Author's Note: In case you haven't read Dragon-Kin all you really need to know is that Ysmir is the (great ect) granddaughter of the Champion of Cyrodiil/Sheogorath.
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Ysmir peered searchingly into the tunnel before her, violet eyes seeking out any further hint of movement or sign of life—or, rather, unlife. Honestly, she'd had only vague ideas of what she would find in the shrine of the Daedric Prince of Wishes, but vampires hadn't even made the list. Molag Bal's Shrine, maybe, but she couldn't fathom what a coven wanted from Clavicus Vile, unless they were seeking protection from the Dawnguard.
The darkness ahead gave no clue what lay beyond it, or within it. The uneven dripping of several tiny rivulets of melting ice echoed faintly off the cold, damp walls. Somewhere behind them, a faint sharp crack resounded as a bit of ice lost its hold and crashed to the ground. Around them, it was silent.
Well, mostly.
"That's it, Farkas; get it all out," Aela sighed, wrinkling her nose and awkwardly patting her Shield Brother on the back as he heaved up everything in his stomach into one of the half-forgotten barrels littering the cave. Given that Farkas was rather large, even for a Nord, and a werewolf as well, this was a considerable amount.
"So that's your limit?" the fourth member of their little party put in disparagingly, tilting his furred head and regarding the man through deceptively guileless eyes. "You slay people for a living, and you can't handle a little blood?"
"Spilling blood in honorable battle is one thing," Aela told him tartly, "Having a vampire vomit it on you is another thing entirely."
Somehow, Barbas managed to give the impression of shrugging without actually being able to do so. "He shouldn't have hit it in the stomach, then. What did he think was going to come out? Spiders?"
Farkas made a small whimper that would have been far more fitting coming out of the mouth of the Daedric companion than a full grown man. Aela snarled, and Barbas's ears pricked forward, his tail wagging just a bit. He really seemed to enjoy it when Aela growled at him.
The Dragonborn turned, regarding her strange little party critically. The Companions hadn't been traveling with her long—Farkas had only started adventuring with her after the one-year anniversary of her defeat of Alduin a few months ago, and Aela had randomly decided to tag along, probably to see just what Farkas was getting himself into. Ysmir wasn't quite sure which one of the pair Aela thought she was looking out for, though it was entirely possible she was keeping an eye on them both. The Huntress was strange like that. She needn't have worried; while Farkas's interest wasn't lost on her, romantic attachments were the absolute last thing she wanted.
Or perhaps that was precisely why Aela was worried. After all, the last man who became romantically attached to her had fled all the way to the Synod in Cyrodiil.
As for Barbas, Ysmir had met him a week ago, when she had passed the dog outside Falkreath and he'd spoken insistently into her mind, introducing himself as the companion of the Daedric Prince Clavicus Vile. If a talking dog hadn't been enough to turn Ysmir right around, the involvement of a Daedric Prince certainly was. She'd given him a resolute refusal and wished him luck before heading on into the Reach, only to return home some days later to find the Hound being doted on by her adoptive daughters Runa and Lucia. Aela and Farkas had been returning from clearing bandits out of the ruins of Helgen (again) when Dragonborn and Daedric Hound had passed by, and decided to follow. Barbas had been cheerful enough until they actually got to Haemar's Shame, though his ribbing of Farkas had been getting a bit less jovial and a bit more snippy. Still, they had been walking all night, and none of them had eaten anything but cold trail rations. The battle hadn't improved their tempers much.
"Barbas, quit baiting Farkas, or I'll tell start telling them what Lucia did to your fur," she threatened. The shaggy head whipped around to peer at her anxiously. "In detail," she added.
"Ah, you two rest up here," Barbas suggested to the Companions, abruptly personable once more. "Ysmir and I will…go on ahead."
Aela frowned, gracing them both with a worried look. "Are you sure? These vampires are not weak enemies."
"We'll be all right, sweet-cheeks," Barbas assured her, wagging his tail and laying his head against her thigh, eyes rolling upward to watch her. "Of course, if you're worried, I could always stay here and snuggle up with you while Ysmir scouts."
The Huntress snorted, shoving his head away. "I'm not that worried," she retorted.
"Considering I just killed a Vampire Lord not five months ago, I should hope not," Ysmir groused. The smell of Farkas' vomit was making her queasy. "Catch up when you've gotten your breaths," she added a bit louder, heading on.
Barbas trotted after her, heaving a great sigh. "She's so cold to me," he stated mournfully.
"That might have something to do with you stealing her underwear after she transformed," Ysmir slanted him a look, not feeling sorry for him in the slightest.
"What? You think Hircine hasn't done the same thing a time or two?" he replied. "Honestly, Hircine gets all the bitches."
"He did invent werewolves," she pointed out inarguably. Barbas just grunted. Unable to stop the small smile that played across her lips, Ysmir patted him on the head facetiously, "Go find yourself a nice Daedric lap dog, Barbas. What are those floofy ones the Bretons like to parade about? Poodles?"
"Very funny," he grumbled, trotting on ahead of her. Another vampire rushed out, but quickly fell after a few swift strokes of Dawnbreaker. The Hound's eyes glowed with reflective fire as he watched the Dragonborn hop over the burning corpse, not even bothering to stop and gather alchemic dust. "Now, remember what I said earlier, just touch the Shrine, and don't accept any offer he makes you."
"Whatever you say," she said agreeably, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It was getting long again, falling down past her collarbone. She'd meant to ask Lydia to trim off a few inches when she returned home, but the sight of Barbas being fussed over by her little girls, getting variously colored bows tied into his freshly-brushed fur and the instant pleas of "Can we keep him?" had driven that right out of her mind. "I don't know what makes you think he'll talk to me, though."
"Oh, he'll talk to you," Barbas snickered, sending alarm bells jingling in her mind.
Ysmir halted, pivoting to block the narrow tunnel. Barbas looked up at her in surprise. "Why?" she demanded. "Those eyes won't work on me; I have children." She'd been a mother for all of four months, but she chose not to mention that.
The Hound instantly lost the kicked-puppy expression and sat back on his haunches, watching her. "You may have read a bit about Clavicus before. Seen his Shrine in Cyrodiil, perhaps?"
Crossing her arms, she nodded. "Little boy with a dog. What of it?"
"Well…" Barbas paused, scratching idly at an ear with his back paw. "That was hundreds of years ago. Around…oh…ten or so years before the Great War, he…changed a bit."
"What do you mean, 'changed?'" she asked uncertainly.
"Well, he's a lot more likely to listen to requests from a pretty girl than from me, that's for sure," was all Barbas said.
The Dragonborn felt her jaw drop slightly. "I'm about to go talk to a Daedra that just went through puberty?"
The Hound's tongue lolled in a silent laugh, "He likes redheads," he admitted, sounding as if he were greatly enjoying her discomfort.
Ysmir seriously considered leaving his furry rump to freeze in the cave, then sighed. "What are you, then; his babysitter?"
"I wouldn't put it like that," the Hound protested, lips peeling back a bit, "but I do help him see sense from time to time."
Rolling her eyes and asking herself how she got into these situations, Ysmir turned back toward their destination and continued onward. Hopefully she wouldn't regret this too much.
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"Well…that's definitely not a little boy," she conceded, looking up at the statute of a Breton or Imperial man with goat horns and Ayleid robes, holding a helmet—or possibly a head—aloft. Blood splattered halfway up the statue from the arterial spray of the vampire she'd snuck up behind, but she'd made his death as clean as she could. Her trainer would have been proud.
"Told you. Clavicus got a little tired of being left out of all the Daedric parties and decided it was time to grow up a bit. One day, we're playing like always, the next, he's complaining I ruin all his fun and listening to Darius Shano's later works. Even tried his hand at poetry for a bit. I think Dagon still has it read to his prisoners."
Ysmir winced. "Wonderful. Let's get this over with." Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath and walked up to the Shrine. "Lord Vile," she called, "I have a request of you."
"By all means, let's hear it. It's the least I can do since—well, hell-o. You're not what I was expecting. My worshipers have been begging me for days to cure them of their vampirism, and then I felt someone come in and put them out of my misery. Couldn't have planned it better myself." The voice was light, with an air of the careless pomposity she tended to associate with nobility. "So," he continued, apparently unaware of her unflattering analysis, "what's your heart's desire? What kind of deal can we strike? I can certainly think of a few things that might be fun."
Recoiling a little, she glanced at Barbas, who made a sort of encouraging nudge forward with his head, tail thudding on the stone floor softly. "I…I'm just here to reunite you with Barbas," she said uncomfortably, wondering just what developmental stage the Daedra was at.
"Ugh. That insufferable pup? No way! No deal! But…I have been a little lonely here in my corner of Oblivion. I don't suppose you'd like to keep me company?"
"Not a good idea, Clavicus," Barbas put in.
"I'm not talking to you!" the Daedra announced petulantly.
"You don't think I'd bring just anyone here to deal with you, do you?" Barbas persisted, his paws making muffled little thumps on the frozen ground as he came forward to stand next to her. "This is the Dragonborn."
"The Dragonborn?" Clavicus repeated, definitely intrigued now. "I thought you'd be a big Nord! I certainly wasn't expecting someone as cute as you. Why, you're almost as pretty as I am. And you're Romulus's—practically in the pantheon already."
Gaze bouncing from Hound to Master in confusion, Ysmir finally managed, "What?"
"I don't like stepping on other Daedra's toes," was all the Hound said, looking back up at the statue. "Well, Clavicus? You know you can't go far from this shrine without me. Are you ready to take me back?"
"I said no way!" The statue hadn't moved, but Ysmir got the definite impression that it was pouting. "It's going to take more than bringing pretty redheaded demigods here to convince me to take your worthless hide back."
"I have a redheaded werewolf in the other room—should I bring her in too?" Barbas growled before Ysmir could really comprehend that a demon had just called her a demigod. Though if dragons were children of Akatosh and she had a dragon's soul…she halted that thought where it was. She'd lived too long under the rule of people who thought similarly for her not to realize what a slippery idea it was to pursue.
There was a long pause, as if the Daedra were considering. Ysmir chaffed at her arms, watching her breath come out in little white puffs. Normally, caves were always the same temperature—they must be close to the surface for the chill to permeate down here. "Well," Clavicus Vile finally said insinuatingly, "perhaps there is a way you can earn your way back to my side. Maybe, but no promises."
Ysmir rolled her eyes. "Oh, no," she drawled under her breath, "That would be asking way too much."
"You know, you're kind of sassy. I can see the family resemblance now. Anyway, there's an axe. An incredibly powerful axe. An axe powerful enough for me to have quite a bit of fun, indeed. If you bring it to me, I'll grant you my boon. No strings attached; no messy surprises. At least…not for you."
"You need me to get an axe?" she asked doubtfully. "I take it this axe is an Artifact of yours?"
"The Rueful Axe," Barbas confirmed.
"I don't understand," she complained, "If it's your Artifact, shouldn't you just be able to call it to you?"
There was a heavy sigh from the statue, while Barbas looked downright smug. "I told you, he can't go far from his Shrine. Right now his power is halved—he's about as powerful as you are. He needs Artifacts like the Axe to be able to reach beyond this Shrine. If he wants to leave, though, he needs me."
"Don't rub it in, mutt," Clavicus Vile warned.
Very tired of all this, Ysmir rubbed her forehead, gazing up at the statue. Its eyes seemed to follow her back and forth, looking down its nose at her. Seemed about right. "Alright, I'll go get your damned Axe. Where did you leave it?"
"Don't worry, pet; Barbas can lead you right to it."
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"Dog, if you don't stop putting your cold nose where it doesn't belong I'm going to shove you off this walkway," Aela warned, spearing Barbas a glance that was positively glacial.
The Hound whined, looking absolutely wounded. "You're so mean, sweet-cheeks. The empty-headed Nord tosses his breakfast and you're all sympathy, but nothing for poor Barbas and his genuine fear of heights?"
Ysmir resisted the urge to send them both soaring over the edge with a well-placed Unrelenting Force, but she knew she'd regret it later. Hurrying into Rimerock Barrow, she summoned a Frost Atronach to deal with the Flame Atronach left on guard, and faced the mage. "Hand over the Axe, and I don't take my week out on you," she told him, deciding to give him a shot.
The Breton glared down at her from the upper level, the familiar black shine of a Conjuration spell swirling in his hand. "You can't have the Axe," he cried, an air of desperation in his voice, "It's all I have left now!"
"If you want to see your daughter again, one of these two can send you to the Hunting Grounds," Barbas suggested helpfully. The mage recoiled in horror from the sight of him, grabbing the Axe and trying to flee out the back.
Aela took him down with a single arrow. The Dragonborn shook her head regretfully and claimed the Axe. It was a weighty, ornate weapon, the twin blades each sporting a stylized wolf head with flowing fur more like a mane than a canine ruff. Enchantment runes gleamed along the metal, damaging the stamina of those wounded by it. A useful trait for a weapon made to slay a werewolf. Glancing back to Barbas, she asked, "Back to the Shrine?"
Blue-black light swirled out from the weapon, catching her unawares and blinding her. The cold faded away, the sense of air, and the ground beneath her. Before she could panic, Ysmir felt a small drop, landing her on her feet in Clavicus Vile's Shrine—only it wasn't. Hefting the Axe slightly, she looked around. Mist surrounded her, interspersed with small trees covered with new spring leaves. Ruins could be seen faintly in the distance, but the mist was too thick beyond the Shrine for her to see much.
"Well, that was uncomfortable," Barbas complained, trotting out of the fog behind her. He stopped dead when he caught sight of her, eyes crinkling up and making a strange sort of choking noise she'd never heard a dog make before. It took her a moment to realize that it was the closest his canine form could come to a human laugh.
She tilted her head quizzically, and something tickled her arm. Looking down, her eyes widened to see her hair unbound and flowing down to her waist—a length it hadn't been since she was fourteen. Her mage robes had been replaced with the type of Ayleid robes the statue was bedecked in, making her look as if she were trying to impersonate Azura. Ysmir quickly held the Axe in front of her chest, blushing as she glanced around. "Do I even want to know?"
"Well, we're not quite in Oblivion," Barbas informed her, getting a hold of himself enough to answer her question. "We're actually back at the Shrine, but all Shrines can be used as doorways."
"And how exactly did we get to the doorway to Oblivion?" Her shoulders slumped as she realized the answer, "He used the death energy of his former follower, didn't he?"
Barbas scratched a paw over his snout. "He possessed an Artifact; that technically makes him a Champion," he said, as if such semantics justified it.
"Ah, you've got the Axe! And my dog! Splendid!"
Ysmir whirled, the unfamiliar feeling of the white skirts fluttering about her calves as disconcerting as anything else about this place. Hadn't she told herself no more Daedra after the whole being whisked into the sky by Meridia thing? The statue had come to life, shrinking as it walked towards her until Clavicus Vile himself stood not ten paces from her, smirking as he looked her over. He was actually rather short—not too much taller than her, in fact, and most of the extra height was untamed hair in a bright, unnatural shade of red that nearly made her eyes water. That explained why he liked redheads, anyway—he liked the sensation of looking in a mirror.
"Excellent work!" he crowed, bushy eyebrows waggling at her absurdly. He looked about fifteen, the age where flirting with girls was almost as important as boasting, and all authority needed re-tested. His merry green eyes sparkled with both mischief and malice, gleaming with admiration as he took her in. "A heroine and her faithful companion, retrieving the ancient artifact for the prince. It's almost…storybook."
"Here's your Axe," she said, forcing a smile, "Now take Barbas back and send me home. With my clothing, please."
"There's no rush," Clavicus Vile assured her, giving her a boyish grin. "This story doesn't have to end yet. After all, the best stories have princesses."
Ysmir glanced at Barbas, alarmed. For once, the Hound seemed to share her unease, glancing wide-eyed at his master. "What are you thinking, Clavicus? Do you really want Saints and Seducers raining down on us? You know what will happen if you trap her here!"
"If I trap her, yes," the Daedra purred, running a finger down the blade of the Axe as Ysmir watched him warily. Glinting olive eyes peered into hers, "But there are other bargains that can be made. I missed having a companion about. I get lonely. So here's my deal—kill Barbas, and you can take his power like a dragon's. Stay here by my side as my new companion."
For a long moment she could only stare at him, mouth agape. He grinned, gaze traveling downward, and she realized she'd lowered the Axe enough to showcase exactly how little her dress left to the imagination. "You know what?" she said after a moment, looking over at Barbas, "Runa makes a great venison stew. I don't think you've tried it yet." Shoving the Axe into Clavicus's arms, she smiled with false sweetness. "My little girls just love Barbas. I'm sure they'll be very happy he'll be staying with us for a while."
It was Clavicus's turn to gape, grasping the Axe by pure reflex as the Dragonborn twirled in another splay of skirts to the rise she thought was the physical equivalent to the ramp in the Shrine back in Mundus. "Come on, Barbas. We can check in on him in…oh…another decade maybe? Good thing we'll know right where to find him!"
Barbas barked. "Good idea! Plenty of time for that pretty Companion to warm up to me!"
They got about half a dozen steps before the Daedric Prince realized they were serious. "W-wait!" he cried, dropping the Axe with a clang. "You can't just leave!"
They both turned as one, looking him over skeptically. Ysmir put a hand on her hip, and Barbas lifted one furred brow ridge. "Oh, can't we? You just asked me to up and leave my family, and to kill yours. Maybe some time to sit with yourself and think is exactly what you need."
Daedric Princes have very white teeth, she noted as Clavicus gave them a wonderful view of his tonsils for a few seconds. "You're putting me in time-out?" he sputtered, sounding more disbelieving than outraged.
Shrugging like it made no difference to her, Ysmir merely replied, "Call it what you will."
"But…why?" he asked, sounding confused and utterly childish.
"I asked you for one thing: Take Barbas back. You gave me a task, I've completed it. Now you don't want to keep up your end of the bargain. I suppose I'll just have to cut my losses and go home," she flicked her hair off her shoulder, seeming unconcerned but slightly disappointed.
"I…what…oh, fine!" he finally huffed, enunciating the word with a heavy stomp that managed to involve his entire body in the motion.
Barbas barked happily, butting her leg with his head and frisking like a puppy. "I knew I could trust you!"
Clavicus scowled. "Yeah, yeah. Dog gets master, master gets cosmic axe; everyone's happy. Just get over here, mutt!"
Winking at her, Barbas whispered, "Don't worry, I'll make sure he sees the light. I trusted you, now you trust me." Walking over to the Daedric Prince, the inarguably better half touched his nose to the teenager's outstretched hand as Clavicus rolled his eyes, then sighed, stretching up his arms and rolling his head on his neck.
"Ah, that feels so much better! You forget how nice supreme power feels after you've been stuck in a cave for a few years!" he groused. Wicked green eyes opened, flicking over her again. This time the expression was far from infatuated. "As for you—" He paused when Barbas cleared his throat pointedly, gracing him with as disapproving an expression as Ysmir had ever seen. "Oh, fine!" he cried again, relenting. "Have my boon and be done with it! I've got more interesting deals to make, anyway," he pouted, lower lip jutting out absurdly, arms crossed over his chest and looking anywhere but at her. He shoved a hand out at her, an ornate helmet coalescing from the mists about them.
Ysmir caught it gingerly. "It…has your face," she noted, examining it. Flicking her eyes back up to him, she decided not to point out that the curling mustache the Masque sported was wildly different from the bits of red fuzz adorning his upper lip.
"Of course," he mumbled sullenly, though she must have been imagining the flush to his cheeks. "Only way to make you prettier is to make you look like me. And, if you ever want to re-visit the deal, just…give it a little kiss. I'll come get you."
She raised her eyebrows at that, but Clavicus was staring off into the mists, definitely flushing. Barbas winked at her as the Masque began to glow, the light of Conjuration surrounding her once more, her surroundings fading away. Ysmir dropped onto the cold cobbles of the Shrine in Haemar's Shame.
Aela and Farkas looked up from a pair of bedrolls around a fire, the small camp looking as if they had been there a day or so. Aela set aside the arrow she had been fletching with a grin. "See, Farkas; I told you she'd be back here."
Farkas didn't reply, staring perplexedly at Ysmir, though the expression warred with his usual honest admiration. "Not that I don't like it, but what are you wearing?"
The cold hit her all in an instant, and the Dragonborn crossed her arms over her chest, the thin white silk dress doing absolutely nothing to ward off the chill. "Bloody fetcher stole my clothes!" she cursed.
Around them, Clavicus Vile's delighted laughter filled the Shrine.