It was the sound of yelling that woke her up. Gwynileth's head was pounding, as though a clock's pendulum was crashing against her skull. She groaned and sat up, struggling to put her hands to her head… and realized she couldn't.

Her wrists were bound—that explained why they were so sore. And she was cold, horribly cold, to the point where her teeth were chattering. But, knowing she had to gather her bearings and try to find out where she was first, she took a slow breath and looked around.

She was in a cell. Gwynileth had never seen a cell in person before, but that was certainly what this was. An iron door with thick bars kept her restrained in a tiny room; the bed she'd been lying on was little more than a pallet covered in straw, with no blanket. None of her belongings were nearby.

The screaming that woke her up became comprehensible; they became words. A harsh, thin voice demanded, "Where did you get this sword?" and then, without even waiting for an answer, there was the sharp crack of… something… and someone else was grunting in pain.

Gwynileth gasped sharply and fought against her bonds, to no avail. Her efforts only served to make the burning around her hands worse… but the sounds of her struggle seemed to draw attention.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floors, rebounding off of the walls. They seemed impossibly loud; it made Gwynileth's head throb.

A Thalmor agent appeared in front of her door. There was a ring of keys in his hand—he unlocked the door to her cell and stepped inside. His eyes were black as night; not a comforting color at all.

"What do you know about the sword?" he sneered.

Gwynileth stared at him. She could barely see the lines upon her captor's face, the darkness surrounding her was so complete. "What… what sword?"

A sharp crack—and then her face was stinging.

For better or for worse, Gwynileth had grown accustomed to being slapped in the face. When she had truly made her parents angry, it was seen as appropriate discipline; and that was the only reason she was able to maintain her stern expression as she glared back towards the Thalmor agent.

"Don't play dumb," the Altmer said, his voice snippety at best. "The nodachi blade your friend had. What do you know about it?"

She blinked, having never heard that word before. "I don't know what that is, and I don't know anything about it."

"You Dunmer bitch. I'll have the truth from you yet—"

"She doesn't know anything about it!" called a voice, from only a few meters away. Gwynileth gasped upon hearing that it was Kaidan, and yet he sounded so very different than how he normally did. It was as though his own voice had been beaten out of him. "I barely know anything about it myself!"

There was a long and arduous silence as the Thalmor agent glared between where Kaidan must've been restrained, and where Gwynileth stood in front of him. Only the slow drips of water leaking from the ceiling onto the stone floor could be heard, and the only thing she could see were those pitch-black eyes of her captor, the ones devoid of emotion, of a very soul…

"Naril! Take her out of the cell and into the barracks," said the Altmer at last. He waved an arm towards a body that was out of sight—but there was no missing the eager, sharp smirk on his face as he added, "She knows nothing, but will undoubtedly be a lot of good sport tonight."

A bolt of ice lodged into Gwynileth's heart. There was no way to misinterpret what that meant—she screeched like a wild animal and lunged away from the two Altmer, both of whom were reaching out for her with long, thin fingers.

"Come on, now, this'll be so much easier if you just cooperate," sighed one. Despite the darkness, it was evident he was rolling his eyes. "Now just—"

Gwynileth glanced around the room. A table; a chair; two needles that could maybe be used as lock-picks. Sharp stones broken from the wall. A knife on the ground…

One of their hands found her shoulder—with another scream of desperation, a sound of pure panic, Gwynileth slammed her shoulder into his chest. She was rewarded with a sharp gasp of pain, but there was still the second Altmer to take care of, and now this one was wary. He lurched back with a snarl; the white of his teeth gleamed, revealing exactly where he was.

Her hands were still bound, but Gwynileth didn't need them, because her legs were free. One of her knees slammed up into the Altmer's crotch, sending him doubling over and wheezing—then she kneed him in the face.

A gush of warmth spread all across her leg, trailing down her shin and towards her feet. But there was no time to be distracted yet, because he was still conscious, and the first of her captors was regaining his breath.

She only had a few seconds, and that was if she was lucky. Gwynileth threw her back, her bonds, towards the sharp stones on the wall and began sawing up and down, the way she had seen some of the Nords work their mills, the ones with great logs that needed cutting.

One of the ropes snapped. Her bonds were looser.

"Oh, no, you don't!" shouted one of the Altmer—he seized Gwynileth by the waist and hauled her into the air, who was kicking and screaming the whole while. "You Dunmer whore, you'll pay for—"

Gwynileth wrapped the back of her leg around his neck, effectively cutting off his words. Just the way that he had done to her during their first altercation by the waterfall, so now she was intent on returning the favor—she squeezed as hard as she could, hoping and praying to Azura that he wasn't strong enough to break free.

His hands pried at her legs, to no avail. Realizing that wasn't working, he began slamming his fists upon her ribcage. While these blows made her grimace and have to clench her teeth, she did not relent.

Seconds passed; they felt like an eternity—but at last, the man was unconscious. He tumbled to the stone floor, Gwynileth alongside him; she landed upon it with a sharp, "Oomph!"

The second Altmer was still getting up. There were only a few more seconds.

She returned to the sharp pieces of stone protruding from the wall and resumed sawing off her bonds. Another rope snapped, and then she was free—

Just in time for the second Altmer to rise. He roared and seized her hair, causing her to scream as he yanked it upwards. But Gwynileth's eyes fell upon the knife that was loose upon the floor. She stretched as far as she possibly could, tears clouding her vision as she fought against the way the Altmer was pulling her hair. The knife was only a meter away, she could reach it, she had to reach it…

And then there was cold steel in her hands. Blade at the ready, she shrieked, lunged forward, and thrust the weapon at the silhouette ahead of her.

The blade was embedded in the soft pocket of skin between his ribcage. A soft grunt was the only sound he made… and then he topped over, the knife still buried within him.

Gwynileth stood, leaning against the wall, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Her head was throbbing from where her hair had been grabbed—she placed one hand upon its source with a light groan.

"Gwyn?"

She blinked, suddenly remembering that she had not been alone in the cellar.

"Kaidan!" she breathed—Gwynileth seized the two needles upon the table and staggered forward, out of her cell, towards the sound of his voice.

Most fortunately, he was not very far away at all; but when she laid eyes upon him, a lump was stuck in her throat.

Kaidan's armor and sword were gone, leaving him dressed only in dark trousers. Streaks of red covered his chest and back—there was a whip with nine tails of plaited rope sitting upon the ground nearby, their tips covered in blood. His wrists were suspended in iron cuffs above his head, his arms were covered in gouges and purple welts. There was a black spot surrounding his right eye…

"Azura's breath," she whispered. She dove next to him upon her knees, crimson eyes wide: they were the same color of his blood. "Kaidan!"

Her hands fumbled with the two needles that she held. Gulping down one last deep breath, she forced herself to steady her hands—

"Normally I'd encourage you to improve your lock-picking skill, but seeing as there might be more Thalmor nearby, it might be faster to search the guards you killed," said Kaidan, as calmly as he might remark upon the weather.

Gwynileth blinked once before racing off to follow his idea. The first guard that she'd suffocated didn't have any keys, but the one whom she'd stabbed in the chest did. Loud jingling revealed that there were dozens of keys upon his person; she could only hope that the key to those handcuffs was among them.

She was back at his side in a flash, attempting the keys one by one. As each one proved fruitless, Gwynileth struggled to keep her mind off of the fact that in only a couple of days, she had killed three people… they were Thalmor, that was true, but…

"What did they want with you?" she murmured, struggling to fit a key into the lock. But that one was no good, either: she tossed it aside with a huff.

"I think they were inviting me to high tea."

Gwynileth nodded absently before pausing to shoot him a mild glare. Upon noting the tiny grin on his own, she could only sigh and ask, "Now, Kaidan? Now is when you decide to joke around?"

"Thought we might both need it." Kaidan winced with this last and shifted his weight. "I think I've lost all feeling in my arms at this point… needed a good laugh to make up for it."

Even though neither of them had ended up laughing, Gwynileth couldn't help but smile. With a soft click, the eleventh key that she had chosen caused the handcuffs to give way; Kaidan's arms fell back to his sides, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as they did so.

"Stay there," she commanded, eyes already gazing about the room. They landed upon a few bottles filled with a glimmering red liquid: healing potions, if she was not mistaken. She darted forward and seized them all before uncorking the lids. "Now open."

Kaidan scoffed somewhat, grumbling incomprehensibly about how he was perfectly capable of administering the potion himself—but after one stern look from Gwynileth, he rolled his eyes and acquiesced. Ever so carefully, she poured the bottle's contents into his mouth; the effects were instantaneous. The lashes upon his skin began knitting together, the purple bruises bubbled and melted away… by the time he had consumed the third bottle of healing, he looked right as rain.

"Bottled miracle, that stuff," Kaidan sighed. He stood again with no issue, and then his gaze landed upon Gwynileth. "Thank you. I owe you my life, Gwyn. I'll continue traveling with you as long as you'll have me, so I might begin to repay the favor. I'm not a man comfortable being in debt."

Although Gwynileth would've liked nothing more than to have Kaidan remain by her side, to help her learn the roads of Skyrim and of combat and of… well, everything about moving to the country, the last thing she wanted was for him to feel like he was trapped at her side. With a rueful smile, she said, "You owe me nothing, Kaidan. You've likely saved me three times over already with all of your help. I wouldn't have been able to fight off those two Thalmor without your teachings."

Kaidan, however, just raised an eyebrow. "You underestimate yourself. You'll have to forgive me for assuming, but based on your reaction, it sounded as though they'd said something that triggered a survival instinct in you. Those instincts are not something you learned from me."

Gwynileth paused and turned away, eyes glittering in the damp gloom. The last few days, she had been so preoccupied with training and learning how to be self-sufficient that she hadn't had nightmares. In fact, she hadn't had them since she'd arrived upon Skyrim's shores, if only because her mind was always wandering…

And yet, those words—those horrid words—reminded her exactly why she was in Skyrim in the first place. They reminded her why and of what she was afraid.

It had been close. Too close. Too close to reliving that horror, to being subjected to the same hisses, whispers, soft groans of pleasure while she herself felt only pain.

A shiver trailed down her spine at the recollection of that night. She hadn't thought about it in days, but now the memory was returning in full force…

"I realize I hardly have the right to ask you for further help, but I may need your assistance again."

Kaidan's voice broke her out of that spiral, that dark reverie. Gwynileth's gaze snapped back to him with a sharp inhale through her teeth—a shaky breath exited her mouth as she locked eyes upon this man, whom she had grown to trust and care for in only a few short days. He had saved her, after all, even if she had just returned the favor.

"Of course I will help," she answered. The memories were fading away now, lost as she looked into Kaidan's steady gaze. Yet another thing she had to be grateful for from him, even if he had no idea for it. "What do you need?"

He smiled with no small regret upon hearing her words. "My arms and armor: I need them back. The blade belonged to my mother—and it's the only hint I have at discovering my heritage."

Gwynileth nodded, for she remembered what Kaidan had said about the reason he had returned to Skyrim. Right when she was about to respond, however, a cool breeze infiltrated the cells from a crack in the side-wall. Her hands flew to her arms, crossing them in a futile attempt to block out the newfound cold… yet when she glanced back to Kaidan, she noted that his smile had grown more genuine at her reactions.

Noticing her questioning look, Kaidan nodded towards her small body and added, "We also need to find you better clothes. At this rate, you'll freeze to death before we even step foot outside."

"It's… it's colder here," said Gwynileth, knowing how pitiful she sounded. "Wherever we are, I mean."

Kaidan hummed to himself as he took a few cautious steps forward. There was no sound beyond the cell they were in, no sign to say more enemies were coming. He placed one eye against the crack in the wall as if to spy outside. "I can see mountains… we were traveling for about a day and a half before we were transported to this prison, and we were heading away from the sun in the afternoons. I can only guess we're somewhere in the Rift, or maybe Eastmarch."

These locations sounded familiar, but Gwynileth couldn't quite remember where, exactly, those provinces of Skyrim were located. She nodded in an attempt to convince Kaidan that she was knowledgeable of these things, however, and said, "Let's go ahead and get your things. I'll be with you all the way."

She turned aside to begin scavenging for loose weapons or armor—or anything that could prove of use, really—and felt rather than saw Kaidan's gaze grow soft upon her back.

After a few moments of searching, they located an extra knife, a sword of imperial make, and a thin wolf-pelt cloak. Gwynileth took the knife and offered Kaidan both the sword and the cloak, to which he smiled thinly and placed the pelt around her own shoulders, insisting, "I'm all right. More worried about you, to be honest."

There was a light swirling in her stomach at such an admission, though all she allowed herself to say was, "Thank you," before continuing on.

It was about as easy to see in the surrounding corridors as it was in their holding cells… which was to say, not at all. Not for the first time, Gwynileth cursed herself for not having the foresight to pick up a few lessons on Alteration magic before she fled Morrowind. A simple Candlelight spell would've made their journey much easier…

Although a glowing ball of light would've also given away their position, when they came across the Thalmor guard within the innermost depths of the prison. He was alone, inspecting Kaidan's great-sword with a glass of magnifying, grumbling to himself.

Kaidan spared one glance towards Gwynileth and nodded slowly—he crept along the backside of the dimly lit room and, once he was close enough, stuck the imperial sword directly through the Thalmor's neck.

"How's it feel, being bled like a pig?" growled Kaidan. He withdrew the sword from its victim's body swiftly—even in dim torchlight, Gwynileth could see it was drenched in red.

The Thalmor fell to the ground, his body hitting stone with a soft thump.

Kaidan groaned and kicked the corpse aside, wiping the blade of his temporary weapon upon the Thalmor's robes as he did so—

A shifting in the shadows.

"Kaidan!" gasped Gwynileth. She sprinted forward, her knife extended, towards the place where a second enemy was emerging.

She was lucky that this next challenger was a wizard, and was thus not wearing thick armor at all. His robes were of fine black silk, meaning the sharpened blade of her knife slid through them with little to no resistance… that was, until its tip burrowed into skin and muscle.

A howl of agony filled the room, but Gwynileth only drove the weapon in deeper. She was the only thing standing between this mage and her only friend within the country, which meant she could not back down.

Blood dribbled from the corner of the Thalmor's mouth. His eyes narrowed; he hissed and started to reach for her—

Then there was a snap. Kaidan had lunged forward and twisted the Altmer's neck sharply to the side, breaking it and hastening his death.

That second body fell to the floor almost directly next to the first. Gwynileth stared at them with wide eyes; the churning of her stomach was becoming worse until it felt like the harsh waves of the sea were frothing within her belly. It took every bit of her self-control to avoid being sick, because unlike the first few times she had killed, now she had the time to actually look at them and recognize what horrible sins she had committed…

"Ah. There we are," said Kaidan, who had retrieved his armor from a chest next to the table upon which his weapons were lying. Within only a few moments he was dressed again, his war-bow and his nodachi back in place upon his person. When he turned back to Gwynileth, he frowned somewhat. "Hey up, what's wrong?"

Gwynileth swallowed hard and forced her eyes towards Kaidan. Gesturing loosely to the two mer, she hoarsely whispered, "Does it ever get easier?"

Kaidan seemed to know exactly what it was she was asking. The sharp lines upon his face relented as he replied, "Not always. But in certain situations, you have to think: if you hadn't killed these men, you'd be dead, or worse. You did what you had to do."

The thought brought a little comfort, though not as much as Gwynileth hoped. But she was not given much time to mope upon hearing him exclaim, "It looks like there are some extra sets of leather armor in this side-closet. Bah, these are shoddy make… we'll have to get you something that'll withstand more than a harsh breeze when we get the money…"

He pulled out a set of armor that looked slightly big for a small woman such as herself, but Gwynileth knew she couldn't afford to be picky. Her nose wrinkled as she took the offering—not because she was ungrateful, but because it still smelled like animal hide.

"I know," laughed Kaidan, shaking his head. "But it'll do until we can scrounge you something better."

She donned the armor, careful not to wrinkle her traveling clothes. At least the smell wasn't necessarily bad… she had enjoyed the night by the campfire, when Kaidan was first teaching her how to skin an animal. That could be a smell of association, perhaps… if she didn't think on it too hard.

Once Gwynileth sheathed the dagger at her hip and fastened the cloak around her shoulders, she glanced towards Kaidan again with a small smile. "What now?"

"Shouldn't we attempt to find your belongings?"

Gwynileth's face paled as she realized: everything she owned was nowhere to be found. Other than the chest within which Kaidan's things had been stowed, the room was empty, and they had explored the entire prison before finding the innermost sanctum of the cells.

"Maybe… maybe it got left behind at our old encampment," she suggested. She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood—everything she now owned was in that bag. All of her survival supplies, her money, her food…

"That's a good idea. We'll go back there and see what we find."

At the mention of the word 'we,' Gwynileth met Kaidan's eyes again. There was no keeping the relieved smile off of her face as she said, "You were genuine about coming with me?"

"Of course I was. You saved my life yet again in this room. I'd be a dishonorable man indeed if I were to leave your side now," he answered. One heavy hand was placed upon Gwynileth's shoulder; she could feel the warmth emanating from his body even through the thin pelt of her armor. "Besides, I'd worry about you if I left you alone. The Thalmor will likely be hunting us for a while."

Even though this was a terrifying thought for even a fully trained warrior… Gwynileth could not bring herself to worry all that much. She had survived this far; surely she could survive more.

Shooting Kaidan an anticipatory grin, she said, "All right, then. Let's leave this dank place. It's ridiculously humid, as though I'm walking directly through a thunder-cloud."

"Wouldn't want your hair to get too wet, now, would we, princess?"

"No, we wouldn't, or else I might catch cold."

Kaidan shook his head at this banter. Try as he might to turn away so she could not see, Gwynileth still noted how the corner of his lips fought upwards. "That's not exactly what I meant, but you're right, of course."

"If there's one thing I may learn faster than how to shoot a bow, it's how to return a quick wit," said Gwynileth. Unlike him, she did not bother to hide her own smile; her eyes were gleaming blood-red as they met his own. She did still like the color of his eyes… they were warm: inviting. "Unfortunately for you, I grew up amongst nobles, so I may advance in this particular avenue of speech faster than you may anticipate."

"We'll see about that," said Kaidan. They had reached the door leading back out into the wilds of Skyrim by this point; with a knowing look, he held it open for Gwynileth to walk through.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the eastern sky, casting hues of pastel orange and pink across the horizon. Muted sounds of rushing water could be heard somewhere nearby, although green trees blocked much of the view of both the river and the road. Everything was so fresh in Skyrim—certainly an upgrade from what Morrowind's outdoors offered.

With a deep inhale and a hopeful smile, Gwynileth smiled at Kaidan and, upon noticing how he returned the gesture as well, stepped outside.