Questions

I didn't immediately stomp over to Mauronk and rip him a new one for not telling me his entire life story before someone else embarrassed me with it. I like to think I have more class than that, but I was actually too stunned to do anything but sit there dumbfounded as the Dunmer filled the silence with more reminders of how little I knew about 'the real Skyrim.'

"Hiring sellswords to remove annoyances is common practice," she casually informed me. "I am certain, as successful a man as he was, he acquired a great deal of money from his services. I wonder that you can afford him. But then, I suppose you do not pay him in coin."

Startled into sudden defensiveness, I straightened angrily and snapped, "Just what the hell are you implying?"

"Admit it to yourself if no one else," the Dunmer said impatiently. "You sleep with him. Perhaps he sits upon so much wealth, he can afford to dally for favors with a comely wench on occasion."

"No," I breathed, sinking into a puddle of uncertainty, ignorance, and shame. "It's not like that. He... he loves me."

"Does he," she said dryly, completely unconvinced. "A man who kills for money is unlikely to possess soft feelings about anything. Still, he did aid us in our time of need. He has not yet demanded recompense for it. I suppose it is possible, however unlikely, that he may not be beyond hope."

I was sick inside. I wanted to stand firmly by my man and deny her accusations. If I'd known him well enough, I might have been able to do it with confidence, too. The fact was, I didn't know dick about Mauronk, even less now. Looking at him bent over a gutted bear – gross – with the other men, all I could think of was that he killed kids. Forsworn kids, maybe, but kids.

"I see it in your eyes," the Argonian said quietly. "You want to go to him, yes? Demand answers to your questions? It is shameful, keeping such ugly secrets from one to whom you have professed love, however falsely done. If you must hear his side, do it now, here, for if he turns upon you, we will come to your aid."

"I... I don't know him at all," I whispered. I felt lost all of a sudden. He'd been at my side since I came to Skyrim. But... why was he in that prisoner wagon in the first place? What was he doing that got him arrested with a bunch of rebels? Was he helping the Stormcloaks, or was he hired by them? When did he 'stop' being a mercenary, or was that a lie, too?

The Dunmer seemed to grasp, finally, that maybe I was the victim here, not some ditzy bimbo latching onto strange men with well-endowed wallets. Sighing, she patted my knee sympathetically. "Evidently, he played you false. I am terribly sorry. Perhaps at Winterhold, you may sever your ties with him. I will likely visit the College; you are welcome to accompany me."

Swallowing to keep from puking, I nodded. I couldn't think of anything more to say.

Dinner was just as quiet as ever. I barely noted how greasy the bear meat was. I kept my head down and my knees tightly together. I didn't look at Mauronk even once.

Which allowed me to notice the Khajiit. He staggered over to join us once the butchers had washed up and brought great hunks of meat to the fire. I guess I'd been too preoccupied to see it before, but he avoided the Redguard woman like the plague. He kept his own head down and ate in silence. His behavior gave me the impression that he was just as anxious to get out of this situation, and away from these people, as I was.

Sitting next to me, I caught a whiff of something on his fur that sparked a memory, and it wasn't moon sugar. The scent brought me back to the Riverwood inn, when Mauronk stumbled into my room. I slowly looked at Dar'Zher, swaying where he sat as he tried to nail his mouth with a pawful of meat. It took a few tries.

He was drunk off his ass. Maybe that wasn't a skooma bottle he palmed, but a flask of really powerful alcohol. Did Khajiit have a different reaction than humans and mer? Like, a little dram puts them under the table? Because he was completely smashed. With that thought came the jealous wish that he'd share. Then he noticed I was looking at him, and turned his head. Bleary eyes crinkling in a smile, I guess, he 'grinned' like a Cheshire Cat.

"This one sleeps alone tonight," he purred. "So lonely and cold."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I said sourly, "Sucks to be you." He flicked his tongue over his front teeth, and I almost burst out laughing. He was like the drunk guy coming on to me at a seedy bar, having to lean on the counter so he didn't fall flat on his face. I half expected him to ask what my sign was, or tell me my clothes would look better wadded up on his bedroom floor. It was so farcically comical, I had to bite my lip to keep from exploding. After all we'd been through, I'd probably laugh hysterically until I peed my pants.

"If you need warming...," he offered, his voice rumbling provocatively. He didn't get to finish before Mauronk was across the cave and knocking him backwards.

"Leave her be!" the Orsimer roared, his body quivering with rage. I cringed from him; couldn't really help it. I don't think he noticed, being preoccupied with yanking Dar'Zher up by the front of his ragged shirt. When the Khajiit's face was close to his, Mauronk grimaced. "You are drunk. Save your 'offers' for another time, and other people." Then he pushed Dar'Zher away from him. As is the way of drunk drivers who survive their own crashes, Dar'Zher folded like wet spaghetti when he was released. Whimpering, the Khajiit slunk away into his 'drinking corner.'

"Are you all right?" Mauronk said to me, and this time he saw me flinch. Confused, he backed off, likely still thinking that we had to be discrete. I didn't want to catch the Dunmer's eye; she was probably gloating, saying 'I told you so.' But I had to talk to him. And even though my preference was to do it in private, after unloading this group of people on the nearest counseling center, I was gradually becoming just indignant and pissed enough to accept the wisdom of interrogating him with a small army backing me up.

Shit yeah, I was getting pissed, which is never a good thing. I mean honestly, he lied to me. Whether he flat out lied, or just omitted specific details, the fact of the matter was... Well... I shouldn't have to find out he was a heartless, cold, murdering bastard from someone else. Okay, maybe those are the personality quirks we don't usually divulge on the first date, but honestly. I didn't learn until yesterday that he did time, for crying out loud. I could describe in nauseating detail every inch of his luscious body, but I didn't have a god damn clue what he did for a living, where he was born, who his hero was, whether he tucked left or right...

I guess I didn't like being fooled, when it came right down to it. With that Dunmer giving me pitying looks, I felt like the biggest fool on the planet. That was going to end right now.

Standing up, I leveled a hard glare at Mauronk, who looked a bit startled by my expression. Maybe a little guilty, a bit wary. "We have to talk," I informed him, and marched off to a part of the cave within shouting distance of the Scooby gang, but nowhere near the drunk cat. Mauronk reluctantly followed.

When I turned to face him, my first thought was denial. He couldn't possibly be a child-killer. He just couldn't. The Dunmer didn't recognize him on sight; maybe she got his name wrong, too. I faltered, and he frowned.

"What is it, Danni?" he asked in a low voice.

"Um," I hedged intelligently. My arms came up to hug myself on their own, like I was putting the shields up or something. "We talked a little, the girls and I. They know about us."

He sighed with relief. "Good. I told the men as well, but they will not believe my claims until they hear it from you."

I nodded, hugging myself harder. This wasn't easy; now that I was facing him, I couldn't seem to muster up the indignant rage required to bust his ass. I heard his confession once again, his desperate look as he opened his heart to me...

"Who are you really, Mauronk?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice even. He blinked a few times, confused by my question.

"I don't know what..."

"The Dunmer knew your name," I clarified. "She knew... you served the jarl of Markarth. And... you... killed..."

He winced and looked away. Bowing his head, Mauronk leaned against the cave wall and rubbed his face roughly. He seemed to have difficulty breathing for a minute.

"Is it true?" I asked pointedly. "Did you kill a bunch of Forsworn children?"

It was a long minute before he finally answered, never raising his head once. When he spoke, the bottom fell out of my world. "Do you think I don't still see their faces?"

"Oh god," I whimpered, taking a step back. "How could you?"

He lowered himself awkwardly into a squat, leaning his head back against the wall and staring at the ceiling. His eyes glistened wetly. "I have no excuses. Not then, not now. I was a pig. A vile, murdering pig. One that was rightfully sent to slaughter, but walked away by chance."

I just stared at him, unable to say anything. All of a sudden, I didn't want to know. I wanted whatever he was about to say to remain unsaid. Let me have shy, blushing, gentle Mauronk back, please? I don't want to know.

"I was hired... often," he said, his voice distant and pained. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't see his face; I didn't want to look at him when he told me this. "Jarl Igmund and I... shared intense hatred of the Forsworn. I was willing to do... anything he commanded, if it meant... spilling their blood."

"Why did you hate them so much?" I asked, partly to avoid the inevitable. My knees were already weak; I sank to the floor and sat opposite him. Forcing myself to look at him, I think I saw him more clearly than I ever had. The one thing he showed me in this moment was his remorse, and I clung to it. He wasn't bragging or joking about it. What happened – whenever it happened – was obviously a painful memory for him.

"Their leader is in Cidhna Mine," he replied tightly. "Was, anyway. I don't know if he still is. He tried to... recruit me, when I was there. Said I was wasted on the Nord oppressors, a strong Orc like myself. Except... he made... a mistake. His men... sacked a stronghold, on his orders. Killed every Orsimer inside." Mauronk swallowed with difficulty, and blinked back tears. It took him a moment to speak again. "He... claimed... it was... Nords. The Jarl ordered it, his men carried it out. He lied." He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "The fucking bastard lied."

"What... stronghold...," I whispered, dreading his answer. The look on his face, the pain and anger... Oh shit. The game missed one.

"Rogdul," he murmured. "Small one, in the shadow of Hag Rock. Chieftain was... Mukdul." Bowing his head, he rubbed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. "My f-father."

"Oh my god," I breathed. I had to restrain myself; one of my hands reached out to him, but I pulled it back. "I'm sorry, Mauronk."

"I don't mourn him," he replied, mastering himself. "I was... beneath him. Least of his sons, born to the least of his wives. Rogdul had... no place for me. So I left. A year later, it was gone." He swiped at his eyes again. "It was my... my mother I mourned."

I was stunned. How had he hidden all this from me? Why had he? I couldn't think of a thing to say, and just stared at him, torn between wanting to hold him as tightly as I could, and backing away. What happened in the Reach still hung like a pall between us. I needed him to keep going, tell me it wasn't what the Dunmer said. She'd heard Thalmor propaganda, or placed Mauronk somewhere he wasn't. Except I already knew that wasn't the case.

Without my prompting, Mauronk gathered his forces and continued. "What... the Dunmer is remembering... happened last summer. Whenever Jarl Igmund learned of Forsworn encampments, whether they were members or sympathizers, he sought to root them out. My men were... often called upon. I held firm to my hatred and thirst for vengeance. I gave no protest, asked no questions. All he had to say was, 'Mauronk... there are Forsworn. Slay them for me.'" Bowing his head, his voice full of contempt, he hissed, "And I would do his bidding."

"He... he paid you...," I said hesitantly, just to fill the silence when he paused. He was having a very hard time speaking, as if every word brought him closer to complete collapse. He couldn't look at me, either.

"Yes," he nodded. "I was... paid well."

"What happened, Mauronk?" I pressed shakily.

"It was... a small encampment in the eastern part of the Reach, near Reachwind Eyrie. Igmund was expecting a larger force; he led his own men and engaged mine to back them up. We... we struck before dawn." Wincing, he pressed his hand to his eyes. His voice shook, his lips quivered. "I want... the luxury of claiming darkness for not... knowing how few... But I could see well enough. In my rage, I remembered those I called family, butchered and left to rot, and I showed no mercy."

Pausing, Mauronk struggled to retain control. I could tell this was by far the most painful thing he'd ever had to relate. When he told me about being a mercenary, I'd initially thought that he quit because a cheapskate idiot tried to hire him to assassinate some random citizen without going through the ritual rigamarole, or something equally knock-off Dark Brotherhood-ish. Now I realized that it must have been this event that did it.

"The battle was short," he went on. "The old ones and... some of the women... all of the men... were dead. There was only a... a handful of women left, and... ten children. The oldest..." His eyes squeezed shut and he grimaced. "The oldest was... was no... no more... no more than eight. They were farmers, herders. They begged and pleaded, claiming... they supplied a cell of Forsworn, but hurt no one themselves."

It took longer for him to master himself this time. I felt like I was watching him slide down a cliff, and I wasn't close enough to reach his hands. He huffed and gasped a few times, then grit his teeth. "Igmund gave the command... to me and my men. He didn't want his own... tainted. He said... he did not want them... to become warriors in the cause against him. I hesitated, but not long enough. I almost questioned... but almost isn't good enough. I had not... let go of my hate enough to say no. It left me soon after, and I could see clearly what I had become, what hate had done to me, but it was too late. There was the blood of a child on my hands. The blood of many children..."

Drawing up his knees, he folded his arms on them and lowered his head. After a moment, his shoulders began to shake, and I could hear him sobbing. I didn't know what to do or what to say. I just sat there, staring at him in shocked silence. Even though I knew I was in a whole different world, where violence was as common as breathing in everyone's daily routine, I wasn't from here. I couldn't stop myself from applying 'my world' ethics on the situation. Mauronk's failure to question obviously insane orders aside, that damned Jarl... For a moment, I sat in incredulous bewilderment that a political leader, the equivalent, maybe, of a state governor, would risk his reputation by allowing himself to be even remotely associated with a massacre like this. Hell, they're more apt to hire a network of folks to lay diversions and false trails so they can get laid, than they are to lead a small army into a community and start murdering people. It was unfathomable.

But of course, I was distracting myself from the issue facing me here and now. Could I stomach what Mauronk did? At the moment, I was too stunned to decide.

I waited until he'd gotten himself under control again. Raising his head, but still not looking me in the eyes, he breathed shakily, "I'm sorry, Danni. I've been... trying to leave Skyrim ever since that day. There was nothing here for me but... painful memories and... bad luck." He finally looked at me, and smiled a little. "Then I met you, and it seemed... a laughable irony... to meet the one... the one... when I was finally being marched to the block." His face crumpled, and he closed his eyes tightly. "I wish now... that no dragon had come. I would have died... at your side, and you would never know..." He dragged a shaking hand across his eyes.

"Mauronk... I... I don't know what to say." Tears were streaming down my face; I hadn't even been aware of them. He closed his eyes again and nodded.

"I understand," he said quietly.

"I need some... space," I went on, practically at the point of babbling. "Just... some time to... process this." He nodded again.

"Danni," he murmured thickly, "I... I am... so sorry."

I barely slept all night, thinking and grieving. Mauronk kept his distance, rejoining the other men once he'd gathered himself together. I kept going back and forth between anger, hurt, humiliation, betrayal, and huge disappointment. I just wanted to say, it's over. It's in the past. He didn't want to trot out these events because he obviously wanted to move on from them. Leave them behind and maybe start over. But the uglier the past, the more likely it is to surface.

When morning rolled around, there were a few half-hearted complaints about the hard ground, but nobody really wanted to make a fuss. It was like they could feel the tension between me and Mauronk, or could sense that something really bad happened. The Argonian put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.

"Ease your mind," she advised. "You have learned what you needed to know. Are you content?"

"No," I murmured, shaking my head. Like a spigot was turned on, tears poured from my eyes. She embraced me and stroked my back.

"There, now," she soothed, "Do you feel he is a good man?"

"I thought so," I replied shakily. "Nothing I know about him... It makes no sense! He's not like that!"

"Ssshh. Perhaps he is no longer what he was. Perhaps he has changed, yes? Perhaps you see the man he made of himself, and that is all you see."

"I think so," I agreed hesitantly. Glancing past her shoulder, I watched him stoically banking the fire. He spoke to no one.

"Look again, now that you know what he was," the Argonian continued. "If you still see him as he is, perhaps that is what he is, and this... other man is no longer within him."

"I wish I could... just forget about that... other man," I whispered. "I can't."

She shook her head. "It is too soon. Give yourself time, then look at him with fresh eyes."

I was certainly knocked for a loop right now. Every time I looked at him, I heard little voices in my head: the Dunmer breaking the bad news, Mauronk painfully relating the truth, and the Argonian's advice. I thought those creepy voiceovers only happened in movies. By the time we left the cave, I was no closer to figuring out where I stood than I was when the lousy history bombs started falling. I just trudged along behind the group, barely keeping them in my sights while the snow flew, and the sun passed overhead.

When the Nord called out that Winterhold could be seen in the distance, I almost cried, I was so relieved. To begin with, I would get to unload this entire crew and get them all out of my damned hair. Then I could be alone with Mauronk, and talk things out. Except I didn't think I was quite ready to face off with him. I wanted to sleep on it at least one night in a comfortable, warm setting. Come back refreshed in the morning, ready to tackle the situation. Maybe by morning, I'd have those fresh eyes the Argonian promised.

Just our luck, 'almost there' turned out to be several more miles through knee-deep snow drifts and sleet blowing into our faces. The sun was completely set by the time we stumbled half-blindly into the inn. The innkeeper greeted us with surprise – he probably didn't see groups of eight wander into his establishment in the dead of night too often – and offered up meals and rooms.

Mauronk met my gaze and moved closer. His voice was quiet and sad. "I... suspect you don't... want to... I can share a room with the men."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Me and the ladies... we've got... girl talk and... stuff."

He looked like he wanted to say a million things, but settled for, "Sleep well." Then he retreated to the room he and the men were assigned, and I went with the women.