"Drink it."
Marcurio blinked at the small vial that Adaria held out to him.
"What is it?" the mage questioned.
"A potion. What does it look like?"
The man sighed in exasperation.
"No, I mean what kind of potion?"
"Cure disease. It will deal with any disease, even vampirism."
Marcurio laughed at this, waving the woman off and leaning back in the chair he still sat in.
"Ah, I don't need one of those. I didn't actually get bitten."
He should have known better. Adaria didn't take "no" for an answer.
"Drink it," the Dragonborn insisted, the vial still stretched out toward the mage.
"I don't need it."
A dark shadow crossed over the woman's face, which was strange since her facial expression, in and of itself, didn't seem to have changed in the least.
"Drink. It," she commanded, her voice low and threatening.
"But-"
"Drink the damn potion or I will force it down that foolishness spewing windpipe of yours."
This threat actually sounded legitimate. Marcurio had no trouble imagining that the woman would do exactly as she said, and somehow that didn't sound overly pleasant.
"Very well. If I must," the man sighed dramatically.
He accepted the vial with noticeable reluctance, holding the little glass bottle out in front of him and frowning at the red liquid that sloshed around inside. He hated drinking potions. He always had. The disease curing potions were some of the worst, though, and Marcurio had quite decided a long time ago that the number of potions his parents had forced him to drink as a child had made him permanently immune to disease because he rarely ever got sick. Then again, there was always the possibility that his lack of illness had been sheer willpower to avoid having to drink any more of these revolting potions. And now here he was, about to drink one for no apparent reason at all. This woman would be the death of him yet.
"I still don't see the necessity of wasting a potion, but I will suffer through this endeavor for your sake."
Marcurio began to pour the liquid down his throat, but he was sure he might choke when he saw Adaria roll her eyes. Her facial expression didn't change, but she certainly had just rolled her eyes. It might have made the mage laugh if he wasn't so afraid of angering her further.
Marcurio finished drinking the potion and watched as Adaria finished one of her own. If she knew he was watching her, she was doing a very good job of ignoring him. Not that that was particularly uncommon for the Dragonborn. She really was a master of ignoring people.
Her potion now completely consumed, Adaria tossed the empty vial aside and walked over to the nearby table which still sported the bloodied skeleton Marcurio had seen earlier. For a moment, the woman didn't move, choosing instead to simply stare at the gory scene before her. Then quietly, almost reverently, she lifted the torch she held in her hand and set it to the wooden table, watching as the blood-stained wood was slowly consumed by the fire.
Marcurio remained silent as he watched Adaria slowly move from one piece of furniture to the next, methodically working her way around the cavernous room and setting everything on fire. When at last she got to him, all she had to do was give him a glance. The mage was up and out of his chair in an instant, backing out of the room that was quickly filling with putrid smoke.
"A few well-placed fireballs should suffice to finish the task," Adaria said lowly as she passed Marcurio in the entryway to the room. "Do be quick about it."
The mage gave her a lopsided grin, summoning a high level fire spell in each hand.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, turning back to the room.
Raising his hands high, Marcurio drew in a deep breath, summoning the depths of magic that resided in his body, and then, with a shout, he released both attacks at once, dodging to the side to escape the fiery blast that followed. Adaria, however, did not move, choosing instead to watch as all evidence of the master vampire, his belongings, and his deeds went up in a sea of flames. She didn't even flinch as scorching air rushed past her, a force so strong that she actually had to brace herself to keep from getting knocked off her feet.
Once the explosions abated, Adaria turned silently and continued down the corridor, her gait strong and determined. She didn't stop until they had both come to the stone platform they had entered the cave from. Then she turned sharply toward Marcurio.
"Stand back," she commanded.
The mage did as he was bade, watching curiously as Adaria turned back to the room, took in a deep breath, then shouted, "Yol toor shul!"
The ground beneath the mage's feet shuddered as furious dragon fire spewed from the Dragonborn's lips, filling the darkened room like a second sun and scorching the bleached bones that lay scattered on the cave floor. Then with that, Adaria turned, walking somberly out of Broken Fang Cave, Marcurio close at her heels.
She was a mystery, that was for sure. Most adventurers would have pilfered the cave for any semblance of valuables. Knowing Adaria's love for treasure, Marcurio was actually rather surprised that she hadn't. But then the image of the Dragonborn standing silently over the bloodied skeleton crossed the mage's mind. She hadn't said a word and her expression had never changed. And yet in that moment, Adaria's true feelings had been readily apparent. She hated vampires, and she hated what they had done to the innocent people of Whiterun. Burning the vampire lair was like purging all the evil from the land, Adaria's final act of kindness for the people she couldn't save. After all, the bloodied skeleton was the first thing she had burned, and wasn't a funeral pyre the burial of heroes, especially here in Skyrim?
Marcurio had already seen many sides to the normally cold, emotionless woman he knew as Dragon Eyes. Her outer self was fierce yet soulless, a human body turned into little more than a suit of nearly impenetrable armor and deadly blades. And yet despite her threatening exterior, Marcurio also knew that Adaria could be frightened or annoyed, and her interior personality was sarcastic, even entertaining. But this…this proved just how deep the real Adaria could be, a woman who was as compassionate as she was deadly. There was a soul, a beautiful soul, behind that steel mask. It just needed to be freed, and by the gods, Marcurio had every intention of doing just that. The only question now: how?
Damn it. Damn it all to Oblivion. Adaria could feel the rage welling up inside of her. She had been hunting around the plains of Whiterun for months. Her only ventures beyond the hold's borders were a brief visit to Solitude and a short trek into the Rift, and neither of those trips had lasted long. Furthermore, she had been the thane of Whiterun for over three years. Yet despite all of that, somehow she had not only managed to miss the existence of Broken Fang Cave, but she had also heard nothing about the kidnappings and, therefore, had never had any idea that there was a nest of vampires so close to the city's walls. Granted, there was no guarantee that the vampires had been there all those years since she had first come to Skyrim, but still… She had sworn an oath to Balgruuf and to the city that she would protect Whiterun. It was her duty. That bloodied skeleton resting on the table in the master vampire's room, though, had been a token of shame to her. It was a reminder that she had failed. That was what stung the most.
Adaria was so caught up in her anger that she had nearly forgotten about her little shadow until Marcurio cleared his throat and said somewhat awkwardly, "Look, Adaria, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry earlier."
Quietly the Dragonborn paused, turning back and raising a languid eyebrow at the mage who had been following along behind her.
"What are you talking about?"
The man blinked in confusion.
"Well, I said some things earlier and you seemed to be upset," he explained quickly, fidgeting slightly, "and then I know you got angry with me when we were fighting in the cave, so I thought I had better go ahead and clear this up before the atmosphere gets so icy you could freeze ice."
"That doesn't even make sense," Adaria replied, trying not to roll her eyes at the mage. "And in any case, I-"
She couldn't finish her sentence before the sound of a woman's scream pierced the air. Instantly the Dragonborn abandoned whatever thought might have been crossing her brain at the moment, hands braced on the hilts of her swords as she set off in search of the person who had screamed.
The first thing Adaria saw when she rounded the bend in the road was a giant frostbite spider, fangs dripping a vile green liquid. A man was pinned beneath the creature's large body, a simple iron dagger acting as the only shield between him and certain death. There was also a woman there, her back pressed to a large boulder. She was sobbing and screaming as she held her arm, which looked to be wounded.
In a split second, Adaria had assessed the situation. The people were too far away. There was no way she could make it there in time to save them, at least not using her swords. A growl rumbled up the Dragonborn's throat as she threw her rucksack to the ground, pulled her bow into her hands, put an arrow to the string, and fired at the enormous spider.
The spider's fangs were mere inches from its victim's chest when Adaria's arrow sank deep into the beast's abdomen. The creature reared up and backed away, turning its attention to the Dragonborn as the frightened man it had been attacking stumbled into the arms of the sobbing woman. There. That was better.
"Nice shot!" Marcurio exclaimed as he rushed up next to Adaria, preparing to send a volley of destruction magic toward the oncoming frostbite spider.
"I was aiming for its head," the Dragonborn replied bluntly.
The mage laughed at this, then released two flaming fireballs in the spider's direction. A deafening explosion rent the cool Skyrim air as Marcurio's attacks came in contact with their target, and a split second later, Adaria buried Bolar's Oathblade deep into the creature's head just to ensure it was dead. Then she turned to the wounded pair cowering off to the side.
"Thank you," the wounded woman said as she and her companion limped up to their rescuers, her voice quavering.
"Don't mention it," Marcurio grinned, puffing his chest out for good effect.
Without a word, Adaria reached into the satchel at her hip and pulled out two potion vials, holding then out toward the wounded pair.
"Healing potions," she stated bluntly when she noticed the pair's questioning faces. "And I have something to treat poison, too, if you need it."
"Thank you," the man replied, gratefully accepting the potions the Dragonborn offered them and handing one to the woman at his side. "Are you an alchemist?"
"Hardly," Adaria muttered, glancing off to the side. "Potions are merely necessary things to have with you when you travel. Especially if you plan on travelling through Skyrim."
"I can't say we…planned…on travelling through Skyrim," the other woman sniffled, staring down at the potion she still held in her hands and watching as her own tears speckled the glass surface.
"What do you mean?" Marcurio questioned, raising a curious eyebrow at the pair.
The other man growled slightly at the question, drinking the healing potion before responding bitterly, "Damn dragons, that's what. Came out of nowhere, attacked our farm, killed everything in sight and burned the rest. We were lucky to escape with our lives. Don't know what good it will do when we starve to death, though, since we have nothing but our lives and the clothes on our backs."
So that was it. Looks-wise, it was hard to tell what was the result of the spider attack and what was the result of a dragon, but Adaria could still smell the faint, sulfur-like scent of dragon fire that wafted up from the strangers' hair and clothing. She wasn't entirely sure why it smelled that way. The Voice, in and of itself, had no connection to scent, but it was always possible the smell had something to do with the dragons themselves. Either way, Adaria knew dragon fire when she smelled it.
"Where are you headed now? You're going the wrong direction for Whiterun," Marcurio stated, glancing back and forth down the road.
"Rorikstead," the other man responded with a sigh. "I thought maybe we could find some work farming out there until we can get back on our feet. I'm hoping someone will be willing to feed us, at least, and allow us to pay them back later."
As Marcurio and the strangers talked, Adaria reached into the satchel at her hip and fished around in it, pulling out two cloth bags – one small and one large – before beginning to sift through her money, separating out a small sum into the small, empty bag.
"Here," she said suddenly, holding the small bag of coins out toward the pair. "This should be enough to pay for room and board for tonight, at least. There is plenty of farming going on out in Rorikstead. You should not have trouble finding work to do."
Marcurio and the two strangers all looked equally taken aback at the Dragonborn's gesture, but then the other woman smiled slightly and accepted the money, holding it close to her chest.
"Thank you," she cried softly. "Thank you so much. We could never repay you for all you've done for us."
"No need," Adaria responded, waving them off as she heaved her belongings back onto her shoulders and set off down the road toward Whiterun. "Come on, Marcurio. Don't make me leave you behind."
The Dragonborn didn't even look back as she listened to the quick tapping of feet as the mage hurried to catch up with her.
"Well aren't you sweet?" the man grinned as he came up alongside her. "You know, I think you're softer than you would like to admit."
Was she? She could still feel the dark flutter in her chest that had started when she first opened the bag of septims. The dragon in her raged at losing its riches, no matter how small the sum, though Adaria had learned a long time ago that it wasn't only dragons who could be overcome by that particular darkness. Lust for power and wealth were almost like a universal character flaw in dragons; then again, that could be said for people, too.
"In answer to our conversation earlier," Adaria then said, choosing to change the subject instead of brood over the dark wings that seemed to flutter around her heart every time she laid eyes on something valuable, "I am not angry with you. You certainly can be a fool sometimes, but I am not angry with you."
She glanced back at him with a pointed stare.
"Trust me. You would know if I was."
For a moment the man blinked at her. Then he smiled. He seemed to understand. Well, then. There was nothing more that needed to be said.