Chapter 26: Dancing on the Edge
"How much longer are we supposed to wait?!" a soldier, one of the many occupying the cramped campsite with a huge fire that seemed to take up most of the space in the center, exclaimed in an irked voice and Karliah cursed them in her thoughts yet again. Why did the soldiers have to be so loud? And why, when it was quiet, did it always seem like something was missing? This place was so different from the Ragged Flagon and the Thieves Guild, and, having had to spend most of the last week here, she definitely did not feel comfortable around the rowdy soldiers who mostly drank, sang off tune and fought amongst themselves fiercely. The more they waited, the more restless they grew, and if there was quiet, it always meant that something was wrong and the soldiers needed to boost up their morale. Legate Marcus, props to him, never failed with his bold statements and promises to drive out the Thalmor, and one of the more cultivated soldiers had even taken his words right out of his mouth and created his own version of The Age of Oppression based on them. But how she had become fed up with it when all she had heard from then on was this song. And she had never liked the original anyway. The thieves were never cut out for war and, by the Grace of Nocturnal, she loved silence and quiet life in the shadows. The only thing that could attract her to the point she would let herself be driven out of her comfort zone was the sweet ringing and the warm golden glow of coin, and gods knew that the soldiers did not carry any, nor did they equip themselves with any valuables worth stealing. How she was looking to finally get out of this mess… but she did not know that would come sooner than she would have expected and maybe not exactly the way she would have wanted it to.
A voice called out to her and she looked over her shoulder to see a patrolling soldier in light leather armor waving at her. A surprisingly skinny man with his dark hair plaited up in a set of thin stylish braids tied with simple rings of silver wire at their ends. He looked at her with bright, perceptive eyes and she thought that he would have made a fine thief. Ah, yes, legate Marcus was one hulk of a man, always exhibiting his muscles proudly, waving his warhammer as though it was a wooden dagger and initiating bragging contests all the time, but looking beyond his burly appearance, one could see his clever side. He had not been named a legate for nothing and one of the things that he certainly made sure of was that the patrols were reliable men with perhaps more brains than muscles. Maybe this side of him was what had kept him alive while the other high-ranking Imperial soldiers had been vanquished one by one by the Thalmor. He was straightforward… but only when he felt comfortable enough to. Not bad.
She jumped up on her feet nimbly and grabbed two backpacks which lay at her feet, one of them belonging to Aislinn. She knew her Dragonborn master well enough to discard the mere thought of looking inside, aware of how dangerous it could prove to her, and so she just carried the mysterious luggage around, never letting it out of her sight. However, what she would do with it when the time came to set out for her mission, was another question.
"Lady Karliah, yes?" the soldier asked and nodded in her direction. When she nodded back, he continued. "You have a guest at the gate."
A guest? If it was the guest she was expecting, then she had to commend the Khajiit for being fast as the wind. She joined the soldier and together they walked through an alley of oak trees with leaves of red and gold casting a number of scattered minuscule shadows on their figures. The sun was rising to its highest and the air was clear and fresh, and despite her love for darkness and shadows, Karliah found the midday breeze pleasant and soothing.
They reached a palisade made of fine oak trunks sticking up dangerously in a series of sharp tips. A wooden gate led outside, its wings open ajar, and a number of guards stood around it as well as on the low square-based watchtowers on either side. A little aloof, several muscled men were reconstructing a singed part of the palisade as it had suffered from a recent attack. Karliah had not been there at that time but apparently a small number of Marcus's men had died, their bodies cremated and the ashes stored to be delivered to their families later. A few smaller skirmishes had occurred but overall it was mostly quiet and Karliah suspected that the elves were planning something big. She did not like it and neither did legate Marcus.
A hooded woman in stitched cream-colored robes was waiting for her at the gate, her shoulders a little stiff and her back bent slightly as she clearly was not used to standing, much less traveling longer distances. Karliah smiled at her as she approached and spoke to her in her usual composed manner.
"How many birds of prey does it take to kill three nightingales?" she asked.
"None, for the shadows are their allies and Nocturnal guides their step," the woman replied promptly, her honeyed voice ringing sweetly, and the guards froze the moment they realized that this voice belonged to an elf. Karliah raised her hand in a calming gesture.
"She is a friend, there's no need to worry," she informed and beckoned to the guest to follow her. They made their way to a small grove of bushes protected by a number of rocks from the west and north which Karliah liked to use as her resting place, and sat down on two comfortable looking boulders.
"Galathil," Karliah said finally. "So good to see you again."
"Good to see you too," she replied melodically. "I was informed that you had a special job for me. Just what could a master thief have for me in this war that I could possibly achieve?"
"A challenge," Karliah chuckled silently and the woman raised her head ever so slightly. "I need you to change my irises back to red."
The woman gasped in surprise at such a request and Karliah could sense her attentive gaze from under her hood.
"Why in Oblivion would you want me to do that? This is a gift bestowed upon you by Nocturnal. And don't look at me like that," she added when the Dunmer woman raised her brows in question, "my training was not for nothing. I know when daedric magic is involved in people's appearance. That kind of magic is not something to be trifled with."
"Can't you just make it look like they're red? It's really important."
"Just what are you going to do once they are?"
"I can't tell you… but the Whiterun army is supposed to arrive tomorrow at noon and I need to be on my way then."
"Nocturnal might forsake you for that," Galathil lowered her voice in a warning and scratched the back of her hand inadvertently.
"I hope not. I am trying to defend our position and I do it as a thief and as a Nightingale, in a way that she herself teaches us. And I am working on behalf of her champion who retrieved the Skeleton Key for her and would gladly do it again were it necessary. She cannot possibly overlook that."
"Let us see about that," Galathil proposed and Karliah granted her another of her rare questioning looks. "I think we can ask Nocturnal whether such a change would be okay and maybe plead for her permission," she added in explanation, "but since there is no altar of hers here, we will need to make some arrangements. We need a piece of her champion, a piece of her foe and then a piece of you. Can you do that?"
"A piece of me is easy," Karliah mused, "but a piece of her champion and a piece of her foe? Aislinn is not here and I don't even know who her foe is."
"It could be anything. A hair, a piece of a broken nail, scratched skin… she was here a little over a week ago, right? Did she leave anything behind?"
"Her backpack," Karliah sighed. "You don't want to tell me I have to open it, right?"
"But that's wonderful! There must be a piece of her in her backpack, no?"
"Do you even know what you're talking about? This thing… who knows what's inside?"
"Well, it's either this or we're stuck here without a solution," Galathil shrugged. "I have no idea what your boss carries in her backpack, and given who she is and how she attracts just about any and every deity or Daedra there is, there might be tons of dangerous trinkets inside, but maybe it's still worth the risk. I don't know about your mission so it's your call."
"We need to find a safe spot where absolutely no-one would watch or listen to us," Karliah decided.
They rose and walked through the camp, passing fires and groups of soldiers on their way. They traversed the whole space inside the palisade campsite by campsite, ignoring the loud voices of the unsettled soldiers, and repeated it several times more afterwards, but no place seemed good enough for performing such a strange ritual. Karliah did not want to explain herself to legate Marcus, and so they decided to leave the camp. Luckily, she had a special permission to leave whenever she needed, but that did not stop the soldiers guarding the gate from throwing suspicious looks at her. She tried to shrug it off but still felt a little uneasy about them. It was their job, of course, and she was glad in a way that they were so cautious that it was absolutely impossible to sneak past them, but somehow it hurt her pride as a thief and a Nightingale.
With the camp behind them, they finally settled in a small cave nearby. Karliah checked every crevice and depression there was and then set a number of special shadow runes that would alert her if someone was nearing the entrance. Then the two of them sat down, lit a small fire and opened Aislinn's backpack warily. Karliah took out a soul gem and studied it, hoping she would find a hair stuck to it, but its surface was smooth and shiny and nothing disrupted the sleek matter. She handed it to Galathil so she could examine it once more and took out another one. The process repeated countless times, gem after gem, potion after potion, then some keys, scrolls… there was a set of spare clothes and Karliah's violet eyes sparkled with hope that maybe something stuck to the fabric, but, reaching for it, a hard coarse object slid under her fingers and practically made itself be drawn out of the luggage.
Suddenly, she was holding a book in her hand, large and heavy, with a hard withered cover made in black leather, a tangled ornate symbol decorating its front side. Karliah blinked in surprise, for this was not the thing she had meant to pull out, but she felt drawn to it and knew she could not let go now. Galathil stared at her curiously, studying her startled face, but Karliah ignored her. Involuntarily, as if some higher power was controlling her movements, her hand hovered over the cover and then opened the book slowly. Her companion gasped but Karliah could not hear her anymore. A kaleidoscope of strange ornaments and diagrams appeared before her, entwining with each other in a strange and somehow maddening sequence, and it was getting closer and closer, larger and ready to swallow her whole being. Dark and threatening, there were numbers and letters, shapes and objects, thousands of years of existence recorded in that one book, threatening and overwhelming. She heard silent flipping of the pages, the dry sound of old dusty paper echoing in her ears strangely emphasized, and then her body was lifted and thrown into a world of darkness different from any that she had encountered in her whole life. The servant of darkness was now to be tested by darkness itself.
Lydia slid off her horse in absolute silence and crouched. Her ebony mail, designed to hide her from unwanted attention and also rid her of it if there happened to be any, emitted cloudlets of dark vapors spiraling about her and dissipating into the air afterwards. There was a trap door in the ground, carefully hid by a sediment of leaves and soil, but a sharp eye could notice that the way they lay there was not quite natural. She swept them off and raised the wooden panel by its rusty circular handle, and a creaking sound tore through the air in an unpleasantly noisy manner. She climbed down the ladder that led underneath it and left it open in case of emergency.
The cave below was nice and cozy, a few boulders covered by a fluffy blanket of soft moss lay across it flooded by the golden glow coming from a natural vent above them. There was refreshing moisture in the air and Lydia suspected that an underground creek was running nearby, its vapors seeping through the walls. It was quiet, only the flipping fiery wings of a few dawn moths interrupted it with their whispering hisses. A number of barrels, crates and chests was scattered around the stones, but Lydia frowned as she noticed they had been ravaged and emptied to the last speck of breadcrumb. This was not a good news.
She made her way back to her horse and covered the trap door with dust and leaves again, pricking her ears for any kind of movement. Upon finishing with the door, she looked around attentively. There were several sets of footprints and traces of horses, each pointing in different directions. The Khajiit caravan must have come from the northeast and then go back the same way, since a trail made by a few carriages seemed to have been blazed that way. Just how in Oblivion had they managed to hide a whole caravan like that remained mystery to the housecarl. Then again, if they were so skilled, maybe the trail itself was just a decoy to confuse potential enemies. She shook her head in despair. There was absolutely no lead she could follow.
Think, Lydia, think, she ordered herself sternly and her brows furrowed with concentration. A caravan northeast, potentially. Due east was Eastmarch and no elven army should have been able to come from there. They would first have to battle Jarl Balgruuf and his men first. But, come to think of it, it had almost been a week since he had left Whiterun and if the army had come from Windhelm, perhaps they could have avoided the encounter. Still, that would mean they would have to stick to the roads and that left them with little choice on their passage. So due north and north northeast was a possibility. She discarded south and southeast. That way lay High Hrothgar and the Rift. The Rift had been taken by her Thane and the army of Riften and no-one would be foolish enough to traverse the ridge around High Hrothgar with an army… or would they? Due west was Whiterun and its farms and plains, so that area was guarded. And southwest… southwest lay Falkreath and its hold.
She let out a snort of disgust as she remembered its jarl, a man of repulsive character whose only concern was coin and rank. She would bet her life that he had been the first one to let the Thalmor do as they please under the potentially false promise of wealth and comfort. He did not care for either side as long as he was allowed to sit on his piles of gold, and he was also known to stand at the ready to seize any opportunity to march on Whiterun and Balgruuf, for he lived in fear of the insightful and independent Jarl.
She sighed when she realized that her options were narrowed to two complete opposite directions. So Windhelm or Falkreath…
Deciding that Windhelm was far too preoccupied with defending against the allied armies of Whiterun and Riften, she made for southwest. Still, there was something off about all this. If a Khajiit had stopped by and informed Vignar of a new threat, why wouldn't they tell him the exact location? They knew where the elves would attack, so how come they did not know where from?
Then she froze. Foul smell coming from behind attracted her attention and she turned around to see its source. There were pillars of smoke lingering over the northern horizon. North? Really? Were the elves so foolish? Even more foolish for setting up a camp at such a spot, the city of Whiterun on one side and Balgruuf's army on the other? She ran a short distance and then slowed down considerably, crouching eventually as she reached a low mountain belt. Avoiding the narrow pass which would reveal her immediately, she climbed up a rocky hill, struggling with every step she took as her ebony boots kept sliding off the smooth rock. When she finally reached the unwelcoming summit, she was catching her breath and trembling with exhaustion. Still, there was work to be done and so she stayed low and measured each step of hers carefully, stopping the moment the elven camp appeared in her sight.
Now she had to admit that the elves were clever. There was no telling their numbers, their camp being scattered among the rocks and trees, small groves and cliffs concealing most of it from Lydia's sight. No matter where she would look from, she would never be able to guess the extent of their forces, and the mountains surrounding the area would serve them as a natural fortification. The elves were naturally nimbler than the sturdy Nords and forcing their enemy into such chaos surely worked to their advantage. Lydia knit her brows in a concerned expression, deciding she would make haste and inform the Steward of the dire situation they had found themselves in as soon as possible. They had to start making preparations before it was too late.
Endless mist spread over the marshes and the annoying dampness was slowly getting under the skin of the duo that walked with their backs bent through the grey. The both suffered from the lack of sleep, recent injuries and also great mental strain, exhaustion reflecting in their faces clear as the night skies visible from High Hrothgar. They were beyond grateful for the black stallion treading at their side who eased them of their burdens, carrying three stuffed backpacks on his back along with the little girl who was holding tightly to his elegant nape. They walked in silence, not a word interrupted the squelching sounds of their boots wading through the mud and swamps.
The two thieves kept listening to the sounds of their surroundings, mere whispers in the reeds and murmurs coming from the deep of the dark waters. No suspicious noises reached their ears and so they continued at a steady pace, Shadowmere matching it perfectly while the girl on his back was slowly dozing off into a trance.
Aislinn slowed down a little, noticing Brynjolf gasping for air, and turned to him with a hint of concern in her eyes.
"Still hurts?" she asked him, waving towards his chest where he had been slashed before. The ebony scales at that place had been removed from the armor and attached anew in a way they would not strain him anymore but the mending was not perfect, having been done in field conditions. She had used a healing spell on him, of course, and forced him to down a potion just to be on the safe side, but having stayed untreated for a long time, the wound had caused him considerable loss of blood, for, proud as the master thief was, he had not bothered informing the lass of the gravity of his injury. Therefore he grew weak and the constant moving around exhausted him to no end. She had not said a word about it, clearly blaming herself for everything that had happened to him, and he had not commented on her silence simply for the fact that he did not know how to approach the subject.
"No, I'm fine," he lied. "Don't bother about me."
She frowned, apparently unconvinced by his words. She was starting to curse men and their pride in her thoughts, but her own conscience made her stop and ruminate over her own personality, not unlike his in this particular aspect. No, she was no different, constantly trying to hide her feelings, her fears and wounds, mental or physical alike. Somehow she could not help a slight smile, gaining her a raised brows and a questioning look from her companion.
"You know," she said silently, "we're not so different after all."
He got her hint and chuckled.
"This is going to be the death of us," he sighed with a shake of his head.
"Let's take a break," she offered and he nodded, but then she froze where she stood and her eyes widened in shock. Brynjolf looked at her puzzled and his gaze slid to the spot she was looking at. He frowned. Shadowmere by their side had ceased his movement as well and the three of them stared at the horrible sight before them.
There, among the low bushes on a mound covered in moss and lichen, two poles stuck out of the ground, pointing to the sky, and they were topped with two heads. They must have been killed recently, for the state of their decay was not too advanced, but the foul odor of death was spreading around them already, filling Aislinn's nostrils with the feeling of utter disgust. But that was not in the least the worst thing about it.
She knew them. She had known both of them, recognizing the bronze hair, now messy and faded as the dirt settled there and the harsh wind ruffled them mercilessly, framing the once upon a time beautiful face of soft and yet somehow firm and rough features of a Nord warrior, just as she identified the other one, a black haired man with wide nose and sincere eyes, always wearing a mask of sadness and exhaustion. Aislinn was holding her breath, unable to say a word and staring motionlessly at the sight, but a sudden movement at her sight caught her attention and she dragged the little girl off the horse before she could fully open her eyes, pressing her to her chest in a tight embrace.
"Mama…" Lucia murmured to her armor in confusion only to be interrupted by Aislinn.
"Don't look, Lucia," she whispered in horror. "You absolutely must not turn around, you hear me? You must not…"
She felt Brynjolf put a hand on her shoulder and getting closer to her.
"Who are… who were they?" he asked softly, clearly understanding the situation.
"My housecarl in Solitude and… Addvar… he had a daughter."
Lucia jerked a little and Aislinn suddenly had to fight her daughter to prevent her from looking.
"Uncle Addvar?!" she gasped. "What happened to him?"
Aislinn cussed in her thoughts for having forgotten that they had lived in Solitude for some time and Lucia knew the local folk. It should have occurred to her… but she refused to let the girl have the slightest look nonetheless, forcing her to walk with her back to the mound.
"I'm sorry, Brynjolf," she breathed helplessly in apology, "I can't stop just yet."
He nodded, patting her on her shoulder gently. Silently he wished she did not wear her armor so he could convey his feelings and comfort her a little more intimately, but he resisted the urge for now and remained a silent support for her. They sped up a little, leaving the horrendous sight behind, and did not stop until late afternoon. Only then they settled under the canopy of pine trees creating a grove protected by low rocks which lay in one of the drier places they crossed. Aislinn was restless, even more than before, and Brynjolf frowned as he glanced at her, his forehead wrinkled with worry. Lucia stared at the two of them for a moment and then decided to join Shadowmere and have a snack with him, her expression sad but understanding.
"They know where we're heading," Aislinn informed the thief wearily. "Those two were not exhibited there for nothing. They know exactly which way we're going and they will greet us there."
"How could they know?" Brynjolf shook his head in incomprehension. "Do you think that Aldmer…"
"I have no idea," she sighed. "I don't think so, but that leaves Alduin as the only potential suspect. At least the only one I know of. But how he could figure out what I'm trying to do, I really don't have a clue."
"Maybe he knows something you don't," he mused, staring at a cluster of suspicious looking mushrooms which grew in between the roots of one of the pine trees.
"Something about the Aldmer?" Aislinn seized his idea and clasped her hands, finally making one of the boulders her temporary seat, and Brynjolf joined her. "If he does, then that means they have met before… or at least Alduin has heard of him. Or of something associated to him."
"Still not much of a lead, eh?" Brynjolf snorted bitterly. "It can be anything that wretch has done in the past four thousand years, that's a pretty broad scale if you ask me."
"But that's it!" Aislinn said, suppressing the urge to exclaim. "Alduin wasn't here for most of that time, so it's either something he has done recently, or something that the World-Eater had known before."
"Still leaves you with a bunch of possibilities, I'd say. What happened then?"
"Hmmm… as far as history goes… to be honest, I don't know much. Beastfolk such as Argonians and Khajiit are known to have occupied Tamriel before anyone else. Then came the mer and then the Atmorans, worshippers of dragons and also their doom."
"That guy knows to Shout, you know…" Brynjolf pointed out.
"…which means he had to learn it somewhere," she added, "and since it wasn't the Greybeards, for Arngeir seemed too surprised for that, or the dragons who weren't here during that time, the only option left are the undead dragon priests."
"The Greybeards could have taught him. Four thousand years is long enough time to forget one student."
"True…"
She sighed and looked the way they had come from. Brynjolf leaned closer to her and put an arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture.
"Don't blame yourself," he told her softly. "You're only doing what you have to. If someone's to blame, it's the blasted Dominion."
"Just how many have to die until they're satisfied?" she asked, despair molding her face into a painful grimace.
"They won't be satisfied until they get you," the thief said and the absoluteness of his statement made Aislinn's heart sink, "and that's not happening. Not if I have a word in it."
"Don't you dare die for me, Brynjolf," she frowned at him. "I can't lose you. I absolutely cannot lose you."
He stared at her in silence for a moment, studying her face torn between despair and anxiety, but there was also something else to it, something he could not identify. Or, rather, he dared not to.
"Lass…" he whispered. She leaned to him, wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and he shivered, suddenly overtaken by desire. She was so innocent… but he wanted more, more of that sweetness, more of the silky touch of her skin and the warmth of her lips. But he stopped himself, refusing to take advantage of her weakness. She needed him to support her, not devour her. Any other woman in his life he had taken and savored, claiming her body like a beast one moment and discarding it the other. But any other woman would have been obnoxious and clingy, wearing a mask of fake desires and lust, prepared and almost craving for his harsh treatment. Not this one, and he suddenly felt like a child, inexperienced and lost as to how he should approach her.
A roar interrupted them and they both raised their heads to see a dragon tearing through the air in a breathtaking speed. The two of them stiffened and reached for their bows instinctively, but the reptile paid them no more attention than he did to the birds and flies giving way to it as it passed them. It was flying northwest, towards Solitude, and Aislinn knit her brows at the thought of the city and its citizens getting ravaged by its merciless Voice. More sacrifices… she felt the sudden urge to move out as quickly as possible, to hurry and fulfill her destiny before all Skyrim falls.
"That dragon looks so sad," a voice echoed and she looked at Lucia who approached them with an unsettled look in her face. Aislinn gave her a curious look.
"How do you know?" she asked.
"I just… feel it," the girl said, shaking her head.
"And why does it feel sad?"
"Because… he doesn't know who he is."
Aislinn froze. How can a dragon not know who he is? Still, she had learnt not to discard her daughter's words for the girl often saw and felt what others could not, and so she contemplated them slowly, but no answer came.
They had a quick meal during which Aislinn decided to teach Lucia the basics about magic. She had to be able to defend herself somehow and, having a small frail body, she was barely able to wield a dagger. Aislinn was not too skilled in the arcane arts herself but she could at least teach Lucia a few spells and help her master them by constant training. And so by the end of their break, Lucia knew in theory how to cast sparks, a healing spell, lesser ward and oakflesh. Lucia was a sharp and perceptive student, but the lack of time worked against her. Aislinn wished she could just send her to Winterhold and have her trained there by real masters, but given the constant threat that lingered over the land, that was not an option. Still, the fact that Lucia might have to fight soon burdened Aislinn greatly. She did not want her little girl to get involved in violence, much less killing. But she would still prefer it over her death.
"We should be on our way," she said finally when the meal had been finished and everything packed up.
"But mama, we haven't even started learning!" the girl protested fiercely, her eyes sparkling vividly as they seldom had during the last few days. Aislinn sighed.
"I know," she told her helplessly, "but we can't stay here. The elves are after us and we need to get to our destination as soon as possible."
Lucia's excitement gave way and she stooped her shoulders in disappointment, but said nothing, mounting Shadowmere again. They continued through the marshes, silence taking over again, zigzagging from one rock to another in attempt to find shelter before the ever present menace. No sooner did they stop than a low rock appeared before them, rising in the middle of the marshes, Solitude Bay and the Blue Palace on its left and an ancient Nordic ruin on the right. And there, casting long shadows in the fiery dusk, stood a great number of elves, their eyes searching the land attentively. Aislinn sighed despite having expected so, stopping Shadowmere a short distance from where she stood to make sure he and Lucia would not get spotted.
"At least we now know where the place is," she said breathlessly, a bitter smirk showing in her face.
"What do we do?" Brynjolf asked, knitting his brows at the sight.
"Distract them, kill them or…" Aislinn's voice trailed off as she held her breath. The shades were making it harder to see but she noticed something else beside the elves on the rocky hill. There were figures, quite a lot of them, strikingly stiff and motionless. Each of them was accompanied by at least two elves who watched them cautiously.
"This can't be true," she whispered in horror. Brynjolf raised his brows in question but then he looked closely and his eyes narrowed.
"Oh shit," he said unscrupulously.
"Take Lucia and get away from here," she ordered him. "I'm going alone."
"Oh no, you're not," he told her sternly but she shook her head.
"I have to get there. There's no chance we're going to make it unnoticed if there's three of us, Brynjolf, no matter how good of a thief you are. And if they do notice us…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Lass…"
"Do you know how many people they have there? They're going to kill them all!"
"You can't possibly think that I'd let you get killed by yourself there, lass…"
"I'm trying to save the whole country, dammit Brynjolf!" she hissed, clenching her fists and fighting the urge to scream. "I can't possibly just go and sacrifice half of it just because I'm fulfilling that so-called destiny of mine!"
He watched her with a torn up expression, anxious and helpless, and for a moment Aislinn thought he was about to cry. She backed away a little, suddenly unsure of how to react to that, but before she could say or do anything, he put his arms around her and squeezed her tightly as one can squeeze a warrior in a daedric armor. She gasped and then she felt his hand in her hair, burying itself deep and caressing her gently.
"Just a while before you told me something," he breathed, "and now I'm going to return the favor. I cannot lose you, lass. I absolutely cannot lose you."
An infinite scale of questions she could pose flooded Aislinn's mind. Why can't you lose me? Do you love me? Why are you telling me? Do you mean it? Why me? So many questions… and so many questions regarding those questions. She wished to have a long nice conversation with him, to settle these things and talk everything out, but they barely found the time to talk about the pressing matters concerning their mission, let alone their feelings. She sighed.
"You won't lose me," she told him reassuringly. "After all, if you did, it would mean the end for everyone. I'm not going to let that happen. By the Nine, I swear it won't happen."
"The Nine are the ones who are responsible for all this mess," he snorted bitterly.
"I'm not swearing on them," she said quietly.
"Then what are you swearing on?"
She pulled away from him, creating a short distance between them and then walked back to Shadowmere. Patting Lucia on her head, she took her backpack and watched the thief who was staring at her expectantly. Aislinn wanted to give him a good parting gift. She took a few steps towards him and inhaled deeply.
"I swear," she whispered so only he and he alone could hear her voice, "on my love to you that I will return safely."
With that, she dared give him a soft peck on his lips and walked away, leaving him there, frozen and breathless, wanting to reach for her and pull her back to him but finding himself unable to do so. He watched her figure walk away and his chest tightened so much it hurt. If he ran after her now, he would give away both of them. He clenched his fists and prayed silently to Nocturnal for her safety.
Aislinn crouched and circled the elevation several times, studying every boulder, every crevice and bump there was, every spot covered with moss that would soften her footsteps, every piece of vegetation that could possibly give her out. From time to time, she whispered a Shout to reveal all the living creatures there and search for possible gaps between them. Then she finally found her path, steep and narrow as it led over a smooth mass of rock, but the smoothness would also mean less noise if she treaded lightly. She absolutely had to avoid walking through the graveled areas which there were plenty. When she finally considered her knowledge of the place sufficient, she readied herself and crept as far as she could without using anything to help her. Then she took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the next step.
Luckily enough, as a thief she knew the one spell from the illusion school that she absolutely had to know: the muffle spell which would let her move in absolute silence. She was skilled in sneaking around but just to be on the safe side, she cast it and felt magical energy flow into her feet. Next, she called upon Nocturnal and had her Shadowcloak hide her from anyone's sight completely. And finally, for the last time she whispered her Shout.
"Laas Yah Nir!" her voice breathed and she watched attentively as the red lights indicated to her where her enemies stood. Good. Not many of them moved and none of them had moved to the path she set out for herself.
Crouching, she quickly sneaked past the first line of elves. The second line was harder as her enemies moved around and she spotted several rune spells in her way. She cussed in her thoughts, cursing all the elves to Oblivion, and danced around the runes in absolute silence. One sidestep, then a quick follow-up with the other foot, a step forward… and then there was an elf in her way and she was sure to be discovered as he walked right towards her. She held her breath. Behind her was an ice rune, before her was an enemy. He walked in a slow, reserved pace, calm, a silent song on his lips, unaware of her presence yet, but he was now inches from her and she had nowhere to escape. She broke out in a cold sweat and watched him approach.
And then he suddenly stopped as someone called for him, turned around and walk away. Aislinn exhaled silently, trembling heavily, and resisted the urge to cuddle up and rest her face in her hands. She forced herself to continue, knowing full well that she was running out of time. Taking a sip of an invisibility potion to ensure she would stay hidden from her enemy's sight, she crept up the hill, avoiding one elf after the other. Then she froze when she felt something touch her from behind.
She turned her head ever so slightly, her invisible face panic-stricken, and spotted one of the hostages kicking around inconspicuously. It was a man of sharp features, a rather sturdy Nord who, despite being held here in chains, bore himself proudly. She could not make out his face in detail and was not sure who he was, but he definitely must have noticed her and decided to shrug it off in silence for which she was grateful.
Up the hill again and onto the next stage. The elves were troublesome, shifting and moving around, and for a few times Aislinn froze when she was sure that one of her enemies was looking right at her, but then they just turned around or continued with whatever they had been doing up until then. Finally, she reached the top of the hill and spotted a strange stone behind one of the elven figures. It was calling to her and she sensed this was the right place. Space and light seemed warped around it, as if they ceased to exist entirely at the first sign of contact. It was calling to her in the dragon language, beckoning and conveying a message. Then she froze.
Of course there had to be something to ensure that only a dov would be able to enter. She would be tested here, required to prove her nature and exhibit the power of her dragon blood. And suddenly, all of her hope was lost and she exhaled in despair as she realized that the Shout she had to use would be one of sheer power, shaking the very foundations of the land. She was not permitted to enter the place unnoticed.
Fu. Okay, another hell of a long chapter. I hope you don't mind… :D
I don't feel quite well yet so I hope my condition is not reflected in my writing. In case it is, I apologize. If you find any inconsistencies or mistakes there, please do tell me. Well, if you find inconsistencies, mistakes or things that don't quite sit well with you in all of my fanfic, please tell me. Write me about anything, nitpick on the details, be annoying. I will appreciate the critique since I really want to get better at this. I think I already improved a bit in the process of writing this whole thing, but do want to improve further and just… be really good at this. :D
That said, I realized I was a little confused about using capital letters in English, especially when it comes to titles of people (such as king, jarl etc.), so I did a little research and found out that they are only capitalized when they refer to a particular person. I think I followed this rule intuitively before, but I apologize in case you noticed a mistake in that before. I will try my best to avoid making more of them, so hopefully this will improve.
Just one more thing about this chapter – I mentioned dawn moths there. In fact, I made them up. They look a bit like normal moths but their wings are scarlet, reflecting the color of dawn, and they usually appear around sunrise. Since it was morning when Lydia arrived at the place, I thought that dawn moths would be appropriate.
Moving on – I got some really nice reactions from you guys and I'm really happy that you like the story!
To Someone345: Thank you very much! It pleases me a lot to have my story called a gem. I will try to keep it that way. :)
capt. guest: Thank you for your praise! I'm glad you like Farkhali and it's good to find someone who appreciates the small details. Since I sometimes worry about the length of the story, this reassures me that including them is worth it. :)
Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Stay tuned!
Mirwen