Author's Note: 'Lo again, all! I apologies for my slowness - I just moved provinces and started working, and currently a bout of bronchitis is kicking my butt. I am still here, however, and fully intend to continue!

For a moment, I thought I was mistaken about dying. I would die here. Not under the claws of a monster, but lost in Oblivion. Tumbling head over heels through a breathless, scorching tunnel, unable to find up or down, unable to think. But just as suddenly we were there, side by side sprawled on cracked and broken stone. A sky above, solidity underfoot, but unlike I'd ever known it.

The heat was dry and harsh, stinging. My eyes watered. I coughed, heaving in a lungful of air only to end up hacking harder. I became slowly aware of another voice – Lucien, giving a fitful cough as I did before getting to his feet, gazing around us.

The sky was red, churning, punctuated by black spires in the distance. Three of them. I gazed around in a panic as I stood on shaking legs. She could be anywhere. A tower, below, already –

No. I bit my lip hard, driving away the image, the terrible thought. No. Don't think like that.

"Dust." Lucien drew my attention, impatient. "Where to?"

"I – " I stopped as another voice interrupted me. It was maddening, how he always caught me off guard.

"The Western tower."

"The Western tower," I echoed aloud. Why should I trust him? I grimaced, beginning to move, Lucien at my side. What choice do I have? Perhaps the Night Mother did give him to me for a reason. Perhaps.

We moved quickly, without words. It was already difficult to breathe. Sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down the nape of my neck, and with each step my breath came harder. If Lucien was uncomfortable as I, he didn't show it. I was thankful, at least, that there seemed to be paths – blackened trails leading to our destination, ornamented by strange, blistering sacs hanging from arches, charred bodies – I forced myself not to stare. Not to think of the poor souls they had belonged to, not to think of the soul I had done that to that guided us now. My steps began to slow but Lucien kept pace, taking the lead onwards as even Oblivion began to bloom. Sharp blades of crimson weed, tendrils of red brambles hanging from an arch above us...

Harrada.

"Lucien!"

My warning was a moment too late – the vines descended, wrapping around his limbs, thorns tearing through his robes and into his skin. He cursed and struggled but the tendrils only held tighter, winding around his throat, venomous and paralyzing poison seeping into his blood. A snarl was frozen on his face, a glint of shock in his eyes. Trapped.

"Leave him."

"What?! No!" I hissed, reaching for my wakizashi. Awkwardly I hacked away at a vine, eyes widening as it began to grow around the blade. I managed to pull away and they retreated, but remained hovering, sinking deeper into Lucien.

"You'll never cut those vines down," The traitor hissed. His voice was strange, taut, as though being stretched and molded into words against his will. "Your mother is waiting. Dying."

Dying...?

"You must reach her!"

Mum. I heaved a gulp of breath, trying to calm, trying to think. If he spoke the truth – why would he but what if he is – mum needed me now. I stared at Lucien as he struggled uselessly, jaw too tight to speak, breath squeezed out his throat. But so does Lucien.

He hadn't abandoned me. I wouldn't do that to him.

"Lucien, don't fight it." I spoke softly, coming as close as I dared. Memories of work, of study, whispered in my ear. "If it thinks you're dead, it will let go."

He couldn't speak, but his eyes said enough. I will be, soon enough.

Memories. Enchanted gloves, for handling poison – for Harrada. Cold, to make it docile. I began to work methodically, an eerie calmness coming over me as frost magic tingled on my fingers. "I'm going to try and lower your body temperature. You might pass out, but don't fight it."

He glared silently.

"Please. Trust me."

He made a small, discontent grunt, and hung still.

"Thank you." I moved just a step closer, slowly, carefully moving a hand onto his chest. One of the vines clinging to his body seemed to perk up, lazily moving towards me. Like a snake, gorged but willing to take another free meal. As lines of frost began to emanate from my palm, however, it drew away. Slowly, steadily – the spell clambered up Lucien's torso, down his legs, coating cloth with patterns of ice. As though frostbitten, his cheeks and fingers began to pale, ice beginning to form even on his eyelashes, breath coming out in a white puff. The vines receded painfully slowly. If I moved away too fast, they would return full-force – too slowly, and he would freeze.

Please. Please, let this work.

His weight on me was sudden – I fell forwards, tearing through the now limp vines, tumbling onto the ground with him beneath me. Still stiff, still silent, skin poked and puckered from the thorns. I placed both my hands on his chest, murmuring a spell. Healing, warmth – like a blanket. Distilling venom, closing the punctures while melting the frost. It was exhausting, but still it came naturally. At last he moved beneath me, coughing, hands tightening, colour slowly returning to his face.

I gave a shuddering, relieved sigh. "Thank the – " The Nine? The Night Mother? I rolled off, allowing him to stand properly. "I'm sorry. That – that must have hurt."

He grunted, flexing his fingers. "Better than dying." A grudging thanks. I smiled softly, feeling a moment of peace before I forced myself to my feet. Almost drained of magicka, precious minutes gone, but we were both alive.

"She might not be."

"Shut up, Bellamont." But he was right. I gnawed my lip. "We need to keep moving."

"Yes." Lucien turned his gaze to the tower, eyes narrowed. "It is – more difficult to concentrate, here. To see." Not to see with his eyes, but his mind – to see possibilities, chances. "Be on your guard."

I nodded, and this time we moved side by side.

There was no entrance to the Western tower itself, not at the base, but high above us thin bridges linked the three ominous spires. We would have to work our way inwards, then outwards over the bridge. I didn't dare think on how. How high it would be, teetering, hundreds of feet above. The doors to the centre tower slid agape with a groan, letting out a gust of heat like an opening maw. I forced myself to concentrate on what was in front of me now – even if it seemed beyond my comprehension.

A beam – a beam of light, of energy, twisting onto itself, seeming to reach down from the very peak of the tower. A molten core, and surrounding it a pathway slowly arching upwards. The ascent was steep, but unguarded, the way already bloody. Daedra lay strewn on the path, skewered, beheaded, cleaved. All of us kept silent, but held the same thought – we aren't alone.

My gratitude at our swift ascent was tainted by fear. We were rising steadily, higher and higher. Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down –

We stepped outside, into the breathless heat, onto the stone platform to the bridge, and I looked down.

The memories flooded back immediately. Trapped and teetering, nose bloody and dripping, the ground so far away and one wrong move, one slip and that would be the end of it. I took a trembling step back, breath harsh and rapid. I can't. But mum needs me.

One step. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and took a single step.