A/N: Let me begin by apologizing for being gone for so long. I've been swamped with personal issues, not to mention the beginning of school. I've been away for far too long. If anyone has actually put up with waiting for an update for so long, here it is. I hope it's alright. Enjoy :)

CHAPTER 20

Daanik's POV

I open my eyes, and mold seamlessly from sleeping to waking. I relish the cold air on my skin. I'm up in a second, and pulling my armor on in another. Thankfully, it hadn't fallen off the edge of the overhang last night. Finally, as my gloves slide on smoothly, I realize that my hood is still in the Sanctuary. I think about retrieving it, but then a better idea comes to me. I spot Gabriella's hood, dangling out of the pile of clothes she's using as a pillow. There aren't any gender differences between the Brotherhood issue hoods, so I pick it up, and pull it on.

I smile. It smells like her. I watch the beautiful elf's sleeping form, as I debate whether to wake her or not. She stirs a bit, and mumbles something, but does not open her eyes. I decide to let her sleep. With a sudden pang, I kneel down, and kiss her forehead. I don't wait a moment longer, however. I step past her, and begin to jog, intending to fetch Shadowmere from a clearing he's fond of. It's about half a mile away.

I begin to speed up, enjoying the exertion. I refrain from shouting, afraid that in the thick woods, an unexpected tree could prove to be my undoing. My mind begins to wander, and I speed up to a full sprint, not willing to think so early in the morning. The sun has barely risen. I think, grumbling under my breath. My stomach growls, and I wince. Eh, I'll pick up something in Solitude. I mean, I am posing as a chef. There's gotta be some bread and cheese around there somewhere.

As I run, my trained ears pick up the sound a branch snapping, where one shouldn't be. In an instant, I go from complaining and sulky to alert and silent as the grave. I stop running immediately, standing completely still. I don't blink, I don't breathe. When I hear nothing, I continue on, but slowly, with my daggers unsheathed. My head snaps around, as I hear a short, quickly muffled clanking. I leap towards it, just as I hear the same sound behind me. I turn my head, just in time to see the incoming head of a warhammer slam into my stomach.

To say that the breath was knocked out of me would be an understatement. I feel each rib as it snaps. Six, exactly. I feel my stomach tearing, as the cold steel slams me against a tree. I feel my collarbone, and then my kneecaps crack, as a blow to the shoulder slams me onto my knees. What I don't feel, however, is the blow to the head with the haft of the hammer meant to render me unconscious, for I already am.

The second I wake, I try to move my hands. Panic rises, as I realize that I can't. It abates however, when I notice that I'm not in pain. My bones have been healed. I try to open my eyes, but I'm unable to. Claustrophobia sets in, and my chest heaves as I breathe heavily through the gag in my mouth. I try as hard as I can to calm myself.

Hern is dead. Hern is dead. Hern is dead. Gabriella killed him. She saved me. Slowly, gradually, I calm down. As I do, I berate myself for my fear. Shame courses through me, and I growl, and tear at my bonds.

"Look at the little skeever struggle."

Instantly, I stop moving. The voice is low, and extremely rough. It sounds like gravel being chewed up, and then spit out again. Like the man's throat had been cut, but he'd survived. I try to ask, who are you, but the gag muffles any and all sound. Then, I feel the blade of a knife, cold as ice, on my neck. I stay completely still, as it slides up to rest on my jugular. Finally, it moves, but instead of slitting my throat, it cuts the bindings off my eyes.

I squint at the bright sun, surprised. I'd assumed that I would be kept in a dark, wet dungeon somewhere. In reality, I'm shackled between two wooden structures, high up on the top of a tower. I peer over the edge as best I can, and estimate that I'm nearly three hundred feet in the air.

I turn my attention to the people around me. Most of them are typical stormcloak soldiers; clearly nords, dressed in blue chain mail and full-face helmets. Except for one. The man in the front, a grizzled-looking warrior, is dressed differently. He looks as if, while walking, he'd come across a mighty bear, and had slain it. And then decided to wear it as armor. He speaks, and I recognize his voice as the one that had spoken before.

"Trash." He spits on the floor. I watch him, warily studying the man's each and every movement. He's shorter than the other stormcloaks, but clearly commands tremendous respect.

He stops pacing, and turns to look at me. His harsh, grey eyes bore into mine like needles, and I meet his gaze, trying to convey an equal amount of ferocity. The seconds tick by, one by one. No one moves. Neither of us blink. Suddenly, he whips his head around, to stare at the soldiers behind him. The man's authority is further proven, as they scramble to stand perfectly straight under his fierce gaze. The clanking of their weapons and armor does little to break the charged air.

When the grizzled man is content with the appearance of his men, he shifts his gaze back to my suspended body. "My name is Galmar Stone-Fist." He rumbles. "And you…" His face contorts in disgust, and again, he spits on the ground in front of me. "You are an insult to Skyrim."

Vaguely, I recognize the name as one belonging to a very prominent, high-ranking stormcloak general. I remain perfectly still, doing my best to appear compliant, all the while searching for an escape route. My eyes dart from point to point, counting the soldiers, estimating the width of the platform, and trying to find a way to un-gag myself. If I could only shout, just once…

My eyes are drawn back to Galmar, as he begins to advance towards me. His fists are clenched, and his teeth are bared in a snarl. He grabs me roughly by the collar, and roars, "No true nord would ever consider speaking to that Brotherhood scum, much less becoming one!" In a split second, his almost crazed voice lowers drastically, until he's talking directly to me. "Especially you. Dragonborn." He spits the final word, making it sound like something vile. "You have disgraced Skyrim, it's proud nord inhabitants, and the legacy of Talos with your cowardice." His voice lowers even further, as he whispers in my ear. "And you will die for it."

At his words, something sparks in me. I can't tell whether it's fear, fury, or simple survival instincts, but it courses through me like a lightning bolt. I wrench at the chains binding me in place with all my might, the gag muffling the sounds of my struggle. For a moment, as my arms scream, my teeth grate against each other, and the veins stand out on my neck, I feel hopeful. The wooden posts creak promisingly, and the chains themselves seems ready to break. But not a second later, Galmar's fabled fist slams into my stomach with all the strength of a stampeding horse. The air rushes from my lungs, and I open my mouth in a soundless gasp. My arms go limp, and the gag fills my mouth. My head spins, and I'm afraid that I'm going to pass out. But then, a tiny gap appears in the gag, an almost invisible tear. It's barely noticeable, but it's enough. I suck in a deep breath, and my vision clears. I become aware of my surroundings again.

The soldiers are visibly sneering. Some are shaking their heads, while others look upon me with contempt. But I realize, whether disappointed or simply furious at their lost hero, they all want to see me dead. They're here to watch the show.

Galmar steps back from my winded body, disgust written across his craggy face. "Assassin scum." He steps to the edge of the tower, and raises his hand high above his head, as if signaling someone on the ground. I crane my neck, looking for who or what might be the recipient of his attention, but his broad form obscures my vision. All I see is row after row of Falkreath's forests. At least we're still in the hold. After a moment, he turns back to me, his expression calmer. Not in a reassuring way, though. He opens his mouth, and speaks again, in his butchered voice.

"The Dark Brotherhood is a blight on the face of Skyrim." He begins pacing, but his harsh eyes remain locked on me. "You're no more than a band of cutthroats and cowards, willing to take advantage of an honorable people." At this point, he turns, speaking to both me and his soldiers. "Not long ago, a true hero of Skyrim arose. He gave the people hope. He singlehandedly shouted down Alduin and his dragon hordes, freeing the northland from the worst menace it's faced in centuries." Galmar's voice slowly rises in pitch and volume, until he's shouting at his congregation. "But when Skyrim is threatened, when Talos himself, your ancestor-" He whips his head towards me with his last words, "-is threatened, what do you do? Nothing! You hide! You join the lowest of the low, instead of fighting and dying for your country alongside Ulfric Stormcloak, a true hero!" He turns back towards me, face to face again. "You don't deserve the title of Ysmir, you worm." The soldiers nod, and murmur among themselves. A few even cheer. I grit my teeth, and try to ignore it all, continuing to search for a means of escape. I find none.

Galmar lowers his voice to a normal level, speaking directly to me. "Ulfric will wipe this stain off of our homeland, once and for all." His grizzled face relaxes into an almost pleased expression. "I see your confusion. You're wondering why I captured you, and didn't just storm your sanctuary." I raise my eyebrows slightly. I wasn't really wondering that at all, but it's not a bad question. Galmar continues with his explanation. "As pathetic as you are, many in Skyrim still see you as Alduin's bane. Everyone would hear about Ulfric's victory, and those that do know of your Brotherhood affiliation would eventually put two and two together. They wouldn't take kindly to the death of the Dragonborn, and the Stormcloaks would lose much of their support." His voice takes on an almost patronizing, yet excited, tone. "So, Ulfric won't kill you. He will, however, make a grand speech at your funeral, after you die in a tragic tower collapse." Some of the soldiers chuckle darkly. I force a growl past the gag. Galmar ignores it. "Just unfortunate, that is. As for the rest of your skeever-hole…" A wide grin stretches across the man's face, like an open wound. "Well, I imagine you'll be able to see the smoke from here."

I begin to struggle then, panic and fear for my family, and utter fury for the stormcloaks rise up in my throat. I tear desperately at the chains, but the wooden posts remain sound. The soldiers laugh, as they exit the tower through a trap door. The last one files out, and the heavy hatch slams shut. Suddenly, the day is eerily silent. The sun beats down on me, as I do my best to tear the posts straight out of the stone. When that doesn't work, I begin kicking at the base of one of the structures, slamming my boot into it over and over again. I continue on for what must be minutes, painfully aware that my time is running out. Then, finally, I hear a sound. It's not very loud, in fact, I'm afraid that I imagined it. But then I hear it again; a low, but distinct cracking. Relief and elation floods my veins, and I begin to kick with renewed vigor. Finally, I feel the post begin to give way. But just as it does, the entire tower shakes. I freeze, still shackled and helpless. I wait for the feeling to pass, but it doesn't. The structure begins to shake harder and harder, and I resume kicking, but it's no use. I physically feel the entire tower sink at least a foot lower.

And then, I feel gravity shift. The tower tips. And as I fall, I close my eyes. We're all going to die. I give up. I relax. And I realize, with mild surprise, that I've accepted the fact of my imminent death.

But then, I think of Gabriella. I see my love, with her beautiful waves of silver hair, and her eyes like Hircine's Bloodmoon. I hear her crystalline laugh, as perfect as diamond chimes. And I feel her soft kiss in the dark, as the light fades. Her lilting voice echoes hauntingly, singing alone in an empty cathedral. I feel pity for the lonely voice.

And then, I come to a realization. I'm a coward. No, fuck this, I'm not going to leave her alone! My eyes fly open, and I come to my senses. Only a second has passed. I'm still falling. My shoulders scream as they're being pulled away from my body, but I ignore the pain. Dust and smoke fill my eyes and lungs, and I open my mouth to scream one furious, terrified, and determined word.

"FEIM!"

Then a feel a sharp pain in the back of my head, and the world goes black.

I can't breathe. I tear off my gag, and begin to claw at the rubble around me, fingers bloody and bruised. I remember my dream from Winterhold, when I was buried alive, and I dig faster. After what seems like an eternity, I breach the surface, and scramble into the light, ignoring the rocks tearing at my skin. I collapse onto the ground, gasping. I breathe in deeply, frantically, and begin coughing as my lungs fill with dust. It's still the best breath of air I've ever tasted.

After a few minutes, I finally summon the strength to heave myself off the ground. Every inch of me aches, and I grimace, as I look down at my body. The shout had worked. At least, initially. The falling rocks had passed through my ethereal form harmlessly, and my impact on the ground had been almost comfortable. And thankfully, it had worn off only after the tower had collapsed. However, the sheer weight of all the rubble pressing down on me had done substantial damage in itself. I curse, as I press down on my chest, pain lancing through it as I touch obviously cracked ribs. Thankfully, those seem to be the only major injuries, along with a few of the uglier bruises. All in all, I'm fit to travel. Not that I would have stayed, had the opposite been true.

I look in all directions, trying to get my bearings. I begin to walk around the ruined tower, quickly and nervously. Galmar's obviously planning to attack the sanctuary, he said so himself. And if he takes all the soldiers he has with him, that outnumbers the Brotherhood three to one. They're all amazingly skilled, but still, those are hard odds. Suddenly, my face pales as I come to a realization: I was knocked unconscious just before my shout took affect. I have no idea how long it's been since Galmar collapsed the tower. I study the position of the sun, and determine with relief, that I couldn't have blacked out for longer than half an hour.

I begin to painstakingly climb up the rocky pile, hoping for a better view. I grunt in pain as the piece of stone I'd been holding on to breaks, and my body, ribs first, jerks right into a splintered beam. Cursing loudly, I reach for a new handhold, a ledge just above my head. To my surprise, I feel something besides stone. Curious, I haul my broken body up and onto the platform. The first thing I notice, is that I'm finally at the top. The second thing I notice, is that what I'd felt was leather. My pack, in fact. I rifle through it, astounded that only a single vial of stamina potion was damaged during the fall. I pull out a healing elixir, thanking all the gods, known and unknown. I down the liquid, and groan in slight discomfort, but mostly relief, as my bones and skin knit themselves back together.

Much more alert, I descend the ruins, finding a semblance of joy, even now, in my stretching muscles. I flex my arms, pleased at the feeling of freedom.

Back at the bottom, I resume my search for traces of the stormcloak party. With my mind sharp, not fogged by pain, I notice the trail almost instantly; a footprint here, a broken tree branch there, and so on. Once I'm sure that I'm on the correct path, I set off at a jog. Faster than walking, but not too fast as to miss the trail if it happened to take a sharp turn.

My mood, lightened by the appearance of my pack and my own relative wellbeing, darkens with each step I take. Fear and anger build up in my chest, and suddenly I realize that my face in twisted in a snarl.

Like a wild animal. The thought gives me an idea, and I close my eyes, reaching for the seldom-used magic. After Hern, Gabriella had taught me a simply conjuring spell, in case I needed to get a message somewhere quickly. After a few botched attempts, I hear a thwump of displaced air, and open my eyes. A shimmering, wolf-like creature looks back at me, expectantly. I walk toward it, cautiously, hand stretched out in front of me. But when it doesn't move, I kneel down, and, somewhat awkwardly, whisper Gabriella's name and my message in it's ear. The familiar barks determinedly, and streaks off through the forest, almost as fast as my whirlwind sprint shout.

I set off again, unwilling to waste any time. Jogging along the stormcloak's trail, I wonder if this is the normal life of someone in the Family. Always worrying about their wellbeing, never knowing sure sure whether they're safe or not, or whether such tension had only arisen after my arrival. With a grim feeling that the latter is, in fact, correct, I jog on, hoping against hope that the familiar will get to the sanctuary in time.

Gabriella's POV

There. I wipe the sweat off my brow, and place the last vial of the batch into a cloth satchel. I step back, surveying the fruit of Babette's and my labor. Three bags lie on the table in front of me, each containing thirty vials of either stamina poison, a paralytic agent, or a regular health poison. A third of them were to be applied to the pointed tips of Arnbjorn's barricades, while the remaining sixty were for anyone wishing to use them.

"Come on, princess, get those to the main hall."

I look up at Babette's voice, and nod quickly. I gather up the three satchels, plus the three that the vampire had filled, and hurry to the aforementioned room. On my way, I pass Veezara meditating in his room. Gods, I wish I had that level of mental control. I had been worried sick about Daanik for the past few hours, accidentally ruining at least five poisons. It had frustrated me to no end, but Babette had not said a word. She knew where my thoughts were directed, and did not blame me.

I reach the main hall, and stride through it, passing the other members of the sanctuary. They had all finished their respective duties long ago, and were now anxiously waiting for either Daanik's successful return, or a stormcloak battalion. Most are not paying attention to each other or me, as I head towards a large table that had been set up in the center. On it is arrayed the proof of Arnbjorn's smithing expertise. Not only had the werewolf been able to forge a fort's worth of the most stable barricades I had ever seen, he had somehow managed to craft an entire spare set of Brotherhood armor, for those that chose to wear it, along with hundreds of arrows, ten razor-sharp daggers, and ten equally deadly swords. And if that weren't enough, each weapon glimmered with some sort of enchantment, thanks to Festus. I add the final supplies to the table: Various poisons from me, and the same amount of restorative potions from Babette.

"Thanks. I think we're all set now." Arnbjorn's voice rumbles from behind me.

"How did you manage to forge a veritable armory in only a few hours?" I ask, turning to face the hulking man. He laughs roughly, and winks. "Little werewolf secret. We don't really have to sleep, so I had the whole night."

I nod. "I wish I did not need sleep. I could have done so much more…" I trail off, as I realize Arnbjorn is no longer listening to me. His head is cocked to the side, and his ears are pricked. Suddenly, he draws his massive battleaxe.

"Look out!" He yells, just as a silver streak flashes into the center of the room. In an instant, the shape is surrounded by a thicket of blades and fireballs. I recognize it, however.

"Wait!" I shout over the clamoring snarls and curses. The room quiets instantly, a testament to the discipline of the Family. None of them move their eyes from the shape, but they wait for me to continue. But before I can explain, the familiar opens it's mouth, and speaks in Daanik's voice.

"They're coming."

Just as fast as it had appeared, the shimmering wolf fades into nothingness, leaving the cavern silent as the grave.

A/N: Reviews will motivate me. I promise that the next chapter will be up in at most a week ;) Let me know what you think!