Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Skyrim or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. All original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.
Story Notes: In making absurdly slow progress with other original writings I've ended up committing something of a fanfiction sin - And so you have this fic. This is a telling of the Skyrim story, expanded upon from the point of view of my first character as I play this game for the first time, with minimal research or references into anything until after I complete any given portion of the game. A blind run, basically.
As with most games of this type I find the character generation nice and deep, but largely lacking in personality and actual 'role-playing' for the protagonist. Choosing skills, weapon preferences and feats and factions to side with doesn't make for a deep or involving character, especially when said character can do everything and join everyone with no consequence, and so I've given my Nordwoman a voice.
I will be playing through the game 'in character', and cropping out all the extraneous filler the game throws at me such as random caves and sidequests that don't add anything to my character's story. I will be justifying silly game mechanics that I use through her, and will expand upon the game's events with various characters' opinions and mid/post-quest narrative as I would have expected them to have them.
But there will also be dialogue copied straight out of the game, for the sake of the game's actual plotline. Hopefully not too much, but that will depend on how the game unfolds. There will be content and inventory specifics that doesn't appear in the story, because they seem unnecessary or redundant. And there will be quests I skip in story, or only part finish, or finish sub-optimally, because that's what the character would do.
If that doesn't appeal then consider yourself warned, and I will ignore complaints that it isn't what you wanted. If you're willing to give it a try, hopefully you'll like it.
xxx
Half-Blind
-An Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim Fan Fiction by Nutzoide-
Chapter 1: A Hero in Blood and Deed
Arith Half-Blind awoke in a fit of shivers. The sky had been clear only hours ago when she and her Companion had bedded down in the deepest hours of the night, but now a freezing rain fell through the open roof, drenching the tatted bedcovers and seeping into the leather cuirass and breeches she wore.
Across the small destroyed hut Farkas sat on the table - the hut's only remaining furniture - watching as she threw off both her veil of sleep and the sopping rags. If he cared about the rain he didn't show it. "Sun is rising, Shield Sister, and the rain has only just arrived. We should shelter here until it passes."
Arith growled in the back of her throat and strode over, grabbing her bow so that the gut string wouldn't soak through, and she ducked beneath the table. It was the only shelter left in the hut, and the sheets of water pouring in would have soaked them both to the bone in the mere ten minutes it would have taken them to get to Whiterun's west tower. As she crouched, shivering beneath the table, Arith muttered something about short-sightedness under her breath. If they'd taken those few extra minutes to walk on they would have been dry at least. The guards stationed at the ruined tower could have kept a fire burning within at least.
A moment later Farkas joined her, stripping out of his armour and drying himself on the clothing beneath. "You'll forgive my improperness, I hope."
Such a big word coming from a thick-headed beast like him, Arith thought, but she said nothing and merely turned her back. She had said nothing to him since discovering his 'secret' - a fearful nausea in response to his curse had stopped their friendly talk dead. The Companions' mercenary group had seemed a good place for her; steady money, straightforward battles, and many of them were Nords like herself. A good group to rebuild her life with, and who didn't care to ask questions.
Lycanthropy she hadn't expected. In fact, this was a close as she had let him since seeing him change in the Cairn, outside of battle with the undead Draugr.
It was foolish. The Jarl of Whiterun called her 'Dovahkiin' - 'Dragonborn' in the common tongue - and the implications were clear. She was something more than just another Nord hunter-woman with a buried axe she had once ground. She was... not sure what she was. But her very presence had stripped the meat off a dead dragon's bones, and infused her voice with something dreadfully powerful. Not magic, she knew enough to understand that, but something similar. Something *primal*.
No, there was little chance she would stay with the Companions now. She had questions for their elder Kodlak, but after that she would need to part company with them, with all haste.
Finished in his drying, Farkas spoke, reaching again for conversation. "Arith, you asked my reasons for joining the Companions. What of your own? You have proven well worthy, but why accept Aela's offer to seek us out?"
xxx Three days previously
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
Arith pulled herself upright, and a crick in her neck sent pain through her already aching body. The immediate desire to soothe it was halted as more pains filled her arms, tied behind her at the wrists. The Divines only knew how she had remained sitting as the cart they were in headed down a steep, rough road, through a wood somewhere or other. They were still in Skyrim at least, or so the snowy trees implied. The man opposite her spoke on.
"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
It all came flooding back. She *had* been heading for the border, but an ambush had been the least of Arith's worries then. Imperial or Stormcloak, it likely wouldn't have mattered either way.
The thief and the Stormcloak man began to throw recriminations at each other, and Arith stopped listening. The Imperials at least had no reason to hunt her, not beyond breaking past a toll point. But if the other men in her cart were telling each other the truth, she was being transported with royal usurper Ulfric Stormcloak himself, and that meant only one thing: They were heading for the chopping block. Out of the skillet then...
xxx Present
The rain had lasted only twenty minutes before vanishing as swiftly as it had arrived, and thankfully the sun had remained bright behind those brief storm clouds. Their clothing would dry quickly as they walked, and though not as stout as some Arith was still a Nord. Weathering the freezing chill in the meanwhile was a hardship she could endure.
"So the Imperials sought your head?" Farkas asked as they began their march. "Their people seem content enough to see you walk around Whiterun now."
"I know." Arith rubbed at the scar that ran down from her dead right eye. An eye that appeared glassy and white within its reddened lids. "Whatever they wanted, it must not have been circulated before the dragon destroyed Helgen."
"Heh, why spread news of a dead woman? It changes nothing. As many of us found refuge with the Companions as joined for honour or glory."
Arith did not reply. Clearly she had said too much already. They continued to walk in silence towards the broken tower in the distance.
"... I had not thought the Dovahkiin would be cowed by a werewolf."
"I am not *cowed*! I had not expected warriors who harp on of 'honour' to have embraced such a curse!"
"It can be a curse at times, yes. But to stand against our enemies with such strength; It is no less honourable than your bow, shot from the shadows. But you step up with axe and shield when challenged, as do I Shield Sister."
The heavy silence fell again.
"Very well, Arith. Tell me more of your flight from Helgen then."
xxx Two days previously
"So, have you given her the letter yet?"
Arith regarded the Bosmer wood elf with cautious unease. That he was an elf had put her on edge when she had first arrived in Riverwood in any case, but Faendal's open, if clipped manner had set her at ease. After the escape from that dragon through beast-infested caves any friendly face was welcome, even an elf's. After selling the spoils of her flight she had asked him to train her in the use of a bow, and spent all but a few gold pieces to pay for the day's tutelage.
Archery and following the hunt had been a passion of hers since her youth, but Arith had never actually held a bow before stealing one from the burning Helgen fort. Though she understood the town's desire for haste in summoning guards from Whiterun, she wanted to be prepared before she made that journey, and she might never meet another archer willing to teach her.
Likewise, the wife of the trader who had bought her spoils had made a request of her own, and providing bandits with a swift demise she *did* have experience of, so she would stay to ambush them in their own warrens before heading on.
But then Faendal had confided in her one of his local quarrels, and asked her to help sabotage a romance he was jealous of. So much for those good first appearances. The midnight clearing of the bandits in their hole provided a welcome catharsis, but the question still played on her mind. He had been a help to her, but this Bosmer man had turned out to be petty and conniving after all.
"Not yet. But I have spoils to sell, I will pass it on when I do."
So she did. But there was no need to pretend the stupid letter was from her better suitor. There was some satisfaction to be had from the fire in the woman's eyes when she told of the attempted deception, and the promise of a reward from her suitor himself rung even sweeter in Arith's ears.
The gold she spent on a last evening lesson from Faendal, before he caught word of her duplicity, and she left as night fell. No need to stay and witness Faendal's wrath, especially knowing his skill with the bow.
xxx Present
Farkas laughed, sat with her around the fire that burned in the west tower. The dark paint around his eyes crinkled into strange shapes with every chuckle. "Yes, you *do* have an interesting concept of 'honour'. But the man deserved it, no doubt."
Arith just nodded. "That's elves for you."
"And so you come to Whiterun, to slay giants and dragons with us."
"I came and delivered the message, so the Jarl should have sent troops to Riverwood by now. I helped fight the dragon because it seemed like the thing to do. Not that I could give the rest of them any useful advice. The thing nearly killed me, and two men of the guard weren't as lucky."
"Such is the way of battle. An honourable death isn't to be feared. You still slew it, without incentive. Much as you shot arrows into the giant we fought."
"Was I just supposed to walk on by?"
"No. But that might have drawn its attention to you."
Arith shook her head. It still felt odd to feel the air pass across her ears after having shaved her head, attempting to cross the border. It had been a poor disguise apparently, given her scar, and her eye. "I'd have run."
"And outpaced a giant? Difficult."
"Especially since dead ones move so fast."
Farkas looked at her quizzically, clearly not understanding.
"You haven't seen? Some of the guard dragged the body up to the town gate. They're singing your praises right now." She sounded bitter there, much like she felt. The guards did not know that their heroes were werewolves. "Ach, enough talk. Let me sleep another hour or two, and then we can make for Whiterun."
xxx Two day previously
Panting with exhaustion Arith slung her bow onto her back and cast another healing spell to wipe away the burns across her abdomen. Being doused with a jet of dragon's flame had been excruciating, but every one of the survivors had been burned to some degree, and managed to fight on regardless. After going toe to toe with the beast Irileth's Dunmer skin might have been all that saved her hide. And dark elf or no, it's claws and teeth had left their marks, at least until she found the time to cast a healing of her own.
But how could Arith not be euphoric? She had killed a dragon! Well, been involved, at least. She felt sorry for the two men eaten by it, but the thrill of the kill returned with unimaginable vigour. Wait until those Companion people heard about this. They wouldn't be giving her swords to ferry about now!
And as the stepped closer, the corpse began to burn. If fact, it didn't so much burn as melt away into the air, tinged in flame.
"Everybody, get back!"
The Dunmer's voice registered, but unlike the guards Arith couldn't do so. The powerful sight rooted her to the spot as wisps of magic began to seep from the creature's burning carcass, reaching out to her. She raised her hands instinctively to protect herself, but those tendrils flew past her warding arms and into her soul, the breeze becoming a gale until the torrent of power filled her completely. She forgot to breathe, her mind blank. This was better than the finest of wines, more intense than first learning to channel magic, more intimate than sex. This energy was *hers*, filling her entirely and bringing coherence to the 'word of power' that had imprinted itself in her mind just the day before, deep in the bandit crypt.
And then it faded, leaving her unsteady on her feet for a moment. Nothing remained of the dragon's corpse but a skeleton and some scraps of its scaly hide, each falling from the air with a thud.
"I can't believe it. You're... Dovahkiin."
xxx Present
Oh Gods, don't ask him any more, Arith thought. She stood among the Circle of Companions, the five most trusted and experienced of the group, and who apparently shared the curse of Lycanthropy. There was no pride in her stance for the accomplishments she had achieved in their name, and any anger in her mind had faded. What remained was a quiet resignation as what seemed to be their welcoming ceremony played out. There had been no acceptance on her part, or indication of any formalities until she had joined them in their rear courtyard.
"And would you raise your sword in her honour?"
To Arith's horror, Farkas replied again. "It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."
Here she had spend the last ten hours either ignoring him or placating him with idle tales of the recent past, wishing she had never gotten involved with beasts such as these people, and now here he was singing her praises. She had even put an arrow in his arm to ward him off when he had changed forms. Did he really *want* her to join them after all that?
"And would you raise a mug in her name?"
"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall revelled in her stories."
Really? He honestly would? What kind of end to their all but silent mission was that?
"Then the judgement of this Circle is complete."
She let the old man finish his speech, and each of the others congratulated her as they left her to speak with the elder. Arith herself stood all but speechless, feigning gratitude as well as she could.
"Well girl, you're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint."
Really, there was only one thing Arith could say now. "Is it true that the Companions are werewolves?"
Kodlak seemed surprised for a moment, before he sighed. He clearly saw through her flimsy act. "I see you've been allowed to know some secrets before your appointed time. No matter. Yes, it's true. Not every Companion though. Only members of the Circle share the blood of the beast. Some take to it more than others."
He sounded almost as weary as Arith felt after her ordeal, and her curiosity rose through her confusion. "What about you?"
"Well, I grow old. My mind turns to the horizon. To Sovngarde."
To the heavens? It was true, even for a self-made hunter like Arith mortality hung overhead like the axe that had almost taken hers. It was strange to hear this old man, clearly still so courageous and active, speak of his concern that his own favoured Divine might not accept his spirit because of his tainted blood. To Arith the thought of eternity upon Hircine's hunting grounds was a pleasant one, but it was not what Kodlak sought.
"You're... looking to cure yourself?" It was an almost incredulous question. This curse of theirs was self inflicted, surely.
"Yes, but it's no easy matter. But you don't need to share the worries of an old warrior. This day is to rejoice in your bravery! You will join us for that, I hope?"
While the thought of his condition chilled her far more than the Skyrim winds ever could, Arith actually found herself liking this man. He might be a beast, but he was certainly far more than just that. "...Yes. I will."
"Oh, and speak to Eorlund if you want a better weapon than... whatever that is."
Arith just stood there in shock as Kodlak strode past. She had finally learned to shoot, fairly well at that, and her arrows had helped fell a dragon, never mind clearing half of the Cairn with Falkas. She would not give up her bow for anything!
xxx
That night, after much food and even more mead, Arith sat upon her new bed within the basement walls of the Companions' building, Jorrvaskr, a mirror in her hands. She needed a bath, looking at the streaks of crypt dirt that had not fully been washed away by the morning rain. Perhaps she could ask that nice old cleaning lady whose name she hadn't managed to remember through all the drink.
Her slim, pearl-drop face contorted as she tried to remember, to no avail. Arith was not a slender woman, but high cheekbones and a small chin gave the illusion of it on her face; the rest of her was still muscled beneath strong curves, as any Nord woman should be.
It was her face that held her only scars too, the discoloured tear that fell down to her cheekbone from her dead eye, and re-appeared again to cut at an angle past her lips and off the side of her chin. Time was that the eye and upper scar would have been hidden beneath a long curtain of pale brown hair, but no more. Now there was just several days' growth of stubble upon her head, making her eyebrows look large.
One of the friendlier women there, Ria, watched from her own bed. "I did not think of you as the vain type, Shield Sister. No woman who cares so much would shave her head, surely?"
Arith had to turn to see her, but did so, smiling slightly through the alcohol and the slight mourning for her locks. "I did not choose to go bare headed. Call it a casualty of the battlefield."
"Oh, I'm sorry. But in any case, it does you no disservice. You make for a fearsome image, with axe or in drawing a bow, so Farkas tells it."
"It does not matter in either case with a helm on." Arith reached for said leather helm from the trunk beside her bed and pulled it on. "See?"
Across from the men's side of the large bunk room Torvar grinned drunkenly. "I can say you are fair enough either way, Sister, eye or no."
Ria looked over with a frown to scold him. "Enough of that. Now Farkas also says you have accepted your first full mission already. You seem rather eager."
Arith pulled the helm off her head and shrugged, leaning back on her hands. "The Jarl says I have been summoned away by the Greybeards, but if it so urgent then they could come to see me. I have some other business to finish and a housecarl to break in before I even think of taking on the mountain, so a good fight on your behalf will hardly make my delay any worse."
"A housecarl? What manner of reward did the Jarl give you!"
Arith grinned drunkenly. "Didn't you hear? I slew a dragon! Being named Thane of Whiterun was a formality after that!"
xxx
Of course, normally a Thane would have had a home of his own within the town, and while one had been made available for her in Whiterun, Arith did not have the money with which to purchase it herself. More than two thousand in gold stood between her and that potential home, so she considered swallowing her fear of the older Companions' natures to have been one of her better decisions to date. It gave her a bed of her own, at least, complete with roof above, which didn't cost ten of her gold coins a night.
What that did mean, however, was that a housecarl was an extravagance she didn't need. While the idea of a loyal servant had filled her with greedy ideas at first, she had no home for the woman to guard, and nor would the servant likely be welcome in the Companions' compound.
And yet what good was having a personal armswoman if one did not make use of her?
Up in Dragonsreach above Whiterun, Arith cast her eye across the long tables laid with food, and the Jarl's men and women who ate their generous breakfasts. Farengar, the Jarl's enchanter and mystic, sat apart from the others. Though he voiced his thoughts on politics of late, he spoke with little passion for them, and seemed not to care whether Arith joined in the conversation not. Commander Caius of the Whiterun guard ignored the talk, instead focusing on his meal. He likely had strong opinions on the subject of the Imperial and Stormcloak conflict, but thought better than to debate with the sage.
Beside him sat Lydia, the warrior woman still wearing her steel shell of armour at the table, content to humour the dour sage until she saw Arith approach. Since being appointed her housecarl Lydia had said barely a sentence to her, though not without reason. Arith could not have hidden her grin at receiving an armed retainer if she had tried, which she hadn't. The warrior woman had remained straightforward and deferential, as would probably have been expected of her for any real Thane, but when Arith had asked if she would do *anything* in her defence... Well, who could fault the woman for looking unnerved?
Now she stood and nodded. "Honour to you, my Thane."
Deferential to an extreme. After being chased around and spoken down to by some of the less amicable Companions, it was quite nice to be the one in charge of a conversation. Arith sat down at the table beside her. "So you say, but speak plainly 'my housecarl', what do you expect me to do as Thane?"
"The Jarl has recognised you as a persona of great importance in the hold. A hero. The title is less an obligation to you, but more a gift. After all, the guards will know to look the other way if they know who you are."
That was not what Arith had expected. "He has given me licence to, what? Flaunt the position?"
"Some do," was the matter-of-fact reply. "But your voice, experience and insight matter, to the Jarl and the hold as a whole. Being... Dovahkiin, will only add weight to your voice. Though I mean no jest," she quickly added, after a moments thought. "You are still free to come and go as you please. That I have been assigned to serve you rather than another, I expect the Jarl sees you doing more than sitting within these walls."
She thought herself a competent warrior then. Confident, and perhaps a little proud behind the veneer of respect. "So what will *you* do as my housecarl then, seeing as I have no home yet for your to protect."
"You do not intend to buy it?" Lydia asked, seemingly genuinely confused at the thought.
"I didn't say that."
"Well, as my Thane, I am sworn to your service. I will guard you, and all you own, with my life."
That was what Arith had wanted to hear. While travelling with Farkas had been uncomfortable in the extreme, she had enjoyed having a strong arm to watch her back, and to step up when an arrow or two was not enough to dissuade the Draugr. "Then I will leave you to rot in this lap of luxury no longer. Finish your meal and make ready to travel. There is a hunt I wish to undertake before having to meet with the Greybeards, and good works to weave for the Companions on the return trip."
Lydia nodded, though a cautious air fell over her. "Very well, I can be ready now. But be aware, if we are to be looking for a fight then keeping you safe will be all the harder."
Arith rose. "Do not worry, I do not intend to get either of us killed, and the cause is quite just. And finish your meal. I must speak to Proventus about claiming a bounty."
"Which you did without my protection, my Thane?"
"A few bandits, my housecarl." Arith smiled, and puffed out her chest a little. "Hardly a danger compared to a dragon."
xxx
Lunch had long since come and gone as Arith and Lydia trekked west, past the old fort which both suspected was infested with bandits or other undesirables. Arith had no desire to provoke them, and so it was that only an old henge finally brought them to a halt.
"You keep a good pace, my Thane," Lydia complemented, having made the march in her steel breastplate, and barely lacking in breath.
For her own part, Arith was eager for a break though she chose not to say as much, and instead took the opportunity to rest upon a piece of the old, fallen stone. "A little water and we can..."
Her voice was halted as she caught sight of the markings on one of the stone pedestals. They were the same markings as those in the crypt back by Riverwood, where she had uncovered that 'Words of Power'; the one the Dragon's soul had given unearthly force to.
"My Thane, what concerns you?"
"These aren't just rocks. It is another mechanism of some sort." She hurried over to a metal grate, set into the earth. Within lay a skeleton, its flesh long since having rotted away, and a large chest. Perhaps *another* of those words hid inside! "Lydia, help me move these pillars. Or rotate them! To match the carvings above!"
It took some effort, and trial and error with a pillar devoid of a guiding glyph, but at last the mechanism unlocked for them. Curiosity sent Arith down the small pit like a ferret after meat.
"Well I'll be. You have come across such a thing before."
Opening the chest, Arith felt her heart sink. There were no dragon runes awaiting her. Just trinkets and a playbook. "Not like this, no. But similar."
She flipped open the book idly. A stage play about battlemages or some such. Perhaps it would be worth a read later, and so thinking she stowed it in her pack.
"The book is valuable?" Lydia asked from above, but Arith shook her head and climbed the rickety wooden steps back up.
"No. A dull old play script."
"And yet you would carry it back?"
Arith gave her a pointed look. "The unwanted books of others made for my education. Something I aspire to, 'my housecarl'. Perhaps *you* could learn something from reading one once in a while."
Lydia stepped back, shock evident on her face. "I-I meant no disrespect, my Thane."
Uhg, this woman was either infuriatingly naive or too straightforward for her own good. "No, of course not. Forgive my outburst. You are right, and I have little interest or talent in spellcraft, but it is better read than left to moulder out here in the elements. If nothing else, it might help a pass a sleepless night."
And then genuine concern. "You have trouble sleeping?"
Why bother to hide it out there, with no-one but this blindly loyal fool to hear? "I would say not, but recently? Much has happened that might keep me awake. Enough of that. Let us forge on. I would like to find these bastards by nightfall, and take them swiftly."
So walk on they did.
"Forgive my asking, but who *are* you intent on slaying?"
Only then did Arith realise she had never actually explained. "Assassins from the deserts of Hammerfell. A long way to chase a lone woman, all the way to Skyrim."
"They seek to kill you?"
"No, not me. A pretty Redguard serving wench from The Bannered Mare, who is apparently more than meets the eyes.
Lydia looked uncertain. "I... see. An unusual coincidence, if I guess the story right."
"So say I. But she was fiery in her earnestness when I 'enquired' as to why she was being sought from outside the town's walls. Perhaps these 'assassins' will advise me otherwise when we find them, but one of their number tells me that battle is more likely. If they will attack us before even asking our names, then they will have been worth hunting regardless. And I am hoping this supposed noblewoman in barmaiden's clothing will be able to pay well to be free of them."
She stopped as she saw smoke from a large fire over one of the heathered hummocks, and a pair of herd mammoths grazing while their masters sat. "Look ahead. Giants. "
Lydia frowned. "Let us circle around the path. I do not relish the idea of fighting one, never mind a herding camp."
"Agreed."
xxx
Despite the minor detour the pair reached the Swindler's Den before sundown. A single Nord man stood outside, picking at a large wedge of cheese that sat on a barrel in the entrance.
Lydia immediately stated the obvious. "Look, a cave. And only one guard? I wonder what's inside."
"Our quarry, if my incarcerated informant spoke true." So saying, her bow down by her side, Arith strode on into view.
"Wait! He is also no Redguard man, and he is armed!"
Arith looked back, having to turn her head past her bad right side to look at Lydia properly. "As are we. Likely the foreigners have enlisted local help to track their woman? In any case, if he is not willing to talk, then we know where we stand with these people. You will leap to my defence, will you not?"
"As I am sworn to, my Thane."
"Then let us greet..."
The scruffy man gave her no chance to finish as they reached the mouth of the cave. He pulled his axe from the floor, and charged. "You shouldn't have come here, little girls!"
True, he was a big man, and his axe head met Arith's leather jerkin with a glancing blow before she could put an arrow into his chest. But the once Lydia's blade was drawn the fight was already over, and she cut the injured man down before he could swing again, embedding her sword deep into his side.
His body had not even hit the floor when Lydia had her hands on Arith's bruised shoulder, her voice urgent. "My Thane! Are you wounded?"
Arith was a little taken aback, not to mention shaken after being attacked so suddenly. The man had not even given her a chance to speak to him. "I am... fine, I think. If sore. He did not even break my armour."
She set her bow aside and channelled what little magic she was skilled with to clear the ache and inevitable bruise. "No need for concern." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "He was swifter on his feet than he looked. Is it a wonder I prefer to strike first?"
Lydia merely stared, something entirely different apparently on her mind. "You *do* know spellcraft. If you don't mind my asking, why suggest otherwise back at the stones."
That was a difficult question to answer sensibly. "Anyone can learn some basics, Lydia. Restoration is the only sphere of spellcraft I have actually attempted to practice. The rest... I wouldn't advise you trust any potion I might make. And I have no desire to light myself afire to learn battle-magery. I would rather try and master this bow of mine."
xxx
With the fight having taken only moments, and no sign of reinforcements or relief arriving from within, Arith and Lydia decided to wait until nightfall to strike inwards, and made use of the man's unfinished dinner before creeping inside.
The tunnel soon opened up into the Den proper, where two more unkempt Nord men talked by candlelight. Arith crept forward to try and listen in, her bow already drawn taught.
"I'm not sure I like these Alik'r warriors hiding out here. They seem like trouble."
"Keep it to yourself, they're not paying us to talk. They'll be gone as soon as they've found who they've been looking for..."
Sooner than that, Arith thought to herself, and she loosed her iron tipped arrow into the side of the nearest man - the one with a bow of his own on his back. He crumpled instantly, his chest pierced from the back, and though his partner in crime drew his sword and pulled on his shield, Arith already had a second arrow trained on him. Whether the man had seen her from the dark cavern-mouth she did not know, but her arrow struck true, embedding itself in his shoulder.
Clearly panicked by the unseen archer the bandit fled for the passage further in to escape the arrows, and Arith's third shot missed him, sending an unfortunate wicker basket catapulting through the air.
One last arrow caught him in the small of his back before he disappeared. Enough to kill him. Arith straightened up, listened for more approaching feet after those cries of pain, and when there were none she went to survey the bodies.
Lydia followed, taking in the scene. "You know, though lacking an eye you make for a keen shot, my Thane."
"Is it really necessary to use that title here? And thank you. The elf was a good teacher if nothing else. That he remarked likewise is why my axe and shield remain at my hips. Wolves and a deer were my first practice hunts, and they ran faster than this one."
The cave ran deeper, and two bandits further in fell the same way; the first killed as much by the shock of the arrow entering his waist as from the damage itself, his comrade with a shot through the back when he rushed over to him. Fool.
The rough dining quarters further in were a different proposition entirely. At least four more of these wilderness bandits milled around the tables, with a large wiry woman on a level above, overlooking their evening drinks. And there were orcs, Orsimer, among them
Arith crept back down the tunnel, where Lydia had waited, and explained the situation. "These we can't take by surprise. Not all. I will shoot twice, try and make as many kills before they can arm and attack in return. After my second arrow, wade in and I will follow you into the melee."
Lydia nodded. "Then stay at my back, and I will stay at yours, my Thane."
"... A hard fight or not, you make it sound so grave."
The plan worked well to start, Arith's arrow felling one Orsimer outright, while the human archer among them took an arrow to the head, but one that didn't fully penetrate her skull. Lydia finished the job before the woman - were more than half these drinking bandits women? - could return fire. After that Arith joined the fray, and with a guttural shout, fuelled by the soul of a mighty dragon, she staggered the fighters that came to meet her and her housecarl, to make short work of them. The last woman, wearing not leathers but a robe, funnelled her hands to shower them both with arcane frost, but to Nord women like Lydia and Arith the cold was little impediment, and they slew her in short order.
What Arith had not seen, as her blind right side was to the raised edge, was that the woman above had not remained there, but leaped down and drawn the large dagger at her hip.
"My Thane, watch yourself!"
Lydia's warning came only as the blade dug through the seams in Arith's jerkin, and buried itself to the hilt in her side. Arith pulled away, staggering back as Lydia took up the fight for her. She dropped her shield and pressed a healing hand into the agonizing wound, sealing it before she could bleed too much, but the tough bandit woman sought to get around Lydia and finish her off before she could heal herself properly.
Arith fended her away with her axe long enough that Lydia could kill the relentless woman properly.
"Lydia, watch the tunnels a moment. I need to concentrate."
Breathless and pale Lydia did so. "Forgive my eyes for being distracted felling the mage, my Thane. Is your magic potent enough to keep you hale until I can get you to a healer?"
"My magic will be more than sufficient. If only I knew enough to work it faster." She gasped a little as the muscle and skin knitted back together beneath the bloodstained leather. "I might even have magicka enough left in me to heal your own scratches."
"I am in no poor shape, my Thane. If it will aid you, do not spare the energy for me."
Arith sighed. "As you wish. It will replenish soon enough, but we still have not found our assassins. Let us go, while the energy of battle still sings in my veins."
The tunnel forward led around into a kitchen and sleeping chamber, blessedly empty of more enemies. The tunnel then curved around and up above their battleground prior, before sloping down into a half flooded straight with the sound of falling water ahead.
"Great." Arith sighed, thoroughly unimpressed with this turn of events. "Well, I have not got here to be turned around by water." She pulled off her pack and left it lying in the tunnel entrance. "I can cook my clothing along with these highwaymens' salmon on the way back."
Lydia clearly didn't think much of the idea, but followed suit without complaint or prompt. "Lead on then, and I will follow."
The freezing water was waist deep as they waded through, their shields and Arith's bow held aloft to keep dry. Above them yet another cavern opened up, where the water filled the tunnel from above, and it was as they passed under the falls that they heard the voice.
"Stay your hands, warriors. You have proven your skill in combat. Let us talk a moment, and no-one else needs to die. I think we can all profit from the situation in which we find ourselves."
Looking up Arith saw the speaker to be a Redgaurd man. Hopefully the one she intended to kill. At least he could be reasonable and parlay first, unlike those slaughter-hungry bandits. And after all this, the thought of profit beyond the spoils of battle was appealing. Now if only her lower half wasn't submerged in ice-cold hill water.
"Tell me then, "Arith replied from the underground stream, "why do you hunt Saadia?"
The story he told painted the hiding noblewoman in a very different light. Fleeing her house after betraying it to the local expansionist regime. The very one Saadia had claimed these men to be from. If their side was to be believed, they intended to drag her back to Hammerfell, and have her tried her for treason.
But which side to believe? In Arith's mind camping up with these local thugs was hardly the course of a group that wanted justice, never mind paying them for the privilege of such secrecy. Foreigners or not, there were other, less dubious places to camp if they were refused entrance into Whiterun. The problem was that the route up to these men meant running the gauntlet to a wooden, water-slicked ramp out of the flooded tunnel, and no doubt these men would be well armed to receive them.
"No," she replied, after a moment's thought. A moment in which this man's eyes remained firmly locked on her and her guardswoman. It was standing up for herself and for others that had cost her an eye, and if the scars were to forever define her face then her moral instincts would define her foes. "Somehow I don't believe you bring 'justice' from within a cave of murderous thugs. I was trusted to kill you, and so I will."
But to her surprise, the man talked on, mocking.
"Of course. Did she appeal to your honour? Your greed? A more... base need perhaps. I doesn't matter. If that's the way you want to play it, we will."
With that said the rest of the Redguard foreigners finally appeared, drawing swords and running to the wooden ramp.
"Lydia beside me!" And with that Arith *charged* through the water and up the ramp, a Nord war cry leaping from the depths of her chest. Outnumbered or not, the sight and the *sound* of these two woman barrelling towards them, weapons drawn, was enough to send several of the assassins skidding to a halt on the wet wood, and more fleeing back into the depths of the chamber. Arith's target was clear. Saadia had said that without their leader this band would not have the stomach to finish the job, and so she headed right for the well spoken man at the side of the cave, a powerful swing of her axe breaking through the guard of his twinned scimitars.
The man fought well, and proved resilient beyond measure despite having no sure way to defend himself from Arith's blows, but finally he fell, and she turned to join Lydia in fending off a full half dozen men. The housecarl was bleeding freely from her arms and left temple, but she had not fallen yet, and Arith barrelled into the crowd to take her own share of punishment, and claim another three kills.
The fight won, the pair slumped down against the cavern wall, exhausted from both pain and exertion.
Arith chuckled despite her injuries - scimitar cuts across her arms and legs abounded - but still high on the adrenaline. "Give me a minute, and I will try to stop your bleeding."
"I have suffered worse, my Thane. As did you, only minutes ago. You fought well, if recklessly. Had we not scared them with our charge they would certainly have overwhelmed us. A fight more educational than most."
"Indeed. Dispatching the leader before any of them had the wits to join him... that was the luck of the Divines. Now, hold still and let me work my magics."
xxx
With night now well upon them the thought of moving on galled Arith. Sitting in front of the fire and the roasting fish she still felt the chill of that wretched underground river in her hardened Northlander bones. Both her own tough breeches and Lydia's armoured leggings hung by the fire to try, no doubt to smell of cooked salmon once they were dry.
Rather than dwell on either discomfort Arith spent her time surveying their spoils: Several suits of hide that should both sell well despite the bloodstains, an old dwarven - or Dwemer, or 'Deep Elf', depending on who wrote the book - artefact, and a leather helm that held some manner of enchantment Arith hoped to rip from it back in Whiterun, to add to her own limited arcane repertoire. More interesting was the bow Arith had already taken for her own, the sturdier Orsimer weapon had replaced her own as soon as she'd laid eyes on it.
Across the fire Lydia counted their coin. After the way she had fought, and her general air of willing subordination, Arith had no fear that the woman would pocket any, and was even thinking of splitting her a fair share.
"One hundred and seventy four in gold, all told. Mostly from their leader."
"Good. That will cover the money spent on finding this place, and then some. With the hides as well, this could have been worse." Pulling her pack over to the blanket she sat upon, she began to re-pack her belongings to fit as many of those hides as she could.
"You are thinking to cart all of these... back... My Thane? Are those *bones*?"
Indeed, the several gargantuan vertebrae Arith had removed would have to be wrapped around. "Yes? My share from the dragon at the western tower."
"And you have been carrying them all this time?"
"I was not about to leave them there. These will be valuable to the right armour smith."
Lydia just looked in awe as Arith continued her packing. "And the Warmaiden's wouldn't take them?"
"No. Said that doing so would bankrupt her, when none in Whitehaven would actually pay for such an extravagance. The dragonhide I may try and cure myself, though I suspect it will not take to treating like deer or wolf skin."
She looked up with a tired, crooked smile. "Enjoy your own light pack while you can, Lydia. I intend to make the most of our assault on Brittleshin Pass before returning to Whitehaven."
"My Thane, you intend to join in battle again so soon without seeing a healer?"
This again? "Amateur though they may be my magics have seen us both healthy. And this attack is on behalf of the Companions. You don't doubt their need, do you?"
"I... no, as long as you are fit for it."
"Believe me, if it looks as though we are outmatched, I will be the first to flee. And I expect to hear you hot on my heels."
xxx
Beneath her blanket of warm wolfskin, Arith lay awake listening to the sounds of the underground waterfall in the distance, and Lydia's soft breathing. Though exhausted, sleep seemed long in coming to them both.
At least Arith had an excuse. Even the attack tomorrow stood secondary in her mind when compared to the looming summons of the Greybeards. What on earth would they have to say to her? And more worryingly, what might they *ask* of her? What might they *expect*?
"My Thane, may I ask..?"
What on earth could be on her mind? "Go on."
"Did you notice the clothes these Redguard men wore?"
Yes. In fact she had. "Hammerfell garb, yes. Are you concerned that they might have told the truth?"
"... I do not know. Most every Redguard I have see come to Skyrim has worn something similar, but... It leads me to be less than certain. We were never hospitable to foreigners."
"So they hide away in a cave of criminals?"
Lydia sighed. "I know. I am being foolish, perhaps. Pay it no mind."
Arith was not unwilling to consider those concerns though. "If we have saved an innocent noble's life, then we have done the right thing, and she will hopefully be unrestrained in her gratitude. If she is a fugitive, then she threw away her standing and home to serve mead to us uncouth Nords, and to suffer Skyrim's chill for the rest of her days, and will hopefully pay well for that to be the worst of it. Either way, we will likely not know the truth in the end."
"Then I will trust that we have done what is right. Thank you, my Thane."
"And the Nine Divines forbid you call me by name, even in a cave."
xxx
To Be Continued...
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