A/N:*looks sheepish*Hi there. It has been an embarrassingly long time since I updated this – ah, six weeks actually. Sorry. I do, however, have an excuse, in that I started university mid-September and I'm literally staggering under the workload. Also the whole living-away-from-home thing takes something getting used to. So there has been much upheaval.

Also, my computer was recently attacked by a virus – and lo and behold, half of the files on my USB vanished, including my stories folder; which incidentally contained the first third of this chapter. That sort of thing really kills the drive to write. Luckily, though, I eventually found the files in a hidden folder and manage to rescue some of them, despite the fact that they had been corrupted.*wipes sweatdrop*

So the moral of the story is: back up your work in about twenty different places. Which I have now done. xD

One more thing: thank you to Kat and DualKatanas, both of whom were the only ones to review chapter four. Seriously people, you had six weeks!

Disclaimer: Oblivion still does not belong to me. No matter how much I wish it so.

Steel Over Shadow

Chapter Five: The Baited Trap

"Here."

The great hammer Volendrung thumped down on the ground in front of Martin and he was forced to jerk back quickly, or else have his toes embedded into the floor.

"One Daedric artifact, as requested."

The future Emperor looked up at the Hero of Kvatch. She was standing beside his table, in the great hall of Cloud Ruler Temple, swaying slightly on the spot. The mer was caked in mud from head to toe and dusted with snow. Her face, what could be seen of it under the grime, was chalk white and the dark circles under her eyes made him think that she hadn't slept at all for the past few days.

"I came directly from Malacath's shrine." Her tone was dull and exhausted. "Now, if don't you mind, I'm going to bed. Possibly for several years." Without waiting for a reply, Elsynia turned on her heel and marched – if such an unsteady gait could be referred to as such – across the hall and through the enormous doors into the west wing. They slammed shut behind her with a loud boom.

Baurus moved forward to stand next to Martin, looking after the elf, his expression torn between annoyance and amusement. "That was impolite of her. I wonder what happened."

With a sigh, Martin settled back in his seat and examined Volendrung with interest. "I'm sure we'll hear all about it when she wakes up."

xxx

The last piece of Elsynia's mud-spattered Dwarven armour hit the floor with a clang.

Finally. The swordswoman sank down onto a bedroll, dressed only in her underwear. The thin bedding felt exquisitely soft to her exhausted body. Within seconds, she was deeply asleep. She slept long and dreamt of nothing.

Many hours later, Elsynia's eyes fluttered slowly open and then closed again. An enormous contented yawn stretched her jaws and she arched her spine like a cat. There were several satisfying clicking sounds as her joints popped and settled, stiff from lying so long in one position.

The elf reluctantly opened her eyes again. A view of the low wooden ceiling of the sleeping quarters met her gaze. Turning her head to the left and then the right, she was rather disconcerted to see that the room looked virtually identical to when she had fallen asleep; the other bedrolls were all unoccupied and the candles were low and guttering. For a moment, Elsynia wondered if perhaps she had woken up after only a few minutes. However, the fact her body was deliciously warm and her limbs felt heavy from a long period of sleep, reassured her otherwise.

I should probably get up.

Despite this, the swordswoman was reluctantly to move even an inch. Her body was indicating that this was the most comfortable it had felt in a long time and was quite happy just where it was. Elsynia indulged for a few minutes more, content to lie there, enjoying the sensation of being half-asleep and half-awake. It reminded the mer of being a child, when her favourite thing to do had been to drag all of the blankets in the house into her bed and build herself an enormous downy nest. She had contentedly dozed her mornings away, just like a small creature curled up in the warmth of its burrow.

Feeling herself starting to drift off to sleep again, Elsynia rolled over with a groan and started pulling on a pair of thick woollen socks. And then another pair. It was warm inside the Temple buildings but outside it was sure to be bitterly cold. She pulled on various layers of clothing, and as she did so, the drowsy fog around the elf's brain slowly started to clear. As it did, her mind cast itself back over her most recent memories and a horrible realization dawned upon Elsynia. She was going to have to apologise.

The swordswoman was aware that, in general, she was extremely blunt and outspoken; but there was a fine line between being blunt, and being rude. Elsynia had absolutely no problem with being rude to people she disliked. But Martin, even leaving aside the fact he was the de-facto Emperor, was someone she both liked and respected. And the mer had been extremely short with him. And had almost dropped a warhammer on his feet.

Elsynia groaned and buried her face in her knees. Her pride rebelled instinctively at the mere thought of apologising. She squashed it down with difficulty and – after a quick swipe with a cloth to take off the worst of the dried mud – donned her armour and weaponry.

With swift glance around to make sure she had left nothing behind, the elf opened to the door to the outside world, bracing for the sudden wave of cold. She wasn't disappointed. Elsynia shuddered as the freezing wind tore through her; she felt the chill even though she was wearing as many layers of clothing as she could comfortably fit underneath her armour.

Get over it, she told herself sternly. Squaring her shoulders, the swordswoman marched up the set of sunken stone steps and emerged into the courtyard proper.

Overhead, stars glittered coldly in the vast expanse of the night sky, like white diamonds carelessly scattered across a black velvet cloth. Far away in the east, a faint glow lightened the horizon, signaling the imminent arrival of dawn and transforming the surrounding Jerall Mountains into black silhouettes. Snow had also fallen during the night and Cloud Ruler Temple lay under a thick blanket, two foot deep. Little trails had been trampled back and forth between the various sentry posts and the heat radiating from the enormous braziers had melted a small area of snow around each one.

Up here, in the mountains, there was none of the ambiguity that was present in the lowlands. Summer was gone and autumn had indisputably arrived.

Elsynia blinked up at the stars in astonishment and then at the approaching light of dawn. Surely I couldn't have been asleep for that long…?

Turning, the swordswoman sought the nearest Blade. There was a pair of guards flanking either side of the main door into the great hall. Elsynia strode towards the closest one, following the path through the snow that the sentries had already forged. As the elf approached, the woman's gaze shifted slightly to meet her; her face, what could be seen of it under her helmet, was curious. "Greetings, Knight Sister. Can I help you?"

The mer wracked her brains, searching for the name that matched to the Breton's face. Ah. Caroline. That's it. "Good morning to you, Knight Sister. Yes, you can. I don't suppose you know what time it is?"

Caroline's mouth might have twitched in momentary amusement. "I do, though not exactly. I started duty at six o'clock. That was perhaps about half an hour ago." The icy air turned her breath into clouds of white vapour.

Despite the fact she was expecting it, Elsynia was still a little surprised at the confirmation. It had been mid-morning when she had arrived at the Temple; she had slept for almost an entire day.

"Ah, thank you." The swordswoman inclined her head, slightly awkward. She wasn't sure of how to address the Blades; they were certainly more formal than the Fighters' Guild anyway, who seldom, if at all, stood on ceremony. Caroline nodded in acknowledgment.

Elsynia took a deep breath and reminded herself of why she was here; then she squared her shoulders and entered the great hall. The warmth of the fire washed over her and the elf's stiff posture unconsciously relaxed. The interior of the temple was rather beautiful; she hadn't yet become inured to the sight and so it was always the first thing she noticed.

High, carved beams arched gracefully across the upper half of the great hall, supported by a double row of strong wooden pillars running the length of the room. Katanas of Blades past hung from the arches, supported by an intricate webbing of wooden latticework, and burnished to a gleaming gold in the firelight. An enormous fireplace dominated the far end of the hall, and sconces brimming with leaping flames of their own hung from the parted jaws of beautifully carved dragons. However, despite the elegant design and artistic beauty of the temple, there was still something...almost homely about it to Elsynia. An intangible sense of comfort and familiarity.

The floor was mostly taken up with wooden tables and benches arrayed in loose rows, with a scattering of chairs around the fireplace. Martin sat in his customary spot, halfway down the hall at a table piled high with books and sheets of parchment; illuminated in a pool of candlelight. Baurus, as ever, stood a discreet distance away, guarding the former priest. Elsynia saw him and sighed. She would just have to unbend her pride enough to get the words out.

The swordswoman strode down the hall and came to a halt in front of Martin's table. He looked up at her, curiosity flickering in his blue eyes.

"I apologise." The elf's voice was stiff but undoubtedly sincere.

The heir to the Empire tilted his head. "For what?"

Elsynia stared at him in disbelief. Was he going to make her say it? Her quick temper flared instinctively but she ruthlessly squashed it down. It would only make her lash out angrily and that would hardly convince Martin that she was sorry. She would just have to say it. "For what happened yesterday; I was unacceptably rude. I was tired, but I still should have been mindful of what I was saying."

Martin merely looked at her for a long moment with an unreadable gaze. Elsynia barely resisted the urge to fidget nervously, suddenly feeling like a small child again; for some reason his stare made her feel as she did when Alawen used to scold her for bad behaviour.

Then the former priest smiled warmly. "Apology accepted. Please, will you sit with me for a while?" He placed his current sheaf of notes aside and closed the Mysterium Xarxes; clearly ready for a break from working on it.

The elf almost melted into the floor in relief, but caught herself in time, and slipped gladly into a free seat instead. "Of course." She ignored the sound of Baurus chuckling quietly under his breath at her expense.

Something else, a niggling thought that hadn't quite fully formed until that moment, suddenly coalesced in Elsynia's mind. "Martin, where is Volendrung?" She flicked another quick glance around the hall but it wasn't immediately obvious, if it was there at all.

"Ah, I had it moved to my chambers." A spark of humour flared in the heir's eyes. "The weight rather surprised Baragon when he picked it up – he expressed that opinion that you must have had someone else bring it to Cloud Ruler for you."

Elsynia's eyes narrowed. "Oh, he did, did he?"

Baurus chuckled again. "Don't hurt him too badly. We need every Blade fighting fit for this war."

"Well, I'll let him off this time; if only because he's partially right. I may have had a little help from a feather spell," the elf admitted reluctantly. "It was a long trip and Snowflake wouldn't have thanked me for making her carry all of the extra weight – in fact, I don't think she'll ever forgive me as it is, even though the spell did halve the weight of the warhammer."

Martin laughed quietly and shook his head. "That horse of yours has more personality than quite a few of the people I've known over the years. Also, I'll admit to being curious on another point – it's not that I'm ungrateful for your haste in returning, but why did you push so hard to get here so quickly? I would not have begrudged you your rest along the way."

All the humour had fled from Elsynia's face as he had spoken. "Unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice. I was attacked by a group of Mythic Dawn assassins when I was returning back through Anvil. With the aid of the city guard, I managed to account for most of them, but a few of their number fled up the Gold Road – the same direction I was travelling, towards Kvatch and Skingrad. I had absolutely no desire to be attacked in my sleep, so instead of risking of the possibility of one of them stumbling across me while I rested, I chose to press on – incidentally, another reason that Snowflake hates me at the moment..."

The next hour or so passed in enjoyable conversation, fluctuating between issues both serious and light-hearted, as the sun rose higher in the sky and outside the world began to awaken. Elsynia relaxed more and more as the conversation went on; laughing and participating in the banter and gentle teasing. Martin and Baurus were both pleasant company to be in; she wondered if that would change when he officially became Emperor. He was still so unused to the role; he talked and joked with them freely now, but would he become more formal as time passed? The elf supposed it was inevitable, and the thought made something within her ache a little with sadness. Even though she had only known Martin for a relatively short time, she liked him, and didn't want to lose the fledgling friendship to the rigors of his coming responsibility as Emperor. So much was changing.

It was only when the bright, white sunlight of late morning began to pour in through the high windows of the great hall, that Elsynia realised how long she had lingered. The swordswoman leapt to her feet, startling Martin and Baurus considerably; she had remembered with dismay that Parwen and Ah-Malz were waiting in Chorrol, and she was already overdue by several days in meeting them.

Upon hearing this, Martin nodded, though he looked disappointed that their conversation would be cut short. "I understand. I will send word with a messenger when I decipher the next part of the ritual. Good luck to you, my friend."

Baurus merely saluted mockingly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Get going, Hero."

The elf growled challengingly. "You and I shall have a reckoning when I return, Knight Brother. Prepare to be beaten."

Baurus grinned. "Looking forward to it already."

Half an hour later, Elsynia and Snowflake were galloping down the winding, snowy road to Bruma. The full day of sleep for both horse and rider had left them energized and eager; the ride was enjoyable, and the cold wind of the mountains seemed invigorating for the moment, rather than uncomfortable.

They arrived at Bruma at noon, slowing down and entering the city at a walk, amongst all the foot traffic streaming in and out through the North Gate. Elsynia was eventually forced to dismount and lead Snowflake by the reins, to avoid trampling some idiots in the crowd. Thankfully, the bay mare seemed to have forgiven her for the harsh journey to Cloud Ruler – or at least forgotten it – though perhaps that was more due to the comfortable day spent in the temple's stables than anything else.

The same snow that had fallen overnight at the temple had also settled in a fine layer over the streets of Bruma, dusting the rugged Nordic-style timber-and-stone houses in white ice crystals. However, as pretty as the scene looked, Elsynia was intent on hurrying through it as quickly as possible.

Steering Snowflake carefully around a brazier, the elf had nearly reached the East Gate when she felt a hard tug on her cloak. She whirled around and her sword was halfway from its sheath, before her brain kicked in and she realized she wasn't being attacked by a Mythic Dawn agent.

A startled Argonian was backing away, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. "I meant no offence," he rasped.

The swordswoman still glared at him suspiciously. "What is it you want from me, then?"

"You are the one known as the Hero of Kvatch?" he enquired.

Elsynia narrowed her eyes, and her hand crept discreetly towards her longsword again. Just in case. "Yes. That is what they call me. Why?"

The Argonian reached inside his shirt and drew out an envelope. "I have been instructed to deliver this message to you."

She hesitated briefly, then took the proffered item. The envelope was made of thick, creamy parchment – expensive stuff. Flipping it over, the mer broke the seal and withdrew a single sheet of parchment. The words were inked in a flowing, elegant hand:

To Elsynia; Protector of the Fighters Guild, Hero of Kvatch.

I realize that during our last meeting, you made it exceptionally clear that you wanted nothing to do with the organisation to which I belong; however, on behalf of said organisation, I now extend a different offer altogether. You are in no way obligated to accept, nor does the previous offer have any bearing upon this new one.

It has come to our attention that in your capacity as 'the Hero of Kvatch', you are regularly journeying to the plane of Oblivion, to the place known as the Deadlands. In this area, there are many highly prized alchemy ingredients; due to the danger and difficulty of reaching their native habitat they are both rare and expensive.

We propose that while in the realm of Oblivion, you harvest the aforementioned ingredients – at no extra inconvenience to yourself, as you already perform this duty for another alchemist – and sell them exclusively to us. Enclosed with this letter is a list of the prices we offer; I think that you will find them more than reasonable.

Also, if you accept this proposal, it of course goes without saying that you are entirely exempt from the other aspect of business that our organization deals in; in other words, you are under our protection. We will accept no contracts for your person.

If you do decide to take us up on our offer, journey to Anvil. Look in the wooden barrel behind The Count's Arms for further instruction.

I hope that you consider our proposal carefully.

LL

Elsynia could only stare at the piece of parchment in her hand; numb with shock. Despite the ambiguity of the wording to an outsider, she had no doubt as to exactly whom it was that was contacting her. What the hell? I've never even heard of the Dark Brotherhood doing anything remotely like this!

She abruptly recalled the messenger and her head snapped up, intent on getting answers out of someone, even if it was only the go-between–

The street around her was completely deserted. The Argonian had vanished.

xxx

On a hillside above Bruma, two hooded figures sat astride horses, watching the city below. One horse was a fairly ordinary chestnut stallion, who occasionally betrayed his impatience with the wait by stamping the frozen earth and snorting, sending out great plumes of white vapor into the cold air. The other was a black mare, with peculiar purple tint to her coat; in contrast, she stood completely, almost unnaturally still. The subtle glow of her ominous red eyes merely added to this impression.

Her rider was similarly focused; his attention entirely concentrated on the streets of Bruma below. Lucien Lachance smiled in satisfaction within the shadows of his hood, as the distant tiny figure of an Argonian approached the equally distant figure of a certain young woman, whose progress they had been tracking for most of the morning.

"Speaker, are you sure this plan will work?"

Lucien turned to regard his companion. Delan was his new Silencer and the Imperial was still in the process of showing him the ropes. The lean Redguard was clad in the usual shrouded armour, and sat in the saddle with his characteristic calm confidence. However, though his dark eyes were normally as unreadable as his face, today they showed a rare hint of emotion. Worry.

The man was far from stupid – not that he ever would have been selected as a Silencer if he were – and was aware both of the current troubled state of the Brotherhood and of the importance of this mission.

"No."

Delan's mask slipped for an instant, betraying his surprise. He recovered quickly, his features smoothing out once more into impassiveness. "No, Speaker?"

"No. I am not certain. But I have examined all options and I believe that this plan is the one that has the best chance of succeeding."

Of course, the senior assassin mused internally as he switched his gaze back to the two distant figures once more, the likelihood of that success is almost entirely based on my character assessment of the elf. This time, I'll see if my skills are as good as I think they are. The fate of the Brotherhood may very well depend upon it.

xxx

After a fruitless search of the surrounding area, Elsynia gave up in disgust. The Argonian was long gone, having made good his escape while she was preoccupied with the letter.

Good mood thoroughly ruined, she left Bruma in a towering black temper. Even Snowflake seemed to sense that now was not a sensible time to play up and responded obediently to every direction the swordswoman gave her.

Elsynia's anger seemed urge the horse on and they ate up the distance between Bruma and Chorrol; riding all day, they briefly stopped to snatch five or six hours sleep at an abandoned bandit camp, before rising at the crack of dawn and pushing onwards. Consequently, when they arrived at the outskirts of Chorrol, it was still early the next morning.

A fine, pervasive, misty sort of rain was falling and the sky was a dreary, foggy grey. Everything was sodden; including, by this time, the elf's dark green cloak, which had initially kept her relatively dry but now just clung wetly to her gold-coloured armour.

Elsynia, her anger abated overnight, had slowed the pace to a gentle canter, which Snowflake handled with ease. The bay too was drenched, her coat thick with water droplets and ruffled into wet, furry spikes.

The city wall was looming up ahead as they passed by Odiil Farm, shrouded in the grey mist of rain. It drew up strong memories within the mer; the farm had been the site of her first solo mission for the Fighters Guild, almost three and a half years ago.

A brief smile touched Elsynia's lips and her left hand unconsciously caressed Chillrend's hilt. The enchanted shortsword had been her reward for ridding Odiil Farm of goblins; she still vividly remembered standing in a downpour of rain, peering past wet strands of hair hanging in her eyes and watching a wave of the snarling green-skinned creatures charging haphazardly across the fields towards herself and the two Odiil brothers. One of them, the elf recalled absently, the younger brother, Antus, was badly wounded in that fight. He would have died of his injuries had she not healed him, with her then-newly-minted skill in Restoration. That detail in particular had stuck in her mind because Elsynia remembered thinking – in adrenaline-hazed aftermath of battle– that it was odd how saving a life brought the same thrill of triumph as did taking one.

The swordswoman snapped out of her daze of remembrance as they came into the shadow of the city wall. After settling Snowflake in the North Country Stables, she entered Chorrol through the South Gate and began hunting for her comrades.

It was early in the morning; coupled with the fact that it was raining, this meant that most people were still indoors and the streets were nearly deserted. 'Nearly' being the operative word. It took Elsynia merely a couple of minutes find a lurking beggar and coax the information from him, with the help of a little gold – only to be immediately irritated with herself for being so slow on the uptake. I should have guessed they'd be sleeping at The Grey Mare, the elf thought wryly to herself as she approached the inn. What a waste of money.

The mer ducked under the low door lintel and entered the dim, smoky interior. She had been planning on having something to eat while waiting for Ah-Malz and Parwen to wake up, but to her surprise, she spotted two very familiar figures already sitting at the bar.

Ah-Malz glanced up reflexively at the sound of the door opening; he started in surprise at the sight of the swordswoman, and then a rare, broad smile spread across his face. "Good to see you again, my friend," he rumbled, sliding off the barstool with deceptive ease for someone of his bulk.

Elsynia found herself grinning in reply. "Likewise," was all she managed before the Argonian swept her up in a rib-cracking hug. She returned it, pleased by what she assumed was the obvious success of the rescue mission for Dar-Ma; few things could provoke this kind of jubilation in the normally stoic Warder but the young woman in question was one of them. "I take it everything went well?"

"No. It mowsh shcertainly did not."

The swordswoman blinked in astonishment. "Parwen?" she asked cautiously. The Bosmer's voice had been so utterly miserable that it had barely even sounded like her. The other elf hadn't even turned around to face her since she had arrived, instead remaining hunched over the bar, drinking deeply from a mug in front of her.

"Parwen, what's wrong?" she tried again. Now that Elsynia was looking more closely, even the archer's posture seemed to radiate the desolation that had been so clear in her voice. The swordswoman flicked an alarmed glance up at Ah-Malz. Surely Dar-Ma hadn't been hurt after all...? But no, that made no sense. If the other Argonian had been hurt or killed, the Warder would have been the one drinking himself into a stupor, not Parwen – and he certainly wouldn't have greeted Elsynia so cheerfully upon her arrival. But then what...?

The mer's confusion must have shown, because Ah-Malz's expression lost some of its cheer and sympathy flickered across his face. "Onyx was killed."

Ah. Suddenly Parwen's uncharacteristic gloom made a lot more sense.

"Yesh. Those barshturds killed my baby," the archer hiccupped miserably. "My poor little Onyx..." Her head fell forward onto her folded arms.

Elsynia slid into the seat next to the other elf and patted her awkwardly on the back. Parwen had bought the Cheydinhal Black nearly five years ago, having had seen her in the Black Waterside Stables and adored her almost instantly. Even as a tiny filly, the horse had shared the archer's high-spirited nature, and as she had grown and matured, Onyx had become speed, strength and beauty incarnate.

"I loved that horse," Parwen mumbled morosely into her arms.

"I know." Snowflake might be the most irritating, contrary, disrespectful horse on Nirn, but Elsynia had owed her for years and had grown attached to the bay; if the mare were to die, it would grieve the elf. For Parwen and Onyx, who had had a mutual love and respect for one another, it had to be far worse.

The swordswoman glanced up as Ah-Malz dropped back into the seat next to the two mer. "What exactly happened at Hackdirt? How did you find Dar-Ma?"

Ah-Malz leaned back in his chair, his countenance darkening. "Well, we arrived to find that the village was actually a secluded little place with a violent hatred of outsiders..."

The innkeeper showed up and served them a hot breakfast but Elsynia barely even noticed what she was eating, so involved was she in the Warder's story.

"...and we had just escaped from the caverns with Dar-Ma, when a whole bunch of the Brethren came swarming up the ladders after us. There were too many to fight and we barely made it to the horses in time; a group of townspeople had tried to sabotage our escape route by killing them. They had only managed to kill Onyx by the time we arrived though – and she'd taken a few of them with her, clever beast – so we fought them off, grabbed the remaining two horses, and then escaped into the forest."

Ah-Malz drained his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Took us the rest of the day to get back to Chorrol too; Blossom, Dar-Ma's horse, was badly hurt by the villagers before we turned up and she was almost lame by the time we cleared the forest, poor beast. I don't think she'll be fit to be ridden again." He fell silent, apparently drained by the effort of so much talking, unaccustomed to it as he was.

Elsynia just shook her head in disgust as she sipped from her goblet. She felt angry all over again; on both Parwen's and Dar-Ma's behalf. "Bastards. I hope the Legion burns the place to the ground again."

The Argonian rumbled in agreement. Parwen, who had barely stirred while the Warder had been talking, muttered into her arms, "Would sherve them right if they did."

They sat in silence for a few minutes more; then Ah-Malz grunted as if something had just occurred to him. "I remembered to pick this up for you." He leaned down and reached into the shadows under the bar.

Elsynia watched with curiosity, then delight as he withdrew her now-repaired Elven shield. "Ah, thank you!" she exclaimed, gladly taking it from the big Argonian as he held it out. The swordswoman flipped the shield over, examining it minutely. Rasheda had done an excellent job – the elf had been privately unsure as to whether the shield could have even been salvaged at all. Now only a few, thin, faint silvery scars tracing across the surface even betrayed that it had been damaged at all.

"She did, however, recommend that you consider looking for a replacement," Ah-Malz rasped. "Those join lines were unavoidable due to the severity of the damage, and will be potential weak spots in the future – they'll break more easily under stress than the rest of the shield."

Elsynia nodded, still happy with what the blacksmith had accomplished. It was far better than she had hoped for. With one, easy, practised movement, she slung the Elven shield onto her back, where it settled in its accustomed place; comfortable and familiar.

Companionable silence fell for a short time, each of them retreating into their own thoughts. Parwen eventually broke it, turning her head sideways on her arms and looking up at Elsynia. "Sssho...how did your missshion for the artifact go?"

The swordswoman started out of her reverie. Her mood darkened as she recalled the message from the Dark Brotherhood; she had successfully managed to put it out of her mind until now. "As well as can be expected, I suppose..."

Elsynia recounted the details of everything that had happened to her; from the second visit paid to her by a Dark Brotherhood assassin, that night in Skingrad, right up until she had arrived in Chorrol this morning. Ah-Malz and Parwen listened intently, the latter albeit through a haze of alcohol.

The Argonian, whose frown had been growing throughout her narrative, asked to see the note from the Brotherhood. The elf fished it out from the bottom of her pack – where she had stuffed it in an attempt to ignore it – and straightened the crumpled parchment, before passing it over. Ah-Malz scanned the message, with Parwen peering over his shoulder, his scowl deepening even further as he read. "I don't know about this," he rasped, handing the parchment back to Elsynia. "Getting entangled with the Brotherhood seems like a bad idea to me. Slippery, dishonest bastards."

"I shecond that," agreed Parwen, her chin dropping to rest on the bar again. "Too bloody trickshee and shneaky by half, that lot. Comes of being asshashins, I shuppose."

"I know," sighed Elsynia, leaning back in her seat and running a hand through her hair. "And I would have quite happily thrown it on the nearest brazier, if it wasn't for that last part. I don't need extra money, no matter how good their prices are...and they must know that," she added reflectively. "That's why they've added that extra incentive – immunity. Their promise that no contracts will be accepted for my life."

"But how good is the word of an assassin?" countered Ah-Malz darkly, folding his steel-plated forearms. "They are deceitful by nature. You cannot trust them to adhere to that promise."

Elsynia grimaced. "But if there is even the smallest chance that they will...I already have one set of assassins after me; to take the Brotherhood out of the equation would be a huge relief," she said reluctantly, unwilling to admit it even to herself. "It's worth a few alchemical ingredients to get them off my back." The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

Ah-Malz was still clearly unhappy but acknowledged the sense of her words. "That is true." Parwen merely nodded, looking thoughtful in a vague, drunken sort of way.

Elsynia stared moodily at her goblet, rolling the pewter between her fingers. Despite having proved her point, she was discontented. The swordswoman didn't like the proposal anymore than Ah-Malz did; under normal circumstances she wouldn't even be considering the idea. But an invasion of Nirn by Daedric forces was definitely abnormal by anyone's standards – and the trip from Bruma to Chorrol had given her plenty of time to think about it. The elf had examined the situation as objectively as she could and – as much as she personally disliked the idea of getting involved with the Dark Brotherhood in any way – had come to the conclusion that, frankly, she needed every advantage she could get. "I'll just have to tread carefully around them," Elsynia muttered. "Fetching assassins. The whole thing is completely bizarre."

The Argonian nodded in reluctant agreement. "So...does this mean we will be going to Anvil next?" he rumbled.

"Ah..." the mer hadn't thought this far ahead. "I supposed we will...Martin said that he'll send a messenger when he works out what is needed for the next part of the ritual; until then, we're at something of a loose end. We can go and pick up these 'instructions' while we're waiting for him to send word – it might take a while." She frowned. "I feel like I'm never away from Anvil lately."

"And we can get Parwen a new horse when we're there," the Warder rasped.

The archer – who had been face-down on the bar and motionless for the last few minutes – shot upright in her seat with a surprising amount of coordination for someone who was drunk. "No! I don't want another horse!"

Elsynia shot an exasperated glance at Ah-Malz for his tactless approach. He shrugged his massive shoulders apologetically. "Parwen, no one's asking you to replace Onyx, but you need a horse – for practicality's sake, if nothing else. Or are you planning to walk everywhere from now on?" she challenged.

"Yesh!" the other elf declared stubbornly.

After several more minutes of fruitless arguing, Ah-Malz and Elsynia exchanged a look over the archer's head. "This is pointless," the swordswoman muttered to him in an undertone. "Let's just get going. Hopefully we can persuade her along the way; maybe when she's a little more sober."

"You want to leave for Anvil immediately?" asked the Argonian.

"We may as well." The elf drained her goblet and banged it down on the bar. "No point in waiting around here."

The Warder nodded and dug some gold out of his pocket. He slid it across the bar to the innkeeper and then he and Elsynia helped Parwen out of her seat, supporting most of her weight. It took them half an hour to make the relatively short journey from the Grey Mare Inn, through the South Gate and out to the stables; hampered as they were by the stumbling, complaining Bosmer.

They then encountered the interesting logistics problem of how to fit three people onto two horses. Eventually, they made the weight distribution somewhat equal by putting Snowflake's saddlebags on Strider, Ah-Malz's powerfully-built chestnut stallion, and then hoisting Parwen up into the saddle behind Elsynia. Snowflake flattened her ears with displeasure at the extra passenger; a sharp tap from the swordswoman stopped her from attempting to bite Parwen.

Ah-Malz mounted up too and they set off, cantering along the Black Road. The rain had stopped and patches of blue sky were visible through the drifting grey clouds; the wet surface of the road gleamed silver with reflected sunlight. Droplets of rainwater clung to the surrounding undergrowth and trees, making them sparkle as if they were hung with diamonds.

However, all the natural beauty in the world couldn't distract Elsynia from the fact that the road to Anvil suddenly seemed to take an age to traverse when there was a drunken passenger on board.

"Elshneea?"

"Yes, Parwen?"

"I want a shweetroll."

"Mm."

"Can I have a shweetroll?"

"...No."

"El! Pleash?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You know why, Parwen."

"Pleash!"

"No. Since you neglected to actually bring any with you, we're not going to turn around and go back to Chorrol just because the mood takes you."

"But – but – I want a shweetroll!"

Elsynia ground her teeth audibly, her limited patience almost completely used up. Ah-Malz shot her an amused look over his shoulder; he was putting up with Parwen's inebriated whining with his usual stoic silence but he found the swordswoman's very obvious annoyance entertaining. She growled at him and he merely chuckled, turning back around in the saddle to face the front.

Several hours later Elsynia was fighting the urge to shove Parwen off the horse. The archer had progressed to mournful, off-key singing which echoed through the surrounding trees. This was bad enough by itself, but their progress along the road had carried them deep within the Great Forest; the loud singing had the unwanted, and potentially dangerous, side-effect of calling attention to their presence.

"Parwen, please shut up."

"Wha'?"

"By the Gods..."

"Wha'? Wha'd I do now?"

"Don't make me hit you."

There was silence for a few blissful seconds. Then the Bosmer leaned forward and whispered loudly in the other elf's ear. "Elshneea?"

I will be understanding, I will be understanding, Elsynia chanted in her head. "Yes?"

"Whyssh Ah-Malsh stopped?"

"What?" Elsynia glanced up, frowning. Sure enough, about fifteen metres further along the road, the Warder had brought Strider to a halt. He appeared to staring at something in the near distance. The next second, he twisted around in the saddle and shouted back to the two mer, "Bandits ahead!"

The swordswoman's sharp eyes scanned the forest. To her disbelief, there was indeed a scattering of figures up ahead, dressed in the rough fur and leather armour that bandits favoured. She had entirely missed them, distracted as she was by her passenger.

Elsynia pulled hard on Snowflake's reins; the bay mare slowed to a stop and the elf vaulted from the saddle. Ah-Malz had already dismounted, and was moving swiftly to establish a position to defend from.

Further up the trail, the bandits realised that they had been spotted and, with a chorus of war cries, came charging down the road. Two of their number peeled off to the left and to the right, circling around through the trees in an attempt to flank the three warriors.

Elsynia swore viciously; they were outnumbered about fifteen to three and Parwen hardly counted as an asset in her current state. The swordswoman glanced up at her friend; the Bosmer was swaying slightly in the saddle, her gaze unfocused. It was doubtful she could see straight at the moment, let alone shoot straight.

Turning, Elsynia gathered her magicka and a concentrated fireball leapt from her palm, streaking through the trees to engulf the bandit who was attempting to flank them to the right; he fell with a cry. Spinning, she checked Ah-Malz's position; the Warder had taken up a stance further down the road, his back against a boulder to prevent any of them from getting behind him. The frontrunners had already reached him and his claymore flashed crimson in the sun.

The elf wasted a precious second in indecision; they sorely missed Parwen's excellent marksmanship in this situation. The archer could have picked off the remaining flanker in a heartbeat, freeing Elsynia to join Ah-Malz; as it was, the swordswoman had to choose which enemy was the bigger danger.

She hesitated a further second, and then swore in anger at herself. Lifting a gauntleted hand, Elsynia released a pulse of telekinesis. The ten or so bandits who had not yet reached Ah-Malz were thrown off their feet and high into the air, as an invisible force smashed into them with the force of a charging minotaur.

The swordswoman didn't pause again, even as she registered the alarming drain on her magicka reserves. She charged straight through the trees, aiming to cut off the left flanker before he could reach the horses and get behind them. The bandit – a brawny Khajiit – skidded to a halt as he saw her coming, and hefted his sword, a massive iron claymore. They clashed, exchanging a flurry of blows; when they drew back, the Khajiit was bleeding from a narrow slash on his neck. He hissed an insult, then renewed his attack; Elsynia barely parried the powerful overhand blow intended to cleave her in half. She dodged his next strike and then swept her longsword down, as if aiming for his legs. The Khajiit fell for her feint; as he moved to counter, the elf slashed upwards, cutting through his leather armour and slicing open his belly. Blood and entrails spilled out, accompanied by the bandit's scream of pain at the mortal wound; the swordswoman ended it quickly, her next strike finding his heart.

Elsynia was turning before the body had even finished crumpling to the ground. She sprinted out of the trees, bursting back out onto the road. The corpses of four attackers littered the ground around Ah-Malz; the remaining eight had recovered from being blasted off their feet by the telekinesis spell and were approaching him more warily than their fallen allies, having witnessed the Argonian's deadly skill with a blade. He waited for them, steel armour streaked with blood and sharp teeth bared in a battle snarl.

The elf immediately took advantage of the fact that they were focused on her fellow warrior to the point of neglecting what was going on in their surroundings; the first they knew of her presence was a crackling bolt of frost magicka as it struck down two of their number. They wheeled with cries of alarm to face the new danger, but Elsynia had already reached Ah-Malz's side, slipping into place beside him. "Took you long enough," rasped the Argonian.

"I was held up," the swordswoman murmured, eyeing the remaining six bandits. "I make that as three each, don't you?"

"Agreed," Ah-Malz said as the bandits gathered their courage and charged again, screaming war cries at the two Fighters Guild members. The elf and the Argonian moved in step, completely accustomed to working together and sure of the other's next move. Two swords flashed in the sunlight and struck out in synchronization; the warriors met the bandits' headlong charge and shattered it completely, hewing through their ranks with devastating ease.

Elsynia unhooked the shield from her back, swinging it onto her left arm and smashing it up into a Nord's face all in one fluid movement. He staggered back and her longsword flicked out to slice off his head. She turned and parried a strike from a Dunmer, then caught an Orc's mace blow on her shield. The elf swiftly dispatched the Dark Elf, the longer reach of her sword enabling her to knock aside his shortsword and stab him in the chest; she moved quickly, in time deflect the Orc's next swing before it could shatter her hip. He growled as the mace bounced off the Elven shield – leaving a large dent in the centre – and struck out at Elsynia again, this time aiming to crush her skull. The swordswoman dodged to the left, then darted forward to seize the opening. As the Orc's swing went wide, she slipped in under his guard and stabbed him in the vulnerable armpit, right through into his heart.

The mer whirled around, seeking a new enemy; only to that find the road around her was clear. Ah-Malz was standing a little way off, the last three corpses at his feet, casually cleaning his claymore with a rag. "Not a bad show for bandits," was his only comment as he returned the massive blade to its sheath on his back.

Elsynia nodded, lowering her longsword and relaxing a little, as the adrenaline rush of battle began to ebb. Then a loud whinny echoed down the road towards them. Both warriors' heads snapped up. An Imperial bandit had somehow managed to slip past them and was attempting to steal one of the horses; however Snowflake and Strider were equally disapproving of this idea, and he was dodging flailing hooves and snapping teeth as the mare and stallion resisted any attempts at being boarded.

The two Fighters Guild members broke into a sprint, running back up the road towards the scene. However, Elsynia could see Parwen was barely holding onto the saddle in her drunken state and she felt panic flare; panic that the Bosmer might fall from Snowflake's back and be trampled by accident.

A halo of red Destruction magicka glowed around her hand; she kept running as she loosed the small but powerful fireball. The swordswoman's aim was nowhere as good as Parwen's but the fireball still managed to strike its target, setting the fur armour ablaze instantly. The Imperial's shrieks of pain were cut off as the warriors finally reached him and Ah-Malz's claymore put an end to his suffering.

Elsynia managed to coax the horses back into some semblance of calm fairly quickly; both had been owned for several years at least and were accustomed to combat situations. She passed Strider's reins to Ah-Malz so she could check them for physical injuries. The chestnut snorted, sounding happier as his master stroked him reassuringly. "They're both fine," the mer said in relief as she lifted a hand glowing with blue Restoration magic away from Snowflake. "Just a few scratches."

She proceeded to heal several gashes the Warder had received during the fight and then a couple of minor wounds of her own. They had – on the whole – got off lightly from the fight.

After about ten minutes, they were ready to go again; Elsynia downed a potion to replenish her magicka stores and then they both swung into the saddle. The swordswoman adjusted the seating arrangement slightly so that Parwen – who, incredibly, appeared to have fallen asleep – wouldn't slip out of the saddle, and then they were off, setting a fast pace to make up for lost time.

When night fell, it found them where the road wound along the edge of Lake Rumare. They camped a little way off the lake's shore, the distant mass of the Imperial City visible across the water as an enormous black shape against stars.

The next morning, Elsynia took vindictive delight in waking Parwen. The archer immediately recoiled from the bright, morning sun. "It feels like I'm being stabbed in the eyes," she moaned, curling up into a ball. "And there's no need to shout like that!"

"I'm not shouting. And I happen to consider this divine retribution for what we had to put up with from you yesterday. Your hangover cannot be anywhere near as bad as that."

Normally, this kind of statement would have provoked a fierce argument but apparently, the Bosmer was feeling too sorry for herself even for that.

Elsynia loaded Parwen up onto Snowflake's saddle and then climbed up behind her; Ah-Malz was already mounted and ready to go, Strider tossing his head with the eagerness to be moving.

The archer, however, was not done with her complaining. Every bump in the road aggravated her blinding headache; every jolt made her stomach heave with nausea. And she made sure her companions knew it.

When they passed through Skingrad at noon, Ah-Malz called a halt and disappeared into the city in search of a hangover cure, in an attempt to prevent Elsynia from killing their friend out of sheer irritation. He came back holding a jar of some thick, sticky paste and handed it to Parwen. The Bosmer dug out a heaped spoonful and chewed it without a second thought, as soon as she heard the magic words 'hangover cure'. When she did so, the Argonian winked conspiratorially at the swordswoman.

As they galloped out of Skingrad, Elsynia discovered the reason with some relief; the Warder's medicine had been made of a substance akin to treacle and had effectively glued Parwen's jaw shut. The archer was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

They made camp that night near what was left of Kvatch; the sight of the burnt-out ruin of the city had a sobering effect upon the three. Even Parwen stopped scowling furiously at her comrades and making muffled angry noises through her fused teeth.

When they woke up in the morning, the Bosmer's jaw had finally unstuck. Surprisingly enough, she didn't launch instantly into a tirade of abuse when Elsynia enquired innocently as to how she was feeling. "I guessed I kind of deserved it," she muttered reluctantly. "Sorry. I just felt awful."

The swordswoman then remembered the reason for Parwen getting so drunk in the first place and refrained from further teasing, feeling a little guilty. They saddled up after a cold breakfast and continued on; Parwen regaining her some of her usual cheerful spirits as the morning wore on, though still remaining more subdued than normal.

It was late afternoon before Anvil came into view. The white walls of the city loomed in the distance, the castle visible beyond it, overlooking the harbor. Sunlight sparkled off the distant Abecean Sea; the water incredibly blue, reflecting the cloudless sky. A strong westerly breeze reached them, carrying the scent of salt on the wind.

Parwen stood up in the stirrups behind Elsynia and whooped with joy at the sight of their destination; the swordswoman yelped with surprise, overbalanced by the Bosmer's sudden movement. They both tumbled out of the saddle and crashed to ground with a tremendous clanging of armour; Snowflake turned to view them with a look of astonishment, while Ah-Malz roared with laughter, the rarely-provoked sound booming across the hills. Even Elsynia saw the funny side after a few moments, and soon she and Parwen had tears running down their cheeks as they cried with laughter, leaning against one another for support.

The humour cleared the air; all three warriors felt in better spirits as the two elves vaulted back into the saddle, and they urged the horses into a brisk gallop, suddenly eager to reach their destination as soon as possible.

However, it wasn't until well after dark that they arrived at Anvil's main gate; all of them tired by now from their journey, and looking forward to a proper bed. After stabling the horses, they went into the city and by unspoken agreement, sought out the local Fighters Guild building to sleep – they would look for the Dark Brotherhood's 'instructions' in the morning.

Pools of golden lantern light illuminated most of the streets and they found the Fighters Guild easily enough, the red banners providing instant identification. Parwen yawned sleepily as Ah-Malz banged on the door, rousing the porter to let them in. Elsynia leant against the wall, enjoying the warmth of the coastal night air and admiring the vast, glittering expanse of stars high above.

The grumbling porter eventually opened the door and all three headed gratefully inside, going straight to the sleeping quarters. They each found an unoccupied bed and stripped down to their underclothes, dropping their assorted armour and weaponry into the provided chests. Within minutes, the exhausted warriors were sound asleep.

A/N: Ta-da. My biggest chapter yet. Tell me what you think. ;)