I'm back! No, the exams are not over, and they won't be for a while, but I'm on top of my revision (I hope) and I've got time to get back into my writing schedule again. Sorry for the long wait - but here at last is the chapter!

CHAPTER SIX – BLOOD PRICE

It took only about five minutes for Sissel to start feeling guilty about what she'd said. It took ten minutes for her decide that she needed to apologise. It took fifteen minutes for her to realise she didn't know how.

So she said nothing, and the longer she waited, the harder it became.

No one said anything about it. It was as if the period of time from the dragon's first roar to Sissel's slamming the door to her room had never happened. But it was still there, always lurking in a corner. Jouane would have described it as the mammoth in the room. Sissel did not apologise. Ozan did not offer any explanations. Neither did he thank her for saving his life, which Sissel was more put out about, perhaps, than anything else, though she never mentioned it.

Something had changed. The atmosphere was different. More uneasy.

It wouldn't be that way, Sissel told herself again and again, if he would just explain things to her. But the days went by, and he didn't explain, and he still didn't. Which led to Sissel making a decision: if he wasn't going to tell her these things, then she'd just find them out herself.

She wrote down her plan for how to find out only two days after the white dragon incident. But it was two months before she had a chance to put it into action. After all, it depended on a lot of things. It depended on there being a day when Ozan and Jenassa took her up to the door of Erandur's temple and saw her inside, but when Erandur did not hear her come in. But that day came eventually, a day when, after the door closed after her, there was no hurrying of feet up the steps to meet her. She breathed in deeply, waited a few minutes, then quietly pushed the door open again.

Outside, she found that she'd been given another stroke of luck: it was snowing. Not so heavily that she wouldn't be able to see where she was going, but the flakes were coming down thick enough that they would cover the hoofprints that had been left in the snow within an hour. If Erandur or Alesan happened to leave the temple – which they were unlikely to do so early in the morning – they would not know that her family had even been there. She didn't come to the temple every day; they'd just assume that this was one of those days when she stayed at home with Ozan and Jenassa.

It was somewhat thrilling, climbing up onto Cyrus's back and urging him away from the temple and back down the hill towards Dawnstar. It was probably the first time in her life when no one had known where she was or what she was doing. In Rorikstead, she was always guaranteed to be somewhere within the boundaries of the village. Constance had always kept tabs on the children at the Honourhall. After she'd been adopted, she'd always either been under the eye of either Ozan and Jenassa or Erandur. But now, Erandur thought she was with her foster parents, and they thought she was with Erandur. She'd vanished from the awareness of the adults who looked after her, and it was oddly exhilarating.

Also rather frightening. But she gritted her teeth and spurred Cyrus off into the snow. She wasn't all that far away from her twelfth birthday. She could use magic. She'd helped kill a dragon. She was a strong Nord girl and she was not going to be afraid. She was going to ride after Ozan and Jenassa and see where they went. It wouldn't be easy, she knew that. She'd have to stay far enough behind them that they wouldn't hear Cyrus's hooves. But as long as she kept just out of sight, she reckoned, it would be OK. They wouldn't see her, and she could follow their hoofprints.

Their trail led back through Dawnstar. Sissel pulled up her hood and rode quickly, so that it was less likely that any of the townspeople would recognise her. She doubted they'd care if they did recognise her, but still, when you were doing something that was very definitely against the rules… you didn't want too many people to know about it.

She rode fast enough that she was just able to catch sight of them turning to the north. She reigned Cyrus to a halt and waited until she couldn't see them any more before hurrying off again in the direction they'd taken. The hoofprints from Shadowmere and Enamor led on for about ten or so minutes more – and then Sissel drew Cyrus to stop abruptly when she spotted both horses not far away. Both were riderless, and Enamor was tethered loosely to a nearby tree. Shadowmere was left free, as always, and she was nosing at the snow, probably trying to get at any grass underneath. She lifted her head as Sissel approached and let out a sharp whinny. Almost an angry one.

Cyrus was a fairly lazy animal when he wasn't being actively spurred into movement, so Sissel felt safe dismounting and leaving him to browse on a bush as she approached the other horses. Shadowmere neighed again and trotted forwards, planting herself in Sissel's path. Frowning, Sissel took a few steps back and glanced from side to side. She could just about make out the imprints of her adopted parents' boots in the snow. Their trail led down a slope, to where a wall of rock formed a small cliff – though it wasn't easy to follow, since Shadowmere kept trying to grab her clothes in her teeth and pull her away. The black mare always seemed to stop short of actually hurting Sissel, though, so after a few minutes' dodging, she reached the end of the trail. And she stood looking in bewilderment at where it ended.

A door. A small door, with a clump of nightshade flowers near its base. A door with a frankly rather gruesome design sculpted into its surface – a skeleton, and a skull with a dark red handprint over its forehead.

Sissel swallowed. It was obvious that Ozan and Jenassa had gone inside here – and she somehow didn't think that any place that decorated its door with skulls couldn't be particularly friendly. Why would they go inside such a place? She stretched out a hand, and very slowly extended it so that her fingers brushed against the stone. And instantly leaped back as a voice – a voice, a low, echoing voice – emanated from behind it. No. From the actual door.

'What is life's greatest illusion?'

Sissel stared. 'What?'

There was a short silence.

'You are not worthy.'

Sissel kept staring.

'Um. OK then.'

The door made no reply, so Sissel tentatively placed her hand on the surface again.

'What is life's greatest illusion?'

This time, Sissel tried to put her mind to the question. It sounded like some kind of riddle, though in her experience riddles had more clues in them. How were you supposed to guess the answer to such a short riddle?

Or maybe that was the point. Maybe it was hard on purpose. Maybe the idea was that it was the kind of answer you'd never be able to guess. Maybe you had to already know the answer to the question to get inside.

She'd guess anyway, she decided. 'Um. Happiness? Or death? Or –'

'You are not worthy.'

Sissel shrugged. 'Fine. Sorry.'

She retreated back to where she'd left Cyrus. There was obviously no point trying to get inside, so she'd wait. Ozan and Jenassa had to come out eventually. Unless they stayed in there all day, in which case she'd be pretty cold and tired by the time they showed up. And then there was the problem that if they did stay inside all day, when they came out, they'd go to collect her at the temple. Where she would emphatically not be.

She'd messed up. She had to admit it. She'd assumed they'd be going somewhere… well, where she could watch them and see what they did. But now she was either going to have to risk waiting, or she would have to go straight back to the temple and give up on trying to find the answers.

Sighing, she reached up to stroke Cyrus's nose. 'What do you think, boy?'

The horse whickered faintly and snatched another mouthful of leaves from the bush.

'It's all right for you, isn't it? All you need to worry about is having food and a warm stable.' Sissel shook her head. 'Do horses really care about family? I expect you were taken away from yours when you were still a foal. No need for you to worry about them keeping secrets from you. If horses even understand secrets.'

There was a conveniently-placed rock not far away, so Sissel pulled her sleeves up over her hands, brushed the snow off its surface, and sat down to think. The best course of action, perhaps, was to wait for as long as she could bear waiting before she got too cold or bored, then to head back to the temple. And if Ozan and Jenassa turned up before that time… well, she'd follow them and see what happened. Which meant getting out of sight for now, in case they emerged from behind that peculiar skull-door any time soon.

Sissel grabbed Cyrus's bridle and – with some difficulty, since he'd grown rather attached to that bush – dragged him farther off, until they were out of sight of the entrance, in amongst a clump of trees. The black shape that was Shadowmere was somewhat visible through the dark trunks, but no one would spot Cyrus – or herself, for that matter – unless actually looking. Sissel found herself another rock and, seating herself upon it, prepared herself for the wait.

So she was surprised when said wait only lasted about thirty seconds. Shadowmere let out a whinny, and a moment later, figures became visible up ahead. It wasn't hard to recognise the outlines of her foster parents, especially since Ozan was probably the only man in the world who wore a hood up on a completely rain-free, snow-free day.

Sissel's breath caught in her throat when Shadowmere tossed her head in Sissel's direction and made as if to trot over to her, but Ozan caught her bridle, muttered something, and pulled himself up onto her back before she could move. Sissel let out the breath. Shadowmere would have shown Ozan that he was being spied on, that much was obvious.

'She's a lot smarter than you, Cyrus,' she whispered.

Cyrus blinked blankly up at her, and grabbed another mouthful of pine needles.

She left it about thirty seconds before clambering up onto his back – with considerably less grace than Ozan always had when he did this with Shadowmere – and urging him in the direction Ozan and Jenassa had taken. Their path was clear enough to follow, even though they were out of both sight and earshot – two horses left plenty of evidence in the snow. Though Cyrus was considerably slower than Shadowmere and Enamor, and Sissel was still a little nervous about cantering for too long, she was fairly certain that she could follow them to wherever they were going.

Maybe the place behind the door is the place their guild thing lives, she thought. And now they've been given a job to do and they're going to do it. Perhaps the whole reason they lived in the Pale was so they could ride here every morning. Just so long as whatever they were going to do wasn't too far away.

They were heading straight south now; focusing hard, Sissel conjured up a mental image of the maps of Skyrim she'd studied with Erandur. If they continued on this path, they'd cross the Pale, just as they did every morning. In fact, they seemed to be heading for the same route they always took to go to and from the town. That was a comfort – if she was out in the wilderness without anyone knowing she was there, it was nice to be in a place she more-or-less knew. But what if they kept going, past the borders of the Pale and into unfamiliar territory? How far might they be planning to ride? Did she even have the energy to follow them that far? For an activity that appeared to be just sitting on an animal's back, riding was more than a little exhausting.

It wasn't long before the inevitable started to happen; Cyrus began to flag. His canter slowed, often dropping back into a trot, his sides heaving. Sissel gritted her teeth – she should have realised that over a long stretch, her plump pony would never be able to keep up with a creature like Shadowmere. The worst part was that now they were on the road, the tracks were harder to follow. She might miss them if they left the path at any point. And if they kept going south, towards the Whiterun tundra, then… well, she'd never be able to track them over grass.

This was a really bad idea, she told herself, biting her lip.

She tugged at Cyrus's reins until he stopped. She had to admit defeat – she hadn't thought this plan through. Not enough. Wherever Ozan and Jenassa were going, it wasn't somewhere she and Cyrus were going to be able to follow. She'd spent hours out in the cold for nothing. All she had was more questions.

Sissel slammed a hand down on the pommel of her saddle. It was hard not to be angry. The anger was directed at her foster parents, a little, but mostly she was angry with herself. How could it not have occurred to her that Cyrus wouldn't be able to keep up?

She'd have to go back. In a way, it was fortunate that Cyrus's energy had run out here – she could still find the way back to Dawnstar, and make an excuse to Erandur. She could think of a plausible reason for her lateness on the way. With any luck, Ozan and Jenassa would never know about her failed attempt to spy on them. And she would just have to live with her questions unanswered.

Unless…

Sissel pursed her lips together. Maybe there was an alternative to going back to the temple. Maybe she could try to find her answers by another strategy. She wasn't far from the Whiterun border – which meant she wasn't far away from Heljarchen Hall. And while she knew the house well, while she had free run of its rooms and corridors, there was one place she went little, simply because it held nothing that could interest her. Namely, her adopted parents' room. She'd seen inside, of course, but it seemed to contain – other than the obvious, such as a bed, cupboards and so on – only a few small strongboxes and cabinets on shelves.

She'd never thought to look inside them, or even ask what they contained. Was it possible that they might hold a clue to Ozan's identity? They would probably be locked, she knew, but it was worth a try. She wouldn't feel safe rummaging around inside Ozan's room while he or Jenassa were home. She knew enough about them to know they wouldn't appreciate her delving through their possessions – they were too private. If she had an opportunity, she had to take it. Even if she failed and had to go back to Dawnstar empty-handed.

Clicking her tongue to Cyrus, she dug her heels into the pony's sides, and set him moving in the direction of her home.

It wasn't a long ride, even with Cyrus moving at an increasingly slower pace. Sissel deposited him in his stable and dug the key to the house from her pocket. Ozan and Jenassa had had it forged for her in case of emergencies, and it made her feel a twinge of guilt that she was using it for a purpose that they definitely wouldn't approve of. Mentally, she pushed the guilt away. It wasn't her fault. If Ozan would just talk to her, she wouldn't need to be doing this.

Sissel locked the door after herself, just in case, and hurried inside. She took the stairs to Ozan's room two at a time – she strongly doubted he would be returning any time soon, but all the same, some instinct told her to move quickly and quietly. She remembered how Jouane had once told her that some priests and scholars believed that if you felt guilty about something, even if there was no one around to see you, it was because the Divines were watching, and the guilt was their way of telling you that what you were doing was wrong. She swallowed hard. Maybe he was right.

She looked up at those cabinets that might or might not contain the truth about her foster father. She could probably reach them, if she climbed onto the dresser and stood on tiptoe. If they weren't locked, she might find her answers there.

But should she? Maybe that was the real question here.

She imagined the Divines watching her from Aetherius, watching with cold frowns and disapproving gazes. And they were right to disapprove. She knew what she was doing was wrong.

Yes, Ozan kept secrets from her. But he would be heartbroken if he knew she was snooping around his room, trying to unearth his secrets. He was so quiet, so… withdrawn. As if he'd retreated into himself, the way those animals in the southern provinces – what were they called? Tortoises? – pulled their limbs and heads into their shells to ward off predators.

Perhaps he didn't talk about these things because they hurt. Perhaps he had a right not to tell her. Perhaps she should give him another chance.

Secrets or no, this was still the man who'd stopped his journey to give her a healing potion back in Rorikstead when they'd been complete strangers. This was the man who'd taken her in for no reason other than simple kindness. This was the man who told her stories at night, and had bought her a pony, and taught her how to use a dagger.

If Ozan had done all of that… how bad could his secrets be?

Suddenly disgusted at herself, Sissel stepped away from the shelves. The girl she'd once been, back when she lived in Rorikstead, would never have done this. But then, she'd been a different person back then. She'd been living under the threat of her father's fist and she'd been scared, constantly scared. Now she lived with Ozan, that fear was gone. This new life without fear had given her freedoms, and now she was taking those freedoms too far.

'No,' she whispered. Maybe she was talking to herself, maybe she was reassuring the Divines; she wasn't sure. 'I won't do it.'

She'd just ask him. Quietly. Calmly. Without getting angry. She'd just keep trying. She wouldn't hurt him, not Ozan, who'd done so much for her.

It was hard not to feel proud of herself as she made her way back down the stairs. This was the right thing to do, she was certain that it was. Maybe this warm feeling spreading through her was the Divines' way of making sure she knew it.

She unlocked the door, stepped through it into the cold outside, and stopped dead.

There was a line of men standing outside the house. Every one of them held a weapon. And every one of those weapons was trained on her.

Sissel felt the key slip through her fingers and fall with a soft crunch into the snow. There was a sudden, sickening feeling in her stomach, the kind of ill feeling that came with raw, powerful fear. She knew it all too well from all the times her father had made her feel it. She'd grown used to living without it. Ozan never made her feel it.

These people did. There were seven or eight of them – if she hadn't been frozen to the spot, she would have turned her head to count them. Mostly Nords. A Redguard. An Orc. A woman whose face was hidden behind the visor of her helmet. She was the only one who wore real armour - the rest wore gear cobbled together from hide, fur and sections of metal plating. Some faces were painted, others smeared with dirt. Dents peppered the blades of their swords, and their arrow fletchings were grubby and battered. Nothing like Ozan's neat gear. But a blow from one of those swords, Sissel knew, would kill her as easily as a strike from Ozan's dagger.

'This the one?' It was one of the Nords who spoke, a man as broad-shouldered and powerfully built as Erik from Rorikstead. But he did not have Erik's warm smile or kindly eyes. That was a wolf's smile. Those were a serpent's hungry eyes.

The helmeted woman marched forward, her sword dangling casually from her hand. She wasn't holding it firmly, Sissel realised, because she didn't think there was any need to. She doesn't think I could fight back.

The realisation snapped her to her senses, and the frozen feeling in her limbs died. Sissel lunged for her dagger, her fingers grasping the hilt and pulling the blade free. She reached inside herself for the spark of magic, found it, urged it into life, and flames leaped into being around the fingers of her left hand.

'Get back!' She knew that in her high voice, the words sounded small and harmless. But all the same, the woman stopped walking towards her, and her grip on her sword tightened.

There was a short silence, as Sissel wondered if she could launch the spell at one of them, make an opening, and run to Cyrus's stable. Maybe she'd be able to stir him out fast enough. Maybe these people, these bandits, wouldn't shoot them as they ran. Maybe they'd make it to safety.

That was a lot of maybes. Too many.

'Put those flames away, girl.' The woman in the helmet folded her arms across her chest. 'You come along with us quietly, and this doesn't have to end with anyone getting hurt.'

Sissel tried to reply, found that her throat was too dry, swallowed, and tried again. 'I don't believe you.'

'Believe it or not, we don't stand to gain from killing a kid.' The woman kicked carelessly at the snow; Sissel stood motionless as the flakes spattered down her skirt. 'But if we take her alive, and make sure her parents pay to get her back… then it's drinks all around.'

Relief sparked in Sissel's heart, and she instantly hated herself for it. Of course it was a good thing that they didn't plan to kill her. But they were using her against Ozan. And it was her fault, because she'd been stupid and selfish and she'd come here alone.

'He asked for it, you know, building his home out here, away from the guards,' the woman continued. 'Have you any idea how long we've been waiting for you to be here on your own? We'd have settled for that greyskin wife of his, but –'

'She's a Dunmer,' Sissel snapped. 'You're not supposed to call them greyskins, it's rude. And she's actually not his wife. And she'd have killed you if you tried.'

The woman shrugged. 'Better for all of us that we've got you instead, then, right? Cut out the magic and come along.'

'Ozan won't pay you.' Sissel tightened her grip on her dagger. 'He'll come to find you and he'll kill you.'

It was true; she was certain of it. Ozan would kill these people, the same way he'd kill a wolf or sabre cat that happened to stumble upon the house. He'd kill them to make sure they could never be a threat again. Gods, were these people stupid? Didn't they know who Ozan was?

'All eight of us? Forgive me if I don't believe you. I don't think we need to be afraid of a –'

Sissel let her spell fly. She directed it at the leftmost bandit, the Orc, and even as the flames left her fingers, she started to run.

The firebolt struck the man on the shoulder, sending fire pouring over his dark green skin. He screamed, dropped his battleaxe, and clasped both hands to the wound. So he had no free hands to grasp Sissel as she darted past him and sped for the stable. She knew they were giving chase from the sudden crunch of snow beneath boots and threw another spell over her shoulder. Glancing behind her, she saw them scatter and draw back as it ploughed into the snow, sending up a small explosion of steam.

They're cowards, Sissel realised, and the new knowledge lent her strength. Strength enough to put on an extra burst of speed, to reach the stable, dart inside – thank all the Gods who'd ever been that she hadn't shut and bolted the door – and grasp Cyrus's reins before they could catch up with her.

One of the Nord men had reached the stable door by the time she'd pulled herself up and onto Cyrus's back. Without hesitation, she curled her fingers around another firebolt and launched it at the man's arm. Ozan had told her once that the moment someone drew a weapon on you, they were giving you permission to kill them. They were showing that they were willing to take your life, and that meant you had a right to take theirs in order to stop them. But Sissel didn't think she could kill these people. The thought of them having life, being thinking, feeling creatures, and then suddenly having all of that stop because of her – no. She couldn't do it.

But the firebolt hit home, striking the man around his elbow and making him real back with a howl, and the path out of the stable was clear. Even if she couldn't kill, she could wound, she could distract. Just as she had with that dragon. If she'd helped Ozan kill a dragon, then these people were nothing.

At least, they should be. But for some reason Sissel was more frightened of them than she'd been of the white dragon.

There was one thing that she didn't have to worry about, and that was getting Cyrus to move. For once, the lethargic pony was moving when she wanted him to – and a little faster than she really felt safe with. The flare of flame had spurred him into movement – no animal, Sissel guessed, wanted to be around fire – and now he was cantering forwards, paying no heed to Sissel's yankings on his reins, head down and ears flat back against his head. The bandits leaped to the side to avoid him, and he charged through the middle of them.

Sissel sucked in a few deep breaths and made a renewed attempt to set Cyrus moving towards the road. He tossed his head, whipping the reins through her fingers, and Sissel yelped with pain as the leather sheared off a thin layer of skin. Forcing herself to ignore the pain, she threw all her strength behind turning him towards the path to Dawnstar. He had to listen, he had to get away from these bandits, or they were both dead –

From behind her, there was a faint twang sound, and a rush of air. And a moment later, Cyrus made a shrieking, screaming sound and bucked like a ship in a storm as an arrow embedded itself in his rear.

Sissel cried out and grasped his neck, trying to wrap her arms around him to keep herself steady, but Cyrus was kicking and writhing like a thing demented. In a second, her feet were shaken from the stirrups. She felt herself slipping from the saddle and grabbed at the pommel to pull herself back. For a moment, it seemed that she might manage it – and then another arrow struck him in the leg, and he catapulted himself into movement again. A flat-out gallop. And any chance Sissel had had of staying on his back vanished. It was too much movement, too fast, too soon.

Her fingers slipped, her balance was broken, and she toppled sideways out of the saddle.

A flash of memory from her lessons, the sound of Ozan's voice telling her to keep her limbs tucked in if she ever fell, pushed itself to the forefront of her mind, and in the heartbeat before she hit the ground, Sissel grappled with the instinct that told her to hold out her arms to break her fall. All she'd break was her bones, she knew that, and to her relief, she managed to fight the instinct away. She hit the ground side-first, the snow providing a cushioned landing, if a somewhat cold welcome.

Breathing hard, she lifted her head. Cyrus was still galloping away from her, half-hidden by a cloud of snow thrown up by his pounding hooves.

Sissel felt a new kind of coldness inside her, a coldness that had nothing to do with the snow. She'd tried, she'd tried so hard, but she'd lost. Cyrus was gone. Her escape route was galloping madly in the general direction of Whiterun and there was no way she'd ever catch him up.

She bit her lip and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She'd always tried so hard to be brave when her father directed his rage at her. She'd been brave when the white dragon had tried to kill Ozan. She could be brave again.

As the bandits advanced, she made a show of very carefully checking herself for injuries, as if she couldn't see her enemies at all. When she was certain that she hadn't damaged anything, apart from a few bruised patches of skin, maybe, she stood up, and deliberately didn't look at the bandits, instead turning her attention to brushing the snow from her clothes. Then she folded her arms and watched them walk the final distance between them.

The helmeted woman was the first to reach her. Sissel looked up at her and raised her eyebrows. 'So where are we going?'

The woman's lip curled, and her hand flashed out. It was a movement Sissel had seen a million times before, and she knew how to react. She offered no resistance as the woman's hand crashed into the side of her face, letting the momentum of the blow knock her back down into the snow. Lemkil had unintentionally taught her long ago that if an adult struck you, you shouldn't fight back. Defiance just made them angry. Fall and look defeated and they'd think they'd won.

Sissel pressed a hand to her cheek, and as she brought it away, her breath trembled in her throat as she saw a streak of blood on her fingers. The woman's gauntlets must have broken her skin. Still, while the cut stung, it was a pain of a kind she was used to. Lemkil hit a lot harder than that.

'Get up,' the woman snapped.

Sissel resisted the urge to reply that if the woman had wanted her standing, she shouldn't have hit her, and complied.

'Nurmat, Gorvan. Get some healing potions and fix those burns.' The woman snapped her fingers at the Orc and the Nord who'd been on the receiving end of Sissel's magic. 'Kandja, I want this brat's wrists bound. I'm not having her flinging any more spells around.'

One of the Nords, a black-haired woman, looked at the woman with the steel armour, her head tilted to one side. 'But, Rochelle… couldn't she just burn through the ropes?'

I hadn't thought of that. Thanks for the idea.

'Fine, leave it, then. It's not as if she's going anywhere.' The woman's hand flashed forward, seizing the neck of Sissel's shirt and yanking her forward, almost entirely off the ground. 'You hear that? You try to fight, you're getting hurt. You try to run, you're getting hurt.'

She let Sissel drop, and beckoned one of the other bandits forward, the Redguard. 'Zehra, keep your blade on the girl. Yulaf, help keep an eye on her. The rest of you, with me. We're looting the house.'

'No!' Sissel's hands balled into fists. 'You can't take Ozan's things, he –'

The Redguard pulled out a short sword – a straight one not curved like Ozan's – and extended it so that the tip was a fist-length from Sissel's throat. 'Shut it.'

Sissel swallowed, looked at the weapon, and shut it.

She waited, hating herself for doing nothing, but knowing there was nothing to be done, as the bandits collected the key from where she'd dropped it and marched in through the door. A few minutes crawled by before they emerged, each of them bearing new weapons and armour taken from the racks and chests where Ozan kept them so neatly organised, and their pockets bulging.

I did this. I let them in. Because I was selfish and couldn't take no for an answer.

They'd probably taken most of the wealth Ozan had. And any that was left, they'd demand in return for Sissel's life.

Except, she thought, as they jabbed their weapons in her direction and told her to start walking, leaving one of their number behind to pass on their ransom note, that wasn't what would happen. She knew Ozan and Jenassa too well. When they learned what had happened, they wouldn't just follow the rules this gang of idiots seemed to think they could set out.

She glared at the back of the woman's helmet. Rochelle, the others had called her. She didn't know what was coming. Soon, the wrath of a man who knew how to kill dragons would be descending on her.

But until he came, Sissel knew she would be frightened. Even though she told herself again and again that these people would want her alive. Even though she knew that Ozan would be on his way as soon as he knew what would happen.

She'd thought she was old enough and strong enough to ride off after her foster parents and find her answers. Well, she wasn't. She was still a girl. And she was small and young and scared and she knew she shouldn't be ashamed of that, but she was.

Sissel bit back a sob. She wanted someone there. She wanted someone who would comfort her and hold her close and promise her that everything was going to be all right.

A parent would do that. Lemkil had never done it.

But she wanted someone to do it. And she realised after a moment that she was thinking of Ozan.

Just you wait, she snarled at Rochelle silently. You should have decided to attack a different house in the middle of nowhere, because my father's the Dragonborn and you're just a gang of bandits and you're no match for him. You hear that? My father's coming.

It took her a moment to realise that, even if it was only in her mind, she'd called Ozan her father. And she'd meant it.

For the sake of anyone who doesn't have Hearthfire, Rochelle the Red is a bandit who will sometimes attack the Dragonborn's house and kidnap their spouse, demanding a ransom in return. And I couldn't help putting my own spin on that. What if they were to attack the Dragonborn's kid instead?And yes, this means we are finally getting into some action! I hope I can make it worth the wait.

Thanks so much for reading!