Side note: I've recently started a Halo fic, titled 'Heartbeats'. Feel free to check it out if that's a fandom that interests you.

Frontstab

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ

"Right now."

Everyone in the room tensed. The guards looked frantically around and even Ondolemar flinched. But Logrolf just stood there, meeting her eye.

"Okay, it's a little late." Hjar admitted. "It actually springs Now!"

Again, nothing happened. Thongvor sighed. Ondolemar started chuckling.

"This is kinda embarrassing." Hjar admitted, gesturing vaguely at Logrolf and Ondolemar. "The trap was supposed to have sprung by now, you two should both be dead."

"Adorable." Logrolf sighed. "Get them. Keep her alive if you can, kill the Silver-Blood. Don't resist, Hjar, or I kill the hostage."

"Well I won't even need to do that." Hjar responded, "Because my trap springs right…nnnnow. Now. Okay, now."

"This is getting embarrassing." Urzoga pointed out.

"Maybe if you say 'please' to the trap, it will spring?" Kaie offered, cackling.

"Good point." Hjar agreed, even as the Thalmor and Silver Hand approached her. "Okay, please now?"

"Much better." Kaie said. And then she took the sword away from Margret's throat and thrust it into Logrolf's back.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|

It was a common misconception that heavy armours such as plate were heavy, slow, and unwieldy. While they were heavy, particularly Dulurza's orichalcum, people often failed to realise that slowing your weapon arm or preventing a full range of movement would be an incredibly stupid idea. The main issue with performing athletics in armour was that it limited breathability, and was susceptible to overheating after extended exercise.

But Dulurza wasn't in full armour, having shed her helmet and gauntlets. And endurance was something she had in spades.

She sprinted through Castle Dour, swerving around a guard that was slumped against the wall with his sword missing, and catching a glimpse of Mirri darting through a door ahead of her.

She can go invisible. If she gets outside and casts that, she's just about free.

Fortunately, Solitude's jail had the beneficial feature of being directly underneath Castle Dour. When Dulurza skidded into the main room, it was in time to see Mirri engaged in a swordfight with Legate Rikke.

The curt but dependable Nord was currently viciously trading blows with the Dunmer, visibly off-balance and surprised but holding her own fairly well.

Mirri's eyes flicked back to the approaching Dulurza, and she grimaced. When her blade next locked with Rikke's, she swung up her knee beneath the Legate's legs. Rikke gasped, and Mirri crunched a fist into her nose with her free hand, causing her to stagger away and give Mirri time to turn to the door, yank on the handle—

And be slammed into the door by Dulurza from behind. It crashed open, the two of them spilling out into the courtyard.

Dulurza braced on the ground with one palm to stop herself losing her footing and continued her charge. Mirri hit the floor and rolled, coming back up to her feet just in time to dodge Dulurza's follow-up swing. The courtyard was mostly empty at night, but there were still shouts from near the entrances to the castle's grounds. It was night, now, but the light of the great central bonfire revealed squads of guards rushing towards them.

Mirri noticed them too, her expression souring further. She leapt backwards and started running further away. Dulurza gave chase, and was just able to spot the shimmers of purple light in the woman's hands NO—

Mirri vanished. Dulurza's downward swing cleaved through the space she'd just occupied and crashed into one of the logs in the bonfire, creating a flood of sparks. She looked around, desperately, but in the low light it was impossible to look for the subtle flicker of the invisibility spell—

Sparks!

Dulurza tightened her grip on her axe and yanked it out of the bonfire, dragging with it the red-hot, half burned log it had stuck into. The result was a wide arc of sparks fluttering away into the night. They all lost momentum and disappeared quickly, but not so quickly that Dulurza didn't see the spot where they curled around a seemingly empty section of the air.

She swung her axe towards it and flung the log still attached to the blade, sending the wood tumbling end over end and crashing into the back of the retreating figure. The invisibility spell flickered and vanished as Mirri stumbled, cursing, then turned back to face Dulurza.

Mirri's Imperial sword came up to catch the swinging axe-head, a difficult premise at the best of times. Rendered even harder when the enchanted weapon sent a shock through her arms, and slowed her enough for Dulurza to reach out and grab her sword-hand.

"Warned you." She said, calmly. Then changed her grip and swiped up with the axe, severing the limb at the wrist.

Mirri's mouth opened, but she was prevented from screaming as the paralysis kicked in. Dulurza shifted her grip to the scruff of the Dunmer's neck, then hurled her backwards, sending her stumbling away across the courtyard.

The paralysis vanished, Mirri screamed, and then crashed arms-first into the fire-pit.

The screams got louder.

Dulurza was quick to follow her, grab her, and haul her back out, dropping her onto the cobbles as the rest of the guards arrived.

"Medic!" She hollered. "We need her to answer questions, not to die!"

"You heard her!" Shouted a panting Legate Rikke, one of the first to catch up.

She looked down at the moaning Dunmer, clutching her burned stump with a similarly scorched hand, and turned to give Dulurza a worried look. "Did you have to throw her in the fire?"

"Course I did." Dulurza shrugged. "Cauterise the wound. If I hadn't, she'd've bled out."

Rikke shuddered. "Divines…"

What she was thinking (Jarl Elisif the Fair, the most timid leader I know, goes eight months without picking a Thane and then chooses her?), she didn't say, and so Dulurza never knew.

8˂

High—Low—Swipe—Block—Kick—Parry—Grapple—Counter-Grapple—Dodge—Strike—Strike—DUCK—

The fight was the only thing in L'laarzen's mind. There was no room for anything else in there, except for possibly 'Ja-Kha'jay and Jode, I forgot how fast he was.'

L'laarzen knew nobody who could turn two daggers into a whirlwind the way Vendil could. His two hands were totally independent when it came to predicting them, yet perfectly linked when it came to generating momentum. Fighting Mercer Frey had been like fighting a giant. He pulled power out of nowhere, and one hit would kill you. But fighting Vendil Ulen was like fighting the wind. He turned the air sharp, and to share that air with him was to fall to pieces.

How does one fight the wind? Well, it was actually fairly simple. One used a windbreak.

L'laarzen snagged an arm as it extended with a thrust that was set to cut into her breastbone, slipped closer on the outside of his guard, changed her grip, brought an elbow down—

Lifted one of her feet up to avoid his kick at her knee, and then he spun on his other foot, twisting his arm out of her grip as he swung for her head with the other dagger. She knocked that aside with her gauntleted forearm, then hissed as the other dagger drew a line across her midriff, forcing her to dart backwards.

This would normally be the time for a witty comment. But neither of them were the type for banter during combat unless it was helpful. The fight thus far had been almost completely silent, barring the occasional grunt and thud.

Anyway. Point is, L'laarzen can't get in and kill him in one clean strike as she would prefer. She will need to cripple his limbs first.

This time, she went on the offensive. Her claws flashed in the light of the nearby lanterns (Lanterns! Save that!), launching a flurry of blows that he either parried, dodged, or caught on the harder parts of his armour.

He didn't look pressed, but fighters like he and her rarely did (she would know, she had taught him). Someone was going to get cut, but it was impossible to tell who. The next blood would go to whoever did something unexpected, or whoever tired last.

So L'laarzen flung a lantern at his face.

He didn't expect it alright, but that was only because the move was a foolish one. It was impossible not to telegraph it, reaching aside to yank the thing off its hook and swing it at him. It landed, cracking against his mask and making him stumble backwards. But she wasn't fast enough to stop him digging his knife into her leg and dragging it downwards as she moved.

This merited a full scream, as she disengaged and dived away. You had better hope Cassia can heal that one, you fool—

Nonetheless, her plan had worked.

Vendil backed up as well. He tossed one knife into the air, reached up with that hand to yank down the cracked goggles of his mask, glaring out with angry red eyes as he caught the dagger.

And L'laarzen smashed the other nearby lantern.

Vendil's gaze darted around, trying to follow the flickering shadows of the room.

"REALLY?" He yelled, in spite of himself. "THIS?"

His only answer was another nearby lantern smashing. He snarled, and ducked behind a barrel.

Was L'laarzen a better fighter than him? Was she a better killer? A better sneak? All these things were debatable. What wasn't debatable was that she could see in the dark and he couldn't.

What I wouldn't give for some of Mirri's spiders right now. Where even is that useless flirt? I set up her escape!

Another lantern smashed, some distance away, and he grit his teeth. I could try setting things on fire with magic? No, I'm not especially skilled there, and the chaos would benefit L'laarzen as much as me. I need to flee to the deck, use the door as a bottleneck—Argh, but she doesn't need to kill me. Just keep me away. I may have gathered every cutthroat, killer and mercenary in Hjaalmarch to this boat with a promise of the bounty, but they'll do nothing but buy me time. Time I'm already running out of. She just needs to control this space until her reinforcements arrive...

...Except she wouldn't. Because this was L'laarzen. The real L'laarzen, the one he'd worked with for years, not the one that had ran for the northern wastelands and questioned everything she'd ever done.

She was here to kill him. And if he knew one thing about L'laarzen, it was that she did not let her targets get away.

Vendil scooped up a mug from atop the barrel, and charged magic in his other hand. Then he tossed it in a random direction.

It hit a wall a few metres away with a crack, and he used the sound to mask the casting of his invisibility spell. His boots muffled the rest, as he sprinted for the steps up to the door out to the deck.

Would the distraction work? Of course not. Would his magic hide him from her? Not a chance. But they might sell his flight as genuine, and all that remained was trying to time his counter against a person he couldn't hear nor see, who he only thought was chasing after him.

But she was his wife. He had faith in her.

Floor, stairs, floor, door up ahead NOW—

He twisted, and stabbed with both his daggers. They hit their target with a wet, sickening sound.

L'laarzen was suddenly right in his face, gasping. Her armour had stopped the blades penetrating all the way, but they were still buried a good two inches deep in her breast.

She sucked in a shallow, desperate gulp of air.

Then grabbed at his chest and yanked.

Her claws bit through the gaps in his armour, drawing blood and forcing the plates apart. But the wound was minor, and he brought his leg up with a grunt and booted her off the ends of his daggers, sending her staggering back across the floor, dripping blood.

He capitalised, pushing forwards with his weapons ready—

Only to stumble, and gasp.

The pricks that her claws had dug into his flesh exploded into agony. He suddenly became dizzy, and had the horrifying feeling of the wounds in his flesh deepening unprompted. Meanwhile in front of him, L'laarzen straightened.

In the dim light seeping through the cracks in the door, he could just barely see the blood on her flowing…backwards. Up her body and back into the wounds they had come from.

He stared, because What? What servant of Sithis has ever possessed the ability to—

The full moon.

It made sense. The colouration of her armour, the location, but, when in Oblivion had L'laarzen made a pact with Nocturnal—

And then she was upon him, and he weakly swung one dagger and she batted it away, sending the weapon flying, and he was able to get his other hand up to catch her follow-up swing, and she shoved him backwards against the door, taking advantage of the debilitating effects of the health drain to pin him against the surface, raising her other hand for the final stroke.

…And she hesitated.

Her eyes, the only part of her that was really visible, alighted on the hand he was holding up desperately in his defence.

His wedding band.

Vendil had accepted his death for some seconds, when he noticed this. But for one reason or another, realising that it was this last symbol of what they once shared that was staying her hand…

It made him absolutely bloody furious.

He roared, strength renewed, and brought his knee up between L'laarzen's legs, shoving her off him, then brought his other dagger forwards and sank it into her shoulder.

She howled and collapsed backwards, landing on her knees and facing away from him.

"NOW?" He demanded, stalking towards her. "NOW you care? All this time! All you've done! And now, now you're suddenly feeling sentimental? Where were your feelings for this ring EIGHT MONTHS AGO, L'laarzen? You dare to hesitate now, like that makes you good, like this weakness means you've grown? You SICKEN ME!"

"No." L'laarzen replied, quietly.

"NO?"

"My…weakness is not…mercy." She panted, still not looking at him. She could barely keep on her knees, hands clutched to her breast. "Just…fear again. Even now, she is…so good at masking her actions as kindness, no?"

She turned around, eyes meeting his. "L'laarzen…is not a good person. And she will suffer for this, and that is right. But…that does not mean she cannot do the right thing."

There was a quiet 'ping' sound.

Something flew up out of her clasped hands. Vendil darted back a step, expecting a blade, his eyes tracking the shape as it arced up in between them both.

Light from the doorway flashed gold on the object's surface, and he recognised it.

His hands darted out to catch it—

And L'laarzen leapt to her feet, yanked his dagger out of her shoulder, and buried it to the hilt in his heart.

Vendil coughed up blood.

L'laarzen's wedding ring landed in his outstretched palm.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Octavia spasmed on the spot, magicka flowing out of her and into Xander. He kept up the absorption, looking around to try and take stock of the chaos going on around him—

And almost missed as his sister yanked a knife out of her belt and flung it at him.

The throw was shoddy, but it still managed to lodge in his robes just above the shoulder, making him cry out in pain. His aim with the staff veered away, freeing Octavia, and she briefly gasped before bringing her hands together and then whipping them apart again.

A storm of over a dozen blades appeared in an arc above her and flung themselves at him.

Talos' Left Testicle Sister Are You TRYING To Kill Me—

The staff's beam couldn't hit all of them, he fell back on his default emergency move "FEIM!" before realising that he'd stolen a good half of Octavia's magicka and could have just caught the attack with a ward. Too late, however, if the look on Octavia's face was any indication. The blades passed right through him, yes, but when Octavia rendered herself invisible again, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Can't be hit while ethereal, but also can't attack. Noting that for the future. Where is she?

His previous strategy of detecting her magic proved no longer useful, as Octavia appeared a second later.

Twelve of her.

Xander found himself surrounded by a dozen copies of his sister, each one with a bound bow drawn in its hands pointed at him. And there she waited.

She wants to run out the time on the etherealness and shoot me when its finished. Good plan, except that it gives me time to think.

Xander sucked in a breath, stretched out the staff of Magnus with one arm and an empty hand in the opposite direction.

Waited half a second.

Then forced the etherealness to come down early, activating the staff while using Octavia's magicka to release a storm of lightning energy from his free hand. And he spun.

The twin beams crashed through the Octavias, and he dropped to a knee in preparation for the returning shot even as the number of duplicates dropped rapidly, leaving only one remaining—

And then that one vanished too.

He blinked, confused, then realised he could still feel magic radiating from right beside him—

A hand grabbed the back of his skull.

He clamped his own free hand over it.

Everything went white.

Xander could only see himself. There was nothing but blankness above, beneath, and all around him.

"I've had to tell people they were over-reliant on magic before." Echoed Octavia's voice. A second later, she appeared in the whiteness in front of him. "But 'over-reliant on magic items' is a fairly new weakness for me to exploit. At the end of the day though, a lot of solutions are multi-purpose. I just beat you the same way I beat one of your buddies in the Dark Brotherhood."

"They're not my buddies." Xander grunted back, looking around. "But right now they're a damn sight better family than you are."

"Insults to make me mess up, how novel." Octavia approached him. "Where's L'laarzen, Xander?"

"Hopefully, downstairs fighting the Morag Tong." Xander responded. "You know, the actual enemies? The ones we should be fighting? Where are we?"

"In your head." Octavia replied, flatly. "It's been about a second since I grabbed you, I'm about to put you unconscious."

"We shouldn't be doing this." Xander tried, once more. "Both of us could be down there keeping the Emperor safe right now! Octavia, I know I used to be a screw-up, I know you're used to my 'help' doing more harm than good, but this is just going to waste both our time and get your charge killed!"

"In which case, I'll stop wasting time." Octavia shrugged. "Why don't I just put you out now and go down there?"

"Because that would be stupid." Xander replied, lowly.

"Pardon?" She raised an eyebrow.

Despite everything, Xander couldn't help but smile. "Because I'm better than you." He answered. "I'm stronger, my abilities are more versatile, and you must be running on empty after that last stunt. If only one of us is going to help, it should be me."

Octavia's mouth curled. "And there's the ego. Cute. But I never said I'd be giving you a choice in the matter."

She flicked a wrist.

Nothing happened.

"Funny." Xander remarked. "I'm not giving you a choice either."

Octavia blinked. "What?"

Around them, the whiteness started to flicker, cracks appearing in the illusion. Xander started to regain a sense of his body's position and feeling; currently stuck in a kneel on the deck of the ship.

"That's not—" Octavia looked actually baffled for the first time he'd seen in a while. "I have a direct line to your brain! You shouldn't be able to do anything! Not even Julius can—"

"I've just spent all fight absorbing your illusion spells, Oct." Xander replied, his grin widening. "And longer than that reading your notes at home. 'Over-reliant on my magic items'? Let's test that theory."

The image of her vanished, and with a mental snap Xander was back on the deck of the Katariah. Octavia's hand was still on his skull, glowing green, and his own hand (shining a slightly different shade) was still interlaced with hers.

He surged to his feet, breaking her grip on his head and twisting her arm the way it shouldn't. Octavia screamed and brought her other fist round to punch him in the face. Xander rolled with it the way Dulurza had taught him, feeling a flash of pain as something happened to his nose before growling and shoving forwards, shifting a leg between Octavia's trying to force her to the floor. She resisted, punched at him again, and this one he caught on his shoulder, so she conjured a bound dagger in her hand and he was forced to catch her inner arm to stop her bringing that to bear. The grapple continued, and here she probably did have more experience than him since she was able to shift to a position of better leverage and start trying to regain momentum and THE EMPEROR IS IN DANGER, STOP PLAYING NICE, DAMNIT!

He let go of the hand that didn't have a knife in it, and slammed his fist into her chest. Right where Dulurza said she'd been crushed not two days ago.

Octavia gasped in pain, and Xander punched again, then once more, before bringing his foot up and kicking down on the inside of her recently recovered leg. There was a snap, and Octavia screamed, tensing. The fight went out of her for a key moment, and he took hold of her robes with his arms and threw her to the deck. She sprawled and rolled, looked back up at him—

And got a face full of her own modified pacify spell.

She slumped, unconscious.

Panting, Xander looked around to see that the rest of the Penitus Oculatus agents were cleaning up whatever in Oblivion had been happening while he was busy. He shot one last glance at Octavia before scooping up his staff and bolting for the door.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ

Logrolf spasmed and gasped, Red Eagle's Bane erupting through the front of his chest and splattering blood all over the flagstones.

Ondolemar jerked away, but wasn't fast enough to stop Margret from coming up behind him with daggers drawn, slitting his throat wide open. He gargled, and collapsed to the floor.

The minions approaching Hjar and Thongvor turned in shock, which was a mistake; Hjar blurred in and split the Silver Hand fighter's skull open with the mace of Molag Bal, then lashed out at the Thalmor. He parried, but then Thongvor recovered from his own shock and charged in, stabbing the Elf in the back and throwing him to the ground.

Urzoga, suddenly very outnumbered, staggered backwards with wide eyes.

"Just go, lady." Kaie said, as she ripped her blade out of Logrolf's back and turned to point it at the Orc.

Urzoga didn't need telling twice, sprinting for the doors to the Dwemer Museum.

Logrolf collapsed to his knees, gurgling, and Hjar moved up to crouch in front of him.

"You know, you taught me an awful lot." She remarked, smiling at him. "When I came to this city I was decent at reading people, but not so good at getting them to trust me. So thanks, for helping turn me into someone who could beat you at your own game." She leaned in close to one ear. "The secret is not being an unrepenting asshole."

Logrolf coughed up some more blood. Then collapsed onto his side, dead.

"Okay, Nine Divines, what in Oblivion just happened?" Thongvor demanded.

"Sorry." Hjar smiled at him apologetically. "Should have told you, but I couldn't risk spies in your group picking up on the ploy. Uh, Kaie's a double agent."

"For the record, I was absolutely going to betray you at first." Kaie admitted, wiping her blade clean. "But then, something very strange happened. You started making sense."

"Aww…" Hjar grinned. "I knew you loved me really—"

"Hey, shut it!" A flushing Kaie snapped. "Look, I just want my home to be fixed, alright? It just happens to be you that I think can do it. But yes, I was the one that told the Silver Hand about Red Eagle's Redoubt, and I let them in."

"Changed your mind about that a little close to the wire…" Hjar muttered.

"But when Logrolf contacted me about setting up this trap, I promptly told Hjar all about it." Kaie finished. "So you can't be too mad."

"Uh, guys?" Margret called. "Maybe we save the catching up for later?"

The sounds from inside Understone had taken on a frantic edge, and Hjar remembered that they were having this conversation in front of an open doorway. She could see the Thalmor inside that were starting to notice the quad-kill that had just occurred.

"Uh oh." She summarised. "Alright, people, we're not done yet! Thongvor, Margret, get the door! Kaie, don't let them close the inner one!"

For her part, Hjar charged forwards, reaching inside herself and calling on the wolf.

The first Thalmor that made it to the inner doors got his skull smashed against the wall by a great furry fist as Hjar flung herself through the opening, knocking two others to the side and roaring.

One of the Silver Hand approached from the side, only for a swipe from Kaie to take his head off completely. Three more ran towards her, silver weapons gleaming—Only to be set upon by a trio of ethereal wolves that appeared around Hjar as she howled.

Behind her, there was a great groaning sound, and she briefly turned to see the doors to Markarth rumbling open. The shouts and cheers of the warriors outside echoed into the chamber, as an army of Forsworn, mercenaries, Silver-Bloods and Markarth volunteers streamed as one into Understone keep. Thongvor and Margret stopped what they had done and joined in, and Hjar bounded forwards to lead the charge.

After that, it was nothing but a bloodbath.

8˂

L'laarzen supported Vendil as he collapsed backwards, lowering him gently to the ground. The entire time, his eyes never left the ring.

"You…k—kept…" He stammered.

"L'laarzen buried it." She replied, quietly. "Along with everything else."

"And you used it…for…for the oldest trick in the…" Vendil laughed. A hoarse, pained sound.

"L'laarzen is sorry." She reiterated, unsure what to say. "She…she will—"

"I would have betrayed the Morag Tong for you." He gasped out, making her freeze. "In a heartbeat. Mirri, Me'Daro, our superiors. I would have followed you to Skyrim, I would have learned h—hairdressing if I had to, I…"

He rasped in another breath. "I have always loved you. Why…why couldn't you have just…explained…"

L'laarzen felt her blood go cold, but didn't have time to reply as Vendil laughed again. This time, he was barely able to make a sound. "But then…Why am I doing this? Fighting you? Spite? I…I think…That we are both just destined to…hurt those we love."

"You deserved better than L'laarzen, Vendil." She croaked out. "So…so much better."

"Heh. No…" The last of Vendil's strength seemed to leave him, as he sagged backwards. "I think…we both got…exactly, what we deserved…"

A moment later, and he was gone.

L'laarzen put her head down to his chest and sobbed, shoulders shaking brokenly. That was how Xander found her, thirty seconds later.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂

"L'laarzen? Are you…oh." Xander looked down, and saw his friend cradling a very dead person. She was crying.

This…was not something he was qualified for.

"L'laarzen?" He tried again, crouching next to her and grabbing her shoulders. "Are you…okay?"

She inhaled, deeply. "No."

"Can you…" He gulped. "Can you pretend to be okay for a few minutes?"

There was a pause, in which L'laarzen's breathing slowly stabilised. She reached out with her hands and closed the eyes of the dead Dunmer, then closed his fist around a ring resting in his hand.

Then she stood up. "Why not." She replied, perfectly calmly. "Khajiit has been doing so for a while now."

Xander stood, looking at her. "Aaaalright. Has anyone ever told you that you're—" He was going to say terrifying, but his eyes strayed to her shoulder and, "—bleeding? L'laarzen, you're bleeding."

"It is nothing."

"No it isn't."

"The Emperor." She asked. "Is he alright?"

Xander shut his mouth, and turned to the great metal door in front of them.

"No idea." He replied. "Shall we find out?"

Psyche! Kaie's not evil! Who was expecting that?

Four back-to-back final showdowns. Hjar finally beats the guy who she can't just beat by fighting, Dulurza brings down someone specifically built to escape her, Xander gets the upper hand over his older sister, and L'laarzen kills her husband. Well, ex-husband. He's certainly 'ex-' now...

This chapter is slightly shorter than usual. That's because next chapter drops tomorrow (Sunday) and covers the finale. Uh, to this half of the act. Don't worry, we're not done yet.

Get your fancy clothes on, gentlefolks, it's time to meet the Emperor!