CHAPTER TWO – FAMILY AND FURY

J'shana skidded to a halt in front of the door to her home and hammered on it so hard that a jolt of pain rushed up her arm. She winced, withdrew her fist, and prepared to go on knocking; then the door opened and she quickly pulled her hand back before she punched her husband in the chest.

Derkeethus took one look at her and pulled her inside, closing the door firmly behind him. 'What's happened?'

The only answer J'shana felt able to give him right then was to press her head against his neck and wrap her arms around him. He let out a quiet, sigh-like sound and pulled her close. 'Whatever it is, Sha, it will be all right.'

'I hope so.' J'shana stayed there a moment, letting it last, the feeling of warmth and comfort and safety and just being loved that came from being close to him. 'Something strange just happened, and… it means trouble. Are Ma'vasha and Meleetha in bed?'

He let her go, his green gaze gentle but worried. 'Asleep, I hope. Is this something we cannot risk them hearing?'

'I'd rather they didn't hear, no.' J'shana hesitated, then made her way towards the stairs leading to the below-ground level of the house. She knew that her children were safe, or Derkeethus would have said something, but she wanted to check. Just to be sure.

There they were, each of them curled up under their blankets, eyes closed and faces content. J'shana leaned against the door to their room, feeling a smile prick at the corners of her mouth. When she'd fallen in love with an Argonian, she'd thought that was the end to any ideas she'd ever had about becoming a mother – it was practically unheard of for members of the two beastfolk races to be able to reproduce. But undocumented, it turned out, didn't mean impossible. Ma'vasha had been the proof, coming unexpectedly five years ago. And then Meleetha, even more impossible than her brother – generally, half-bloods took on their mother's race, while Meleetha had inherited their father's. And with good reason, J'shana had learned – Khajiit children were born as kittens, only later growing into their moon-subspecies. Argonians emerged from the egg the same size as a human or elf child. There'd been no egg for Meleetha – J'shana had carried her daughter as if she'd been a Khajiit, but her size had soon made it clear that she'd taken on Derkeethus's race. That had meant a journey to Black Marsh, since it could be damaging to young Argonians to be raised away from the Hist trees, and an extremely uncomfortable birth. But the pains she'd gone through for her son and her daughter only made J'shana love them more. She'd fought for her children. They were her victory, the proof that she had survived and found happiness against all odds, against the plans of the Thalmor and all her own uncertainties.

These children… if it became known that she was Dragonborn, if the Thalmor learned of it, and found out that it was here in Riften she had gone to escape them… they would be in terrible danger. J'shana knew from bitter experience that the Aldmeri Dominion thought nothing of murderering the young.

She gazed at them for a moment more, then turned to Derkeethus, who was standing a little way away, waiting for her. She went to him, let him take her hand in his and lead her back upstairs. He'd set out a bottle of Alto wine and a pair of cups, and J'shana smiled. It was nice to be taken care of sometimes. And he always seemed to know when she needed it.

There was a quiet bark, and J'shana smiled as the final member of the family leaped up from the corner and approached, tail wagging. Meeko was getting old now, but he was still as enthusiastic about everything as he'd been as a young dog, and he defended J'shana and her loved ones just as fiercely. She bent down to ruffle the fur between his ears, glad of his simple, uncomplicated devotion, then went to sit opposite Derkeethus. Meeko padded after her and settled on the floor at her feet, placing his head on his paws.

'Right then,' Derkeethus said briskly, pouring J'shana a glass. 'What happened? There was a problem with the heist?'

'No, that went fine.' J'shana clasped the cup in both hands and gazed at the dark red liquid for a moment before taking a sip. 'Quite fun, actually. Whoever it was who asked us to steal Tullius's poetry collection will be pleased; we've arranged for him to meet Niruin in Whiterun tomorrow for a pick-up. What happened was… just now.'

With her husband's patient eyes upon her, J'shana haltingly told the tale. He listened, his frown (a movement of the brows imperceptible to anyone who hadn't known the facial movements of Argonians well for a long time) growing slowly deeper the longer she talked.

'So somehow they knew who you were, or at least they suspected it,' he said slowly. 'And they seem to think this…' He hesitated.

'Miraak.'

'This Miraak is their true Dragonborn.' He let out a quiet hiss, rubbing the base of his horns. 'This is not good, Sha.'

'You can say that again.' J'shana drained her glass and thumped it down on the table. 'They didn't make any secret of the fact that they wanted me dead. And this Miraak of theirs… They didn't say much about him, but he doesn't sound like someone I'd want to meet.'

'None shall stand to oppose him,' Derkeethus murmured. 'That sounds as if he plans on conquest.'

J'shana bit her lip. 'And that I could get in his way.' She thought of Alduin and Mercer and Harkon, and the pain and the time it had taken to defeat them. 'I really don't want to face another power-crazed... thing. And if this Miraak is really another Dragonborn...'

'You may not have a choice,' Derkeethus warned her.

'I know.'

They sat in silence for a few seconds, then J'shana sighed heavily. 'The other problem – well, one of them – is that they came pretty close to blowing my cover. It's pretty flimsy anyway. I don't know how much longer I can keep on living this life, Keeth.'

Derkeethus reached across the table to place his hand on top of hers. 'Shana…'

'I've got to make a decision sooner or later. I can't keep being two people, what happened today proved that. If people find out the Dragonborn and the Guildmaster are the same person, I won't have anywhere to hide from the Thalmor if they come after me again.'

Another almost invisible narrowing of the scaled eye-ridges. 'Sha, don't tell me that's the only reason. The truth is that you don't want people to think badly of you.'

J'shana sighed again. 'Of course I don't. I didn't join the Guild out of disrespect for the law, or because I wanted money, I just needed to hide. But if the rest of Skyrim found out, they wouldn't know that. And they don't know what good people there are in the Guild. I… I don't want to be hated.'

'Oh, Sha.' Derkeethus rose from his seat and moved around the table, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. 'Of course you don't want that. No one wants that. But you are the one who saved this land. No one is going to hate you.'

'I don't want to be thought badly of. At all.' J'shana shook her head slightly. 'But if I leave the Guild, hand it over to Brynjolf – and he really wouldn't be pleased about that – what then? I have the Guild ready to hide me – hide us – if we need it, but then… letting the world know that I'm the Dragonborn means that I'll have everyone knowing who I am. And no, I don't want to be disliked, but I don't want to be worshipped either. All I really want is you and our children and a life I can be happy in.'

He brushed the side of his face against hers, a common Argonian gesture of affection. 'It doesn't have to be one or the other, Sha. You can leave the Guild without telling the world that you are Dragonborn. And you don't have to make the choice here and now.'

J'shana nodded, reaching down absent-mindedly to stroke Meeko. 'The only decision that I really have to make now is what we do about these people in the masks. If they come back… you and the kids are in danger.'

'So are you,' Derkeethus pointed out.

'You and I can defend ourselves. The children can't. We need to get them somewhere safe.'

'The Cistern, you mean?'

'No. All those mask-madmen would need to do would be to ask around Riften a bit and they might find out that the woman they confronted is with the Guild. I wouldn't put it past them to find the Cistern. I was thinking Fort Dawnguard. These people suspect I'm Dragonborn, and people know the Dragonborn's with the Dawnguard, but I have a feeling they'd be much less inclined to attack a heavily-armed fortress packed with the warriors who defeated a vampire army than a group of thieves in a sewer.'

Derkeethus dipped his head. 'We had better move quickly. Leave first thing in the morning.'

'Karliah said she'd come round to make sure we were OK. If she comes with us, we'll have an extra pair of fighting hands if Mr and Mrs Mask show up again.' J'shana pursed her lips. 'And then I'll have to go back to the Guild and see what we can dig up about them.'

'Don't worry about that now. Come and get some sleep.'

Derkeethus had a way of making everything seem simple and safe. So J'shana let go of her worries, for the moment. He was right; she needed rest.

She went through her normal night-time routine, making a final fuss of Meeko, hanging up her bow, double-checking that the door was locked, placing her dagger on the bedside table. As she pulled off her armour and tugged on her light sleeping tunic, she had to wonder how much longer she'd be wearing the Guild leathers for.

But Derkeethus's warm arms and the comfort of their bed was enough to put the thought out of her mind. All thoughts, actually.

Until the scream ripped her from sleep.

It was a sound that shattered J'shana's dreams like an axe to glass, a sound that made her blood turn to fire in her veins and every thought in her mind dissolve into panic. She was moving in an instant, snatching up her dagger and sprinting for the stairs, not knowing whether Derkeethus or Meeko had woken, not stopping to look. Because there is nothing in the universe that moves faster than a mother hearing her child cry out in terror.

The voice had been Meleetha's, and it had been meaningless; no words, just terror. But now it was joined by another, lower-pitched, frantic. 'Mama!'

'Ma'vasha!' J'shana screeched her son's name, needing her children to know she was coming, that she wouldn't abandon them, that she'd help them, no matter what. 'Meleetha!'

She already knew what she would see when she reached them, but it didn't make it any easier to look at. Nothing compared to the horror of the sight of seeing your children with knives pressed to their throats. Nothing at all.

The masked ones were there, all right, as J'shana had known they would be. The woman was crouching so as to reach Meleetha's neck; the man had simply picked Ma'vasha up and was gripping him with one arm, holding the knife in the other. Meleetha seemed paralysed with fright, but Ma'vasha was wriggling, trying to break the man's grip without taking his neck too close to the man's dagger.

'Stop there,' the woman commanded. 'We hold the power now, deceiver. If you value the lives of your children, you'll confess your identity and submit to your fate!'

But J'shana didn't stop moving. She had only three words to share with these people.

'Zun HAAL VIIK!'

The daggers were wrenched from her enemies' hands as if pulled by a telekinesis spell. She didn't care that she'd just proven them right, that she'd shown that she was Dragonborn. There was no time to care. And anyway, these two weren't about to tell anyone. They'd be too dead to tell anyone.

She saw the man recoil in shock, loosening his grip, and Ma'vasha took the opportunity of the knife's removal to lean forward and sink his teeth into his captor's arm. The man yelped and released him, and Ma'vasha dropped to the ground, landing on his feet, as a Khajiit should. Meleetha, though, was still in the woman's grip, so it was the woman J'shana charged, dagger extended, teeth bared.

The woman pulled back her hand, an ice spell sparking in her palm, but J'shana was upon her before she could fire. The ice spike smashed into the ceiling as J'shana threw herself at the woman, hurling her back and driving the dagger into the arm that held her daughter. The woman cried out, loosened her grip, and Meleetha fell.

'Run, Mel!' J'shana managed to get out the words before the woman yanked the dagger from her arm with a snarl and lunged in. Forcing her memory back in time to the lessons in unarmed combat her father had given her as a child, J'shana ducked, dropping to the ground and hurling her weight against her enemy's leg. Unbalanced, the woman crashed to the ground, the knife spinning from her grip, and J'shana was on her, pinning her down, lashing at her face with talons unsheathed when she showed signs of casting another spell, grasping out, finding the dagger, snarling, spitting, ears flattened, ready to do anything she had to in order to protect her children.

Her left hand locked under the edge of the mask and wrenched upwards. J'shana could feel the dragon blood rising within her, and it gave her the strength she needed. The mask came flying off the face, exposing the grey skin and wide red eyes filled with both terror and fury – so Karliah had been right, a corner of J'shana's mind registered dimly. They were indeed Dunmer. But it wasn't the face J'shana wanted to see. It was the neck, bare and exposed.

She didn't hesitate. Not for a heartbeat. She brought the knife smashing down into the exposed throat.

The blade punched through the flesh, met breath resistance, shuddered slightly and kept going. The moment J'shana was certain she had struck a fatal blow she looked up, knowing the woman was dying and terrified of what the man might have done while she was distracted. But Derkeethus was there. Of course he was there. He was unarmed – clearly he had run in as much a hurry as J'shana had, and he didn't keep a weapon at his bedside – but he was wrestling with the second mask-wearer, and no one would have had to know how to read Argonians' faces to know how much anger his contained. There was no sign of Meeko, and J'shana knew her dog would have been down here fighting with them if he could have been. Either these people had used a spell to stun him or paralyse him, or... or worse.

J'shana gritted her teeth. It would hurt like a stab to lose Meeko, but she had to focus on her husband and her children now. She forced all her attention back onto the fight.

The man sidestepped Derkeethus's punch and whirled around to stand behind him, wrenching the Argonian's hands behind his back. Derkeethus simply jerked his head backwards, slamming his horns into the man's mask. There was a loud clunk and the man reeled back, a hand going to his face, clearly having felt the blow even through the metal. J'shana acted instantly, wrenching the dagger from the neck of the now-still Dunmer woman and hurling it through the air. It wasn't a well-aimed throw; her intention had been to disable him before he could cast any spells, and for that any distracting injury would do. The dagger embedded itself in the man's side, and he let out a cry, dropping to one knee.

Again, J'shana didn't think twice about what she did next. It was always hard to Shout too many times in quick succession, but never before had her dragon blood lent her so much strength.

'Krii LUN AUS!'

That Shout would weaken any opponent, but J'shana knew that with all three words, and so much rage behind it, it would do far more. The man sank lower, his hands falling to the floor, propping him up, as bit by bit his life force was leeched away. With a moan, he crumpled, drawing his limbs closer to his body. And finally going limp.

J'shana had collapsed too. Never before had she thrown so much of herself behind a Shout. Marked For Death could kill, but she'd never used it to do so outright before. She'd never been able to make it kill outright. But this time, she had wanted it so badly. She had needed him dead.

It had saved her children, but it had taken so much from her…

Derkeethus's arms were around her, his voice was in her ear, and he was helping her rise. A voice whispered, 'Mama?' and J'shana forced herself to stand, to stay upright, to turn around. Her children. Her son, her daughter. Were they safe?

There they were, in the doorway. Meleetha was crying. Ma'vasha just seemed stunned.

'Oh, Gods,' J'shana whispered, and ran to them.

She couldn't hold them close enough. One arm for each of them would have to do. She didn't try to hold back her tears, or persuade them to stop theirs. Derkeethus joined them, and they clung together, their breathing coming fast, mingled with sobs.

'Who were they?' Ma'vasha whispered, his voice somewhat muffled.

'It doesn't matter.' J'shana bent her head to kiss the fur between his ears. 'They're not coming back.'

'Are they dead?'

J'shana drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 'Yes. They're dead.'

Derkeethus straightened up. 'Let's get you two upstairs. I'll... I'll get some sweetrolls for you.'

The look he shared with J'shana made his intention clear – they had to get the children away from the bodies. J'shana nodded. 'I'll join you in a second. I just need to… clear up.'

As Derkeethus shepherded their shell-shocked children away, J'shana knelt beside the bodies. Sometimes, on Thalmor Justiciars who had ambushed her, she'd found letters or scrolls containing the details of who had sent them and how much they had known about her. Perhaps these people would carry something similar.

She found what she was looking for in a pocket of the women's robe. A folded piece of parchment, with a set of instructions written in black ink.

Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm. Kill the False Dragonborn, believed to be known as J'shana, before she reaches Solstheim.

The pretender is a grey-furred Khajiit with black stripes and orange eyes. She speaks with the accent used in Cyrodiil and is often accompanied by a green-scaled Argonian. She is often seen in the Rift, the southernmost Hold of Skyrim. You should begin your search here.

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.

J'shana read and re-read the letter, forcing every word into her memory. Then she folded the letter, and, with no pocket to place it in, headed upstairs with it clutched tightly in her hand.

Something told her no one in her family would be getting much sleep tonight.


Sweetrolls solve everything. X)

Apologies for the relative shortness of this one - I kind of intended for it to be fast-paced, because that's how it feels to J'shana. Also, the story's really about her friendship with Karliah and Serana, so I don't want to dwell too much on her family life (though I do want to show that too).

A bit about J'shana's family: the book Racial Phylogeny says that little is known about how possible beastfolk/other species hybrids are, but that 'there have been many reports throughout the Eras of children from these unions,' so I reckon it's possible. I also know Meleetha isn't entirely lore-friendly, on account of being an Argonian when her mother's a Khajiit. I actually created her before I was aware of the usual rule (in fact, I was so new to TES I hardly knew any lore rules) but when I again consulted Racial Phylogeny it said that half-bloods 'generally' take on the mother's race. So I decided I was safe, as long as I used the word 'generally' to my advantage. I've also read somewhere that Argonians don't receive their name until a certain age, but I can't for the life of my find the place I read that. With no idea how else to refer to Meleetha, I've just called her Meleetha here, if just to make things simpler. I hope no one minds my pushing at the boundaries of the lore, and I apologise if you do.

That's it from me for now. Thanks for reading!