The Serene Forest

Part IV – Fault

It was still hard to believe that Orbul had kept his promise.

He promised that he would take all the precautions. He promised that he would hire mercenaries and rile the guards. He promised that he would bring a veritable army with him.

It was still hard to believe that he had managed all that.

And that he still hadn't returned to her.

Hope had died out slowly, but eventually, it was gone. Ysolda was clinging to the images in her head of him returning, walking through her door, beaten and bruised, but alive. That was the best she could have hoped for.

But she stopped hoping some time ago. It was all in vain anyway.

It happened four months ago.

Orbul had managed to get fifteen guard volunteers and at least twenty more mercenaries to help him find the lair of that monster Thorn and to kill everyone in it. Ysolda still had a bad idea about all of it. She still couldn't get Bishop's words out of her mind.

She wanted to leave.

How could she stay in Falkreath anyway? Even if everything worked out, she would never feel safe there ever again. She would never be able to look at that place in the same way. She would never be able to look at the forest and not feel sick to her stomach. She could never live among the people that now only looked at her as if at some broken fragile thing, with pity and concern.

But Orbul kept reassuring her. They had a good life there before all of this happened. He was so sure that he could get it back.

He didn't understand.

There was no going back.

But his words sounded so soothing, so comforting. She tried to believe them. She tried every day to convince herself that she could get her old life back. She forbade herself to think about the horrors she had endured and especially about the horrors that could have awaited her had she not been miraculously rescued.

It didn't always work. But she still tried.

And four months ago, the day came. Orbul had been training with the guards for that day and then they all headed out into the deep forest, west of the town. Ysolda tried to beg him to reconsider once more, to send only the guards and mercenaries, but he refused.

He wanted revenge. He wanted to be the one to put a blade in the men that wanted to hurt her.

It was a mistake.

She waited the entire day for his return.

When there was a knock on her door at night, she perked up instantly, only to deflate a second later. Why would Orbul knock? He had a key.

When she went to open it, her worst fears came true. It was one of the guards. She knew instantly what he was going to say.

But she was wrong. At least a little.

The man didn't tell her that her fiancé had died. The man only told her about what one of his compatriots had seen.

Their small army was lost in the forest, wandering around, unable to locate Thorn's lair. Then suddenly, they were ambushed. Arrows began flying from the trees, felling the men without ever revealing the perpetrators.

One of the guards ran away in fear.

Ysolda didn't know if Orbul had died. Apparently, it was a massacre already and they hadn't even found any of the bandits. But they still could have survived. That cowardly guard had left early on after the ambush, he didn't know how the battle went.

Though it didn't sound like much of a battle. It sounded like slaughter.

Her hope dwindled, but she still waited. She waited and waited. For days, weeks.

Until she couldn't wait anymore.

Nobody else had ever returned, no guards, no mercenaries.

No Orbul.

And she was so scared. So broken, so alone. She lost everything that she loved. She lost her whole world. What was there left to do? Live her life in Falkreath, knowing that there were people there, those scum, that were watching, plotting to drag her back to that beast. While the rest of them just pitied her.

What was there left to do? Pretend like nothing happened? Tend to Orbul's shop and wait for them to take her to Thorn? Wait for a gruesome, painful death?

She had to leave. She only wished that he had listened. She wished that he hadn't managed to convince her that there was any other way. There wasn't. She didn't even want there to be one. She just wanted out. She never wanted to stay in Falkreath anyway after what happened.

And so she did leave.

Alone.

Orbul had spent all their savings on the mercenaries, but now she had one last thing she could do. With a heavy heart, Ysolda sold Orbul's shop and her house back to the city and hired some protection for the road.

'Go somewhere north', Bishop said.

So she did. Where else would she go? She didn't want to return to the Rift and the Reach was teeming with barbarians.

She stopped in Whiterun. A quaint, beautiful town with no dark looming forests around. Just wide, empty tundra. No one could hide in there. No one could be lurking there.

But she wasn't able to appreciate the beauty anyway. She was the one who wanted to hide. From everyone and everything.

With the money from selling the two buildings, she managed to get herself a small house in Whiterun and begin her business again there. It was much easier now. She had her suppliers, she knew the right people and she knew the right practices. All thanks to Orbul.

She was going through the motions as best as she could.

Trying to focus on her business, on building up her new life again. Alone and heartbroken. She was just trying not to concentrate on everything she had lost.

And her beloved Orbul was her everything.

…

It felt like she was getting better at this.

At pretending that everything was alright, pretending that her life hadn't gotten turned upside down, that her heart hadn't been ripped out of her chest the day Orbul disappeared.

She felt just as empty as she always had, but the people around her didn't know. That was something. If she couldn't feel normal, at least she could pretend to be. That was the next best thing, right?

And she was doing so well. So convincing.

Until one day.

Until the day she saw the last person that she had ever wanted to see for the rest of her life.

Bishop.

It was such a regular day and such a regular sight. She was at the market, walking idly among the stalls, when she saw him. He was talking to Anoriath about something. Probably trying to sell the elf some meat from his hunts. It was all very… normal.

But just the sight of him, suddenly it all came bubbling up upon the surface. She couldn't help herself. All the composure, all the pretending, they were gone within a second. And all that she had tried to push down suddenly replaced them. The anger, the hurt, the sorrow. She couldn't stop any of it.

Her first instinct was to run away. To hide in her house and try to forget that she had ever seen him.

To try to forget that she had ever met him at all.

But her anger and hatred were stronger.

Her fists clenched and involuntary tears of hurt and indignation sprung to her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. She barely even noticed that she had started to move when she was already almost by Anoriath's stall.

When he heard the angry stomping behind his back, Bishop turned around abruptly.

"Red?"

The word barely left his lips before it was replaced by grunt as Ysolda's clenched fist punched into his chest. He probably barely even felt it, she wasn't exactly strong, but he let the sound out more out of surprise, it seemed.

"You fucking bastard!" she began punching him in the chest repeatedly, trying to blink back her tears constantly. She wasn't even sure why she was doing this. It was not as if it would help anything. Orbul would still be gone. Everything would still be lost. She was just making a scene in front of all these people for nothing. She didn't understand why she couldn't stop. It wasn't making her feel better.

Bishop didn't do anything to stop her for a while, but eventually, he seemed to get tired of it. Or maybe he didn't like having an audience. Maybe it was for her sake. She didn't know anymore. She didn't know if he cared about any of that. And it didn't matter. He ruined her life. No amount of sympathy or regret would change that.

Her eyes closed firmly as she continued punching him. She could feel the stares on her for a second, but the next moment she felt a firm grip on one of her hands and then a harsh tug. She barely even realized what was happening. She couldn't see anything through her tears. She didn't know why it suddenly all felt so overwhelming. Like everything had been happening again, all at once, all the fear, anger and sorrow crashing down on her like an avalanche.

Her feet carried her where she was ushered without even realizing it. It took her a while to get her bearings. She found herself alone with Bishop, in a much more secluded alley in between some houses. It was probably supposed to make her feel better to be out of sight, but it didn't. Nothing would ever feel better.

She tried to punch him again. She didn't know why when it didn't do her any good or make her feel better, but she still felt like it. But he stopped her hand by grabbing onto her wrist firmly.

"What happened, red?" his voice carried a surprisingly worried tone, but she didn't buy it. He didn't care. If he cared, he wouldn't have dragged her into this. He would have left her alone that night in the tavern. If he cared, he would have disappeared into the depths of Oblivion so that his fucked up choices didn't ruin someone else's life.

"Stop calling me that!" she yelled and used her other hand to punch his chest again. That nickname was making her furious all of the sudden. And she used to really love it. Now she couldn't stand to hear it. The only worse thing he could call her was 'fox'.

She didn't look at him the entire time. She continued staring into his chest. For some reason, she couldn't stand to look into his eyes.

Bishop let go of her hand and she promptly used both of them to pummel on him. He had his black armor on too, so he probably really barely felt it. And she still didn't know why she was doing it, but it felt like something to do. Something to show how angry she was. Something to distract from the tears streaming from her eyes.

"He's gone!" she sobbed and punched him harder. He didn't even stagger. "He went after them and never returned. And it's all because of you, you fucking bastard! Why couldn't you have left me alone?! It's all. Your. Fault."

She continued sobbing and punching. She hated how hysterical she looked right now, but she couldn't help it. She felt so powerless against the mess of overwhelming emotions bubbling up on the surface.

There was a long moment of silence. Well… except for her uncontrollable sobbing. She couldn't see his expression and she didn't want to. Even if he regretted it, even if he was sorry, it didn't matter. It didn't change a thing. And seeing his face only made her sick.

"I warned you," he sighed after a while. He did sound sympathetic, but his words didn't.

That was really what he had to say? A fucking 'I told you so'?!

"I'm sorry he didn't listen," his words suddenly carried a bit of an edge in them. Anger and hurt. The same thing she felt. He had no right to feel like that. No right!

"It's not my fault."

His voice cracked as he let out the words, and then they seemed to echo in her mind unpleasantly over and over, building her anger up each time.

'Not his fault'? Not his fault?! Was he serious? Who else was to blame?! He brought this on her. He ruined her.

She still didn't look at him. She couldn't. She would probably not be able to handle it. She felt on the verge of breaking down as it was.

Not his fault…

"Get out of my face, you piece of shit!" she stepped away from him abruptly as she yelled, loud enough that the whole town must have heard. But she didn't care. She still didn't look at him and even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to see anything through her tears. "I never want to see you again!"

There was silence and she heard very faint footsteps, walking away from her.

He was probably relieved that he didn't have to deal with her. It was none of his concern, after all, right?

Not. His. Fault.

Ysolda involuntarily crashed her whole body into the house next to her and slid down its wooden wall. Her violent sobs never stopped as she crumbled to the ground in a helpless heap of sorrow, anger and despair.

This was it. This was how it ended. There was no more to any of it now and she was just left with her empty, lonely life, void of her beloved and everything she held dear.

The men who killed him were still free, roaming the forest in wait for another victim.

And the one who caused it all, just walked away, with his conscience clear and still in one piece. Must have been nice. She felt like she had just shattered into a million pieces herself.

And she could do nothing but sit there on the ground, leaning against the wall of the house, and cry.

This was how it all ended.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading!

I hope you have enjoyed (weird word to use, I guess :D ) the tragic story of Ysolda. It's yet another glimpse into the importance of perspective. The story is always different from another point of view. It's why I love the occasional delve into a side character's mind.

By the way, if you have any suggestions or requests for another character's story, lay them on me ;) No promises, but I will consider them and see if I can scribble something up. Or maybe some of them are already included or planned for the main fic too ;)

In any case, thank you again and I hope you'll all continue to enjoy the main fic :)