Chapter 39: Trust

The thick scent of mold and stale air hit Arnbjorn's senses as he stepped into the abandoned birthplace of Astrid's nightmares. The echoes of creaking, tired floorboards amidst a veil of haunting silence was an eerie reminder of just how empty and lifeless the farmhouse had become in its current state.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck and staring at the disarray before him. The old farmhouse had been all but torn apart - more than likely raided by bandits and ruffians who'd noticed its vacant status. Even more so, it was a possibility that Reiner's former business partners had heard of his demise and decided to turn the place upside down looking for his valuables. Either way, the place was a complete wreck.

As Arnbjorn slowly examined the house, searching for any traces of remaining alcohol or lamp oil to possibly start the flame with, he couldn't help but relive those nights of hearing her uncle's tirades and the abuse he'd once inflicted on Astrid. The memories not only brought shame into his heart, but caused his insides to burn with hatred for the man that had treated her so cruelly. Bastard.

Thoroughly pissed by the awful reminders of her suffering and the man that had caused so much of it, his face twisted into a scowl. He grunted to himself in anger, moving on in his search of the catalyst he so badly needed to bring her just a glimmer of relief.

Small moments seemed to drag into ages, with Arnbjorn's irritation and resentment only building with every passing second that he found another empty jug or alchohol container. His inner-rage only stilled when the wind outside began to pick up, causing a gnarly old tree to beat furiously against the farmhouse.

He stood a moment, his icy eyes taking in the somber environment. They grazed across the now broken furniture that was no longer in use, the empty fireplace that had served to warm not a soul, and the walls, which he now ached to demolish with a fire to match his anger. She needed it. No, she deserved it. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to rid the world of Reiner's memory - rid the world of a monster that had devoured her whole. If things could be as he desired, the dust of that bastard's bones would not so much as touch the soil of Nirn.

Another burst of unrelenting wind combined with the drafty nature of the old house caused a nearby door to whine, as Arnbjorn carefully walked up the staircase. The door was in terrible condition, as it was barely hanging on its hinges. He paused, eyeing the damage before slowly entering the room to which it led. Arnbjorn stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as he saw Astrid's former possessions strewn about, not spared by the former loot-seekers. A cold chill ran through him, as he stood, gazing back to the broken door, and wondering just who had actually been responsible for such damage. Perhaps it had just been bandits, but Arnbjorn had a sinking feeling that Reiner himself was equally as likely to blame.

He briefly searched her former room, unable to find anything of use. Of course, he couldn't help but notice the vanity in the corner on his way out. He remembered what had caused that broken mirror it held. He tried not to stare or even so much as glance in its direction, but he simply couldn't keep his eyes off of it, for the sheer magnitude of what it had been used for. That night came flooding back to him in an instant - the screams, the smell of fear, sweat, blood, and something he dared not allow himself to think of.

Quickly, he left Astrid's room as if he'd been torched by the very same flame he yearned to burn that prison to the ground with. After searching every possible nook and cranny of the old house, Arnbjorn became completely full of rage, feeling somewhat helpless in his circumstances. Standing in the kitchen, surrounded by a flood of terrible memories and lack of a means to end them, he grew irate, flinging a chair across the room. As he watched the rickety piece of furniture crumble from the force with which it impacted the wall, Arnbjorn found himself regretfully wishing he'd done the same to Reiner.

Fine, he shrugged. He'd just search outside. He'd already made up his mind that he wouldn't leave this place until he'd burned it into the cursed ground it stood upon.


Arnbjorn's eyes rested upon a well in the distance. Why not? He'd searched everywhere else in that gods-forsaken vicinity. He grunted in frustration, moving onward, as he glanced back to Astrid's silhouette in the distance. He sighed, noting how frail and frightened she appeared - something that he was both unnerved and deeply saddened by.

He stepped up to the well, examining its pathetic state, when something a bit strange caught his eye. A particularly large bone lay in the grass beside the old well. It was large and covered with deep gashes and bite marks. He could faintly detect a scent emanating from it. It was human. I was him.

Immediately, he remembered the rumors and stories told by Dar'Sien just before he'd helped with Astrid's abduction. That stagnant well was the bastard's burial ground. Served him right, Arnbjorn thought to himself.

He slowly picked the bone up, eyeing it with a feral, savage feeling welling up inside of himself. "Rotten sack of shit..." he growled, low and vengeful, before dropping the bone back into the depths where it belonged.

With a distant splash, Reiner's remain fell into the endless black. Arnbjorn gazed into the darkness, feeling a small prickle of satisfaction for discarding a piece of the man like trash.

He sighed, ready to leave, when his hand brushed against some cold, smooth metal. Apparently, lost in his thoughts, he'd completely ignored the small lamp that set on the mouth of the well. His eyes grew just a bit wider with hope, as he examined it.

"Ugh...Thank Sithis..." he breathed a sigh of relief. It held a decent amount of oil - just enough to keep him from having to rub a couple of sticks together all night. He smirked, feeling more than relieved, as he dug a couple of small flint rocks from a pouch on his side.


Those eyes. Everything Astrid gazed upon brought back those wicked, unforgiving emerald eyes. Every trace of land, every board of that awful house, and every familiar sound gave into a flood of twisted, tormenting memories.

Astrid inhaled the icy night air, hearing the shakiness of her own breath and wondering just how she'd allowed herself to become so weak and broken. She'd murdered Reiner on that very plot of land, which she reasoned should have brought her a bit of strength and power, and yet it did not. She'd even butchered that monster and sent him to his watery grave there. However, even those memories did not calm the horrible, twisted thoughts looming in her mind.

She wasn't even sure that setting the place ablaze would help all that much. Of course, it would wipe Reiner's former living place from existence, and that, she felt, would bring her an inkling of satisfaction if nothing else. More so than that, Arnbjorn was the one wiping it away, and that seemed to be the only thing that brought her the slightest bit of comfort at the moment.

She shivered, holding herself in a useless attempt to protect herself from the icy gale that seemed to blow relentlessly. However chilling the night air had become, Astrid felt that it paled in comparison to the coldness she felt inside herself. Even the dark skies were bright when compared to the endless night within.

The most disturbing and truly maddening part of it all, was that somewhere deep inside of herself, she knew she'd never be the same again. She knew that she wasn't born into this world such a twisted and cruel being, but that through a series of truly unfortunate and unforgivable events, she had become the madness herself. She now thrived in the darkness, moving and shifting about like a shadow cast by a hot flame.

Another hot tear rolled down her cold cheek - another bout of tiresome, exhausting crying to drain her once more. Astrid sniffed, pitifully attempting to wipe the tears away, as she gave in, falling to her knees, wailing and hoping desperately that her suffering would ease. In the most ironic and surreal of moments, with the raging wind beating against her, she found that small, young, innocent girl inside crying out - praying to whoever or whatever was out there, perhaps Sithis himself, for some form of solace. Astrid had never been the type for many prayers - she rather liked to tempt fate instead of make vapid requests. Of course, not even her lust for power or her protective ego could hold back her sobbing pleas.

And at the moment when the night felt the darkest, when the raging gale chilled her to the core, and when terrors invaded her soul to the point of breaking, a tiny, bright spark appeared. More lights and bright, burning embers followed, illuminating the darkness and devouring the monster's lair.

Astrid stood on wobbly legs, her eyes wide with awe and fascination. Brilliant, black clouds of smoke were rising for the heavens to consume - rising away from the plane of Nirn, never to return.

"You alright?" that gravelly, soothing voice broke through her silence. She turned, seeing Arnbjorn at her side, his pale blue eyes and his large form striking, as light from the flames danced across his skin. She reasoned that she must've been completely lost in her own mind, not to have noticed him sooner.

Standing before her was her savior, her protector, and the man who would truly kill for her. He didn't flatter her with pretty lies, he gave no false promises, and he would never harm her. Astrid knew this - it felt as deep and real inside of her as the horrific memories in her mind. It was as real as thousands of swarming moths, as real as pain and suffering, and as real as those ominous, piercing eyes. The difference, however, was that unlike those evil things whirling inside her psyche, Arnbjorn's presence was as bright and brilliant in her life as the flame devouring Reiner's farmhouse. He was the fire she so badly needed - the bright flame in the darkness that would help her survive.

Breathless and lost for words, Astrid simply nodded to his inquiry. However, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. Almost instinctively, she knew the walls she had so solidly built around herself needed to be demolished. She wanted the space between them to close, albeit slowly, so that she could feel his warmth. He wasn't Nona, her father, Delvin, or Reiner. He was safe, he was good, and he was deserving. She wanted his touch - wanted to feel it and to know for herself that he wasn't out to destroy her. Astrid realized that this was the validation she so desperately needed to move forward - to know that the monster was truly gone and that her protector would never allow her to suffer in such a way again.

Astrid inhaled deeply, bracing herself, as she reached out to him, her hand trembling in such a way that it appeared that she was attempting to touch an actual flame, fearing she'd be burnt by it's blaze.

The look in Arnbjorn's eyes was equally as fearful. "Look, you don't have to..." he began, only to grow still as her hand met his chest.

"No..." Astrid spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I do. I...don't want to be afraid anymore..." she said, feeling his warmth. She stood, her eyes not moving from his own. A strange mix of comfort and uneasiness crept through her veins, but she chose to ingore her fears, and for once, truly move forward. "Thank you...so much..." she began to weep, pulling herself into him, now feeling his protective arms cautiously embrace her as if she were made of fine glass.

It was at that moment, in the burst of wind and flame, dancing and sparkling in the night and painting their embrace with light and warmth, that Astrid began to trust him. The moths had drawn to his flame, being consumed in the heat of his fire, and her soul began to feel a spark of warmth once more.