Chapter 4: The New Dawn

It was dusk when Aislinn and Brynjolf entered the Reach. To their right, Fort Sungard stood proudly, casting a long shadow on the ground, its silhouette resemblant to a mighty beast threatening to engulf the two of them in eternal darkness. The sun was setting slowly and Aislinn could vaguely make out the outline of Bard's Leap Summit, in her memory astonishingly beautiful with its tall waterfalls similar to diamond showers and fresh greenery that was almost suffocating for one used to the cramped Nordic barrows and steamy Dwemer cities. Basking in the last remaining rays of sunlight, Aislinn's cheeks turned the same crimson color that hemmed the western horizon.

It was not easy to avoid the main roads here. The mountains didn't provide too many paths for them and they found themselves running into dead ends countless times, circling around only to be welcomed by a wall of rocks, a cavern or, in the most dangerous cases, a cliff where they could be easily spotted if gazed upon.

"Sheogorath's mad eyes, this is driving me crazy!" Aislinn hissed, running out of patience. "If I could just storm there, get rid of everyone who gets in my freaking way and get this all over with…"

"Now now, lass, let's not be too hasty," Brynjolf tried to comfort her, too aware of her habit to recklessly force her way through pretty much anything. "We're thieves, remember? Finding alternatives should be our specialty. Take it as a challenge."

"There is no alternative, Brynjolf." She crossed her arms in a rebellious posture. "There are mountains neither of us can possibly climb on both sides. The only way goes through that valley which is, sadly, occupied by a band of Forsworn. And I'm tired of hiding. Why can't we just deal with them? It's not like the thieves specialize in crossing this kind of land anyway."

"You'd have to kill every single one of them to make sure no-one finds out about us. You can never tell when one of these guys joins forces with someone from the Dominion."

"The Forsworn joining up with the Thalmor?" she sneered. "Don't make me laugh. These guys are more thick-headed than the most orthodox Stormcloaks."

"There were traitors even among the Stormcloaks," he opposed. "Deceit is a powerful weapon, you know."

She didn't have an answer to that. Aislinn understood the situation just as well as Brynjolf did, but the constant walking in circles, unable to find a way out and move just a bit forward, was quickly getting to her. She wasn't used to hiding at all. Before, she'd had no official criminal record and she hadn't had to pretend she didn't even exist. Walked into a group of enemies? Just run around and deal with them one after another. Or execute a few sneak attacks to get rid of them without them even noticing. No-one would make a fuss over it. It was different now.

She sighed, turning her head to the valley below them and then back to Brynjolf. She heard him gasp a little and before she could react, the feeling of a cold sharp object touching her skin in the area of her throat got to her. She froze.

A honeyed male voice whispered to her ears.

"Either you come with us willingly or we take you by force. Your call but there a dozen of us and I don't think you can do much in your position." She could feel an elven armor pressed against her back, its jagged parts scratching a little against her ice-like stalhrim protection.

Next to her, Brynjolf didn't dare move an inch. He was well aware that any kind of movement might provoke the Thalmor to hurt Aislinn. He was barely breathing, silently watching her and trying to convey his thoughts to her somehow. His mind was racing, frantically trying to find a solution. He examined every bit of the landscape around them. This was a dead end. A massive unclimbable dark grey rock on his left side, a cliff with an open view to the valley far below on the right side. The only escape route was blocked by the twelve newcomers in gilded ornate armors and deep blue hoods who just happened to be the enemies he feared the most at the moment. He watched in horror as Aislinn raised her hands.

"All right," she said with an unreadable expression. "You got me. I surrender. But could you do me a favor and spare my friend here? I don't believe you have anything against him."

"So he comes at night and finds a way to rescue you? No, we definitely cannot do that." The sweet elven voice sounded almost as if it was singing the words. "Kill him. We don't need the guy."

Sudden realization flashed through Aislinn's mind. They want me alive!

She immediately pressed her neck to the dagger in front of her. Brynjolf's eyes widened but the Altmer behind her dropped it, shock reflecting in his eyes. Aislinn turned around at once and Shouted.

"Fus Ro Dah!"

The words echoed through the land, bouncing from mountain to mountain, spreading far and wide. Catching her breath after the usual impact of the Shout, she could hear a dragon cry from far away answering to her powerful voice. The elves flew into the air and landed on a disorderly pile. Without even thinking, she drew her two swords, rushed to the pile and sliced the throats of as many elves as possible before they could get back on their feet. Brynjolf was right next to her making a quick work of those who tried to sneakily rid her of her advantage.

Aislinn stopped before killing the last one. She pressed both of her blades to his neck and inhaled.

"Speak," she ordered him firmly. "What do you want with me? Why are you chasing me all across Skyrim? Why are you killing anyone you suspect of worshipping Talos? And where did you take my daughter?"

"Yeah, right," the elf grimaced sarcastically. "I tell you and then what? You're going to get rid of me anyway so let's get this over with."

"Speak. Now." Anger showed in her eyes but her voice remained calm.

"You might think you're good at this, Dragonborn, but no-one threatens the Thalmor. You're only making this worse for yourself. You'll realize eventually. Either way, I'm not telling you a damn thing. Go ahead and kill me." She noticed no small portion of disdain in his voice when he addressed her by her title.

There wasn't a single trace of fear or regret in the Altmer's eyes.

Aislinn took the sword in her left hand and buried its tip in the elf's stomach. Gods, how she hated to do this. But her life was on the line here. Lucia's life was on the line. She had to do it. She squinted and took a deep breath, her fists clenching around the hilts of her swords.

The elf gasped but no real sound came from his throat. He stared at Aislinn, still grimacing. She pressed on the blade and turned it inside his body. He gritted his teeth but refused to give in.

"I don't think this is going to work, lass," Brynjolf said and shook his head. "They're tough and who knows what kind of oath they make in order to keep their secrets."

"Finally someone with brains," the elf hissed. "Listen to your friend, Dragonborn, there's wisdom in his words."

"I don't need acknowledgement from the likes of you," Brynjolf spat and kicked the elf in the hip. He moaned for the first time but his expression didn't change.

"You won't get too far, Dragonborn." A malicious smile formed on the Altmer's lips. "There's more of us. And thanks to your little display of power, they know exactly where you are."

"I hate to admit it but he's right, lass. We have to go." Brynjolf couldn't hide the slight anxiety in his voice.

Aislinn furiously cut the elf's throat. Even in death he seemed to look down on her.

They searched the bodies for anything that could give them a clue about what was going on but found nothing but some elven weapons and a few Septims.

"How long do you think it would take them to realize we're not elves if we wore their armor?" Aislinn asked Brynjolf, a desperate plan taking shape in her head.

"About the time it would take for your hand to reach the tip of your nose," he said without hesitation. "Until they studied our movements."

She sighed.

"We could still try," she suggested. "I don't mean to jump on them but if it can increase our chances of survival by just a tiny bit, it's still worth it."

"Fair enough," he nodded. In his mind, he scowled over the image of the lass jumping head first into a group of Thalmor. No, she didn't intend to do it. But he was sure as the sun that the appalling possibility was there.

They took a set of elven armor and a Thalmor cape each and quickly changed into them. Aislinn studied her new outfit with a criticizing look.

"Have I really just dressed like a filthy Thalmor?" she exhaled, shaking her head wildly in pure denial.

"You look quite good in that," he objected with a smile.

"No, I don't," she smirked. "Don't you dare say something like that again."

He laughed. And froze the very next moment. Aislinn noticed it too. Two more Altmer were coming to their site. There were no bushes to hide behind, nothing that could make an obstacle for the elves. Aislinn threw herself on the ground, embracing the pale corpse of the elf she'd just stripped of his armor, pretending to be dead. Brynjolf followed her example. Holding their breath, they waited.

They could hear footsteps approaching at a steady pace until they stopped just a few feet away from them.

"Damn fools," said a female voice, surprisingly deep for an Altmer. "I told Simer not to fight her. She may be a mere Imperial but a Dragonborn is still a Dragonborn. She's not to be taken lightly."

"They were twelve of them. How could she…" a male voice whispered.

"Paralyze her, shut her mouth, maybe even seal her eyes. Her limbs are not the only weapons she has. Why do you think we made that thing? They can't expect to win a fight with her if they don't have it with them."

Aislinn's mind raced. What in Oblivion was that thing? Some kind of weapon against her? What made it so special?

She felt uneasy. Right now she just wanted to jump on her feet, kill the damned elves and be on her way as fast as she could. She hated waiting and not being able to move. She felt a sudden burst of energy in her body and desperately wished to let it out. But what if they had that thing with them?

As if some higher power responded to her wishes, both elves suddenly turned around and left. She sat up and buried her face in her palms.

"Are you all right?" Brynjolf asked with a worried expression.

"I'm fine," she exhaled. "I think it's just a little too much to take at the moment but I'll be okay."

He nodded.

"That was the first time I've actually seen you Shout," he pointed out. "Or display any kind of Dragonborn power. I keep hearing about you all the time but it's still kind of hard to believe when I see it with my own eyes."

"Yeah," she said. "Even for me it's sometimes hard to believe I'm really the Dragonborn. I feel so small, you know."

Without her noticing, Brynjolf reached out his hand to her but then pulled it back again. She seemed lonely and, yes, very small at that moment. Looking at her young face, he realized that deep inside she was just a child striving to make friends and find her place in this cruel world. This strong, seemingly unbreakable woman had an unexpectedly fragile side to her. Why hadn't he noticed before?

Because if I did, I would have never made her a thief, he answered his own question. I guess I chose not to notice it.

He felt like protecting her despite knowing that she surpassed him by far in terms of strength. A small clump of emotions settled in his heart and it was surprisingly painful. She doesn't really need him. She never did and she never will. She's the Dragonborn, completely capable of protecting herself, acknowledged in all of Tamriel, while he's just a thief. An extraordinary thief with some tricks up in his sleeve but still just a thief.

Suddenly the image of her pressing her neck against a gilded elven dagger flashed through his mind.

"Don't you ever do that ever again," he grunted. "Ever."

She gave him a questioning look.

He pointed at his throat. "What were you thinking with that dagger? What if it really cut through?"

"Then, I suppose, we wouldn't be having this conversation now." He couldn't read her expression.

"You're unbelievable." He shook his head.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing a little, even though he couldn't see it in the dark. He said it again.

"We should be on our way. There's no telling when they're going to show up again. And you know… I don't think it should matter if we chop off some Forsworn heads anymore."

She nodded. "Let's move forward and show those bastards what we're capable of."

He smiled at her enthusiasm.

They climbed down the graveled slope leading to the cliff they'd left behind and proceeded to the Forsworn encampment. Aislinn decided not to hide since she would get attacked the moment the first one of them would fall to the ground anyway. She and Brynjolf walked calmly to the nearest fire. Immediately, the present Forsworn pointed their weapons at them.

"You chose a bad time to get lost," one of them hissed.

"Stop!" a voice echoed suddenly. "They're not our enemies."

Aislinn blinked in surprise. She knew that voice. It belonged to Madanach, the leader of the Forsworn.

"Long time no see, Aislinn the Dragonborn," he greeted her. The last time she had seen him, he looked like an old ragged man in simple prisoner attire. Now he was majestic, his grey-haired head crowned by a strange looking but still beautiful crown made of moose skull with antlers, small emeralds planted in its crevices, shaped into simple ornaments. Sabre cat fur covered his shoulders and a neat studded fur armor with sabre cat teeth as decorations protected his body. "I do remember warning you about confronting the Forsworn before, but things have changed drastically since then. I believe we have common interests."

"We do?" she asked, surprise still in her face.

"The Thalmor," he said as if it explained everything.

"The Thalmor," she repeated, waiting.

"If I understand it correctly, the Thalmor are trying to chase you down. Just like pretty much everybody in Skyrim. We are not going to hand our land to them so easily. There is a history between us and the Skyrim Nords and we don't like the influence of the Empire any better, but unless we join forces, none of us can hold up against a force this strong. The Thalmor have a lot of backup and they're not afraid to use it. And," he gave her a meaningful look, "they are preparing a weapon. No-one knows what kind of weapon it is, we just know that they're up to something. So, as much as I hate to admit it, our own fight will have to wait."

"Hey," Brynjolf's voice whispered in her ears. "These guys can actually put two and two together. Didn't you say they're worse than the Stormcloaks?"

There was a twitch in the corners of her mouth. "Well, their leader can. I wouldn't be so sure about the rest of them."

"So…" she chewed slowly, turning back to Madanach. "What is your plan?"

"The plan is to unite Skyrim, of course."

She couldn't stop the burst of laughter coming from her throat. "Unite Skyrim? Now that's a good one!" Brynjolf frowned with disapproval.

She could see the tribesmen raising their weapons again. She didn't really care.

"I am not joking," he said, his voice cold as ice. "This is the only way we can defend ourselves. They won't leave any of us alone if we let them do as they please."

"I get your point but how in Oblivion do you plan on achieving that?"

He gave her a wide, bright smile. "That's where you come in."

"Me?" she winced. "What do I do?"

"You go and unite Skyrim, of course."

"W… what?! How in Tamriel would I ever do that?"

"Oh, come on now. You're the Dragonborn. People will listen to anything you say."

"But they won't. I'm just…"

"That's enough," Brynjolf stepped in. "I admire your determination, Your Highness, but you can't just bump the weight of all Skyrim onto the lass's shoulders like this. This is too much."

"But she already is responsible for all Skyrim," he objected. "She became responsible the moment she was born."

Brynjolf gritted his teeth. He was furious. These people had no idea… no idea what kind of person she was, no idea what she had to go through. They had no right to put her in such a position. Especially when they were just a rebelling group of outlaws. Good-for-nothing scum, never able to do anything themselves.

"You go and unite it yourself," he hissed. "I'll gladly bow my head before you when you have. But don't you dare drag her into this. She has enough worries for the rest of her life, even without having to lead a nation."

"Say what you will," he said calmly. "She will unite Skyrim. And we'll be waiting." He stepped aside, making a way so the two of them could leave the camp. The confidence in his voice was driving Brynjolf mad.

"The Forsworn will heed your call, Dragonborn," Madanach addressed Aislinn as Brynjolf took her hand and dragged her out of the camp. He hurried to leave it far behind.

She kept silent, lost in thought.

"You're not considering what they said, are you?" he asked anxiously.

"I'd never seen you this angry before," she evaded answering the question.

"I doubt I ever was."

They traveled the rest of the night without speaking another word or taking a rest in silent agreement that it would be best for them to use the darkness of the night as their cover. When another beautiful day was about to start, they set up a camp near the Reachcliff Cave, the tall ornate stones surrounding it as their silent guardians. The proud silhouette of the dwarven city of Markarth was vaguely visible from here. Aislinn raised her head to take a look at it, wondering what they're going to do once they reach the city. If they reach the city. They first had to find a way inside and, given its structure, that was by no means an easy task. She prayed that Endon was still safe and sound since he was the only lead they had.

The two of them had a quick meal. Brynjolf was to keep the first watch again so Aislinn lay on the ground, her mind elsewhere. She didn't even bother making a bed for herself. She was staring at Brynjolf's back with a distant look when she suddenly heard the voice again.

Unite Skyrim, Dovakhiin. How does that sound? Do you want to simply unite it? Or do you seek something more? You have the power. Speak just one word and they will follow you to the end of the world. It's all on the palm of your hand, Dovakhiin. Grab it! Take it! Devour it!

Her emotions flew around violently, causing a painful whirlwind inside of her mind. There was a hunger inside her, a hunger for more than just a simple acknowledgement. She was hungry for power and she wanted it now.

"NO!" she screamed, panting heavily as she jumped on her feet. With a swift movement, Brynjolf appeared right next to her.

"What happened?! Are you okay? Is something wrong?" He did not even try to hide his fear anymore but she barely noticed it. She was looking right through him.

"I… I don't know," she whispered distantly.

"What is it? Tell me, Aislinn. I need to know if I am to help you."

The sound of her name suddenly brought her back into reality. It was the first time she heard him say it. Was it that bad? Did she scare him that much?

"I don't know," she repeated. "I heard a voice. It spoke to me."

"What did it say?"

"I don't remember," she lied.

He sighed. "I'm worried sick about you."

She stared at him. So many sides of him she hadn't known before, all in one day. Well, technically speaking, if a day was the time between two sleep sessions.

"I'll be okay," she tried to comfort him.

And there it was again. This doubtful look of his. I don't buy that.

"I'll try to get some sleep," she said wearily.

He nodded.

She lay down again, unable to stop thinking about what had just happened. There was something familiar about that voice. It wasn't the voice itself but there was some kind of emotion… a feeling which was not hers but she'd encountered it before. Or more like an attitude. Or a concept? A way of living… a path. A path that was definitely wrong.

Suddenly, a flashback from her memories came to her mind. Something that Paarthurnax, her much respected teacher of the Way of the Voice, had once mentioned to her.

Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were meant to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?

She curled up on the ground, hugging her knees as tightly as she could.

Yes, I do. I was always proud of my power, never regretted a thing. But If it takes over me, what am I supposed to do? How ironic… the Blades want me to kill Paarthurnax the Good Dragon… while I am the one who can't be trusted.

She did remember the first time she'd encountered this feeling. It was up at the Throat of the World. This was the emotion that had almost struck her down when Alduin the World-Eater had set his gaze upon her.

Yay, the fourth chapter is finished! I noticed that the third one was kind of sloppy so I worked on my narrating a little. I'm still having a hard time finding the right words in English so I try to read some other English texts and get some inspiration from there. I hope it works. :D

I've been wondering if my fic isn't a little confusing when I just randomly use the characters and places from Skyrim without much explanation to them. This text is, of course, meant for the people who played Skyrim, but if you have any trouble finding yourself there, just let me know and I'll try to figure out a way to make things less complicated for you.

As always, thanks for all your support and stay tuned!

Special thanks to TwillinOfTheWillows for her two reviews. :)

Mirwen