A/N: I accidentally posted an older, draft version of this chapter that I had saved on my computer. And then, very belatedly, realized it and took it down, only to not actually re-post the right version. I, apparently, like to do things belatedly. Here's the right version (finally).
Mostly just the ending is different, there's still plenty of liberties taken when compared with in-game Fort Sungard. #oops
'Ara, I-'
Two words. It was two simple words. And yet, she kept replaying them over and over. She brushed her nose against the tickle of the rain threatening to drip from the end, but the feeling returned as more rain took its place, and she huffed in irritation. There had been more emotion in those two words, and on his face when he murmured them, then she'd seen in him yet – more even than when she'd mussed his armor. She'd sensed his anxiety long before fully waking the night before, had smelled it rolling off of him in waves, and had seen the pain in his features through the haze of sleep when she'd first opened her eyes.
But it had been the whisper of her name on his lips that had roused her fully from the fog cloying at her mind. His response to her voice had told her he hadn't even realized he'd said anything out loud, and she had had to force herself to not call him out on his blatantly false assurances; had to force herself to say nothing as he lied to her about being 'fine'. But the distress, and despondency, that she'd seen in his features… that was a truth he couldn't hide except behind his hands, and it had told her more than he would have, she was sure.
What do you say to that? She wondered. How do you just ask about such private, whispered words? Especially when he's made his feelings rather clear. She scowled, thinking about their travel together, and of the last weeks… and of his disappearance after saving her months ago. 'You know nothing of me, whelp.' His words lilted unbidden through her mind, chasing after her thoughts as she chewed her lip, and she was thankful that he couldn't see her face as she squelched through the mud slightly ahead of him. Ugh, what she wouldn't give for her horse just then. She knew it was safer to leave them behind, especially since the path that Vilkas had indicated led to the fort was nearly washed out, but she slid more times than was dignified in the slick muck. Damnit. She sighed heavily, the breath turning into a gasp when her stomach clenched suddenly; a shift in the wind brought the tang of fresh blood along with the clang of clashing steel, and she stopped in her tracks, raising her head to the storm and pulling her hood back to allow the wind to answer her questions.
The storm drove the rain at her, whipping her hair around her face, and she winced, blinking fervently against the sting of the little droplets splattering against her skin. Vilkas must have had his head down against the rain, like she had, since he collided with her back the next moment. "What are yo-" His words clipped short, and she felt a tug on her hair as he sputtered slightly before his hand clamped down on it over the back of her neck. "Damnit," he grumbled under his breath at her, but his tone became serious upon assessing her manner, "what is it?"
"Ahead… blood, and fighting," she said quietly. They were close enough to the fort that she could see the shattered barricades, as well as the muted forms of two fallen Forsworn sentries just below the stone archway. Someone has started our job for us, she thought, suddenly angry at the idea that information she might need could be destroyed.
Vilkas' hand settled on her hip as he straightened to his full height behind her, and she was torn between the irritation that he was pulling her slightly behind him – again! – and the heat of her wolf responding to the scent of the blood. She ignored the altogether different heat in her belly that his hand on her hip inspired.
"Sounds like we have company," he said quietly, and she felt a tremor race down her spine. It seemed his wolf was also eager at the prospect of action, though she knew better than to think he'd let it out, and she nodded in acknowledgement as she unclipped her bow. She stifled a curse when his arm wound around her middle and pulled her back to him before she could step away. "We have only each other out here," his accent seemed unusually sharp as his chest rumbled against her with his words, "so don't wander off alone. Try to keep me in sight." Ara swallowed hard, unsure what to make of his instruction. On the one hand, his words were dismissive as ever, and yet they were… different. She couldn't put her finger on it.
"I've done this before, Vilkas," she panted, trying to prize herself loose from his grip. His low growl told some part of her that her answer was unsatisfactory, but he nonetheless released her, and she winced in relief as the pressure on her ribs eased.
"Agh, I should have let the trolls eat you," he carped at her under his breath, stalking past the shattered barricades and leaving her to pick off the bandits that appeared the parapet of the keep above them without a second glance back. She didn't know whether he just hadn't seen them or had simply trusted her to take care of them, and she wasn't sure which option unsettled her more.
xXx
"Well that was... fun," Ara whined to herself, pulling her hood down further over her face when the wind threatened to tear it back. She dislodged her arrow from the soft neck tissues of the Forsworn it was embedded in, pushing aside the body of a bandit that had fallen over him.
The bandits and Forsworn had each served as a good distraction for the other, allowing her and Vilkas to push into the fray with relatively little resistance, and between his sword and her bow it was far too late for either group when their presence was finally realized.
She had done as he bade, keeping him in sight – mostly – and a good thing for it too, as her arrows had served to cover his ass several times. It was after the first time, though, when she'd seen him caught almost completely unawares by a bandit, that she'd realized something was wrong; he was aloof, distracted. And dangerously so.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she glanced up to see him leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, a small smirk playing at his lips instead of the typical scowl. She frowned. It couldn't be coincidence; her thoughts summoned him, she was sure of it. "Did I miss something funny?" She quirked an eyebrow as she wiped the gore from her arrow and slid it into her quiver, frustrated at his sudden change in demeanor.
Truthfully, their task had been much more than she expected, given the elements and the added opponent of the bandits, and she was exhausted, if she was honest. Her wolf's rather giddy anticipation had also been left unfulfilled, leaving her more restless than before, and she was in no mood for Vilkas to be anything but his normal, broody self as a result.
She wasn't really surprised when he didn't answer her, what with his smug aura and smirk, but she did note that he seemed uncharacteristically placid as he stood and watched her. He was covered in blood, some of it his own, but his confident, calm façade would never have alluded to him being wounded; he was too proud for that. She didn't bother offering to close his wounds either, as she knew he was too proud to accept that too. "You did well." His words startled her, even though she was looking right at him as he said them, which only drew his smirk out further.
I'm sorry, what? She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "I… thanks," she nodded only slightly, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks and her wolf preen within her at his compliment; but the moment was fleeting, and his features finally melted back into impassivity.
"Mm." The simple grunt was his response to her thanks as he pushed from the wall with a sigh. "We have two options now," he said, wincing slightly as he stepped from the shelter of an overhang and back into the storm. "We have hours before dark, so we can… what are you doing?"
She ignored his question as she squatted next to the dead Forsworn and rolled him over; her deft fingers probed for the unseen pockets she knew his armor would contain, and she was dispirited to find only a few coins and other small trinkets. "Damnit," she cursed under her breath, dismissing the body and rising to face another gust of wind. Okay, maybe not that one, but one of them has to have something.
She checked the next nearest Forsworn in the same manner. And the next. And the next. Oops, bandit. She pocketed a ring that had the telltale hum of an enchantment but otherwise left the body where it lay as she moved on to the next Forsworn. But she found nothing, ultimately; just trinkets and meager amounts of coin. Well, shit. She bit the inside of her lip in frustration; she had truly thought there would be some indication of a hag on one of them. But she'd been wrong, apparently, and the sting of unshed tears only served to make the disappointment worse as she pushed the body away angrily.
"Ara?" She jolted as Vilkas touched her shoulder. "What's wron-" he cleared his throat as he glanced from her to her bloodied hands, and then to the Forsworn. "What was that about?"
"I was looking for something to indicate where their matriarch might be," she said dejectedly. There was no use lying, especially when it seemed there was no evidence to be had, and she sighed as she glanced about. A door leading into the keep was slightly ajar, and she nodded to it, watching the spark of understanding light in Vilkas' eyes when he followed her gaze. Even if they didn't stay at the fort for the night, she wanted out of the rain for a moment.
Fuck. You sonofa- A fine mist of warmth sprayed onto Vilkas' face as his sword bit into the Forsworn in front of him - repayment for the slice to his arm. But he had little time to care as another Forsworn lunged for him, identical jagged swords slicing through the air. Damnit, he slid on the stone, now slick with blood, as he turned and twisted away from the dual blades, waiting for his opening and trying to avoid being caught by the crude-looking weapons. Leave it to the Forsworn to interrupt a moment of peace, he thought bitterly. But he also silently admonished himself; he knew better than to let his guard down before making sure all enemies were dispatched, but he'd done it anyway as they'd entered the fort's muster to rest.
He heard Ara's distinct cry from somewhere behind him, nearly drowned out amidst the shouts and curses of the Forsworn. We're not even in the Reach you moron, he silently criticized whichever madman had shouted the idiotic phrase, managing a quick glance for Ara as he parried the next thrust of the Reaver. She was still on her feet, blade in hand, and was doing a decent job of holding off the Forsworn around her, but her movements were slow and he could see her eyes were unfocused; the gash in her side told him why.
The second sword glanced off his pauldron, drawing his attention firmly back to the Forsworn woman, and he ignored the slice into his own side as he thrust his sword forward and up, lodging it between her ribs.
"Bring me the witch!" A gravelly voice seemed to resonate through the very air, causing the Forsworn around them to still momentarily, and he used it to kick the Forsworn off of his blade. His wolf growled lowly, pushing insistently against the back of his mind, but not hard enough to break through, and he felt tension build beneath his consciousness. He wasn't sure what his wolf was sensing - yet - but opted not to push it away as he lunged for a Forsworn near Ara.
His sword cut easily into the exposed back of the man, crumpling him to the floor, but no sooner than he'd dropped, another took his place, and Vilkas could hear yet more rushing footsteps in the corridor. Fuck, how many are there? "Ara, go!" He saw her stumble towards the door, holding her side as blood seeped between her fingers. Why isn't she healing herself? He didn't stop to consider his anger over her not using her magic for once, parrying the swing of the axe aimed for him, and he ignored another light glance to his arm when his wolf snarled within him; a sharp crack of lightning made his ears ring, and he was nearly deaf to Ara's cry as he saw her crumble to the floor.
Two more Forsworn rushed into the room, their intent clear as they grasped Ara's arms and began to drag her towards the door, and his wolf howled angrily in his mind. He couldn't shift, even he wasn't quick enough to transform fully before they cut him down, but he could do the next best thing.
His bloodlust thrummed, dulling his pain as his sword cleaved through muscle and tendon and bone. Eorlund isn't going to be happy, he spared a thought for his blade as it sank into the side of a Forsworn's neck, but it was gone the next instant as a pained cry brought him back to his task. He spun, throwing a Forsworn backwards and catching sight of Ara and the two Forsworn that had grabbed her.
Her mouth was fixed firmly to one of her assailant's necks, and he heard the feral growl beneath the Forsworn's anguish as the man's blood brought her wolf forward and replenished her strength; she threw the other off of her arm without breaking her hold of the first and he felt relief shudder through him. Good girl, he mused briefly, but his wolf snarled a warning and he turned his senses to it, hearing yet more Forsworn filtering in through the lower level of the muster. Shor's bones, more?!
He heard the hiss of a sword arcing through the air towards him, but it was a clumsy attempt and left only a shallow nick in his armor as he brought his sword around and down, and the sweet, coppery tang of fresh blood hit his face as he rendered the man's arm useless before ending his life.
"Ara! The stairwell!" He saw Ara still, her head snapping up to him, and he jutted his chin towards the stairs as he cut down the Forsworn she'd thrown from her arm. "Can you do like you did with the trolls?" He growled at her look of bewilderment, pushing her aside as he himself danced backwards to avoid the cleave of an axe.
Gods, their like rats! They just keep- An explosion derailed his thoughts and knocked him off balance, but he twisted around in time to see the Forsworn that took the brunt of her rune fall back down into the stairwell in a flurry of flame. Infuriatingly, two more rushed forward, taking Ara by surprise; one landed a solid hit to her temple and she crumbled to the ground, out cold.
The odd scent of death and magic hit him as he tried to rush to her, but he saw a twisted, bulky mass of burned flesh clambering back up the stairwell. His eyes immediately homed in on the gaping hole in the man's chest, and the thorned flower that sat where his heart ought to have been. Vilkas knew that flower was what gave him not only the ability to survive Ara's rune, but also his title and status among his brethren. Damn it all to Oblivion, he grumbled, hissing as his blood pounded relentlessly against his mind.
"You heard the matriarch!" The briarheart bellowed at the Forsworn, and they scrambled to hoist Ara's limp body. No! Vilkas snarled, surging forward, expecting full-well for the briarheart to impede him. Damnit. He ignored the strike to his ribs, focusing his attention on the Forsworn leader's own exposed midriff, and growling in satisfaction when his sword easily sank through the burned flesh and elicited a pained cry from the burly man.
The groan of the door gave him pause, only long enough to register the other two Forsworn had removed Ara from the muster, before a bright swirl of light drew his attention back to the brairheart; the man knew healing magic. Shit. He'd have to be quick.
The hag sliced through Ara's cuirass and into her shoulder, white-hot pain rousing her from unconsciousness as it followed along behind the dagger's edge.
Ara twisted around out of reflex as she screamed, feeling the bones in her hand crack as it met with the bony visage of the hagraven, and likewise sending the hag careening backward. The hag clearly wasn't used to being attacked in such a manner, and Ara used the surprise to scramble to her feet. She felt drained, despite the blood of the Forsworn, and she fervently glanced about, looking for something, anything, she could use to her advantage.
The hagraven clambered awkwardly back to her feet, beady eyes flashing as she glared and a flare of flame ignited in her talons. Ara took an involuntary step backward, realizing too late there was a body laying prone behind her; she fell haphazardly, her back landing hard against a bulbous form behind her, but she immediately recognized the soft warmth that the object elicited in her body.
Come to me, Kynareth, she fell to the side and tried to hug herself to the shrine as she glared at the hag and the flames she was coiling slowly; she was taunting her. For without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world. A gentle hum started in the back of her mind as her fingers began to tingle and warmth erupted through her body.
"No! The shrine is profaned!" The hag's shrill cry nearly shattered her concentration, but Ara managed a sigh of relief as purple energies began to swirl around her body.
"And so blind and in terror ..." she threw her hand up as the hag let her fireball fly, but immediately sensed she hadn't been quick enough; while her torso and head were protected by her shield, she could do nothing but scream as her legs burned beneath the blast. She'd forgotten the pain of a hag's magic. "... I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures!" She cried the last of the prayer, gasping as the purple energies flared and surged into her, invigorating her spent spirit and extending the shield she pushed forward.
The hag's next fireball was accompanied by a spike of ice, and she heard a surprised cry as her magic deflected and redirected it, errantly, into a Forsworn that had appeared. And that's when she saw the stairs.
She pushed to her knees, nearly blind through the pain of her burns, and dove for the stone stairway, catapulting herself down them as another fireball exploded onto the wall behind her. The second Forsworn was only a hazy recollection in the back of her mind, until she careened into her and they crumpled to the ground at the bottom of the steps. She used the woman's surprised stupor to wrench the sword from her hand.
If the sword cut across the woman's throat didn't kill her, the hag's next fireball surely did, and Ara was thrown backward by the same explosion she'd managed to avoid a direct hit from. The world tilted dangerously as she willed her mind to clear beneath the fire and smoke and pounding. Wait. Pounding? She stilled, only peripherally aware of the hagraven shuffling slowly down the steps after her and shuddering as another deep thud sounded from the room above. Vilkas.
"Your spirit is strong, little witch!" The hag's gravelly voice echoed in the near barren basement room. "But I will still have you!"
She felt her pulse quicken, hatred filling her heart as Vilkas' continued to try and break the door down, and she rose to face the vile creature she so abhorred. "I am not a witch!" A thick crack and loud thud, followed closely by a pained grunt, reverberated somewhere above her and momentarily startled both her and the hagraven. Vilkas. She needed time. "I am nothing like you!"
The hag screeched at her, throwing terrible flames forward again, but Ara did not turn away. She exhaled tightly as she threw her arm before her face again and her magic drew around her; she felt the heat of the blast on her skin, the ends of her hair burning even as her magic parted the hag's around her, but she pushed forward. The font of flame stopped when she got close, and the hag swung her taloned nails forward in a feral, but rather inept, attack. Ara willed herself not to scream as she let them cut into her.
The hag's skin was clammy beneath her fingers as she grabbed the crone's bony frame and yanked, thrusting her stolen blade forward at the same time. Her wolf growled in satisfaction in the back of her mind as the sword bit in with a pop and the hag gave a curdled cry. Her vile magic immediately began to dissipate around them, and Ara finally cried out through clenched teeth as the hag's hand flexed and twitched with pain, causing the talons to sink deeper into her flesh.
"Are you not?" The hag's rasp was accompanied by a grotesque smile as Ara's face contorted in hatred. She twisted her talons again, seemingly pleased by the fresh vehemence that rose in Ara's eyes along with the renewed pain in her shoulder.
"Where are your Glenmoril sisters?" Ara resisted the urge to twist the sword and be done with the hag, very nearly wishing she had just ignored Hircine's offer and walked away that night. Not that he would have let me, she thought bitterly. Something akin to recognition flashed in the hagraven's depthless eyes, but she said nothing, and Ara felt her fury rise.
"If you will not tell me, you will join them," she hissed, twisting the blade within the hag's thin frame, "and I will take from you what you have taken from so many others!" The crone's sneer fell away as disbelief, and fear, overtook her features, and Ara could only wonder if maybe she was like the hag after all as a cruel satisfaction bubbled in her stomach.
Ara felt the hag's shallow heartbeat beneath the hand on her frame as her spirit felt its way forward, drawing the dispersing magic into herself, and she considered it rather fitting that one of the hag's own had provided the blade that would see her magic undone. The blade was not the same quality as hers – wherever it was – but the hag's waif-like frame would make up for what the sword lacked. She withdrew it with a squelch, and the hag's resulting shallow gurgle stopped abruptly as the blade severed the seat of her magic from the rest of her body.
Her vision swam beneath the onslaught of the hag's magic twining with her own, and she felt her spirit recoil as the dark purposes for which it was used fought against her will for it. "I am not like you," she whispered, feeling the hag's dark binds on the magic break, and the world tilted dangerously again as her spirit sought an outlet for the influx of power.
She was peripherally aware of Vilkas' muted form stumbling down the steps he'd perched on as the room finally shifted too far and her body crumpled beneath what she had done. "Ara!" He was in front of her, scooping her up. "Are yo-"
Ara's eyes were unfocused as she blinked back at him, and his stomach dropped further as he saw her face pale. His ears rang beneath the insistence of his blood, and his shoulder was all but useless from breaking down the door, but he cradled her to him anyway. "Ara!" His wolf growled a warning before easing back of its own accord, allowing the haze of his vision to clear.
He saw her shoulder and side, her armor, her legs, and he felt a stab of fear-laced guilt. Guilt that she'd had to face the hag on her own, tempered with the fear of what he'd seen in her features; the cruel malice she'd exhibited as she gave the hag her deadly ultimatum. Later, he promised himself. Right now, he needed to be sure there was going to be a later, since he had no idea what it was that had happened upon the hag's death. "Are yo-"
Ara convulsed, gripping his arms with strength he wouldn't have thought her capable of just then, and he saw her eyes fix to him. Her pupils were blown wide as her hair started to drift languidly about her face, and he had barely enough time to feel his wolf growl lightly before a searing heat cascaded into him from her hands.
His first reaction was that she was burning him, but a sharp crack and torrid pain in his shoulder, followed by soothing, warm relief, made him realize otherwise, and it was all he could do to keep his mind lucid as the sensation was repeated throughout the whole of his body. Everything in him seemed to oscillate between pain and relief, and he absently noted that she outwardly appeared to be faring the same. Her hands clenched and released him repeatedly, almost as if she wasn't in control of what was happening, a disturbing contrast to the last time he'd been subject to her magic. It was a sobering thought.
A throb in his temple was followed closely by his eye going blind, which was slightly disconcerting; the briarheart had been a right pain in the ass, and the hit to his head was only one of several that the large man had landed. Thankfully, his vision slowly returned as the warmth of the magic eased away the ill, but his wolf snarled in frustration. His mind was turbulent with the pent-up aggression and anxiety of his blood; having been so close to release, only to be denied… it was not pleased. But it did no more than simmer, just below his consciousness, and Vilkas got the sense his blood remembered her abilities, and moreover, was unwilling to test her further. The idea was cowing and infuriating in equal measure but was ultimately also something he was unwilling to let himself dwell on – yet.
It could have been moments, or it could have been hours, that he sat there, riding out the consequences of Ara's struggle with the hag, Vilkas didn't really know. As it was, he wasn't sure he cared either, because, beyond the cycles of pain and relief in his body, he was finding it difficult to reconcile what he had seen with what he thought he had known of her.
Her pride and willful nature were nothing next to the wrath she had exhibited, and as her magic ebbed and faded away and she slumped against him in exhaustion, the depth of the realization that he really knew nothing of her finally hit home.
"Ara?" He brushed errant hair back from where it had fallen in her face; she looked as exhausted as he felt. A sheen of sweat covered her brow, and the spark he normally saw in her eyes was absent as she stared blankly beyond him. "Are you alright?"
She started, as if having forgotten, or perhaps not even realized, she was in his arms. "Vilkas." She sounded relieved at first, but the cautious optimism he felt in his chest was quickly doused when her face paled further, and he caught the scent of anxiety – hers. "I'm sorry," her voice was soft as shame filled her features and she pushed against him, trying to extricate herself from his grip.
His mind reeled with energy he wasn't aware he even still possessed as he tried to figure out what was happening, and why. "Ara, wai-," he was too surprised to keep hold of her, and she backed away, climbing slowly to her feet so as to turn from him.
His wolf growled in the back of his mind; its ire was now directed at both of them. Him for letting her go so easily, and her for not even listening. He pushed himself to his feet. Her back was to him, but he reached for her and tried again. "You ha-"
"Just stop, okay?" Her hiss was a whisper as she recoiled further, a familiar obstinacy flashing in her eyes. "I already know I messed up, I'm sorry! Just… I didn't mean for you to get caught in it."
He ignored her plea and followed her, his stomach twisting at her guarded expression as he reached for her again. He didn't think she was afraid exactly, but... The cold, dead weight of realization quickly replaced the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. By Ysmir… of course, he admonished himself inwardly. You've done nothing but rebuke her, and her magic. You've done nothing but push your own reservations in her face. No wonder she's expecting you to be angry.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he dropped his hand away, but didn't move back.
She scoffed. "Hardly," she bit her lip, dropping her eyes away from him and to the body on the floor. "Clearly you were right about me."
What? He couldn't keep his confusion from showing on his face. "I asked you to use magic, did I not?" Her eyes snapped back to him, confirming that's what she'd expected him to be angry about, though her expression remained guarded. "And you bested a damned hagraven," he gestured towards the body, "so clearly I wasn't." Her guarded expression cracked, only marginally, but he felt safe to continue. "Look, there are…" he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily as he glanced at the hag's body again. Not here, Vil. "Let's just get our things and get out of here first, alright?" He contemplated saying more as she nodded lightly, but she beat him to it.
"Thank you for coming for me," she murmured. "Again." His wolf growled warmly at the memory she referenced, but he took a few moments to consider his response. The comfortable, immediate reaction to her bringing that up would have been anger, as was typical of him, and it was clear from her posture she expected that as well; her jaw set and her stance changed, almost imperceptibly.
He was all too pleased to disappoint, instead opting to brush still errant hair behind her ear. He was wholly surprised when she only stiffened beneath his ministrations, instead of moving away again. "You didn't need me this time," he said, taken aback further by the hint of dejection he heard in his own voice and so quickly cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're alright." His mouth went dry as her cheeks flushed, but he felt little elation at seemingly managing to turn the tables on her this time. He blamed it on being tired as he started for the stairs, giving the body a wide berth.
"Why did you want to find one of them anyway?" He asked absently, glancing behind him in time to see the venom return to her features.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said coldly. He shrugged, tired and ready to let it go, but she groaned. "Our horses are probably gone." He stopped then too, his own groan echoing hers when he realized she was probably right. It was going to be a long walk back to Whiterun.