Author's Note: This story is a loose prequel to the first arc of another of my stories, 'Outcasts and Outlands', but is designed to be read independently.
News took a long time to filter down to Cidhna Mine. The year had almost turned before Joslyn Elbert heard that the Civil War had been brought to a crushing end. The Imperials had stormed Windhelm with all their heavy might. Blood had run through the streets and Ulfric had met his end. And of course, the leading figure in all the tales was the Dragonborn. Leading the charge, butchering Stormcloaks in the streets, lopping off Ulfric's head.
Whichever of the multiple versions was closest to the truth, Joslyn seethed at the news. The Dragonborn, yet at large! Still she stalks this land, cutting down any in her path, she thought, yet to meet her judgement. After what she'd done to the Forsworn, Joslyn was never going to treat her like the hero she was regarded as. Not after she pretended to be one of them only to murder Madanach and most of the others after their escape. Not after she'd slaughtered most of their number across the Reach. Not after she'd knocked Joslyn unconscious, abandoning her to languish in the mine while the others made their escape.
Joslyn didn't know how many Forsworn remained. Remnants of a once-glorious tribe, destroyed by that hate-spewing Breton: the Dragonborn. Joslyn pictured the woman's face and spat. The guards told her there were no Forsworn left, taunted her with tales of the Reach being returned to the Nords, old outposts claimed by common bandits and worse, Imperial Legionnaires. She hoped they were just taunts. Because if they were not, then she was the last true Forsworn.
Although Joslyn was the only remaining prisoner from the old days, there had been new additions to Cidhna Mine. A mix of common criminals and those with enemies in high places. Weaklings and cowards, she sneered, pathetic snivelling wretches. The Forsworn would never accept the likes of them. Propped up against the rock wall of the Mine's main cavern, she mentally catalogued them.
The newest was Shadbo gra-Magul, the scrawniest orc Joslyn had ever seen, and the only other female in the Mine. She'd been caught stealing ore from the blacksmith, coincidentally run by another female orc: Ghorza gra-Bagol. Shadbo might have been scrawny, but she mined more silver than any of the others, and could handle herself in a fight. She also swore more than any of the others put together.
Hodling was a big Nord, his hair and beard a shaggy brown, his knuckles covered in scabs, his face and body a permanent mass of sores and bruises. He'd been the first thrown into the Mine after Madanach's escape, for murder. The others, Joslyn included, stayed away from him. He refused to mine ore, and was consequently beaten by the guards almost daily. It was unlikely he would ever see the light of day again.
Brandr was another Nord. Too many Nords, thought Joslyn, wallowing in their own filth, laying bastard claims to the lands of others. Brandr had a nose that looked like it had been punched. In fact, Joslyn knew it to be broken, as she'd done it herself after he'd tried to lay hands on her. Next time, he was going to get a shiv in the gut.
Astien and Varnand were both of Reachman descent and, in Joslyn's view, should have been committed members of the Forsworn. Instead, they kept mostly to themselves, trying to serve out their time as quickly and quietly as possible. An unlikely prospect, as they'd been turned in as Forsworn agents by someone high in the Jarl's favour. Despite this, they had seemed unmoved by Joslyn's talk of actually joining her righteous cause.
The last was Ibarna, a Dunmer member of the Thieves Guild, who'd been caught ransacking a noble's house and then attacked the noble upon being discovered. Ibarna clearly hadn't been planning on staying in the Mine long, but as the weeks dragged on and his release did not come, his cockiness began to erode. However, he was still the best source for skooma. Joslyn had no idea what he was bribing the guards with, but it was working.
All seven of them knew exactly how Madanach and the thrice-damned Dragonborn had escaped. A secret passage, near what had been the Forsworn leader's private quarters, led into the Dwemer ruins under the city. But the barred door that led to that part of the Mine had been bolted shut, the way to the ruins blocked with a constructed rockfall. Even lingering too close to the door would bring the guards down to mete out a beating.
The guards were worse than ever. They had failed in their task; their most prized prisoners had escaped, and now they went overboard to make sure there would be no repeating of such an offence. But Joslyn never gave up hope. Trapped as she was, she still knew the Forsworn would never die, not while she lived.
There were no days or nights in Cidhna Mine. The torches always burned. The only way to tell time was when the guard shift changed. Joslyn had just finished stacking a load of silver ore when Ibarna approached her, sniffing nervously and flexing his hands. He'd been dipping into his own supply again.
"Hey," he said. He reached out a hand towards her, then thought better of it. A shiver ran down his thin body, his grey skin shaking with tremors. "Brandr's comin' after you," he said.
Joslyn shrugged. She was used to it. Used to living with one eye looking over her shoulder, used to dishing out violence at the slightest provocation.
"He's got Hodling with 'im this time," added Ibarna. That got Joslyn's attention. Brandr, she could handle, but Hodling, despite his regular beatings, was a formidable opponent. She wasn't sure she could take both of them at once. This would be, of course, what they would count on. Both Nords, she thought. They'll get what's coming to them. I'll get to them before they get to me. She stopped, and had a better idea. There were ways to use to constraints of the mine in her favour.
"I'll handle it," she said. She left Ibarna alone with his drug habit and found a spot against the wall in the main cavern, in direct line of sight of the guard on duty. A blonde Nord brute with a knotted beard, overblown with importance. His Silver-Blood-issued armour shone in the torchlight. Usurping scum. But she'd make good use of him before his shift was through.
She closed her left fist around the handle of a pickaxe and sat down. She kept her right hand pressed against the side of her body and worked down the shiv she kept up her sleeve. She smiled wide up at the guard; he did not return it.
She sat and waited. Sleep was a rare commodity in Cidhna Mine. Joslyn did not sleep often or well, but then neither did any of the prisoners. To sleep was to leave oneself open, to make oneself vulnerable.
But Brandr and Hodling did not come. Neither of the Nords made an appearance in the main cavern all through the current watch. The other prisoners moved back and forth, engaged in routines of their own devising, trying to stay sane. And failing, mostly. Against her own volition, Joslyn fell into a doze.
When she awoke she found the visage of Brandr only a few inches away from hers. Shit. Behind and above was Hodling, grinning with broken and missing teeth. Fuck. She fumbled for her pickaxe and tried to get a grip on her shiv. The pair leered in anticipation. A shout came from the guard platform, a voice that Joslyn recognised as Urzoga gra-Shugurz, the captain of the Mine's guards.
"Joslyn!" yelled Urzoga. Brandr and Hodling jerked away, quick to show they had not been up to any wrongdoing. Joslyn sneered at them as she eased onto her feet, meeting the orc captain's eyes. "You're in luck," continued Urzoga. "Your sentence just ended!"
Joslyn's sneer turned into a grin. Finally! To be able to walk the Reach as a free woman, to be able to return to work of the Forsworn; this was a feeling better than any hit of skooma. Urzoga lowered the ladder down, allowing Joslyn to climb up towards her freedom. The other prisoners gathered: Brandr and Hodling still trying to look innocent, Ibarna sniffing and patting his pockets. Astien and Varnand, the traitors, frowning and muttering to each other. Shadbo, glancing rapidly around, trying to assess the new balance of power.
"Don't think this is the last you'll see of me," spat Joslyn, pleased with the new height she had over them. "All who have wronged me will be brought low, all who have—"
She was cut off by Urzoga grabbing the back of her neck and turning her around. "Come on," growled the orc. "Jarl wants you out of town as soon as possible."
Fine. All the better. Joslyn gave in to the orc's shoving and allowed herself to be led up and out of the mine. When I return, this mine will run slick with blood.