Marcurio's POV

I sat on the same bench day by day and made conversation with the same people day by day. My life had become sad and lonely since I left Cyrodiil. I simply could not live under those circumstances any longer. I tried everything to appease my parents and nothing worked. I tried becoming a scholar, but they said I was too good for that. So I studied magick, as I've always been magickally-gifted. They were displeased even further. So I did what I thought was fool-proof and went into the Legion. I entered as a battlemage of officer rank. My parents still disapproved. So when I came back home from the Legion, I gathered what was truly mine and left Cyrodiil. I'd never be good enough for them.

I shook my head to release the thought from my mind when something caught my eye. There was a woman with straight, black hair, rosy cheeks and blue eyes staring daggers through me. Her skin was fair and her cheekbones were high enough to cut down any man that cross her. The fur armor she wore accentuated her ... finer features. I could tell she was pampered. Or had been at least. Her hair was very shiny, not dull and greasy like most women in Skyrim. Her skin looked dirty, but also it was obvious she was not always like this. She looked like she was used to having everything handed to her on a golden platter. She was beautiful, astonishing really. There was something in her eyes that likened to dismay and sadness. There was darkness in her beauty unlike anything I'd seen before. It was mysterious and wonderous... but moreover, it was dangerous.

Then she turned back. I looked back down at my tankard and sighed. Of course, such a beauty would never talk to a lowly mercenary as me. Maybe had I been bathed in jewels and oiled with gold, would she dare approach me.

To my surprise, she was now standing in front of me. I looked up to her and she asked if I was a mercenary. No just some madman sitting on a bench. I tried to impress her with my choice of words, and she was slightly appalled. She seemed hesitant to hand over the 500 septims, but she handed over the gold nonetheless.

I introduced myself, prompting her to do the same. She simply suggested we get rooms instead. There was but one room left in the Bee and Barb... Oh my... I was not prepared for this.

We went up to the room Keerava had rented her. I walked in first... and saw there was only one bed. Oh how I wished to sleep in a normal bed for the first time in years.

"I'll sleep in the floor, if you want the bed. It's no big deal," said the pampered lady. I could tell she actually wanted the bed.

I studied her and underneath the harsh candlelight I could see bags under her eyes. She looked like she was close to passing out just standing before me. I crossed my arms. There was no way she was sleeping on the floor in her current condition.

"Nope, I'll sleep in the floor. You look like you haven't slept in at least a week. I think it's high time you got some."

She attempted a weak argument. No matter how hard she would argue, I was not going to allow her to sleep in the floor. As I stood my ground, she thought of adding to her argument but thought better of it. She gave up and headed for the bath house.

I sat alone for a while reading spell tomes and playing with flames. The pampered lady was taking an awfully long time with her bath. After a while I began to worry, she could not be bathing for this long.

I walked out through the marketplace and across the sanctuary and opened the door to the bath house and the pampered lady lay asleep.

The way her hair clung to her face and fell down her shoulders was breathtaking. She looked so peaceful, so relaxed. The darkness I saw upon first meeting her was not present now. She was the image of pure bliss. Then her head began to slide down the bath wall.

I covered my eyes and felt my way around the bath house like a blind man until I reached her. I may be enraptured by her beauty but I was no pervert. I felt her shoulder and nudged her slightly. She did not wake. I nudged her once more but with a tad bit more urgency. Then she yawned and screamed my name. I, of course, defended myself and then turned around, so she could get out of the bath and I could remove my hand from my eyes.

I heard water moving and the wooden floor of the bath house shift under the slight weight of the pampered lady. I told her I wouldn't come back to wake her if she fell asleep again and left.

I walked through the marketplace whose regular crowd of traders and adventurers had begun to slow and disperse. I found a bench to on and through an invisibility spell, so I could ensure the pampered lady's safe return.

She sauntered into the marketplace and was stopped by Brynjolf, one of the head guys at the Thieves Guild.

I had dealt with the Thieves Guild before. I used to gamble quite a bit during my early days in Riften. I learned my lesson after I had to pay off my debt.

The lady obviously wasn't about to do whatever Brynjolf wanted but she made it look like she would.

She made sure to catch the attention of the nearby guard and picked the lock. How clever. The guard caught her and she paid her fine and reported to Brynjolf.

Then, curiously enough, she yelled to the dark elf merchant, Brand-Shei, who seemed to recognize her. Then he yelled something about a Dartwing to her. I pressumed from their greetings, that they were old friends reunited once more.

I had never actually talked to Brand-Shei for anything more than to sell a few trinkets I'd gathered. They talked fondly for a while and I figured since the pampered lady was so close to the Bee and Barb, that I could rest assured that she'd return to the room in one piece. So I went to the room.

It wasn't long after I had gotten settled in and comfortable in the floor that she returned.

She must've seen that my eyes were closed because she tried to sneak about the room as not to wake me. I sat up and accused her of falling asleep in the bath again.

She corrected me, admitting only to being held up by Brynjolf and talking to Brand-Shei. So I let her know that I knew more about her endeavors than she thought and then told her she had some work to do on her observation skills. She ignored me. She went behind the door and I heard the shifting of cloth and the clang of buckles. She came out moments later in bed clothes and blew out the candles.

I still didn't know her name.

"I'm Sartyl Shrouded-Hearth Lovidicus." That name... I'd heard it in Cyrodiil.

I was in disbelief. I needed proof. There was no possible way that this pampered Nord was Imperial royalty. Perhaps a distant cousin but certainly not the daughter of Cortumelorius Lovidicus.

Then she even claimed to be the goddaughter of Emporer Titus Mede II himself!!

She didn't sound like she was lying, but you never truly can tell whose telling the truth these days.

She told me to light a candle then she went to her knapsack and I heard the clank of potion bottles and the ting of lockpicks... then I heard the soft crinkle of parchment.

She let out a sigh of relief almost. She wore a mocking smirk as she handed me the documents with pride.

There was an adoption document signed by Cortumelorius and Faustina Lovidicus. Her name was Sartyl Shrouded-Hearth, then. There was a document that proved she had changed her name, signed by the Emporer. And there was a letter from Cortumelorius and Faustina advising her to find me in Riften. There was a smaller letter from a man named Hadvar, wishing her safe travels.

I ran across an old document that I'm sure she didn't mean to put in there. It read:

"Madame Luella Shrouded-Hearth,

Oeluveer is with us. We are coming. You and your daughter will watch as we rip the flesh from his bones and burn him alive as a sacrifice to Lord Molag Bal. Prepare yourself, but know that if you attempt to evade us this time your daughter is next.

-Volkihar."

I quickly shifted past that letter. The horror that must've been. Another letter read:

"Sartyl Shrouded-Hearth,

I regret to inform you that Bolliviir has passed. Our condolences. He left you a few septims as an inheritance. We have taken out the necessary taxes.- The Steward of Morthal"The losses seemed to get worse. Then I read one letter that changed everything for me.

"Sartyl Lovidicus,

I am saddened to here you are returning to Skyrim. I wish you would stay and fill my throne room with laughter as you always have. You truly are the best goddaughter I could have. You have proven through adversity and loss that a woman can always bring a smile to anyone's face. After getting the full backstory on you, I believe both Cortumelorius and Faustina realize why you were so guarded for so long. They have tried to do their best by you. Both of them would come to me sometimes in tears telling of how they were uncertain you would ever love them. As time went on they became happier. Faustina was cursed to never have children so she was delighted when Bolliviir sent her a letter of a child in need of adoption. May the ground quake as you walk.

- Papa Titus"

These letters, though they were probably not meant for my eyes provided me with useful information. I admitted defeated and we both went to sleep.

"No! What have I done!!"

The scream caused me to bolt upright on my bedroll I snapped my fingers and lit the room slightly.

"Is everything alright?"

Sartyl sat with her knees to her chest, shaking and covered in sweat. She stared at me in horror. She obviously was not okay.

She was searching for her voice when she collapsed into sobs. I hated the sight of seeing her like this.

I asked her again what was bothering her. She mouthed "yes" and succumbed to hysterics once more. Once the river of tears subsided, I carefully lifted myself onto the very far end of her bed and asked her, a bit softer than last time, "Sartyl, what's wrong?"

She made a failed attempte at calming her spasmodic breathing. before she spoke. "I killed him." Her words were chopped and short. I could tell tears that stung to be free lay near the top of her throat.

"Who? Who did you kill?"

"A Stormcloak." Her words were become slightly more fluent and smooth.

"Did you have a reason?"

She dodged my question. "Marcurio, what if I go mad and start killing for no reason? What if I become a murderous lunatic?"

I assured her that would not be the case. Then she looked at me with self-pity weighing down the edges of her mouth. Her bottom lip gave a quiver as gears turned over and over ide her mind. By the Nine, was she beautiful. Even covered in sweat and smothered by tears and horror, her beauty rang true.

She asked me to hold her til she fell asleep, but she sounded as though she regretted it. I moved closer to her as she laid down and enclosed her in my arms.

Her breathing smoothed out and her heartbeat began to slow. Her body, once tense and rigid began to go limp and relaxed.

Poor, tortured noble.