A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm glad that you think my writing is worth it. Any writer will tell you that feedback is one of the best things in the world. xD

This chapter was originally two chapters but I put them together because A) It seemed too short, and B) Not enough happened in the second part to justify it being a chapter in its own right.

Also, it's only been a week and a day since I posted the first chapter; this update rate will slow down once I run out of prewritten chapters. Sorry. But this one is about 2000 words longer than Chapter 1.

Please do continue to review. Remember; constructive criticism is welcomed, flames are not.

Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. I have not come into the ownership of a huge gaming company overnight.

Steel Over Shadow

Chapter Two: Friends, Family, and Spilled Blood

Elsynia swung herself out of the saddle and thrust Snowflake's reins at the ostler. The bay mare nickered tiredly and she gave the horse a gentle stroke as the ostler led her away to the stables, through the mud. The bad weather seemed to have followed her from Leyawiin and an incessant curtain of rain hissed down from the slate-grey sky.

Turning, the mer strode away, heading for the great gate into Skingrad. She had ridden Snowflake hard, only stopping for brief snatches of sleep and bites to eat, before rising and continuing onwards. She had managed to cut the journey from Leyawiin to Skingrad from three days to two and both she and the horse were verging on utter exhaustion.

But the ride was still long enough for her rage to have abated slightly. Elsynia knew she had a short temper and that it was easy to make her anger flare. But in the same way, it died down just as easily; she found it difficult to hold onto her anger for long, to hold a grudge. Her rage had subsided enough to think, for doubt to creep in. The assassin might have been lying about the identity of his 'client'. Maybe the Dark Brother had thrown Else's name at her to confuse her.

A tiny bit of hope had sprung up, born from her uncertainty, and had caused her fury to simmer down a little more. Elsynia didn't want to believe it. Else had been one of her many instructors in blade-work and Elsynia knew her well enough to consider her a friend. She couldn't think of anything that she had done that would have made the Nord woman send a Dark Brotherhood assassin after her.

Elsynia passed through the door into Skingrad at a quick pace and walked swiftly under the bridge connecting the east and west parts of the city; the familiar sense of home washed over her despite the situation. She headed up the steep, cobbled road and turned off into the west part. The West Weald Inn was almost directly ahead of her. She reached the door, drew in a deep breath – anger and hope warring within her – and then threw it open.

The bar went quiet, people shifting around in their seats to look at the newcomer who had made such a noisy entrance. However, Elsynia only had eyes for one person.

Else God-Hater was leaning at the bar, clearly talking casually to the innkeeper, Erina. At least, she had been. Her face paled as she recognised the mer in the doorway and the Nord woman straightened up, a hand flying to the hilt of her shortsword. "You!" she snarled.

Elsynia's heart sank, the pain of betrayal striking all the more painfully as her fragile hope died. Else's reaction had all but confirmed the Dark Brother's words.

"Surprised to see me, Else?" Elsynia's voice was cold, rage bubbling back up under the surface. She took a couple of paces into the room.

Else's face twisted in a mix of fear and anger. "Yes, actually. So those fetchers failed to do the job? I thought the Dark Brotherhood were meant to be professionals."

The woman was practically spitting with fury and didn't even seem to notice the murmurs breaking out in the otherwise silent crowd of drinkers, who were watching the unexpected lunchtime entertainment with rapt attention. The innkeeper went white and vanished out the backdoor behind the bar.

"Unfortunately for you, they underestimated me." There was no need to mention that the assassination attempt would have likely succeeded and she would have been killed in her sleep, if not for the simple stroke of luck that caused her remember that she had forgotten to blow out the candles. "The assassin also happened to drop your name, to enrage me, I think. Unluckily for you, I survived the attempt on my life and with it, the knowledge of who sent those fetchers after me. What I want to know, Else, is why. What have I done to you? Hell, I thought we were at the very least friends." Elsynia was unable to able to keep the betrayal and hurt from her voice.

Else drew her shortsword. "We were friends. But you threw that away when you cast your lot with the Septim bastard. Not even old friendships can come in the way of Lord Dagon's plans and we were ordered to kill the Hero of Kvatch on sight. I liked you, Elsynia. I didn't want to have to kill you myself so I hired the Brotherhood and told them to make it quick and painless. You just screwed it up by escaping. Now I'll have to kill you myself."

"Not if I get there first." Elsynia's fury had reached the point where she could barely speak coherently enough to grind out the reply. Only the fact that Else jerked back at the last second saved her from instant decapitation. The elf's longsword whistled through the space in front of the Nord woman instead, the tip raking across the shoulders of Else's shirt and slicing open the skin.

Else stared in shock at the blood streaming from the long, shallow wound, staining her shirt crimson; then she let out a roar of rage and brought her shortsword up to meet Elsynia's second strike.

The clash reverberated through the mer's hands; she barely felt it, consumed as she was by rage. She forced the Nord to retreat with a flurry of powerful blows, Else barely blocking each strike. Elsynia was dimly aware of the inn's patrons scrambling to get out of their way, some shrieking and fleeing out of the door.

Else kicked a chair at the elf and then darted around the far side of a table, backing away to put some space between them. She raised a hand and with a swirl of Conjuration magicka, summoned the by-now familiar Mythic Dawn armour. A matching longsword appeared in her hand as she dropped the steel shortsword.

Elsynia dodged the chair and vaulted over the table, the wood splintering under her heavy Dwarven boots; the Nord only just brought her new sword up in time to deflect the mer's next blow, which would have removed her head had it landed.

Else then struck down with her summoned sword, aiming low at the legs in an attempt to cripple her opponent. Elsynia met the blade with her longsword; flicking her wrist in a complex twist, she disarmed the Nord woman and in the same fluid motion, punched her sword through Else's breastplate. The summoned armour dissolved without a trace. The other swordswoman gaped at her, horror and fear etched on her face, before her eyes glazed over and her body went limp.

The mer withdrew her Elven longsword, stained scarlet, and the corpse slumped to the floor, blood pooling on the flagstones. She stared at Else's body, the hot anger draining slowly away. In the background, there was a faint tinkle of broken glass and a stunned whimper from one of the other tavern-goers.

The main door suddenly flew open and slammed into the wall with a resounding bang. The Guard Captain, Dion, strode in, flanked by four other guards. Elsynia could just see the white face of the innkeeper over his shoulder, hovering nervously.

The Redguard's sharp eyes took in the scene, and then locked onto the swordswoman. The elf sighed inwardly and sheathed her longsword in an attempt to appear less threatening.

Twice in three days? I seem to be developing a habit for this.

xxx

Elsewhere, rain was also falling on Bravil. It held the title of the poorest and most crime-ridden city in the whole of Cyrodiil, and on days like this, it certainly looked it.

A black figure slipped quietly through the muddy streets, nearly indistinguishable from the background amongst the swirling clouds of mist and rain.

In a house in the better part of Bravil, a Bosmer sighed and put down his quill. His front room was in darkness, apart from the soft, red-gold glow of the fireplace and a single candle on his desk. The silver embroidery on his emerald green shirt glinted in the firelight and the same light cast his features into shadow. His expression, for once, was unguarded and frustrated worry showed on his face.

There was a light rap at the door; so quiet, if he hadn't been expecting it, he could have dismissed it as his imagination. At once the Wood Elf straightened up, unreadable mask sliding back into place over his face, hiding his emotions. "Come in," he called, without raising his voice.

The door swung open and a black-robed figure slipped inside, accompanied by a gust of cold wind and a patter of raindrops. The anonymous figure reached up with gloved hands to lower its hood. The firelight fell on the face of an Imperial man of about thirty years of age. He was handsome in a sharp kind of way; with coldly intelligent dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail. His walk had the fluid, deadly grace of a predator, as he moved to stand in front of the Bosmer's desk.

"Greetings, Most Honoured Listener Ungolim," murmured the man, dipping his head slightly in respect.

"Greetings, Speaker Lachance," Ungolim responded, keeping the disdain he felt for the Imperial from his voice. Lachance was always outwardly polite and completely impassive in both voice and face; but Ungolim got the feeling that Lachance was inwardly scornful towards him. "Please, have a seat."

Lucien sat down in an empty chair, watching as the Listener got up and poured himself some wine. "Would you like something to drink?" asked Ungolim.

The Imperial smirked inwardly; the question was merely part of the game they all played. No assassin would drink from the stores of another assassin; especially with the current state of the Brotherhood. His mood darkened abruptly with that thought and he wondered if that was why the Listener had summoned him; if, finally, they had some sort of confirmation one way or another on the rumours of a traitor in the ranks.

"No, thank you," he said, watching as the Bosmer re-seated himself behind the desk.

Ungolim took a deep draught of the wine. The dark red liquid threw sparkles of ruby light across the wood. He placed the goblet back on the table, then leant back in his seat and met Lucien's expressionless gaze with one of his own. "Your Silencer is dead," he said abruptly.

It took all of the Speaker's considerable self-control to keep his face smooth. Shock, both at the suddenness of the revelation and the information itself, coursed through him. Anger followed swift on its heels.

"I see. And is this the work of the supposed traitor in the Brotherhood?" he asked evenly.

A shadow crossed Ungolim's face at the mere mention of the possibility of a traitor. "No," the Wood Elf said stiffly. "Blanchard was killed by his mark."

Dismay rippled through Lucien. He had taken on Blanchard as his Silencer only recently and the man had well-deserved the position; he had been an efficient and lethal killer. His only weakness was his overconfidence – but he had been young, barely twenty, and Lucien had regarded that as a flaw which could eventually be overcome with time. Time that Blanchard no longer had.

Cold anger rose inside Lucien. Blanchard's death reflected badly on his Speaker; especially since the Silencer before him had died in suspicious circumstances not too long ago. And more than that, he had liked the other Imperial. He had considered Blanchard a friend. And an assassin had few that he could truly call friend.

"Should I assign another Dark Brother or Sister to fulfil his uncompleted contract, then?" Lucien asked. He had already decided that he would take the job himself. His fingers clenched, wishing for the dagger that they were so familiar with; in his head, the blade was already sinking deeply into the flesh of the offending person, their blood spilling over his gloved hands and their choked cry ringing in his ears. If the mark was skilled enough to defeat Blanchard, then they ought to be a worthy enough challenge for the Speaker.

"No."

Lucien blinked. "No?"

"That is what I said."

The Imperial felt a twinge of anger at the slight edge of sarcasm in Ungolim's voice but didn't allow it to show on his face. "Why not, Honourable Listener?"

Ungolim settled back in his seat. His brown eyes shone orange with the reflected firelight and his hair, swept back off his face, gleamed bronze instead of chestnut. "Because, Speaker Lachance, the contract has been rendered void."

It took Lucien a mere second to assemble the pieces. "The client has also been killed?" he asked, unable to keep a little incredulity from slipping into his tone. If there was no client, there was no money; if there was no money, then there was no contract. Simple as that.

"Yes," the Bosmer nodded. "Killed, in fact, by the target of the contract. This is partly the reason I called you here, Lachance. Blanchard's former mark is to be recruited into the Brotherhood. You will be handling her case."

Lucien was too busy turning over the information in his head to register this immediately. The mark had killed both the assassin hired to eliminate them, and then sought out the person who had employed the Brotherhood and killed them too. A worthy opponent indeed.

He tried to recall who the subject of the contract had been; after passing it onto Blanchard, he had given it little thought.

An elf, he remembered. A half-breed; part High Elf, part Wood Elf. Female. Young. About Blanchard's age, actually. The Imperial silently itched with disappointment that he would have to refrain from killing her in turn.

Lucien almost frowned as he realised something. It was unusual to be summoned for a meeting with the Listener. Even considering the atypical fact that this prospective new member had executed his Silencer, Ungolim still should have sent the information in a letter.

"Partly the reason?" he questioned, remembering the Bosmer's previous statement.

Ungolim sighed. "Unfortunately, aside from Blanchard's death, there is another complication. When the Night Mother spoke to me, to pass on this information, she spoke at length about the necessity of this elf joining the Brotherhood. She was very…insistent…about the matter." There was a very slight inflection in his voice that suggested this had not been at all pleasant.

"The Mother said that it is imperative that she joins us; that the very survival of the Brotherhood depends upon her."

Lucien stared at the Listener. Outwardly the Imperial was unaffected, but inside he was incredulous. "Surely you jest."

"I wish that I did." Weariness showed on Ungolim's face for a second; then his expressionless mask slid back into place.

Lucien tapped a gloved finger thoughtfully against his chair, hiding a smirk. His control of his face always had been better than the Bosmer's. "Did she say why?"

"The Night Mother refused to divulge anything further; other than insisting that it is this elf's destiny. She is still displeased with us from a fortnight ago, when we tried to consult her about the possibility of a traitor."

Well, he had known that. When the Black Hand had attempted to ask the Night Mother about the subject, they had been angrily rebuffed. They had been left with definite impression that she expected them to sort it out themselves.

"Perhaps the two are linked," Lucien suggested, making the leap in intuition.

Ungolim considered it. "Maybe so. Perhaps this is the Night Mother's way of giving us help. This elf might help us find the traitor – if there is one – thereby eliminating the threat to the Brotherhood and ensuring its continued survival." He frowned. "Though I find it hard to believe that one traitor could do enough to seriously damage our organisation."

Lucien nodded, his agile mind jumping ahead through theories. It was like the Night Mother to be subtle about these things. She would not help them outright by simply pointing out the traitor. She was more likely to give them the tools and expect them to do the job themselves.

Ungolim appeared absorbed in thought for another minute, and then shook himself. "In any case, here is the information you need," he said, picking up an envelope from a pile of parchment. Lucien reached across the desk to receive it. "It has the elf's location and all the information we have been able to dig up on her."

Lucien nodded and stowed it in his robes. He would read it later. "Walk always in the shadow of Sithis, Listener."

Ungolim returned the farewell, and then turned back to his paperwork. The front door swung shut quietly behind Lucien and he vanished into the mist and rain of Bravil.

xxx

The door of the West Weald Inn banged shut behind Elsynia. She blew out a tired sigh and began trudging through the rainy streets of Skingrad; travel-sore and battle-weary. Now that the anger and adrenaline had left her, her exhaustion had returned with a vengeance. She reached up to brush her sodden hair from her eyes and to her dismay, Elsynia noticed a spot of scarlet still on her gauntlet, bright against the gold of her armour.

She grimaced as her thoughts went back to her clash with Else. It really hadn't been much of a fight. She had long since surpassed the Nord in both experience and skill with a blade.

Luckily for the mer, an entire roomful of people had borne witness to fact that Else had admitted to hiring the Dark Brotherhood to kill Elsynia and had drawn her sword first, threatening to finish the job herself.

The swordswoman wiped the last splash of Else's blood from her gauntlet. She had only just been released from the guards' custody. She had spent the past half-hour being questioned by Dion on the entire story and had ended up rehashing everything, including the assassination attempt in Leyawiin.

After they had deemed her free to go, the only thing Elsynia could think about was how utterly drained she was – both physically and emotionally – so she had decided to head for the privacy of her house, instead of going to the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall. All the mer wanted was a hot soak in her own bath and a long sleep in her own bed. She was tired from the hard ride to Skingrad and lack of sleep along the way; and inside she was cold, anger burnt out and betrayal weeping quietly in a corner.

In fact, the whole of Skingrad seemed to match her mood. The walls and buildings were all built of timber and grey stone, which looked pretty in sunlight but merely seemed depressing when it was overcast. She traipsed past the Mages Guild Hall and even the normally bright blue banners seemed to be duller, limp and sodden from the constant downpour.

Elsynia sighed heavily, depression dragging at her. She had had no idea; not the slightest notion that Else had been a member of the Mythic Dawn. She had known of Else's extreme dislike for the Nine Divines, of course. Everyone who spoke to the Nord for more than a few minutes had been made aware of that. But she never would have guessed Else's hatred ran so deep that she would join a cult hell-bent on unleashing a destructive Daedric Prince onto Nirn.

After a few minutes, Elsynia drew in a deep breath to gather herself and straightened her spine.

I'm not going to think about this anymore, not until morning, when I don't feel like I'm going to collapse at any second, she told herself firmly.

The elf quickened her pace as she spotted her house up ahead. Home, finally.

Elsynia still considered it home, despite the fact more often than not she stayed in the Fighters Guild Hall when she came back to Skingrad and – technically – it belonged to her parents. Despite this, she was still probably the most frequent occupant of the house; either that or her sister was. However, she could honestly say that her mother rarely set foot in the place and she didn't think her father had ever been there.

Alawen was a master of marksmanship and had achieved the high rank of Guardian in the Fighters Guild. Subsequently, her mother was usually either out on contract for the Guild or out in the wilderness – at a small place called Troll Candle Camp – hunting deer.

Since they were babies, Alawen had always taken both Elsynia and her little sister Nerissa with her to the camp. When they had gotten old enough to handle being in the house by themselves for days at a time, she had given them the choice of whether they wanted to go with her or not. Elsynia had usually chosen to stay in Skingrad. Her skill with a bow was mediocre at best and she had little inclination to just sit around in the campsite all day while Alawen hunted in the surrounding forests.

So Elsynia had developed a fierce independent streak from a young age, nurtured by weeks of living in Skingrad in alone. She hadn't minded. Of course, the mer had frequently missed her mother and sister but whenever the loneliness had seemed too much and the house had seemed too empty, she had simply wandered over to the Fighters Guildhall where – thanks to her mother – she was always welcome.

Nerissa, on the other hand, was a budding archer and had usually chosen to accompany Alawen to Troll Candle Camp. Elsynia had been overjoyed on the weeks that Nerissa had chosen to stay in Skingrad instead and she remembered vividly the days spent running through the streets, chasing imaginary bandits and climbing walls and rooftops with her younger sister.

Now that Elsynia was older, she could be glad that her sister's talent lay with the bow and that the younger elf could be just as happy hunting with their mother as she could be spending time with her older sister. Even before the Oblivion Crisis had reared its ugly head, working for the Fighters Guild had taken her all over Cyrodiil and she wouldn't have been at home if Nerissa had preferred staying in Skingrad all the time.

Elsynia skirted a deep puddle and almost tripped over a loose cobblestone. Straightening, the mer gazed along the street. Skingrad seemed deserted; very sensibly, most people were indoors, avoiding the rain. The thought of a hot bath and being able to change out of her armour into something warm and dry spurred her into a faster walk towards the house.

Her father would definitely not be at home. Henantier was a mage at the Arcane University and, as soon as she was old enough, Elsynia had been the one to make the journey to visit him. Not that she blamed either her father or her mother for their absence in her life. She had no doubt that they loved both her and Nerissa; they had made that fact plain. But they were equally passionate about other things. For Alawen, it was the Fighters Guild and her archery. For Henantier, it was the Mages Guild and magic. It was impossible for them to devote all their attention to both their children and their respective pursuits.

Privately, the swordswoman had always been rather astonished that her parents had torn themselves away from their work to get together long enough – not once, but twice – to conceive a child. Or even get married in the first place. She could personally remember seeing them both together only three times in her entire life.

Elsynia climbed the steps and moved under the stone canopy over the huge front door to her house. It was a beautiful two-storey building; constructed of the same timber and silver-grey stone as the rest of the houses in Skingrad and draped in vines of morning glory.

The pretty purple blooms trailed over the stonework in front of the mer, the flowers twined in an arch over the doorway. She reached out and touched a fingertip to one silken blossom. Elsynia couldn't feel the delicate petals through her gauntlets, but she knew the sensation well enough to know exactly how it would feel if she could. They had always been her favourites; a smile curved her lips as she remembered helping Nerissa plant the seedlings on one sunlit afternoon.

The swordswoman sighed, dropping her hand from the morning glory. Reaching out, she caught hold of the heavy iron ring, pulled open the front door of her house – and was abruptly aware that something was wrong. She stood in the doorway, dripping rain onto the polished wooden floorboards, trying to figure out what irregularity her subconscious had picked up on.

The hallway was dimly lit by the soft grey light coming in through the windows. The walls were made of the same silver-grey stone as the outside of the house but were draped in wall hangings, patterned in a dark, forest green and a strong, rich, red. The cloth made the corridor look warm, instead of austere.

Then the elf realised; the front door had been unlocked. There was a quiet noise from down the hallway and her head snapped up, ears straining to catch even a whisper of sound. There it was again. It sounded like the quiet creak of a cupboard door opening and shutting.

Anger leapt hot in her chest. A thief?

Elsynia quietly closed the front door, shutting out the noise of the wind and rain. Silence fell in hallway again, disturbed only by the quiet sounds of the intruder. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.

The swordswoman padded down the hallway, quickly receiving a first-hand example of exactly why it was that people who favoured stealth in combat wore light armour. Her Dwarven armour – excellent in battle – was much less useful when attempting to sneak up on a thief. She winced at every clank.

Stopping at the kitchen door, the mer peered around the frame. Someone knelt with their back to her, clearly female, judging by the shape of her figure under the suit of lightweight chainmail. There was a quiver of silver arrows and a silver bow strapped to her back. She had her head inside a cupboard, rummaging through its contents.

Elsynia straightened up, smiling broadly in recognition as her hand fell away from the hilt of her longsword. Leaning casually against the doorframe, she spoke loudly. "So. That's where all my food keeps disappearing to. No wonder there's never anything left when I come home."

The person yelped in shock and banged her head on the inside of the cupboard. The elf dissolved into laughter as the other woman straightened up, wincing and holding the top of her head.

She was a Bosmer, and tall, for one of their race. Even with Elsynia's Altmer blood, she still was half a head shorter than the other elf – a fact that had never failed to provoke teasing.

"Elsynia!" she exclaimed, warm brown eyes wide with surprise and delight. The next second the swordswoman was tackled to the ground, her armour making a loud crash as she hit the floor.

"I was so worried!" the other elf bubbled happily as she enveloped her in a hug. "What happened? Did Baurus have any information on the Mythic Dawn after all?"

"Hello, Parwen," said Elsynia, smiling at her friend's concern as she hugged her back. "It's good to see you too." People found it hard to believe that Parwen was the older of the two elves; her sunny disposition and enthusiastic cheerfulness made her seem a lot younger and less mature than twenty-six.

The archer beamed at her. "Ah-Malz and I were worried."

Elsynia wriggled pointedly, trapped by both Parwen and the weight of her armour. "Well if you let me up, I'll be happy to tell you all about it."

"Hmm…" the Bosmer pretend to deliberate for a few moments so Elsynia grinned and blew in the other elf's pointed ear. Parwen squealed and recoiled enough for the swordswoman to heave her off to the side.

"Oh, you horrible fetcher," she pouted, sitting up as the other mer lurched to her feet, laughing. She turned and offered a hand.

Parwen grabbed it and hauled herself up too, grumbling as she blew her hair out of her eyes. Her hazelnut-brown hair was free from its usual bun and cascading over her shoulders in loose curls. It fell to her elbows and framed a strikingly beautiful face.

"Parwen," Elsynia said, a thought occurring suddenly. "Not that I mind, but why are you in my house?"

The archer grinned again. "Babysitting."

Elsynia frowned for half a second, and then her expression cleared. "Ah. Nerissa is here?"

Parwen nodded, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms. "Your mother came charging into the Guildhall, Nerissa in tow, said that there was somewhere she had to be and promptly put me in charge of your sister. Nerissa wanted to come back here, so –" the Bosmer spread her hands. "Back we came."

"And you decided you'd just raid my kitchen, did you?" the other elf asked with mock indignation. "Without even asking?"

The archer pouted, faking a hurt expression. "Friends don't need to ask, Elsynia. Besides, Alawen gave me free rein."

Elsynia just shook her head. "My mother does that far too often." She couldn't contain her smile though. Parwen's mere presence was leeching the tension and stress out of her and letting her ignore the hurt Else God-Hater's betrayal had caused. "Anyway," the swordswoman said briskly, straightening up. "Where is Nerissa?"

The Bosmer scratched the back of her head with a gauntleted hand. "Eh, having a bath, I think. She was quite disappointed to have to come back to Skingrad early – she kept complaining the whole way from the Guildhall to here that the city is boring when you're not here." She grinned. "Missing her big sister."

Elsynia grinned back, warmth flaring in her chest. She loved her sister and was fiercely protective of the thirteen-year-old elf. "Well, I suppose we could start making something for dinner then. Nerissa will be hungry; she always is."

Parwen looked indignant. "I knew that! I'm not completely useless. That's what I was doing when you sneaked up on me."

Elsynia snorted. "Uh-huh. I made enough noise to wake the dead, clanking up the hallway. Not my fault you're practically deaf."

The swordswoman and the archer bickered good-naturedly as they hunted through the cupboards for enough vegetables to make Sheppard's pie. Parwen then went out the back door to the woodshed for kindling while Elsynia went out into the hallway. Walking to the end of the corridor, she paused at the door to the basement, raising her eyebrows. A piece of parchment was pinned to the door:

Elsynia, dear, is there a particular reason for the

sack of bloody Daedra hearts in the basement?

The note was written in her mother's slanted, elegant script. "Oops," Elsynia muttered. She'd forgotten about those. She hunted up a quill and some ink and scrawled a reply underneath:

Yes.

Leaving it at that, she opened the door and descended the steps into the basement. Her breath billowed like smoke in the cold air.

The room was huge; a stone floor and walls made it naturally cool. A series of crates and barrels were grouped haphazardly against one wall but the majority of the room was filled with row upon row of wooden shelves. Most of these shelves were stacked full of slabs of venison; the results of Alawen and Nerissa's hunting efforts. They caught far more than they could ever eat and about once a month either Elsynia or Alawen took it all to market to sell.

To keep the meat from going bad, Alawen had had the shelves enchanted with a permanent frost spell. The wood had turned white, crusted with frost crystals, and the ice had formed a thin layer across the flagstone floor.

The swordswoman walked carefully, the slippery ice cracking under her armoured feet. The fact that the spell had turned the basement into a virtual ice cave had made it the perfect choice for storing the Daedra hearts. It prevented them from spoiling before she had the time to take them to an alchemist to sell.

After Elsynia had closed the Oblivion gate at Kvatch, she and Martin had passed through Skingrad on the way to Weynon Priory. It had only been a fifteen minute detour to drop off the Daedra hearts at her house.

It was second nature to her now to collect alchemy ingredients during her adventuring in forts, ruins and caves. Even though they were useless to her personally, one of her friends, Tirion, was a mage at the Arcane University who had asked her to collect any ingredients that she happened across. The elf grinned to herself as she navigated through the shelves. He would be proud that his constant badgering had worked to the extent that she was even harvesting alchemy ingredients while in the planes of Oblivion.

Elsynia stopped at a rack of venison and loaded up her arms with the meat. She glanced around, just to check. The sack of Daedra hearts was still in the corner, black-red blood staining the rough cloth. Still where she'd hurriedly tossed it last time she'd been here.

The elf climbed back up the stairs and kicked the door shut behind her. Going back into kitchen, Elsynia found that Parwen had already lit the wood under the stove and was chopping vegetables expertly.

"What took you so long?" Parwen asked, grinning and looking up briefly. "Get lost?"

"Ha-ha," said Elsynia, dumping the venison on the enormous kitchen table. "If I went any faster in the basement, I'd slip and fall flat on my back."

"Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten Alawen turned the place into a slippery, icy hell."

Elsynia rolled her eyes at Parwen's overly-dramatic pronouncement.

While the fire got going, the two mer diced vegetables and venison alike and assembled the pie. They had just slid it into the oven, when footsteps pattered down the hallway. "Parwen! Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, Nerissa!" called the Bosmer, shutting the heavy, iron oven door and wiping her hands on a towel.

A small figure slipped into the room, bare-footed and wearing an emerald green dress; clearly fresh from a bath. Nerissa had a more even division of Bosmer and Altmer features than her sister. The young elf was about shoulder-height on Elsynia and delicate-featured; a prettiness that promised to become beautiful when she grew up. Her skin was a stronger gold but her eyes were an identical brilliant green; inherited from a grandmother who had died before either of them were born. Her hair was also a darker red than Elsynia's, more like copper than fire. It was currently plastered to her head and dripping water onto her dress.

The young elf peered out from behind the curtain of sodden tresses and her entire face lit up when she spotted her older sister standing next to Parwen. "Elsynia!" she cried happily, flying across the room and cannoning into the older elf, wrapping her in a hug.

Elsynia laughed and returned the hug fiercely. The stress of the past few weeks was melting away; the crushing anxiety that she had felt bearing down on her ever since the events of Kvatch had lifted. Just being around her friend and her sister reminded her that normality still existed in the world, even if her life had been anything but normal recently.

A big dog ambled into the kitchen, following in Nerissa's wake. The swordswoman grinned and bent down to ruffle his ears. "Hello, Tawny. Still trailing around after my sister?"

The dog wagged his tail and drooled lovingly on her hands.

"You've been away for ages," Nerissa said reproachfully, tugging Elsynia's attention back to her. "What have you been doing?"

Elsynia smiled nonchalantly as she straightened up, feeling like teasing for the first time in weeks. "Oh, saving the world from the hordes of Oblivion, you know. The usual."

There was silence. Then –

"What?"

When dinner was ready, Elsynia related the whole story to her rapt audience of two over the food. Parwen had already heard part of it but it was all new to Nerissa. They listened wide-eyed as Elsynia described how she had left the prison sewers with the Amulet of Kings in hand and all the events that had followed; right up until she had returned to the Imperial City to talk to Baurus, who had been hunting for the Mythic Dawn.

"And by that point, Ah-Malz and I were worried sick," reminded Parwen as she rose from the table. They had eaten at the big, homely kitchen table instead of the rarely-used formal dining room and so it was an easy matter to cart all the dishes into the deep sink.

"It had been a week by then, since the three of us had been tossed in the cells for being drunk and disorderly – which we weren't, incidentally," she added, glaring at Nerissa who had lost her stupefied look for the first time since Elsynia's long narrative had began, and had began snickering quietly.

"When Ah-Malz and I were released in the morning, Elsynia wasn't released with us. We returned to the jailor and demanded to know where she was but he couldn't tell us. The building was in uproar, of course, since the Emperor and his sons had just been assassinated. And since, he and his Blades had attempted to escape through the Prison – though we didn't know that at the time – the place was flooded with Imperial Legion guards conducting an investigation."

"When I arrived to see Baurus, I hunted around for them first, in the hope that they hadn't returned to Skingrad yet. I found them in the Feed Bag, weeping into their beers," teased Elsynia as they washed and dried the dishes.

"Well, I was weeping," sighed Parwen dramatically. "Ah-Malz was just being morosely stoic. Imagine our surprise when the fetcher that we'd been hunting for all week tapped us on the shoulder." She narrowed her eyes and brandished a wooden serving spoon at Elsynia who was smirking. "After we'd squeezed the breath out of her in a hug, she had some explaining to do."

"It took me a while to convince you that I wasn't high on Skooma, when I told you about where I'd been for the past week," said Elsynia, as they replaced the dishes in the cupboards.

Parwen snorted. "Well, you have to admit; it was pretty unbelievable."

The three mer headed through to the sitting room, Nerissa still hanging on their conversation intently. The rainclouds had broken up while they were eating and the red light of the dying sun fell in long shafts through the tall glass windows. The room was spacious but still somehow cosy. Bookcases lined the walls and a thick, plush rug lay in the centre of a loose circle of armchairs and settees. A fireplace burned with a steady, reassuring glow, filling the stone-walled room with warmth.

Parwen sank into a worn, comfortable armchair and Elsynia relaxed on the big settee, with Nerissa curled up next to her. She had removed her Dwarven armour and the soft material of the sofa hugged her sore body. The elf had forgotten how bone-weary she was, in the excitement of seeing her friend and sister; now that she was fed and sitting somewhere comfortable, the exhaustion was creeping in again.

"So, then what happened?" demanded Nerissa, her green eyes shining with excitement. "Did Baurus tell you where to find the Mythic Dawn?"

"Well, after I'd explained where'd I'd been to Parwen and Ah-Malz, I persuaded them to return to Skingrad and that I'd come to see them as soon as possible –"

"Which turns out to be now," said Parwen, rolling her eyes. "Two whole fetching weeks later."

"Sshh, Parwen" said Nerissa severely. "Please. This is really interesting."

The Bosmer gaped at her, while Elsynia dissolved into laughter. When she had recovered sufficiently, the swordswoman continued the narrative, telling them of how Baurus had set her on the path to finding the shrine to Mehrunes Dagon and all the events that had followed; right up to Martin working out the first ingredient in the ritual needed to open a portal to Paradise.

"And so here I am," finished Elsynia, her throat dry from all the talking she had done. "Hunting for a Daedric artifact."

Night had fallen while the elf had been talking and the sky visible through the windows had faded to a soft, velvety black. Stars gleamed like scattered diamonds and the soft light of Masser and Secunda fell through the sitting room windows in faint, white beams. The fire had died to glowing red embers and so the room was lit only by the moonlight.

"That's amazing," murmured Nerissa, gazing up at her older sister with awed eyes. They shone silver with reflected starlight.

Elsynia snorted wearily. "It sounds okay, when I'm telling you. I left out the fact I was constantly tired, in pain, and so wound up with frustration and anxiety and fear over the whole situation that I wanted to scream."

Parwen nodded. "Everything always sounds better in the retelling. Still pretty impressive stuff though," she grinned. "Next time, let Ah-Malz and I tag along. You could use the help and you wouldn't feel so alone."

A grateful smile curled Elsynia's mouth. "That would be nice. I would have called you before; but it just happened too quickly. This is the first time in three weeks that I've stopped. I feel like the threat of Oblivion is just hanging over me like a thundercloud."

Parwen got up from her armchair and crossed to the settee, wriggling into the gap between Nerissa and Elsynia. She squeezed them gently in a comforting hug and the three elves sat together quietly, silence falling in the darkened room for a minute.

"It's scary," whispered Nerissa, her voice muffled from where she was burrowed into Elsynia's side. "That the Daedra are invading. They could just appear anytime, anywhere at all in the whole province."

"More like the whole Empire," muttered Elsynia, unconsciously tightening her grip on her younger sister. "I doubt that this is only affecting Cyrodiil."

Parwen sighed and stretched. "Well, it does no good worrying about it. We'll try to deal with the problems when they arise." The Bosmer rose from the settee. "I was meaning to ask, Elsynia – how did you end up here?"

The swordswoman blinked drowsily. Sleep had been creeping up on her, in the warmth and safety of her home. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you're looking a Daedric artifact now," Parwen explained. "Did you discover a Daedric shrine near Skingrad or something?"

Elsynia groaned quietly, her head falling back. She had almost managed to forget the circumstances that had brought her to her home city. "No," she sighed. "I wish it was that. I actually came to see Else God-Hater." Bitterness had crept into her tone by the end.

"Why?" questioned the archer, looking a little surprised by the venom in her voice. "Isn't she one of your old instructors?"

"Was my old instructor," Elsynia stated grimly. "Turns out that she was a member of the Mythic Dawn and that she sent a Dark Brotherhood assassin after me when I was in Leyawiin."

Parwen and Nerissa stared at her, suddenly wide-awake again.

"She was what?"

"The Dark Brotherhood?"

Elsynia sighed and explained the events leading up her arrival in Skingrad and her confrontation with Else when she had arrived. When she had finished, the other two mer had been stunned to silence.

"Damn," muttered Parwen finally. "I can't believe Else would do something like that. And by Akatosh…hiring the Brotherhood." She shuddered.

Nerissa said nothing; just clung to her sister tightly, as if she were afraid that Elsynia would suddenly vanish at any second.

"Well," murmured the swordswoman eventually, after the room had been silent for a few minutes more. "I'm utterly exhausted. Parwen, if you want to go back to the Fighters Guild, I'm staying here anyway, so I can look after Nerissa for tonight." She was barely able to keep her eyes open.

"Well, okay," said Parwen, still looking a little stunned. "Ah-Malz and I were going to go out drinking with a couple of members of the Chorrol branch who dropped by. I'll come over in the morning to see you then." She hugged Elsynia. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well," the sisters echoed. They watched as Parwen crossed the sitting room and disappeared out the door. A few minutes later, the front door banged shut.

Nerissa looked up Elsynia worriedly. "Are you really alright?"

"Yes," she reassured, hugging her younger sister. "But I am exhausted; and –" the mer glanced at the clock "– I think it's about time you went to sleep too. You're still only thirteen."

After a token resistance, Nerissa agreed and within half an hour, the household was quiet; both elves fast asleep.

A/N: Review please. :)