"You think I want you making money at your age? Look at your older sister. A once in a generation pottery talent, and she still works day and night under Master Merandil's tutelage to one day bring prestige back to our family. Do you ever see us say anything about her?"

How had things come to this? Cobenwe was separated from her comrades, stuck with an Imperial spy who might discover her deception at any moment. Worse, she was complicit in the murder of a superior officer. One that was a daedra worshipper of all things!

She'd never wanted to do something dangerous like fighting in the war, but times were tough in Skywatch and it was either enlisting or 'tavern' work. Even now, the thought of it turned her green.

Cobenwe watched the Nord begin rifling through the belongings of the fallen cultists. She stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing. She glanced at the gruesome, bloodied sword, clutched in her trembling hand, the metallic scent of iron sharp still in her nostrils.

"Are you coming?" Tyr called over his shoulder, snapping her back to reality. His voice echoed faintly in the cavernous arena, the sounds bouncing off the stone walls.

She jolted into motion, feet moving before her mind could catch up. "I... I'm coming," she stammered.

Cobenwe struggled to master herself as they jogged through the darkness. Those had been Altmer.

She still couldn't fathom how this could have happened. It went against everything she thought she knew. Daedra worship! By Kinlord Naarifin? The Thalmor had denounced such depravity in the most severe of terms.

Cobenwe thought it would have been the last thing Naarifin could do. How could any Altmer of high birth, let alone a Kinlord, betray their people and their gods like this?

And the cultists… These were her own kinsmen! She had to quickly return to her platoon and wash her hands of all of this. People had been disappeared for knowing so much less…!

They had to first get out of these sewers. And then... And then she could regroup with Aldmeri forces.

Tyr still hadn't realised her identity. There was no reason she and Tyr couldn't peacefully go their separate ways.

＊＊＊

Cobenwe shivered and gagged alternatively. The sewers were dank and claustrophobic, and the stench was overwhelming. But they had to keep going, to find a way out and back to the surface.

She watched as Tyr navigated through the labyrinth of tunnels with quiet, but bold strides. He seemed unbothered by their surroundings, cutting through the smelly darkness, like a burly, hairy blade.

Suddenly, Tyr stopped, raising a hand to signal for silence. Cobenwe froze, her breath caught in her throat. Tyr crept forward, sword at the ready. He peered around the corner of a tunnel intersection.

"What is it?" Cobenwe whispered, unable to hide the fear in her voice.

"Footsteps. Someone's coming. Prepare yourself, Haramwe," said Tyr, his voice a barely audible murmur.

Cobenwe's grip tightened on the hilt of her stolen sword. The weight of their situation settled heavily on her shoulders, her mind racing with thoughts of their escape.

The footsteps grew louder, and the duo pressed themselves against the damp stone walls, trying to blend into the shadows.

A group of guards wearing cultist masks appeared at the end of the tunnel, their armour gleaming in the dim light. Cobenwe's heart pounded in her chest. Tyr lunged forward, axe swinging in a blur.

Cobenwe's left hand shot up and a flood of blue-white destruction magic arced towards one of the cultists, setting the man ablaze with a searing flash of light. Without conscious thought, her head jerked out of the path of the man's retaliatory bolt. The cultist fell with a strangled cry.

With a clang, Cobenwe's enchanted blade deflected another and continued forward to bury itself into a man's side. He died without another scream, gurgling as his innards flooded his mouth. Cobenwe looked at her stolen blade in surprise.

A flash. In panic she leapt backwards. Her left ear singed from a flame. Cobenwe screamed and threw a retaliatory firebolt at the attacker, but it splashed off a ward.

An axe burst down through the cultist's head before he could do much, staining his already dark robes red.

"That's the last of them," Tyr announced. "We need to move. The sewers aren't safe."

Cobenwe scrunched her eyes shut. Why did these cultists keep getting in her way?

Kinlord Naarifin was a… a daedra worshipper, but Cobenwe's kinhouse had fallen out of power for over a century already! It was none of her business what the high lords got up to behind closed doors…! She just had to get back to her platoon and then survive until the end of the war. The Imperials were almost done for, anyway.

"We have to move. The exit to the sewers is this way," Tyr stated. "It will bring us out into Lake Rumare. We'll have to swim."

Cobenwe's head was a jumble of questions and doubts. How had this become her life? She followed the enemy spy through the maze-like tunnels, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Tyr seemed to navigate with an innate sense of direction, leading them deeper into the underground maze. Perhaps this was one of the Blades' secret routes under the Imperial City.

Finally, they reached a stone grate, light streaming through from beyond. Tyr pried it open, his ursine muscles straining, and the fresh air of the outside world rushed in, carrying the scent of lakewater and the faintest hint of freedom.

"I don't see any guards. Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Once we're in the open, there's no going back."

Cobenwe steeled herself, taking deep, steadying breaths. She just had to lose Tyr in the water somehow, and then find her way back to her allies. She nodded, and the two of them carefully made their way out.

"Imperials!"

Huh?

"Shit! This way, Haramwe!" Tyr shouted, already moving.

Before she could react, the Dominion guards attacked first, recognising Tyr as an enemy. Cobenwe's heart raced, her mind racing with indecision.

She was part of the Aldmeri Dominion, and these were her people. But they didn't recognize her in her stolen equipment!

"W-wait, I'm—!"

Cobenwe parried a blow with a scream, before Tyr yanked her towards the water.

"Kill them!"

Tyr cursed and jumped, and Cobenwe followed, not knowing what else to do. They were already in the water, and volleys of spellfire were raining down. If she surfaced, she was dead!

Her teeth clattered together, the shock of cold sending adrenaline into her bloodstream. She kicked her feet and swam desperately, the weight of her robes dragging her down. The water around her grew warmer as spell after spell struck the surface above, but eventually the spellfire stopped.

Cobenwe's heart pounded, her lungs burning with the need for air. But she couldn't resurface yet, not until she was sure she was far enough away from the attackers.

Just as her vision began to darken, she saw Tyr's hand reach out, pulling her toward the surface. They broke through the water, gasping for breath. The sounds of combat grew distant, and they were alone in the vast expanse of the lake.

"That was close," Tyr said, his voice hoarse. "They'll have more trouble finding us if we change our clothes. I've got a cache a few miles upstream from here." He huffed, unbothered by the cold. "Not sure I have something in an elf's size, though."

Too winded to speak, she nodded as she treaded water. But, if Cobenwe had her way, she'd be long gone before then. The moment she could sneak away without rousing this spy's suspicion, she was gone. They both began the arduous task of swimming to shore.

As they dragged themselves onto land, sodden messes, Cobenwe noticed that she was the only one shivering as Tyr, shirtless and unaware, wrung out his leather battle skirt. Envy and resentment filled her gaze. Even in summer, the Rumare was chilly compared to the waters of Summerset, but to a Nord she supposed it might as well have been Buraniim Isle.

Tyr looked over, noticed her expression, and chuckled. "Come, friend. You'll be warm soon enough. We can't stop here, not with those Dominion dogs around. We've got to run."

If only she could get away from Tyr, she would be more than happy to be found by those 'dogs'.

Cobenwe smiled weakly. "L-lead the way."

Despite being shorter than her, the Nord was thick with muscle, and easily pulled her along by the arm as they made a brisk jog through the forest beyond the lakeshore. Soon the sounds of water lapping against the shore gave way to muted birdsong and crunching leaves. After a while, she could scarcely be considered running, simply being pulled along by Tyr. When they finally stopped, it was by a slightly gnarled oak.

"You Navy folk really ought to work on your stamina, Haramwe." Tyr looked winded. Cobenwe was a half-dead mess on the ground, wheezing like a plague victim on her last legs.

"Just… one… minute…" she managed to say.

Tyr laughed, which felt like salt in the wound.

From the damp forest floor, Cobenwe watched him approach the tree. Her sodden robes clung to her frame. She had been this wet before, and certainly this exhausted before, but she couldn't remember a time she had been both.

Tyr was already breathing normally. The burly nord knelt amongst the roots of the oak and dug through seemingly undisturbed moss with practised movements, infuriatingly and terrifyingly unbothered by the jog. Cobenwe hid her despair. If he noticed her making an escape attempt, there was no chance in Oblivion she would be able to outrun him.

Cobenwe thought about where he had dragged her. Were there any patrols in this area? No, they were all stationed near the main roads. Every moment she spent with this Blade drew her further away from any of her comrades.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Tyr continued through mossy stones until a hollow was revealed.

"Say" Tyr said, his voice carrying as he pulled a weathered leather bag from the previously hidden cavity. "I don't suppose you're an expert in conjuration? Daedric lore?" The spy had obviously noticed that she was a trained battlemage.

Cobenwe blinked, caught off guard. "W-what? No. I mean… I know enough to deal with summoned atronachs, but…"

Tyr huffed. "Damn. Well, worth a try."

He turned to her. "It's not a perfect fit, but it's better than being soaked. Here, try this on."

Too tired to catch it, Cobenwe's face was covered by the brown blur flying her way. Hiding her unhappiness, Cobenwe unveiled her head and wearily held up the culprit to inspect. It was a simple set of travelling clothes—sturdy, practical, and utterly common.

While she crawled to her knees to pull off her stolen robes, her unlikely companion turned back to his bag and produced a waterskin from which he took a long pull.

"There's a friend of mine, ex-College of Whispers, really knows her Daedric lore. She'll know what that rat Naarifin's playing at. The problem is that she's pretty far north."

"North?" she asked absently, noting how short these clothes were on her. But they were dry, and clean, at least.

"A little village called Bleaker's Way, a few days' trek from here. Not exactly a quick jaunt. I'll need your help."

"…My help?" Cobenwe's insides twisted.

"You've proven your mettle—it's not for nothing that you survived that bloodbath on the Niben. You decent?"

"Ah, yes…"

Tyr turned around and shot her an easy grin.

"As a Blade, I could conscript you, but we both know the stakes, anyhow. Can I count on your sword, friend?"

Cobenwe forced a smile and a nod. "O-of course, my friend," she lied.

"Good." Tyr's smile widened. "There's a better place to rest, less than a mile from here. Let's move."

"Haha… ha…"

Cobenwe trembled.

For hours they moved north, at a far brisker pace than she did in the army. When they finally stopped again, Masser and Secunda hung brightly in the sky. Cobenwe collapsed onto the forest floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Aye, this place will do." Cobenwe watched idly as Tyr began setting up camp. After taking a breath, she got to her feet and assisted in a grim mood. When they lay their heads to rest, she would have to pretend to sleep. She was deeply unsettled by the possibility that Blades were trained to distinguish real and false slumber, but it was her only choice. She had to sneak away while the Nord was asleep. There was simply no getting away from him otherwise.

The earlier excitement drained her energy. Her mind was heavy, and her eyelids drooped with weariness.

Eventually the two of them lay around a flameless magical fire. She might have marvelled at the artefacts used by these crafty spies if she wasn't so terribly exhausted. But despite everything, she was determined. Tonight, she would do her best to pretend. She would breath softly, maybe toss and turn a little. She would wait for hours.

And when she was sure, absolutely sure that Tyr was asleep, she would slip away.

It was the only way. Every moment she spent with him she felt her grave being dug deeper and deeper.

She quietly turned her head and glanced at him as he settled in for the night, his broad shoulders looking ominous in the darkness. Tonight.

＊＊＊

Cobenwe awakened to soft light, filtering through verdant canopy, swaying in the whistling wind. Her eyes shot wide open, heart racing as she remembered where and when she was. It was already morning.

Trying to behave naturally, she rolled over and looked around. Tyr was gone.

Her heart began to pound.

"Tyr…?" she asked softly. "Tyr…?"

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the ache of her body. This was her chance…!

Quietly as she could, Cobenwe gathered her things and—

"Ah, you're up."

Cobenwe's heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly, desperately suppressing her shakes. Tyr emerged from the trees, a brace of skinned rabbits in his deadly hands. "I thought about waking you, but figured it'd be better if you woke to food," he said amiably.

She hid her trembling fingers behind her cold, sweaty back and smiled.

"I'll have these cooked soon," he said. "Let's eat quickly and move."

"Haha… Yes…"

…Oh, the rabbit was quite good.

By the afternoon, the wind had gotten worse, annoying her every step. It was unusually strong for the season. Was this what northern Cyrodiil was like?

In areas where the canopy was thin, the wind tugged at her travelling clothes like a persistent child. Where the forest was more open, leaves and other litter rained down from above, while whipped up debris slapped into her arms and face. It was an unwelcome distraction from her thoughts on how to get away from Tyr, who once again seemed utterly unbothered by the elements. If it hadn't been for the necessity of disguise, he still wouldn't be wearing a shirt…

Tyr strode ahead, the picture of confidence, stupid mohawk fluttering flatteringly in the gale. Cobenwe was hardly an ingrate. Her parents had taught her better than that, and had it not been for this enemy spy she would have been slaughtered by those daedric cultists. In fact, if not for his nursing, she might have simply died in that cell.

She really did wish him the best, at least in his personal endeavours. But did he have to be quite this competent? He was even a good cook. Cobenwe shivered, and it wasn't just the wind. At this rate she would never be able to escape him, and then she'd be cut down when he inevitably discovered her identity, probably in the not-so-distant future. If he was this good at everything else, how good was he at his spycraft?

The wind. It would help muffle sounds. She could try escaping again tonight. As long as the wind persisted into the evening, she could ward animals from where he slept, and then sneak off into the night. Cobenwe prayed silently to Jephre that these horrid winds wouldn't abate.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise—shouts.

"It's the Blade! He has a companion!"

"Damn! To arms!" Tyr roared.

The sudden meeting seemed to catch both sides off guard, but Tyr was already clashing blades with the figures. Before she could say a thing, Tyr had already beheaded one of the elves. From their backline, a caster summoned scamps which began to throw fireballs at her. Time seemed to freeze as one singed her ear as they narrowly passed by her head.

Oh Divines, oh Divines!

Gritting her teeth, Cobenwe rushed in as well. She didn't want to fight them, but what else could she do? Everyone kept stopping her from going home!

She jerked left to avoid an ice spike before it left its caster's hands, then she parried on reflex to avoid a sword. Its wielder made to say something with a sneer, but she disarmed him with a flick and stabbed him in the throat on the return.

Something gleamed in her peripherals and Cobenwe turned to parry again, but missed the timing. The crash of blades rattled her bones, and she struggled to push back. Tyr's axe barely missed the man's shining helmet, but it provided Cobenwe a distraction. With a twist, she disengaged and her blade slipped past the soldier's guard.

He fell with a strangled cry, but his dying grip seized her wrist, lighting her hand in violet energy. She kicked him off, almost stumbling on the blood-slick ground. Her free arm shot up as she channelled her magicka. Searing blue lightning arced between her and a scamp harassing Tyr's legs. Even while fending off another sword, she held the spell until the scamp howled and exploded.

She ran the attacking swordsman through and turned her focus to the summoner. His eyes widened as her hand rose again. He tried to dodge, but her lightning forked, striking both him and his remaining daedroth. Cobenwe gritted her teeth and poured more magicka into her hand until both the conjurer and his scamp collapsed, smoking.

Extracting her sword, light flared in her peripherals. Panic surged as she dropped into a crouch, sliding under a fireball that would have struck her torso. The caster backpedalled but Cobenwe was on her in an instant, cutting her down before she could cast again.

By the time the battle was over, her newly borrowed traveller's clothes were stinking, and soaked with blood. Cobenwe was trembling, breath ragged as she looked over her dead kin. She turned to Tyr, only to find him grimly approaching her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she almost attacked him when he gripped her wrist.

"Tyr, what are you—" she started.

He turned her arm over and there on her wrist was a faint, shimmering sigil, pulsing on her skin. With a curse, he dropped her arm and began examining himself. On the small of his back, covered by his leather skirt, was an identical mark.

"Ysmir's beard," he muttered. "They're tracking us."

Her lip quivered as she watched him search the nearest body and uncover a familiar skull mask from its belt. He held up the bloodied mask and inspected it.

"Damn," he muttered, tossing it aside before moving to check the next body. Each of them held the same cultist mask on their person.

Cobenwe tried to muster a dispel, pouring what little magicka she had left into the effort, but the mark didn't do more than flicker in defiance. Her heart filled with horror.

"It's not dispelling…" Why? It felt like she should have been able to get rid of it.

"We're dealing with a cult. It's closer to a curse than a spell. You can't dispel vampirism or lycanthropy either."

Noticing her expression, Tyr's scowl softened.

"My friend will be able to remove it, but she's still a day away. Until then, we're marked, and they'll keep coming. We'll have to move faster."

North. Further away from Aldmeri forces, and with this mark she'd be dead within a day even if she returned. Cobenwe's stomach twisted into knots. Tyr had already moved on, gathering coin and supplies from the corpses.

"Do… Do you really think your friend can remove this?" she asked with a wretched smile.

He paused in his work, glancing at her with open sympathy. "If anybody can, it's her. Have faith, friend."

There was no other choice. She couldn't go back, and she couldn't stay here. For now, she would have to keep following him.