The air was frigid, but fresh. Veria never knew how much she missed the air outside. The breeze, the endless movement, the vastness of it all was a balm to months of living underground. She wished she could have glimpsed the sky, but Bedrel had her bundled up so heavily against the cold that the fur of her hood blocked out her vision. He claimed it was to keep her safe from the blizzard they were passing through, but she knew that he couldn't yet trust her with the exact location of their hideout. All Veria could guess was that the cave was somewhere in the mountains, judging from the abundance of pine she could smell in the air. And also, a faint aroma of ash. The remains of a campsite, perhaps? She breathed deep, inhaling every fragment of every smell she could grasp. The air was so much fuller of life than in the cave, even in the cold.

Veria sat with Bedrel on his horse. His arms drew up tightly around her as he grasped the reins, and he hunched over her like he was protecting a precious package. His hold was meant to feel protective, but Veria knew he was also preventing any chance of her escape. The horse snorted as the blizzard threw a strong gust of snow across them. It was no accident they were making their way down the mountain today. Bedrel wanted their descent to be masked by the snow, just in case anyone saw them and found them suspicious enough to report to the nearest town guard. Such precautions weren't normally necessary, but the company was significantly larger than usual, and where small groups of men would usually tread unseen a large group such as theirs might easily be spotted.

There wasn't much else for Veria to do other than wait, so she closed her eyes and passed the time trying to pick out noises from behind the roaring of the wind. She dozed off, and was jerked awake when the horse was drawn to a full stop. Bedrel lowered her hood, and she blinked in the blinding light of the midday sky. When her eyes adjusted she found that they had stopped in a rocky area on the side of the mountain, surrounded by sturdy, dark pines that dug their roots into the stone in search of soil. The trees were ashy green and free of snow, but the ground was dusted white by the flurries that blew the stuff down from the peaks now and again. They were still fairly high up, and in the distance below them Veria could see Solitude, and closer, the trading compound that was their target.

"We'll be walking from here," Bedrel said as he lifted Veria and placed her on the ground. She waited as the men tied up their horses, then Bedrel put a firm, possesive hand on her shoulder and led the way to the main road. One of the men stayed behind to keep the horses safe and ready for a quick getaway, but their group was still rather sizable. Most of them walked silently in the woods surrounding the path, Tulian included, while Bedrel, a few choice men, and Veria walked in the open. They were cloaked and appeared as simple travelers, but all of them had weapons and bottles of skooma hidden on their person. The mountains around Veria didn't look familiar. They were nothing like the the peaks surrounding Windhelm. She cursed herself for falling asleep; she didn't know how long they had been traveling for, and couldn't guess where the hideout might be. She thought for a moment, and noticed that she was only a little hungry. They'd eaten substantially in the morning, and it would be hours still until she was famished again. Which meant that they couldn't have been traveling for more than a few hours. She glanced toward where she saw Solitude, now obscured by hills of stone and pine. The hideout must be in western Skyrim, probably somewhere in the Druadac mountains, or the southern Reach. It was a good guess, but it didn't help much. The mountains were still a labyrinth, and if she found a way to escape during the operation, it wouldn't matter.

Bedrel suddenly blew out a single loud whistle, and delved into the cover of the trees. They emerged in a small clearing, and the entire company of mercenaries gathered around.
"Men," Bedrel said. "You all know what needs to be done. When your job is complete, scatter. If you were born in winter or summer, regroup back home in three days time. Those born in autumn or spring, be back home in two. If you are caught, you are not of the Black Eagles. You know the penalty for bleating. Not even prison cells will protect you. Do not kill, do not be seen. If you are seen, be seen as a Foresworn." Most of the men were heavily clad in primitive fur garments and paint. They would make convincing Foresworn. "That is all. Be in your positions by late afternoon. The operation begins when the sun is half-swallowed by the horizon."

With that the men slipped into the shadows of the trees. The plan was for one group of men to cause some minor distractions while some of the sneakiest members of the crew slipped packets of skooma and moon sugar into the caravans. There were to be men hidden in several places around the outside of the compound to keep lookout and communicate signals. If she were more narcissistic, Veria thought, she'd have thought the men were also there to prevent her escape. It was more of a convenient coincidence than a conscious decision on Bedrel's part, she decided. She may have been important to him, but surely not that important.

Bedrel grasped Veria's hand and led her into the shade of the trees. The pulled her along as he and his men crept quickly through the forest. They seemed to know their way, not once glancing to find a landmark or road to guide them. Soon they came to crouch behind a dense thicket of threes and undergrowth. Bedrel pulled back the branches and peered out into the trading post, which lay only about a hundred paces away. The sun was creeping towards the horizon, but the sky was still bright with a sun soaked sheet of white clouds.
"Veria, dear," Bedrel said quietly. He removed her heavy cloak, her boots, and leather belt. "Hold still." Before she could react, Bedrel struck his fist into her ribs. One of the men smothered her mouth before she could cry out in pain. "Hold still, hold still," Bedrel whispered again. He took out his dagger and struck her arm several times with the handle. He finished by cutting her in several places: a nick along her cheekbone, two on her arm, and one on her ankle. He whipped her around the legs a few times with the belt for good measure, and by now Veria knew to bite her tongue and keep quiet. The man released her mouth, and Bedrel helped her sit up.

"We have to make you look like a prisoner of the Foresworn, my dear," Bedrel explained. "I know, I know," Veria whispered back, breathing heavily. She tore her dress in several places, taking care to pull apart the fabric so it revealed a stretch of her thigh. As a finishing touch, she smeared dirt over her bare feet, legs, arms, hair, and face. When she was done, she looked like a properly miserable escapee who has been running in tatters in the forest for a great length. Her beauty was still quite apparent, and Denleif would surely be taken by her despite the dirt.
"Good," Bedrel said, satisfied. The sun was near the horizon now. The plan would commence soon. "Remember, little dove," Bedrel said, placing his hands on Veria's shoulders. "There are Black Eagles surrounding this depot. They will know if you are in trouble." Were these words of comfort, or of threat? A combination of both, Veria predicted. Men to help her if she came under fire, and men to catch her if she tried to escape. "The sun is setting. Quickly, now. Denleif is walking among the caravans now. If you stumble out into the clearing now, he'll see you. Go, my child. You're not alone."

Veria swallowed and peered out past the branches. The house was near, and the entire place was surrounded by a low fence as more of a suggestion of private property than an enforcement. Guards stood here and there, and a man clad in fur-trimmed yellow leather robes meandered the yard with a ledger in hand. The caravans were lined up side by side, all packed and in processing. It was time for Veria to interrupt the man's work, so Bedrel could do his. She was surrounded on all sides, and saw no alternative. She had to do this.

She pushed back the branches and burst through them before giving herself any more time to think. She ran desperately towards the depot, feigning exhaustion as if she'd been running a while. She didn't quite have to fake a limp in her stride, rather she only had to exaggerate what was already there. She neared the depot and cried, breathless, "H-help! Help me, please!" The guards immediately turned, and although they didn't raise their weapons they certainly tightened their grips around them. She came up on one of them and nearly collapsed against him. He instinctively grabbed her arms to keep her from falling, and she gripped the front of his uniform tunic and sobbed, "Oh thank the Divines! I didn't think I'd find anyone out here. Please, please you have to help me!"

"Hold on, miss!" the guard said, trying to help her stand on her own. "What's happened to you?" Before she could answer, Denleif appeared. "What's going on here?" He demanded. "Poor woman! What has damaged you so?"
"F-Forwsworn!" she cried, letting tears well up in her dirty eyes. "Th-they took me from my home, killed my father. I've been trapped in their awful camp for days! I-I didn't think I'd get out of there alive-I didn't know what they wanted from me but they just kept...kept hurting me and I-I" She broke her voice and cut it off with a sob. She let go of the guard and stood wobbling on her own. She drew in her arms and bundled her fists against her chest, as if fending off a chill. "Please help me...I-I don't know what else to do-"
"It's alright," Denleif said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "No Foresworn here. You look like you've been through Oblivion. Come inside and rest, and we'll see about getting you back home." Tears welled up in her eyes and and threw herself against Denleif, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his chest. "Thank you," she said. "I was so afraid...so afraid..."
"You're safe now. Come." He glanced towards the guards and said, "keep a lookout for Foresworn. They seem to be becoming bolder."

He put his arm around her shoulders and helped her to the house that was connected to the depot. When they neared it he paused and glanced at the closed ledger in his hand. He turned to the nearby watch tower and shouted to the man standing there, "Oi! Tobias! Come down and finish the rounds for me! This girl needs tending." Tobias nodded and immediately came down. The watch tower was empty. When Denleif was certain the work would be completed without him he led Veria into his home. She shut the door gently behind them and led her to a basin of water near the cooking fire. It was a small home, with a cooking fire on one side and an office on the other. There was a sliver of a staircase that led to a small bedroom, and a variety of chests and cabinets scattered along the walls. It was warm from the fire, and the fading light streaming into the windows cast it all in a dim, pinkish hue. The only sound for a moment was the dripping of water as Denleif gently cleaned the dirt from Veria's face.

"There we are," he said with a friendly. "There's that pretty face. What's your name, dear?"
"It's...Anabelle. My name is Anabelle."
"Anabelle...that is a beautiful name. My name is Denleif." He scrubbed the dirt from her neck shoulders and surveyed her wounds. "Such rotten luck seems to find us, these days. I've just the thing for these wounds." He pulled a small vial of red liquid from his pocket. "Always handy to have, just in case. Here." Veria took the potion of healing and drank it gratefully. She felt her cuts close, and her bruises lightened and disappeared. She sighed and said, "Magic! I feel almost as good as new!"
"Alchemy," he corrected with a smile. "It's a useful skill, but too complicated for my hand. I always send for these whenever I'm in Solitude." He absently dabbed at the dirt on her hands. He talked more about Solitude, trying to take the subject away from Anabelle's traumatic experience. She suddenly sighed an let her head hang. "Lady Anabelle?" He asked. "Are you alright?"

"It's just...my legs. They still hurt from all the running."
"Here," he gently lifted one of her bare legs and ran the warm, wet rag down her calf and knee, eventually working up to her outer thigh. She gently turned her leg on her heel, exposing her inner leg. He paused, then slowly began to clean it as well. They were both silent as he did this.
"You remind me of someone," she said finally. He replied, "Oh?" without looking up, but slowing his work on her leg. "Yes," she continued softly. "There was a...boy. More of man, I guess. He was a traveling merchant. We didn't see each other often but...one day I noticed he had just stopped coming by. I found out he'd been killed by bandits."
"Nasty business, that. I'm sorry, lass."
She shook her head. "I found myself thinking about him during...the last few weeks. The kindness a human touch could hold was becoming foreign to me. I was afraid I'd die thinking..." she trailed off, and Denleif looked up at her. "Thank you, Denleif," she said softly. She placed her hand over his where it held the cloth to her leg. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she held his gaze a while before dropping her eyes shyly. "Can you..." she whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. "Can you help me..."

"Help you?" He asked in a whisper. She slid his hand up her inner thigh. The rag fell from his loosening fingers and fell to the ground. He followed her touch to where the remains of her dress cast her flesh in shadows, and he felt course, curly hair on his fingertips. "Help...me?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Her finger brushed the pit of his palm once, and after a moment's silence, he left her hand behind and slid his under her dress. He pressed into her, stroking once along the sensitive flesh, sending ghosts of what was to come into her stomach in great curling rings.
But Veria didn't feel pleasure. She didn't even feel excited. She felt exhausted. Her body was tired. Tired from all the late night appetites that kept Bedrel between her legs. Tired from beatings, from the stress of being trapped and alone. She was tired of making love, of having it inflicted on her. For years it had been as natural to her as breathing, as necessary as food and water, as enjoyable as it was satisfying. But the thought of doing it once again, of having to do it now for Denleif, filled her with weariness.

She could stop, she thought. There was still time. Tell Denleif what was happening, beg for protection, get away in the chaos. But that wouldn't work. The eyes of the Black Eagles were on her, even now. Even if all hell broke loose, even if she killed Denleif, they'd see her. They'd find her. They'd catch her, and Bedrel would kill her. It was tempting to try, because it seemed so possible, with a good chance of success. But there was none. She'd be the center of attention in any scenario. She wouldn't be able to get away. Time was wasting, and Bedrel was waiting for a signal. She extinguished her thoughts, and fell back into character.
Denleif worked his hand harder, and Veria let her breathing elevate slightly. She lifted her leg to rest her foot on Denleif's knee and open herself wider. Denleif stroked her calf with his other hand and leaned in. His touch continued, and Veria felt the skin inside her crackle to life. She lurched forward and touched her lips to Denleif's, grasping tightly at the fabric that covered his chest. He removed his hand and wrapped his arms around her waist. He lifted her from her seat and sat her on his lap, hungrily returning her kiss as his fingers worked against her back. They were gasping, their chests heaving. Veria could feel a familiar hardening beneath his tunic. His fingers found their way to the shoulder of her dress, and he began to pull at it.

She pulled away, gasping. "Wait," she whispered in a quivering voice. "Maybe we should go somewhere more comfortable?" Denleif nodded and whispered back, "The bed is upstairs." He helped her stand and led her hand in hand to the staircase. It had been cheaply built, and creaked under their weight. Veria glanced out the windows but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The sun was almost completely set, and the entire depot was in a deep, purplish hue. The guards were lighting torches, which looked warm against the cold night. She wondered that they would start soon, if they hadn't already.

There was only the light of the cooking fire in the house, so when they reached the bedroom, Very a was suddenly blinded by darkness. Denleif pressed against her, and they got lost in each others mouths again, hungrier this time. He pulled back for breath and gasped, "maybe...a bit of light?"

"I'll do it," Veria whispered. "Lie down. I'll get undressed." Denlief dissappeared into the shadows and Veria went to the window. Each window in the room had a candle in it, and Veria thought one would make an excellent signal. She could hear Denleif disrobing behind her. She picked up a tinder box that lay on the windowsill and lit a single candle. With eyes now adjusted, only one was needed. It burned bright, and Veria didn't doubt Bedrel could see it.

She turned and saw Denleif lying in the bed, covered up to his waist with the fur covers. His bare chest flickered in the candlelight. His body looked beautiful in the dimness, and Veria wondered why she wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest. She slowly drew the straps of her dress down her shoulders, taking time to remove one arm, then the other, before letting the fabric fall to the ground around her ankles. Denleif watched her, mystified. She didn't look away from his face as she strode over and crawled into a position over him.

He took her face in his hands. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked. "After what you've been through..." She leaned in hovered her lips over his. "Just be gentle with me," she said, and she kissed him. Denleif whispered, "come under here with me, then. It's getting cold."

He pulled back the furs to let her under. She settled into covers and he climbed over her. His shadow loomed over her, but the candlelight illuminated him just enough for Veria to see his face. He was intense, and passionate, but gentle, as she had asked. He warmed her, running his hands down her thighs and pressing his fingers into the place just below her stomach. She let her breathing intensify, and her skin was about to break into a sweat. He eased in slowly, and she let out a tiny moan. She gasped has his movements slowly deepened and his voice started finding its way into his breath. She groaned and gave a tiny yelp at a sudden thrust. She weaved her fingers into his hair and pulled him down for a wet kiss.

Their bodies were slick, and they had to pull their lips apart for breath. The pressed their foreheads together, slick and fighting for air as they moved inside each other. She felt him coming to a peak. "I-m about to-" he gasped. "Do it," she groaned lightly. She felt liquid heat fill her and drip down into the sheets. With a final sigh, Denleif rolled over and tried to catch his breath.

"Was that good?" He asked. He seemed to think so; the question was more rhetorical. But it hadn't been, not for Veria. She had felt nothing, like her entire body had gone numb. It was nothing she was familiar with, and it would have worried her if she hasn't felt so tired. She felt physically drained, but also her spirit felt worn down. She hated this. She hated all of it.

"Yes," she whispered with a smile. "It was...thank you. I needed this." But she didn't. She needed none of it. She wanted none of it. Denleif rolled onto his side and brought her close. "I don't normally do this sort of thing," he whispered. He gently nipped her ear. Lies. Veria could tell, from his practiced movements and ring less fingers, that he was quite used to these sort of escapades. "I'm glad you made an exception," Veria whispered. Denleif gently fondled one of her bare breasts. He said, "I have to go and finish my work. Stay here until morning. You'll be safe, and I'll get you home."

Veria nodded and he pulled himself out of the bed and to where he left his clothes. Veria watched as he dressed, waiting. As he buckled his leather belt, shouts arose from outside. "What in Oblivion.." Denleif rushed to a window and threw it open. The commotion outside was deafening, and veria sat up on the bed. "Tobias!" He yelled. "What in the name if the Eight is going on out there!?"

"We're under attack!" A voice yelled back. "Foresworn!" Veria bolted out of the bed, feigning panic. "Foresworn!" She cried. "N-no! I have to get out of here!" She tried to run from the room, but Denleif caught her wrist. "No! They'll catch you if you try and run. Stay here, hide. We'll drive them off." Veeia pulled her wrist free. "You can't! They'll kill us all! Our only chance is to run!" Denleif grasped her shoulders and planted her in the room. "Stay. Here. Trust me." Before she could object he bolted down the stairs, grabbing an iron sword as he went.

She was alone. Now was her chance. If she got caught, she could always say she was just trying to find her way back to the group. She ran down the stairs and found a back window. She threw it open and peered out, seeing nothing but shadows and trees. She climbed out and ran. She didn't get ten paces away before a cold hand clamped down on her wrist and pulled her towards the trees. The man wasn't in Foresworn costume, but she recognized the dark leather armor as her eyes adjusted. It was a Black Eagle. He pulled her, so firmly it was almost painful, into the dark of the trees.