A/N: Back again. Found some more motivation to get more Elder Scrolls work done recently. Hopefully this can get out of the muck and moving.

Whispers of the Night

Summary: One year after Serana died and she left Astrid, Alana has left for Solstheim to be alone and never harm another innocent. Enemies new and old are rising, and it is never easy for one to free themselves from the shackles of their demons..

*Book 2: Oblivion Walker Part 18*

It didn't take very long for Saoron to realize that Alana was right in asking him for help.

He was glad she did, and not just because it pleased him to see her remembering she had friends she could trust in spite of the hell the woman had been through. Alana could've ended up so much worse of a person, and he wouldn't have been able to fully blame her for being incredibly paranoid and mistrusting. Most people didn't have a spider demon after their soul.

She was still messed up, but better. Ciri though.

Oh dear. And he thought Alana was socially inept. Compared to Ciri, the woman seemed like a perfectly functional member of society.

The girl wasn't in the best of moods after Alana and Astrid left for some barrow up north, and she stayed seated in the corner glaring daggers whenever he attempted to make some small talk. He wasn't an idiot and could see the fear that flashed behind the anger. She was afraid of him, and after hearing Alana tell him she had been picked up off the street, he had a inkling as to why.

'The world is cruel to those with nothing.' She couldn't have been older than thirteen at most, yet already she had a certain cautious grace Saoron had seen in only Astrid. Light, quiet steps and quick strides. Someone used to being unseen. Alana did say she caught the girl trying to pickpocket her, and he could see how an unsuspecting person could easily fall victim to having their valuables plucked. She hadn't tried it with him, though, and the subtle way she watched his movements told him the girl saw him as a threat. Understandable; Ciri had just witnessed Alana incinerate a pair of magic-wielding cultists while he blocked any spells that strayed too close. He'd be more worried if she wasn't on edge.

But Ciri was not like any other child. The unnatural orange eyes was a dead giveaway there, and he bit back a sigh as he realized that now there were two undead walking around Raven Rock. 'Dammit Alana.' He'd love to know what was on her mind at the time, and whether or not her recent black eye had anything to do with Astrid making her feelings on the matter known.

Ciri sat in the corner of Saoron's library, glaring out the window silently. She had been like that since after breakfast, refusing to even acknowledge his attempts to start a conversation. Any other parental figure might've been put out by that or begin freaking out, but Saoron had dealt with his own share of incredibly socially awkward people. Alana was the best example he could think of. She wore the mask well, but anyone who actually knew her would be able to pick up the subtle cues that she was not comfortable talking with others.

'I've got to do some shopping. Maybe a walk around town will do her some good.' It was better than being cooped indoors all the time, and Alana did ask if he could take a swing by the Ienth Farm to pick up some food for later.

'And now I have to convince someone who sees everyone as a threat to come out alone with me.' Saoron made sure Ciri couldn't see him drag his hand down his face, feeling the sinking despair begin to worm its way into his gut. No, despair wasn't the right word to describe it. More like apathetic acceptance that this was his life now.

This was all Alana's fault.

Out of all the hostile wildlife on Tamriel, Alana could safely say she hated giant spiders the most. It wasn't just the gleaming eyes, giant fangs, or how they rolled into a ball emitting horrible death shrieks, or the spines on their legs that could snag and tear flesh that made her desire for them all to walk off a cliff and die.

There was just so many of them.

She groaned as another pair of fire-cloaked spiders crawled out towards her and brought her crossbow up. The first spider was sent careening away in a tangled mess of fiery limbs and guts, splashing on the web-coated corridors of the barrow. The second one met the same fate, turning into a mass of guts and body parts that somehow still smoldered away, even with the spiders dead. 'Why do I even bother exploring these ruins again? Oh right, because the fate of the world and all that. The things I do to save the world.'

If there was one crumb of comfort, it was that Astrid was even less fond of arachnids than she was. The assassin shuddered as she wiped off her blade and Alana grinned. "Is the big, bad, heartless assassin afraid of a few spiders?"

Astrid glared and stomped off ahead. "I was never fond of being poked in the eye or having my head chopped off, either. What of it?"

"Oh dear. I seem to have struck a nerve. All part of my charm."

"This is my charm," Astrid threatened, raising her fist. "And you'll be eating it if you don't stop."

Alana sighed. "Astrid, I already eat you-"

"ALANA!"

"-your cooking," Alana finished, smiling innocently. "What are you so embarrassed about? Did you think I meant something else?" She barked out a laugh at Astrid's flushed face and loaded another bolt into her crossbow, looking down the tunnel and noticing more dead bandits. Like the ones at the entrance to the ruin, they too were horribly deformed and burned, though some bore the wounds of swords and axes. Draugr. At last, something more tolerable to fight than spiders. A quick look behind them to make sure nothing had snuck up showed the long trail of spider corpses leading back up to the entrance of the ruin, and the blonde Nord took a few steps forward before stopping, sighing, and firing her crossbow to the right.

The draugr that stirred from its sarcophagus tumbled to the ground with a crossbow bolt stuck in its ugly mouth.

Alana reloaded and scanned the chamber, taking note of the empty sarcophagi and burst egg sacs. The sacs were still dripping fluids and scattered around the chamber were drying puddles of blood. Fresh kills.

Alana stopped and narrowed her eyes at the sight of a flicker of movement behind a pillar in the center of the chamber. A soft growl reached her ears and she heard the distinctive sound of a sword leaving its sheathe. Astrid made to continue walking by, only for Alana to yank her back by her cloak. The assassin choked and turned her head to glare, only for her eyes to widen as an ebony sword soared mere inches away from her face, grunting as she landed on Alana's dropped crossbow.

Her other hand came up and Alana threw her full weight into wrestling the longsword out of the draugr's skeletal grasp. Its foul mouth opened, preparing to Shout, and she drove its own weapon through its jaw. The sword pierced out of the draugr's helmet like a third horn, the light fading from its undead glare, and toppled over.

"You never poked around one of these ruins before, have you?" Alana asked as she helped Astrid up and retrieved her crossbow.

"Funnily enough, I preferred to spend my time doing things besides diving into the depths of a draugr-infested burial ground." Astrid glared at the dead draugr that attempted to remove her head from her shoulders and gave it a solid kick, breaking off chunks of rotted flesh. "This isn't my idea of a good time."

"Yes, because you absolutely radiate excitement and fun."

Astrid's smirk was victorious. "Actually, we used to have knife throwing contests in the Falkreath Sanctuary. While incredibly inebriated and very little clothing getting in the way. Nazir even sold his trousers one night."

Alana's mind helpfully provided a mental image of the woman before her wearing nothing and a nice bottle of shien next to her legs. "Ah..."

'Not the time. And we're both going to need to clean up when we get back.'

They came to a raised drawbridge, the chain to it illuminated by a single torch. Alana pulled it, ancient Nordic mechanisms groaning in protest as they shuddered and lowered the bridge. To her confusion, it appeared to only operate one half of the bridge, and she looked over at Astrid.

"Don't look at me. You're the one who finds enjoyment in a burial ground, not me." The vampire folded her arms.

Alana winced and stuck close to the wall, peering around the corner to get a look at what waited for the two. More egg sacs dotted the floor below, and a collapsed pillar partially blocked off part of the chamber. Beyond it, a grotesque green thing shuffled back and forth, and she couldn't help but stare in fascinated horror as green growths pulsed and throbbed where its chest ought to be. It looked oddly human, but it was all wrong. Thin legs protruded out of the back, and its head was bent at an unnatural angle. Whoever it was had long lost their humanity. She peeled back, rubbed her eyes, and looked again to make sure it wasn't a lack of sleep finally getting to her.

"Right. There's a green monster that looks like what happens when fungus meets spiders meet human. Okay. That's fine." Who needed daedra when manmade horrors beyond imaginings walked the earth?

Alana rummaged through the satchel on her hip and pulled out a package of fire salts, along with a vial of poison. Alchemy wasn't her strongest suit, but she learned a few things spending time in the Thieves Guild and College of Winterhold. Enough to know that a little nightshade oil and fire salts could create a nice, loud boom; proof that one didn't need to be a battlemage to cast a fireball.

Astrid backed away, her golden eyes wide. "I do hope you know what you're doing with that."

Alana's chuckle as she carefully applied the poison and salts didn't seem to reassure her much. Strange, that. Was her laughing usually a sign of trouble?

She loaded the bolt into her crossbow, took aim, and fired.

The explosion was deafening, and Alana's ears rang as the force tore apart the bolt's intended target. The hulking mass of spider-infused human was torn to shreds, the shockwave rippling out and destroying two of the egg sacs as well. Both popped at the same time, and Alana smiled sweetly once her sense of hearing came back. "After me."

Why simply stab or shoot arrows at things when you could blow them up instead? Much more effective, and a lot more fun.

She jumped down from the partially lowered bridge and did a quick sweep with her crossbow, Astrid dropping down behind her. "You know, something's only just occurred to me, and I'm severely disappointed I didn't recognize this earlier."

"Oh? Care to enlighten me with your esoteric knowledge?" Astrid drawled.

"You need a bow." Alana's flat response took the wind out of Astrid's sails and the assassin choked. "Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying you're a bad fighter. Not after you knocked me around on the way back to my island paradise. But the lack of any ranged options for you really isn't ideal. Saoron has magic, I have a crossbow, and you've got a dagger and sword. Your 'ranged' weapon is an extra two feet of metal. See what I'm getting at?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." Astrid grumbled and peeled off a particularly stubborn strand of webbing with a noise of disgust. "And it bothers me, frankly."

"Did you seriously not even think about it until I just said something?"

Astrid's blush and awkward cough was telling.

Alana sighed and shook her head, heading deeper into the ruin.

"That's it; I'm making you a damn bow when we get back." She spotted another egg sac and loaded her crossbow with a fresh bolt. "Ah, lovely. More spiders to exterminate." The sac exploded with a wet pop, spraying broken bits of spider and embryotic fluid all over the ruin walls, and the blonde tilted her head slowly as it dribbled down the stone. "Not too fond of that new paint, though."

"You're insane. Actually insane," Astrid rasped.

"And you love me for it."

It was comforting, having someone to complain with.

Dissordia knew Neloth long enough to know that the man wasn't one for telling tall tales.

As she approached the Sun Stone, one of the six dotted across Solstheim, she saw that Neloth was not lying about a strange phenomenon happening around it. A group of dunmer a dozen strong were building some sort of shrine around the Stone, slaving away with the occasional odd phrase leaving their lips.

"Our eyes once were blinded," one droned out in a monotone voice, stacking up a pile of bricks to build part of the shrine.

"Blinded?" Dissordia scribbled it down in the journal she kept, adding it to the list of other phrases workers seemed to drone out every time she attempted to break whatever spell they were under. It was an obvious form of mind control; Neloth was right to be concerned about whether it was merely an isolated phenomena or happening across elsewhere on Solstheim.

"Now through him do we see." Another thrall said, dropping to his knees in front of the Sun Stone. He thrust his arms upward in worship, tilting his head back. "Our hands once were idle."

"Now through them he speaks," all of the enthralled dunmer chorused, pausing in their labor to form a circle around the Sun Stone.

Dissordia was silent, watching and listening.

"And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world shall remember, that world shall cease to be."

The Nerevarine's eyes narrowed and she heard the sound of an Oblivion portal tearing open. Her journal snapped shut and she stashed inside her robes. No time to finish writing it all out, but she worked out one thing. It was a bloody incantation. 'Really should've expected this.'

She honestly smelt the creature before it even roared from the other side of the portal. The old dunmer cracked her neck with a groan, thrusting her palm out and focusing her magic to summon a bound sword. The ethereal blade finished forming as the hulking beast climbed out of the portal, and the Nerevarine smiled at it as it roared again, showing off a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and a long, forked tongue.

Lurkers. One of the daedra subservient to Hermaeus Mora. So he was one behind whatever spell had taken hold over the stone. Interesting. The Demon of Knowledge didn't normally bother with mortal affairs, but it seemed as though the rules of the game had changed.

Fine by her.

"Your breath smells awful. How long have you spent writhing in toxic sludge?"

The daedra took a swing at her with one of its massive arms, the limb extending like a whip. She stamped her foot down and swung up, parrying the limb up and over her head. The beast was jolted back from the sudden bash, and she sliced at the lurker's leathery scales. Green blood oozed out and the lurker growled. It regained its balance and spat out a lump of sludge mixed with writhing tentacles. The Nerevarine scrambled away, the daedra pursuing her and moving away from the stone. She was content to give ground, steadily retreating back. She blocked what strikes she could and dodged ones she couldn't, baiting the daedra deeper into the ash wastes and away from the enthralled; none of them were in the condition to fight back against a daedra of this strength.

Lurkers were blind, relying on their senses of hearing and smell to swim around the toxic pools of Apocrypha. Fire swelled in Dissordia's hand and she peppered it with fireballs, the deafening explosions hiding the soft thwip of her Fire Rune deploying in front of it.

The lurker stepped on the rune and was blasted thirty feet into the air in a rush of flame. While it was airborne, a pair of Thunderbolts smashed into its body and carried it away some fifty feet before it crashed into the ashy ground. Dust was flung up from the impact, and the Nerevarine rolled her eyes as a frustrated roar came out from the plume of ashy dust. "Oh for Azura's sake..." She chased after it, only to come skidding to a halt as a trio of smaller portals tore open around her. Her sword elongated into a spear and she spun it overhead, catching a spider daedra with the butt-end. It shrieked as it was thrown away and the dunmer vaulted over the second, coughing from all the dust being kicked up. 'Spider daedra aren't under Hermaeus Mora's influence.' There was only one daedric prince who had those at their disposal.

'Mephala... what have you done? This is the second time you've openly aided another prince.'

The Nerevarine held her ground as the daedra rushed her, feinting a strike to the stomach to allow the first to overextend. With two legs out of position and its center of balance skewed, the daedra practically fell onto the tip of her spear. There was no time to enjoy the satisfaction, for the one she smacked away earlier had crawled back, and a quick glance past it told her the lurker was creating a pool of sludge to regenerate its lost scales.

'Three on one. I've had worse odds.' It would take more than a few lesser daedra to put her down; Azura would never let her live it down.

She let go of her spear and summoned a Wall of Fire between her and the daedra, snapping her fingers and letting the Ebonyflesh spell coat her skin for an extra layer of protection. The Flame Cloak followed, and Dissordia rolled up the sleeves of her robes, conjuring a pair of bound swords. 'Just when I thought I'd found somewhere nice and quiet. Instead, I find myself in an even stranger war than last time.'

On the other side of the raging wall of fire, two daedra screamed, and she charged through it. All dunmer had a natural resistance to fire, something that had been on her mind when she created the flaming barrier in front of her to buy her a few more precious seconds. It still singed her robes, but the Ebonyflesh refused to falter and she rammed one of her swords through the chest of a spider daedra, breaking through bone and piercing out the back. She ripped it free in a shower of gore and brought both swords up to block the pincers of its sister. It screamed in her face, snapping at her in an attempt to bite it off, and she pushed it back with a solid kick to the abdomen. 'Her power has grown significantly. For her to be so willing to casually toss aside her own daedra...'

Mephala had changed, and not for the better.

Dissordia rolled a twinge of discomfort out of her shoulder, banishing one of her bound swords. Dual-wielding, especially in her off-hand, was a lot trickier than most people realized. It looked flashy, and a master of it could be damn near unstoppable on a battlefield, but it left her open to being overpowered. The spider daedra came crawling back and leapt at her with a scream, extending its neck forward with fangs dripping with poison. It lunged out to bite her and it came to a sudden stop as it bit down on Dissordia's sword. She twisted it, letting it protrude from its head like a horn, and stepped back to let it topple. It fell heavily onto the ash and as soon as its final death spasms ceased it faded away, back into the depths of the Spiral Skein.

The lurker had staggered to its feet at last, scales fully regenerated and spitting out another lump of toxic sludge. The dunmer stepped to the side to let it soar past, facing it with an eyebrow raised. "What interest does your master have with these stones?" she asked, wiping a smudge of ash off her cheek. She doubted it would answer, being a creature of blind rage and horrible hygiene, but there was no harm in trying. Hermaeus Mora wasn't one to involve himself in business like enthralling an entire settlement, and when he did choose to pursue something, it was usually through a singular agent, not in the dozens. What really bothered her was why Mephala was getting involved with at least two other daedric princes. Every lord of Oblivion had their pacts, sure, but the Tribunal and more importantly Azura wouldn't tolerate this level of interference. 'What does she get out of it? Is she trying to cause a civil war in Oblivion?' She hadn't considered it at first, but with Mephala's daedra appearing alongside both Vaermina's and Hermaeus Mora's underlings, it would be something that Mephala would love to be able to pull off. The chaos that would come out of the princes tearing each other apart would feed her power for eons.

Despite what many ignorant of the daedra believed, the princes couldn't physically manifest on an Oblivion plane they didn't control. They could act through their chosen agents, who could freely travel between planes, but unless it was their realm, they simply didn't have the power to overpower another prince. At least, not directly, and there was no one who knew how to manipulate events to her whim like the Webspinner. Betrayal of the cruelest kind was her game, and to her, there would be no crueler betrayal than setting her sisters and brethren up to war with each other. Weaken them through their connections, have them so focused on each other they don't notice the strands of spider silk growing in their domain or the whispers in their ear. 'She has a chosen one of her own. Her piece in the coming war, one she's confident will win.'

The lurker responded with an angry roar and charged, spitting in her direction.

'I'm not sure why I expected anything else to leave this ugly thing's mouth.'

"So much for trying to be diplomatic." The Nerevarine rolled her eyes, focused her magicka outward, and swung her sword up and overhead. The world seemed to blink for a moment, and the lurker's roars took on a higher pitch, one of pain and no doubt showering her with daedric profanities. Its right leg fell to the ground, now severed from the rest of the daedra's body, and Dissordia's sword vanished as the lurker collapsed in a roaring mess. With it crippled, it was as good as dead, at least on this plane. Permanently putting it in a coffin required a trip to Apocrypha, which seemed like a bad idea, at least at the moment. Tel Mythrin would be left as good as defenseless if she left for Oblivion now. Neloth may be confident in his apprentice, but she wasn't. Especially not if two daedric princes had their eyes drawn to the tower.

"Tell your master that this island isn't going to roll over and accept whatever twisted fate he's conjured up. And stay the hell where you belong next time. Or I'll take off more than just your leg." A jagged spear of ice stabbed through the roof of its mouth, puncturing through the soft tissue and destroying its brain. The tip pierced through the top of its head and its body lurched once before it began to disappear back to its plane of Oblivion, fading away until nothing remained of their battle except for the blood and sludge that the lurker lost.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish." Dissordia looked over at the thralls and relaxed when none of them appeared to be harmed. They were toiling away once more, as if the skirmish didn't even happen. 'That ritual seemed to summon a lurker. Or am I reading too far into this? Hermaeus Mora has the Stone in a stranglehold, but for what? What does he get out of it?' The Standing Stones were said to bless those who prayed at them with great power, described as truly being one with nature. But that power wouldn't be of any use to him, and she doubted old Mora would go this far just to obtain some secrets that were only of use to mortals. 'This just got a lot more interesting.'

It wouldn't be Hermaeus Mora if it were something simple, that's for sure. He was fickler than most other princes, still not one to be crossed, and there could be any number of artifacts or ancient knowledge he'd thirst for. He longed for secrets, as his nature decreed. 'And Mephala, why are you helping him? That power does no good to a daedric prince.' Surely her pawn in the game was a mortal, so was it for them, whoever they were? 'This is confirmed interference of at least three daedric princes. Vaermina, Mephala, and Hermaeus Mora. Neloth will want to hear this.'

All she could do was wait for the old man to come back from Raven Rock and keep the barrier around the grounds of Tel Mythrin strong.

"Dammit I hate waiting." You'd think a few centuries would've taught the Nerevarine some patience, but Azura had a sense of humor it seemed, and bestowed her champion with a never-ending sense of restlessness.

Akavir threw everything it had at her, and somehow, she was here breathing while everything that had attempted to cause her bodily harm was dead. 'I really thought that expedition would be the end of me.'

Azura wasn't going to let her leave Mundus so soon, it seemed.

The walk back to Neloth's tower was uneventful, and she lowered her guard once she crossed into the barrier Neloth casted over the grounds. Anything that tried to assault the tower would find itself having more than just a bit of a headache. Telvanni magic wasn't so easily beaten, even by a daedra. She entered the tower and rose up the spiraling pillar of light to the top, landing neatly on a platform that jutted out from the floor.

Neloth's apprentice was working nearby, fussing with some herbs. A familiar smell wafted up her nose and she sighed. She really thought Neloth would've developed a better taste by now, but it appeared old habits died hard. 'It has been centuries. How has he not gotten sick of it?' Canis root tea was very cleansing, or so the old coot claimed. It was very bitter and tasted vaguely like snowberries having intercourse with nightshade. It would've been better if it were a beer or ale.

The apprentice didn't hear her approach, far too busy swearing at a lump of canis root refusing to chop, and he jumped when she coughed to get his attention. "Oh, sorry!" The knife went behind his back and he sweated nervously. "Um, can I help you...?"

"I need access to Neloth's library. Anything regarding ancient ruins," Dissordia explained. "You said you were thrown back from the Sun Stone as if you were stung. I got a different reaction."

"You did? That's great, I think?" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and froze when the older dunmer pried the knife out of his hand and crushed the root with the flat of the blade to get more of the juices out. Old alchemical trick she learned in Vvardenfell, when most of the

'I'm making him an actual tea instead of this garbage one day.' One day, when the island she was currently living on wasn't under attack from three daedric princes. Dissordia squeezed the root over the steaming cup, letting it seep into the boiling hot tea. "Crush, not cut. Gets more of the juice out. He always gets so snippy when it's watered down. And no, it isn't good. It seems as though individuals of significant magical power are capable of passing through the barrier and talking to the individuals in particular led to the summoning of a lurker." She left out a few details, such as the interference of Mephala a second time, but those were for the ears of someone much more capable than an apprentice.

The younger dunmer paled. "A lurker? Oh no... Neloth!"

"Oh please. He could banish one of those ugly things in his sleep." Dissordia rolled her eyes. "Now, library please?" She wasn't worried of Neloth coming across a daedra of that power; the old dunmer would rip one in half if it was stupid enough to attack him. Even a daedric prince knew better than to attack a Telvanni mage.

Hermaeus Mora knew that. Mephala knew it, too. 'But does she care?' The silence that followed was damning. This blasted island was supposed to be a sort of retirement for her, and here she was getting dragged into what felt like an oncoming civil war in Oblivion. 'You couldn't just let me enjoy my later years, could you, Azura?'

Neloth's apprentice guided her towards the library, unlocking it and inviting her inside. It was spacious, with ten tall black bookcases stacked with tomes and books. One of them ominously creaked and the Nerevarine sighed as she began to look.

"Time to do a little history reading."

Astrid really didn't understand why Alana found joy in exploring ancient ruins. The air was musty and reeked of draugr, the walls covered with layers of moss and spiderwebs, and every time they made even the slightest amounts of progress, something came out determined to put an end to their ability to breathe.

Not that it bothered Alana any. The younger Nord was happier than Astrid had ever seen her, practically skipping through the ruin whistling a cheerful tune while she cut down draugr like a scythe might churn through wheat. It took a lot of confidence and skill to waltz through a burial ground without activating the many hazardous traps that lay in them to ward off tomb robbers, but Alana made it look like an artform, nimbly stepping over tripwires and dancing over pressure plates.

Astrid followed, not exactly liking the other alternative of turning around and leaving on her own. 'Seriously, why is she like this?' It was just her luck to fall for the one idiot in all of Tamriel who enjoyed this kind of nonsense.

Someone was laughing at her. Probably Nazir, while Babette would watch from afar and chimed in with the occasional jab about how nothing Alana ever did was normal, and it was her damn fault for expecting the woman to be. Astrid found her respect for Serana growing. 'Serana must've had the patience of a saint to put up with Alana for as long as she did. And to think, back then it was just the two of them clinging onto each other for survival.'

It didn't take long for her to realize what differed between Alana's relationships with Serana and Astrid. Astrid had only previously known her as a shell of the woman she was, whereas Serana had been through literal planes of hell by her side. 'Talk about some serious shoes to fill.' All she had to do now was willingly follow the woman she loved into the depths of Oblivion and hope they didn't end up as an eldritch monster's new chew toys.

Astrid sidestepped the head of a draugr as it rolled passed her feet.

Somehow, she figured they'd be just fine. 'I am not letting some dusty old bonewalkers get the best of me.' Nazir would never let her hear the end of it.

The Last Dragonborn paused from clearing a path forward to let her catch up, and Alana stopped her from opening a heavy wooden door ringed with metal. Astrid knew better than to argue, for she was the fish out of water in this scenario and drew her sword. "Ambush?" Draugr weren't so bad, once you got by the smell of rotting flesh and death, and she noticed the carefully placed bone chimes on either side of the door.

"Not only a good place for it, but there's a trap here too. The door is rigged." Alana crouched down and wiped some litter off the floor, revealing a single pressure plate. Astrid swore and stepped around it, and a flash of silver in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked over to where the door's hinges were, and hidden by layers of thick cobwebs and smelly moss was the trap mechanism connected to the door.

"There." She pointed to it and Alana followed her finger.

"Good eyes." She smiled stepped over the pressure plate and crouched down in front of the trap, clearing away the webs and moss to get a proper look at it. "Shouldn't be too difficult to disable it. Give me about two minutes." She fished out a pair of lockpicks from her pouch and inserted one into the trap, gently moving it about inside to get a feel for the inner mechanisms.

Astrid watched her back while she worked, and true to her word Alana had the trap disabled in no time and was grinning smugly as she readied her weapon. "Told you I wouldn't be long. Shall we?"

"You're enjoying this."

"A little," Alana admitted. "In my defense, it has been some time since I got to do this."

"What, get covered in stinking moss and webs while we fend off hordes of undead? I think Saoron was right about you having more than a few screws loose. Name one other person who actually sees being in the bowels of a ruin as a good thing."

"I meant being able to spend time with you without anyone to get in our way. But sure. I guess I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?"

Astrid winced. She messed up and knew it. "I apologize. I shouldn't have said that. You are right; it is nice to have some time just for us. Even if it is in this stinking place." She cringed even as she said it, looking away with an embarrassed cough at Alana's eyebrow raising pointedly. "Can our next moment be somewhere a bit... I don't know, less likely to get one of us killed?" 'Even with my powers, I can't match your endurance.' That part was left unsaid, for Alana was observant enough to see Astrid's slightly rougher breathing compared to her more even breaths.

A hike up a mountain was taxing, even more during a blizzard, and then fighting through a ruin filled with the results of some experiment gone wrong and draugr? Any normal person would've realized it was a stupid idea and gone home. But Alana was a special kind of stubborn, one that wouldn't be dissuaded by mere pesky obstacles like dangerous weather or ferocious monsters. Oh no, she was the one who looked at them, shrugged her shoulders - like she was doing now to a draugr that made the mistake of climbing out of its sarcophagus - and said, "How compelling," before cutting them in half and moving on to the next one.

By Sithis, it was terrifying to watch. Astrid could feel her knees grow weak at the overwhelming aura of confidence. A cold fire, like ice so cold it could burn, sweeping through anything in its path like an avalanche.

Alana threw the dead draugr aside with a backhanded blow, her sword slamming into the chest of another. The third came in from behind and she let go, rolling back underneath and leaving the draugr swatting at air. The next clumsy swing was easily evaded, and Alana grabbed its sword arm, straining for a moment before the sickening sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing echoed through the ruin.

"Ugh. That's just gross." She gagged at the rotting hand in her grasp briefly before shoving the draugr's own sword up through its jaw and into its brain. The light faded from the undead's corpse and it toppled, and she wiped her hands along the walls in a desperate attempt to get the smell off. "Oh gods, don't let me touch anything back home until I've had a good bath."

Astrid couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

"Ha. Knew you couldn't keep up the surliness for long. I'll take that as a win." Alana was all too smug as she skipped further into the ruin, cackling as a pair of deformed bandits mindlessly charged her. One swing was all she needed to take them both down and she stepped through their corpses, exuding the kind of confidence of someone storming a fortress on their own. The third was grabbed by the throat, slammed into the ground, and thrown into the path of a leaping spider swirl in flame. The spider exploded on impact with the force of a fireball, ripping the bandit apart and showering her with gore.

Alana wiped a smear of it off her cheek and raised her sword up to block a Thunderbolt. Her sword's aetherium coating absorbed its magicka, shining a bright white before fading back to polished steel. The wide blade cleaved through another leaping spider, but an arrow from the side forced her to abandon her assault or get shot. "Get the archers! I'll handle this lot!"

Astrid was already moving, running past and taking in the gap in the floor as it appeared. She had enough momentum to leap over it and avoid the spike floor below, landing in a combat roll. An arrow whistled overhead, and she kept moving, closing the distance on the first archer and burying the Blade of Woe into the pulsing green mass over his chest. The archer stumbled back, and Astrid grabbed him by the shoulders, her vampire blood burning angrily as she lifted the man off his feet and threw him into the path of a glass arrow. The body sailed by, tumbling towards the archer who fired the second shot. It was slow to react, not even moving until the corpse collided with it and sent it tumbling in a pile of limbs. A rusted longbow fell out of the archer's mangled hand and Astrid kicked it into the pit.

'These bandits are little more than mindless husks. We fought draugr with more intelligence.' Her sword plunged into the second's chest, stopping briefly to yank her dagger out of the other body, and she stood up to see a very much intact dunmer getting thrashed by Alana. She'd left her sword in a pair of spider corpses and was using her fists to dismantle the mage dumb enough to make her mad. It was more brawl-oriented than any kind of actual strategy, but that was how Alana fought, and it was devastating.

After having a slugfest with her on the boat back to Solstheim, Astrid could personally attest to just how hard the woman hit without her sword. Every blow struck with the force of a mammoth, crushing through guards by sheer force alone. It was only thanks to her vampire blood that Astrid managed to stand long enough to lay what was decided as the final blow, and even though she won, she wasn't about to challenge her again anytime soon. The bruises still ached.

The sound of an arm shattering was accompanied by a shrill scream of pain from the dunmer, Alana having snapped the bones like they were twigs. Oh no, a mage who tortured and experimented on people was suffering. Much shame. Astrid scratched the back of her head and briefly wondered if she was supposed to be bothered by that.

The next meaty impact sent the mage flying across the chamber and she fell at Astrid's feet, broken and beaten. Astrid planted her heel on the mage to pin them down while Alana went to retrieve her sword. She reunited with her moments later, sword over her shoulder and the legs of her pants starting to stain with blood.

"What do we do with this one?" Astrid asked, ignoring the pitiful noises below her and pressing down harder when the dunmer tried to wriggle free. Bones crunched underfoot, and the vampire licked her lips. "I could use a nice long drink."

Alana's gaze was cold as she regarded the mage with the same kind of disgust she might have if she discovered a skeever den in her basement. "Send her to whatever gods she worships." Her arms crossed over her chest. "They'll sort their own vermin out."

The smile Astrid gave her was just as cruel, and she raised her sword up, tip pointed down. "With pleasure."

Cold, black ebony plunged into the dunmer's chest, her ribcage giving way with a sickening crack that echoed through the chamber. Alana didn't flinch, staring off into a space behind her and covered by thick spider webs as Astrid freed her weapon and drank what she could. Alana's brow drew down and she approached the layer of webbing, noticing the small disturbances of a cold breeze coming from deeper in the ruin.

Astrid wiped a few splashes of blood off her chin and tossed the body into the spike pit behind them, coming over and standing next to her. "What is it?"

Alana's eyes closed. "I can hear it."

"Hear what?" Astrid frowned. She couldn't hear anything apart from their own breathing, but then again, she wasn't Dragonborn.

"A Word of Power. There's... something else too. Can you feel it?"

Astrid focused, letting her vampiric senses roam free, and she gasped as what felt like a cold dagger plunged into her stomach. A sense of nausea rolled over her and she gagged, pinching her nose. "W-what is that? Is that the dragon priest?" The magical aura of whatever lay beyond was cold and dark, something unnatural to the world and draining her strength.

"No." Alana shook her head and brought her sword up to begin hacking away at the webbing. "Worse. I can't believe Saoron and I didn't investigate this ruin sooner." The webbing gave way to reveal a small, concealed tunnel guarded by a black metal door, and she pushed some strands of webbing away from her face. "Keep close. If my gut is correct, we have more to worry about than our undead priest. Here; take my crossbow and watch the rear."

Astrid accepted it and gave it a thorough inspection to see how it worked. "This isn't going to explode in my hands, is it?"

"No, I have the explosive bolts still on me. I made sure to only hand you normal ones. Good for armor penetration and staggering. It takes a little time to get used to reloading it, but I'm sure you'll pick it up without maiming either of us. It'll do for now until I can make you a bow of your own back home."

Astrid's stare was remarkably flat. "Do you have to keep rubbing it in?"

"Yes." Alana nodded seriously, keeping her smile entirely too innocent. "Yes, I do. And will continue to do so." She braced herself against one side of the door, waiting for Astrid to keep her aim dead-center in case there was a draugr on the other side. With Astrid ready to shoot at a moment's notice, Alana pushed the door open with one hand and waited.

No draugr came through, only a gust of musty air. That didn't seem to make Alana relax any and she was the first one through, sword at the ready as she walked through with Astrid bringing up the rear. The air had suddenly turned freezing cold, like ice so cold it could burn, and her footsteps left icy tracks behind like she'd just trudged through a blizzard. The cold seeped into her bones, slowly sapping away at her energy, and Alana slowed down as they reached the final chamber. "Dukaan's chamber is ahead." She raised her sword and flashed a grin over her shoulder. "I'll take the brunt of whatever that undead son of a bitch throws at us; you take whatever shots you can."

Astrid nodded, relieved that Alana had a plan other than 'beat it to death with its own head'. "I have your back.

"Just keep its attention long enough for me to make him regret stirring from his sleep."

The final burial chamber was a large room with a Word Wall at the back and a stone sarcophagus in front of it, and one set of stairs to take them down to it. Astrid felt the ground suddenly lurch under her feet and she buckled to one knee to keep her balance. Alana was ready for it, sword already braced against her shoulder, and she leapt forward as the sarcophagus's cover flew off in a cloud of dust. The dragon priest roared as it was freed, a Frost Cloak spell already surrounding its Ebonyflesh-protected body, and ice was already spewing from its maw. "Fo Krah Diin!"

"Yol Toor Shul!"

Fire and ice collided, with the fire pushing through the icy gale and slamming the dragon priest against the Word Wall. It growled and thrust one hand forward, sending a wave of Icy Spears in retaliation, and Alana pressed forward with her broadsword held before her like a tower shield. Ice smashed into her defense, and she gritted her way forward, shaking off the creeping curtains of ice that tried to freeze her in place. Astrid fired, and the dragon priest turned in her direction, growling angrily. A dual-casted Ice Storm was thrown her way and Astrid leapt for cover. The spell exploded where it struck, sending icy shards everywhere. The priest roared and spat out another blast of Frost Breath, keeping her pinned.

She reloaded and kept her head down as a barrage of Icy Spears exploded above her. The cold pierced through her leather armor and made her bones ache, suddenly feeling every injury she suffered from over the years. 'How did Alana and Saoron manage to take one of these priests down?'

The waves of Icy Spears halted, followed by what sounded like the opening of an Oblivion portal, and the furious roar that left Alana's throat would've had a dragon thinking twice. Astrid rolled out of cover to see the dragon priest had summoned some sort of ugly tentacled monster, with four shriveled arms and tentacles growing from its face in a hair-like manner. Its narrow eyes were bright gold, and one of its hands raised, glowing with an unnaturally green light.

Alana was faster.

The world seemed to blink for a moment, and Alana cleaved through the beast with one mighty swing, moving through it and racing towards the priest. Its next storm of Icy Spears was shrugged off, and it raised a ward even as Alana's lips parted with a crash of thunder. "Fus Ro Dah!"

The boom was deafening, bouncing around Astrid's skull and making her eyes water. She'd have words about Alana using some of her Shouts in enclosed environments.

The dragon priest's ward shattered like glass and flung the priest back, and Alana dropped down to let Astrid get a clean shot. The dragon priest lurched as it was shot, a steel bolt stuck in one of its mask's eyeholes. The sudden lurch sent its charged Icy Spear spell crashing harmlessly against the upper portions of the wall, and Alana rammed her sword up and through its chest. The ground started to freeze under her feet, alerting her to the incoming Frost Rune, and she flung herself up and onto the dragon priest's shoulders with her broadsword trapped in its body. She gripped the mask with both hands and pulled, yanking it off and tossing it aside. The priest scratched and clawed, tossing around in an attempt to dislodge her. Alana rode with it like a sailor handling rough seas, reaching past its face to click on the button on her broadsword. Dwarven gears shifted, and the second sword sprung free and into her waiting hand.

"Stop squirming and die already!" Alana growled. The dragon priest's roar was cut off by aetherium-coated steel slamming up and through the roof of its rotting mouth, piercing through its brain. The priest lurched and toppled, disintegrating into a pile of ashes and dropping her feet-first onto the ground.

The woman picked up her swords, huffing a little as she made her way over to Astrid, looking her over with far more care than she put into herself. "How are you feeling? Still in one piece? Nothing broken?" It was almost laughable seeing the woman fussing over anyone, especially since she was the same idiot who regularly threw herself in front of the ballista without a moment's regard for her own safety.

"Alana." Astrid cut her off before she could even start. Alana froze, deadly still as Astrid kissed her cheek. "Save it for when we're back home. We still have some unfinished business here, don't we?"

The Word Wall beckoned, and Alana nodded. "Right." She pulled away to approach the wall, stepping around the sarcophagus and placing her fingers into the carvings. She was silent as she read the wall's carvings, and Astrid couldn't help but feel there ought to be some kind of ritual for reading words written in the dragon language. Alana stepped away from the Wall, took a deep breath, and spread her arms apart.

"Ven." A howling cyclone grew into life, scattering the remains of the dragon priest to the darkest corners of the tomb, and Alana opened her eyes as something heavy fell near her feet. Her eyes widened and she hissed, leaping back and nearly bowling Astrid over.

A lone, black book with a drawing of a tentacled beast on the cover lay on the ground. Just like the one Saoron and her found in Bloodskal Barrow. An unnatural thing, not of Nirn or the gods, it radiated a malicious aura, whispering sweet nothings and promises of unimaginable power. Alana was first to shake it off, grabbing the book and keeping it sealed shut. The damn thing tried to squirm and open to tempt her with its scrawled secrets, and she gritted her teeth as it thrashed about, trying to free itself from her grasp.

"What in Oblivion...?"

"Quit staring and help me, dammit!"

Astrid sighed and went to go give her partner a hand wrestling a book into their knapsack, a sight that would be ridiculous anywhere else. She mourned the lack of pleasant food and drink. 'I thought we were here to take care of a dragon priest and look around the ruins. No one said anything about wrestling a book.'

She honestly couldn't wait to be back home.

The pair of them staggered into Raven Rock several hours later, both glad to be out of the freezing cold and pushing through the crowd of people as quickly as possible. The book in Alana's knapsack thrashed about angrily inside, drawing strange looks from passerby, and Alana kept walking with her gaze set firmly in the direction of her house, face carved from stone and Astrid somewhat beleaguered behind her. She thought this was bad? Ha. She should've been there when Alana and Serana scoured the Reach for a damn cavern system leading to the Forgotten Vale, and then navigating the entire valley to obtain Auriel's Bow. That was a major pain in the ass, and Serana had been ready to throw someone off a cliff by the time the two of them reached the Inner Sanctum of Auriel.

Alana reached her house and slammed it shut once the two of them were inside and away from any curious onlookers. Hopefully they'd assume she snatched up an ash hopper and not think twice.

"Right." She slung the knapsack off and onto the ground, kicking it down the stairs. It landed with a heavy thunk at the bottom and Astrid swore she heard a pained growl leave the sack. If Alana heard it, she was remarkably unconcerned. "We keep this thing in the vault until Saoron and whoever his contact is can tell us what we're working with. I'd rather not go around reading strange books that seem to come from Oblivion."

One of the doors downstairs and to the right opened, and Saoron poked his head out. "Oh. You're back. Good. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes."

"Smells good. What did you pick up while we were out?" Alana sniffed the air, tasting a hint of roasted meat.

"Meats and ash yams. Gjalund promised to bring some vegetables from Skyrim on his next supply run."

"Not exactly much to go in the way of farming here," Astrid remarked.

"Not since Red Mountain erupted. The blast wiped out most of the other farms on the island." Saoron shrugged, flexing his shoulder and fixing Alana with a pointed look. "Ciri's in her room. You may want to go talk to her before dinner's served."

"Yes. It would be terrible if you were to leave the poor girl all alone with no one to talk to," Astrid added, joining in to throw her under the mammoth before Alana could even bring up the book they found. "Besides, you left her with Saoron so soon after finally introducing some stability to her life. It's only fair for you to pick up the slack in your new motherly duties."

Alana winced at the sarcasm so thick it could strangle someone. Astrid did have a point, though. The poor girl was probably mortified about being abandoned again.

"I'll go..."

Ciri was absolutely not glaring angrily at the book the Armored Man gave her earlier. He was a strange one, but after a few hours she was able to make a good judge of his character so far. He seemed to be firmly on the good side of adults, not the one of the scummy ones who preyed on the weak or infirm. Everywhere he went, he was greeted warmly and with wide smiles. He seemed to like the Woman in Black, but in a sort of friendly way that didn't suggest on him trying to worm his way in between the Undead and the one who took her off Windhelm's streets.

She jumped as the door opened and the Woman n Black stepped in. "Hey Ciri. I'm back." Her clothes were soaked crimson in places, and as she let her broadsword rest against the wall, Ciri found the sight of bloodstains and gore didn't bother her so much anymore. How could it, when the woman who took her wasn't fazed by it either?

"Hi," Ciri whispered back. Orange eyes slid sideways in confusion as the woman sat down beside her and looked at the book in her lap.

"Reading?" she asked.

Ciri's shoulders hunched and she glowered at the pages. "I can't read it..." She tried to make sense of the blocky shapes and symbols, but it may as well have been ancient runic carvings to her. She didn't exactly have a place to learn to do things like that when she had worry about dying of starvation or freezing. Other orphans didn't seem to be as hardy as her for some reason, always needing to be huddled by a fire and complaining whenever it got even a little windy - which in Windhelm, was every damn day - and growing tired after only one stakeout.

"Of course you can't. You haven't learned how to yet." Ciri froze as the woman, clouded by the smell of death, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "I'll teach you after dinner, okay? In the meantime, go washed up and get ready to eat."

"Okay..."

"Atta girl."

Alana let out a sigh of relief as Ciri went to go get ready for dinner, running a hand through her damp locks. She tried her best to hide it from her adopted daughter, but being a mother didn't come with a written manual and she was panicking on the inside the entire time. Gods, how did her father manage with her? Patience of Saint Alessia.

'And I wondered why Serana looked horrified when I casually asked what she thought of having a family.' Alana dragged a hand down her face with a groan. 'I'm really bad at this, but who can I ask for advice?' The only person she could think of who might be able to help her was Fethis Alor. His daughter was old enough to be considered an adult by dunmer standards, but he did raise her alone for the majority of her life.

'One thing at a time.' She heard Saoron call out for dinner and picked up the book Ciri had been giving the stink-eye to. Volume 1 of The Mystery of Talara. Not one of her favorite series, but she could see why such a story would appeal. Adorable.

"Folks need heroes, Alana. And right now, the people see us as heroes for fighting the good fight. So exaggerate a little; we're a bunch of Nords in a tavern drinking after a well-earned victory."

Alana snapped the book shut and let out a hum of content. A hero, huh? She wouldn't exactly call herself one, certainly not after the war, but she could see why others would have a different view of her actions. The Stormcloaks had been the glimmer of hope Skyrim's people desperately craved, to show that while the Dominion may have bested the Empire, they wouldn't best Skyrim.

'Think, idiot. You took classes at the damn Bard's College for Talos' sake. Coming up with a story for my adopted daughter shouldn't be this hard.' Of course, she was really only considered a bard because she was the only one capable of fighting her way through King Olaf's tomb and not getting torn to shreds by draugr in the process, but still. The point stood.

A memory flickered to life, one that seemed like an eternity away now. The world had changed a lot since she first discovered her powers, her gifts, and she let the door close behind her.

'I think I can get the hang of this...'

A/N: Goddammit. This ended up longer than planned. Like, a lot longer. Hence the delay. Though it'll be good to get back into the swing again.