While Lynette slept, they decided to push for Bruma it seemed; as she was lifted from slumber, Lynette recognized the road as the same she traveled when she entered Skyrim. And they were close. The realization she had been out for hours sobered her fast.
She rubbed her eyes aggressively but kept one arm around Vilkas's abdomen so a clumsy accident would happen.
From what she could gather in her groggy state, the Siren's possible inclusion wasn't discussed further. Vilkas and Farengar were neutral with each other, which was good, but it was obvious communication was no better and that Vilkas was waiting for a chance to bring it up again.
Naturally she checked for Folkvar and was relieved to find he'd kept up with them, albeit dragging his paws and clearly ready to drop. He was so young and unaccustomed to such a journey, and as their eyes met and he whimpered, her heart shriveled up in guilt.
She was causing them such discomfort, and that trap of self-pity and loathing was beckoning her, but it would do none of them any good for her to fall for it. She put up a wall between herself and its would-be siren's call and sought something else to hold her focus.
As her mind cleared out more of sleepyness's cobwebs, Lynette found herself wanting to speak up the Siren's behalf and argue in her favor. If she lost someone who was her everything, would she behave so differently? Sure, Lynette wouldn't go so far as to steal magic from powerful mages and then attempt resurrection. Not only did it go against nature and Lynette wasn't about that, but she doubted she would ever own the skill to attempt such a feat in the first place. Not to mention that it was just asking for a zombie.
It made her want to talk to Farengar about it, while her ruminating was fresh and she believed in her ability to get through to him, but her current position wasn't ideal for it. She really didn't want to have such a serious conversation over Vilkas's shoulder. That would just be awkward.
"How'd you sleep?" Vilkas asked.
It was a simple question, but it warmed her heart. It was more kindness than he'd shown her in what felt like ages, even if he was asking more than just the quality of her slumber, and she knew that. For some reason it hadn't crossed her mind that her sleep had been undisturbed by night terrors until Vilkas brought attention to it.
"Well, actually. No nightmares!"
"That's good! Maybe she's withdrawing? Would be a nice turn of luck, eh?"
Farengar didn't even turn his head to look at them as he said, "No, it's not necessarily a good thing. That means she's conserving her strength."
Her stomach plummeted to her toes. What Vilkas said didn't exactly give her hope, not anything tangible, but Farengar popped any optimism like a pimple. And she wasn't alone; Vilkas's shoulders sagged slightly and he exhaled a quiet breath, as if all the steam went out of him.
She gnawed the inside of her cheek. With his back turned towards them, Lynette had no indication if Farengar was expecting a response. But when nothing else was said, she, too, resolved to silence. At least, until they stopped a quarter of a mile outside the city gates to address the mammoth in the room.
"What are we going to do about her?" Vilkas asked, jabbing a thumb at the Siren.
Farengar ran a hand down his face, the dark rings around his eyes standing out boldly against his fair skin. His several days worth of stubble attracted attention almost as starkly, giving the illusion of a growing beard that was unfamiliar and a little strange for her to imagine him with.
"I could wake her and bind her, but it would be risky." He sighed and tilted his head thoughtfully. "I am also not certain how believable our story will be, with how far off course we are. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that by our route alone something else is going on here."
"Then perhaps we wake her and recruit her into our fighting force. Better the enemy we know—"
"I said no. Absolutely not."
Lynette could practically hear his molars grind.
"I think we should give her a chance," Lynette blurted, blanching instantaneously.
Farengar whirled on her—quite the feat on his horse. "What!?"
Heart hammering against her ribcage like a giant's club, Lynette raised her hands in surrender. She was hot all over. "Hear me out?"
Farengar's lips made it look like he was sucking on something sour, but he nodded curtly, evidently incapable of even speaking to her right now. It was discouraging but she pressed on, as well ignoring how Vilkas didn't back her up and instead was watching them in what she suspected was blasted amusement.
She sucked in her stomach, thinking that would help for some reason. "I gave Leanwyn a chance and nothing has come back to bite us."
"Yet."
"It hasn't and won't," she said firmly. "The same can also be true of the Siren, if we give her the chance. She knows she lost, and she has little to lose and plenty to gain. A lesser sentence might do the trick."
"Might and ifs and maybes don't get results, Lynette."
"I know that! But we can try, right? We're sitting ducks here otherwise. And we could use the womanpower."
Farengar's eyebrows disappeared beneath his hood. "'Womanpower'?"
"Yes. Womanpower. Have you seen the male to female ratio? I'm outnumbered and could really use someone on my team," she joked.
Unexpectedly, Farengar chortled. The humor gave a youthfulness to his features that caused her heart backflips, but too soon he tempered.
"I do not think this wise. Your willingness to give second chances is commendable, but I don't share the sentiment." His eyes drifted to the Siren and narrowed. "I would not see her serve less than twenty years."
Twenty years!? "Now that's just cruel! Thieves don't serve nearly that long!"
His gaze was back on her, but it wasn't as hard as she anticipated. "She is no mere thief. Stealing someone's magic is far more personal than pretty baubles or Septims."
Now that was true—she could admit it wasn't a fair comparison, but it also sounded like an injustice to people's sentimentalities. Family heirlooms and wedding rings were personal and they were stolen all the time. Magic was different, yes. The Siren could have stolen the skin off Farengar's back and it probably would have been less invasive, but Lynette couldn't accept the twenty year sentence. It was too steep.
"I know that, but can't we show her some mercy?"
"I have shown plenty of mercy by not killing her."
"Farengar!" she cried, horrified. Surely he didn't actually believe that…
Strangely, her horror seemed to quell him. He appeared nigh sheepish. "I didn't mean it to sound so dark. I only meant my restraint is mercy and she has done nothing to earn more than that."
"Everyone deserves at least one second chance. She's clearly been through some stuff."
"Appealing to his good graces is not the angle I would suggest going with, lass," Vilkas spoke, for the first time in several minutes. "He's a logical man. Show him how the Siren can be of use."
Farengar didn't reply to what Vilkas said, but he shot him the stink eye, which emphasized his displeasure more than words would.
He was likely right, but Lynette wasn't sure how much she wanted to consider his input after he'd left her to persuade Farengar alone. She was feeling a bit petty about it, if she was honest.
No, no, Lynette. This wasn't the time for pettiness. Too much was on the line right now, including a woman's life.
"Whatever it is you have planned, we need all the help we can get, right?" she tried.
Attention back on her, Farengar said, "Yes, but that does not include shady magic thieves who attempt to stupidly resurrect a dead lover. I'd sooner face Namira on my own."
"You would value your pride over Lynette's life then?"
"Do not put words in my mouth, Companion," he snarled. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists and his dark eyes were venomous. "It is because I value Lynette's life that I say no. I won't have a stupid decision taking her from me before we so much as reach the shrine!"
'Taking her from me'. Was he aware of the phrasing? Was it intentional? Did it mean anything? These questions swarmed Lynette's mind like a busy hive, but she couldn't offer them due diligence. Not now.
She wasn't giving up yet. Pretending she wasn't aware of how her whole body was hot like she had a fever, she said, "If you're worried about me, then shouldn't this be my decision? I like my chances better with her on our side."
As he regarded Lynette again, he visibly gentled. "She hurt Folkvar, Lynette. She could have defended herself without inflicting such grievous injuries. She chose that. What's stopping her from doing the same to you if we wake her? Someone with nothing to lose is as dangerous as Namira."
Lynette flinched, any glow of delight gone like a vampire at sunrise.
Folkvar's injuries were a sore spot for her still, even though he was fine now. It was needlessly cruel of him to bring up, she thought, as she sought Folkvar's cheerful but tired countenance instinctively, needing the reminder that he was here and well.
As much as it stung to admit, she knew the Siren was only defending herself. She'd yelled at her then, called her a bitch, and even now she was trying to convince herself she wasn't resentful about what happened to her hound. She was, still was, and she might never be able to forgive it, but maybe she could put it aside and let it simply be for the sake of the mission. For the sake of allowing someone to grow and be better.
If she could do that, when the Siren almost robbed her of her dearest friend, then why couldn't Farengar?
"My opinion is the same, Farengar," she said with resoluteness that shocked her to her core, tone even. She even addressed him head on, eyes unwavering, fists tight. "And I'm more emotional than you and Vilkas combined. If I can put all of that aside and still give her a second chance, why can't you? You're supposed to be the logical one, shouldn't you be able to see the value in having her on our side?"
He answered none of her questions—not that she thought he would. Like her, his gaze was unwavering, on her with the weight of contemplation.
"You truly believe in her?"
"I do."
She knew he would tell her the consequences would be on her head, but she was ready for that. In her gut she could feel that the Siren wasn't evil. Misguided and heartbroken, yes. Driven to what some would call madness, also yes. And maybe some parts of her rotted with the loss of her beloved, but infections could be managed, if not altogether healed.
His sigh was one indicative of frustration, but also acquiescence. "Then we will try. But the moment she so much as sniffs wrong, I'm hitting her with another sleeping spell."
"Thank you!" she practically squealed. If she were closer to him, she would have thrown her arms around him in a hug, no matter how he would grumble.
Vilkas gave her arm, which was still around his waist, a pat that seemed to say good job, lass.
She grinned at him, brimming with elation. Farengar was doing this for her. But the responsibility of it was also terrifying, and assaulted her with anxiety that made her whole body weak. What if she was wrong and the Siren did try to attack them? What if, like everything she touched, she made a mess of this too?
No. Nope. There was no room for second-guessing; it was time to wake a Siren!
The process of waking the Altmer wasn't as flashy as Lynette imagined. She was laid in some grass, flat on her back, and Farengar sat above her head. The spell he formed in his hand was a burnt orange, almost reminiscent of a fire spell, but less flame and more orb.
He brought the spell near her face, particularly her nostrils. Tendrils of the spell stretched for her nose, drawn to it like a moth to a lantern. The spell shot up into her sinuses and immediately the Siren's back arched and she started coughing.
Her eyes snapped open, wild and afraid as she saw them, but she turned on her side so she could breathe easier. Some sparks from the spell escaped her mouth and nose, dispersing as soon as they touched the air.
"One wrong move, Siren, and I'll make sure you don't wake again until you're bound in iron."
"That's not necessary Farengar," Lynette told him, but she was tense. She squatted next to Farengar and the Siren, her fight or flight poised for everything to immediately go to oblivion. Her fingers were curled into her palm, ready to cast a spell when they did.
Her coughs eased, but the Siren's countenance was dull and she scarcely reacted to Farengar's challenge, showing no sign she was going to attack them at least. The only indication she heard him was in the way she unsteadily sat up, folded her legs beneath her, and said as if this was a normal everyday conversation, "My name is Minline Loreifeth. I'd prefer to be addressed as such."
Vilkas snorted; he stood with his back to a tree, hand hovering at his sword, deliberately adjusting his posture every few moments so his armor would make noise. "And I'd prefer a juicy pork chop, but alas, there are no meat stalls around."
"Sorry to hear," Minline said, all without missing a beat. Vilkas scowled deeper.
What a pretty name. But Lynette grabbed on to how scratchy and dry her voice was and straightened instantly. She bounded over to their packs and fished her waterskin out before bringing it back over and offering her it.
"Here."
Faint surprised graced Minline's features as she glanced up at Lynette and then elegantly accepted it. "Thank you."
With less elegance she uncorked it and chugged half of it without taking a breath. Poor thing—Farengar was only giving her enough to survive.
Farengar's silence was taciturn; he eyed Minline with unabashed expectation of threat. Arms crossed so tightly his nails dug into his skin through his robes.
Lynette was drawn to Folkvar's growl. His belly was to the dirt, tail beneath his butt, but he glared at the Altmer with hurt and hatred. She did her best to comfort him, moving over to his side and petting him affectionately along his spine. All the while she continued to observe Minline in the corner of her eye.
Minline recorked the waterskin, set it on her thigh, and corrected her posture all before addressing the group. "I assume I wasn't awakened out of the kindness of your hearts."
"Definitely not," Farengar answered icily. "But you can thank Lynette for convincing us of your potential usefulness."
Her eyes narrowed. "You've taken your magic back. Shouldn't you be escorting me to your Jarl?" She spied her surroundings and they narrowed further.
"Some things came up and we need your…abilities."
She laughed, void of humor. "You left me only enough magic to light a match. What do you expect me to do?"
"Help us deal with a Daedric Prince."
"Which?" She didn't seem turned off by the mention of one, so that was a good start.
"Namira."
"And why should I?"
Oh boy.
"You do not have the upperhand here, Siren," Vilkas growled.
"No, but I have nothing to lose. And you know that," she countered with too much cheerfulness.
Farengar spoke through a clench of teeth, as if it was hard to force the words out. "In exchange for a lesser sentence, you will help us."
"No."
"Excuse me!?"
"Hush, Farengar," Lynette interjected. She didn't watch long enough to see if he glared, instead turning her attention onto Minline. "Can I explain?"
"We're losing daylight, but sure," she mused. She considered Lynette with interest.
Honesty was the best course, right? She took a deep breath, then started her word-vomit.
"I was kidnapped by Namira's followers and almost eaten, and when I escaped, Namira's influence stayed. She's gradually taking control over me and we need your help to deal with it before it gets worse… Hence our detour."
She tilted her head to the side again quizzically, which seemed to be a quirk of hers. "Marked by a Daedric Prince, are you? You unlucky girl."
Lynette laughed, but she didn't find it funny at all. In fact, it made her want to cry, but she wasn't about to admit that and instead held Folkvar a little closer, seeking the comfort of his warm body.
"A lesser sentence is tempting, but defying a Daedric Prince poses a lot of risk. Especially as I don't know what this entails." Minline touched her lip contemplatively.
"Farengar has a plan," said Lynette. "Which I'm sure he'll bring you up to speed on…but I can't listen in. Namira's eavesdropping."
She was asking questions and considering it—that was something!
Minline's gaze flickered towards Farengar and the corners of her mouth lifted as she said, "Well, then, enlighten me, oh mighty court mage."
Farengar scowled.
Taking that as her cue to step away, Lynette picked herself up off the ground and beckoned Folkvar to follow before dismissing herself. Farengar didn't say anything to her directly, but Vilkas waved her off at least, so she didn't feel totally shunned.
The three of them waited until she was out of earshot to begin speaking to hushed tones, and Lynette increased her pace so she wouldn't possibly overhear something that would endanger them all.
Her feet brought her farther into the forest and up to the edge of a small creek, which Folkar didn't hesitate to taste. It was bubbling softly and looked like something to be found in a painting within a family's cottage. Hers especially. Her mother was quite fond of art, despite their monetary struggles. It made her feel peaceful, and a little nostalgic for home, helped none by the fact they would seen enter her home city.
She didn't know how long she lingered there, but she heard someone approach and spun around to find Farengar inches from her. He looked…resigned.
"H-how'd it go?" she stammered, cringing internally at how taken aback she sounded. Folkvar grinned up at him stupidly.
If he noticed, he didn't mind. "She agreed," he said stiffly.
"That's great!" She clasped her hands together excitedly, virtually aglow. But thoughts of what it must have cost tempered her elation. "What, uh, was our end of the bargain?"
"She serves only half of whatever sentence she gets in exchange for aid."
"Oh…" Guilt was a spider weaving a sticky web beneath her ribs and she couldn't shake it off.
"It's fine." He waved a flurry of fingers, looking almost boyish as he awkwardly avoided her gaze. "It's worth it, for you. Anyway, let's go," he added so hastily the words nigh-jumbled together. Then he turned on his heel and marched back in the direction he'd come.
His statement turned her as red as rich tomato soup and she barely recalled following him back to their steeds. For you rolled around in her head the whole way, driving her up the wall with hope and joy and madness in not knowing if there was a deeper meaning behind those two little words.
