Chapter 16: Improvisation

I hummed contentedly as I tried to keep myself from skipping like a child all the way back to Alvor and Sigrid's house.

I had done it. Sure, Faendal still had to deliver the note and the fickle Camilla respond as we hoped, and yes, Bleak Falls Barrow was still before us, but I was taking the small win for what it was. I'd written the letter and almost certainly secured somebody who could fight to accompany me to the ruin. Faendal was no mercenary, but I trusted Alvor. That, and the sheer tirelessness of the mer who had chopped wood all day was good enough for me.

I found Alvor standing over his workbench hammering rivets into a piece of leather armour. Dorthe was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she was with her mother, or possibly still peeling vegetables.

The sight of leatherwork reminded me of the contract with Warmaiden's and I skipped up the stairs; my grin of success doubled.

"You look happy," he noted, his eyes twinkling as he stopped hammering and leant against his workbench. "How did it go?" he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, which still held a stubby-looking hammer.

"Well, I think," I replied warmly, pausing to inspect the piece he had been making. It was made out of many strips of leather; the stitches were so fine, I hadn't seen them until the work was inches before me.

"I shall know for certain a little later on," I turned and leant against the workbench for myself. "Right now, I am determined to be positive. Faendal is going to meet me here at dawn."

Truthfully, I wanted to talk about the Warmaiden's contract and not my deal with Faendal, for the particulars were to remain between he and I alone. I searched for a way to change the topic with the burly smith.

Creases around Alvor's eyes crinkled as he smiled, but there were still signs of worry. "I am pleased to hear it. Faendal will protect you."

"That's the plan," I hummed, then gave up on finding a suitable segue, nodding toward the in-progress leathers on the bench. "Adrianne Avenicci was impressed by your work," I relayed.

The corner of the smith's mouth twitched; his eyes slightly more pleased, though he shook his head in a humble manner. "I'm both gratified and surprised that she bought all of my work from you. You must be quite the saleswoman."

I disagreed. "She would not have bought it if it had been inferior, no matter what I said. In fact..." I hesitated. Had it been presumptuous of me to offer his services? Well. He could always decline. "She asked if you would be willing to work with her, on a large contract she is having trouble filling for the Imperial Legion," I bit my bottom lip in uncertainty.

Alvor didn't respond at once. The humility in his expression shifted into a brow-tuck of bewilderment.

I smiled nervously and glanced away, staring at the roaring forge; the heat from the embers produced a welcome barrier of warmth that kept the chill of the encroaching evening at bay. Alvor remained quiet, and I couldn't tell why, so I babbled on. "If you are willing, she would ask that you complete thirty-percent of her contract. That's all we spoke about though - I asked her to discuss the terms directly with you."

Alvor still didn't say anything, and I hoped it meant he was merely stunned.

"You...are you telling Alvor that you secured us a Legion contract?"

The reply came from the verandah; I spun around, startled. I hadn't realised anyone else had been witness to our conversation.

It was Sigrid. She was cradling an armload of hide helmets, but she had stilled and was staring at me, looking shocked.

Relief reached my smile – for her astounded expression was not one an annoyed person would wear – I nodded. "Thirty percent of one. I don't know if you heard the whole story-"

"I heard enough!" she barked, laughing and dropping her burdens on the floor without even looking at them as she closed the gap between us and threw her arms around me.

I yelped in surprise, grabbing onto her to keep the momentum from bowling us over. Alvor chuckled behind us.

Sigrid withdrew as swiftly as she had approached; her hands remained on my shoulders. "Do you realise what this will mean for our family?" she spluttered; her green eyes shone with unspent tears.

I didn't truly know and sort of gaped a little while shrugging, but before I could form actual words, she drew me forward for another embrace. "Oh, you wonderful girl!" she hushed, her words thick with emotion.

"It was nothing, really, considering all you have done for me-" I began.

"Nonsense," Sigrid retreated, letting her hands fall back to her sides, then hastily lifted one to wipe her eyes with her fingertips. "There is kindness, and then there is-" she cut herself off, biting her bottom lip as her eyes wavered dangerously.

"The money aside, Celeste – such a contract will lead to more work than I can manage, for years to come," Alvor rumbled, hastily enough that it told me he spoke to draw attention away from his wife, to give her a moment to compose herself.

I couldn't take much more of Sigrid's gratitude either, or I might start crying as well. "You might have to train yourself an apprentice, then," I smiled widely, turning back to him.

His reply laugh was largely soundless and seemed to just jostle him. "I might well at that. Dorthe has been asking to be my apprentice for years. Perhaps it is time..." he considered.

Oh, that girl would love this idea. I nodded, secretly hoping I would be in the room when he asked her. Her reaction would be spectacular.

We retrieved the helmets that Sigrid had dropped together, and then Sigrid encouraged both of us to come inside for dinner, as it would be ready quite soon.

Alvor agreed to stop work for the day. As we made our way toward the front door, I explained the rest; they could write to Adrianne that they were interested, and the negotiations could begin. Sigrid mused about travelling to Whiterun to discuss it personally, and I encouraged her, hoping that I might be able to introduce them to Lydia and Lucia, if we all happened to be in the same place at the same time.

All throughout dinner, spirits were high. Dorthe smiled and laughed with the rest of us, simply happy that everybody else was so happy, and when neither parent mentioned a word of the potential contract to her, I figured they must have been holding off until the particulars had been finalised. It was sensible enough, I supposed, given the girl's penchant for taking an idea and running wild with it.

I excused myself after another delicious meal, pleading my expedition to the Barrow at dawn as the excuse. Dorthe asked me to stay and tell her about how I met the Companions, as I had glossed over my journey to Whiterun during the meal. But I declined and both Alvor and Sigrid supported me, telling Hadvar's cousin that I needed rest.

I left the happy family to enjoy the bliss of their pending success in private, and descended to Hadvar's room, taking a moment, as I looked about his empty bedroom, to wish that he was here to share in their joy.

–

Early in the night, I had experienced a short, vivid dream about the dragon that had attacked Helgen.

It was sitting upon the arching stonework of Bleak Falls Barrow, watching and waiting, while I hid. It glared with its fierce orange eyes, searching, then leapt from the ruin and flew high into the mountains, screeching so loud in frustration that the ground shook and the snow and rubble on the high arches of the ruin tumbled down around me.

After waking from that, sleep had not come so easily again. My stomach flipped and clenched, and not entirely from the dream, reminding me that something nasty was definitely lingering up there, waiting for us.

I'd risen for a time and relit the lantern, taking Triumphs of a Monarch at random from Hadvar's shelf to distract myself. Gratefully, the autobiography of King Emeric of Wayrest was not enough to keep me from nodding off eventually.

I rose early after a few fragmented hours of sleep and a few more hours of nervous tossing and turning. It was well and truly before dawn, but I felt I could sleep through my anxiety no longer. I approached the armour, noting with some exasperation that it had been cleaned for me. After donning it and retrieving my pack, I crept upstairs. All was still and silent; the embers of the hearth glowed orange, awaiting the morning's kindling to face another day. On the table, by the door, was a paper-wrapped parcel, a bundle of wool, and a note on top of it;

Here's some food for you and Faendal, and a coat and scarf, for the journey, as the pass up to the Barrow is always covered in snow. The food is only leftovers from last night, and the clothing was given to me but I never found a reason to wear it. Please accept them.
And, please, be careful, and let us know you are safe before you return to Whiterun.
~ S

I sighed shakily, choking up a little. If nothing else, survive Bleak Falls Barrow so you can thank them.

I placed the wrapped parcel in my nearly-empty backpack and stared at the woollen garments. Both were grey – the coat marginally darker than the scarf. The coat was comfortable and fit over my Legion armour smoothly, settling more like a cloak than a coat with its hem brushing the underside of my knees. Its only fastenings – wooden toggles – were at my shoulder and across my breast. The scarf was wide and simple, with no fringe or adornments, closer to a blanket - and perhaps I would use it for that purpose on our journey. Grateful to know Hadvar's family, I wrapped it around my neck a few times and tucked the tails away, then grabbed my pack.

I will return, I promised the empty dining room, committing the details to memory in case I didn't. Tears rose, and I pressed the heel of my palm into my forehead to dispel them.

The frigid morning air caught in my throat and the desire to weep was overwhelmed by the chill as I stepped outside and gasped a few invigorating, fresh breaths. If I hadn't been properly awake before, I was now.

I spotted Faendal at once.

He was waiting not in Alvor's forge, but at the bottom of the stairs before me on the main street with his eyes on the road, caught in some reverie. He was wearing hide armour; the sort favoured by hunters Skyrim-wide, and had a relaxed, almost pensive look about him as he stared at nothing with a small, secretive smile on his thin face. The picture he painted made him younger, though as ever, it was difficult to determine the age of a mer. He could have been eighty years old, for all I knew. He had two quivers full of arrows slung across his shoulders – one on each, with the straps criss-crossing his chest – and held a wooden longbow in one hand.

My breath puffed into a little white cloud in front of my face as I smiled at him, warmed by his serenity, and what it pertained to. "Good morning, Faendal," I spoke quietly, mindful of the sleeping village as I descended. "Your rendezvous with Camilla went well?" I smirked.

He shook himself; his garnet eyes took a moment to fix on me, but when he did, he grinned; his entire face expressed mirth.

"You can say that again," he patted me on the back in a comradely fashion. "Good morning indeed."

"I'm pleased for you," I laughed softly, then tilted my head to the side in consideration. "And, I have to admit, I'm pleased for me," I spoke with a humour-filled honestly.

"Naturally," Faendal responded with a jesting scoff.

I cast him a sideways smile and motioned toward the path we were to proceed along. We fell into step; our boots crunched through the thick frost and gravel.

"So!" I pipped. "Tell me about it. Well -" I held my hand out and faltered. "Not everything about it, obviously. How did she like the letter?"

Faendal shook his head in fond remembrance. "She actually cried, when she read it," he began.

I laughed again, though muffled it with my hand. Riverwood was eerily silent and I was worried the uneven beat of our boots against the road alone might wake everybody. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"That's a fair assumption," Faendal threw me a smirk.

We continued on, and Faendal continued to regale his tryst with Camilla. We passed under the gate out of town, nodding hello to the Whiterun guards, then crossed the stone bridge. I half-listened, contented in knowing that my writing had been satisfactory, and not really needing to know any more about their private meeting than that. I was happy for him, but some things were private.

Faendal took a turn at the crossroads, choosing a path angling steeply up the mountain side. I tuned back into his dialogue when he mentioned Bleak Falls Barrow in the context of his lady-love.

"What? You told her about...?" I stopped in my tracks and stared at him, positive I had misheard. "Wait. She asked you to go to the Barrow?"

Faendal stopped hiking long enough for me to catch him up. "Well, yes. Your expedition couldn't have been better timed - I would have been bound for the ruin anyway."

I raised my eyebrows and my eyes widened in surprise. "That's...interesting. What is she wanting you to do there?"

Faendal held out his hand for me to stop, then lifted a hand to his quiver in a swift, silent motion.

I froze. I only dared to move my eyes as I glanced about, trying to catch sight of whatever had caught his attention.

The Bosmer placed the arrow, drew his bow, aimed, and fired into the trees beside the road, without a word.

"Yelp!"

I jumped, but Faendal nonchalantly slung his bow back over his shoulder and resumed walking up the slope as though nothing had happened. "She asked me to look for an heirloom, as it happens. The store was broken into a few nights ago, and it was the only item the thieves took – can you believe it?"

My heart thumped wildly in my chest and my eyes raked over the tree line fearfully, barely hearing what he said. Thank the Divines Faendal had been paying attention.

"Celeste?"

He sounded confused. I swallowed and, with a shudder, made myself take a step. And another. And then I was running to catch him up and take shelter by his side.

"An heirloom?" I tried to recover. What did I think we were doing, going on a pleasant stroll in the mountains? "What manner of heirloom?"

Really, Celeste, I scolded myself. I had no reason to leap and cringe at the first sign of danger and death. I had seen fighting and bloodshed; I had watched the High King of Skyrim and then my father murdered, and found my mother's body in our front garden; I'd seen a Stormcloak executed and a dragon burn fleeing men alive with its breath alone. And, I was about to enter a ruin that was rumoured to be full of undead. I needed to get a hold of myself.

"A golden claw," Faendal answered in a drawl with a rather suspicious sideways glance.

I met his gaze, forcing a mask of composure I didn't feel, and nodded. "All right. If it's in the Barrow, we'll find it for her."

Faendal's speculative glare softened into another sideways smile. "We'd better find it. I'm going to give it to her as an engagement present."

I smiled, though I felt more subdued and somewhat nauseous.

We walked on in silence. Perhaps Faendal understood my withdrawal and thought it was none of his business, or perhaps he had started to feel nervous as well, though I couldn't see any change in the confident Bosmer's countenance.

I hugged my arms against the cold and tried to think of things that would ground me. Sigrid's thoughtfulness, for the coat and scarf and food. Faendal and Camilla's happiness. Breathing techniques and lessons in focus from the college.

We reached the snow line; our boots squeaked through the freshest powder.

"Celeste...do you...want a bow?" he asked with evident hesitance.

I shook my head, watching where I placed my ambling feet. "It would do me no good. I don't know how to use it."

After a beat, he tried again, with a margin of joviality. "I can't teach you to shoot in a single day, but everybody has to start somewhere."

I gave him a quizzical look. "I'll likely shoot you before I fell a draugr."

Faendal grinned. "Don't sell yourself short. You have the build of an archer."

"I...do?" I arched an eyebrow in disbelief. My anxious stomach gurgled and flopped unhelpfully.

He nodded. "Trust me, I'm an expert. Remember?" his eyebrow mirrored mine in challenge.

Faendal had to be joking, trying to take my mind off what was before us. I was not a fighter - of any kind.

I remained silent, convinced that he was either joking or teasing me.

Faendal stopped and swung his pack from his shoulder. "Look. You don't have to use it, if you are afraid," he sighed.

I bristled, watching him closely through narrowed eyes, but said nothing. He was goading me.

He withdrew a slim leather quiver with a few iron arrows in it, and a stumpy-looking bow, offering both with a sympathetic tilt to his head. "How about you just hold onto them for me?"

Don't snap at him.

"All right," I snapped, snatching both. "I'll carry your not at all convenient second bow and extra quiver for you."

Faendal seemed unfazed.

I cursed as I turned away from him, looking out over the valley as I clumsily shouldered the quiver, then the bow.

When I turned back to him he smirked, and I barely resisted the urge to scoop a ball of snow up and throw it at his smug face.

Wordlessly, he motioned for us to continue, and we did just that in a charged silence.

As we walked, I asked myself why I was angry? Was it anxiety about the Barrow? The awkwardness of the exchange; my lack of control during it? I couldn't assume I would be able to live the simple, pleasant life of a bard for the moment; not with the Stormcloaks dragging Skyrim into civil war and a dragon on the loose. I should have been leaping at the opportunity to learn to shoot a bow, particularly if I wanted to face Ulfric Stormcloak some day. I might need more than words to end him. What harm could come of learning to fire a bow?

None, I told myself swiftly. None at all. Get over yourself.

With a sigh, I pushed my anger resolutely away. "Sorry, Faendal," I swallowed my foolishness, catching him up in a few bounds. "I don't know what came over me. I would be honoured if you would teach me something that might help us at the Barrow."

"Ah, so she has a voice of reason after all," Faendal quipped, still too smug, but I let it pass. I would have to rely on him entirely, soon enough. "I'm glad you changed your mind," he halted and motioned toward the weapon on my shoulder. "First thing; you carry it until you're used to it. That way you won't lose time having to take it off your shoulder."

"All right," I said dubiously, swinging it down and flexing my fingers around the leather straps in the centre of the handle. "Anything else?"

Faendal tilted his head, his eyes scrutinising. "Yeah. A few more suggestions."

From the side of the snowy, rather exposed side of the mountain, Faendal helped me re-strap the quiver so I could actually reach back for the arrows, and then taught me how to stand so I wouldn't knock the bow off target when I pulled the string back. Then, he asked me to draw, without an arrow placed, to get a feel for the tension.

I nodded and raised the bow, then pulled, though wasn't able to draw it back any further than half way. I grit my teeth, and tried to draw it further.

Nothing. Groaning from exertion, I lowered the bow. "The string is too tight," I appealed.

Faendal shook his head with certainty. "The bow's fine, your arm's too weak. I hadn't thought of that. Hmm," he mused, glancing around the trail as though the mountainside might present the solution.

Shame swam through me at my weakness, and I turned away so Faendal couldn't see my blush. Taking an arrow and lifting the bow, I aimed for the sky. The fletch slipped out of the bow string, and I cursed and hastily put it back in place.

Put the bow away and go to the Barrow. You're wasting his time.

Gritting my teeth, I inhaled and tugged at the string with all my might. Again, the taught string stopped moving about half way back. I retained my hold, trying to locate some hidden, reserved strength that might allow me to bring the string further back, but instead my arm began to wobble from the strain.

It's something. Maybe it's enough.

When I let the arrow loose toward a cloud, it flopped over the end of the bow and landed a few feet from me, thudding pathetically into the soft snow.

"Faendal, this is pointless," I turned back to him in frustration.

I flushed as I realised he had been watching my attempt after all; the speculative expression on his face told me he hadn't given up on the scheme yet.

He held out his hands, placating. "Like I said, everybody has to start somewhere. You didn't learn to play the lute in a single day, did you?"

I shook my head, taking deep breaths to calm myself as the mer approached. "I know. But I don't think I should start training within Bleak Falls Barrow," I held the bow out to him, admitting defeat. "I will get us both killed," I added quietly.

He glanced at it and shook his head resolutely. "You won't be the death of me. And as your teacher, I would rather you keep hold of it. Really. I'm planning on scoring lots of loot in the Barrow, and I don't want that old thing weighing me down," he turned away, and resumed our path.

I huffed at his retreating form, surprised to realise I was out of breath. From half-pulling a bow string! What was I thinking - why had I agreed to do this for Farengar?

You have no choice, I reminded myself stubbornly. Not if you want to learn whether you're Dragonborn or not.

I ran to catch Faendal up with the stupid bow handle clasped in my hand. Maybe if I was cornered, I could try beat a draugr unconscious with it.

–

Faendal suggested that I practise tensing and loosening the bow string whenever I had a spare moment, and that he would be on the look out for a more suitable, lighter bow for me. I had huffed but said nothing, surprised that the mer seemed suddenly so determined to teach me. Was he doing it by way of recompense for my help with Camilla? Surely not, as my payment was him agreeing to accompanying me now.

Perhaps he is just being nice and trying to help you, I made myself acknowledge. Not every action must be backed by the desire for something in return.

We managed to sidestep what Faendal assured me was a bandit-riddled keep on a nearby snow-covered bluff by leaving the path and arcing above it. As we climbed the increasingly widening path, rocky shapes beside and before us took form and looked more man-made; columns of stone, purposely placed, and arches that could not have been naturally formed. Snow washed over us, blown by a persistent, freezing cold breeze that brushed over the top of the mountain and flowed down our path, like the current of a river.

Faendal suddenly ducked down, throwing his hand out to stop me in my tracks, and indicating for me to do the same.

I dived down, landing on my belly in the snow. Faendal cast me a humourless glance. Then he held up four fingers, and pointed to the rocky wall running along side the path.

I squinted at him, shaking my head, and wished he would just speak instead of signalling. Four...four foes? And, that we were to move to the side of the road. Okay.

Leaning back onto my knees, I dusted the powdery-white snow from the front of my coat, and then settled into a crouch as Faendal crept by me, keeping low.

I mirrored his actions, glancing along and up the path, and wondering what he'd seen. Four somethings, but what exactly? Wolves? Trolls? Rabbits?

We reached the high, rocky wall beside the path, and Faendal stood, but leaned his back flat against it, his head turned and his garnet gaze fixed on the snow-tipped ruin above us. I watched him with wide eyes as he retrieved an arrow with a whisper of steel, barely discernible over the wind whooshing along the pass, and drew it back in his longbow. He exhaled, and then with a dull twang, the arrow soared.

I tried to watch it as it wheeled through the air, but the tiny arrow was lost to me amongst the puffy white clouds overhead. Movement caught my eye eventually, though I did a double take to be sure I had seen what I thought I had seen; a person, atop a stone pathway that jutted out from the ruins, toppling silently over the edge.

I glanced back to Faendal and whispered, "Did you do that?"

He threw me a swift, narrow-eyed glance, and put his finger to his lips.

I took that as a yes and closed my mouth, pressing my back against the rock wall as Faendal silently drew another arrow. I peered over his shoulder to try see what or who he was aiming at, but saw nothing other than snow and rocks and structure. Then, I caught more movement, and realised that a blob I had taken for a rock was walking. I could make out nothing more than the motion and that it was vaguely person-shaped. Then there was another one, stepping out from behind a column, approaching the first figure I'd seen. They stopped before one another.

Faendal cursed under his breath and lowered his bow without firing.

"I got lucky with the first one," his eyes were trained on the pair in the distance, but he spoke in a hush over his shoulder to me. "There's three left, and when I fell one, the other two will charge. Are you ready?"

"No," I hissed urgently. "Faendal, I can't fight!"

"You won't have to," he assured me, with a hint of frustration in his quiet tone. "I'm just preparing you. They're going to charge, and I don't want you to run screaming and expose our position. I can take them out, as long as they don't see me straight away."

I flushed and nodded, swallowing down my fear, which was laced with bitter shame. "Of course. I promise I won't make a sound," I whispered meekly.

Faendal raised his bow in a single swift motion.

I remained perfectly still as my eyes darted around the mountain side for a possible bolt hole, in case the worst occurred. Only my mind couldn't settle on what the worst might be, and before I could locate somewhere to run to, I heard the whispering twang of Faendal loosing an arrow, and my attention automatically snapped back to the pair of foes in the distance as I held my breath.

A second passed, and one of the blobs disappeared; falling out of view. I bit my tongue as the other blob, which I reminded myself was a head, swivelled and darted about frantically, searching for the source of the attack.

Searching for us, I unhelpfully told myself.

Faendal was extremely collected; another arrow already drawn and trained on the running figure. A second joined it, and I exhaled the breath I'd been holding as quietly as I could before gasping in another and cursing myself for breathing so loudly. The last two. Don't scream.

There was shouting from the Barrow ahead, but couldn't make out any of the words before they were caught by the wind. The two remaining figures started darting about the place again, and then grew larger, closer, until I could make out the form of arms and legs and hide armour. They hadn't seen us, but they had determined which direction the attack was coming from.

I prayed that I would be absorbed by the rock wall, with one hand clasping the bow Faendal had pressed onto me tightly and my other palm and back digging into the cold, hard surface. Faendal, still composed, loosed his third arrow. I wanted to look away but couldn't make myself as one of the two stumbled into the snow, crying out as they were felled.

And this was the shot that exposed us; the final figure swivelling and charging toward our vantage point, with some heavy-looking blunt weapon held high above his head. He roared in outrage, and I felt as though the sound would split me in two; I wanted to flee and scream and cower and charge right back at him all at once.

I settled for doing as I had been told; remaining still, and quiet, and as Faendal had promised, he picked off the loud, heavy-set bandit before he drew too close.

I let out an exhale of utter relief and felt as though I would both laugh and cry and crumple down into the snow at once. "You did it!" I congratulated Faendal, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing it.

Faendal didn't look so happy; his brows were crossed and he was frowning at the place the fourth man had fallen. He shook his head, finally turning his piercing garnet gaze to me. "I didn't expect bandits to be up here. It must be the ones who stole the Valerius' golden claw. I wonder what they're doing with it?" he mused as he chucked his longbow over his shoulder and motioned for us to continue.

I flexed my fingers around the bow I was carrying for Faendal; I had been gripping it so tightly that now I was aware of it, my fingers stung. A lot of good this thing is doing me.

We trudged up the mountain, though Faendal insisted we search those he'd shot, incase they had the claw on them. I was in no position to refuse anything he asked, so lumbered along after him, suppressing the urge to wretch when he started digging through the clothes of the recently, glassy-eyed deceased.

Faendal passed me a few coins and a pair of daggers. "Hold onto these, will you?"

I hurriedly tossed the money into my bag, then found a sheath on the belt of my Legion armour that would hold the blades. Not that I knew how to use them, but at least they would be within reach if Faendal needed them.

At the top of the pass were wide, age-worn stairs made of the dark grey stone that both the mountain and structure were made of, making the ruin look as though it was part of the landscape. The wind caught the freshest of the snow and blew it around the platform in little flurries, while the base of each column was encased in older, more compacted ice. These columns arched up, impossibly high above our heads, and another set of stairs ascended to an in-tact pair of metal doors. I wondered how they hadn't rusted away up here, being exposed to the elements? But then, despite appearances, perhaps they were not made of steel at all.

The only signs of disturbance were the recent footprints of the bandits Faendal had felled, marring the snowy surface.

"Ah ha!" Faendal sounded victorious and I turned away from the doors to see him standing up from his crouch over the second bandit he had shot, before the other two had charged at us. He held a bow in his hand, and I wondered why he was so pleased until I remembered that he had said he'd be on the look out for another bow for me. I shook my head as he drew nearer as I realised it was his intention I take it; his arm was outstretched for me to accept the piece.

"But, that bow is larger than this one," I held my current one out, to compare and prove my point.

Faendal made a scoffing sound. "That doesn't matter. See how the wood is thinner on this bow?" he pointed. "The tension is there, but the string won't be so stiff for you. Put the other one in your pack, and carry this instead," he instructed.

I begrudgingly complied and said nothing. His tone had carried no command, only tutelage, and I reminded myself that he was helping me out by taking the time to train me at all.

The new bow did feel a little lighter, and it was of longbow design, like Faendal's own bow. As Faendal strode past me and bounded up the stairs to the enormous double-doors, I tested the new bow, grasping the handle firmly in my leading hand, standing with my feet apart like Faendal had showed me, and drawing the string back in my trailing hand as I inhaled.

It was a little easier, but I still couldn't pull it back the entire way.

With a sigh at my weakness, I let the string loose and lowered my arms, then hurried up the stairs after Faendal as he pushed open one of the doors to Bleak Falls Barrow.

–

"Do you think there'll be many-?" I started.

A hand shot out and covered my mouth; another grabbing my side and tugging me sideways. I yelped, but the sound was muffled by the hand.

"Shh!" it was Faendal, hissing urgently.

I turned my head back to ask him a question, with my eyes since I was currently muted, and squirmed in his grasp, indicating that I wished to be released.

He let go of me and ducked down, motioning with his hand for me to do the same.

I crouched, glancing around the cavernous room that entering the barrow had placed us in. It was an extremely long, dark, impossibly tall structure. Rather than stare at shadows upon shadows lining the walls – if they even were walls and not just more open expanse – my eyes found the reason for Faendal's frantic reaction when I had stepped through the doorway and spoken.

There was fire at the far end of the huge room. A pillar of what looked like natural stone rose between it and us, but the shadows either side of it shifted frequently enough for me to determine that there were people over there, moving around this fire. My ears perked as I heard a rumble of conversation, but yet again, I was too far to make out what they said.

My lips pursed and I threw Faendal an apologetic look; but, wary of being shushed again, I didn't speak.

Faendal nodded in appreciation, understanding my gesture, and held a single hand out, palm facing me. The signal was clear enough, this time; wait here.

I acknowledged, and with a small nod of thanks, he began to inch forward on his haunches.

I remained where I was; cloaked in the shadow beside the doorway, watching Faendal silently creep around rocks and piles of rubble, until finally he stopped, next to another pillar of stone, and rose steadily; his back pressed against the rock and his bow, raised and armed.

My heart was in my throat, despite knowing that Faendal could handle it. He was well hidden, and while the bandits would be alerted when he felled the first, they wouldn't easily be able to find him. He was swift, silent, and accurate.

He loosed the arrow, but the first I knew of it was the sound of the bandit he struck; crying out in alarm, before a second leapt around the pillar of stone before the fire, their features in silhouette but their menacing stance enough to make my blood turn to ice. I knew that it was silly; nigh impossible, but I could have sworn that I felt the bandit's eyes fix on me as he searched.

And then he fell. Faendal had already re-drawn and taken him out while he had hesitated.

When no more voices sounded from the fire side of the cavern, I let out the breath I'd been holding, and took a step into the Barrow, relieved.

Screeeeek!

Startled by the sound to my right, it was my only warning before a shadowed thing launched itself at me, butting its pointy head into my side. I shrieked and fell sideways, swatting at the thing, as it launched itself at me again.

"Celeste?" I heard Faendal calling out to me through the confusion.

I held my hands up to cover my face as the lump of muscle leapt on top of my legs and snarled.

I kicked, desperately, and the thing was flung off me; before it could leap on me again, I scrambled to my feet and ran. I could hear it snuffling as it chased me, and I hazarded a glance over my shoulder.

It was low – so low to the ground that it could only be some sort of animal, and its lack of height gave me pause enough to turn back to face it curiously as my fear ebbed. This wasn't a bandit who could skulk and rationalise; it was a beast that's only thoughts were to attack and eat.

The creature launched itself at me again; a dense shadow, leaping through more shadows; and I dodged it in time, this time, fumbling at my belt to retrieve one of the daggers I'd placed there.

The creature hissed at me in annoyance, and I had seen enough of its form to figure out that it was a skeever. I wrinkled my nose in distaste as I gripped the dagger's hilt and then next time the creature leapt at me, I stepped out of the way and swiped at it with the small blade.

I hit it, but only just; not enough to kill it, but enough to annoy it. I turned as a strange, hazy calmness overcame me. I watched the creature screech in outrage and scrabble to turn around, but before it had a chance to leap at me again, it's body skidded across the rock floor in a direction it wouldn't have been able to on its own; an arrow protruding from its middle. It screeched no more.

I huffed and glanced up to Faendal, who was lowering his bow.

At once I was grateful for the shadows of the inner Barrow, for my cheeks flamed red at the entire altercation. I had been jumped on by a giant rat and it had taken me far too long to realise what was happening. I doubted it could have killed me, but if it had bitten me I could have contracted some dirty disease from it.

Faendal jogged to me, and though I saw no judgement in his eyes, I felt that I deserved some.

"Are you all right? Did it bite you?"

I shook my head, fumbling with the dagger and glancing down to re-sheath it so I wouldn't cut myself, or my armour. Not looking at Faendal made it easier to reply. "No. It snuck up on me," I muttered as a weak excuse for my defeat.

"Well, all right," he didn't sound that certain. "Just...keep your eyes open in future. We're not in a safe place."

I glanced up at him, forced myself to meet his eyes so that he would know I was serious, and nodded once. "I know," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go," he didn't dwell on the matter, and I was grateful. The Bosmer tilted his head toward the fire that the bandits had been around, and I fell into step behind him, walking behind the mer, in his shadow.

My eyes weren't turned down any more, though. I glanced from side to side, peering through the darkness, straining to see if anything was within, watching us pass by. I caught no hint of movement from either side of the cavernous room, though we did sidestep a few more dead skeevers, which I assumed the bandits must have killed before us.

Faendal stopped and crouched down again once we reached the fire, immediately searching through the armour of one of the two men he had felled. I almost averted my eyes and left him to it, again, when I caught sight of the second; a twisted pile of legs and arms and fur, crumpled next to a wooden trunk.

Make yourself useful.

I nodded to myself, stepping toward the dead bandit and steeling my resolve. Yet again, I called on my breathing exercises, as I crouched beside him. My eyes roved over the man; Nord, blonde hair, blue warpaint, large shoulders, but thin torso, leather and fur armour, war axe at his belt, and a coin purse next to that.

I slung the bow I was carrying over my shoulder to untie the coin purse, and heard the crunch-crunch of Faendal's footfalls approaching as I put it in my pack.

"He's got a ring on his finger, too. Don't leave that."

I gave the mer an imploring look. "I'm not going to take a dead man's wedding band-"

"Stop being so sentimental," he cut me off in a low, officious voice. "That man would have slit your throat and stripped you of all you own without a second thought. We have a job to do, and that ring is now loot."

I hesitated, glaring up at the elf, wondering if he was serious.

"All right. I'll take it," Faendal swooped down next to me, reaching out to fumble with the dead man's hand.

I let him take it and a wrongness tugged at me as I stood, glancing at the dead bandit's face again. He had dark brown eyes and the whites were bloodshot with red. His teeth were bared and yellowed in his thin slit of a mouth. I frowned, knowing that Faendal was right, about everything, but not liking it one bit. Did this man have a partner? A family, even? What had led him to the Barrow, and into a life of crime?

I heard Faendal sigh, and looked to him, still frowning about the dead Nord.

The elf shuffled past, casting me a concerned look before reaching into a pocket in his armour and withdrawing a lock pick. Wordlessly, he picked the lock on the trunk, then flung the lid open and pocketed the contents; what appeared to be a few gemstones.

He stood, patting my shoulder gently.

"Remember to carry your bow," was all he said, as he stepped through a door-shaped hole in the wall, and disappeared into a blackness within.

I sighed at my internal conflict; now is not the time, Celeste; and stepped after him, un-shouldering my bow as he had instructed.

–

Shaken by all I had witnessed so far, and what it had exposed of my abilities, or lack thereof, I followed the elf silently, hiding when he motioned for me to hide, speaking when he talked to me, and collecting what I could that might aid us on our journey.

I acknowledged that I had been completely unprepared for this venture; my naivety and sheer uselessness so complete that it would have been laughable, had I been able to inch out of my withdrawal to feel amused.

The escape from Helgen had not been like this, at all, and I wondered if that was why I was having such a difficult time with this Bleak Falls Barrow business. Hadvar had killed Stormcloaks, but only after they had refused to let us pass without a fight. He had avoided conflict where possible, while endeavouring to keep us both safe.

Faendal didn't try to avoid anything before us. The moment he sighted a bandit, he was holding up his hand for me to stop, and firing upon them before the man or woman knew that we were within range.

He was doing exactly as I had asked him to do; to clear the way for me; but I felt ill at all the bloodshed, and ashamed of myself for asking him to do this, without really thinking about what it would involve.

Perhaps it was that I had assumed all we would find in the Barrow were draugr, who were already dead?

Our journey through the Barrow was perilous, but time and time again, Faendal rose to whatever challenge was presented to us. I helped him where I could, shifting stones into alignment under his instruction to unlock doors and searching through the deceased's armour and urns and canisters for potions and pieces of gold and gems.

I'm grave robbing, I realised, as I encountered nothing but ash in a particularly small ceramic urn. I withdrew my hand and looked at the dust on my fingertips, my heart racing as I wondered who these specks had once belonged to.

"Eyes up," Faendal nudged me with his elbow, and when I looked to him he was nodding toward something beyond us. "See that web? We've got a frostbite spider ahead of us."

I replaced the lid of the urn without even looking at it; my eyes on the slivers of silvery silk, wafting in a gentle underground zephyr. "A what-?"

"Can I have one of those daggers?" he held his hand out, cutting me off, with his eyes also still on the web.

I had grown so used to doing what he asked that I passed one to him without question; though in my mind I wondered what use a short dagger would be against a frostbite spider. I had never encountered one but they had been written about. Visions of a spider as big as a house diving down with its pincers opened from the roof assailed me, and I wobbled a little when I stepped after Faendal and toward the traces of web.

Faendal inched along the passageway, which became thicker with web as we progressed. I jumped and grimaced and bit my tongue to stop from crying out every time a thread of the surprisingly sticky cobwebs drifted into contact with my exposed legs or cheeks.

Eventually, the web was so thick that our path was blocked, and Faendal started cutting at it with the dagger I'd given him with swift, short motions. The action made barely a sound, but the fibrous silk split and tore, drifting away and re-sticking to other bits of web when it fell.

After a time, Faendal opened a path into an open room, though didn't immediately step through the hole he'd created. He glanced at me with far too much excitement in his eyes than was healthy, and then drew and arrow from his bow.

I sheathed the dagger, realising that Faendal was enjoying our adventure. Perhaps Alvor had been right, and the Bosmer had been cooped up in Riverwood, chopping wood for too long.

"Is somebody there?"

The sound was muted, but both Faendal and I startled at it nonetheless. With another glance at each other, this time more cautious, Faendal motioned for me to step back and away from the hole he'd made in the spider's web, and without waiting for an answer from me, stepped through.

Again, I did as I was told and waited, but was unable to stem my own curiosity at what had certainly been the sound of a man's voice from within the spider's lair. I peeked around the gauge in the spider silk, scanning the pale, sticky cavern within. Enormous white nodules bulged out of creases between layers and layers of woven thread. On the ground, skeever-shaped parcels were coiled in the gooey substance.

I frowned. No people. Who had cried out?

"There you are," Faendal cried out, the sound low and growling out of the back of his throat. My heart flew into mine and I searched for him, stilling when I saw him poised in front of a massive hole in the ground, eyes and bow raised to a funnel of web arcing up into the roof of the cavern.

He loosed, and at once there was an inhuman screech of pain; then something enormous and shrouded in darkness fell from the ceiling, stopping before it plummeted into the hole below its nest and swinging out toward the Bosmer.

Faendal rolled out of the way as I whipped my hand to my mouth to muffle the scream I was certain I was about to make.

"Ha-ha!" Faendal cried out, drawing another arrow and firing it at once into the horrific creature's flank. The arrow thudded into its body, but it recovered, scuttling and reaching several thick, hairy legs towards Faendal as it shrieked shrilly and swiped at him.

Again he dodged, laughing as he ducked around behind the giant spider, and firing again.

My eyes watered as I stared and refused to blink. Dimly I wondered how he could bare goading the creature; surely it was formidable enough without egging it on.

The next time Faendal shot it, before he had lowered his bow, the spider spat something dark and slightly green at the elf; and this time when Faendal cried out, it was in disgust.

I thought I would be sick; it was poison, and it had hit him. What were we going to do?

My question fled as I returned wholly to the now when the spider swiped at Faendal again, and this time, one of its legs caught him as he tried to leap out of the way.

I bit my tongue, wanting to turn away but unable to move.

Faendal hit the ground, landing flat on his stomach in a movement that seemed almost deliberate to me, and the spider screeched again, its front legs raised as its scuttled over the top of him, rearing up.

Oh Gods. This is it. I paled and my shaking hand fell from my mouth, but still I couldn't look away.

Before the spider's pincers descended, the elf turned onto his back, his bow raised and aimed, and fired his ready arrow at point blank.

The spider was livid and reared up even higher than it had before; high enough that Faendel was able to scuttle half way out from underneath it.

But it wasn't enough. The furious spider, arrow protruding out of its head, crashed down and grabbed him by the legs, tossing him across the room.

"Aa-aah!" Faendal cried out as he was flung, and then hit the spongy web lining the wall with a dull thunk. He crumpled into a heap on the ground.

Get up. Get up!

The spider blocked my view of him; its enormous body hunching over the silent Bosmer as it began spinning fresh silk in its front legs.

Its encasing him in web, I realised, my stomach churning with revulsion as tears sprung into the corners of my eyes. Was Faendal even still alive?

A muffled scream from his direction told me that he was, and my heart clenched at the sound.

I watched the spider work, wrapping the mer I had convinced to traverse the Barrow with me in its sticky goo. The mer who was so in love with Camilla, who was planning to propose after we made it through. My hand was clenched so tightly around the bow that Faendal had made me carry that my fingers stung again when I remembered that I had it. The stinging reminded me of the ache my fingertips had felt, when I had first started playing the lute. Until the pads had grown used to pressing the metal strings into the frets, they had ached, burned, and even bled.

But it had not stopped me from playing, and I had developed calluses, and gotten better.

I glanced at the bow, my heart racing and my eyes wide and wild, then back up to the spider. It wasn't even aware of me, witnessing its gruesome act. Surely, I could fire one arrow across the room and hit it, giving Faendal enough space and time to escape.

Do it.

There was no time to angst any further. I grabbed an arrow from the quiver, cursing how my hands shook as I placed the fletch clumsily in my haste, and raised the bow, shifting so that my feet were positioned correctly. The spider was in my sights. It was close enough that it shouldn't matter if my aim wasn't true. I pulled the string back, as far as I could manage, and then grit my teeth and told myself to stop being so weak, and save Faendal. The string moved back another few inches.

I exhaled and fired.

My arrow fell short of the spider, but the sound of it skipping against an exposed piece of rock was enough for the creature to cease what it was doing, and turn its horrible, many-eyed head toward the source of the disturbance. I held my breath as the spindly thing turned fully, angling its head down to inspect the arrow I had fired, and hurriedly grasped for another arrow. My eyes flickered to Faendal; half-covered in goo, struggling to break free of it and at the same time, not make a sound.

I placed the second arrow in the bow, my hands still quaking as I aimed at the spider's head.

Please. This time, fly true, I begged, prayed to whichever Divine might have been watching.

Pulling the string back with all of my might, I exhaled and fired again. The arrow whizzed through the air, thudding into one of the spider's little eyes.

The sound it made as it reared up made me instinctively scramble backwards, and I stumbled over a tuck of rock and fell down hard on my backside. Still I froze, ignoring the pain, and stared as the spider's hairy legs shuddered for a moment, and then the screeching stopped, and it toppled to the ground with a thud that shook the ground beneath us.

My eyes somehow widened even more as I scrambled to my feet. It was dead?

I watched it a moment longer as it twitched, certain that it would soon rise and leap at me.

"Celeste, you did it!" Faendal cried out from across the room, relief plain in his gasp of pain. "Hurry up and get over here!"

His voice startled me into awareness and action, and I hastened across the nest to where he was still tangled in spider's silk. I ignored the crunch of tiny bones and squelch of Divines-knew-what under my boots as I gave the dead, but still occasionally twitching spider a massive berth.

"You did it!" another somewhat shrill voice called out from wall of nearly solid web. "Cut me free, please!"

I faltered, peering into the web, and caught sight of frantic movement within but not much else. "Um, just a moment," I called out to him, then continued making my way to Faendal.

"No - no, please, I beg you!" the voice came again. "I've been trapped in here for hours – days, probably!"

I bit my bottom lip and said nothing, moving toward Faendal. The chances of this voice in the web being another bandit was high, and I'd need Faendal if he was.

"Quick, this bit around my arms," Faendal was nodding at his chest. The spider had wrapped its thick, strong thread around his upper arms so tightly that while his hands were free, he didn't have much movement. His legs were also completely covered.

I knelt in the grime and slime of the ground with a grimace, handed him one of the two daggers I carried, then got to work on slicing through the web restraining his arms. A few gentle saws of the blade, and it his arms were released.

"Ugh," Faendal tore the stuff off him with disgust, then adjusted his hold on the dagger and started sawing through the web encircling his legs. "Thank you," he muttered, his eyes on his work. "I thought I was done for."

There was a barely perceptible tremor to his tone. I sat back on my heels, watching him work and frowned as I took in the state of the mer. His armour had caught most of the sticky, green poison that the spider had fired at him, but there was enough of it on his neck and face that I had to wonder how he was still conscious. He looked gaunt and grey, but I wondered if it was the meagre lighting causing most of his pallor.

Sheathing the dagger, I reached into my pack and searched for a potion to help him. I'd collected all that I'd found during the journey, though most were of the stamina and restoration variety.

Fanedal finished cutting his way free and flexed his legs, rubbing at his knees with a wince. His eyes were on me, and he nodded toward my bag, obviously working out what I was doing.

"You don't have any thistle in there, do you? Perhaps some garlic?" I heard him hiss.

I shook my head, turning my eyes up properly at the sound of his strained wheeze, and again I looked him up and down. I was certain that his eyes had dark circles underneath them that hadn't been there before. "I'm looking for a potion. Would thistle and garlic really help with venom?" I asked him, more to keep him talking.

Faendal grunted with exertion and I noticed he was trying to lift himself to his feet. "Yes. You'd be surprised what a few herbs here and there can do."

I leaned forward, pushing gently on his chest to guide him back down, which I managed with surprisingly little effort. "Just, relax, please. Drink this," I palmed him a stamina potion, hoping it would distract and tide him over, until I found something that might more suitably combat the poison.

Faendal sniffed it tentatively before taking a swig, nearly spluttering as he made himself swallow it down, and shooting me a revolted look when he passed the empty bottle back to me. "That is foul."

I took the bottle hastily, casting it into the pit in the middle of the spider's nest, and smiled. "At least your tastebuds still work. Here," I grinned victoriously, finding a tiny red bottle in amongst the other red potion bottles. Unlike the other health potions this one had a little cord tied around it's neck, and a small label that read cure poison.

Faedal glowered at me, propping himself up on his elbows, then snatched the potion with one hand and inspected the label with a frown. "Get the water skin ready," he said dryly, as he tugged the wax out of the top with an audible 'pop'.

I smiled and did as he bade.

After Faendal had gagged down the potion and drank about half of our water supply to wash and keep it down, the colour returned to his skin and he lost that slightly panicked sheen to his garnet eyes.

I helped him to stand, and nodded to the place in the web where I'd heard the voice earlier. "Somebody else is here," I muttered in an undertone to my companion.

Faendal leaned on my shoulders, crossing his brows and glancing at the place I'd indicated. "Bandit?" he said through the side of his mouth to me.

I shrugged. "I couldn't see him. He called out to me when I passed by."

"Are you still there?" the panicked voice came again, as if on cue. "Don't leave me here to die!"

Faendal nodded in acknowledgement, determination taking over his features, and he gingerly took a step away from me and stooped down; retrieving his bow.

When he stood, he'd already placed and arrow and drawn the bow, his eyes on the point where we'd heard the voice.

"Go quietly," he instructed. "Cut through most of the web holding him, but don't cut him free just yet."

I nodded and stepped toward the web wall, gripping the hilt of my dagger tightly as my eyes flickered to the enormous lump of shadow where the dead spider lay. It had stopped twitching.

"We're...going to cut you free now," I called out as I faced the wall, and began slashing at the web. "Hold still, so I don't cut you," I warned.

Easier for Faendal to aim if he's still.

"Hurry!" the man called desperately. "I don't want to be eaten!"

I frowned. "The spider's dead," I told him, as the web in front of me jiggled. "Just – hold still. You'll be free in a moment."

"Stop engaging with him, Celeste," Faendal whispered warningly from by my side; his bow raised and trained on the place where the web was most noticeably shuddering. "Remember where we are."

I flushed and nodded, pursing my lips and concentrated on slicing through the web.

After a short time, I could make out the form of the struggling man. He was the muscliest Dunmer I'd ever seen, wearing a leather kilt with most of his torso exposed.

"Arkay praise you, child!" the Dunmer sighed with relief. "Just a little – more," he fidgeted in his binds.

"No, that's quite enough for now," Faendal spoke deadpan at the Dunmer; at the same time, warning me.

I lowered my dagger, stepping back and doing my best not to meet the eyes of the fearful man, and Faendal took my place; the tip of his arrow inches from the mer's nose. The Dunmer actually went cross-eyed, trying to look at it.

"Now. Tell us where the claw is, and my friend will finish cutting you free and we can all go on our merry ways," Faendal spoke quietly, but with enough ice behind his tone to make what he said sound scary.

The Dunmer's eyes un-crossed to stare at Faendal in confusion. "What claw?"

"The golden claw that you and yours stole from the Riverwood Trader two nights ago," Faendal added calmly.

After a pause, the Dunmer huffed. "I don't know what you mean."

Faendal made a 'tsk' sound, and while his eyes remained trained on the Dunmer, he spoke to me over his shoulder; "Slit his throat."

"Wha-?" I faltered, paling.

"What? No!" the man screeched, his panicked red eyes flickering between Faendal's arrow tip and my dagger.

I glanced down at the dagger too, then, and the absurdity of this Dunmer believing I was capable of slitting anybody's throat pressed against me, threatening to make me giggle. Certainly, Faendal didn't expect it of me. I bit my tongue and raised my eyes, narrowing them as I tried my best to look menacing.

"Maybe he'll speak if we cut somewhere else, boss," the words snaked out of my mouth before I realised I had said them; like lines from a performance that I'd been rehearsing for at the college.

Faendal snorted, nudging at the Dunmer's cheek with his arrow head. "Nah, too messy. Let's get this over with," he lowered his bow and stepped back, to let me pass.

The Dunmer met my eyes, his fear acute, and I did my best to maintain his gaze with a steady one as I stepped up in front of him. "Smile and face your death like a man," I spun words, though my heart thumped erratically as I said them and angled the blade toward his neck. "Or perhaps I shall simply cut you a new one."

"All right, you looneys," he whispered, gasping out the last. "I've got it. It's in my pack. Just cut me free, and I'll give it to you."

I smirked, turning back to Faendal and bowing. "He's all yours. You're welcome."

Faendal grinned at me, lowering his bow and putting his arrow back in its quiver, grasping the handle of his dagger and stepping up to take my place. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Faendal cut at the last few threads of thick web holding him aloft in what I could see now was a passageway.

I sheathed the dagger, watching the pair and relieved that we were on the verge of completing one of our two tasks, at least. With a bit of a wriggle and a rustle, I heard the Dunmer drop onto stone.

"There, you're free. Now, hand it over-"

"Ha!" the Dunmer barked, and I startled as Faendal wheezed and doubled over, crashing to the web-streaked, rocky floor.

"What are you doing?" I screamed at the unknown mer. "We saved you!"

The Dunmer didn't spare me a second glance; he turned and ran away from us, and further into the ruin. "You were going to slit my throat, freak!" he called out behind himself. "I'm not giving you the key to the Nord's treasure!"

I fumed as I raced to Faendal's side, dragging the Bosmer to his feet and palming him a restoration potion from my pack.

Faendal grabbed for and downed it, then threw the empty bottle aside and surged forward after the Dunmer. "Come on!" he called out to me as he disappeared from view.

"Ahhh!" the pained scream of the Dunmer echoed down the passage, multiplying as it filtered into the spider's nest.

The sound prompted me to dart forward into the passage, to find Faendal.

Torches burned on the walls – who lit these?! – and I hadn't run for long before I sighted him, kneeling over the crumpled body of the Dunmer. His back was to me, his bow over his shoulder. I slowed to a walk as I neared him.

I took in our surrounds, reasoning that we must have now been deep underground. The walls were lined with slots, and most of the occupants were covered with shrouds or encased in coffins. Some of the deceased ancient Nords were uncovered; their darkened skin wrinkled and arms crossed on their chests.

My eyes widened as I stopped next to the crouched Faendal, and I grasped his shoulder to get his attention as I noticed another crumpled form on the path ahead of them; its skin also darkened and creased, with an arrow sticking out of it. My eyes widened. Was this...?

Faendal looked up when I had grabbed him. "It's a draugr," he confirmed, then nodded back down to the Dunmer. "Help me roll him; the claw must be in his backpack."

I sank to my knees automatically, and leant what strength I had to turn the Dunmer onto his front; my eyes on the collapsed draugr all the while, in case it decided to rise from the dead. Well, again.

I heard the shuffle of cloth from Faendal's direction, and then-

"Ah ha!" he cried out, victorious. I glanced at him, feeling pale, to see him clasping a rather large, gold, three-pronged claw-like sculpture in his hand.

His exclamation rumbled around the small passage, and I ducked, turning my eyes back to the passage as dust and tiny stones fell from the ceiling around us, enveloping us in a rusty-coloured cloud.

Crack.

Both of us startled this time; Faendal hastily shoving the claw into my pack as it was within reach, then standing, raising his bow.

Through the settling dust, I caught a glint of blue. Then two glinting, star-like orbs. Then four. Then six. Twelve. More than I could count.

Then I noticed the shadows underneath the blue orbs, shuffling and swaying, and realised the sparkles were eyes.

I scrambled back, trying to rise to my feet behind Faendal, and understood that his whooping had awoken all of the draugr in the immediate vicinity.

"Run!" he grated over his shoulder to me, through clenched teeth.

At the same moment, he loosed his arrow into the oncoming mass.

A/n: a loooong chapter but I hope it's worth it. Thanks again for the reviews of last chapter - again I'm relieved that it's not boring! It's such a (welcome) challenge to write a protagonist who can't fight.
Cake-san: I'll answer one of your questions since I hadn't planned on explaining it in-story and it was just intended to be a nice bit of throwaway character development. The 'other stray' was a literal baby fox cub. Hadvar is the sort of man who, as a boy, would bring home lost, injured animals all the time (as part of his doing all in his power to protect the meek).
Your other question will be addressed over time :)