I am so sorry for how long it took to write this. I had terrible writer's block on the first part, so I wrote the second half first. Then when I added in the first part, I realised it was now over 10,000 words long. As a result, I've split it up into two chapters of a more readable length. The plus side is that this means chapter eight will be up in just a day or two, once I've done some editing.

And for now, over to Sissel...

CHAPTER SEVEN – TASTING BLOOD

When Lemkil's fists had swung her way, in that distant life she'd lived in Rorikstead, Sissel had always had one small comfort. Even if her father hurt her, he would never keep hurting her for long. And beyond the door to the farmhouse, there was an entire village filled with people who did not think it was right to hit a child. Jouane and Erik and Rorik and plenty of others were a short walk away, ready to give her an encouraging word, a smile, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She didn't have that now. There was nobody who she could run to for comfort, no one with whom she could seek sanctuary. Just seven bandits, bandits who kept her walking forwards at a pace so brisk she had to break into a run every so often to keep up with them, bandits whose glares and scornful glances told her that none of them was ever going to be on her side. One walked behind her, sword in hand. The blade was never raised, never pointed in her direction, but the very fact that it was drawn, not tucked into its sheath, was a threat, and Sissel knew from bitter experience that the best way to cope with someone making a threat was not to rise to it.

There was no point in trying to run. These people could run faster. All she could do was obey their order to walk, and walk, and keep walking.

She felt utterly alone, and she kept trying to imagine that she wasn't. If she concentrated hard, she could almost see them walking along beside her, the handful of people who'd shown her kindness and given her comfort. Jouane and Constance and Erandur and Alesan and Jenassa and Ozan. Maybe Ozan more than any of the others, because she knew he could not only comfort her, he could defeat all seven of these bandits without breaking a sweat. And he and Jenassa were the ones who would be on their way to save her.

Please let it be soon.

They kept walking. It was snowing again, and Sissel soon had to fold her arms over her chest and tuck her hands under them to keep them warm. Gods, why hadn't she brought any gloves? If there was one small comfort, it was that her captors seemed to hate the cold as much as she did – in the case of those who weren't Nords, probably more. The Redguard woman was shivering fiercely, tugging her fur cloak tight around her body. The Imperial man was stamping through the snow, cursing every time the flakes crept inside his boots. Even the Orc seemed a little miserable. The group's leader, though, the woman in the steel armour – she strode ahead as if the weather and her comrades' complaints were beneath her.

'Hey, Rochelle.' It was the Imperial, jogging a little way forward to walk beside his leader. 'When we've got the ransom money and sold the loot, please telling me we're moving our base somewhere further south. Like, Cyrodiil.'

'You can move where you please, Destrius,' Rochelle snapped. 'There's not going to be a base once we've got the money. I'm buying myself one of those High Rock mansions. And you're not welcome to join me.'

The Redguard woman smiled to herself. 'I'm buying myself a ship and hiring a crew. Haven't decided between piracy or smuggling yet. Maybe both.'

So you've stolen money so you can buy a fancy way to steal more money, Sissel thought, gritting her teeth. Makes so much sense.

'I'm going to buy my own inn,' one of the Nords reported.

'Any inn you tried to run would be bankrupt in a week.'

'Fine, I'll buy a brewery.'

'Bankrupt in a day.'

'I'm sorry to be breaking up this fascinating conversation about Hanrand's promising career, but we're here,' Rochelle interrupted. 'Put the loot in one place. We'll divide it up equally later.'

Sissel peered past the clump of people in front of her to see Rochelle approaching a tall rock cliff. There was a door built into the base, a squarish wooden one with slatted windows. Despite herself, Sissel felt a twinge of pity for this motley band. If she lived in a cave in a place as cold as the Pale, she'd probably be desperate for the coin to move to a better life too. Not that she'd stoop to kidnapping and stealing, but she could understand why these people had.

The Nord woman, the one who had been keeping her sword drawn on Sissel, finally tucked it back into her belt. 'So, what do we do with the kid?'

Rochelle gave a dismissive shrug. 'Just put her in a corner and keep an eye on her. An eye and a blade.'

'I'm not playing babysitter any more,' the Nord woman snapped. 'Someone else can watch her now.'

'I'll do it,' the Orc grunted. 'Anything to get out of the sums. I bloody hate sharing out the coin.'

Sissel swallowed; the Orc was one of the people she'd struck with her magic, and he wasn't likely to be kindly disposed towards her. They need me alive, she told herself, for what must have been the hundredth time. They can't hurt me because they need to show me to Ozan so he'll pay them. Except he won't pay them, because he'll kill him, but they still need me alive.

Knowing that she was safe from death still didn't do anything to make her relaxed, especially not after the Orc grabbed her by the hem of her shirt and pushed her ahead of him into the cave with such force that she almost toppled over. It wasn't a cave, she realised, as she let him half-lead, half-drag her along; it was a mine. Here and there, old carts and pickaxes lay resting against the walls, and there were piles of rock stacked in corners. Its ore must have run dry, leaving it abandoned by its workers, free to act as a home to this gang.

The bandits had built their home in what must once have been the central chamber. The walls were still lined with ramps and platforms, on which the gang had slung their bedrolls. A wooden table stood shoved against one wall, one of its legs so warped and battered that it was a miracle it hadn't already given way. The ground in the middle of the cavern was blackened, as if a fire was regularly made and lit there.

The Orc snatched a length of thin rope from the table and shoved Sissel forward again. He led her up one of the walkways, one that wound around the walls of the chamber until the Orc was having to duck his head so as not to hit the ceiling. At the end of the last platform, he snatched hold of her wrist, pressed it against the wooden railing, and lashed it firmly in place, so that Sissel couldn't even stretch the ropes by tugging them.

'So don't get any ideas about running anywhere,' the Orc grunted, as he did the same to her other arm. 'You try any of that fancy magic, and I'll…' He stopped, apparently remembering that he couldn't kill her. '… I'll make you stop. And even if you get those ropes undone, you're not getting out of here unless you can run the whole way down. So. Stay still.'

Sissel tried to come up with a clever retort, failed, and decided it might be safer to stay silent anyway. The Orc slumped down against the cave wall next to her, dropping his mace to one side and picking dirt out from under his nails. From her high-up position, Sissel could just make out the other bandits milling about below her, dropping the loot they'd taken from Heljarchen Hall into piles.

The sight made a hot flame of anger rise up in Sissel's chest, so she turned her head away and tried to block out the sound of the group arguing over how much each item they'd taken was worth. She had a feeling it was going to be a long wait before Ozan showed up. His daily excursions lasted hours, and though the walk from Heljarchen Hall to this encampment had taken quite some time, Sissel guessed it was still only about noon. It would be some time yet before Ozan returned home and found a bandit waiting with the worst news in the world.

She closed her eyes and tried to make the time go by faster by imagining everything Ozan and Jenassa would do once they found she was missing, how fast they'd move to find her. Then she tried listing the names of all the cities and major towns in Skyrim. Then Cyrodiil. Then High Rock. The bandits bickered below her, the raucous clamour of their voices rebounding off the chamber walls. Sissel's wrists were hurting.

After perhaps an hour, of the other bandits, the Nord woman, marched up the ramp with her share of the gang's meal clasped in her hands, and gestured for the Orc to rejoin the rest of them. He did so with a huff of relief, and Sissel found herself forced to sit and watch as her new guard sat down and tucked into her meal.

The Nord woman didn't give her a crumb. She hadn't expected to receive one. She bit her lip, and tried reciting the names of the Jarls of the holds of Skyrim.

Another hour. Another change of the guard. Sissel was running out of lists. The thought made her remember those lists she'd made about the questions she wanted answered, the questions about her foster father. They seemed so unimportant now. What did it matter what Ozan did for a living, or why he didn't talk about himself? As long as he came, as long as he cared enough to save her, then nothing else mattered.

He'll come.

She was feeling the cold biting even more now, even though she was still in her warm outdoor clothes. Still, she'd had worse nights in Rorikstead, tending the crops after dark. Below her, the bandits were huddling close to the fire. The Redguard woman, now guarding her, was rubbing her arms and muttering darkly.

'Why don't you ask them for a cloak?' Sissel said quietly.

The woman glowered at her for a moment before shrugging. 'And let them think I'm weak?'

Sissel said nothing. It must be very lonely, she mused, being a bandit. If you lived in a group like this, you were probably no use if you were weak. You must have to prove yourself every day.

No excuse for kidnapping children, though, she thought, looking back down at the main group. They were already dead men, she told herself. Soon, Ozan would be here. He'd appear in that doorway and set about her rescue. The entrance might be empty now, but soon, he would fill it.

Wait.

Was the entrance empty? Something about it looked… off. Distorted. Like the air there was making the wrong shapes.

And the patch of distortion was moving. Steadily inching forward. Sissel tracked its path with her eyes. It was heading towards one of the bandits, the Imperial man. He'd peeled off from the main group to sharpen his blade on a battered-looking grindstone. That strange patch of air was moving towards him, and his back was to it, and suddenly, Sissel understood.

Ozan made potions. He'd taught her how to make a few simple ones. She remembered one of the first lessons he'd given her – how to mix the liquid inside Chaurus eggs with the ground-up leaves of a Nirnroot and the dust from the crushed wing of a luna moth, dissolving them all together in water to make a liquid so utterly devoid of colour it was hard to even see that it was there. Ozan had gestured for her to drink a little, and to Sissel's amazement – and delight – her body had blinked out of view. There was still a faint outline to her, a shift in the air as she moved that betrayed where her limbs were, but if anyone had walked into the room, they would have thought Ozan was standing alone.

Just as the bandits thought they were alone now. A smile spread across Sissel's face, and she bit her lip to hide it, so as not to alert her guard that something was up. Her foster father was here. Hadn't she known he'd come?

And now he was standing, invisible, behind the Imperial man's exposed back.

Something in Sissel already knew what was going to happen. She knew, but still, she didn't look away. So she saw the odd patch of air move, a sudden, jerking movement, like a hare that has been crouching low in the grass suddenly springing up to flee. She saw the Imperial man convulse and drop his blade, letting it slip from the grindstone and clatter to the ground. She saw the stream of blood begin to work its way down his neck.

A dagger to the back of the neck. An assassin's strike. The kind of strike that had killed her father.

Except Ozan wasn't bothering with stealth, it seemed, as the assassin who'd killed Lemkil had. He made no move to stop the sword from falling, letting it hit the cave floor and bounce off the stones. Neither did he gently lower the Imperial's corpse to the ground, instead shoving the dead man to the side so that his body thumped as it dropped. The bandits had dispersed into small groups, finishing up the remains of their meal, sorting through the loot, sitting down in corners to talk – but they could hardly have missed those sounds.

The leader, Rochelle, was the first to turn around, and the others followed suit. For a moment they stood motionless, staring at the corpse of their comrade. Then Ozan blinked into view beside him, dagger in one hand, scimitar in the other.

There was a moment of silence. Then one of the bandits let out a high-pitched shout. 'Destrius!'

The Imperial didn't stir. And the man who'd shouted let out a twisted scream of rage and surged forwards, snatching up his battleaxe and charging right for Ozan.

Sissel's breath caught in her throat, but she reminded herself not to be scared. Ozan was the Dragonborn. He was a fighter. He could win this.

She turned her head from side to side, counting the enemy. There had been eight of them when they'd taken her, but they'd foolishly left one behind to deliver their message. Now the Imperial man was dead. The Redguard woman was still guarding Sissel. That left five down in the central chamber for Ozan to deal with.

First of all, the Nord man now barrelling towards him. Ozan stood motionless as he came, making no move until the distance between them was about as long as three horses stood nose-to-tail. Then he sucked in air, and Sissel felt the cavern suddenly shift, vibrate, as he released the ancient power of his dragon blood.

'Iiz slen nus.'

It was a Shout, but he barely raised his voice. It was almost casual. One moment, the Nord was storming forwards; the next, his feet locked in place, his arms went rigid, and ice began to gather on his clothes. Thicker and faster the crystals grew, like moss growing on a stone, only a million times quicker. And within a few seconds, he was hidden from view behind a solid block of ice.

'Don't move!' Rochelle screamed the words at her remaining followers, but quickly twisted around to point at Ozan. 'You – don't you move, either. We didn't ask for a fight, we asked for a deal.'

'Deals work if made with people who take them.' He spoke in his normal, clipped manner, but every word was laced with fury. 'I don't.'

There was a sudden blur of movement as the Redguard woman acting as Sissel's guard threw herself forward. Sissel cried out – she couldn't help herself – as the woman brought her arm up and around, positioning her blade inches from Sissel's neck. 'Then I'll make a new deal with you. Surrender, or the girl dies! Is that a deal, bastard?'

Ozan's eyes flicked upwards. Sissel met his gaze, trying to stop her fear from showing on her face. I need to be strong for him.

But the woman's grip was so tight, the blade was so close to her skin, and there was no way Ozan could get up to the high platform, no way he could use a Shout to hit the woman without hitting Sissel too –

There was a faint, almost inaudible twang, followed by a much louder thunk. The Redguard woman jerked, like a fish caught on a line, and toppled backwards, dropping her blade, losing her hold on Sissel, and slamming onto the wooden floor. And so Sissel could turn and see the arrow now protruding from between her eyes.

'No deal,' Jenassa hissed, stepping out from the shadows of the cave entrance, slinging her bow back over her shoulder and drawing her sword.

Sissel didn't try to stop herself from smiling. They'd come. Both of them. Jenassa must have hung back so that the bandits thought Ozan was alone and dropped their guard. While Ozan took out the Imperial, she must have been preparing her shot. And now she came to stand beside him. She'd swapped her usual supple leather armour for a chitin set Sissel had seen from time to time within their home, but had never seen her wear. Traditional Dunmer gear, Jenassa had told her. Not as flexible as her leathers, but tougher.

It looked like her foster parents had come equipped to fight hard to get her back.

Even from a distance, Sissel could see Rochelle swallow and draw in a breath before taking a step towards her challengers. 'We told you. The ransom for the girl. There's no need for this.' She gestured to the three bandits left standing behind her. 'You're outmanned.'

'You're dead,' Ozan growled back.

'We don't want to kill you. There'd be no point to this if we did.' Rochelle took a few more steps towards him, her sword drawn. 'If you've brought the gold –'

'We brought only our weapons,' Jenassa said smoothly. 'Now, please stop talking and let us use them.'

As if to underline her point, she twirled her sword in her hand once, whipped around, and plunged it into the ice encasing the Nord who'd been foolish enough to charge Ozan. The blade punched through the ice, sinking in until Jenassa's fingers, grasped around the hilt, were brushing the ice. Sissel winced. She couldn't see through the ice, but she knew that the sword must have gone right through the unfortunate man encased within.

Now the enemy numbered only four.

There was another moment's pause; then Rochelle let out a furious screech and leaped for Jenassa. For a moment, Sissel's heart catapulted into her mouth – her foster mother was still pulling her blade free from the ice, she wouldn't be able to block in time – but Ozan was there, of course, jumping into Rochelle's path and knocking her blade aside with his own. The other bandits darted forwards, one of the Nord women running to aid Rochelle, the other and the Orc heading for Jenassa, and the battle was well and truly begun.

Sissel glanced down at her bonds, then at the dead woman on the floor behind her. With her guard watching, she hadn't dared to try to free herself. But now, with Ozan and Jenassa distracting the only people who could see her, she might be in with a chance. She tried to block out the sounds of battle – she needed to be able to concentrate – and focused all her attention on the rope that bound her left wrist to the railing.

As carefully as she could, she let a fire spell – the weakest she knew, to reduce any risk of burning herself – ignite in her right hand, and brought it as close as she could get it to the left. The edge of the rope blackened slightly, but try as she might, Sissel couldn't stretch her fingers close enough together for the bindings to burn. She breathed in deeply and released the spell, silently willing it to only project itself a short distance, to stay small and controlled. For a heartstopping moment she thought it would hit her hand, but at the last instant, it stopped just short of hitting the skin. The rope, though, was beginning to smoulder.

Sissel stopped the spell as soon as the rope was half burned, and tugged hard. A few strands frayed and gave way. She pulled harder. Nothing. Again, she focused the spell, holding it for a few seconds more, then snuffed it out and pulled. There was a single loud snap, and the rope gave way.

'Yes!' she whispered, unable to stop herself from grinning. If she could free herself, then she might even be able to help Ozan and Jenassa in their fight. Not that they seemed to need much help. Glancing down, she could see them locked in battle. Ozan had already dispatched one of his opponents, the Nord woman, leaving her in a crumpled heap on the floor, and he and Rochelle were clashing their blades together again and again, sending metallic clashes resonating from the walls. It was easy to tell who the better fighter was; Rochelle kept pushing forwards, swinging wildly, aiming for any exposed area of Ozan's body. Her sword had more reach, her armour gave her more protection. But Ozan ducked smoothly out of the way of every blow, his every move measured and precise. Rochelle could not hit him, and it could not have been clearer that Ozan was simply waiting for the right moment to hit her.

Jenassa, meanwhile, was moving light-footed as a dancer, just out of reach of the Orc's flailing axe. She was at a disadvantage, Sissel realised; unlike Ozan, who could remain relatively close to Rochelle, Jenassa couldn't risk getting near enough to land a strike while that huge weapon was swinging. But the Orc had to pause to bring the axe back up after every swing, exposing himself, and that was when Jenassa was leaping in, blade aiming for his neck. So far, the Orc's ally, the woman, had managed to move between the Dunmer and her target every time. But now, as Sissel watched, she miscalculated.

The Orc swung, missed, and stopped to heave his weapon up again. Jenassa lunged in. The Nord woman stepped into her path, sword raised, ready to block Jenassa's blow – but instead of swinging her blade, Jenassa kicked out at the woman's leg. Her chitin-armoured foot collided with the woman's shin, and she staggered back, knocked off balance – right into the Orc, who had been running forwards to aid her. Unable to stop in time, he smacked into her and sent her plunging forwards. Jenassa was waiting, sword extended.

Sissel closed her eyes and turned her head away. She knew that the woman was going to fall right onto the swordpoint, and she didn't want to see it happen. The sound of her scream and the quickly following thump of her falling body were unpleasant enough.

Sissel returned her attention to the bindings around her wrist. With one broken, and her hand able to move freely again, the other would be easier to burn away. Igniting the fire spell again, she hovered the flames over the rope. Bit by bit, strand by strand, the edge of the rope turned red, then black, then dropped away into ash. Come on, Sissel willed it. Burn faster.

As soon as she felt her skin beginning to smart under the heat, she extinguished the spell and set to trying to break the remaining strands. On her third sharp pull, she managed it. The rope snapped, and she was free.

She flexed her wrists a few times in an attempt to banish the ache from them. It didn't work. She tried rubbing them, but the places where the ropes had rubbed against her skin were still a little tender, and it only made the pain worse. She decided to ignore it for now and ask Ozan for a healing potion later. For now, she had to work out how to help.

Gripping the edge of the rail and standing on tiptoe, she was able to get such a clear view of the combatants that she could have been watching in an arena. Ozan and Rochelle were still duelling in the centre of the chamber, dodging around the edge of the bandits' fire. The only time Ozan seemed to falter was when Rochelle kicked some of the embers in his direction; he responded by leaping to the side so quickly that he nearly tripped. Rochelle took the opportunity to lash out towards his neck, but he dodged at the last second.

Weird. He's Dragonborn. I wouldn't have thought him to be afraid of fire.

Jenassa, meanwhile, seemed to have adopted the strategy of winning the battle by tiring out her enemy. She was weaving in and out of the struts that held up the platforms, moving so quickly that no matter how viciously the Orc swung, he simply could not reach her. Sissel could see his sides heaving as he fought for breath – moving that axe must be sapping his energy quickly. They were almost directly underneath Sissel now, and the Orc was grunting in frustration as he tried and failed to aim through the wooden beams. Sooner or later, he'd have to stop to catch his breath, and then Jenassa would surely have him.

He hoisted his axe back up again, then let out a bellowing roar and swung it around in a sweeping arc. Jenassa sidestepped the blow – and it kept going, slicing right through one of the platform supports, and sinking deep into another.

There was a low crunching sound, and Sissel felt the floor beneath her jerk. Her breath stopped in her throat – these mining platforms were clearly old. If the struts keeping them up were damaged, they would fall. And so would she.

I have to move.

She turned and ran, heading for the ramp that led down to the chamber floor. But already the platform was jolting, shuddering, and there was no way to stop herself from stumbling. She regained her balance and sprinted for the ramp – just as the Orc, again, lashed out wildly, and sliced through another beam.

The platform gave one sharp jerk beneath her feet and crashed forwards and down. Sissel felt it coming and leaped. For a moment there was empty air beneath her as the section of floor that had lost its supports simply gave way and crashed downwards. Then her feet touched the next section, the section that was still intact – but only for a second. She had jumped badly. She slipped backwards, and, feeling herself beginning to fall, snatched out blindly at the railing. Her arms wrapped around it an instant before her feet went over the edge.

A fierce bolt of agony shot through her arms as they instantly became the only thing keeping her from falling to her death. She choked out a sound that was half a scream and half a shout of pain. She could feel the weight of her body forcing her grip to loosen, and the platform she was clinging to was trembling, as if it too were inches from falling apart. If it did, she was dead.

She tried to pull herself up. Couldn't. Desperate, she twisted her head around so that she could see the ground. She couldn't save herself, but maybe, just maybe, Ozan or Jenassa could.

The Orc was now lying motionless, half-crushed by the fallen platform. Only Rochelle remained. Jenassa was duelling her; Ozan was rushing away from the battle, dropping his blades, skidding to a halt underneath Sissel.

'Hold on,' he shouted up to her.

And then –

And then he bowed his head, spread out his arms, and began to change. Darkness flooded out from his body, as if his skin was secreting shadows. Everything about him grew a little larger – his limbs becoming longer, his shoulders broader, his whole frame bulkier. Fingers curled into talons. Skin paled from brown to grey. And on his back, two hook-shaped wings.

She had never seen any creature like this. Not in real life, not in her books. It looked deadly. Even… evil. The sort of creature that was meant to haunt cemeteries and perch on the battlements of haunted castles.

The transformation couldn't have taken more than a few seconds. But almost the second it was complete, Sissel felt her grip slipping again. She tried to tighten her fingers, but her own weight was too much, and she was going to fall, Gods help her, she was going to fall –

The creature that Ozan had become spread out its wings and leaped into the air.

For a moment, Sissel's insides constricted with fear. How could she not be afraid, when a creature like that was shooting upwards towards her? But as it neared her – as he neared her – she reminded herself that this was Ozan, and that he wouldn't hurt her.

So she held back a flinch as he placed his hands firmly on her upper arms and gripped tight. 'Let go. I have you,' he said, the same voice as ever, even spoken from this monstrous-looking mouth, and Sissel did so. She relinquished her hold on the railing, so that she was hanging in Ozan's grasp, his wings pounding against the air on either side of her to keep them both airborne. And then, slowly, he let himself drop, bit by bit, until Sissel's feet were brushing the ground. Only once she was firmly on the floor did he let her go.

A clash of steel reminded Sissel that Rochelle was still there, still fighting. Her sword was raised, blocking one of Jenassa's blows, but her gaze was fixed on Ozan. It was impossible to tell through the helmet, but Sissel was given the distinct impression that she was very, very afraid.

The bandit leader pulled her sword free and backed away. Her head flicked from side to side, between her enemies and the entrance to the cave. Her escape route.

For a few breathless seconds, nobody moved.

Then Rochelle spun around and raced for the exit. Ozan let out a growl, a deep, animalistic sound, and leaped forwards. Wings spread, pushed down against the air. He had reached Rochelle in a single second. His huge, taloned hands gripped her on either side of her helmet, and wrenched her head around to the side. A quick, sharp movement.

There was a loud snapping sound, and Rochelle crumpled to the floor of the cavern.

Silence crept into the chamber like a cat, wrapping itself noiselessly around the walls and settling. The three of them stood motionless, glancing back and forth between each other. Then Jenassa sucked in a breath, and stuffed her sword back into its sheath.

As if her movement was the signal for time to move again, several things happened at once. The entire platform structure Sissel had been hanging from only thirty seconds previously let out a creaking, grumbling sound, and simply folded in on itself, collapsing into a pile of struts and planks. Sissel yelped and rushed forward to avoid the falling pieces of wood. Jenassa darted forward to pull her to safety. Ozan closed his eyes and lowered his head. His skin darkened to brown again, his ears and limbs shrinking, wings melting away like smoke blown away in the wind, talons retreating back into his fingers. By the time the wood pile had settled, he was himself again.

He collected his weapons from where he'd dropped them earlier, stuffed them back into his belt, and strode over to Sissel, bending down so he could look at her from her eye level. 'Hurt?'

It was the first word he'd ever said to her, back when he'd ghosted out of the night in Rorikstead, all that time ago. Sissel shook her head. 'No. I'm OK.'

He frowned and reached out, taking hold of her wrists and examining the raw marks from her bonds. Without a word, he slipped a hand into his pocket, rummaged around for a second, and drew out a healing potion. Sissel remembered how she'd been afraid to touch him when they first met, how she'd waited for him to place the healing potion he'd given her on a rock before she felt safe to take it. But even though she'd just seen him kill a woman by snapping her neck and transform into some kind of fanged, winged beast, she didn't feel that she was in any kind of danger. In fact, as he let drops of the potion fall onto her wrists, smoothing the skin back into its normal state, all she felt was comforted.

'We came as soon as we could.' Jenassa was hurrying over to join them. 'We found Cyrus. We were heading across Whiterun, and we… we saw him in the distance. If Ozan hadn't recognised him…'

'Is he OK?'

Ozan nodded. 'Shaken. But healed.'

'We knew something must have happened, if he was wounded like that.' Jenassa bit her lip. 'So we went back home, and found that bandit there with the ransom note…'

'Came quickly.' Ozan's jaw clenched. 'Called a friend.'

Sissel didn't understand how calling a friend helped you move faster, but Ozan had certainly arrived much sooner than she'd expected. 'Thanks. Thanks for coming.'

'We'll always come,' Ozan said. Quietly, and very firmly.

'I know.'

He placed a hand on her shoulder. 'Let's go home.'

Sissel glanced in the direction of the pile of goods the bandits had stolen from Heljarchen Hall. 'What about - ?'

'Can collect later.' Ozan started walking, not even glancing at Rochelle's corpse as he passed her.

'The important thing now is getting you home,' Jenassa said. 'We can come back for these things. But that's all they are. Just things.'

They walked together in silence through the passage for a few seconds, then Jenassa glanced at Sissel. 'There's something I don't understand. The bandits said they took you from home. Why were you there? We left you with Erandur at the temple.'

Sissel breathed in deeply. She owed them the truth, didn't she, after they'd saved her?

'After you left, I… followed you. I wanted to see where you were going. What it was you did all day and wouldn't tell me about.'

Jenassa's crimson eyes were wide. 'You followed us?'

'On Cyrus. And I found that door thing with the skull on it that asked a weird question, and when you came out I followed you again but then you got too far ahead so I went home.' She decided not to mention that she'd considered digging through their possessions. 'I was going to go back to the temple, but when I went outside, the bandits were there. And then… yeah.'

She looked down at the floor. She couldn't meet their eyes.

'I told you.' Jenassa's voice was quiet, but it shook with barely suppressed emotion. Anger? Fear? Sissel couldn't tell. 'I told you, didn't I?'

Ozan's only response was to nod.

'We can't keep on hiding these things. Look at the danger she got herself into because we tried to deceive her.'

Ozan nodded again. 'I know.'

'So are you going to explain? Because if you don't, I will.'

'I'll explain.'

Sissel realised that her mouth had fallen open. For Ozan to finally answer all her questions… she'd never really believed that it would happen.

'So where do you go? And what does that door do? What's the answer to the question?' Her own questions were spilling out fast now, as if they couldn't hold back now that they'd tasted blood, now they were finally receiving a promise of answers. 'And what was that thing with wings you turned into? And why can't you have kids? And why did you…'

Ozan held up a hand, so Sissel fell silent. If he'd said he'd answer her, he would. She'd just have to wait for him to feel comfortable to start. It was Ozan, after all.

They had reached the door to the mine. Ozan glanced out of the window, at the sky beyond. Then he seated himself on the floor to the passage, leaning his back against the stone wall.

'No more secrets.' Ozan clenched his hands together, then relaxed them. 'Kept much from you. Told myself I was trying to protect you. Think I was really trying to protect myself.'

Sissel sat herself down next to him, and Jenassa did the same, on his other side. 'What did you need protecting from?'

'Guilt, mostly.' He closed his eyes. 'I've told you many stories. This one… you won't like.'

'It doesn't matter. I'm listening.'

He turned his head back towards her, and smiled.

'That's as much as I deserve. All I can ask. Until the tale's told, at least. Because then, I'll have to ask your forgiveness.'

... And though I'm sure you readers have already worked what all of Ozan's secrets are, they will be fully explained next chapter, which will be along shortly. Thanks for reading!