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KELJARN AND SIARI

Threads Unravelled

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KELJARN

She'd strike at the wedding, if she ever would. Probably during a moment where the bride or groom was unguarded. Because there was no doubt they were the targets. The wedding was important for the peace process between Stormcloaks and the Empire, and disrupting it would serve a lot of political agendas.

But where would she do the deed? The changing rooms, perhaps? It was what he would do if he were an assassin. It was quiet, secluded, and it'd take a long time to find a body, long enough for an assassin to be far away.

His best bet would be to keep his eyes open, because infiltrating the Temple would be far too risky.

The wedding wasn't by invitation, it seemed, everyone was invited and welcome. Good news because that meant he could just walk on in, but bad news because that meant there would be a lot of people there, and the more people, the harder it would be to spot that little slag.

He saw the people filing in through the gates of the Temple of the Divines, and simply joined in the queue. After all, he wasn't a dirty assassin trying to sneak in, he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Letting his eyes float among the crowd, he scanned the tops of the heads, hoping to make something out as he did.

"Wait… I know you!"

The guard he'd just passed stood looking ahead in the crowd.

"You. Stop right there."

He'd seen something. Keljarn tried to follow his gaze to see who it was he was giving the orders to, but no one stopped or looked back.

"I said stop!" The guardsman stomped through the crowd, bumping people out of the way, and disappearing in the throng. Keljarn hoped it was the assassin he'd spotted, but the mass of people around him prevented him from getting any closer.

If it was her, though, he might not get the chance to do her in himself, so did he really hope for it? Maybe not entirely.

"Thieves Guild scum aren't welcome here," he heard the guardsman growl before he saw him coming back, dragging a blonde woman dressed in leathers out with him. He didn't recognize the sharp face right away, but the leathers were unmistakable. After apologizing to the people he'd bumped into, the soldier dumped the thief outside the gates without much ceremony, giving her a kick to the backside for good measure and making sure her face was planted firmly on the cobble-stones. The last he saw of the woman was her getting to her hands and knees, holding her bleeding face.

Risks of the trade.

But no assassin so far. The problem with this one was that she was so tiny and average she could blend in just about anywhere. And she wouldn't be wearing her Brotherhood outfit, that much was certain. Looking for missing fingers or mutes would be no good, so all he could hope for was to spot her somewhere in the crowd. He had one advantage though: he wasn't there to prevent an assassination, just to capture its perpetrator. So he could bide his time and wait for her to strike.

A servant offered him a slice of apple coated in caramel sugar. Wasn't that nice of him. In fact, it was a nice day all around. Beautiful sun, flowers everywhere, pretty bridesmaids smiling. Wreaths were being hung above the balcony, and even the guards had flowers tied around the shafts of their spears.

He spied around, hoping to see the rotten wench, but didn't see her anywhere, even when the stately music began playing and the bride and groom strode to the balcony and joined hands. Nervously, Keljarn looked around at the crowd surrounding him, occasionally stopping to get a better look at one of the young ladies, but not seeing her anywhere.

"My dearest family, friends, and all people gathered here today," the bride addressed the crowd, holding out her hands. "Today's union is more than the mere wedding of two beloved."

Where was she, where the fuck was she?

"It also signifies a union. A union between Skyrim and Cyrodiil."

Keljarn scanned the crowd furiously, then his eye led him to the battlements, above the bride and groom.

Barely visible above the battlements was a bridesmaid with a brown fringe and ponytail. She held a bow, with the arrow nocked, the three remaining fingers of her left hand wrapped around the wood.

"A union between Stormcloak and – "

"Assassin!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, pointing up at the battlements. The girl let fly regardless, her arrow zipping through the air and striking the bride in the chest. The guards were slow to react, but they did eventually, sending an uncoordinated couple of arrows her way, but she ducked out of their paths, the projectiles striking the stones behind her.

The crowd surged around him, and panicked people began to scream and crowd for the exit.

She was gone, concealed behind the battlements. A few metres further, she popped up again, and before the guards could draw a bead on her, she set her back against one of the gargoyle statues and… did something to it, diving back into cover before the arrows found her, the guards unable to aim properly with the people pushing and crowding around them.

Meanwhile, guards were rushing to the staircases set in the walls surrounding the Temple courtyard, but they'd never make it. Instead of trying to rush upstairs with them, Keljarn simply watched as he kept his footing between the surging crowd, making sure he knew where she went.

She came up again, before the guards could nock another arrow and release, and with her feet, pushed against the gargoyle statue again.

Keljarn's mouth fell open as the statue, with a loud cracking sound, broke free from its base and toppled, falling down to the balcony below. He was too late to avert his gaze when the massive granite statue struck the edifice, crushing the bride and groom on it, blood, guts and bone exploding between the statue and the balcony, before the whole thing crashed down, the couple's splattered bodies a rain of red between the falling stone. The few unfortunates who had lingered near the balcony were beaten down by rubble and falling body parts.

"I have you now," the soldier right next to Keljarn muttered, his arrow aimed squarely at the silky white bridesmaid's dress the assassin wore. But before he could release, a billowing cloud of smoke appeared on the battlement, obscuring all vision of the assassin. Nine damnit!

The soldier's arrow penetrated the smoke, but with all the panicked screaming from the crowd, Keljarn couldn't hear if it had hit its target.

The soldiers appeared on the battlement now, but as they did, Keljarn could just barely make out a shape leaping off the battlements on the far side, away from the Temple. That had been her, he was certain of it.

He had to get to the other side of the Temple, and that would mean going around. And that meant getting out through the gates. Another smoke bomb exploded on the gallery, making sure the guards had no chance to hit their marks.

He pushed, shoved and even kicked himself through the crowd, but even with his strength and mass, he had an incredibly tough time getting through, his muscles hurting from the exertion. A young bridesmaid had fallen and was being trampled, and Keljarn didn't even realize he'd stepped on her face until it was too late, her jaw breaking with a muffled pop under his boot. He reached for her dress, no longer white but red with blood and brown with dirt, but the crowd washed him away before he could pull the girl to her feet, his hands snatching only air as the throng carried him out and absorbed the bridesmaid, leaving her to die with all her bones broken beneath countless feet, like so many others.

Anyone who went down in a throng as panicked as this one wasn't getting back up. Keljarn couldn't concentrate on moving as quickly as possible anymore, and with the crowd's waves gaining in strength as all the people tried to push through the gates, he had to devote all his strength to simply staying on his feet, as elbows and knees struck him from all sides. A middle-aged woman lost her balance and went down, but this time Keljarn managed to snatch her wrist and pull her back up before the mass of people made him lose his grip, the woman never getting to see who had saved her. One guardsman tried to wade in and rescue a fallen boy, but the tide of people simply carried him back out through the gate. A few moments later, Keljarn, too, was deposited outside as the force that held the crowd together failed without the walls around it, and people lost their footing, scampering away on their hands and feet to make sure they weren't trampled by the masses still behind them.

More dead people because of the little bitch.

He had no time to mourn, however, he had to stay on her trail. If he lost her this time, there would be no little nudge from Hircine. He had a feeling his guardian had interfered more than he should have already. He got to his feet, ignoring his tired and aching muscles, and ran for the back of the Temple. The damn thing was built against the city walls, so that meant actually exiting the city first. The guard hadn't gotten wise to her escape yet, communication impossible between the soldiers in the courtyard and those in the city.

He ran to the nearest gates, against the few citizens who hadn't attended the wedding but now came to investigate the bedlam. "Hey, buddy, what's going on over there?" one of the gate guards asked him as he ran past, and he only had time to say, "Wedding got bloody," before dashing through the gates and running along the walls, to the back of the temple.

He knew he shouldn't hope to find her with both her legs broken from the jump, alone and defenceless, but he did anyway.

His heart sank to see she was gone. Smoke still lingered here and there, narrow wisps curling through the grass, but the bitch herself was no longer there, and he knew he was in the right place: the ground here was strewn with leaves and broken branches, and on the place she'd landed, the earth was gouged and disrupted.

But a smell still lingered, not of the little rat herself, but something else. Someone else. The smell of scales and swamp water. An Argonian had been here too, and the tracks in the earth told him that was indeed the case, narrow boot prints first opposite the prints of the slippers she'd worn, and then side by side. They'd left together. It would simply be a case of following those. It was the only lead he had.

He'd have to run some more to catch up to them, and he'd have to get in visual range before their path led them to a surface where their tracks would no longer be visible, but he couldn't move too quickly and attract attention either.

Argonians had a keen sense of smell, like he did, but he had the disadvantage of not being able to stay downwind, instead being resigned to follow from a considerable distance, constantly being aware to keep the balance between not losing them and not being spotted. Luckily, he got them in sight just before they got to the road, where their tracks would have been irrevocably mixed with countless others. A girl with a ponytail and a fringe, dressed in a dirty and torn bridesmaid's dress and an Argonian wearing the leathers he'd come to expect from these filthy backstabbers. They were clever, following the road for a short distance before veering off it and into the forest, but Keljarn figured that was more due to their subconscious reliance on training rather than their suspicions of being followed, since they looked unaware of anyone tailing them. So much the worse for them.

He had half a mind to shift then and there and simply rush them, taking the little bitch in his maw and shaking her back and forth until her frail little body ripped in half, but he knew that if he revealed himself too early or missed his opportunity, he'd ruin it. No, he'd follow them from a distance, as far as possible, sticking to tracks when he could and keeping them in visual range when he had to, until they led him to their wretched hiding place.

Somewhere during the tailing, the little rat had changed into her Brotherhood leather again, foolishly leaving her torn dress poorly hidden under a stone. Keljarn didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and with his knife, cut a sleeve off the dress, making sure he had some of the fabric of the chest and back as well. Pressing it against his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled, imprinting the sour smell of her sweat deeply into his memory.

On he followed, sometimes closely, sometimes from afar, being led south to Falkreath… where he lost them.

He didn't know what had happened, but he must have dozed off, squinting at them with the evening sun in his eyes, and they'd gotten a lead on him. It had taken him over an hour to find their tracks again, and by then they'd be long gone. Even worse, they'd crossed a river and, probably as their training had taught them, followed it for a distance before continuing south into the forest.

After another hour of trying to recapture their tracks, he realized it was pointless. Fuck, he thought, whipping his fists against his thighs in frustration. He was losing time, but had no way to pick up the trail.

It turned morning, with Keljarn just proceeding south, trying against better judgment to simply follow his gut and hope he'd get lucky. The bluffs that marked the southern edge of Skyrim were already visible on the horizon, and he knew that if he reached those without finding anything, he could definitively let go of the hope of finding anything anymore.

He sat down, pulling two wild carrots from the ground, wiping them on the grass and listening to them crunch between his teeth, his eyes closed in despair, dreading the moment he had to admit to himself that he would never be able to avenge his friends.

The sound of hooves made him open his eyes, and there, lit by the morning sun, her form glorious in its hideousness, came a girl storming by beyond the treeline, dressed in dark leathers, her brown ponytail bobbing as the jet-black horse that carried her, galloped off down the road. He watched from behind a tree as she briefly paused at the road sign, then kicked the horse in the flanks, sending it speeding down the road.

MARKARTH, the road sign read. That was where she was headed. He muttered a thanks to Hircine and set off, ignoring the hunger, the fatigue, the hurting muscles. He'd have to move fast if he wanted to catch up to her in time.

Stealing a horse had helped, but even then, even with the animal galloping as hard as it could, Keljarn didn't catch up to her. He was certain he was going the right way, though, the tracks in the ground clear as day: the hooves unshod and making deep pits in the earth, spaced farther apart than those of a normal horse. He didn't know what kind of Daedra-steed this was, but no one bred horses like these without some supernatural assistance.

The horse all but collapsed under him just outside of Markarth, and Keljarn thanked it by resisting the desire for fresh, bloody horse meat and just letting it recover where he'd left it. Good chance it'd actually find the way back on its own.

It was Ferdas morning when he arrived, and he wasted no time, despite his gnawing lack of sleep, to start searching. The only brief pause he permitted himself was to commit the minor crime of petty larceny by stealing a slab of dried meat from the stall of a merchant who wasn't paying attention to his wares.

Gnawing the meat, he roamed the city, looking for a brown fringe and ponytail. Given her last assassination, Keljarn suspected she was here to assassinate an equally high-profile target, so he decided to start with the Jarl.

"Hold it," the guard at the gate to Understone Keep said curtly. "No one in or out."

He blinked. "What's going on, soldier?"

"There's been a murder."

Damn it, he was too late! "Wh… who?"

"One of us, guardswoman. Stabbed through the head." The soldier was more shaken than he let on. "Just found her, but she'd been dead for a few hours. Her… name was Lanaris."

A guardswoman? That couldn't have been the little bitch's target. No, this was something else. Either the guard had gotten in the way, or… "Did she… was your fellow guardswoman still wearing her uniform when you… found her?"

Keljarn could all but hear the guard's eyes narrow behind the visor of his helmet. "No. Why?"

Damn, she was going after the Jarl! "Soldier, the person who murdered her is using her uniform as a disguise."

"You think we didn't realize that?" the guardsman snapped. "That's why all female guards have been pulled from duty and gathered for inspection right now. Now be on your way."

"You don't understand, I know the murderer. She's probably still in there! The Jarl is in danger, you have to – "

Surprised screams came from the other side of the town, from the direction of the Temple of Dibella, along with the noise of wood cracking and breaking. Then, right after, the screams became panicked, those of onlookers joining in.

He knew it was her. She'd struck again.

Abruptly turning from the guard, he ran toward the source of the noise, and saw one of the wooden bridges, hanging lopsided into the water, three bodies lying a few metres lower, in the shallow brook at the end of the waterfall. Only one still moved, the others lay still. They were dressed in decorated Imperial armour, as was the fourth man, who clambered down the rocks to help his fellows. Red ran into the water as it passed the bodies.

These had been dignitaries, important Imperial personnel. These had been her targets, not the damn Jarl!

The citizens who'd come to investigate the commotion all converged on the wounded and dead Imperial soldiers in the water, with no one observing the bridge and how it had so mysteriously collapsed. Keljarn wasn't interested in the Imperials, he was much more interested in the orchestrator of this sudden accident. He stood and waited, partially concealed, for the assassin to appear. It was time to show the hunter she was now the one being hunted.

Even though he already knew he'd see her, his heart did briefly stop when a small, lithe shape appeared from under the bridge and hoisted herself up, casting a brief glance downwards, before leaving the scene of the murder. Keljarn watched her go, and followed until she seemed satisfied she was in the clear, arching her back with her hands in her sides.

And then, as if she knew he was there, her head turned immediately into his direction. She'd made him.

"I knew you had something to do with that bridge mysteriously collapsing," he said as he revealed himself, walking up to her. He'd dealt with her before, and she was no threat unless he offered her his back to stab.

The girl whirled around, her jaw going slack and her face turning pale in fright. Good. Let her know what's about to happen to her.

The moment had finally come. "Your killing ends here."

The girl briefly shot a glance in all directions. Good, go ahead and run. There was no way she'd be able to evade him, and the longer he gave chase, the more terrified she'd be. She would die tired and afraid.

She gave him what he wanted to, and started running, shooting off down the street to the right. Keljarn gave chase, sprinting after her.

She ran as fast as she could, but Keljarn kept up with her, the both of them dashing down the street and for the city gates. A guard shouted at them to stop, but they ignored him, concentrated solely on the chase, Keljarn's eyes fixed on the bobbing brown ponytail. The girl ran fast, but unless she still had some hidden reserves she could draw on, Keljarn would catch her sooner or later.

Clearing the city gates, the little bitch ran on, out into the plains, then briefly stopped, whipping her head to either side, making a whistle, and after a brief wait, took off again, running cross-country, through the tall grass and mountain flowers, Keljarn barrelling after her, his breath burning in his throat. Once they were well clear of the city, he'd shift and, with his lupine strength, catch her and tear her limb from limb. She'd whistled for something, and he bet it was her Daedra-horse, but the creature had never showed.

The city was now far enough behind them, and she was gaining on him, but only just a little. He'd make up for it easily after shifting. Calling for the favour of Hircine, he prepared himself for the agony of changing shapes, but nothing happened.

What in Oblivion was going on? Had he displeased his benefactor? No, that couldn't have been it, he'd hunted her and would catch her certainly enough. As he ran, his muscles burning, he realized the bitch hadn't jumped on her unholy mount or used any of her armour's powers to evade him. He knew for a fact that she could jump considerable distances with it, but not now.

Perhaps she couldn't either. For the same reason her ghost horse hadn't appeared. Whatever the case, it wasn't worth devoting energy to finding out why. He'd have to catch her the old-fashioned way, and catch her he would.

The girl ran about a hundred metres ahead of him, and he pushed himself to run even faster, ignoring the burning muscles and the searing stitch in his side. They'd been running at top speed for a few minutes now, both of them, and he knew she felt the fatigue as well, both of them no longer able to run as fast as they had been in the beginning. She was his, he would run until he fell over dead, but he would seize her and feel his axe chop into her skull, watch her twitch and spasm, held up by the blade embedded in her brain, the life slowly draining from her eyes.

The bitch crested a hill, and then she was suddenly gone. When he made it to the top, he saw nothing but plains, and a small village in the distance. The girl was gone. What in Oblivion…?

Keljarn stopped, and whipped his head around, looking for any hiding places she might have scurried into. And there it was, a small hole in the ground, overgrown with weeds, but the plants were broken and disturbed.

Without thinking, Keljarn lowered himself into the hole and continued the pursuit.

SIARI

Everything burned, and tears of fear and despair were streaking down her face. This crazy bastard wasn't letting up. She didn't know how long she could still run, but she had to, she had to or this man would catch her and do terrible things to her. She ran up the hill, feeling her breath come in wheezing gasps and her muscles cramping. She'd gained on him for a bit, but that didn't matter if she collapsed here, and she felt like she would, any second now.

She blindly ran, going anywhere she could, up a hill, hoping to magically bump into a guard patrol there. But there was only more grass, more clouds, and a small village in the distance.

And there it was, just to her side, something that just might save her. She skidded to a halt, changed direction, and threw herself feet-first into the goblin cave she almost hadn't seen.

She slid down for a metre or so, and landed on the bottom, in a low cave filled with the stink of goblin excrement. Bent over, she kept moving as fast as her tortured body would allow, making her way through the cave and trying not to hit her head in the gloom.

The cave widened into a room where the goblins made their homes. The disgusting creatures slept during the day, so if she stayed quiet, she'd get past them, no problem. It was only four tents and a totem in the middle. On the far side of the room was a ledge about as high as she was, and that probably led to the outside. It had to.

Quietly, she crept between the tents, tiptoeing past the totem. Just as she thought she was in the clear, she heard, far off, the sound of a man sliding down the hole, his feet slapping down on the cave floor. Then she heard the scrapes of his boots as he, too, proceeded down the cave.

No, no, no!

Despair flared up inside her again, but she still had the coherence to stop and think. Her eyes fell on the totem. The totem, that was it. The goblins might just save her life.

She set her hands against the totem, put her weight against it, and pushed, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. A few lunges and the totem rocked, and with one more push, the thing toppled, its base of rotted wood cracking and snapping as it went. It hit the ground with a hard bonk as Siari pulled herself up to the ledge, risking a quick look back to see the goblins emerge, sleep-drunk, from their tents, snarling and snapping when they saw their fallen totem… just in time for the crazy Nord to emerge into their den.

No time to waste. She didn't wait for the outcome of the battle that was about to take place, and ran.

KELJARN

She probably thought she'd outwitted him by jumping down into the goblin cave, but she'd be sorely disappointed. Keljarn went through the cave as quickly as he could, which wasn't easy when the ceiling was half his height.

He heard the sound of wood breaking and then a loud bang as something heavy came down, and emerged into a wider cave. There she was, standing on a ledge, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and the rest of her face pale with fear.

But below her were four goblin tents and a toppled totem, with ten or so of the disgusting creatures emerging from their tents, holding their rusty, jagged shortswords. When he looked up again, the bitch was gone and the goblins advanced on him with murder in their eyes, several females hanging back and clutching their spawn.

Sneaky little whore.

He raised his axe, furious about the delay.

The goblins came at him, but even between the ten of them, they were no match for him. His axe made deadly circles in the air, chopping through the goblins' bodies, bisecting them or disembowelling the stinking critters, every swing reducing several of them to blood and guts. Two more swings and the females and their putrid young lay dead too, the little bitch condemning them all to death simply to serve as an obstacle while she made her escape.

It hadn't delayed him for long. Leaving the massacred goblins behind, he too climbed up the ledge and continued his pursuit. He couldn't see her, but even without his wolf form, his senses picked up on her easily enough. He smelled the sourness of her sweat, the tanned leather, the blood on her skin, drawn by the thorns she'd climbed through, the acrid salve on the stump of her finger, the salt of her tears of despair, and underneath all that even the rank, nauseating stink of her gash.

She'd made some headway, and the cave turned out to be a complex system of splits, ledges and drops, but the smells didn't lie, and he knew exactly which path to take.

SIARI

The shrieks and cries of the goblins faded as she ran, hoisting herself up or lowering herself off the plateaus and heights, chafing her fingers and ignoring the throbbing in her left hand. He had very little chance to stay on her, because she'd had to choose between two or three paths at times, and it would be an extreme coincidence if he'd chosen the same one every time.

She permitted herself to stop for a breather, doubled over with her hands in her sides, the air burning in her throat and her lungs crying in pain. Her knees felt like they'd just buckle out underneath her.

She sharply inhaled when she heard the sounds of footfalls, coming in the distance. It was amplified by the acoustics of the cave, so they were probably still far away, but he was still following! Letting out a short, pained groan of despair, she took off again, forcing her tortured body to endure more agony, but it had no choice. It had to suffer if it wanted to live.

There was no way to hear if the footfalls were coming closer over the sound of her own boots slapping on the stones, but she couldn't take the chance. Grunting in pain and exertion, she climbed the wall in front of her, finding enough foot- and handholds, thankfully, and made it to the next section of the cave, and from there, she could see daylight.

Enduring the slope, she dragged herself through the last of the tunnel and emerged in the daylight, back on the plains she'd escaped by throwing herself in the hole. There was a village, not too far, and she ran for it, as fast as her screaming bones would allow. She risked a brief glance behind her and saw the Nord emerge from the cave, a hundred metres behind her. How was this still possible?

She made for the village, stumbling a few times due to her failing muscles, her breath wheezing in her throat, and just as she came close to the houses, a massive shadow passed over her, and her mouth fell open as she saw the huge form of a flying beast pass overhead, making a sharp turn in the air and then descending on the village. A dragon? A fucking dragon?!

But then she realized she had no choice. If she kept running, she was dead. This beast would either mean her end or save her life.

KELJARN

How long could this little bitch run? He'd followed her all the way through the caves, emerged back on the plains, and now she was still going, making for a village some ways off. She stumbled here and there, and she clearly wasn't going to last much longer, but by the Nine, she was really determined to run until she dropped dead. Which was actually fine by him. Not ideal, but acceptable. Most important thing was that she'd knew exactly why she was going to die.

He was buffeted by a powerful wind, seeming to come from above him. When he looked up, he realized why. This little shitsplat town was about to be attacked by a dragon! The damn beasts had been showing up pretty regularly lately, so the rumour went, but this was the first time he actually saw one. Damn, the thing was probably about twenty metres long from head to tail.

And the bitch ran straight for its target. Probably hoping to lose him in the chaos. Already he saw the people from the village run to their houses, to get their weapons or simply to hide. As if anyone could hide from a giant, flying, fire-breathing monster.

He pushed himself on, summoning up the last strength he had in him, hoping to catch up to her before she made it to the houses, where she could hide and try to shake him. She was running through a small grove now, and he was hot on her heels. Growling in pain and exertion, he ran so fast he thought his legs would come off, but he'd get her, he was going to get her! Only a few metres now, he could already hear her desperate breathing. Almost, almost!

He heard himself let out a cry of pain when another shape crashed into him, so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him crashing to the ground. He made a clumsy tumble and scrambled to his feet again, as did the person who'd run into him.

It was a blonde woman dressed in bone armour. "Get out of the way, you jackass!" she shouted at him before taking off, running straight for the dragon, who was passing over the village, coming about for his attack.

"Fuck!" he snarled, before he too resumed his sprint, heading after the little bitch who'd now almost made it to the first buildings. Out of the house she was running for, came a man and a woman, their armour hastily thrown on and their quivers held in their hands.

They never stood a chance. The dragon let a searing cone of fire stream forth from its maw, setting the woman ablaze instantly, turning her into a shrieking, flailing pillar of flame while the male, half on fire, got snatched up in the beast's mouth. Keljarn winced when he could hear bones break as the dragon's teeth closed on each other.

The dragon gained altitude again, and passed overhead to attack the village at another angle.

Keljarn's eyes weren't on the dragon for long. All he cared about was catching the murderous rat. He watched her stumble again, going to the ground, before throwing herself through the door of the house the late couple had lived in, seeking refuge in there even as the flames from the dragon's breath began to eat away at it, the ridge and one of the hips of the roof burning, the flames spreading at a steady pace.

He reached the house now, too, and to be honest with himself, he wasn't sad that the running was at an end. If there wasn't a back door to this house, the rat had just walked into the trap on its own.

He shouldered the door open, just in time to see the sneaky bitch run into a side room, smacking the door closed and turning the key. This one looked too heavy to kick in. Taking out his axe, he stomped towards the door, putting his ear against it. What he heard made him grin. She was trying to get out through the window, but the muntins were probably too narrow for her to fit through, and now she was banging something heavy into them. The sound was clearly metal on metal, and that meant she'd never get through in time.

Taking his axe in both hands, he swung it in a high arc and made it come down on the wood of the door, the metal biting into it with a loud crash. He could hear her yelp in fearful surprise when the axe struck, and it only gave him strength. Her time was up.

The heat inside the house was rising, the fire slowly but steadily devouring the place. He swung again, and this time his axe went through, taking a piece of wood out with it, splinters flying. Another swing, and even more of the wood went.

He could barely fit his face through, but he still couldn't resist the temptation. Seeing her back against the counter, her face terrified. He looked through, his cheeks against the splintered wood, grinning with glee, and growled, "Here's – "

blang!

He managed to pull his head away in time to avoid the thrown frying pan banging against the door where his face had been only instants ago. God damn bitch.

He stuck his hand through the opening he'd made, but immediately when he did so, a sharp pain blasted up from his wrist, accompanied by the shock the thrown kitchen knife made when it hit the wood.

"Argh! Fuck!" he snarled, pulling his hand back, ignoring the blood running from the shallow cut in his wrist. He'd just have to batter the whole door down, then. He'd have to hurry. The house was becoming dangerously hot. It was burning up fast.

He swung again, taking care to stay out of the trajectory of any thrown kitchen implements, and his axe widened the hole in the door.

He was so close. Just a few more swings and he'd be able to kick what was left of the door down. A few kitchen knives wouldn't be enough to stop him.

His axe went up again, ready to further destroy the only thing which stood between him and her. Soon, she'd be dead. He savoured the anticipation even as sweat ran down his back from the heat. Her corpse would char in the flames that were devouring this house.

Just a few more swings. Come to me, bitch.

But what he heard made him freeze.

They weren't alone in this house. The deceased occupants hadn't been the only ones, and now the last of them let itself be heard.

The baby upstairs wailed, all alone in its crib, unprotected as the fire ate its way towards it.

No, no, no!

They both stood still, he could see her through the hole in the door, backed against the counter, her terrified face wondering what he'd do now.

The baby wailed again.

Shit, shit, shit! Let her go, and lose her forever but save the child? Or make a stone out of his heart and leave the child, but get revenge and justice for Kodlak, Ria and Njada, and all the other people who were dead because of her?

The seconds felt like minutes, and the girl just stood watching, not moving, her eyes telling him she knew he had her fate in his hands.

He had to choose. Had to choose now. If he waited too long, they would all burn here.

Justice or innocence? Avenge the dead or save the living? What to do, what to do? He heard himself let out a stifled scream of indecision. Why this? Why now?

Snarling "Fuck!" in pure frustration and fury, he banged his fist against the door jamb and ran upstairs, into the smoke and flames.

SIARI

Thank Sithis, he was going for it! She heard him roar in frustration, heard his fist hit the wall, and then boots ran upstairs. Maybe it was a trick to make her come out, but she'd have to risk it, and she'd have to risk it now. Turning the key in the lock, she dashed for the front door, crashing through it and almost collapsing outside the house, whistling for Shadowmere, the steed, as it always was, suddenly just there.

Her eyes fell on the fallen bow previously owned by the dead guards. The quiver lay beside it, a few arrows spilled onto the dirt.

Quickly looking around, she saw the dragon lying on its back, a blonde-haired warrior standing on top of its belly, her sword dripping black with blood.

She took the bow, picked up an arrow and pulled the bowstring taut, waiting for him to come out. If she didn't kill him now, he'd never stop coming after her.

When he came out, she'd shoot him in the heart. Watch him fall to his knees, and then topple over dead. Or perhaps he was already burning alive in there.

Something made her give pause, a question she'd never thought she'd ask herself: did this man deserve what she was about to give to him? He'd given up on chasing her and was risking his life to save a child, knowing he'd never find her again. Did she really want to murder him in cold blood? And why was she even asking herself this question? A mess of conflicting emotions began to churn inside her. She had to get rid of him. It was the practical thing to do. It was the satisfying thing to do. Nothing would change for her if she killed him, apart from the satisfaction of repaying him for the things he'd done to her. So why was she hesitating? Why was she asking the most forbidden question of all, asking herself if he deserved it? She was a Dark Brotherhood member. And Dark Brotherhood members were never so weak as to ask themselves if their target 'deserved it'.

He had to die, it was clear and simple. Perhaps he'd survive the inferno, and perhaps he'd give up on chasing her, but even if he didn't, he'd never find her again. But he'd cut off her finger, made her piss herself in front of everyone. He'd tried to murder her several times. So he had to die. It would be easy. Just motion for him to put the child down, and shoot the arrow in his heart.

But then why was it so hard? Why did she doubt? Why did 'deserve' suddenly have something to do with it?

She couldn't stop herself from finally asking herself the question, and she couldn't stop herself from actually answering it.

Briefly closing her eyes, she laid the bow on the ground and leapt onto Shadowmere, taking them out of each other's lives forever.