Foreword: Holy shit! Two uploads in the same year? Madness! Thank you for those who reviews and constructive criticism. I really appreciate it. This is the last chapter I had to rewrite from scratch after my computer decided that it should be in Wingdings so the next one shouldn't take too long. Of course since I've said that Murphy's law is in effect. Welp, enjoy!

Warning: Slight mention of torture in latter part of chapter. If you want to skip it it starts with [*] and ends with *

The afternoon sun greeted Lydia when she took a step out of the temple. Riften's air reflected the reputation of the city: a queer mixture of rotting fish and ale. Lydia drew the hood of her robe over her head and made her way to the marketplace. She browsed the stalls, buying arrows from one vendor but stayed far away from the so-called merchant trying to sell a bottle of who knows what. Lydia shook her head. If he were to try to pull something like that in Whiterun, Caius would've had the man arrested and put in jail for at least a month. But as she was making her way to the city's inn, she and the merchant made eye contact. There was no way she was avoiding him.

"And what about you beautiful scholar?" Lydia looked at the man and then pointed at herself. "Yes you!"

"What horker oil concoction are you trying to sell?"

The merchant's grin grew. "No trick my dear. What I have here is a potion that will enhance your magical prowess! You'd be the envy of every mage and sorceress, even becoming greater than the Arch-Mage himself and beyond! Not only that but many intellectuals, such as yourself, have used this potion and have experience fantastical meditations where they have received a blessing from the great Talos himself! And this potion just so happens to cure any rash and give you the strength of ten men."

Lydia had to restrain from rolling her eyes at the man's theatrics. Two could play at that game. Besides, her mother had a saying: If it's supposed to cure all, it cures nothing. Lydia shook her head and said dramatically, "Well then as the Arch-Mage is the College of Winterhold it wouldn't make sense for me to take that. But just in case, I'll make sure my students and staff don't come here and try your potion for themselves. Can't have any competition."

She walked away from the sputtering merchant, holding in her laughter, before he could launch another pitch. The Bee and Barb was abuzz with activity. The Argonians who ran the place were constantly moving, taking food and drink orders and keeping the tables clean. Lydia found a small table next to a wall and sat down. The male Argonian welcomed her, took her order and returned a few moments later with her soup. As she ate, Lydia listened to the locals at the other tables spin tales and relay gossip, mostly about the Thieves Guild, the Blackbriar family, and the civil war.

Lydia paid for the food, tipping for the excellent service and decided to pay the docks a visit before returning to the temple. As she reached for the door someone opened it from the other side, bumping into her. Her hand immediately went for her coin purse and she was glad to find it still attached to her hip. The person who bumped her was one of the priests at the temple.

"My apologies, sister," Dinya apologized, "I'm sorry I didn't see you there." She blinked when Lydia pulled off the hood. "Oh, it's you!"

"Alessandra, lent me the robe. I hope it's not a problem," said Lydia defensively lest the Dunmer wanted to accuse her of stealing.

But Dinya just smiled. "It's alright. Mara has blessed us with plenty of them. But it is good that I bumped into you. Your Khajiit friend said to meet her by the blacksmith." The Dunmer pointed towards the docks, "Just look for the fire pit and the giant Nord commanding it. Go on. She doesn't look like the type to be kept waiting."

Lydia sighed. "You don't know the half of it. Thanks for your help."

The Nord walked the short trek to the Blacksmith's residence. The blacksmith, a tall and burly man, leaned against a bench and watched a much shorter robed figure work on a piece of weaponry that looked like a giant double sided fishing hook. Upon closer inspection you recognize that it was M'rasha working on the forge.

"I have to say that I'm very impressed. Not many Khajiit tend to take up smithing, let alone have a mastery of the craft. Glad you decided to share some of your secrets with me."

"Do not sell yourself short Balimund. You have taught this one some new tricks as well," M'rasha said in a strange accent, "Using fire salts to increase the heat is very smart."

Balimund looked pleased, "Years of experimenting as you might have gathered. I almost burned off my mustache once!"

The two of them laughed until M'rasha caught sight of Lydia. "Ah! There you are. Come now. No time to dawdle."

"Student of yours," The blacksmith asked.

M'rasha nodded. She wrapped the weapon in a leather tarp. "Smart as a whip and keeps me toes. And no she's not available."

Lydia groaned and covered her face with her hands while Balimund started to sputter. "What are you...I never said…"

"Teacher, Maramal is waiting for you," said Lydia through clenched teeth. M'rasha laughed. "And he'll continue to wait..."

She handed the tarped weapon as well as two more sacks to Lydia. "Give this to him. Tell him to practice some restraint. And if you need me I'll be in the apothecary." She turned back to Balimund. "Thank you and may the blessings of Zenithar be on you."

"Thank you priestess." M'rasha slowly hobbled away back towards the entrance to the town. As soon as M'rasha was out of range Balimund commented, "She was joking."

Lydia sighed, "Don't tell her I said this but she wouldn't know comedy if hit her in the face."

The two Nords had a laugh before Lydia bid him farewell and carried her cargo back to the temple. The man she was looking for was busy tidying the altar. "Maramal, a gift from M'rasha." She handed the bags over and the head priest let out a grunt.

"What did she give me, rocks?"

"Weapons or armor I think. If she needs me I'll be napping downstairs." Lydia yawned and returned the storage room and fell asleep on the cot. This time, when she slept, she wasn't plagued by horrible dreams that she had before. But she was brought out of her sleep by another force. When Lydia opened her eyes she saw Alessandra at her side shaking her arm. Lydia hissed at the woman, "What are you doing? I was sleeping."

"Sorry, I'm under orders. They want you in Maramal's quarters. Head up the stairs and his room is straight ahead."

Lydia grumbled and rolled off the cot. She followed the woman's instructions and soon found herself in front of a door. The sound of muffled laughter came from inside of the room and it stopped once she knocked on the door.

"Come in!" A deep voice commanded. Lydia pushed the door open to see M'rasha sitting at a small table with Maramal. She was still dressed in the yellow robes, feet resting on an empty chair. On the table were breads, sliced meats and cheeses and three bottles of wine-one of them was nearly finished.

"Had a nice nap?" The Betmer moved her feet and motioned for Lydia to sit in the empty chair.

"I should ask you the same." Lydia sat down and grabbed a piece of bread.

M'rasha nodded. "I slept well."

The head priest coughed to get the ladies' attention. "I need to ask M'rasha, what will you do now," Maramal asked the Betmer, "Stay and recuperate more? Head back out? You need to give me something so I can feed it to Brynjolf."

"Brynjolf?"

"Member of the Thieves Guild. Tries to con people of their gold with his cure-alls in the market. I don't want him getting too close to you. Though I believe Lydia has already made his acquaintance."

"I have," she confirmed before munching on the bread.

"Tell him we're two traveling priests who got jumped by the Dark Brotherhood on our way to Ivarstead. As for our departure, we leave tonight. And hopefully as free people after a stop to the Jarl's."

"Please keep your barbs to a minimum. I'd hate to have to break you out of jail."

"You act like I've never escaped prison. Maybe I should get myself arrested..."

"Please don't." He turned to Lydia and asked, "How do you like Riften?"

"Aside from the conmen, suspicious guild and corrupt guards, it's an okay place. Wouldn't want to raise my children here if I decide to have any. No offense."

Maramal laughed. "This isn't my hometown so none taken."

"I do have one question."

"Well, ask it and I'll do my best to answer it."

Lydia took a short breath and asked, "Who is Kjerns to you?"

M'rasha, who was in mid gulp, began to choke on her drink and the cup fell from her grasp, spilling wine onto the floor. Lydia leaned over and hit the Betmer on the back until the coughing fit ended. The piece of cheese that was in Maramal's hand fell back onto the plate.

The Khajiit gasped in between coughs, "Where... where did you hear that name?"

"When you were brought in," Maramal supplied, "Down in the Hall of the Dead. You were delusional and asking for his whereabouts."

An unsettling quiet enveloped the room. M'rasha was staring at the wine bottle in front of her, trapped in a long forgotten memory. Maramal's eyes were closed as he murmured quietly a prayer. And Lydia just sat there, confused at the reactions of both. After all it's just a name...

Both Maramal and M'rasha's gaze turned on to her. Did she say that out loud? The anger on M'rasha's face and the noise of her nails scraping the table said it all. Maramal just gave her a pitiful look. "Talos might be just a name but it can land you in a jail cell all the same. Except you say that name and you may get picked up by the Thalmor."

"I'm not afraid. The Thalmor don't scare me."

"Then you are a bigger fool then I thought." M'rasha laughed before taking one of the unopened wine bottles, uncorking it, and taking a big swig. "And a jail cell? Don't lie to her Maramal. They would send her to the presser."

"What's the presser?"

"M'rasha, don't..."

"The presser is what we veterans call the Thalmor interrogation rooms. They'll keep you there until you give them the information they need. If you decide to be uncooperative they may start with threats and maybe beat you with a club or a whip. And if you remain silent, they start going after your body parts."

Maramal leaned over the table to grab the wine bottle from the Betmer but M'rasha got out of the chair and out of reach. "M'rasha..."

[*]"And if that doesn't turn you into a sniveling shell of a man willing to sell out your best friend for an ounce of relief, they'll delve even deeper," the drunk Khajiit continued, "They'll go after your family and friends. And even though you may think that they are safe, the Thalmor have their agents everywhere."

"M'rasha!"

"No Maramal. Big bad Nord isn't afraid of the Thalmor so she'll be fine listening to what I have to say." She turned back to Lydia, waving the wine bottle at her. "Your mother, your father, your siblings,husbands, wives, everyone is fair game to those elves. And they will kill them. How? Well, anything that strikes their sadistic fancy: Poison, beheading, drowning, bleeding out, crushing, just to name a few. And after they're wrung every little piece of information, related or not, they'll do one of two things: they'll kill you as well or they will set you free not before reminding you how many people you gave up."

"I'd never give them anything," Lydia proclaimed, smashing her fist on the table.

"AH! There's that Nord bravado!" She leaned over, a smug look on her face. "You know, those are the one the Thalmor love to torture the most. Their hot air disappears after a few broken bones."

"M'rasha. You're out of line!" The Redguard stomped over to the drunk woman, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her a few feet away from the Nord.

"I'm out of line? No!" The Betmer snarled, "Have you forgotten that it was us, not her, who lived and fought during the war? We are the ones who bare the scars. We were the ones who lost! And what has she lost? Tell me Maramal." But the priest said nothing, averting his eyes a frown still on his face.

M'rasha yanked her hand free. She turned her attention to the Nord. "I have fought in the Great War, you did not. I have seen the carnage that the Thalmor have inflicted, have walked into their torture chambers where the walls are covered in blood and the bodies of mutilated soldiers and civilians. I have helped liberated falsely accused citizens who have gone mad with grief, with rage after watching their entire families slaughtered like pigs in front of them. If you think that this some scare tactic, then you are a fool. "

*She dropped the empty wine bottle onto Lydia's lap. Her eyes were no longer bright with drunken glee but mournful. "There is a reason why many veterans treat the Thalmor like evil spirits that children are taught to be afraid of. And I pray to the gods that you don't ever have to go through that."

M'rasha turned her back on the two and left the room, leaving a stunned Maramal and Lydia. The Redguard let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. "At least she didn't start spitting fire."

But Lydia wasn't listening. The conversation replayed over and over in her mind. How much was truth and how much was exaggeration? Could there be any Thalmor agents hiding out in Riften? In Whiterun? Were they looking for her or M'rasha? What had the Khajiit done to have the Thalmor after her? Was she even safe traveling with her?

"Lydia. Calm your mind."Maramal was sitting in front of her, his hand squeezing her knee. "I know this all might seem frightening to you but as long as you're with M'rasha, she'll keep you safe."

"Are you certain? Can you look me in the eye and say it?"

Without hesitation, Maramal slid off the chair and knelt down in front of her. Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. "Come in."

Briehl waked in wringing his hands, "I'm sorry to disturb you Maramal but it's time for today's service and your...guest has passed out on the pews."

Maramal shook his head. "I'll grab her in a minute."

The priest nodded and left the room. Maramal looked back at Lydia. "As long as you have not betrayed M'rasha, she will doing anything and everything to keep you safe and out of the Thalmor's hands. Even if it means setting a city ablaze, she will make sure that you live another day."

"Color me unconvinced."

"Believe it or not, it's your choice. But I know I wouldn't be here, talking to you, if she didn't come back for me." With that he got to his feet and left the room. He returned only seconds later with a snoring M'rasha slung over his shoulder. Maramal walked over to the bed and dropped her sleeping form on top of it.

"Our service is about to begin. If you want, you could join us."

Lydia shook her head. "I'll stay in here. Make sure she doesn't try to interrupt it if she wakes."

"Fair enough."

Maramal went out into the main room, leaving the Nord with the passed out Khajiit and her own thoughts. But she wasn't ready to deal with al the revelations that were dumped on her within the last three days. So she grabbed the bottle and drank. One drink turned into two drinks turned into three drinks and then the next thing she remembered was something wet hitting her face, making it hard for her to breathe. She ripped soaked rag off her face, gasping. Somehow she had made it to or someone else placed her into Maramal's bed. At the foot of the bed stood the priest and the Khajiit, all smiles on their faces.

"Now before you go after me Lydia. It was his idea." Lydia grumbled. Of course it would be the cat who hit me.

Maramal elbowed M'rasha. "She speaks lies. You know how mischievous Khajiit can be."

"And here I thought you above stereotyping."

They laughed like old friends. That was when Lydia noticed that M'rasha was no longer wearing the yellow robe she wore a set of black and brown leather armor, gauntlets, hood and boots.

"Now that you've had a nice nap, I've got something to give you." She tossed a large sack at Lydia. Lydia recognized the bag, "I thought that bag was for Maramal?"

"Only to hold. The items inside were for us. Well what's left is for you." She pulled out the items and placed them out on the bed.

"I took your Dwarven chest plate and removed that arms pieces. Added some durable chainmail and leather and some metal. Did the same with leggings so you could move faster. The steel plate gauntlets provide you about the same protection. Made you an Orcish helmet with cover for better visibility," the Khajiit explained as she pointed to each piece, "You can keep this set or mix and match. Just leave the priest what you don't take. As a donation to the temple."

"Ah, you're too kind."

"And I see you have a new outfit as well."

"One must make changes once they learn the Dark Brotherhood wants your head. Tell me when you're ready to go. We have a Jarl to talk to."

The two left Lydia alone. She took a look at her old chest piece and decided to go for the newer one but kept the old gauntlets. After suiting up, she went back to the basement to collect the rest of their equipment and to say goodbye to Alessandra with a promise to write to her once they got back to Whiterun.

When she returned to the main part of the temple the priest and the Khajiit were near the front door chatting away. "Ready then?"

"Ready."

M'rasha turned to the Redguard. "Well Maramal. 'Til we meet again."

He hugged her tight and kissed her cheeks. "Hopefully in calmer times and not when you're half dead."

M'rasha returned the gesture before stepping back and cover her face with the hood and face mask. "No promises."

The Redguard turned to Lydia with a hand held out. When the Nord went to shake it he instead pulled her into a great hug and whispered in her ear, "Keep her safe for me. Please."

"I'll try," she said softly before parting with the man. And with that Lydia followed M'rasha out of the the temple and towards Mistveil Keep but as she watched the eyes on the Riften guards lock onto them she was starting to doubt if she would be able to keep her promise to Maramal. Well, without casualties at least.