"Been meaning to ask for a while," Ciri began a conversation, breaking the monotonous sound of their feet on the earth and the clunking of their backpacks. "What's with the sword?"

Anne slowed down her hiking pace to stand next to her friend. It was their seventh day of travel, and the two had been keeping a steady pace of walking all day long, with only brief pauses for lunch. When the sun went down, the two would make their way to the nearest shelter and camp for the night. Then, the Dragonborn would inexorably wash herself, they'd eat whatever they had scavenged on the road, then sleep in turns until the morning. They'd be off punctually at sunrise, which never failed to sour Ciri's mood.

She wasn't kidding about the whole keeping up deal.

She wasn't sure if the hurry to get nowhere in particular was purposefully done to scare away travel partners or if that was just her friend's actual pace, but she was determined not to complain.

"Dawnbreaker," Anne said, pulling the glowing blade out of its scabbard. "It's a magic sword."

No shit?

"I can see that," Ciri snapped. "But what does it do?"

"It glows. Here, see?" The woman replied, moving her palm over the swirling glowing orb on the sword's pommel. It flashed yellow. She moved her hand back down, and the glow dimmed to imperceptible levels. "I can even control it. Took me forever to figure it out."

"I can see that," She repeated. "I mean, does it do anything else? Or is it just a glorified glow-stick?"

"It's pretty good for slicing things."

Ciri scowled. The Dragonborn caught a glimpse of that and turned around to face her, while running backwards. "Hey, why so –" she lifted her hands and twitched her index fingers, making air quotes, "Cirious?"

The ashen haired woman gritted her teeth.

"I'm going to strangle you. Don't let me get my hands on you, Septim, I'm really going to strangle you."

Anne laughed. "It sets people on fire, and it blows the undead to dust. Mostly, though, it glows. It's a bliss, really, because I frequent lots of dark places, and torches are plain obnoxious, particularly when I have to dive – oh, look! Breakfast!"

I hope to the gods we won't have to dive.

Her friend had ran off road and climbed a bit of slippery looking, very unsafe rock wall. She bolted back, carefully bringing something in her hands. Eggs. The Dragonborn gave her one, and took one for herself.

"Rock warbler," The dark haired woman said. She pushed her thumb in the eggshell, cracking it, and swallowed the leaking contents raw. Ciri wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. "You know, you always have to leave one in the nest, so that the bird knows where to –"

"You can get Salmonella from that," the witcheress warned.

"I can't get shit," Anne replied, wiping the raw gooey egg white from her lips with the back of her gloved hand.

Gross.

"I'm a demigod, almost," Her friend continued. "I can't remember the last time I was sick. I swear, with my lifestyle, if I die in a bed, it won't be from Salmonella, it'd be from the irony."

"You'd die from the irony of dying from Salmonella? That doesn't even make sense," Ciri teased, carefully pocketing her egg for lunch, when she could have it cooked and disease-free. "What's your armor made of, and why does the right glove lacks a half?"

"Dragon scales. Honestly. It's unique. It was made by Eorlund at the Skyforge…for a special occasion. " Anne said. She lifted her right hand, where the glove left her thumb, index and middle fingers exposed, then fished a jar out of her pocket, from where she took out a piece of honeycomb. She licked the honey off her fingers and began chewing. "Gloves are cumbersome, and I need these three fingers free to write letters, pick locks, cast minor spells, among others. My turn: why do you wear your sword in your back like that?"

"Hmm." She ducked to avoid a branch. "It's how I was taught. Witchers use swords on their backs, usually two. One silver, one steel – for different kinds of monsters. Mine though, is made from both, that's why I have only one. Why are you always chewing on chunks of honeycomb?"

"It helps me focus," Anne explained. "Also, my throat gets sore a lot, because… all the shouting. Stick around me long enough and you're bound to see me do it. So, the honeycomb helps with that. Where did you get that scar?"

A pause.

Ciri found it to be a bit of a touchy subject. She sighed and slowed her walk a little. Her friend noticed it and shortened her own steps.

"Bad memories?"

"Some things are hard to get over," She mumbled. "I rather not discuss the situation. Got it from a throwing star, you know the ones?"

"Yes, the Blades still use them. Very common in Morrowind also." The Dragonborn stopped abruptly, and extended her hand, running her exposed fingers over the scar tissue. "Hasn't made you any less strikingly beautiful."

Their eyes met for a split second, and Ciri blinked. Anne's cheek turned slightly pink. She cleared her throat and resumed moving, even faster this time.

Ciri released a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

What the – Don't overthink it. Do not overthink it.

"Thanks," the witcheress said, speeding up to a jog. Her backpack clanked. "I was really self-conscious about it for a while. They were going to remove it, you know, to pretty me up to be the favorite wife of king something-or-other." She scoffed.

"Not fit for royalty life?"

"Not fit for people controlling me is what," Ciri complained. "'We'll take off this scar. You'll marry the king. Be the mysterious wife. You'll have his son, and we'll raise him to our interests. You'll fulfill the prophecy. Blah blah blah'. Well, make me, if you can catch me."

"Hah!" Anne laughed. They were both running now, their breaths coming out faster. "Stuck in the butt end of a prophecy, eh? I can relate. 'The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.' Well fuck me, right? Divines forbid I'd be into thieving and not dragon hunting!"

"What did you do?"

The terrain sloped uphill. Sweat rolled over Ciri's face.

"Well, you can't really escape from it. I ended up dragon-hunting after all – but on my terms." She reached for the water skin and took a long gulp. "Suddenly everyone wanted a say in my life. Graybeards, Blades, Jarls, everyone had tons of 'the Dragonborn musts'. Want advice from a prophecy-friend?"

Ciri half-smiled. "Sure."

"It's all bullshit. If you sit still and wait, your damn apocalypse is still going to come and slap you in the face anyway. So just do what you think is best meanwhile. You're more than your damn prophecy. And when the time comes, you'll be alone with your fate, and you better be at peace with yourself then."

"So basically, despite everyone telling me otherwise, I'm doing it right?"

Anne grinned.

"You're doing it perfect."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I was dying to see what the hell you'd do in this situation," Ciri smirked.

"What do you mean?" Anne responded, seeming legitimately puzzled.

They kicked their bedrolls open and the Dragonborn buried her sword on the ground, then ran her palm over the pommel. The glow that came from the gem increased, filling the cave they were camped in with pleasant light.

Ciri made a gesture with her arms, pointing towards the scenery. "It's freezing. We're up to our knees in snow, there are no water sources nearby, and it's pitch black. So how are you going to wash?"

Anne stared at her for a full twenty seconds. Then, she slowly raised her open palm and twiddled her fingers, which caused little flames to dance between them.

"Fucking maaaaagic," The Dragonborn said very slowly, as if talking to a not very bright child.

Ciri resisted the urge to punch her. "Let me get this straight. You'll what, strip naked in the middle of a snowstorm that might as well have been summoned by the Wild Hunt, and melt down some snow just so you can wash?"

"Yes."

"That's the dumbest shit to ever come out of your mouth. You'll get pneumonia."

"I'm not going to get shit," Anne barked. "You, on the other hand, will get a stink. You haven't washed for what, two full days?"

"It's freezing. It's so cold I'll be pissing in blocks soon. I'll start weeping crystals. I'll practice spit ballistics so I can kill my enemies with the instant solidifying saliva that comes out of my mouth."

"Excuses, excuses. This lack of hygiene will get you sick someday, heed my advice. Besides, I have a delicate nose."

That was too much for Ciri to take, and in a split second, a snowball struck the Dragonborn hard, straight in the face.

"Oh, now you're going to wash," Anne growled, picking up a handful of snow herself.

Ciri saw it coming however, and blinked out of the way just before the snowball hit her. Taking advantage of her new location, she hit Anne with another chunk of ice, making her stumble.

"Krosis," The Dragonborn hissed. The language was unknown, but Ciri was absolutely sure it was a curse. She laughed.

"You cheat!" Anne complained as she missed the witcheress over and over.

"Not my fault you're too slow for –"

"FUS!"

Ciri was hit with a literal avalanche that tossed her against the cave wall and buried her a good twenty centimeters in freezing so fucking cold snow, that got inside her boots and her clothes and gave her an unwilling wash. She kicked it off, pulling herself out of the impromptu snowhill that had fallen over her head.

Anne was laughing to tears. Tears that froze straight out of her eyes. Ciri burst out laughing.

By the morning, of course, the two were running a fever.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So this is what you do for a living, eh?"

"Mhhhm," Anne grunted, her mouth obstructed by the lockpicks she held between her teeth.

Ciri followed a floating speckle of dirt with her eyes. The dusty old tomb smelled of mold and things that have been dead for thousands of years. It looked exactly like the kind of place she'd find Geralt in. That in itself said a lot about the place, considering witchers were mutated not to feel little things like disgust.

The Dragonborn sneezed, spitting the lockpicks all over. Ciri laughed. Her friend replied with a rude gesture while she scurried to pick them back up.

Clink.

"Ha!" Anne exclaimed when the lock fell to the floor. She opened the chest with a rough kick, and the cloud of dust that puffed from it sent both women into a fit of coughing. Ciri took a peek in, and watched her friend pick out a couple amethysts.

"Nice," the witcheress mumbled. "How come these tombs aren't all looted?"

"The draugrs?" Anne quipped. "They do a great job of keeping people out."

Ciri kicked the dead, undead and re-dead draugr at her feet. Its ribcage cracked with a nasty crunch.

"They weren't much trouble," she pointed out.

"Mmm no, not for you or me," The Dragonborn agreed. "But most people aren't used to fighting something that keeps coming at you with a limb missing. The architecture is not favorable to large groups, and that's what it'd take to beat the Overlord in the last chamber, where most profits are. Besides, there's always the creepy factor."

"So, you've been solo-ing these tombs for a while now. Why aren't you rich already?"

Anne pushed her hair out of her face while she fiddled with some burial urns. "Funny you ask. Truth is yes, I am really filthy rich. I'm not actually here for the loot – that's just a bonus. It's the Rotmulaag I'm after, the word of power. Which usually lies in the last room, past the Overlord."

They crept on, moving to the next chamber. Ciri picked the question she found most pressing out of the many she wanted to ask.

"Tell me of this Overlord."

"It's a big mean Draugr," Anne explained. "It has a…stronger whisper of life into it. It's more powerful, and it can Shout." She paused and reached for her honeycomb jar, as if the very mention of 'shouting' made her throat sore. "You'll see, the Overlords and I, it's always an ear-popping experience."

"Looking forward to it," Ciri jeered. "And these words of power you're looking for, magic?"

"Magic," She confirmed. "A very specific kind of magic, which very few can use and only I have a gift for. Well, and the dragons."

They couldn't continue their talk, because they were swarmed by the undead once again. They were resilient, Ciri had to give them that, and she was even mildly impressed when a draugr whose arms she had cut kept coming at her with nothing but its teeth. Even so, they had the intelligence of someone with half a brain rotten, so she did very little of feinting and pirouetting, and a lot of brute forcing her way through them. She even picked up a shield after a while, which she mostly used to bash the creature's skulls in until the blue glow in their eyes went out.

Crude, but effective.

They stopped again at a heavy door with three rings and a slot where something should be put. The Dragonborn pulled out a claw shaped statuette made of sapphire and began fiddling with the mechanism, switching the engraved animals.

"How much am I paying you, again?" Anne abruptly wondered. "Because I usually give ten per cent, but my companions usually chicken out before the last chamber. Which we're close to, by the way. Your last chance to run."

"Dream on," Ciri grinned. "I'm not going for any lower than fifty."

"Fifty!" the Dragonborn hissed, but there was a smile on her face. She slid the sapphire claw into the stone sulks and twisted it, causing the discs to rearrange themselves. The stone door slowly slid down. "The nerve of you! You crush some skulls and want fifty percent? An armored troll could do what you're doing! With way less bitching!"

"An armored troll is way less pleasant to the eyes, I gather."

"And equally unpleasant to the nose! Here, why don't you earn your keep and do something a troll couldn't," Anne suggested, handing Ciri half a dozen lockpicks and a wrench as they walked past the fully lowered door. "Open that chest up for me, will you?"

Well, how hard can that be?

The witcheress knelt near the chest and slid the wrench and pick inside the lock, like she'd seen many people do. She fiddled with the tools, not entirely sure how it worked, while her friend rummaged through whatever other containers she could find.

The pick snapped between Ciri's fingers. She mentally cursed.

She went for it again and again, and was down to her last lockpick when she felt a warm body press against her back. Anne's hands moved gently, gliding over Ciri's arms and up to her knuckles. Her fingers interlaced with the Witcheress', her chin rested on the ashen haired woman's shoulder. Ciri was acutely aware of her breathing as she guided the lock picking movement, twisting her right wrist gently.

"Feel the vibration," The Dragonborn whispered, her bare index and middle fingers brushing lightly against Ciri's. She felt her cheeks burn. "Push the tumblers. Gently. Steady, steady. Listen to the clicking. And then –"

An abrupt movement of the left hand. The two women's hands moved together, and the lock creaked open.

" – there you go. Troll."

Anne pulled back, and Ciri released a breath she did very much know she'd been holding.

"You can cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife," The witcheress muttered to herself, backing away from the chest to let her companion do the looting.

"What?"

"I said," she declared, "That' I'm not having one gold coin short of forty percent. Not one coin!"

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Maybe, if you do well against the Overlord, I'll give you thirty five…We're here. You ready?"

Ciri placed both her palms on one side of the thick double door ahead of them, and Anne mirrored her movements.

"Let's do this."

They pushed the doors open.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Aav Dilon"

"Zu'u beyn dilon –"

"Stop talking to it," Ciri complained, skillfully deflecting a blow of the Draug Overlord's axe. Anne took the opening and slid her sword between its ribs. The stink of burn rotten flesh attacked her nostrils as the undead pulled away from the blade with a hiss, its insides kindled. "It's unsettling!"

Anne sidestepped, dodging the Draugr's next axe stroke, and Ciri took the chance to strike it at its armor's knee joint. There was a crack, and the draugr's left leg half collapsed under its weight, its joint bending at a wrong angle.

The undead creature didn't seem to mind.

"I'm taunting," Anne objected. "It's normal to taunt when you fight."

Ciri twisted in a rather spectacular pirouette, moving her sword in an arc that would have hit the Draugr from behind, had it not been parried by the shaft of the creature's gigantic battleax.

"Bolog Aaz, Mal Lir!" The monster screeched.

"See!" Anne sassed. "It just called me 'little worm'! Kod, zaam!"

Ciri moved to the Dragonborn's side, kicking the draugr's bad leg on her way. The knee held. The undead swung its axe in a circle that barely missed the two women.

"Stop talking to it on its language! It's creepy!"

They backed a bit and stood shoulder to shoulder, panting. The Overlord had proven to be more trouble than Ciri expected. It was smarter than the others, and more resilient to boot. It did not give them two a rest, and they engaged in combat once more.

Abruptly, the draugr backed away. Its ribcage expanded.

"Watch out, it's going to –"

"Zun…"

Anne ducked under the swinging axe, throwing her sword up in the air as she did it. Ciri prepared to intercept a blow –

"HAAL VIK!"

Swallow was violently ripped off her hands at the exact second the Dragonborn pulled her down; the axe swooped so close Ciri actually wondered if she accidentally got a new haircut.

"Motherfu –"

Anne rolled back and caught her sword in the air mid-fall, with practiced ease. She was laughing heartily. "When it says Zun, it's going to disarm you," the woman commented while simultaneously striking a crippling blow to the draugr's abdomen. Flaming intestines spilled out.

Why thank you for this timely bit of information!

She bolted across the room after her weapon, reciting every semantic and linguistic variation of the word 'coitus' she knew.

"Yol…" Anne roared, "TOOR SHUL!"

The room lit up in yellow light, and Ciri felt a wave of heat reach her back. She turned around, shielding her eyes with her free hand, and ran back to rejoin the fight. Or at least she tried to, because as Anne ended her shout, gasping for breath, the now completely charred yet still standing Overlord opened what was left of its mouth and retaliated.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Ciri was intercepted halfway her trajectory by a flying Dragonborn, and the two were thrown back to the other side of the room, rolling over each other, miraculously managing to not stab one another's eyes off. She pushed herself to a sitting position, spitting out strands of ashen hair that had gone loose at some point.

"Unslaad Krosis!" The draugr shrieked, limping towards them.

"Krosis," Anne agreed, stumbling to stand. She took a glance back, and Ciri met her gaze in an instant of wordless comprehension.

"Wuld Nah Kest!"

The Dragonborn dashed forward at supernatural speed the same time Ciri blinked out of existence and materialized herself behind the Overlord. With simultaneous grace, the women struck, Anne spiraling with her blade while Ciri ducked, burying her blade upwards on the draugr's chest, straight through the heart. The undead's head flew straight out of its neck –

And the body exploded into blue dust.

Ciri took the moment to catch her breath, admiring the glowing particles float down and deposit themselves on her clothes and hair.

Anne sneezed. "Let me see to the –" Sneeze " – word wall. Must be close, I can hear it already."

Hear it?

"There it is!" Her friend exclaimed, and Ciri chased after, not bothering to hold back her curiosity.

They stopped at a rather nondescript wall, with some mysterious carvings over it. Ciri was about to declare it looked rather anticlimactic, when one of the words engraved started glowing blue. Anne extended her right hand towards it and brushed her fingers on the deep sulks. The Dragonborn closed her eyes, and for a short moment, Ciri saw the glow grow brighter and bizarrely leak into her friend's body, as if light could be fluid. She even heard, or thought she did, distant hailing voices.

Anne opened her eyes, and for a split second, the witcheress saw intense blue eyes with reptilian slit pupils, and when their gazes met, a picture of wings flickered vividly on Ciri's mind. And then the pupils contracted back into rounds, and the Dragonborn let out a loud breath, like a sigh.

Ciri took an involuntary step back, clutching her sword tight. Anne shook her head as if to clear it.

What the shit.

"That was weird. That was way, way creepy. Care to explain that?"

Anne noticed her offensive posture and raised her open palms in the universal gesture for 'peace'. "Sorry. Should have warned you about it."

"What exactly was 'it'?"

"I'm not so sure myself," She admitted. It's a…Dragonborn thing. I absorb something from these walls… knowledge, I guess. It's magic, I told you. I know the words already, but they have to be…unlocked. Given meaning. It sounds strange, but now I understand that word enough to call on its power."

"Your pupils were," Ciri pointed to her own eyes with her index and middle fingers, wriggling them up and down. "Like a viper's."

Like Geralt's.

The thought was somehow comforting, and Ciri allowed her blade to lower a little.

"Like a dragon's," Anne corrected. "I've been told it happens. I'm really sorry." She nodded towards Swallow. "So, uh, planning to stab me? I'm still same old me, and to be fair, I did mention I'm part lizard. You know, 'Dragonborn'? It's in the name."

Deciding she did indeed have a point, Ciri acquiesced and sheated the sword on her back, turning her attention back to the wall. "What's it say?"

Anne scanned the carvings. "It's in verse. It goes more or less 'Here fell shield maiden Valkrys, who fought with courage, but was wrong to trust the power of a borrowed blade.' Sounds much better in Dragon, I swear."

"I doubt that, somehow," Ciri replied, her ears still buzzing from the battle. She tucked a white strand of hair below her ear. "And your magic word, which one was it?"

Abruptly, Anne slid her fingers between her ashen locks, combing them. Her gloved fingers made pleasant pressure on the witcheress' scalp, as she gently rebuilt Ciri's usual look. Her friend pulled out a lockpick from her pocket and slid it in to keep the bun in place.

"Ov."

"I'm sorry?"

"The word," the Dragonborn clarified. "Ov."

"Oh, the word, of course. Ov. What does it mean?"

She saw Anne's lips twist in a lazy smile, just as she licked bits of honeycomb from her fingers. "Trust."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A big thanks again for everyone keeping up with this story!

Eipok : Thanks! I'm often shy to post and your reviews help a lot!

Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: I'm glad you had fun! And yes, those two are bound to get into trouble!

Up next: more screwing around, because that's what you do in Skyrim, and news of the Wild Hunt!