Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard. You sent the new associate where?”

Ajira’s tail flicked beneath her robe, coiling around her feet like a snake. Ranis Athrys, to her credit, remained remarkably composed, the slight fingers pinching the bridge of her nose being the only indication of her very-much-waxing frustration. 

“Ajira needed more samples for her research, so-”

Ranis snapped her fingers disapprovingly, and glared at Ajira, causing her to cower beneath her large, black ears. “I said where, not why!”

“The marshlands-- South and west of here… Ajira thought--”

“No, Ajira clearly did not think,” Ranis chided, voice stern. “Because if she did, she wouldn’t have sent the newest member of the Guild to the Bitter Coast to pick mushrooms you can find on the road to Pelagiad !”

“This one- she didn’t mean for-”

“He hasn’t been back in three days . He could have gotten mauled by Nix hounds, or gotten lost and ran out of provisions, or caught by smugglers and sold into slavery.” That final word hung from Ranis’ tongue like a taboo. Ajira felt a shiver creep down her spine. It wasn’t the substance of the word, it was the way she had said it. There was no compassion in her voice, no gravitas. “No matter what, it’s going to be me filling out the paperwork. And what a storm of paperwork it’s going to be!” 

The Khajiit bowed her head, “Ajira regrets her haste, honorable Ranis. She didn’t think it would be an issue.”

“Regret doesn’t fetch corpses.” Came an all-too-familiar soprano. Ajira’s fur bristled, and she had to physically stop herself from casting the eye of fear onto the approaching challenger, who was clad head-to-toe in a very distracting shade of yellow.

“Galbedir-” She sputtered instead, “This matter does not concern you-”

“Sure it does.” Gods. Her voice was worse than a racer’s scraw. “I enchanted a ring for him, and he still hasn’t paid me back.”

“Bah! Like you need the money. Your prices are highway robbery!”

“Because I actually provide a useful service! It’s not my fault I’m in demand. Maybe if you hadn’t stolen half your supplies from Nalcarya -”

“-There is no proof of that and you know it!”

“Apprentices!” Ranis shouted, and the room echoed with the boom of her voice for what seemed like eons. She drew in a deliberate breath, and continued: “There’ll be time for your bickering later. Galbedir, you’ve raised some good points. Go next door to the Fighter’s guild, and set up a contract to find our associate.”

Ajira flushed under her fur. Her tail flicked, and she stood up.

“Ajira, since you got us into this mess, I’ve got a fat stack of paperwork that you’ll be-”

“ This one will find him. ” Ajira rushed out, too quick to be heard.

“Excuse me?” Ranis blinked twice. Galbedir did a double-take. 

“Ajira will find him.” Ajira asserted, with more conviction this time. “You’re- You’re right. Ajira got everyone into this mess. Ajira sent the associate out on a quest without thinking. It is only right that she fixes this.”

Galbedir looked dumbstruck, face ripening like a tomato. Ajira managed to force a smile, praying that the robe would conceal her shaking legs. Ranis showed no reaction. She pretended to ponder for a moment, eyes cold and unnerving as chitin, then, she nodded.

“You leave immediately. If he’s dead, mark the body. If he’s alive, bring him back. And if you can’t find him, Almsivi back to the temple, then go to the Fighter’s Guild, and you explain to Fire-Eye how badly you screwed up, and you pay out of your own pocket. Then you’ll see what highway robbery really looks like. Understood?”

Ajira flushed beneath her fur. It took her longer than she would’ve liked to say it, but eventually the words sputtered out of her maw.

“Yes- Understood, honorable Ranis.”

-o-O-o-

Ajira leaned against a rock, her breath heavy, fogging in front of her. Her clothes were completely soaked, and her damp fur sagged and hung from her face. She had forgone her usual moss-colored robe for a white blouse that, at one point, hung loosely from her torso, and simple brown pants that had been tailored to accommodate her digitigrade form. She shouldn’t have minded them getting wet---after all, she chose this outfit because she didn’t want her nice clothes getting dirty---but the way the damp articles clung to her fur made her wish she had just worn her robe. 

Her yellow eyes glanced to the right, reassessing the charred remains of the kwama forager that almost took her toes off a few moments ago, and caused her to trip right into the murky pond. She had briefly entertained the delusion that she wouldn’t have to fight any of the local wildlife; that Vvardenfell’s wilderness wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. It hadn’t even been twenty minutes since she crossed the Odai before that delusion shattered. Overgrown scrib… If they weren’t so adorable, Ajira believes they would be gone from Vvardenfell.

A gale whipped in from the west, sending a shiver as it slipped across Ajira’s back. She looked up, but couldn’t find the sun in the grey smear of the sky. Frowning, she quickly realized that her soggy fur was hardly her only concern. Bugs, poisonous plants, disease. All were things that lurked in these swamps. She’s treated droops and swamp fever before, and the one thing in common between them is that they always latched on to adventurers who got lost in the Bitter Coast. 

She rifled through her bag, hand latching on to the familiar shape of a mortar and pestle. It was wet, and slick with pond scum, but still usable. The Khajiit set it upon the stump of a dead tree. 

It took longer than she would’ve liked to collect the materials. Bungler’s bane had choked and killed much of the hypha facia she was looking for, and she had to trek all the way to where emperor parasols still grew in order to find the green lichen she needed, but once the materials were gathered, the rest went easily. 

Alchemy was Ajira’s art. The other schools had their places---she could summon ghosts and scamps in a pinch, or light a candle (or a Kwama) with a snap of her claws---but alchemy was different. Alchemy was quiet. Alchemy was patient. Alchemy had all the time in the world for Ajira, and Ajira had all the time in the world for alchemy. 

It had been her mother’s art, too.

They had never called it that, though. They called it cooking, and they told her to cook, and so she cooked, in that cramped, windowless stone kitchen they lived in. Ajira remembered watching those calloused hands grind the saltrice, steep the bittergreen, cut the whickweat to a single, perfect strand. One day, there was an ingredient Ajira didn’t recognize. The next day, the master was dead of a fever, and Ajira, poor, lonely, Ajira, was left in Balmora. Mother said she would be back, and so she waited. And waited. And…

“B’vekh!” Ajira cursed. The mixture was a sickly, viscous, green thing, and had emanated a miasma that made Ajira’s ears curl. The scum… It must have coaxed out the poisons in the hypha facia. Ajira should’ve cleaned it more thoroughly. Stupid, stupid…

What she had made was a poison, and worse than that, a diluted, spoiled poison. From what little she could ascertain from the viscosity, consistency, and odor, it wouldn’t kill anything larger than a scrib. 

Yet still, it pained her to let it go to waste. There was a morbid curiosity about poisons. The scent was toe-curling, but also sharp, and sweet, and, for some reason, nostalgic . She turned the vial in her claws. How easily it would go down, how quickly it could spoil one’s day… This one wonders, do Bosmer have resistance to poison?

She corked it again and slipped it carefully into her pouch, separate from her other vials. 

The second brew didn’t go down easy, but it had the intended properties. It wasn’t a particularly strong potion of cure disease, she hoped it would keep the swamp diseases at bay. 

Magnus eased below the bitter canopy, bleeding orange through the mist like a wound in the sky. It was soon, too soon, before darkness had swallowed the land, thickening into a black smear. The Ja-Kha’Jay had yet to peak above the horizon, and, bereft of the moons’ comforting glow, The trees loomed darkly, hunched over like snarling beasts.  Every few steps, Ajira stopped, ears flicking to whatever sound had stirred her, yet she always continued moving afterward (less from determination, and more from the crushing sense that, if she stopped too long, the mud might open up to swallow her whole).

Her breathing became fast. Was that snapping sound from her…? She twisted her body faster than she had thought possible, but saw nothing but her tail, dragged like a rope through the mud. A scattering of draggle-tails rustled, the coda flowers shimmering unnaturally. Suddenly, light peaked through the fog. It was distant, but it was there, and it was warm , and Ajira wanted nothing more than to mimic the moths and let it consume her. Then, a twig snapped.

Ajira started running.

The orange glints turned to lanterns, swaying gently on crooked poles. There was a faint outline of wooden shacks, hovering above the mud like some Telvanni village, but as she got closer, the stilts revealed themselves. Ajira felt betrayed by this, somehow.

Another twig cracked behind her. She darted off the mud and into the clay. She was almost upon the village now. A bonemold guard stood there, almost as tall as the stilts beneath him. She nearly crashed into the ground, panting, and came to a stop next to the giant. 

“Please- Help! There’s something in the woods and-”

“Calm down, cat.” The guard said. His voice was smooth, but commanding, like he had never known the ash of Red Mountain. He started pointing. “Look, it’s just a scrib.”

Ajira blinked and turned around. In the distance, a scrib beat its tail onto the mud. Mocking her. 

“Now,” The guard continued, “Mind telling an old fetcher what you were doing in the swamps at this hour?”

Ajira tensed. The substance of the question came across as an accusation, and she knew that rural Dunmer viewed her people with suspicion at the best of times; yet the guard’s weary, almost relaxed tone betrayed his words. Shakily, she apologized.

“Sincerest apologies, sera… Ajira was looking for a friend, and…”

“Oh, spare me . Only bandits and dreamers wander outside after dark. Which one are you?

“Neither!”

“Really? Were you not, moments ago, running hysterically through the mist, frightened at a scrib? No, you’re confused. You must’ve been touched by the Sharmat.”

“The- The what?”

His voice lowered, almost to a growl. “You’re dressed like a vagrant, wandering aimlessly through the swamps, scared of your own shadow... It’s soul sickness.”

Ajira looked down, frowning. She was dressed like a vagrant, but accusations of sickness were almost offensive, in light of her precautions. She didn’t know what soul sickness was, but she gathered from the gravity of his voice that it was more than a common swamp disease.

“Ajira is not sick, nor is she a vagrant! You can’t just- These accusations are unfounded!” Ajira took a step forward, not thinking, and the guard flinched back. The cat’s eyes widened.

“Calm down, now- Don’t come any closer!”

Ajira took another step.

“Back!” The guard pointed his spear at Ajira. Her body tensed, the blood throbbing in her veins, but she didn’t back down, as much as she wanted to.

“Ajira’s friend is a Dunmer, tall, with red hair, wearing the leather of a netch. Ajira will leave you alone if you tell her where her friend is.” She described, hoping the guard wouldn’t notice how shaky her voice was. 

The guard scoffed. “Why would I tell you a thing?”

Ajira spat in his general direction, eliciting a yelp.

“Gah! Fine-- I saw a fetcher like that. He left fifteen-- twenny’ minutes ago, heading south down the road with another n’wah like you in tow. Now- Just… get the hell out of our town.”

Ajira started for the southern road, but before she vanished from sight, she turned.

“Wait-- Would you grant Ajira one last question?”

The bonemold giant sighed, “Spit it out, or hit the road.”

“You said Ajira’s friend was with someone else…?”

  -o-O-o-

Ajira stopped at a mudslide, panting, damp, and exhausted. Each breath she drew brought the stinging cold air deeper into her lungs. The road ahead was gone, swallowed by the mud. Two sets of footsteps tracked through it. One, the imprint of heavy boots, straight and even through the slick, and the other set was small, bare paws, which meandered off-course and hit the dirt unevenly. They were fresh enough that she didn’t even need night-eye to see them, which meant they couldn’t have been far. But still, how much longer could she keep running? Her legs ached and throbbed, and her paws were caked in mud so thick that you couldn’t see her fur underneath. All she wanted was to lie down and let the mud swallow her whole. 

But what dissuaded Ajira the most is what she heard from that guard. A khajiit, just like her, had been travelling with him. But that could mean anything---were they friends? Enemies? Lovers? Or… The guard had said something different. Ajira paid it no heed at the time, as the guard clearly had no love for her kind, but the way he had described them. ‘Farm tool.’ ‘Dirty.’ ‘clothed in rags.’ ‘Dragged across town.’, even a mention of one ‘Fatleg’ and his gang . Ajira shuddered at the thought. Surely it couldn’t have been like that , yes? Hla Oad was not a large town, they had no facilities for the trafficking of such… no. Ajira will not entertain such a terrible thought. 

What would mother think?

It wasn’t too long before the orange glint of firelight peaked through the fog, and Ajira came across their camp. It was a small fire, dwindling, but it made the fog glow with an uneasy orange hue. A Dunmer with blazing red hair sat crouched just next to the fire, holding skewered cubes of meat over the flames. His armor was simple netch leather, clearly augmented, but still rather drab and basic. The most striking feature of his apparel was a shining sapphire ring, glowing with enchantment. It reeked of a certain Bosmer’s handiwork. Ajira rolled her eyes.

The second being was more obscure, sitting opposite the Dunmer, wreathed in shadow, completely unmoving. It was Khajiit, like Ajira, and from what the guard had said, a woman too, but the darkness obscured her features beyond the most basic shapes. Small, lithe, with taller ears, and a tail that was short. Too short.

Ajira felt like she was dragging a weight. Had her own tail suddenly gotten heavier? There was a tightness in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain, and she wanted so desperately to uncoil it. Hadn’t she done it? Hadn’t she found the missing associate? And he was alive! But… Who was this he was with? Why did the Khajiit look so frail? Why doesn’t Ajira call out to him?

She couldn’t find an answer, and against every instinct in her body telling her that, somehow, this was a bad idea, she made her presence known.

“Melyn?”

The Dunmer shot up, eyes darting to Ajira, who flinched as his gaze met hers.

“You- Wait, aren’t you that cat from the Guild? What in Oblivion are you doing here?” He snarled. The shadow-draped Khajiit behind him had turned her head at the two, the firelight glinting off her eyes. They were hollow, colorless, darting, filled with fear. 

“Ajira was looking for you! You’ve been gone for so long, the Guild started to worry…” Ajira cast quick glances at the Khajiit, and then back at Melyn. “Who is this?”

The question had been directed more at the Khajiit than Melyn, but the Dunmer answered it anyway. 

“Rabinna.” He stated, curtly. His eyes narrowed. Why are they narrowing? 

“What are you-”

“Look, I’m fine, aren’t I? Congratulations, mission complete. I’ll be back with your samples after the delivery. Now, just- Scurry back to your guild, okay?”

Ajira felt her stomach drop. “D- Delivery…?”

His head tilted, just a little, and he lowered his face down to Ajira’s level. Gods, he was so close, now. She wanted to pull away, but found that she couldn’t. The Dunmer’s eyes were like pools of blood. They looked straight into her, staring, judging. He wanted to see how Ajira would react, as the words slowly and deliberately emerged from his parted lips. Soft and cool, at first, before turning to daggers. Ajira knew what he was going to say already. Somewhere deep down, she had known all along.

“I’m delivering this slave to Balmora. To her new master.”

Ajira choked, and the Dunmer watched, releasing a disappointed huff. But how could she not? How could he? How? Why? These questions raced through Ajira’s mind, losing coherency the more she thought about it. Her expression turned hot and flushed at the Dunmer’s ice. She turned away, eyes squeezed shut, hand rising up to her muzzle, as if to brace for a cough. She wanted to scream at him, to say something, anything. She opened her eyes, and she saw Rabinna in front of her, now fully embraced by the firelight. She wished she hadn’t. 

Rabinna looked just like her. One could easily confuse them for sisters at first glance. Even up close their similarities were stark. That fact alone made Ajira’s stomach churn. But even more, Rabinna was haggard, spine hunched, limbs crooked, like they had been broken and mended improperly, and her claws--- her poor claws! ---had been filed down to the quick. Ajira stared at Rabinna for what felt like ages… But the thing that looked back wasn’t Rabinna, it wasn’t something she could recognize as a Khajiit---as a person at all.. She just stared, not with fear, not with hate, just nothing. Her eyes had no color, sunken, and hollow. 

Ajira wished that Rabinna would scream, that she would hit, that she would sob, that she would prove, in some way, that she was a person! Rabinna’s face looked too much like her own. Every tuft of her mahogany fur, every contour in her pinched face, it felt like looking in a mirror. Each inch of damage felt like it could’ve belonged to her, too. Ajira saw herself scrunched and broken, too tired to even cry, and she hated it. And she hated Rabinna. For making her feel this way. And she hated herself, because what kind of monster would hate a victim? And finally, her eyes leveled on the Dunmer. She imagined blood pouring from his eyes, lifeless… Would it be difficult?

The hatred she had no reason to apologize for: Hatred for the monster that was letting this continue. For Melyn.

The name alone burned. Melyn . With his soft, clipped voice, his fake smile, the way he no-doubt viewed Rabinna as just another package, something to be delivered and forgotten about.

She wanted to hurt him. Not to stop him. Not to make things right. She wanted his blood pooling on the ground, mixing with the mud into a slush. To feel what Rabinna must feel; to be broken down, and discarded. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s legal work. Calm down.” He scoffed, dismissively. His skewer still hovered above the blaze, flames licking the tender meat with a burning hunger. Carefully, he brought it down, and scraped the meat off into a wooden bowl. 

“Y- Yes. Ajira is calm. See?” 

Ajira was not calm.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t even look at her. “Look, you found me. You can go now.”

“Do you have Ajira’s samples?”

The Dark Elf raised a brow in a mixture of confusion and amusement. Ajira thought she heard a chuckle. “You want your samples? Fine. I’ll give you your samples, and you let me do my job.” The Dunmer turned away, fetching his bag.

Ajira stared down his bowl, containing three cubes of meat, steaming into the air. Suspended between her claws was the vial. Just a few drops . 

She brought it to the food, hands shaking as she tipped it forward. The bile-like liquid soaked into the meat quickly, leaving no trace of itself. She withdrew just as the Dunmer turned back around, samples in hand.

“These- These are terrible.” She snapped, “You cut from all the wrong parts of the shrooms!”

“Look, I’m only in your stupid guild for the discounts on the guides. I don’t give a shit about your mushrooms.” He paused, then scowled, “And quit looking at me like that. It’s creeping me out.

“Fine then. Ajira will find her own mushrooms, and tell Ranis that you’re safe. Not that anyone would care if you weren’t.” Ajira hissed. 

“Piss off.”

Ajira turned as if to leave, ears low, tail twitching. Her steps were slow, deliberate. Not fleeing, just done . She could feel his eyes on her back, waiting for some final word, some protest. When none came, he let out a grunt and sat by the fire.

The skewer scraped against the side of the bowl as he stirred the meat. Behind him, Rabinna stood silently near the edge of the camp, eyes dull, posture still hunched and strange. The Dunmer looked up at her and, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, lifted a cube of meat on the tip of his skewer.

“Hey. You eat today?” he asked.

Ajira's heart sunk.

Rabinna didn’t answer.

“C’mon,” he said, voice mock-gentle. “You want to keep your strength. Long way to Balmora.”

He held the skewer out. The meat was still steaming into the air.

Rabinna glanced at Ajira.

Ajira didn’t breathe. 

Rabinna shook her head.

The Dunmer shrugged. “Your loss.”

He popped the piece into his mouth, chewed, then grunted. 

Ajira still didn’t breathe. Her claws were dug into the fabric of her blouse.

Seconds passed. It felt like an eternity, like the whole of the Dawn Era had passed, and then passed again. Then he coughed---a declaration of convention, like Akatosh, solidifying time on Mundus. 

He coughed again, harder, and now it seemed time had sped up. Ajira’s heart raced. Melyn hunched forward, dropping the bowl as his hands clutched at his stomach. His breath hitched into a ragged gasp.

“What… what the fuck…?”

He gagged and stumbled, bile and half-chewed meat spilling onto the dirt. His legs buckled, and he fell forward onto his hands, dry heaving violently.

Ajira stepped back. Her mind raced. Is this how it’s supposed to work? Should Ajira finish it? Should she- should she help?

She looked at Rabinna, but she simply stared at the Dunmer with that same blank expression. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Ajira still hated it. She turned back. The Dunmer was wheezing now, lips wet with spittle, trembling as he tried to rise. 

Then, in one sudden jerk, he stood up, eyes red and full of hate. His hand reached to his hip and drew a blade. It was deadly as it was simple, which is to say, very.

“You,” he hissed. “You little bitch.”

Ajira stepped back. She felt a tree bump against her hip. He staggered toward her.

Rabinna didn’t move.

Ajira had seconds. Maybe less. Her legs wanted to run. She didn’t know if she was about to kill a man. She didn’t want to know. 

So, she made it someone else’s problem.

There was a flick of her wrist, a quick, somatic gesture, barely noticeable.

At first it was just a blur, fog that seemed to cling to the air. Then it took form, shaping itself as the vague outline of a person, draped in spectral remnants of clothing that fluttered behind it. Its features were gaunt, and its lifeless eyes shimmered with an impersonal rage. Ajira directed it to attack, but Melyn didn’t hesitate.

The sword sliced through the spectre effortlessly, but the ghost didn’t flinch. 

Melyn’s face went pale, and he swung at it again. It cleaved straight through the ghost. This time, it elicited retaliation. A bolt of lightning shrieked through the air, parting the mists in its wake. It struck true on Melyn’s chest, rending a gash in the leather. He staggered back, heaving. His blade clattered to the ground, glinting in the firelight. 

The Dunmer cursed and raised his hands. His ring glowed with mystic energies, electricity crackling out of it like it was trying to escape. Another bolt flung out, this time from Melyn’s own hands, mimicking the ghost’s preferred spell. It struck true, and another came just as quickly after. The ghost shrieked and wailed, and, with a final bolt that shattered its core, it evanesced, becoming one with the mists. 

There was a low growl.

Melyn swayed where he stood, arms outstretched. His ring flickered, the electricity crackling between his fingers. Blood sputtered in his mouth and nose, dripping down his ash-encrusted face like a leaking faucet. 

“N’wah” He spat. The lightning spell charged in his hands. Ajira gasped, too scared to even move. Fado, oh fado, Ajirase petanith jer…

A hiss rang out behind him.

Melyn turned too late. He gasped, but never found air. There was no scream, just a choked breath. Blood bubbled in his mouth as he crumpled to the floor, hands clutching at nothing. Behind him, Rabinna stood, eyes filled with rage. Pure, irreconcilable rage. 

She slid the blade out from between his ribs, panting, eyes fixed on the body. Ajira took a step forward. Rabinna’s hands were trembling, covered in blood. The rags she wore were covered in blood. The ground she walked on was covered in blood. She didn’t like blood. She didn’t speak, and neither did Ajira. 

Instead, they collapsed into each other’s arms, neither of them sure about what they had just done. There was a sob, short and stifled, but audible. Whoever caved first, we might never know, but it wasn’t long before both of them were shaking, clutching, crying into each other’s fur. 

They stayed like that for a long time.

Chapter Text

The grave wasn’t deep. The swamp wouldn’t allow for much, just enough to hide what needed hiding. More of a disguise than a burial. 

Ajira stood over the mound, wiping her claws clean on her blouse. She tried not to look at it, but the mound pulled her eyes toward itself like it had gravity. The mud caking her clothes had dried hours ago, but still clung to her like it was fresh. Everything felt fresh---too fresh, like her skin and fur had been peeled away, and her body was left to bake in the morning sun. There were pinkish bags under her eyes. She hadn’t really slept. 

Something inside her wanted to crawl into the dirt with him, and close her eyes, and never open them again. She didn't like that thought, so she turned around, and promised herself she wouldn’t look at the grave ever again. 

Behind her, Rabinna stood, trembling arms wrapped around her stomach. For however bad Ajira felt, Rabinna looked far worse. Her eyes were pale divots into her skull, barely even open, just squinting into the misty rays. Her clothes, if you could even call it that, were nothing more than loose-fitting rags, mottled with brown stains, and flecks of red from when she had stabbed her captor. Ajira couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She felt like she needed a hug. 

Rabinna hadn’t said much, anything , really, since she let go of that blade. She only nodded when Ajira asked for help moving the body, and shook her head when Ajira offered her a potion. She wasn’t mute. Ajira had heard her swear, once, when they dropped the body a little too early, and her paw was caught underneath. But other than that, it was silence. Dead, eerie silence.

Ajira glanced at her, then down at the overgrown trail winding south. Finally, she opened her mouth, and words came out. “Khajiit thinks Balmora is east of here. The silt Strider’ll take us most of the way, if we can make it to Seyda Neen.”

She didn’t mean for it to come out so cold, but she needed to say something grounded. Something to remind her that, yes, this world existed, and she was in it, and she’s been in it for a long time. It didn’t really convince her.

 A racer squawked, it was circling them like a carrion. 

Rabinna shook her head vigorously. Her ears sank at the mention of Balmora.  “No- Not there. Ebonheart.”

Her voice was soft and stifled. A flutter in the wind. Maybe it was just her way of speaking. Or maybe it was still being choked back, like she hadn’t yet recognized that she no longer had to censor herself for the sake of others. 

Ajira considered. Balmora was home, but from what she gathered, it was also where Rabinna was supposed to be delivered. There was a brief flare of anger at the thought, but she put it away for later, when it could be useful. “Ebonheart? But it’s so far- And the guild, they’ll kill Ajira if she doesn’t come back soon…” Then, her stomach dropped in realization, “Oh, the guild! How does Ajira explain this to them!? We’ve just-- The new associate- Sweet breath of Khenarthi… Ajira is doomed…” She planted her face into her palms, groaning. 

Rabinna tugged at Ajira’s shirt, causing her to look up. “Ebonheart. There are people there. Nice people. They help slaves, yes? We should go.”

“Yes- Sorry, you’re right, Rabinna. Ajira was being silly. It’s just… Khenarthi, it’s such a long way. Do we even have enough supplies?” Ajira struggled to even say his name, like it was barbs on her tongue. “...Melyn- he had some supplies, but it was mostly just weapons, and coin.”

Rabinna looked down, contemplating. “Could we not buy what we need?”

Ajira considered.

A half-hour later, they walked out of Hla Oad, wrapped in damp, but clean, cloaks, carrying everything they owned and far too much they didn’t.

-o-O-o-

“And that’s hypha facia! You can tell it apart from bungler’s bane by the color. Bungler’s bane is mottled brown and orange, while hypha facia is uniform brown. As for alchemical uses, it can be combined with chokeweed to make a poison, and green lichen to cure common diseases.”

Rabinna smiled, ears perked. It was a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was the most at ease she had looked since Ajira first saw her, and that had to count for something, right?

“Oh! And these are Ajira’s favorites! See how it glows when the shadows pass over it? The petals are like windowglass, very fragile, so you must take care to--”

Rabinna plucked the flower far too roughly. The petals flaked and fell apart in her fingers, scattering like ash.

“--Not damage the petals!! Oh, look what you did!” Ajira pouted, claws on her hips.

Rabinna looked down, visibly stricken. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. They aren’t particularly rare. We’ll find another one. Maybe two, and then we can match!”

Rabinna didn’t stop frowning. Ajira tilted her head. 

“Rabinna? Are you okay?”

She turned away.

“We can talk about something else, if you wish-- What about books?”

“Rabinna doesn’t know how to read, Ajira.”

Ajira winced. “Well, this one is trying to help you feel better. She cannot do that if you don’t give her something to work with.”

“Rabinna knows, and Rabinna is sorry. She hasn’t thanked you enough for what you’ve done for her. But Rabinna is scared…”

“What is Rabinna scared of?”

“The hunters… They will come for her, and take her away, and give her more domjha’a, and - ”

“-Jer pur ta’agra?” (you speak the mother tongue?)

“Bishu, erm… Oh shesko…” (A little. Enough not.)

“Shesko’oh.” (Not enough), Ajira corrected. “But that was good! ‘Oh’ would be a suffix here, since ‘shesko’ is a quantifying adjective.”

Rabinna sighed. “Conjugation is hard…”

 Ajira shortened her stride, matching Rabinna’s pace. They were right alongside each other, now.

“Don’t worry about the hunters. They probably haven’t even started their search yet. It’s only been a few hours.”

“Hmm.” Her ears were still low, but there was a fleck of gratitude in her voice. 

There was a pause, and Rabinna glared at a patch of moss beneath a twisted tree. 

“Can we sit?”

“Of course.”

Ajira crossed her legs, her tail curling neatly beside her. The cloaks they had purchased did a good job at making them look cleaner than they actually were. Ajira was still wiping off dried flakes of mud from her tawny fur, and Rabinna... Well, an escaped slave can only keep themselves so clean.

Ajira cast a brief sidelong glance at her companion. She was sat hunched, arms wrapped around her middle, ears half-lowered. Not quite in pain, but not comfortable, either. 

“Hey,” Ajira whispered. “Are you okay?”

It took the other Khajiit a long time to answer. Her eyes followed something in the trees. After a long pause, she answered. “It’s nothing.”

Ajira frowned, taking a dried parcel of saltrice bread and bringing it up to Rabinna. “When did you last eat? Here, have some of this.”

“No, thank you.”

Ajira blinked. “Are you sure? Just a few bites?”

“Rabinna said no.” Her voice was sharp.

Ajira nodded, packing the food back away. “Alright…”

A breeze passed. A grove of gold kanets swayed in its wake. Ajira watched them for a moment, but turned back to Rabinna. Her sleeved arms were circled around her stomach like a bandage. A rocking motion started, barely perceptible, like she was trying to make something inside herself settle that just wouldn’t. 

Ajira tilted her head. “Are you in pain?”

Her ear twitched. 

“No.” She said, finally. 

Ajira didn’t believe her.

“Does your stomach hurt?”

Rabinna looked away, ears flattened. She whispered something that sounded like a ‘no’.

“Rabinna.” Ajira spoke, stern like a mother. “Khajiit can tell there is something wrong.”

Rabinna looked to the grass, which waved in the breeze. Ajira shuffled closer, enough that she could feel the warmth rising from Rabinna’s back, even through the cloak. 

“Rabinna…”

Her head tipped downward like a spilled drink, muzzle buried in her clawless palms. Her breath hitched, and a sob escaped, heralding another soon after. Ajira planted a hand on Rabinna’s back. Firm, but comforting.

“Rabinna- Rabinna, look at Ajira. Yes? Everything will be alright. We’ll get you to Ebonheart, we’ll-”

“-Ajira…” She whimpered. A tear coalesced, a short sniffle escaped. It wasn’t long before the tears stained her fur, dripping off her face and into her lap like a leaking pipe. “There’s something about Rabinna that you need to know…”

-o-O-o-

The night was cold. Frostfall nights were always like that, even in Vvardenfell, where the ash warmed the air as much as it choked it. There was something calming about the chill. It was entropic; the heat never really left, just thinned, and they could still feel it if they tried hard enough. The moons cast sharp shadows along the marshy banks and sloughs, and gave the pair enough light to set up a rudimentary camp, not far from Seyda Neen.

“How much time before it passes?”

“Rabinna can hold it.”

“That’s not an answer.” Ajira leaned down, grip firmly placed on Rabinna’s shoulder. Rabinna was always the smaller of the two, but she shrank even more under her grip. Her eyes twinkled with new light, dimmed by exhaustion.

And that was the thing---Rabinna was always exhausted. She never ate, and hardly slept. Ajira had been trying to change that, but everything Rabinna didn’t refuse to eat was retched out moments later. Now she knew why…

Rabinna looked sorrowful. “This one doesn’t see another choice. Melyn said that the wrapping was too thick, that Rabinna would die if she didn’t hold it--”

“-Forget what Melyn said!” Ajira snapped, “He doesn’t matter anymore, yes? Rabinna doesn’t have to think about him!”

“Ajira…” 

“Nobody has to think about him! Who will even come looking for him-- Nobody !”

“Ajira!”

Ajira blinked. Her claws were digging into Rabinna’s cloak sleeve. She eased, and stumbled back as she let go, as if Rabinna was the only thing holding her steady. Her eyes were wild, and heart was thumping with stress. She didn't like herself when she was like this. 

“Rabinna can hold it,” Her brows pinched upward, soft and pained, “And when we get to Ebonheart, the healers will help her.”

But can Ajira? She thought. Can Ajira help her? 

Can Ajira hold it?

“But Ajira is a healer.” She whined. 

“And Rabinna cannot keep down a potion.” She stepped toward the other Khajiit. “It needs to be restoration. It needs to be done in a clean place, not the swamp.”

“So are we supposed to just wait , and let that- that thing inside of you tear you asunder?”

“That won’t happen.”

Her voice was swollen. Did she really believe it, or did she not want her friend to stress over something she couldn’t hope to change?

“Ajira won’t let that happen.”

“Ajira… This one can hold it.”

There was a dogma in her voice. An architecture to the lie.

Ajira looked down at the other Khajiit’s hands. They were tiny, calloused things. Trembling. They never stopped trembling. It betrayed her fear. Ajira looked back up, trying not to frown.

“But… What if you can’t…?”

“Then Rabinna will die.” Her voice didn’t flinch. Ajira did. Her breath hitched, like it was somehow not the answer she expected, like hearing it said by someone else was akin to seeing it foretold by an Elder Scroll. 

“H- How? How can you say that so calmly?” Ajira shuddered.

“Rabinna… This one was never supposed to live.” She looked down, hands wrapped around her stomach. “They were going to slaughter Rabinna like a pig, to get to the drugs inside her belly. Any moment that is not happening, Rabinna is happy.”

“But... You don’t look happy…”

Rabinna tried smiling.

“Ajira just wants to be strong for you...” 

“Ajira is just as strong as she needs to be.” Rabinna assured. “Now come, the Ja-Kha’jay is already in the sky. We need rest.”

“Oh!” Ajira went red beneath the fur. “Erm- About that…”

-o-O-o-

“What do you mean, ‘there’s only one bed’? Did you not purchase a second sleeping bag at Hla Oad?”

“Khajiit did! Or, she thinks she did… Wait, wasn’t getting another bedroll your job…?”

Rabinna flashed a cheeky smile. “Whoops. Must’ve forgotten. Oh well~”

“Ugh… Well, since you’re sick, you can get the bed. Ajira can find another-”

“Nonsense. Rabinna isn’t sick! And Rabinna cannot allow her friend to sleep in the mud. Besides… It’s-- Well, it looks pretty big, doesn’t it? Two can fit.”

Ajira’s face ripened like an ash yam under running water, but Rabinna’s voice carried authority. “Oh! I- Erm… Ajira does suppose it is a fairly large bedroll for just one person… Two can fit?”

Rabinna smirked. Ajira couldn’t tell what it meant. It felt almost… Flirtatious. But that was silly. Ajira didn’t understand why that thought made her stomach flutter. 

“Two can fit.”

This was her body. She owned it. She could ignore how every part of it, all of a sudden, wanted to implode. 

-o-O-o-

“Hmph. Wow- This is warm.”

“Well, yeah. We’re sharing a bedroll, ma’ifa.”

“It’s just… Ajira didn’t expect it to be this--”

“It’s a cold night.”

“Then Ajira supposes she should be grateful.”

“Rabinna supposes we should go to sleep. May your dreams be of warm sands, Ajira.”

“I’m scared I’ll start dreaming about you” is what Ajira wanted to say. “You too, Rabinna.” Is what came out instead. It felt incomplete, but Ajira reckoned that anything she could’ve said would’ve felt incomplete at that moment. What’s so special about this, anyway? We’re both women, this shouldn’t be strange. Ajira shouldn’t be feeling so strange about this…

When did Rabinna become the voice of calm and authority, anyway?

The twin moons danced across the firmament like two lovers, star-crossed and wistful. Of course that’s the analogy Ajira thought of. Her eyes never drifted from the pair, swaying between the coruscations in a never-ending, celestial ballet. Her chest rose and fell, counting the nine as they arced above. Mnemo-li, Merid-Nunda, Xero-Lyg. Her gaze drifted down towards the horizon. It couldn’t be seen, but she knew the last Star Orphan, Una, hovered snugly over the brown sea of sublunary canton domes…

  …Where she would never be lonely again. 

She shifted in place, slow and careful, each movement deliberate. The air stood still, as if any slight disturbance would shatter the delicate Khajiit’s rest. But when she finally turned to face the sleeping serush…

… she was wide awake. 

Her eyes glowed like two large stars, the light cleaving through the darkness, and into Ajira’s soul. 

Ajira, clinically deceased, vocalized.

“Can’t sleep?”

“At least Rabinna has an excuse. You’ve not closed your eyes but to blink, just staring up at the stars.”

“Khajiit needed a distraction, yes? Wait, how long were you looking at Ajira?”

“-What did Ajira need a distraction from?”

There was a silence between them. Long and palpable. 

It stayed like that for a long time. 

The stars joined into the dance of the lunar lattice. Sheza-Rana, Iana-lor, Unala-Se. Then, the unstars of the serpent, moving counter to the rest of the firmament, preparing to pounce and feast upon the Tower until it was sundered and unmade. Such was the way of things.

C’mon, Ajira- Say something! 

“You know, Ajira hated you when she first saw you.”

Her heart sank.

Anything but that!

She hadn’t meant to say it. Or at least, not say it like that . It had just been a thought---a simple, foolish thought! She didn’t mean anything by it! But oh, what would Rabinna think of her now? Why must Ajira ventilate such terrible things? Why can’t she just stop feeling so strange?

“It’s okay.” Came a small voice. “Rabinna hated you, too.”

She expected many things in the fallout of such a horrible insult. This was worse than all of them.

“W- What…?” 

“Rabinna was jealous. She is sorry. You were just so… You had control.  You could talk back to the master, and he couldn’t do anything to stop you. You were allowed to wear what you wanted, and go where you pleased, and you were so confident and pretty, while Rabinna was dirty and--”

Ajira’s heart skipped a beat. “You think Ajira is pretty?!”

Rabinna flushed beneath her fur, but quickly shook herself out of it. Ajira tilted her head. “...You said you hated Rabinna first, yes? Tell.”

“Well… It’s---You must understand that it was illogical. Just… Emotions. There was nothing about you that--”

“Rabinna understands.”

“It’s just… Ajira saw you there, so weak and helpless--”

“Wowww.”

“Let this one finish! You know she doesn’t mean it like that! When Ajira looked into your eyes, she saw herself, and she saw herself broken and bruised, and she hated it, and so she hated you, and that is all, and she is sorry.” She finished, with utmost brevity.

Underneath the fur canopy, one clawed hand found another.

“Rabinna is sorry too.”

Ajira didn’t know what to say. She suspected she didn’t need to say anything. Rabinna spoke again.

“And yes, Rabinna does think Ajira is pretty, but only because she looks so similar to Rabinna.”

They both sniggered, and their smiles were wide. Underneath the covers, they embraced. Ajira didn’t really understand what she was feeling, but all she knew was that it felt right.

Under the blanket of stars, Secunda passed in front of Masser---a kiss, quick and chaste---before it continued past its lover and drifted below the horizon. 

They stayed like that until they fell asleep.

-o-O-o-

"Serush, 

serush an booril, 

Dorr suta vaba suta

An iso utan

Serush,

Serush an booril

Dorr silla’a zarathosh

An aqir kamash

Serush,

Serush an booril

Jer vara Serush an

Ahziss va booril…"

---

“Mmm…What song is that?”

Ajira smiled, sighing into the air as she hummed the final note. “Ajira’s mother used to sing it, when she was little. ‘Serush an Booril’. Ajira has forgotten most of the words. Some parts she couldn’t remember, and so she had to make up words.”

“Well, it’s very beautiful, made up or not.” A small laugh escaped. “It’s very… serush. ”

“Thank you. That means more than you know.”

“Do you want to know Rabinna’s favorite part?”

“What is it?”

“‘Jer vara Serush’” She cooed. “‘You are beautiful.’ This one agrees, she is very beautiful.”

“Ah.” Ajira shifted her weight awkwardly, “That was one of the parts Ajira made up.”

The morning was pale and indecisive, with long shadows crawling along the marsh like hungry beasts. The air was still damp and chill, but heat was still trapped beneath the covers.

Not enough heat. Two people, a whole night? It should be more , Ajira thought, Why does it feel like some had escaped? 

She chalked it up to her being paranoid. It had been a stressful few days.

Rabinna’s muzzle nested itself into the crook of Ajira’s neck. “Rabinna is glad you made that part up.”

Ajira buried her face half into the bedroll, and half into Rabinna’s fur. “That line wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

“But it is now, yes?”

“Yes…”

“Then all is settled. Serush. ”

The breeze hushed between the trees, and a stillness prevailed. An entropy, consuming, rippling through the air. Ajira couldn't help but feel hot and fuzzy.

“Ajira doesn’t want to move.”

“Then don’t.”

There were prints, small, uneven, whispered in the damp. Ajira’s feline eyes were fixed on it like prey.

“We’ll miss the strider.”

“There’ll be another.”

“The market closes early this time of year.”

“Ajira,” Rabinna huffed, “We aren’t going to Ebonheart for the shopping, no?”

“...No.”

She smiled into Ajira’s forehead. Ajira didn’t smile. There was something---a fleck of urgency---that she was trying to conceal. A fake nonchalance. Rabinna wanted this moment to last, but not for any of the reasons Ajira did. Or maybe, for the exact same reasons. She didn’t know which one scared her more. 

“We should get up eventually, Rabinna.”

“Mmh… Five more- Oh, don’t look at Rabinna like that. Fine, fine, let’s go.”

The cold was like an iron spike, driven into their tiny, tender bodies with force insurmountable. Ajira recoiled from the shock, Rabinna was already on her knees, fingers scrabbling at her poultry pile of belongings. She wasn’t- She hasn’t fallen, has she? She’s okay, right?

But nothing was wrong. The cold hadn’t even affected her. She was just wiping some muck off of their cloaks. She’s fine, Ajira, stop stressing about everything.

She surveyed the ground one last time as they made for Seyda Neen. The prints she had seen were real, all right. They were small, delicate impressions in the mud.  They meandered off from the bedroll, unsteady, uneven, trailing off toward a black scattering of trees. Her eyes flicked to Rabinna, but she looked fine. She looked fine, right? Her heart thumped. She didn’t want to see where they led. She really, truly, didn’t want to know. 

But she looked anyway. She leaned to the side, seeing them wander between the thickets, right into the grove. At their apex, a viscous, green something , splattered across the yellowed grass.

It reminded her of poison. It reminded her of Melyn, retching his guts into a sludge by the fire. Her eyes crept towards Rabinna once again. She looked like a whisper, her hips jutting, face pinched and gaunt. She looked calm as she faced the wind, but something moved behind her eyes, something that was still panicking. She didn’t want Ajira to see it. But Ajira could picture what it was. 

Ajira pictured her thrashing beneath the bedroll. Ajira saw her hunched over, in the dark, in the cold, breathing coarse and throat tender. Gods, she could see it so clearly, her knees buckled, one hand dug into the mud, and the other kneading her neck. Ajira saw her as she silently crawled back into the covers, mouth still tasting of bile, fresh bubbles of rot still festering far away, where no-one would notice. The movements were subtle---practiced, like she had done this before.

Ajira saw herself, curled up and snoring just an arm’s reach away, fur radiating a comfortable heat. Blind. Useless.

“Ajira? Coming?”

Ajira coughed, stomach knotted, and started walking.

-o-O-o-

The strider lurched forward as it crested yet another hill, its great, chitinous legs sinking into the ash-dusted ground with deep thuds. The carapace was hollow and pink, occupied only by a pair of Khajiit, so similar in appearance they could be mistaken for sisters. Every sway of the strider shifted their bodies, sometimes into each other, sometimes away. The cabin was small, cramped, cloven into the impressive chassis by an unpracticed hand. The air caught in the shell as it moved. 

Rabinna was curled off to one side. She’d been like that for a while. Her muzzle was half-hidden in the fold of her sleeve, and her hood was drawn up over her face so her features could not be made out. Ajira knew she wasn’t asleep. How could anyone sleep on a ride like this? They only had enough money to afford the cheapest strider, once the bribes to the pilot were factored in. The beast still had the unpracticed malady of youth, which the pilot had assured would only be a minor inconvenience, but the rocking and occasional veering was enough to put the idea of sleeping out the ride firmly within the realm of fiction.

The hood beside Ajira twitched, an ear flicking beneath. Rabinna unfurled herself like a ball of yarn unwinding to a string. A blast of warmth rolled across Ajira’s face. Something fluttered and died on the corners of her black lips. Rabinna cocked an ear. 

“Something the matter?”

A breath pittered in her core. “When were you planning to tell this one?”

Rabinna didn’t answer right away, just stared, quizzically. Then…

“Tell this one what?”

“How-” She forced herself to look at Rabinna, now at eye-level. “-How much pain you’re in.” Ajira let out a breath, and fell limp against the curve of the shell.

The emperor parasols marched past the Strider in squadrons of two and four and five. Each one a commander of a mycelium army. The bug they sat in was not moving---the parallax of the treetops were just an illusion. They were floating, stationary, high above the ground, their little chitin castle on a cloud. 

Rabinna tilted her head in confusion, but Ajira saw the look in her eye, like a child caught reaching into the moon-sugar jar. 

“-You've been hiding it. You don’t want Ajira to worry, so you’ve been pretending it doesn’t hurt.” There was an imperceptible dampness across her brow and down her cheeks, like she had been thinking of this for a long time. “Ajira saw the vomit.”

Rabinna frowned. Her eyes had color, but pinkish bags sagged beneath them, fattened and engorged by days without rest.

The realization crept up on Ajira. “How- How much sleep did you get last night?”

She looked guilty, like somehow, this made her a burden. “Rabinna tried…”

Her hands clasped over her mouth. “It’s that bad??”

“No-”

“ Please- ” Her voice was raw, desperate, like she was pleading for her very own life. “Please tell this one the truth.”

“Rabinna… just needs a pillow…” She leaned forward, arms wobbling underneath her. Her mouth was formed in delirious half-smile.

“How long before it passes?”

“Ajira…”

“If you can’t even sleep, it can’t be that long. How long before--”

Rabinna collapsed, eyes squeezed shut, skull coming to a rest on the taller Khajiit’s lap. A tyrant, silencing all protest. A Goddess. One who could make the Tribunal weep and supplicate.

Una hung suspended over Vivec. They were close enough to see her now. The moonlet flickered in the sky beyond the cramped chitinous canopy.

Ajira rested her hand on the crown of Rabinna’s head, claws tucked just behind the ears. The corners of her mouth met her tear-shaped eyes in a wide, comfortable smile. Ajira felt her vibrate - subtle, hardly noticeable, really. Might’ve been nothing.

She traced the black outlines of Rabinna’s fur with her thumb, slowly, and then---

A purr, long and sensual. 

Oh, is that the spot, hmm? 

She stroked the soft patch of slightly matted fur once again, and she could feel the purring grow louder, and see her ears twitch as she reached right there . Yes, that’s it!  

Rabinna practically shook as Ajira’s claws dug themselves into the tuck of the ears. Her smile reached beyond her eyes, and became something transcendent, not of this world.

Then, ephemeral.

There was a whip scar, hiding beneath the blanket of fur. No, two scars. Three? Sweet breath of Khenarthi-

“Hgmph-” Rabinna purred, “Why’d you stop?”

“How long before it passes…?” Ajira repeated, like it was a memory.

Rabinna turned, her eyes staring at---or through---Ajira’s belly. For a second, Ajira could’ve sworn she felt fingers pressing into it, but Rabinna hadn’t moved. 

She frowned. “No more than a day.”

Ajira felt herself die. Her heart had stopped, and fallen out of her ribs, and tumbled into the mud. 

Rabinna flinched at the silence. She looked like she had been caught in a lie. She looked like she wanted to take it all back, and start again, or pretend it was just a joke. But Ajira knew she wasn’t joking. 

“Th- This one didn’t want you to worry.” Rabinna sputtered, “She just- She saw your face, after she told you about the sugar…” Her voice caught. “Rabinna knows how guilty you feel, about Melyn, and how stressed this all makes you. How stressed Rabinna makes you, and she didn’t want to add to it any more. That's why she's been lying. She's sorry.”

The strider swung round a bend. A kagouti howled its mating call. 

Ajira’s face softened, and her tail curled up around her side. She let in an unsteady breath. All this time, she thought she was the one being strong for Rabinna. Now, that entire image was shattered, but for all the wrong reasons.

She sucked in another breath. “...Ajira knows what it’s like, to carry something terrible inside and try to smile through it…” Her voice was soft, but strained. “To think that if you just stay quiet long enough, it will go away, or at least nobody else will have to carry it.”

She didn’t really know what it was like. Not in the way Rabinna did. But it was the thought---the desperate, aching need to know, that counted. At least, she hoped it counted. 

“But Ajira wants to carry it. She doesn’t care how much it hurts. She wants to help you, Rabinna, because Ajira cares about you, and wants you to get better.”

Her claws fidgeted with the end of her seat. “And if something happened to you, and Ajira didn’t know---If you died keeping Ajira calm---She’d never forgive you.”

Rabinna’s head was still nestled in Ajira’s lap, blinking long and slow, as if to stave off tears, or perhaps exhaustion. There was a noise of surrender. She had finally capitulated. Ajira’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, one digging under her head like a pillow, the other reaching across her back, gliding across jutting ribs like a qanun. 

Ajira spoke again. “You should rest. It’s still a few hours to Ebonheart… Serush. ”

It felt right to say. There was a soft purr. 

Rabinna closed her eyes, and fell asleep in Ajira’s lap. They stayed like that for the rest of the trip.

-o-O-o-

“You understand, of course, this is a very unusual situation.” Im-Kilaya stood tall, taller than most of his kind, but his voice was gentle, and measured with precision. The scales at his throat caught the candlelight as he spoke, and his teardrop-shaped head tilted so low that the two Khajiit could not even see his mouth as he talked. Rabinna sat beside Ajira, quiet, hands gripping onto a steaming herbal something that she hadn’t taken a sip out of. 

“We were told the Argonian Mission protects freed slaves. Is that no longer accurate?”

The lizard's eyes narrowed a touch. “Of course we will protect her. But you must realize that by coming here, with multiple bags of illegal narcotics hidden, well, inside you, you’ve created a very… visible storm.”

Rabinna’s ears flicked. The herbal whatever was gently, but precariously, placed onto a small table. “You can get them out, yes?”

“It’ll take our best healers, and we’ll have to start soon, but it’s doable. That means you will be staying in the mission for a while. Longer than is convenient. And we’re obligated to inform the Legion. That’s non-negotiable. I’ve already sent word to Legate Matius. They’ll have to interrogate you. Who runs the operation, the extent of its activities, et cetera. You won’t be in danger, they just want enough information. You know how it is.”

Rabinna stole a glance at Ajira, looking for affirmation. She did not ‘know how it is’, but Ajira seemed unconcerned, and that was enough for her. 

“That’s okay.”

“And another thing.” Im-Kilaya sucked in a breath, lidless eyes shifting to the other Khajiit. “Ajira, yes? You are a free woman. I assume you have some amount of money, as well as permanent residence, and so we just can’t justify the cost of taking you on as well. You’re free to visit the Argonian Mission whenever you wish, but Rabinna will be staying with us, and when we smuggle her out, you won’t be able to come with her.”

Ajira sank in her seat, the once-soft padding now a prison. “So that’s it?” She snapped. “We came all this way, and you’re separating us?”

Im-Kilaya looked regretful. “If things go well, you won’t be separated for very long at all. We’ll just need to get Rabinna out of Vvardenfell district to dodge the cat-catchers, and that isn’t easy with the travel ban. We can tell you where to find her once it’s done, but you’ll have to facilitate your own means of escape. I’m sorry, but that’s all we can do.”

Ajira looked to Rabinna, her yellow eyes filled with sorrow. “That can’t be true- Tell Ajira that it isn’t-”

“-I understand if you two need time to discuss this. Please, take as long as you need.” He offered an alien gesture to two other Argonians, who immediately vacated the room, followed shortly by Im-Kilaya himself. 

And suddenly, the room was a smear of grey, colorless void, and Ajira found herself staring at the only point of vibrancy she could find. 

Rabinna looked back at her. Her eyes were imbued with… Something. Something familiar. Ajira read about it, once, in a dusty tome entombed in the Guild’s poultry little library. ‘Oblivion’s most precious and scarce asset’, they called it.

‘Hope.’

But there was a problem. 

“I don’t want to go without you.” Rabinna spoke, quick, decisive, tone brooking no argument. 

“Neither do I.” Ajira responded. 

They both froze. 

Somewhere in the distance, there was a cough that never reached them. A glass bottle rolled off a temple’s pew. An officer arose from his paperwork, face scrawled with annoyance. Two souls crossed a threshold, and entered into uncharted territory. 

“You- You Just said.”

“I- We said-”

“You just said it again!”

“Would- Would you like me to stop?”

“...No?”

“This is… We’re fine with this?” 

“Are you fine with this?”

“Yes.” It was a whisper. 

“Then yes- I’m fine with this.”

The stone hummed with the wind outside. A cracked-open window shuddered, and the breeze slipped across their fur. The building was breathing a sigh of relief.

“I- I-” Even with explicit permission, the word fluttered on her tongue. “-I understands if you want to---”

Rabinna chuckled. 

“ Understand. I understand. Sorry, conjugation is hard.”

“Your family don’t live around here, do they?” 

“Ajira’s---My mother was killed, or driven off, or something , when I was only five. I didn’t get a lot of practice with familial pronouns. I even think in the third person.”

“Then I suppose you can get that practice now, serush ~” The last word was said with a distinctive, flavorful purr.

She smiled. It radiated warmth like the sun. Their hands found each other. 

“So… Does this mean--- Do you have feelings for Ajira?”

“Ajira…” She smiled, using her hand to pat behind Ajira’s ears. “I’ve been making it exceedingly obvious for a while now. I literally slept with you. Of course I have feelings for you!”

Her eyes widened, and tail flicked in untold happiness. “Does this make us--?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Because I never even said what-”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to-”

“Yes!”

Their lips found each other---a kiss, chaste and hesitant, but with something bubbling under the surface. They pulled back, neither of them sure what had just happened, but both sure that they wanted more .

A second time, their lips found each other, no, crashed into each other, like fierce tidal waves lapping against a stony beach. Rabinna leaned in, Ajira rose to catch her weight. Her tongue invaded Ajira’s mouth, coarse, bristly, and just the right amount of painful. 

No combination of letters could truly describe how it felt. Heavenly? Erotic? Transcendent? All seemed fickle, ephemeral words on their tongues. Their only certainty was the embrace of the other, the intertwining of their whiskers, and the spit on their fur. Rabinna’s arms wrapped around Ajira. She postured on top, one leg drawing over, arms wrapping tighter. She wanted this. She’s been wanting this for a long time. Ajira’s knees buckled to keep herself steady. Her eyes were squeezed shut, savoring every last moment. She wanted this too. Gods, she wanted this more than anything right now. 

If only it could last forever.

Two loud knocks shattered the silence. They looked to the door behind their seat, but this wasn’t from the Argonians. This was from the front door. 

Rabinna scrambled off her lover. The fur around her mouth was still wet and matted with the other’s saliva. Ajira sat straight, hands kneading her lap, working off her lingering flush with a fake disinterest. 

Just two single ladies, sitting on a couch.

The door swung open hard enough to make a distinctive crack as it made contact with the stone wall. Evidently the Argonian Mission lacked the funds for a door stopper.

Standing below the grey arch were two men. One, an imperial, with invisible red streaks down his tangled brown hair. His short beard was trimmed neatly into a tiber-cut, and a steel cuirass covered his torso. 

Beside him stood a familiar figure. Ajira’s mind reached back, pulling his name out from some vague memory. Wayn, the fighter’s guild armorer. They’d seen each other before, but never exchanged words. Their work had little overlap.

“Ajira?” The Imperial called out to her. Her name . The way he pronounced it sent a shiver up her spine. It wasn’t even incorrect, just wrong.

“Y- Yes? Erm- Are you with the Fighter’s guild?”

It was a dumb question. She knew they were. 

The fighter’s face was stone-cold, expression unreadable. “We’ve been hired to escort you back to Balmora.”

“Oh-”

She turned to Rabinna.

“-Oh! No! Not yet! Ajira is doing fine! You can go back and tell Ranis that Ajira is safe, and that she will only be a few more moons. There was a complication and-”

The Imperial scoffed. “Who in Oblivion is Ranis?”

Ajira’s brow furrowed. “...Ranis Athrys? Your employer?”

The Redguard leaned in, whispering something to his comrade. “That’s her guildmaster. She thinks we’re here to rescue her.” 

Another scoff. 

“We weren’t hired by any mages. We were hired by--”

“-Titus!” Wayn scolded. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. Ajira Whateveryourlastnameis, under authority of the Fighters Guild of Tamriel, you are under arrest for the reaving and foul murder of Arvel Melyn. You will be detained, and your stolen property will be rendered forfeit.”

The Imperial’s eyes drifted to Rabinna as the word ‘property’ left his mouth. Her hand slid across the fabric of the couch, and tightly wound itself around Ajira’s own. 

It was hardly a comfort. 

The fighters’ strides were long and deliberate. Their metal boots clanked against the ground, muffled only by a thin, austral carpet. Ajira didn’t breathe, she only squeezed Rabinna’s hand even tighter. 

The world folded into a tunnel, dark at the edges, blinding in the center. Firm hands gripped her arms, and ripped her from her seat, from her serush . There was a pressure on her ribs and a cracking in her spine, like she was being crushed. She tried squirming, but there was only pain. Someone was screaming, begging for them to let go. Then she realized; it was her.

He was carrying her, like she was the helpless damsel in one of those terrible Nibenese plays. Except this time, there would be no noble knight to come and rescue her. Instead, a frail, lithe thing, armored only in fur and rags. There was blood on her hands, no, hand ---the one that had been holding onto Ajira. The one that didn’t let go, even as she was torn from her grasp. It was split open, gushing like a geyser of scarlet. Ajira glanced at her own hand, and saw her claws were covered in the very same substance. She had done this. 

Rabinna was yelling. It was something unintelligible; something raw and thunderous. She stepped closer, and Ajira could see her eyes swell with rage. The steaming herbal tea slipped off of the table and shattered.

Then she took another step, or said something too antagonizing, or maybe just looked at them wrong. It didn’t matter. Wayn unlatched his mace, reversed his grip, and brought the haft down. The crack as the wood met Rabinna’s skull was louder than any scream. 

Ajira’s world folded in on itself. 

There was blood---too much blood---and shouting from somewhere distant, like it echoed through water. The grip on her body was steel. She thrashed and twisted, trying to slip free, but the pressure only tightened. Her spine cracked under the weight. 

Rabinna had screamed. It was all Ajira could hear, over and over again, resounding in her skull like an echo.

And then there was nothing. No voice. Emptiness where Rabinna should be. Wayn had picked her up as well--- that bastard!  

Another door swung open. Several armored figures darted toward them---Argonians, three soldiers, one civilian. They shouted demands, the fighters shouted back. Ajira yowled for help, claws flailing against the bare steel of her captor as she thrashed and squirmed. An animalistic snarl tore from her throat just as one of her claws found purchase. She felt it slice through something soft. There was a loud yell, and the cold, hard embrace of the stone floor. 

Her body was lying against the ground, aching, throbbing, and useless. The Imperial was hunched over, moaning in pain. His hand was clutched onto his face, blood slipping between his heavy fingers. 

Wayn had yelled something, a slur, maybe, before ramming his steel boots into Ajira’s side. Her ribs snapped inward with agonizing fury. She grasped on to whatever breath she could, but her lungs felt sharp and painful. Another blow landed on Ajira’s head. Her vision danced sideways, filled with bursts of bright light, before giving way to darkness. 

She stayed that way for a long time.