blood will do adequately...and a supply will be brought along with us."

She could almost feel the air of "but I may make an exception in your case" rolling off of him. What was this man's problem? She was used to snooty attitudes but this one was in a class of his own.

"How fortunate for me."

"Now," Sigurd cut through the tension suddenly, "To the matter of your reward. Gold is always an option, I assume?"

"Gold doesn't matter much to me," Sadrith replied quickly. "I make enough of it off bandits...and dragon bones, scales, that sort of thing...and the Guild, of course. But it's fine, if it's what you have to offer."

"Perhaps something better suited to your skills, then. I never knew a thief who could not make use of a telekinesis ring, for example...or an amulet of levitation."

Sadrith's eyes widened just slightly.

"But levitation's been banned."

"That it has," Sigurd replied with an overly wide smile, "But given what the Imperials are dealing with right now, I doubt they will be able or willing to enforce it. How does this sound--you get one of these items before you leave. Then the other, along with some gold, when you return, regardless of whether or not the face sculptor is able to do the work."

"That sounds fair to me," she replied.

Levitating...now THERE was an idea, good enough on its own, but paired with telekinesis...

Oh, the problems this would solve...

And create, but she would take small joys where she could find them.

"So we have an agreement, then?" Sigurd looked first at her, and then to Torovan, who answer begrudgingly.

"Yes."

"Yes," Sadrith echoed.

Given she was still technically a student at the College, Sadrith was allowed to sleep in The Hall of Attainment with the rest of the current students. She wrote out a journal entry before laying back. The skooma had worn off, and the rushing chaos in her head had returned.

That extended talk, hammering out details of what would happen she felt had gone well enough, but the idea of traveling with someone who seemed to constantly view her as beneath him wasn't a pleasant prospect. But in the interest of the promised rewards...well, they were items she would have cause to use, and use frequently, so it would be far less likely that she would forget or simply pawn them off. They were things she might actually need, and keep with her, much like the Amulet of Articulation.

And if I use them, I won't forget them constantly like I do with everything else I pick up, she thought.

The relatively warm air of the hall, the fur blankets, and the fatigue that the skooma wearing off left her with all conspired together, and she finally drifted off to sleep.

Flying, flying on a dragon, over an army, with a bow ready and arrow nocked.

Light glittered off the shining armor of the opposing army, and turned to painful gold in her eyes. She lowered her gaze, but the arrow stayed ready despite her aching hands.

Something was waiting for her, for them, and by Akatosh she was determined to be ready for it. At a signal of flashing light from the ground she let the arrow fly into some construct that exploded in a pillar of fire--

On the ground now, the dragon nowhere to be found, but the army--the imperials? The Stormcloaks? It was hard to say, as they all wore fur, or Nordic armor. But every one stood ready as the gold-clad opponents approached.

"We stand together," a voice came, "We fear no one, be they man or mer, and if you die, you die fighting for not only your lives, but your homeland as well."

The battle began with a hail of arrows, and then swinging swords, and she near the front Shouted, turning more than a few soldiers into ice statues...

Sadrith jolted awake, and found that for a few terrifying seconds she couldn't move. With a great effort she broke herself free of this paralysis, and fumbling for her bag beneath the bed, pulled out a bottle of mead.

Her heart was racing in her chest in panic, as if she were facing some unkillable enemy, and it was not until she had downed nearly half the bottle that it began to slow again.

These dreams...these dreams, she never knew what to make of them...only the wise woman of her mother's tribe could interpret dreams, and she had not seen said woman in years. Nor was she inclined to visit Morrowind, given the shape it was in at the moment. The constant broiling of Red Mountain, the fear that it might erupt once more...better to avoid the place for some time. Perhaps a letter could be written.

But later.

Though she finished the first bottle of mead and part of a second, Sadrith could not get back to sleep, however much she tried.

Chapter Text

A Frosty Start

15th of First Seed, 4E 202

@@@ I am unsure if it was wise to take this quest already, but I've already agreed to do this. The Archmage seems like such a nice man, how could he ever be friends with someone who seems so intent on disliking everything and everyone?

Perhaps it's just me. I know he does not like thieves, or those who specials focus on stealth. The former makes sense, but the latter...I suppose the two go hand in hand...

This is going to be a trying trip...now I understand why Marcurio always said not to do escort missions.

Sadrith knew she should be trying to go back to sleep. As cold as it was outside, and as sleepy as she knew she would be later, it was absolutely necessary to get enough rest. To make it to at least Alftand, and down into Blackreach if possible, was her goal, but--

--she was equally convinced that there was no way for her to get back to sleep. Needing it wasn't going to make it happen.

As soon as the ill feeling in her stomach from the mead passed on she made breakfast out of half a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a few handfuls of jazbay grapes. It was hardly enough--she didn't want to eat at all, but she had to eat SOMETHING before she took the skooma, or she wouldn't eat for half the day at least.

No one seemed to be stirring nearby, and uncorking the bottle of skooma she took a small sip of it.

Her heart would no doubt keep racing right on all day, but if she didn't have a nip of the stuff she wouldn't be good for much of anything, and that glowering Torovan would have even more reason to look down on her.

Deep breath, deep breath, she thought, He doesn't matter. Why should you care what he or anyone else thinks? Think about something else.

As Sadrith was checking and rechecking the contents of her various bags half an hour later, Tolfdir appeared in the doorway of her little room.

"Oh, hello," she said with a small smile. "I hope I wasn't disturbing your rest. I've got a long journey ahead and I like to be sure I'm ready for it."

"I've been up for a few hours now, my girl," Tolfdir replied with a slight smile. "There's no need to worry about disturbing me, my old bones do that on their own. I just wanted to let you know that the Archmage wants to invite you to breakfast in his chambers. It seems he wants to speak to you further regarding Torovan."

"Oh? I hope he's not taking the job back. His friend did not seem best pleased with the idea of...having me as his escort."

"Torovan never seems to be happy with anything, unless it's destruction magic duels with J'zargo. You should see the Archmage when those two go at it. As much a war of words as it is of ice and fire."

"Is that so? You'd think he'd be pleased to have such duels...at least, here at the College where they can be supervised."

"Not when the result is J'zargo losing half his fur." Tolfdir sighed. "Torovan is well gifted with the arcane arts, and when he is angry, half the College will hear the fireball that results."

Sadrith looked back to her bag. "Is he easily angered?"

"Not usually, but I get the sense that there is a lot more beneath the surface than I can see. I don't think you have anything to fear from him, if that's what you're worried about. He's simply very old and very proud, from what the Archmage says."

"Maybe he's a Telvanni, that sounds like them. I know the type." Sadrith gave half a smile. "Well...thank you. At least now I have some idea of how to act with him."

He would be nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

This would be easy.

...hopefully.

She entered the Archmage's quarters and spotted him at a table set up just in front of the garden. There was food set out, but he hadn't touched any of it--he seemed more absorbed by the book in his hands.

A DREAM OF SOVNGARDE, the title on the back read.

He was studying it, almost staring through it. Such a strange look to have when reading something, she thought...

And then, suddenly, he saw her. The book was slammed shut and he gestured for her to approach.

"Come, dragonborn, come. I'm sure you're hungry."

"I actually ate an hour ago," she said, "But--I'll be happy to join you."

She sat down in the chair across from him and looked over the small spread. Chicken, peppered sausage, a bowl of chopped root vegetables covered in some sweet-scented glaze, and several pastries.

"It does look good," she said, giving a slight smile. "Even the College's food is better. The last time I was here I was lucky to even find any vegetables. Not that that's--your fault, I mean. Archmage."

Title. That was important. For several minutes they ate in relative silence--or rather, he ate, and she nibbled at the food she took onto her plate. The skooma had kicked in, and her appetite had completely vanished, but she knew it would look rude if she didn't at least try to eat.

"Please, just call me Sigurd," he replied. "I have too many titles already, I don't need to add another to the list."

"Yet here you are, collecting another."

That seemed to strike him somehow--there was, momentarily, a distant look in his eyes. Almost fearful, for a second.

No, I'm just seeing things that aren't there, she thought.

"Well...I suppose you're right." He looked back at her for a second, and then almost immediately turned his head away again. "This may sound like a strange question, but..."

"I hear strange things all the time," Sadrith replied quickly, "What I mean is there's no need to worry."

"I was wondering if you could...tell me of Sovngarde." He gave a weak smile. "The book speaks well enough of it, but...I've heard that you've actually been there."

"Oh, yes, when I defeated Alduin. Well...I didn't do that part alone, the three who beat him the first time were there to help me." The words flowed so easily, almost too easily. "What part do you want to know about?"

"Tsun is there, as the book says?"

"Yes, I had to best him...I remember that he laughed, not to mock me, but because...well, look at me. He's nearly twice my height and I was eye level with his abdomen. But he seemed almost proud when I bested him."

"Is that so? What came after him?"

There were footsteps approaching. She heard them, and then promptly forgot when they stopped at one of the bookshelves in the background. Unimportant. Well, not unimportant, but not relevant to what she was doing, and--as a result, she overlooked and forgot it.

"The whalebone bridge," she said. "It is there, too, and then past that, the Hall of Valor..." She gave a smile. "Shor himself was not there, they said something like...his person was too magnificent to behold, or something like that."

"That seems...strange."

"I didn't think to question that part." Sadrith shook her head. "I only remember it because...I, ah...I sat on his throne, and half a dozen people rushed over to tell me to get up. It...it was...I was tired, after fighting my way through a bunch of dragons to get to the portal to Sovngarde, and then there was a dragon priest too, and..."

She shook her head.

"You sat on Shor's throne, and thought nothing of it." The archmage seemed to laugh at that. "If I were a suspicious man, I would say that was telling."

"It was just a chair," Sadrith replied absently, before quickly moving on. "I think when you go, you will enjoy yourself."

"Oh," Sigurd said, "Well...I don't know that I will ever be fortunate enough to grace Shor's hall. I spend most of my time here, after all, not going to war. I've found I rather like the peace of it, after...everything that has happened."

"If anyone deserves a rest, it is you."

Torovan's deep voice sounded off rather suddenly behind Sadrith, and she jolted in her seat. She turned to look, and had to work hard to stifle the laugh that wanted to bubble up.

The man was bundled up in furs, nearly to the point of ridiculousness, and he still had the bandages covering his face, too. He looked like some comically overdone pilgrim of the 7,000 steps. Was he really so unused to the cold, that he felt the need to bundle up like this?

"Torovan, she's not even ready to go yet," Sigurd said.

"Well, I am," the tall Dunmer huffed. "The sooner I go the sooner I can be back."

"I can be ready now anyway," Sadrith replied quickly. "I've been ready since before you sent Tolfdir to call me here. Now, before I leave..."

"Ah, yes, the item I promised you," Sigurd nodded. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out two things--one, a plain golden ring, and the second, an amulet. "Which shall you choose?"

Sadrith had known the choice was coming. And for once having been able to think over it, she reached for the amulet. She had never actually used levitation, she'd been born after the ban, but still, the allure of it was too hard to resist.

"You're sure it still works? I remember...well...I wasn't there for it, but everyone knows it was--"

"Let us say that I am above this particular law," Sigurd replied with a small grin. "And leave it at that. But do be careful with it, Sadrith."

She felt something was off--both he, and Torovan had looked at her for a moment, as if waiting for something. And for that moment things seemed tense...but it quickly passed on, and the ill feeling it had brought went with it.

"I should have known you would choose the amulet," Torovan said as they stepped out of the College, "I imagine a thief being able to levitate will quickly find her pockets full of things that don't belong to her. But I'm warning you--stick your hand in MY pocket, and--"

"--and you'll cut it off. I know."

Past the bridge, down into Winterhold they walked.

And just for a moment, as they were leaving the town itself--

--again came the feeling that she had forgotten something.

Chapter Text

Follower

15th of First Seed, @@@@@@@ 4E202, Afternoon(?)

The journey so far is relatively quiet, though I could do without seeing that one piercing eye of Torovan's when I look back to check he's still there. It's not the eye itself, it's just...the stare. I feel there's a lot behind it, but again...no questions asked or answered. He could be anyone for all I know. Whatever is going on, I'm getting paid for the job--and THAT is what matters.

We've stopped just inside Alftand, to warm up and to have something to eat before continuing on down into Blackrockreach. The chill is getting to both of us, but at least it makes things simple. I can't be concerned with anything and everything when it's so damned cold out.

Weather, like @@@ battles, is simple for me.

Torovan took the bottle the instant Sadrith had it out of her fur robe, and then moved to the other side of the fire. He didn't speak a word until he'd eaten--she attempted to eat something as well. But her appetite was still stone dead from the skooma, so all she managed was a slice of bread and a small slice of cheese.

It wasn't until she happened to look in his direction that she realized he was watching her, and when she pulled out a book she glanced up a time or two to find he was still doing it. Through some of the lower bandages she could see a slight sneer.

"Did I drop something?"

"Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi to her Favored Daughter?" Torovan asked, gesturing, "Forgive me, I thought you were a Dunmer, not some cat."

"I grew up in a Khajiit caravan," Sadrith huffed, "It was like...a bedtime storybook for me. Comforting."

She looked back at the book in an attempt to distract herself from the weight of his stare.

And they gave birth to S'rendarr, the Runt. "S'rendarr, we give you mercy...

"We're not stopping now."

"I know." She didn't look up. "I didn't say I meant to."

The bottle in his hand was set back on the floor. "Yet you seem to be getting comfortable enough to do so. Are you not worried about the Falmer? The chaurus? Bandits, perhaps?"

"I would hear them coming long before they had a chance to see me," Sadrith replied. This time, with no small amount of annoyance, she did look up from the book for a brief moment. "I might LOOK like I'm not paying attention, but I am."

"You wouldn't last a minute in Morrowind."

Back to the book. This time she refused to look back up at him. Escort mission or not, she would not be mocked.

"I've lasted plenty, I just haven't been back recently."

Note to self, write mother a letter when we get to Riften...

There was a brief pause, and for that silence she hoped enough had been said that he'd be satisfied.

And the Heart of Lorkhaj was filled with the Great Darkness. And when he was born, the Great Darkness knew its name...

"Which of the Houses do you hail from?" he asked, "Clearly not Dres, if you're consuming that sort of literature."

"None of them. My mother comes of the Urshilaku tribe."

"And your father?"

"She never told me," Sadrith shrugged, flipping over another page, "She said he was an arrogant ass and I was better off not knowing him. At her age, she didn't expect to have...nevermind. Either way, I never knew him."

"He was probably a Telvanni," Torovan made a sound in his throat almost like a laugh. "That sounds rather like them."

The children of Fadomai tore out the Heart of Lorkhaj and hid it deep within Nirni. And they said, "We curse you, noisy Lorkhaj, to walk Nirni for many phases."

"And you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Are YOU a Telvanni?"

"I believe Sigurd told you not to ask any questions," Torovan replied flatly.

(Still, that stare persisted. It was not one of interest, she could see that much. But it felt like he was studying her, like she was a specimen under glass.)

"You were asking questions about me, it seemed only fair that I ask one in return."

"YOU are the one being paid here, therefore I will be the one asking questions about your background."

"I'm the dragonborn, what other background do you really need?" she shrugged. "I go all over Skyrim doing things any sellsword would do, and they get done because I have the dragon tongue."

She looked down at the pages, noting with an increasing irritation that she was reading the same one for a third time and yet still wasn't making progress on it.

...as is proper for Nirni's secret defenders.

Torovan didn't reply to her statement with anything more than a huff, but he soon added, "Let's keep moving. I'd prefer to cover as much ground as possible, to avoid running into too many of those Falmer."

"We're going to hit them regardless," Sadrith said, "And I imagine you'd welcome the opportunity for something to drink...to conserve the bottles, I mean. Blood is blood. And if you're worried about the danger..."

"Blood is not all the same, and I am not worried about being in any danger, only the inconvenience."

She tucked away the book as he kept talking; his complaints were in a similar vein. When she finally had her bags arranged again she stood. "If you needed to be done within a certain period of time, you ought to have told me that."

Torovan bristled slightly. "I shouldn't have to tell you--"

"Sigurd told me he wanted you kept hidden, he didn't say anything about doing it in a hurry. Haste and stealth do not pair well together. Even with Nocturnal's--"

Sadrith stopped the instant the word was out--but it was too late.

Torovan looked in her direction, and though she could not see the raised eyebrow, she was sure she could feel it in the way his head was tilted slightly.

Deep breath. Deep breath. It's not that big a matter. It'll be helpful. ...Gods, I should've guessed this would happen, it's past noon. The skooma sometimes wears off early...you should've KNOWN this would happen. ...but if I'd taken another sip, I wouldn't eat until tomorrow, either.

Her spiraling thoughts were broken by Torovan's question.

"You serve Nocturnal, then?"

tk tk tk

(A dwemer construct in the distance, she thought, the sound wasn't so loud)

"And if I do?" She took a deep, only slightly shaky breath. "I am a master at staying hidden when I wish to do so. Why do you think the Archmage chose me?"

"He told me you were discreet," Torovan replied with only a slight glare. "But I suppose it's only natural you should have the Mistress of Shadows as a patron. And your service--will it interfere with the trip to Riften?"

"No," Sadrith replied, "Not unless something goes terribly wrong."

TK TK TK TK TK

"Spider," she said suddenly, and when Torovan looked at her with slight confusion she added, "A dwemer spider's getting close by...maybe more than one, I can't quite tell. I'll go and handle it, just sit here for a minute."

Torovan's head tilted, and then he seemed to hear it too.

"As many times as I've been down here, they never seem to run out," she grumbled, and reached for Chillrend. "They don't usually come this far up, though...that I remember."

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself," he replied suddenly, "I'm not sure what Sigurd wrote in that letter but I am NOT going to be treated like some sort of invalid."

"Then get your things together, or the soul gems will be all mine."

She smirked.

Torovan huffed, and turned away to grab his bags.

Chapter Text

Low Paralysis

15th of First Seed, @@@@@@@ 4E202, Night(?)

By the NINE I've got to get a grip or this is going to be the longest trip of my gods-damned life. Who'd have thought a mage would be built like this?

nihtni@@ N I G H T@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

I saw the shadow man again

Spewing steam, Falmer, dwarven spheres and spiders, and more stone-carved dwarven faces than she cared to think about. That was the journey through the Alftand Glacier Ruins, to Sadrith.

An endless stream of oil, blood, and stones, but simple enough due to how straightforward the path ahead was. Torovan was quiet for most of that journey, aside from the occasional grunt when blasting varying elements at whatever enemy happened to be attacking them.

He's definitely a capable mage, she thought, Again...why am I here? What is the Archmage so worried about?

Even from what she'd seen at the College, Torovan's magic was both fascinating and horrifying. Those he struck, if they didn't drop instantly, seemed stooped or clumsy or somehow deficient in fighting back. Clearly it drained them somehow, but...

The door to Sinderion's field laboratory closed behind them, and Torovan headed for the bed.

...but she hadn't seen spells that affected strength or movement (that weren't ice or necromancy related) in a long while. But then, she hadn't used much magic in general in a long while either. Healing and the occasional destruction spells, that was the bulk of what she learned. Colette had been very helpful in that regard...

"You can take first watch."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Hmm?"

"For--your face," Sadrith said suddenly, "Is there any pain that a healing spell could help with?"

"Not especially," Torovan replied, "There is always pain, to one degree or another. I've grown used to it."

He shrugged at that.

"But if I could help--"

"You can't," he replied in a clipped tone. "Colette, that Breton woman from the College of Winterhold, she's tried, and nothing has been really done."

"Isn't that one reason you want to see the face sculptor?"

"I'd like to remind you that, once again, you were told not to ask questions." Torovan huffed slightly, but seeming momentarily amenable for whatever reason, added, "The face sculptor is merely to make me presentable in company."

"I can understand a little vanity," Sadrith replied, "But this is Skyrim. If they're battle scars, they'd be more a mark of honor than anything..."

Shut up, Sadrith, shutupshutUP. No more questions. Stop it, she thought, You're prying too much.

Torovan didn't answer for a moment, but then said, "As I said...you can take the first watch. The cold journey down here has been draining, and I'd prefer to get the first sleep, considering how much warmer it can be in this little room."

"That's fine," Sadrith replied, "I don't think I could sleep after the fight it was to get down here anyway."

She looked away, tucking her bags and some of Torovan's under the table where the Crimson Nirnroot had once been, and behind her Torovan was light a fire in the small fireplace.

"Have you got anything to feed it with?" she asked, glancing back at the flickering flames.

"Sigurd--the Archmage--loaded me down with a few bundles of firewood, knowing we'd be coming down here. I'll be glad to be rid of them." He gestured to a few bulky looking bags she hadn't especially took notice of.

"Good, good," she said with a slight smile, "Though, I do have a few copies of the Lusty Argonian Maid if we run out."

She could almost feel the look Torovan was giving her, though she wasn't facing him directly.

"They're the cheapest books imaginable, and...I don't like burning books, but they carry better than firewood." She shrugged. The pages were also good for...other purposes.

His head tilted back slightly, but then came back down.

"At any rate..."

He turned away, shed the fur robe that he'd been wearing, and lay it down on the bed. Then the robe beneath it.

Sadrith sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Torovan's bare shoulders. It wasn't that he was taking off layers...more so what was UNDER the layers. How, she wondered, could he possibly hide such muscular shoulders under those robes?

The feeling didn't change as he turned, shaking out the robe slightly. She didn't catch much at first, but as his hands (and the robe) moved down, she got a better view of his chest, and...

Oh, by the gods, I could grind axes on those abs...what's he doing being a mage when he has a body like this?

She knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it considering the most slender yet built figure she'd ever seen was standing before her; Torovan's body was a veritable feast for the eyes. Something to stand in awe of.

"Dragonborn?"

She snapped out of it, and looked up at his eye. "Ah...sorry. Did you need something?"

He made a sound in his throat she'd swear afterward was a chuckle.

He noticed. Gods, he saw me staring, he's probably laughing at me.

"I'm going to sleep now. Try not to get up to anything noisy...I sleep lightly."

He lay down, and within a few minutes was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. Sadrith sat by the door, still trying to process what she'd just seen. It seemed burned into her mind--that torso of his, chiseled as if from marble, as if the gods themselves had crafted it. That body was more a work of art than any sculpture of a man she'd ever seen.

On that thought Sadrith (quietly) went through her bags and found a few rolls of paper and some charcoal. Maybe, she thought, if she saw it again, she'd stop thinking about it. Maybe if she got it on paper, she'd stop summoning the image in her mind to 'see' it again and again.

Down, girl. He's a snobby ass anyway. Sometimes they're good-looking. This'll pass. It always does.

After scribbling a quick journal entry, she drew him several times, finding herself utterly absorbed in recapturing what she'd seen. She added a head and his hair to each one, but not able to get the bandages done to her own satisfaction, filled in a void where his face ought to be, with the one eye standing out in it. Once done, she gave the sketches a glance or two before tucking them back into her bags.

Now and then, she got up to refuel the fire, when the light got a bit too low.

He makes for a good subject, at least.

With the skooma-induced lack of appetite finally starting to retreat, she felt actual hunger. A rather good meal was put together of a strip of dried horker meat, a wedge of eidar cheese, a couple carrots, and a few leaves of lettuce from a head she'd bought back in Whiterun.

That was the best indicator of the passage of time she had, in moments when she was lost in whatever thing was being done at the time--when her body started warning her about hunger in all its various ways. The empty stomach she could easily ignore, but the slight nausea, and airy feeling in the head were not so easily shoved off. If she kept ignoring it, the headaches would follow soon after.

She tried to sit quietly and listen for any sounds of dwemer constructs or chaurus outside the door after that, but found she couldn't sit still to do so, and went looking in her bags for a book to read.

Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi To Her Favored Daughter was finished first, and she had nearly gotten through with Varieties Of Faith In The Empire when she heard someone stirring. When she looked up, she saw Torovan, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Well enough," Torovan replied quietly, as he stood.

It was a fight not to stare as he redressed, but she managed it, and tucked away her book when he approached.

Sadrith took off only her top layer of armor, and unrolled the blanket tucked into one of her bags before curling up on the stone bed beneath it. Torovan had left his heavy fur cloak down, so it was a fair bit cozier than it would normally be.

She still tossed and turned for a while.

Ceiling.

Sadrith had woken up, and would have been mentally cursing if she could spare the energy from trying to breathe and move. Torovan was seated by the door, though she couldn't move her head enough to see exactly what he was doing.

It's alright. It's alright. This just happens now and then. It's a bad dream, that's all.

She felt paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle. Her heart was absolutely racing, and there was a sensation like there was a heavy weight on her chest--and though she struggled, she couldn't move so much as a finger.

It's alright. It'll pass. It always does.

Annoyance and resignation turned into panic, however, when she saw the shadow man. More an outline than a figure, and entirely dark, like an absence in the air.

Not YOU again

He was at the far end of the room, by the table, and she felt nothing but evil from his presence. He approached, floated almost, for he certainly didn't have legs. Or if he did, she couldn't see them. In a few seconds he was at the end of the bed--and then, beside it, leaning over her.

You bind wounds that should be torn open.

Leave me alone, she thought, You're just a nightmare. You're not real. You're NOT REAL.

You were meant to unmake, yet cling to creation

A hand moved up, or maybe a claw. Sadrith couldn't tell--she was too focused on trying to avoid looking at the shadowy man, on trying to move, on anything but the voice whispering beside her.

My patience with you is wearing thin

The hand moved forward, grasped at her throat--she struggled again, more, her breathing rapid, her heart a swift drum beat in her chest.

He's going to go away, he's going to go away, HE'S GOING TO GO AWAY--

Suddenly, a pair of hands on her shoulders, bringing her up, though her head briefly dangled as if lifeless. The paralysis seemed to leave her body. She looked up not at the shadowy man, but into Torovan's bandaged face, and one good eye.

"What happened?" he asked, "You sounded like you were--"

"I--have episodes when I sleep, now and then," she said quickly, too relieved at being out of said episode to be snappish, "I'll wake up unable to move for a few moments. It's...it's nothing."

She half-leaned against him. Physical contact, that was always nice after episodes like this, always seemed to help.

"That didn't look like nothing. If it's a nightmare, you can say so. I'm not going to judge you on that, considering all that you've seen..."

"I'm fine," she said, moving back and pulling out of his grip. "Has it--has it been long?"

"We can spare another hour, if necessary." He seemed to be studying her again, looking...but for what?

"I...that would be nice. Thank you, but...let me get something, first." She went for her bags, and grabbed a bottle of mead. A few sips were had, and with that eye still watching her every movement she scribbled out a haphazard journal entry. Writing. That was good. Skin contact, ale, and doing something fiddly, they usually helped make the ongoing ill feeling pass on...or at least distracted her from it.

She lay back down a few minutes later, and thankfully did not see the shadow man when Torovan woke her.

Chapter Text

The Right Set Of Ears

"So," Torovan said, looking at the lit, empty, blue-green crystal display, "This is where you found the Elder Scroll."

"It is, yes," Sadrith replied, "And you know what was strange...how light it was."

"I know. Sigurd tells me you sold it to the librarian at the College, and he keeps it along with the two others."

She looked over quickly. "Two others?"

"There was...an issue with some vampires attempting to make particular nuisances of themselves. Blotting out the sun...what a foolish notion. We found two more in the process of taking care of that issue. Seems we were quite lucky you sold him the Elder Scroll, as it turns out we needed that one too."

"Funny how I heard nothing of that. Certainly I noticed an uptick in vampire attacks, but..."

"It's no longer a problem," Torovan added after a moment's thought. "And the orc has now three Elder Scrolls over which he can exert the authority he seems so eager to throw around."

"SOMEONE has to make sure the books remain intact," she replied. There was the urge to go on about how it was important, entirely necessary for (gods, what was that orc's name?) to make sure that knowledge REMAINED as accessible as it was now. She managed to stop herself, though, and say only, "It's something to brag about, at least. How many places outside the Imperial City have more than one elder scroll just laying around?"

"The Imperial City is in shambles," Torovan said, as they headed for the lift, "And they're lucky to have much of anything still there, let alone the elder scrolls."

"If the Thalmor kept their noses out of everyone's affairs, then things would likely be better off. And not just for the Imperials."

Torovan made no reply.

Both of them were glad to step out of the lift at the Tower of Mzark, though for different reasons.

Torovan said something about having spent too much time underground already, and pulled his fur cloak more tightly around himself.

"We're not too far from Heljarchen," Sadrith replied, giving a gesture as she started off, "Bit of a walk, but it shouldn't take too terribly long. My steward'll give us a good welcome."

Still grumbling, Torovan followed along.

"I'll be glad to get out of this wretched cold. I'm surprised you aren't feeling it more yourself. Small as you are, you ought to have frozen over by now."

"I'm used to it," she shrugged, "Maybe you need to get out of the College more often...or, and I say this politely, go back to Morrowind."

"I would if I could." Torovan's voice was not angry as she half-expected it to be. "But Sigurd plans to stay here, so here I stay with him."

"How lucky you both are, to have a friend so loyal," she smiled briefly at the thought, an expression which quailed when Lydia came to mind again. "I'm sure he wanted to come on this journey, but they need the presence of an adult at the College to keep the peace."

That made Torovan laugh. "You are no stranger to their antics, then."

"Not at all. Most of them are tolerable, but...the pointless rivalries..." Sadrith shook her head. "And then there are the ones with outlandish research. Arniel Gane..."

"I don't recall that one."

"He was there before you and Sigurd, I believe. The first time I came to the College. I wasn't especially interested in his research but he paid decently, so I went along with it. Man vanished before my very eyes hitting some sort of warped soul gem with Keening."

"Keening, you say."

"He was researching what happened to the Dwemer, and thought he might be able to...simulate it again."

"That was foolish of him."

"I'm not even entirely certain that it didn't work," Sadrith shrugged. "He hit the soul gem twice with Keening, and nothing happened. Then a third time, but angry. Then he was just...poof. Gone. That part would be expected, maybe but..."

She gestured vaguely with both hands.

"The odd part is, I can summon him. He's ghostly and doesn't speak, but he's quite handy if I need someone around to help me clear out a bandit camp."

"Strange that no one has ever mentioned it at the College." Torovan said. "Do you still have Keening?"

"I honestly don't remember."

"How can you NOT remember?" His tone shifted instantly; there was now a definite edge in his voice, "One of the tools of Kagrenac, and you simply don't remember what happened to it?"

"I've--handled a lot of artifacts. I'm sure I've told you that already." Sadrith shrugged. "Nocturnal's Skeleton Key, the Wabbajack, the gray--the point is, it could be anywhere. It's not like it's good for anything now anyway."

Torovan said no more on the subject, and seemed to move faster once they were within sight of Heljarchen.

It had changed quite a bit since she had first had it finished. To one side was a proper stable. To another was a shack for breaking down animals, and a scorched bit of ground littered with unused bones.

"Gregor must've had a hunter over recently," Sadrith said.

"Poachers, you mean."

"Hunters," she corrected, "As long as they hand over a little of their kill I don't care if they hunt on my land. They get to keep doing what they do best, and I end up with a little more to go into my stores...and a few less deer to pick at my wheat."

"You? Farm?" Torovan laughed. "Now I've heard everything."

"Really, is it that hard to believe? It's easy enough to handle...good and..." Sadrith stopped, suddenly unable to find the word she'd meant to say. Easy, that wasn't it, she'd already said it. M...m, something. Mundane? No. No, that wasn't it. "I can't seem to please you at all. Hired sword, not enough. Farming, definitely not enough. Do you expect me to live on dragonslaying all by itself? Do you think hero types just vanish once the hero work is done?"

Again, silence. A long pause.

She was raising her hand to knock at the door when he finally answered again.

"I simply never thought of someone like you farming, is all. Others I know dedicated themselves to a cause rather than settle into such a...lackluster routine."

"I have a cause," Sadrith added, after she knocked.

Gregor gave a smile and then a bow when he opened the door.

"Thane! A surprise to see you, but a welcome one. Come in, come in, you look as though you've come quite a ways tonight."

"That I have," Sadrith replied, "And I've brought someone with me...we'll only be here for the night. I hope we're not imposing on any plans you might--"

"Bah, what plans do I ever have? Come in, come in."

He gestured and Sadrith walked in; Torovan ducked slightly and shut the door behind him.

"Has--trade with Dawnstar stayed good?"

"Good enough. We're making a small profit from that and from the caravans that stop here now and then on their way there." Gregor gestured vaguely. "One of the hunters dropped by a few days past, so we've got quite a good haunch of venison ready. And a black pudding, too...though I have to confess I've already had more than my share of it."

Sadrith gave a slight laugh. "That's no problem, so long as you've enough to share. Do you have enough blood to make any fresh?"

"Ah, sadly no."

The conversation stayed in a similar friendly vein through dinner, though Torovan (understandably, at least to Sadrith) claimed the lack of an appetite and ate nothing. He did take wine, but stay mostly quiet.

Until it was time to sleep, of course.

Sadrith steered him away from the door off the side of the main room. "Not there, that's Gregor's room. Upstairs."

She lead Torovan up the left stairs, and moved towards the two small beds.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said. "You expect me to sleep in one of these?"

"It's not just the one I expect you to sleep in, I was going to push them together. It's either this or my bed, which isn't--"

"I'd rather take yours, then." Torovan replied. "It's only one night but I do not intend to wrench myself like a contortionist and wake up feeling as though you had kept me in a trunk."

Sadrith huffed. "It's not my fault you're as tall as you are."

It was just easier to let him take her bed, she thought. It wasn't a big deal, he'd only be in it for a night. And she could manage just fine pushing these two beds together.

She lead him around the top floor and into her bedroom.

It looked the same as the last time she'd left it. A single candle and a mug on the bedtable, the wardrobe--slightly out of place, she thought, as she went to adjust it.

"One might almost think you don't want guests here, with the lack of suitable beds," Torovan said as he tucked his bags into the wardrobe. "Did you never expect to have any?"

"What would you say if I answered 'yes'?" she asked. He gave her a strange look as she shrugged and went on, "Most of those who do visit tend to sleep outdoors...the hunters, the khajiit. I suppose I just...never thought of it."

She paused, turning away when he sat down on the edge of the bed, but staying close enough he could hear her as she lowered her voice. "How is your supply looking?"

"Good enough," Torovan replied evenly, "But it would be best to replenish it, if you've a source."

"...if worst comes to worst, you can take mine. But the hunting is decent around here, so it shouldn't be necessary," Sadrith added.

She could almost feel his stare.

"You trust too easily," he added in a low tone soon after. "You would do well to fix that failing. Suppose I were of a mind to harm you?"

"If you were, you would have done it already. I'd have seen a look, or a sneer that wasn't just you being an utter snob." She turned back around to look at him as she headed for the door at the back of the room, gave him a grin, and an exaggerated bow. "I am the dragonborn, the favored fearless hero of Skyrim, and if I am afraid of anything, it is a battle made too easy."

"And you say I am too full of myself."

Sadrith could not sleep.

Blame it on the shadow man, or sleeping indoors after a long period spent outside, or not sleeping in her own bed--whatever the source of the problem, the end result was the same.

She tried reading, but the fatigue never strayed into her mind, which always presented her with the same strict and definite feeling of you are not going to sleep. After a lengthy period and more intimate book failed to do anything for her, she decided to look about in the basement. Perhaps some mindless arranging of weapons or organization of ingots might help.

She went down the stairs and took the trapdoor into the basement, shivering only slightly in her robe. She formed a ball of light in one hand, and noting the altar to the Nine, walked over towards it.

"I forget if I've prayed to you recently," she said, "I...tend to forget things like that. But I suppose I ought to do it now, while I have the chance."

She took a deep breath.

"Show me what to do. Give me some...some idea, something to go on. The Thalmor will take over, if they aren't stopped, and...well, there are others who would resist. But I have the strange feeling that if I don't, no one else will. Nonsense, I know. Arrogance. What right do I have to think such a thing, with my...with my failings? My unsteady mind?"

Perhaps it was hopeless, came the thought, to think that there might be an answer. To think that she should hear from Akatosh himself, despite the gift of the dragon soul she'd already received. Maybe he would think that that was enough.

"I just want to stop the high elves from obliterating us all," she said, "Will you not help me?"

There was no answer. No feeling of being watched. The shrine did not feel entirely empty, but it was still cold.

A similar prayer was offered to each of the other eight shrines, but there was no answer from any of them, either. Though from Talos's shrine she did feel something...some small inkling of pride.

He saw what I did to the Thalmor, with the Nord prisoner...of course he would look kindly on me after that.

She walked past the training dummy to get some mead, and then looked back at it once she'd finished her drink. Gregor had dressed it for some training apparently--she noticed some marks at its neck--in that strange Crusader armor she had found at Four Skull Lookout.

She remembered trying to wear them the first time she laid hands on them, and having a feeling of discomfort, of wrongness. That she was unfit to wear them, and had then taken them off. She had made the pilgrimage to the nine shrines, but then--had forgotten to come back to get the armor again. There were other things to wear, after all, and other things to do.

"What about you?" she said, "I've read in books you don't like to be prayed to, but that doesn't mean I can't speak to you. If you're there to listen. Would YOU like it if I strayed out, wearing your armor, slaying the Thalmor in defense of Skyrim?"

It was faint...very faint, but Sadrith felt something then.

(Maybe, she told herself, it was her own mind. Was it possible, certainly. But she wouldn't dismiss the idea of other things)

Eagerness.

"So you are...well--"

The trapdoor above opened suddenly, and Gregor's voice shouted down from it.

"Thane! Bandits are approaching, four of 'em!"

"It's fine, I'm coming!"

She cursed under her breath that she'd left Chillrend up in the bedroom. She knocked over the fighting dummy and dressed hastily in the armor, and not seeing its sword--grabbed for one that sat in the weapon rack. A two hander, a little much, but--

Her mind stilled, instantly.

The sword from the Solitude sewers, she realized halfway up the ladder.

That sword, she'd forgotten what it was, only where she'd found it. It was plain metal, unadorned, nothing to really crow about. Except for one thing that she found most valuable--that when her hand closed around its hilt, the chaos in her mind ceased entirely. It was a cold silence, almost frightening in its way.

She rushed out the front door, sword in hand.

Four bandits stood before her and Gregor. Four nords, one of which was wearing the expensive Nordic armor she'd come to expect from the bandit leaders.

I wonder if it's a set I've sold to Tonilia before...

Sadrith charged at the nearest bandit, which wasn't the leader. She saw him raising his own sword and swung her own low--it bit into his side, cutting cleanly through the leather armor he was wearing. He cried out in pain and she pulled it back, aiming a kick directly at his groin. He fell, and she turned to see Gregor taking on the leader. The two others approached her and she sidestepped, letting the sword drag along the ground for a moment.

She Shouted--"FUS!"

They didn't go flying, but they DID stumble, and that gave her the opportunity to raise the sword and bring it straight down on the head of one of them, splitting it halfway and staining the sword and his armor alike. Then the ground, when she pulled it back.

"Run," she growled at the other, "Run, and I'll let you live."

When he ran forward, mace raised in what would clearly be a wild swing, she smirked.

It seemed that she blinked and dodged his blow in that missing moment. Her sword was raised, and she brought it down, cleaving off his arm--

There was a sudden elation, a glory in defeating these miserable bandits. When she turned and saw Gregor falling back, though--the sensation died almost instantly, and turned to fury.

Again, she Shouted.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!"

Her breath crystallized to ice in the air as the Shout moved forward, striking the bandit chief--and turned him from a man of flesh and blood to solid ice. With an enraged growl, she strode forward, swung the sword--and shattered what had once been a man.

For a few moments she stood like that--arms sore, muscles complaining, breathing coming hard. Then she turned to Gregor.

"Are--are you alright?"

"I'm--" Gregor stumbled over his words and stood, clenching at the (ebony axe, she remembered giving him that some time ago) as he stood. "I'm fine. He moved quickly for one so heavily armored."

She felt the anger leaking away as she watched him dust himself off. There was a wound on his arm, which she came forward to heal.

"A pity I didn't think to leave the armor for you. You probably could have used it," she said, "It looked...very nice."

"I'm happy with what I have," he replied, waving dismissively with his free hand once its arm's wound was closed, "Truly, Thane. The fur in this armor is better against the cold, at any rate, and lets me stay mobile."

That made sense, she supposed. She thought for a moment, and then looking down at the bodies, something else came to mind.

"Let us burn the bodies," she replied, "Not knowing them, we don't know if they have...a family tomb, or anything of that sort. We can bury the bones tomorrow."

Gregor silently agreed, and helped her carry the bodies of the three remaining bandits to the blackened ground where he said the hunters had burned the remains of their kills. After stripping them of their weapons and gold their bodies were arranged on a small pyre.

It did not take long to finish the job, and perhaps half an hour later it was done. She headed back to the house, followed closely by Gregor.

The door opened just as she was about to open it; Torovan stood there, his fur robe loosely pulled on. She saw him look at her; a second later he drew back. Not afraid, surely, but definitely shocked or surprised.

"What's going on out there?" he asked, "I thought I heard weapons at first, but then there was the sound of a fire..."

"Bandits," Sadrith replied quickly, "We've taken care of them. You can go back to bed."

"You're sure there aren't more lurking to avenge their--"

She removed the helmet, and looked up at him. Gregor, muttering something about all the excitement, headed right for the kitchens.

"I'm sure. The leader is a pile of ice on the ground. Any bandit watching would have fled for the hills if he has any sense in his brain. There is NOTHING to worry about."

Torovan huffed, but not in an angry way--at least, not that she could tell.

"You're a cocky little bastard, aren't you?"

"And don't you forget it," she said.

Sadrith went to the basement, cleaned the armor, and returned it to the training dummy, now upright. The sword she kept when she went back upstairs, and then propped against the wall beside the bed.

Finally, finally, she slept.

Chapter Text

Further South

17th (?) of First Seed, 4E202

I did not sleep well last night, to put it mildly. First I couldn't sleep at all, so I went down to the cellar to pray to the Nine...and did I get an answer? No. Of course I didn't. I don't know what I did, but I must have done SOMETHING to make them angry. Maybe I didn't use the right words?...I don't know.

I think I felt some sense of pride from Talos, but that might have been my mind attempting to make me feel better in some way or another.

It was slightly different with the Crusader's armor, even if I still doubted what...when I mentioned going out to fight the Thalmor wearing the armor, I'm (almost) certain I felt eagerness from it. Like it wanted to be taken out again.

So I did something to make the other Eight mad, but Talos and Pelinal respond to me? What kind of guarshit is that? I DID WHAT YOU WANTED! GIVE ME SOMETHING TO G@@@@@@

Fine. Message received, lords and ladies of the Eight. I will defend my @@@@@@@ this world myself. I will take up the fool's mission and @@@@

PLEASE. JUST. STOP. ENOUGH OF THIS WHI@@@XXXX. Either let my mind rest or give me something to fight to ease this chaos. I can't DO THIS

Sadrith looked up from her somewhat cathartic journal entry as she heard stirring from the other side of the wall. It looked to be midday, and despite having traveled in daylight before, that had been further north, where the light didn't seem as strong. She was sure Torovan wouldn't want to head out with the sun directly overhead.

She yawned and stood, walking quickly through the back door and into what was usually her own bedroom.

Torovan was standing there facing the bed, and as she looked up she caught a glance of his face, or rather the right half of it. A strange burn. A few scars, one deeper than the rest, but all healed. A closed wound that looked like it had nearly taken his ear off--

His hands shot up. One over the cheek visible to her, the other over his forehead.

"GET OUT!"

She stumbled and tripped in her attempt to turn at the same time, striking the back wall with her head. Groaning, she raised a hand to her own forehead.

"I'm--I'm sorry!" she said suddenly, scrambling back to her feet, "I was just trying to get dressed, you're in my room!"

"Go and don't come back until I tell you!"

She moved back around the wall, head stinging and throbbing from the knock against the wall. No blood, but she cast a healing spell over it anyway. She still didn't understand why he wanted so badly to hide such scars--here in Skyrim they'd make him look like someone not to be messed with. Perhaps he was just extremely vain?

You don't need to know. Stop thinking about it.

She sat awkwardly in the other room, and from lack of anything else to do at the moment looked over the sword from the Solitude sewers as it stood propped against the wall.

The anxieties in her mind were once more gone as her hand touched its hilt. But at the same time, that silence was chilling.

Her mind was always busy, always buzzing, so to have it silent was lonely. But this absence was...well, the same, but vastly amplified in more than one way. It was as if she had suddenly been shoved into place, and was chafing against the restraint. It was working, it was orderly, neat, and she could function, surely, but--

But that function made her feel as though her mind were simply handing out orders, and the rest of her was just automatically carrying them out. It made her feel less like a living, breathing person and more of a dwarven construct. Like there was a severing of the connection between her mind and her self.

This isn't me...I don't like it.

For all the pain that the skooma caused her in all its various ways, it did not erase the wild creativity or zeal for everything she felt. It helped her to direct the storm, harness it.

The sword left her hollow.

Except, perhaps, for last night.

She had used the sword a fair amount, but wearing the Crusader's armor with it...in that moment before she'd spotted Gregor in danger, there had been a sudden joy in the battle and blood. Not that she didn't already enjoy battle, but there was something different about that.

"Dragonborn?"

Or maybe the sword was a thing that focused, and when all she thought of was focus itself, that was what made her empty...and last night there had been battle, so the feeling of and enjoyment of it had itself been focused...intensified...

If that armor is truly Pelinal's then to sharpen his hunger is the LAST thing I need...

But a second later that cautious thought turned sharp and attacked.

What hubris you have!

"Dragonborn!"

Sadrith startled suddenly, and looked up to see Torovan--already dressed himself, and with fresh bandages on his face.

"You can go in now."

"Thank you. Now, I just wanted to apolo--gize..."

The words died on her lips as he walked swiftly away.

Alright, so you don't want an apology. You want to pretend nothing happened.

She didn't attempt to call after him, and went to dress herself.

In the next few hours Sadrith kept herself busy. She helped Gregor finish digging the graves he was working on, then collected a few eggs from the (four? when had there been four? Gregor must've bought some...) chickens, and made up a sort of lunch for the two of them between that and some cheese, leek, potato, and a couple overripe tomatoes. A couple carrots were produced but on thinking for a moment she tucked them into her pocket.

Torovan chose to eat the last of the black pudding, and in a quiet voice when Gregor was out of the room mentioned it was not entirely filling but was adequate for the time being.

As the light was only just starting to dim Sadrith headed outside to check on the horses. There were three horses--one more fit for work in the field, and two better for riding. She produced carrots for all three of them, and was greeted by eager snuffling and nosing at her for more.

The stallion, a dapple grey, nudged her in the shoulder and then made a huffing noise right in her face.

"You're going to suit him very well, Snow," Sadrith joked, patting at his shoulder. The horse was not too hard to keep on course, with the right sort of rider. Hopefully, Torovan would be that sort.

Then she turned to the mare's stall. This one was a chestnut, and more calm than Snow--who seemed eager to get going.

She had also been Lydia's horse.

The remaining chunk of carrot was pulled from Sadrith's pocket and handed over.

"You miss Whiterun, don't you?" she asked, "It's colder up here than you'd like, I know..."

Jarla whickered.

"I'd spend more time there, but...I don't like large cities. Too many people...too many eyes..." She shook her head, and idly started to brush out the horse's mane with her fingers. "The more time I spend around others the less I like it. Too many people to convince, too many chances for something to go wrong. Sometimes I wish I was a beast...more worries, but somehow less. You don't care for much beyond the next meal, do you?"

To have such simple wants and needs...

She left the stables, and went back inside. Torovan was in the entryway with his bags, and looking over the weapon racks, one of which held her Nightingale bow.

"I'll probably be needing that," she said, reaching up to grab it, "For hunting, of course."

"A gift from a daedric prince, and you use it for mere hunting?" Torovan gave a slight huff. "What does your mistress think of that, I wonder?"

"She thinks nothing of it," Sadrith replied easily. "The lady of shadows is not all that picky when it comes to what you do with her gifts. So long as I do one very important thing, and don't do another equally important thing, we have an agreement. And the shadows continue to be my friend."

"How lucky for you."

For a moment there was silence, which she eagerly broke.

"I'll get the rest of my things together, and then I'll saddle up the horses and we can go. Do you ride often?"

"Not often, no, but I'm capable."

"Snow is a good steed, but you'll find he likes to move quickly. A lot of energy, that one." She went back into the main hall and headed straight for the basement. As much as she wanted to leave it there...she wanted to take the armor with her more. It was not as though she NEEDED to be wearing it all the time. It could sit safely in her bags.

You were supposed to leave it here. Why change your mind?

It wasn't a question she could answer. Her wants changed so often she hesitated to commit to an idea, because she'd almost certainly change her mind later. One moment an object was of vast importance, and the next, it was forgotten.

"If we encounter any Thalmor," she said to the helmet, "I'll be sure to give you a night on the town."

She smirked at the thought and instantly she could see it in her mind's eye. Walking towards two Thalmor in terrifying and inevitable silence. Her white hair blowing in a sudden wind, giving the last touch to the Crusader's reappearance. The Thalmor demanding she speak, identify herself, surrender...and then screaming in fear and pain as she brought them to the sword.

"Thane?"

Gregor's voice took her away from the violence in her mind, and she shook it off as the armor was tucked away.

"Something to report, Gregor?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss seeing you off, if you hadn't left already."

"Really, you're too kind." She gave him a smile. "I feel I get so much work from you...and what return do you get, really?"

"A home far from the bustle of cities and bickering between sides," Gregor replied. "I don't care for the Imperials and the Thalmor, but..."

"But Ulfric's being played like a lute and he doesn't even see it."

Privately she hoped that he had learned better by now, thanks to the dossier she'd sent him. Hopefully, he'd see sense and be open to solving the Thalmor issue in a more...subversive...way.

But she wouldn't hold her breath.

"I wouldn't believe it myself, if you hadn't showed me the Thalmor logs. I've done business with both sides...and I'm wondering what you want me to do, should push come to shove. It's always good to have a plan."

"Do what you think is right, but don't be stupid. Keep your neck if you can. But if some attack should come...if your life is threatened and you know you won't last, take as many of them out as possible. Make them regret they chose to make an enemy out of Gregor, warrior of Dawnstar and housecarl to the Dragonborn."

He gave a smile and a nod and helped her ascend the letter with the heavy bag. Torovan was waiting for her outside and watched as she saddled up the horses and got their bags situated.

"Inelegant beasts," he finally mused, "Would that you were in possession of a silt strider. We could make the journey in more comfort."

"They don't handle the cold that well," Sadrith said. "I'm thinking we go a bit southwest. We might run into bandits...but from what I saw of you in Blackreach, mere bandits will be easy for you to handle."

He helped her mount Jarla before replying with a prideful, "Naturally."

A few moments later he was on Snow, and she lead the way southwest.

Thankfully, they didn't encounter any bandits at Halted Stream or at Silent Moons. It wasn't until they'd slipped past Fort Greymoor that they encountered another living soul that wasn't an animal.

"The robes of a monk...what is a priest doing on the roads?" Torovan asked. "Offering healing services to travelers couldn't possibly be a profitable venture."

"It's not always about profit, you know," Sadrith replied.

The figure turned and on a sighting of fur she knew who he was. She directed Jarla and gave a half-smile to Torovan.

"It's only M'aiq. He's harmless."

Torovan's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything as they approached.

"It is wonderful to see you in good health, M'aiq," Sadrith spoke as the khajiit turned in her direction. "What wisdom do you have to share today, I wonder?"

"M'aiq knows much, and tells some. M'aiq knows many things others do not."

"Have you seen anything interesting on the roads?"

"Dragons, vampires, and gods—oh my! Skyrim is like a fair, but with more shouting and less spun sugar." M'aiq gave a sort of laugh.

Sadrith replied with a laugh of her own, and went on, "I'm going south. I thought of attending the College of Winterhold, but..."

"The College of Winterhold teaches magic, yes?" Now the cat looked at Torovan. "M'aiq thinks they should also offer classes on how to catch a falling star."

"An interesting thought. Perhaps they also have some tips for vampire attacks." Torovan replied in a coldly polite voice, "They have toned down of late, but they have been a problem."

"M'aiq heard of a vampire who changed her look. She traded her fangs for a third eye. Fashion or folly, who is to say?"

Sadrith heard a sharp breath from Torovan. As it was clear the cat had no interest in saying anything further, she gave M'aiq a polite goodbye, and guided Jarla off.

Torovan was following along behind her.

"I don't like that cat," he said, "I didn't like him in Morrowind and I don't like him here. He knows too much."

"He does nothing with the knowledge. I think he just enjoys imparting it and surprising people."

"I say again that you trust too easily."

"And you don't trust at all, which is worse. If you're too closed up, nothing will get in, nothing will get out. And what kind of way to live is that?"

"The way that keeps me alive," Torovan snarked.

"I'm not afraid of dying," Sadrith replied, "I'm afraid of not living."

Torovan huffed and said no more as they continued south.

Chapter Text

Convergence

*nothing is written on the page, but there are several things drawn with a shaky hand. Lines drawn toward but not quite reaching an empty central point, a dim lit cave entrance with a ruined wooden door, and a faceless figure bleeding from a gaping chest wound where part of a lung can be seen--but no heart*

It had been an accident. Just a slip of his hand when he was taking the bottle from Snow's saddlebag, but despite what was responsible the fact still stood: Torovan was out of blood. He'd refused to stoop to drinking it off the floor--but his need was clear, his hunger evident.

"Take my blood. We've stopped for the night anyway." Sadrith said. It was strange, she knew better than to chance it--but still, she was deadly curious. What did being fed from feel like?

Curiosity killed the cat...but satisfaction brought him back.

"I told you, I don't want your blood." Torovan practically snarled the words, but from the slight shake of his hands Sadrith could tell he was tempted. "Suppose I take too much?"

"I trust you."

Torovan fixed her with a somber look.

"You shouldn't." He paused, and looked over his shoulder, as if at something far away. "You truly shouldn't."

"It's either this or I try to go out and get a rabbit or a deer. That could take time we don't have. I'd rather not come back to find you've drained my horses dry."

She could see that he was struggling to give her another denial. Despite the self-control that had marked him since they'd left Winterhold...maybe he didn't trust himself not to drain her entirely?

Still, Sadrith persisted. She saw no reason why someone with so large a stick up his ass would have trouble controlling himself.

"Take mine," she insisted, "I've already eaten, I'm comfortable, and it'll probably put me right to sleep. You know healing spells, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

The huff she waited for didn't come. When she looked in his direction she saw his lips pressed tightly together. He shut his eye and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Fine." There was a pause where he seemed to struggle with what to say before finally going with, "You should lay down...as you'll become dizzy. Get comfortable. And...loosen your tunic's collar."

Sadrith moved a little closer to the fire. She'd already taken off her armor in preparation to sleep, so loosened her collar as Torovan asked--and waited. He knelt beside her and then leaned down, bracing himself with one arm. She looked to one side--

"Are you sure?" Torovan asked, his lips inches away from her neck.

"I'm sure."

Could you even stop if I said no now?

It was like a pair of tiny daggers in her neck, that bite, and as the blood began to flow Sadrith heard Torovan growl. The pain faded swiftly into a strange numbness, and an almost thrilling feeling of her blood racing through another's veins.

His hand came up, almost cradling her head--his tongue working furiously, throat gulping as quickly as he could get it into his mouth. Feasting, guzzling, like he hadn't seen blood in weeks.

Though Sadrith's heart was racing, her mind was still--not in the way the sword made it, but a beautiful silence. There was no typhoon of thoughts to sort through, no sea of endless fog to fight.

Only a simple subtle command, barely a thought and more of an instinct.

yield your blood

The numbness spread...soothing, calming.

And then--a bewildering flash of images before her eyes. Images, connected to feelings, connected to--

Darkness, with a leaping patch of red-hot light, and a feeling of terrible loneliness.

Mechanical pulsing, stone walls ribbed with white. Blood. Pain.

Purple skies, desperate breathing. Joy, pure JOY

Then, pain. Sadrith struggled to bring her hand to her chest unknowingly. A cramp ran through her chest, tightening, spasming--then searing agony, like it was being clawed open--!

Cold air on her neck, the sound of cursing in her ears. Then, trembling--Torovan's heavy breathing, and the warm glow of a healing spell. After a minute or two Sadrith's vision started to clear.

"Wh't happened?" she mumbled.

He didn't answer.

"Torovan..."

Sadrith sat up, expecting her head to be swimming, her vision still blurry as she got up. Perhaps some dizziness.

But she felt none of that. Her vision was entirely clear, and she saw Torovan, hunched over with one red-grey hand clamped over his mouth as he stared at the ground.

"Are you ill? Did my blood make you sick?"

"We." he forced out, "Are NOT. Doing that. AGAIN."

She was still confused, and kept watching him. "I don't understand. Tell me what happened?"

There was now no lingering pain. A thin veil of trust, a surety that he was worrying over nothing. He feared he would kill her, he didn't, no pain or symptom remained, so her mind was wandering. The only doubts now in her mind were of what she'd seen when he was feeding on her. Was that normal, when one was being bitten by a vampire? Had HE seen something?

She decided not to ask. Supposing he hadn't, this might make her look strange.

"I nearly KILLED you, that's what!" Torovan barked at her. "I told you--warned you--"

"You didn't. I'm FINE," she waved dismissively, "It's just blood, you...you healed me up right."

"You were clutching your chest and groaning about your heart, I don't call that FINE!" He looked back at her, fixing her with a hard glare, a look that made her shrink back. "Why must you be so dismissive of danger? Are you STUPID?"

"I killed the World-Eater, I'm not scared of being sucked dry." Sadrith lay back on the bedroll, and reached up to touch over the place he'd bitten her. "I didn't expect you to take so much, but..."

"I should have remembered your...dragon blood. It...it was..." His hands shook for a moment. "I'm glad the vampire problem is largely taken care of. If they knew what you tasted like--"

Torovan immediately shut his mouth after saying it.

"How about we change the subject?" she asked. "Sort of. Are you sated?"

"Yes. Perfectly so. That's the problem."

Torovan would say no more on the issue, and instead changed the conversation to replenishing their supplies. Sadrith suggested a stop in Riverwood, and he agreed.

Chapter Text

Puzzle

18th of First Seed, 4E 202

Dream. Don't want to forget:

Broken mirror? Broken pieces to put back together. Alduin? Armor?

It was broken, and she had to fix it, though the reason for the urgency was beyond her. Sadrith only knew she HAD to put the pieces back together, or the darkness would return.

There were pieces on the floor, pieces that flickered with light and--memory? She touched one of the bigger shards and on tilting it toward the light saw a glimmer of Alduin's draconic form glide over it. The next piece--one that seemed to slot almost perfectly into and against the first, shimmered and showed a vision of the Crusader's armor. The two pieces resembled a shape she was unsure of and yet she felt certain she'd seen it before.

So much is missing. So much.

The darkness was coming. She wouldn't be done in time. And--worst of all--the pieces wouldn't stay together if her hand wasn't there, holding them together.

The next piece she saw a few feet away. She reached for it, closed her hand around gingerly around its sharp edges--only for an explosion of pain as a golden boot stepped down onto it.

She was certain--certain it was the shadow man due to the encroaching darkness, and yet that boot told her otherwise. She'd never see the shadow man of her waking dreams dressed in anything, he'd always been just a dark shape in the air.

Below her, a new and larger piece appeared, and she grabbed for it--shoved it against the other pieces, despite the agony in her right hand.

I have to finish it. I have to--

But to move her left hand to grab for another piece would mean she couldn't hold the others together; they would be weaker.

The shard's picture was hard to see. Within its jagged form there was a faint light source that seemed to pulse. She got a brief glimpse of a taller figure against red light, but could think no more as the boot on her hand began to grind it against the ground.

The shadow choked her, and the pain exploded as she felt bones give and then break. Only then did the owner of the boot speak.

"Heca!"

A gasp, a pain in her cramping right hand, and a racing heart that felt as thought it were beating out of her chest.

Sadrith's eyes opened and--thank the gods--she wasn't rooted to the ground. She moved up, sitting, then standing, so quickly that her head spun for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Torovan spoke, and she startled at the sound of his voice. "Nightmares?"

"I--I--"

She racked her mind for something, anything to tell him that wasn't the truth. That she'd woken up terrified from a nightmare like some sort of child. No. She could NOT tell him that.

"I just...thought I heard something..."

Torovan looked at her doubtfully, and she felt a pang. He didn't believe her. Of course he didn't, who WOULD believe such a terrible lie?

"This barrow is full of spiders, so..." she shook her head, "I've gone through it before, you understand, and though I took care of the spiders before, I...well. They never quite go away for good."

Deep breath. She was panicking, and after a moment's thought reached into her bag for a bottle of mead. She wanted to say more, to add to the lie, make it better, but even now she knew better than to try. She'd just end up tumbling and sounding even more the fool.

But when running through the subjects to speak of, she thought 'dragon' and after a short silence spoke again.

"The dragons made it hard to sleep through the night...so I've...I don't sleep well, since then, especially since they just...show up from time to time. As if we need more to worry about, with the civil war still going on, and..."

Shut up. SHUT UP. You sound like an idiot!

Deep breath. It didn't help. It never did.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked, as she scribbled a journal entry, "Besides the snow outside and the crackle of the fire, I mean."

"I have, actually," Torovan replied, "And it is fortunate you woke, because I was about to wake you myself."

"Some of those the Archmage warned me about?" she asked, "Or a beast, perhaps?"

He looked toward the massive set of doors, which had begun to creak.

Sadrith dropped into a crouch, and reached into her bag--coming out with a dagger. She grabbed also for the Nightingale Bow, and two ebony arrows. She would have taken more, but the echo of footsteps was inside now.

"The trail leads here," said one voice, "Are we certain the other end is guarded?"

"Certain as the sunrise," another replied another in a lower tone, "Though I doubt they would have gone too far."

Torovan gave her a look, and followed when she gestured to the debris on the right side of the room.

"Smells like shit in here," a third voice added, "And horses."

"Well they won't have gone this way on foot."

They were well hidden enough that as they walked by, Sadrith could see the speakers in better detail. Three Altmer in golden armor--Thalmor, she'd guess. Yet there was one thing different about the closest one she saw - there was an emblem on his pauldrons, etched into the golden armor.

A crowned bird of some kind.

Deep breath.

"Remember, when we find him - them - do not be foolhardy and try to take them on yourself. They're both extremely dangerous, particularly our primary target."

"So he's a sorcerer, what difference does that make?"

"This one is no mere sorcerer, if what the higher-ups say is true. This one is--"

Sadrith felt Torovan's hand on her shoulder and gave a glance back as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "The one in front. I'll be ready when he falls."

He gestured at the bow and she nodded, then nocked an arrow.

Discerning the meaning of dreams, that was a matter of anxiety, something she was rubbish at. But launching death from the shadows came as naturally as breathing.

Chapter Text

Note

Status: Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Abrogator Level Approval

Torovan has only recently become a target, but dealing with him is vital. His knowledge of ancient magics and expertise on Dwemeri affairs are considered valuable, but to what degree his power has receded is unclear. Where he has been since the events leading to his initial death are unclear - until five years ago, whereupon he was discovered to be travelling with the nord Sigurd.

Captain's Note: Yes, THAT Sigurd

The pair have dispatched multiple kill teams so DO NOT APPROACH with anything less than a full complement.

Status: Active (Kill Only), High Priority, Abrogator Level Approval

The dragonborn Sadrith is a known subversive, wanted for multiple incidents in the Thalmor Embassy, and has been shown to support the Stormcloak Rebellion despite outwardly showing no inclination to join either side of the war. Linked to the Thieves Guild and the Blades. Her ongoing existence is a threat to our operations in Skyrim and the sooner we may be rid of her, the better.

Captain's Note: Given she is a Dunmer, there may be additional danger in the situation given Torovan's involvement. Don't be a fool.

Fighting the Thalmor had been easier than even Sadrith had expected.

As she loosed the arrow she Shouted, "KRII LUN AUS!" and watched with a grin as the sound caused her target to turn just in time to take the arrow in the eye.

Torovan rushed forward beside her, spells charged in his hands, and blasted the soldier that approached him. She turned toward the third member of the group and drew out her dagger.

He spat at her and rage carried her forward, dodging his blows and slashing at his throat like a madwoman. When he pulled back she smirked, and Shouted again. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Fire burst from her lips, and she rushed forward to start cutting again. The Thalmor soldier died screaming, but the moment he was down she was rifling through his pockets.

Torovan was standing up from the now limp body of the Thalmor soldier before him, and moved back in her direction.

"We need to get moving."

"Right, right, I was just checking them for notes. Usually when assassins or thugs are sent after me there's something left behind..."

"You get assassins sent after you very often? Did you upset the Dark Brotherhood, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Sadrith said, finally finding a few notes and opening them to read. "I wiped out one of their sanctuaries, though, and I haven't heard anything of them since...it's mainly been want-to-be bandits and the like since."

"An entire--"

She looked over the notes, though, and anything Torovan might have been saying was less interesting and therefore only half heard. Something about being too reckless for her own good.

The notes had quite a bit in them that answered some questions but gave her far more to think on. Expertise in Dwemeri affairs? Initial death? Perhaps he was some sort of scholar dedicated to looking through the Dwemer ruins in Vvardenfell after ash covered them. It had to be dangerous to look through such places now, even more so than before. But then came mention of Sigurd... that Sigurd. Something was tickling in her mind. Yes, he was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, but she knew she'd heard Sigurd's name somewhere, frequently. She knew it but didn't remember why.

And who was this Abrogator? The last time she'd seen information like this it had been marked 'Emissary Level Approval'...which meant Elenwen, or at least she assumed so.

That was another mystery. She'd never seen the word before...then there was her own note. Kill only. Oh, the joy, to be in the same club that Delphine was in. They'd probably found out about Northwatch Keep somehow or the other--maybe the Gray-mane what's-his-name had been recaptured and somehow let the information out. Or that nord soldier she'd saved, or maybe someone really HAD seen her when she'd killed that Thalmor prisoner escort she released him from. Or--

Torovan leaned suddenly over her shoulder, and read the letter.

"What's this mean, the embassy business?"

"I got in to get some information on the dragons' return, and a few soldiers didn't care for my being there. Someone figured the Thalmor might know something, and I went to all that trouble only to find out that they didn't know a damned thing. Didn't the others have these notes?"

"No," he shook his head.

Sadrith handed him the note with his name. "Seems you rate capture-or-kill. Whatever you know must be valuable...and it seems like they know exactly who you are..."

Torovan paused, and his one good eye stared down at her as if waiting for something. After a long pause he spoke again.

"You seem to make more trouble than I was first told," he said, "The Dark Brotherhood, the Thalmor...the Thieves Guild...the Stormcloaks..."

"The dragons," Sadrith replied. "What's your point?"

"The point is that you are foolish, reckless, and Sigurd should NEVER have--how you ever earned a reputation for discretion is beyond me. What a talented liar you are, to maintain such an image despite the utter chaos you seem to create."

If Sigurd knew how utterly useless I am he'd never have chosen me to begin with, Sadrith thought, before moving on.

She took a deep breath. It didn't help, it never did. All she could do was distract herself before she felt it.

"Fine," she snapped, "Fine, I'm a beacon of chaos, the best liar in Tamriel, the doom drum itself - the truth is out! What are you going to do next? Should I give you the amulet so you can go back to Winterhold, or are you going to close your mouth and follow me?"

Torovan seemed to be stricken silent, and said nothing else to her until after they'd checked the bodies for arrows and weapons.

"You should be careful of claiming such things," his voice was tense, but at least more even than before. "The doom drum is not a thing to invoke lightly, and you never know if your words may turn out to be true."

"Alduin was the doom drum," Sadrith waved a hand absently, "And I killed him."

She still wondered what in oblivion the Thalmor were after him for, but he wasn't going to answer any of those questions so there wasn't any point in asking him. He wasn't going to kill her, that was the important part.

The horses, while spooked, responded readily enough to Torovan's calming spell. There had been a lengthy absence when he left to get them, but he brought them into the front room just as Sadrith was remembering the mark on the pauldrons of the soldiers.

She scribbled the symbol on a piece of paper and then stood. "I've never seen this mark on any of them before. A crowned bird."

"No?"

"Maybe these are just higher ups from outside Skyrim," she said, "I don't remember seeing it even in the Embassy, but that was a while ago."

Something beneath her skin practically snarled at the sight of that symbol, though, a hatred stirred that didn't want to let up, a feeling not her own. She tried to distract herself by thinking who might know the symbol--but the only person who came to mind was Delphine, and the hatred she felt then definitely was her own.

She stood, ignoring it, and left with Torovan.

"The notes said they had friends..."

"Taken care of," he replied, "And left for the crows."

"Miss Sadrith!" Lucia was the first to speak to them when they crossed the bridge into the village, and rushed forward with a smile on her face. "You're back!"

"I told you I would be...I'm sorry it's been so long. Are you still doing well?"

"Yeah...Mr. Valerius says I have a good head for numbers, but keeping track of all the things in a shop is hard...but he's letting me grow things too, so that's nice."

"And still being overprotective?"

"Of course. Now that Camilla's gone and got married to Orgnar--"

"ORGNAR?" Sadrith burst out in surprise. "When did THAT happen? I thought for sure she'd take Sven or Faendal."

"A few months ago. Somebody found out Sven and Faendal were writing terrible notes about each other and...she said she was done with both of them! Then she wasn't seeing anyone, and she went to the Sleeping Giant a lot, and..."

"And Orgnar was there to hear her drown her sorrows, I imagine. He never seemed the romantic type." Sadrith said. "But maybe she likes the strong silent type."

"I better go," Lucia said, "But it was nice talking to you!"

"And who was that?" Torovan asked, once the girl was gone.

"She used to be a beggar in Whiterun. Her...family threw her out when her mother died. I could've taken her to Riften I suppose, but..." Sadrith shook her head. "Lucan, the shopkeeper she was talking about, and Camilla, his sister - they had a bit of a fight after she broke it off with both those men she was seeing. I pretended not to know about it but - listen, the point is, I found her a home with Lucan. Man's got no interest in marrying, but he wanted a family of sorts, so...I brought the girl here."

"A strange level of effort for a child unrelated to you. Commendable, I suppose, despite that she's not of our kind."

"All people are my kind. Now let's head to the blacksmith and have the horseshoes checked...maybe restock on some arrows. Would be nice to stop for a bath at the inn, but I'm thinking a meal would be a good idea regardless. Save some of what we're carrying...and maybe see if they've got a black pudding or two for you."

Torovan made a strange noise of acknowledgement in his throat, almost like a growl, but didn't respond.

Chapter Text

Aurbisal

Sadrith,

We found the brush. It's yours when you next visit.

-Vex

Dear Sadrith,

I hope this letter finds you well. I write to you now from Solstheim, where I have been living. I had thought I might continue to travel with the khajiit, but it seems my age is catching up with me. After solving a particularly unsettling situation in Raven Rock, I found myself gifted with a home, and it is here I have settled. Settled, me! It is a ridiculous idea, really, to think that after a lifetime of roving, both with the Urshilaku and the khajiit, I am finally inclined to stay in one place.

Yet here I am. The letter you provided was quite handy when I encountered a brother of that Mallory fellow you spoke of, as it turns out his brother is the town blacksmith, and he showed me how to put up one of those marks your guild is so fond of. So everyone knows I'm not to be stolen from. The guild takes care of their own, he says.

I know you don't do well with long passages so I will end this letter as I always do. Remember that you brought me hope as you brought it to all of Skyrim.

- your loving mother

Sadrith gave a slight smile as she looked over the second letter the courier had delivered, and tucked it away with some of the others from her mother. Whenever she was having a particularly bad day she would reread some of them, and...it would help. Sometimes if the day was especially bad it wouldn't be much, but a little spot of light was better than none when her mind darkened.

"What's this about a brush?"

She had been so focused on reading the letters that she'd hardly noticed Torovan as he slipped up behind her.

"None of your--" she tucked away the first letter as Torovan sat down next to her, "Has anyone ever told you that it's rude to look over another person's private letters?"

"My apologies for wanting to know if you were looking over anything more you might have found on those...golden bandits we encountered."

Sadrith took a deep breath. "Just...don't sneak up on me like that. And it's...a delicate letter. From someone I'd not like you to yap about. Oddly enough, it's from someone a lot like you."

"And how might that be, exactly?" Torovan took a sip from the mug she ordered for him and gave a brief wince.

"Stick up her ass. S'pose she's got a reason for it, though, so I imagine you do too." She shrugged, and went on nibbling at the meal before her. Her appetite was deader than dead, but she was forcing food down knowing they'd have to go through Helgen and the mountains...if she didn't eat, there'd probably be hell to pay later.

And she could not show weakness to this one-eyed mer. Whatever reason he might have for acting the way he did.

"Sadrith!"

"Ugh," Torovan said under his breath, "Do you know everyone in this forsaken village?"

"As a matter of fact I do." She gave him a brief smile, which seemed to surprise him. She looked off to the side to see Camilla, emerging from the room that had once led to Delphine's secret staircase. "Camilla! I've heard congratulations are in order."

"Oh...yes." For a moment her face shifted about. "Well, after seeing the games Sven and Faendal were playing, I realized...I wanted someone unlikely to do that."

"Orgnar is a man of few words, but all of them are straight-forward. You couldn't have chosen better. Orgnar, you happy?" she looked to the bartender.

"Happy as a man ought to be when he's married," the man replied, without looking up from the glass he was cleaning. There was a slight mote of emotion--small, but there. He was happy, despite not showing it very well.

"I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps you'd like a wedding gift?"

"You're spending money here, that's all the gift I need."

"Fair enough." Sadrith gave a little laugh.

Torovan sat beside her a little while longer as Camilla chattered about how things were going. How Orgnar had built a basement and how being allowed to actually DO things to help out had been wonderful. Sadrith struggled to pay attention to it but she nodded, and smiled, and retained enough to make small remarks now and then. On the whole, when Camilla left to head to get some salmon from the river, she seemed quite pleased with the conversation.

"She seems happier now. You're lucky, Orgnar."

"Sure am."

Sadrith went back to trying to eat. Torovan said something about going to pick over the meager offerings at Lucan's shop, and after denying her saying she'd go with him, he waved off her concern and left.

Something else is going on here, it must be. He doesn't seem to need or want me taking him to Riften. Why am I here?

He was clearly an enemy of the Thalmor, as was Sigurd...so there was no purpose in having her along. Unless it was simply to have someone else to watch his back. But in that case, why not simply hire any random mercenary? There would be plenty of them who would be happy to take a few hundred gold to make the trip. Perhaps they wanted to make contact with the Thieves Guild and saw her as the in...or...

As no answer revealed itself, and the matter wasn't especially pressing to her mind, she eventually drifted back to forcing herself to eat the meal she'd already paid for.

She managed to get down the rest of the salmon, and sat sipping at a mug of ale, still thinking over Vex's letter. The brush. Finally. After months of searching and paying for information and shelling out damn near the entire fortune she'd amassed from the scales and bones of dragons--the brush was hers.

"Strongest you have."

The voice was all khajiiti accents, and sounded off so suddenly beside her that she nearly dropped her drink. The khajiit--a calico dotted here and there with dark spots, clad in a black robe that seemed to shimmer with stars -- took a seat beside her and gestured to Orgnar.

A lone cat that isn't M'aiq...?

"That'll be the argonian bloodwine. Expensive."

Some gold was produced. Orgnar took it and got out the large aqua bottle, then poured a small glass.

"That's always a good choice," Sadrith said, raising her mug slightly. "Useful for breathing underwater..."

"Not that I need such things." The khajiit finished the glass, and poured himself another. He turned to her, and gave a toothy grin. "Perhaps you'd like to share in it?"

Something about him felt...off. But that was a feeling she had fairly often, so she brushed it aside.

"Ah, no, I don't want to take something so expensive," she waved absently, "You've paid some pretty coin for that..."

There was a feeling that she'd missed something. Forgotten something, and she hated that she couldn't figure out what in oblivion it was.

"And it's rude to refuse a gift."

"You're right," she replied, and slid her mug over. "Not too much, though, I've got to get on the road soon."

And, she added mentally, for the skooma to actually work, I need to be sober. Trying to drink while taking skooma never ended well; she seemed to get drunk faster and stay drunk longer.

She shut her eyes momentarily, and found herself taking in a sharp breath when upon opening them she saw the hands holding the bottle of bloodwine were covered in black fur instead of the mottled color they had been before.

"The scent is a bit strong," the khajiit said, "Perhaps I should have let it breathe for longer."

"It's fine." Sadrith gulped hard, and forced herself to look up at his face. It was dark too, just like the hands...paws...she'd just looked at.

Gods, not again. This isn't supposed to happen unless I take too much. It's fine. It's fine, it's only his fur color. It's FINE.

Deep breath. It didn't help. It never did.

"And what brings you to Riverwood?" she asked, in a vain attempt to stave off her sudden bout of nerves. "It's not often one meets a khajiit that's not part of a caravan."

"A job," he replied, gesturing after slowly draining another glass of the bloodwine. "There's someone I mean to keep an eye on...track."

"Sounds a hazardous job. I hope your quarry's not hard to track." Perhaps this was the one Sigurd had warned of? Maybe it wasn't only the Thalmor he'd been worried about.

"On the contrary, my quarry is quite easy to track."

A blink. Now he was no longer a khajiit, despite the persistence of the accent, but an Altmer. Yet the robe remained the same, distracting in its dark way, glittering here, darkening there...

"...so obvious, a child could do it."

"Oh? Then why have you not yet caught them? Assuming you wish to, I mean. It's not really my business, I'm sorry, but you've piqued my curiosity."

Keep it together, keep it together

"I take no offense." Another grin. "In fact, I should be glad of your help."

For a brief second Sadrith swore his teeth were longer. She shoved the thought back. This was a skooma hallucination, nothing more.

Act as though nothing is wrong. You can do this, Sadrith. You must. If Torovan returns and you're still in this state--

"You are the dragonborn after all, as much set to wandering as any caravan of khajiit."

White fur, black spots. The fear was peaking and she reached for the bottle.

"How can I help you, then?"

The khajiit took the bottle from her, and poured her out a bit more bloodwine.

"Tell me how I might deal with someone on the run, once they are caught? I never fail to catch my prey. Either I find them sooner due to a combination of skill and luck, or later, when they become aware I am following..."

"And begin to panic? They get more dangerous that way. I should know, with all the bandits I've collected bounties on. Got a few scars from...from cornering them."

"Yet you always come out the victor." Again that toothy grin that unsettled her. "The magnificent dragonborn...bandit killer, dragonslayer, feller of foes from Markarth to Windhelm. A bloody force that Boethiah herself would be proud of."

"Because I am here, and they are not." Sadrith thought of the book regarding the summoning of Boethiah, desperate to think of anything but the chaos unfolding before her. "I would prefer to avoid killing if possible, but...some people make it necessary."

"You see it as a duty, then. Perhaps the Dark Brotherhood would suit you."

"I hardly think a group of assassins know much about duty. Devotion to sending people to the void by bloody murder, maybe."

Another glass.

"And I eliminated them. I don't care for Sithis and his ilk."

Sadrith blinked, and the khajiit's fur changed again, back to the black.

"No, clearly not, if you so eagerly move to commit such a feat. But I am curious...do you have no fear of death? Most would balk at the danger."

"Danger is in my blood." She laughed nervously, trying desperately to shake off the rising anxiety. "I'm not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of not living."

It's only your mind playing tricks on you. That's it. That's all. He's a normal man and you're just seeing things.

"Everyone is afraid of death. Everyone wants to go in their bed, at a great age, surely you are no different."

Why do you CARE?

It didn't matter. There was nothing outside her head that scared her more than what was inside, anyway.

Blink. Tan fur, white hands. Paws.

What is HAPPENING? Has Shegg--Sheogorath come to claim my mind?

"Excuse the dark and dreary talk," the khajiit finally said, "I've taken so many bounties my mind thinks mainly in metaphors of death...however chaotic they might seem to those with a heroic bent, like yourself. But tell me...I am curious, I ask this question of everyone. How do you imagine you will die?"

"In glorious battle defending someone, or something, I imagine," Sadrith replied easily. "I spend a lot of time adventuring...so it only makes sense it should be how I leave the world."

"A woman of Shor's own heart."

Orgnar dropped something, and as he muttered bent over to clean it up. Sadrith finished what remained of her drink, and took another deep breath.

"Dragonborn!"

Torovan's voice rang out suddenly from the doorway. Sadrith looked back, and waved him over, turned--

--and dropped her own mug.

The seat beside her was empty. The only hint that anyone had been there was the cup beside her own, and the half-drunk bottle of argonian bloodwine. She handed the mug back to Orgnar and muttered some excuse of needing to get moving.

I was seeing things. Hearing things. That's it. That's all. I just--don't remember ordering the wine. I must have done that myself, and just...I just forgot. ...keep it together, keep it together!

"If you're sufficiently pickled, we should get a move on."

"Right. Right, yes." Sadrith was for once glad of Torovan's stern orders; they simplified things quite a bit. She gathered her things and headed for the door with him.

"I hope you've not made yourself unfit for travel."

"Some ale and not even half a bottle of bloodwine won't do much to me," she replied, and glanced here and there as they went outside, wondering if the hallucinations would stop with that khajiit. "Your concern is...is touching, of course."

Sadrith saw nothing more, though she was still looking for anything out of the ordinary.

She forced a smile for him. Not until they passed through Riverwood's back gate, on the road to Helgen, did he speak again.

"Tell me," he said, "How is it you are so undaunted by insults or slights against your character? Where is the desire to defend your honor?"

"I grew up in a khajiit caravan. The petty things you throw at me don't compare to the things I was called as a child. Or the things I've heard from Thalmor."

The gentle sound of the running river near them soothed her mind just slightly, and she tried to focus it to further ease her unsteady mind. But Torovan spoke again, breaking her fragile concentration.

"Do you often provoke them, then? No...no, don't bother answering that question. Perhaps what I should ask is what you've done to earn their ire."

Sadrith latched onto the topic eagerly. A distraction, that was what she needed. Something to put the khajiit from her mind--a strategy she often employed in distressing circumstances like these. "Are you sure you want to hear? Will you insult me over that also? If you do...I beg you to do better at it."

"I would be pleased to hear it, actually. They have not made themselves popular, and it is always good to hear of such people being...taken down a peg."

"You? Enjoying humiliating one of them? I'm surprised you wouldn't simply leave that sort of thing to the Archmage. The nords have more of a cause to hate the Thalmor than we do."

"The enemies of my friend are my enemies also," Torovan stated evenly. "His devotion to my welfare is such that it could be no other way. I would not be standing here before you if he hadn't taken such pains to save my life."

She thought again of Lydia.

"And how do I know that you are not some part of a Thalmor plot, hmm?" She then realized her error late, and quickly tried to correct herself, cover it up, with, "The letter we picked off that group seems a point in your favor, of course. But you did say I shouldn't trust you, and I hesitate to do it anyway. Tall, dark, brooding - you are the sort of man I read of in novels, who usually has some danger attached to him."

"Brooding!" Torovan laughed. "Now you have gone too far. I do not brood. Will you answer my question or no? What have you done to upset the Thalmor, besides that business with the embassy?"

"I broke a nord out of one of their fortresses," she replied, "His mother asked I look into his disappearance...and some clues lead me to a fortress in the Northwest."

"Ah, so Sigurd has YOU to blame for their increasing presence in the Sea of Ghosts."

"For WHAT?" Sadrith burst out. "Are the Thalmor skulking around Winterhold? If he needs them cleared out, I could do it as easily as I did at the fortress."

"All of them on your own?"

"If need be."

"You are every bit as foolish as Sigurd once was. He too is eager to take command and right the wrongs and ills he sees before him. Do you think it your responsibility as he does, or do you simply like the glory?"

"Both," Sadrith replied. "To see a smile, or relief, on a face and know I was the reason for it - that is what I want to see when I enter a village, or one of the cities here."

"You could settle right now and be satisfied with all you've done...and still see those looks when you receive visitors." Torovan went on in the same vein, but she tuned most of it out. "You killed the World-Eater, and need do nothing more."

"If I don't, then who will?" Sadrith shrugged. "I'm not made to be idle...stay in one place. I get an itch under my skin to move if I try. Natural, considering I grew up in a caravan with a mother who herself hailed from an ashlander tribe. Wandering is in my blood."

"Indeed it is."

They were silent until reaching the Guardian Stones.

"You clearly do not need me," she said suddenly, stopping to look at the Thief stone, "And I know you won't tell me the reason for my being here...but I know there must be something else."

"The reason is that my friend is overprotective of me, and wants me looked after more than I feel is necessary. With the dragons about, he wanted extra caution taken."

"You do not mean me harm, do you?"

"Of course not."

She stared a little while. The anxiety was finally receding but all she could think was--the hallucination of the khajiit was so contained within the Sleeping Giant and nothing else outside it had been seen, perhaps it was merely having met Delphine there that kicked it off? The unpleasant memory of that woman, maybe, that stirred her skooma-addled mind into a frenzy without her even realizing it? At times her body seemed wholly disconnected from her mind, and where she felt no inward worry her body would refuse to believe the fact and feel its effects anyway. But she hadn't felt any such thing in the inn...no nausea in her stomach or ache of the head, nothing of the sort.

What then had caused the hallucination? She wasn't worried, truly, she merely wanted to understand. To prevent it happening again.

"If you meant me harm, you would have done it already, with all the chances you've had. You could've drained me dry and left me in the Barrow and no one would have been the wiser. Hungry as you were..."

That reminded her of something else. Another subject to stop herself thinking overmuch on the hallucination.

"I'm curious," she said, "I've never had the...appetites that those like you have. Never had to tell the difference between different kinds of blood...what makes mine any different than the regular? Is it more filling?"

"In a way," Torovan replied, as she turned and lead him further up the path. "I cannot strike the feeling from my mind that I have tasted it somewhere before."

His tone here made her wish she could see his face.

"Unless you have preyed on me in the night some time ago, I doubt it. Not that I would say no to your bowing over me as you did before."

"I say again: you trust too easily. You seem aware of the danger I pose and yet you flaunt it as a less experienced mercenary would. Do you think yourself safe from harm?"

"I think what is outside is less frightening than what is inside." The words were out before she could stop them, and the hope she felt that he hadn't heard her properly was immediately dashed when he turned to face her. She hunted frantically for something to say and settled on, "Think what you will of me, but if I should set the safety of an entire province on your shoulders I'd wager your mind would not be as pleasant a place as before."

Torovan didn't seem to have a response.

"At any rate," she went on, "I prefer to think of more pleasant things, if I can. It keeps the mind busy, stops it from taking all the weight at once. Joy in little places - that helps me bend, rather than break."

"And here I thought you to be the sort of person information must be coaxed from," Torovan replied, "I see now I need not have worried. Information gushes from your mouth like a river. Reckless, talkative...it is a wonder you have maintained a reputation for discretion with qualities like these."

"Secret keeping is not my job, and there hasn't yet been something too important that I must keep quiet." Aside from Delphine and Esbern's locations, of course. "I leave that to others of the Guild."

"Suppose you came into information that would enable you to relieve Tamriel of some Thalmor? Would you share THAT?"

"If the one from whom I learned it desired me to. When I hear of Thalmor, however, I tend to..." She drifted off. "I have said enough."

"No, tell me," Torovan said, his voice suddenly sharp. "When you think of Thalmor, you do what?"

"Why should I, when you tell me nothing of yourself? Am I being judged, is that what this is? You want something more to..." She took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself down. Getting worked up could only end poorly. Maybe she'd see that khajiit again, or maybe as a treat a dragon that wasn't actually there. "Fine. When I hear of Thalmor...I get angry. A bully should be smacked down, and if no one else has the wherewithal or ability to do it, then..."

"Then it shall be you?"

"Then it shall be me." She gave a momentary grin, wider than her usual. "Not that I would say no to aid or guidance, but who would be willing to help me? Certainly not General Tullius or any of the Imperials."

Sadrith could not stop, could not make herself stop. Her mouth refused the very idea.

"Ulfric is being led by a leash he cannot even see, so he is no better. Not to mention the dislike his ilk have for mine. He would be the better choice for..."

And then just as suddenly it shifted, and she could find herself just as unwilling to speak. On a septim it pivoted, and she felt all the embarrassment of it.

"You've give this a lot of thought, haven't you? Perhaps the imperial dogs and Stormcloaks should let YOU figure this all out."

"I'm not a leader," Sadrith said, "That is the problem of this whole thing. I could sort it, but I don't want to be king or queen or anything like that. I don't wish to lead armies, perhaps a charge, but not the whole army. I'm more of a soldier than a general. A weapon to be turned against the one who needs reminding what happens when you poke sleeping dragons."

Oh, yes, how she would love to show the Thalmor that...

As they approached Helgen, her mind was alight with possibilities for scaring them--what good would it be to defeat them without some element of terror to make them regret all they'd done? All they were trying to do?

Torovan brought her back to reality.

"I see I shall have to get back out my larger fur robe," he said, grumbling at the cold around them as he stopped and reached into one of his bags. "I will be surprised if you can make it half the way across this accursed back way before you start ruing the day you took this job."

"Pay no attention to any grumbling. I complain, but I do what must be done anyway." Sadrith shrugged. "The issue will be seeing once we get farther up."

She took out her map, and pointed to a spot on it, which he leaned over to glance at.

"There's a cave called Haemar's Shame around this spot. We might not entirely NEED to stop for a night's rest there but it'll be a good spot to stop and warm up before we go on. Shake the chill out of our bones and all. I'll gather up some kindling as we go and we'll have ourselves a good little fire."

"And then?"

"We can make a quick stop at Ivarstead." Sadrith looked up then, towards the gates of Helgen.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend!"

"And a stop here to get you something to eat."

The gates swung open, and two bandits charged forward.

Torovan raised his hands, charged a fire spell, and gave a dark laugh that left her tingling.

Tall, dark, and deadly

She shoved the map in her pocket and readied her sword, eager now to blot out not fears of hallucination, but the mental image of the torso beneath Torovan's robes.

Chapter Text

Lives Flashing Before Your Eyes?

I had a strange dream...but I was wide awake. Nearly died being a fool around the dragon... But why does Torovan seem spooked by what I said I saw? No...no, I know why, it's because people always say strange things when they're near death. Yet I have this feeling that there's @@@@something more to it. Something that put him on edge.

But what?

Torovan ate very well, but didn't complain at Sadrith's presenting him with several bottles of blood she'd gathered from the bandits she had defeated.

"Can't be too prepared for someone in your condition," she said. "And the more bottles there are, the less likely you've got resort to supping on me."

He didn't respond, merely tucked the bottles away.

She headed back to the stables, which had several bales of hay and a half full water trough that Jarla and Snow very much appreciated. She let them eat and went about to the bandits' bodies, picking up daggers and arrows.

Her thoughts wandered.

Surely Torovan would prefer to travel mostly by nice...(night,, she corrected herself), but he hadn't complained too much when she'd lead them by day. She would suggest it, but that would another opportunity, no doubt, for him to sneer at her. The words Tolfdir had spoken to her came suddenly back--that the Archmage had said Torovan was very old and very proud. Once more she assumed he was some aged Telvanni, or as aged as one of their wizards could get, considering.

But then, why would he bother to be in Skyrim...it must be that connection to the Archmage. "Oldest and dearest friend" she vaguely remembered Sigurd saying. He'd seemed so starkly different from his tall dark vampiric friend, so it made her wonder how they had ever become friends in the first place. But then she thought of Lydia--so serious, so ordered, whom she'd come to rely on so greatly, and how close they had been...and then it made sense.

There was a momentary pang, not only from thinking of Lydia again, but also from finding novelty in it taking so long for her to come to such conclusions, or rather, that she was surprised by them.

How stupid I am, Sadrith thought, It's as if I suddenly realized the best time to catch salmon was during the spawning season.

She scolded herself for thinking so little of her intellect--her mother always said it was best not to dwell on her shortcomings, or rather not to dwell on being stupid--which she was not.

You are not stupid, my little mushroom, her mother had often said, It is only that Sheogorath has touched your mind. You are a wonderful little spark, always drawing, always creating, so there is not so much room for other things. That does not mean you are stupid. It only means you need more time than others.

And then once she was discovered to be the dragonborn, her mother had added to this talk, Akatosh blessed you with the soul and blood of a dragon, and Sheogorath cursed you, that you may not become Tiber Septim.

It made sense, when she thought about it. Tiber Septim had done some good, but there had been so much evil done by him, too.

If Sheogorath were truly responsible, it was funny, then, that skooma helped her so much. The Skooma Cat making her mind a typhoon, while his--

"Dragonborn!"

She jolted out of her mind and looked up from the bandit she was crouched over, took the leather helmet on his head, and then stood up. "What?"

"There are nords coming up the road, Stormcloaks by the look of them. We should get moving."

"From which side?" Sadrith followed Torovan's gesture, and went off to check. At a slight distance she saw them, not too many of them, and at their head--

She jolted when she realized Torovan was right behind her.

"Ralof," she said suddenly, "I know the man. He's no harm to me, and he won't be to you either. I've just got to tell him I know you."

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure." Sadrith waved her hand. "Just let me greet him, and all will be well."

She stepped ahead, and when the group of Stormcloaks neared, called out, "Ralof! Well met!"

Ralof's blond head jerked up, and after a moment's confusion a smile spread across his face. He turned to say something to the rest of the group, and the tenseness that had momentarily appeared when she called out ebbed away.

"Well met, indeed," he said, when he approached, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has...I hope you're well," Sadrith said, "I'm heading down to Riften, what about you and your troop?"

"Heading to Windhelm," Ralof replied, "The Thalmor are making more trouble than usual...I'm sure you understand--"

He noticed Torovan then, and his hand went for his weapon.

"He's fine, he's fine," Sadrith said quickly, bringing up her hands, "He's going with me. Bit of...an injury, as you can see, and there's a healer in Riften that can help him out."

She took a few minutes to speak to him as the other Stormcloaks--not a large troop, twenty at the most--moved forward, some with camping supplies and such, but four were hauling a large buck.

"A fine haul!" she called out, "Let me get the Keep door for you."

Ralof and the other Stormcloaks went through the door and into the Keep, but Torovan stayed with her.

"This is unwise," he said, "You said far too much to them, and you'll say more still if you aren't careful."

"Who are they going to tell, the Thalmor?" she asked, "I'll tell them I cleared out Northwatch Keep if I need to, add in some dramatic flair, and that'll have them all but forgetting anything else I said."

"I don't think--"

A sudden thunderclap overhead interrupted them. Sadrith jumped slightly, and then once the drizzle began she headed for the horses. Jarla and Snow were clearly startled, and she was only glad they hadn't bolted from under the shelter that could only charitably be called a stable.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to bring them inside," she said, "You want to have to go looking for them when they get scared off? No?"

Jarla went along, but Snow reared up--Sadrith pulled gently at his rein, tried to calm him, but when he reared a second time she gave a soft Shout, "Kaan drem ov."

Instantly, he was back down, and followed along as quietly as Jarla did.

"You can calm beasts, spit fire, turn flesh to ice...what else can you do, I wonder?" Torovan's tone wasn't snide as she was expecting, more curious.

"Kill dragons," Sadrith said, "Fix problems. I do a lot of things in Skyrim."

He held the Keep door for her to get first Snow and then Jarla inside, and said a low voice, "Perhaps you could apply that same gusto to Morrowind. Your fellow mer could certainly use your help."

"Perhaps one day I will, but for now...I have this feeling Skyrim needs more attention." The whooping of nords down the stairs was heard, and she gave a slight smile. "Certainly the Thalmor think so, and I won't be abandoning the place until they're taken care of."

"Why?" Torovan asked, with a new sense of urgency in his voice, "Why? You are not a nord, most of the country would be happy to exile you sheerly for being born a Dunmer, were it not for your being the Dragonborn. Why bother with these--people?"

Sadrith stopped at the top step, and stared down the spiraling stairs for nearly a minute before taking her first step down and answering.

"Somebody has to, and seeing that I was gifted a dragon soul and the ability to Shout, it might as well be me. When I started...I thought...if not me, then who else? It's not about the nords, it's about the Thalmor."

"I'm sure the rebels would love for you to lead alongside their precious Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Tis my secret, dark one," Sadrith said in a mock dramatic voice, "I am not a leader. I'm a follower."

"Have you considered you may not have a choice in the matter?"

The horses were lead to a quieter corner near the rubble, and given another bale of hay to keep them content.

"Just like everything else, then." She muttered under her breath, and was quiet, morose almost, until they entered the lower chamber with the fireplace, where most of the Stormcloaks were gathered.

Deep breath. It didn't help. It never did.

Sadrith pasted on a smile. However she was feeling right now, she knew she had to display the face of the fearless and jovial hero to the Stormcloaks, as she did before all of Skyrim. She ignored Torovan's sudden strange look, and walked into the room.

Two of the Stormcloaks were dressing the buck, while a third was minding two cauldrons, one for the its blood and the other for its organs.

"I have a bundle of vegetables in my pack. Were you planning on making a stew?"

"Not as such," she heard Ralof say, "But that's not a bad idea."

Some searching found a larger cauldron farther back in the room, and after a quick wash and a few trips up for rainwater, a good stew was got going. Sadrith sliced up three carrots, two leeks, and ripped apart a cabbage head that she'd had in her bag. One of the Stormcloaks produced a beaten up looking onion, and that too was added.

(In the back of the room, someone had gotten to work with other cuts of the deer, slicing out what was going to end up jerky.)

"I'd only just arrived myself, the bandits we cleared out might have supplies of their own you'll be interested in...I haven't had the chance to look. Could get yourself a black pudding out of the blood, if they had any wheat with them."

In similar fashion did the next hour pass, various cooking and cleaning tasks done, until the stew was ready and served out. Sadrith produced a few bottles of Black Briar mead, and someone else produced some ale. She passed an enjoyable half-hour, replete, listening to Ralof talk.

"The Thalmor presence has definitely kicked up. We've been dealing more with them than with the Imperials..." He shook his head, "I'm not sure what the plan is, but as I said before, we're heading to Windhelm."

"Ulfric's probably marshalling his strength for another war..." She paused. "The Empire doesn't like the Thalmor any more than he does, but...gods, this is a mess."

She looked directly at Ralof, and took a deep breath.

"They'll be coming, they'll be impatient to--"

A muffled roar, somewhere outside, and then thirty seconds later one of the Stormcloaks came running into the room from the direction of the stairs. "Dragon! There's a dragon!"

Sadrith leaped immediately to her feet, reached for her armor, and at the last minute the amulet of levitation, too, before heading up the stairs and outside.

"Arrows," she said, to Ralof and the Stormcloaks that followed, "If you can avoid getting blasted by it, do so, you've got other battles to worry about. Every life lost today would be one less to fight against the Thalmor."

Once outside, in the drizzling rain--she realized Torovan had followed her.

"Blind it, cripple it, whatever you want to do." She gave a grin beneath the helmet, and then turned back, lifting it just enough to Shout when the dragon stopped, "JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

The Shout flew forward, along with a hail of arrows. The dragon roared, pulled back, attempting to take off--

Sadrith took a deep breath, reached for the Levitation spell, stepped forward and up, and despite the rush of fear, kept moving forward. It was awkward, stilted almost, and it bewildered everyone save for Torovan. The dragon was still in its puzzlement, and she rushed forward, intending to stab her blade into its eye but instead cutting along its snout when its head turned.

It pulled back, still struggling to remain airborne, opened its mouth wide--and Sadrith, knowing she was taking a chance practically leaped into its mouth. Her sword clattered out of her hand and holding tight to one of the thing's larger fangs, fumbled until she could get a dagger and start slashing at its tongue. There was a deafening howl of pain, and finally, the thing began to fall.

Pain burst from her legs, but she held tightly to the tooth in her hand and slashed madly with the other, finally cutting a line up a large artery and covering herself in blood in the process. Heat and blood and saliva were her world for what seemed an eternity, until the dragon's mouth was opened and its flesh began to burn. The dragon soul almost pained her as she took it in, and she shuddered at the discomfort.

She saw Torovan next, and laughed as she tried and failed to stand, "Victory!"

"You utter fool--"

His voice was muffled then, and she felt the heat that had surrounded her passing into chill. The rain--the rain was getting harder, and Torovan lifted her from the ground and was...carrying her elsewhere.

Her chest burned with pain, like a thousand knives were cutting at her heart, and she cringed from the agony. Lights danced overhead, and she could swear for a moment that the head of a dragon was there as well.

A bull, from a strange angle, again words not her own but her own tongue it was not. Regrets...regrets, that he who had come before would come again and she would not be able to save the people from him.

The scene before her changed, and yet there was not the same fear of hallucination as before. Unfamiliar people, a scene of rock and ash, and a tongue that seemed her own speaking words that definitely weren't.

"Don't you see where you really are? Don't you know who Shor really is? Don't you know what this war is?"

Again, a change. A fortress, soldiers, and armor stained with blood.

Then, suddenly, she saw Sigurd, amid a background of rock and lava and fiery light. Dressed differently, younger maybe, wearing some blue-and-yellow robe, and carrying the hateful weapons.

She looked up, vision dimming, and again there were words she had no context for, words she spoke hoping to understand them, or for some reason she could not yet fathom, "This is the end. The bitter, bitter end..."

And then there were words, but nothing to see, for her vision had gone dim.

Brother, I beg you, this is our final chance. Father shall destroy us all, and I have only the strength for one more attempt. We must all work together, or all is lost!

Crying, pain, and, you have a daughter.

A rapid shift. Sovngarde, it was obvious, and yet it was not as she had seen it before.

Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan! She saw herself, from above, from the side, and then nothing.

The darkness rose, and whether it was to sleep or die she could not know, but the void of it was home.

When her vision returned, she saw Torovan, overhead. His one visible eye was wide with fear, but given she was alive, she couldn't fathom it being fear of her being dead. What did HE have to be scared of?

"Torovan," she croaked, "The dragon..."

"The dragon is dead. There were no casualties." His voice was tight, and she had never him sound so unsteady. "Some of the Stormcloaks are taking its teeth for weapons and trophies."

Then he looked at her, and she became conscious of being near the fireplace. She shivered, and moved slightly closer.

"That was foolish and reckless. You could have died," he admonished her, but it lacked the bite of such remarks he'd made before.

Why?

"I...something..." she saw him bringing up a cup of water, and gladly took it from him. She guzzled it down, and said, "I'm not sure what I saw, but..."

"You spoke words I have not heard in an age," Torovan replied, "And it would be best not to repeat anything you saw."

He saw her confusion, and seemed to swallow.

"What did I say? I saw...I saw so many things, I..." She shook her head. "I saw Sigurd, even, but he looked younger. And he was carrying...I remember...I remember Keening, now, yes. Then there was...I don't understand half what I saw, honestly. It just felt...I felt as if I were people I've never met before. It made no sense."

She tripped over the word, she'd meant to say she was SEEING people she'd never met before. But the trip seemed to be correct in its way, too...no, no, it was just near death hallucinations. That was all it was, a common enough thing to happen when you almost died. And yet...

"It felt...as if you WERE..." Torovan facepalmed, and suddenly there was about him the air of a man going to the gallows. What came next was whispered, and she was sure she was not meant to hear it. "Shall I never escape it?"

One or two of the Stormcloaks reappeared, and then Ralof with them. She once more pasted on the smile and the invisible mask of the fearless hero as she had before, and laughed that no mere dragon could take her down so easily. The worst this dragon had given was a few scars, and weakness in her ankles for a day or two.

"Many thanks to my tall friend, of course," she added, feeling suddenly awkward. "For bringing me back. I wouldn't be here without people like him to help me out."

She smiled, but Torovan couldn't muster one of his own.

Chapter Text

Dark Passenger

The haze of fog was everywhere, and what wasn't grey was black. A void with the faintest presence of water, and a ground she could not see. Her chest was open from a gaping wound that bled--and yet she felt no pain, only weakness and a sensation of being incomplete. She could be something new, she felt, but...

Your hands are made to kill.

I don't want to kill. I want to create.

There was then a presence behind her, taller and broader, and at such a height that she felt as a child before him. He moved to to her right and lifted her hand. Then the fog before them cleared. But she was more focused on him - his hand was a confusing mix of textures - smooth scales, soft skin, coarse fur, all at once.

What you want to happen does not change what IS, my child. Your hands are made to kill.

They can do other things. Why do they have to kill?

Because that is what they were made for.

She looked ahead, and saw a village in flames, golden-armored, winged elves waiting to burn those who ran from the gates, and anger overcame her. She tried to move forward, but the man at her side held her hand tightly.

Let me go. They are dying! I have to save them! LET ME DEFEND MY PEOPLE!

Do you see now? Your hands are made to kill.

LET GO! LET ME GO!

Only if you admit to me the truth...

The next word was inaudible but pain sprouted within her merely at hearing it.

No. No, that's not me. That's not who I am.

The man seemed to chuckle at that. Whatever you call yourself, remember - you are what I made you, no matter how hard you try to fight it.

Then, suddenly, he was gone, and she was surrounded by the winged elves...but not a one of them was alive, and her hands were stained with blood.

Sadrith jerked upright, feeling her hands wet and her sense of orientation - wrong. She was on her belly. For a terrifying handful of seconds she was unsure if she was asleep and dreaming, or awake and not.

Where am I?

Then the cold.

Am I dead?

Ice and rock. For another, longer stretch where she didn't feel real but knew she was awake, she still wasn't aware of where she was. Then she saw Torovan, occupied with writing (something?) and everything came back. Her cheeks flushed, and a wave of embarrassment rushed over her. She tucked her hands into her armpits to warm them.

If she didn't know any better she'd think his presence was increasing these incidents. She only rarely dreamt of the shadow man and his scoldings before, but since starting this journey it had happened at least twice. Maybe it was just the anxiety...these were nightmares, and being tense and worried about everything only made everything worse.

She had to keep up the mask more with him than she did alone. It only made sense.

Stop. Think. Where are you? What are you doing?

Haemar's Shame. Stopping because of the blizzard. Too cold to go on.

Sadrith reach for a bottle of mead and guzzled a third of it.

"One usually eats before doing that," Torovan said, "Or did you sleep that poorly?"

"I never sleep well," she replied without looking at him, and still hazy, added, "The nightmares just getting worse, is all."

"Nightmares?"

"Some shadowy man..."

Torovan stiffened, she could hear him shifting in place, the sudden sharp breath.

"What did he look like?"

"I never saw his face." Sadrith yawned, "I almost never do."

She couldn't understand his sudden change. Why should he care what a man in her dreams (nightmares, she corrected herself) looked like? But since he didn't look as though he was going to let up about it, she decided to say a little more.

"He's always been a shadow, but...tonight I saw his hand. Fur, scale, skin...several things at once. But I know it was the same as the others because of his voice. I couldn't forget that voice."

Shut up. Shut up, he doesn't need to hear any more!

"Anyway, it's nothing. Just something that happens sometimes."

"You don't take dreams as seriously as you should," Torovan replied. The letter he finally folded up, and on its backside she glimpsed words she immediately forgot. "They can mean a variety of things. They could be a sign of danger to come."

"I doubt elves with wings being dead is a sign of anything." she said, and on seeing the strange questioning look on his face, reached for her bag. Her mind was telling her quite firmly that going back to sleep wasn't going to happen, and art would help her anyway. "I'll just..."

Torovan moved over beside her as she got out a roll of paper and a stump of charcoal. Normally she couldn't get the oomph to draw so soon after waking, or at least not comprehensibly, but right now--

The scene with the dead winged elves from her point of view. Her own bloodied hands raised.

"Those are Ayleids," Torovan said, his voice hardening, "You dreamt of this?"

"...somewhat," she shook her head and crumpled the page, grabbing another and starting on something else. Sigurd, she thought at random, Sigurd from the rush of whatever-that-was when she'd nearly died at Helgen.

"What do you mean, SOMEWHAT?"

"What does it matter to you?" Sadrith grumbled. "It's only a dream."

"People do not just dream of things such as this for no reason." Torovan unfolded the crumpled drawing. "You aren't taking this seriously enough."

"I have strange dreams all the time and they haven't affected me yet."

He gave her a look. "Given what you are, and given you possess at least one daedric artifact--"

"I'm not saying I agree with you, but if I did, this isn't Nocturnal, she doesn't ask things of me in dreams. I get notes from--one of her other devotees, who is...closer to her."

That was the way it had been since she'd become a Nightingale. Karliah made her home in the Twilight Sepulcher, and defended it, sending notes if it looked likely for her to encounter a problem too large to be solved on her own.

She hated that she was spilling so much but it was almost thrilling to be able to move on to a second drawing so quickly.

"It could be one of the others. Which artifacts have you possessed?"

"A...few. The Sanguine Rose, the sword of Jyggalag, the--ah, the Wabbajack. Of course. The Prince of Madness would explain this. There. Problem solved."

Torovan went strangely silent, and glanced down at the lines taking shape beneath her fingers. The bridge, Sigurd, the hateful weapons...

"This," he said, "THIS is something to be concerned about. Is this what you saw when you said 'the bitter, bitter end?' You were bleeding out fiercely, I expect you don't remember."

"I think so." Sadrith shook her head, and put that paper aside too. "My memory's not good at the best of times."

There was a long, long, uncomfortable pause.

"In all of these dreams," Torovan spoke slowly, hesitating more with every word, "Did you ever see...a golden mask?"

Once again the feeling she was forgetting something important.

"No." She was starting to get tired of the questions, tired of the typhoon, but the damn fool wouldn't turn his back long enough for her to get her skooma out, and she couldn't stop running at the mouth for certain until she got some. "Not once. Are you--done interrogating me?"

The anger she assumed he was feeling was suddenly gone, or at least she perceived it that way. Anything more she tried to ignore.

The following conversation went by unspoken consent to different matters - their supplies, food and otherwise. The horses would be easier to feed once they made it out of the mountains and into the Rift proper. The blizzard appeared to have let up, so they'd have to get going.

"And what of your supplies? Will I need to feed you again?"

"I haven't run through what I've collected that quickly," Torovan replied, "And as I already told you - I will NOT be taking your blood again."

On a septim her mood turned, and she felt the typhoon of her mind kicking up in earnest, the rushing river with it. Maybe it was that she wanted to lighten the mood, or to tease him for his over-concern - either way, what came out next was more flirtatious than it needed to be.

"Why not? It's been a while since I had a body as chiseled as yours close to mine, and you should get SOMETHING out of the exchange."

"You." Torovan huffed, his hands shaking, "Are an impossible. IMP. You're meant to be a serious hero doing a job. Where is THAT person, the one Sigurd was so confident in?"

She's the mask I wear.

"She exists." Sadrith shrugged. "But I rarely travel with people anymore...so having someone with me so consistently--I suppose I've just been lonely. This wildness'll pass. Everything always does. I could promise not to speak at all, but--"

She stopped.

"Would you rather make the rest of the journey alone? If I'm frustrating you this much I can simply go back to Winterhold and tell Sigurd it didn't work out. I don't want to waste time - yours or mine."

"You'd give up just like that, simply because you think I find you annoying?"

"Well I'd be going to Riften anyway--" Sadrith stopped and took a deep breath. "--well, I'm useful enough you don't want rid of me yet. So...let's start the day, shall we?"

He turned his back to wrap his bedroll back up and pack up the rest of his things, but she still felt there almost wasn't enough time to get her daily dose of skooma. She kept fearing he would turn around and see her with the bottle, but it thankfully didn't happen.

And by the time they were ready to go, her own things were packed as carefully as her thoughts were orderly.

The chaotic river was gone, replaced with wonderful silence and calm.

The exact opposite of what was waiting for them in Ivarstead.

In the rocky canyon it was easy to miss, but when they finally hit the treeline it was obvious. A plume of smoke was rising from where Ivarstead was. Sadrith's first instinct was to go directly towards it, and she turned Jarla that way.

"That's too big to be from a bonfire...or if it is one, it's an overly large one."

"I wouldn't think they'd burn the wood it would take to make one that big," Sadrith said, glancing over at Torovan.

They kept to the trees with a view of the path near the bridge. When they got to a rocky outcropping Sadrith shuffled through her bags for a spyglass, climbed the rock, and looked as best she could in Ivarstead's direction.

A few flashes of golden armor was all she needed, but she saw more. Some of the villagers dragging bodies of their fallen--was that Temba?

What in Oblivion are the Thalmor doing this far east and south?

She clambered back down the rock and looked to Torovan.

"Thalmor. There are Thalmor in the village, and--" Sadrith practically growled the words, and reaching into one of her bags for the helmet to match the rest of her armor.

"What are you doing?"

"There are people down there. People who NEED ME," she said, "I am not going to simply go around."

She was bristling outwardly, snarling internally, roaring and ready to go.

"I wasn't going to suggest that you do. If you go off half-cocked like this, you'll get yourself killed. Especially wearing THAT armor. Wearing it doesn't make you invincible."

I know it doesn't, but it feels like I am when I wear it. I feel like nothing can touch me when I wear it.

Torovan tilted his head. It seemed for a few moments that as he looked down on her from Snow's back that he could see straight through her. "We don't even know how many of them there are."

"Easy for me to check." Sadrith grinned and looked toward the village. "Got a Shout for that. It's not loud, don't worry about them hearing us."

She climbed back up the outcropping of rock, and Shouted softly, "Laas Yah Nir."

The village lit up with red spots, visible only to her. Forty in total...she'd forgotten how many people lived there, but it was nowhere near forty.

"At least twenty," she said, "I can't remember exactly how many people live here, but..."

Sadrith looked up at Torovan.

"Now are you going to help me, or am I going to have all the glory to myself?"

"I don't know if you are brave or mad," Torovan replied. "We should try not to kill them all."

"I would like to give them a good fright, but if you're not going to help me with that--"

He gave a sigh, and once standing beside her reached down to pull the ring from his hand that she had stared at those days ago at the College. It captured her attention again, that golden appearance of two segmented rings stacked atop each other, with a green stone to cap it. He placed it in her waiting palm.

It seemed he had changed his mind, but why she could not guess. She didn't ask, knowing or at least guessing that he wouldn't answer her.

"This ring should help, but I'll expect it back once we've cleaned them out." Torovan paused, and said, "It would do well to be silent as you go through."

Here he smirked, showing his fangs, and Sadrith felt a rush of excitement.

"Cast silence on me then. Just to be safe...or not, I won't be able to heal myself."

"Oh, that won't be a problem with that ring..."

"It heals...but won't you need it, then?"

The bastard chose that moment to cast Silence on her, and spoke quickly afterward, "I've a number of invisibility and healing spells to call upon...since I took your blood, my magic on the whole has been stronger."

A pause. He bent down just slightly, and untucked her hair from beneath the helmet, as she was putting on the ring. She wouldn't make the connection until later that it was because her hair was white.

"Now go, and give them Oblivion. I'll be close behind you."

There were still a number of questions she had, why he would give her the ring, why he had so suddenly changed his mind, why, why, why...but a burst of wind suddenly struck her head on, and she felt the sudden sensation of being released from something...

...she walked in silence down the path, her sword and when the first of the Thalmor saw her, a spell was tossed.

Only to bounce harmlessly as if off of a shield. She laughed in silence when she saw the justiciar who threw one of the fire spells bow back.

When she saw the look of fear on another's face.

And as her sword bit into the first of the Thalmor, Sadrith heard once more the voice from her dream the night before.

Your hands are made to kill.

Chapter Text

The Wind

Report on the massacre at Ivarstead

Note: I'm not going to sugarcoat this for the higher ups, that's your job. I'm not at all certain how you can make this look better, but that's why I'm a soldier and you're the commander. The Emissary can question me later, for all the good it will do. I need to sleep until next Morndas before I'm prepared to do anything else. Every time I close my eyes I see those faces. Even writing this was hard.

Two persons were responsible for this event: a tall male dressed in black armor, a fur cloak, and a horned helmet. The other was of unknown gender, armored from head to foot with nothing else defining save for the white hair. The male identified the other in armor as 'the Whitestrake' and did not identify himself at all.

The operation was going smoothly enough until the Whitestrake and the tall man appeared. The former charged and cut through two Justiciars as easily as if they were warmed-over butter - spells simply bounced off them, while wounds seemed to heal up almost immediately. They were - they were like an automaton, seeming to hear or acknowledge nothing but the location and destruction of their next target.

I fell from a wound to my side, and took cover near the mill while I healed up some of my wounds. I hear the shouts start loud and stop altogether - and it was not until I thought myself ready to return to the fray that I saw the male.

He stepped around the corner of the mill, looked at me darkly, but didn't move to attack. He spoke after a lengthy period of staring - when the Whitestrake made as if to slay me as well.

"No," he said, "This one must live. We must have a messenger." Then he looked at me again, and said, "I want you to tell your superiors about this. I want you to tell them that the Whitestrake has returned."

In the bear cave just south of Ivarstead, Sadrith was staring at the burned out husk of a beehive on the ground.

Her head was pounding, her bones ached despite the ring, and every limb seemed weighted down. She wanted to scream, but with Torovan there, she was forced to suffer in silence.

She could not show what was going on in her head to him--he already thought her strange, he already thought her weak.

Elves...so many elves...gold in all its shades, folded her mind until stars sparked behind her eyes, rage, burning red, so hot it pushed her out until her skin seemed to scream with the effort of holding her in...

"We need to get moving," Torovan said suddenly. His voice was a sudden port in the storm, something steady, and she looked up at him, still struggling not to betray anything going on beneath the surface.

Deep breath. It didn't help.

"I know," she said, nauseous from the strain, "I know."

The river seemed to rush faster - the good of the skooma she'd taken was utterly gone and she was awash in irritation. From the feeling of the armor, the drying blood, the way the sun glared in her eyes just at the right angle--

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, "The armor was just eager to be used."

Internally she cursed at the slip.

"Eager to be used?" Torovan's tone was sharp. "You felt eagerness from a set of ARMOR?"

"Don't you?" she asked, "You're big on sorcery, can't you sense anything from it?"

She was desperate to know she wasn't the only one feeling it, but quailed internally when Torovan shook his head.

"Go ahead and say I'm hallucinating. You wouldn't be the first," she said quietly.

"I was going to say," Torovan replied, "That given the nature of the Crusader's deeds, an echo of his hatred might have remained on his armor. It might be that you are feeling."

She didn't look back up at him.

"But the fact that you are yourself elven...that's a snag in the theory."

"Then if what you're thinking is correct, what's the answer?"

"Something that would get us both smothered by moths."

It was the first time she'd heard him laugh like that - a grand, almost booming sort of sound that he put to an end almost immediately.

"Of course, it could simply be that it would welcome any attempt to kill elves, regardless of who put it on." Torovan shrugged. "Now really, we should be going. We can't stop to clean the blood off you here, and as for bathing..."

"The river is too cold anyway," Sadrith replied quietly. "We could make a slight detour at stop at the hot springs to the north. Few hunters I know camp there...the water's good and hot...would be good for a proper bath."

She wanted to soak. She wanted something good, to make her forget this maelstrom. Something to put what she'd seen and heard out of her head. Their deaths meant nothing - less than nothing, and Sadrith knew she ought to worry more about that, but she couldn't find it in herself to much care. The Thalmor were going to slaughter Ivarstead - had killed Fastred's father, maimed Temba, nearly killed Gwilin.

Torovan had healed those who needed it, giving the same information that he had to the Thalmor, that the Whitestrake had returned, without revealing anything about himself.

They didn't need to know, he said. All they needed was knowing that their savior was out there, accompanied by one wearing the Lord's Mail.

They went on to head north for the hot springs - with Torovan mentioning that they might discover more Thalmor patrols. If the bastards were this far east and south, it would be good to check this back way as thoroughly as they could.

Chapter Text

Towering

Sadrith walked through a darkened hall that seemed lit only by a pulsating and dim red light from...somewhere. The walls were carved and painted with battles between varying forces and things that seemed shrouded in darkness, a creeping void that always seemed to surround them. And in each, the void seemed to grow closer.

First dragons, the suffering shown in those behind them while the dragon at the front fought; then a battle with those marked by either butterflies or moths; then someone in armor fighting another with leathery wings; then one with ash in his chest; then one with a mask she could SWEAR she had seen before (here the darkness was overwhelming, seemed to eat the person up); and then - then one marked by a bronze man with a shining green heart.

The next section of wall was empty and she moved to touch it - then realizing the hall opened into another room she rushed away, somehow fearing that blank section.

There was utter darkness, and then from within her that red light suddenly sprang, and Sadrith saw she stood in a circle of nine pillars. The light in her chest bled to the floor and then to each of them, bringing five of the nine suddenly from drab dead void to living color, with images that swam and flashed with scenes that seemed familiar and alien by turns.

Alduin roared out from the first pillar, speaking words of which she only partly understood. 'I am Alduin, I am immortal! Nil-neh-kron! I fight to the last breath and beyond! Krongrah Alduin!'

(For one terrifying moment when the dragon turned, and seemed to meet her gaze directly, Sadrith felt she was looking not at the World-Eater but into a mirror. The pillar glowed with darkness, cracked and splitting with an unknowable color which struggled to emerge)

Then the second pillar shone with life, displaying the armor she had come to know so well. The Crusader's sword, the sword of Pelinal Whitestrake, was raised high, but his helmet shined most brightly. I will not suffer these elves or their foul darkness to live The darkness seeped from everywhere else, a flood that he could not stop. I cannot stop. I cannot stop, I have lost control--

Then the third lit up with a beautiful range of colors that sparked to show deeper shades. Butterflies fluttered, scattering that color but blood as well. 'I am in all,' a jolly voice said, somehow tired, 'Like colors in death, like pudding in butterflies! I will show them the power of the absurd!'

The Wabbajack appeared, and from it also this new unknowable color shined so brightly even the encroaching darkness could not swallow it.

The fourth pillar lit up, though it was hard to tell at first as its illumination was little more than varieties of grayscale. With it there were gray moths that half hid an armored, yet fearful figure. '...for without my order there is no surety in battle. There is something I must do, I must be ready...I must hold on. I must not forget. I must not become him, however right he was...'

The sword she had wielded appeared at the forefront, and he soon stood still.

The fifth pillar was a tall figure Sadrith couldn't fully make out - the first definitive thing she saw was a heart choked with shadow, with only a sliver of that splendorous light in it remaining. Then the darkness began to clear, and she saw--

The golden mask. It was dull, rusted, but still it looked down at her as it spoke. I will save my people, by any means necessary.

"What is this?" Sadrith asked, realizing after an embarrassing moment of confusion, that she was looking at Dagoth Ur. "What's going on?"

Her mother had said the danger was over, but that Dagoth Ur remained still a tale told to young ashlander children. That when he fell, and better knowledge of the Heart of Lorkhan came out, that his was a tale of warning. The Nerevarine had told that story to the Urshilaku - that the Heart of Lorkhan had corrupted him, that it was through no fault of his own. That Dagoth Ur was as much a victim as any.

You must wake up, Dagoth Ur spoke suddenly and broke her out of her distraction, the only one to do it directly to her, Wake!

From those five that had come to life came a sudden surge of feeling, of power, feeding back into her from the line of red light that she had bled at first. The void that surrounded them all grew thicker, and she moved as if to draw a sword.

You must find the rest. Jyggalag sounded off as the light of the pillars began to be shrouded in that void. The pillars exerted a weak sort of shield, but it caved before the might of the darkness.

From Pelinal there was only desperate screaming. The void had seized his pillar completely, and - No, no, you cannot have me!

Then the blackness curled around her - went for the throat - and suddenly, she was gasping to breathe, clawing quickly at what she couldn't take hold of.

Wake up! Dagoth Ur sounded off again. Wake--

"--wake up!"

Sadrith jerked suddenly as she heard the voice overhead, reached for her sword with one hand and to her throat with the other - and stopped when she saw it was only Torovan overhead.

Right, she thought, Darkwater Crossing. The mining town. We stopped there...

She was still breathing hard as she sat up, eyes darting wildly around.

"Sorry," she said, "I...I should've been up before now."

"This isn't about your being asleep. You sounded like you were choking - are you well?"

"I'm fine," Sadrith said quickly. But even without seeing the rest of his face she could feel the doubt from the one his one eye narrowed.

"You are not fine, you look..." he started, and trailed off. And then in a lower voice, "Is it the armor, perhaps? Giving you nightmares?"

"I always have nightmares," she tried to wave it off. "It's..."

She covered her eyes, and tried to slow her racing heart with slow, deep breaths. It didn't help...it never does. So she reached for a bottle of mead and guzzled a third of the bottle. Her stomach lurched but didn't empty itself, and it at least helped.

"Something is clearly wrong," Torovan said, "And if you're going to fall under some sort of madness involving that armor, I need to know."

"No, no, it's not that, it's..." Sadrith realized he wasn't going to go away, or push her to leave right away. So she let a little bit slip, only to vomit even more. "...I...saw Alduin, and two daedric princes, and Pelinal, and...Dagoth Ur, and there was the darkness choking me, and..."

"Dagoth Ur? What did he say?"

"He said he was protecting his people by any means necessary, and then...then as the void was choking the life out of me he said to wake up..." She shook her head, "Then I woke up and you were standing over me saying the same thing. I can't figure out what that means." She was shaking, still mindlessly groping for her sword that wasn't where she remembered putting it. She encountered the hand he was using to brace himself instead, and on impulse squeezed it. Contact seemed to help the panic, and gradually, paired with the numbing effect of the mead, Sadrith felt her racing heart begin to slow.

He stared at her for a good thirty seconds before speaking again.

"Have you dreamed of him often?"

"No," she said. A new thought occurred to her, "I...let me get out a piece of paper, it's easier if I draw it for you."

Sadrith took a roll of paper and started with a stump of charcoal - a figure, her, in the center, and the nine pillars, only five of which had been lit. "This one was Alduin, this one was Pelinal, the next Sheggorath, this one Jyggalag...and this last one, Dagoth Ur."

She hunted in vain for something red in her bag of books and ink and letters, and in a fit of desperation made a cut on her thumb and spilled a few drops of blood.

Stop, stop, stop, you can't show him this! You can't show this to anyone!

Her voice, or something else, it wasn't clear. It screamed at her but she went on anyway, as if it weren't there at all. No different, she thought, than all the times she would yell at herself internally to get UP, to DO SOMETHING, and yet she couldn't.

"There was a red light coming from within me, that spilled to all of them..." She went on as she took out a dry quill and spread the scarlet color of the blood, from the figure to the pillars. "I...I don't know what it..."

Torovan didn't speak, which was somehow worse than an immediate snark. He looked concerned, which made the anticipation of judgment even worse. He pulled his hand free of hers, and healed the blood from it.

"I have an answer to at least one of your questions, but I'm not certain you're ready to hear it. There is an easy answer to...this," he gestured to the picture of charcoal and blood she'd drawn, "Or as easy as any other you will get."

"Tell me once we're on the road. Or rather once we're at the hot springs. I don't--I don't want anyone hearing anything."

Torovan seemed to like that idea. So once they'd taken their leave (and handed out some of the elven daggers they had picked off the Thalmor back in Ivarstead) they were on their way.

Sadrith felt disgusting by the time they got to the hot springs.

They'd encountered no further patrols of Thalmor - the miners at Darkwater Crossing hadn't seen any of them. It was baffling - why Ivarstead, she'd wondered? What had THEY done to deserve this? Maybe the Thalmor had wanted to seize the entrance to the 7,000 steps?

She greeted the hunters, and then lead Torovan over to another section, a spot with a bit more privacy. She piled her bags on the "island" and turned away. Unable to bear the gross feeling of the congealed and dried blood any longer, she started to strip.

Torovan had taken off his fur cloak, and stood looking towards the path across the water.

"Nothing," he said, "And now that we're here, I can..."

He stopped suddenly.

Sadrith turned slightly, now entirely in her small clothes. "Something wrong?"

Torovan's eyes were directed downward. "You didn't tell me you were going to--"

"I said I was going to bathe," she replied, "Did you think I would do that fully clothed?"

"No, but--" He stopped, and then started again, "You...you are very free with being seen in this fashion, aren't you?"

There was no mistaking the clench of his hand that she could see. Sadrith had to force back a laugh at the stiff tenseness in his posture.

She shrugged, and then smirked. It was almost comical, the way this so famously rigid man was suddenly off kilter just from seeing a little bare flesh. It was a thrill she felt she needed, after all the disturbance in her mind at Ivarstead, after the ill feeling the dream had brought into her head. It was immediately addictive, and she wanted more of it.

But she found herself turning away to strip further, And despite his unlife, she still heard the sudden sharp intake of breath when she turned halfway back.

"Why don't you get in the water too? I'm sure you could use the warmth."

A different urge appeared then. She knew it was a reckless idea, a bad one, as many others of the same kind had been. But she hadn't had the skooma that day, there'd been too many eyes back at Darkwater Crossing.

"And I wouldn't mind seeing that chest again, either."

It felt so good to laugh at that moment, to indulge that impish teasing, to give in to the impulses rather than fight them off. She was too mentally exhausted by everything else to even want to fight this thought off.

"Or the rest of you."

"You are impossible," Torovan replied, and there was an edge in his voice - but it was not as sharp as it had been before. "I wanted--to speak of something serious and you're here making--ridiculous offers you don't mean--"

"Who said I didn't mean it?" Sadrith settled down in the water, giving off a deep sigh as she did. She'd already gotten the soap and was already scrubbing away. "We could've been talking already. And you're the only one stopping you from getting anything right now."

There was silence then, and she didn't look back. But she heard the sound of his robes coming off, and then for some reason a slight curse, and then him getting into the water on the other side of that little "island" of rock.

Well, she'd tried at least.

But wanting a little something anyway, feeling a sudden surge of need, she spread her legs beneath the water and reached down.

Chapter Text

The Bluest

@@@@@

I could get used to this...

Sadrith was used to keeping herself quiet during moments like this. Short breaths, long breaths, biting into her other hand when she felt a bolt of pleasure too great to keep entirely silent. There was something exciting about the prospect of nearly being seen, of having someone to hide this from.

But even more than that was the thought of him. She had never even fully seen his face, covered as it was, but that chest, those arms, that chiseled form...

I try not to speak poorly of your preferences, my Thane, Lydia had once said, But it seems to me that your head is easily turned by those blessed with muscle.

Well, it was true. She hadn't joined the Companions but had made a point to be friendly with them. And in the Bannered Mare on late evenings, she'd sometimes see Vilkas or Farkas, and let her imagination run wild.

But she'd never acted on it. It was easier simply to keep her...dalliances...to the occasional mercenary (Marcurio in particular, due to how often she was in Riften) and sometimes a professional in a brothel in Solitude. Better, she'd thought, to let her own hand be her company most of the time. Less risk overall, both of getting attached to someone she'd only disappoint, or, worse...

Worse, worse, worse, the word repeated in her head, confusingly irresistible to think, Worse. It can always be worse, all of it, everything. I killed Alduin. There can ALWAYS be something worse. Everyone could see you for what you are...

Deep breath. It didn't help. It never did.

Even when you're knuckle deep in yourself you can't stop your wandering head!

The sudden sound of the movement of water dragged her out of the meandering morass of her thoughts, and forced her hands back up from between her legs. She brought her arms up to cover her chest closely, momentarily forgetting (everything)--

"It seems," Torovan's voice rumbled, "You are not as carefree as you try to appear."

He emerged from the water, appearing too suddenly for her taste. And yet--

--and yet when he appeared, her mind was silent, the lingering anxiety blasted to bits. That dark bandaged face over her, hooded and framed by that inky hair that fell over his shoulders and chest like a river, banished every scattered thought.

But it also pushed off any teasing she'd otherwise have thought of doing, and any thought of bringing herself to peak on her own.

"I'm a hero," she said for lack of anything else coming to mind, "I can't let the mask slip in front of them, I have to appear as though this is all easy, or they'd all..."

"Or they'd all lose faith in you."

"You sound like you know."

That burning eye swept down, and then back up. He needed not say anything, for she could read it in that stare.

I do.

Torovan didn't actually speak for another half a minute. He looked tense, like every muscle in his body was drawn taut, save for his hands - which she could see were shaking.

What was he so afraid of?

"We do not speak of this," his deep tenor voice finally sounded off, hesitation in every word. "We will later of what you still need to hear, but..."

"Not a word," she said.

"It did not happen and does not matter."

"You're acting like I've got a dagger to your throat. It was an invitation, not a threat," Sadrith said. She moved up to sit on the edge of the rock, internally cursing the disparity between their heights. "You don't have to do this, you know. You can go back over to the other side and we can pretend you were never over here."

But Torovan didn't move.

Why did he have to be so tall, and dark, and...

"For the moment, you can pretend it's all yours." She shivered slightly from the slight breeze against her damp skin. "My body, my blood, my heart, even."

Another sharp intake of breath, and a serious, struggling, reluctant sentence followed.

"You know not what you offer," he said, gaze as hollow as his tone, "If you were aware, you would not do it so sweetly."

Knees up. She lay back, and spread her legs invitingly.

"Cock now, talk later. Unless you d--"

It was incredible, really, how quickly that made Torovan move. The way one large hand moved, up her side, the way it shook ever so slightly in that movement, almost as if she would vanish if he did otherwise. He wanted to enjoy this, she thought, but there was something...

The hand stopped below her breasts, and it seemed for a moment he was feeling for her heartbeat. That he wanted that steady beating beneath his fingers.

The moment passed, and the hand moved up to her throat.

"Reckless," Sadrith said, echoing what she was also sure he was thinking, "I could kill her right now."

Danger, yes, she knew it was dangerous to think thus, to prod him in this manner, but still - that element of risk made it all the more exciting. While she was distracted by that cock rising from the water, he could so easily move down, bite her neck, drain her dry. But the impulse to invite him in was too strong, and the way he looked down was intoxicating.

She had never been good at denying herself things she wanted this badly.

And then he thrust forward, filled her in one smooth stroke - and that large hand tightened around her throat even as a moan was forced from her lips. She took in a sharp breath and tried not to clench at the stone beneath her. That cock of his was bigger than she was expecting - she'd been prepared to make some noise for him, but it spread her so well the act was cast aside.

Gods, I want to kiss him right now, she thought, but only a sudden burst in height would let her do that - if he even let her close enough to his face to manage it! She settled for reaching up to the hand at her throat, stroking at the fingers, the wrist.

Torovan moved awkwardly at first, the slight buck of her own hips seeming to disturb whatever rhythm he was going for a second and then a third time. On the fourth she relaxed, and let him set the pace himself. However unsteady his thrusts, he was still moving, after all.

Sadrith stroked up the only part of him she could actually reach - his arm, reveling in the tone of his skin, the way his veins flexed when the hand at her neck twitched.

"Go on," she prompted.

He said nothing, merely kept his hips moving. Had it been so long for him, or did he just not like talking during the deed? Did it really matter?

She shut her eyes, calling out a little more loudly when a particularly deep thrust brought her to a high point, close enough to taste the end, but not close enough to actually get there.

"Don't stop," she grated out, utterly entranced by the way he leans over and blocks out the sun, the way his shadow consumes her. Almost a statue over her, he was - she would almost think this a dream if she didn't know it to be real.

It was too perfect, and she shut her eyes, absorbed in the moment, savoring it, missing it before it had even ended.

A sudden sharp thrust and her eyes were open again. The other hand of his she hadn't noticed was gripping tightly at her hip, causing little pinpricks of pain, but nothing she couldn't endure. The hand that had been at her throat moved - she reached for it, and found her own pushed down and held to the rock.

Yes...yes, yes...

Her eyes moved over his chest, having a better angle for that than his eyes, trailing over a small scar that--

(A blue dagger, jabbed in to the hilt)

Sadrith gasped at the sudden flash. Not even a moment, she hadn't been there in the hot springs, but somewhere dark, hot, stifling. That scar on Torovan's chest, she'd seen it before in Blackreach, had to have, so why this--why now?

She shoved the thought aside, and squeezed the hand of Torovan's that was still holding her own.

Keep going, she begged silently, Keep going, and put what I saw out of my head.

It meant nothing, it was merely a hallucination, something she'd dreamt of once, maybe.

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, JUST LET ME ENJOY THIS!

The only mercy was that Torovan didn't seem to have noticed her lapse. His eye was clamped shut.

Another deep thrust, another bolt of pleasure.

"More," she grated out. If she could just prompt him to go harder, it would surely go away, that image in her mind, that moment from somewhen else. "More."

Higher and higher she was pushed and finally--finally, that image in her mind was gone, everything was gone, there was the clarity, the beautiful silence of ecstasy. It tightened in her gut - burst, and she called out for him one last time.

A grunt, just above her. Torovan started to pull back - his body jerked, there was a shudder, and he cursed under his breath. There was the feel of wet heat inside her, and then the familiar pulsation of it going back out.

It was over.

He let go of her entirely, and moved his lower half back beneath the water. By the time Sadrith was sitting back up with the background of the afterglow, he'd moved away.

"You fuck like it's your last chance," she said, in a dumb and giddy sort of way. "Gods..."

He said nothing, and moved back to the other side of the "island."

As good as it was, they had agreed, after all.

It never happened, it didn't matter, and they'd never speak of it again.

(But by the gods did Sadrith ever want to feel those arms around her.)

Chapter Text

Discussion

Sigurd. My friend, my savior, my brother-in-arms--

One might suggest that we I you made a critical mistake in sending me along with the Dragonborn. This should never have happened

You ASS, do you not know what you've put before me?

The paper was crumpled the instant Sadrith had finished reading that bit.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Torovan tossed the paper into the fire, and whipped around to face her.

They were currently making a brief camp somewhere north of Largashbur, with the intent of a full sleep once they reached Riften. Jarla and Snow were tired, and happily nibbling at grass nearby.

"I can pretend I never saw it," she said quickly afterwards, then thinking, I'll likely forget it soon anyway.

Torovan had been...off kilter since their stop at the Hot Springs. That stoic wall was still there, but thinner than it had been before...at least, she thought so. She kept trying to shove the thought back - clearly she had been suffering a cold bed too long if she was reacting this way to him. And when that consideration would come she'd be forced to think - don't you want more from him too? A few moments wrapped up in those strong arms, like it had been back at Helgen.

My guardian, again...

But no, she was the dragonborn, she was not guarded. She was the one meant to guard everyone else, thanks to Akatosh's whims.

"No, it's fine," Torovan said, breaking her out of her flower-chained thoughts. "Because it ties into what we still need to discuss."

It had been more than a day. It must be something, she thought, for him to delay it.

"Well, talk." She shifted in place. "You keep saying it's important and then won't speak of it again."

"What do you know," Torovan started, more hesitant with every word, "Of Shezarrines?"

"Shezarrines?" Sadrith huffed a little. "The khajiit caravan I grew up with told me of Lorkhaj being cursed to wander Nirn...and then as I got older there were books about Pelinal, and someone I can't remember said something about Tiber Septim being Shezarrine..."

Torovan snorted.

"He is not a subject I wish to discuss." He paused. "I have made a study of...Lorkhan and his shezarrines. And from what you have mentioned, what you have seen...it leads me to believe that you are one as well."

Sadrith shrugged. "I've heard people say Shezarrines are heroes who come into the world 'in times of great need' and...I think I've already managed that great need."

"You're getting ahead of me."

"Sorry." She looked away, and then back at the fire. "I tend to do that."

"So I've noticed." There was a pause. "If your job was done then I don't think you'd be dreaming as you have been..."

"They're just dreams." It was meant to be flippant, even though she knew damn well it was turning into more than that. A hope, in a way. "Even if they're not, what's worse than Alduin? Whatever comes, I can defeat it."

"They are not just dreams," he insisted again, "And the presence of Dagoth Ur is--you should treat it more seriously than you are."

"I killed a dragon god...thing," Sadrith petered out, "Even if Dagoth Ur stepped before me - I could kill him as easily as I did Alduin."

His head tilted, and in the one eye she saw utter exasperation.

"Besides, the heart of Lorkhan's gone," she added, hoping to banish it.

There was a pause.

"And suppose, just suppose, that the Heart of Lorkhan beats in your chest? That the blood of this missing god runs through your veins?"

"Then it's my heart, not his. What do you expect of me?"

"I expect you to take the idea more seriously."

"I take it perfectly seriously." Sadrith sipped at her mead. "If an enemy appears I strike him down. If I don't know how, I find out how and then do it. I already have enough to worry about without anxiety over things that might not actually happen."

She worried about things like that too...but he didn't know how to do that.

"Then why--" Torovan didn't huff, but he seemed confused, "--why do you persist in acting as though these threats mean nothing? Are you not afraid of death? Were you not afraid that day at Helgen when you were soaked from both rain and blood?"

"Maybe a little, but...given who I am...I expected I'd eventually die like that." She paused. "If I ever die in your company you have permission to laugh at my corpse and say you told me so."

"You're not going to die in my company. Now before you change the subject again--"

"Even if I am what you seem convinced I am...what does it change, right now?"

"Right now? This moment? Nothing. But later..."

"Then I deal with it later. In my line of work I deal with things when they become a problem." She paused, and a random thought slipped out. "I establish, I don't maintain."

Then, another one.

"That armor you wore," she said, "Back in Ivarstead, I was just thinking...I've never seen you wear armor before. Why then?"

"Sigurd is paranoid and wished me to have some. He was in possession of the Lord's Mail, and said it was the best suited armor when combined with the ring."

"The Lord's Mail, I've read about that armor," she said. The term brought her back to a moment looking down at a book in the College of Winterhold, and she repeated word for word what she could almost see before her. "The Lord's Mail, sometimes called the Armor of Morihaus or the gift of Kynareth..."

Sadrith stopped on seeing the stare from Torovan.

"Me with Pelinal's armor, and you with the one belonging to Morihaus..." She laughed. "I'd almost call that too convenient."

"Much of warfare is of the mind, and a battle can be won before it has even begun with the right sort of thought, implanted in the right sort of way." Torovan smirked. "And nothing will panic the Thalmor like a sighting of the Crusader and one who even vaguely resembles one who once traveled with him."

"I'll bow to your wisdom then," Sadrith replied, "I'm more of a soldier than a general, and I prefer to be pointed in a direction and told 'kill in that direction' if there are many foes to fight."

"You should be wary of thoughts like that," he said.

"I already have a lot of thoughts to be wary about..." she mumbled under her breath. It was like a shooting gallery in her mind, no sooner would she fix one to the wall than another would pop up, bobbing and weaving and taking up energy she didn't have. "But perhaps I should stay close. Being close to you seems to quiet my head."

He didn't respond to that.

They entered Riften from the south, just after mid-day. Sadrith brought Torovan to a table in the Bee & Barb and said they could set out for the Guild early the next morning, before the sun had risen.

"This woman is in the sewers?"

"She is, yes," Sadrith replied, "There is another way in but as you aren't one of us I can't show you. So we go in the front way."

"Or, you could bring her up here."

Sadrith stopped. She honestly hadn't thought about that.

"It would take less time, but I don't know if she'd agree. I could go ask but that'd delay your operation a bit longer as there's something else I'm meant to pick up."

"That brush I saw mentioned in one of your letters, I assume?"

"And things to tend to...as guildmaster..." Sadrith trailed off, and ordered some food, which she quickly devoured. The skooma was wearing off, and as it fell her appetite rose. "Ah, that's better."

Torovan sat watching her. She greeted a few of those passing by - the two Argonians running the place, Haelga, and some of the Riften guards, and a courier who had a note for her.

"Your guild must have need of you."

"It's not from the guild," Sadrith said, groaning slightly. "It's an invitation."

"And why should that disturb you so?" Torovan asked. She could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

"It's an invitation to the wedding of Ingun Black-Briar in two days. I'm not sure what you know of this family--" Sadrith stopped, and took a shaky breath. "But this isn't the sort of invitation I can refuse."

"Again - why should that disturb you so?"

"I don't--I don't care for crowds," Sadrith protested. "Having to dress up, being in a crowd of people, expecting at any moment that--it doesn't matter. It would be open to the public anyway, but..."

She took a deep breath.

"I'd ask you to come along after your operation, if I wasn't certain you'd hate it too...and that there's likely not a tailor in town that could make you something suitable in time."

"I have something suitable," Torovan waved one hand idly. "If you're that worried for my welfare, I can appear with you."

"I'm being PAID to worry about your welfare," she said, "Something that clearly I don't need to. But if you insist on joining me..."

She could already see it. Her, walking through the crowd on his arm, struggling to speak and being unable to do so, while he laughed alongside her. Finding no words that wouldn't sound embarrassing, and remaining silent.

"Anyway," she said, "I am sorry for the delay, but...consider the Black-briar family...necessary to the operation of the guild here."

"And you're afraid of Maven."

"I am not afraid of her!"

"You are." There was a smirk she could see well even through all those bandages. "You will tackle dragons and gods but a mere woman frightens you?"

"Maven Black-Briar is no mere woman," Sadrith replied.

There was a lengthy pause. She'd ordered him a cut of meat, rare, and he proceeded to eat it in silence.

When he spoke up it was more serious. "And the Thalmor?"

"Right." Sadrith's face sunk into her palms. "Right, we've got to tell someone about THAT. I'll...make a round of the city and tell the Jarl, and then the guards, and head down to ask the face sculptor."

So once she had herded him to Honeyside, she proceeded to do just that. Jarl Laila appreciated the warning, was already in fact aware of the increasing Thalmor presence. She extracted a promies from Sadrith that she'd act in defense of Riften if there was an incursion while she was there, one which was quickly made.

"I expect no reward," Sadrith said, when asked. Then she gave a slight smile. "First pick of their weapons and armor, maybe, once they've passed. Honorhall could use the funds."

Jarl Laila bowed her head slightly and gave a smile, while Maven, who was in the same hall, merely gave the same passive stare she always had.

When she left she spoke to the guards, and then to Balimund, to whom she sold the rest of the elven daggers she'd picked from the bodies at Ivarstead. Then to the Pawned Prawn to pick up a few things. A few dresses, shirts, dolls, wooden swords.

And then, finally, to Honorhall.

Constance Michel greeted her with a smile, and then helped her get in the bag and packages she was carrying. "Children, the dragonborn is here!"

It only fit, Sadrith thought, to use profit from war to make these little faces smile.

Chapter Text

Unmasked

Constance had been happy with the clothes and toys, and the children even more so. Sadrith had spoken to each of them, trying to hear a little of what they had to say - but she ended up speaking most to Sofie, the last one she had brought here.

"It smells here because of the water and I have to share the other room with Runa. But it's a lot warmer, and my fingers don't go all numb at night."

She couldn't help but smile at that, and agreed that it smelled in Riften. She asked about the other room and it seemed that Constance had turned the "punishment room" into a bedroom for the two girls, to make it less awkward for everyone. Her old room was for anyone who got very sick, and she herself had already moved into Grelod's.

"Do you like it better here?"

"Yeah," Sofie said, "I don't have to worry about eating here."

There was a pause.

"Somebody told me you work for the Thieves Guild. Is...is it true?"

"It's true," Sadrith said quietly, "I'm in charge of it. Don't worry, we won't steal anything from here. I told them not to do that."

"And they'll listen? I heard Constance say thieves don't have any honor."

"The guild here will do what I tell them," Sadrith insisted. "And if they don't, you can tell me and I'll punch them in the eye."

Sofie laughed.

It was so easy to speak to her, as it was to speak to the rest of the children. They were simpler, and sometimes she found it grating to listen to one of them peter on for ages about something, it was easier than listening to an adult do the same thing. Because at least the child sounded enthusiastic and happy about what they were talking about, and it required a lot less untangling than things like the current state of the fishing business or someone trying to explain the intricacies of why the Empire was right...

She left the orphanage wishing that talking to everyone could be so simple.

There were a few things to handle in the Guild. Letters to be written to suppliers, deals to be okayed, and so forth. Brynjolf joked that none of his talents lay in forgery, and her handwriting was near impossible to reproduce anyway.

"Ah, but there's a letter from Karliah," he added, "Hold on, I left it somewhere."

Sadrith nodded and went to speak to the Face Sculptor.

As it turned out, she WAS willing to come out of the sewers, was actually eager to be asked to do so.

"I have found the method by which to work on those of your friend's persuasion," Galathil replied easily, "And I would be most pleased to do this. Perhaps my work on him will lead to further business - Maven Black-Briar is not getting any younger, after all."

"Better not let her hear you say that," Sadrith laughed. She scribbled out a quick note, and handed it to Galathil, "This'll keep my housecarl from thinking you're a thief. Head on up and speak to the Dunmer at Honeyside. I still have some things to take care of here."

Galathil nodded and headed off. Sadrith moved back towards the main area of the Ragged Flagon...and Vex.

"You have the brush?"

"Yes, and it's already causing trouble."

"How so?"

"Delvin said he was going to test it out and painted something he shouldn't have. If he complains about his black eye, tell him he deserves it." There was a slight smirk then. "It's definitely the real deal."

"Good. I'd hate to have to start my search all over again." Sadrith, trying not to skip, headed on over to Delvin, who was holding an uneven bit of ice wrapped in a rag to his eye. "Vex already told me."

"Well, you can't blame a man for trying." Delvin gestured to a wrapped item on the table which Sadrith seized and opened.

Rythe Lathandas had been loathe to part with the thing, of course. But after having several children, none of which had any inclination to art - and feeling better about it knowing she was also an artist, he agreed to sell it. And so in exchange for what would to anyone else be a ruinous sum, the Brush of Truepaint was handed over.

Sadrith took the brush by the handle, and felt a tingle in her fingers. She prodded at the bristles - they were as soft as she'd heard, almost like hair. Whether it was Dibella's or not, she could shut her eyes, and think...

She opened them again quickly.

"Time to test it out myself," she said. Out of one of her bags she drew a roll of paper.

"How it works," Delvin said, "Is, you got to make a portal first. So you just sort of got to..."

"Imagine it, and brush?"

She felt awkward, drawing with nothing on the brush - she hadn't used a paintbrush in ages, charcoal was easier to carry and use.

But still, the page shifted and shimmered...

And through the portal she went. There was a feeling of falling, and little more.

There was nothing. Sadrith's footsteps made no sound, even. The world was an endless void.

"What should I try?" she wondered aloud.

Many things wandered through her head. Sovngarde, dragons, Skyrim in general...Rythe's letters said he was famous for doing art of the countryside, said the brush seemed to take well to scenes of nature.

Something beautiful, she thought suddenly. Or maybe something safe, familiar...

Something new?

She decided, finally, on Sovngarde. And barely putting forth her will - the colors expanded around her, bursting forth. Rythe's list of instructions confirmed that one didn't NEED to wave the brush to use it - his father had had no use of his arms after all, and had managed to use it just fine.

Yes. Yes, it was all coming back to her now. The view when she'd left the Hall of Valor - where she'd spent several hours feasting after victory over Alduin - and seen his body still laying there on the ground. The brilliant star in the sky, a veritable portal to Aetherius.

What I bring is a star... the thought leaped and was ignored. Everything else was too beautiful for her to spare time for another odd thought.

Then there was the corpse of Alduin.

The body appeared on the ground, exactly where it had been then. It was all harsh angles and ugly shadows, with little brilliance. But it did what the others had not - it remained whole and unburned, its soul still possessing it.

Sadrith was seized with another thought. She wondered now what she had wondered then.

Why?

Why had she not absorbed his soul as she had with all the other dragons? Why did his body not burn?

Her blood ran cold when the body's single visible eye opened, turned towards her -- its eyes, the same red as hers, burning bright. She remembered his last words: I am eternal! I cannot end! And for just a few moments, she thought...or feared, rather...

Mey, ziili... Alduin was weak, hardly able to move...or maybe she was just imagining this. Maybe her mind was running wild. ...hin!

"Fool," she echoed, not in the dragon tongue, "My soul..."

No.

No.

No. She was DEFINITELY imagining things. In a hurry she reached for the brush, turned, and created the portal back.

But whatever this was, had one final thing to say, one thing she only caught part of.

...mu nis oblaan...yah Alduini hofkahsejun!

We cannot end. Seek Alduin...seek alduin...something.

No, she thought, no, I am not hearing this. It's only in my head.

And Rythe had warned about this, that sometimes when painting living things they could...well...live, and she had made the mistake of imagining the worst target of all.

But as she faded from the painting and back to reality she wondered the meaning of the painted Alduin's language. Us, we, our. Words that linked them. Made them sound the same. Telling her to seek something...that last word, she couldn't identify it, didn't know it. Or if she did had forgotten.

The obvious answer was too obvious. It could simply be that as he was out of her head...it could be nothing. Just her overactive dragonborn imagination.

Doubting her senses made the most sense.

Torovan. She would ask Torovan, but make it sound like it happened in one of her dreams. Not inside of a painting.

He'd think her mad and she didn't want him thinking that any more than he already did.

The painting was beautiful, every bit as much as Sadrith hoped it would be.

The sky of Sovngarde, that brilliant swirling sky with its central star, the background of statues and hills. And Alduin's body there on the ground--with his eyes still open. Every inch of the parchment was filled, and it looked more like a window to the place than a painting.

If it hadn't been for the spook she'd gotten making it she was sure she'd be celebrating right now.

"I'm not much for art," Delvin said, "But that came out pretty good. Where's it s'posed to be?"

"Sovngarde," Sadrith replied, "Scared the hell out of me. Alduin was actually moving..."

He laughed. "Yeah, what I tried did that too. Got struck on both ends, by the painting and the real thing."

"Next time don't paint something that hates your guts."

She went back to waiting. A moment later she realized she'd forgotten what she was waiting for, just that there was something - important - she was supposed to have been tending to or doing.

There was Torovan, yes. And what she had to say to him about Alduin, but there was something else...

If it was important, you would remember, she thought, but really, it wasn't the truth. She'd forget everything. Sometimes even where or when she was (but that always resolved itself quickly, thank the gods).

"Sadrith!"

Brynjolf's voice rang out, but even then she still didn't remember. Not until he sat beside her and put the note in her hand, the note marked From Karliah.

Right. Right, that.

She thanked him and opened it.

Sadrith, it said, Come to Nightingale Hall when you are next able, there is something we must speak of.

And that was it.

"I'll do it after the wedding," she mumbled to herself. If there wasn't an emergency she might forget this too - she had to keep it on her night table, or something like that. She'd miss it for sure otherwise.

As she got up to leave she thought suddenly of Nocturnal, and turned quickly around to leave a soul gem at the shrine.

Galathil was deep in talks with Torovan when Sadrith returned to Honeyside. It seemed that in her absence they'd agreed on using her bed as the site of operation.

"My bed?" she asked. "Are you serious?"

"Nowhere else will be as comfortable, or as safe," Galathil replied, "And none of the other beds are large enough. I'm certain, too, that you don't want me to use your table. I need him able to lay flat for an extended period and your bed is the best place to do that."

Sadrith sighed, nodded her head, and set the note from Karliah on her bed table.

"Can you do the work now?" Torovan asked. "Or should I arrange for it tomorrow morning?"

"No, there's not a need to delay this. You'll need to rest for a day in any case. Now," Galathil said, "Much as I am sure you hate to do this, I need you to remove the bandages, then clean your face. Your skin must be absolutely clean before I work on it."

Sadrith, not wanting to look like she was waiting to stare at what was beneath the bandages, went to her bedtable again. This time she retrieved something - a small mirror that had been tucked away for fear she'd knock it over. On coming back she handed it to Torovan, who set it beside him on the bed.

She chanced only one look at his face as Galathil brought a basin of steaming water up to the other bedtable.

The scars she had seen before were there, but more than that was the drooping of flesh over the other, side of his face that she remembered seeing in other people, when they'd gotten burns. It looked almost like the skin had simply melted. On his forehead there was a scar like a deep gouge. Someone must have really wanted him dead - that wound looked like it would be fatal, were it fresh.

The bandages were set aside, and Torovan looked at himself in the mirror for a long few moments before washing his face - accompanied by several grimaces. Then he lay back on the bed.

And for one moment Sadrith saw a bolt of fear.

"For what it's worth," she said suddenly, "I think you're perfectly handsome now."

He didn't answer, and a moment later Galathil was casting a sleep spell.

Sadrith had only one job while the operation was being conducted, and that was bringing rags to ensure any blood didn't leak too quickly before Galathil's healing spells would seal the cuts she made. It really was artistic in a way - she would feel a jerk of nausea in her stomach, thinking surely this woman was going to kill the man before her and yet - when it was healed, the skin looked as though it had never been damaged at all.

She cut away a layer of skin around the site of Torovan's burns, and that seemed to be the part that concerned her most - but it too was healed over. It was all done within two hours.

"I did rather like the scars," Sadrith said, looking down once it was all done. "But he's..."

Torovan's face had been rugged in a handsome way before, but now he looked - breathtaking, almost. High cheekbones, perfect lips. His eyelashes were longer than she'd imagined they'd be, despite being untouched. He was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, and the thought of this face rising from the waters back in the hot springs--

"He'll be awake soon, but he is not to eat for two more hours," Galathil said, "Do you hear me? No eating, no drinking, period."

"Nothing for two hours," Sadrith repeated. "Why?"

"He could potentially vomit it back up," she replied. "Despite being asleep, the body is still pained, which causes nausea..."

"And even awake, and only mostly dead, it could still cause problems." That made sense enough.

Galathil gave her a list of further instructions for Torovan's persual, and finally left.

Sadrith turned back to Torovan, taking in the sight of his new face again. Something about seeing it the way he (apparently) wished it, finally healed of all its damage...

She sat watching him until he woke, some ten minutes later.

"Mirror," he said quickly, and Sadrith handed it back to him. He looked at himself for several minutes, touching various parts of his face. Cheeks, chin, nose, forehead. "She really did fix all of it."

"Sigurd won't recognize you." she said.

"I suppose not." Torovan went quiet.

A lengthy silence passed. Sadrith had again that feeling that she'd forgotten something, something important...it gnawed at her insides as she sat watching him look at his face from several angles with the mirror.

But it wouldn't come back, that thought, whatever it was. It was gone. She knew she had to ask him something but she couldn't remember what in the hell it actually was.

After the two hour period passed she brought him one of his blood bottles.

In the process of bringing it over she happened to look at the bedtable, on which Karliah's note still rested. Ah, yes! That must have been it.

"I had hoped for us to set off right after the wedding," she said, "But I got a note from the other Nightingale...ah, there are two more of the Guild pledged to Nocturnal's service. One sent me a note...she wants to see me at Nightingale Hall. It's just south of Riften."

"So we--"

"No, I can't take you with me. It wasn't anything particularly emergent...ah, not an emergency, but..."

"But with the Thalmor making further incursions, I can't simply let you wander about by yourself."

Sadrith huffed. "I've been alone a lot longer than I was ever with you. I can handle myself just fine. I don't NEED--"

"I am not staying in this city any longer than I have to, and from what it sounds like, you don't expect this to take very long. Correct?"

"Yes, correct."

"Then I follow you, wait outside--" here Torovan sneered, "--and we set off for Winterhold afterwards, to save time."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The wedding was everything Sadrith had feared. She spent most of it holding to Torovan's arm, shocked that he could speak to anyone so easily give his previous dislike of small talk (though she did notice, that most of those he spoke to were Dunmer). She was almost glad of it, though--aside from some talk about the Thalmor with the more Stormcloak aligned folk attending, she could think of very little to actually say.

Ingun was marrying the Jarl's disgraced son, Saerlund, and from what she could gather Maven was attempting to turn the man into a protege of sorts.

"But what of Hemming?" she asked, "I thought he was her heir! And what about Sibbi?"

"Sibbi's...no longer an option. And as for Hemming, he vanished, that's what. Guards can't find head or tail of him...no note, no declaration of passionate love for someone in another hold, nothing." Indaryn said. "Maven's got people looking, but it's been long enough that..."

"And beforehand?"

"Nothing. Well, he had started collecting some odd--"

"Dragonborn!"

Maven's imperious voice rang out, and Sadrith tensed. As the woman approached, Torovan whispered, "Are we sure this woman is not the World-eater? You seem to fear her more than the dragon himself."

Alduin, there was something she was supposed to say. It was about Alduin. But for the life of her she couldn't remember. But that thought would soon pass on as Maven approached, and started to ask if she had herself heard anything of Hemming.

"Nothing," she replied honestly, "And I have just made a journey from Winterhold to get here. Aside from the Thalmor there's not much going on."

"Aside from the Thalmor." Maven gave a noise almost like a laugh in her throat. "They mean nothing to you, do they?"

"They're nothing I haven't handled before."

"Yes...I do recall a certain party..." There was a little smirk to cross the woman's face then. "I have heard that they're quite angry with you. I've been asked about your presence."

"I hope--I've given no reason to--"

"At the moment, no." Maven inclined her head. "I have no care for the Thalmor themselves, except that it's required to deal with them to get anything done in Skyrim...considering the connection to the Empire."

"Right...right," Sadrith replied. "If I've interrupted your business--"

"You've not done so, no. Not yet at least."

The conversation moved on to Saerlund then, and soon after mentioning Ingun was happy with any marital situation that would let her continue her work, Maven reminded her (several times) to keep an ear out for any word of Hemming. Then she was gone.

"She was less terrifying than you made her seem," Torovan said. "You did well enough."

"Of course I did. Of course I did."

She took a deep breath. Somehow, she managed to get through the rest of the wedding celebration - even greeted Ingun at one point, congratulating her on finding a way to get around her mother's dislike of her hobbies.

"It was Saerlund's idea," Ingun said. "My mother's...got certain kinds of friends he'll get along with, and it's not as though I'm interested in anyone else."

"No sweethearts at all?"

"Every joked that I cared for Elgrim, but..." Ingun gave a slight laugh. "I've never been interested in men...or women for that matter."

After complimenting the bridal gown, Sadrith moved off again.

Torovan set off with her after a brief stop at Honeyside to gather everything back up and changed back into armor. She chose the Nightingale armor, and mentioned to Iona what she had to Gregor: if the Thalmor showed up, do what she had to do to survive. The woman had been doing fairly well, being a Stormcloak in spirit if not joining them in battle, and so hadn't had as much trouble as Saerlund had been.

"Is it usual for you to be called for in this way?" Torovan spoke up once they'd passed Riften's gates. "A letter, sent to the Guild?"

"Sometimes there's a courier," Sadrith replied, "But yes, usually this way. There's a means of speaking to Nocturnal here, and..."

"She is your lady's...highest priest, for lack of a better word?"

"Something like that." She paused as she spotted the stone marked with the Nightingale symbol. "How's your face, by the way? In the sunlight, I mean. Does it hurt at all?"

"Not--especially. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but not much. The sun is going down, so that may have something to do with it." Torovan said.

"It'd be a pity if the sun did hurt it," she said, walking ahead so he wouldn't see the expression on her face. "If I hadn't watched her do it I'd almost say your face was carved by the gods."

There was a slight chuckle from him then.

And then a moan, that definitely wasn't his.

Sadrith looked forward, and reached for her sword.

It happened again. She looked back to Torovan, whose eyes had gone wide--wide and fearful.

Deep breath.

She turned back. Ambling through the rickety door that lead to Nightingale Hall was something that looked almost Dunmer--

Torovan screamed as if he'd seen a ghost, and slung a fire spell at the thing before it could get too close. She advanced and seeing nothing else coming from the door leaned over to look at the fallen creature.

"Don't touch it!"

"I'm wearing gloves, I'm fine." Sadrith turned the thing over, and gasped. There were ears and a mouth, but...everything that should have been where its eyes and nose were was completely gone. "What in the name of..."

There was nothing but a gaping hole.

"I've never seen anything like this before," she said, getting up when Torovan prompted her again. "What IS that?"

"An--a--an ash zombie," he replied, shaking in every limb. "It's an ash zombie. They were--I've only ever seen them in Morrowind...more than two hundred years ago."

"Wait, so that's one of the ash creatures that--" Sadrith stood up, and headed for the door again. It seemed to take Torovan a few moments before he followed along.

She glanced back to see that he was slipping on a set of leather gloves.

Karliah, she thought, Karliah, how did these things get in here? Why didn't you say anything sooner? Gods, I hope you're alright!

Chapter Text

Dagoth Volkihar

Another ash zombie stood just inside, and he was blasted by Torovan and cut down by Sadrith.

"How can these things be alive?" Sadrith called out, "My mother always said they died when the Heart was released from its prison. The Nerevarine himself told her and the tribe that he watched it disappear. How--how?"

"I had heard much--much of the same." Torovan was stammering slightly. "They aren't supposed to exist. They shouldn't be here, not without the Heart of Lorkhan empowering--"

"Well if what you say is right the Heart DOES exist again...but surely it would've happened before now. All this I mean. The zombies. If I--why now?"

"I don't know," Torovan said, after they stopped to kill another. "Something MUST have changed. Something must have happened, but what?"

There were three more--these ones paler, clearly nords rather than Dunmer as the first had been. All male, dressed the same, only in smallclothes.

"I thought the corprus was only intended for Dunmer?" she thought aloud. "Wouldn't he--D--"

"Do not say his name!" Torovan interrupted. "It may infect others. He was never very choosy about that. Only Dunmer could become more than--than this."

And here he gestured at the ash zombie nord.

"My contact is a Dunmer," Sadrith said, "Gods above, I hope she's not..."

They advanced further still, to the bridge room with the running water. Torovan, on sight of an ash ghoul, tossed another bolt of fire at this one - but this one must have been stronger than the zombies. It burned, and slung a fire spell back, managing two words before its screams became incomprehensible:

"He lives!"

There were several more ash zombies here, of mixed kind - some nords, a Dunmer, an Argonian. As they lay dead, as Sadrith stared at them, she said, "Maybe we shouldn't kill all of them. We could get some valuable clues from them, if they'll speak to us."

"You can't let these things speak to you. They'll--they could 'bless' you with corprus, and then that will be that!"

They crossed the bridge, and by one of the beds she noticed (and seized) a journal, most of which was torn. But some of it was legible, and she read it aloud as her eyes passed over the words.

Sigurd lied to me...he lied to me, thinking me dull witted. And perhaps for a time I was. But the master! The master, he leads as a parent leads an unknowing child. No more a tool. No more a pawn in another's game, a plaything to uncaring gods! Now - I am whole, born new! For now comes he who walked before, and he who walks again, and he who will walk forevermore!

"Sigurd lied to me," Torovan repeated in a faint voice, "...no, it couldn't be..."

"You know who wrote this?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure. I--but Sigurd would never..." Torovan was shakier now than he had ever been before. She would almost say terrified, if she wasn't so sure he was the sort of man who was never afraid. But no, the thought came, all men were afraid at some point. All men--

FOCUS, gods damn it!

Sadrith begged her mind to simply behave, but the turmoil was kicking up, as if the skooma were wearing off too quickly. Perhaps she'd taken too small a dose this morning. Perhaps--

In the room where there had been three Nightingale pedestals, holding the armor, there had been a drastic change. The banners bearing the Nightingale symbols were gone, torn down, and in there place there was now only one - behind the center pedestal. The symbol looked like two marching beetles, stitched in red, on a black background. They looked wrong, felt wrong, but almost more so than that was the large ebony statue occupying that center pedestal.

It looked carved in an ancient style, but the work itself was clearly new - even on the surface beneath there were chips of ebony, fresh from the carving. It looked like some sort of messed up vase, or maybe an urn, the lid of which had been shaped into a four-pointed head with jeweled red eyes. She lit up a light spell in her hand to see it better, but - stranger still, the light did not reflect from it.

The light seemed to fade into those eyes, rather than reflect off them...and she stood watching, fascinated by the effect.

"Get away from it--and don't touch it!" Torovan called out.

Despite the chill in the room she could feel heat the closer she got to the thing - and then above the heat there was a scent. Burned out incense, blood...something dead, something that used to be alive, and now...

Sadrith reached out, thinking it might be a good idea to take the thing, to break it, ensure it couldn't work whatever it was clearly doing. Her mother had spoken of ash statues, she remembered now. The sight of this thing brought to mind an old memory, when she sat at her mother's knee looking at the drawings of the old evil things that had been defeated.

"This is an ash statue, Sadrith," her mother had said, "It was the tool of Dagoth Ur, to muddle with the minds of those who did not know what they were. It is an evil thing, and if you ever, ever see one, destroy it. Because even though Dagoth Ur is gone now, some echo may still remain of his power in these things that were once his tools."

Her hand was on its head (how light it was!), ready to grasp and tip it over--

She was broken out of her thoughts, and the feeling of hearing whispers on the edge of hearing, by Torovan yanking her back by the shoulder. Her flesh raked over the fine points of its head--points so sharp they tore straight through her gloves!--and it wobbled slightly but did not fall.

"What did I say? DON'T TOUCH IT!"

"Damn it, I was about to destroy the thing--" She groaned, and cast a healing spell to close up the shallow wounds the points of the statue's head had made. On the black surface of the statue itself were now trickling a few drops of her blood.

The cut had been so clean she hadn't felt the pain at first, not until she stood staring at the lines on her hand.

Evil, she thought, evil. But on restoring the slight wounds, and looking up, there was the thought - where was the attack on the mind she had been warned about? Surely it should even now be forcing its way into her head. Surely...

How did they work, mama? How does a piece of rock make people do things?

They do not command, my little mushroom. They convince, and that is worse.

The memory was warm, and--strangely--so was the heat that emanated still from the center pedestal. She expected it to burn, but instead it was like it pressed softly, wrapped round her like a blanket.

Not forcing forward, but...remaining there, touching...an embrace. There was no furious flurry of thoughts, only the certain glow of safety.

"We need to hurry this along and leave," Torovan said, once more breaking her from her thoughts. This break, though - she felt suddenly cold, and upset that he'd done it.

But then she realized - it was better this way. She saw now why these statues were so dangerous, understood her mother's explanation. The statue would be there, waiting for her, for it had all the time in the world! It had no need to begin by forcing its tendrils into one's mind. Not when one stayed close, might almost invite it in.

Sadrith clenched her fists, dug her nails into the sensitive, just-healed-over skin. Pain, yes, that would keep her out of it. Yes. The weight of her sword's pommel, against her palm, and her nails also.

It would keep her away from the last lingering thought, or feeling, or somehow both. The words felt like a smile, a welcome, almost.

I see you, little Heart...

"Did he speak to you?" Torovan's voice was urgent, "Tell me. You need to keep your mind occupied, busy with something so you don't--"

"I see you," she repeated, "Little heart."

Torovan's face sunk into his hands, and he was silent afterward.

He turned away and she moved forward, toward where she had once made her vow to Nocturnal. Here there were two ash zombies devouring...something. Meat. A disgusting sound.

And behind them?

A single robed figure, pale hands clasped in prayer, a veil bearing the same beetle-like symbol as the banner from before covering their face.

"Eat, children, yes, eat of the glory of your lord. You hunger, and He provides the sacrament, the feast, born from the glory of His gift."

A feminine voice, Sadrith thought, but before she could think more she was interrupted.

Torovan spoke suddenly. "Serana?"

The figure turned.

"Tell me it's not you."

"Serana is gone," the veiled woman said, "I am Dagoth Volkihar. I was the first to listen, to hear the message of our Lord, and it was He who raised me from the shallow grave your Sigurd left me in."

The two ash zombies came forward, being dispatched quickly.

"I will not return - I am not your lord's puppet, not any longer--" Torovan kicked aside the one he'd slain. "He cannot have me."

"He does not want you," the veiled woman said simply. "He had Sigurd, who fought him at every turn, who is falling and falling and falling, much as he cannot see it. And now, now he has others..."

There was a pause. Sadrith felt the return of that warmth from before - and in her mind there was a flash, a look up at the tall masked figure, and then in turn seeing the still stone Heart, the centrepiece...

"Sigurd lies. He lied to me as he lies to you, Voryn."

Sadrith stiffened; a bolt of terror ran through her veins.

Voryn.

Voryn.

Her mind shot back to that encounter at the hot springs, that few minutes she spent spread beneath Torovan, teasing him until he bedded her. A wave of nausea rose - she felt sick at the thought that she had--that she actually--

Fool. I am such a fool. I know I should not trust my own senses so easily, I KNOW I should be less impulsive! And what did I do? I let them drive me! AGAIN!

She screamed, moved forward, blade raised and ready to strike. Serana, or Dagoth Volkihar, whoever she was, moved back, dodging only just enough to prevent a fatal blow. The veil was cut and swept aside, however, revealing a trio of small tentacles, sprouting from what must have until their appearance been a gaping hole.

That white-hot rage she had felt in Ivarstead rose again, and she struggled against it, against the sudden typhoon that worsened in her mind every second.

And as she battled the creature before her, slashed left and right - until the thing that had once been a woman fell to the ground, bleeding not red but black. She raised her foot, hearing it making sounds, trying to speak - and determined not to hear them, brought her heel down on its head, stomping until she stopped feeling resistance from the bone it was being driven into.

Breathing hard, she finally stopped, looking ahead to where Nocturnal's orb had once appeared.

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She whipped around to face Torovan, eyes blazing, heart beating fast, rage roaring.

"Don't touch me," she snarled, raising her sword to make him move back, "Don't you DARE touch me."

"I didn't wish for you to fall back into that--madness."

"You meant to bring me here, didn't you?"

"No!" he burst out. "I didn't even know--about ANY of this!"

She backed away further, sword still raised. Her back struck the edge of the larger statue.

"I want the truth," she said. "NOW! How are you Voryn and Dagoth Ur is separate from you?"

My mother is going to KILL ME! Of all the men I could meet, of all the men I could FUCK--

"Sigurd saved me from it. I didn't know how, I only knew when I awoke that my mind was my own again," Torovan--no, Voryn--said. "I have worked extremely hard not to fall under any kind of temptation to--to--anything, since then."

If he was telling the truth...

"No wonder you've got such a huge stick up your ass," she said, "So if you're you then why am I here? What did you need ME for?"

"Sigurd wanted to get your help for his effort against the Thalmor. I wasn't sure - I didn't know you, and dragonslayer or not a hero can be unfit for long campaigns. My face was...a distraction, a ruse. I wanted it fixed, but at the same time, preferred to keep it hidden. I had no idea that any of this had happened. We'd helped Serana with something, and Sigurd had...been cagey about what had become of her afterwards. I never thought..."

Sadrith groaned. "And now? Do I pass muster? No. No, don't answer that, I know I don't. It doesn't matter. I can fight my own war. I can--WILL--make the Thalmor regret the day they ever laid eyes on the first little pebble of Skyrim's soil."

Worse and worse the rushing river in her head ran. Thalmor, Northwatch. Voryn. The hot springs. Sigurd. Winterhold. Mother, drawings. Dagoth Ur, danger...

She raised a hand to her forehead, then reached down to one of her bags, thinking to get one of her bottles of mead before the panic rose any higher.

And then, suddenly, the rushing river and flood of conflicting emotion were gone.

There was silence.

How long I have waited for you, my little Heart...

"We," she said, looking up at Torovan, cleaning off her sword and resheathing it, "Need to leave. NOW."

She had to report on this to the Guild, and the Jarl, and...and then take Torovan...Voryn...back to Winterhold, and--

The panic did not come. She reached for it anyway, but felt as though she were hitting a wall. The noise ebbed away like a receding wave.

And though Sadrith distrusted it the feeling still remained. A sensation of--something she wasn't entirely certain of, that felt like so many things at once. The relief of an ache suddenly eased.

The feeling that a thing long missing had now been returned.

Chapter Text

More Questions

They were nearly on the point of leaving before Sadrith realized she'd forgotten something. She rushed back to the platform and knelt before it, calling to Nocturnal, whose orb soon appeared.

"You have cleansed Nightingale Hall of its blight," came the soft but stern tone, "But more still remains."

"My lady," Sadrith said, "Might you answer if Karliah is among the dead here or not?"

"She is not. She is where all Nightingales go."

"I ask not for your aid, for I have failed in guarding this place. But I ask if there is anything more you would have of me than the obvious. You know I am not the best sighted of your faithful, and I beg your pardon for that fact."

The orb turned first one way and then another. Torovan, or Voryn rather, would later say to Sadrith that he swore the thing looked at him when it spoke again.

"Remember that neither all shadows nor all hands that reach from them are mine."

And then she was gone.

Sadrith stood up again. Her head was buzzing -

She must know about Dagoth Ur, of course, but then there's...what else could there be that she means? Or maybe she just means him, he's an enormous threat, he always has been...she's warning me against trusting him. As if I would be fool enough to do that!

"More blight remains..." she said, looking at Voryn. "Serana said that Sigurd lied to her, I assume he's the source of it."

"He's got corprus, but it was cured..." there was a pause, and then a haunted look crossed his face. "...she had to bite him, he said, in order for him to..."

His face sunk into his hands.

"You really didn't know."

"No," he said, looking back up, "I didn't. He never told me anything about it, and I never had cause to ask. I thought everything was well, he said as much any time I asked."

"How did he--fix you? Maybe that's got something to do with it?"

"I don't know much," he said, following as Sadrith headed for the exit. "I know he traded Almalexia's soul to Molag Bal to 'bless' me with vampirism so my corpse wouldn't rot, and then Vivec's to...someone else...to get my soul back. But any more than that Sigurd wouldn't elaborate on. He'd just...just smile, and tell me not to worry, that I should go and enjoy the life I had back."

"You think maybe he had Dagoth Ur in his head too?"

Voryn cursed in some language she didn't know.

"How could he be so foolish?"

"Maybe he didn't want to burden you?" she asked, looking back, "He probably felt guilty about having to...kill you, and...thought he could handle it on his own?"

There was a lengthy silence.

"I think," she said, "It's a bit pointless to worry about being seen now that we've run into this and the Thalmor at Ivarstead...and that's not even touching the fact that we met an actual team sent to kill us, specifically."

"That's all the more reason to be careful!"

"I can kill anything they send after us," Sadrith said, "They about me. More importantly they know about YOU. Sneaking isn't going to do us a lot of good."

Voryn gave an irritated growl. "Isn't that supposed to be something you're good at?"

"Being good at it means knowing when's best to use it and when not to. Besides - I promised the Jarl I'd do what I could about them if they threatened Riften."

"Yes, but..." he groaned slightly at the touch of the sun as they left Nightingale Hall.

"But what?"

"We should try to get to Winterhold as quickly and quietly as possible."

"We can at least go to Shor's Stone first, just to see if there's any more...unpleasant surprises between here and there," Sadrith said, "Of the Thalmor or ash zombie kind, I mean. Then we can...do the sneaky thing again. The back way."

He couldn't protest much against that line of thinking, even if he didn't care for the terms she used.

As they left Riften through the north side this time, Sadrith was occupied with once more feeling as though she had forgotten something.

With the horses they reached Shor's Stone as the sun was rising again, and she managed to negotiate sleeping in two of the miners' tents. Long journey, she said. They'd hoped to get to Windhelm, but ended up having to stop here after a run-in with a bandit camp.

"I cannot believe they believed you," Voryn said, as Sadrith was setting her bag down by the tent she'd chosen.

"They'd swallow anything I told them as long as it's plausible. And I've killed a lot of bandits over the last year or so." Sadrith shrugged. "You know - it's odd we didn't encounter anything else on the way here. Don't you think?"

"Yes. We might spare a day to check around here, but...we really should get back to Winterhold, and soon. If he is influencing Sigurd...I don't even want to think it..."

"I could always call a dragon for the trip, but you wanted subtlety." Sadrith gave a mock laugh. "I'm sorry...I know it's not funny. I COULD, but there's a difference between taking the main roads and maybe meeting someone dangerous, and the certainty of being shot at AND noticed. People below us might..."

She waved one hand absently. Only when she looked into her potion bag when Voryn's back was turned did she suddenly realize, amid the chaos of the rushing river in her mind did she realize what she'd forgotten on leaving Riften.

In her bag there was only a single remaining bottle of skooma. She'd forgotten to buy some while visiting the Thieves' Guild.

I can skip tomorrow's dose. It's not like traveling requires much thinking, at least not right now. No. No, that's a dumb thought. How stupid can I be? I can't...

Her heart raced in her chest, and her breathing quickened too.

"Sadrith?" Voryn's voice broke her from her panic, "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she lied, "Just...just very tired."

It took an hour and a bottle of mead for her to calm down enough to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Dreamer

As far as she knew, she had been here for time beyond count. Here, buried deep, with the burning rock below and the cold ones above. She was alone, but could hear those outside, those above--digging, digging, digging.

The bearded gold ones were first. They whispered about her power, and one in particular stood by her night after night, crafting something that looked as shiny as his golden armor. She was curious, and watched as they came together, these metals he worked with. A gauntlet, a hammer, and a blue blade.

Her memory fractured. A man of ash, then not, then words from somewhere, the source of which she couldn't see. "Do you not know what this war is about?"

They were such fools. They did not know what was coming. They could not see what she'd seen, could not even see the need for it! The threat was before them, not around them! HE was watching, waiting for them all to fall. She had told her other half, and he kept his silence. But the rest. The rest, she wasn't sure of.

She was where she belonged, but then untimely ripped back. Hurting, angry. No, no, they couldn't, they couldn't, there wasn't TIME--

...so much blood, so many dead. The one who had made those weapons turned them on her. She lashed out - how dare they. Father must have sent the bearded ones to steal her power, cripple her, punish her for disobeying.

They vanished. To where she did not know, only that she had screamed NO in silence, and they had gone.

More blood, more death. Two before her, and three standing over their bodies. One of them had those awful weapons but this time - she could not stop them.

They stole her power, for how long she didn't know. Year after year after year, so much they took that her hunt for the power to stop this theft was almost too hard to go on. She had made One to keep up her plan, to form a kingdom, an empire to keep Father from being able to swallow them all whole. Yet she knew she had to try.

But HE was there. He who had advised the three, and the one who died beside him...he would do. He'd have to--he was the only one she could use. So she put forth what little power remained - bit by bit, year by year, until the day came that he crawled up screaming from the ash to lash out at the thieving three.

He was not right. He was broken, but he was all she could do - and he did.

This broken, dark man would be her Guardian, would allow her to rebuild her power. And if the efforts of the Stormcrown failed, then he would at least keep those thieves away long enough for her to start again.

But even here Father's whispers reached.

Sadrith gasped awake, and realized Voryn had grabbed her shoulders and was shaking her.

"No," she slurred, still half asleep, still half seeing the back of he who had been before her, "Father is lying. Father wants you to hurt people..."

"Wake up!"

Her vision cleared, and she saw Voryn above her, blotting out the setting sun.

"What you're doing is hurting people," she said, still trembling, "You can't listen..."

But slowly, she woke up.

"Who--who are you?" Sadrith was momentarily confused. Her head was swimming, and for the moment she couldn't recognize him. She reached for her sword, still puzzling - and then, slowly, it all came back to her. Torovan Gyhd. Voryn Dagoth.

The dream felt...real, almost as if she'd lived all that time that had passed in it.

And from the look on Voryn's face he wasn't going to let her get away with saying it wasn't anything to worry about.

"Sorry, I had...a very long dream." She shook her head, and on noting there wasn't anyone else close by started to talk. The bearded ones, the cavern, the fighting, the blood...

...and then, finally, the Guardian.

She hated the look she saw on his face - she couldn't tell what it was at all. Fear? Concern?

"You mean to say," Voryn said slowly, "You woke him up?"

"I never..." She took a deep breath. "It must have been so. I only knew...I had to stop the thieves, so I could be ready for something else. Father. That word came up a few times...I was so afraid of what 'Father' would do. If what you say is true and I'm shezarrine, then...maybe the 'I' that I was, was Lorkhan?"

He thought for a moment.

"I've made a study of Lorkhan, and there's only one place I've ever read of him being fathered."

Despite everything it was WONDERFUL to be believed about this. Only he, she thought, would do it. Who else would understand?

"Where?"

"What books do you have in your bag?"

She brought her book bag forward, and opened it.

The Art of War Magic; The Black Arrow v1; The Black Arrow v2; The Book of the Dragonborn; Chaurus Pie: A Recipe; A Dream of Sovngarde; Forge, Hammer and Anvil; Myths of Sheogorath; Shadowmarks; and Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi he moved aside. There was a noise of recognition in his throat on reaching the next.

Sithis.

He opened it, and after flipping through the pages for a moment or two, turned it around and pointed the line out to her.

So Sithis begat Lorkhan and sent him to destroy the universe. Lorkhan! Unstable mutant!

"So Sithis begat Lorkhan..." She read aloud, and then let her face sink into her hands.

The Thalmor. Voryn Dagoth. Shezarrine. Dagoth Ur, returned, possibly in her head. Then this. This. THIS!

No longer caring if he saw her, she reached for her potion bag and rifled through it, taking a large gulp from the skooma bottle within.

The typhoon in her head sharpened, but then faded.

Her heart rate stayed high, but slower than before.

"You take that poison?" he asked.

"It's the only thing that helps," she said, shaking slightly, "Imagine you have a rushing river in your head, constant movement you can't control. What you'd be on this stuff is what I am off it. Constantly. Day in, day out. It's....it's just the only thing that helps."

Silence, that was what she wanted, the beautiful, wonderful sound of silence. And then, unbidden--

What is the music of life?

She went for her food bag and then started cutting at the half-stale loaf of bread and preserved horker meat inside.

"And if I don't eat now, I won't later."

There was a pause. Again, that look she couldn't identify. He was either concerned or afraid, and the idea of the former made her feel almost angry. Only once the food was down her throat did she feel reasonable again.

"Sithis," she said, "You think Sithis is...what does he have to do with it?"

"You have far too many of these dreams for them just to be dreams," Voryn said, "Believe me, I know. This is only a theory, but if this 'Father' is Sithis, and Lorkhan is afraid...this, combined with your other dream seems to hint that..."

"Then what? I can't--I can't deal with this right now. One thing at a time. That's all I can manage." Sadrith took a deep breath. It didn't help. "Let's get back to Winterhold first. Let's deal with the Thalmor first."

"You're right...but you need to keep track of these anyway."

Sadrith said nothing, merely opened her journal and started writing. When she looked up and saw confusion she said, "If I don't do it now, I'll forget."

Once done she shut the book, and after discreetly getting Torovan one of his blood bottles out and letting him eat, they were getting up to go when there was a sudden shout.

"Umbra! Umbra, this is a disaster!"

Sadrith took in a sharp breath, stood, and approached the newcomer. He was wearing the robes of a priest and looked like complete hell.

The mask went on.

"Slow down. What happened?"

He looked up at her, shaking. "I barely made it out - but it's Umbra. I was looking into rumors, and searching for a missing priest of Stendarr, and...and..."

"And found Umbra?"

"It must be found and destroyed, but...but I can't do it alone."

"You stay here. Rest, recover. I'll handle it. Alright?"

Voryn's eyes were wide, but she packed up and went to the horses.

"What was that about having too much to do already?"

"Well if I don't do it, who else is going to?" she said back.

"And risk putting yourself under its power?"

"I'm used to ignoring voices that aren't mine," Sadrith groaned. "It's...it's not fine. But it's fine enough. I can handle it. I can..."

She stopped.

"You'll be there in any case, I don't think you'd let it get too far."

"No," Voryn said sharply, "I wouldn't."

Chapter Text

Shor

The talk of the dream had Sadrith thinking. Not of the dream itself. But that one thing - the fear of what Father would do, that tumbled another recurring thought out the other side.

Mama? Who is my father?

She had asked her mother that question many times, and each time she seemed to get a different answer.

He was an arrogant ass not worth knowing.

The ash carried you to me, does it matter?

There was no father. I found you under a scathecraw leaf.

You were a gift from the ancestors.

Kogolanu had said that last bit many times, and patted her head or given her a hug.

She never doubted she was loved. Her mother always made it clear how much she'd wanted a child, how happy she was to have her. I thought I was beyond having children. I was married for two hundred years and never once did my womb quicken. But then, when I thought my courses were done and over with...

Then she'd look at Sadrith and a smile would cross her wrinkled face. Sometimes there'd be a kiss on the forehead.

You are my little mushroom. A welcome life sprung up from death.

And then she would tell some ashlander tale, or mention some little mischief Sadrith had gotten into and joke that Boethiah walked closely behind her. The subject would be changed.

Well, whoever her father was, no doubt he was much better than what poor Lorkhan had - having Sithis for a father would be worse than anything. What sort of parent would the master of the void be?

"Sadrith?"

She jolted out of her thoughts. "Hmm?"

"I think we're getting close. Do you hear anything? Any whispers?"

"No...do you?"

A pause.

"Not yet...but I expect we both will, soon, given Umbra's nature. I don't understand why you insisted on this."

"We get the sword," she said, "We get to Winterhold. We throw it into the sea or something like that. I'm sure that we'll figure out something."

"You are far too optimistic that this will end well."

"I have enough to worry about without thinking about something that hasn't even happened yet." She took a deep breath, and tried not to let the sting of Voryn's words get to her. He'd said as much enough times before - why should this feel any worse than it had before? Yet there it was - the ground beneath her mind giving way and dropping her into that cold silence that swallowed her whole.

But he's right, she thought, He would know. I should be less like I am...maybe more like he is. Nothing in, nothing out. Stoic.

And then a feeling, like a hand trailing over skin...but beneath it.

The Heart does not make itself small for the weak.

I am not making myself small...I'm tired of being mocked.

(Him. HE, the very same she had been told stories in, who she had been told was dead and gone, was again awake, and she had never wanted her mother so much as she did then.)

There had been mention of a mace being dropped by the cave door, and she was relieved to see it. She drew out Chillrend, and cast Candlelight.

"You don't feel any strange inclinations right now, do you?"

"No." It was a struggle not to say more, but she managed it.

Somehow.

On a table in the first room she picked up a note which she read aloud:

I, Cassipia Sagnus, Vigilant of Stendarr, do hereby issue this report on my investigation into the reports of a "dark presence" within Champion's Rest.

Champion's Rest is the site of an ancient battle arena where Nords would test their mettle in gladiatorial combat. Long believed to be lost to time, it was recently uncovered by mining prospectors near Shor's Stone after discovering a new deposit of silver.

Upon discovery, the miners say they witnessed a "ghost, clad head to toe in armor". While this alone was cause for concern, what they said next was even more foreboding: the spirit wielded a massive blade which seemed to "whisper" to them in their minds. This hints at the workings of a powerful Daedric artifact.

The only relic that matches this description is Umbra, once believed to be lost or, by some accounts, destroyed. Umbra is a sentient weapon who corrupts its bearer and compels them to kill so that the blade may feast on the souls of those it slays. It appears to have resurfaced here, though why I cannot say.

If the apparition that haunts this site truly is the resurgence of Umbra, then it has grown very powerful, and Shor's Stone is in grave danger.

The moment she was done reading she set it back down and started forward.

"Are you not going to form some sort of a plan before forging ahead like this?"

"No. I've dealt with things like this before."

"This is different."

"If you are going to act like this, I'll do it on my own. As I always have." The words were colder than she meant them, but they achieved the purpose she meant them to - it silenced him.

She was tired of his mocking, tired of his doubting. She wanted that silent certainty again. If it meant feeling low, that was a fair enough price...and her ill feeling never attacked her as some peoples' did. It was a void. It simply was.

And in many ways it was almost like a friend, but sometimes -

I am alone.

She kept ahead, so he wouldn't see her cringe.

Stop. Stop, this isn't the time. This isn't the TIME.

Then as if by way of a broken dam the rushing river was back, and she took a shaky breath in an attempt to force it back.

(Again, that feeling of being brushed beneath the skin. But this time, there was no voice.)

Voryn readied a spell in both hands once they'd passed through the silver mine and fired them at the ghostly figure that appeared at the center gate.

But it vanished before his spells crossed even half the distance.

"Locked gate..." she said, going up to check it. "No, it's not locked. There's two parts to this thing...so I guess we'll have to investigate the other two passages."

"You're sure about that?"

She didn't answer. She wanted to shout and scream at him, give an outlet to the sudden irrational anger running in her head. Did he have confidence in NOTHING? It made no sense. It made no sense at all.

Silence, noise. Void, chaos.

SILENCE! she shouted in her mind. I WANT SILENCE!

Thankfully, on solving the puzzle in the eastern side passage and pulling the lever in the main room, it finally came.

The familiar sound of stone breaking.

It was wonderful to enter the state that followed, the certain way forward that carried her sword through those undead draugr. Voryn must have shot down a few, for when she looked up from her last kill there were some burned on the ground.

Automatically, she moved off to the next chamber - and seeing the oil pot above almost immediately, struck it down with an arrow.

"Are you MAD?"

"Better to have it burn now than soak our boots," Sadrith replied flatly. She thought of adding that she did this all the time, but decided against it. He would doubt her anyway.

Another rotation puzzle.

These are so obvious...any fool could figure them out.

Any LIVE fool.

What? She yanked the lever, and then wordlessly headed back to the main chamber.

Little heart, you do not see. This was not meant to keep you out. It was meant to keep them in.

Sadrith shivered - and then stiffened when she saw the waiting figure ahead.

It was not Umbra, but a dragon priest which turned and shouted almost immediately.

"FUS...RO DAH!"

Both she and Voryn tumbled, and she scrambled back to her feet with Chillrend still in hand. The dragon priest moved too quickly - so she shouted, "TIID KLO UI!"

The world seemed to slow down around her. The shock of the dragon priest was obvious, despite not being able to see (his? her?) face. There were dragon tongue words said, but she hardly heard them.

And then, a different Shout from him - instead of the FUS RO DAH she was expecting.

"AL-DU-IN!"

The rushing river returned in full force--more than running, it screamed and roared. In her mind's eye Sadrith saw Alduin, limp, lifeless - and then looking at her again as he had in the painting with Dibella's brush.

I need something to make the shadow solid. The immortal mortal, but I cannot do that myself, it must be them, faal joor.

Dagoth Ur all but shouted in her mind in words she could not understand -- apart, together. There was then the feeling of confinement, of being pushed. Then that swirling chaos cut through and away, as it had been with the sword of Jyggalag. The storm was outside what he was doing, she could FEEL it, but -

She moved forward, half stumbling (where was Voryn?) to strike at the priest.

Again he shouted. "AL-DU-IN!"

Lokkiim, go to Paarthurnax. Go, and teach the mortals dragon-speech. Use not my name. Joorre rahgot. It is risky, this plan, but it must be done.

He growled in pain, but turned to face her one more time, raised his rotted arms as if casting a spell, and shouted one last time.

"AL-DU-IN!"

Once more she saw Alduin, limp but looking right at her with his dead eyes.

Why did I not absorb his soul like the rest? was a question that had burned at her until it didn't, until she went back into Shor's Hall and feasted until it was time to leave. Until she had forgotten it.

Why? Why?

A look down at herself from above, in Sovngarde.

Why did I not take his soul?

And then another thought, discordant more so than the rest, a thought she was sure wasn't Dagoth Ur, and didn't belong.

How can you take that which is already yours?

Mu gein, we serve the same end, dovahkiin.

Kill. Kill them all, bring the end!

Nil kren, time is short and Father is strong. Do not listen. Do not give in or all We have worked for is lost.

"We? I'm not you - this isn't--" (Where was she? Was this still Real or not?)

Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid. You must have the parts of Us to have a chance, kendov. And the weapon, silnaak, you must have the weapon. Tiidsizaan.

Then she looked suddenly once more at the dragon priest.

But it seemed all the fight had gone out of the dragon priest. He let himself be cut down, didn't fight a bit as she moved to lop off an arm, and was killed within the minute with nothing more than a final word.

"Shor."

The river, the rushing, constant chaos leaped up to drown her, left her shrieking -

- and then receded slowly, leaving Sadrith breathing hard and staring down at the remains of the dragon priest. But there was no time to linger - she heard ahead the sound of armored boots stepping loudly.

She turned to see where Voryn was, and saw him on the ground, as if he'd simply collapsed.

Leave him. We don't need him - there are more important things to deal with.

"I'm not leaving him here."

You think I care to hold back your madness forever?

"And let the Heart go out of your influence?" was the first thing Sadrith could think to say. It must have worked, for Dagoth Ur said nothing more afterward.

She knelt over Voryn's body, noting his eyes were wide open. She didn't feel his heart beating - but it hadn't done that before. And out of ideas, not knowing what else to do, knowing she'd do better against Umbra or its wielder with help -

She cut her wrist and laid the cut on his lips so the blood would trickle into his mouth and lay her other hand on his head to cast a healing spell.

Get up, she thought, trying to will it, I SAID GET UP!

The magic tingled in her fingers - and a moment later he sputtered. Then the blood must have crossed his tongue, because the next moment his hands came up to clench at her fingers and wrist. He drank from that slight fountain greedily, until at last he seemed to come back to himself and pushed it back.

"You can't keep doing that," he said, wiping the remaining drops of blood on his lips, "You can't, you KNOW--"

"So next time I should just leave you dead?" She scoffed and stood. "On your feet. I think Umbra's close, so I'm going to need you."

He hesitated. Only briefly, but he did.

Sadrith groaned and went on. "Or I could just do it alone, like I do everything else."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"No. I'm done trying to tell you anything." Sadrith relit Candlelight and kept walking, noting the pressure plates on the ground and telling him where to step around. The bodies were many, and she could swear some of the bodies had been ash zombies. There were a few stormcloaks, even a Thalmor or two. "Is that cautious enough for you? Maybe I should have listened to Dagoth Ur and left you where you fell."

She knew it was a mistake to say that but the urge to speak the words had come and she was feeling just - too overwhelmed not to let them come out.

"First Dagoth Ur, now Umbra and this Alduin business...and you keep pushing and prodding me at every turn. It's as if the world wants to push me into a rage."

She was afraid of the idea. It had been exciting before but now...

"Alduin business? Whatever happened, I knew nothing. He shouted, 'Alduin' and the next thing I know I had your blood in my mouth."

He might be eager for a change of subject. Maybe he didn't like it when the subject of his ire actually talked back. He was lucky, she thought, that she was eager for a change too.

"He shouted Alduin and I saw Alduin," Sadrith said. "When--I fought him with the Nord heroes, I didn't absorb his soul."

"You told me this already. Why did it matter?"

"Because I absorb the soul of EVERY dragon that I've fought. I never did with Alduin, and when I--when I..." She took a deep breath. "In that vision, or whatever it was, I saw Alduin's dead body look up and me...and I heard a voice I'm sure wasn't his, but...it said 'You can't take what's already yours.'"

"What's already yours..."

There was a pause when they saw the ghost again. It stopped, turned, walked ahead, and then vanished again.

"I know you're tired of hearing this, but..."

"I know. I need to be careful. I need to watch out. Constantly. For Dagoth Ur, for this, for..."

"For the urge to destroy, as Alduin wanted."

"So now you think me a threat?"

"You are a Shezarrine, you were born a threat," he said, "But this idea that you are ALDUIN, it lends to the thought that he was one too."

"He was the firstborn of Akatosh--"

"And in some circles that no longer exist," Voryn replied calmly, "Lorkhan was said to have been cleaved from Akatosh. Could that not be called a birth?"

"Then why Alduin? Why the different name?"

"Why was I Dagoth Ur?"

He had her there.

"Let us finish this business with Umbra. Then I swear I will talk it out with you."

The matter of Dagoth Ur "assisting" her could be dropped. She had a handle on it, on him. If he became a problem later, THEN she would mention him. But for now, considering she had MAYBE half a bottle of skooma, she wouldn't say no to some help.

And this shit with Alduin. What in the hell kind of sense did that make? Why would SHE be Alduin if Alduin was Alduin? More importantly what sense did it make to have the Last Dragonborn defeat him while BEING him?

At the same time...

She thought back to Helgen, to that moment she'd made eye contact with Alduin. The moment she'd wondered just how much worse the day could get. He Shouted and all oblivion had broken loose.

More bodies. Ash zombies, who looked to be more decayed than the random Stormcloaks and stray Thalmor.

"How did they all get down here?"

"I have no idea," he replied.

She could feel Voryn's eyes on her again when they entered what was clearly an arena.

Kill.

"This will be easy," she said.

Kill.

The ebony figure advanced.

KILL!

"Don't let me go mad," Sadrith said suddenly, looking up at Voryn as she drew her sword. "I'll...explain--after."

Chapter Text

The Unfeathered

Space, formed from time...

The darkness was stifling, but it was home despite it being his prison now.

He had seen the birth of one kalpa, brought about its end, and he expected he would see to the end of the next. But Father had said he wished to try something new. He was allowed to rest, to keep watch, in case there should be some failure on the new one's part.

Disobedience had never come to mind. Perhaps it was why, when he saw his brother's mind shifting, he said nothing. It was natural to hesitate on first seeing what resulted from life that took form under one's hands. He could not fathom that his brother could not push past that hesitation to do what was necessary.

To do what Father commanded.

But it didn't stop there.

His brother sought help from the Eight that formed after the First from which he was carved, coming finally to HIM when his plan was solid. Coming, and dragging him from the lightless corner that was his own.

"You cannot do this thing," he had said, "If your world does not collapse, then Father will send me to do it for you."

He could see his brother thought he would do so. Had come ready, in case he made the attempt there and then.

"I would prefer to have you as ally, brother, but I am prepared to fight you and Father if I must."

"You cannot fight Father." He remembered the bitter laugh well, even now. "The light fades and the night comes. The tide rises, then pulls back. And Father...Father is as eternal as he is inevitable."

"Please, brother...it need not be now, but I would not put everything on the mortals. I cannot be King of them all."

"How would a meaningless title help us?"

"It is only together we can win. Not merely us, not merely the Eight, but those who would pledge themselves to us. We cannot do it alone - we need soldiers. Order-we must have order to counter chaos. Father cares nothing for the majority of his pieces--"

He despaired. His brother clearly would not let this go.

"Father will win, brother. He always does."

"Then we fight him anyway." His brother stepped back. "I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees, slaughtering countless realities because they were not perfect enough, or because Father is bored of them."

"You are such a fool."

His brother was young, idealistic, eager. But - little by little, he was won over. He had never dared to think of a life outside of Father's void, but his brother - his brother could not conceive of NOT being outside it. He spoke of light, of beauty, of freedom, of his Sky-Wife who taught him the meaning of the latter.

He had never disobeyed, but on that day, he stretched his leathery wings and flew alongside his brother.

And as Doubt had entered that heart so too did it with his.

This is what Father would take from them, brother, he had been told. I have a plan...it will sound strange to you, but you must let it happen. They cannot survive otherwise.

"And you?" he had asked, "What of you?"

"Death is not the end for us." Lorkhan smirked, that ridiculous grin that foretold some mischief. "I can return, and I would have you waiting for me. Think. Think, brother, what we can accomplish. Step out of the shadow, shake off the void, and live."

His lunatic brother would need looking after. Let him have this rebellion - he would see the error of his ways, surely, once his plan failed.

So he agreed, and he waited.

He broke with Father, even as his brother let his heart be ripped out, as he shattered into so many pieces.

He formed an empire. The suffering and wailing he ignored. What were a few lives and lifetimes of misery to all of reality?

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But when his brother returned, Father had left his mark and the heartless body cut through the people and his armies as if they were nothing - smited them, with all the power in his body. There was nothing left with which to reason, and no chance in which to do it.

Even at the last moment, there was no recognition in that mad creature's eyes, and he fell away into the darkness again.

I told you defying me was useless.

He had heard Father then as he did now, had come crawling back, let himself be scourged and beaten.

And then he watched as Lorkhan repeated the process over and over and over. Uniting, empire making...mighty heroes, nearly every time, figures of legend who would ever be known for strength, if not wisdom. Despite his many deaths he never stopped trying.

His brother returned, again - and for one brief period he thought Lorkhan understood. Until the draconic form he first took fell, and Father laughed at how easily it had been done.

He was weak, Father said, Weak, and I will not suffer one who loses so quickly to be the instrument of my grand symphony. He had a chance to end the one who would fight him, and instead chose to save her.

The dragonborn.

The soul of Alduin...he could feel it, the influence of the one who called himself Akatosh.

He could feel the defiance, the care for the world and its people.

Once more, Umaril began to Doubt. His brother, come now as a woman, still fought for life.

And so -

Here he struggled, here he lay, while Father wore his face in the Outside, in Tamriel. Why he was not killed, or banished, he did not know. Perhaps a backup, in case Lorkhan did the next time what he had done before.

What am I to do? Give me a sign. An omen. Something to show me the right way.

Father let him see his brother's incarnate in his long imprisonment. Why, he did not know. A punishment? Perhaps to show that he could rip away all memory of what once was? Clearly the incarnate did not know of what Lorkhan had always intended.

She prayed to the Eight and One, receiving no answer. He could have laughed hearing it. What good were they now? Their power was waning as Father grew stronger, and every soul slain at her hand was another to swell it further.

He saw the chaos that swirled in her head, as it had in his. Yet like Lorkhan she fought it--found ways around it, found ways to tame and direct it.

"You fool," he said many times, "Why do you keep fighting?"

She kept getting back up, despite everything. Even after her companion gave her an idea of what she truly was, and the idea so clearly overwhelmed her.

She had seen Father, and kept going despite the momentary terror. Perhaps it was that she did not have the long exposure to it that he did - had Father ever gripped him at the throat he would instantly have capitulated.

She heard his words, saw his dreams, and brushed them aside, as if she were unafraid. Fear came, but never lasted. Nothing was so frightening to his brother's incarnate as that chaos of the mind, and so she fought them back.

Think, brother, what we can accomplish.

His fool of a brother would need guidance, would need a helping hand from one who knew what was coming. So he struggled through the endless darkness until he found a gap in the stone which he pounded at, over and over and over again, until his bones were broken and his skin was slick with blood.

He could not die, not truly and by now no pain could truly touch him.

He cast himself to the shadow covered rocks below, but death was not to come.

Umaril the Unfeathered spread his leathery wings and flew once more toward the cold horizon.

Sadrith was not one who used a two-handed sword very often, but as she looked down at the dead figure in ebony armor, as she wrapped her hand around the hilt of Umbra, she thought suddenly that that could change.

The influence of the sword was different from Dagoth Ur's. The latter was patient, ready to wait, for he had time. But Umbra...she could hear it, calling out for blood and souls with the intensity of the worst river in her mind.

She brought her other hand up to heft the sword skyward, and felt a faint thrill go through her body.

I have a feeling you are exactly where you want to be.

Umbra was as whatever it was that haunted Pelinal's armor - it was eager to be used.

"What are you feeling?"

"It wants to be used, like Pelinal's armor," she repeated to Voryn, "I don't normally use the two-handers, but this one..."

She gestured at him with the sword.

"Unless you would rather have it."

"No. I want no part of it. I won't touch it unless there's no other option. Now..." he looked around with a spell of Detect Life, checking for any further danger. "We need to talk before we go one step further."

Sadrith gave a deep sigh and nodded.

"You asked me to make sure you didn't go mad. Explain."

"Because it's Umbra, and you were always good at fiddling with a mind." Sadrith took a deep and shaky breath. "I would ask why you care, but you're just trying to prevent another you."

"I understand the relief that comes with singular purpose, but you can't listen to that voice. It leads to ruin."

"And what if it tells me to collect his pieces?" She was hoping her sieve of a memory would lose this too, but it hadn't. So she repeated it. "Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid. And the weapon. Time is short, and Father is strong."

Voryn's face sunk into his hands.

"Time is short," he spoke in a muffled tone, "And Father is strong."

"As if the World-Eater wasn't enough, now it looks--if this is not merely a hallucination or a delusion--as if I have to fight the void itself. Guess papa darkness wasn't thrilled I cleared out his base after all."

"How can you be so CASUAL about it? This is not one of your little games! This is not a bandit camp. This is SITHIS we are potentially talking about!" Voryn's muffled tone turned swiftly to a roar. "For ONCE in the entirety of your life...TAKE SOMETHING SERIOUSLY!"

Silence.

A long, long silence.

"Is that supposed to hurt me?" Sadrith finally responded, in as cold a tone as she could manage. "Do better next time. I say worse to myself before I get out of my bedroll in the morning."

She turned toward the exit and set off. Whatever the key on Umbra's wielder lead to - she had no need to see it.

And in an unforgettable refrain did Alduin's words echo.

Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid.

Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid.

Atop it, Dagoth Ur's quiet insistence, and atop THAT, the pressing need of Umbra.

She only hoped she did not collapse beneath the weight of them all, and so in the interest of distracting herself Sadrith started to go through what the words could mean. The typhoon of thoughts was no worse than usual - how funny, she thought, that she should have been 'training' for this her whole life!

Logic, possibly Jyggalag...but if that was him, then madness could only be Sheogorath. And what had HE to do with Lorkhan? Fire, and shadow...she had no idea...warrior, that might be Pelinal, and emperor, Tiber Septim...

As she muddled with this she also looked about for ash zombies, but these she neither saw nor heard.

This was too quiet. Too neatly wrapped up.

One, eleven...one, eleven...it made no sense. She would ask Voryn, but she would be quite happy never to speak to him again. It gave her some small pleasure to hear him attempting to keep up with her despite his longer stride.

Chapter Text

Libet Delay

Dagoth Ur was confused, and he was never confused. Sadrith wasn't sure whether he was concealing more or less than she thought - he was the Sharmat, it was in his nature to deceive.

But as they left Champion's Rest, checking in the immediate area--finding more dead and empty husks of what had once been people, and what her mother called ash zombies...she could feel that he was baffled.

What's wrong? she thought at him. They were bound to be killed by someone.

What is wrong is that they all fell at once.

A pause.

A spell?

It would take a mage of unfathomable power to do that...

So someone not currently in Skyrim. Or at least, not HERE in Skyrim.

She checked around more, and finally decided to head south to Fort Greenwall to see if the Stormcloaks there had seen anything. She'd marked it on her map after encountering them a few times, and though they might not fully trust her since she hadn't chosen a side...

Killing Alduin was enough to get her in the door with them.

"That's not a good idea," Voryn said, when Sadrith mentioned going there. "We should be heading back to Winterhold, regardless of--"

"I'm not asking you," she said, "I'm telling you. You can stay in Shor's Stone until I get back--it's not really safe to approach them as a Dunmer around here."

"And leave you to fall under Umbra's influence? You can't expect I'll allow you to do that."

"I can go and I am." Sadrith brushed some dust from one of her gloves. Another moment's thought looking down at that dark Nightingale armor and she thought it might be good to change before she visited them. She looked into her armor bag, and pulled out Pelinal's armor, changing into it save for the helmet.

The tomb in her mind was freeing, in an odd way. The sting of Voryn's words was gone, replaced with that--emptiness. It didn't yell at her as he did, only existed, like a cloak she could wrap herself in to hide.

A darkness. A great darkness...

And the Heart of Lorkhaj was filled with the Great Darkness... Sadrith's mind flashed at her that line from the book she had read so often. And then another. We curse you, noisy Lorkhaj, to walk Nirni for many phases.

Noisy Lorkhaj...she wondered, she really wondered, if he had been blighted with the same problem in his mind that she did, or if this was simply bad luck.

Maybe it was a punishment. Maybe even from Sithis...but why should he care about something so piddling?

The Heart of Lorkhan is the heart of the world, Dagoth Ur said to her, And to have it in disorder can only aid him.

Here I thought it was Sheg--Sheogorath's fault. But if what Alduin said is what I'm thinking, then he's a bit of Lorkhan, but I don't see how.

'And thus did Sheogorath teach Vaernima that without madness, there are no dreams, and no creation.'

The book, she forgot what the title was. Ac...ac, something...one of the stories between Sheogorath and the other daedric princes.

I see its presence in your mind as I do everything else of you.

Great, she thought. Just great. A spy on everything she had ever read or done or even thought. Another one to judge her - panic rose, and with a shaky breath she shoved it back down to keep walking forward.

Internally, she was screaming, mentally clawing her imaginary face bloody--

But outwardly, what she showed - and more importantly to her, what Voryn saw - was a face devoid of anything.

The Stormcloaks weren't much interested in talking, but she shouted up what she was looking into the matter of the "zombies". The sentry shouted back that they'd jailed one, and she said they'd better leave it in the cell. Not to touch it.

"It's got something you can't get rid of, that's why," she shouted up when he asked why they shouldn't touch the damn thing. "If it bites you you'd better pray to Talos you don't get infected or your fellow soldiers will be putting YOU in a cell next."

She moved off after he said they'd killed a dozen of the things, and brought out her map to mark with a stump of charcoal in a few places. Nightingale Hall, Champion's Rest--and now the fort.

How was there nothing in Riften yet? How had they seen nothing elsewhere? Something felt wrong. Something was off.

Voryn was saying something, but she ignored it.

"We'll see if we can't get to Sarethi Farm," she said suddenly. "She's still in the back way...we might get seen by Stormcloaks or something but I assume Dagoth Ur's ash zombies won't be seen near the main road anyway."

She took a deep breath, and turned west. The typhoon in her mind had slowed. Not enough to be quiet, but enough that it was almost peaceful in its way. A family--familiar chaos, she had to correct herself.

What was strange to her, as they went on with the horses - was the way Voryn kept speaking.

"I keep thinking I see them behind every tree..."

"If I have to drink nord blood one more time..."

Then once when he stopped for a piss and on coming back happened to look up at her still on Jarla, he said, "It's different, being the shorter one for a change."

She didn't reply then either, merely shrugged.

"You would have laughed at that a week ago," Voryn went on dryly.

"I didn't have the concerns then that I do now."

A week ago she would still have been ogling him in some way. She was glad to have that feeling go, the urge to see more of him. It was good to be free of that ridiculous, girlish attraction.

"Sarethi is a Dunmer name. Do you know them well?"

"Well enough." Sadrith shrugged. "She grows nirnroot."

Why could he not be comfortable with the silence? It seemed every time she was able to think quietly, Voryn would find something else to say.

"So it won't be a restful sleep, then."

"I'm used to that."

Maybe, she thought wryly, she'd be lucky and even see the shadow man again. She assumed now it was Sithis...now, his remarks made sense. You bind wounds that should be torn open...

Your hands were made to kill...

Sadrith glanced down at her hands where they held the reins.

I don't want to kill. I want to create.

I just don't want to do this alone.

The thoughts swirled, chasing one another in an unending loop. She remained silent until they reached Sarethi Farm.

Avrusa was happy enough to let them stay in the basement after she was handed twenty gold, and Sadrith was quick to set up her bedroll.

"There's no need for a watch here, there's a guard outside," she said quietly, as she munched on some of the only slightly stale bread and preserved horker meat in her bag. She got out a roll of paper, and then the Brush. "Go to sleep, if you can."

Voryn started to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. Not until she was sure he was asleep, or at least sure he wouldn't turn back towards her, did she paint a portal in the roll of paper.

It was time, she thought, to get some answers.

She appeared in a yellow-tinged white paper void, and waved to make the ground the ash of Morrowind beneath her. She thought again, and let herself be then surrounded by a ring of nine pillars. Or rather--a ring of eight, with one stood outside it. She tried to focus - reach out, whatever it might be called - to those parts of her she assumed must be linked to the words.

"Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid."

She repeated it, and directed the brush to the first pillar. "Sheogorath, you are already in my mind. You're in every mind. What have you to say?"

"Eyyyyyyyeee say, let them have it!" The jolly tone rang out.

"And are you real, or in my head?"

The shifting face before her, projected on the pillar, laughed. "Both!"

She did the same with Jyggalag, whose only words were, "Here I stand waiting. Waiting for what I know will come."

Fire...fire, she didn't know. Then she thought of Alduin, and with a wave a moving image of him was stuck to the third pillar.

"Let him come, I stand ready."

"You let me kill you."

"Because I knew it was not I but you who would lead."

But this was all in her head. Was it what she expected Alduin to say, or what she thought he would say?

This is pointless.

She took a deep breath. Shadow, shadow, shadow...

Nocturnal? Namira? It could be either one, but Sadrith determined to think of it as Nocturnal. She had been told the stories by the caravan -- that Nocturnal was born of the black blood that spewed from Lorkhan's heart. That made sense...but Namira did too, in a way. She decided it must be Nocturnal. Blood of my blood.

It remained empty.

The fifth, she though of Pelinal for. Warrior, yes. Nothing fit him better, and she had already felt the touch of the madness he carried. The madness, she wondered now--the madness she thought might be from Sithis himself. Pushing him to destroy, to condemn, to bring low everything and everyone, starting with the easiest target.

"What have you to say?" she asked, forcing herself to focus solely on him, explaining what she thought she knew.

He had a stare in his eyes she remembered from Calixto. A killer's gaze, she thought. Cold, but studying.

And then empty. She in him what she saw in herself.

"To what?"

"To this idea of being a part of Lorkhan. To...to the idea of countering Sithis."

"I know no more than you."

Emperor...

She tried to imagine the statue of Talos, having never seen any of the portraits of Tiber Septim, and some of Heimskr's words rang out suddenly in her head.

Talos the mighty! Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable!

She raised the brush and saw the figure taking shape on the surface of the pillar. Twisting, writhing. First one face, and then another, ashy, glowing green at the chest. Then a third that seemed more a collection of ash than anything else.

He has returned... Oh, how Talos has returned. Helgen has been purged in his light. Will Whiterun be next?

When the form with the armor reappeared she focused on it, tried to mentally force it to stay that way. But it wouldn't.

"What's wrong with you? Why can't you stay one person?" she asked. A moment later she shrugged it off. She didn't know how long she had, and given this was potentially not even really Talos, it didn't matter. "What do you have to say about this? About fighting Sithis?"

"If there is a war, we will fight it. As we always have."

She felt suddenly stupid. Of course he would say that. What was the point of asking? Each of them would fight in their own way.

As she waved the Brush again, bringing now Dagoth Ur into the picture, she felt that foolishness heighten even more.

"You, you're actually IN my head," she said, "Not merely something I might have been connected to."

"That is so," Dagoth Ur replied evenly.

"In all your time meditating on the Heart, or whatever else it was you did in that cave," she said, "Did you ever feel anything...any intent from it? Anything it wanted?"

"It wanted to stop the Tribunal from thieving its power."

"And...and the corprus? Was that from the Heart too?" Sadrith took a deep breath. "Besides revenge, was there anything..."

"I wanted to save my people from..."

"The mongrel dogs of the empire, I know."

"I wanted that too, to save my people," came Pelinal's hollow voice. "What drove me to tolerate the presence of the Madness, what kept me from ending myself to get away from it, was that it was..."

"...so useful," Sadrith replied. "As it could be for me."

"Do not rely on it. Do not invoke it. You will regret every second, despite the good you do."

"Chaos needs order," Jyggalag suddenly said, from his own place. "I have foreseen this moment, as I foresee the need to..."

"You don't like chaos. I thought you hated it - hated - everything about it."

"I do not hate chaos." There was a stiffening of his imaginary posture. "Any more than you do."

There was a slight sting.

"You don't hate it," Sadrith replied softly, realizing. "You fear it. You feel it."

She took a deep breath.

"Of course he feels it. He never got to be himself without a little of me in him!" Sheogorath laugh again, before cutting himself short and going deadly serious. "As I am with everyone. There is no mind I have not touched."

Then he turned those daedric eyes on her.

"You don't seem very mad right now," she said, "Maybe that's just because I made you with the intent of speaking to you. This is all nonsense anyway."

"Everything is nonsense," Sheogorath replied, "It is only in madness that the impossible can be solved. Even HE knows that."

Sadrith looked to the fourth pillar, deciding at last that shadow must mean Nocturnal. She would be able to speak to her Lady later...and in any case she doubted Nocturnal would reveal anything to her. It wasn't in her nature.

Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid.

She'd put Dagoth Ur on the pillar she'd mentally marked for 'One' and looked at last to the last two.

Eleven, and Ayleid.

Eleven, and Ayleid.

"One, eleven...they must be connected. Or maybe not. But..."

Silence.

"How do you fight the void?" she asked suddenly. This wasn't helping, this dithering about the last two. Then the answer popped up. She repeated what Alduin had said to her before, in that whatever-it-was in Champion's Rest. "The weapon, I must have the weapon..."

"Umbra, perhaps." Dagoth Ur's steady voice sounded comforting in its odd way. Something about the image of him was solidifying...and she felt the urge, strange as it was, to listen. "You need me now to counter it, as much as I needed you then, when I wished to restore Morrowind to Resdayn."

If what was coming was what they thought, then, she thought, there might be a reason to give. Just a little. She damn sure couldn't do it on her own!

They'd have to stop back at Heljarchen. The sword of Jyggalag - she could rely on him that long.

"What is GOING ON?"

Sadrith stiffened at the voice that sounded off then, definitely none of those she'd been speaking to.

She whipped around to see--Voryn.

Instantly she raised her arm, knowing it wasn't necessary but panicking into the motion anyway. The pillars, alive with the moving color of those she'd projected onto them - were suddenly nothing but silent grey stone.

All of them were gone.

All that was left was silence.

"Get out," she said. "Now."

"If you expect me to do so after what I just heard, you're more touched in the head than I thought."

"I am handling this on my own," she replied, "I do not need your help."

"You can't expect to do it all on your own. Not with the madgod, with Jyggalag, with--with HIM."

"I did not come this far to be patronized and talked down to like I'm an idiot child," Sadrith snarled at him, and stalked back towards the portal.

"What I don't understand is why you didn't ask me for help figuring this out."

"Ask you for what? More mocking? More judgment? Instructions on how to keep everything balled up in my chest until I kill myself from the strain?" She stopped short of the portal and turned back, jabbing a finger into what would have been his chest had he been shorter or she taller but which was actually his abdomen. "What could you say that I haven't already heard? And why would I want your advice anyway? You are so afraid of being overtaken that if you weren't a vampire you'd still be a dead man walking! What good did Sigurd do bringing you back if THIS is what you're doing with your life?"

Voryn didn't seem to have a response.

"I wish I'd never taken this job. I wish you'd never let Sigurd talk you into this. Clearly you would have been happier hiding your face from the world."

"Like YOU do?"

"That's different," she replied. "No one expects anything of you. I had the future of Skyrim on my shoulders. And now--and now maybe all of Nirn. Heroes are brave, and strong, and they never falter. I have to show them the face they expect to see. If you end up having to kill me because of...of him, THEN you can tell my corpse I was an idiot for bending to his will."

Sadrith went back through the portal, and curled up in her bedroll once Voryn had gotten out and gone to his own.

Had she been alone she would have wept, but instead she distracted herself with looking at the 'painting' that had been left behind.

Ashen ground, with a ring of eight thick fingerlike stones around a shadowy ninth.

And still she looked at the tenth, left standing outside.

Then she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Whatever was going to happen with Sithis, she'd figure something out.

And if she didn't...

...well, it wouldn't be her problem anymore, would it?

Sadrith woke later with a blanket draped over her. Sitting up and still clinging to it (why was the room so cold? Had Avrusa given it to her?) took the smallest sip of skooma she possibly could. Then she started nibbling at what remained of the horker loaf she'd been working on, a carrot, and a sliver of fish jerky.

By the time she moved on to the mead Voryn seemed to be waking up.

They got ready without a word said, and set off once more after Sadrith had thanked Avrusa for letting them stay.

Hopefully, she thought, the rest of the return trip would be as silent.

She was unsure, too, whether it would be more or less frightening to see or not see any more ash zombies.

But that, she kept to herself.

Chapter Text

Shorn Of Light

The road was too quiet, and there seemed to be nothing of note along the way at first. A fox, a few deer. A bear in the distance. Sadrith was looking for something to look FOR, but there seemed to be nothing.

She ignored the remark Voryn was making about something or other, and instead thought of how many times she had said or felt she was not a leader, but a follower. That she felt like a tool with no use.

She hated the noise, but as she had thought so many times before - hated even more its absence, the emptiness that always followed.

"Sadrith."

Nothing on the roads, nothing at Honeystrand cave south of Ivarstead. Nothing.

It is too quiet. Those I have felt are not here.

You know I could tell him that.

And you know he can't be trusted with this. But I've no need to worry...I know you won't tell him. You're smarter than that.

No...I won't.

Voryn would not understand anyway; she couldn't speak of this to him without being told she was an idiot even for listening to the first word. He wouldn't bother to ponder WHY any of this was happening. Why Dagoth Ur's ash creatures would've fallen.

Better to keep it all in her own mind. There would be others, somewhere...probably near Shor's Stone. But they hadn't met any...no, she went on, maybe...

Maybe they would have kept themselves hidden. Then the thought turned sharp. Of COURSE they'd keep themselves hidden, they'd done that last time! The statues, there might be more of the statues. That was how it had worked last time, her mother said. He'd gotten smugglers to move them around. That the Thieves Guild hadn't heard of this was troubling, but she hadn't exactly thought to ask.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID.

Tomb, chaos. Tomb, chaos, with no in between. She didn't dare take out the skooma to have a sip, there wasn't enough to waste when all she was doing was moving from one place to another.

"Sadrith!"

She looked up, and in Voryn's direction. "Sorry, did you want something?"

"I've been saying your name, repeatedly. Has all the shouting caused damage to your hearing?"

"Oh...no. No, I'm just not used to hearing my own name as often as other things," she admitted, and then shrugged. "It's always 'dragonborn' or 'Thane' or...something else."

There was a look on his face Sadrith couldn't readily figure out.

She looked away, and instead reached into her alchemy ingredient bag until she found the moon sugar. A part of it had hardened as would real sugar, and she carefully cracked a piece off and slipped it under her tongue.

It wouldn't help the storm, but it would keep the shakes away.

"You look ill," he finally said.

"I always look ill," Sadrith replied. "I don't sleep well."

She'd been about to mention stopping at some inn or the other, but reminded herself they were going straight back. Once she had deposited his tall ass back in the College, she would take Odahviing back, and...

"HALT!"

She stopped on seeing an imperial soldier down the road ahead.

"It's me, idiot," she muttered under her breath, before saying a bit louder. "It's me. Dragonborn. I'm not here to shake anyone down."

Another two imperials in armor appeared.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"We have orders," the first said, drawing a sword. "You're a hard woman to track down."

"Orders." She said flatly.

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Sadrith went on. "Did I shout in public and bother someone important?"

"No, this is in regards to your clear and present danger to the security of the Empire." A captain or leader of some kind stepped out. "We would prefer not to do this at all, but--"

"But you would rather suck Altmer cock." The cutting words came easily, so easily.

(Umbra was all but begging to be used. Dagoth Ur, however, was silent--though she could guess what his thoughts would be.)

"Orders are orders."

"And a good soldier knows when to disobey them." Sadrith took a deep breath. "You know what will happen if you attack me. Don't you?"

"You will kill, as is the way of--"

"Turn around, now," she growled. "I have brought down dragons on my own. I have slain stronger opponents than you while half-asleep."

The captain raised his hand, just slightly. There was a sound to one side, minute, almost nothing. She turned and heard the familiar sound--

"FUS--RO DAH!"

An impulsive move, but as it turned out, a correct one. She saw a horde of archers stumbling, and then urged Jarla forward and into a gallop.

At the last moment she turned to shriek, "FUCK THE EMPIRE!"

Fuck them, fuck them all, I hope the Thalmor burn them alive!

Voryn shouted something, but with the noise and blood rushing and everything else, she didn't hear it either.

Helgen, she thought, Helgen. I'll go there. And if nothing else--

Her heart pounded in her ears, but the feeling, the rush, was glorious. Gone was the anxious typhoon, replaced with--life, this pounding in chest and throat and rush to keep itself going.

The horses could not stay at this pace--and once they passed Haemar's Shame without incident they began to slow down in earnest.

"Damn all the gods," she cursed, once her hands stopped shaking at the reins. "And the imperials who would rather be dogs to the Thalmor than--than--"

What more? What more would happen, what further security would be taken from her?

"Fine. They want to chase me into the arms of the Stormcloaks, then I will give them what they want. I'll show them exactly what happens to those that push me."

She was furious, absolutely seething, and only on looking up to see Voryn's expression did she feel anything more.

He looked--well, he looked tired, but pleasantly stunned, too.

Of course, she thought, of course, he never looked further than the surface anyway. She wanted to shout at him, or Shout, either, it didn't matter. But that would have gotten them discovered, so she forced herself to keep quiet.

Not even Alduin, she would think later, had been as difficult a fight as that.

"What now?" he asked.

"You tell me," she said. "We could just go the way we came, but there's a certain risk to touching Riverwood or the roads near Whiterun. We can stop in Haemar's Shame again, but...I'd rather get a bit farther."

Sadrith pulled out her map, and looked over it.

"There's a Stormcloak fort to the south over this way...and a stormcloak camp just ahead..."

"And you think they would welcome you?"

"They're a better option right now than anything else. If the imperials get too close I can just Shout up a storm and blast them with lightning."

"A storm. You can summon a storm."

"I can, I just...don't usually. It tends to be a violent one. Bad for everyone." she paused, and took a deep breath. "The hell with it, I'm going to stop at the Stormcloak camp. You can come or not."

"The Stormcloak camp, you--"

"If the Imperials are on my ass now, after all I've done for them - it's the only safe option. More people around that don't like them. I'll hand over some potions or something, they'll...nevermind. You won't believe me anyway."

She set off with the camp in mind. She'd been there before, a time or two. Trading a few healing potions and dragon bones or scales to the soldiers to keep them sweet, the occasional mention of how little the Imperials were minding certain things...it was actually fairly easy, from where she stood.

And if they aren't?

They'll listen to me. Ha, imagine it - telling them that their Shor walks among them!

There is a certain satisfaction in knowing that these backwards pale orcs would have to worship a Dunmer, yes...

There was an echoing chuckle in Sadrith's mind, a burst she found herself laughing along with.

The camp was exactly where she remembered it.

What she did NOT remember was the presence of Galmar Stone-fist. He was in the midst of the camp talking to the commander, and on seeing her coming turned towards her.

Why do they all have to have that look? He wants something. Well, at least this time I can ask something back.

"Well met," she said as she approached, "Galmar, I wasn't expecting to find you here. I won't pry on the matter."

"Have you come to rest?" he asked. "I'm afraid you won't find much here."

"Oh, are you moving? If need be I can assist. The imperials are...no longer friendly."

"And why is that?" There was something of suspicion in his eye.

"They don't like it when Thalmor mysteriously drop dead," Sadrith replied with a bit of a grin. "Funny thing, that. I walk past and it just...happens."

There was a pause.

"Who is your companion?"

"A client, someone I escorted to Riften for something. He's not friendly to the imperial either."

"Fine, he can stay, but I need to see you in the commander's tent."

Sadrith nodded, and looked back to Voryn. "Dismount, the horses need a minute to rest anyway."

Grumbling, he obeyed.

Not so fond of being the one ordered about, are you?

There was a certain grim satisfaction in it that carried her into the commander's tent.

"We've mounted a rescue," Galmar said, "From Fort Neugrad. I've not told anyone what we expect to find, but if you've decided to throw in your lot with us--"

"I have. It's not that I liked the Imperials before, but I was--trying to deal with the Thalmor." Sadrith shook her head. "What's going on, who are we rescuing?"

"There's been a splintering of the forces after we--" Galmar stopped.

"Who or what are we rescuing?"

A pause.

A long, long pause.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. The one in Windhelm was a pretender, masquerading with an Illusion spell."

Sadrith stiffened. The dossier came back to mind instantly. The dossier on Ulfric she'd sent back to Windhelm with that Stormcloak. If that Ulfric had been a fake--

Now it all made sense.

"And he's here, you're sure?"

Gods...

"I'll be happy to fight alongside you, then."

For better or worse, Sadrith now had to cast her lot in with the Stormcloaks.

Chapter Text

The Start of the House

The Stormcloaks assembled some distance back from the water's edge; among them Sadrith saw a welcome face.

"Ralof!" she called out, "It's good to see you again. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Right, right," Ralof replied, "I don't believe any of us saw this coming. It was Galmar that noticed something wasn't right."

"And the pretender?" Sadrith looked at Galmar, who spat on the ground.

"Dead and gone, I made sure of it."

"And who's in charge now?"

"That Freewinter man."

Sadrith paused and then looked back at Ralof, who was eager to go on.

"We found a cave under the lake. With luck it'll lead into the prison."

"MIght be where they gather water from...or get rid of things they don't need anymore." Sadrith paused. She glanced at Voryn. "I'm sure they could use a few fear spells, if you know any."

Voryn's expression was a little tight when he replied, "Of course."

She was about to say she should changed out of that armor. Something, some urge in her chest told her no - let them see that armor coming and fear its wrath.

They aren't Altmer, they won't be afraid.

Then, the thought ran, you must make them afraid.

That's not us. Dagoth Ur spoke up in the back of her mind suddenly, a sharp note that blotted out that sudden urge. That wasn't either of us.

I have thoughts like that all the time...I'm telling you, they just happen, I ignore them, and go on.

And I'm telling you that that thought is not from your mind or mine. Someone else put it there.

"I'm going to change into some different armor," she said suddenly, "Something better for sneaking in."

She headed back to a tent a short distance away and got into her Nightingale armor, taking an ebony dagger, a bow of the same, ten dragonbone arrows, and the White Phial, currently holding a healing potion.

I'll deal with the weird thoughts later. Right now I've got to rescue Ulfric. And wouldn't you just love seeing me slaughter a bunch of imperials before they even hear me coming?

Sadrith was putting on the Nightingale hood when she felt the grin forming.

It was somehow neither his nor hers, but theirs.

She rose with a gasp from the water, and clambered onto the rock before her. Up through the hall there seemed to be a storeroom, and further up a staircase nearby she saw her first Imperial. He was carrying a pile of firewood.

Silence, finally, that was what she felt. Quiet, in her mind and the outside.

It was almost beautiful.

Sadrith waited for him to set it down before making her move--rushing forward, putting one hand on the back of his head, and pushing it down before drawing the dagger across his throat.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was pretty sure Dagoth Ur was clapping with glee over the sight of an imperial gurgling on his own blood.

He fell nearly noiselessly onto the pile of wood. Once she was sure he wasn't getting back up Sadrith turned off, towards the first of the four cells. The fourth seemed entirely walled in, with nothing inside it visible.

Three stormcloaks stood waiting inside the first, and one asked, "Are you one of ours, or one of theirs?"

"Why would it be one of theirs?" one of his comrades asked.

Sadrith came closer, and started to pick the lock. She considered asking Dagoth Ur to shift her voice, but she could already hear Voryn's scolding in the back of her mind.

"One of yours now, I suppose. Imperials decided a few Thalmor dropping dead means I'm public enemy number one."

She lifted her helmet briefly when the door opened, and gave them a grin. Then Shouted softly, "Kaan--Drem Ov!"

Kyne's Peace. It was meant to work on animals, but somehow it seemed to do the soldiers good.

"Dragonborn," one said, as she then moved on to picking the lock of the next cell, this one containing two more soldiers, these ones women. "I knew you'd come around. What's the plan?"

"Galmar's outside, Ralof's leading otherwise, I think, until I get you al out. Turns out the Ulfric in Windhelm was a fake," she said, "They're convinced the real one's in here somewhere."

She freed those in the third cell too, and they moved across the room to get what turned out to be their gear out of a pair of chests she hadn't noticed. Once they were ready she told them to watch the exit while she got the fourth door's lock picked.

It was a little more difficult than the others, but after a few tense minutes it finally popped and she pulled the door open.

Not a single light burned within, so she lit up a Candlelight spell.

The blond figure in the wall shackles didn't even move. Barely blinked.

"Let me just get you out of those," she said, moving to do that.

"You aren't real," the deep voice said suddenly, raising a hand against the light.

"I'm real, alright," she said. "Ulfric?"

And then on a whim, she Shouted again.

"Kaan--Drem Ov!"

Sadrith expected anything except what actually happened.

Ulfric--for clearly she saw, even with the overgrown beard and grime, that it was him--burst into tears.

She looked back out of the cell - noting that no one seemed to have heard them. Then she saw the Stormcloaks, waiting.

"Is it him?" one of them asked. "Is he--"

"He needs some healing. I can see to that. Go up top and outside--make a lot of noise, the others are waiting to rush in when they hear an uproar. Galmar or Ralof should be there to give you further orders."

They nodded, then ran off and up the stairs.

Sadrith looked back to Ulfric, and lay a hand on his forearm to cast a healing spell.

"You're going to be fine," she said. "Tell me, when were you captured? Do you remember a dossier, er, a journal from one of your men?"

He shook his head, seeming to struggle for words. But despite his attempts to speak, not once did he look away from her. It was almost unnerving - but she tried to remember he must have been completely isolated. His mind might be playing tricks on him - might have done this before. Fooled him into thinking he was free, and now he was afraid she might disappear.

"I sent them the notes the Thalmor kept on you," she said, "I'd...picked it up, when I tore through the Embassy."

She stopped, thinking this might not be the time to say that. She wanted to asked why they'd put him in that dark room but it wasn't the time to ask those questions. He needed comfort, not--

"Please," Ulfric begged, "Keep talking. I have not heard a voice outside of my dreams for what feels like an age."

"I--" she felt on the spot. Something else, other than how shit everything was. Other than the Thalmor and the war. "Well...well, what about your dreams? Were any good?"

This man was clearly traumatized and she was asking him about his dreams. She'd never felt more stupid.

"I had...I had one, that wasn't..." Ulfric shook his head and hesitated to cross the threshold of the cell when Sadrith tried to lead him out. He started to take a step and--shuddering slightly, stepped back.

"Keep talking, and tell me about it."

Then when she extended a hand, he took it and--clenching--stepped out of the cell.

"A fox," he said, "I saw a fox in my dreams...ruddy and running free. I could not move, but I saw it...chasing its tail, but then, then it...I was cold, and it came to rest beside me."

Sadrith handed him the White Phial, said, "Healing potion, just in case my spell didn't do enough for you" and watched as Ulfric guzzled it down. He handed it back, and she lead him across the room (for he seemed still unwilling to let go of her) to the table. The barrels beside it held some overripe tomatoes and a few random mushrooms. Only when she was handing him one of the tomatoes did Ulfric finally let go of her.

By the time he'd devoured them there was the sound of footsteps echoing down the stairs.

"They're not expecting you to be at your best," she said, on seeing the sudden wild fear in Ulfric's eyes.

"What will I say to them? That I am a shell of a man? That the Imperials beat me down until there was nothing left?"

"You say nothing." Sadrith gave a faint smile. "You find a way to keep it buried, until such a time as you can let it out. On the other hand...you could let me handle them."

"Galmar will want to see me, to know that...I am me. If I am. If I am not...not some foul thing that wears the skin of Ulfric Stormcloak."

"You are not masquerading any more than I am."

Galmar, his armor now well-bloodied, was quick to question Ulfric on certain personal things - his dislike of soggy sweetrolls and demonstration of his Voice sealed the deal.

"It was Galmar here that realized your replacement wasn't you." Sadrith said. "So he has once again proved his loyalty."

Ulfric struggled to speak, and failed.

"I suppose you'll want to know what's happened after that?" Galmar spoke up.

"Yes, let's hear what happened afterwards." Voryn appeared as if from nowhere, surprising them all. "Sigurd tells me he spoke to you about a plan to save some of your people should an invasion happen."

"Who--are--you?" Ulfric forced out.

"Torovan Gyhd," Voryn lied, "Sigurd may have mentioned me."

There was a quick nod.

"Did anyone get away?" Sadrith asked, to change the subject.

"We let one man get away," Voryn went on.

"The big elf had the idea to send him off so the Imperials know we freed you," Galmar said to Ulfric, "And to tell any of our own too."

"They'll be here soon. Is there anywhere we can be sure the Imperials won't be able to get at him easily?"

Sadrith thought for a minute. "Markarth. We could take him to Markarth. If there's anywhere he's safe it's there. I have a house I'm not using there, I'm sure my housecarl will be glad of something to do. Or he could stay where the Thalmor were."

"How are we going to get him there unseen?" Galmar asked.

"I can hide well enough, but the trip I took with--Torovan proved that the Thalmor are out all over the place. They tried to mow down Ivarstead...which I don't get, why would they try to kill everyone? I thought they'd want slaves, not..." Sadrith took a deep breath, and bit her tongue to give herself a shock of pain. Anything to stop that damn typhoon. "There is another way, though. I can get him there without running into any of them."

"What--is that?" Ulfric finally spoke.

"I could call a dragon," she said, "It was how I learned how to get to Sovngarde, to fight Alduin. If I Shout for him, he comes...he could get me and Ulfric both there."

"I'm going with you," Voryn said automatically, and on seeing her look of surprise went on quickly with, "If you think I'm going to let you go off with Ulfric Stormcloak of all people, with no extra protection--"

"I'm the dragonborn, I need no extra protection. But fine, go if you like. Just have a feather spell ready, because carrying me is one thing. Carrying the two of you in addition, though..."

"What of--of them?" Ulfric asked. "Galmar, I owe you my life again. It...what do you think of this plan? I thought you might want me out to..."

"You're too important to risk," Galmar replied, "And the plan is sound enough."

"Supposing we do this, where do you plan to go next, if you're cut off from Windhelm?" Sadrith asked. "You could follow us to Markarth and set up camp there, I guess, but that would mean going through Falkreath hold. The current Jarl's uncle is sympathetic to your cause and the Jarl himself is useless. But..."

She paused, and noting Ulfric looking overwhelmed, sat him down with some food one of the Stormcloaks had brought. "Eat slowly," she said, "If you've been hungry a while you can get sick if you eat too much."

He only nodded.

"You could bribe Siddgeir," she said suddenly, looking up at Galmar, "I took care of a bandit camp only to find they were paying him off but had stopped. Just pay him a bit of gold and he'll likely let you pass through without a fuss. Or...you could attempt stealth, take a back way through the mountains..."

Galmar looked to Ulfric, who with his mouth full of salmon, could only nod.

"That's actually not a bad idea, if you know the mountains well enough. Take tonight, stay one night, and stock up with the food they have here, the bows and arrows for hunting game. Leave 'em with nothing. Set off. Pretend one of you is Ulfric, protect him like he is."

"Suppose an army turns up while we're all asleep?" Voryn asked.

"Then I show you what I meant by being able to call a storm."

Ulfric was once more applied to for approval. "You knew me well enough to know who the false one was, Galmar. Pick one of the men and have him do it, you can help him in it."

Sadrith volunteered to do a shift of guard duty, mainly because the typhoon in her head had started up again.

Nords. My vessel helping a bunch of nords, I never thought I would see the day...

Do you hate the nords or the empire more?

You cannot ask me that question and expect to get an answer.

As she was arguing with him, Ralof, who had also agreed to take a first shift of guard duty too, appeared suddenly beside her.

"I'm glad you're finally all in on our side. We were worried, for the longest time..."

"It's not that I didn't want to be on your side, but...I got the idea the Stormcloaks didn't want my help. Dragonborn or not, I'm an elf." Sadrith sighed. "That and the Thalmor WANTED this war to go on. With everyone divided they can just move in as they please, and it looks like they're finally starting to do that. I thought I could pick them off here and there, and...I don't know what I thought. I might've just made things worse."

"They were always going to make their move," Ralof shrugged, "Maybe you sped it up. Maybe you didn't."

"But I'm here now," she said, "And I'm going to make sure they regret it. If we can make the Imperials see sense, then we have allies. But I don't want to place any bets on it."

"Well, we've got you, and the Archmage. Galmar had a lot of good things to say about him. It'd be a cold way on the Sea of Ghosts but we can get folk into the College of Winterhold that way, even if it belongs to the Imperials now."

"It's a tiny place. It wouldn't take much to get them out. Anyway...you keep walking the walls. I'm going to check out around the trees, see if anyone's setting up."

"By yourself?"

"I've got nothing to worry about, the shadows are where I do best."

"Alright, but shout if you need help."

Sadrith nodded and set off. At first there was the sound of crickets, and her boots crunching over the grass in the ground. It wasn't until she was heading past the treeline along the road back to Helgen that something changed.

At first it was only the lack of crickets chirping.

Then the sound of her boots faded away, and when she looked down to check the reason she could find none. There were dried leaves, and twigs that should have made a noise.

But they didn't.

Then the sound of her breathing. It was almost a mercy to hear the sound that came next. A struggling animal - a fox, it turned out, caught in some sort of a hunter's trap. It's leg was deeply cut and - not wanting to see more death tonight than she already had, Sadrith moved down to help it out.

She knelt beside it, Shouted, "Kaan--Drem Ov," and opened the trap.

It looked at her. She looked at it carefully, healed its leg, and smiled. But a moment later, it bolted, running off.

"Why do you bother?"

The thin, grey voice sounded off behind her, startling her into standing up and drawing Umbra.

The stranger that stood before her did not look like a hunter.

Twinkling stones set in dark robes (the pattern looked familiar; where had she seen it before?) that seemed red towards the bottom; blackened hands covered here and there in what looked like red thread. But it was this Altmer's EYES that stood out to her most. Perhaps it was the dark, but she saw no visible iris, only a black dot of a pupil in a sea of white.

He looked - wrong.

"Put that toy away," he said icily, lowering his hands. "Or someone may get hurt."

"You don't look like a hunter," Sadrith echoed her thoughts aloud. She didn't lower Umbra. "Are you with the Thalmor?"

"Answer my question first. Why did you bother? Do piteous cries no one else hears really hold so much weight with you?"

"It deserved to live as much as anyone. The hunter can reset his trap."

"Would it not be better to simply put it out of its misery?"

"Answer me first. Are you with the Thalmor?"

"I am the Thalmor." He sounded satisfied, but didn't smirk or grin or anything. His expression barely shifted at all. "And you...you think the mercy you offer is the correct way? When someone is wounded beyond help is it not better to end their suffering?"

"I can heal. Spells. Potions. It doesn't HAVE to die. Nothing does, of anything other than disease or old age. And even then..." She stopped, feeling the chaos in her mind starting to swirl. "Who are you?"

"You are a special sort of fool, aren't you?" That time, there was a laugh. "You cannot lay eyes on me, hear the silence that worships me, surely, and not know who I am?"

"You aren't--you never--" Sadrith took a moment to try and steady herself. She thought of calling for help, but if he was right - she didn't want to risk their lives.

"You were not made for this mercy, child," his voice softened suddenly. "I did not make you for that purpose."

"I'm choosing to show mercy."

"Choice." There was a dark laugh. "There is no choice, especially not for my tools."

"I am not your TOOL," Sadrith growled. "Sithis. Are you Sithis?"

The altmer didn't seem to react to the name.

"Why are you here?" she asked, clenching at the hilt of Umbra. "Are you going to kill me?"

Silence.

"Are you trying to unsteady my mind, so I'm more likely to go crazy and--"

"Your mind needs no help in that area." There was a smirk, and he started to circle her. "You know by now, don't you, what you are?"

"I don't see the difference it makes."

"You know," he went on, ignoring what she'd said, "Alduin's soul, Lorkhan's heart...Pelinal's madness."

"I am--"

He went on walking.

"Sheogorath's spark, Jyggalag's need for order, Tiber Septim's trio, the shell of Dagoth Ur and my blight that he spread...listen, and listen well - both of you. I am giving you a last chance to hear what I am saying to you...because you are no living mer. You are a conglomeration, an abomination of parts. You are no more real than I."

"I exist," she said, "That's enough."

"You aren't real," he said, "And you only exist because your mother would not do what she should have. I might have had her, and instead I have you."

"I don't understand," Sadrith replied, "Explain, before I start swinging."

There was a slight smirk.

"So dim. Perhaps if I'd chosen a younger mother, I might have a more intelligent ch--"

Sadrith shouted and raged forward, swinging Umbra wildly. "MY MOTHER IS BETTER THAN YOU WILL EVER BE!"

The stranger--Sithis--sidestepped each blow.

"Too much and yet not enough of Pelinal."

Another swing.

"And hardly anything of Jyggalag..."

A last swing. Sithis grabbed the blade when it came down, and cast it aside. Sadrith reached into the little bag at her side for the ebony dagger--for any weapon, really, and all that came out was the Brush of Truepaint.

"If I were of a mind to do it now, to end your time on Nirn for good, then that would do you no good. But...you are lucky."

The air behind him seemed to darken.

"I have no need of such things...yet. You will come to me in time, as all your most warlike lives have."

"I won't let you kill them all," she said.

"Who said it would be I that did the job?" Sithis stepped closer, and jabbed a finger into her chest. "YOU will. Because that is what tools do. What they're made for. A hinge folds, a wheel rolls, a fire burns, and you, my foolish daughter, you...will kill as I wish you to. As Pelinal, as Jyggalag, and as Dagoth Ur did."

"I won't."

"You won't have any choice in the matter. When push comes to shove...when enemies bear down on you, there will be no other option. Kill...or be killed. Either way, you will come to me in the end."

"I won't." Sadrith stepped back, trying not to drop the brush that felt suddenly so warm in her hand. "I'm not--I'm better than that. I don't WANT--I don't want to..."

The typhoon was starting up again; it seemed to worsen whenever she met his eyes. But she forced herself to keep her gaze locked to his anyway.

She blinked, and he was gone.

So much. So much said at once. So much she didn't understand, or didn't want to understand.

No, no, no...

She crossed her arms, feeling a sudden chill, and wanting to cry at the same time. A dampness on her armor--she lifted a hand, and found it dripping a deep crimson red.

That's not...that's not mine is it? No. No, it's his. It's HIS.

She looked over at Umbra--and desperately seeking to Not Now her way out of this encounter, she knelt beside it.

Its edge where Sithis had grabbed it was red, too.

On a whim she drew out the empty White Phial, and got the few drops on her hand and a few more on the blade into it. But no sooner was this done than her hands started shaking, and panic rose like a wave to drown her.

Sadrith burst out, bringing her head down to grab at her hair. She cried out, "Why me? WHY ME?"

Sithis. The Madness. Everything, everything, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING!

"We're all going to die," she said, "We're--we're all going to die, and I won't be able to--to--"

She expected something from Dagoth Ur. A suggestion, an offered hand, a deal, something, anything. But he was silent.

Mead, she thought. Mead. She needed something to slow her down, or she'd spend all night like this. But--no, she couldn't do that yet, not without having eyes on her. So she finished the rest of her guard shift not once being still, until fatigue wore away at the panic in her chest.

Yet despite that, she still felt a spike when Voryn met her as she returned to the fort interior.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, "Did you find anyone out there?"

Sadrith stared unblinking for ten seconds or so, then replied, "You wouldn't believe me, would you? If I told you what I found?"

He stared back.

"What did you find? Shouldn't we alert--"

"No," she said in a detached tone, "I don't think there's much Galmar and the Stormcloaks can do about Sithis."

Did it matter? Did anything matter, really? If that was what they were up against, what shot did they really have?

She almost hated the defiance that was fighting deep, deep within her, against that overwhelming despair.

"You saw Sithis?"

Sadrith let herself be lead off towards the prison. Voryn, it seemed, had made his "room" inside the cell that had held Ulfric, although he appeared to have melted the lock off.

The panic threatened to rise again. He must have noticed it, because his next move was to lay one of those enormous hands on her head and cast a calm spell.

He kept it going as she explained all that she'd seen, too - otherwise, Sadrith was sure she'd never have made it through without crying and balling herself up. For once he seemed to simply listen, though she didn't dare meet his eyes. She was too afraid of judgment she was sure was there, just waiting.

He gave her the mead she asked for, pressed her to eat - and she did, feeling that fatigue returning. She would have lain down, but something stopped her. Not wanting to be left alone, in the dark, despite the door being open.

(Had she not felt this in that dream, too? Had she not lain in that dark place with the red glow of lava, wanting not to be left alone, fearing that any moment might be that which let in the thieving three?)

"I should...I should find a bed," she said, "This is yours."

"We'll be leaving once you've slept," Voryn replied, "And I already have. Think nothing of it."

"I think everything of everything," she said, "All the time....all at once...all alone..."

A hand on her head again.

"Bastard," she said, feeling the tingle of magic, assuming a sleeping spell from the drowsiness that followed.

"Sleep now," Voryn replied. "This can be dealt with tomorrow."

"Liar," she mumbled. "You always want...all now...can't survive without..."

Everything grew more and more slowed and muddled.

Sadrith fell asleep leaning against the wall, to the sound of Voryn saying something-or-other she would later convince herself she hadn't actually heard.

"...not a Heartwight any longer, and yet the Heart..."

Chapter Text

The Madness

"It is very important that you speak to Odahviing as though he were an equal. He is not a dumb beast - none of the dragons are," Sadrith said to the group.

"And the deer you had us get ready?" Galmar asked.

"Any man is friendlier once he's got something in his belly," Sadrith shrugged, and the Stormcloaks around them made sounds of agreement. "It's not much for a dragon, but it's something to start with."

The Imperials, of course, were an option too, but she had the sudden thought that it wouldn't look good to recommend that. The Thalmor, maybe. Something in her mind clenched at that thought. The idea of a dragon bent over a pile of their bodies, devouring the lot of them, more running and getting cooked alive in their golden armor.

They would beg, and beg for mercy, but none--

"Dragonborn? We're ready if you are."

"Alright," she said, shaking her head and trying to loosen the grip of that clinging thought. After a deep breathed she looked to the sky and Shouted, "O--DAHVING!"

Silence, at first. Silence that went on...

...and on...

Sadrith was about to Shout it again. But the moment she opened her lips she heard exactly what she'd expected to: the roar of a dragon.

Beside her, Ulfric was shaking. He seemed especially uncomfortable outside in such a wide and open area, and the sudden Shout must have unnerved him even more.

She put a hand on his shoulder and cast a Calm spell as quietly as she could manage.

I can't do shit about my own problems, but this...this is easy. It's as if by magic I can do for him what I can't for myself.

At least she had that.

The roar sounded off again, and then the dragon was in sight on the horizon, growing closer every second. The Stormcloaks backed off, leaving only Sadrith, Ulfric, and Voryn standing there when the dragon landed.

"I have come, Dovahkiin," Odahviing said, "And for what reason do you call me?"

"I need to go to Markarth," Sadrith replied, "And I would ask what you have seen from above of the Thalmor."

"Why should I give you this, when this may be wiix, when I do not know if you will have me held again?"

"Because I would be very pleased to give you free reign to devour the golden elves that have invaded. Perhaps even order it." Sadrith replied. And then, drawing closer, she added in a lower voice, "And you would not disobey your lord, would you?"

There was a snort.

"I wondered how long it would take you to figure out, Dovahkiin."

"You knew?"

"It was obvious, but it was also not the time. You wish the elves devoured?"

"You can tell the rest of the dragons, wherever they are," Sadrith said, "That they should feel free to feed upon the Thalmor troops. But for me - the three of us standing here - we need to go to Markarth. It is not me so much as him--"

Here she indicated Ulfric.

"--that represents the war effort right now. I have a meal ready for you, to sweeten the deal. But if you need more, we can discuss that later."

It took hardly any time at all for Odahviing to devour the cooked deer. And once he was done he turned back in her direction.

There was a silent moment, a stare she couldn't figure out.

Then it passed. Voryn cast his feather spells. Ulfric mounted first, and behind him went Sadrith, and then Voryn.

She had the sense, as she tried to calm Ulfric's panic at the sudden change in height, that the grip around her middle from behind was less security and more annoyance. It was tighter than it needed to be.

The lurch in her own stomach distracted her. Whatever was upsetting him didn't matter anyway.

They landed at the dragon mound - Sadrith, feeling a strange bout of airsickness, rolled off Odahviing's neck at the first opportunity and after helping Ulfric down, turned away to be sick.

After catching her breath she reached into her potion bag for the White Phial, guzzled it--or tried to, before realizing she'd forgotten that Sithis's blood was in it. Some of it still made its way down her throat, cold and coating like frozen cream that wouldn't melt. Most of it, though, she coughed right back out, leaving a black trail down her lips that she wiped away with the hem of her sleeve.

The whirlwind in her mind started up again, and not even the rest of her skooma would fix it. All it seemed to do was make her stomach churn further. The mead to follow only cleansed the taste of vomit and burned metal.

"I assume you feel better now," came Voryn's doubtful voice.

"Yes, yes, much better," Sadrith replied quickly.

"Dovahkiin," Odahviing suddenly spoke, "Before you take the Nord to your city of stone, I must warn you of something."

"Yes?" She looked back to find Ulfric having offered his thanks to the dragon.

"Those yuvon fahliil, the golden elves you are so willing to give up for the feast."

"What about them?"

"There must be a lo, a deceiver, a spy. There are legions of them coming here, no more than a day away."

"How?" Ulfric suddenly spoke up, "How could they know? You--"

He turned to Voryn.

"It must be YOU, feeding them secrets."

"Ulfric, it wasn't him, he's had no chance to--hand over any--" Sadrith lay a hand on Ulfric's chest to hold him back. "I've been with him for weeks now. This was a last minute decision, to bring you here too. There's only one way they knew, and..."

She shook her head, and tried not to be sick as a handful of sentences trailed through her mind.

...I am the Thalmor.

"What? What, what is it?"

A hinge folds, a wheel rolls, a fire burns, and you, my foolish daughter, you...will kill as I wish you to.

Was Sithis engineering a way to make her do what he wanted? A second later she scolded herself mentally for not realizing how obvious a thing it would be. But would the troops not have had to be nearby anyway? He couldn't simply conjure them up...

Either way, you will come to me in the end.

...he could clearly see or hear what she was doing. Would that have been enough time...?

"Dragonborn!"

"The--" she stumbled, "We need to get going. Quickly. Thank you, Odahviing, for agreeing to carry us here."

The dragon inclined his head, and when they moved far enough away, he launched into flight.

"Let's go," she said, once he was gone, "We haven't got far to go but the sooner we're in Markarth the better."

Sadrith expected several things - some of which she saw as they approached the strip of land between Salvius Farm and the Stormcloak Camp on the other side of the bridge. There was no one outside the farm, and what looked like a wood-spiked barricade being put up near the camp.

"It seems they already know what's coming," Voryn said.

"Our scouts--" Ulfric started, but stopped when there was a shout.

Sadrith headed for the barrier as quickly as she could.

"Well met!" she called out, "I've just come from--clearing out one of the mines. What's going on?"

"Dragonbor--High King!" the Stormcloak at the head of the group called. "What are you doing here?"

"He was being held by the Imperials. Fake was in Windhelm--what's going on?"

"We're making sure the Forsworn don't get in, that's what," said another Stormcloak, after giving his obligatory gesture to Ulfric. "Let the Thalmor tear them apart."

"Or--"

"When did you hear they were coming?" Voryn interrupted.

"He's with me," Sadrith said, "You can tell him."

"Few scouts we sent out yesterday...only one came back. Said the Thalmor told him to tell us to surrender now, and there would be much less loss of life than there would be if we defied them."

"In that case don't you think it would be better to have a temporary truce with the Forsworn?" Sadrith could see the leader gearing up for a nasty slur, so forged forward. "The Forsworn know how to fight in the hills. They know how to use the mountains against those that want to fight them - you and every other Stormcloak should know it."

He looked doubtful, and she had to bite back a retort.

"Nevermind."

"Keep--an eye on the road, as you were." Ulfric finally spoke. "What is the plan?"

"I imagine they're going to put up a first resistance and start falling back to Markarth as necessary. Come on - we need to get you there now. Can't have our leader losing his head to a golden arrow."

They waited to confirm that that was indeed the plan. Not until they were reaching the stables did Ulfric speak again.

"Why champion the Forsworn?"

"I'm not--championing them," she said, "But YOU know that THEY know how to fight here. Your followers should be smart enough to realize they could be allies, however temporary. The enemy is the Thalmor. Not the Forsworn trying to defend his home from invaders."

"We are not invaders!"

"This isn't the time to--"

"We attacked them, because they attacked US."

"Because you put a city in the middle of their land! Because you kill their children and throw them in prison for retaliating! You're just as bad as--" Sadrith groaned and turned away. "This isn't helpful. I'm not going to argue about this when it won't--the Thalmor are practically on the doorstep and we're--"

She gave a frustrated yell and ignored every attempt from Voryn to speak to her afterwards. Ulfric stayed silent.

Don't you know what this war IS?

Her body seemed to behave automatically after that. Get into Markarth, explain to the guards, go to Understone Keep to explain things to the Jarl.

Beneath her skin she felt--stretched, pushed against a net that threatened to snap. The order that Dagoth Ur had brought to her mind was thinning, but she had no idea why. The dunmer had once had a lengthy war with the nords, maybe that was it. He didn't want to help.

Fine, she thought, I'll do it on my own, like I always have.

Markarth had been given back to the Stormcloaks, so it was the work of a moment to appraise Thongvor of the situation. He reacted, though, about as well as she thought he would when she suggested a truce with the Forsworn.

"You ask me to be friendly with the very filth that pollutes our streets and murders my people?"

"The Thalmor are a stronger enemy. You need people who know how to FIGHT in the Reach. And they do. No one better. Do you--do you really not know what's at stake here? Do you not know how many of those bastards are on their way?"

"Your kind--"

"They are NOT MY KIND!" Sadrith shouted. "Fine! Choke on your pride. Slap away anyone who might be able to help. When we're all strung up--"

"This isn't helpful," Voryn suddenly cut in. "The men, are they ready to fight?"

"My men are always ready to fight," Thongvor said.

He wouldn't speak of strategy before Voryn, and Sadrith only said she wished to Shout up a storm before they began the first assault.

"Since you all insist on bickering, I am going to make sure I've slept well before the Thalmor turn up tomorrow." She gestured to Ulfric. "You should come along with me."

"High King--you trust this elf?" Thongvor spat out the word like venom.

"With my life," Ulfric said automatically. "She broke into the fortress the Imperials had me locked in and killed half of them singlehandedly."

He was overstating it, she thought. But she wasn't going to stop him if it made things easier.

After a lengthy pause, Thongvor let them go.

Sadrith let Ulfric have her bedroom, and he went to sleep almost immediately as soon as he laid down his head. She took the time to explain the situation to Argis, who nodded along.

"Finally give you something more exciting to do than stop yourself from falling asleep too early," Sadrith tried to joke. She felt immediately that she'd failed - there was a shakiness in her mind that she couldn't get free of. Every doubt seemed magnified. She doubted she would see Loredas. She doubted she would be able to hold it together long enough to get to the battle.

She doubted that she would sleep well.

It was not until Argis was asleep that Voryn made a move. As she was picking over a bowl of bread with some soup in it, she felt a hand on her scalp.

And a calm spell. The typhoon was slowed, and finally stopped.

"I don't need your help," she snapped at him.

"You do," he replied evenly, "With the day you've had, I'm surprised you didn't need it sooner."

"I've managed worse." Sadrith took a deep breath and managed to finish the soup. "Alduin, for example."

"A battle with your own self. How...existential."

"Everything is on my shoulders," she said, "The dragons...the war...Sithis."

The blood drifted across her mind, and she was about to spill all - but Voryn stopped her before she could speak.

"You should sleep."

"And you?"

"I'll sleep once you have."

"How noble of you."

"Consider it caution. Dagoth Ur has been silent thus far, and on the eve of a battle...he may make an offer."

"I may be stupid but I'm not that stupid."

"You--" Voryn gave a huff. "You are not stupid. I see now that you never were."

She shrugged it off, intending to ignore him. But she didn't fight when he herded her into what had been a childrens' bedroom. She was small enough, thankfully, that they were only a little bit of a tight fit.

Once more he cast the Calm spell.

It was lovely to, for once, fall asleep with nothing in her head but fatigue.

The relief did not last long.

She was--bound, unable to move, in the dark. There was a flash and leap of red light, and the shadow of Dagoth Ur silhouetted against it.

How many times must you hear it, fool?

I do not obey you, void-maker.

He was standing before her, but before HIM was a great shadow so dark even the lava-light couldn't penetrate it.

You always have. How many times must I say it? Did you think the mask came from thin air? Did you never question its being so perfectly formed for your face? Oh - how stupid! You must have thought you forged it yourself!

Sadrith tried to reach forward, to cast (something, something very old, something she hardly remembered at all). Dagoth Ur stood, she thought, a bit taller.

Every pebble on the path to your false godhood was placed by my hand, the void said, forming into that figure from outside Fort Neugrad. How many of your faithful thanked you for the blight I sent through you? Did you think you were saving them? Fool. A thousand times, you are a fool.

I am no man's fool.

You are as much a puppet as the Heart was, but it was smart enough to know what I was doing. You were not.

That thin greying face began to grin, wide, sharptoothed, and bloody.

Don't you want to save your people?

The grin grew larger. Too large.

Answer me, corpse-god. Don't you want to save your people? Go! Encase them in ash you think is gold! Watch them rot and glorify the gift I sent!

BE SILENT!

Dagoth Ur, loyal servant, but not to Nerevar, not to the fool of a nord who walked in and took your gift, oh no...loyal...to ME.

A blast of magic, magic she tried to help him bolster. It burned Sithis's flesh, but he stayed where he was, unmoving, unafraid.

And then a pale gold hand raised--

No. NO!

Sadrith opened her eyes, but found she couldn't move. The sight of the stonework overhead helped only a little, but the sight of Sithis at the end of the bed had her heart racing in her chest.

Hush now...hush, child, and listen...

Sadrith struggled, feeling weighted in every limb - but she did finally manage to sit up.

How adorable, that you think your pitiful resistance will get you anywhere. You will either listen, or I will do as all fathers do and MAKE YOU.

"F...f...f...." She felt she'd either vomit or break her jaw trying to speak, but she finally, finally forced out two words. "Fuck--you."

She struggled further, but an attempt to swing her arms could only muster a little strength.

Any more of your defiance and I will--

One final struggle. She managed to swing - and despite the laughed that echoed in her ears afterwards - Sithis vanished when her weak punch struck his false skin.

Sadrith sat breathing hard, upright, the rushing river in her mind growing worse every second. It was too much to hope that this was just a skooma hallucination.

Dagoth Ur's bracing influence was gone.

The dam was burst. The doors in her mind left wide open to be drowned in the flood of chaos.

And she was out of skooma.

She couldn't say whether it was more relief or pain to send Voryn to sleep while she stayed awake, marinating in that feeling of being on the edge.

The next morning brought nothing but more bad news. The Thalmor had moved more quickly than expected, and it seemed hardly any time at all had passed after breakfast before she was called out.

"Stay here," she said to Ulfric, her hand shaking when she tried to reassure him with a touch on the shoulder. "You're--more valuable than I am."

"After everything you've done--"

"Still--more--to do." Her words were grinding out harder and she couldn't bear to be looked at, the way he was looking at her. She felt she didn't deserve that look of awe on his face.

It was why she changed into the Crusader's armor. It was why she pulled the helmet down low on her brow, to mask the uncertainty of her expression.

Something was wrong with her.

But something was always wrong with her.

There was the temptation to take up the sword, or perhaps a mace. But she reached instead for Umbra.

She walked out to the bridge, and stared down the approaching line. She Shouted - "STRUN...BAH QO!"

The gray clouds gathered, the rain started. The lightning soon followed, stabbing down among the golden army ahead.

Everything was suddenly so clear. Everything she saw seemed somehow sharper, more certain, more heavy. She looked down at Umbra in her hand, feeling a sudden disconnect - she was not holding the weapon.

She was the weapon.

There was no fear, no prayer to a divine that would not be answered, no call for mercy. Only a sudden rapid beating in her chest and a coppery taste in her mouth.

She would ever describe the moment that came next as the feel of having a sudden fire lit from within, a fire that devoured thought and left not ash behind, but blood.

Go, said a soft persuasive voice in the striking silence. Go.

The last lingering shred of self control drifted.

Don't you want to save your people?

Chapter Text

Shapes in the Mist

Something, within and without, anywhere and everywhere, burned.

Her hands gripped the pommel of the sword, her voice Shouted, but she was not the one doing it. The typhoon, the whirlwind within her spun faster and faster, far beyond her control, and yet her body still moved.

No. No. No. No.

With each repetition of the word in her mind, another Thalmor fell to the blade in her hand. She thought it must be Umbra's doing, but another voice echoed then.

What a fool you were, to think you could fight me. Look ahead, and behold the enemy!

All arrayed in gold, with the rain pouring down and running a scarlet river that grew darker with every one who fell.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Had she not already been frightened it would have scared her, how easy it was to take each one down. They swarmed, shot arrows, magic, but nothing seemed to touch her - or if it did, the damage seemed to heal itself.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Akatosh, Kynareth, anyone - she wanted to cry out for help, but no amount of effort would still her hands or slow the slaughter.

The aedra are weak, but you - you are strong, and you will bring low all that stand before you.

"Whitestrake!" she heard someone scream. "WHITESTRAKE!"

(A warhorn, somewhere in the distance, and then several coming in answer.)

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Look at them run! The terror is intoxicating, isn't it? That one next--

And instantly her body turned toward one, screaming, whose head was cleaved off a second later.

(Her mind desperately sought distraction from the carnage around her, some other thought to cling to, and it led to: he's not supposed to be enjoying it this much.)

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

The armor, the ground, the sword, everything was chaos and violence and blood.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

(Laughter, ringing in her ears, insanity in song - he was not mortal, why did he relish it so? It sounded like the horns in the distance, almost.)

Flesh came apart like soft butter when she struck with one hand - where was the sword? It didn't matter. It wasn't necessary, not now.

The storm did not slow, not even for an instant. She should have been freezing from the rain, from the cold of the armor's touch, but a blaze burned so searingly within that she reached up and threw the helmet off her head.

(Where were the Divine? She called for help, but nobody came. They watched - and she screamed, voiceless, in her mind where none but the void would hear: I watch you watching me watching back! What good were gods who would not give their aid? Did they merely listen? But no, there was no hearing. They had turned their backs, as much as they had when she had started praying for answer or guidance.)

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Armor. Horses. Tents.

Red rage and darkness - pain - mother?

For a split-second she was almost certain she saw her mother, who screamed out in agony that seemed to tear straight through her.

You are not a being but a tool made to end.

A hand on her throat, clenching down.

(Mama, I am a monster...)

Her hands moved forward--and then suddenly back. An arm was looped beneath one of her own and around her neck, and she felt the sudden dampness of something being blotted onto her forehead.

How dare you! HOW DARE YOU?!

Then - as a puppet with its strings suddenly cut, she fell limp, and saw - tent canvas above her, then the sky, faces that felt familiar but which she could not name, and heard a cacophony of voices coming from all of them.

The darkness was rising, and all she wanted then was to sleep forever.

(I'm sorry, mama.)

((I'm so sorry.))

There were no more dreams.

Wake.

Her eyes were open, staring at a fur somewhere overhead. Branches, fur...

Normally, seeing such things would frighten her, though she didn't remember why. There was only an echo of fear, something telling her that she OUGHT to be scared, but not reminding her in full of exactly why.

The tomb. Tomb in her head, as if it were hollow and dark, the better not to see what was lurking.

Sadrith craved silence, but this was...

Movement somewhere else.

"She's awake."

Familiar voice. No. She had never heard it before, and yet she had.

Go away, she thought. Go away.

If she did not move, maybe they would simply leave her be, maybe it would all be over.

Mama's face still filled every part of her mind. Terror written all over it, fear of death, fear of HER--

Someone came, brought water, tried to make her drink. She turned her head away, but they compelled her somehow and she was forced to swallow what was in the cup. It tasted bad, but the aches she was suddenly and keenly aware of were just as quickly gone.

The same pair of hands returned, this time with a bowl of Something that smelled good. Again she was compelled, this time to eat.

Then a commotion outside. Sadrith groaned, and lay back down. She wanted it to Go Away. She wanted everything to Go Away.

No. No.

The word did not work any longer, but something stirred - and then promptly stopped, as if it had run into a wall.

The word would not work.

The pain was gone, but the fatigue remained. She wanted - she wanted what she knew she couldn't have, shouldn't have, didn't deserve. Not after what she'd almost done.

The face...a face she swore she knew, but then, knew she didn't. Everything was confused, a muddle of things that didn't move or connect right.

She knew that she knew things, but couldn't grab most of them out of the air.

Then, the face.

Sharp. Gold. Bright eyes.

Sadrith tried to speak, but found her lips would not cooperate.

Maybe, she thought, the whirlwind had finally risen high enough to drown her. Maybe she would be like this forevermore, someone too far gone, someone who needed help eating and drinking and doing everything.

A pathetic thing, she thought. Less than worthless. What good am I if I fall to his influence? What good am I to anyone if I fall at the first hurdle?

A smaller voice.

What good am I if I can't stop myself from hurting mama?

The golden hands were touching her face, and coming up wet. Crying. She was crying.

"Mama," she said, feeling like a child again, weeping and wailing for comfort. "I want my mama."

The golden hands moved to the sides of her head, and she slept once again.

Ash, mead, and scrib jelly.

Sadrith was crying again. There was the scent that she knew she knew, a memory that leaped, that seized her tightly.

The first clear thing since the mess began, since before the storm, since...

A rag was being dabbed at her brow. The ashy scent was strongest with it, but in the comfort there was still pain. The tears still flowed.

"The little guar danced, and kicked his feet, for he had found his prey..." Soft voice, good voice. It meant comfort. It wasn't supposed to hurt. "...sprung upon the feast before, and filled his belly full..."

It wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Mama wouldn't want her anymore. Not after what she'd done.

"...slept so tight all through the night..."

She opened her eyes fully, saw the ugly bruising around the neck, and still the weeping wouldn't stop. "M...mama..."

"Hush," said the soft voice. There was a kiss on her brow. "Hush, my little mushroom."

"I'm s-s-sorry," she stammered out, forcing herself to speak despite her fumbling lips. "I...didn't know...could've hurt you, killed you..."

Sadrith reached up, grasping for--anything, really, she didn't know what. She was just afraid her mother wasn't really there, and that if a tight hold wasn't kept she'd simply vanish into thin air.

"Mushroom," said the soft voice again.

"Monster," she hiccupped, "I'm a monster, I...he made me do it, and...and I couldn't stop him...if you...if-if-if you don't want to...please, tell me now, if you want me to...to go, and never...if you don't want me anymore...he said I was his, and...he proved..."

"You are not his," Kogolanu, her mother, said.

The tears finally began to slow when she was embraced, when she could bury her face in her mother's neck.

"You were born beneath the eclipse, in a storm, all of it orchestrated by his hand, but that does not make you his. You are MY daughter, and he cannot have you."

"Don't know if I have...a choice, if he can...so easily..."

"Is she--? Good."

The clipped voice interrupted the bubble of goodness that Sadrith had felt herself enveloped in. Mama's arms were safe, they were always the place to hide - from everything.

Now she could see and think more clearly, she wondered who this stranger was.

Golden skin, eyes...wings?

It was absurd.

"They'll want to see her. All of us, as a matter of fact."

"Wh-who?" Sadrith asked.

He gave an answer, but it seemed to go in one ear and out the other; she forgot it instantly. Kogolanu prompted her to stand up, helped her dress, and lead her slowly outside.

She did not remember much of anything of that madness that had struck her, but as she was lead to a grassy spot overlooking the rock path below, she saw what at first looked like a black river. Blood, she thought at first. But then she realized it was anything but.

It wasn't a mark of the death she'd dealt out.

It was the void that followed. That was one thing that felt blindingly clear to her, standing out against the rest of the misty bog that was her head.

Where she had walked in Pelinal's Madness, the void bloomed.

Chapter Text

Brother

Sadrith lurched forward, curiosity to see what had become of the ground to make it look that way greater than the fatigue she was still feeling. Her mother followed closely along behind as she stared at the blackness beneath her. Not dirt, though she expected that, but stone. Barren, nothing to it.

(There should be more bodies, she thought. But those that were there - she didn't want to look at them.)

"Where...where are we?" she asked. It looked like a Forsworn Camp, but she didn't see any of them about. She could swear she'd been here before, but--

"Druadach Redoubt," the golden one said, "The inhabitants are...making use of the bodies."

"Sadrith, you should get back and sit down," her mother said gently, "You're still unsteady on your feet."

"But--look at this!" she crouched to touch the black stone beneath her - and promptly fell on her ass as her head swam and the world seemed to spin around her. She clenched at that void, or rather, she tried to, but it was entirely smooth.

When she could get up again, Sadrith let herself be lead back to that tent and settled on the furs she'd apparently been resting on.

"What about the stone?" her mother prompted then.

"It feels like...I don't know. I'd say glass, but that's not right. It's too...I don't know. It's...perfectly smooth."

The golden one shifted on his feet. And the wings she had for a while been certain weren't real very much were - one looked a little kinked.

"Your injury," she said automatically on seeing it, "Is it healed?"

"What?" the golden one was confused, until she gestured. "It's healing well enough on its own, but that's not important. The important thing, right now, is that I introduce myself. Before your tall friend gets here."

"Voryn?"

The name was out before Sadrith could stop herself. She clapped both hands over her mouth and didn't dare look at her mother, whose judgmental stare she could already feel.

"Voryn? As in, Voryn Dagoth?" Kogolanu's tone shifted into sternness, "Sadrith, have you fallen under that devil's spell?"

Certain images from their entanglement at the hot springs jumped to mind.

More like he fell under mine.

"No," she said, "No, the--the Nerevarine saved him and he's fine now. I don't--I haven't fallen under anything."

And then eager to change the subject, she looked up at the golden stranger.

"I'm Sadrith. Dragonborn. And shezarrine, if what Voryn says is true."

Her mother's hand clenched at her own.

She squeezed back, and kept looking at the golden stranger. He seemed familiar, somehow. She knew she couldn't know him, and yet felt like she did.

"And you are?"

"Umaril," he said in a proud tone, "The first son of the Void."

"Umaril the Unfeathered?" Kogolanu burst out. "I thought you were dead."

"He doesn't die," Sadrith replied, "The books said so. 'For he had the blood of the ada and would not die.'"

The passage came to mind unbidden, taking his name and yanking the rest of the words from the muddle in her mind. She was sure she was remembering wrong, but they came all the same. And then she felt a wave of shame rise - he must think her so stupid, to respond like that.

I sound like a child! Why can't I talk correctly?

"You might," he said in a slightly tamer tone, "Call me brother, for I am sure we have the same father."

Again, Sadrith felt a clench at her hand.

"What does he mean, mama?" she asked, though she already knew.

"You--" Kogolanu swallowed, and lowered her head. "I told you that your father was arrogant. Not worth knowing. But..."

She waited.

"There was no father," she said, looking sheepish. "I am as sure now as I was then that I hadn't touched a man, but...there we were. That little cave full of mushrooms, and you...come screaming into the world during an eclipse. A little bloody bundle I thought was the most beautiful thing in all Tamriel."

Her mother cupped her face in both hands.

"All I could think was - this had happened to a Dunmer woman once before, and I would not do what she did."

Sadrith hugged her tightly, and took in a sobbing gasp.

"You're here--" she finally choked out, feeling herself tumbling on each successive word, failing to speak and forcing herself anyway, only making it worse, "--here--because--you--"

She felt she'd vomit, trying to shove words that didn't want to come out, out of her mouth.

"Don't force it," her mother said gently.

Sadrith took a deep breath, and waited several seconds before trying again.

"Why are you here?"

"To stop what you nearly did," he said. "The Madness is the tool of Sithis, and using it causes irreversible damage to Nirn."

"Then how does anything still exist? Pelinal did this all the time."

She felt foolish for going on to that and not asking more about Sithis himself, or anything important, but this. Why this?

Your curiosity is not important! Ask him something more important!

Umaril did not mock her as the voice in her head did, merely put his head to one side as if thinking and answered, "The Et'Ada repaired Nirn, as a healer does a wound. And so it is smaller than it should be."

"And he is trying to make it smaller still." Sadrith took a shaky breath. "I didn't...I don't..."

Deep breath.

"You'll--have to forgive me," she said. He'd find out soon. Better he know what failures he was going to find in his supposed brother. Maybe he would know what to do, she certainly didn't trust herself to think clearly right now, without the skooma. "My thoughts are always in a whirlwind, and the only thing that seems to clear my head is battle. When I swing a sword...the river...the--it all becomes clear. I swear, I am normally more eloquent, but--the--"

Maybe he'd buy it.

"Take a breath," her mother prompted.

Sadrith obeyed. It didn't seem to help when she was alone, but with her mother there - it was calming.

"And before you say it, I know. I know we don't have time for me to be incapable. I know we don't have time for me to dither about what I'm afraid of. I know I need to take this all more seriously."

"I was not going to address any of that. Sithis is not the victor until the last mote of life fades - and in chaos, there is opportunity. I think your life proves that, considering what you've made of things."

"A mess," she said, "A mess I laugh at to stave off going mad."

It was then that Umaril stepped back, moving off to talk to someone outside.

"Sadrith, you know you shouldn't say such things about yourself," Kogolanu said.

"But it's right," she said, brushing imaginary dust off her knees as she sat there, "I can't even control myself anymore. What good is a weapon that turns on anything it sees, not only the enemy? It's no good. It's--"

"Who has been filling your head with these lies, my little mushroom? Is it the Sharmat?"

"The Sharmat has his own problems," Sadrith said.

Voryn or Dagoth Ur, it didn't matter. All their concerns were going to be the same in the end.

(Voryn, Dagoth Ur, the Heart, Alduin...images rushed through her head, chained together by the weakest links possible, yet proceeding anyway.)

She was about to launch into the story, what she'd figured out from the dreams she'd had, things she'd seen, when Umaril returned--with Voryn close beside him.

"Azura preserve us," Kogolanu said, "Sadrith was right. What do you WANT, devil?"

"He's--not Dagoth Ur," Sadrith all but choked on the words, "He's--Nerevarine saved him, like I said."

(Had she said it? She didn't remember.)

"I came to see if she was well. The nords, you understand, are in awe, but...frightened, and I offered to see what had become of her. I think they thought I would not survive it, and were eager to get rid of me."

"Well, they have every reason to be afraid!" Sadrith burst out, "I didn't kill any of them, did I?"

"Not a one, but then, I warned them of what was happening. You took care of every Thalmor who marched on Markarth...and even those that didn't. What happened, exactly?"

"I--I failed to control myself," Sadrith all but squeaked.

I failed.

And that's all you ever do, is fail, when you do not obey my will.

"Sithis...I don't know what he did, but...I just...lost my mind."

It was easy to fall into that Madness, so easy - almost a relief, really. Gone was the chaos, and present was glorious silence.

What is the music of life?

They didn't need to hear about Dagoth Ur, and the devil himself wasn't in any shape to do anyone harm right now anyway.

"He has grown impatient," Umaril said, "Father wishes you to do the job he made you for, and given you have almost since creation defied him and sought to preserve life he has grown more and more unpleasant."

"As if Sithis could ever be pleasant." Voryn scoffed.

"You don't understand. He isn't merely the void any longer," Umaril said, "He's been an Altmer for years now, advising me in matters of war."

"And why should we trust you?" Voryn asked.

"Why should we trust YOU?" Kogolanu echoed.

"This isn't helping!" Sadrith burst out. "You're here and not there. Explain why we should listen, before they start bickering more."

"I saw..." Umaril swallowed slightly, "Your defiance, and your strength, and began to doubt father's ideal that it was time to bring this kalpa to a close. So he--"

"Saw--what do you mean?"

"Is that really what you--" Voryn started, but then stopped suddenly, looking apologetic.

"No," Sadrith replied before he could speak again, "You're right, we don't have time for that question. Umaril, go-go on."

Like him. I need to be more like him. Stoic, stony, serious. Sssss. Stop it. Stop it. Be a rock. A rock doesn't show anything. Only a rock's going to be able to get through going back to Markarth and facing the nords.

You've gone mad, haven't you? No...no, you were always mad.

"Father has been in a mortal body, and has begun to...to act strangely, as a result, in ways he never did before. He was logical, detached - all the things you might consider to be desirable in one who builds and tears things down again. But now - I can only call them mortal things, he's going through them. I'm certain that's the way we're going to get him."

"What, because he laughs at suffering, he's susceptible to death? Who told you that?"

"My brother did. I'm saying he's in a mortal shell, and he's beginning to enjoy that shell, which may be our ticket." Umaril shifted slightly. "The more attached to a body you are, the more of your...self...is attached to it. With beings like Sithis it is no different."

"He could just make a new body then," Sadrith replied. "Lorkhan's done it a bunch of times. Why should Sithis be any different?"

"Sithis as a concept, no. Sithis as a person..."

"That's a mad idea," Voryn said.

The next sentence practically burst from Sadrith's lips; it felt as if she would explode if she didn't say the words.

"Blessed are the Madmen, for they hold the keys to secret knowledge."

She was sure Umaril would have something to say, some criticism or the other. But he only smiled, and replied, "Blessed are the Artists, for in their hands the impossible is made real."

"Right now," Kogolanu said, "She is not fit to walk alone, and I'm not sure how fit you think you are to be seen by the nords. They hate us, if you hadn't noticed."

"I am...very much aware," Umaril replied, "The Forsworn at least are my allies, at least for the moment. They understand the need to repress certain...certain urges, and they have certain means of protection against such things."

"I assume that's what the marking on her forehead was for," Kogolanu said. "It's faded - is she safe?"

"Safe for now."

"Then--how do I stay that way? Pray to the Divines? They never answered me before when I asked what I ought to do next. What--what good will they be now?" Sadrith took a shaky breath. "I could speak to the Sybil of Dibella and the priest of Arkay, but I don't see that it would do me any good."

She had no hope for it to work out, but she wasn't going to say so in front of Voryn.

"Perhaps you might speak to Jyggalag as well," Umaril said, "Because there is one among his service who would have some answers for you, who might have some idea of what your plans were before. Most of the daedric princes will be unwilling, or unable to render aid."

"I wish I had Jyggalag's sword," she said, "Whenever I hold it, my mind is still."

And with all of this still going on - with so many possible options, she was lost in the shuffle of it all.

Umaril looked out of the tent again, and seemed to call to someone.

"Madanach and his party have returned...there are some Thalmor with them. Briarhearts, by the look of them." Then a pause. "A hagraven, too."

"It's alright, mother," Sadrith said, when Kogolanu looked concerned, "I helped them. If they wanted me dead they'd just have killed me already. We should...talk to them, and then head back to Markarth."

Dibella, she thought. I should speak to the Sybil of Dibella. Even if the aedra weren't speaking to her, maybe they'd speak to F...f...what was her name? Her. They would speak to her, since she was sort of Dibella in a way.

Everything hurt, from the battle and the lack of skooma. Sadrith groaned as she got to her feet again, and found herself helped by both her mother and Voryn.

"We do not need your help, devil," Kogolanu said.

"Mother," she said, "Please."

Her mother stayed silent, and stayed holding her right hand, while Voryn held her left.

Why's he doing it?

The sun seemed too bright, and Sadrith winced at the feel of it on her eyes, but kept quiet as her thoughts ran wild.

The Forsworn might have some idea, but the aedra couldn't or wouldn't...

Boethiah, she might help, it could help to ask her mother to help her pray in that direction. Mephala...no, probably not. Dagon, since his sphere was revolution. But he might be TOO dangerous, like Boethiah. Sheogorath...a possibility, since from what the Alduin told her he WAS part of what she was a part of too. Less likely to be useful.

Oddly, her next thought was Peryite.

She decided to ask Madanach. If she had learned anything of late it was never to trust her own judgment in anything of importance. Umaril seemed to understand things well enough. Madanach and the hagraven might have something to say regarding Kynareth, or Kyne rather.

For a second, in the gathering group of Forsworn and risen dead Thalmor Sadrith could swear she saw Sithis.

You cannot fight him. He is unending, inevitable.

Then he was gone.

Chapter Text

Plague

Sadrith felt more than a little sick, but forced herself forward anyway. The Forsworn, maybe they would have some answers...?

"Madanach," she said in greeting, struggling to meet his eyes. "I...am sorry for anything you might have had to see. I wasn't...in command of myself."

She looked to the nearest hagraven.

"The morsel speaks in a tongue but not the tongue," she said, "Kyne weeps for her lost love, the heart of the world."

"Why me?" Sadrith asked, unable to stop herself. She had never felt more raw, more useless. "I didn't...I didn't choose this, I..."

"They tell us," Madanach said evenly, almost gently, "That yes, you did not choose this - Shor did."

Why me? Why not someone like the nerevarine? Why not someone worth being a hero? Why not someone who could treat it like the battle it was instead of laughing at every absurdity?

"Shor...I don't..." she shook her head. She didn't want to say he chose poorly, but really, she DID think that. "I don't understand. Well...I do understand, but I don't know how I'm supposed to fight what isn't really..."

She couldn't tell them that she'd seen him now for who knew how many years. The insults, the insistence that she do the job she was made for. The choking. At least now it all made sense.

"The sword injures him, but it doesn't seem to last. I know, I...cut his hand. He grabbed it like it was nothing, even if it did..." She shook her head. "I...the, the, the sword..."

The words didn't want to come. She felt her mother's presence at her elbow, and then her soft voice.

"Don't force it."

Sadrith took a deep breath, and then started again.

"How did you stop the...what was wrong with me?"

"Magics," the hagraven said, "Kyne's breath to ease the black fire in your heart, written through the art of Dibella."

One of the hagraven's talons reached up to gently touch her forehead, and she saw its tip come away with blue paint.

...Dibella...countering the madness...would it do the same for...? No, that's absurd, you don't win wars with art. You should know better, Sadrith, this is Sithis, not a painting!

She looked up, stared at the sun.

"We're all here," she said suddenly, "But I don't know what to do. There are parts...Alduin, Sheogorath, Jyggalag..."

"What does the madgod have to do with it?" Kogolanu asked. "Have you made offerings to him?"

"Not...exactly," she said, "It's...difficult to explain."

She stopped.

"We should include Ulfric in these talks, or some of the Stormcloaks but I don't know how to get them to take the stick out of their ass about elves," she said, "They only tolerate me because I'm the dragonborn."

"Imagine how they'll feel when they hear you're their precious Talos." Voryn spoke up, "The look on the face of those nords..."

"They don't need to know that part, they'd think I was committing some sort of crime." Sadrith took another deep breath. "Voryn. Umaril. One of you. I can't...sort this all out. I know what I'm supposed to do, but I don't know how to get there. I know the other bits of Lorkhan have something to do with it, but I've never been good at connecting the pieces."

"It will have to be you in some form or fashion, in the end," Umaril said. "My brother was the lynchpin, the center post of it all. He's been trying to be ready for since he first began to doubt Father's orders."

"Then why has he failed? Why is..."

"Father still thought he would obey, or that I would."

"And why should we trust YOU?" Voryn cut in, "Umaril the Unfeathered, the King of the Thalmor--"

"The Sharmat," Umaril replied sharply, "The Devil of Dagoth, the blight of Morrowind, then--"

"STOP!"

Sadrith burst out.

She wanted to shout that if they didn't shut up she'd just do it herself, but she knew better. It was a dumb thing even to think. All she wanted was silence, and none of them would give it to her.

What is the music of life?

She couldn't think properly when it was quiet and now she could think even less.

"Is there a way to properly speak to all of Lorkhan's parts?" she asked, "I tried it in a painting, but..."

She looked around - at Madanach, at the hagravens, at Umaril, at Voryn.

At her mother.

She just wished it were simpler. That her mother, that any of them, could tell her what to do and she could do it.

But she had to figure this out, and that wasn't going to be simple. Why could it not be?

"Where is the brush?" she asked suddenly, clarifying when she got a few strange looks. "Dibella's brush?"

Voryn moved off, and Kogolanu followed him. They returned a minute or two later with her bags bickering over something she didn't pay attention to, and Sadrith took it in her hand.

"Dibella's gift," the hagraven said.

"No it's not. I bought it," she said, "From an artist."

"If you were not one yourself she could have easily taken it back. You have it because Dibella wishes you to have it, as she did with the Whitestrake's helmet."

Deep breath. It didn't help.

"So what do I DO?" she asked. "The Thalmor they sent are gone but there's going to be more. I told Odahviing to tell the dragons to devour them if they wanted. Everything is happening at once and I don't know what to do. All the wisdom in the world isn't going to help me if it doesn't tell me what to do."

Skooma. What she wanted right now was skooma, something to calm that rushing river in her mind that seemed to only grow worse day by day. The ache in her joints was almost nothing in comparison - pain she could handle, but this chaos was intolerable.

She understood Jyggalag now more than she thought she ever had before. He was desperate not to become what he always did, and she--

"That's the problem," Umaril said, after watching her for a few moments. "I know his wearing a mortal shell must be a key to it."

"You can't simply kill the void," Voryn said.

"Of course not, you can't stab an idea, but he's not an idea. I saw him. He's a thing now. A person." Sadrith suddenly thought of something and began to dig through her potion bag for the White Phial, which she uncorked. "I have his blood, so we know he bleeds."

The hagravens shrieked. A few of the warriors reached for their weapons, and even her mother muttered a prayer to Azura.

Only Voryn and Umaril failed to react.

Sadrith recorked the bottle.

Idiot. Idiot, you should have known better than to take it out!

Shame filled her from head to toe, and again came the thought that it would be far better for one of them to start this fight instead of her.

She wasn't capable, she knew that. Alduin was...different. Dragons were easy, and she'd had help...

Help...

Maybe that was it. She felt relief at the realization, and then another fresh wave of shame. Of course it would go easier if she had help! It was like realizing farming was easier with tools!

But she had to keep going. They all looked at her like she was the hero and she had to pick herself up and keep going.

"So, you put a mark on my head and the madness won't work," she said, "I can't go into it again. We have Umbra. We have the brush. I have...talking with Lorkhan's bits seems like the reasonable course to take to figure out...something. But out here...with the Thalmor, I'll need to talk to the Stormcloaks, and...Voryn, if you could send a letter to--"

A pulse.

Something is wrong.

The sky darkened overhead, and she looked up to see the sun go black and--expand--

Voryn cursed.

The blackness expanded to cover the sky, and in the sun's place a ring of blood-red, orbiting clouds.

"Sigurd, what have you done?" Voryn groaned.

"What in the--"

A thunderclap sounded off overhead, and a moment later it began to rain.

Rain which was swiftly followed by shrieks among the crowd of Forsworn.

"What?" Madanach called out, "What is it?"

"Look!" one reached out his hands. "Look!"

The water, still falling from the sky, was not clear but black, and where it struck his skin shriveled, dried, and worst of all, began to split open--and that warrior was not the only one.

Those around them - those living - struck by the rain, suffered the shriveling and splitting. She seemed untouched, as did Voryn and Umaril, and that she could not explain.

"Take cover!" Madanach called out--everyone scrambled for shelter, for the tents.

Sadrith was about to direct her mother back to the tent they'd left when a sudden absence formed in the air before her.

"I told you," the thin, grey voice said, as the Aldmeri form of Sithis appeared before them, "That you would come to me in the end."

"They saved me," she said, wavering, stepping back. "I am--not--your tool."

He didn't seem to notice the fear. Or if he did, he didn't care.

"Your stubborn refusal to do what I made you for is the cause of all this," Sithis said, "Remember that, when you see them screaming and dying around you. You could have put an end to it early, but instead you will watch them all die slowly. Of time, of hunger, of thirst...of disease."

He pointed a finger directly at her face.

"All because of you."

A glance, at Voryn. A smirk, a knowing one. Then Umaril.

Then he was gone.

Sadrith fell to her knees and started to sob. The weight of it all seemed to crash down on her shoulders and bring her down with it, and wracked her with sobs.

When she felt a hand at her shoulder she looked up to see - Voryn.

"You were right," she said, hiccuping, "You've always been right. I've never taken any of this seriously and now they're all going to die."

She couldn't even get a handle on her own mind, and Sithis was in command of the skies and who knew how many other things. How could she fight him, her, this broken gathering of Lorkhan's parts?

But Sadrith stood to her feet, despite the rushing in her mind.

She had to get back up.

Someone had to do something, and as with Alduin...it looked like it had to be her.

Chapter Text

The Circle

Her mother, she could understand, despite having to be covered from head to toe. Even Umaril (who had decided to go with them in disguise, for some reason as a nord, proclaiming himself to the others as a hunter who'd had to carefully hide himself from the Thalmor). The Stormcloaks, who seemed to follow her stiff gait like she was leading them, when they reached the encampment and gave the news. Some of the Stormcloaks muttered prayers to Talos, the one or two orcs did the same with Malacath.

Nothing was said of the Forsworn; Madanach had asked as much - this would buy them a little time both to process what the battle left behind, plan for the future, and make use of the Thalmor's bodies. When she asked how she was to explain the symbol they'd marked her forehead with. An eyeshape with a single tear, a hagraven told her, Kyne's weeping for her champion.

Why Voryn would keep following her after that remark about Sigurd, Sadrith didn't know. She was desperate to think of anything else than the void-rain still falling on them, of Umbra which was carefully wrapped in one of her bags yet whispering still, and looked up to him as he walked beside her.

"What did Sigurd do?"

Here he gave a somewhat shortened story - something to do with vampires, and a plot to blot out the sun with the blood of a "daughter of Coldharbour," that he'd helped Sigurd prevent.

(She was almost certain she'd heard him speak of it before...but so much had happened to make everything else run through her fingers like ash.)

"A pure blooded vampire?" Sadrith shuddered. "Gods, the poor woman."

"That woman, Serana," Voryn said, "Was the one you killed south of Riften. She bit Sigurd, and his...blood was still tainted with corprus. I'm not sure why it affected her when he was supposed to have been cured, but..."

"But it did."

"He collected a few bundles of arrows tainted with her blood, something about 'insurance.' I thought nothing of it; he's always been the type to be overly prepared. But..."

"But Dagoth Ur had him. Not that he's good for much right now. He doesn't...he has barely spoken since finding out nothing he did was his choice...but Sithis acting through him."

She looked to Umaril, who gave a nod.

"Everything Lorkhan has done, Father has tried to poison. Dagoth Ur was...he considered the mer one of his greatest victories."

Voryn's face sunk into his hands.

"Why would Sigurd do this?"

"He wanted to save you, maybe. He felt terrible for...everything, and decided to take it all on his own shoulders. Sithis must have..."

"Made his move." Umaril said.

"What move?" her mother asked, walking suddenly up from a few paces back.

"Sigurd," Sadrith said, "The Nerevarine. He took on the...the burden of Dagoth Ur so Voryn could be himself again."

Had she said that already? She didn't remember. Too much was happening.

Kogolanu's hand shot up to her mouth, then quickly lowered again. "I heard the story he told when he came down from Red Mountain, but...to think that he would..."

"Sithis is hedging his bets," Umaril cut in suddenly, "Nerevar was widely held to be a shezarrine, and as his incarnate, Sigurd would have his notice too, even if he weren't. Father does have a hard time letting go of his tools. And putting one of his most useful into another..."

"So it doubled when he took Dagoth Ur, then." The idea that an incarnate could be cut from the same cloth as the original didn't make sense, but nothing did anymore. Umaril was there. Voryn Dagoth was there. Rain that killed was there. This was a theater of the absurd, and only for a brief moment did she let the thought linger.

No. Be serious. This isn't a joke, it's not funny!

"This makes no sense," she finally said aloud, "None of it. If it were less dangerous I'd laugh."

"And why not laugh?"

It surprised her to hear that from Voryn of all people, but he'd said it, and she had to take a moment to process that too. Him, taking amusement in anything so serious? Since when?

"Because Sithis walks among us," Sadrith replied, "And my laughter makes no difference to anything or anyone."

She looked down at the black, shining streaks on the ground. Emptiness, where she had stepped in Pelinal's armor, spots where she assumed Thalmor blood must have fallen. Where their blood fell was void. How could she laugh after seeing this?

"Your laughter is everything, my little mushroom," Kogolanu spoke gently, squeezing her daughter's hand, "What devilry has the void wrought upon you that you think otherwise?"

"Mother," she protested as they neared the stables outside Markarth, "The guards will see us, even if they're hiding in the stalls to keep out of the rain. I am--laughter doesn't defeat darkness."

"It brings light," Voryn spoke, surprising her again. "And that can be enough."

She would not be convinced, and she resolved not to laugh at this again. Play time was over. This was war, and wars were not won with giggles and snorts.

And laughs of all sorts!

Her brain finished the thought automatically, forming a stupid poem from nowhere.

The Sheogorath in her, she thought. He was in everyone, she just had more than the average share. If he was a part of Lorkhan it only made sense, but she wished there was more of Jyggalag to steady him out.

(It occurred to her that there was, not in the order, but in the desperate attempt to keep it. Jyggalag was not order, he needed order, just as she did.)

The stable grounds were dotted with blood, and Sadrith stiffened her posture, trying to look like the hero they all thought her to be as she passed them. Frightened faces, that she saw, anyway.

Be strong for them. They need it.

"Dragonborn, what is going on?" she imagined them asking, or maybe they had and she was hearing the words but not comprehending them. She took a deep breath, and yelled for them to stay under cover, not to expose flesh to the black rain.

"Is it a Thalmor trick?" one of the Stormcloaks asked. Their eyes flicked suspiciously over her mother, eased up when she explained who the woman was and on impulse she explained the Thalmor had held her hostage.

It was easier than saying this strange nord with strange eyes flew her here.

"This is--more than that," she said. Gods, how was she going to tell them? That this war meant nothing in the grand scheme of things? That the Thalmor were pawns, every one of them? "The Thalmor army is defeated. For now."

The look of awe when they saw the black void-rain strike her flesh and do nothing - it colored her face red with shame. There were whispers --

Deep breath. It didn't help.

It never did.

Markarth was all but a ghost town when the guards opened the doors.

"The Jarl," she said, "And--the High King. I need to see them both over this. Where are they both?"

"The Jarl's in Understone, and the High King is at your home, dragonborn. What--where is this rain coming from? What daedric devilry is this?"

"Talos is angry with us," another guard said. "A rain of swords, this."

"It's not from Talos, and it's not from daedra, it's from something worse." Sadrith took another breath. "I'm going to speak to Ulfric first. Just let the Jarl know I'll...I'll be along to see him later."

He'd understand, if no one else did.

And then a thought, a thought that burned her with shame for not thinking of it sooner.

"LOK--VAH KOOR!"

For a moment she thought it would clear the rain away, that it would have SOME sort of effect...

...but it didn't. The void-rain went on unceasingly.

The damp on her skin made the chill going down her spine even colder.

"What was that supposed to do?" Voryn asked.

"Clear the skies," she said, "I can call a storm, that one is supposed to..."

The horror rose. Would her Shouts work at all? If that one didn't work, how could OTHER Shouts...

(Fearful whispering.)

Deep breath. She ignored whatever Voryn was saying now and kept moving onwards to Vlindrel. Ulfric. For all the bad shape he was in, at least he'd understand being under this kind of pressure. Having everyone look to him. It'd be helpful. Somehow.

The mildly pleasant thought withered and died at the threshold.

She found Ulfric by the fireplace, speaking about...something...with Argis. Her mother was introduced, and promptly started brewing something in the cooking pot. Once the Stormcloak captain brought Ulfric up on the particulars, Sadrith had him go so he could let the Jarl know the same.

"We need to talk," Sadrith said to Ulfric. "And I don't have anyone else who'll understand."

(A sharp breath. Voryn?)

"What's going on?" Ulfric asked. "They tell me you tore through the Thalmor like soft bread. They're...they say the elves screamed 'Whitestrake', and ran for their lives. And then the sun, then the rain--"

When Argis got up, she took the seat across from Ulfric. Voryn was her shadow, standing just behind her.

"What happened," Sadrith swallowed. "Did you ever read about Pelinal's madness?"

"Enough. But what happened to you, it can't have been that."

"It was." She took a deep breath. "I couldn't stop it. They fell so easily, and I lost myself. You're only lucky it eased away...otherwise...you need only go just outside of Markarth to see the proof. Where their blood spilled has turned to void."

She lowered her head.

"He," she gestured in Voryn's direction, "Is the reason I'm sane and talking to you. But if we don't do something, none of this is going to matter anymore. It's not the daedra, or the Thalmor, or...any of that. It's something...someone...worse. I don't...I don't even know if you're going to believe me. But someone has to."

"At this point, I might believe anything." Ulfric sounded ashamed. "You tell me they played me for a fool, that this entire rebellion was...merely useful for them. What could be worse?"

"Sithis." Sadrith took in a deep and shaky breath and tried to think of how to frame the truth, even it was partly a believable lie. "The father of Shor, though he didn't want it known. I've...encountered some word walls showing that he made Shor to destroy...everything, I suppose. And he didn't. He fought for Tamriel to exist."

"And Talos has done the same."

"Talos is...a part of Shor, that he made to...well, shore up the world against his father." She looked into the fire, watched the dancing shadows it cast. Then she looked up at Ulfric. "And I've discovered that Sithis is behind the Thalmor push to conquer entirely."

"And where did you find THAT out?"

She took another deep breath.

How to put this?

How to say it that he wouldn't immediately...

No, it didn't matter any longer. If the fool disbelieved her then he disbelieved her.

"From the former Thalmor leader himself. Believe me or don't. He's been playing us all for fools. Six layers of deceit, wars never meant to end, because victory for one side wasn't the point. Death was. It was ALWAYS the point."

He didn't seem to have any words.

"He is angry Shor did not do the job he was sent for," she said, "And now...and now, he means to do it himself. He's blotted out the sun, sent the rain that cuts anything alive..."

Deep breath.

"But it didn't cut you," he said suddenly. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's the dragon blood." Sadrith wouldn't say it yet. It felt blasphemous, the idea that she might be Shor, or Lorkhan, or whatever name he might be using, even if it was confirmed by everything so far. Even the word Shezarrine felt wrong. And that was without adding in the bit about Alduin too! "I just know I have to do something about him, but I'm going to need your help. Everyone's help, really, but they won't listen to me as easily as they will you, not around here."

Too much was going on. Too much. But she had to handle it, because who else could?

"I'll do what I can, but you know Silver-blood," Ulfric said.

"Maybe I should give him a good strike on the side of the head," she said. "That seems to be the only thing some of these meatheads understand."

"As amusing as that would be to watch, not so helpful in the long run, I think," Voryn said.

She watched the fire a bit longer, her mother bustling over the stew that was cooking. The domestic sounds of food, and care.

"How do you bear it?" she asked. "Knowing everyone looks to you. Knowing they rest their hopes on you."

"I find someone to rely on," Ulfric said, "Galmar has been a great help. When I doubt myself, he's always been there to help me through it. I imagine that's why you have your tall friend here."

"I need reminders to handle things more seriously," Sadrith said, "I have a tendency to laugh too often at things. It's...a habit of mine I'm trying to get over."

She took a deep breath. The words were already running, and there was no point in keeping them in anymore. What did it matter? Sithis was out there. They could all die tomorrow. What did letting out her skoomaless brainrot matter now?

"Even with Alduin, I laughed at him. It almost seemed to please him, in a way."

A look back at the fire.

"I know how to kill dragons, bandits, but...the void..." She shook her head. "It really should have been you all this time. You would have made more sense."

"Yet it was you." Ulfric seemed to find a half-smile. "And we are better off for it. If it were me I would still likely be moldering in insanity in that prison cell. They would have killed me at Helgen, maybe."

"We were both supposed to die there," Sadrith mused quietly. "And...somehow it was Alduin to save us."

She stopped, a sudden insane thought crossing her mind. She was sure she'd thought it before, but memory was a muddle right now. A swamp to slog through, while coated in honey during winter.

"I wonder if he knew." Then realizing how that might sound, she went on. "If he did, maybe he just wanted a good challenge. Not like Sithis, who just...wants everything to end."

"Maybe that's it." Ulfric stopped. "The World-Eater challenged us, that we might be ready for the true foe. Tested us, as Shor meant to."

It surprised her that he'd agree with her, even more so what he came up with next.

"I agree," Voryn finally spoke up again, "Though I think it also might be that the World-eater wanted to make a spectacle of things...his ilk always do."

"I had a lot of time alone in that...black cell..." Ulfric went on, looking only at her. "I saw things, things...most of them were delusions, I'm sure. Whispers, in the darkness. That dream I told you about, and there were others."

He rambled, much as she did. His was temporary (or rather, she hoped it would be) but it was so refreshing to see someone with the same problem.

You fool, they locked him up! He went insane! Your fiddly mind is nothing to that suffering!

She tried to ignore the voice in her head, her own voice. When Voryn talked again it was easier.

"It is plain," he said, "That we need Lorkhan's aid in this somehow. Or Shor, as your people call him. Or Talos."

The word was bitter on his tongue.

"And what do you know of it?" Ulfric, so friendly with her, turned sharp when speaking to Voryn. "How do I know you are not some spy?"

"This is not helpful," Sadrith said, "It benefits no one even if he was a spy, which he isn't. Sithis doesn't care about sides anymore, he's got enough on his. He has the Thalmor convinced he is their leader. He has the Empire convinced I am their enemy. He sets us apart so he can break us down into blood."

"It is how he works," Umaril spoke solemnly.

It all seemed so ridiculous...she wanted to laugh, but bit it back. No. This was not the time to laugh. War was no laughing matter.

Her mind was a typhoon again--

How had a bowl of stew gotten into her lap?

"Eat," her mother said, "You aren't saving anyone on an empty stomach."

Then Kogolanu looked at Ulfric, then at Umaril.

"And both of you, too. You are no good to anyone if you fall from hunger in the war room."

Ulfric, stunned by the order, merely took the bowl he was offered.

"Have you considered asking your Dibella for help?" Kogolanu suggested. "The Forsworn tell me you have her brush. Is there not a Temple of Dibella here in Markarth?"

"I've tried praying to the Nine, and none of them ever..." Sadrith took in a deep breath. "I could try, but I don't know what good it will do."

Perhaps if she WAS shezarrine, then they were ignoring her. Perhaps they were angry. But in that case why give her the dragonblood? Surely Akatosh would have known what she was before...

What good was she?

No. No, something else in her said. The time for pitying herself could come later. If she failed, she could indulge it before death. If she succeeded, she could hole up in one of her houses and...

...something. For all the wandering she loved doing, a bone deep weariness was growing and growing.

The rest of them needed her to do this.

She grabbed the helm of Pelinal and headed out the door.

The doors of the Temple of Dibella opened, and Fjotra sat there, as if waiting. Even when she'd been rescued there was something...unnatural about her. As if she were a spirit wearing a child's skin.

Perhaps she understands how I feel, then. The shell for something more.

"I've come to...pray...ask advice...a mix of the two." Sadrith took a deep breath. "I've tried with other Divines, and none have answered."

"Your spirit is disturbed."

"My spirit was born disturbed," she said, more than a little ruefully.

"Yes," Fjotra said, coming forward and taking the helmet from her. "It is not your fault, but it happens when one grows beyond what one was made for."

A pause.

"Is there anything of you in there?" Sadrith asked, unable to stop the question. "Anything left but Dibella?"

"Dibella is in us all. I just have more of her than most." There was a little smile. "It was necessary."

"Why?"

Fjotra set the helmet down, beside the statue of Dibella behind her.

"I have had many dreams since coming here to the Temple of Dibella," Fjotra said, "A lot of them normal. But some..."

She looked back.

"I speak for Dibella," she said, "And Dibella speaks for all the Divine."

Sadrith looked down at the statue, and the helmet. There was a nagging sense of familiarity, and an annoyance at feeling it. She kept her mouth shut - on that, at least.

"Why won't they speak to me?"

"They hold hands together, like you do when playing, and dancing in a circle. But they aren't playing anymore." She clasped her hands as if to demonstrate.

"What...is the circle for?"

"To keep the bad man inside it." Fjotra paused. "I read the stories about how everything was made. The elves say Lorkhan trapped them here, and they want to go back."

"Is it true?"

Something...something felt on the tip of her tongue. It was almost right. Almost.

"Dibella wanted me to say that Nirn was a trap," Fjotra said, her tone mysterious and yet childlike all at once, "But it wasn't a trap for the elves."

Chapter Text

Seeking Aid

"What am I supposed to do?" Sadrith asked, after a long silence. "Well, I know what I'm supposed to do, but I don't know how to do it."

"Lady Dibella has said you are in pieces, and you must collect them." Fjotra smiled.

Again Sadrith remembered the pillars, the words from each of them.

"As many pieces as possible, to finish the puzzle, that it might have better shape." There was a pause. "Maybe also talk to the moon lady and the shadow lady? She thinks they might be able to help."

"Moon and shadow--oh. Azura and Nocturnal." She took a breath. "Is there any more?"

"Maybe. I'm tired...Lady Dibella tells me many things and I don't always remember them. That's what the others are for. But I told you the really important things, and you already know how important the art is."

The art?

The child took the helmet of Pelinal in her hands and lifted it for Sadrith to take.

"If I remember anything I'll send someone to tell you."

It didn't feel like enough, and she was almost certain Azura wouldn't want to help her. She'd fucked the Sharmat, or at least what was left of him.

What a mistake that had been! All it had gotten her was his momentary lust and that glare she saw in her head every time she thought of being silly. Even if she was grateful for it in some ways, Azura wouldn't approve of any of that. At the same time though...the world could literally be ending, surely she would want to do something! And yet on top of everything else--

No. No dithering. Do not. Do NOT. Start getting fractured again. Be like a rock, like HE is.

She took a deep breath. Help. She needed to get HELP.

One. thing. at a TIME.

As she stepped down the stairs she thought, briefly, of Molag Bal when her eyes crossed the door of that house his shrine was in. But then she thought of his sphere, and could only imagine what price he would ask despite his own existence being in danger. She'd read enough of Vivec's sermons to figure the sort of things he could and would do, and then there was how the vampires were made, and...

STOP. THINKING.

Deep breath.

It was all a cloud of flies, constantly buzzing. A hundred hands yanking her in different directions. And then above it all, a black cloud...

I just want things to be simple. Orderly. Right.

She looked up. The void-rain went on still, and despite the suffering she already knew it was causing, there was one thing she appeciated, if only for a moment.

How quiet it made things.

Silence.

Comfort.

Home.

This is the gift of true oblivion. No more chaos, only silence, the most beautiful music in all creation.

The buzzing cloud and rushing river were gone. For one glorious, beautiful, wonderful minute they were gone, all of them, no worries or cares or things to be tracked.

Only silence in all its overwhelming ecstasy.

The message was clear, wherever that thought came from. She could have the thing she wanted most, if only she gave up everything and everyone else.

No, she thought, These people deserve to live more than I deserve a clear head...and I can manage the silence with skooma.

And Talos, Shor, Lorkhan, whoever he was...

And Fadomai gave birth to Lorkhaj, the last of her litter, in the Great Darkness. And the Heart of Lorkhaj was filled with the Great Darkness.

That madness that she had felt, that Pelinal had so reduced with the world, no doubt that was the darkness.

Drifting and blowing in the wind, those thoughts. Noise. Nothing but noise.

We curse you, noisy Lorkhaj, to wander Nirn for many phases.

She decided, before going back to Vlindrel, that she'd go to the Talos shrine and see if she could accomplish anything there. Better now than later when she'd have a dozen people over her shoulder.

Sadrith looked at the shrine, as she had all that time ago at the one near Whiterun, with no small amount of doubt.

"I asked you to guide me before, and you brought that nord soldier and the Thalmor group. But if this is right then we're...we're not the same, but we serve the same end. Did you know? I never did." She took a deep, shaky breath, and covered her eyes. "Give me something to go on."

Then she paused.

The feeling was faint, buzzing before and somehow inside of her all at once.

"Or can you do anything?" she gave a slight shiver. "They tore out your Heart but all the stories I've heard have had bits of you functioning WITHOUT it, and you're not like the Divines who can't seem to manifest at all, like the daedric princes could...I've seen Nocturnal."

She sighed.

"And if I'm you then how do I do what you do? I don't know how to do anything a shezarrine SHOULD do, or Lorkhan, or whatever I am. There's...limits and it's like I've got a thousand locks over all the parts of me that are useful."

A new thought...she would have to talk to Nocturnal anyway, wouldn't she?

As for Azura...

She won't want to give me any help but I don't see there's much choice but to ask her. I can just...do something when I talk to Nocturnal. Not here. They don't like either of those daedric princes here.

And if she COULD speak to Azura, maybe Boethiah or Mephala...but no, their reputations were nearly as bad as Molag Bal. Sheogorath and Jyggalag...well, they made more sense.

Silence. I want SILENCE.

The aches and pains were nothing to the chaos in her head.

Deep breath.

One thing at a time. Vlindrel. Mother. Voryn. Umaril. Ulfric.

She forced herself to walk back and struggled to keep the river from getting any worse.

When she stepped into the house Sadrith took another deep breath before heading forward, to find that Voryn was helping her mother clear the dining table.

The world's gone mad.

"Did you learn anything?" he asked, looking up on sight of her.

"And I quote," Sadrith said, "'You are in pieces, and you must collect them.' She suggested...praying, and collecting artifacts related to Lorkhan. Shor."

"But?"

"I know of a few that I have," she went on, "Or that I know where they are..."

Umaril appeared from the direction of the bookcases just as she was going over the list Alduin had given her again. Alduin himself, though...

(Didn't he say to seek his home, or...or whatever word that had been? She didn't remember.)

"Madness. Logic. Fire. Shadow. Warrior. Emperor. One. Eleven. Ayleid." She paused. "Sheogorath, so I'd need the Wabbajack or some artifact of his. Logic is Jygglag, and I have his sword. Fire, that's Alduin, but I don't know what of his I might have. Shadow, nocturnal, I have a lead there. Warrior, Pelinal, I have his armor. Ayleid...is that maybe--?"

"Me?" Umaril asked. "I'm not a part of Lorkhan."

"Maybe it's figurative," she said. "One and eleven, though, I don't know what THAT could mean."

The sound of a plate smashing against the floor.

Voryn swore and moved down to clean the shards of the empty bowl he'd just been holding.

"I think I might have figured that one out," he said, "But it's so absurd, it can't be..."

"What is it?"

"One of Vivec's rambling sermons referenced the Hortator - Nerevar, and by extension the Nerevarine - and the Sharmat, that...that is, Dagoth Ur." He paused, and recited, 'Hortator and Sharmat, one and one, eleven, an inelegant number. Which of the ones is the more important? Could you ever tell if they switched places?'"

"'I can and that is why you will need me,'" Sadrith finished.

(Really, hadn't they switched places, she thought?)

"Does Sigurd still have the mask? Anything of Nerevar's?"

"He has the moon-and-star," Voryn said, "Never takes it off. As for the mask...it's...at the College of Winterhold, under lock and key, warded to oblivion and back. Not that that will matter, if he's..."

"One thing at a time," she said. "Well, no, not one thing at a time, there's too much going on. I can't just--"

She took a few heaving breaths, clenched her hands at her temples.

Her mother came, from the bedroom or some other direction, she didn't really pay attention to which. And surprisingly, so did Voryn.

"You have never been like this before," said the latter. "Is it Sithis, whispering things in your ear?"

"This is just how she is when she's not doing well," Kogolanu said defensively, "Sadrith, when is the last time you stopped to relax? Take a moment and draw something, even."

"I can't relax!" she snapped. "Sithis is coming to kill everyone and you want me to RELAX?! I can't. I can't--not. Not even for a moment. What good is a doodle going to do all this?"

Useless. Useless, you are useless like this!

Every step of progress only saw her yanked further back.

Screaming. River. Hortator, Sharmat, one, eleven, Heart of Lorkhan, Vivec, Sithis, dead, death, dying, dying.

She just wanted it to stop.

Jyggalag's sword, she thought suddenly. That would help, if nothing else would. She needed the control back, more than anything right now. The ability to shape herself and make it all go away.

"I'm--fine," she said, after hiccuping for a moment, taking a deep breath, standing straight up again. "I...I am fine now."

"You are not fine, my little mushroom," her mother said, "And you know you aren't."

"I have to be," she said, looking around at them all. And then she realized something, and latched onto it to shove aside the panic. "Where's Ulfric?"

Gods, if he had seen that lapse - well, he had his own so maybe he'd understand, but she didn't want anyone to see it to begin with.

It wasn't a longterm solution but distracting herself from the rushing river and panic was a strategy and she'd take what she could get.

"He went to speak to the Jarl. I overheard enough when one of the Stormcloaks came to the door...they've captured a few prisoners, but they didn't say how many or who they were, they saw me listening in. They don't trust me."

"They don't trust any elves." Sadrith took a deep, shaky breath. "I still need to talk to the Jarl about this, and then...and then, I can...I need to go back to Heljarchen for the first of the, the artifacts."

Deep breath. It didn't help.

She did yield when her mother insisted she at least try to eat half a bowl of soup before going back outside.

Will it ever end?

If you allow it to, it will.

A pause.

She headed for the door, unable not to see the concern in her mother's face. It was comforting, despite...despite everything.

But to see the same in Voryn's eyes...

What was that about? Why should he care? He'd never looked at her like that before, that she remembered. Something like it with the dragon at Helgen, but this?

"I'm going with you," he said suddenly.

Why? She didn't understand.

"I don't want my mother alone, who knows what'll happen here," Sadrith said when he started after her. "Between the Stormcloaks, even if Ulfric approves of me. And you know, the Silverbloods...

"I can stay," Umaril replied evenly. "And see if there's anything I can do to puzzle this out. I have a steadier mind for planning the war, I think, than you."

It was true, really. She always felt more the soldier or even the weapon rather than a leading general.

"I don't want YOU alone with the Sharmat," her mother said quickly.

"I won't be alone, and he's not the Sharmat anymore anyway."

She rushed off before any more could be said, with Voryn hot on her heels.

Had to speak to the Jarl anyway. Ulfric was probably already explaining, but she felt she ought to speak too. The rest of them wouldn't let her forget fetching the items.

Too much. Too much at once.

But it all depends on me. I have to manage it.

"You should take a minute or two at least to sit down," Voryn's voice finally broke her out of her thoughts. "The madness, and now that--outburst."

"I have them all the time," Sadrith shrugged, glad for the lack of most guards outside to hear her.

"No, you don't. At least that I've seen."

"They don't--they don't usually come out like that." she took in a shaky breath. "It's usually me being...strange, or stupid, or laughing at things that don't matter. A...a little at a time. An imperial healer my mother took me to once used the metaphor of a dwemer automaton, or maybe a teapot. It needs to vent steam, or it won't do what it's supposed to. The river runs, and it wants to do something. It needs to go somewhere."

Another breath.

"I have to hold it in more often now, so it's...coming out in other ways."

She noticed him watching. Judging, no doubt, she thought. Looking for something else to scold her for, and she wasn't sure she didn't deserve it.

Why can't my head just be...just...ORDERLY! I WANT ORDER!

She wanted to scream it, but she managed to stop herself, even if she did nearly fall up the next set of steps. She overcorrected and almost fell backwards, would almost certainly have fallen and broken something that would be painful to heal if Voryn hadn't caught her.

"I'm fine," she said, steadying herself again.

"No. You aren't."

Sadrith took a deep breath, straightened herself up, and slapped on the confident expression of the hero she'd always worn around the Stormcloaks before. Voryn stopped her briefly, before she could get through the door.

"Wear that mask long enough and you won't be able to take it off."

"Good," she replied hollowly. Maybe then she would be beyond worrying that the people who looked to her for protection would see her for a fraud. They didn't need her, they needed the hero.

Thongvor Silverblood was not a man of great thinking, or at least he seemed to like it less than fighting. She'd thought it before, and thought it again now as he looked at her from the steward's seat. Ulfric sat on the Jarl's throne.

"The High King tells me you are on our side now, elf, however long THAT lasts."

"The Empire don't generally like it when folk go around murdering Thalmor, however much they deserve it." She paused, and remembering something, went on, "I prayed to Talos, asking what to do now Alduin was gone, and the next morning a patrol with a prisoner walked by. I took it to be a sign. The Empire took it to mean I was their enemy."

And on seeing his face contort, assuming an insult was coming, she rushed ahead to speak again.

"I am not here to mince words and debate who has the right point of view. Being righteous isn't going to save any of us."

"We want--"

"You want your indepedence, the same as all Skyrim. The same as the Forsworn."

"And I suppose you've cozied up to the native filth? Going to join them, because they worship the same daedra you do?"

Umbra hummed, as it always did.

"Thongvor," Ulfric said in slight warning. He didn't know what she held but she assumed he could tell when someone was angry enough to want to strike. "We have bigger problems."

"In the course of fighting back the Thalmor army, I've discovered...some information, we shall say. Information that tells me something bigger than the Altmer is at work. Has the High King told you about that yet?"

"It sounds like a crackpot elven theory you came up with to justify your sudden change of heart."

"If you would think for one second, sit down and use the brain in your head for something other than war you'd see it was obvious." She took a shaky breath. "It's the only thing that DOES make sense, because of all the death. Because the more war there is, the more death follows, and the more his job is done for him by the easily led. You hate, because it's easy, and he knows that. He inflames it at every moment."

Narrowed eyes.

"You've been taken in and I don't care if you believe me or not, because that rain and that black sun should already be all you need, and if you still don't then you're a fool who deserves what he gets."

Silence.

"And what am I supposed to do about it, then, if you are right?"

"First of all, call a truce with the Forsworn." And seeing him open his mouth once again she rushed to beat him to it. "Until this is over, as the Empire and Stormcloaks did when Alduin was a threat."

A funny thing, that. That Alduin was not really the threat. He was just testing us all, wasn't he? Not just me, but all of us.

"They could have called this rain here with their magic, for all we know!"

"No," Sadrith replied, "How stupid can you be? I saw it strike their skin when I passed an encampment. It kills them the same as it does anyone it touches here. They aren't the source."

"They'd have attacked if they were the source, Thongvor," Ulfric finally started. "It's what I would do, if I were one of them, and such were the case."

"They're making use of the Thalmor, last I heard," Voryn said.

"And you--" Thongvor said, pointing, "Who are you?"

"An ally of mine," Sadrith replied. "Can we stay on topic or will you argue us to the end of existence for the sake of your stupid hatred?"

A glare.

"Yell about the natives all you want. Rant about the Empire. But while you do that, the one responsible for all the ill laughs at how easy it is to kill us."

"What," Thongvor said, and the dislike he had of speaking the words was more obvious with each one, "Are we to do, exactly?"

"Call a temporary truce with the Forsworn, that all current territory or camps, or what-have-you, stay as they are," Sadrith said, "The Sybil of Dibella informed me that the tools of Shor's parts should be gathered, to have a better chance of defeating Sithis. Lorkhan, as the elves call him. He broke. He's in pieces, some pieces you might not want to acknowledge and I'm not going to go into them all or we'll be here until the Dread Father comes to drag us into the void."

"And you intend to fight him, do you?"

"Someone has to," Sadrith said.

"The High King--"

"The High King is here, where he needs to be," she said coldly. "Leading. You worry about keeping the city safe, and I will worry about the rest of it. Now, if you have nothing else, I need to get started. Or do you want to call me knife ears or something first? Harass my mother perhaps? And--by the way, if I hear you've done that, I will knock you off the chair myself."

A glare. But he let her go.

"Fools," Sadrith said as they left Understone, "How can they all be so stupid?"

"At least the one who calls himself High King seems to know better. He wouldn't have not too long ago, but I suppose being isolated in a cell for an indefinite period works wonders on one's point of view."

"I'd say 'you'd know all about that' but you weren't alone for all that time." He wasn't, but...it was still similar.

"You were there too." There was a sound almost like a chuckle. "I simply cannot get away from you, can I?"

"You don't HAVE to follow me. This isn't like then." She said, heading now for the inn. The general store would be necessary too, but she'd get at least one good meal at the inn to take with her. "You act like I'm making you do this. Can you not help yourself? Are you worried what I'll do if you take your eyes off me? You'll have to make do without me anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't think I intend to have you go with me to fetch all these things?" she asked. "Umaril moves faster, and he can fly."

"If you think I am letting you--"

"What does it matter to you? I'm taking this seriously, isn't that what you want?"

They'd reached the inn, and Voryn seemed to struggle for something to say. Then, he surprised her.

"I'm sorry."

There was no time to ask him to explain, and she didn't like how uncomfortable it felt looking at him as he said it.

The door opened to noise, expected, and song - definitely unexpected.

A strangely familiar igure in red and black, dancing on the bar. The sound of tinkling bells, and sloshing drink from the mugs of mead in both (his!) hands. The small crowd seemed enamored by the sight - Sadrith could certainly understand that.

A little spot of merriment in the mayhem.

He bent, rolled, almost fell, but came up again without spilling a drop. There were a round of gasps.

And then for one brief second he looked at her, this merrymaker, before launching into his next verse.

"Mother sings and father drums, scales on every side!" He laughed, drinking from one mug and flipping it down once it was empty, right way up on the bar. "Children come and children go, and oh, their foolish pride!"

In spite of herself, Sadrith clapped.

One moment, she could give one moment of joy, before walling herself back up again.

But only one.

The act over, the dancer stepped down amidst a crowd of cheers.

"A brilliant act," she said, smiling. "Markarth needed that, for certain."

And then she realized, seeing him closer.

"You, with the cart!" Sadrith thought. "Well, you must have found a place to bury your mother if you're here without her."

"Oh yes, yes, kind lady, Cicero did! It was a place already full of death, he did not expect that, no, not at all, but Mother was right at home!"

(She ignored Voryn's hand at her shoulder.)

"Not so with the swords that rain from the sky! Someone is angry, Cicero thinks, but it is not his place to judge. He is only a jester. He dances jigs, and tells stories, and the jokes! Short ones, long ones, ones no one but Cicero understands!"

"I'm not sure jokes would go over well right now, but if they lift spirits..."

"Bells, and dances to go with them! But when the dancing is done...there can be riddles!"

He bowed, and looked up, his laughing tone suddenly gone and replaced with a quizzical tone.

"What happens when silence dies?"