"Vorstag?"

Vorstag's reaction is a mirror of my own. He stumbles back and blinks a few times. A fleeting smile manifests on his face but quickly falters into a gaping frown.

"I can't believe you left me!" He yells accusingly in the middle of the bustling tavern. There's utter betrayal in his eyes.

"I can't believe you came." I reply.

The hurt on his face makes me instantly regret those words, and I feel the blood rush to my pale face.

"Who said I came for you?" he retorts forcefully, eyes darting away. "I live here, remember?"

"I didn't mean it like that…" I mumble ashamedly, eyes dropping, suddenly afraid to meet his.

"Then please," he goads, though I can still see the barb of my words in his eyes, "Enlighten me. How about you enlighten us all actually?" he gestures at the staring, noon costumers. It's too early for rowdy behavior.

"Let's talk about this somewhere else." I beg with a hiss, roughly grabbing his armored shoulder and pushing him out the open doorway. He brushes me off as we cross the threshold, hazel eyes narrow and watery.

"How could you just leave?" he demands, those heart-wrenching eyes boring into mine. I try to look away but they lock me in place. They are so honest and wounded that I feel my own well. "How could you just walk out on me and everything we've worked for?"

"I have to do this," I answer firmly, forcing the quaver from my voice, "You refused to help me." It's the old mantra I sang the last time we were together, the tune I used to drive him away, to break his heart. I chose my quest over him, over whatever we had, and purposely ignored his feelings for me. Repeating it didn't hurt any less now than it did then, but I have to stay strong.

"That's not what I asked, Saber." He chides, accent thick and demeanor stiff.

"Okay, why I left you?" I exasperate with a rueful, awkward laugh. "Why I ran out on, as you called it, our good thing? That's what you want to know right? Why I panicked after you dropped all your feelings on me, trying to guilt me into staying—!"

"I wasn't trying—!" he interjects with a yell. He catches himself and lowers his tone, uneasily closing his eyes. "I wasn't trying to guilt you, Saber. I just, I can't…I can't help you destroy yourself. I can't watch as you fall victim despair and anger, bloody your hands unnecessarily—!"

"Unnecessarily?" I repeat, voice tight. "They tried to kill the people of Left Hand Mine, they've killed hundreds of others. Vorstag, they murdered your own family! All in the name of Hircine—a daedric prince, mind you—and ancestors they can barely remember."

"I know." He says, sounding almost regretful, but mostly to pacify and once again interrupt me. "But I was there, okay? After you left, I was mad. I stayed at the mine to cool down, helping rebuild and whatnot alongside that priest. But a day ago a messenger came and Skaggi and Sosia, well, they sold the mine. They said this noble Markarth had been coercing them for months to sell the deed, but they'd refused. I thought it odd that right after they were brutally attacked this noble already had a new deal crafted promising protection. So long as they turned full ownership of the mine to him. This runs deeper than you thought, Saber. I think this is a conspiracy."

"I know it is!" I agree with nervous energy. "And look, I have a clue to prove it to the jarl." I go to pull out the letter I found in Weylin's apartment, but Vorstag shushes me and stops my hand.

His large, calloused fingers clasp around mine and I shudder from a combination of sudden warmth and pressure. Resisting the temptation to squeeze back, I pull free and stare up at him. His expression is both angry and worried. He has not come around to my side.

"Why in oblivion are you pursuing still pursuing it then?" he cries in frustration, throwing out his arms. "Saber. This is the government of Markarth we are talking about. You throw yourself in their way and they will kill you."

"Vorstag." I breathe, clenching my jaw to keep the tears away. Tears of fear and guilt. "I have to help Sosia and the others of the Reach. I have to atone for what my people did, what I did. I want you to help me." A tear breaks free. "Please."

His red, firm expression crumbles and he breaks our gaze. He tries for words but only manages a string of short, overcome breaths.

And then finally, "No."

I press my lips and drop my eyes to the ground. So that's the way it's going to be, I guess. Nothing's changed. I look up at him, eyes hard and void of the swirling emotions I feel inside. "Then at least tell me where I can find a man named Nepos."

XXX

Nepos lived in an estate high up in the dwarven ruins of Markarth, across the treacherous stone overpasses, and past the brisk waterfall. His home was carved into the side of one of the mountain's lesser peaks, the black rock piled in a jagged spire that normally bathed the city in a permanent shadow.

Vorstag had reluctantly told me where to go, turning angrily towards the bar and ordering a large tankard. I was gone before he finished even his first swallow. I had to see this man, to dig around and find out what I could about Eltrys's death as well as the others. Exactly what I was going to say remained in the air.

Using my better judgement, I waited until nightfall to head to Nepos's home. It wasn't late yet, but just dark enough for me to make a quick escape if needed. Apparently he was a business man of sorts, so it was not unusual for people visit house. But it was night, and I was on his list, so it would be foolish to think this was simply social call.

Before I make my way up the winding stairs to the estates, a guard stops me, his voice raspy and metallic as he scolds me through his helmet.

"You." He challenges, stepping in my way and hand on the pommel of his blade. "I've seen you snooping around. Asking questions. Back off." My heart beats heavily upon hearing the threat, but there's something both forceful and sincere in his words. He doesn't think delving into this conspiracy is worth losing my life. "You don't want to know what happens to trouble makers here."

"And what if I do?" I growl, pushing my way past him. There's no law preventing me from using the staircase, so all he can do is be offended by my insolence.

"I guess you'll going to find out."

Reaching his home and feeling slightly winded by all the stairs, I take a deep breath and place my quivering palms on Nepos's door. There's a very good possibility that I won't be coming out, at least not this way. Slowly but forceful, I push it open and slip inside. Shutting it behind me with a loud groan, I wince as its stony click resonates through the quiet household.

Maybe I should have thought this through.

There are several servants throughout the open rooms doing various, menial tasks. They all stop and look at me as I enter. A tanned woman approaches, broom firmly in hand and glares at me from under her tattooed brow.

"Excuse me." She says formally, but there's no trace of courtesy in her voice. "What's your business here?"

I swallow. There's no going back now. "I'm here to see Nepos."

Her eyes go wide upon hearing the name and a harsh, nervous note enters her voice. "We haven't been expecting you, and the old man needs his rest. Come back some other time." She grips the broom harder and for a moment I wonder if she'll hit me when I protest.

As I'm about to object, or worst, force my way in, an elderly voice shouts from another room. "Wait. It's okay, my dear." A slight cough. "Send her in."

The servant narrows her eyes and her nostrils flare, fingers twisting tighter around the wooden handle in her hand. "Yes, Nepos." She steps to the side and gestures me towards a large, bountiful dining room. "You heard him, go on in."

I try my best to walk in confidently, but something doesn't feel right. The fire crackling is the only sound in the home and though it is a large furnace the room is unusually drafty and, besides the stone furniture and remnants of a dinner, empty. A few servants linger, tidying up the mess. One cocks her head towards the right to where a bald man sits relaxed in formal attire by a smaller, second fire.

Turning around as he hears my echoing approach, he smiles coyly at me and shuts the weathered book in his hand.

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper," he says with an amiable chuckle. His voice is gravely and smug. "She's a little protective of me. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?" With a graceful motion, he offers me a chair opposite of him. I'm quick to decline.

He stares at my defiant stance and the warm smile on his face falls into a tight smirk. Placing an elbow on the chair and leaning against his hand, he asks, "What could someone want at this hour, I wonder?"

"Save your pleasantries." I reply sternly, crossing my arms and balling my fists. "You know why I'm here." Though I'm nervous, I refrain from placing a hand on my sword. I can't let him feel threatening, at least not yet. I flex my fingers, digging the nails into my palms. But I'm not defenseless. I have an arsenal of magick within my fingertips.

"You're quite the little bloodhound, aren't you." He sighed, leaning against his the back of his chair. "Sniffed me out." He looks away from me and picks the book back up from his armrest, weighing it in his hand. "I've been playing this game for years, sending young men and women to their deaths in the name of the Forsworn. It was only a matter of time until someone figured it out."

"Why assassins?" I demand. "Why here and now? Are you working for the Silver Bloods?"

"You're a clever one, aren't you?" he chuckles, glancing at me with incredulous eyes. "To be fair, everyone works for that family one way or another. Some of our jobs are just a little more illicit than others."

"But why?" I growl, brusquely grabbing the back of chair, the loud sound of my gauntlet scraping the stone forcing him to look back at me. "Do you even realize the cost of your actions, the hundreds of lives your hand has ended? Why are you helping them kill innocent people?!"

"Why," he snarls, those dark eyes flashing violently at me, "do you care? Money, power, the safety of my people? My reasoning is my own and I could care less if it makes sense to an idiot girl like you."

"Your people are dying too." I state firmly, holding my ground. "They are slaughtered carrying out your orders, orders that they trust will bring glory and land back to their race. But it won't—all it does in instill fear and the need for protection in your victims."

"Enough."

"They aren't even your orders, are they Nepos?" I continue, voice rising. "They're the Silver-Bloods'. You realize when they get what they want they'll kill you all. Why would they want potential threats from such loose, barbaric ends? But if you're a good little grunt and puppeteer your naïve cult, you'll get spared right? Looks like you already live the high life! You get to be the Silver-Bloods' little pampered bitch living in a stone kennel on the top of—!"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" Nepos jumps from his chair and glowers at me. I nearly laugh at his attempt to be menacing. The man is a mere an inch taller than me. "I get my orders from Madanach!"

"What?" I start at the name, a sharp intake of breath contracting my lungs. A cold, heavy, curling feeling spreads through my insides, lacing my organs and pulling at the base of my throat. Whatever I was saying has long fled my mind. I freeze as if under a spell, eyes locked onto his.

"What?" he repeats with a scoff, lined face red.

"You said…" I pause, tongue dancing on the perturbing word. I finally force myself to say the name, "Madanach gives you the orders."

Madanach. My father. The leader of the Forsworn.

The man I killed.

I hadn't heard his name in over seven years. It's funny how a few carefully strung syllables can evoke such an intense reaction.

"The Silver-Bloods have him locked down in Cidna Mine!" He yells in explanation, clearly dying to get years of pent up secrets off of his chest. He forcefully drops the book onto the ground. It lands with a dull thump by his feat, a sound that gives finality to our argument.

A tightness spreads across my shoulders and I feel the hairs on my neck prick. Something isn't right. The room is too quiet. I look over my shoulder. All the servants are gone.

Suddenly I realize just how in danger I am. I'm vulnerable, exposed, and in an unfamiliar place with the odds and half the city against me. I was a fool to think I could do this alone.

I need Vorstag.

My heart rate quickens and my hands become cold and clammy. I fight the urge to nervously flex them, to flare up warning fires as I demand answers, but my feet begin to instinctually edge me away from the corner hearth.

"What's wrong, my dear?" Nepos asks, the anger from before being replaced with an arrogant knowingness.

"I need to go." I reply, unable to suppress the nervous edge in my voice. My father is dead. There's no way anyone could have mistaken him to be alive. Nepos stance changes and he crosses his arms into a confident composure.

"My dear Sabierelie," Nepos says with a hungry smile, "This is a home of Forsworn agents. Whatever made you think you'd be getting out alive?"

My heart nearly stops, the silence of the room in this moment more painful than if Nepos was screaming in my ear.

They know who I am. I don't know how, but they know.

I back into an end table and a metal tray with half empty goblets crashes to the ground. Stumbling from the startling noise, I instinctually light my hands in flames. But I never get the chance to cast them due to the large arms that violently wrap around my waist and tackle me to the ground.

Three Forsworn agents are in the room, their brooms replaced with short swords and destruction spells

The cacophony that ensues shatters my silence induced illusion, and I'm almost grateful my talk with Nepos is over. Besides the fact my face is being mashed into the tiled floor.

I'm repeatedly kicked in the side, my armor clanging loudly against the boot and my skin. A hot, dense pressure spreads across my chest and ribs. Fighting for breath as the wind is knocked from my lungs and stomach withering with my meager lunch, I can only imagine the colorful bruising the swollen welts will bring.

Finally it occurs to me to fight back.

I manage to flip onto my back and scatter a blaze of flames under the blind stress. I hear a few people hiss as the embers sear their skin, a find myself gasping as I accidently burn my own. More rough hands grab me and I try pulling from their grasp. I'm tempted to use magick again but immediately decide that isn't a good idea as tears build up from my fresh, self-induced burns. Instead, I try reaching for the sword at my side when one of my assailant's heavy boot intercepts my hand and grinds it into the ground.

I scream as the bones crunch, a fiery, grainy sensation that blazes in both my arm and my brain. A sick swirling rises in my in my stomach and my vision goes fuzzy as warm tears spring in my eyes.

"That's enough!" Nepos yells over the ambush. "Enough! Morven, get off of her. Tynan, Uaile, pull her up off the ground! Morven, you dumb horker, I said get off of her, not stand to the side. Secure her arms. We don't need her casting any more of those spells."

I whimper as they grab my arms, pulling me up from the slightly bloodied floor and onto my knees. Tears roll down my face but they are no longer form the pain; if Vorstag had been here we would still be up and fighting. He would've hacked that Morven to bits for blindsiding me; he would've yanked him right off of me and split him in two. Hah, no. The man never would've gotten to me. Vorstag would've stopped him in time. Then I would've regained my faculties and lit the two other up. We would've fought them to the death. We would've pinned Nepos down and demanded answers.

We would've won.

Instead I am defeated. My arms are pulled to the sides by the two women to prevent spells from being directed at them, and the brusque man named Morven moves behind me. He grabs my dirty hair and wrenches my head back. Throbbing face hot and sticky, I stare up a glowering yet pleased Nepos.

I spit in his face.

To my surprise and displeasure the old man barely reacts, simply wiping the slightly red spittle from his cheek and rubbing the wet palm on his rich robe.

"Sabierelie," he chides as if he were scolding a disobedient child, "Let's not make this more difficult than necessary."

"Madanach, Sabierelie…" I answer contemptuously through swollen lips. "I don't know these names. Or are they enchantments? They're awfully long and tongue twisting enough to be."

"I had my suspicions," Nepos disregarfully muses, scratching his slightly grizzled chin. "I dropped your father's name as a test, and you reacted beautifully my dear."

"How?" I manage, utterly overwhelmed by my dually exposed position. There's no point in denying my identity. He knows who I am. I don't know how or when, but I screwed up somewhere.

"You think you were the only one who fled after you killed your father all those years ago?" He replies angrily. "After you refused to take his place—rightly so for you never possessed the mettle to be a leader—the camp fell apart."

"You were from the camp…" I whisper in disbelief. I stare at the old, broken man in front of me, unable to recognize him after all these years, unable to see past the wears and wrinkles in his face. "That can't—I've never seen you before."

"Because you were just so high and mighty you knew everyone's face." He barks scathingly, crossed arms moving to his hips. "No, look more closely." He points to a long scar stretching along the right side of his jaw.

A scar my father gave the man who tried to undermine his authority.

"Noleastyr?" I ask, mouth agape. Then, with a forceful laugh, "The Divines haven't been kind to you. I thought you died in that battle, you old goat. How in oblivion did you get here? And Nepos the Nose? Real cute."

"It's short for nepotism, the practice of favoring one's own." He answers with airy disdain. "They dubbed it for my favoring the Forsworn. The Nose part was added when my investigations resulted in some very fortuitous exploits." He raises his brows as I stare at him, still in disbelief and shock. "What, you thought I would just run around calling myself Noleastyr? Though it's my namesake, it would be pretty obvious to the Nords."

"How long did you know about me?" I interject, my heart racing.

"Why is it always about you?" He snaps, "Don't you want to know how I came to power, how a—as your father kindly put it—broad, untraditional individual like myself got into this compromising position?"

"You're a puppet for the Silver-Bloods." I jibe, showing my teeth. "Don't fool yourself."

"At least I saved our clan." He replies darkly. "Your father couldn't even do that."

"I'm not my father."

"On that I can agree." He murmurs, crossing his arms. "Though he ultimately got our people killed by clinging to traditions, he was a true Forsworn. And you his greatest disappointment."

I don't respond. Such a low comment doesn't deserve a response. But the flash of hurt in my eyes as I look away is enough to satisfy the vengeful man.

"After the camp was destroyed and you abandoned us, I was the only one qualified to take your father's place. We suffered greatly without him, and many camps across the Reach were destroyed. So, being broadminded and untraditional as I am, I made a deal with the city. The Silver-Bloods promised to keep our clan safe as long as I pretend to act on Madanach's behalf, thereby manipulating the Forsworn into doing the Silver-Blood's will."

"But my father is dead!" I blurt angrily.

"Yes, may his soul rest in peace," he continues. I grimace at the knowledge of his soul's whereabouts. "But the other camps did not know that. I've fooled them into believing he was taken captive and is locked in Cidna Mine. He 'gives' me orders and I give them to the other Forsworn." He laughs in self-disgust. "See what we've been reduced to? It is your fault Sabierelie. But it's my bootlicking that saved our kin."

"And got the rest of your clansmen killed." I retort with a cruel smile. "You send them to their deaths while you live comfortably on the Silver-Blood's slackened leash." The Forsworn agents' holds on me tighten, evidently not liking my voicing the truth. "Well don't you? You've betrayed your people just like me!"

"We may have both betrayed our people," Nepos seethes through his teeth, "but I did it out of necessity. You did it because you were weak. True the other Forsworn must suffer, but at least our sect still survives. And they die thinking they did our kind some good. That's enough for me to sleep at night."

"Now back to your original question." He continues, sneer loosening into a bemused, spine-chilling smile. "How did I know who you were? Who would've thought that in my pursuits to save our people I'd end up living in the very same city as the little girl who destroyed them." He laughs throatily, a sardonic, hateful noise that makes my insides squirm. I bare my teeth in response.

"I knew who you were almost seven years ago." He finally divulges, voice growing quiet. "One of my agents reported seeing you slinking around the city, nearly skin and bones, desperate for work. They wanted to have you brought to me, to celebrate your life and bring you back to your clan, your family. But it was obvious you didn't want to be found, and truthfully we didn't need you back."

"Why didn't you just hire one of your puppets to kill me then?" I ask darkly.

"I often thought about that." He admits, his gravelly voice both tired and agitated. "But some still felt sentimental towards you, being the great Madanach's daughter and all. As we watched you, however, I came to see how you struggled to survive in your new life. The pain and toils it inflicted made me decide that dying from your prideful choices was punishment enough." He pauses, staring at me with a look of disappointment. "But then you had to go and stick your nose in our business. You should have left us alone."

Clenching my jaw and fists itching to pointlessly flare, I break eye contact with the old, yet powerful, man. But for all that power he's still just a pawn for the Silver-Bloods. We were all pawns for that family, the whole city. And I'd been stupid and naïve to think that I'd ever be free from my roots. I should've left the Reach, should've went far, far away and done something simple with my life. Maybe it'd been boring and purposeless, but at least I would've been free. Vorstag was right. I was hell bent on destroying myself.

Why? The answer is clear now.

Because I hate myself. I was a barbarian. A savage who killed people. Nothing could ever change that. And for some reason I was unable to live with that fact.

Until now.

Vorstag fills my mind. I don't want to die; I don't want to lose him. I feel my eyes well with the fear. There will be no satisfaction in him being proved right; this will kill him. He'll be enraged and do the very thing he told me not to. He'll take on the Forsworn, and then he'll be killed. Just like me.

Divines, I tried so hard to keep my problems from hurting him, and by doing so I've hurt him more than letting him in ever could. I drop my head, the tears dripping down my face and landing on the blood flecked, dark tiles below.

I failed us both.

"Oh don't be like that, Sabierelie." Nepos says with a sigh, cupping my cheek in a wrinkled hand. He pulls my watery eyes back to his.

"Stop calling me that!" I snarl in disgust, small fires igniting at my fingertips. This act rewards me with a violent twist on the wrists, bruising and stretching the already burnt skin. Yelping, I let the flames dissipate and recoil from his bawdy hand. "I left that name when I left you savages!"

"How are we savages?" Nepos demands. "We fight to reclaim what is ours, what was stolen from us. You run around playing warrior, surely you've killed for causes you believe just. Or perhaps to even fill your purse. It's no different from us. Don't pretend your version of murder is more justified."

"You sacrifice people!" I yell, face scrunched in red anger. "I left because you sacrifice innocent people to demons! Your people are just a glorified cult, and cults that sacrifice kidnaped women and children need to be stopped! It's evil!"

"If that's how you really feel, then so be it." He replies venomously through his teeth. Looking from me, he directs his attention at the three, stoic agents silently holding me in their vice grips. "She will not cooperate. Dispose of her."

"But Nepos," the Forsworn Morven asks nervously, "You said the Silver-Bloods want her alive. Won't they be angry with us if we disobey them?"

"They want me alive?" I ask with a jerk, a tidal wave washing my self-loathing and preparedness for death away. "Why?"

"Yes, but I don't. She's made it clear she'd never cooperate."

"But sir," one of the woman insists, "you told them this investigator was Madanach's daughter. They said to bring her in alive—!"

"You listen to me right?" He yells, serious demeanor flashing from existence and replaced with purple faced rage. "You trust me right?! Kill her and say she resisted! Thonar doesn't need another pawn in his plan, and I don't need to give them a reason to no longer require my services!"

Reluctantly, the woman at my right pulls a dagger from her belt and brings it to my neck.

"Wait, wait!" I stammer, pulling my head as far away as I can. "What are you talking about? The Silver-Bloods want to use me? Why on earth—what for?"

The dagger hovers hesitantly and the woman's eyes skeptically flick at Nepos. "Sir…" she says, entire sentences riding on that one word.

"No, Uaile." Nepos states firmly. "We don't need her. Not anymore."

"That, my dear friends," a familiar voice interrupts, his welcoming accent ringing through the tense hall. "Was the wrong thing to say."

The Forsworn agents jump, pulling blades and conjuring spells in reaction to the sudden intrusion. The grips on me falter then grope roughly as they try to regain their holds, pulling my shaggy hair painfully in the process. They all shout at once, demanding to know who he was, how he got in, and what their boss wanted them to do.

I turn my head as far as I can, an uncontrollable smile overpowering the urge to wince.

"About time!" I shout reproachfully around a face full of overjoyed tears. Though the words are meant as humor, I can barely keep the tremble from my voice.

Vorstag came for me.

Vorstag's face is stern and demanding, dark brows drawn together in a terrifying scowl. His long, ebony great sword is held firmly in one hand and pointed at the four agents surrounding me. "Let her go. Now."

I laugh to myself. The three idiots already have. Just as Nepos begins to answer, thinking he has control, I buck from his agents' loosened grips and hurl myself at him, the fire that had been itching in my palms finally set free. I crash into him, hands like claws with a feral growl on my face and we hurtle to the ground. I nearly yelp as my broken hand slams him down, but the fury clouding my eyes lessens the pain. Nepos's old body crumples underneath mine, the air leaving his lungs in a painful, soundless cry, I throw my hands back and cast a wall of flames.

I'm separated from the three agents with Nepos all to myself.

They stumble back from the blaze, unsteady and unsure if they should try to save their master or fight the raging Nord stalking them. It doesn't take them long to decide.

I hear Vorstag's blood cry behind me, the metallic vibrations of his sword splintering their small daggers. The shadows of his deadly, vengeful fight dance around the room, violently flashing on the walls between yellow and black. He fights mercilessly, throwing all his rage and fear into his blows.

I smile viciously and dig my good hand into the old man's shoulder, mostly to steady my shaking, heart pounding self, and bare my teeth. Vorstag's got his fight covered. My attention is reserved for Nepos.

"You," I nearly froth through clenched teeth, "Will tell me why the Silver-Bloods want me or I will jab my hand through your milky socket and roast your brain from the inside."

"No, please!" He cries, strong voice now croaking and feeble. "I don't know why they want you, I swear—!"

"That's a lie." And then I made good on my promise.

From what the man said before, I'd pieced together that the Silver-Bloods wanted to use me like they did Nepos in order to manipulate the Forsworn. But if I'm wrong I don't care. I'll find my answers another way.

Right now, Nepos has to die.

Shuddering, I stand up from Nepos's dead body, his face locked in an eternal scream. I stumble back, swollen hand gently held in the other failing to cast a healing spell, walk backwards through the ember remains of my fiery barrier, nearly trip over a dismembered Forsworn body, and find myself falling into Vorstag's stiff arms.

Spinning around, I cling to his broad, newly armored chest and being to cry. His arms circle around me and he holds me close, bending his stricken face down to mine, burying it in my filthy hair. He breathes me in, and as I tremble I think I almost hear him weeping.

"I thought I lost you." He chokes out, fighting to regain control of his voice. "I thought you were dead, and it was all my fault. I nearly killed you…I nearly…"

"No." I say firmly, tears sparkling in my fierce eyes as I pull back and swallow my relieved sorrow. "I'm sorry. You were right. I was bent on destroying myself. I realize that now. Yeah, I wanted to help the villagers my people hurt, but I knew it was impossible to do on my own. I knew but I went anyway, I knew…" I feel the lump rise again in my throat, choking the rest of my words in a guilty, adrenaline induced sob. "I knew you loved me but I couldn't let you, not if—not if I didn't even love myself!"

"Saber," Vorstag says quietly, eyes softening and jaw trembling. "I still love you, I will always love you. I didn't mean to abandon you but I thought—I thought if I left you'd realize you felt the same…or at least wanted me around, and would come back. When you didn't," he pauses, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard, "I couldn't bare it, Saber. I had to find you. But when I did, you just…you seemed like you were fine without me. I got mad again and pushed you away out of anger, wanting to hurt you. Divines, after you left and I mellowed at the bar, I realized where I sent you too. You have no idea how scared I was. I was so sure I'd find you…"

"Vorstag," I reply softly, tears sparkling in my eyes. "I'm alive. It's okay. I don't want to do this alone anymore. I want to be with you through everything, even if it means—!"

He bends down and out lips meet, nervous and butterfly like at first, then, gripping his neck plating and pulling him closer, deep and full of love.

We kiss. A real kiss this time.

And then we get the hell out of that house.