A/N: If I didn't tag this story as mature here on FFN before, I am doing it now. Unfortunately, that means limiting the number of people who would find it, but my audience is small and pretty much silent anyway, so no harm done, I guess…

Warning – this chapter contains torture. It is not explicit, but I'd say it is telling enough. Read at your own risk.


Chapter 23: A Friend You Can Trust

She screamed in agony. A face contorted in twisted satisfaction watched her from afar. She could not move, only writhe in the dirt before him, gasping for air. Soil and blood filled her mouth. She had bitten through her tongue and broken her own bones. She, herself, had done this upon his command. He took a piece of her and she cried out with what was left of her voice. It was not her flesh. It was something more, her very soul that he removed ever so slowly, like a gourmet taking the smallest bite to taste a new dish. He would savor her, unhurried, methodical.

You are mine…

The woman rattled as he knelt at her side. In his hand, a dark blade absorbed the surrounding light. He put it lightly on her neck, caressing it like a dear friend. It warped her skin. She felt a sudden urge to lift herself up. Welcome the blade, absorb it, he told her. His voice was alluring, irresistible. You want to end this. You want it to stop.

Mine to kill…

Her tears formed a map of filth on her face, dripping down along her ears, burning, freezing. No one would come to her aid. They lay elsewhere, dead and forgotten. She could not remember their names. He had taken them away. They used to have faces, but he had taken them too. Who was she? Why did she exist?

Come to me. You are only making it worse.

He pulled. A gurgle left her throat, she could not scream anymore. She had forgotten her voice. Nothing beyond pain existed in her world. He pulled again.

I will find you.

The woman's body yanked in a spasm. Again, and again, it was freezing and red hot. She was losing her mind. He laughed, and the sound tore through her ears like a razor.

Feel her pain. Embrace it. She is not the last.

Words faded from her memory. Good words. Words of comfort. Someone had once said them to her, but he had taken it all away. Straining her mind, she could not recall them. There was nothing left. Nothing to live for.

You can end this…

The voice fell silent, stifled by an invisible force. Another one replaced it, brighter, hopeful.

Banish him.

She tried. She had to get him out. She wanted to survive. To live. But she had to remember the reason. There were people waiting for her. Warmth, and smiling faces. But he would take them away too…

You have the means.

Her magic, yes. She had plenty of it. Somewhere deep inside, flowing along the blood in her veins, forming her entire being. She called to it, but it would not come, scattering into a swirling chaos. The blade. It was so close.

Remember the teachings.

Teachings… what teachings? There was a memory locked in her mind. She had done it before. She would do it again. Block him. Block him!

Gently, Miss Ravencroft. Give him what he wants…

The woman squirmed and ripped her own skin. She felt her torment. She felt the blade. She could not breathe, the air would not come through. No, no!

It starts with an illusion.

Illusion. Create. Copy. She had to do it. She had to hurt for him. She had to make him believe her. Her words and feelings had to be stronger than his. Grasp the magic. Pull. Create. Now.

She felt the tips of her fingers tingling with deep violet energy. They were stiff, defiant. She growled as she forced them to move, sculpting her magicka into a living image. She embraced the pain, and the sensation of her lungs tearing apart. She had to bear the unbearable. Support it, fuel it. More, more magic. More agony. She would fill him to the brim with it. He was hungry. She had to feed.

She cried, eyes burning with the tears of blood. Soon. Soon it would be over. She waited, her cries becoming one with the woman's. He laughed maniacally, intoxicated by their combined fear. She could feel his thrill and the insatiable desire for more. It was suffocating. She resisted the urge to pull back, forcing herself to look into his faceless gaze through the eyes of the woman. He smiled and turned his hand. The blade slit in.

Yrith screamed. Now was the time, but the blade paralyzed her. An image was all she needed, a barrier of illusion, but her magic crackled and churned, refusing to listen. She needed to make him believe. She needed it to stop. But he was in control now, leaving her gasping for life. Darkness clouded her mind and pierced her head, taking pieces of her away.

"Yrith!"

A voice tore through, striking her with a familiar touch of affection. She had once known it, but he had taken it away. The blade… a thin line on her skin, enough to set her on fire. Memories seeped through the wound. No, she could not give in.

"Yrith!"

The name… it was her name. It had to be. Spoken by someone she wished to remember.

"Yrith!"

That was her… The One Who Speaks True. She still had a name, while he did not. Amidst the shrieks and agony, she could still hear the sound of it. He could not take it away. The blade would not scrape it off.

She cried out, forcing the being inside her out with sheer will. Her torso twisted and arched. Her magic was like an ocean, rising and falling in waves greater than mountains. Her chest heaved with every surge. She would drown them, the woman and him, in his own twisted ecstasy. She would send it all back, the pain, the fear… the blade. It flowed away in the storm that was her magic, leaving her mind crippled and empty. She drew a breath, painful and strained, like gravel on her wounded throat.

"Yrith!"

A hand gripped her, cold against her trembling body. A caring hand. She closed her fingers around it weakly, waiting for her heartbeat to steady itself. A wave billowed inside her.

She opened her eyes, jolting up in a swing and feeling her insides tumble.

"Careful!" someone called, and she felt something hard press against her chest. For a moment, she lost all her senses, lapsed in a ravel of shapeless colors and sounds, assaulted from within. Her stomach emptied, leaving her weak frame to slide back from what turned out to be a studded bucket.

She breathed heavily, drops of sweat making her skin sticky. Her eyelids rose and fell in an uneven tempo, fighting to keep her awake. Fleetingly, she caught a glimpse of three figures leaning over her against the flicker of a candle. Cain. The Dragonborn. Leyna too. For a moment, she expected Master Neloren to materialize by their side, as he had in her dream. But he was not here. Perhaps he had left her a protection of his own. She could not be more grateful.

It was impossible to discern the expressions on the three faces above her, but her mind painted them for her, Cain's endless worry, the Dragonborn's care masked with false composure, and Leyna's tacit uncertainty. She knew who the hand still holding hers belonged to. But soon, there were two others, each belonging to a different person. She let out a muffled moan, too exhausted to reach back to them.

"Is she awake?" someone rasped.

"I think she is," came a soft reply.

The Dragonborn said nothing. She heard a splash, drops of liquid falling on a surface, and then, ice-cold touch on her forehead, soothing her rattled mind. A part of the weight she had not realized before fell off her shoulders, leaving unexpected lightness. She opened her eyes in full, blinking in the dim light.

She was back in her makeshift bedroom. A lizard hand wiped the sweat from her face with gentle movements. At her side, Leyna let out a sigh and slowly drew her hand away, pretending to look elsewhere. Cain's grip loosened, letting in the feeling she had lost. Yrith bent her fingers as the tingling spread through them, concealing her discomfort by wrapping them around Cain's.

"I'm…" she stuttered, her voice but a hoarse whisper, "how did I…"

"We found you in the courtyard," the Dragonborn said grimly, landing heavily on the edge of Yrith's bed. "Welcome back. You sure gave us a scare."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I put you up to this. It is my responsibility." His gaze fell on Cain and Leyna. "That said, we have things to talk about. Would you excuse us for a moment, elflings?"

"But…"

"She will be fine. She has just bested a demon. I don't think she has any intention of dying just yet. And if so," his jaw widened, the green, scaly skin glistening in the dim light as he glanced at Yrith from the corner of his eye, "then I will be here to stop her. Go get some well-deserved rest, you two."

They nodded in silence, reluctant even to stand. Yrith followed their silhouettes as they shambled away, out to the dark corridor with nothing to light their way. Just before vanishing in the shadows, Leyna turned back, mouthing soundless words to Yrith. But she was gone before Yrith could make out their meaning, leaving behind a faint image. One of a smile that was for no one else but her to see. Yrith let her head sink deeper into the pillow, pulling her duvet closer despite the heat suffusing her body.

"You are fortunate," the Dragonborn said. He wiped her face once more, ignoring her huffs and wrinkled nose. "Friends like these are hard to come by. Stick close to them. They will be your strength."

He added her neck before putting the cloth aside, somewhere beneath her bed where it fell with a splash.

"I know," she muttered into her duvet, Leyna's image still before her eyes. She had come when Yrith needed her the most. Despite everything. Perhaps one day, the two of them would return to those tranquil moments spent in each other's company, laughing at the hurdles life threw in their way. Perhaps. But that day was still aeons away.

The Dragonborn took the goblet standing on the table beside them, forcing her to drink. The water inside was so cold it scorched her throat. She took a few sips out of necessity, quickly placing it back.

"Now then," the Dragonborn said, his words gaining a heavy undertone in the sound of snowflakes tapping on the dormer above, and the wailing wind in the gaps in its frame. She raised her eyes to him, inhaling the smell of hay and goose and burning wax. "I suppose you're expecting me to ask you how you feel." He let out a mirthless laugh. "I won't, because I know. I've been there one too many times."

Yrith felt sudden relief. She had not even realized how much she feared the question. She gave a wordless nod of acknowledgement. The Dragonborn returned it.

"I should have known better. I put you in danger."

She shook her head. "I knew what was ahead."

He tilted his head to the side, eyes sliding over her as if assessing her worth. "Did you?" he asked, and his voice stung. "Did you expect this to happen? To sink into this nightmare?"

"N-no, but you couldn't have…"

"Wrong." He sighed, patting her lightly on the back of her hand. "You weakened yourself too much. If you want to survive in this world, you need to save your strength. And to broaden it. We will get to that. But for now, I need you to tell me what you dreamt of. I won't keep you long. I just need to make sure that we are still safe here."

Yrith felt the blood retreat from her face. The dream that even now felt so distant already. The dream that had almost cost her her life. The dream that had put the skin on her neck on fire. She could still feel the cold touch of the steel on it. She reached for it, fingers sliding along the imperceptible scar. The Dragonborn took her hand in his, moving it away.

"Don't," he said. "I know what you're remembering. The blade is not here. But you are, and you're alive. Did you dream of it too?"

"I… I'm not sure what I dreamt of." She closed her eyes, shuddering with the feeling she had tried so hard to shush. "I've had nightmares like this before. Only they were… different. Back then, it felt like I was in the minds of many people, living their struggles and torments. And sometimes, there was this voice, speaking to me. But now it felt as if it was controlling the dream. This… this demon. Do you know him? Has Cain spoken to you about him?"

"He did not. Admittedly, I listened in without invitation." He gave a not so apologetic smile.

"Am I really standing against a god?"

"If he manifests himself here on Nirn, he is no more a god than I am. Although, given that dragons are sometimes perceived as gods, you could technically call me a demigod." He gave her a wink, the mischievous spark returning to his eyes for the briefest of moments. "So, this demon, or whatever he is. He tried to control you?"

Yrith pressed her knees against her chest, wrapping the duvet close. "Yes."

"Is he still trying?"

She shook her head. "I broke the connection. Master Neloren from the College taught me how."

The Dragonborn let out a breath, rubbing his cheekbones pensively. "Then we have Drevis to thank for your life. Keep your guard up. I can't help you there. I have no magic of my own, at least not like you do. I cannot just Shout whoever invades your mind away. Your magic is powerful, but that makes it a double-edged sword. When you are exhausted, you lose some of the control over it and it leaks. You can't afford to do that, so don't drain yourself too much. Keep your shield up at all times."

"But when I sleep…" She watched him from the warmth of her bed, feeling slumber pressing on her eyelids. Even now she was not certain she could hold the barrier in place. And how was she supposed to not exhaust herself too much when she had to constantly be on her guard?

He ruffled her hair. "It is possible. Especially for you, it's just a matter of practice. Concentration is not needed once you put up the barrier. However," he stood up, stretching his arms to chase away the stiffness in his joints, "there's something you're lacking, that, for some inexplicable reason, the College always neglects."

Yrith looked up at him in question, brows fighting her exhaustion. "Which one?" she hummed weakly.

He laughed. "Well well, you don't put much faith in them, do you?" Then he patted his own arm. "Physical training. You may be the best mage under the sun, but you will never survive in poor physical condition. We will work on that. I can't protect you at all times, but I can give you the means."

"Is that also a part of General Tullius's contract?"

"Shrewd little lass. No, but your safe escort is. This is how I make my job easier."

"Won't you run out of business like that?"

"Direnni ancestry speaking from you? I will not. Not everyone is as keen to learn as you are. I can thank you for providing me with a lifetime's worth of entertainment." He laughed, but then a shadow crossed his face. "I should let you sleep. I'll make sure someone keeps watch over you for now."

Yrith felt a warm flush of gratitude paint her cheeks. Who was he, this person giving her so much for no cost at all? She still felt like the same hopeless child, with only some power she had so many times almost offered for the taking. But he always returned, patient and with unwavering faith in her. The hero of Skyrim. That title failed to do him justice. Spiced with a pinch of grumpiness, he would have reminded her of a certain orc librarian.

She watched him smooth her duvet and refill the goblet. He would protect her, she truly believed it. She would not have to fear the dreams anymore. She would not have to feel people's torment. She smiled faintly before the image of the cowering woman clouded her sight and realization sank in.

"Sir Dragonborn?"

"Keneel-La, remember?"

"Keneel-La… sir."

"Yes?"

"That person… demon… whoever is after me. He tortured someone. I… I think there might be others. I think he will continue until he finds me. What if… I don't want people to die in agony for me."

He knelt down, turning her head to face him. His teeth-like eyebrows were knit, his eyes glazed with sympathy. "All the more reason for you to keep your guard up. Remember these words, Yrith. Even if he does find you, he will not stop putting people to torture. This is his daily bread. Maintain that shield. Don't let yourself feel another person ever again. He knows who you are, and he knows your weakness. He knows he can't harm you himself over long distances. But he also knows that you can harm yourself at any time. He will use any means to achieve just that. Don't let him."

"But…"

"Believe in yourself. You are doing what you can. If you ever get a foolish idea like giving yourself up for the sake of others, consult with me first. Promise me that."

"I… if I could…"

The Dragonborn closed her hand in the warmth of his own. "This is something none of us want to accept. We are not omnipotent, and we can't shape the world to our bidding. There are people who know no limits and will stop at nothing to achieve their personal goals. They will kill and torture on a whim and they will not think twice about it. You can't stop them by sacrificing yourself. They will never be satisfied. Whatever happens, they won't stop being who they are. The only way to stop their atrocities is to stop them for good. You have trouble acknowledging yourself, hatchling. You are powerful and thoughtful, a combination that is hard to come by. You have the means to put an end to this one person. But for that, you need to put yourself first. Nothing will ever get solved by putting yourself to the blade, literally and figuratively. Get plenty of rest and rise to prove him right for fearing you. Because that's what he does. He doesn't want to destroy you for satisfaction, that he can do with any person. He fears you may stop him." He squeezed her hand, exposing his pointy teeth. "And you truly may."

"Does it mean that I will have to kill him?"

"That I can't say. But killing in order to survive, and killing to protect, I don't think there is anything wrong with that." With that, he rose again, stepping out to leave. "Rest. There is more water in that jug," he waved his hand to the table. "Someone will be here shortly. Something tells me it will be both of your friends this time." His grin widened, joined by a would-be inconspicuous wink.

She watched his figure fade in the distance as he left her alone to reason with her own thoughts. She wriggled under her duvet, letting her mind sink in a mixture of images both pleasant and painful. She was so tired, and there was an entire world out there full of fear and hurt. But in spite of all that had happened, she felt sudden comfort. Every conversation, every moment of this life filled her with hope that there was something she could do. That she would not be powerless anymore. That she would stop him, the man who had killed her parents. Everyone trusted her to do that. Even they had.

Find the Mad Sage of Time.

Time, the eternal constant that crossed her every step. Would this Sage her parents had spoken about guide her to the demon's name? Perhaps the Dragonborn would know. There was so much she still needed to ask.

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth lull her. It felt good to have things to ask.


Yrith ran. The painted stone she carried clutched to her chest weighed her down. She was running out of breath and the mountain before her was steep and unforgiving. Still, less unforgiving than Keneel-La. He never scolded. Never frowned. But the one sentence he gave her at the end of each exercise was etched deeply into her soul.

"You have just died."

He would wear a smile while uttering these words, give her all his care, a roof to sleep under and a few meals every day to preserve her strength, letting her bathe in her failure on her own. Whatever she did, no matter how much she tried, it was never enough. He would never set any limits, no restrictions except one. Each task was clear. Achieve a single goal. Use any means possible. But never use magic. Figuratively speaking, not even once did she survive the challenge.

She forced her tired legs to speed up. She had lost Cain and Leyna somewhere further behind, but there were more paths leading to the well. They could be ahead, or already there. She had chosen a path with the least snow, a slightly longer one, but with minimum resistance. And yet, the mountain loomed proudly above her, laughing at her efforts. She gritted her teeth, clearing her mind. Thoughts distracted her. Squirrels in the treetops, snow falling from the branches, clouds, taking shapes she knew or revealing views of the Jerall mountains and the Riften birch woods, they all served to weaken her resolve. Everything was her enemy now. She cast all the images away. There was only one thing that existed in her world now, and that was the way up.

She gasped as she suddenly saw the ground approaching, cushioning her fall with her hands. The impact deprived them of all feeling, sending a wild tremble deep into her flesh. She looked back to find the source. Her foot lay across a slithering tangle of pine roots. She cussed aloud.

Chasing the kaleidoscope of distorted shapes and colors out of her eyes, she stood again. She could not tell if it was the ground or her legs that shook under her. The wind whipping her sweaty skin battled the heat of her body. She put her hands on her knees, compelling them to move. Just a little further.

Behind a palisade of young pine trees and past a monumental wall bending into a cliff above her head spread a vast terrace surrounded by rugged rocks. At its far end stood an ancient well, carved into the land in time memorial. The tiles of its roof lay scattered around in pieces, their once red color now faded into nebulous shades of black and green. Yrith's heart skipped a beat. She darted toward the structure, holding out her stone in triumph. And at the same time, a figure bolted out from the other side of the cliff, a fluttering mane waving behind like a frayed standard. Yrith urged her legs to pick up their pace.

"No, you won't!" she yelled, exerting all her strength in that final push. Leyna followed suit, twisting her face in a concentrated grin.

"Oh I will!"

They ran side by side, neither falling behind, neither faster than the other. Leyna's white-gold mixed with Yrith's raven, their hair tangled, almost as if they belonged to one person. Their movements were on par, matching each other with perfect precision. Yrith's left was Leyna's left. Leyna's right was Yrith's right. Their breaths sang the same song. And then, in a single instant, their hands touched the crumbling wall of the well, dropping the stones down at once. They jammed in the middle of their fall, screeching the fount's sides before stopping for good. The two of them slid into the snow, panting, mindless of the tile remnants stabbing their bottoms. Yrith let her head slump backwards and touch the well.

"Did we get it this time?" she mouthed, her voice barely audible over her own reckless heartbeat.

"Looks like it," Leyna huffed, her own chest rising and falling in the same tempo. "You took my triumph."

Yrith laughed. "You took mine!"

Leyna let out a snort. Before she could utter a word, a clap came from above. The two of them turned to see the Dragonborn jump from a ledge, sneakily hidden between two protruding rocks. He stood before them, back straight, with a light smile on his bestial face. He raised his own stone nestled securely in his hand as if it weighed nothing at all, all its coloring smudged under the layer of dark green liquid. Yrith's smile froze on her lips.

"Your advantage was a shorter route. Mine was the knowledge of the terrain. Nevertheless, the path you took should have led you straight. It was more than twice as short and did not pose any troublesome obstacles." He twirled the stone in the hand, letting it stain his skin. "I still arrived way before you, enough to douse the stone, settle over there," he pointed to the ledge, "and even take a while to enjoy this wonderful sight." His teeth almost shone, reflecting the surrounding snow. Yrith knew that face well. "You have just died."

She sighed, giving a slow nod. In the end, she was still as powerless as ever. She wondered if the legs of the Dragonborn hurt as much as hers. If he had also arrived with his chest tight, gasping for air as he dropped his stone into the well just to feel that weight lift off. His stance was so firm, not like hers which was shaking with exhaustion. How much had he trained to become like this?

"Shall we do it again?" she peeped.

"No." It was always no. He never allowed her to practice more than scheduled. "We shall rest. Return to the monastery. I will wait for the ashling."

He gave them a light pat on their shoulders, directing her and Leyna up. They followed the steep road round the mountain, an uneven stairway leading them toward High Hrothgar. This was the upper part of the famous Seven Thousand Steps, a pilgrim path that every true Nord ought to walk at least once in their life. Yrith gave a dry laugh. Every true Nord would likely consider it a blasphemy to be delivered to this place as she had been. She looked up, to the cloud-veiled horizon. Luckily, she was not a Nord.

"Will we ever best him?"

She turned after the sound of Leyna's voice. The elf spoke without emotion, pensively, as if she refused to believe in their defeat.

"Who knows," Yrith said. "He is a few years ahead of us."

"What's the point of this anyway? Suddenly tossing away our magic to exchange it for brute force."

Yrith stared at her in surprise. "Did the Dragonborn not tell you?"

Leyna laughed, shaking her head. "No, he didn't. But as you can see, barely anyone ever tells me anything."

"Oh. Like that time you talked with Cain about the Lone Demon and I wasn't invited?"

Leyna froze, eyes wide. "What did you just say?"

"I was there that night, listening. I didn't mean to," Yrith waved her hands in defense, "but I happened to be there. I heard the whole discussion."

She had never seen Leyna's face so red. Until now. A mixture of anger, bewilderment, and perhaps even regret shaped her features as she pinned her golden eyes to the ground.

"So you know," she whispered. "You know everything. You must be mad at me. And Cain. But he at least wanted to protect you. Do you know? He would give his life for you. More than that, if it was in his power. There's probably nothing but you in his head."

"I know. Unlike you, I know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That there are many people who care about you too, Leyna. And maybe your father did too, and that was the exact reason why he told you nothing. Have you ever thought about that?"

"You…!" Leyna turned around abruptly, facing the rock on the other side. Yrith could have sworn she saw tears glistening in her eyes. She raised her hand to comfort her but put it down again. Her help was not wanted. Leyna always preferred solitude to brood over her troubles. Alone, with no one at her side. Yrith felt a sting in her chest.

"Leyna…"

"Don't. Stop. I don't need your pity."

"Then what do you need?"

"I…"

They froze at once. The mountain shook at its roots, thundering echo bouncing from one rock wall to another, brushing the snow from the treetops. A flock of crows rose to the skies in a dark cloud, tearing through the heavy mist. A nearby squirrel vanished underneath the roots of an old, bent pine. Leyna looked up, to the mountain peak.

"That wasn't…"

Yrith shook her head. "No, it wasn't from above. It was down there," she pointed a shaky finger to the path they had been walking. "That was Keneel-La. Cain… something must have happened!"

She broke into a run, skipping over the steps and rocks in her way. The wind was against her, but she braved it without a second thought. Her legs ached, but she paid them no heed.

"Y-Yrith!" Leyna's voice came from the distance, quickly fading in the rush.

Yrith clenched her fists. No more, she could not stand it. If something was happening to Cain, she would not leave him alone. She felt weak, underprepared, hopeless, but she could not imagine a time she would feel ready for an open battle. Still, he needed her. Things were serious enough for the Dragonborn to have to use his Thu'um. She was no pious worshipper, but now she prayed for Cain's safety. Air seized up in her throat. He could not die there. Not another person. Not again.

She heard a huff behind her. Leyna caught up to her, leveling her pace with Yrith's. She stayed quiet, tears still drying on her face, but her eyes full of fire. Something Yrith had not seen there in a long time.

They rushed through a hollow, between the pines and around the wall leading to the well. There was no one to be found in its vicinity. With little hesitation, Yrith spread her magic, searching for life. She felt it quiver with her own fear, uncertain. Where were they? Not on the ledge, not the way she had come. So Leyna's path, to the left of the cliff from where she stood. She took a step toward it, into the shadow of the rocks and trees, still searching, reaching further with every heartbeat. She found them on a mound past a huge round boulder, the Dragonborn, Cain and three others whose life was slowly ebbing away.

She sped up, letting the branches whip her face on the way. Twice she nearly tripped over a rock or a root, but she always transformed the fall into a long jump, turning all setbacks to merit. But it was not enough. Why were her feet so heavy? Why did she take so long? Why was the wind blowing against her?

Behind her, Leyna kept in tow, never more than a few steps behind. She almost crashed into Yrith when the latter finally stopped, holding her breath at the sight of Cain resting his head on a moss-covered stump, his tunic dyed crimson on the side. Over him leaned Keneel-La, drowning the boy in his own shadow as he inspected his wounds. Three bodies lay around them, deformed and all clad in the red Imperial uniform. Yrith felt her stomach knot but swallowed deeply to stifle the feeling as she approached the two people still alive. The Argonian raised his head, eyes flaring with dark, cold fire.

"What are you doing here?"

Yrith froze. Who was this deadly, austere man staring at her like a stranger at a beast? This man would tear her apart, split the skulls of his enemies in two without a moment's hesitation. This man had seen the fires of Oblivion and walked amongst the corpses of his own beloved. Cold washed over her like a desert downpour. She pressed her clenched fists on her thighs.

"Cain… is he…"

"I told you to go to the monastery." There was no warmth in the sentence. Not even reproach. She could not trace any feeling at all beside the sheer will to survive.

"I know, but… I heard you Shouting and…"

"Leave immediately." Not a request. An order, not permitting any objections. Yrith gritted her teeth.

"I can't just let my friends die!"

"He will not die, it is you they're after. And I can't protect all of you at once. So go. Now, Zulvahzen!"

The sound of her draconic name thundered through the air with deafening force. Yrith staggered, eyes wide with fear. The name gripped her, clasping around her mind. Tears burst out of her eyes against her will, his voice paralyzing her. She gasped, trying with all her might to regain control. A hand grabbed her, pulling her back. She turned to face Leyna whose face was a stone mask of determination.

"What are you…"

"Returning the favor," she hissed, dragging her away with unexpected strength. Yrith stumbled after her, eyes roving between her and the lying Cain.

"We can't leave him there!"

"And what will you do if there are more? Sacrifice yourself for him? That would be just like you, wouldn't it?"

"I…"

"Let's leave it to the Dragonborn. He'll bring him back. He will… bring him back."

Leyna's lip trembled, the last words barely discernible. Her clutch on Yrith's hand tightened to a nearly unbearable level. Yrith could only see a small part of her face, but it was telling as a human's, sculpted by fear and panic.

"Leyna…"

"Hold your tongue. I don't want to hear it."

They ran. Their speed was uneven, their steps landing heavy. Yrith felt as though an invisible hand held her chest, preventing her from advancing, and the only force keeping her in motion was Leyna herself. Every now and then, their feet sank deep into a snow drift, nearly sending them to the ground. Yrith found herself siding with the obstacles in their way, wishing there was an invisible wall that would stop them from their ascent completely. Something that would give her no choice but to turn back and face whoever came for her. Powerless, that was what she was. Vulnerable, always dependent on those stronger than her. Giving way to her sobs, she let the tears flow. They would soon turn into strands of frost crisscrossing her face. Why was Leyna so tenacious? Where did she suddenly gain the strength to climb so fast while dragging her along? The image of Leyna's boots before her was obscured by one of Cain, lying on the ground in pain. This was her fault. It was all her fault.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they finally stepped on the wide staircase to High Hrothgar forked around the monastery's front watchtower. The light of the day was quickly giving way to the night, making the stairs a blurred bumpy slide on sight. Yrith chose her path by memory, not looking at anything. Leyna still held her tight, pulling her up relentlessly. Yrith followed without thinking, forcing her weighty legs to lift. When they finally crossed the monastery threshold, she could not even appreciate the warmth. She felt cold, and no fire could melt the ice within. She let herself fall to her knees.

A sound of footsteps drew near and she felt a coarse, wrinkled hand grab her by the chin. She raised her head to see Arngeir, his cowl fallen to his shoulders.

"You are here," he said. "What happened?"

What happened? What in Oblivion had happened? She stared at his face, unable to make sense of it. As if he was a mere ghost she could look through, she found herself at a loss for words.

"C-Cain…" she managed. By her side, Leyna squeezed her shoulder.

"Our friend was hurt," she whispered. Even if the tears in her eyes had dried away, Yrith could still hear them in her voice.

"And the Dragonborn?" Arngeir's tone was even, emotionless, as though he cared little for people and more for facts. Yrith found herself irritated by its coldness.

"He is alive," Leyna continued, taking a breath to chase away the tremble. "He was tending to Cain when we left."

"So there was a battle."

The dead. Dead again, Yrith remembered. With bodies mutilated into strange shapes, empty eyes and…

She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. Arngeir let out a sigh.

"The world never changes," he growled as he stood. The altar candles sketched deep quivering lines on his face. "Conflict is all it knows, and people will never be satisfied until there's no one to tell the tale anymore. Even he…"

The words were like cold water on a flame, a slap in Yrith's face. The haze was gone in an instant. She saw his features clearly, his eyes of the same color as his hair and beard, and the wrinkles around them, and suddenly, he did not look half as wise to her as when she had first met him. She glared at him, slowly rising to meet his gaze

"Do you have nothing else to say?"

"Yrith…" The clutch on her shoulder stiffened.

The monk turned to her, taking a moment for a careful scrutiny. "I beg your pardon?"

"People are dying out there and this is all you have to say?" She seethed as her nails buried into the skin of her palms. "You have the power to stop them. You have the wisdom to teach them! And you sit here, feeding on whatever the pilgrims living in that world," her hand shot up, pointing to the gates, "bring you! Doing nothing at all! Scorning…" she fought the tears falling into her mouth and muffling her voice, "scorning the one person who does the job right!"

Leyna pulled on her arm with so much strength Yrith jolted in pain. "Yrith!"

Arngeir glared back. "Foolish child. What do you understand?"

Yrith snorted. "True, there's so much I don't understand. Like, for example, why you sit on all that power and…"

"Yrith!" Ruthlessly, Leyna dragged her up the stairs. Yrith grunted, attempting to yank the arm out of her grip, but the slight elf would not even flinch. Her eyes were focused on Arngeir. He stood there in silence, staring back, unyielding. There was no trace of doubt in his face, no hint he would even consider Yrith's words. She felt her teeth grate in her mouth as the light of the altar and the brazier illuminating the entrance hall faded past the turn they took. She tugged against Leyna, to no avail.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed.

Leyna did not respond. She marched onward, one corridor after another, past the gates to the courtyard and the humbly decorated alcoves. No sooner did she let go than they'd stopped in Yrith's makeshift bedroom. Only then she stepped back, standing tall as Yrith glared at her.

"Why did you drag me away?" she pressed, hot in her cheeks. Her fingers twitched in the urge to pin the damn Altmer to the wall.

"Why, why… damnation, Yrith, you don't argue with a Greybeard on his home ground."

"Well, think again, I just did."

"So you did. And what good will it do you?"

"What good will it do you to silence me?"

Leyna sighed, raising her hand to rub her temple. Her face was dark with the coming night, but her eyes shone ghostly blue in the light of Secunda. And yet, her tone was warm when she spoke. "You are not fair. I have so many words on my tongue, but I cannot tell you anything. To speak this freely is a privilege reserved for those who were not born to aristocracy." She sank to the floor, with her spine to the bed and head slumped back, buried in the duvet. "I envy you. I always have."

Yrith took a seat by her side. "What are you talking about? What privilege?"

Leyna smiled, suddenly reaching out to touch Yrith's shoulder. "The privilege of not imagining the worst possible thing that could happen. Like the Greybeards getting back at the Dragonborn for what you just said, for instance."

"I…" Yrith hugged her knees, cheeks burning red hot. Was that what would happen? Would her words become the legendary last straw? Surely the Greybeards' bond with the Dragonborn must have been stronger than that? She lay her forehead on top of her knees, staring into the shadow of her own lap. "What do I do?" she whispered. "I hate this, Leyna. I can't help. I can't fight. I can't even speak. What is it that I can do?"

Slender hand pulled her in, and she suddenly found herself in Leyna's embrace. She stared at her friend, confused, unsure what to say. Her face was so close she could barely distinguish the shape.

"Leyna…?"

"I've felt the same for all my life," she uttered quietly. "Helpless, always afraid of things that have not even happened yet."

She fell quiet, taking one too many deep breaths. Yrith waited, too scared to ask what it was she wanted to say out of the fear she might not voice it in the end. Leyna's hair tickled her nose, but she resisted the urge to draw back. The night grew darker as they sat there. Gingerly, Yrith gave Leyna a light pat of support. As the moons outside wrapped themselves in a mantle of clouds, obscuring the last discernible bits of material world, Leyna's breath finally steadied.

"I know you must hate me for all I said and did. I hate myself too." She let out a snort. "But if I promise to have your back," she said as she looked into Yrith's eyes, "will you stay who you are for me?"

Yrith felt her jaw drop. "I… what?"

"I am not so brave. I can't be as honest, and in the end, I'm the same kind of scheming person as my father." She smiled in apology. "But I am well-read and a decent healer. You asked me what you can do, and I can't give you an answer. But you have changed me. You've changed Cain and half of the College. You have the Dragonborn's support. All that just for being yourself. If anyone can make a difference, it would be you."

Yrith gave a laugh, pulling back at last. She stood up, watching Leyna's blurry huddled figure from above. Was that it? She could not be brave and honest while Yrith could? Had she changed while Yrith was not allowed? "Look at you, being honest right now. That is a very strange request, and I'm not sure I can fulfill it."

"What do you mean?" She could only guess Leyna's long face by the tone of her voice.

Yrith shrugged, knowing Leyna would not see the gesture in the dark. "I am changing as we speak. And," she paused to give her words weight, "as much as I want to, I do not trust you. That you will have to work for, Leyna. I could care less about the things you've said to me here. At least those were honest words. But you were right. You are a schemer, and in the end, you contradict yourself. You say you are not as brave, but you still decided to meet your father. You say you fear the consequences, but you did not even stop to consider them. Do you know what is worse than a mortal enemy?"

There was a rustle and a hint of movement. Leyna shaking her head.

"A friend you can't trust."

Yrith threw herself on the bed, hugging the pillow. She could not believe her own words. But they were true, she realized, and as she had spoken them, she felt a weight fall off her shoulders. She inhaled the now homely smell of hay and goose, pulling the duvet over her still dressed body. They spoke no more. Now she could only wait for the one friend she could trust to come back. Alive.


This chapter was originally supposed to be longer, but I split it, deciding the last part would be better off as a standalone chapter. So, the next chapter might be pretty short.

Hoping you guys are surviving the crisis.

Mirwen