Disclaimer (the No Duh part): I don't own the rights to Skyrim. Characters and events are my interpretation (i.e. based on) characters that belong to Bethesda Softworks.
Sapphire: The Girl with Three Lives
~:-:~
After a hard day's work in the fields, the girl had just taken her first bite of dinner. Her brothers had not yet returned from the Eraldsens' where they'd been sent to barter for wheat. When the knock came, her father answered the door.
"Who is it?" he asked.
She couldn't distinguish words, but something in her father's tone gave her pause. It took her a few seconds to realize he was pleading. Her mother stopped stirring the cooking pot and looked up from where she stood by the fire.
Suddenly, her father slammed the door closed and turned, arms spread across the door, pushing against it with his back. The door rattled fiercely.
His eyes were wide, his whisper laced with urgency and fear. "You must hide!"
The mother lifted the girl out of her chair, pushing her towards the bed in the corner of the house. The girl stumbled—she could not make her legs work. She crawled under the bed, heart hammering faster than a rabbit's. Her mother held a finger to her lips and began to stand, but the girl grabbed her wrist. The girl told, and then begged her mother to hide next to her even though they both knew only one person could fit. There was nowhere else to hide.
A shout, and the door rattled again. The wood crackled as it began to splinter around the door's hinges.
"Quickly!"
The mother tried to pull away, but the girl's grip was too strong. The girl screamed and her words turned into cries of anguish, but still the mother would not, could not hide with her. The mother stroked the girl's face and soothed her with a gentle voice until the cries became quiet sobs. Then she tugged the thin blankets over the gap and stood just as the door burst inwards.
Through a moth-eaten hole in cloth, the girl watched as three bandits entered. Her mother gasped as they stepped on the door—her father's arm protruded from underneath the wood. The last bandit to enter tossed the door aside and kicked her father in the ribs. Her father crumpled with a groan, holding his side.
The biggest bandit licked his lips and grinned at her mother. He was missing a tooth, but it seemed to the girl that his remaining teeth were sharper than was normal—as if they were fangs. He advanced towards the mother and she ran behind the table to avoid him. He chased her around the table and laughed. Despite how fast the girl's heart pounded, the deep, throaty laugh chilled it to ice.
"Where you goin', pretty?" The bandit who had kicked her father now joined his friend, cornering her mother on one side. The third bandit — a Dark Elf — stood watch over the father, kicking him a second time when he tried to sit up.
The mother backed up so far the hem of her dress almost caught fire. She glanced behind her, then quickly back to the bandits.
"Careful now." The first bandit's sharp yellow teeth glittered in the firelight. "Wouldn't want ya to hurt yourself...then there wouldn't be any fun left for the rest o' us, now would there?"
He lunged and to avoid him, the mother jumped too close to the second bandit. The girl let out a small scream before she could stifle it. But she hadn't seen her mother grab the poker from the fireplace, hiding it behind her back until the last moment. As the bandit reached out to grab her, the mother plunged it deep into his stomach. They fell to the ground and the first bandit flipped the table over to get to them, trying to pull the mother off, but she held fast to poker and would not let go. The walls echoed with the injured bandit's high-pitched shrieks.
The girl watched, mesmerized by the blood that gushed from the wound through the bandit's fingers and into a fast-widening pool across the floor. She did not notice that the Dark Elf thought he had heard a noise coming from the corner, near the bed. She did not notice him glance at the fallen utensils and count three bowls. She only noticed when he began to walk curiously towards the bed.
She raised a hand to cover her mouth and realized that she held a spoon in her hand. She must have been holding it when her mother made her hide. The girl gripped it tightly. Meanwhile, the first bandit had managed to pull her mother away and was now hitting her repeatedly across the face, hurling abuse and curses.
"No!" The Dunmer had almost reached the bed when the girl's father scrambled to his feet and charged towards him.
The bandit drew his sword as he turned, driving the blade cleanly through the father's chest so that it came out between the Nord's shoulder blades. Eyes rolling in their sockets, the father spluttered blood as if trying to speak.
The Dark Elf staggered as the dying Nord collapsed onto him, then steered him onto the bed. The thin mattress groaned as it took his weight. This time, the girl bit her lip so she wouldn't make a sound. A dark stain formed above her head and she heard her father cough blood. The first bandit roared louder. Her mother's screams fell silent.
"Shhh," the Dark Elf soothed. "Try to relax. It will all be over soon..."
"You done with that swine yet? Start looking for things we can bring back to the cave."
"There isn't much here, Asgald. Look at this place—they eat the same slop they feed their livestock."
"Well we just lost Torbar so you better get somethin' to show for it."
The sound of things crashing to the floor as the bandit searched the dresser and shelf. A drop of blood landed on the girl's face and she resisted the urge to wipe it away.
Suddenly, the blanket pulled back and she squinted at the Dunmer. She could see the deep reds of his eyes, and the scar that ran down the side of one cheek. She gripped the spoon tightly. They stared at each other for a long moment, his face impassive and hers half-defiant, half-pleading — Don't let him.
"What're you still doin' over there? Come 'ere and help me look!"
The Dark Elf paused. Then he reached in and pulled her out into the open and she knew all was lost. Her heart sank, full of despair and terror. All the screams she had held inside, she now unleashed to the world so that someone might hear her pain. The elf held her by the wrist as she struggled, twisting and turning to no avail.
The first bandit looked her up and down and grinned. "Now this is a prize."
The girl howled and dove at his eyes with the spoon, but he caught her hand easily and squeezed until she dropped it.
"Flip the table back up," he ordered the elf.
The Dark Elf did not move. She thought she saw him eye the bandit with disgust.
"I said flip it!" he roared.
The Dunmer did as he was told, then strode quickly to the doorway and turned his back stiffly towards them.
The bandit dragged the girl to the table by her arms and forced her to bend over it. The edge of the table dug into her hips as he pressed himself against her. She tried to get up and he smashed her head against the table so hard she saw sparks. Blood trickled down her lip. She felt the hot stink of his breath on her ear, imagined those sharp teeth brushing against her flesh.
"You done a bad thing wit' that spoon. Now I'm gonna teach you to behave."
~:-:~
The horrors were just beginning. As they drove past the Eraldsens' farm on a cart, the girl saw that it too had been looted. The bodies had been left outside for the wolves, and among them were her brothers. When she cried out for them, they placed a sack over her head. They'd already bound her hands. She had hoped they'd kill her too, but it seemed they had worse things in mind.
After a while, they guided her off the cart. The more she walked, the cooler and damper the air became, and the less light filtered through the burlap. She sensed that she was going downhill, heard her footsteps echo off stone, and knew she must be descending into a cave.
She stumbled and the grip on her arms tightened—firm, but not rough. It must be the Dunmer who led her.
Finally, someone ripped the sack off her head. The one called Asgald grinned.
"How d'you like your new home?"
She did not answer. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
"This way, girl—come meet your new friends."
She could hear the sounds of laughter—not full and cheerful, but sharp and biting, as if at someone's expense. As they turned the corner, she saw a group of men gathered around a fire. The dim light threw their shadows onto curved walls and warped their features into grotesque masks.
"Where's the sack of gold, Asgald? Thought you said you were gonna make us rich," one of them called out. The girl couldn't see which.
"And I will," Asgald said. "You boys should've seen the sad sack o' farmers we was hittin' up. Didn't have two septims to rub together."
"You've got us out here under your say-so, and we're robbing dirt-poor farmers? You call yourself a Nord?"
"I—"
"And where in the Divines' name is Torbar?"
Silence settled over the group. Asgald licked his lips nervously. The Dark Elf had faded into the shadows. The girl moved slightly to look around for him, then regretted it instantly.
"Well, well, well..." A man with glowing eyes approached her. The firelight glinted off his oily hair. "What's your name?"
Asgald pulled her towards him. "Hands off."
The glowing eyes narrowed. "And where did you find this sweet little thing? Because if you found her while out on a hit, then it's only fair that we all get a piece. After all, we all gave you a cut of what we earned." A murmur of approval rippled through the group by the fire. Emboldened, the oily-haired man continued. "That's what you said, isn't it? That we're all in it...together."
He grabbed the girl's wrist and she jumped.
"I want a piece too." One of the men by the fire stood.
"And me," said another.
Asgald glanced at them, then at the oily-haired man. He hesitated then released the girl and broke into a forced grin. "O' course, boys. She's all yours."
The girl screamed and the man placed a hand on her face, trying to force her to look at him. She watched the shadows around the fire rise and come slowly towards her, once again laughing that sharp, biting laugh.
~:-:~
She lay on her back on a bed roll. Her pelvis felt like it was on fire. Despite being exhausted, she couldn't sleep. But she wanted sleep—oh, how she wanted sleep—a brief respite from the living nightmare. Sweet oblivion.
"What's your name?"
She turned and saw the Dunmer on the bedroll next to her, staring. She did not know what time it was, but everyone else was asleep.
He said, "My name is Savos."
She turned away.
"I'm an orphan too. My parents left me on the doorstep of Honorhall Orphanage."
The girl turned back. "You made me an orphan."
Somehow, this surprised him, that she would be angry.
"What happened to you was horrible, but you're through the worst of it now. It's not so bad here—you get warm meals and a place to sleep. Thank Kynareth for small mercies."
She did not respond.
"And if revenge is what you're looking for, you couldn't be closer than this."
The girl did not smile—she couldn't anymore—but there was a twist in her mouth, a tightening of the lips. Anger welled up in her throat like bile. It made her want to puke, but she held onto it because anger was all she had left. Now she knew she had to hold it back until the moment was right to release it and she could crush all her enemies with a single blow.
The Dunmer watched her with an expression she couldn't decipher: was it curiosity? Fear? Good. He should be afraid. She waited for him to slap her, use force to control her like all the other bandits did. Instead, he held out a cloth that he'd wetted with dripping cave water.
"For your nose," he said.
She took it, dabbing gingerly at the crusted blood on her upper lip. Her thoughts drifted away from the Dunmer as she contemplated her revenge, alighting on the bandits that dreamed in their sleep, peaceful and oblivious to the growing storm.
~:-:~
The very next day, the bandits had her out on a hit. They had her lay across the road as a caravan trundled around the corner. The girl heard it stop and the passengers get out, murmuring amongst themselves about what to do. The horses whinnied nervously, but it was too late to flee.
The bandits jumped up from where they crouched in the surrounding bushes. Within minutes, the hit was done. It was their biggest score yet. The girl heard their raucous cheers, but she lay still.
"You can get up now," Savos said, standing over her.
He held out a hand. She stood up on her own without a word.
Asgald took her to his bed to celebrate. The girl concentrated on the feeling of the blankets against her back. It was softer than the one her family had in their small hut, which already seemed—no, was—a lifetime ago. She tried to recall her mother's face, her laugh, the way she smelled, then thought better of it. But she stopped because it made the girl feel dirty, to invoke her mother's memory while this filth was inside her.
When it was over, she stood and watched Asgald disinterestedly. He looked fragile while he slept—less like the brute who had terrorized her that last day in her home. She laid a finger on his back. He did not stir. She pressed her finger slowly into his flesh until he snorted and she had to withdraw hastily before he rolled onto his back.
She looked up and saw Savos watching her.
Time passed and the girl blossomed into a young woman. The caravans still stopped for her sometimes, but they were warier now. Once, a merchant had escaped on a horse and the young woman could only assume he had warned others who traveled that route. She still had bruises from Asgald on that day. Now she would scout ahead, hiding behind bushes and trees before darting back to the group to report what she saw. Savos taught her how to make her way unseen and unheard—the whole thing had been his idea.
One day, she spied a wagon carrying two chests and bolts of expensive-looking cloth. It was flanked by armed guards in steel armor. When she told Asgald, the bandits shuffled nervously. But the coffers were running dry, and unrest was beginning to spread yet again, so Asgald ordered the bandits to prepare for a fight.
Savos started the attack, shooting two arrows straight into the heart of the horse. It reared up, throwing the driver off the reins before he could put another arrow through its brain. In all the commotion, the guards had drawn their swords. Yelling, the bandits charged, but they were little match for the guards' steel—the young woman watched three fall to the ground in the first few minutes.
Meanwhile, she darted between bodies, dodging the worst of the scuffle as she made her way to the wagon. She quickly picked the lock on the first chest and threw the lid open. There were a few sacks of gold and several ingots inside, but it was the telltale blue gleam of a gemstone that caught her eye. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. It was just the right size for her palm, seeming to fit the grooves of her rough hands perfectly.
"Stop!" snarled a guard. He charged at her, blade swinging for her torso with enough force to cleave her in half—
An arrow buried itself in his throat and the man staggered, off-balance, so that the blade bit into the wood beside her arm. She locked eyes with Savos briefly before he notched another arrow, searching for his next target.
In the end, the bandits' losses were too great and they were forced to retreat. The guards cursed and taunted them as they fled, but they would not chase. They would wait with the goods for another caravan to come and assist them.
"What did you get?" Asgald asked her, breath still ragged from their retreat.
"Nothing."
"Liar," he growled. But she met his eyes evenly.
"Leave the girl be," Savos said. "She almost died back there—she didn't have the time to take anything."
Asgald breathed heavily and for a moment, she thought he was going to suggest they return to the cave for the day. But he lashed out with surprising speed, slapping her across the face hard enough to send her sprawling.
"Give it to me." He picked her up by her collar and roared in her face, "Give it to me!"
She turned away, reaching under her shirt for a pouch she'd sewn herself in twilight hours, and produced a purse—small, but heavy with gold. Asgald snatched it with her other hand, then threw her away like a rag doll.
He stared at the others, eyes wild, daring them to ask for a cut. When no one made a sound, he walked up to Savos. "You think she'd raise a hand to help you? This ain't the Guild, Dark Elf. She'd stab you in the back too if she had the chance."
He spat in the elf's face, then turned and stalked off in the direction of the cave. Everyone followed, including the young woman, whose lips twisted into a half-smile. Savos calmly wiped the spittle away.
She stuck to the shadows like Savos taught her, arching her back so that it wouldn't scrape against the cave wall. A single noise could give her away. Every step had to be planned to get closer and closer to her prey without detection.
The young woman felt the thrill of success when she was close enough to touch him. He did not turn around. She began to count. One...two...three...
She got all the way to thirty-two—a new record. In her excitement, she let an uncontrolled breath escape.
Asgald started and whipped around to look at her.
"What are you doing?" He growled, but she thought she could detect a hint of fear.
"Nothing." She smiled sweetly and walked away.
~:-:~
"I'd hide that somewhere safe, if I were you."
The young woman jumped and quickly tucked the gem under her shirt. She snapped, "Don't sneak up on me like that."
Savos stepped into the light. "All this time and you still haven't told me your name."
The woman glared at him. "I don't have one. That life is long over."
Savos stepped towards her. "Do you even know what it is?"
"What is?"
"The sapphire—one of the most precious stones in Skyrim. They say the High King once had a crown made with a sapphire so big it was said to blind anyone who looked at it. It cost him a small fortune. He gave it to his daughter because he said the colour complimented her eyes."
He took another step towards her and she balled her hands into fists.
"I'm not going to tell Asgald. And I'm not here to take it from you."
The woman relaxed, but only slightly. "Then what do you want?"
"To give you something." He held out an iron dagger, hilt towards her. "I thought you could use it after what happened today."
She took it, turning it over in her hands.
"It's not much, but it helped me out of a few sticky situations when I was still in the Guild."
"Thanks," she murmured.
"We don't have to be enemies, sera."
She tucked the weapon into her belt and looked up at him. They were standing very close together so she could see his eyes, just like on that first night. She went down on her knees.
Before he could move away, she undid his pants, but he held them up firmly. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, confused. She tried again, but he wouldn't let go.
"Stop."
"That's why you gave me the knife, isn't it?" Strange—Asgald had never reacted this way. But then again, Savos had always been the one bandit she could not read.
He tried to move away, but she held on. "Let go."
"Let me make you feel good," she urged.
"No." It became a struggle. "Let go, girl. Let go!"
He slapped her across the face. She hissed and moved away to check if she was bleeding. Her eyes flashed with anger, but Savos was watching her with a mixture of what looked like sorrow and uncertainty. She could never be sure of anything with him.
"Don't let the blade rust," he said stiffly, then strode away.
She watched him leave, then took out the dagger—her dagger. She couldn't figure out how to control Savos. Every time she tried, he resisted. Then he turned around and surprised her. Why did he give her the weapon? Asgald was a fool, but even he knew she couldn't be trusted.
We don't have to be enemies, sera.
The blade glinted only dimly, but it was still sharp.
~:-:~
She killed Hrondir first—slit his throat carefully so he could choke on his own blood. He'd always been the cruellest to her, beating her just for the fun of it. His eyes had bulged when she made the cut. She made sure to crouch in the light so he could see her watch him die.
The rest she killed systematically, making her way in a circle around the fire where the bandits had spread their bedrolls. She cared nothing for them. Her only regret was that her options were limited: she had to make sure each bandit wouldn't scream and wake up the others. Their sleep was deep—they'd just robbed a large shipment of ale and spent the night in a drunken revel. It allowed her to take her time. Blood slicked the cave floor with every kill and she had to be careful not to lose her footing in it.
She saved Asgald for second last.
He snored gently in his bed, and she watched him for a minute. Surprisingly, lingering gave her no pleasure. Neither did she feel sorry for him. The man was a pure brute, and she would make him pay for all he had done.
She tried to recall the faces of her family so that she could honour them before the killing blow. But she could no longer remember how they looked or the sound of their voices. Asgald had taken that away as well.
She stuffed a cloth into his mouth then covered his jaw with her hand. His eyes flew open and in the time it took him to blink the sleep out of his eyes, she plunged her dagger deep into his torso, just below the ribs, then again and again as long-repressed rage fueled her every stroke. The cloth absorbed his yells and she sat on him, straddling him as he had once urged her to do in a different time in a different context, when she'd still been just a girl.
She took her hand off the dagger to bat his hands away. She leaned in with her elbows so he couldn't get enough leverage to throw her off. All the while, his writhing had only moved the dagger deeper into him, blood gushing in hot spurts. In his terror, he began to gag on the cloth and she moved it slightly. She did not want him choking to death—that would be too easy.
It took longer than she'd expected for him to weaken enough that she could remove the gag. He barely protested when she ripped the dagger out of his stomach, but he was still aware enough to suffer—and suffer was what she made sure he did.
There wasn't much left of him when she was done. She'd been frustrated when he'd finally passed out, but still pleased at her effort. She was as much soaked in Asgald's blood as he was.
Now one bandit remained.
She stood over him in his hammock. She could take as much time as she wanted with him—there was no one left to stop her. She held her dagger over his throat, but curiously, she couldn't make herself do it.
"What are you waiting for?"
She did not react once she realized Savos was awake. She supposed that somehow, she'd known that he would be all along.
"Do it," he urged, locking eyes with her. "You know I deserve it."
He placed his hands over hers and pressed down gently, but she remained unmoving as stone. "I've never seen you fall asleep. You must have imagined this every night of your life."
"No," she lied.
"I thought we could take Asgald down together and I would rule this clan the way I saw fit. Then you wouldn't have to be scared or do what they wanted. It would be like the Guild—honour among thieves."
She said nothing.
"But I think—even then—I knew it would never happen. So I taught you to sneak, hoping you would run away in the night. A guard would find you wandering somewhere by yourself and take you back to Riften. Maybe a kind, handsome bartender would give you a warm meal and be sympathetic to your story. Then you'd fall in love and marry him, and you could leave this part of your terrible past behind. It would be hard, but you'd do it. You're a strong girl. That was the future I'd dreamed for you. But you didn't run. And from then on, I knew you never would. I knew you wouldn't rest until you'd punished every single one of us for what we'd done. And when I finally admitted that to myself, I was happy."
She still said nothing.
"Is this spot too easy for me? Perhaps you want me to suffer." He moved the knife over his stomach. "I'd die slow. You could watch me, like you did with Hrondir. Like you did with Asgald."
"You're not Asgald." She'd said it before she even realized the words were out of her mouth.
He nodded solemnly. "Then perhaps you'd like to sever the hand that brought you here—the cause of all this misery. It would take a while to get through the bone, but I promise to be patient."
She shook her head.
"No? What about here?" He moved the dagger over his crotch.
"But you never wanted me that way."
"But I let them use you that first night, and every night after that. And I said nothing. Did nothing."
"No, not there."
"Then where?"
Her hands, seemingly of their own accord, gravitated over his chest.
He seemed satisfied. "The heart, then. Where you'll always stay."
She didn't think she could do it but with his help, she did. He didn't scream as the blade slid between his ribs—only sighed when it found its mark. With one hand, the girl reached into her pocket and brought out the sapphire. She placed it in his hand, but he would not take it.
"It's yours," he said.
"I want you to have it." She tried to curl his fingers around it, but he refused.
"No." He smiled. "From the High King to his little princess."
Instead, he reached for her hand. She let him hold it.
After a moment, she leaned in to whisper into his ear. "My name is Ania."
But when she drew back, she wasn't sure he'd heard her. The sharp light that she had always seen in his eyes had now dimmed. When she moved slightly, his gaze did not follow. His hand felt cold.
She let go of it and began to pack for the journey to Riften. She knew if she followed the path, she'd eventually make it to town, but she had no idea how far it was so she bagged as much food as she could. She debated bringing a sword, but decided against it: she could move faster and more quietly without. She could handle any wild animal that crossed her path with just the dagger, and she could avoid anything else by sneaking around it.
The night was cool but pleasant outside the cave. If she kept a good pace, she might be able to reach Riften before dawn. She didn't know much about her destination, but Savos had given her a name: The Ragged Flagon.