At the other end of the camp, J'zargo and Etienne shouted triumphantly when Rafiq finally fell to the mage's lightning bolts, unaware of their friend's fatal wounding. As J'zargo crept forward to ensure the bandit truly was dead, Etienne beamed widely and looked around for the unofficial leader of their trio. Seeing Rhys' motionless body on the ground a few yards away, the thief let out a strangled cry and sprinted to her side, screaming, "J'zargo! Rhys is hurt!"

The color drained from Etienne's face as he rolled his fallen friend over and helplessly surveyed the wound. The entire front of Rhys' linen shirt was stained wine red with blood, and the arrow jutted from her neck grotesquely. He pressed his fingers to her bloodied neck and found no pulse.

"No, no, nononono…" stammered the blond thief. He carefully grasped the shaft of the arrow, and J'zargo, kneeling beside him, hissed, "Carefully!"

The Kahjiit's hands glowed with healing energy, ready to attempt to repair the damage as soon as the arrow was removed. Inside, however, J'zargo's heart and stomach twisted painfully. He knew they were too late. The tiny Breton's lips were blue, and her pretty, youthful face was the ashen grey of death. Rhys the Dragonborn was dead, and no amount of healing magic in the world would be able to bring her back.

After Etienne had very carefully worked the arrow free, J'zargo put his hands over the wound and concentrated on pushing the glowing magic into her body, praying there was yet some spark of life left in her and willing the flesh to knit itself back together.

"Why… Why isn't it working?" choked Etienne when nothing happened. Closing his eyes briefly in sorrow, J'zargo allowed his hands to drop.

"Restoration magic only works on the living," he replied heavily.

"You mean she's…?"

"I'm afraid so," sighed the mage. Etienne shook his head wildly. "No! No, she can't be. Try your spell again! Rhys is too… I mean, she's supposed to… She's the Dragonborn! What about the prophesy?"

He was shouting now, desperate. J'zargo, holding back his own tears, put a furred hand on the other man's shoulder and said gently, "She's dead, Etienne."

"But… what about the prophesy, then? According to all the legends and stories, she's the one who's supposed to face Alduin at the end of time. She can't… die."

Shaking his head, the Kahjiit replied, "I do not know, friend. For this, J'zargo has no answers."

Etienne finally broke. Clutching Rhys' cold hand, he hung his head and began sobbing silently. His wispy, blond hair fell in a curtain, shielding his face as hot tears ran down his dirty cheeks. Wordlessly, J'zargo turned away, giving the older Breton a moment of privacy to mourn. Needing both solitude and something to do, J'zargo wandered into the woods in search of their horses.

Once out of sight, he allowed his tears to run freely, dampening the fur around his eyes. He leaned against a nearby tree for support and drew a shuddering breath. Though he had only known Rhys for a short few months, he had grown quite close to the fiery Breton. Their friendship had sprouted from rivalry and a mutual competitiveness, but it had grown into a strong, sibling-like bond as they had come to respect each other's talents. J'zargo was even willing to admit that he had come to love the little Breton as a surrogate sister, and he knew that Rhys had felt the same. Both were strangers in a strange land, far from home and family, and in their friendship they had drawn strength from each other as kindred outsiders. But now… Now he had no one.

When J'zargo returned to the camp some twenty minutes later with dry eyes and all three mounts, the worst of Etienne's grief seemed to have run its course. Still kneeling beside Rhys, he was gently cleaning the worst of the blood from her face and neck with a dampened square of cloth from their supply bags.

"Didn't seem right, leaving her a mess like that," he muttered, and J'zargo nodded in understanding. He folded the cloth to a clean side, paused, then said, "She looks so small. I guess I never realized how tiny she really was. She always seemed so strong to me."

"She was a great warrior," agreed J'zargo. "And a great friend. The world is a darker place without her."

Arador, Rhys' grey, speckled horse suddenly tugged free of J'zargo's grasp and slowly stepped towards his fallen master. Lowering his dusty head, he nuzzled her coal-black hair and snuffled quietly. His liquid brown eyes seemed mournful.

"Sorry, boy," whispered Etienne, patting the side of his head. Arador slowly backed away, pacing the camp as if lost, never going more that a few yards away from Rhys, and glancing over at her every so often. The two men let him be. They spent a few minutes in unbroken silence, until Etienne finally spoke.

"I feel like I failed her."

"This was not your fault, Etienne," J'zargo assured him firmly. "Nor was it mine, or hers. No one could have seen this coming but the gods themselves."

"She saved my life from the Thalmor," Etienne pressed, his voice heavy with self-hatred. "She rescued me, brought me to safety, then stayed with me until I was well enough to travel. That's why I didn't stay in Riften after everything was said and done. I decided to travel with her so I could try to repay my debt. I owed Rhys my life, and now…" he trailed off miserably. J'zargo didn't know what to say to that, and so the two fell back into silence.

After awhile, J'zargo let out a long, steadying sigh and said somberly, "We should bring her back to Riften. Delvin and the others will want to… Delvin will want to take care of her."

Etienne cringed. "Are you sure he'll be able to? I mean, I'm sure he'll be crushed when he hears the news. Delvin was… very fond of Rhys."

"We still need to go back to Riften. That was more or less her home, after all," answered J'zargo. "We will have to send word to her father in Morrowind as well. The Guild will know how to contact him."

Sighing heavily, Etienne set down his cloth and touched Rhys' cold cheek one last time. Except, however, it wasn't cold. He jerked his hand back in surprise, gasping, and J'zargo quickly asked, "What is it?"

"Her face, i-it's hot," stammered the thief, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek. Her pale cheeks, which before were ashen grey and colorless, were now flushed rosy red, and her skin was hot to the touch, as if she were running a fever.

"What are you talking about?" demanded J'zargo, kneeling to feel for himself and observing the same inexplicable change in temperature.

Then, as the two watched, Rhys slowly began to glow with a pale, yellow-gold light. Her skin suddenly became so hot that J'zargo felt as if it would burn his hand, so he quickly pulled away and scrambled backwards, followed in suit by Etienne. With wide eyes, they watched as the same swirling light that they had on occasion seen rushing into Rhys after defeating a dragon appeared once more, but this time strangely reversed. It flowed out of her body, pouring from her mouth and eyes so brightly that Etienne and J'zargo both had to shield their own eyes. Rhys' back arched upwards as if supported by an invisible hand, and the light began to encircle her.

"What's happening?" asked Etienne fearfully. J'zargo didn't answer, his ears pressed flat to his skull and his fur standing on end as the air around them seemed to come alive.

The light surrounding Rhys seemed to collect, solidifying over the wound on her throat until it was a dense, ball-shaped mass of light. Then, with a sound of rushing wind and strange, whispering, syllables, the light began to flow into the mass, and the glowing orb rapidly grew smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared into nothingness. Rhys' body slowly sank back to the forest floor, and a hush fell over the clearing. The wound on her neck was gone.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Etienne opened his mouth to ask what in the name of Oblivion had just happened, but instead let out a startled shriek as Rhys suddenly bolted upright, gasping for air and clutching her neck.

Doubling over, the formerly deceased Rhys let out several raking coughs, before rolling onto her hands and knees and vomiting blood onto the forest floor. Etienne and J'zargo both scrabbled forward, exclaiming, "Rhys!" in shocked excitement. Rhys, in turn, groaned painfully and flopped onto her back, away from her upheaval, muttering, "Bloody hell…"


Love it so far? Hate it? Please review! Reviews make write faster (just saying).