There was only one enemy Thorunn faced that she could never defeat: Her own temper. She knew it had little to do with herself and everything to do with the dragon that coursed through her veins. Ever since she was a girl, she'd have bouts of anger so fierce and damning that sometimes, on the really bad days, she would black out, unaware of what she was doing. It got so bad once that her father had no choice but to lock her in the house for three days straight.
Thorunn hated the indoors. The largest palace in existence was still too small. She yearned for real air, for open sky and damp grass beneath her feet. She spent those three days breaking things and screaming and biting a cloth hard enough to break her teeth. Her father had to replace all the dishes once her flame had cooled, but he never uttered a word of complaint. That was the strangest thing about her father. He was always so calm, so collected. Thorunn wished she had that.
She had grown out of those severe tantrums, but she was still a hot head and her temper was still her downfall. Now, as she rode in the middle of her kingsguard on the road to Falkreath, she regretted cutting off Commander Maro as abruptly as she did. Were that her pride was not so important to her, she would have turned back and apologized. She physically could not turn her horse around. She needed to go to Falkreath, even if it wasn't for the Dark Brotherhood.
They'd been travelling for two days now. During the night, they'd make camp on the side of the road or if there was an inn nearby, they'd reside there. They were running low on food, having only prepared for two days tops. Four days now they were on the road. They could not live off of stale bread and jerkey.
But Falkreath was nearing. Thorunn could already smell the signature scents of her hometown: Morning dew, preservation oils, Old Haelga's lilacs, damp soil. It smelled of home.
Beside her, Niket wrinkled his nose. "It reeks of the dead," he complained.
He was right, of course. Thorunn was merely accustomed to the smell so much that she had come to like it. Falkreath was known for its graveyard. That same graveyard housed the corpses of many people dear to Thorunn, including her parents, her grandfather, her three siblings that only lasted minutes outside of the womb. Thorunn was the sole survivor of the Aseldottir family. Falkreath was a ghost town to her.
The town was exactly as she'd remembered it: Dreary and haunted, the home of the dead. The few people that were outside on their porches or harvesting their crops looked up in shock and awe as Thorunn rode through. Aegetha moved slowly, allowing his mistress to drink in their surroundings for reasons he did not have the capacity to understand. She recognized many of the faces staring up at her.
Haelga was exactly as she remembered her. Old and withered, with what little wisps of white hair she had tied into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a pale blue and her frown as stern as Thorunn remembered. This woman had been old even when Thorunn was a girl. Sometimes it seemed like she had never been young. Now, she was even more shriveled up and wrinkled, her back so hunched that her chin hung to her caved in chest. She sat in a wooden rocking chair, surrounded by her purple lilacs and her memories. Her fingers worked a pair of needles as she knitted, humming a lullaby Thorunn easily recognized as the one Haelga would sing at the graves of her children.
Then there was Lod, the blacksmith with the nice wife that used to give Thorunn cookies and sweet rolls on her name-day. Thorunn couldn't see that wife now. Most likely holed up inside; she never did come outside much. Lod had aged since last Thorunn saw him, but so had they all.
Runil, the priest of Arkay that delivered the burial rites to all six of the deceased Aseldottirs. Someday, he would deliver Thorunn's burial rite as well. He was a kind man that regularly sent gifts to Thorunn and her family after each of her mother's stillborn children. The gifts were cheap and simple, but meant the whole world to a five-year old little girl that couldn't understand why the Nine wouldn't let her have a little brother or sister.
The others were only faces with no names. She recognized a few of her childhood friends, including a mean-spirited boy she got into a lot of mischief with named Mathies. Another man, Delacourt, carried a lute as he walked past her towards the inn. He'd been a quiet, sweet boy that always questioned Thorunn's love of swordplay. Zaria, a Redguard girl, who would have sleepovers with Thorunn where they exchanged poorly-told spooky stories and tavern songs.
Not one of these people said a word to her.
Childhood was such a bittersweet thing. She'd had her fill. Her eyes lingered on the house she'd lived in as a girl, still sturdy and standing strong, but she did not stop. She had a job to do here. She whipped Aegetha's reins and the stallion took off in a gallop.
The door to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary was not hard to find. Quite literally in front of her face, in fact. The door was heavy stone, certainly impenetrable through any means by force. Carved into the stone was a skull, and beneath it a red painting of a skeleton with several smaller skeletons at its feet- a representation of children, no doubt. A red hand print was stamped right in the middle of the door.
Thorunn slowed Aegetha into a walk as she approached the door. Once she was close enough, she hopped off of the horse, her companions following suit. Even Tinsley had nothing to say about this door, which gave Thorunn a sickly satisfaction. She unsheathed her axe and neared the door, jumping and gasping when the most ear-piercing shrill whispered voice came from the door.
"What is the music of life?" the door asked.
Thorunn had to resist the urge to cover her ears to block out the horrid sound of the voice, let alone know the answer to its riddle. Another new voice followed the shrill whisper of the door, but this voice was pleasant, a relieving contrast to the prior voice. Thorunn wanted to melt into that voice after the sound her ears just had to endure.
"The voice isn't as painful if you're supposed to be here," said the voice of honey coolly.
The sound of swords scraping against their scabbard as they were unsheathed reached her ears next, but that didn't bother her. She spun around, axe ready to be swung. Her shock turned to anger when she saw who was standing there with that familiar smirk on his lips, that casual posture as he stood with his back leaning against a tree with his ankles crossed. He twirled a dagger in between his fingers skillfully.
"You!" Thorunn shouted, then charged at him.
She couldn't even process. He moved like water, swift as a snake and smooth as silk. He dodged her swing effortlessly and gracefully, swerving then spinning and ending up behind her. She spun around as quick as she could, and he was still watching her with that signature smirk of his, twirling his dagger. He clicked his tongue.
"You should leash that reckless anger, my dear," he said.
Two swords came down on him, but he dodged them as elegantly as he'd dodged Thorunn. By Talos, she hated rogues. The nobody vanished in thin air, just as he'd done in Solitude. Thorunn tried to keep her eyes on all of her angles which only made it harder. She kept her axe at the ready, her two companions doing the same. They formed a circle to better watch all angles.
He came out of no where. He was there, then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but blood pouring from Tinsley's neck. Gasping and spluttering, Tinsley brought a hand to his throat. Red liquid washed over his pale fingers. The last look on his face was that of shock, and his body fell as easily as the autumn leafs.
"No!" Thorunn growled, feeling a sense of desperation she had not felt since that carriage ride to Helgen. She and Niket put their backs together, eyes darting fervently as they tried to keep up with the wind. The nobody was everywhere and nowhere all at once, flashing in and out of view, his dark laughter ringing and then cutting off as abruptly as it'd started.
Finally, Thorunn had had enough and started aimlessly swinging her axe, not caring how ridiculous she looked. Her axe swung through vacant air and the nobody's laughter turned genuine. "Behind you," a voice whispered at her shoulder. She whipped around all too soon: Her axe cut right through Ser Niket's gut.
Thorunn gasped and released her axe, forgetting there was still an enemy standing. Horrified at what she'd done, she brought her trembling hands up to cover her mouth. The axe stayed put in Niket's gut, blood spilling over it and coating it in life essence wrenched free at her own hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from Niket's. They were wide and shocked, blood trickling down from his agape mouth. "I'm so sorry..."
He fell to the ground with a deep thud that made Thorunn flinch. Inhaling shaky breaths, she slowly brought a hand down to her shield and unclasped it. Her fingers fumbled at the grip and she struggled to get a firm hold of it, knuckles going white with effort. She held onto that shield as if it were the hand of Talos, and in that moment, perhaps it was.
There was nothing but the natural sounds of the forest. Nesting birds chirping quietly to one another, leafs rustling in the wind, the pitter patter of a squirrel running along a tree branch, her own heavy breathing and drumming heartbeat. Thorunn's eyes tenuously scrolled across the scenery until she'd completed a whole three-sixty. Nothing. There was nothing, and nobody, apart from her two fallen companions and the ear-grating stone door marking the entrance to the Brotherhood sanctuary.
The need to end this man was overwhelming. Her core was going to burst if she did not feel his blood on her hands soon.
"I am only doing a job, you know," The voice that once sounded like pleasantry to her now made her want to tear someone's entrails. She turned her head sharply towards the sound, finding the nobody perched on a tree branch too high for her to reach. She growled beneath her breath but made no move to further damage her dignity. "Killing is only okay when you do it, is that right? I see no difference between an assassin and a soldier." he continued. There was no smirk and no passive aggression underlying his low voice.
"There is a difference between killing and murdering."
"Is there?" He propped one foot up on the branch. Something sad crossed his eyes, coming and leaving with the wind. "Indulge me."
Thorunn's eyes narrowed. The splinters in the handle of her shield pricked at her skin as she tightened her grip even more, sticky drops of blood painting her palm. "I kill so that others may live," she said after a long moment.
"And the Brotherhood does not?" She wanted to smack the satisfaction off of his face. He'd expected her to say that exact thing and had long since prepped his argument, she could tell. "Ofttimes our clients call on us to take out someone that seeks their life. Is that so different from slaughtering hundreds in a war for a skewed matter of freedom?"
"Draw your weapon and say that again," she dared.
Disappointment was wrought in his expression. What he was disappointed in, she could not tell. "Look at yourself," he demanded, a sudden bite to his words. "You stand with no weapon. You know that the only way you'll be able to kill me or take me as hostage is if I want you to. You understand that the only thing I have to do to have an entire fleet of assassins on your tail is utter a passcode. Why do you still fight with no hope of victory?"
"I will keep fighting for as long as I draw breath," she said, and this was a question she knew exactly how to answer. "That's the difference between assassins and soldiers." The bar of selfishness was thick. The blood that ran through the crevice flowed thicker. This was the moment where an assassin would flee where a soldier would remain.
He stared down at her, lips pressed together. "I see," he responded slowly. The weight of a decision teetered in his gaze. Upon reaching the apparent choice, he leaped from the branch, landing a few feet in front of Thorunn. She made no move to rashly attack him, and he didn't seem to fear she would. "Then allow me to fulfill your duty as a soldier. No games, no tricks. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
"Blood must be repaid in blood." she finished.
He nodded, smirk returning. Thorunn kept her eyes on him as she reached down to yank her axe from Niket's midsection. A hideous squelching sound emitted from the action, but she did not cringe, having heard these noises as much as she'd glanced at the back of her hand. The moment she rose, the dance begun.
She barely managed to block his blow with her shield. His twin daggers- Daedric, by the look of them -moved as swiftly as deer and his feet were as disciplined as the finest veterans. Essentially, the only thing Thorunn had against him was raw strength. She hoped it would be enough. Her hand was glued to the handle of the shield at this point. She had no trouble holding the shield against the nobody's rapid swings.
The moment his flurry came to a halt, she pummeled her shield into his chest. Taking advantage of his stumble, she swung her axe, but he recovered too swiftly and parried the blow with his dagger. She was too close to him, he realized with a jolt of panic in his eyes. He jumped back, then took a few more steps backward to secure his recover. Thorunn put even more distance between them for reasons he would soon feel in every aching quarter of his body.
She opened her mouth, drawing from the will of Talos and the air around her. The dovah within her awoke, creeping up to her voice and roaring in unison with her. "Fus, Ro, Dah!" she Shouted, all the force of unrelenting thunder hailing from her Voice in an orb of raw power that sharply knocked into the nobody and sent him flying. There were no trees nor parapets to stop his momentum, so he kept tumbling until Thorunn could no longer see him.
She wasted no time. She threw herself onto Aegetha's saddles and whipped the reins, signaling the horse to go as fast as his legs would allow him. He jolted into a sprint towards the direction the assassin had been sent. As the horse moved, Thorunn kept her eyes on everything at once, searching for any sign of abnormal movement within the forest.
She saw a red glint and jerked Aegetha's reins, forcing him into an abrupt halt. Her eyes lodged on the glint, waiting to see it again. Instead, she saw a silhouette in red and black leather armor dragging their weight across the field. She hopped off of her horse and marched towards the figure.
Blood soaked a patch of his blond hair and leaked from his nose. Broken bones were inevitable. She paid these injuries no mind, reaching down to grab a handful of his hair and jerk his head up to force him into looking at her. "There's one more difference between assassins and soldiers," she said, leaning down close to make sure he didn't mishear her. "Justice always wins."
At that, she yanked him to his feet. He hollered in pain. "And justice is not mine to wield, not with you," she said. She put her arm around him, lugging his arm around her shoulders. She guided him to Aegetha and effortlessly hoisted him onto the saddle. She got on behind him, tugging at the reins.
The nobody didn't have enough strength remaining to hold himself upright. Groaning, he fell forward. Aegetha whinnied in discontent but made no move to throw them off; Thorunn's arms were enough to hold the nobody in place.
"I'm taking you to the king," Thorunn said, not caring whether he was even conscious at this point or not. "Your fate belongs to him."