Chapter Sixteen

Falkreath wasn't a huge town, but it was large enough to make finding your mate on a walk a little difficult. Rowen stood at intersecting paths, wondering which direction to head. An Argonian fellow stood with his back to a post. Rowen gave a closed-mouth smile in his direction. But, before Rowen could form her words of greeting, she was interrupted by the sound of a horse approaching at full gallop. Rowen's eyes widened as Shadowmere stopped and reared in front of them. The Argonian man steadied himself against the post, taken by great surprise at the sudden appearance of the large stallion.

"By the Nines, you beast! What has gotten into you?" Rowen glared up at Shadowmere who was now whinnying softly. Rowen had never seen Shadowmere in such a state. She finally stroked Shadowmere's nuzzle, "It's alright, calm down." Shadowmere began scratching the ground with his hoof.

Rowen grasped Shadowmere's reigns and turned an apologetic gaze to the Argonian, "He's never charged into a town like this before. I'm sorry he startled you." Rowen reached a hand out to the stranger, "I'm Rowen of Arenthia." The Argonian leaned forward and clasped Rowen's hand, "Neros of Stormhold." Rowen motioned up the only path of Falkreath that she had yet to cover, "Say, you wouldn't have noticed a woman walking around here? Black cloak, really pale?" Neros wore a somewhat flat expression that puzzled Rowen. "You know, you're the first person that has shaken my hand since I moved into this town," Neros remarked in a reflective tone. Rowen chucked awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. "I normally turn a blind eye in these matters, just as this town has turned a blind eye to me," Neros turned his gaze towards Rowen, "But, it was once my job to see everything." Rowen nodded, still unsure of where the conversation was headed. She knew that the Argonians were worthy stealth agents, often recruited by groups such as the Dark Brotherhood for their keen ability to disappear into a target's encampment in search for weaknesses. Neros read Rowen's face and raised one scaled eyebrow, "I did see your companion. She was approached by a Nordic fellow, then they left by foot to join two Orcish men just a stones throw outside of town." Rowen was very confused by this string of information, "Are you sure we are talking about the same woman? I can assure you that Serana doesn't know any fellows in Falkreath." Rowen reflected back to Bolund and scowled. Neros locked his gaze with Rowen, "I saw you enter Dead Man's Drink, so I am certain of who I saw." Rowen's mind reeled. "But, the thing I found very interesting," Neros continued, "Is that the lady had not brought her own horse." Neros then pointed to Shadowmere, "This horse followed her to the field, and chased after the group as they fled Falkreath." Rowen turned her gaze towards Shadowmere. "And, here you are," Neros waived a clawed hand towards Rowen, as he concluded his summary. Rowen began to feel her stomach tighten, "In which direction were they headed?" The Argonian pointed to a road East of Falkreath, "But I must tell you that the Nord did talk to one other person while he was in town. Perhaps, she would know their destination." Rowen turned back to Neros, "She?" Her voice was beginning to take on a frantic edge. Neros nodded, "Another pretty, little Nordic woman with short, red hair. She entered Dead Man's Drink shortly before your lady exited the tavern." Rowen turned back to the tavern, with a crashing realization. Ysolda.

Chapter Seventeen

Ysolda crumbled the note in her fist and let it drop to the floor. The sound of her feet echoed throughout the manor as she made her way to the back of the homestead. What she was considering verged on the edge of pure insanity, but she could think of no other way to rid her life of this woman. Ysolda popped a latch on a worn weapon display case and let her finger graze the hilts of a collection of deadly daggers. These were far from Rowen's best daggers. The best were locked in the basement along with Rowen's most treasured armor pieces. Ysolda kicked at the old latch that bound the basement door shut. She had never actually entered the finished basement. Its contents remained somewhat of a mystery to her. Rowen had explained to Ysolda that there were parts of her life that she had to keep locked away for Ysolda's own safety. Ysolda wasn't exactly sure which factions Rowen had found herself joining during her many months on the road, but Ysolda had somewhat of an idea. She knew that Rowen had quickly moved to powerful positions with the wrong people, and she felt the need to uproot Ysolda from their mansion that they shared in Solitude. They quickly relocated to the Lakeview Manor, a monstrous house safely tucked between the forgotten borders of Falkreath and a frozen lake.

Ysolda wedged a dagger between the latch and the basement door. Once she felt she had the appropriate leverage, she kicked down on the hilt of the dagger. The latch popped, but remained attached by two strong, iron nails. Ysolda once again positioned the dagger between the latch and the door and kicked down. This time, the latch popped off, tearing pieces of the wooden door away with it. Ysolda lifted the door to the basement and was met with complete darkness. She readied her torch in her hand and began her descent down the basement ladder. At the end of the ladder, she allowed herself to drop to the soiled ground. Immediately, she began lighting sconces that decorated the walls of the large room. The growing light illuminated the space and Ysolda gasped at a large figure that stood unmoving in the shadows. Ysolda froze, her eyes locked on the figure when she began to realize it was just an armored mannequin. The mannequin was covered in elaborate black, leather armor. Ysolda's fingers traced the edge of a long cloak that was attached to the body armor. What group would wear such elaborate armor?

Once again, she began scanning the room. A large coffin rested against the far wall of the basement, its lid was open and the red satin lining seemed almost inviting. Ysolda shuttered and turned away from the coffin. No wonder she didn't want me to go down here. She began noting the various wooden trunks scattered around the room. These were most likely the trunks that would hold Rowen's most prized weapons. Ysolda raised the lid of a trunk nearest to the looming, leather-clad mannequin. Inside of the trunk, a variety of shrouded robes cushioned an exceptionally sharp ebony dagger with eerie markings deeply carved into the handle. Ysolda grabbed the dagger and sheathed it onto her hip. The deadly blade offered her the confidence that she would need to enact her plan.

Ysolda made her way back up the ladder and out of the basement. Before leaving the manor, she obtained 500 gold coins from a heavy, iron safe in the main room. The bandit encampment was situated just West of the homestead, and it had always been a source of persistent anxiety for Ysolda. Never could Ysolda have imagined that she would now actually be visiting the encampment on her own volition.

This particular group of bandits had at one time decided to test the defenses of the seemingly vulnerable household. A group of them had arrived late in the night with torches that pierced the night sky. The leader was positioned on horseback at the front of their landing. He was a large Orcish man with a long goatee braided down his chin. His boar-like teeth were barely visible under a large mustache that framed his severe under bite. The Orc yelled to Rowen from horseback with a booming voice that echoed off the large rock quarry surrounding the land of the manor, "A young lady would be either exceptionally dense or entirely insane to build a homestead in such uninviting territory!" At that moment, a separate bandit had flanked the manor and was beginning to make his way through the kitchen window.

Rowen quickly sent Ysolda down through the hatch of the basement. The basement was still unfurnished at this time, and was more of an afterthought in Rowen's elaborate building plans. Rowen had instructed Ysolda to lock the basement from the inside until she returned. When Ysolda was safely locked inside of the basement, Rowen quickly extinguished all of the lights in the main room before creeping slowly to the kitchen. By this time, the bandit had the kitchen window open and was attempting his stealthy descent into the house. Rowen was perched patiently in the shadow beside the window with her hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of her dagger. As soon as the bandit dropped to the ground, Rowen swiftly moved into position behind him. She used one hand to quickly grab a fist full of his hair as the other hand launched the dagger in a quick, upwards stabbing motion between the rib space of one lung. Before the bandit could react, Rowen kicked the back of the bandit's knee as she quickly stabbed a second dagger deeply into his other lung. The bandit fell to the ground as he opened and closed his mouth rapidly with wide eyes, but no sound escaped his deflated lungs.

Rowen turned and quickly scanned the area outside the window for any of the bandit's accomplices, but all appeared clear for the moment. Rowen turned back to the bandit on the floor, his eyes were now glassy and distant in death. Rowen removed an axe from a block of wood that lay ready by the kitchen fireplace. Rowen swung the blade of the axe down into the neck of the bandit, severing his head in one chop. Rowen grimaced as she grabbed the hair of the bandit's head and lifted it from the ground. Lopping off heads wasn't exactly her style, and it certainly wasn't subtle. However, subtlety was not the message needed for this situation.

Rowen carried the head with her as she moved silently through the house. Once she had reached the front of the house, she quickly opened a window while remaining under cover. "I would strongly advise you to reconsider your actions, Orc!" Rowen yelled into the darkness. Muffled laughter was clearly audible from the open window. Rowen then launched the severed head through the open window and heard it land with a thud on the ground. The bandit chief's horse brayed sharply. "I believe that belongs to you!" Rowen shouted as she grabbed her quiver from a shelf beside the front door. Hushed murmurs filled the night as the bandits remained in position. "Leave my property now, and I will allow you to live. Continue to test me, and I will use your bones to fashion my armor!"

A few moments passed in silence before Rowen finally heard the distinct sound of a horse galloping away into the wilderness. Rowen peered over the window ledge with her bow readied. The torches of the bandits were quickly fading into the night. The severed head remained discarded on the moist soil of their lawn. Rowen returned to the basement for Ysolda, "It's over—they're gone now." Ysolda unlocked the basement and raised the hatch slowly, blinking as her eyes accommodated to the sudden appearance of torchlight. The bandits never attempted another attack after that night.

Ysolda continued west towards the bandit encampment as she recalled that horrific night. It had taken her days to remove the bloodstains from her kitchen floor. She wondered if the bandits would listen to her proposition, or if they would just murder her on site. She patted the hilt of her sheathed ebony dagger and again felt the surge of confidence that she needed. The smell of smoke and booming laughter alerted Ysolda to her arrival at the destination. She straightened herself and began walking confidently and with purpose into the clearing where the bandits were situated. A bandit sharpening his blade by the fire stood as Ysolda emerged from the woods, "This would be a good time to turn around, lass." Ysolda stopped abruptly, squared her shoulders and spoke, "I have come to make a proposition." The man sharpening his blade chuckled, "A proposition, eh?" More bandits were now emerging and joining the fireside. An Orc that Ysolda recognized as their chief appeared from a makeshift tent.

"What is this? You have come close enough, lass. It is time to turn around," the Orc bellowed.

"I have gold. It is yours' if you will just help me," Ysolda tried her best to keep her voice from wavering. She wasn't exactly sure if her announcement of having gold tow was in her best interest. "There is a woman in Falkreath that I want you to kidnap. If you do this, I will pay you 500 gold."

The Orc looked puzzled by this entire confrontation. He ran his hand through his goatee and looked quizzically at Ysolda, "Why don't I just take you and your gold?"

Ysolda swallowed before speaking sternly, "The woman that I am referring to is the lover of someone who beheaded one of your men." The bandits turned with looks of realization at their leader.

"Why are you offering this information to me now?" The bandit leader eyed her suspiciously.

"This woman stole something very valuable from me. I want revenge on her, and you want revenge on the woman that killed your friend," Ysolda continued, "If you capture this woman, you will have rid my life of a thief and you will have stolen the lover of your enemy."

The bandit chief nodded as he noted the expressions painted on his men's faces, "So, I steal this woman and you will give me 500 gold for it?" Ysolda nodded slowly. The chief walked towards Ysolda, "What will I do with her once I have her?" Ysolda waived her hand dismissively, "I don't care what you do with her once she is gone."

The chief was now standing directly in front of Ysolda. His massive figure shadowed her completely. "I will give you half of the money now and half of the money once you have taken her," Ysolda breathed as she stood her ground. The chief nodded as he extended his hand, "Aright, Lass, you have a deal. I'll rid you of your thief."

Ysolda placed her hand lightly into the brute's palm. The Orc squeezed Ysolda's hand with an amused expression on his lips, "We will go now to Falkreath." Ysolda looked slightly puzzled, "You want me to ride with you?" The Orc turned away from Ysolda and began readying his horse, "Well, of course you must ride along…you will have to reveal this thief to us." The Orc scooted backwards in the saddle and offered one hand down to Ysolda. Ysolda could feel her heart beating frantically in her chest. She couldn't believe what she was about to do. Finally, she grabbed the Orc's hand and pulled herself onto the saddle in front of him.

Ysolda steadied herself on the horse's back as the Orc positioned his arms around her and grabbed the reigns. "My name is Lash," the Orc commented, "And, I must know the name of the only woman who has ever entered my camp and demanded a job from me." Ysolda squared her shoulders once again, "My name is Ysolda." Lash chucked softly, "Just Ysolda?" Ysolda gave a curt nod, "Just Ysolda."

Chapter Eighteen

Lash remained a considerable distance outside the city of Falkreath. The town was not known as particularly welcoming territory for Orc bandit leaders. In the distance, Lash could see Ysolda wiggling through the window of an inn. He grinned as Ysolda dropped to the ground below. Lash let out a sharp whistle and waived at Ysolda across the field. Ysolda looked around nervously before she gathered her skirts and began sprinting across the field towards Lash's party.

Ysolda's plan had worked flawlessly. Upon entering Falkreath, Ysolda had pointed out Serana to the Chief. Lash had ordered one of his Nordic men to wait outside the inn before taking Serana. Ysolda turned on horseback to face the Chief as he barked out his orders, "No, you must take the thief alone! If Rowen sees you touch her, she won't stop until she kills all of you!"

Lash smiled, "I understand perfectly, Just Ysolda. That's why you will be going in to distract our dear, old friend. In the meantime, we'll steal away your little thief." He seemed very pleased with himself, and he added, "By the time our Elf-friend realizes her loss, we will all be gone."

Ysolda stared back at Lash, "And, I'll be left in there to have my head thrown out the window!"

Lash's let out a bellowing laugh, but he could tell that Ysolda was not at all amused. "You have my word that your pretty head will remain firmly on you shoulders," Lash continued, "When our dear friend leaves the inn to search for her thief-companion, you can slip out unnoticed."

Ysolda eyed Lash suspiciously, wondering if she could trust the word of the bandit. She finally decided that she had come too far to start distrusting him now, and so she agreed to go along with the plan.

Now, as Ysolda bridged the distance between herself and Lash, she was thankful that she chose to trust the Orc. Lash extended a hand down to Ysolda from his saddle, and Ysolda beamed up at him as she took his palm to pull herself up onto his horse.

In the distance, Ysolda could see Lash's man approach Serana from behind. Serana stiffened as the man began to talk to her. Ysolda knew that the bandit had placed a knife to her back, but the casual observer would be none the wiser of his actions.

The man followed behind Serana to the field where they were waiting, and instructed her to mount his horse. Serana gave Ysolda a tight-lipped stare as the bandit began binding her to his mount. The sound of an approaching horse made Ysolda turn. Across the field, Shadowmere was galloping towards them at full speed with his head held low and his eyes glowing like fire. "It's her horse!" Ysolda panicked.

Lash grabbed his reigns as the Nordic bandit slid into the saddle behind Serana. Lash kicked his horse into motion, "I'm not worried about some damned horse, Just Ysolda. But, it's time we make our leave."

Serana was using her shoulder to fight at her gag, "Get Rowen! NOW!" Serana screamed back at Shadowmere before the bandit behind her managed to secure a burlap sac over her head.

Shadowmere continued to race after them until Falkreath began to fade into the distance. When Ysolda turned back to look at the demon horse, he was gone. A smile made its way across Ysolda's face. They had really done it. Ysolda could feel her heart marching to the steady beat of their horses' hooves.

But, Ysolda's smile faded as a cold chill raced down her spi ne. Ysolda pulled her cape around her to protect herself from the chill of the night air, but Rowen's voice seemed to echo throughout her mind. I'll be back when I find Serana, but not until then.

Chapter Nineteen

Rowen threw open the door of the inn and walked quickly to the door of her private room. She tried the doorknob and found it locked. No surprise there. Rowen turned in annoyance from the door, an unnerving smile slowly spreading across her face. The patrons at the bar suddenly became engrossed in the bottom of their pints, avoiding Rowen's gaze.

"You must have locked yourself out," Valga offered quietly as she approached Rowen. Rowen still had the same unnerving smile on her face, "Why, I suppose I did, Valga. Thank you for your help." Valga turned the key to unlock the room and backed away as Rowen pushed forward. Rowen quickly snapped the door shut behind her as she entered the empty room.

The bed was still disheveled from her romp with Serana. Serana's travel bag lay slumped in the corner of the room. Rowen walked to the chair where she last saw Ysolda. She ran her hand across the padded seat, noting its warmth. Ysolda hadn't been gone long.

Rowen hoisted herself over the windowsill with her own belongings in tow and dropped steadily onto the damp ground below. She peered across the field that separated the inn from the woods of Falkreath's hold and whistled sharply for Shadowmere. Rowen startled as a high-pitched whinny sounded beside her. Apparently, Shadowmere was already one step ahead. Rowen grabbed at Shadowmere's reigns and held his head low as she met his searing red eyes, "You love her too, and so you will take me to her. Do you understand?" Shadowmere's nostrils flared as he kicked readily at the earth beneath them.

Rowen had barely righted herself into the saddle before Shadowmere took off at a full-gallop towards the Eastern road of Falkreath. Rowen clung to the reigns of the horse, feeling Shadowmere's hooves dig deep into the ground beneath them.

They rode through the night, following fresh tracks on the path leading out of Falkreath. Yet, as the night pressed on, it soon became apparent that Shadowmere had reached the end of his knowledge as to Serana's whereabouts. Still, the horse pushed forward at a breakneck pace whenever Rowen directed him onto what she felt might be the kidnappers' path. They rode until the sun had fully risen in the sky. Shadowmere's body glistened in a fine sweat and his hot breath steamed the freezing air around them.

At some point in their flight, Rowen noted familiar trees surrounding their path, and she became uncertain as to whether they had circled back onto their route, or whether everything was just starting to look the same to her now. She finally had to dismount Shadowmere to get the horse to slow his speed. She walked with him, leading him by his reigns to a nearby stream. Shadowmere's muscles quivered as he lowered his head to drink. Rowen knew that if they kept at this pace, she would ride him into the ground.

As Shadowmere continued to drink, Rowen began tying him to a nearby tree. Shadowmere reared suddenly and nearly pulled Rowen to the ground. "By the Nines! We have to stop! Do you think you are any good to me dead?" Rowen fastened the horse to the tree, her mouth firm as she stared down the demon horse. Rowen began to pace and rack her brain for any clue that might get them back on the right trail. Shadowmere had finally stopped pulling at the tree, and stood looking defeated at the stream below them.

The last rays of the setting sun shone brightly between the trees, and Rowen realized that they had been riding all night and all day. And, they were still no closer to finding Serana than they were at Falkreath. The paths around them faded with the waning daylight.

Rowen scavenged the area for firewood and tinder, the temperature quickly dropping around them. Most of the wood in the area was covered in a fine snow, wet and useless for burning. Rowen shook the cold from her hands as she looked at the pathetic fire pit. This will have to do for the night. With her palms facing towards the pit, Rowen released a stream of flames at the stacked wood. The flames bellowed from her palms with such force that the wood flew backwards and scattered into the snow. "GODS DAMN IT!" Rowen stormed and kicked at the remaining stack of logs.

Magic had never been a particularly strong skill for her, but she usually could at least spark a fire. "Useless as tits on a skeaver," Rowen continued to swear as she searched her satchel for pots of troll fat and flint.

Once again, Rowen gathered the wood and tinder, brushing the snow off of the logs with the leg of her pants. The flint sparked the tender and the troll fat kept the flames burning steadily as the last bit of moisture began burning out of the wood. Shadowmere still stood, unmoving with his gaze locked on the stream. Rowen positioned her hands over the fire and began to shake her head, "You should have just followed her. You shouldn't have let her go…you should have known!" Rowen wasn't sure if she was berating herself, Shadowmere, or both. She threw a blanket over Shadowmere's back and wrapped herself in a fur cloak as she settled back next to the fire. She stared at the stallion. He had been with them these past seven months too, almost every step of the way.

Rowen sighed, "I'm sorry. If it weren't for you, I probably would just now be suspecting that something was amiss." She looked up at the stars and wondered if Serana was in a place where she could see them too. If they haven't raped and killed her yet. Rowen quickly hated herself for even acknowledging that possibility. "If this were about anything else, we'd have found the place, disposed of the bodies, and be headed to town with too much loot to move." Her half-hearted laugh sounded more like a cry in the night air. If this were anyone else.

She closed her eyes and prayed for dreamless sleep. Instead, she dreamt of the night that she had agreed to become a vampire in order to help find Serana's mother. Rowen hated Lord Harkon, she despised almost every vampire that she had the displeasure of encountering, and the Dawnguard would shun her once she turned. But, Rowen loved Serana, and what better way to spend eternity than by her side? "I don't see any other way. I'll become a vampire," Rowen almost couldn't believe her own words. "I'm ready," she nodded, but her voice still sounded uncertain. Serana shifted, "Turning someone is a very personal thing…for vampires. It's intimate. For us. I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into this." Rowen grabbed Serana's hand, "In that case, I'm glad you're the one doing it." Rowen was at least certain of that part. Serana held Rowen as she sunk her fangs deeply into her neck. Initially, Rowen thrashed in pain, but quickly her mind became clouded with a heady euphoria. She wrapped her arms around Serana as she was slowly lowered to the floor. With Serana above her, Rowen had the strange sensation that she was floating, or like she was a boat being rocked back and forth between two waves. Suddenly, she realized that Serana was shaking her awake, "Rowen, are you alright? Please, tell me you are okay…" Rowen tried sitting up, but her head still felt like it was spinning, "What happened? Why am I on the floor?" Serana looked pained, "When you turned, you passed out…I helped you to the floor…you were rocking from side-to-side and saying strange things." Rowen finally was able to sit up and place her head in her hands. Serana ran her hand down Rowen's plaited hair, the look of pain was still written all over her face. "I'm fine," Rowen forced a smile, "Do you always knock your lovers off their feet when you get 'intimate' with them?" Serana laughed awkwardly, "I…I actually haven't turned anyone before…if you couldn't tell." Rowen still felt very weak, but continued to tease, "Well, I think you're a pro. We should do this more often." Serana punched Rowen playfully, but looked horrified when Rowen fell over on the ground again. Rowen rested her head on her palm and managed another smile, "Do you always beat a girl up after you get intimate with her?" Serana rolled her eyes, "Do you always cling to your partners like a mudcrab, loudly proclaiming your love before passing out?" Rowen smiled again, "No, that's only for you."

Chapter Twenty

Serana was pushed forward roughly and a door slammed shut behind her. Ropes still bound her wrists, but she managed to shake the burlap sack off of her head. She looked around at her cell. A simple bedroll and bucket of water occupied one side of the room, and the other side of the room was void except for a smaller, empty bucket. Serana could only imagine what that bucket was intended for. A strange line seemed to border the cell. The border seemed to glow in the dim light. Serana realized that an enchantment bond her to the cell. It would prevent her from being able to perform magic through the cell bars.

The other walls of the cell were covered in stone. Serana searched the walls for a jagged rock, backing against it and rubbing her bindings against the sharp edges. She stopped suddenly when she heard the sound of boots descending down a flight of stairs. Ysolda rounded a corner and made her way to the cell with a torch in hand. Serana straightened at the sight of her.

"Well, now that I have your abiding attention," Ysolda mused as she lit torches in the room across from the cell.

"Let me out of here, Ysolda," Serana started.

"You always were the persistent one," Ysolda hissed as she began to pour wine into a goblet. Serana quieted and continued to stare at Ysolda indignantly. "It seems we share a common lover, not that it should have surprised me," Ysolda began, "But, I will give it to you, I have never seen Rowen stay so enamored with one women for such a length of time." Ysolda stood suddenly and pushed the wine-filled goblet through the bars at Serana. "You should drink, it could be a long night," Ysolda smiled.

Serana disregarded the wine goblet and continued to stare coldly at Ysolda.

"Fine, suit yourself. It's perfectly good wine…if I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of bringing you to this shit hole," Ysolda continued as she poured herself a goblet of wine from the same bottle.

"My wrists are tied," Serana stated matter-of-factly, "How exactly am I to manage a drink?"

"You could continue rubbing yourself against that rock over there," Ysolda pointed.

Serana made her way to the jagged stone and sliced quickly sliced through what remained of her bindings. She made her way back to the far corner of the cell, grabbed the wine goblet, and gulped the wine down audibly.

"Right, where were we?" Ysolda feigned a look of contemplation, "Oh, yes, Rowen's very sharing nature with love."

"She insisted that she not start anything with me until she had ended things officially with you," Serana wiped her mouth clean.

"Oh, right, she didn't want to take you as a mistress, and she was so very concerned about doing the right thing by me," Ysolda nodded, "Funny how that turned into her using you for foreplay while she fucked me." Serana scowled and averted her eyes from Ysolda.

"Don't beat yourself up too much about it; it's probably a grand show of love that she managed to restrain herself from you for seven months. I dare say that it is probably a record."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Ysolda."

"Well, before me, a thief named Sapphire was our heroine's muse," Ysolda cocked her head as if she was beginning to start a list, "Yes, Sapphire was a very interesting girl, a bit of a tragic past…but, I guess she shared that in common with our dear Dragonborn."

"Rowen's family died when she was young," Serana added flatly.

"Rowen's family was murdered when she was young," Ysolda corrected, "Much like our friend Sapphire's family. Except Rowen's family was killed by a band of rogue vampires, much like you."

Serana froze, but tried to keep her face neutral as Ysolda studied her. "I take it that she didn't tell you that part? I suppose you thought her opposition to vampirism was on a morality basis?" Ysolda laughed, "Imagine what I thought when she brought you through the door."

Serana tried her best to think of a response for this revelation, but Ysolda continued, "Or, did she ever tell you about the time she ended up in prison under Markarth?" Ysolda paused to take a long drink from her goblet, "What was the first thing she did when she broke out of prison? Did she rush home to her loving wife? No. She made her way to the nearest barwench and spent a fortnight with her. Hroki. I believe that is her name. Always a favorite attraction for our Rowen when she is visiting Markarth."

Serana reflected on the first time she went to Markarth with Rowen. The two of them had been traveling for days, and Serana was insistent on buying them rounds of ale. Rowen looked skeptically at the Silver-Blood Inn and stated that she would rather find an encampment outside of the city to bed down for the night. Serana had laughed at Rowen, assuming that she couldn't be serious. Rowen had kept her head low as she entered the inn, but was quickly spotted by a young, busty blonde in a gold tavern dress. The girl had approached Rowen by sitting on her knee with a pint of ale ready in hand. Rowen startled so badly that she nearly flung the girl off of her. The barwench laughed at Rowen and exclaimed, "Gods, Rowen! I guess that I am still glad we can surprise each other! You didn't tell me that you were coming into town!" Rowen smiled awkwardly and motioned to Serana, "Hroki, thank you for the ale…can I introduce you to Serana?" Hroki smiled warmly at Serana, "Nice to meet you, Serana. That's a very lovely name." Serana forced a smile at the woman that was still sitting in Rowen's lap. Hroki's eyes trailed back to Rowen, who was now sitting with her elbow on the chair and hand partially covering her mouth. Rowen's head was perfectly at level with Hroki's bust, and Rowen seemed painfully aware of it. She stared forward at Serana, not daring to glance at Hroki as she slid off of her lap and walked away. "Old friend?" Serana quizzed once Hroki was gone. "Hroki? Friendly? Pssahhh," Rowen stammered, "I mean, I know her…great instruments…instrument. She plays music." "Oh, I'm sure she is very talented with her instruments," Serana nodded. Rowen frowned at Serana, "It has been ages since I've visited this pissing hole of a hold." Serana glanced back to the bar where Hroki was pouring pints, "I don't understand your aversion, it seems like a very friendly place."

Ysolda studied Serana's face, "Does that name ring a bell to you?"

"I knew that Rowen had…relations with her at some point in time, yes," Serana admitted.

"How about the name Astrid?" Ysolda continued to question.

"I know of Astrid," Serana stated softly.

"I like to call her the 'One that Got Away,'" Ysolda paused, "By that, I mean that Rowen killed her."

"Astrid betrayed Rowen and then blew herself up in a fire," Serana pointed adamantly, "You don't know the trouble that Rowen got herself into with those people."

"I'm not as clueless as you think when it comes to my wife's involvements," Ysolda countered, "To be sure, Astrid would have nothing to do with our dear heroine. For that, I admire her."

"She wasn't having sex with her, so I fail to understand what grudge you hold towards their relationship," Serana was growing tired of this game.

"Well, for one, she followed Astrid around for almost as long as she has you. She was at her beck and call. Might I also point out that she hasn't had sex with you either," Ysolda tipped her glass towards Serana. "It's sad, really. I do think that Rowen meant to finally win Astrid over, but we both know how that story ended."

Ysolda fidgeted with the diamond pendant around her neck, "I was almost sure she had changed her ways when you walked into the picture. The nights she came home to me after being on the road for months with you…well, I don't think I have been fucked so well in all of my life."

Serana stared down at the floor, but could only continue to listen to Ysolda's cold tone.

"Little did I know that I had become the mistress to satisfy her needs while she pined away after you," Ysolda rose and began walking towards the stairs, "Congratulations, on your engagement."

Ysolda climbed the stairs and made her way out the front of the small, mildewing cottage in the middle of the woods. Lash stood watering his horse as he counted out gold coins in his leather satchel. He spied Ysolda across the landing and smiled, "Did you get your revenge on your thief, Just Ysolda?"

Ysolda frowned, "I think we should just let her go." Lash gave Ysolda a knowing nod, "This is why you don't talk to your prisoners, lass. But, even if I wanted to release her for you, I'm afraid the thief was part of our bargain." The wind whistled through the trees around them. Ysolda found the entire place rather unnerving. "What do you want with her anyway?" Ysolda questioned. Lash patted his leather satchel full of gold, "I don't want her, but he does." Lash pointed across the landing at an old hermit stooped over a twisted cane. "I have 500 gold here from that old man in exchange for our thief," Lash stated as he began readying his horse for departure. "What are you going to do with all of that gold?" Ysolda asked as she wondered what she was going to do with herself. "Well," Lash began, "I am going to give 500 of it to the wife of the man your Elf friend cut down. The other 500 I'll just hold onto for now."

Ysolda looked back at the old hermit, "I guess Serana could handle him if it really came down to it." Lash looked perplexed, "You kidnap and imprison your thief, but you pray for her safe release? What do you think she will decides to find you?" Ysolda bit her lip, "I'm new to this whole kidnapping and imprisoning thing." Lash nodded as he mounted his horse, "It's not a lifestyle that I recommend for you, Just Ysolda." Ysolda searched Lash's face. He really was a strange looking fellow. He was so brutish and bulky, where Rowen had been so nimble and lithe. His underbite made him appear as though he was perpetually in a terrible mood, but he was kind. "I just wanted to run a shop," Ysolda shrugged, "I have had my fill of marriage, infidelity, dragons, and vampires." Lash regarded Ysolda as he spoke to her, "I know plenty o' places where you can run a shop, Just Ysolda."

Ysolda groaned, "It's not Just Ysolda. It's just Ysolda." The Orsimer smiled down at her. Ysolda continued on, "What about you? Do you know much about marriage, infidelity, dragons, or vampires?" The Orc sighed, "No, I don't meddle in those affairs, I'm afraid."

"What? You? I thought your kind were…you know…polygamists…I'm sure you have plenty of wives stowed away somewhere," Ysolda wasn't sure what point she was trying to arrive at. Lash shifted on his horse, "Nothing stowed away on me aside from gold and skeever jerky, Ysolda. If I know anything about the women-folk, it's that wives don't exactly stay stowed very long." Ysolda shivered again as the trees danced in the wind. The Orc's horse flicked its tail expectantly. Lash sighed and began to frame his question carefully, "Would you like to travel with me? To a good shop that I know?" Ysolda looked around her and didn't know what other choice she really had, "If I'm not too much trouble, I'd really appreciate that." Lash held down his palm to her, "Oh, I'm sure you'll bring me trouble, but nothing that I can't handle."