Fear. Exploitation.
I am stronger than these things, but I am not stronger than him.
His face morphs, and I'm facing my love as he sneers. Pain covers every centimetre of my body, death offering a welcome embrace for a brief moment before I'm wrenched back to my broken, twisted form once again.
"Consider it a gift."
Sunlight burning. The aching hunger, the need to devour, to overpower, to enslave the minds and will of the weak. I am supposed to be powerful, but I feel lessened, vulnerable, damaged.
"I will remove it, but not before you taste everything this gift has to offer."
The taste of blood. The feeling of bones splintering in my grip. The sight of my enemies on their knees, begging, surrendering. I accept their surrender, but I do not need to forgive them. Power pulsating through my body as I tear through them, leaving them as broken, beaten, bruised and bloody as I was. Degraded. Destroyed.
"You will never outrun me," he says, voice hissing in the back of my mind as I feel the curse lifting, the "gift" fading away.
Gone, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
"I will be with you always."
Thatching swims out of the darkness, coming into view above me. I hear a fire burning, smell something like stew, but I can't really move. I close my eyes, drifting out again.
My entire body feels like it's been replaced with cotton wool stuffing when I open my eyes again, and I try to raise a hand but only manage to move it a few centimetres off the bed. I'm wrapped in a warm fur blanket, and if I reach out with my senses I can tell there's someone sitting beside the foot of the bed. I manage to turn my head, recognising him in that plain linen shirt, the one he wears whenever he doesn't have to be in armour or uniform.
"Hadvar?"
The voice is soft, weak, drowning in whispers, but he looks up when he hears it. It looks like he's writing something in his journal, and he sets it aside quickly, moving closer and taking my hand. I feel cold, but his skin is warm against mine.
"Welcome back" He says, brushing my hair back from my face as he kneels beside the bed. "Gave us quite the scare. You nearly went off the cliff when you fell."
"'M sorry," I manage to whisper, letting my eyes close. I feel his hand squeeze mine gently.
"For what?" He asks. I can hear something in his voice, and force my eyes to open. He's looking worried. "Brighid, you have nothing to apologise for."
"Pushed m'self," I say, the words stumbling over each other as I struggle to make my lips move enough to be heard. "Please don't... be mad."
"Mad?" He laughs slightly, as I feel his other hand caress my cheek. "I might be a little annoyed that you didn't try to check yourself, but I'd never be angry at you for it."
"'Dol'mar would," I mumble, feeling what little energy I had fading fast. Ondolemar would be furious if he knew what I did. He's always trying to tell me I don't have as much power as I think I do, and this just proved it true. I thought I could make a bridge, or do something, but I nearly killed myself doing it.
Chalk that up to another point for him. Everything from the other day, now this... gods, I hate to admit it but every time I turn around I'm reminded of his words, his warnings. I can't really do anything without getting myself in trouble.
Hadvar starts to move as I feel myself drifting off, but I manage to redouble my grip on his hand, even if only weakly – but it's enough to make him pause.
"Stay?" I ask, my voice pitifully weak. Shadows are chasing through the room as I feel my consciousness slipping into sleep, but I see him nod, and his hand tightens around mine briefly.
"Of course," he replies.
I wake a few hours later, and by the light at the windows figure it's around dusk. Hadvar is still there, seated beside me as he talks to one of his soldiers – Rorian, I think his name is. I smile to myself as the brief consciousness fades out again. Admittedly I feel a little guilty for monopolising his time, but I don't want to be left alone in a stranger's home, especially not considering I can barely move.
Hilde shows up at some point while I'm drifting awake again, and she sits me up to help feed me some soup, refusing to listen to my protests about other people needing it. She explains that I drained my magicka, asks how much I've been relying on it recently, and with my voice only marginally stronger than it was the first time I woke up, I tell her about healing Argis and Rajha back from certain death within the last few days. She purses her lips as she studies me for a few moments.
"You know magicka is not like your health or energy, right?" She asks, hands on hips as I settle back into the sleeping furs. "It doesn't recover overnight. The less of it you have after use, the slower it regenerates. I am going to say no more use of it for you for the next few days. I'd like to say a week, but I doubt you'll be able to stop yourself for that long."
"Knowing you, even a few days will be too much," Hadvar comments. I sigh heavily.
"Fine. No magic from the magic girl,"
"Your dragon blood isn't magic," Hilde reminds me, "Don't get the two mixed up."
I fade out again not long after, waking to the sound of mens' voices speaking softly.
"...so we'll have to see if anybody's got the mechanical skill to set up a pulley system. Might be able to get food up here sooner rather than just wait for the crew."
"That's good news, Brand." Hadvar says softly beside me. "What are you guys going to do about a more permanent solution, though? If it's only enough for a temporary track."
"Jarl said he'll send some more experienced diggers, see about carving out a more stable track for the long-term. Didn't have a lot to go off, to be fair, but the temporary one should be enough for now."
There's a soft hum from beside me and I can imagine Hadvar nodding as he gets that thinking look.
"That Kaleb fellow decided he was going to try stealing some of the supplies, but two of your men convinced him it wasn't a good idea." Brand's voice says, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "You've trained them well."
"I don't work with anyone who can't act in absence of command," he replies. "It's not my training, just my preference."
"Either way, we thank your men for being here." He pauses, and his voice softens. "Have you spoken to her much?"
There's a slight rustle, and I can imagine Hadvar shaking his head as he sighs lightly. "She's been mostly sleeping. I'll... find the right time."
"Don't wait too long, Hadvar."
I hear footsteps, feel a blast of cold air as the door opens and closes, and drift off to sleep once again.
Waking again is slow, and I open my eyes this time to see the cabin is darkened, illuminated only by glowing coals in the fire and one candle burning low on the table. I turn my head to see Hadvar, still seated beside my bed, looking like he's dozing off. I remember him staying up for night watch last night and feel bad; I could at least make space on the bed so he can properly rest.
He stirs, looking at me and for just a moment the light is completely gone from his eyes. Inky dark shadows gaze at me for a brief moment, but it has to be a trick of the firelight – he blinks as soon as he sees me, and the darkness is gone.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases lightly, smiling as he relaxes and adjusts his position in the seat. "Feeling any better?"
I murmur something that I hope sounds reassuring, as I try to move. Everything seems a lot more mobile now, and I manage to push myself into a sitting position, as Hadvar quickly props a pillow behind my back. I realise I feel much more awake than before, and groan internally – if I'm too awake to sleep, it's going to throw my entire sleep pattern out.
"Did Hilde leave any other instructions, other than "rest"?" I ask him. My voice sounds stronger now, which I figure is also a good sign. Hadvar chuckles softly.
"Being bedridden getting to you already?"
"I am a woman of action."
"Yes, you are," he's smiling as he looks away, but it fades slightly before he looks back at me. "They did a test of some sort, said something else might be affecting your magicka recovery. Drop of blood on a couple leaves. Aside from the obvious, you're physically healthy, spirit's still strong – not that I'd expect any different – but your, uh... apparently you've got a lot of emotional and mental turmoil, and it could affect your recovery."
He seems reluctant to mention it, but I can already guess what he's referring to. Shahvee did a similar test in Windhelm, taught me how to do it myself so I can track my own health. He stops fumbling through his words when he sees me looking down at the furs, twisting them between my hands.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I would laugh if it wasn't for the fact that there's so much going on. "Good old debrief," I mutter. He shifts to sitting on the bed, and reaches out to touch me lightly on the shoulder.
"Talk to me," he says, words barely above a whisper. "If someone hurt you, if someone's been messing about with you, tell me who it is and I'll make sure they never do it again."
I look up at him, sensing the sincerity in his words. Could you take on a Daedric Prince? I sigh heavily, shaking my head.
"You haven't heard the gossip yet?" I ask him, forcing myself to try and smile, try to be lighthearted about it. He shakes his head.
"I've been up here for a month," he chuckles, but it's a weak sound, like he's forcing it as much as I'm forcing my own smile. Right, so he wouldn't know. I look back down at the furs.
"I... met Molag Bal. It went about as... horrific as you'd expect."
I can feel his eyes burning into me, studying me in that way he does. I decide to stop trying to tear the furs apart and stretch out my hands, let them rest in my lap.
"Well, not sure I'd be great at teaching him any sort of lesson, but I can give it a try."
Despite the situation, I laugh, feeling the tears that are threatening to spill as I purposely avoid Hadvar's gaze. "I'd rather you didn't," I tell him. "We're... even, I guess. About as even as I could get."
"You didn't cut a deal with him, did you?"
He sounds crestfallen, like I've just told him that Riverwood's been wiped off the map or that Tullius died. I want to tell him no, reassure him it's all resolved, but... I can't lie to him.
"I had to, to undo what he did to me. He..." The tears are there, and I feel them burning my eyes as I try to hold them back. But I can't, and I feel them start to roll down my face. "He made me a Daughter of Coldharbour."
I realise after saying it that Hadvar might not know what it is, but as I glance up I see his stony expression, the way his hand has curled into a fist so tight his knuckles are white, the way his jaw has set. He looks like he actually would take on Bal if it means some sort of weird vengeance thing. I draw in a shaky breath, and it seems to snap him out of whatever state he's gone into. He shifts closer, arm held out, and I let out a sob as I fall against him, letting him cradle me against his chest as I cry.
It feels cathartic. I realise, throughout everything that happened with the ordeal, I didn't cry once. Considering that when we landed in Skyrim I was likely to cry after even only slightly stressful events, I realise that it's probably a lot less healthy to keep it bottled up. To be fair, there's been a lot of situations where stress crying just doesn't work – there wasn't really an opportunity for it in Coldharbour, or in Potema's catacombs, or even in Windhelm. I just... haven't given myself a chance to actually cry about stuff.
It takes me back to that very first night in Riverwood, after everything that happened that day – the execution, Alduin, escaping through the tunnels, learning that I'd died and arrived here in a world that by all rights shouldn't exist. I realise there's never been a time where I couldn't talk to Hadvar about things, unless he's not physically present for me to talk to – and he hasn't really been physically present since we parted ways in Falkreath. Being able to talk to him about the Bal stuff, being able to cry into his shirt as he just holds me close, it helps in a way I never expected it would.
I guess I end up crying myself to sleep because I wake up with that shitty cotton mouth feeling and the puffy eyes that you get when you fall asleep crying – but Hadvar is still there, holding me as he rests. Instead of properly stirring and risking waking him up, I close my eyes and let myself go back to sleep.
I wake again to find myself laid in the bed, Hadvar pacing the width of the cabin as Hilde is talking softly to him. I notice that, crying-to-sleep feeling aside, I feel a lot better, so I push myself up as she tells him about the latest town disaster, by the sounds of it.
"The girl and his son don't seem to care much for him, but that Kaleb and Skjoren himself—"
"I understand, Hilde. Have you told anybody else?"
"Just you and Brand. I'm worried they'll act on it. Fools they may be, but I did take an oath to try and save all the lives I can. Even the fools."
"What's going on?" I ask, looking between them. Hadvar and Hilde turn to look at me, Hilde already moving in my direction.
"Good to see you awake! You're looking much better than yesterday," she tells me, grabbing a jug and a cup from the small table beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"A lot better," I tell her. Hadvar is moving about behind her, and as she presses the cup of water into my hand I see he's grabbing a bowl of food to bring over.
"Told Hilde how you cried yourself out last night," he explains, settling on the edge of the bed as she lays her hand against my forehead.
"Crying is very good for the soul," she says, "D'you mind if I check to see where you're at? Just takes a pinprick."
"The leaves thing, yeah," I nod, smiling slightly, "A friend in Windhelm taught me how to do it and interpret it."
"Oh, then you'd be interested to know," Hilde says, moving over to the far end of the room. "Your purple came up with every vein and crease. I've seen it once before, but I'm sure you can guess what might make that happen to a person."
Ah. So that's why Hadvar seemed to know before I even told him.
We run the test and Hilde seems satisfied with the abundance of marks filling in with the purple leaf again – it's a slap in the face to me, seeing the thin red lines spanning the dark green leaf. According to Hilde and Hadvar, it's significantly less than what it looked like yesterday.
"I think crying did you good," Hilde says, after Hadvar has basically forced me to take the soup and start eating, under threat of feeding me if I don't do it myself. "There's a lot going on for you, clearly, but if you can work yourself through that, you should find yourself able to recover from things like magicka drain and exhaustion much faster."
Hilde says I'm free to go, so the first thing I do once out of her home is a quick rinse-off in the stream, followed by wrapping myself in the sleeping furs from my bad and settling in beside the fire in the hall until I'm warm again. There doesn't seem to be much going on around the village – people going about the standard day-to-day, albeit with extra hands to get more work done, it seems. I end up on Brand's verandah, which is apparently public space, enjoying the view while the village works behind me.
"Didn't expect the Stormcloaks to start pitching in," Brand says softly when he joins me, bringing a small lunch. I glance over to where Niom is apparently learning how to scale a fish with Munskr, and Thelessa is snapping at someone for pestering her while she's working at the loom. Skjoren and the other surly one are sitting in their little camp area, and it looks like they're drinking again. It's barely even midday, so they're going to be in a foul mood tonight.
"I'm worried about the good ones," I admit to him, looking back to Niom and Thelessa. Jorell is keeping the kids busy with a game of tag, and Skorm apparently went off to help Gisra look after the animals while they're out grazing in the forest. "Jorell, we can get a pardon for. I don't know about the others, though."
"Niom might," Brand says, also watching the young man. "Though he genuinely believes the cause, believes it's the best way to stand up to the Aldmeri Dominion, he's more interested in Jules. Though, she's echoed some very Stormcloak sentiments, so there's a chance she might run off with him. Thelessa... there were two other women in the group, and they all sort of stuck together. With the other two being gone, it's probably only a case of her latching on with other women again to keep her loyal. Skorm..."
"I doubt he'd leave Skjoren," I tell Brand. "He's not... devoted, per se. But he thinks he has to be. Skjoren's done a real number on those boys."
"Hadvar told me he's a wanted war criminal," Brand says, arms folded as he watches the rest of the village. "Can't say I'm surprised. He's been getting antagonistic; caught him harassing Hilde last night for starters. He got very loud about his intentions. I've offered for Hilde to stay in my house for the time being, but he also keeps talking about setting light to the thatch while we sleep."
"I should sort him out—" I say, starting to rise, but Brand grabs my arm and forces me to sit down.
"You aren't doing anything. You're still not in best shape, and without magic you don't stand a chance against him."
I want to argue, but after the failures of the last few days, after everything Aurius said, after basically nearly killing myself by accident... yeah, maybe I should sit this one out. In my current state, I probably couldn't stand against even a skeever.
Doesn't mean I don't want to try, though.
I can hear that laughter in the back of my head, the soft mantra it chants. Make him beg. Make him plead. Show him how weak he is. I push it back, focusing instead on the view again.
Brand gets me up to speed about the return letter Igmund sent. There's a work crew that were sent out on the second day, so they should be at the base of the mountain now and already well into their work on the track. Lorius and Vyar, a pair of locals who usually oversee the stoneworking and smithing, are apparently in talks to create a sort of pulley system to get things up here sooner – I overheard him telling Hadvar last night, I realise.
As Hadvar said, it's good news.
My thoughts wander back to Ondolemar. Igmund doesn't need to tell him what's happening here, but Ondolemar being who he is, has probably gotten the information one way or another. As I think about my repeated failures, I hear his voice in my head.
I probably shouldn't, not after everything that's happened, but I regret that fight before I left. He's just misguided, and maybe I've been trying to brute-force my way of doing things on him without even considering his position. I guess the eugenics stuff is understandable, they're apparently trying to "save" the Altmer race and obviously procreation is part of that. I just wish he'd told me about it sooner. Does that mean he doesn't want other offspring? Offspring with me?
Maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself with that line of thinking.
Either way, I feel like I should reach out to him. Extend the olive branch, so to speak. It was really jarring to hear about how he treated that other kid in his class, the idea of him just killing someone because he can... But with everything else going on at the time, I think I just overreacted. There was a lot happening, and I may have gotten wires crossed. Blew up at the person who isn't the problem.
Do I love him? I... I'm trying. I want to, because those moments of intimacy together, those gentle touches and soft words... I miss them. We haven't really had the time for them lately, partially because of our respective work commitments, partially because I'm always running away when there's a confrontation.
Give me a sword and a dragon and I can handle that fight; give me a love interest and some petty drama and I'll run a mile. Or, well, however far Lastspell Falls is from Markarth, I guess.