'Lady of Shadows, watch over him.'

Karliah lowered her head and rested her chin on her own chest. One of the two torches was running out of oil, and she didn't have any more to fuel it with. Its light had begun to diminish around an hour before. She counted, thinking of how much time she had spent in that cavern watching over the Azrael. Three. Three days had passed. She seldom drank, barely ate and slept very little. All she could do was wait. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't want to leave him there unprotected. Nothing could have harmed him if she just went to the entrance of the cave, but she didn't trust anything with the Assassin lying there on the ground, motionless.

Three days. Azrael hadn't opened his eyes since he passed out just after escaping. Karliah checked every hour if he was still alive, and the beat of his heart was always very slow and regular. The slowness was normal; he was a trained killer and used to fatigue. The heart is a muscle, just like all the others. The more you train it, the better it performs. The regularity was good also. It meant everything was working as it should have.

Karliah had tried to figure out what kind of potion he made her give him, but guessed it was a normal healing potion. She thought of one of those mixtures that alter the status and life functions of the body, which work a bit like a coma. That didn't seem to be the case, though. Azrael was just sleeping, absurd as it may sound. The pain and the exhaustion could have tired him enough to make him fall into that slumber. Still, it was quite funny. Karliah knew well that healing potions, the ones that are designed to regenerate tissues, sinews and bones ask for a heavy toll on the body. The energy used to repair his organs might have been so much he couldn't stay awake in the meanwhile. The damage had been large, and it was a miracle that he was healing so quickly. Karliah had softly touched him where the major wounds were, and the bones seemed intact. He had also stopped emitting that horrific sound when breathing. A Draugr sounded way less intimidating than the he did when breathing after falling asleep.

Right after he had passed out, Karliah insisted Brynjolf returned to the Guild and reorganized things. At first, he didn't want to hear any of it. 'My place is here with the lad', he had said. They argued, raised their voices even. They didn't care about waking up Azrael, he was sleeping so deeply it just wasn't going to happen. Karliah played her last card two hours later. She reminded Bryn that Azrael himself wished him back at the Guild, managing business. That had been his last wish. He was to return to the Guild, and she to watch over him. That had been his desire. Brynjolf gave in at the mention, grabbed the Eyes of the Falmer, saddled Frost and departed.

Karliah had been completely alone ever since. Azrael's presence was strange while out like that. Ironically, she felt he was much more noticeable and visible while in that state rather than awake. While awake he carefully avoided catching others' attention. Like that, he couldn't. He just lied there, in the exact same spot where he passed out three days before. She hadn't had the courage to move him away, and she doubted she could move him without dragging him around like a sack. So she found a comfortable place in the stones, and sat, day and night; she thought, casted glances at him, and then started reconsidering her life choices one by one. Staying alone for three days, without anything to do, in the company of someone that is everything but awake, now that is something that drives people nuts. Karliah had started to notice that.

Despite that, she endured everything. She was cold, hungry and her eyelids were heavy as lead, but she never gave in. Every time she heard her belly screeching she turned towards Azrael and thought of the sarcastic 'Eat, Azura's sake! You won't save anyone by starving, especially not me,' or the 'Have some food, you narcissistic lassie. Your figure doesn't need to improve one bit,' that would have surely come out of his mouth if only he had been awake. The thought made her grin and forget her hunger, and that would play out every few hours.

Sometimes she got lost in thought. She thought of the Guild, of Gallus, of Mercer. Of the fact that it was all over. She found herself remembering moments of her and Gallus together, and realized only after a while that hot tears were coming down her cheeks. Remembrances came back, strong, and she didn't feel ready to confront them still. Mercer Frey was dead, but what she had done and, more importantly, what she had failed to do couldn't be erased from her memory or from facts. Even if her victory was complete and from there on there was only one task to carry out, she fell deeper into despair with each passing hour.

In her tries to avoid thinking, she looked at Azrael and thought how much he had done for her. From the moment they had met till now. It amazed her how a person like him, apparently cynical and self-centered to the rotten core, could save his friends by almost sacrificing his own life. A stupid observation, truly. She could hear the Assassin's voice in her head: 'Nonsense. Think. Use that greyish matter Azura kindly stuffed in your head. If I didn't try and open that thing, we would have all died. So… You know. I would have died either way;' and maybe, were he awake, a simpler 'Well, I'm not dead so that's just plain stupid and useless to think about. Stop consuming your brain in these things. It might turn out to be useful some other time,' said with his usual, glacial, sarcastic tone that he never set aside, even in the face of death.

Karliah liked Azrael. She really did.

Darkness.

Silence.

Azrael opened his eyes with a great deal of effort. They ached beyond measure. The most disappointing things was that, once he had completely opened them, he saw something very familiar: more darkness. He moved his head a little, and the nape of his neck was touching hard and cold stone. His ears were functioning, since he heard the dripping of some water. After that, however, he sensed something very familiar indeed: even more silence. His mouth was pasted as if someone had stuffed glue in it. He had difficulties moving his tongue even. He awaited for a couple of heart beats, and sensed his whole body. Nothing was missing, and everything seemed to be functioning.

Damn… he thought, slowly moving his fingers. Last time I've been this bad was after awakening in that shack with Astrid. Curses… Everything is so stiff, and I'm lying in the same exact position I was in when I passed out… Did they seriously leave me here to plat roots? Sheesh.

He tried to draw his legs closer to him, maybe bend them, but the quadriceps straight up refused to move a single inch. Sighing under his breath and sneering at himself, he tried to move his hands more. Every movement cost him a lot of effort. He wasn't tired, but he struggled to move every fiber of his muscles like they had forgotten how to move in the first place. Inside his wet boots, the toes slowly started to move. The fingers were alright. Now that they worked, there was no reason to remain in that darkness. It's not like that he didn't like darkness, but he needed to know where he was or with who he was.

Come on… he encouraged his own fingers, but to little avail. He stopped, and breathed. Shouldn't too difficult to perform a banal Candlelight charm… Damn the Daedra, it feels like I've been lying here for days. It may actually very well be. I don't know what exactly was broken, but I remembered feeling quite beaten up before fainting. If the wounds were severe, there's no telling how long I slept. I hope the others aren't too… To Oblivion, they would never, ever get angry at me. How boring of them. Fine, you can do this, fingers… he tried again, and this time he felt Magicka flowing normally in his arm. Come on, Candlelight, daddy needs you.

It worked.

A small, weak ball of light slowly took shape in his palm, smacked faintly and then raised in the air just above his face. It wasn't powerful enough to blind him, and allowed him to see that he was still in a cave. He saw something moving, but before he could make hypothesis the moving thing made it really clear that she knew everything.

'Azrael!'

'Please, don't scream…' hissed the Dunmer, instinctively moving his hands to his ears but ending up moving the former by a couple of millimeters. He inhaled as the wave of pain that had ran in his head vanished. The noise had been too loud. He looked forward, without managing to move his neck from the ground. He tittered. 'Karliah, the sentinel. Didn't know you were this good at guarding things. How long have you been waiting for me to awake?'

'Four days now,' she answered, and her faint and sharp voice made him feel better. However, the content of the phrase didn't.

'Four? Aedra and Daedra…' whispered the Assassin, seeing no reason to not believe her. 'What have you been doing?'

'Waiting for you to get up,' she said, coming closer to him and kneeling beside him. 'Come on, time to get you seated. Not on your feet, not yet, but you should sit.'

'You were there…' he said, tittering and struggling to raise his neck from the rock, 'waiting for me to wake up? Never seen that before. If we don't count Snow Veil Sanctum, that is.'

Karliah did not say a thing. She put both her hands beneath his back and lifted him up just enough to move him. Azrael's muscles weren't that responsive still. He helped by moving his feet as much as he could and putting his hands of the ground, trying to help Karliah lift him. He quickly gave up, noticing that the biceps didn't move. Everything above his wrist seemed to be paralyzed. Karliah managed on her own, bringing him closer to the wall and putting him down in a way that his head was against the wall and slightly raised. The Assassin never surrendered, and continued to move that much he could of his body, with very mediocre results at first.

Only four days of sleep can explain it, he thought. Why weren't there any lights on when I awoke, by the way? Did she have not torches with her? he wondered, looking up as the Candlelight floated above him and illuminated Karliah.

She had taken her hood off. Azrael realized that it was the first time he saw her without any kind of cowl. Her hair were straight, a bit rough, and brown. A very dark, beautiful brown, and yet slightly lighter than the color of her eyebrows. Those were dark to the point that, in darkness, they looked straight up black. Her violet eyes shimmered a bit at the weak bright of the magical charm, her long eyelashes gave her gaze a strange intensity. Her expression was stern, but that didn't conceal the simple, honest beauty that irradiated from it. Azrael risked raising an eyebrow, hoping it would have stayed hidden underneath the hood. It did.

'How are you feeling?' she asked, still kneeling down beside him.

'Stiff. But rather well. Before we lose ourselves in banal niceties, the important things. Brynolf?'

'He grabbed Frost and went back to the Guild,' she told him. 'Just as you asked. He brought the Eyes of the Falmer with him. He'll be back in Riften by tomorrow, I think. He'll keep the Guild together until you return there.'

'My weapons?'

'Still fastened to your belt. Both the sword and the dagger. Your bow… Well…'

'My bow was shattered…' he sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Damn the Daedra, that was a masterpiece. The better smith in Skyrim helped me string that thing.'

'I can't give it back to you,' she said. 'However, I can give you mine.'

She grabbed her bow with both hands, unfastened it and put it between her and him. Azrael looked at her, then at the weapon, and then at her again. He had looked several times at that bow while it hanged on her back, and he guessed that was also a masterpiece. The wood, and it was some hard wood by the look of it, was strengthened with ebony. The grip was wrapped with a soft, black cloth that rendered it pleasing to the touch. The Assassin also had the strong suspect it had been forged using magic. Karliah often managed to draw it beyond the point where it looked possible. There had to be some incantation that prevented it from snapping in half.

Fine… What should I say now? It's not exactly a gift I can accept just like that, but what of it? She offered me, out of her own will. The thought of what she could say to me if I refused gives me a headache. Saving peoples lives has some dreadfully annoying drawbacks…

'How about… No?' he said.

'I'll never accept that from you. Not after having saved my life,' she replied, but Azrael knew better than that. She wouldn't have given him that weapon just because of that. And right he guessed, because she kept on explaining. 'Plus, this is also an advance. I need to ask you a favor.'

That sounds more like it… Now, let's see what our little Nightingale wants me to do…

'Since you killed Mercer…' she began, taking her gaze away from his eyes. 'Well, things haven't been the same. The truth is that I can't believe it's over. Twenty-five years in exile and just like that, it's done. All that remains is to ensure the safe return of the Skeleton Key.'

'And what of it?' he asked. 'Sounds easy, if not straight up boring.'

'I'm afraid it's not that simple. When the Skeleton Key was stolen from the Twilight Sepulcher, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. We need to get there to restore the link Nocturnal has with our world. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim's Path.'

'Which is something you've clearly never used.'

'It wasn't created for the Nightingales. It was created to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. As a consequence, I have no knowledge of what you'll be facing.'

Hmm… I know where this is going and I don't like it one bit, Azrael said to himself. I knew she wouldn't have given me that priceless thing in exchange for something very difficult. Well, at least I'm not in for boring stuff, it seems.

'So… I'm the one going, right?'

'I…' she began, but stopped. She shook her head before continuing. 'I can't bear to face Nocturnal after my failure to protect the Key. I'm afraid you'll have to face the end of your journey alone. This is why I offered you the bow. I'm not certain if it will help within the walls of the Sepulcher, but I certainly don't need it as much as you. I've had it almost my entire life, and it's never let me down. I hope it brings you the same luck.'

'You're afraid, are you?'

'Of course I'm afraid,' she immediately said, not even trying to hide it. 'I've been a Nightingale for a very long time. I sold my allegiance to Nocturnal in exchange for many profitable years of thieving. Falling in love with Gallus was wrong. It was a distraction that allowed the Sepulcher to be desecrated and it likely cost him his life. Until the Key is returned, I will never set foot inside that place again.'

'Don't blame yourself,' said the Assassin, his voice glacial.

'Who should I blade instead?' she asked. 'I was the one blinded by that relationship. I allowed Gallus to be killed, just because I was too lost with him. Sometimes the voice of reason told me that it was too beautiful to last. It was my fault.'

'It wasn't.'

'Whose was it, then?' she asked again, raising her voice a little.

'Counting Mercer's criminal nature out of this talk, which would be the only candidate, Gallus is the guilty party.'

Karliah was on the point of bursting of anger and surprise at that. It was impossible in her mind, but the Assassin had understood exactly that. He had understood her sweet spot, just from that.

Her love for Gallus numbed her mind, true, but not when she watched him die. It's now that that love is getting pathologic, simply because its object is no longer existent. In a way, she can't shift the blame on him because the reconstruction she made of him in her mind is of a perfect man. A man who Gallus never was and never will be. That seems messed up, but she's in love with someone that never really existed.

'How?' she asked, lowering her gaze and still refusing to look at him in the eyes.

'Gallus lost his life because of his principles. He knew Mercer Frey was the culprit, but didn't have any proof of it. He was a Nord, he had been educated that "without proof there's no justice, only murder," as a friend of mine often says. That might seem right, but come on. You're a Dunmer like me. You know that's inconvenient.'

'What should have he done?'

'Kill him, maybe?' laughed the Assassin. 'Or at least he should have shared his doubts with someone else in the Guild, or brought backup when he confronted him at Snow Veil.'

Karliah felt astounded by the simple situation they were in. She had always believed that the positions of people in a space has an important influence on their presence and spirit. A person in a physical position of weakness will automatically act as such. That paradigm got reversed as she looked at the Assassin, lying pretty much helpless on the floor and managing to move his fingers at most. Still, he was guiding the flow of the discussion and making her feel so small in his presence that she felt crushed. His words were a lot heavier on her conscience than her own "voice of reason", as she called it. She struggled to find the right thing to reply.

'That wouldn't have suited him. He had his principles, but also his strategies. One of them was that, under any circumstance, you mustn't behave like your enemy. Mercer used treachery, and he planned to erase it with the justice of the Guild.'

'See how well that turned out…'

His sarcasm was destructive. It didn't only deny her reasons, it even made her feel stupid. Every time he said something, that something proved her wrong with a few, incisive, and caustic words. His tone poked holes in her viewpoint, and showed her the weaknesses in her reasoning without even pinpointing them very clearly. It was just devastating. She played the last of her cards.

'Azrael, I loved him! Blazes, I still do! The fact that he remained true to his means and died because of it made me love him more! Do you know what you truly love of someone? No, how could you…'

'One's flaws,' Azrael cut her off, his voice cold as ice.

Karliah stopped and didn't really know how to continue. She assumed he knew nothing about love, but strangely enough he did. She couldn't guess where that knowledge came from, but he certainly possessed it. Nevertheless, she wanted to conclude her short monologue, just to be very clear with him and spit right in his face the first real compliment she said to him.

'Yes, that's the point,' she continued. 'Gallus was a man principles, and it was that that I liked of him. You… You almost have no principles, you never say anything about morals and you never, ever do something wrong. Everything I've seen you do ended up being either a success or a total success. You have no flaws, or you don't show any. I've told you time and time again that you remind me of Gallus, but that's the difference between the two of you. And that clears up the question behind the jokes you made. You have no flaws, no I… I just can't love you.'

She looked at him. Absolutely everything she had to say had been said. There were no more secrets, no more unsaid truths. She feared how he would have reacted, but as soon as his head shifted a little and his ice-cold stare met her gaze, she remembered with who she was talking. One with no flaws. One that knows everything all and judges nothing. The inevitable conclusion to that exchange was a sarcastic comment. Azrael had no problems delivering.

'You can't even imagine,' he said, shaking his head imperceptively, 'how relieved I am to hear that.'

'So,' he said, slowly moving his legs. 'Tell me more about this Pilgrim's Path I'm going to go down.'

'As I said, I know quite little. It was designed for others. Even though Nocturnal doesn't desire worship in the traditional sense, the Twilight Sepulcher propagated a small group of priests. Of course, they'd never come into direct contact with Nocturnal but they insisted they had her favor. As part of their… "duties", the priests created all sorts of baseless rituals and ceremonies all on Nocturnal's behalf.'

Karliah wrapped her arm around his shoulders again and aided him while Azrael moved his first steps. She had insisted he rested a little bit more, but he replied that time was short and that he would have recovered while on horseback. They came out of the cave, while discussing the lasts details. The Assassin was still quite doubtful.

'These priests… They didn't interfere with the Nightingales in any way?'

'They weren't threat to the Skeleton Key or the conduit to Nocturnal's realm, so they were tolerated. One of their ceremonies involved the Pilgrim's Path, a so called test of worthiness. If a pilgrim was able to complete the path, it was said that they would become one with the shadows. What that means is anyone's guess.'

'Whatever it is, doesn't sound too inventing. Tell me more about this conduit you mentioned.'

'The conduit to Nocturnal's realm, the realm of Evergloam, has been in Skyrim... well, longer than recorded history. The Twilight Sepulcher was constructed around it by Man and Mer in order to shield it from those who would exploit its power. It's through this conduit that we're given Nocturnal's greatest gift, our luck. What she gains in return is a complete mystery.'

'Well, they don't call her Queen of Murk for nothing. She really is quite shadowy.'

The snowflakes began falling on their hoods as soon as they walked out in the open. Both of them breathed deeply, filling their lugs with fresh air. Well, frigid air. Azrael looked around, and then whistled; in a very specific way. A loud neigh came from somewhere in front of them, and the soft noise of hooves hitting the snow came not too long afterwards. The black shape of Shadowmere appeared beyond the undergrowth and the trees without leaves.

The huge beast slowed, came closer and rubbed her head against Azrael's chest with happy snorts.

'I missed you too, girl,' said the Assassin, raising his hand and grabbing just about the back of the horse. Karliah gave him a little push, and he was up. She jumped on the back of the horse, behind him, and checked he could hold the hair of the horse. He managed.

The Assassin hit her with his boot, gently. She moved forward.

'Come on,' he said. 'To Falkreath we go.'