It was the small hours of the morning, but Astrid was very much awake. She liked to stroll about the earthen halls of the Sanctuary when everyone still slept. She felt it was her duty to keep watch over them while they rested. This was the least she could do after such a devastating breach of their defenses. These caves had always given her a sense of security; She had been convinced that it would protect them from anything. Astrid rested her hand against the cold, stone wall near the entrance and contemplated how she could have been so mistaken.

Perhaps it was time to move, she thought. The Dawnstar Sanctuary was far, and in need of heavy repairs. The Brotherhood didn't exactly have the money for it, and their connections with the Thieves Guild, the only ones they could trust to handle the repairs, had dwindled. It would take some serious preparation to even have a chance of moving. No, she decided. Any who knew the Sanctuary's location were dead, and they had further defenses on high alert should any stragglers try to hunt them out again. It would be safer to lie low, perhaps avoid any jobs for a while, until any rumor of their homestead died out. Perhaps rumor of their demise would throw off any remaining mercenaries trying to snuff them out. Astrid descended the stairs, running her hand along the wall. The others would be stirring in a few hours, and she had work to do before then.

Suddenly, she stopped. Veria stood a few steps below her, blocking the way. She was dressed in light, worn leather armor with a knapsack and travelling cloak fixed across her shoulders. Astrid waited for an explanation, but Veria pushed past her without a word.
"Veria," she said in a commanding tone. She didn't stop. "Veria!" Astrid grabbed her shoulder, and Veria paused obediently.

Astrid toned softened slightly. "Where are you going?"
Veria remained silent, and for a while kept her back to Astrid. Finally when she turned, and Astrid could see the answer in her eyes.
"I'm going away," Veria said.
"Away?"
Veria hesitated. Her whole body felt heavy. Even speaking took a great amount of will for her. "I'm leaving, Astrid. I can't stay here anymore."
"Veria-"
"No," She turned and continued up the stairs. "It's too much..."

"Veria," Astrid tried to grab her shoulder again but she wrenched it away. "Veria...Is there nothing I can say to make you stay?"
"I'm sorry Astrid, but I can't be here anymore. Everywhere I look, no matter where I turn..." Veria pressed her palm into her forehead in an effort to keep her mind from spiraling. "He's everywhere. I can't see anything else... it's agony." She continued up the stairway.

Astrid followed her. "This is your home," she said. "This is your family. You would abandon us, just like that?"
At the door, Veria stopped. She rested her hand on the newly-repaired stone and said, "I'm lost here, Astrid." She sighed. "This isn't my home anymore."
Without another word she pushed her way out of the Sanctuary into the gray morning, leaving Astrid alone in the shadows.

Veria picked a direction and began to walk. The mist of the morning clouded the trees, and she let the chill of it seep into her skin. She had no idea where she was going, only that she had to escape this place.

Even then, as she lost herself in the mists creeping along the damp earth of Falkreath, she felt his shadow following close behind. Too many times she had hunted with him in this forest; too familiar were the trees that slid past her. Every stone, leaf, and quiet stream echoed with a memory of him. His words whispered in the branches beyond her reach.

She ran. Tearing through the fog and down the road she sprinted, desperate to escape. Pain radiated through her chest. "Leave me alone," she gasped. Her mind spun with his voice, his touch. She almost felt his breath on her ear. She ran faster and pressed her palms into her ears. "Go away!" she shouted.
The birch trees flew past her, and she disappeared into the thickening haze, determined to lose him.

The roads of the Reach were jagged and rough on the frame of a wooden carriage as it rattled across the stones. The driver was seasoned, however, and a master at his profession. He expertly navigated the cracks and rifts. The sun was strong that day and managed to burn through the layer of clouds that so often covered the mountains. The carriage driver in a good mood despite the fact he had no passengers. He whistled a tune and guided the horse toward Markarth where he planned to pick up a few passengers and continue on to Solitude, as he always did.

He was used to seeing travelers along the road, so he wasn't the least bit surprised when he turned a corner and nearly collided with one. He pulled his horse to halt, a little too abruptly. The horse whinnied in protest but obeyed the reins.
"Ho, there!" He called to the figure ahead. "Be needin' a ride to Markarth? I'll give you a good price, seein' as we're nearly there as it is."

The traveler lowered her hood, revealing a head of reddish brown hair and a face that made the driver's breath catch in his throat.
"How does three septims sound, good man?" She said.
"Aye, that be plenty."

The woman climbed into the back of carriage and counted out three gold coins to the driver. When she was settled, the driver whipped the reins and the carriage was moving again.
"They say Markarth was built by the Dwemer," the driver said. "Can anyone believe such a tale?"
"It's a magnificent city," she responded. "I've never seen its equal. I don't doubt that structures of such craftsmanship were built by the dwarves of legend." The driver heard her sigh heavily and suddenly felt as if a shadow had crossed over the carriage. "I've walked very far," she said. "If you don't mind, I think I'll rest until we reach Markarth."
The driver cleared his throat and said, "Aye, but the road is rough. It might not give you peace enough for rest."
She chuckled softly, but said nothing more. When he glanced back at her a while later, she was slumped over and resting soundly despite the constant rocking of the cart.

She awoke the instant he pulled the horse to a stop. The chiseled walls of the city rose up before them, a few guards and miners wandering about, lighting torches to fend off the oncoming twilight.
The driver jumped from his seat and made to help his passenger off the cart, but she had already jumped down.
"Here we are, my lady," he said. "If you don't mind my prying, do you live here in Markarth?"

Her lips curved into a polite smile and she said, "I have no home, but Markarth will do for now."
"Well..." he lowered his voice slightly, "Watch yourself while you're here, my lady. The streets of this city can be treacherous."
She bowed her head in thanks. "You are a kind man. May fortune follow you during your travels."

With that she parted, and the driver watched her go. It wasn't often such a lovely lady graced his carriage without an escort. He tightened the reins on his horse and mildly regretted that he didn't ask her name.

The sun had sunk below the walls and cast the whole city in shadow. Torches burned by every door, casting shadows that danced like demons in the dusk. Veria slumped and clutched at the acid in her chest. She fought back a cry that tried to escape her. Even here, in this city made of stone, her heart yearned for him. It was here that they laid together for the first time as siblings under Sithis. She had cast away her commoner's dress and donned a fresh set of leather armor. The same armor she wore now.

She shook her head of the memories and made straight for Silver-Blood Inn, whose doors lay directly before the main gates of the city. The inn was lively, crowded with shopkeepers and craftsman who had hung up their aprons for the day and retired to a warm mug of mead.
Before the innkeeper could greet her she slammed twelve coins on the table.
"A bottle of Alto wine."
The innkeeper grunted and took the coins with a sweep of his arm.

Bottle and goblet in hand, Veria took a seat in the corner of the inn and poured herself some wine. The goblet was drained too soon, and in only a few minutes she had consumed the whole bottle. The innkeepers wife came by with another bottle, and Veria exchanged it for another twelve septims without further conversation. The pattern continued throughout the night, but the pain in her chest was dulled only slightly.

As the sky grew darker the inn grew more lively. Men and women danced with bottles and steins in their fists. Mead splattered on the ground and laughter radiated from every corner. A bard wrestled a tune out of a lute and a few of the patrons stumbled around the inn, insisting that they were dancing.

When a stranger pulled Veria to the floor to dance she didn't resist. The wine was numbing, but she was so accustomed to its influence that she kept her wits about her. The walls of the inn spinning around her emptied her mind. The stomping of feet and plucking of strings filled her ears and drowned out any memory that came to mind.

Her gold flowed from her pockets as she filled herself and her dance partner with wine and mead. They danced and drank together without exchanging a word. He poured the wine into his belly as if he hadn't drunk a drop in his life. Veria was flush and her pockets were lightening, but she was still strong enough to pull her partner out of the inn and into the alley that ran behind it.

She cried out as the man, drunk as he had ever been, thrust into her. He pressed her into the stone wall, and she felt it dig into the flesh between her shoulders. His drunken state made him vigorous and rough, but before Veria had come to a peak he was stumbling away towards the main street.

Veria sat against the wall of the alley, half undressed and exhausted, and listened to the quiet that surrounded her. The noise of the inn was muffled and far off. The only thing she could hear was the soft crackling of torches and the wind of the mountain clawing at the stone spires. The sorrow she shed for a few hours in the inn slowly crept back into her flesh. Not willing to pull herself back into the inn to rent a bed for the night, she fell asleep outside in the frigid night.

The days went on, and Veria spent them in drink and labor. Her nights were immersed in mead and wine and soon all the coin she brought with her had dwindled to a precious few septims. When she felt the need for the lull of a mug of ale she'd run an errand for the innkeeper or kill a few frostbite spiders in the mine. What little she was paid she spent back at the inn. She drank and lay with whoever sparked her interest, all in an effort to smother her grief.

But the wine never quite satisfied her thirst, and she felt no desire to lay with anyone. It was the city, she thought. It held too vital of memories of Tulian. There wasn't enough to distract her, nothing to give her direction.

So after three weeks in Markarth, Veria took her few remaining septims to purchase bread, wine, and a vial of weak poison.