Away (III)

Her hands were shaking.

Her arms refused to move. But they had to. Struggling but resilient, she began to write, hesitant letters printing shakily on patches of scrap paper.

Dearest Brom.

"No, no that's stupid..."

The love of my –

"Idiot, idiot, stupid, stupid..."

Perhaps she should tell Keeko. But that would just mean he would hold her back from doing so – after all, this was her decision. It was her mark on his life. On her life. Or lack thereof.

She smiled. Perhaps she should have made that into a poem. She picked up the feather quill again, dotting clear letters for the first time in many hours. The darkened silence of night time and snoring of Black-Briar manor enveloped her.

Brom,

Thank you for being one of the few people who truly saw past me just being another scummy Black-Briar. Thank you for being that true friend. Thank you for showing an affection to me that I never received from my father, my grandmother – or anyone else in this accursed, rotten family.

But now you have left me. I know it. It's been more than a week.

Now you don't seem to care. You tell us to leave – just as that stupid Dragonborn flaunts her way back into town. Just as she comes in, you push away from us. From Keeko. From Sibbi. From me. You don't get to do that to tender hearts.

I don't even think you're in Riften anymore – probably sold your soul to the Dragonborn, just like any power-hungry, coin-grubbing lunatic. I –

She stopped, tears smudging fresh ink. She wiped them off before continuing.

I know you did this because you're nothing but a shallow boy, with an even shallower mind. I feel – embarassed to have connected my heart to you. You've just proven to be that what Maven's saying for years has been right – everyone's the fucking same.

Cruel and unrepentant. I don't want to live in a world like Skyrim – where everyone deserves to rot in Sovngarde.

~Alondria

She slammed the quill against the paper, breaking the tip. Fresh tears surfaced, passing across the paper before she hastily went to the center of her room, immediately seeing the purple vial laying idly, rolling on the wooden floors.

It was much larger than the usual ones she, Brom and Keeko used to drink. It was far more potent, and significantly thicker in consistency. Sibbi had asked her why she needed it, but she knew he wouldn't figure it out.

No one would.

How could someone understand her?

A quick swig of the bottle. Instant darkness.

. . .

For the most part, everything was going smoothly.

Aside from a painful leave she shared with Laila, Lydia had most of her new – volunteers – organized properly, and they were making good ground time as well, having traversed well past the colder regions near Rifen – now, they were in intensively warm, laborious grassfields with irregular hills to either side. Trees seemed to only amplify the ongoing sense of discomfiting heat.

They had been traveling for a good week or so, and she had expected to reach Shor's Stone by now – but apparently, in her relentless urgency to reach Whiterun more quickly – they had bypassed it and were now about a few hours away from Darkwater Crossing. This made Whiterun at least ten days away, even considering the group's considerable speed – Lydia wondered whether she would be arriving too late.

A major disappointment proved yet again to be Tullius' work. Far away from his quoted estimate of fifty men, he had managed to recruit approximately thirteen capable Imperial guards – most of which Lydia noted to come from random locations. None of them seemed particularly enthusiastic towards fighting, and to her slight surprise – a few of them even didn't seem to care that Lydia was present. Rather, most of the men seemed elusive to orders and reluctant to take authority from Lydia directly – at least without using Tullius as a mouthpiece.

"It's noon," a female voice came from behind her, riding horseback as she wiped her brows against the beating sun – heat unusually intense today.

"It's time for the count. We still have all the men?"

"Let's check," Lydia agreed, turning back to count the number of horsetop figures. "Thirty five Riften guards, thirteen of Tullius' men, and four of the citizens I picked out – along with you and me."

The Redguard woman, dressed in mage robes with a black, velvet finish – beamed with content.

"I wish you would tell me your name," Lydia inquired, slowing her own horse imperceptibly to allow the Redguard to catch up. "I'm good with names you know."

"It doesn't matter," the woman growled in annoyannce. "I understand you are the legendary Dragonborn – but that part of me died a long time ago. With my husband."

Lydia awkwardly shifted the gifted warhammer on her back, unsure of how to approach this.

"It's not a story worth telling," the Redguard predicted, calming Lydia. "Just a sad one – not very appealing."

"Anything that could have been done to stop it?" Lydia prodded, carefully scrutinizing the woman's reactions.

Most of it was indistinguishable, a fluid balance between anger and guilt – but not justified guilt, but more of an ever-present guilt that so often affected the loved ones of a dead man – but the anger was definitely there.

"No," the Redguard firmly noted. "No."

"You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that," Lydia added, assured that her status would take her past any anger that might well up within the woman.

"Perhaps I am," she responded tersely, slowing her own horse down to rejoin the rest of the group.

Lydia smiled. That would be an entirely new adventure – getting to know most of her new group. The guards from Riften and Tullius' "recruitment" efforts posed no interest to her – they were classical, walking stereotypes. However, the five citizens chosen appeared to be worth every coin Lydia wasn't paying them with.

There was a choice to be made here – and it had been troubling her ever since she had left Riften. The fundamental desire in her heart, mostly the foolish part – told her to try to integrate herself within the group, try to bond somehow.

Then the practical side rang in. She had no idea how long these five would last – morbid, but entirely accurate.

Another dangerous consequence. Bonding with them also meant taking a chance on them to survive past Whiterun, then truly solidfying the bond – but if they didn't survive, she would be left with a clump of emotions that would only serve to weigh her down.

Just like the mistakes she had always made. Time and time again.

By far, they had posed more intrigue than any other group Lydia had served along in her considerable years standing as the Dragonborn. The Yolin brothers appeared to be perpetually lost in fits of squealing hysteria with each other, leading the pack just behind Lydia with an array of poorly executed inside jokes – and then there was the bearded mage.

Tulso, weird one you are, Lydia privately chuckled.

And weird he was. Short and bearded to begin with, but an eeringly powerful mage: to Lydia's shock, he had managed to summon a lighting storm wide enough to bring down a good section of hilly grasslands inconveniencing the group's way forward – and then proceeded to go back to his tenable silence. He rarely spoke, and always with perfect purpose and lack of hesitation... and then that enigma of a widowed Redguard.

Must be a mage thing, Lydia mused. Act like a bunch of snobby –

"Lydia!"

The exaggerated voice brought her to groan for the fifth time in an hour.

"What now Tullius?" she replied, turning to her right to see the figure slightly disoriented atop his horse.

"How close are we to Whiterun?"

"Ten days," Lydia promptly responded. "Didn't one of those Imperial idiots tell you that an hour ago?"

"That's the thing," Tullius repeated. "They appear to be idiots – never knew the Empire was this desperate for warriors that they'd just – "

"I need real fighters Tullius," Lydia let out, failing to repress her anger. "The men you've scrapped together – they're barely a year or two out of the academy."

"They have all the training of a full guard," Tullius noted. "You should be lucky to even get these many!"

"You said fifty moron," Lydia spat. "Thirteen is barely a quarter of the number you promised me."

"We're also not all the way there, are we?" Tullius retaliated.

"By Talos, what are you going to do when we reach there?" Lydia questioned. "Start asking the cannibals if they'd like to join the Imperial Army?"

"Bugger off," Tullius forced. "I can pull at least another ten or so men before Whiterun – but any more than that – I suppose I overestimated."

"So when you say ten," Lydia began. "When translated that means two, right?"

"You ought to be thankful we're packing fewer men," Tullius breathed, trying to avoid the eavesdropping of the suddenly curious Yolin brothers, peeking ever so slightly behind them.

"Why?"

"Your return to the public life assuredly made an impact on Skyrim," Tullius affirmed. "Hell, your enemies will all be coming for you now."

"News spreads that fast?" Lydia queried.

"Faster than that," Tullius agreed. "Especially in illegal – matters.

Lydia felt a surge of panic shoot through. She had forgot to account for this; what if the cannibals and another force – at best case the Brotherhood, and worst case Alduin himself – joined forces? That would be far too much for her tiny team to combat, and she wasn't even sure this was enough for the cannibals alone...

"Don't stress about it too much," Tullius assuaged. "Skyrim's complex. People won't make a move on you until they're certain you're exposed..."

"I don't care about what happens to me," Lydia emphasized. "I've been through much worse. I'm worried about the fate of all those traveling with me."

"Good mentality," Tullius noted. "But – since their primary target is you, they wouldn't approach you without the certainty that they'll have a chance of killing – "

"They always think they'll kill me," Lydia mentioned with a chuckle, turning her gaze back to the thick stretch of grassland appearing ahead of her.

"Everybody does."

. . .

"But she's a smart fishy!"

"No doubt! But how about in magic?"

"Oh! Never – ah – had – oh yeah – such a great – ERG FISHY!"

Brom coughed out reflexively, allowing the residue to pool away from his mouth before dropping to his knees. He wiped any remnants away from his mouth before immediately feeling his torso slam the ground again, eyes white and unfocused for a second before re-centering.

They were all still there – less than usual this time however. Only about six Khajiit, and at least two appeared to be interested in just talking over all the thrusting, instead of participating themselves.

"Tell me fishy, what do you think of Anise?"

Brom understood he was being talked to. He stared at the figure in front of him, halting his motions as Brom pondered over his response, legs roughly hoisted into the air.

"I – I d – don't know her," he simply replied.

It wasn't fear inducing the stutter. It was the residue. He hadn't done it correctly. The lantern light flickered idly in the distance.

"Oh well," the Khajiit responded, pushing Brom's legs apart before shoving forward again.

Several more moments of flesh ripping through flesh. Brom noticed his arms passively lying crossed above his head. He wasn't bound by any rope – but for some reason he didn't feel like moving his arms anymore. He didn't feel like moving anything anymore. All he was capable of doing – was lying there. He was advised to try to be good at it.

The Khajiit abruptly stopped, relaxing the pressure on Brom's thighs. "Wanna try two at a time fishy?"

A Khajiit purred behind him. Brom kept his eyes fixated on the Khajiit in front, still keeping his legs under complete control.

"Please – one question."

The Khajiit laughed. "What?"

Brom repeated himself. "One question. Then yes. Then two at a time. Three at a time. Anything you – you want husband. My husbands. Please."

"Very well my dear," the Khajiit on top relocated, resuming the pushing. "What is it?"

"How – ah – long – has it – ah, very good husband – been since I came – ah – here?"

"About a week," the Khajiit noted. "Why?"

"Just making sure – oh, yes... that no one comes to – ah – take away my husbands."

Brom smiled, moisure again filling his eyes – stupidly, reluctantly. The Khajiit man smiled before motioning for the other one to join in.

Brom acted quickly. "One more question. Please my husband... I love you so much – "

"No one likes a nagging wife fishy," the Khajiit frowned, but Brom widened his eyes. "Fine. What else?"

Brom noticed how he stopped moving. "Where am I?"

"Suppose there's no harm in telling you now," the Khajiit agreed. "After all, you want to be here, right?"

Brom nodded eagerly, tears welling up.

"You want to be my wife, right?"

Another nod.

"No one will come for you, right?"

The strongest nod of all.

"Whiterun."

A/N (unnecessarily long again)

Back with a bang! Anyway, thanks very much to all the readers who waited so long for this chapter to come out – life gets unnecessarily hectic sometimes, and I know I'm a few days late (even to my own deadline) – but at least I'm here, right? (Wrong?)

Anyways, feel free to read over last chapters to keep in track all the plotlines – it's a bit busy during the initial part of the Third Act, at least for a while – even I had to read previous chapters to make sure continuity was going strong!

Yep, all the plot threads introduced last chapter continue, I haven't forgotten about Character X, Plot Thread Z, or Development Y, don't worry... Hope the wait was worth it for most folks! I hope this chapter progresses the story on all fronts in the clearest way possible. On another note, writing Brom's sections has got to be the most painful thing at this point – everything else feels natural and feels good to write...

I'll try my best to update regularly from now on. (gonna shoot for the 2-3 day benchmark once again) I realize this is a bit of a running gag on this story, so – ha ha?

As always, I'd appreciate any support and thank you for the view. Forge on!

~TW

P.S: Recent reviews and P.M's have been really sweet lately. Thanks very much!

P.P.S: Just out of personal curiosity, anyone think the Alondria thing was too random? I tried to imply a certain connection throughout their time together, but if it felt awkward, let me know... not that I can change it after it's published (unless literally just one person reads, gives feedback, then I can change it before anyone else reads LOL), but you know...

P.P.P.S (I don't know if this abbreviation exists): If you ever wonder why I change the Title and Description so much, it's honestly because I feel the story evolves slightly with every chapter. Just for reference's sake on how much the story evolves:

When I started writing chapter one: I thought I could write a comedy-drama-suspense story about brom and skulvar becoming the top blacksmiths/chefs in Skyrim.

That compared to what it is now: Wow.

I think however, after the first few chapters with Lydia/Brom solidified what I wanted the story to be.

:)