A Madman's Order

Chapter 4

Do No Harm

It was raining.

Did I mention I do not like the rain?

Well, I should say that. Rain, when viewed from indoors, is pleasant. The pitter patter of raindrops against a windowpane could be incredibly soothing. Add in a warm fire in a fireplace, a comfy sweater, and a hot cup of coffee, and it could be one of the most relaxing days in my very busy schedule.

However, being out in the rain was another story. It was wet, which ruined my hair, and it was also cold. Unbearably cold. Each raindrop felt like a needle hitting my skin, causing gooseflesh to form as I shivered on Cicero's cart. There was enough rain coming down that I could see my breath misting in front of my face. Raindrops sputtered from my lips, and my long, blonde hair was plastered against my face and neck.

To add to my misery, it had been raining like this for days; ever since we left a little, lumber mill town called Riverwood. That was the last dry day. Pleasant place. Quiet too; a bit too slow for my liking. But, I would take a dull day in Riverwood over this incessant rain.

A long breath puffed from my lips. In the driver's seat of the cart, Cicero snickered.

"Still huffing and puffing?"

I gave him a long, sideways glare. "I'm not a wolf."

Cicero cackled. "I never insinuated you were. Why would I think that? What does huffing and puffing have to do with wolves?"

I tilted my head back, no longer bothered by the freezing raindrops pelting my cheeks. "Should've known you didn't know about the Three Little Pigs."

"Now you're talking about pigs," Cicero tittered. "Are you alright, Miss Anastasia? Perhaps my cheerful chatter has been rubbing off on you?"

"I sure as heck hope not," I replied.

I half-expected Cicero to be offended. As usual, my sharp reply went right by him. He didn't even blink. He simply waited with bated breath for me to explain the Three Little Pigs. Almost like a child about to hear the story for the first time. I didn't know if that was endearing or concerning.

"Once upon a time there were Three Little Pigs-"

"Oh, how riveting!"

I narrowed my eyes at Cicero, peering at him through raindrops clinging to my eyelashes. "Are you mocking me?

"Am I?"

I frowned then folded my arms. "Fine, not saying."

"What!?"

"Not saying another word."

"Why not?"

"We'll call this a teaching moment for you, Cicero," I wagged my finger at him. "Don't make fun of me when I'm in a foul mood."

"But I wasn't-" Cicero sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother is much more agreeable."

"If your definition of agreeable is a dead woman, you've got issues."

"Oh, Cicero has never denied that." He smirked then returned his attention to the road.

As soon as he did, I followed his gaze. Relief swarmed me when I spotted chimney smoke puffing into the sky in the distance. The road became more paved, being less dirt and gravel and more cobblestone. Finally, a wall made of stones and wood palisades emerged up the road. Guards in similar garb to the ones in Whiterun only colored indigo instead of yellow, stood vigil in front of the gate.

When we pulled up to the meager gate, one of the guards held up a hand, stopping Cicero. My throat tightened. Were these very well-armed men aware of what happened in Whiterun? Were we about to be arrested? Was Cicero about to go on another killing spree? I looked past the guard at the small town beyond the gate, noting several villagers milling around the main road. Were they about to be unfortunate victims too?

"Good afternoon, good sir," Cicero chirped. "What can a Jester such as myself do for you his fine day?"

Fine day? Doesn't he realize it's pouring?

"Nothing, just checking all passersby," The guard replied, relaxed. I struggled to not breathe a sigh of relief. So far, so good. "Have you seen a dog out there?"

"A dog?" Cicero put a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. "No. Wolves, a pig or two," he shot me a small wink, making me frown, "but no dogs."

"Damn," The guard muttered. "Blacksmith's been looking for one that ran off. Just keep an eye out on the road when you pass on."

"Of course. Of course," Cicero nodded. "Just passing through today. Got a crypt to get to."

The guard gave Cicero a curious look through the eye slits in his helmet. Then, with a nod, he motioned us into town.

The interior of Falkreath was as quaint as the exterior. This place was nowhere near as developed as Whiterun. There were no stone buildings with well-kept wooden siding and pillars. Most of the buildings here were log cabins, held together by rusting nails and fraying rope. There was one large building near the center of the town. Purple banners with a stag's head emblazoned on them sat in front of its small door. Must be the town hall, or whatever the equivalent was in Skyrim. We passed right by that building, trundled along past a large graveyard, and headed towards the gate on the opposite end of town.

"Uh, Cicero?" My eyes flicked over my shoulder to the graveyard. The stones within were bent and beaten by the weather, but they were standing. A few of them were fresh enough that I could make out the chisel marks and carved names from here. "We passed the graveyard."

"We're not going to a graveyard. We are going to a crypt," Cicero replied.

I raised an eyebrow as the cart trundled through the gate and out onto the road again. "Aren't those the same thing?"

Cicero chuckled. "Yes and no. Both contain the dead, but both store the dead in different ways. Also, our crypt isn't very dead. Mother prefers it that way."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Hush now, we don't want anyone to know where we are going."

My heart stopped in my chest. This entire time, Cicero had been loud and proud about where we were going. He told every traveler who inquired, every townsfolk who wondered, and every guard who asked that we were going to Falkreath to bury his mother. He said it often enough that even I believed it. The guy may be batshit insane and, judging by his bloody rampage in Whiterun, more than a little murderous, but I did not think he was a liar… until now.

"Cicero," I swallowed hard, "why do we not want anyone to know where we are going?"

Cicero's head slowly turned and his eyes met mine. The look he gave me made my blood run cold.

"It's a surprise."

My stomach dropped. I've never been someone who enjoyed surprises. That much was evident by how I reacted to meeting Phil and what he did to me. Surprises tend to scare me and leave me in a state of heightened panic. In my line of work, surprises tended to not lead to very good things either. Such as getting human feces thrown at you as soon as you open a hospital door. I've learned to enjoy predictable, expect predictable, and manage anything else that popped up with calm, collected reasoning and logic.

There was nothing logical about Cicero or Skyrim. And, after witnessing Cicero's penchant for violence, an unsettling feeling wormed into my mind, twisting my gut and clenching my throat tight.

Was I about to die? Did I seriously get into a cart with a serial killer stranger? Mother would have a field day with this one if I lived to tell her about it.

It's not like I could ask Cicero to stop the cart and let me off. He was on a mission, and he wasn't about to interrupt it now that he was close to his end destination. I also did not want to say a word. I didn't want to make a sound. Maybe, just maybe, if Cicero was a crazed murderer about to slit my throat with one of his knives, he'd forget about me. I can be very good at being quiet. Comes with the job.

Cicero acted as if nothing was amiss. He hummed to himself, occasionally chattered with his mother, and kept driving the cart along until we reached a bend in the road. At the bend, he pulled on the reins.

My heart hammered in my chest. We were a fair distance from Falkreath now. Far enough away that any hope of anyone hearing me in distress was slim to none. I already knew I couldn't outrun Cicero. I was not much of an athlete growing up, hence the choice to study the mind. Cicero, on the other hand, moved with precision and efficiency despite his insane demeanor. I witnessed that firsthand every time he slaughtered a Whiterun guard.

And now he could be choosing whether to kill me or not.

"Here we are!" He chirped, turning the cart off the road and down a small slope into a gulch hidden by dense foliage.

The gulch cleared out after a few feet, revealing a small clearing in the forest with a little pond. Across from the pond, embedded in the earth, was a Black Door with a large skull and bones carved into it.

The crypt.

Cicero hopped off of the cart. I remained rooted where I sat, my breaths entering and exiting my lungs in shallow gasps. Cold sweat beaded on my brow, making me shiver. Cicero sauntered up to the black door without a care in the world. I jumped when he rapped his knuckles against it. That noise was enough to send me scampering off of the cart. But, instead of running away, I crept closer to the black door and Cicero.

I am the dumb blonde that always dies in horror movies.

"Hello there~" Cicero sang. No answer. He stamped a food and pounded the door. "Wake up!"

A sudden rush of freezing air came from the door as if the skull carved into the inky exterior was breathing on me. My blood ran cold as a voice slipped into my ears like venom on the wind.

"What is the music of life?"

I stared wide-eyed at the door, shaking where I stood. Did the door talk?

"Silence, my brother," Cicero replied, giving the door a small bow.

"Welcome… home…"

Stone cracked. Large hinges groaned. The door swung inward on its own, revealing a narrow tunnel lit by flickering candles. It descended into the bowels of the earth.

Well, it is a crypt. However, I don't think crypts are supposed to talk or have doors open on their own, or be this creepy unless it is haunted.

Cicero did not move into the tunnel. I did not even dare inch towards it. Something about this place not only felt wrong, it felt dangerous. And my fears were confirmed when a blinding fast, black blur shot out from the tunnel, bowling over Cicero and pinning me against the cart with Mommy Cicero's coffin in it.

My heart hammered in my chest. Every fiber of my being froze. I wanted to scream, but I could not. I didn't even try to swallow, because I had a piece of very sharp metal pressed right against my jugular. Staring me in the face was a large man, with a thick white beard and hair. Eyes filled with rage glared at me. His nostrils flared, as if he was smelling me. I whimpered.

"Arnbjorn, stand down at once!" A woman's commanding voice snapped. "I know who the Jester is."

The man, Arnbjorn, did not move at first. He kept me pressed against the cart. Over his shoulder, barely visible in the tunnel entrance, I spotted a slender woman wearing a tight, midnight suit of leather armor. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face, and her sharp, blue eyes scrutinized both me and Cicero. With a sigh, she turned to Cicero and gave him a small bow of her head.

"My apologies, Keeper," She began, "I was unaware of who you really were, and I was not aware that you had a… helper."

"Oh ho ho ho! No harm done," Cicero tittered even as a very large ax blade remained pressed to my neck. "Although, I do suggest you tell your companion to step away from my friend. She's got a staff that can turn him into a chicken."

The woman raised an eyebrow but did not reply to Cicero's comment. Instead, she sharply whistled, making the Arnbjorn wince.

"Arnbjorn…" She warned again.

The man growled. Finally, the pressure against my throat abated. He let me go. As soon as he stepped back, I sagged to my hands and knees, one hand massaging my neck while my lungs heaved. My hands scraped along the ground, dirt slipping beneath my fingernails as I struggled to shove myself back to my feet. Fear has a strange way of taking away all of my leg strength and balance.

"Good," The woman said to Arnbjorn. "Now, you, Nazir, and Veezara will assist Cicero in transporting the Night Mother to her chambers. Cicero's helper and I are going to have a little chat."

"Ooooh, chats are fun-"

"Apologies, Cicero," the woman interrupted, raising a hand to stop the Jester, "but you will not be involved in this discussion. While you are the Night Mother's Keeper, I am the leader of this sanctuary, and this girl is not one of our family. I will be vetting her personally. Am I clear?"

"Of course, of course," Cicero beamed. "You're the boss." He whipped his gaze to Arnbjorn. "Come on, big doggy. Let's help Mother in!"

Arnbjorn growled, but Cicero was not disturbed. I, however, was more than a little disturbed. I was petrified. The large man's steely gaze did not leave me even as he followed Cicero to the back of the cart to help move the large crate. The only thing that got me moving was the woman's sharp words.

"You there." I jumped when she spoke. "Come with me."

Without another word, the woman turned on her heel and marched further into the earth. I gulped as I watched her descend the dimly lit tunnel. A foolish part of my mind considered running, but I remembered how fast Arnbjorn moved, and how lethal Cicero was, and decided against that course of action. I got the feeling that these people did not want anyone to know they were here. If I left now then I would no longer be a random girl or a friend. I would be a loose end.

So, after taking a ragged, shallow breath, I entered the tunnel and descended into the candlelit darkness.

The tunnel was not very long, thank God. It was narrow and short. Quite claustrophobic, so it's a good thing I actually do not have a fear of tight spaces. I do, however, have a fear of following strangers into dark, imposing places. So, my heart was hammering in my chest as I crept after the woman, further into the earth, until the tunnel widened into a small, underground chamber. I could almost call it a foyer.

A small, stone table sat off to the side, bookended by a pair of stone chairs. A map lay sprawled out on the table. Across from the table was a series of shelves. My throat tightened when I spotted a few, very real skulls alongside some peculiar crystals. On a pedestal, on one of the shelves, I saw a red book. There was no title, and nothing very discerning about it beyond its pristine leather cover, seemingly the only thing in this chamber that was not old, crumbling or made of rock and dirt.

"So," The woman began, yanking my attention from the shelves to her as she stood next to the table, "you are Cicero's companion? Tell me, what do you know about him?"

I blinked. "Um… what I- well-"

"How long have you been traveling with him? Since Bravil? Or did you join him on the road somewhere?"

"Well, the thing is-"

The woman's eyes narrowed as I fumbled with my words. Her hand slipped to a black knife on her belt, making me take a fearful step back.

"Do you even know who we are? Who Cicero is?"

I swallowed hard and shook my head. A sense of menace emanated from the woman when I gave her my terrified answer. Her brow furrowed and her fingers drummed the hilt of her dagger. I expected her suddenly act like that Arnbjorn guy; lunge at me and attack me. Press that blade against my throat, except this time, actually draw blood.

I did not expect her to sit down and set down a pair of cups on the table. She gestured at the chair opposite her.

"Sit," She commanded.

Her voice had enough ice to force me to sit. Once I sat down, I folded my legs and squirmed beneath her frosty gaze. Without a word, the woman reached for a small jug on the side of the table. She poured what looked like wine into our cups.

"What is your name?" She asked, setting the jug down then taking her cup and sipping.

A part of me relaxed a little bit. The woman seemed relaxed, even though she was looking at me with intense suspicion. She was having a drink with me. That was a good sign, right? Progress towards a less frosty interaction. A gesture of goodwill. Yes, this was a splendid development. So, why did I feel so afraid?

My fingers wrapped around the bronze cup. Slowly, I brought it to my lips and sipped, quenching my thirst. The wine was bitter and had hints of something in it I couldn't place. Perhaps bitter wasn't the right choice. Maybe sour? Was the wine expired?

I almost smacked myself. Wine doesn't expire.

After taking another long sip, I set the cup down and opened my mouth.

"Anastasia," I replied.

The woman nodded. "Good, I know what to call you now. And, I can make a convincing story for any guards once we're on the road."

Alarm bells rang in my head. Why would she need a convincing story?

…. For that matter, why was my vision blurring? Why did my tongue feel fat? Why are my hands and feet numb?

Why am I on the floor?

The woman rose from her seat and walked over to me. My eyes widened as she picked the cup up from near my head, the wine soaking into the rock and soil.

"Sleep for now," She said as my vision began to darken. "You will need it."

Everything slowed down even though my mind raced. My breathing slowed, my eyes closed, and soon, I was taken by darkness.

I awoke with a groan and a pounding headache. Only a few times in my relatively short life have I ever felt like this. The first was my first night of college, which was also the first time I ever got drunk. That was a hangover from hell, and I happened to be feeling exactly like that right now. It felt like there were cotton balls stuffed into my cheeks. My tongue was dry and swollen. Hammers banged against the inside of my skull. The only missing symptom was nausea. Thankfully, I avoided that.

This explains a lot. I rolled over on a hard, wooden floor. Maybe I got so unbelievably drunk that I dreamed all those crazy things. Skyrim isn't real. Cicero isn't real. I'm at home after a long night of work.

My eyes opened, and I stared up at the roof of a log cabin. My brow furrowed. Confusion hit me first. That was not the roof of my apartment.

How much of a bender did I go on?

A voice hit my ears next. A voice that made my blood go cold. Her voice.

"Sleep well?"

I shot upright and immediately regretted such a sharp movement. Pain exploded through my head as my vision swam. Spots filled my sight as I struggled to remain upright. A series of harsh coughs sputtered from my lips. As my vision cleared, I looked up and saw the woman from before, lounging on top of a bookshelf as if nothing was wrong at all. I could not see her face. Instead, she wore a cowl and mask over her head, showing only her icy eyes.

I trembled. It was all real. I wasn't on an unreal drunk bender. I was still in Skyrim.

Damn it, Phil.

I had no words for the woman as I looked up at her, unsure of what to do. I whipped my head to and fro, ignoring the swimming sensation lingering in my mind as I tried to gather my bearings.

I was in a one-room, log cabin. It looked long abandoned. The fireplace against the far wall was crumbling, with plenty of soot lining the old stones. A few pieces of old furniture sat in the cabin with a thick layer of dust on them. A couple of candles burned on sconces along the walls, providing meager light to the dark space.

"Wh-where am I?" I croaked, a few more coughs croaking from my throat. "What did you-"

"You are not allowed to ask any questions, yet," The woman warned, silencing me. "You are simply here for a test. It is a simple one. If you complete it, then I will answer your questions, since I know that I can trust you then."

I gave her a puzzled look. "Why wouldn't you trust me now?"

"You're a stranger. A newcomer with no knowledge of who or what we are," She replied, her voice nonchalant. "I do not know what you would do to us, but I do know that unknowns are dangerous. So, I will make sure that you are known. There is no other way to know a person better than in their potential last moments."

My heart stopped. "Huh?"

"You have a choice in this test. Do as I say… or die. Complete the task I give you or die. Simple, yes?"

"No!" I cried, shooting to my feet. "That is anything but simple! And that is not a choice. That is an ultimatum!"

The woman's eyes narrowed at me. "You have a mouth on you, don't you."

"I have a mouth when I am terrified, yes!"

"If you are terrified then you know for a fact what the results of this situation could be. It means you are smart. Good," The woman replied, still completely relaxed despite me yelling at her in panic. "Here is your test. Three individuals are sharing this cabin with us. All three were brought here for a reason. There is a knife in front of them. Take the knife and kill one of them."

Everything froze again. Her words reverberated in my mind, echoing through my brain like an incessant, haunting chant.

"I'm sorry," I trembled. "What?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" The woman remarked, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Take the knife and kill one of the individuals sharing this cabin. Once that is done, I will answer your questions, and I may just trust you."

I swallowed hard. Everything about this was wrong. Not just wrong, everything about this had to be fake. But, it wasn't fake. I was in this world, with these people. The mantra I learned in medical school rang through my skull. Do no harm, I lived by those words at my work as best as I could. And now, I was being asked to break that code.

"If I refuse?" I asked, swallowing hard.

"Then you will die in their place," The woman replied. "Like I said, this is a simple choice. Kill, or be killed. Obey, or die. Make your choice."

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath. After pressing my lips into a thin line, I slowly turned around. True to her word, there were three people in the cabin with me. All three were on their knees, their forms barely visible in the dim candlelight. Sacks covered their heads and faces, keeping me from seeing who they were. I saw a glint of steel in front of me. It was a dagger, sharper than any knife I had ever seen.

With a trembling hand, I picked the knife up. It felt so unnatural in my grasp. It was heavy, for me at least. Or, perhaps the weight I felt came from the deed I was about to commit, if I wanted to get existential about all of this. Either way, I did not like holding the dagger.

My eyes scanned the three people kneeling in front of me. On the left was a burly man in leather armor, with a few plates of iron and some horns decorating his outfit. The muscles on his arms were easily as big as my head, and it made me wonder how the woman managed to capture him at all.

The second person in the middle was a woman. She wore a rich outfit, warm looking, and probably made of some dyed cotton or wool. A pendant hung around her neck, made of gold and rubies. Not cheap jewelry at all.

And the last… the last… was that a cat-man?

I have to kill one of them. I gulped. How do I know which one to kill though? How can I even do this? This is wrong, evil! No… I will not. This all has to be a dream!

To my shock, I took the dagger and held it to my own throat. A laugh reverberated through the cabin.

"Oh, now that's adorable," The woman chuckled darkly. "If that is the route you wish to go, then I will not stop you. It would be such a waste though. You're intelligent; I can tell as much. Cicero would not have bothered with you otherwise. But, who am I to make this decision for you. I did order you to kill someone in this cabin. If that is yourself, then go ahead. Make your choice, make your kill."

My throat bobbed. The steel pricked my skin. I could feel a warm bead of blood running down my neck to my chest, soaking into my absolutely filthy shirt. At that moment, I realized something that almost made me laugh. I still haven't changed out of my work clothes. I was still wearing my doctor's coat, blouse, and slacks. They were covered in dirt and grime. So unsanitary.

Oh wait, I am laughing.

"Yes!" A familiar voice in my mind cheered as I kept chuckling. "Laugh in the face of death, Anastasia. Laugh indeed! Chortle, chuckle, and crow. But, know that your bluff isn't working, lass."

I froze. "Ph-Phil?" My gaze shot around the cabin as the knife fell from my throat.

"Ha! Yes, look around. Look crazier. Because you are now, you know. After all, you are hearing voices in your head. And yes, they are entirely real." Phil laughed. "Now, that isn't another reason to kill yourself, and, as entertaining as that might be, I recommend you don't. After all, I chose you for a reason, and reason is few and far between for me. So, instead of doing anything too drastic, let's take a look at your situation."

My eyes flicked all over the cabin. He couldn't be here. Wait, he just said he wasn't here. He was in my head. Oh God, Phil is in my head!

"Focus now, lass. You've got a multiple-choice test in front of you. Three answers, all of them unknown. Haha! What fun! I love multiple-choice questions. They are truly diabolical. While most think one answer is correct, it could be all, or it could be none. Absolutely maddening to consider all the possibilities. Best think carefully, yes?"

"I can't think carefully if you're talking," I muttered, my eyes landing on the three others sharing the cabin with me.

"Fair enough, I'll stop talking. But, word of advice, words can be helpful. Exchange them. They are valuable currency."

Since when did Phil like being cryptic? I shook my head and eyed the three individuals kneeling in the cabin. My lips thinned. I think I understood what Phil was getting at. I had to talk to them to figure out who deserved to die. Maybe… maybe I can figure something out in the meantime. Perhaps, if I stall for time, I can get out of this without bloodshed?

If not, then I need to make sure I'm slaying someone who deserves it. What better way to figure someone out than a good old chat.

I stepped tepidly towards the three victims. I could hear the burly man on the left shaking and whimpering to himself. For all his muscles, he was the most afraid of them all. Not a good sign for him. To me, it screamed guilt. He knew he was here for a reason.

The woman in the middle kept her back tall and straight. She was rigid, trying to project confidence. But, from how stiff she was, I could see she was afraid. No one could sit that still if they were relaxed.

Finally, the cat-man was lounging on his knees, painted tail flicking to and fro. He wasn't breathing hard, he wasn't rigid, and he wasn't whimpering. He was relaxed. He had nothing to fear.

With those observations made, I stepped in front of the burly man. I drew in a deep breath, dropped to his eye level, and swallowed hard.

"Hey."

"Wh-what?" The man croaked. "Wh-who are you? Where am I? Please, please let me go. I've done nothing to you."

I pursed my lips. He was terrified. "That may be true, but you've done something, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"What? Done something? What do you mean? I've- I've- I-"

"It's okay," I nodded, slipping into my psychiatrist voice with ease. I kept my tone even, soothing, calm. If I remained calm, the man would calm down as well. I'll get more answers out of him then. "What's your name?"

The man blubbered some more, but he was not whimpering anymore. I considered that progress.

"Fultheim," He replied. "Fultheim the Fearless."

I arched an eyebrow. That was ironic. "Alright, Fultheim, talk to me."

"T-Talk?"

"Yes, that's what we're doing right now. Having a quiet, honest chat," I stayed crouched, but my legs burned. However, I refused to stand over the man. If I did that, I'd be projecting power over him. Even blind, the man would know that, and that would make him antsy. It would shut him down. I had to keep him calm. "Tell me why you think you are here."

"Why I'm here?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Well," His throat bobbed. "It could have to do with what I do for a living."

"And that is?" I asked.

"I'm a soldier. Well, sellsword may be more accurate."

I nodded. "Go on."

The man shivered. His head bowed. "I-I- well, it's war, you know. I've done some things. Many things I'm not proud of. Have I killed people, yes. But that happens in battle, right? That- Oh gods, this is someone's vengeance. Oh by the eight! Please, please, have mercy."

"Shhh." I reached out and brushed a gentle hand against his shoulder. "Calm down, Fultheim. Nothing is happening. I just want you to talk to me. Why do you think this is revenge?"

"I-I-" Fultheim sniffed hard. "A village. Yes, there was a village. Old Hroldan; there's a famous inn there, along with a few houses. I was assigned to guard the village by the Legate in Markarth. He didn't have the men to spare. I was Fultheim the Fearless after all. I would do what was necessary to defend these people. I would have too if it was merely Stormcloaks attacking the village. But Forsworn?" Fultheim trembled. "They screamed bloody murder. And their magic. Savage magic. I couldn't stay. I ran. I ran and left those villagers to die. The one time I didn't do any killing is why I'm here. I'm certain!"

I closed my eyes. This man was dealing with a tremendous amount of guilt and shame. His experience was traumatic, harrowing, and completely understandable.

"It's alright, Fultheim," I said. "What you did was understandable. Honorable? Probably not. But was it human? Yes. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You were alone, against an onslaught of enemies. It is normal to want to save yourself. The guilt and shame you feel are also normal."

"Normal?" Fultheim raised his head. Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel his gaze fixated on me. "No, not for a Nord."

"Those are unfair expectations to place on yourself."

"It was my job, and I failed."

"Yes," I nodded. "But, you cannot allow that to get in the way of the rest of your life. You failed. Learn from it, grow from it. That is all you can do." I pursed my lips. Fultheim did not deserve to die. He may not be fearless, but he was not a horrific person. Simply a poor soul who broke at the worst time. "I'll be back."

"W-wait, where are you going?"

I blocked out Fultheim and moved on to the woman. The woman inclined her chin when she sensed me near.

"Oh, going to question me now?" She snarled. "Well, you can shove off. I ain't going to answer your questions."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why not? I know what you're doing. Don't think I don't. Your poking and prodding for reasons to do something to us." I pursed my lips. She wasn't wrong. "Well, I'm not playing your game," She continued. "Not at all."

"What is your name?"

The woman had to have rolled her eyes behind her sack. "If you must know, it is Alea Quintus. Now go away!"

"Why do you feel this way towards me? Towards my questions?"

"Because I'm always bothered by questions. Day and night, never-ending. The six urchins I have to feed are always pestering me, just like their father once did."

"Their father isn't around?"

"He's dead. And good riddance too."

I blinked. This lady was in quite a foul mood. There probably wasn't much I could do to get through to her in this state. Talking with her was only going to infuriate her more. However, I gleaned a lot of information from her curt words. She was a single mother of six children, none of which she cared for if she referred to them with as much disdain as she indicated. A shame. Children need a caring mother. But, does that mean she deserved death?

"Why do you think you are here?" I asked.

"Because someone doesn't like that I don't hold back. That I don't like being held back. And, that I don't care who gets hurt so long as I can continue doing what I must do," Alea spat. "Is that a good enough answer for you? Beat it!"

Yeah, I wasn't going to get much more out of her. She was a nasty lady, for certain. For some reason, my mind lingered on her disdain for her children and her husband. She said it was a good thing the husband was dead and gone. Add in her contempt for people who would hold her back… there may be something there.

But first, the cat-man.

I stepped in front of him and squatted. The cat-man sniffed the air. A faint growl came from him.

"This one smells you in front of him," He said. "Before you ask, this one's name is Vasha, pillager of villages, wealthiest of bandits, and stealer of farmer's daughters, whether it be their hearts or other things."

I blinked. "You are quite open with your obvious transgressions."

"Why should I not be?" Vasha remarked, his tail flicked back and forth behind him. "I did them. I will not deny what I have done. I will boast of my accomplishments with pride."

"You believe what you have done are accomplishments?"

"I have survived this cruel world and grown rich while doing so. So yes, for someone like me, that is an accomplishment."

I nodded. "Why do you believe the world is cruel?"

My question must have surprised Vasha. His head tilted, and he sniffed the air again.

"You have a strange scent."

"You're avoiding my question."

A faint snarl slipped from his lips, reminding me of the sound lions would make when threatened on those nature documentaries I used to watch back home. "If you want to know, Vasha was orphaned as a young cub. The Aldmeri Dominion killed my family, and this one watched. So, Vasha ran, barely survived the dunes of my homeland, and made my way as far from that cursed place as I could."

I closed my eyes and nodded. "That had to be hard."

Silence, at first. Then, Vasha spoke. "Harder than you could imagine."

"You still have done horrible things."

"As I said before, I will not deny it."

I grimaced. "Well, at least you take responsibility. That's more than can be said for most. Now then, why do you think you are here?"

Vasha was quiet a moment as he pondered my question. "Why do you think?"

I tilted my head. "I think you did something to someone, similar to what happened to you as a- er- young cub. Have you ever considered that?"

Vasha's tail stopped twitching. He hummed. "If that is the case, then perhaps Vasha's fate has come."

"Perhaps…"

With a sigh, I rose to my feet and stepped back. My eyes flicked among the three prisoners. Fultheim was a soldier, a broken one too. He abandoned his post and left villagers to die at the hands of what sounded like terrible people. Someone felt he deserved to pay for that.

Vasha was a bandit and a scoundrel. Multiple people might want him dead. But, would those people go through this much effort for a bandit who did not hide his sins? If he didn't hide what he did, then why was he still alive? He should've been killed long ago. No one wanted him dead badly enough.

Then there was Alea. She confused me. A single mother of six did not belong with these two. Why would anyone want her dead?

My eyes widened. The husband was dead.

"Alea," I began, "did you kill your husband?"

"What!?" She exclaimed.

"Did you kill your husband?"

"I-you- how could you even accuse me of that?" She snarled. "I'll have you know, such a false accusation will not go without harsh retribution."

I closed my eyes. "Poison or a knife?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"You did not deny my accusation," I pointed out. "Instead, you deflected. You accused me of overstepping instead of flatly saying no." She was somehow sitting stiffer than before. "Now then, poison or knife?"

My throat bobbed. I prayed my hunch was wrong.

"Poison."

I bit back a curse and bowed my head. With a shaky breath, I glanced back at my captor. She was watching intently in silence, one leg dangling off of the shelf she sat on top of.

A shuddering sigh slipped from my lips. If I didn't kill one of them, then I would die. I couldn't die now. I had to get home. I had to escape alive.

So, that meant killing one of them… and I chose the murderer who confessed.

My muscles tenses. I surged forward, the tip of my steel dagger pointing forward. All of my weight fell against Alea as the blade plunged between her breasts.

She screamed. Hot blood gushed over my hands. Her screams echoed in my mind. I wanted them to stop.

So I yanked the dagger free and stabbed again. My body straddled hers. She was still screaming, wailing, begging for mercy.

"Shut up!" I howled as I stabbed her again. "No more! Just. Stop. Screaming!"

After a few more plunges with my dagger, I froze. Her screaming stopped. She lay still beneath me. Blood soaked my once white coat. A pool of scarlet built up beneath me, soaking into the floorboards. Alea's chest rose and fell one more time, then went still. Her skin had already turned ashen.

The dagger fell from my hands and clattered to the blood-stained floor. I scrambled off of her dead body. Bile shot up from my gut and out of my throat. I heaved as I dropped on all fours. My entire body shook. Through the shaking, the tears that burned my eyes, and the sobs that spilled from my throat, I heard laughter. It was my captor.

"Well done," She chuckled. "A bit of an unorthodox way of doing things, but I liked it. You had everyone on edge, including me. I think you might turn out to be quite the sadist."

I trembled. My head remained bowed. I looked down at my hands, eyes widening in horror at the gore that caked my palms and fingers.

What have I done?

Footsteps approached me. I didn't even notice my captor jump down from her perch. She squatted beside me, using one finger to lift my chin. I stared into her icy eyes. For a moment, I thought I saw some sympathy in her gaze through my tears.

"I know I can trust you now. You're a murderer, like me and the rest of the family."

A choked sob left my throat.

"It's alright. The first one is always the hardest. But, judging by how you butchered poor Alea, I think you'll grow into your role as a member of the family."

She rose to her feet. At that moment, I recalled the other two captives. They were panicking. Asking what happened. Wondering if Alea was dead or alive.

"You chose the woman who murdered her husband. Her husband's lover ordered the contract," My captor explained, making my eyes widen. Alea killed her cheating husband. Why didn't she say that? That would've made me consider my decision more!

My masked captor stepped to Fultheim. "Strangely, you ignored the cowardly killer sellsword." My mouth fell open in horror as she dragged a dagger across his throat. Blood soaked through the sack on his head as he slumped forward, gurgling out his last breaths. "As well as the vile bandit Khajiit." She slashed her knife through Vasha's neck. The cat man screamed, bled for a moment, then fell silent. "Interesting decision, but a decision made nonetheless. And, it was not an incorrect one. You followed my orders, you carried out the contract. I am pleased."

"You-you killed-" My words got stuck in my throat. "They all were-"

"Yes, they all were destined to die tonight. They all had contracts on their heads. Contracts that we had to fulfill, and you helped."

Oh my God, I helped a contract killer murder someone!

Before my captor could continue her monologue, my body sagged to the ground and my vision went black. The last sensation I felt was tears dripping down my cheeks, and the last thing I thought was the mantra that was hammered into me throughout school, as I prepared to be a doctor.

Do no harm.

And chapter! This chapter was sooooo much fun to write. We're slowly breaking down Anastasia's character, and it's going to be fun to see through all the way. I'm excited to get this story really going! Anyways, let me know what you all think of this chapter. As always, I hope you all enjoyed it. Have a nice day!

Come join the Fanfiction Treehouse discord server! Discord code is: 9XG3U7a

Also, come check out the Fanfiction Treehouse Podcast! Myself, Stormtide Leviathan, RedXEagl3, GrandPaladinTyrux, Narwhal_Lord, and Rozey_Pozey are the hosts! We talk about writing, share writing tips, chat about fiction and fanfiction, and generally discuss whatever else comes to mind. You can find the Podcast on Spotify and on Soundcloud, you can also find all our video episodes over on Youtube! Hope to see you all there!