15 years ago
The light swaying of the carriage lulled Méra into sleep early in the morning, only minutes after they left Falkreath. When she opened her eyes hours later, a long sigh left her lips. She would have loved to be on the road, seeing all the new, different places—if she didn't need to spend it inside the carriage. They were on the road for weeks now. After they escorted and left Siddgeir in Windhelm in order to get to know each other better with the jarl's daughter, they only spent two days in the Palace of the Kings before they were travelling again. Méra didn't mind — she couldn't bear the constant snowy, frosty weather.
Hearing her daughter's bored sigh, Queen Helgi stopped humming and turned to Méra with a kind, but playful smile. Her blue eyes radiated so much warmth, her long, dark red hair decorated with lilies of the valley. "Good morning, lady. I started to think you want to sleep through the whole journey."
Méra tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes while she turned to her mother. "I wish I could. I can't do anything in here! Why can't I go and ride with dad?"
"Because you're a princess, not a horseman," her mother said, but Méra only grimaced. She sank lower in her chair, arms crossed across her chest.
Long minutes passed quietly again; only Helgi's humming broke the silence. Méra pulled the dark curtain back to look through the small window. The sun was shining, but rain was falling gently. The carriage halted so suddenly Méra fell back into her seat.
They heard approaching hoof beats, and just when Helgie opened the door of the carriage, Méra's father appeared on his white mare. His dark hair dishevelled under the crown, worry creasing his forehead.
"What is it, my love?" Méra's mother asked a little impatient.
Halfdan glanced at his daughter for a second. "Thalmor soldiers are riding towards us. I don't know what they want, but when they appear it never means anything good," he paused for a second, looking back over his shoulder. "I will go and talk to them. You two don't leave the carriage no matter what, understood?" his voice was strict but with a worried lightness into it that made Helgi scared.
"Be careful."
Méra felt as her mother grasped her hand. She didn't know much of the Thalmor, but the snippets she heard from adults' conversation, they weren't exactly good persons.
Not a minute passed since her father left when they heard the loud noises. Shouts, screams, clashing of swords. Helgi looked through the window, but she pulled back very quickly.
"Mother? What's happening?"
The queen looked at her, fear gleaming in her eyes. She hesitated for a second before she reached under her clothes and pulled out an ebony dagger. Méra's eyes widened; she had no idea her mother kept something like that under her skirt.
"Listen to me, Méra," she said with shaking voice. The noises outside increased, indicating they were getting closer. "Listen to me very carefully. You have to take this and you have to run away from here."
"But mother—"
"Méra, please," she urged, taking her hand and putting the hilt of the dagger in her small palm. "We'll be fine, alright? You have to go back to Falkreath and tell your uncle we've been attacked. He'll send help."
Méra shook her head, tears filling her eyes and streaming down her cheek uncontrollably. "I can't, mother, I can't…"
"Yes, you can," she said firmly, swallowing back her own tears as she pulled Méra into a quick but tight hug. She pressed a kiss on her forehead as she pulled back, and opened the door of the carriage. "Go. Run through the forest and don't go on the road. And don't be afraid to use that dagger."
Out of breath, nearly choking on her tears, with her vision blurry, Méra ran through the glade. One of her shoes fell off her feet, branches tore holes on her long, white dress. Just as she reached the forest, she stumbled over something and fell with a heavy thud. She wanted to jump up, but her foot got stuck in a hole and she couldn't free it.
She could still hear the metal clashing against metal, and her eyes quickly found the carriage. She saw the soldiers of the Thalmor in their shiny, golden armour. Most of her father's people lied dead on the ground.
She could finally pull her foot out, but she didn't move yet. Hiding behind a tree, she watched from safe distance what was happening. Her father was a great swordsman, everyone told her that. She didn't believe it, not even for a second that they could hurt him.
She didn't really believe, not even when they stabbed him in the back. Not even when he fell on his knees, not even when they stabbed again, and again, and again.
Not until she saw them dragging her mother out of the carriage and plunging a sword into her heart.
Méra couldn't keep her scream back any longer, but regretted it immediately. Many of the Thalmor looked towards the woods, but only one of them hurried towards her. She quickly stood up and ran again, but she knew the man was faster than her. She stopped again at a ruin of an old watchtower, hiding behind the rocks. The dagger was shaking in her hand as she tried to stop her loud sobs. She held her breath back when she heard slow steps, breaking branches and crunchy leaves.
"Where are you, princess?"
Méra bit down on her lip so hard she could taste the blood in her mouth. She didn't dare to move. The Altmer appeared so suddenly next to her she jumped back with a loud gasp, but the man grasped her forearm before she could move any further.
"There you are," he pulled her closer while she squirmed, trying to free herself from his grip. "Stay still and I'll make it quick. Just like I did with your dear mother."
His words stirred something in her that made Méra lift her arm from behind her back, stabbing the ebony dagger straight into the man's throat where his armour didn't cover. His eyes widened in surprise and he stepped back, clutching his throat with both hands while he choked on his own blood. Méra's hands were shaking, the Altmer's blood all on her white dress and her hands. She couldn't take her eyes off the man who slowly drew his last breaths. She couldn't take her eyes off what she did.
She only turned to leave when she heard footsteps again. She ran, feeling nothing but echoing emptiness deep in her chest.
Now
It was just past dusk so it wasn't completely dark yet when Méra and Vilkas reached Riverwood. They went to the general goods store, where they returned the golden claw to its rightful owner. Camilla was immensely grateful for it—she thanked them with a fat pouch of gold each. After the girl cried on Vilkas' shoulder for what seemed like an eternity, they left the shop and walked down on the wide main road of the city with no purpose.
The streets always emptied after nightfall, but Riverwood seemed to be exceptionally quiet. If it wasn't for the guards who roamed the streets, their weapons clinking against their armour with every step, the town would have been eerie quiet.
"Jarl Balgruuf really strengthened Riverwood's defence," Vilkas said quietly, noticing the signature yellow coloured cloaks between the mismatched pale blues and greys. "I thought he was afraid to send his guards away now that both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials are trying to win him over."
At least he's doing something, Méra thought, but she didn't voice it. She would be surprised if it turned out her brother convinced everyone around him the dragon attack was no more than a rumour.
The Sleeping Giant Inn seemed quiet from outside, so they decided to rent a room and spend the night there. Whiterun was still hours away and they were both tired and hungry. However, when they stepped into the tavern, it was packed with people.
"Orgnar," Vilkas nodded at the man behind the bar after they fought their way through the crowd. No one wanted to stay outside while a dragon was lurking around—though Méra didn't understand why they thought a house built from wood would save them. "Can you give us a room for tonight?"
"Two rooms," Méra corrected him, leaning her elbow on the bar. "And your strongest wine."
The man whom Vilkas called Orgnar shifted his weight from one leg to another. "I… we're full. I don't think I can give you more than one room."
"I'll play double."
Slowly, Vilkas turned to Méra with an arched eyebrow, but didn't say anything until the merchant left them, saying he'll see what he can do. "Would it be really so terrible to share a room with me for one night?"
"Don't take it to your heart," Méra smiled with her head tilted. "I sleep better if I don't have to be in the same bed with a man I barely know."
Vilkas didn't reply, but he didn't believe a word she said. They waited patiently until Orgnar returned, now with a blonde woman whom the companion recognized as the owner of the inn.
Delphine stopped with her back straight behind the bar, palms resting on the wooden surface. Her face strict, tired. How many times she had to deal with problematic customers? How many times she needed to clench her fists behind her back, trying to keep her mask on? She wanted to tell this woman what she normally did: there's only one room left and if she didn't like it, she can sleep in the barn with the horses.
Something made her stop before she could utter a single word. A sword was tied to the back of the redhead woman, and Delphine couldn't take her eyes off of it. She only saw the hilt; long, dark, with the unmistakable symbols carved into it.
Delphine swallowed hard and forced a honeyed smile on her lips. "We only have one room left, but you can have mine. I'll show you to it, this way."
Orgnar looked like he just witnessed as his boss lost her sanity, while Vilkas couldn't help but heave an annoyed sigh. Why did this woman always get what she wanted?
The room where the innkeeper led Méra looked more or less the same as the others in the Sleeping Giant Inn—except it was bigger with more furniture and some personal belongings. Méra felt a menacing shiver crawl up her back while she looked around, but she quickly swallowed her doubts down. It wasn't the first time someone offered her a room at the mention of a little more money.
She accepted and said a quick thanks for it to the woman, before they both left the bedroom and returned to the main hall. Vilkas just left his own rented chamber, shaking his head at Méra before they both sat down at the same table.
Vilkas seemed to be completely oblivious to everything and everyone around him, eating his stew above a book about dragons. He was surprised to find something like this in a tavern, but he took the advantage and read it anyway.
Méra didn't eat much. One hand rested lazily on her lap, the other playing with her knife under the table. She leaned her back against the wall, her eyes on the bard who sat close to the hearth. He was playing a slow song on a lute she heard from Cicero so many times before. The jester definitely had some soft moments from time to time, and somehow it was more frightening when he acted like a lunatic. It put a tiny smile on her lips which she quickly cured by taking a huge sip from the goblet.
The bottle of wine was half-empty when Vilkas looked up from his book. "Don't you think you drink too much?"
Méra lifted her eyebrows, but her gaze stayed unfocused. "I probably do if a companion tells me this."
"Gods," Vilkas sighed, closing the book with a thud. "You do know that not all of us are the same, don't you? What's your problem with the Companions anyway?"
"Nothing in particular," Méra shrugged. "I just don't like people with hero complex," she looked at him finally, taking another sip before she went on. "Your people think you're some kind of gift straight from the gods because you help others. Even if someone doesn't want your help. You all think you're too good for this world."
Vilkas couldn't hold back a low chuckle. "You know what, I won't even deny that some of us are indeed just the way you described. But even so, does it matter as long as they save people?" He paused and they locked eyes, but stayed silent for long seconds. Pushing away the bowl, Vilkas rested his arms up on the table as he leaned closer to Méra. "How many people have you saved, Méra?"
Méra gave another shrug, sheathing her knife. Her words became slurred. "Around a million. What about you?"
Vilkas scoffed in disbelief and shook his head from side to side, while Méra downed her wine and stood up from the chair. "Just because you did something good it won't erase the bad. Good night, Companion."
She returned to her room, and tired and dizzy from the wine, she collapsed on the bed immediately. She kept her eyes closed, yet she felt like the whole room was spinning around, making her want to throw up. The quiet noises from the hall got louder and louder in her head until it hurt and she squeezed her eyes, trying to shut the pain out.
Her eyes fluttered open immediately when she realized, it couldn't be from the alcohol. Fuck. She tried to fight herself up in a sitting position, but her limbs felt numb suddenly. It took her a long minute but she was finally kneeling on the bed, rummaging through the small pouch that was around her hips. She always had an antidote that worked for common poisons, but her vision was blurry and her fingers couldn't find the right vial. Her poor attempts ended with a sharp pain in the back of her head.
Méra jolted when she woke up and opened her eyes, but the ropes didn't let her fall to the floor. She looked down at herself, seeing she was tied to a creaky wooden chair. Her head hurt like she was suffering her worst hangover.
Her eyes quickly found Delphine. She was sitting behind a table, leaning above a book. Méra laughed quietly. "You are so going to regret this."
The blonde woman slowly stood up from the table and walked around it, crossing her arms across her chest. She wasn't wearing a dress anymore but a brownish leather armour.
"Who are you?" Méra asked, trying to keep her face straight.
"You're not in a position to ask questions," Delphine replied coldly. "I don't want to hurt you. I just need some answers."
"You kind of broke that when you poisoned me."
"Let me rephrase it," she said, taking a small step closer. Her gaze was cold, intimidating, but it wasn't enough to frighten Méra. "I might hurt you to get answers for my questions. I just don't want to kill you."
Méra heaved a bored sigh while she looked around the room. There were no windows, and since she couldn't see the door, she assumed it was behind her back. There was a huge map of Skyrim hanging off the wall, drawers full of different potions. A weapon rack with different swords and bows, shelves packed with ancient-looking books and scrolls. She looked back at the woman, waiting for her question.
Delphine reached behind her back and lifted Méra's katana, still in its sheath. "Where did you get this sword?"
"This is why I'm here? Because you want to know where did I get this sword? You could've just—"
"Answer me."
Méra clenched her jaw. "Family heirloom."
"Tell me the truth."
"I'm telling you the truth," Méra replied impatiently. "It was my father's."
"Who's your father?"
A laughter shook Méra, more to distract the "innkeeper" as she slowly slid the tiny blade that was hidden under her sleeve. "And why would I tell you that?"
"As I told you," Delphine said, taking another step closer. "You're not in a position to ask questions. Who is your father?"
Méra didn't answer. She felt the rope finally torn around her wrists, but her legs were still tied to the chair. She didn't have time to think more as Delphine noticed as the ropes fell from behind her.
It wasn't the first time Méra found herself in a situation like this. She was sneaky, but she was an assassin—there were always funny situations. She dropped herself on the ground with all of her weight, breaking the creaky old chair to pieces before she was already up on her feet.
"Drop the knife," Delphine warned with Méra's katana in her hand. "I don't want to kill you."
Méra ran closer, easily leaning away from every strike of her own sword. Delphine looked strong, but compared to Méra, she was slow as a snail. She kicked the blonde in the stomach and cut deep in the back of her knee. It took her off guard and in the tiny moment she hissed up in pain, Méra got behind her and kept her dagger flat against her throat, her other hand gripping her hair.
"Drop the sword. Now," she added some pressure to her knife when Delphine didn't want to move, and finally, she heard the clinking against the stone floor.
Méra's fingers tingled. She wanted to cut her throat immediately, but she wanted to know who she was and what she wanted from her. Delphine felt as a drop of blood streamed down on her neck.
"Let me go and I will tell you everything. Please."
She did as she said so. The little fight they had was enough to Méra to know she could easily kill her if she tried anything. Besides, she already decided she'll finish her in the moment she answered her questions.
"That sword," Delphine said as she walked to her table and sat down, wiping the blood of her neck. "Is one of a kind."
Méra kept the weapon in her hand after she picked it up from the floor. "I know. An Akaviri katana. So are you some kind of crazy weapon researcher or…" she trailed off, shrugging.
"It isn't just an Akaviri sword," Delphine said, bandaging her knee. "It's a Blades sword. Look at the symbols around the hilt—the dragons. I know it because I have the very same," she nodded at the corner where her katana was rested against the wall. Méra followed her gaze, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Blades?"
Delphine heaved a tired sigh. Is there any people left in Skyrim who remembered them? "A long time ago, the Blades were dragon slayers, and served the Dragonborn. At least you've heard about them?"
"Yes. In children tales."
The woman ignored her comment, but she was surprised. Nord girls like her were usually raised by listening to those tales all the time. "I am the last members of the Blades. We used weapons like this katana. Ancient, Akaviri weapons. I thought you either found a lost member of us or break into an old place of the Blades."
"I didn't. It really was my father's. And his father's before him. And I doubt any of them was a dragon slayer."
Delphine nodded. "One of your ancestors had to be. These weapons don't just scatter around the world."
Méra watched as she stood up and washed the blood of her hands. She tried to remember if her father ever said anything about the Blades, but she couldn't recall. The Akaviri weapon always hung in his office—he never used it. When Méra asked about it, he always said it was meant for more, but nothing else. Now it made her think whether if he was hiding something.
"Where are the rest of you?"
"The Thalmor hunt all of us down," Delphine said, leaning against the wall. It made Méra curious. "Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against them. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel, which, at the time, was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong." She paused for long seconds before she spoke up again. "I'm sorry for… what I did. I lost everyone. Dragons are coming back and I'm alone. Seeing the tiniest bit of hope that maybe someone's still alive made me lose my head."
Maybe it was because they both lost someone to the Thalmor, maybe because for something else, but Méra felt a sudden wave of sympathy, and she knew she couldn't bring herself to kill the woman. It was the very same feeling she felt when she killed the Emperor. For long years, she murdered men and women of all ages, and she never felt remorse. She didn't quite understand why she had doubts.
She slipped the katana back to its sheath and tied it back to her back.
"You're a great fighter," Delphine said with a slight smile.
Méra walked to the door. "Thanks. For your own sake, let's hope I don't have to use it against you anymore."
She walked up the wooden stairs and was surprised to find herself in the same room she rented; the trapdoor hidden behind the wardrobe. "Sneaky son of a bitch," she mumbled under her breath, before she left the chamber.
Vilkas' door wasn't locked. When Méra walked in, he was sitting on the bed, half-naked with his back against the wall. He was holding a candle in one hand, making some light while he was still reading the book. He looked up when he heard someone stepped in—though he knew it was Méra, he recognized the sound of her steps. He watched as she slowly put her weapons down next to the bed.
"I hope you don't mind if I join you."
"Not at all," Vilkas swallowed back a snarky remark, closing the book and placing it down the bedside table. He watched silently as she took her armours off. He didn't mean to stare, but the way she slowly slid off of them stirred something deep inside him. He was more surprised though when he saw the undergarments she was wearing. Deep red and tight; the bottom ending just above her knee, the lace only covering her breast and barely her navel.
"What is it, Companion?" Méra asked as she caught his eyes. "Never seen a woman without clothes?"
"I have," Vilkas said while she climbed into bed and pulled the furs on her body. "You do wear clothes though. Have you killed a royalty and stole hers?"
Méra smiled, resting her head on the bed. She had to let many comfortable things go after she didn't live the Blue Palace anymore, but she couldn't give up on the soft fabric she wore under her clothes.
Vilkas slipped down so he could look into her eyes. "So why didn't you want to sleep here?"
"Does it matter?" Méra shrugged. "I'm here now. And I'm sure you already thought of a million reasons."
"Well, I could only see two options," Vilkas smiled. "One: after midnight you transform back into your real, ugly, daedric form," he said, making Méra snort with laughter. "Or two: you were afraid you couldn't keep those pretty undergarments on once you're in the same bed with me."
Méra smiled. "I'm not afraid of that, Companion," she slipped closer, until Vilkas felt the sweet lilac scent in her hair. "I'm always quite straight about what I want. Maybe it's you who should be afraid what would happen if I took my clothes off."
He closed his eyes for a second, licking his lips. Vilkas felt his heart beating in his head, and it took all of his self-control to keep himself from pulling her into a kiss. He wasn't sure if it was because the beastblood that was working inside him very strongly at this moment, or simply because of her presence. "And why are you so sure you could seduce me?"
"Because you're a man," Méra said and turned around, leaving a pang of disappointment in Vilkas' chest. "Good night. Keep your hands to yourself."