Song of Hakonsdotter: A Warrior Rises

by TheSamanthaborn

Honorary Title: All Dogs Go To Sovngarde When a traveling mercenary finds herself being accused of allying with the Stormcloaks, she's arrested and condemned to death. Salvation comes on the wings of ruin, but when she manages to claw her way to safety, she's granted a new lease on life. What will she make of herself with her freedom? And what destiny do the Divines have in store?

12. What We Give Of Ourselves

A/N: As promised, here is the twelfth chapter of A Warrior Rises, hand-made with a lot of love! To all of my readers old and new, thank you so much for being here. And as always, feel free to let me know what you think! Or come to TheSamanthaborn on twitter and come to say hi – I'd love to hear from you.

---

The two of them had risen and left Istar's camp before dawn, with the few men who were already awake calling after them in farewell and wishing them luck in their search. From the camp they had cut due northeast, riding at a canter across the plains. The day was grey and overcast, nothing like the one before, and it had been hard to track the sun's progress through the sky. But they'd made good time, and around what they estimated was mid-morning, they had come across the giant's pointing hand of stone like Haldr said they would. After passing it, they'd swung the horses north.

They had remembered Haldr's warning, and kept both eyes open for sabre-cats. And it was lucky they did; they'd been riding as fast as the ground had allowed when Merrin had the urge to look behind them. When she had, she'd seen a golden-brown sabre sprinting silently up behind them, chasing after Sleipnr and closing ground fast. She was quick with her bow, but had barely been quick enough – by the time she'd managed to drop the cat with an arrow to the heart, it hadn't been ten paces from Sleipnr's haunches. They hadn't dared to stop riding, not even to retrieve her arrow, and a pale-faced Avulstein had shouted his thanks. After that, they'd been twice as vigilant, checking behind them constantly.

Luckily, their caution had been wasted, and as they'd cantered straight towards a craggy mountain range, they hadn't had to fight off any more sabres. The downside had been that the nervous adrenaline had nowhere to go, and both of them suffered for it as they rode.

It had taken them a bit of time to actually find the inlet Haldr had promised would be there. The mountains had rushed up to meet them, imposingly large as they drew in close, and both of them had been getting frustrated looking for one small pass. Time and miles had had an odd effect; the closer they got to Thorald, the more tense and urgent they'd become. They hadn't spoken as they'd searched, but both had experienced the same thing: every worry they'd had since they left Whiterun was growing insistently louder, until it was hard to think of anything else.

Eventually, Merrin's sharp eyes had caught a parting in the solid wall of rock, and Avulstein had exclaimed in relief before both of them had zipped towards the inlet. Once inside, they'd had to slow down; once they'd slowed down, they'd had to face their nerves. Avulstein had pointed out that they should eat – they hadn't yet that day, and they'd need their strength for the fight ahead. But it had been a half-hearted suggestion, and neither had reached for their rations. They'd both just shaken their heads, and admitted that they were too worked up for food.

As they'd worked their way up into the pass, the temperature had started dropping dramatically. The mountains provided a barrier from the cold of the sea to the plains below them, but up here, no such protection existed. It hadn't been long before both had donned their heavy cloaks, shivering as they watched their breath huff out in clouds of vapor. They'd climbed up, up, up some more, the horses trudging faithfully through a pass so narrow they rode single file. And then, just as the two had wondered when the pass would ever end, they'd started climbing down.

And now, they'd arrived. Standing on a beach made of smooth black sand, shivering at the whips of wind that came belting off of the icy sea that was maybe a hundred paces away.

Merrin had never seen anything like it, with its waters of darkest grey-green, or the skids and bergs of ice that floated peacefully along like boats. But just then, the stark beauty was lost on her. All either of them could focus on was the fortress sitting further down the shore.

At last, Northwatch Keep.

It looked to be an old fortress, with walls, towers and battlements made entirely of weathered grey stone, contrasted against a pearly grey sky. The timber wall surrounding it seemed much newer, made of full logs fitted together, their tops all sharpened down into points.

With a look exchanged, they dismounted silently, and grabbed what they would need from their packs. Then they backtracked their horses, leading them into the pass and out of sight, and tethered them on a jutting piece of stone. Avulstein turned to her then, sighing out a white cloud, and looked at her seriously.

'We may well have to kill all of them, to get Thorald out alive.'

She nodded. 'I know that.'

'And that's alright with you?'

She didn't answer for several seconds. The surge of adrenaline was still running strong through her veins, and it made things harder. But then she nodded again.

'I believe that all the races are equal. The Thalmor don't – you know as well as I do that we're all insects to them. Way I see it, the fewer Thalmor there are in Skyrim, the better. They've proven that we shouldn't show them mercy.'

They looked hard at one another for a long beat, and then Avulstein nodded.

'We agree. Let's do this.'

Examining the wooden perimeter, they saw two points of entry; the main gate, with a sentry standing guard, and a smaller side door, seemingly unmanned. It made smarter sense to slip in through the side. They ran for the door as quickly as they could bent double, and made it there unseen. Then, very carefully, they pressed themselves up to the rough wooden wall, and peered inside through the door.

They were looking into a courtyard. A forge sat cold and dead not ten paces to their right, and to the left sat a training ring with rotten hay dummies falling apart. The ground was smooth cobblestone, and in the middle of the courtyard was a set of wooden doors into the keep; they were flanked on either side by a stone set of stairs leading up to the battlements. At the far end of the courtyard was the main gate they'd avoided, and against the left wall were the stables – four stalls, all of them empty.

Most importantly of all, the courtyard was lightly manned. Merrin counted only three guards: one standing at the doors to the keep, one making a slow round of the battlements above, and the sentry at the main gate. Luck seemed to be with them – the guard holding the doors up was looking dead bored, and studying his fingernails. The one walking the battlements was half-way across the courtyard, and walking away from them. And the sentry was looking out from the gate, with his back turned.

She pulled back from the door, and waved for Avulstein to do the same.

'It looks like this'll be easy,' he whispered.

'We have to be careful,' she breathed, shaking her head. 'All these nerves – we need to calm down. Or we could make a mistake.'

He knew she was right, and the two of them took a moment, breathing steadily, steeling themselves, clamping down on their nerves and steadying their pounding hearts.

When she felt calmer, she pulled her bow from her back, and an arrow from her quiver, quiet as a whisper. Quickly, she nocked it, and then looked over to Avulstein.

'How's your aim with that bow?'

He winced, reached for the bow that he'd brought along, nestled beside his battleaxe.

'Shooting's not my strong suit. I'm better hand to hand.'

'Well,' she whispered, shaking her head, 'you'll just have to do your best. See that bell?'

Quickly, she pointed, and his eyes followed: across the courtyard, right beside the sentry at the main gate, a brass bell hung from a wooden post, with a rope attached trailing down to the ground.

'That's an alarm,' she breathed, and pulled him back out of sight. 'If we don't drop them fast enough, then one of them yanks that rope, and then whoever's sitting closest inside knows that something's wrong. Then the whole damn keep is on guard.' She eyed him pointedly.

'If that happens, then we're fucked. And so is your brother.'

Avulstein cursed, and raked his free hand through his hair. 'What if I miss?'

'Don't miss,' she advised. 'I'm a good shot – I'll cover you. My first arrow goes to the one at the gate, closest to the bell. You aim at the next closest. If your shot doesn't take them down, I'll finish them next. Alright?'

He nodded, dead serious. 'Alright.'

'The key here is speed. The quicker we get this done, the more likely it goes right. Make your shots count, and don't stop to see if they've hit. The second your arrow flies, I want you nocking the next one. Got it?'

'I've got it.'

'Alright. Don't shoot until I tell you. Aim for the face, or the chinks in the armor.'

Avulstein nocked his first arrow, and then exposing as little of themselves as possible, they inched back into the doorway. Merrin took a deep breath in, eyes locked on the exposed skin on the back of the sentry's neck, sixty paces away. She drew the string all the way back to her ear, holding it, holding it, fine-tuning her aim. Avulstein did something similar beside her.

She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.

Kynareth, guide me. Let my arrow fly true.

Then they opened again, the exhale came, and she whispered fiercely to Avulstein.

'Now.'

In unison, they loosed their arrows. And hers did fly true; as she yanked the next from her quiver, she saw the sentry crumple in a heap with her first arrow buried deep in his throat. She didn't spare him another glance, and looked instead to the next guard, at the keep's doors.

Avulstein had missed his mark – what was meant to be a shot straight to the face had glanced off of the Thalmor's pauldron, and buried itself with a thud in the wood beside his head. The elf was turning towards them now, shock and then fury registering on his face as he saw the two of them crouched in the doorway.

She let her next arrow fly before he could turn or yell. This was an easier shot, and quick as a blink, it had found its mark. The tall elf fell back into the wooden doors behind him, slid down to the stone at his feet, and was still.

Avulstein yelped and she instinctively ducked; a split-second later, an elven arrow embedded itself deep in the log at her back, right about where her head had been. The guard on the battlements was an archer, and she had finally noticed what was happening below. Merrin cursed as she reached for a third arrow. Had Avulstein even had time to loose on her?

'That's it!' Avulstein growled, and she watched as he pitched his bow to the ground and shot out of his crouch, taking his battleaxe into both hands as he went.

Merrin rushed to nock her arrow as he sprinted up the nearest set of stairs, but she saw in a second that she wasn't needed.

The Thalmor archer had missed her next shot, unable to compensate for the hulking man barreling towards her. There was no time for another. With an efficient lack of ceremony, Avulstein rammed his axe shaft into her chestplate, sending her sprawling with the force. He closed the distance seamlessly – swung the axe high and brought it down hard. There was a wet and metallic crunch, and a sickening, gurgling moan, and the archer was no more. Avulstein grunted as he yanked the axe free...and then there was silence in the courtyard.

Merrin ran to the base of the steps, and he hurried back down to join her, the blade of his axe slick with blood. Adrenaline was pumping hard again, and the two of them stood as taut as bowstrings, listening for any sound, eyes searching for any hidden threat. After some time of nothing, they lowered their weapons and looked at each other, breathing hard in clouds of white.

'Sorry. Didn't wanna risk missing again.'

'That's alright.' She moved aside when he walked back to the side door, crouched to pick up his bow. 'I understand.'

Avulstein looked over to the sentry on the ground, and then the guard crumpled against the wooden doors. And then he looked back at her.

'You are a good shot.'

'I told you so.' Then she jerked her head towards the keep. 'Come on, we've gotta be quick.'

He murmured agreement, and they hurried to the wooden doors that would lead them inside. Merrin bent to yank her arrow free from the eye-socket of the second guard, and then pushed the corpse aside with a booted foot. She turned to look at Avulstein with one hand on the door.

'And quiet.'

He huffed, but he shouldered his battleaxe and readied his bow. With a grim look on her face, Merrin turned back around and pushed the door open as quietly as she could.

---

The keep turned out to be cold and eerie, with the flagstone floors and walls doing little to keep the outside chill at bay. Torches in brackets along the walls seemed to be the only sources of light, and every so often a cold draft would make them flicker and gutter, throwing long shadows over everything.

The two of them had developed a system of sorts; Merrin, being the better archer, had taken the lead as they crept along. Avulstein stayed ready behind her, watching for her signal, and listening for any sounds from behind.

They had opted for stealth over speed, despite their impatience – they were only two people against a whole fortress, and both of them knew that for even a chance at success, they had to take their enemies by surprise.

And there had been enemies – plenty of them. So far they'd been lucky and careful enough to avoid an actual fight, and all of the noise that that would entail, with well-aimed arrows from the shadows.

They'd had a close call, when they'd rounded a corner and Merrin had suddenly come nose-to-nose with a mage who had muffled her footsteps. Merrin had very nearly screamed, and then had actually reached out and grabbed the elf by the robes, turning and shoving her into Avulstein. He'd been remarkably quick on the uptake, and wrapped one huge arm around her while clapping the opposite hand to her mouth, so that she couldn't scream. Merrin had acted fast from there, sliding Ria's dagger from her belt and plunging it into the Altmer's heart, and she died with a look of shocked outrage twisted on her pointed face.

They had stood there for several seconds, pale, wide-eyed and panting as they stared at one another in shock and Avulstein held up the dead mage's weight. And then they'd dragged her body behind a couple of upturned tables in a corner, and forged ahead.

Now they were crouched just outside of what seemed to be the mess hall. There was a fireplace inside, making the room brighter and warmer than the hallway they were hiding in. Merrin could see two men in the room – a barkeep at a long wooden counter cleaning a mug, and an off-duty guard on a stool across from him, eating something. Both were in plainclothes, and they were mid-conversation.

'...never should've come. What is there here? I mean, honestly. Even when a man does have a few hours to himself, there's nothing to do. And no one. All I seem to do is work, and sit at this bar, talking to you. Er – no offense.'

'None taken, Calion.'

'You get it, don't you?'

'Sure, I do.'

'With Faldir in charge, we thought we could loosen up a bit. It's not like we ever keep prisoners long! But nooo. Not with him trying to cozy up to the a prick.'

'I know, I know, it's rough. Another drink? Maybe it'll cheer you up.'

'Gods, why not? There's nothing better to do in this rathole.'

Merrin rolled her eyes, and turned back towards Avulstein, who was staring at her expectantly. She held up two fingers, and then pointed towards herself: there were two of them, and she could handle it. He nodded, and rolled onto the balls of his feet – ready and waiting.

Her first arrow embedded itself into the back of the guard who'd been eating dinner. He jerked like a marionette and gave a floundering gasp, reaching wildly for the shaft that had surely pierced a lung, and then fell from his stool with a halting moan. The barkeep had been topping up the guard's flagon, and so saw him jerk and fall. He stared with horror at the man on the ground, and then his eyes flitted up, catching Merrin's directly.

He had fast reflexes; he gave a little yelp and dove to the floor behind the bar, just in time to miss the arrow meant for his face.

'Wait! Gods, wait, don't do this!' The altmer wailed.

Shit. Quickly she turned to Avulstein, jerking her head to the right.

'One behind the bar. Go!'

He nodded and drew his dagger from his belt as he launched himself into the room, prepared to vault over the bar.

'Gods, no! Don't kill me!' The barkeep shouted again, and there was the sound of a bottle breaking against stone. 'Please – I can help you!'

There was a scuffling noise, and the crashing of many more bottles hitting stone. And then the barkeep sprang back into view, standing at the farthest corner of the bar. He was nearly hyper-ventilating, and his eyes were wild in his golden face as he looked from one of them to the other. Both of his hands were raised in the air, and one was holding the neck of a broken wine bottle. He was shaking so badly, it was a wonder he didn't drop it.

'Please! I can help you! Listen to me!' The elf was pleading, desperate.

Avulstein was having none of it. He'd made it to the bar, and he growled like an actual angry dog as he vaulted over it. He advanced on the barkeep with his dagger ready, closing the gap between them in one powerful lunge. The barkeep cringed, and closed his eyes.

'Avulstein, wait! WAIT!'

The words came tearing out of Merrin unbidden, unplanned. She had no idea why, but she felt in her pounding heart that she had to stop him.

Miraculously, Avulstein did stop in time – the tip of his dagger drew up an inch from the barkeep's heaving chest. Now he was looking at her with wild eyes, as if she'd lost her mind.

'Wait,' she said again, rushing up to the bar. 'Just – just wait.'

'Wait for what?!' He demanded.

She realized in that moment how crazy she seemed; they were in a place where every second mattered, and they were surrounded by enemies. The man she'd personally shot a few seconds ago was on the flagstone, wheezing feebly, taking his time to die. And still. There was something different here, pulling at her. She shook her head.

'This one's different.'

'Why? Because he said please?!' He waved his dagger wildly in the direction of the barkeep, still gasping in the corner. 'He's Thalmor, Merrin. We have to kill him!'

'Wait,' she ordered again, firmly. 'He said he could help us. Let's just take a second, and hear what he has to say.'

'We don't have a second,' Avulstein snapped.

'We might be able to get something useful out of him,' Merrin insisted. 'Just wait, one minute. We can always kill him after that, if we have to. Alright?'

He glowered at her, expression thunderous; on the floor beside her, the guard gave one last wheeze, and expired. Between them, the barkeep flitted wide eyes from one to the other, repeatedly.

'Alright?'

After another long, tense second, Avulstein cursed again. Then he nodded, once.

'Fine. One minute.'

He stabbed his dagger into the wooden bar, and took the last step he needed to be right in the barkeep's face. Quick as a snake, he ripped the broken bottle from his shaking hand and whipped it into the wall beside them, where it shattered into little more than sand. Then he grabbed a fistful of the elf's tunic, and yanked him right up onto the bar, slamming him into the wall.

'Give me a reason why I shouldn't gut you, you Thalmor pig.'

'Because,' he gasped, 'I'm not Thalmor, I swear. I'm not!'

'What do you mean, you aren't Thalmor?' Avulstein barked. 'This is a gods-damned fort full of Thalmor agents.' Disgusted, he looked up at Merrin, and shook his head.

'See? I told you. This little pissant's just lying to us.'

She held up a hand to quiet him, and looked instead at the elf on the bar. It was hard to tell with elves, but something about him made him seem young – not a child, but not a man long. He was tall, and lean, with blonde hair pulled back in a tail and big green eyes. He looked like he was going to cry, and he was still breathing fast and hard.

'If you aren't a Thalmor agent, what are you doing here, in this keep?' She asked him levelly.

'I swear to you, I'm no Thalmor.' He clearly took them seriously, and with less than a minute to prove his innocence, he was talking fast. He gulped, and tried to pull himself together before he continued.

'I'm here because my uncle is here. He's second in command of this fort. But I'm no agent – I'm just a bartender! He took me with him from the Isles because of how I mix an Old Epiphany! Said no one else in Skyrim would do it right.'

Avulstein hmphed at that response, like all his suspicions had been confirmed, and shook the other man by the collar.

'Oh, yeah? That a fact? Tell me, how stupid do you think I am? How stupid are you? You're family to some bigshot Thalmor, and you expect us to let you go? You would go running right to him!'

'No!' The altmer shook his head furiously. 'I couldn't. My uncle isn't even here right now!'

Avulstein's eyes widened; the altmer seemed to realize his mistake, and hurried on in a stumble.

'B-but I w-wouldn't even if I could! You've got to believe me, please!'

'Why should we?' Merrin asked her question much more calmly than Avulstein. 'Why wouldn't you tell your own uncle about intruders in the keep?'

He slumped then, eyes closing, and his head met the stone wall behind him with a thud. His breathing slowed dramatically, and when he looked at her again, his face was etched with misery.

'I know it sounds ridiculous. But you've got to understand – I don't want to die. I wouldn't go to my uncle because I don't care what happens to this keep. When we left the Isles, he had me convinced that he would be doing important work. Work that would benefit the Empire and Dominion. He told me I'd have an opportunity to do my part, and meet some of the brave men and women that were helping to keep our treatise together.'

The mer's mouth twisted bitterly. 'He fooled me. I was naive, and when I came here a year ago, I believed him. But now I know better. The 'work' that goes on here insults the gods themselves. And the people that do it aren't heroes, they're sadists.' He looked Merrin dead in the eye, and she saw that he looked defeated.

'All I want is out.'

More than a minute had passed. Across the bar from her, Avulstein had gone from looking cold and stony, to antsy and doubtful.

Merrin tilted her head, eyed the elf carefully.

'If all you want is out, then why haven't you left?'

Again, he slumped. This time, Avulstein let go of his shirt.

'Because I'm stuck here. I hate this place, but I'm stuck. My uncle is a powerful man – a mage, with a lot of connections. And he is Thalmor. He believes in 'the cause'. If I tried to leave, he would question it. Try to dissuade me. Restrain me, if it came to it.' His voice was hollow now, with a different kind of fear than he'd had for them.

'If any of these sick bastards knew how I really felt about this place, I would already be dead. Or worse.'

For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the fire in the hearth. In the back of Merrin's mind, a voice nagged her, telling her that every second they stood here made it more likely they'd be caught. Externally, she squared her shoulders.

'Then how about a show of good will?' Her voice was flat. 'You said you could help us – prove it, by giving us some answers. What is your name? Your uncle's name? And where is your uncle, if he isn't here?'

'Lloderion,' the elf answered quickly. 'That's our family name. I'm Alaril, and my uncle is Calril. He left three days ago for the Thalmor embassy, north of Solitude, to meet with Ambassador Elenwen. She takes a personal interest in all keeps like this. And she and my uncle are apparently old friends.' Again, his face darkened. 'Some ambassador. You want twisted? Try her on for size.'

This hadn't been part of the plan. Over the bar, Merrin and Avulstein locked eyes. The question was clear: what do we do now?

He was aldmeri, but he insisted he wasn't Thalmor. He sounded sincere...but what if he was lying? He could ruin their chances of saving Thorald. And he'd heard both of their names. But he'd given his own, and information that could compromise this supposed uncle – if that wasn't a fabrication, too.

She bit her lip. Seconds passed. Avulstein was sweating, his brow deeply furrowed. She could feel her heartbeat all the way to her toes. The air smelled so strongly of wine that she could taste it.

And then Avulstein gave her the tiniest of nods, and his expression changed. It spoke very plainly: your call.

They couldn't waste any more time. She didn't question his sudden deference – just went with her gut. Quickly, she turned back to Alaril.

'Alaril. Let's say, hypothetically, that we're willing to let you leave this place. What could you tell us about what's ahead, in trade?'

The elf stared at her, wide-eyed. 'You're serious? You would let me go?'

'I said hypothetically. A trade. What's waiting for us, up ahead? How many guards?'

He spluttered. 'Well—that depends! How deep do you plan to go?'

'Let's say all the way through.'

Alaril sucked in a breath, let it out. Looked at Avulstein, then at her.

'You're going to have a hard time. Down this hallway and some stairs is the library. I don't know how you got this far—'

'The bloody way,' Avulstein interrupted.

Alaril blinked twice, looked back to Merrin.

'—But you won't make it through the library without someone noticing you. It has two levels, and both are patrolled by at least two guards, because it's where the mages do their work. One has an office on the ground floor. The other is Faldir, the head...interrogator.' He shivered. 'He has an office on the second level, and if he's not busy with anyone, he'll be in the library too.'

Avulstein had abruptly gone back to looking murderous, and Merrin didn't have to guess why. Quickly, she pushed on.

'Alright. So the library will be a fight. What then? What's after the library?'

'Just the cells, the interrogation rooms, and the back exit.'

'Where exactly is this exit?'

'Up some stairs beyond the cells. That door will be locked. Faldir keeps the only key.'

She stared hard at Alaril, and he stared back, desperation on his face.

'So, what then? Are you going to let me go? Or are you going to let your friend here gut me?'

No time for indecision. Just go with your instinct.

'We're letting you go.' She watched him sag against the stone wall, clutching his chest, and continued quickly. 'You should go the way we came. The way is clear for now.'

'And be quick about it,' Avulstein threw in. 'I've got somewhere to be, and I'm not turning my back to you.'

'Of course.' Alaril nodded quickly and slid down from the bar, looking dishevelled. 'I'll go right now, and get out of your hair. You won't regret this, I swear. I—'

He broke off mid-sentence, mouth open, staring at both of them for a second with dawning intensity. Then he shook his head.

'Wait. I have an idea. There's something more I can do to help.'

---

When Alaril burst through the doors of the library and started yelling to the guards to help, come quickly, the two making their rounds on the ground level had been quick to follow him as he dashed back down the hall with swords drawn and ready. Through the open door to the mess hall, they saw him kneeling on the ground, cradling a seemingly wounded Calion, calling for them to hurry up.

When they ran across the threshold, what they hadn't seen became their bigger problem. From where they'd been waiting with weapons drawn on either side of the door, Merrin and Avulstein each stuck out a booted foot, tripping the guards and sending them sprawling out onto the flagstone. Before the Thalmor even had the chance to turn over, the unseen enemies were bringing their weapons down.

It was over in seconds. But it hadn't been particularly quiet, and in another few seconds they heard a harsh voice, calling down the hallway to fallen fellows who wouldn't answer...

There was no time. Merrin whipped her head around to Alaril, who was standing over Calion's corpse, looking dumb-founded.

'You need to go, now,' she whispered urgently.

'What about the two of you?' He hissed back.

'We can handle ourselves. You need to leave this place!'

He nodded grimly. 'I need to leave Skyrim. Go somewhere the Thalmor won't come looking...'

There was an even louder shout from the library, calling out the names of the dead guards, demanding that they answer. And then the unmistakable sound of booted feet, running.

'Alaril, leave!' With the hand that wasn't holding her sword, Merrin shoved him. 'Go!'

He stumbled in the direction of the opposite door, green eyes pinned to her brown ones.

'I'm going. I'll never forget this. Either of you.'

'Thank you, for all your help. Go.'

He dove to grab one of the fallen swords, and then he bolted across the room. He stood for one beat inside the threshold, wide eyes on both of them, and raised his free hand.

'Good luck,' he called. And then he was gone.

Just as she turned back to face the closer doorway, another two guards with swords drawn came running through it, and then the real fight began.

There was no taking these men by surprise, and they weren't stupid. After several rounds of steel on steel, the Thalmor had retreated back down the hallway, back into the library, yelling to alert the mages that there were intruders ahead. Merrin and Avulstein were right on their heels, and entered the library a breath behind them – and it was still nearly too late.

The second they'd cleared the threshold and barrelled into the two-story room with its stone walls and heavy wooden bookshelves, the door behind them had slammed shut, propelled by some spell, and Merrin heard the click of the lock engaging. There would be no retreat.

The guards who were still just ahead of them both dove away and to the side. A split-second later, Merrin and Avulstein were forced to do the same when a mage at the foot of some stairs sent a volley of ice-spikes hurtling toward them. They only just dodged in time, and the spikes embedded themselves into the wooden door with the strength and force of steel javelins.

From there, the fight devolved into chaos. It was two against five, with two guards, two mages, and another archer all pressing down on them from three directions. Taking down the swordsmen in front of you was nearly impossible, when you also had to focus on dodging arrows, ice-spikes and bolts of lightning. They made mistakes—one second too long with her attention on the guard trying to lop her arms off, and if Merrin hadn't happened to turn her head, the arrow that glanced off her helmet with a dull ping would've found her face instead. Avulstein fell for a feint, and paid for it with a long slash to the arm.

'Is that all you've got?' He yelled to the guard. But she could hear the pain in his voice.

She took a chance then, and using the momentum of a parried strike, she stepped right in and bashed the pommel of her sword into the Thalmor's unprotected nose. She couldn't hear the crunch, but the instant spurting of blood told her that she'd broken it, and the Thalmor lurched forward, bringing his free hand to his face.

The mage ahead of them saw what happened, and was quick to shoot another volley of spikes her way. But Merrin managed to be quicker. She grabbed the guard by the straps of his chestplate and used him as a living shield, turning their bodies so that when the spikes hit, it wasn't her they were hitting. One after the other, they pierced the guard's gilded armor and buried themselves in the flesh underneath – skewering him. His bloodied face registered shock and pain, and then it went lax. Eyes rolled into the back of his head, and then his head flopped forward on his neck as he crumpled, becoming dead weight.

The mage realized his mistake, and yelled with as Merrin dropped the body and started running for the cover of the nearest bookcase. Two more spikes came hurtling toward her as she ran; she only managed to miss them by a breath, and as she dove behind the bookcase, they shattered against the stone wall behind her into a spray of shards.

Sheathing her sword as fast as she could, Merrin grabbed her bow instead, and then an arrow from her quiver. As she drew it along the string, her eyes flitted over and found Avulstein, still fighting with the other guard. He was bleeding freely from his arm, but still managed to block a strike with the haft of his axe while dodging a crackle of electricity levelled his way by the other mage. While Merrin watched, he jerked the haft up and cracked it into his enemy's head. When the Thalmor staggered, disoriented, Avulstein gave him a brutal kick to the knee that sent the leg folding in the wrong direction, and the elf fell screaming to the ground.

With a clear shot, Merrin quickly loosed her arrow and watched it sink into that same screaming mouth. The Thalmor gave a terrible jerk, and then he fell quiet, helmet clattering against the flagstone. Avulstein saw the arrow, and his head snapped up to meet her gaze as she waved her bow at him.

'Take cover,' she yelled.

He did just that; he scrambled for the bookcase opposite hers, and made it just in time to avoid another searing crack of lightning. For a second they just sat there, breathing hard, thinking fast. They locked eyes again, and Merrin signalled that she was going to take a look.

She tilted her head to peek down the aisle of shelves, exposing as little as she could. But the ice mage must have anticipated her – the second she poked part of her head out, he sent a spike flying out with deadly accuracy. Merrin yanked her head back, but only in the nick of time. The projectile sliced her cheek as it whistled by, and as it shattered on the stone behind them, she felt the sting of pain, and then the seep of blood.

From the level above, the second mage laughed, and then called down to them.

'What is this? You can't hide forever, filth.'

'I have no plans to,' Merrin muttered. She took another deep breath, nocked and drew back another arrow, and lunged out from the cover of the bookcase.

What Merrin didn't know when she whirled around was that, since he'd managed to slice her cheek, the mage on the ground floor had moved. He'd had the idea to use the upper level to see if he could find an angle where the intruder's bookshelves didn't protect them.

He was most of the way up the staircase when Merrin moved to shoot him; in the split-second before she'd loosed the arrow, she'd had to adjust her aim.

And she missed her mark; what she'd intended for the heart ended up buried in the stomach – a wound that, while likely fatal, wouldn't kill right away. She snarled at her own mistake, and started to reach for another arrow.

But luck was on their side. The mage jerked back as the arrow pierced him, and then lurched forward as he doubled over in sudden agony. The movement caused him to lose his footing on the old stone steps, and he slipped, going down with a yell. The spill sent him tumbling head over heels down the unforgiving stone, and that unhappy accident achieved what Merrin's arrow hadn't. When he landed at the base of the steps, the mage was bloody, broken, and unmoving.

Avulstein saw what happened just as she did, and he took advantage of the moment. With a determined yell he gripped his battleaxe, springing from his cover like a sabre-cat and sprinted headlong down the aisles of books, headed straight for the other mage. Merrin watched as he leapt over the body at the foot of the stairs, and then dodged two crackling blue bolts as he climbed, one after the other.

He made it to the cowled Thalmor mage, and took his first brutal swing with the axe—but the mage dodged the attack. Nimbly, he sprang back, and as the heavy axe whistled through nothing but air and Avulstein was thrown off balance, Merrin watched the mage's hands fill with crackling energy.

She tried to yell out a warning, but it was too late.

With another cruel laugh that echoed through the room, the mage unleashed his magic on Avulstein. He jolted at the electricity's burn, and was forced to drop his battleaxe with a bellow of pain. Then his body arched with the current, stiff and unnatural, and he started convulsing horribly.

For a heartbeat Merrin could only watch, horrified as Avulstein's body jerked. But then she yanked herself ruthlessly out of it, and moved.

Reaching for one of the last arrows in her quiver, she darted fully out from cover. She stood tall as she drew the bow's string back, and took aim at the mage's unarmored chest. She didn't waste time second-guessing the shot; just exhaled as she let it fly.

The very next thing she was conscious of was a tearing, searing pain.

She'd been so caught up in helping Avulstein that she'd forgotten about the archer, still alive and well and in the room. But the archer hadn't forgotten her; as soon as Merrin had darted from cover, he'd lined up a shot of his own. He'd hoped to take her down before she could intervene, and had just barely been too slow for that. But his arrow found her all the same.

As a cry of pain wrenched its way out of Merrin, she knew without looking that she'd been shot. It had happened too many times in recent years for the feeling to be unfamiliar, and even as her mind blanched from the pain of it, she bore down on her resolve. She knew that she needed some cover, and that it was waiting behind her.

But when she tried to take a step backward, she only collapsed to the flagstone. When she spit out a curse and looked herself over, she saw part of an arrow shaft buried in the meat of her thigh, and blood running freely from the wound.

Arrow pierced the mail of my chausses, she thought, distantly. I just fucking had these made.

The more pressing issue was the Thalmor archer. Merrin looked from her leg to the second level of the library and saw him standing there, across the room and high above her. He'd watched her fall, knew she wasn't finished. And now as she watched, he was nocking an arrow for a second shot. There was nothing she could do to defend herself – she didn't even have time to scramble for cover. She was having trouble hearing anything over the rush of blood in her ears, but she did the only thing she could think to. She called for help.

'AVULSTEIN!'

For a second, nothing changed. The archer didn't even flinch, and drew back his string to bury another arrow in her.

But before he could loose, he noticed something she couldn't see and lunged wildly to the side with fear on his face and his perfect shot in ruins.

Then she saw Avulstein. From beyond the bookcase blocking her view, he sprinted into frame with a roar so loud, it cut through the pounding in her head. He had no weapon she could see, but he didn't seem to need one – in one smooth move, he smashed the archer's helmeted head against the stone railing of the upper level, and the Thalmor went limp. Then, still roaring, he grabbed the other man with both hands and tossed him head-first right over the railing. When he met the flagstone floor below, there was a snapping sound Merrin couldn't hear.

Silence descended over the room, and as she lay there panting and in pain, she realized that the fight was over.

'Hang on!'

There was some to-do she couldn't see while Avulstein rushed to grab his axe, and then he was clattering down the stairs and running to her side. She looked up at him, and saw that he was looking rough. The skin she could see was already blooming with burst capillaries, and his thick grey hair was mostly standing on end.

He sucked in a hissing breath when he saw the arrow in her thigh, and shook his head as he knelt down beside her.

'That'll need to come out. How's your pain?'

She grimaced. 'I've had worse. The mage?'

'Dead. Too busy with me to see your arrow coming – thank the gods. You really saved my ass.'

That was something. At least she hadn't taken the arrow pointlessly. In spite of her pain, she cracked a smirk.

'I told your mother I'd have your back. Thanks for having mine.'

'Don't mention it.' Grimly, he smiled back. 'Now, who's ripping this out of your leg? Me, or you?'

Her smile slid off, replaced by a scowl, and she let her head fall back with a thud onto the flagstone.

'The honor's all yours. It looks like it went in pretty clean – try and take it out clean. I've lost all the blood I care to lose already.'

He barked a mirthless laugh, grabbed her leg and held it down.

'Then I have bad news for you.'

---

There was a flash of red-hot pain as he yanked the arrow free that had Merrin howling every curse word she could think of as she writhed and beat her fists against the stone. He let her go as soon as he was finished, and rocked back on his haunches out of her reach, looking mildly impressed. When she finally petered out and just lay there panting, he nodded, brow arched.

'Thanks for the suggestion. I'd never thought of doing that with a goatherd's motherless son. How's it feel now?'

'Bastard! Asshole! Nothing but a gods-damned sadist,' she growled.

'That's about what I figured,' he replied, unruffled. 'Think you can walk? We need to keep going.'

She hissed out a breath, ground her teeth. 'Of course I can walk. Just help me up. Bastard.'

'A simple 'thank you' would be fine, y'know. It's not like I'm the one who shot you.'

'Oh, shut up,' she groaned as he pulled her to her feet, and tried to put some weight on the leg. 'And thank you, for causing me considerable paAII—!'

Her words melted into another howl as her right leg buckled underneath her, and Avulstein snatching and holding her up was the only thing that kept her from a reunion with the floor. She snarled with frustration and pain as streaks of flame raced up and down her leg, and then hissed out a long, defeated breath.

'Alright. Maybe I can't walk.'

Blood was dripping steadily down her leg and onto the stone, and Avulstein was starting to look worried.

'You need healing.'

'I'll take care of myself if I can spare the magicka, after I've done what I can for your brother. I'm sure he's much worse off than me.'

'But—'

'Your brother,' she growled. 'He'll need it more than I do.'

'Then we're doing this the hard way,' he replied, aggravated. 'That altmer kid said the interrogator would have the key. We need that key, and some robes.' Gently, he set her back down on the ground.

'What are you...?' She asked his retreating back. But he just ignored her and hurried off.

After a minute she heard an 'aha!' from somewhere on the upper level, and then his booted footsteps hurrying back. When he came back into view, he had a set of black mage robes draped on one arm, and what looked like frost mirriam clutched in one hand. Kneeling, he came back to her side.

'You're not gonna like me much for this.'

Then, efficiently, the soldier went to work. Merrin was rolled onto her side, and then quickly stripped of both chausses and breeches. Before she could really protest, the frost mirriam was packed into her wound – and then the library was filled with fresh cursing. Ignoring her squirming and swearing, he used his dagger to cut long strips from the robes he'd taken, and tightly bound her thigh with them.

With the blood flow staunched, she was rolled over again, and breeches and chausses were put back in place. Then Avulstein settled back on his haunches, using leftover robe to wipe her blood off his hands.

She lay there panting for a few moments, willing the worst of the fresh pain to pass, and then she looked over at him with a glare – but only a half-hearted one.

'You were right. I don't like you much right now.'

'You're welcome.' He shook his head, and when he turned to face her, his expression was unusually soft.

'It means a lot, that you'd save your magic to help my brother. Thank you.'

She stopped glaring, and just grimaced instead. 'You can thank me after we've found him. We need to move. Getting shot wasn't part of my plan and we can't waste any more time.'

'When is getting shot ever part of the plan?' But he hauled her to her feet all the same, snagged her bow up from where she'd dropped it, and handed it back to her. 'Try the leg now.'

When she tried again to take a step and nearly buckled for the third time, he ignored her thunderous expression and just nodded.

'Alright, that settles it.'

He stooped to brace an arm under knees and back, and then scooped her up into his arms, lifting Merrin clear off the ground. She clucked with embarrassed disapproval.

'What are you doing? You have enough to worry about without carrying me. I can suck it up and walk.'

He snorted. 'You paint a heroic picture. But you said it yourself – we can't waste any time.'

Again, she knew he was right. And again, it rankled. She relaxed in his arms with a huff and focused on their task as he started for the stairs.

'Did you find the key?'

He nodded. 'On the mage upstairs.'

She tsked again. 'You think of how you're gonna fight like this, if we hit any more guards?'

'Simple enough. I'll just dump you in a corner and use your sword.'

'Oh, great plan. Just perfect.'

---

It hadn't been very long before they'd needed to use Avulstein's plan. Through a doorway and up another set of stairs had taken them to a platform on a corridor, with a door to the left and the right. Alaril hadn't told them which doors led to where, so they could only guess as to where the cells were. They'd chosen the door to the right, and they'd found the cells – but they'd also found a very surprised, angry guard. Merrin had been dumped into the doorway, Avulstein had rushed forward with her sword, and she'd stood there and watched as he cut the guard down.

There'd been no yelling or cheering during the fight from any of the cells ahead, and that worried her. As he pulled her bloody blade from the Thalmor's chest and looked up to meet her stare, the chamber they were in fell silent; there wasn't a sound to be heard other than Avulstein's breathing. That was strange, too.

But it was the smell, once she noticed it, that really filled her with dread. Despite how cold it was in the chamber, there was a creeping odor pervading the air: beyond the stench of shit and piss, sweat and mildew all combined...there was the smell of rot. There was the smell of death.

He'd left her propped in the doorway and was walking now towards the cells, to look for Thorald. Feeling sick with dread, she reached out a hand in his direction and started to call out a warning. Couldn't he smell it, too?

'Avulstein, there's something—'

Too late. He made it to the first of the cells, and whatever he saw inside had him moaning in horror, face going pale. He reached out with one hand to grab an iron bar, and shook his head, looking scared.

'What is it? What do you see? What...? Avulstein!'

He wouldn't answer her – was simply rushing now from cell to cell, cursing and moaning, looking more upset with every second. Even from across the room his eyes were wild, and he shook his head furiously as he went, shaking the bars on the doors. He was starting to mutter to himself.

'No, no. He can't be. He...no...'

There was nothing for it. Clenching her teeth and ignoring the pain, Merrin started limping her way over to him to see the problem for herself. She used the rough stone walls for support, and as she neared the closest cell, the dread in her stomach turned to real fear. Anything that upset Avulstein this much was going to be bad...

When she finally grabbed the bars of the first cell and peered in, she gave a soft gasp of her own, and a curse.

It was bad. A Stormcloak soldier lay crumpled in a heap on the straw-covered floor of the cell. He was dead, and obviously had been for some time; his cuirass was bloody and torn, his face beaten into a bloated mess of dark bruising, and he'd already started to decay. The smell of rot was much stronger here, and it was hard for her not to gag.

There were two rows of six cells in the room, and the three closest had very similar contents. Three other Stormcloak men, all badly beaten and killed, left to rot in the straw. It was obvious that they'd suffered terribly, and that they hadn't all died on the same day.

The last of the four looked recent; he sat slumped against the back wall of his cell, hands pressed to a dark, sticky mess at his abdomen. Glassy blue eyes stared out lifelessly from a filthy face, and tracks in the dirt on his cheeks told her that he'd been crying when he died. There was a look on his frozen face that made her have to turn away, and her own eyes burned as she realized what had happened: one by one, these men had been killed, and the Thalmor had left them to rot in their cages, so that their friends who weren't dead yet had had to see and smell them.

The fucking animals.

She turned to Avulstein, eyes watering, and saw that he'd fallen to his knees in front of the cell across from her, forehead pressed to the bars. He turned to face her when she reached out and touched him, and his dark blue eyes were tortured and wet when they locked with hers.

'The bastards.' His voice shook, and so did he. 'This is what they do, Merrin. Those soulless fucking creatures. These were good men. They—' He bit off the words, and slammed a fist into the bars instead, shaking as he looked away.

'Those bastards are dead, Avulstein. We killed them. They won't be hurting anybody else, ever again.'

His eyes flashed, and he shook his head. 'Dead is too fucking good for them. A quiet arrow to the chest? Much too good. They deserved to suffer. They should've paid. I should've made them,' he ended in a whisper.

She hissed as she let go of the bars, and took a single unaided step toward him. She knew that there was nothing she could say that would help him, so she just put a hand on his shoulder, and gently asked him a question.

'Is Thorald here?'

He sniffed hard, and shook his head.

'No. No, none of these are Thorald. They're his friends, from his posting...' Again, his hands clenched into fists. 'But no.'

'So there's still hope. We can still find him.' Merrin gave his shoulder a gentle shake. 'There are still places we haven't looked. We should move.'

She really did have hope, but she had selfish motives, too; the longer she stood among these corpses, the harder it was not to curse, to yell...to weep. She'd never even met these men, and yet she still felt that she'd failed them.

Avulstein nodded once, hard, and came quickly to his feet with another sniff. He looked away from the cells and down at her, and his expression was settling into determined lines.

'You're right. There's nothing we can do for them, now. Let's go get my brother.'

She sheathed her sword when he handed it to her, and they were about to move on, when they heard a quiet clanking sound coming from the cell farthest from them. And then a dry, raspy voice, calling out to the room.

'Who – who goes there? Please, wait.'

Merrin felt all of the blood drain from her face at the sound, and when she looked to Avulstein, he was just as pale. They locked eyes for part of a second, both full of dread—and then he scooped her into his arms and hurried down the row of cells.

He set her down again at the cell farthest right, and came to stand beside her as she grasped the metal bars. It was darker in this corner of the room, with the torches in their brackets far away, and it took their eyes several seconds to adjust before they could see inside.

What she saw when her eyes adjusted broke her heart.

In the darkness near the far wall of the cell were three Khajiit – a man, a woman, and a child. The two adults were staring at them with eyes that flashed green and yellow in the dim torchlight.

Merrin could see they were afraid from the way they hung back in the shadows. And she could see that they'd suffered terribly here; the stench of voiding was unbearable, with all of the filthy straw in the cell pushed into a far corner. The three of them were all thin and dirty, and the clothing they wore was little more than rags.

The man was standing tall over the woman, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the child in her lap. The child's eyes were closed, and he didn't stir in the woman's arms.

Again, the tears pressed down on Merrin; again, she staved them off. She had to talk around a lump in her throat, and when she did her voice quavered.

'Hello? We aren't here to hurt you.'

'No? Tell Khajiit, what brings you to this place?'

It was the man who had spoken, who had first called out to them. As he spoke now, he took one tiny step away from the other two in the cell. The rasp in his voice made Merrin wonder how long it had been since he'd had any water.

'We came here to free a prisoner,' she answered quietly. 'Someone important to my friend, here.'

The ragged, tawny Khajiit eyed the both of them. 'A friend? Family?'

'Family,' Avulstein answered, and surprised her. 'My brother.'

'I see.' The man nodded, and took another step forward. The woman behind him made a noise of distress, and it caused him to pull up short. Merrin could see his face more clearly now, and she saw a quiet sort of desperation there that made her stomach twist.

'Then perhaps you could be moved to mercy, for a Khajiit and his family?' He gestured back to the two huddled on the flagstone. 'If this door is left unopened, we all will perish. It has been many moons since Khajiit have felt the clean air on our faces. Many moons since we've been fed.' He took another step forward, and bowed his shaggy head.

'You've killed our captors, yes? If not you, who will open Khajiit's door now?'

'Please.' The anguish of it was too much, and she held up a hand against the bars to stop him. 'Of course we'll open the door. We wouldn't think of leaving you here. Where are the keys to the cells?'

The man looked up quickly, with an expression on his face like he was scared to believe her. Behind him, his wife looked much the same.

'Truly? Khajiit thought he would need to beg. Clearly, he cannot barter.'

'I'm not a monster.' Her voice was thick with emotion. 'I kill monsters. Where are the keys?'

The Khajiit's mouth opened, closed, opened again. He blinked twice, rapidly.

'You must pardon Khajiit. He never expected...' he cleared his throat, another raspy sound. 'There are...two keys. The key to the cells sits in a locked chest, in that far corner. The key to said chest hangs on the belt of that dead elf.' With one clawed finger, he pointed to the Thalmor Avulstein had killed.

Avulstein cut in quickly. 'I'll get the keys. You just rest here.' She nodded, he walked away, and she was left alone with the family in front of her.

Husband and wife had gone back to staring at her silently. The woman was running her fingers through her son's hair, brushing it away from his face. It was an absent-minded gesture, but it yanked on Merrin's heart-strings. In the sudden silence, she had to ask.

'Please, can you tell me what happened to you? Why did the Thalmor bring you here?'

'You wish to know what our crime was?' The woman asked from her place on the floor, and sounded weary and sad.

Merrin shook her head. 'I wouldn't assume there was any crime at all. I just want to know what happened, if you'll tell me.'

'Then you would be wiser than most Khajiit have met here, in Skyrim,' the man interjected. 'The people here distrust Khajiit – think us all liars and thieves. This is not so, of course, but who listens to truth when they think they already know it?'

He broke into a sudden fit of dry coughing, and Merrin cursed herself for leaving her water-skin in her pack. The poor man was probably dying of thirst! His wife reached out to him, worried, but he saw her expression and waved her away. As soon as he could rein in the coughing, he continued in a quieter voice than before.

'Rest, Zita. I'll be fine.' He held a hand out to her as he looked back, and for the briefest of moments their fingertips touched. Words passed unspoken between them, and then the husband turned back to face Merrin again, continuing where he'd left off.

'For these elves, it is different. They hate Khajiit and look on us with scorn, just for walking under the same sun they do. They look, and see little more than animals. This is why they have taken the Khajiit's proud homeland. They wish to see our bones picked clean like carrion in the desert, and then watch those bones sink into the sand.'

'They're wrong. So wrong.' Again, she had to speak around a lump in her throat, and she gritted her teeth as she shook her head, furious and devastated. 'I'm so sorry this was done to your family.'

Avulstein called out then, holding two keys and hurrying back in their direction, and she continued in a whisper.

'So sorry. We're going to do all we can to make things right for you.'

'Sorry I took so long! Damn chest was finnicky.'

She moved aside then for Avulstein to fit an old iron key into the door. In another moment it was swinging open, with a shriek from its rusty hinges.

The Khajiit stared at the open cell door with a range of emotions flickering over their faces – predominantly hope and disbelief. Those faces had Merrin biting the inside of her cheek, trying to ward off tears; both of them stepped aside, so there was nothing between the family and freedom.

'There's food and water in a mess hall not too far back from here,' she managed after a moment. 'The way is clear, and you can't miss it. You could load up some sacks, and have provisions for the road. And robes—there's plenty of warm clothing in the keep, to protect you from the cold.' Her hands fluttered at her sides as she spoke, and she felt miserable and restless. It was probably all she could do for them, and it didn't feel like enough.

Then Avulstein surprised her again.

'Aye.' He nodded as he put a hand on her shoulder, and stared at the two adults. 'And you can travel with us, if you'd like. We still need to find my brother, but after that, we're leaving. If you want, you can get your supplies and meet us at this back door, here. There's safety in numbers. We could lead you away from this place.'

Merrin looked up at him quickly, touched and astounded; when he pretended he couldn't feel her stare, she looked back at the Khajiit and nodded furiously in agreement.

'Of course! You could travel with us, if you'd like.'

'Your kindness moves the Khajiit, stranger.' The man bowed his head again, long ears twitching, and clasped his hands together at the waist. 'We hardly know how to answer, such is our shock. And we thank you for pointing us toward food and water, for hunger has been our constant companion here. But...' He paused, raised his head to look at both of them with eyes of deep amber.

'We will take to the road on our own, if such does not offend you. The journey to friends will be short from here—we can make it, unaided. And...truly, our suffering has been long. Khajiit wishes to be alone with his family, and at rest.'

He really did seem to be afraid of offending them, and it broke Merrin's heart all over again.

'Of course,' she rushed to reassure him. 'If you'd rather travel alone, then by all means. We'd wish you a safe trip, and all the luck in the world. And if you head through the mountain pass, just be careful. It's rough country once you hit the plains.'

The man nodded, looking relieved, and unclasped his hands. 'Again, Khajiit thanks you. We would do best to move quickly, then...we will take our leave now.' And he turned away from them, kneeling beside his wife and son.

'Wait.'

It was the woman, Zita, who had spoken. She was sitting ram-rod straight now, looking at her husband in an urgent, beseeching way, clutching her sleeping son's shoulders tightly.

In the shadows, Merrin could see that she was beautiful, even underfed and unwashed. Pale grey fur striped through with white complimented a fine-boned face and prominent cheekbones, even as it contrasted a head of long, dark hair in hundreds of tiny braids. Pale tufted ears full of delicate silver hoops were currently flattened in frustration, and the hands that gripped her son's shoulders were tapered and elegant. A long striped tail swished across the stone in agitation, and when she suddenly turned her face to meet her gaze, Merrin found herself pinned by intense eyes of agate green, lined beautifully in white.

'There may yet be one more thing you could do for us, warriors.' There was a tremor in the woman's voice, and when she looked again to her husband, there was desperation in her eyes. She tilted her head in their direction, and spoke to him urgently. Pleadingly.

'Tell them, Tomar. Tell them.'

'Hush, wife. Enough that they open the door to our cage – we can ask no more of them.' The husband, Tomar, shook his head. But his words were spoken gently, and even with his voice so parched, Merrin could hear the sadness in it. He placed one large, tawny hand on his wife's thin shoulder, and squeezed it as she blanched.

'We will find a solution, somehow. Trust...the gods have reminded us today that they are kind.'

'Tell us what?' Merrin insisted. 'What's the matter? If we can help, then we want to. Please.'

Tomar hung his head, and Zita looked up to Merrin again. Tears were swimming in her eyes.

'Our son is sick!' The woman wailed the words, and clutched the boy in her arms more tightly.

'Sick? Sick how?'

'It is the damp cold of this place, the hunger. Some time ago he grew listless, and quiet. Now he barely ever wakes, and when he does, he speaks gibberish and does not know us!'

The tears fell, landing on the face of her son who looked very like her, and her shoulders shook as she cried.

'We have done all we could think of to help him, but his sickness only grows! We even b-begged the guards for help, but they only laughed...we f-fear he will die soon, if nothing is done!'

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Zita's weeping. Then Merrin could've sworn she heard Avulstein mutter something under his breath—and then he stepped forward, into the cell, brow furrowed.

'I think I know what's wrong with your son.' He approached them slowly, both hands in the air, and stopped with plenty of space still between them. 'Would you mind if I looked him over?'

For one solid beat, Tomar eyed him carefully, looking old and tired and guarded. And then he nodded, once.

'Any hope or help is welcome.'

Avulstein dropped to his knees beside Zita and the boy, and from where she stood holding the bars, Merrin could see him touch the boy's face, and then lower his head to his chest. Then he lifted an eyelid to see the eye beneath. After that, he nodded to himself, and then lifted his head to regard the couple.

'It's like I thought. I've seen this before, in men who spent time in prison camps but managed to escape and come home. Your son has a bad case of Wit's Bane.'

'Wit's Bane?' Zita's pale pink nose wrinkled, her brow furrowed. 'But how? We were told such only came from the wraiths of ice that hunt the far north...we've encountered none, and certainly none in this place!'

'Did you eat any rotten meat, while you were here?' Avulstein asked them quietly.

Tomar gave a frustrated hiss from beside them, and nodded. 'Khajiit thank our captors for that. What little meat ever came to us was already crawling with maggots.'

'And your son ate it?'

'He was hungry,' Zita cried. 'We all were! What choice did we have, but to eat or die?'

'None,' Avulstein murmured, looking sympathetic. 'You had none. You and your husband are lucky the same didn't happen to you as your son. All of the game this far north come into contact with ice wraiths at some point. Some get bitten, and the disease moves to the animal. When it dies, and ripens, the disease festers. That's how it came to your son.'

Zita clutched her unconscious son closer to her chest, trembling all over as she looked down at his pale face, and gave another quiet sob. Tomar moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, as he too looked down at his boy and laid a shaking hand on his forehead.

'Can he be cured?' Zita whispered.

'Yes. He can be.'

Avulstein's answer had both Khajiit and Merrin snapping their heads up to stare at him. And then he surprised Merrin for a third time.

'He's still alive, so it isn't too late. Here's what you need to do – take your son out of this cell, and do as we suggested. Dress him warmly, and yourselves. Take all of the food and water you can find. Then leave the keep. Head east down the beach when you leave through the front gate, and walk up to the mountains beside us. You'll see a pass, in the rocks. At the mouth of that pass will be two horses, tethered. A chestnut, and a grey dapple.'

Avulstein, she wondered, mystified, what are you...?

'It's the dapple you want,' Avulstein continued. 'He's friendly – won't give you any trouble. Go into his left saddlebag, and you'll find a canvas sack. Open that sack, and you'll find bottles with potions in them.'

Merrin's heart gave a squeeze as she realized what he was doing, and then her whole chest went warm. She stared at the back of his shaggy grey head and smiled as her eyes pricked with unshed tears.

'There are two in there that you'll need – a clear glass bottle of dark brown liquid, and a smaller bottle of green glass. Take them both. Lay your son down, tip his head back, and feed him the potions. Do the brown one first, that'll cure the Wit's Bane. When he starts stirring, give him the other. It will give him the energy he needs to wake up and make the journey with you. He'll be himself again in no time.'

In front of him, Zita reached out and took one of his huge hands into her own, and stared at him with wide eyes full of tears.

'Khajiit have nothing...no way to repay your kindness,' she choked. 'How can we thank you enough?'

'I don't need any thanks at all. Seeing the three of you leave this place is enough.'

His voice was gruff and bashful, so like his father's to Merrin's ears, and he shook his head. He gave Zita's hand a warm squeeze, and then he rose to his feet.

'I'm sorry, but I can't stay here any longer. We need to find my brother yet, and I have the feeling he's going to need our help.'

'Of course.' Tomar sprang back to his feet, and took Avulstein's hand in both of his own. The Khajiit looked at the Nord, and similarly to his wife, his amber eyes were misty.

'Khajiit will keep you no longer from your task. But we thank you. If there were more Men here such as yourself, the vast expanse of Skyrim would not feel quite so cold.'

'Th...thank you,' Avulstein stammered. 'May the Gods keep you on your journey.'

'And you, on yours.' Tomar released his hand, and then turned to look at Merrin, giving her a smile that transformed his face.

'Your kindness will never be forgotten, friends. Tomar somehow doubts his sentiment will bear fruit, but...may your road lead you both to warm sands.'

'And may your food always be sweet,' Zita pitched in with a nod. 'Come, Tomar. We have much to do, and little time.'

They all went to work, then. Tomar collected his son into his arms, and husband and wife hurried from the cell and towards the library, to the mess hall beyond. When Avulstein scooped her back into his arms, she could see that he was blushing and his eyes were moist, and they glanced at each other in mutual understanding as he carried her from the room. No words were needed just then—she had a feeling they might talk about it later.

---

They ended up finding Thorald in the very worst part of the keep.

Trying the door to the left of the platform led them down a set of stairs, and into what could only be described as a den of torture. They'd both gasped and sworn as they hit the bottom step, and any lingering warm thoughts about what they'd just done went flying from their heads.

Directly in front of them was a stretching rack, stained with what could only be blood. Beside it there was a wooden table, covered in the type of old iron tools that the ancient Nords had used on dead bodies – also spattered with blood. All in all, spilled blood seemed to be an element throughout the dungeon: splattered on the stone floor and walls, dried to some chains anchored in the floor...there was even some staining the rope of a noose, hanging from the ceiling. Another alchemy table sat against the far wall, and even Merrin was able to recognize the cones of purple deathbell heaped on its surface – poison.

A pale-faced Avulstein took them one step forward into the grisly room. And then they were startled by a sudden voice, calling from around a corner out of sight. It was heavily accented, and sounded belligerent and scared at the same time.

'H-hello? Who's there?! Answer me!'

Avulstein's whole body jerked at the sound, and with Merrin still in his arms he bolted across the room and around the corner.

They came face to face with a badly beaten Nord, hanging by the wrists from a set of shackles bolted into the wall. He was absolutely filthy, and naked except for a ragged pair of baggy trousers. His bare arms and torso were covered in wounds, ranging from fresh to nearly healed, and bruises bloomed across most of his skin. The face that looked up to them was so badly swollen that Merrin couldn't tell what he really looked like.

But the second that Avulstein saw the man, he cried out, and she felt it as his knees nearly buckled beneath them.

'Thorald!' Setting Merrin down beside him, he took another step forward. 'Thorald, it's me!'

The man looked absolutely shocked. And then, slowly, a badly busted lip quivered, and over eyes almost swollen shut, Thorald's brow furrowed.

'Avulstein? Brother...what in the world – '

'I'm here. I knew I would find you.' Avulstein dropped to his knees in front of his brother, and grabbed him carefully by the shoulders, trying to make direct eye contact. His voice was shaking badly as he spoke.

'I'm here to take you away from all of this.'

'By the Nine...am I dreaming?'

'It's no dream, brother. We're getting you out of here.'

'Not a dream...' Suddenly, Thorald blanched. 'But the guards—'

'Are all dead,' Avulstein cut in firmly. 'They won't be hurting anyone again, I can promise you that.'

'Dead...all dead? I can hardly believe it.' Thorald seemed to still be in shock.

'Believe it. I swear to you. Now, first things first – we need to get you out of these shackles. Do you know where the key is kept?'

'The key...' At that point, Thorald seemed to shake himself, and when he spoke again he looked and sounded more alert.

'Yes. The torture-master keeps the key in the pages of that book, on his alchemy table. Avulstein,' he called after his brother as he rushed over to the table. 'How did you do it? How did you fight your way through all those Thalmor? Come to think of it, how did you know where I was?'

'I have this woman to thank for all that.' Avulstein hurried back, holding a tiny skeleton key, and with the same hand, he gestured to her. 'Her name is Merrin, and she's a new Companion at Jorrvaskr. When she heard what'd happened to you, she offered up her help. But we'll get to that soon enough.'

He dropped back onto his knees in front of his brother and then used the key on the shackles; as soon as they opened, Thorald collapsed with a moan, and Avulstein had to catch his weight.

'Alright, easy. Come on, down you go.' He eased his brother onto the dirty flagstone, and kept a hand under his head for support.

'You're pretty banged up. A lot of these wounds need attention, and Merrin has healing magic. She's going to use it to help you.' At this point he looked from Thorald to her, and held out his other hand to support her as she stepped up and knelt to the ground beside them.

It was a good thing she'd conserved all her magicka – Thorald needed it. It seemed as if no matter where she laid her hands, the flesh beneath them needed her attention. Infection had settled in many of his wounds, as well as the wrists rubbed raw and bloody by the shackles. Some of the darkest bruises spoke to internal bleeding, and Thorald gasped frequently as her magic righted whatever had been damaged. Even if they hadn't been sitting in a torture chamber, it would've been clear that he'd been tortured – the man was missing whole fingernails. When she ran her hands down both of his legs, his left knee-cap popped back into place with a sickening little crunch, and tears started leaking from his swollen eyes.

Too soon, she felt her magicka starting to flag, and she turned her head to Avulstein.

'I'm starting to drain. I need you to look around, and see if you can find any magicka potions...most of the time they'll smell like lavender.'

He jumped up to do as she'd asked; he ended up rummaging in a chest under the alchemy table, and when he came back to her side, he offered her two small glass bottles. Merrin belted them back, one after the other, and grimaced at the taste of ozone on her tongue as her stores of magicka tingled and surged.

'Better?'

'Better.'

She worked some more on the legs, making sure they'd support him, filling the room with the golden light of her casting, and then returned to the spots that'd been the worst.

The last thing she concentrated on was his face. As the swelling went down and the bruising cleared away, a man emerged that she could easily tie to Avulstein; where before the only clue had been a thick head of grey hair, now there were clear similarities in the mouth, the jaw, the set and color of the eyes. She saw Eorlund, but she also saw Fralia – the younger Gray-Mane son had a subtle softness, an openness to his countenance that reminded her more of mother than father. Combined with his much-shorter beard, it made him look somehow...vulnerable. Innocent.

The centre of her chest was starting to burn, and what she'd gained from the potions was all but burnt up. Finally, she had to settle back with a groan onto her haunches, and look again to Avulstein.

'That's it,' she told him, sounding strained. 'That's all I can do, for now.'

'It's more than I'd hoped for.' Avulstein shook his head, and his eyes were warm as he helped her to her feet.

'I can second that.' From his place on the floor, Thorald spoke up as he stiffly pulled himself up to sitting, and rolled his neck with a series of popping cracks. 'This is easily the best I've felt in a ten-day.'

'Let me have a look at you.' Avulstein hauled Thorald up from the floor, gripping both shoulders as he held him at arm's length, and looked him up and down with a torn expression.

'You look much better – human again,' he grumbled. 'But you look thin, brother.'

Thorald laughed weakly, and without humor. 'That'll happen, when you haven't eaten in a week.'

'Damn those fucking Thalmor.' Avulstein's voice was shaking again, and he yanked his younger brother into a hard embrace. 'Gods, I've been so worried.'

Thorald squeezed his brother back, and then rested his forehead against Avulstein's, bringing one hand around to hold him there.

'You can't know what it means, that you're here,' the younger Gray-Mane sighed. 'I thought I'd never see a friendly face again.'

'There was no way I wasn't coming for you. Know that.'

It was an intimate moment, charged with emotion – but Merrin didn't feel like an intruder this time. She'd worked hard, had given her sweat and blood to see it made possible, and she just hung quietly back as she watched the two brothers reunited.

It was Thorald who pulled away first, and turned to fix Merrin with dark blue eyes still lightly ringed in purple.

'Merrin, is it? You have my sincerest thanks. You and my brother saved my life. I don't think I had much longer to live, the way things were – the Thalmor were nearly done with me.'

'I want to hear everything that happened from the night of the raid – you and I have a lot to talk about,' Avulstein interjected. 'But not until we're safely out of here. We need to move.' He turned to face Merrin, and looked concerned.

'Did you save enough magicka for your leg?'

Thorald's brow crumpled in confusion. 'Her leg?'

'She took an arrow while we were fighting,' Avulstein explained without looking away. Thorald's mouth opened and then shut again, and he fell quiet, looking disturbed.

Merrin shook her head. 'I doubt it. Are there any more magicka potions around?'

'I don't think so. They were all labelled, and the rest all said something else.'

She hissed in frustration, shrugged. 'Then here goes probably nothing.'

The end result was painful, but a bit better than nothing; by pushing herself to cast and digging deep, she managed to heal her arrow wound just enough that she could walk by herself without falling down. It was far from properly healed and would need her attention later, but for now, it would do. Grimacing, she looked back to Avulstein.

'Alright, I'm better than I was. I don't need you to carry me anymore.'

Avulstein nodded, looking relieved. 'That makes things simpler. Let's take a quick look around, and see if there's anything else here we can use.'

As a prisoner, Thorald had come with next to nothing, and so he had nothing to try and retrieve. But from the same chest under the alchemy table they ended up finding two fair-sized stamina potions, enough for the three of them to share. They pulled the corks and drank them right then and there, and the energy it gave them made it easier to keep going, as sore and tired as they were. Moving in single file with Avulstein in the lead, the three of them left the torture chamber and back-tracked deeper into the keep.

They spoke very little as they made their way through, all of them focused and on high alert. The adrenaline was pumping again, and it made them jumpy.

When they made it to a sort of supply-room they'd passed full of extra gear, they stopped and headed inside. They hated to dress Thorald in Thalmor robes, and Thorald himself wasn't fond of the idea. But they had nothing else to give him, and he would never make the trip back in nothing but baggy trousers. So they dressed him in layers and layers of stolen black robes, warm boots and gloves, and promised him that as soon as they were able, they'd find him something else.

Unlike his brother, Thorald was a decent shot, and so they grabbed him a bow and a quiver with some arrows from one of the corpses going stiff where they'd fallen. And then they had no more reason to linger.

Avulstein tried to hustle Thorald through the cell block without seeing anything, but of course, that was impossible. When he looked beyond the bars of the cells and saw the bodies of his friends, he froze. He didn't curse or beat the bars, as his brother had; instead he called each man by name, and told them that he was sure he'd see them again, in Sovngarde. He apologized, quietly, for not being there to save them. And then he touched the cold iron bars lightly, briefly, before he straightened up and walked away. Avulstein looked rigid with worry, but said nothing. As they fell into line again, Merrin caught a glimpse of Thorald's face, and saw sorrow there – sorrow and resolve.

When Avulstein unlocked the door beyond the cells and they finally tumbled out of the keep, Thorald fell to his knees in his robes and let out a yell as he tipped his face up to the sky—Merrin guessed that it was a mixture of grief, pain, and relief, but didn't think it her place to ask.

For herself, she took a deep breath in, revelling in how the cold air bit at her nose and cheeks and made her lungs ache, reminding her she was alive. It was mid-afternoon, and still light, but the weather had worsened; a fine dusting of snow so light it looked like heavy mist had started falling from the sky. The sky itself had darkened to a steely color, and the clouds above them were pregnant with snow, promising that there was worse to come.

'We should keep moving.' Avulstein had come to his brother's side, hovering over him protectively, and when Thorald nodded, he pulled him back to his feet. 'We have the horses waiting.'

'You mean...?' Thorald looked at his brother, eyes glinting with some suppressed emotion, and when Avulstein nodded, a tiny bit of the sorrow lifted from his face.

'Then let's go. I'm ready to leave this place behind me.'

They circled the fort at a brisk pace before coming around to the side door they'd entered, and then walked along the black sand of the beach. This time Merrin heard the quiet crashing of the waves; when she looked further out, and saw how the fine mist of snow met and melded with the dark, foaming water, something tight in her chest loosened. And when she turned to look ahead and saw three figures in the distance, her heart skipped a beat.

Far down the beach with the snow muddling their outlines, at first she only recognized black robes, and feared that they were Thalmor. But then she noticed how much shorter the figure in the middle was, compared to the ones on either side. And then, it clicked – two parents, and a child. A walking child.

At the realization of who those three hazy black figures were, Merrin's heart soared in her chest.

Just then, as if they could feel her stare, the three figures stopped as she watched, and turned around. They saw her group as she saw theirs; for a second, they only stared. Then, in unison, all three of them raised their hands up, in silent thanks and farewell. Merrin raised her own hand in return, and saw Avulstein do the same from her peripheral – he had seen them too.

The five of them stayed that way for a moment, words spoken across the distance with a gesture. And then the family of Khajiit turned back around, and continued their way down the beach – free, and whole. With her heart hammering, Merrin turned to look at Avulstein.

'They – '

'Yeah.' She saw when he turned to face her that his eyes were twinkling, and he nodded.

They didn't need to say more. Staring at one another, they both broke into smiles of relief, of joy, and Avulstein stepped in closer to clap her on the back.

'Who are those people?' Thorald had noticed the family too, and he looked confused as he turned to his brother. 'You know them, somehow?'

'We met them today, on our way to you,' Avulstein answered. 'More prisoners of the Thalmor. A family – free now to make their way home.' Merrin could hear the happiness in his voice, and it widened her smile.

In another handful of minutes, they made it to the pass, and their horses. When Thorald saw Sparrow tethered there, his face lit up; some of the sorrow seemed to melt away, and the man ran his hands down his horse's neck as she whickered in his face. She stretched her neck out to lick his cheek, and Thorald hugged her and laughed. The sound of that laughter gave Avulstein some relief, and he sighed to himself as he re-tightened Sleipnr's saddle.

It was Merrin who looked at the dapple gelding and noticed what was different first. Beautiful and vibrant red, someone had taken a twig of snowberries, and braided it into his silver mane. The message it gave was as plain as if someone were standing there, and speaking it aloud: thank you.

Zita, Merrin was willing to bet, and as she reached out a trembling hand to touch a red berry, her eyes pricked and stung. Combined with all of the fear, worry, doubt and adrenaline she'd felt over the last few days...the nights of bad sleep and feeling guilty...this, this silent gesture was too much. The first tears fell as Avulstein came up beside her, exclaiming softly when he noticed the sprig of berries. And when he turned to face her and noticed said tears, he just nodded understanding, and gave her shoulder one brief squeeze. Then he swung himself into Sleipnr's saddle, got comfortable, and reached down a hand to pull her up behind him. As he looked to his brother who had already saddled, and called out to ask him if he was ready, Merrin found herself appreciating his discretion. She settled herself in behind him with a hard sniff, and scrubbed quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand.

They set off in single file up the narrow path, with the horses snorting and snow gathering in their manes. She and Avulstein were in the lead, and with no one to look at her face, Merrin stared straight ahead and allowed more silent tears to fall and then freeze in the bitter wind, as they left Northwatch Keep behind.

---

The mission was far from over; they'd managed to rescue Thorald, but now they still had to lead him to safety.

None of them wanted to risk walking an Imperial prisoner through Dragon's Bridge – some of the soldiers stationed there had likely arrested Thorald personally. So they decided on a different route that Thorald and Avulstein knew. They came back through the inlet all the same when they left the mountain pass, but rather than veering toward Thorald's posting after, they cut west.

They rode the horses hard, signalling rather than talking as they traversed the choppy, tufted plains. All three were tense as they rode, eyes and ears straining for any trouble, fearing that returning Thalmor agents might discover what they'd done and decide to give chase. There was also the Forsworn to think of, with their path taking them into the fringes of the Reach – an ambush was the last thing they needed, and both Merrin and Thorald had their bows strung and ready, laid across their laps.

But as they pushed on, the only enemies they met with were a bunch of bandits in a crumbling old Barrow, who did little more than yell insults and take potshots at them as they cantered past. In seconds, the hillside ruin was behind them, and so was what little threat there'd been. Still, they remained alert.

Merrin had never traveled to the Reach before, and she found her eyes pulled in by the sweeping vistas around them as they rode through. The grasses here were spiky and rippled in the wind, and the farther they pressed, the more the plain grew dotted with squat, twisting trees, heavy with needles and juniper berries. At one point, far in the distance, she could see what Avulstein pointed out with a yell as an Orchish stronghold, and she stared until the stronghold faded from view.

Around the time they steered the horses south, they started losing daylight. And then the weather started getting steadily worse: the snow had stopped when they left the mountains behind, but the clouds above had grown darker and angrier, and now they could see thin, forking streaks of lightning snaking through the clouds, and hear the corresponding growl of thunder.

It would be dangerous enough just to try and traverse this part of the province after dark, fraught as it was with cats and bears and sudden drops – an incoming storm was too much in the mix. In another hour, they were looking for a place to hole up for the night, and glancing nervously up at the sky.

Eventually, they came across a cave that seemed to be empty, with a wide open mouth about twenty paces deep, tall enough for a horse to stand in. And not a minute too soon; they'd just been able to walk the horses inside and scurry to cut some dead tree limbs for firewood when the sky opened up with a clap of thunder, into a torrential downpour.

They ran with a shout for cover, bringing their wood in before it could get wet, and as they tossed it to the ground and got to work making camp, Merrin gave a sigh of relief. The rain was a blessing, in more ways than one; the heavy downfall made it less likely that anyone would come looking for them tonight, and after their long, hard ride, the horses could drink the rain as it dripped steadily down from the mouth of the cave. Avulstein was busy removing their saddles, and as soon as they were free of them, they went and did just that, knickering in contentment.

In another few minutes, Merrin had a good fire going in the centre of their camp, and Avulstein had rolled out the bedding for them. Thorald had tried to help him, arguing that he could still be of use, but Avulstein was having none of it. He'd deposited Thorald onto his bedroll, insisting that he needed the comfort more and that for himself, his cloak on the ground would do. And then he'd turned to rifle through his pack.

'Now, you said you haven't eaten in week. Was that serious?'

Thorald grunted. 'Unfortunately.'

'Then most of this food is for you.' Avulstein came away from his bag holding a part-loaf of bread, the remaining salted elk, and one very battered sweet roll, wrapped twice in linen.

'I saved this for you, especially.'

When Thorald reached out and took the sweetroll, he looked like he was going to cry. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled, and his eyes actually rolled back into his head.

'Gods...you have no idea how long it's been since I've tasted one of ma's sweetrolls. Thank you, brother.'

Avulstein looked guilty as he watched his brother tear into the roll, and he turned his face away, toward the fire. 'I'm pretty sure I have some idea. I wanted to bring you a...piece of home.'

All of them were starving, after everything they'd been through; Merrin pulled off her sweaty helmet at last and hurried to add the rest of her hard-tack to their pile, and they tucked in ravenously with little talk as they sat around the fire. At some point, Thorald rose and ignored his brother's protests, to go and feed the horses their last two apples and stroke Sparrow's mane as he whispered in her ear.

Going a week without food did pretty bad things to the stomach, and it wasn't long before Thorald was pushing food away, shaking his head and announcing that if he ate any more, he'd throw it up. Avulstein frowned with worry and disapproval, but didn't push it; between him and Merrin, none of the leftovers went to waste. They saved just enough hard-tack to break their fasts in the morning.

Night had truly fallen outside, and Merrin pushed up from the ground as soon as she'd finished eating. She jerked her head towards the brothers as they stared at her questioningly.

'The two of you have a lot to discuss, I'm sure. I'll take first watch, and give you some privacy. You can talk, and rest.'

They looked a little baffled, Avulstein especially, but after a moment they both thanked her, and agreed. She just nodded in reply, and took her pack with her to lean against as she sat down not far from the mouth of the cave. The brothers settled down onto their cloak and bedroll, and in another minute they were talking. They didn't trouble to keep their voices down, and Merrin felt a prickle of embarrassment as she realized that maybe they hadn't expected her to make herself scarce while they did their catching up. Still, the storm outside was loud enough that she only caught snatches of words behind her, instead of full sentences; 'missed you so much' and 'thought it was over'. 'Does da know that—', and 'what happened? How did – ?'.

'What do we do next?'

With a quiet sigh, Merrin tucked her fly-away strands behind her ears and then wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her knees beneath her chin as she stared ahead. It was gloomy outside, nearly pitch black with the stormclouds blocking the moons, and the sound of thunder and heavy rain made a pulsing kind of rhythm that seemed to match her heartbeat. The light of the fire behind her cast a faint orange glow into the night, cleft in two by the dark of her shadow. It wasn't much to see by, but it was all she had.

As she sat there listening to the rain, she thought about the people she'd left behind in Jorrvaskr – people she was actually missing. Foolishly, girlishly, she let herself wonder whether any of them were thinking of her, while she was sitting and thinking of them.

When a huge fork of lightning chose that second to come crashing down into the distant plains with a sizzling crack, lighting up the entire sky with eerie blue and making the glow of her fire seem like nothing, she chose to take it as a sign. Foolish, or no. The two brothers both exclaimed behind her, loud enough for her to hear, before being drowned out by a huge boom of thunder.

She realized with a start that it was the answer she wanted.

---

Thank you very much for reading! Did you enjoy this chapter? Leave me a review and let me know!