Her deeds had value, he'd said. It was the first time he showed her the barest hint of respect, and she didn't acknowledge or thank him for it. She didn't thank him for feeding her. Half of Zudarra wondered why, but the other half brushed that useless thought away. He fed her because he wanted to, because it fueled his hero complex to imagine he was saving some poor lost soul who might fall under her fangs instead. He ought to thank her for helping to give purpose to his empty life.
For Zudarra, the rest of the day was quite busy. She helped her mother with a slew of chores that she wasn't able to normally do by herself, pinned cloth over the windows until the glass could be replaced, and made runs into town for various reasons so she could have a meal alibi when Lavinia cooked. Some neighbors came to check on Lavinia; the townsfolk were beginning to trickle back to their homes. People wept in the streets for those who did not return. The shadows of guards moved constantly along the wall, ever vigilant for another attack.
It was later in the day when the survivors of Valenwood began to arrive in the Anvil harbor, first the large merchant ships followed by smaller fishers. Falinesti had fallen shortly after Kvatch. The Bosmer assumed the attacks were local to Valenwood, just as most Cyrodiilians assumed the attacks were local to Cyrodiil.
Zudarra heard the news from one of Lavinia's neighbors; word was spreading quickly throughout town. (And she was earning quite a reputation herself, after Lavinia told a few people of Zudarra's heroic deeds.) Last night's jubilation gave way to an oppressive gloom as the dead were tallied and people began to realize the scale of the attack. Being so close to the harbor gate, Zudarra could sit on the stoop and watch guards directing the mostly Bosmeri refugees to the chapel or the castle. Most of them had a glazed look in their eyes, following the orders like docile little sheep.
At sunset, Zudarra told Lavinia that she was going for a run and headed down to the harbor. Magnus was a flaming ball on the horizon, reminiscent of the fiery eye of the daedric siege machine. The Abecean Sea sparkled purple and gold below it. She walked West along the beach, away from the harbor, until the sand gave way to pebbles and short grass. Gulls cried and circled above, oblivious to the upheaval their world had been thrown into. The ambling mudcrabs and the cool, salty breeze remained unchanged. Perhaps Nirn would get along just fine without them if Dagon succeeded in wiping all their cities off the maps.
As the sun was blinking out, dying red embers over a lake of blood, Zudarra found exactly what she'd been hoping to find. A Bosmer was sitting on a short, flat rock at the water's edge, staring numbly at the waves that lapped against his seat with his knees drawn up near his chin, hands clasped in front of his legs. He wore tanned hide pants and vest over a green woolen shirt, and Zudarra could smell the fish blood that stained his clothes from ten feet away. His only acknowledgment of her was a quick glance to the side and then he was back watching the water. She could only tell that his large black eyes had moved by the shifting reflection of the sunset.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Zudarra asked. The Bosmer looked up at her then, giving her his full attention. He had a round little face and a stubby nose that pointed up at the end. His dirty-blonde hair was a matted mass of long dreadlocks that didn't smell much better than his clothes. He didn't seem particularly sad, but rather like one who'd been dead inside for years.
"I don't suppose it matters," he said dully, in a voice less nasally than most of his brethren, and looked away again. Zudarra sat down on the same wide rock, with enough space between them to be comfortable. She looked out on the water, enjoying the breeze that ruffled her fur.
"I'll cut to the chase," Zudarra said. "I know you've been through a lot today, but I'm about to make all of that go away." The man beside her harrumphed, dumbfounded by the rudeness of this Khajiit but also curious what she was on about. He didn't have time to struggle before she was on him, her hand cradling his head like a lover and her mouth on his throat.
Her mind touched his as her fangs sank into unwashed flesh. She felt the hurt, the pain. She couldn't see all the specifics, but she didn't need to. This mer was utterly alone. His entire life had been destroyed in a single night, with no purpose or reason to keep on living. Zudarra would give him one.
He quickly relaxed in her arms, falling into a stupor as she fed. She felt some resistance initially, but that faded away as she wormed her will into his mind, rewarding his submission with pleasure. He wasn't like Vandalion, stupid and passive, but in time he would be. His blood was not the great prize Saraven's was, but it was an enjoyable meal. It wasn't so hard to pry herself away.
The Bosmer lay limp her arms, black eyes staring at Zudarra with only slight confusion, face slack and serene. His wounds healed in a flash of blue and Zudarra released him. He sagged back against the rock, catching himself with his elbows.
"Your name is Galmir, isn't it?" she asked. He nodded faintly. "I'm Zudarra. I think you ought to get to the Anvil castle with the other survivors. Eat, sleep, take good care of yourself. And by the Divines, next time you see a pair of shears, cut that mop off, would you?"
"Maybe I'll do that, Zudarra," he said dreamily. She nodded and stood.
"You should come back to this spot tomorrow at sunset," Zudarra said as she turned to leave. He might not obey that order. He might forget this had ever happened, or be confused about what he remembered. It often took several feedings and mesmerizings to break them in. But if he didn't show up, she would just go to the castle and fetch him. It's not like he had anyplace else to go.
Zudarra was pleased with herself as she jogged home, bouncing on her toes with every step. She knew Saraven only fed her specifically to avoid what had just happened, but he was a fool if he thought he could prevent her from ever taking another thrall. Saraven couldn't feed her every day of their lives without becoming weak like cattle himself.
She busied herself with arms practice and exercises throughout the night, after making a bed on the floor to convince Lavinia she was actually sleeping. Again her thoughts turned to Molag Bal, and to worries for her future. The more she thought of it, the more she realized she had no choice but to do as the Prince instructed. It made her sick to think of herself as a pawn of the Daedra, but the horror of eternal torture was worse. Somehow, someway, she had to find a way out of Bal's trap.
She decided to pay a visit to the Fighter's Guild when the sun rose.
Kahzarku floated in nothingness, blind and deaf and numb. He thought he knew the way, but it had been so long ago - it had been the First Era, by mortal reckoning, when last he died.
Eons seemed to pass before his consciousness brushed against another, something overwhelmingly large in the sea of nothing. It laughed and quaked in jubilation and screamed in angry confusion all at once. Kahzarku turned away, unsure how he knew how to move in a place where he could feel no momentum or spatial awareness, but the thing that had nearly absorbed him eventually faded away.
He traveled again for an endless time, unsure if he really moved at all, until thirst and lust bled into his mind, an overwhelming greed for all the pleasures of sixteen and one worlds. This, too, was some invisible object of unfathomable mass that threatened to swallow him up. It was tempting, but still wrong.
Kahzarku was very weary now, and the thought of spending any more time in this expanse of nothingness brought him great dread. But he would not stray from his destined path. He continued through the unbearable void, brushing against these titanic bubbles of emotion and thought, resisting them all until at last he found his home.
Power. Bloodlust. Rage.
These were things Kahzarku could understand. He pressed forward, felt sensation and time return as he merged with the titan in the dark. The brand of Mehrunes Dagon burned into his soul with a white-hot pain and then Kahzarku felt himself expand explosively, nerves growing like roots through a new body that slowly began to feel other things. Pressure, warmth, wetness, a darkness on his open eyes that stabbed like the light of Magnus.
He screamed, inhaling blood into his lungs.
Kahzarku flailed his body, desperately kicking and clawing for the surface. Black faded to dark red and he burst into the hot air of the Deadlands, gasping to fill his burning lungs with air. All around him were others, dremora and lesser daedra, all gasping and wailing as they struggled to swim for the shore. His untested muscles ached as he swam, but eventually his kicking feet sank into soft ground.
Kahzarku hauled his naked body onto the shore with trembling arms, coughing blood onto the red sand, and finally collapsed onto his chest when he could breathe. Part of him wanted to rest there forever, to bask in the warmth and let the screams of his kin lull him into a restful trance, but there was no time. He pushed himself up onto weak legs and stumbled forward. Others scrambled past him now, some crawling over the sand and some already standing.
A line of red-robed dremora stood waiting at the top of the slope where sand gave way to dirt and gravel, the watchers of the rebirthing. Kahzarku staggered to the nearest one, dropping to his knees before her with eyes at her feet.
"What of Ganonah?" he croaked.
"Destroyed," she replied. Kahzarku howled his rage, flinging himself forward to pound his fists on the ground.
"Stand, wretch! Carry on and prove to Lord Dagon that one bested by a mortal deserves to keep his soul, if you are able," the watcher sneered, stepping forward and twisting to plant a boot on Kahzarku's back, knocking him flat. He picked himself up without turning to look at her and walked up the slope, joining the mass of bodies dripping blood on the arid land.
The towers of Jurn stood tall in the distance, miles away. There was no time to waste.
Zudarra glanced dubiously up at the great square block that was the Anvil Fighters Guild. The white stone glowed bright under the mid-morning sun. With it's half-domed roof and dramatic spires it seemed like a miniature version of the castle, dwarfed only by the chapel on the street behind it. She felt something like a fox sauntering into a kennel of hounds as she mounted the steps to the broad double doors below the fluttering red banners. One of them was singed at the bottom from the attack.
Two humans stood in the practice room, an Imperial and a Nord armored in steel and iron, respectively. Zudarra herself was in her own freshly polished mail once again, the baldric carrying her daedric greatsword slung across her chest and her leather bag over her shoulder. It was significantly lighter than it had been; most of the gold she left with Lavinia.
Zudarra didn't get a chance to hear what they were discussing. The humans immediately turned and stared at her in a less than friendly manner. She might be able to fool the common idiot, but experienced fighters most likely knew a Khajiiti vampire when they saw one.
"I'm looking for Saraven Gol. Dunmer, mithral armor, dreary mug that hasn't smiled in fifty years." She spoke before they could. The Nord's eyes narrowed in a glare, then widened in recognition as her eyes passed from the weapon and back to the Khajiit's face.
"Are you Zudarra... the Bloody? Is that really a name?" she asked.
"It's an arena stage name, and yes, that's me. Is he here or not?"
The two exchanged glances, apparently weighing her service to the city against her status as an abomination.
"He is here, but non-Guild members aren't allowed in the barracks. You'll have to wait out here," the Imperial said. Zudarra considered shoving past them anyway, but it wouldn't help Saraven's opinion of her to cause a scene in his guildhall. She took a seat on the bench by the door, staring with disinterest at the room. It creaked under her weight. She could see people through the open doorway to the barracks, some sleeping and some dressing, looking at her with curiosity.
The Imperial went inside while the Nord continued to watch her. He didn't know Gol personally, but knew him from Zudarra's description and the tales that were circulating. He found the Dunmer asleep in the last bed of the row.
"Excuse me, Saraven Gol? I'm sorry to wake you, but a Khajiit called Zudarra the Bloody has come asking for you."
Saraven opened his eyes, hand closing around his sword, and stared up at the Imperial as his brain parsed out meaning from the words. All was right with the world again. He felt stiff leather against his throat and wrists, the status quo restored. It took him several seconds to remember everything that had happened between when he'd lost them and when he'd got the new set.
"Zudarra," he said blankly. "Is here."
The Imperial nodded.
"I'll be right out. Thanks for your trouble." Saraven scrambled into his mail as his guildmate grunted and turned to go back out. He felt rested and alert, and a glimpse of himself in a panel of his boots showed some of his color already returning. He hauled the edges of the gorget out over the top of the mithral chain shirt's collar, tugged its hems down over the bracers, and buckled on the baldric that held up his longsword. A separate belt of plain leather held his purse on and kept his mail shirt cinched at the waist. He ran his palms over his white hair, but it had not changed in its basic configuration in decades and was not about to start for something as mundane as being slept on.
He emerged from the sleeping quarters with the same rapid and unassuming stride he generally used: carry on about your business, nothing important is happening here. Zudarra was sitting on a bench by the door, causing it to bow in the middle under the weight of Cathay-raht and armor. Well, she was looking well-fed and pert enough.
More so than when he'd last seen her.
Damn my eyes.
Zudarra looked up at Saraven when he entered, her face neutral. She didn't bother to stand. The Nord woman moved off, eyeing Zudarra as she left.
"Good morning, Zudarra," he said quietly.
"Good morning. I take it you plan to keep on closing the gates that pop up, am I right? If so, I'd like to join you." Her tone was very serious, without the usual mocking or irritated edge it often carried when speaking to him.
"Yes, I do, and why?" He folded his arms as he looked at her. "You haven't a lot to gain by it. I can't believe you'd do it as a public service."
"I'm not. There's no reason to assume the daedra won't come back to Anvil. And if they destroy the entire province, what would happen to my mother? What would happen to me? I can't make a name for myself in the arena if the Imperial City is obliterated." She sighed, and it was the first time anything close to sadness passed over her face. "I don't want to get sucked into this, but," she lowered her voice then. "Immortality isn't worth much if you've got nothing to live for."
Saraven stared at her for a long moment, red-on-red eyes narrow. Most of her obvious lies were told when she was angry, defensive. He did not believe in her ability to deceive him in cold blood.
"Well done," he said at last. "Will you be bringing your new thrall with you?"
Her face instantly crumpled in fury and her eyes darted around to see if anyone had heard his comment before returning to glare at him.
"Yes, I will, and I was going to tell you about him," she growled quietly, leaning forward in her seat. "You know as well as I do that you can't feed me forever. Isn't the life of this one mer worth all the others I'll help save?"
"Fortunately I am not the one who has to make that choice," Saraven said. He was speaking quietly, and the Imperial behind them was too occupied with the practice dummy and the noise of his own weapon to pay them the slightest attention. "Because I'm a coward, and even if I were willing to die to feed you, you'd still have to find someone else afterward. Did you ask him at all? Did he have the slightest say in this?"
He had told an untruth. He might be unwilling at this moment, but how much he cared would vary up and down, day by day. He had no control over that.
It shocked Zudarra to hear Saraven speak of himself that way, but she was too annoyed with the rest of his words to dwell on that further.
"It is a choice you have to make," Zudarra snapped, still keeping her voice low despite the noise. "You could scream 'vampire' and attack me on the spot and all your little guildmates would back you up and I'd be dead and my thrall would be free. You chose inaction. You've let me live all this time because you know you need me." She rose to her feet with a clank so she could glare down at Saraven from her full height, arms bowed to broaden her shoulders.
"And of course he had no say! I didn't have time to visit the matchmaker and find a man who wanted to be a thrall. If my ways bother you so much, then be my guest; go it alone. You know where to find me." She whirled around and stalked towards the door.
"That's not why," he said quietly, to her back. "First it was because I couldn't, and then it was because I trusted you. That was foolish, but it's the truth. It's why I didn't say anything, that first time. I didn't believe you would do it, and when you did, it broke me."
Zudarra's ear twitched, fist clenched on the door handle. She stopped moving, but didn't turn back.
"You can still trust me," she said, and for the first time, it was the truth. She'd been lying to him all along; planning to enthrall him or kill him whenever the opportunity arose. But not now. Even if he watched her walk away and never agreed to help her close the gates, Zudarra was stunned by the realization that she no longer desired to harm him. She didn't like him, but he was a strong warrior who had saved her life on more than one occasion.
And... he once trusted her?
Something twisted in Zudarra's stomach. She turned her face to the side, looking at him from her peripheral vision.
"I didn't mean to touch you that night," she said stiffly. It was difficult for her to say. "There's something strange about you - I can't explain it. Your smell, your blood. It's magnetic. I..," she had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could continue. "I lost control."
Her hand fell away from the door and she turned to him fully, now. The muscles of her face were tense under her mask of steel, but for a split second she seemed lost in confusion. Zudarra didn't know why she would admit that to Saraven of all people, the one who already judged her as a mindless beast.
"You can trust me that I won't harm you on purpose. But you know what I am. I'm not sorry for that. This is the best I can do."
Saraven stared at her, eyes widening slightly. There's something strange about you. Good Gods, it explained so much. Vampires had come after him in stupid ways, in stupid places, undeterred by sunlight or his armor or even his leathers. It had seemed strange when the older ones were usually such calculating hunters. It must have been that way for years, decades! And what in the world was wrong with him? Some sort of curse, some spell?
But that was not the important point. The important thing was that Zudarra had admitted fault, admitted weakness, done something that he had to this point believed to be impossible for her. His face relaxed as he looked at her, lines smoothing out slightly around his eyes and mouth.
"Thank you," he said at last. "I understand. For what it's worth, I'm sorry things are that way. I didn't know."
She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted on her feet, suddenly feeling very awkward, and forced a short chuckle.
"I thought you would think I was making excuses," she said, the slightest hint of a smirk crawling over her muzzle.
"When you're making excuses you talk with your ears flat," he said. "You haven't learned to lie with your face yet. It takes a long time. Do you still want to come with me? I'm riding out for Skingrad next." He looked at the ceiling. "You know. When you're ready."
Zudarra digested that tidbit for a moment, and for once, she didn't get angry. She snorted in real laughter.
"You're what, a hundred years old? I guess you know a few things I don't," she said teasingly. "I'll meet you at the stables in an hour, unless you have more business here? I have to collect the third member of our party." The mirth faded and she grew serious again. "I know you don't like that, but I'm not going to hurt him. He might be safer with me than anyplace else in Tamriel right now."
"Eighty-three," he said dryly. "Hour's fine. And no, I don't like it, but I'm not going to stop you. At least tell me he didn't have a family?"
"Not anymore," Zudarra said carefully. Her first impulse was to be flippant about it - It was a sad thing, sure, but Zudarra didn't know the people and it wasn't something she could ever change - but Saraven had lost his entire family, and he had made comments about protecting families and children in the past. He probably didn't want anyone else to suffer what he had. "He just arrived with the other refugees from Valenwood. They died in Falinesti."
Saraven actually seemed to relax further as he nodded.
"Then you're not making things any worse for him," he said. "Better, arguably." He squinted as he said it, because it tied a knot in his guts to admit a vampire taking someone as a thrall could ever be anything but unequivocally evil. "Try and let him know he'll be helping you hurt Dagon, if you can. It'll make him happier while he's still able to think at all."
He can think, Zudarra thought. In fact he'll be doing an annoying amount of thinking and talking in the coming week before it winds down, if he's anything like Vandalion. That was best not to say to Saraven, though.
"I will," was all she said, and turned again to leave. "See you soon."
She'd already said her goodbyes to Lavinia that morning, but promised to check in as soon as she could. No matter what else happened, defending Anvil would always be Zudarra's number one priority.
Her next stop was the castle. The island and the palace were crawling with guards and armed volunteers, so no one looked twice at the armored Cathay-raht who strolled in through the open door. Tables had been set up in the main entry and a crowd of people were milling about, mostly Bosmer. A guard directed her to the servant's sleeping quarters when she asked where the refugees were being temporarily put up.
That room was packed and noisy. It was a long room with a row of beds against either wall, and it seemed that every bed was full- no one was sleeping at this hour, but they were occupied with people sitting or strewn with belongings as people took stock of what little they had left to them. Bedrolls and extra blankets were clustered all over the floor between beds and down the main aisle. Zudarra's ears flattened at the din of crying infants and emotionally charged conversation. A pair of children shrieked past her, banging against her thigh, and Zudarra stifled a growl.
She found Galmir sitting alone on a bed, ignoring the rabble around him. He'd cut his hair shorter, leaving shaggy waves that didn't go past his ears. It still needed a good washing, and he was dressed in his stinking clothes from last night, but at least those long dreadlocks wouldn't get in her face if Zudarra drank from his neck. The Bosmer was staring at some little object in his hand. He looked up when Zudarra's shadow fell across it. She saw that it was a chain with a silver pendant in the shape of a tree, the roots branching out as majestically as the boughs.
The mer's hand closed around it as he looked up, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
"It's... Zudarra, right? Have we met?"
"We met last night," Zudarra said. Her voice was calmer than she felt. It had been a long time since she enthralled a new person, and she hoped he'd obey without much fuss. But when she looked into his eyes and felt for his mind, there was no effort to defend. It was like kicking down a sand castle. Everything he was laid bare before her, ready for the taking. Again she felt his anguish, his sorrow, his confusion. She pushed those emotions aside and told him: Serve me, and be at peace. You belong to me now. My happiness will be yours. Galmir's shoulders slowly slumped, the lines of his face smoothing as he accepted her commands.
"Do you have any possessions with you?" she asked.
"I have a bag under the bed," he replied, then opened his palm to look sadly at the necklace. "And this. I was going to give this to Mileth, but now I'll never get the chance. Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. I just feel like we've known each other for so long. Like I could trust you."
The Khajiit bent to pull a small leather shoulder bag from under the bed, barely listening to his rambling. There wasn't much inside; an empty flask that had once held mead, another flask of water, a couple gold coins. She handed the bag to him.
"Take this. It's time for us to go now, Galmir."
"Oh," he said, returning to his perplexed expression. He knew that she was right, even if he didn't know why or where they were going. "I suppose it is." He stood up and followed her out, pendant still in his fist.
With the walk to and from the castle, it was just about an hour later when Zudarra arrived outside the stables. It hadn't burned at all. The daedra had been too focused on trying to get through the main gate, and then dealing with guards once they did. She instructed Galmir to wait on a bench outside while she saddled her horse.
Saraven got a canvas bag from the bottom of a food cupboard and filled it with as much as he felt would reasonably fit in a saddlebag. He spent most of his pathetic few septims buying a water skin off another guild member and filled it at the pump behind the Guild. He tried his lightning spell one more time while he was back there. It worked. Electricity now roiled beneath his skin, readily ignored but always there. He wondered if it was ever confusing for the real mages, with more and powerful spells. Perhaps they experienced it differently.
For a wonder, the stables were still standing. Ves came up to the fence at his whistle, snorfling at his new gorget. He accepted a carrot delicately and was more than happy to come into the stable to be curried. The ostler had done it at least once, but it was a relaxing thing for both rider and horse to do it again. The black gelding stood with his eyes half-closed, ears forward, as Saraven ran the curry-comb over his short hair and straightened out his mane and tail. His stifles were ticklish, but Saraven knew to go carefully around that area; he'd never had Ves try to kick him. He checked the horse's hooves, but it looked as though they had been groomed that day, so he let them be. His shoes were still in good condition.
When he thought the time must be growing shorter he went to pack his food into the saddlebag and get the saddle ready. He waited until he saw Zudarra coming to saddle up the black horse. The Bosmer waited on a bench outside the stable while she did it.
"My name's Saraven Gol," he said presently, from Ves's back. The horse nickered a greeting.
Galmir looked over at the Dunmer. He was calm, but much more alert than Vandalion had been.
"Hello. The name's Galmir, and that's Zudarra. How d'ya do?"
"Could be worse," Saraven said.
Zudarra had stopped to buy two bedrolls and a few potions of cure disease. It was easy enough to hop over to the alchemist and pick up a potion when her thrall ended up with a fever, but Skingrad might be a smoking pile of rubble by now for all they knew. Likewise, she couldn't count on finding inns to sleep in anymore.
She tied the bedrolls in front of the saddle horn and led Shadow out to where Galmir sat, his heavy hooves kicking up dust on the dirt. The silver chain was still hanging from the mer's closed fist.
"Saraven is coming with us. We're going to close the gates that Mehrunes Dagon is opening up all over Tamriel. Put that away in your bag and come on, you're riding Shadow." She jerked her head toward the horse, who was reaching out with his bulky black head to snuffle at the stranger. Unfortunately, she no longer had the gold left to buy another mount.
Galmir's shiny black eyes opened wide and he stared in disbelief at the Khajiit even as he tucked the necklace into the bag that hung at his side.
"Oh no ma'am, I've never ridden a horse before. ...Did you say Mehrunes Dagon was responsible for all this?"
"Yes he is, and yes you are. Relax, you'll be fine." Zudarra picked the little elf up by the armpits and swung him up to the horse like he was a cloth doll, his legs kicking comically in the air before she plopped him behind the saddle. "Now hang onto the back of the saddle, and watch your fingers because I'm coming up next." The Bosmer gave a little yelp when the saddle rocked to the side as Zudarra pulled herself up with the stirrup and settled heavily into the creaking seat. Galmir clutched Zudarra's sides, legs hanging uncomfortably over the saddle bags and looking like he was about to piss himself with fear. He trusted Zudarra, but that didn't mean he trusted her hulking beast.
Zudarra stifled a growl at being touched by the grubby little elf. There wasn't any other way.
Saraven looked the Bosmer over grimly. She hadn't taken time to have the mer wash up, and he looked a pathetic waif to a member of a larger species. He was absolutely certain he did not want to know the story of the necklace Galmir had been clutching. His gut twisted at any speculation. Still, the Bosmer held onto Zudarra readily enough, seemingly without fear of her. At least he was not suffering. Or would not be once he got over his fear of the enormous horse.
"Don't worry," he said. "That's a good horse. As soon fall off a table."
"That's good to know," Galmir said, looking sideways at Saraven with his cheek pressed against Zudarra's back. "I wouldn't know a good horse from a bad horse. Not many of these where I'm from. But this one certainly seems large."
"I'm a large Khajiit," Zudarra said dryly, setting Shadow on course to the main road. She was kind enough not to break into a faster gait straight away, to give Galmir a chance to adjust.
Galmir did adjust, and after some initial chitchat he grew quiet, watching the scenery pass with the same thousand-mile stare he'd been using on the ocean when Zudarra first met him. He didn't really understand what was happening, but he knew anything Zudarra wanted must be right. After an hour his fingers cramped from hanging onto the Khajiit, but he didn't dare let go.
He missed Mileth. Galmir turned his face away from Saraven so the Dunmer wouldn't happen to see the silent tears in his eyes. Zudarra heard him snorting snot back into his nose a couple times and didn't say anything, although she was thoroughly disgusted to have a snotty-nosed, weepy Bosmer with his face against her armor.
Saraven was aware of the Bosmer weeping, but he left the mer to himself, trying to allow him some dignity. His life was going to be undignified enough from this point on.
It would be a two day ride to Skingrad. They took breaks to eat and stretch, and sometimes Zudarra walked beside the horse, or let Galmir walk when he started to cramp. Saraven walked his horse beside Zudarra periodically, letting the black get used to Galmir's unfamiliar scent as well as stretching his own legs. They didn't see a single guard on the road all day, and travelers were few. They made camp near Kvatch that night, away from the road. The walls could be seen in the distance, high on the hill over the surrounding forest.
He spoke with Galmir a little as they ate, letting the Bosmer do a lot of the talking. The man was still a living being, with all of a living being's needs, and Saraven would not be cruel to him even if his life was more or less over. He remembered how much small kindnesses had meant to him a long time ago, in the first agonies of a grief and desolation that would stretch on for years to come.
After the mortals had their dinner, Zudarra stripped off her armor and sat beside Galmir on his bedroll. He didn't seem to mind the invasion of his personal space.
"Turn away if you don't want to see," she said to Saraven. Galmir relaxed under her touch, sighing pleasantly as her fangs pierced his neck. She drank a modest amount, all the while repeating in their shared mind for Galmir to let go of his sadness and embrace servitude.
Saraven did not immediately turn his face away from Zudarra feeding. He wanted to see that Galmir was not in pain, as he had been in pain, but the Bosmer plainly mounted no resistance at all to her mental domination. His face was almost beautific, suffused with joy and relaxation. Saraven watched for a moment, making sure. Then he got up to hunt for kindling, to feed the fire and check on Ves again before he laid out his bedroll. He slept in his gorget and bracers. Even if he could entirely trust Zudarra now, he had done so for years, and he felt more comfortable with them on even if the stiff leather itself was not what most people would consider comfortable.
Galmir fell asleep easily that night, paler but with a happy smile.