Away (II)
"You sure you want to do this?"
"Yes."
She was determined. Nothing Laila or Tullius could say to her would change that.
And she looked the part as well. With her dwarven armor, gifted war hammer, and variety of battle tattoos across her face – Lydia almost couldn't recognize herself. She had spent so much time traveling around in rags, cheap garments, disguises – anything essentially that made her look unimportant – but now she was back to how she was. Before Frostfruit. Before the Brotherhood. Before everything.
"Now this is how I remember you," Bok's voice came from behind her, watching her stare at the mirror. "Bit weird seeing you like this again."
Lydia smiled gently. She ran her fingers over the newly-painted tattoos outline her cheekbones, then over the large plates of the armor – and finally to her sides. She was grateful she was in Bok's house and not the Keep – any other people might have proved as a distraction to her.
"Thanks for clearing everything away," she noted, observing all of Bok's furniture being hastily shoved to the sides of the living room. "You didn't need to do that."
"Bok's always been a great warrior with honor," Tullius' voice rang in, previously silent. He walked closer to the giant Orc. "Right friend?"
"Correct," Bok responded mildly.
"You two know each other?" Laila inquired, adjusting Lydia's chestplate slightly. "How?"
"Back in Riverwood when he recruited me," Bok recited. "I used to be in the Imperial Army – before leaving for, better causes..."
Lydia grinned at him. "And now here you are! Civilian life..."
Bok laughed. "Yes! Funny how life takes us all in different directions..."
"Where's Riverwood?" Laila asked.
"It's a sleepy little town near Whiterun," Lydia immediately responded. "You wouldn't know it. It's too small – but hospitable."
"Lydia – stop stalling," Tullius urged, suddenly coming in front of her and the mirror. "Either we do this, or not."
She sighed. "There's no turning back I suppose."
"Yes there is," Laila encouraged. "Lydia – if you reveal yourself now, with no companions to fight with you – enemies might flock to finish you off."
"People have been thinking the Dragonborn's been dead for a year," Lydia forced. "It's time for a comeback."
"They'll be a crowd," Bok noted. "As soon as you enter Riften undisguised – people will come from all sides – wanting to see you."
"I don't care," Lydia rejected. "It's – my life. Whether I like it or not."
"I just wanted to say," Tullius broke in. "That – thank you. All this time. For being the Dragonborn. I know it wasn't your decision..."
"Never liked those damn Greybeards," Laila cut in. "Skinny old monks in some cold crag in the wilderness..."
"Have some deference my Jarl," Bok retaliated. "They after all are masters of the Voice!"
Laila and Bok became embroiled in an argument, with Tullius intermediating and laughing alongside. Lydia kept quiet – partially because she agreed with both of them, but partially also beacuse it felt good to be having her last taste of genuine laughter and good times – but like Bok said, as soon as she entered the Hold – that would be the point of no return.
Then she would cease being Lydia.
And become the Dohvakiin.
She had to. For Skyrim.
"It's noon," Lydia observed, tracking sunlight as it poured through Bok's home. "Laila, are the horses ready?"
Bok stopped arguing immediately. Laila turned to Lydia, nodding her head.
"A hundred are prepped and ready to go, near the Stables," she informed. "But I sincerely doubt you'll pick up a hundred citizens from Riften alone."
"I won't," Lydia remarked. "Perhaps ten or so companions – at the most. But after that, the rest are coming from any place we can – on the way to Whiterun."
"Even if you do take the Hold back from those monsters," Tullius interrupted. "What are the odds Balgruuf will be there?"
"I don't know," Lydia fired back, walking to the ornate door exiting the spacious room. "But we can definitely find out where he is from talking to our... prisoners."
She opened the door, and warm, embracing sunlight hit her face. Again a feeling she wasn't used to – the weather so far had been nothing but coldness, darkness, and heaps of mounted frigidity – but it felt different now. It was uplifting – battle ready almost, encouraging. She eyed the glimmering Hold in the distance, making her way to it.
"Those are a lot of horses," Lydia spoke out, trodding across thick grass and wet mud – she had seen the stables in the distance, packed to the brim with horses lined up around. "You really did get a hundred."
"When I help my friend prepare for war," Laila noted. "I help my friend as best I can."
Lydia smiled, soothed by all of their footsteps behind her – except Bok's. He had requested to stay behind – and never before had she uttered a more fervent affirmative response. She understood exactly how it felt, and how important that gift of obscurity was.
But the other footsteps felt supporting, almost as if they were right along her side through the last moments of anonymity. They were about a hundred paces from Riften's gates now, manned by two guards.
"Lydia, I should tell you something," Laila interjected, quickening her pace to catch up with Lydia. "But please don't get angry."
Lydia furrowed her brow. "What?"
"I know you didn't want to talk about him anymore," Laila started. "But Brom. He – hasn't come into work in two days – his supervisor tells me his farm's been almost abandoned."
Lydia frowned. "So? Stop paying him. Remove him from your service."
Laila clearly didn't expect this completely apathetic response. "But – erm, I thought it might have something to do with you."
Lydia let out a harsh, biting laugh – almost akin to a wolf howl. "He's not my responsibility anymore."
"What do you think he's doing?"
"Getting drunk in an Inn? Lying in a ditch somewhere, Skooma in hand? Who cares..."
Lydia began walking faster, now close enough for the two guards at the Gates to shriek in excitement.
The taller one spoke first, helmet masking his excitement. "The Dragonborn! My Jarl! General – Tullius?"
Lydia nodded slowly, having expected literally every single word and dramatic gesticulation.
"Talos be praised!" the shorter guard sounded off. "What a day! By the – I can't believe what's happening right now..."
Lydia smiled robotically, taking advantage of their excitement before shoving past the twin gates and into Riften.
Life was unfolding before her. Guards standing obediently at certain sections of the Hold. Citizens walking carelessly about. Kids chatting and running around the busy marketplace. And the sunlight – bright and voluminous – showing each and every detail, every smile and face, every frown and smirk... all too clear to Lydia. It seemed rude to break it.
"Attention, everyone!" Lydia's voice came out, booming over the commotion.
She chuckled internally. She hadn't used that voice in a year.
A crowd. Just as Bok had described. Several yells – a few hoots, some screaming... a few ladies fainted to the ground.
"By the – look, it's the Dragonborn!"
"Praise Talos! No one can kill the Dohvakiin!"
"She's alive?"
"She's alive!"
"Everyone, come and look – the Dragonborn is alive!"
Lydia kept her face at absolute neutrality. She was used to it. It didn't exactly bother her at this point – but it felt morose perhaps, going from just two seconds ago to what she had become now.
"Attention all! I – hey – I said settle down!"
Immediately the crowd silenced in response to the same booming voice she used – eager onlookers, at least five-hundred stong – were packing the city entrance now, guards included.
"I am looking for warriors to accompany me," Lydia spoke carefully, looking back for reassurance at both Laila and Tullius – who hadn't even been acknowledged by the crowd. "Men and women are allowed. Only those with fierce hearts and unbreakable spirits – and those willing to die."
A flurry of questions.
"What?"
"What happened?"
"Dohvakiin, why come back from the dead to just fight another – "
"SILENCE!"
The booming voice helped again. Lydia tried once more.
"Whiterun has fallen," she bluntly stated, ignoring immediate murmurs and gasps from the crowd. "The city has been taken by a massive army – at least several thousand-strong..."
She briefly glanced back at Tullius for confirmation. He nodded.
Lydia turned back to the crowd. "And thus – I need several men to come with me..."
More loud responses. Lydia shut them down with that same voice again.
"Let me finish!" she roared, growing a bit annoyed now. "I need only warrirors! Mages! Anyone experienced greatly, and I mean greatly... in battle. And don't lie! I am the Dragonborn, I can tell when you lie..."
This was completely false. Lydia had no such Shout or power – but the effect was enough. Laila and Tullius chuckled knowingly behind her as most of the crowd immediately silenced itself.
Lydia smiled. She had no time to sort through each person's individual abilties then start ranking them – instead, if she could intimdate most of the pretend-warriors off, then she would be automatically left with the most resilient group possible – it was a crude method, but unquestionably effective.
Then suddenly, hordes of citizens began separating themselves from the crowd.
"The name's Tulso," a short, thickly-bearded Nord announced. "I've been with the College of Winterhold for thirty years – before quitting."
"A mage," Lydia whispered behind her. "That's good."
She looked around. Several more people waited patiently in a line horizontally positioned to her.
"I have no family," a stunningly beautiful Redguard woman stated. "I have no husband. I have no reason to live – I was a mage with the College also."
Lydia nodded, feeling a bit of empathy rise up. She looked at the three other eager citizens, all men – who resembled each other very much.
"We are the Yolin brothers," the trio proclaimed. "We know how to fight."
Lydia almost chuckled. It was such a simple explanation – but she trusted in herself. There was no way they would say this – unless they were very confident.
"How well can you fight?" Tullius questioned behind her.
"We've killed Giants before Dragonborn," the triplet proudly rang. "We can fight for you."
This group's unified responses were drawing some laughter from the crowd. Lydia used her authoritative voice again.
"Keep in mind, we leave in a few hours for Whiterun," she announced. "So I suggest packing soon."
The crowd began discussion in earnest, shifting focus to interrogate the chosen five warriors as they struggled to get back to their respective homes. Lydia took the opportunity to flash a few questions of her own at Laila and Tullius.
"How many Imperial officers can you recruit before we reach Whiterun?" Lydia asked, staring at Tullius in anticipation.
"Oh," Tullius started, not expecting it. "About fifty or so. I have a few discrete camps set up nearby..."
"Laila," Lydia began next. "How many guards are employed in Riften?"
Laila understood where this was going. "Lydia... leave me a little at least to defend my own H – "
"I need half of them," Lydia cut across. "Is that okay?"
Laila seemed relieved. "Yes, that's more than helpful. That should be about – another thirty five men, I reckon."
"Good," Lydia agreed.
"Then what was the point of calling out for citizen help?" Tullius inquired. "Why even bother if you're just going to milk us?"
Lydia grinned. "The best warriors typically don't swear themselves to a cause – like the Empire or Riften – so I'm very much expecting those five to be top-class warriors."
Laila and Tullius seemed to understand. Lydia started walking away from the crowd, still engrossed in talking to the two mages and triplet of brothers.
"I'm going to say a final farewell to Bok," Lydia mentioned. "I'll see you both just before I leave with the horses and the men. Inform your guards Laila."
Laila nodded, but was smirking somewhat. "Sure. Lydia – you seem so – bossy today."
"I noted the very same," Tullius concurred.
Lydia frowned. "Well that's what people want right? Dragonborn – bark orders and kill men. Great life."
Lydia tilted her head to the ground before proceeding out of the Hold – resolutely, but defiantly all the same.
. . .
It was hard to keep track of time. He had faded into and out of consciousness several times over the past – what was it?
Days?
Weeks?
Brom doubted it was weeks, but then again there were seconds that felt like days – while other hours felt like mere seconds. There was no consistent pattern of time he could be kept to – and every time they – they visited, time seemed to move much slower than Brom wanted it to.
Recently, they had noticed that each one of their visits left Brom sufficiently bloodied as well as covered with various other bodily fluids – and thus, each progressive visit was becoming less enjoyable for them. So, several of their own had suggested cleaning Brom up briefly after each of them finished their enjoyment, and in some twisted way – Brom felt just a bit thankful for that. In a way, it might have been poetic as well – to hurt and violate, crush and consume – then rebuild. Then do all the same, again and again.
He was in darkness once more. He had grown so finely attuned to the flicker of a lantern that as soon as he saw the faintest glitter of light, he began removing his rags of clothing, idly tossing them to the side so at least one aspect of his being could remain untouched and pure. Their visits had begun to increase in duration as well, so there was no point in tearing both his skin and clothes in one go.
Speaking of tears, Brom often noticed – in his numerous sleepless hours spent rolling around in the darkness – that certain sections of his back and thighs were brusied beyond repair. He could feel them pulsing dully every now and then, whereas before he was clearly aware of the massive amount of pain rippling through every inch of skin. This was another bad sign.
He didn't dare think about the state of his pelvis, groin, or any place between his waist and knees. That would be a sure-fire way to finding the strength to bash his head against a rock and eventually let the trauma get the better of him.
He sniffled. When they visited, he was often asked why he cried so much during their moments together – which were, as they put it – pleasurable for both parties. Brom didn't know why either, but then realized that even as he lay there, below those sweating, heavy bodies – his face was always neutral, devoid of emotion. It were his damned eyes that were reacting to everything, still pretending as if he was in a situation that could be escaped from. His mind had moved on long ago, and had begun to look forward to those rare moments alone in the darkness – while his body was foolish, naive to say the least – it would still instinctively scan the surroundings, looking for exit points.
But they spoke a lot when they were with him. While they were on top of him.
Certain things stuck out more than the groaning, pushing and thursting. For instance, they often began ranting about Balgruuf's state, and his refusal to cooperate – then they would talk about their employer, but never refer to the name... vague amounts of gold were mentioned, something to do with a plan and a deadline coming up very soon...
But more rarely, and probably the most infrequent amount of times – they would discuss Lydia. Not even mention her lack of an attempt to bargain with them for Brom's life, but they would discuss different things about her.
They would talk about her hair.
About how pretty of a fishy she was.
About how they wished she would come to them – not for Brom, but for pure fun. They seemed intrigued by her.
By her presence. By her beauty. By her supposed power.
Often times they would break from the action and ask Brom for his opinion on her. Then, he was faced with two choices – either respond (with a lie or a truth, it made no difference in his heart) and perhaps their usage of his body would cease for a brief pause – or adamantly refuse to talk, and proceed to quietly bear several more extended minutes of the same movements he had grown so used to – shocking, rocking, thrusting right through everything.
He had always kept his mouth shut.
A/N
Not as eventful, but hopefully progressive! I still have all the chapters mapped out, so no fear. Conflicts will get resolved, and the story will come to an end – it's all heading a certain way. Be sure to keep track of events in previous chapters if you're feeling confused – things snowball and interreact quite a lot here – which I'm sure you already know. Apologies? :) Also, all the characters from before are still relevant, even if they don't quite make an appearance in this chapter...
I'd appreciate any support, and thank you for the view. Forge on!
~TW