AN: Well, I just realized that the things I was using to break up my chapters was not showing up at all, so everything I've posted thus far looks like a jumbled mess. I'm changing style. Sorry all for this.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Miir mentally grumbled to himself as he traced his way back towards where the woman had stolen the two Stormcloak soldiers away. Of course Sturmgar had sent him off alone with no assistance. Of course he was going to have to go up against a clearly skilled illusionist who had stolen at least eleven trained Stormcloak soldiers from the rebellion.

To be fair, unless the army specifically pulled female scouts to send with him, his allies could easily be turned by the woman's magic. And while the women who walked among the scouts were as skilled as their male counterparts, Miir knew that they were already engaged in other campaigns and often far afield. With no backup the odds stacked heavily against him and he couldn't afford to fight his way in.

He bit his lip as he reached the area where the female Stormcloak had died and hoped that in the intervening day her trail had not gone cold. Miir carefully examined the scene of the ambush. Most of the area looked disturbed but the body and most of the evidence that pointed to a conflict was gone. The woman's body had vanished and only a single bone shard from the skeletons was left. A soft snarl of frustration escaped Miir but was cut off as suddenly as it began when he saw a small smear of red on the ground that lead off into the woods.

Though it was clear that the charmed soldiers had tried to cover their tracks they weren't experienced woodsmen and the damage to the foliage showed when they had carried the body away.

Miir quietly followed the bits of broken branches and disturbed snow as he followed what he had hoped was the trail of the dead woman through the trees. He quietly said a prayer of thanks and hoped the Divines passed his gratitude for her sacrifice on to her in Sovngarde.

The darkness didn't bother his Khajiiti eyes and the thief slipped through the woods following the trail left by the body. Broken branches, scuff marks, and partial footprints created a trail for Miir which he followed. It ended in front of a ragged little hole in a spur of stone that seemed to jab up out of the earth. Branches and other cover were pulled in front of the opening to hide it from prying eyes but it was a poor disguise for anyone who knew where to look.

Starting forward, Miir jerked to a stop when he caught sight of the Nord soldier who stood completely motionless by the entrance. Easing back in the deeper shadows, Miir watched the Nord, who placidly gazed out at the forest with a slack expression. The man's gaze flicked mechanically around, looking for any sign of intruders. A gentle green light seemed to gleam in the man's eyes - a sure sign of the enchantress's work. Miir mentally sighed to himself. In his mind he had planned to rescue all of the soldiers and he hoped he could save this man. He needed to get past him but he couldn't afford the man calling out a warning to any allies that might be inside.

He hesitated as he looked at the armoured Nord and wondered if he could incapacitate the soldier. The seconds slipped past as he thought of ways to bash the man's head and stun him or try to get the damned pendant off of him in one way or another. He ground his teeth. The Nord's armour covered the back of his neck, and the pendant was likely resting underneath the leather. While Miir was no stranger to fighting and even murder, which could be very profitable, they also made him feel sloppy. Fighting was so messy and risky. The Khajiit mouthed a curse, his face twisting as he silently wrestled with his emotions. He was determined to try.

Threading his way through the brush, the Khajiit quietly slipped up close to the Stormcloak soldier. His breath quickened in his throat as he envisioned his motions. Individually they were all simple and he hoped that they would set the man free. Gritting his teeth, he slipped forward until he was almost able to touch the Nord. He sprang up, bashing the Nord in the back of the head with his weapon's pommel as he scrabbled to find the leather cord holding the pendant up. His fingers brushed it but the Nord retaliated with a clumsy swing of his fist at Miir. The attack forced the Khajiit to jump back, a small snarl of frustration escaping him as he saw the Nord draw his sword.

Strangely enough the Nord didn't call for aid or even roar at him as most Stormcloaks would have. Miir readied his daggers as the Nord rushed towards him. Moonlight flashed off of the sword as it swung in murderous arcs towards Miir, forcing him back. The man was relentless as he tried to murder the Khajiit.

The pressure on Miir's defences was growing and his dodges bought him less and less time as the Nord closed off his escape routes. There was no choices left to him and Miir used his steel dagger to parry a strike at his side while he jammed Nettlebane through a seam of the leather armour and into the Nord's gut. Hunched over slightly in shock and pain, the Nord perfectly bared his throat for the complementing swing of the steel dagger as it tore his throat out.

Miir leaped backwards away from the fountain of gore as the Nord staggered and clutched at his ruined throat. He looked up at Miir in confusion, his blue eyes free of the pendant's influence, for a heartbeat before he crashed to the ground.

The corpse was heavy as Miir dragged it just out of sight around the corner. Wiping the blood off of his weapons and hand, Miir resolutely slipped past the body and behind the screen of brambles. The opening curve of the tunnel was pitch black but distant lights were visible to Miir who slipped towards them in the murk. Of course, Miir thought to himself as he listened for footsteps, Nords can't see in the dark and the charmed soldiers can't conjure their own light. They need the torches to see. He peered down the forking hallways, trying to find a clue as to which way he should go to find this alluring woman.

Back in Windhelm, it had been suggested that if the pendants were removed that the soldiers would be freed of the witch's influence. Sturmgar had flatly told Miir to try to save as many soldiers as he could but one of the Nords was already dead. The fact sickened Miir a little as a nasty tendril of doubt seemed to seep into his mind. Could he save any of them, he quietly asked himself even as he peered into the dark.

The thud of a boot snapped Miir out of his own thoughts.

Shit, the Khajiit thought as he pressed himself against the wall, watching for approaching Stormcloaks. The fewer Stormcloaks he harmed, the better. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain the dead man out front to the others and didn't relish the idea of having that conversation. The Stormcloaks were prejudiced against him enough already without the blood of their friends on his hands.

As the sound of footsteps moved closer, Miir grew more tense. He saw a Nord mechanically walking as he patrolled the hallways, his bare head revealed a slack expression and his gait was slightly stiff.

His plodding steps carried him away from the crouched Khajiit without any incident, his gaze casually sweeping the shadows that hid Miir as the Nord turned down the other fork.

Softly, Miir slipped forward and passed down the tunnel the Nord had just emerged from. The rough-hewn walls were cold and dry under Miir's fingertips as he slipped down the hallway. Torches were placed sporadically down the hall, leaving great pools of darkness that the thief darted between, each passage through the light leaving his gut clenching in fear that he would be spotted. The hallway curved and wound through the earth like a snake but it was silent like a tomb. Sniffing the air, Miir tried to detect any sort of cooking scents or anything that would let him know where he was headed.

Another plodding set of footsteps was headed towards Miir and the Khajiit's heart began to hammer. The tunnel was too narrow for him to hide anywhere, he realized as he looked around. Silently cursing to himself, he slipped backwards along the passage to where it turned sharply. He swore to himself that he wouldn't kill this Nord if he could help it. Divines knew how bad it would look if he was sent to rescue these men and ended up butchering them instead.

Straining his hearing, Miir waited for the Stormcloak to head towards his position. Everything was so silent that the man was surprisingly easy to track. Another slack-faced guard rounded the corner and Miir launched himself at that man with his fist leading.

Quietly thanking whatever Divine or Daedric prince responsible for the man lacking a helmet, Miir winced in pain as his fist connected with the Nord's face and knocked him back. Relentless, Miir rushed forward as the Nord clutched at his suddenly bleeding nose. The soul gem pendant flashed in the light of the nearby torch as Miir sent the Nord reeling with another punch. Normally he would've used his claws but he needed his man alive.

Staggered under the onslaught, the charmed soldier couldn't stop Miir as he grabbed the pendant and broke the leather string it was attached to with a sharp jerk of his hand. With another sharp motion, Miir threw the magical device into the ground where it shattered with a small pulse of light.

Warily eying the Nord, Miir drew his daggers and prepared to fight if the tactic didn't free the man from the spell's influence. The Nord continued to clutch at his bloody nose before he shook his head slightly.

"Where... where am I?" groaned the Nord as he clutched at his swelling face. He looked at the armed Khajiit in front of him, alarm and confusion playing out across his features as he suddenly spat, "You attacked me! You..."

The hand that had been reaching for his sword wavered as his mind caught up, "...freed me. You set me free from that awful nightmare."

Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Miir sheathed his own weapons. "I'm a fellow Stormcloak ordered-"

"You're a Stormcloak!?" scoffed the man as he looked at Miir with undisguised shock and disbelief, the blood running out of his nose forgotten for a moment.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Miir answered, "Yes. And I've been ordered here to help rescue you and all of your brothers." Few knew of him outside of the scouts of the Stormcloaks, so constantly having to justify his presence to those in the main army was irritating. At times like now, when he needed speed and cooperation, having to explain himself made the Khajiit long to hit the Nord again.

"I had forgotten about the others," said the man with a wince as he fished in his belt for a small red bottle. Throwing the contents back, he sighed as his face returned to normal. "So, what's your plan?" the man grunted as Miir looked down the way the man had come from.

The question caught the Khajiit off guard and he mentally scrambled for an answer. He knew "keep hitting people and taking their pendants" would be the least impressive answer he could muster, but the soldier might appreciate a direct plan. He needed the man's cooperation, though, because doing this alone would be much harder. If even just two soldiers were stationed together it could spell disaster for him as he struggled to either liberate or incapacitate them. The Nord in front of him was likely hungry for revenge and -

"You don't have one, do you?" glumly said the Nord as he shook his head. He checked to ensure that his sword was still loose in its scabbard as he conspicuously avoided eye contact with Miir.

After a moment of silence the Khajiit quietly shrugged, "It's not like this is something that I deal with often."

Squaring his shoulders, the Nord's face took on a look of resolution, "Alright, how many others have been captured?"

Miir nearly blurted out eleven but quickly caught himself. He didn't want the man knowing about his dead comrade out front. "Ten counting you," he said simply as stretched slightly to limber himself up.

Wiping more of the blood off of his nose, the dark haired Nord nodded but the gesture was more for himself than the thief. "Alright, we pray to the Divines that anyone else we meet down here is alone like I was. The more hands we've got fighting that bitch the better our odds will be."

Unless you fall to her charms again, silently worried the Khajiit as he imagined trying to fight off his rescued allies and the woman. Everything could go so wrong if they fell under her sway. Instead, he asked, "Do you know anything about the caves? Can you draw a map?"

Squinting in concentration for a moment the Nord looked lost in thought before he shook his head with a small snarl. "Nothing," he grunted, "Everything has been such a blur under that witch's spell."

Well then there's nothing for it, the Khajiit thought to himself. We're going in blind. The thought sat in his stomach like a heavy weight.

Setting off down the hall, the Nord tried to be subtle but his footsteps seemed to crash loudly in the darkness. Miir winced with each noise as he silently padded along with the man. Gods dammit, he silently swore. He was sure it was just his nerves making the sound seem loud in the silence but he almost wanted to tell the Nord to wait where here so he could scout ahead but he knew he might need the man's muscle in a moment's notice.

A larger light gleamed ahead and Miir stopped his companion with a hand on the man's arm. He began to gesture but stopped as he realized the man probably couldn't make out his motions in the dark. Leaning in close he breathed to the Nord, "I'm going to check ahead. Wait here." He could see the man nod in the dark.

In the silence of the cave Miir moved forward towards the light. The tunnel opened into a natural cave where a little fire burned. Two animal hide mats lay on the ground each with a Stormcloak laying on them. A third man stat staring into the fire, his expression slack. The soul gem pendant glinted temptingly in the firelight. Miir wanted to isolate the watchmen from the other two but there was no easy way to do it without waking the others and the Khajiit didn't like his odds in the fight.

He suddenly smiled and reached down as he grabbed a handful of small rocks. Easing back down the tunnel he threw one so that it clacked softly off the wall. The sentry's head jerked up and the Nord wandered forward into the dark. Moving farther back, Miir threw another stone into the dark as he gradually led the Nord into the darkness.

Most adults would've found his ruse incredibly simplistic and would've easily avoided it but the charm seemed to have reduced the Nord's ability to be rational. Two more soft clacks led the man close to where the first Nord was lurking and a third one carried him past the man who was crouched, perfectly immobile, in a little alcove.

The freed Nord leapt up and clapped his leather glove over the other man's face and stifled the man's grunts as Miir tore the pendant from his neck and crushed it under his boot. almost immediately the struggling ceased and the Nord sagged into his comrade's embrace for a moment before he straightened up. "Thank you for freeing me," he wheezed softly as he scrubbed his face with his hands, dazed from the spell lifting out of his mind.

"There are two more soldiers asleep in there," Miir said softly after making sure the man was unharmed, "I can get one but I'll need your help with the other." He quickly outlined his plan to his two allies before all three slipped forward towards the fire light. The Khajiit edged forward first, checked to ensure the other two men were still asleep. Both forms lay where they were, unmoving, and he sighed a small breath of relief.

The plan was simple, Miir would pounce on one while the other two Nords would free their friend.

All three men stepped into the light and the thief's heart stopped for a moment in fear as he waited for either charmed Nord to react. They didn't. The Khajiit soundlessly let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Choosing the farther one, Miir was almost to the man when the clank and scrape of a metal mug rolling along the floor caused him to whip his attention to the source of the noise. The first man he had freed looked at him, face twisted in shame as the metal cup he accidentally kicked skittered along the floor and woke up the two sleeping soldiers.

The charmed Stormcloaks lurched into wakefulness with shouts of alarm. Swearing under his breath, Miir and the freed soldiers threw themselves on the charmed men before they could gain their feet.

Bodily overwhelming their target, the Nords pressed their struggling target to the ground and held him down while they dragged the pendant up from under his armour. Shit, Miir thought to himself as he tackled the last Nord down. He wasn't strong enough to be able to pin the man down, but he straddled the Nord's chest as he frantically raced to grab the leather strap which was just peeking up from under his leather breastplate.

He rocked back, vision swimming, for a moment as the Nord's fist blindsided him and connected with his jaw. Divines dammit that hurt! The Khajiit wrestled with the Nord and tried to control the burly man's arms as the charmed Stormcloak writhed and tried to throw his assailant off of him. His arm escaped Miir's grip again and another fist connected with Miir's face and the Khajiit spat blood. A snarl escaped him as he popped his claws out and swiped at the Nord.

His claws raked over the Nord's face as he struck at the man in retaliation. The Nord screamed and reflexively clutched at his face even under the charms of the mysterious woman. Miir's fast hands snatched at the leather cord before the Nord could recover and snapped the pendant's cord and then whipped it against the far wall where it shattered with another small flare.

Rising off the man, who was now hissing in agony as his face turned into a mess of red blood as the four deep gouges in his face poured blood, Miir stepped away in an almost sheepish manner. One of the other Stormcloaks he had freed rushed over to his wounded brother-in-arms with a healing potion. He knelt down and murmured sternly to the other man as he forced the clawed man to drink the vial. The gashes on his face immediately sealed into angry, puffy pink lines. "Good thing you aimed so that you didn't hit his eye. He likely would've lost it," said the makeshift healer as he looked at the Nord that Miir had scored with his claws. The man's words were said casually but carried a weight that the Khajiit could feel. Even the other Stormcloak wasn't sure if Miir had been careful or not as the attack had been reckless.

The Khajiit simply grunted an affirmative and rubbed at his jaw and split lip where the Nord had punched him twice. He didn't tell them that the man was just lucky because he hadn't been thinking when he'd lashed out. The unspoken thing that none of them wanted to say was that the man would likely bear scars for the rest of his life.

"Come on. We have to keep pushing," said the first man Miir had freed. The tension palpably disappeared from the room as the Stormcloaks rallied from the skirmish.

A disappointed grunt escaped a bearded Nord as he scratched at his face, "I'd be damn surprised if they missed that scream." His tone wasn't accusatory but the catman felt the words like pins prickling his skin. Had he handled it better he could've been silent with his actions.

Miir looked at the grizzled men around him and tried to quash the little voice of despair that said that the four men and one thief wouldn't fare too well against the six other Stormcloaks and the sorceress herself. It would be a wonderful thing if there was even one other charmed man left where he could be easily freed but Miir doubted he'd be that lucky. He ran his hand over his head as he looked around at the others. They all seemed so resolute to him, especially with the little doubts in his head growing louder.

"Let's go," the Khajiit said as he led the others out into the darkness. He hoped his brave face covered for his fear as he peered into the blackness ahead.

The group slipped through the caves but encountered no opposition. Each naturally formed room in the cave was completely empty, very rough, but very neatly maintained. Miir's unease gradually grew as the small group fanned out in each room and found nothing personal in any of them. Each room held nothing to make it more than just a set of sleeping quarters. There were no good luck charms, no shrines to any divine, no books - each room seemed particularly cold for its pure functionality.

Finally, deep within the cave, they heard the sound of running water. Miir signalled for a halt and slipped forward around the bend in the tunnel to peek at what lay ahead. An underground river poured out of the wall and raced down a shallow creek that split the room in half. On the far side stood the last of the Stormcloaks in a protective arc in front of their captor. Despite everything he knew, something about the woman still seemed so alluring. The power of her aura couldn't dig into his mind though, not when he was prepared for it.

The Nords stormed up to the mouth of the cave, their boots thundering loudly in the otherwise quiet of the cave, and the six still-charmed Nords tightened their ranks as they glared over the creek.

Miir drew his bow and an arrow as he looked at the soldiers, but they defensively squatted slightly as they used their shields to cover most of their bodies. Damn, the Khajiit swore to himself. He was hoping for a few disabling shots to even out the odds.

A few gestures from the sorceress released gleaming white orbs to drift into the air and filled the little cavern with light. Damn again, thought Miir bitterly as the shadows he was hoping to use disappeared.

"Surrender, witch!" shouted one of the Nords as the four rescued men edged into the room.

A bitter smirk twisted the features of the sorceress, "I will have my revenge on all of you Stormcloak dogs." Her eyes locked with Miir's and she spat, "You stupid beast! You were the one who ruined all of my plans here. Everything would've been perfect if it wasn't for you. I'll make sure your friends slit your throat quickly when they're back under my control."

The threat held real weight to Miir, who didn't know if his companions would fall under her sway again, but he was more interested in why this clearly full-blooded Nord woman would want revenge on the Stormcloaks.

"You bastards raped my sister and left her to die in the wilds and it's only fitting that your own lusts will be your downfall," she snarled as her soldiers began to edge forward.

Well, that answers that question, thought Miir to himself with a wry, internal smile. His amusement quickly vanished as the six men advanced on the five of them and the woman at the back of the formation peered at the impending conflict. "Keep defensive," called the Khajiit softly as he drew his daggers, "I've got a plan."

"Cat, what are you-?" the soldier's question was cut off by the clang of steel as the Nords collided.

Keeping low, Miir rushed out from behind his allies and rolled forward. A quick jab from Nettlebane in the thigh of one of the charmed Nords made the man scream and drop his guard for a moment. His opponent didn't waste time and shield bashed the distracted man. The blow was painful, and hopefully disabling, but non-lethal.

A softly glowing green ball hit the victorious Nord with a soft chiming noise. The man suddenly stood still, his eyes glazed over with green light. Damn, swore Miir mentally as he moved to the next soldier.

This charmed Nord tried to fight both the Khajiit and his original opponent but the pressure proved too much and Miir scored a solid blow when he slammed his steel dagger's pommel into the man's helmet, staggering him back. Reeling from the attack, the Nord flailed defensively with his sword as he tried to get his bearings.

"I've had enough! Tear each other apart," boomed the woman with an impossibly loudly voice. She clapped two glowing green hands together and a massive burst of chiming green magicka streaked out of her hands.

The spell exploded in the midst of the fight and to Miir's eyes all Oblivion broke loose. The spell washed over all of them, and the Kahjiit clenched his eyes shut as spikes of raw rage were driven into his mind by the spell. The urge to spill blood, to fight, to kill anyone and everyone around him clawed at his will. He wanted to kill every Nord for every time he'd been slurred by them. He wanted to extract his vengeance for each time a filthy Nord had made him grovel to prove his worth. His grip on his daggers tightened and he bared his teeth, suddenly aware of the Nords who were brawling wildly behind him. He had to kill them before they killed him! A little voice screamed at him that the Nord woman was using him and he reassured it that she would die too. He would make her pay but first the swordsmen behind him.

Shouts and roared warcries tore at Miir's thoughts and his eyes snapped open. All around him the Nords wildly attacked each other. There were no carefully thought out attacks, no watching for openings. There was only a messy brawl as the Stormcloaks from both sides fought madly amongst themselves.

The sight of it made Miir's stomach clench with anger as he shifted his weight so he could lunge into the fray and jab Nettlebane into his first target's kidney. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the enchantress smirk as the soldiers slashed at each other. That image shattered the hold the spell had on his mind. He refused to be anyone's puppet. He joined the Stormcloaks because they suited his goals, not because they owned him. Damn her for trying to make him her slave.

Shifting quickly, he broke into a sprint towards her. She looked exhausted from casting the spell that made madness erupt among the soldiers and her eyes widened in surprise as the Khajiit raced towards her. Frantically, she raised a hand and launched a single, glowing green orb at Miir.

With a gentle chiming noise the spell raced over Miir's head as the Khajiit dropped into a roll and let it float over his head. Even though it didn't hit him, he felt a surge of calm pass over him as it shot past. Had it hit, he was sure he would've stood there, placidly waiting to be murdered.

He came out of his roll right before the woman who looked at him with shock. Her hand lit up but before she could bring the spell to bear Nettlebane slammed in between her ribs and into her chest.

With a wet gurgle she collapsed to the floor and silence fell over the room as the spell broke. "You're working with monsters, cat," she choked out around the blood in her mouth, "They killed my sister for loving a Dunmer. What do you think they'll do to you when you no longer serve their needs?" She gave Miir a bitter, knowing smile before she sank into perfect stillness, her face still slightly twisted by her final sentiments. Pulling his dagger out, Miir cleaned it on a corner of her robe while her last words echoed through his head.

Ragged cheers echoed through the cavern as the soldiers came free from the woman's spell. The men who had been under her charm hastily cast off the now-dark soul gems that they had been wearing and they began to see to the wounded.

There was so much excitement drifting through the air as the soldiers celebrated their victory and for once Miir was part of it. The Nords cheered his agility and his cunning. For the first time in a long time he felt like he truly belonged with the Stormcloaks.

Miir hesitantly walked up to the man he had stabbed in the leg as the Nord sat drinking a potion. Finishing the red liquid, the Nord looked sternly up at Miir for a moment before cracking a smile, "No hard feeling, friend. You did what you had to." He held out his arm and Miir, smiling a toothless smile, helped him to his feet.

They washed in the cold creek that ran through the cavern as the soldiers filled what waterskins they had been left with as they prepared to head back to Windhelm. The journey would be short so they weren't worried about needing enough supplies to make it home and with their numbers not ever a sabercat would dare threaten them.

Miir smiled as he led the group out into the daylight. The men were already working on the song they would sing in the tavern later that night when they were able to use mead to wash the enchantress's memory from their minds. The Khajiit was honoured with a prominent role in the story but the Nords made sure they still took center stage. Miir didn't mind though, he was just glad to be seen as one of them.

"I'm going to take a piss!" called out of the men as he stepped into the nearby bushes, whistling a jaunty tune to himself as the others continued to talk amongst themselves.

Miir smiled and lifted his face to the wind, proud of himself for having rescued the ten- oh Divines, the eleventh man. Miir's breath caught as he remembered the body. "By Shor's bones!" shouted the man who had left to urinate. The other soldiers rushed to the Nord, Miir trailing behind them, as the Nord pulled up his breeches and looked down at the bloody corpse of the eleventh man.

As one they turned to Miir, their faces stony and hostile. Whispering broke out amongst the soldiers as they looked at the Khajiit with eyes filled with suspicion. "What happened?" demanded the first soldier that Miir had freed.

"I didn't have a choice! He attacked-" began Miir defensively before he was cut off by shouts of anger from the Nords.

Cries of "murderer!" peeled up as the soldiers he had just rescued as they loudly began arguing over the crime. Angry fingers repeatedly jabbed Miir's way.

One of the last Nords freed stormed up to Miir and began demanding answers. Fear tore through the Khajiit's mind as he tried to find a way to justify his actions. "I didn't have a choice - you have to believe me - I tried to rescue him-" he shouted back at his accusers.

A fist to the jaw cut Miir's words off and staggered him back. Dazedly, he tried to recover from the sucker punch when another one slammed into his gut and knock the wind out of him. In the confusion Miir tried to escape but three of the Nords continued to lash out, screaming curses at the murderer in their midst.

Sinking down under the weight of the blows, Miir tried to cover his head with his arms as they began to kick him. He felt spittle hit his face

Other soldiers pulled them off of Miir but not before they broke several of the Khajiit's teeth and one eye was swelling shut. Rough hands hauled him to his feet and part of Miir's chest screamed as he moved. Shit, a rib might be cracked, he thought to himself as he tried to refocus on the voices drifting around him.

"Take him to the jarl!" was the first thing the Khajiit registered as he mentally collected himself.

He winced as the other men forced his arms behind his back and bound his hands with a leather thong. The binding was so tight that it quickly cut off circulation in his hands and Miir worried that he might lose fingers to the cold and numbness. He probed his mouth with his tongue and counted multiple teeth that had been damaged in the assault. He did not look forward to meeting with the jarl.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The march back to Windhelm was brutal. Miir couldn't stop worrying about his hands and the men who escorted him seemed like they were willing to mete out "justice" on him at any moment.

Being dragged through the streets like a common criminal was not a new feeling for Miir. In the Imperial City he had often been on the wrong side of the law. Unlike the Imperials, who would've just thrown him in jail for a short time for thievery, the Stormcloaks seemed like they'd be happy to execute him for murder.

He was marched into the Imperial Palace and thrown before Ulfric. Stumbling, Miir fell to his knees before the leader of the leader of the Stormcloaks and looked up at him through the eye he could still see out of.

Ulfric dispassionately looked at the batter Khajiit for a moment before he stated calmly, "Perhaps someone should explain to me why this Khajiit has been thrown before me like this."

"He killed a Stormcloak!" shouted one of the men that Miir had rescued and the Khajiit wished he had killed that man too for a moment.

The story poured out in a dramatic condemnation of the Khajiit, though Miir tried to defend himself. None of the Nords cared that Miir had tried to free the man and had been forced to kill him. They only saw an outsider, a beastman no less, who killed a Stormcloak. The damning evidence was that Miir had tried to hide the body. Regardless of how he did it to hide it from other potentially charmed soldiers, the other high ranking Stormcloaks took it as a sign of guilt. Many called for his execution.

At last the hall fell silent and Miir, still on his knees before Ulfric, looked at the Nord lord with hope while the leader of the Stormcloaks looked back with an inscrutable expression.

"Put him in the dungeons for now," said Ulfric, "I must think on this some more."

Rough hands seized Miir and dragged him into the darkness. He was disarmed and stripped of his armour. Put into ragged prisoner's clothes, he was thrown in a cold, dark, stone cell.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Khajiit nearly wept when he was first put in the cell. From escaping his first incarceration in this land to end up like this was a cruel, cruel twist to him. He could obviously see in the dark but it was the monotony of it all that really clawed at his mind. Down the hall a different man sobbed his innocence to a jailor who frankly didn't care and Miir was quickly growing tired of the man's pleading.

Pain still shot through his body, but Miir used the little cantrips he knew to try to keep himself alive. His mouth had finally stopped bleeding but it still hurt immensely to eat the lumpy gruel in a dingy bowl they slid to him through a small grate in the door. Each breath hurt and reminded him he had wounds far beyond his meager healing skills. He lay in the dark, wondering if this would be how he died.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The jangle of keys made Miir look up with hope. He didn't know how long he had been down there but it had only been a few days by his estimation. Ulfric hadn't forgotten him apparently.

"On your feet, cat," grumbled the guard as he unlocked the door. The man down the hall begged for released too but no one paid him any attention. Stepping aside to clear the doorway, the Nord continued, "Come with me. Ulfric has come to a judgement."

With heavy feet Miir headed back up into the light of the hall. It was largely empty of the other dignitaries and jarls who frequently feasted there as allies of Ulfric.

Still dispassionate, the dirty Khajiit looked at Ulfric with a sense of hope. If they called for his death he had no way out of it.

After a long pause where Ulfric merely looked at Miir, he said, "I have decided to spare your life. But you will not go unpunished for the crime you have committed. We have recently gotten word that we have suffered a... setback at Fort Dunstad. We will reclaim it. You will assist the soldiers we are sending to reclaim it by eliminating every Imperial soldier in the fort before the soldiers re-enter." He turned away for a moment to speak to the jailor, "Return his kit to him. He will need it."

A cold look pierce Miir as Ulfric declared, "You leave in two days."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Being released into the cold night was one of the best moments in Miir's life. He knew he was lucky to be out of the dungeon but he also knew he wasn't well. One eye was still almost entirely swollen shut, his mouth was still in agony, and he walked slowly because anything fast sent jarring pains through his cracked rib. He also felt hot and was afraid that some sort of disease was setting into his body.

The Stormcloaks had sent him off with no healing potions or any sort of care, so it was up to Miir to provide for himself. He limped into the darkness and towards the marketplace. He knew of a shop called The White Phial that lay there and he remembered the way the wares were laid out. He would have to break in but he'd have every answer he needed.

Blessedly, the marketplace was entirely deserted except for one very bored looking guard who kept watch over the empty stalls. Miir simply approached the alchemist's building from a different direction to avoid him.

Slinking through the dark was painful, but Miir did it to ensure no one saw him quietly pick the lock on the door and let himself in.

The lower floor was dimly lit but that only made the Khajiit's life easier as he slipped forward. Everything from ingredients to readymade potions were immaculately laid out for presentation to customers the following morning and it only made Miir's mission easier.

At first he paused, listening for any movement but the entire place was still and quiet. Good. The high elf and his apprentice were both asleep.

He wasted no time in slipping up to the counter and looking over the neatly labelled bottles. The first one, a small red bottle, was clearly marked as a minor healing potion. Snatching it up, Miir downed it in one gulp and he felt his swollen eye open a little more. Pain across his body eased slightly but he knew he wasn't fixed yet, not by a long shot. A slightly different coloured bottle turned out to be a simple cure disease potion and Miir gulped that down too. He swayed slightly, feeling lightheaded for a moment, but the sensation quickly passed and he realized his fever was gone.

Two more vials of healing disappeared down his throat, but he didn't realize how lucky he was until he stepped behind the counter. There, in the little backroom, hidden amongst some empty bottles was a green bottle helpfully labelled as an elixir of regeneration. His eyes widening with wonder, the Khajiit knew how much one of these could fetch at a fence. Reverently, he picked it up. While his ribs only felt sore, he probed the broken teeth in his mouth. The lesser potions had stopped the bleeding and pain, but the teeth felt malformed from where the potions had simply sealed the broken parts.

He looped a knot around the elixir bottle's neck and tied that to his belt. He would drink it soon, but not now. The lockbox behind the counter also proved to be an easy lock to pick, especially now that the catman could see and breathe much easier than before he had entered. Miir removed a hefty amount of gold from the box before gently closing it. Let the Nord and Altmer fight about it tomorrow.

Slipping back out into the night, Miir wandered down a ways until he was near the Nords' Hall of the Dead. It was always quiet here, especially at night with the snow falling.

Popping the wax seal on the elixir, Miir drank it down and grinned as he felt warmth surge through him. There was no pain from the elixir's work but he rubbed at his jaw as it felt like it gave him a slight twinge. He suddenly gasped as one of his damaged teeth fell out and panic shot through him. Shit, maybe the elixir was poison and it was a trap against thieves like him, the Khajiit thought as two more damaged teeth fell out of his mouth. Another twinge from deep within his jaw made Miir reflexively rub it again with worry.

The cracked rib also seemed to tingle and Miir ended up sliding down the wall of the alley as he felt slightly overwhelmed with the sensations his body was giving him. Suddenly, a new tooth quietly and easily slid up into the gap his old tooth had left and Miir shook his head with amazement. His eye completely opened as all of the damage done to it disappeared. For the first time in days, Miir breathed deeply without pain. He spat out another damaged tooth that came loose and grinned as he felt his smile filling itself back in.

So this was why regeneration elixirs were worth so much, he thought to himself. Even the cold wind didn't seem to bother him as much. He sat, leaning back against the alley wall, just absorbing the feeling of his body being renewed. Aches and pains he didn't even realize he'd had were fading away and the Khajiit just enjoyed the sensation. After the days spent in the cell, the potion's effects were a welcome blessing.

It seemed like a painfully short time before the wonderful tingling of the potion faded away and Miir smoothly got to his feet. There was nothing that physically bothered him anymore but he felt exhausted from the day. Hefting the coin he had stolen from The White Phial, he headed into the Bannered Mare to eat and sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

AN: I feel like I'm sort of struggling with Miir as a character. I had originally intended him as a hedonistic badass who got through Skyrim by the skin of his teeth (fangs?) but I found that boring and really one-note, even to me. I wanted Miir to be more emotionally complex. Afterall, he is a 20 year old Khajiiti street kid who grew up rough which did mature him but would also change him a lot. My second take on him is someone who was a little more thief and less assassin. I wanted him to be uncomfortable gutting a living, breathing, feeling person but I feel like I' m struggling to reconcile that person with the groundwork laid by the first. I feel like I'm caught between that original and far more bloodless, hedonistic concept and creating a much more vulnerable character who is more than just a Nord-fucking, throat slitting, hardcore tough guy.