Aeyrin swirled the mead around in her tankard idly while her other hand kept tapping on the table out of restlessness.
It's been too long, hasn't it?
How long did this usually take?
They have made their way from Whiterun towards Fort Fellhammer to follow Karliah's lead and they only stopped at Nightgate Inn for the night. Bishop took the opportunity to approach the relatively nearby fort in the cover of the night to scout the location thoroughly before the actual assault.
Aeyrin always hated the nervous fear that accompanied their parting. If somebody noticed Bishop in the fort's vicinity, there was no way that she could help him. She wanted to come with him, to at least hide somewhere nearby if there was trouble, but he insisted on going alone. It was somewhat understandable, she knew that she might let her anger get the better of her and charge the fort or do something stupid. She knew all too well just how irrational she could get around the skooma dealers, but still… this was just making her crazy.
Scouting the location was the smart choice – the last two times when they've assaulted the Altmer's operations went rather poorly for them and it was all due to Aeyrin's brashness. If they knew the numbers that they were facing, they would stand a much better chance to devise some sound tactics.
But being stuck at the inn, unable to help, was excruciatingly nerve-racking.
At least the tavern was practically empty, leaving her alone to wallow in her anxiety. There was only one orc patron, who disappeared into his room almost as soon as they came in, and a very bored-looking innkeeper.
It was getting pretty late. Aeyrin could have gone to bed, but it wasn't as if she could find any sleep anyway with constantly worrying about Bishop and Karnwyr being out there somewhere. She would just end up tossing and turning and unable to have a single comforting second of an eased mind.
She huddled into her fur cloak and shivered slightly. The fires in the inn were being kept low, likely to save on firewood, since there was hardly anyone there. It was a somewhat understandable but still an unfortunate circumstance in the Pale in the middle of the winter season. She was freezing, even there. She's never had to wear her cloak inside a tavern before.
Finally the sound of the opening door to the inn echoed through the common room.
Her head snapped towards the entrance instantly as her eyes hopefully searched for Bishop.
Instead, her gaze fell on the two men who had entered the room – both clad in Stormcloak armor, laughing at something and clasping each other on their shoulders.
Great…
Just what she needed.
The burning at the back of her head became even more palpable and unpleasant. Ever since Ulfric's pointed 'warning', she felt really uncomfortable around the Stormcloaks, especially with the rumors circulating around Windhelm. Ulfric had said that he still didn't give them the 'go ahead and kill her on sight' command, but still… they had minds of their own and if they decided that Ulfric was the 'real' Dragonborn and they had no need of Aeyrin, who knew what they were capable of doing then?
She turned her eyes back to her tankard with a morose sigh.
Where was Bishop? It's been so long…
She downed the rest of her mead before she put the tankard aside and began staring into the table instead.
She pondered on reading something, maybe getting into the books on Talos and contemplating more on Jora's plan, now that Master Therien had put things in motion in Cyrodiil. But she knew that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything anyway.
"Well, well. Look who we have here."
An unfamiliar voice roused her from her thoughts. She turned her head in surprise, only to see the two soldiers approach her table. They were both wearing disturbingly malicious smirks on their faces.
Divines, not now! She was in no mood to deal with Ulfric's lackeys.
"The almighty Dragonborn!" one of the men, predictably enough, a Nord with dirty blond hair and a thick bushy beard, snickered at her mockingly as they both sat themselves down by her table. They both positioned themselves across her, facing her with those smirks still plastered on their faces.
Aeyrin stifled a groan and returned her eyes to the table, pointedly ignoring the men. Maybe they would just… go away? She could only hope.
"Hey Roggar, didn't we hear something the other day about the 'Dragonborn'? What was it?" the other man laughed as he brushed his dark messy hair from his eyes. The way he emphasized the word made it clear just how dismissive he was about her being the 'Dragonborn'.
"We did. We heard a whole lot. Something about the High King, teaching the pretender a lesson like she deserves." Even with her eyes averted, Aeyrin could hear the sneer in the voice of the man named Roggar as he slapped his hand on the table with a snort.
Oh Gods… was Ulfric actually bragging about what he did to her?! That was so… twisted. That bitter old maniac was certainly taking sick pleasure in tormenting her. What was wrong with him?!
She should be furious. She should feel her whole body heat up in fury. She should give these imbecilic soldiers a piece of her mind.
But she didn't.
For some reason, the only thing she could feel at that moment was fear and desperation. She felt just like she did in that torture room – small and powerless.
She wanted to be angry, she wanted to react, but her mind got flooded with images of what would happen, the images of her being back in that dungeon, the images of Ulfric capturing her, subduing her and using her as his 'own personal soul devourer' as he so colorfully put it.
The images paralyzed her. His treatment of her made her so painfully aware of her own insignificance and helplessness. She was just a tool to be used by those that were actually in power. Like a simple sword, lying in wait for its next wielder.
One word, one stupid move and these soldiers could make this nightmarish eventuality come true.
"That's right! We hear that our King tamed the mighty 'dragon' like the little bitch she is," the dark-haired man laughed maliciously. She still didn't look up, but she could feel his disturbing gaze piercing her.
The best thing to do was to ignore them. She clenched the empty tankard in her hand, but instead of having her fingers dig into the metal with the familiar anger, she felt her body shiver with fright.
She hated this more than anything.
She's always wondered if her anger got her in more trouble than necessary, but this time she missed it. Anything was better than this helplessness and humiliation.
"I say it's about damn time! Filthy tree-saps shouldn't be playing heroes anyways. Especially the twisted and sick ones. Then they try to play rebellion the only way they know how," Roggar's voice was disturbingly hateful and Aeyrin could no longer help but turn her eyes to him.
What in the Gods' names was he talking about now? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know…
The men were both glaring at her with unbridled disdain and hatred for a very long time before one of them spoke again.
"How did it feel, you little sick freak? Did you enjoy it? Did you think you could undermine the rightful King by crippling his supporters? Or did you just do it because no real man would as much as prop up a broom against you, with those freaky empty eyes and those disgusting knife ears? Just wanted to get rid of our Nordic beauties out of spite, didn't you? Mangling them like a savage animal…" Roggar spat at her.
Her eyes went wide at him. What was he talking about? Was he… talking about the Butcher's crimes? Why was he talking like they were her doing?
"I bet this sick cannibal had a whole fucking feast out of this. Disgusting creature!" the other man scoffed.
Did they really think that she killed those women? Why? Was Ulfric spreading this horrid rumor? Didn't he do enough to her already?! Was he really so bitter that he would stoop to this? Why was he so obsessed with her? Why was he so intent on making his lapdogs hate her? Did he think that it would somehow miraculously make her relent and ally herself with him? This was ridiculous!
And it was kind of terrifying too. These men thought her to be this vicious criminal… who knew what they were capable of? She could certainly defend herself from these two, but if the entire army had this idea planted in their heads, she could certainly not defend herself against all of them!
"W-wha…" she stammered rather incoherently. It was all she could manage at that point. Her whole body was shaking, and she was sure it must have been visible by now.
"Don't play dumb, you sick whore! Why else would those disgusting murders stop just when our King banished your filthy ass out of our city?!" Roggar snarled at her again.
The murders have stopped?!
That was… wait… was it good news? If the murders stopped, then either the killer had achieved whatever goal they have set for themselves. Or… they had been caught. And it couldn't have been an elf… Ulfric would definitely not keep it a secret. It might have been someone with a connection to him, someone he needed to protect. And now… the blame has fallen on her instead.
She thought about arguing, about refuting the claims, but the men were so angry. She couldn't just start fights with soldiers! Especially not with a witness around! She didn't even want to think about what would happen if their comrades found out once the situation inevitably escalated. The images of the torture chamber flashed through her mind yet again.
Oh Gods, why could she not get over this debilitating fear?
Bishop had urged her not to let the events diminish her resolve and she thought that they wouldn't. But now she knew that they did. It was easier to think that she had gotten over her ordeal when she didn't have to face the possibility of it, or worse, happening again. She could not help herself, she just wanted to curl up and wallow in her self-pity pathetically.
What else was there to do anyways? She was lucky that Ulfric did to her as little as he did. He made it perfectly clear.
He could have done a lot worse.
And that was still a large possibility.
"L-leave me alone…" she shivered again and closed her eyes shut, as if she was hoping that they would disappear not just from her sight, but altogether.
She felt like a helpless child. She knew that feeling all too well and she naively thought that she would grow out of it, that she would get strong enough to never feel like that again.
But life didn't work that way, it appeared.
No matter how powerful, influential or strong she's become, there was always going to be someone or something that made her feel like this.
She wondered if everyone felt like that. If people like Ulfric ever felt like that. For some reason, knowing that they did would make her feel better. But it didn't feel like that to her. For now, everything he could do to her made him feel like an all-powerful tyrant in her mind. He had an army behind his back, support of powerful people. And her? Most of the people in Skyrim didn't even believe that she actually had any powers. Maybe no one would risk having her killed, knowing that she may have been their only chance to survive the dragons, but they were certainly not above trying to control her or to make her into a helpless tool. That was probably even worse than having people attack her outright – she never knew what to expect.
Ulfric was already so hateful towards her. He made it clear that she wouldn't just be left to leave peacefully the next time she did something to piss him off. If only his soldiers made it easy for her to avoid any of this.
"I don't think so, little knife-eared freak! I think that you're somewhere you shouldn't be. I think that you were rightfully banished from our lands, and that you were dumb enough not to go and sate your sick needs among the pathetic weaklings in Solitude. And I think, that we are required to take you back to our King if you disobey his edict," the dark-haired man sneered again.
"Yeah! And I think that you deserve the taste of your own fucking poison. We should make sure that you know exactly how it feels to have the nasty things, that you did to those beauties, done to yourself, tree-sap," the blond man spat at the table right in front of her. There was so much hatred burning in his eyes, it was unsettling.
Gods…
She wanted to Shout at them. She prayed that her survival instincts would take over, because in this state, she couldn't even make a sound. But of course they wouldn't. She was in no immediate mortal danger. They were just talking, and she felt too paralyzed to even yell back at them. What if Ulfric spread these rumors about her deliberately? What if he changed his mind and he decided to have his soldiers hunt her down and bring her back to him? To have her chained up somewhere so that he could use her as his weapon against the dragons whenever he needed to?
The men seemed a little thrown by her passivity. They exchanged uncertain looks, but after a while, they nodded at each other determinedly before they got up from the table and glared at her. They looked ready to grab her and drag her away from the tavern.
"This isn't Windhelm," she muttered from behind gritted teeth, but her voice was much quieter than she would have liked.
"The way we see it, you filth, the Pale is under our King's protection. By extension, all his lands are part of Windhelm. And soon, the rest of Skyrim will follow," Roggar heaved proudly. He grabbed Aeyrin's upper arm in an instant and tried to yank her from her seat. But she didn't budge.
Great… Stormcloak logic…
"Let go of me!" she jerked back quickly. Her arm left his grip easily since he didn't anticipate her actions after her passive attitude until now. But what did he expect? Was she supposed to let them drag her away? As frightened as she was of starting a fight with Stormcloaks and having their brethren hunt her down in revenge afterwards, she was definitely not going to follow towards the punishment that she had feared voluntarily.
The men looked even more furious after that. The dark-haired one approached her from the other side, ready to grab her, but, a second later, a booming voice interrupted them.
"What the fuck are you two doing?!"
The innkeeper approached them with steady angry strides, staring down the two men.
Aeyrin wasn't sure if this was a good idea. Hopefully the soldiers had enough sense left in them not to attack an innocent citizen. Although sense seemed a little hard to come by with these two idiots.
"Stormcloak business. This doesn't involve you," Roggar barked at the man.
"Oh no, none of that, boy! I couldn't care less if you come in here despite your commander asking me to keep you rabble out while you're supposed to be on duty. I don't give a shit as long as you drive up my sales. But you come here and start harassing my paying customers, I ain't tolerating that!" the innkeeper bellowed at him.
The two soldiers now looked like they were feeling just as helpless as Aeyrin was. It was… satisfying, but, sadly, not enough to elevate her mood.
"Look, man, we're gonna order something next time. But now you're interfering with…" the dark-haired Stormcloak piped up, but he got interrupted quickly.
"Shut up! You think that I don't remember you two harassing the Orc the last time you were here?! You two are nothing but trouble, and if you don't get out of my inn this second, we're gonna be going to your commander together to have a little chat," the innkeeper scowled at them fiercely.
Wow… the man was brave. The soldiers could just… kill him, couldn't they? They seemed erratic enough to be capable of doing something like that. But, oddly enough, it seemed to have worked. Maybe they feared what would happen if the people at the inn, including the witnesses, were slaughtered while they, supposedly, were to keep the area around secure and safe.
"This isn't over, you sick tree-hugger!" the dark-haired man yelled at Aeyrin in fury, but both of the soldiers turned on their heel and marched out of the inn.
There was a long moment of silence after they had finally left. Aeyrin should have been relieved, but she still had an uncomfortable pit in her stomach after the whole encounter.
"You alright, girl?" the innkeeper asked after a while as his brows creased.
"Yes… thank you…" she answered quietly. Her voice felt oddly hoarse and she couldn't really say much else at the moment.
The man looked at her in both bafflement and curiosity. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He must have heard them call her 'Dragonborn'. In fact, he must have heard everything. Now he was wondering if what they said about her was true. And he was wondering why the supposed 'Dragonborn', the Nordic legend, just sat paralyzed at her seat while two men, that she should be able to dispose of in a matter of a second, taunted her and spat at her. He wondered if the legendary Dragonborn could really be this… weak.
She didn't blame him.
She wondered the same thing.
…
Bishop waded through the fresh snow on the path steadily while Karnwyr skipped through the banks beside him.
He had made sure to scout the area around the fort meticulously, although it wasn't that easy at night.
Luckily, it seemed like a lot of the men there worked through the night, keeping the area somewhat lit and making it all the easier for him to remain hidden. Not only that, but it also likely meant that a lot of those men would be sleeping through the day, just when he and Aeyrin were planning to attack.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that there were scores of them around that fort. He counted at least thirty of the men patrolling the area, and some were not even patrolling, just huddling in groups around the fort, drinking and smoking something. The fort was rather big. There could have been just as many inside, if not more.
The assault was a suicide.
He wanted to go through with it. The idea of dismantling this operation under Mercer's nose was so tempting and, besides, Aeyrin would definitely not be deterred from the plan.
But it was still suicide.
He did all that he could to scout the area properly, to find the best access points, to determine the size of the structure and to ascertain the possible numbers inside. Their mission would definitely be easier with the knowledge that he had gathered about the place.
But it was still suicide.
Their success would largely lie on the hands of luck. If enough men were asleep or tired, if enough of them were just alchemists incapable of combat and only processing the sugar inside, things could work in their favor. They would still need a solid plan to get through all of it though. They needed to be extra careful with the assault.
The tavern finally appeared on the horizon and Bishop hurried his step a bit.
Aeyrin must have been worried – it was way past midnight already. Bishop wondered briefly if she was possibly already asleep, but that was unlikely. He, for one, wouldn't be able to sleep at all if she was somewhere out there, putting herself in danger without him.
He approached the inn as he spotted two men hanging around the entrance. Stormcloaks, of course. Who else? There was no one around aside from the men at the fort and one large soldier encampment he could see in the distance.
"You there!" one of the men called out to him from afar.
Bishop gestured for Karnwyr to scram covertly. They could have been drunk and looking for trouble. The last thing that he needed was even more trouble with the rebels.
"Come here. We have a task for you," the other man beckoned him.
What the fuck was this about? As if Bishop would do any favors for any of these dicks, especially after what Ulfric had done to Aeyrin. He was still so pissed off at that, although he wasn't sure if he was more angry at Ulfric or at himself. He should have stopped it. He should have come for her. He didn't know how he could have helped her – it certainly seemed like an insurmountable task. How could he have infiltrated the Palace of the Kings? Especially since she was under constant guard of that sick torturer.
But still… he couldn't help but feel like he should have done something else but wait.
"Leave me alone," he grumbled at the men and he headed straight towards the tavern door.
"Hang on, hang on. It's just a little thing. And the rebellion will be very grateful if you help. That's not too shabby, no? Especially for a true son of Skyrim," the blond man grinned at him amicably.
Pfft… 'true son of Skyrim'… these idiots loved to throw that around like it was some badge of pride or some bond between all the Nords. Bishop couldn't care less about shit like that.
"Look, there's this really vile criminal inside. We just need someone trustworthy to… lure her out. So that we can arrest her," the other man, a dark-haired one, slapped his hand on Bishop's upper arm in an overly-familiar gesture.
The fuck? Why wouldn't they arrest their 'criminal' inside? Why did they need to lure her… wait… did they say 'her'? There couldn't have been many people in there… and someone that the Stormcloaks had a beef with but couldn't really arrest publicly… that could only be Aeyrin.
What the fuck happened while he was gone?
"Just go in and arrest her yourselves, ice-brains. And leave me alone," he growled at them, but he quickly started to regret his words. Even if he assumed that they couldn't go in, for some reason, he shouldn't give them ideas like that…
"Come on, we'll make it worth your while. I'm sure even the High King would be grateful for your assistance," the blond one nudged him encouragingly.
Bishop almost let the words 'fuck your High King' slip out before he stopped himself. He shouldn't escalate this needlessly, the soldiers were fanatics and they defended that asshole no matter the circumstances. And the last thing they needed was the Stormcloaks harassing them – they needed to concentrate on Fort Fellhammer, not on these idiots.
"No. Get out of my way," he gave them a level look.
The men looked at each other, likely pondering how to sway him. When Bishop kept up his determined look, however, they finally stepped out of the way, leaving the door accessible.
"If you change your mind… you can't miss her. One of those fucking cannibal tree-saps," the dark-haired man spat at the wooden planks of the porch with disdain.
How unsurprising.
Bishop moved past them swiftly, ignoring their remarks. He needed to make sure that Aeyrin was alright after whatever had happened.
He entered the tavern and quickly located her – she was sitting by one of the tables in an otherwise empty room, save for the innkeeper, staring into her tankard with a rather forlorn expression. Her head snapped to look at Bishop only after he had closed the door behind him and the sound echoed through the place.
She tried to smile at him, but it came out sort of weak.
"Welcome, traveler. Room? Drink?" the innkeeper called out to him from behind the bar and Bishop just motioned at him for a drink wordlessly. His eyes still kept studying Aeyrin before he made his way towards the table.
"What happened?" he asked instantly before she could even manage to greet him.
"What?" Her eyes went wide in surprise. That was not the greeting that she had expected.
"Ran into some 'friends' of yours outside. What happened?" Bishop scowled deeply. The innkeeper was already at their table, putting the tankard down in front of him. The man gave Aeyrin a somewhat concerned look, much to Bishop's surprise, but she only nodded at him with a wry smile somewhat reassuringly and he went right back towards the bar.
"N-nothing… just… some idiots…" she sighed and she began staring into her drink again. She felt strange talking to him about it. Especially since he tried so hard to lift up her spirits after what had happened in Windhelm. She felt guilty for not being able to move past all that.
How did he even know that she had interacted with those two soldiers anyway?
"H-how did you even…?" she shook her head a little incredulously.
"They asked me to 'lure out a cannibal criminal'. Wasn't hard to assume…" he shrugged while his eyes continued to scan her with concern.
She threw a rather alarmed look towards the door before her eyes returned to the tankard with a deep crease between her brows. "Doesn't matter… tell me about the fort." Again she tried to force a smile at him.
Bishop furrowed his brows and he quickly looked over his shoulder towards the bar. It was probably a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry. The innkeeper looked like he was listening to them and anyone around here could have known what was going on in the fort and perhaps could even be taking a cut from it. There was no way in Oblivion that he would be risking anything getting back to Mercer.
Besides, he still wanted to know what had happened. He hasn't seen her this crestfallen since right after her ordeal in Windhelm.
"Later. Not here," he rumbled quietly before he gave her another concerned once-over. With a heavy sigh, he placed his hand on hers on the table and began stroking over it soothingly. "You know you can talk to me, love. Come on."
She gave him a strangely guilty look, but she seemed to consider confiding in him anyway.
After a long minute of silence, she sighed. Her eyes were stubbornly staring back on the table, but she was determined to talk about what had happened.
Maybe he could make her feel better again.