Larian had been equal parts relieved and irritated when Derrick said they wouldn't need to return to Labyrinthian or the Dwemer ruin; now that they'd both been in the presence of the magical energies, they'd absorbed trace amounts of it. Derrick had removed the traces of raw magicka from himself and Larian, and could do the rest of his own task from there. He had informed Larian that the book she carried with her had been filled in considerably further, and that Vile had no further tasks for her at this time.
That did not sit well with her. She was beginning to wonder why she was even needed in the first place, then, if all she'd had to do was amuse Clavicus Vile by assuming control of all the bandits of Skyrim, and then track down a source of magicka in an ancient ruin. Surely Derrick could have achieved both of those results on his own?
Reading the book didn't do much to distract her mind, either. Once the chapters about the Oblivion Crisis had come to a close, the chapters following detailed how to open gates to Oblivion. Nothing she was really interested in, as she had no interest whatsoever in opening such a gate. Still, by the time she finished reading the words that made sense to her and ignoring the terms that surely only a wizard would understand, she noticed there were several more blank pages yet. She was not finished with Clavicus Vile yet, then.
She decided to leave Mount Anthor for a time, to venture into a relatively warmer area. Tempting though Falkreath seemed, the Dwemer ruin was there; if Neria's group had investigated anywhere else, no doubt they'd plan to explore it - if they hadn't already.
The only warmer place she could think of was Eastmarch. The volcanic tundra heated the water there, meaning she could swim and relax, and it was probably one of the warmer areas in Skyrim because of that. She knew there were significant risks with her assessment - for example, even Eastmarch's volcanic tundra could become cold, not to mention its proximity to Windhelm - but she decided they were risks worth taking. She left Mount Anthor without notifying Derrick; the less she had to see the face of that scumbag, the better off she would ultimately be.
It took her about four days to reach the volcanic tundra. Once she was there, she set up a small camp, set up traps that would kill any predatory animals that thought her camp a fine place to find an unsuspecting meal, then stripped out of her scale armor and strode into the heated water.
Just like that, she felt her stress begin to melt away. She was a little put out by the fact that the water only came up to about her waist while she stood, and there were scarce few places for her to sit so she'd not only be comfortable, but would also be submerged up to her neck - or a bit deeper, if she so chose. Still, the water was refreshing, and tugged at her memories faintly.
The memories were of home, of High Rock. Of times spent with her parents and her younger sister, Neria. Trekking through the woods with their father, sitting near the fireplace with their mother on stormy evenings, swimming in the bay whenever their parents had business elsewhere in the province... happier times, times when she was blissfully unaware of the cruelty and harsh realities that existed throughout the rest of the world... even her own corner of High Rock.
Her happy memories quickly shifted to the start of the darker memories. In an attempt to dismiss them, she ducked her head beneath the water, submerging herself completely in the warm water. She remained that way for several long moments, and emerged only when her lungs screamed for air. As she gasped for air, she found her thoughts were still fixed firmly on the darker memories. She had to push them down; there was only one person she would ever share them with, and Neria was nowhere nearby. With a heavy heart, she doubted Neria would ever understand her current position, too - in the service of a Daedric Prince, she had undoubtedly come across as a villain, a woman with evil in her heart.
It broke Larian's heart to think of it like that. For her, nothing she did was for the sake of being malicious. It was the only way she knew to stay alive anymore - no more, no less.
The heat of the area made her head swim a bit, and she knew it was as good a time as any to get out of the water, lest she doze off, fall over, and drown in her sleep. As she stood, she ran her fingers over her bare skin, shivering at both the touch and the change in temperature above the water. She was tempted to sit down and warm up once more, but ultimately decided against it and forced herself out of the water. She was glad she always had a spare cloak with her; it was proving useful as a seat on the cool stone.
"Yo."
The voice made her jump notably and caused her to cry out. Her head whipped around, soaked brown hair sticking to her head as she looked around. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her legs clamped together. The voice had been male, and it was laughing at her reaction.
"Sorry." There was the sound of heavy armor stepping over stone, and Larian's attention snapped to the direction of the approaching man. She barely had time to kneel down and seize the hilt of her sword before the man stood before her. She shot him a venomous glare and began to move the blade. She stopped, though, when she saw a face she recognized, albeit barely.
"Galar?" she asked with heavy disbelief. When he nodded, she felt the fury melt away entirely; in its place, embarrassment overcame her. "Bastard. Look away."
"Oh, don't be that way," he chuckled, crossing his arms. "I've seen you naked before."
"Yeah, well, remember how I told you never again?" She glowered at him. "Look away before I-" It took her but a few seconds to realize what he was clad in. Ringmail armor, with a blue sash crossing over his chest; she knew it was mirrored on his back. She stared at him, and curled into a defensive ball. Once again, her hand was at the greatsword's hilt. "A Stormcloak now, are you?"
"I owe them my life," he said with a sigh. "After the gang went its separate ways, I fell in with some idiots. They tried to raid a caravan that was guarded better than they realized. I was part of it, and I think I was the only survivor. Apparently I looked more like an adventurer than a bandit, because I woke up in a Stormcloak camp, my wounds tended to."
"Because Nords take care of their own," Larian grumbled, "but no one else."
"Hey, that's not fair," he said with a frown. "I care about you, after-"
"Enough," she said, interrupting him. Silence settled between them. Larian's mind was racing. Galar, a Stormcloak. A Stormcloak was standing right in front of her. She was most likely a wanted woman now, all through Skyrim. "So what now?" she finally asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
"You're a wanted woman," he commented, confirming her suspicion. "Your crimes aren't limited to a single hold, Larian."
"So... what, you're bringing me in because you found me?" she asked stiffly. To her surprise, he shook his head.
"May I sit?" A silent nod from Larian prompted the Nord to sit down before her, crossing his legs and groaning softly. "Hahh... been standing too long. Legs are killing me."
"You're not just going to let me-" she began.
"Larian, listen." He clasped his hands in front of him. "Yes, you're a wanted woman... but dammit, you're one of the most important people in my life. You, Nadine... we all went through a lot together. I may be loyal to Ulfric now, yeah, but my loyalty to you's always going to be just a bit stronger than that." He winked at her. "Miss Bandit Queen."
"Pfft." She shot him a stern look. "So what do you want from me in return for you not bringing me in? If you're after-"
"I'm not going to take advantage of this," he said, shaking his head and cutting her off. "You told me, years ago, that we were over. I may not like it, but I'll respect both that and you. No, I just wanted to let you know that all of Skyrim's out to get you now... give you a chance to get out before you're caught."
"I won't be-" she began. He held up a hand to cut her off.
"Even the towns know who you are, and that you're a wanted woman," he said quietly. "Ulfric's sending more guards to anywhere that's got a home, including ridiculously tiny farms in the countryside. He's trying to deprive you of resources, Larian."
"I'm not in this alone," she muttered. "There are bandit hideouts dotting Skyrim everywhere. I can't do much on my own, true, but with others..."
"About that..." Galar scratched his chin briefly. "Ulfric's put a rather generous bounty on bandits. It's... let's see here..." He cleared his throat. "One hundred septims per bandit slain. An additional one thousand for clearing out a hideout. Proof must be presented for the bounty to be claimed."
"Good luck with that," she muttered.
"You'd be surprised how many adventurers have come in with proof," Galar said grimly. "Several of the hideouts in the northern reaches have been wiped out. Ulfric sends Stormcloaks to confirm the deed was done. I've seen a few, myself." He stared at her for a time. "Your... 'kingdom' is crumbling, Larian."
"Fuck." She wracked her brain for any other options, but none were readily forthcoming. Galar was right; before long, she'd be out of resources, and would have no safe havens to enter. Entering guarded locations would most likely end in her capture - or worse.
"I figured you might want to see this." He reached into a small pack and withdrew a roll of paper, then handed it to her. She reached out, unfurled it, and scanned it. A wanted poster with a scarily accurate picture of her face and hair, her full name, and why she was wanted. One phrase in particular made her eyes widen, and she sputtered in protest.
"The fuck- 'conspiring to open a portal to Oblivion'?!" she snapped, looking up at him. "What- I- the fuck- who?!"
"Nadine turned herself in," Galar said solemnly. "She overheard you talking with some Imperial mage about Clavicus Vile. The ones who brought her in apparently had past experiences with him, and... well, he had designs on invading Tamriel. They think you're working to achieve that goal."
"I'm not!" she replied hotly, hands slamming down on the stone on either side of her. "I mean, yes, I've been doing some strange things for Vile, but not to open some gods-damned portal!"
"That may line up with what Nadine told me, then," he said with a nod. "She said it didn't seem like you were aware of it. Ulfric doesn't seem to care, though, as you can see."
Larian's mind spun. It was insanity. She would never, in her wildest dreams, open a portal to Oblivion for anyone, especially a Daedric Prince. She knew all about the Oblivion Crisis, had read the book by that exact title several times as a child... knew how foolish the very thought was. She knew how dangerous the very prospect of even plotting to do such a thing would be, never mind performing it.
And yet... she was doing things for Clavicus Vile, with no explanation being offered to her by either the Daedric Prince or Derrick. Derrick certainly did seem to know more about these plans and how they were all connected than she did.
"That... filthy... gutterborn... piece... of..." Larian was trembling now. Her fingernails dragged over the stone as she pulled her hands into tight fists. "All this time..." She looked up at Galar. "You have to believe me, Galar, I didn't-"
"I do, Larian. I trust you and Nadine, don't forget. We're both looking out for you." He reached out and placed a fur-covered hand on her shoulder. "That's why we both think it's best if you get out of Skyrim, before you get caught... and believe me, if you stay here too long, you will be caught."
"And what of Derrick? Is there anything on him yet?" Her heart plummeted as her friend shook his head. "...Bastard. I'm thrown to the bears, and he's the one actually..." She thought about how she'd left him alone on Mount Anthor, and her eyes widened.
She'd left him alone on Mount Anthor.
"Shit..." She stood up, hands grabbing at her scale armor. "Shit, shit, shit shit shit..."
"Larian-" he began.
"I left him alone on Mount Anthor, where he's been hiding out lately!" she howled. "I- FUCK!" She began to pull her armor on, the curses streaming from her lips endlessly.
Galar, too, was on his feet. His expression was one of horror and realization at what she'd just said. He reached down and picked up her bracers, handing them to her once she had the chest armor secured in place once more. She took them hastily from him, fastened them to her forearms, then began to pull on her boots.
"I'll head back to Windhelm and-"
"There's no time!" she said, bordering on hysterics. "If what you said is true, he may be working to open that damnable portal right this second!" Once her boots were on, she seized the hilt of her greatsword and locked eyes with Galar. "Trust me," she pleaded. "Come with me, help me kill this piece of skeever shit before he-" He cut her off with a chuckle. "What-"
"I've never, not once, stopped trusting you, Larian," he replied. "Never forget that. Now... Mount Anthor, you said? That's a good distance from here..."
"I should have known better..." she growled. "I should have stayed, kept an eye on him... gods above, I should have stayed!" Her gaze turned toward Mount Anthor, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "He's always seemed... off, and I was planning on killing him at the end of all this," she growled, "but to find out he's..."
"Snap out of it, Larian," Galar said, squeezing her shoulder. "Standing here's not going to bring us any closer to him!"
"I..." She sighed and looked at him once more. "...Yeah. Sorry, I just..." She paused briefly, then leaned forward and kissed his lips. The motion caught him by surprise, and he looked startled once she backed away from it.
"I thought you said, last time we-" he began.
"Yeah, well, that's the last one," she said with a bitter chuckle. "Thank you for... you know, not arresting me and all that..." She squeezed the hilt of her greatsword, then pointed the large blade at Mount Anthor. "Now, let's-"
A column of light erupted skyward from Mount Anthor almost instantly after her blade was pointed at it. Her eyes widened, and the blade nearly fell from her hands in shock.
"What-" Galar began.
"I-I-I didn't do it, I swear!" she stammered. "I-it was just-"
"No, I believe you, Larian, but what-" He slid an arm around her upper back, keeping her mostly upright when she would have otherwise fallen to her knees.
"It's Derrick," she whispered under her breath. "That's Mount Anthor... and that column of light can only be Derrick's doing..."
"You... don't think..." he began slowly.
"I hope not," she said, shaking her head. "I really, really, really hope not... because if it is, I've had a hand in all of this madness, and any blood spilled is on my hands as well..." Her momentary lapse of despair and hopelessness were soon replaced by a slowly but very steadily growing fury. Her hand gripped the hilt of her greatsword once again, tight enough that her knuckles were white and the blade itself quivered in her grasp.
"Race you there?" Galar offered.
"Loser confesses to being a bandit before they became a Stormcloak." With that, Larian tore away from the camp as fast as she could, determined to reach Mount Anthor before it was truly too late... if it wasn't already.
A.N. - Poor Larian. Poor, poor Larian. In her desperate attempt to get away from scumbag number one, she never considered he might be up to no good while she was gone. Is Derrick a genius? Did he deliberately act insufferable so as to make this happen?! (No. No he didn't. He really is just an arrogant prick and scumbag.)
So Galar. Stormcloak from Helgen, buddy-buddy with Neria. It seemed a waste not to give him a backstory (I mean, I gave him a name, dammit!), and I couldn't think of anything else right off the top of my head that sounded Nordic... so I used Galar. He and Larian have history, and it's... mostly good. Some rough spots between them, but nothing they can't work past. He'll have a few more parts to play in the very near future.
It kind of feels like I'm forgetting to cover something here... oh well.
-Spiritslayer
