AN: If you are reading this chapter for the first time because you got a notification, please go back to chapter 1 and read the AN. I've rewritten every chapter up to this point.

Chapter 15

In My Time of Need

"When I don't know which side to take, I always go along with whoever has the prettiest girls."-Captain Hanburg "Thunderfist" Grocha. Quote from "A Murderous Wench," book two in the popular adventure serial, "Hanburg's Renegades." First published 3E 341

The salmon fought fiercely, leaping into the air with all its might, scales reflecting the sun brilliantly. But its heroic efforts would be for nothing because Hammel didn't intend to lose the battle with this fish.

The rod strained in his hands, line taunt. Hammel gritted his teeth and reefed, "Come on, you bastard," he growled, "Give up." He'd been battling the fish for almost a minute, huffing and puffing, his cracked ribs crying in pain.

Lydia didn't offer to help him. The first time she had, he'd nearly screamed at her, leaving her cooly amused after he'd lost that particular salmon. She wasn't going to help him with this one, thanks to his own stupid pride. Fishing while leaning on crutches wasn't the easiest task, as he was now discovering.

Still, better a day on the river than one in the house.

He was fishing the old Nordic way. He'd found the bucket of worms and supplies announcing there was good fishing to be found, left his own pile of worms and maggots to aid the next fisherman who came along, and got started. After a few hours of fishing he was still battling salmon.

"The mighty Dragonborn, bested by a salmon!" Lydia taunted, smiling like an imp as she did.

He ignored her and fought on.

Thanks to his stubbornness, fire and grit, Hammel managed to pull the salmon out of the White River with a triumphant, "Ha! Take that fish!" He pumped his fist, instantly hissing in pain from his shattered ribs.

Lydia caught him before he fell. "Woah there, Thane. Let's not break those ribs again." While her tone was lighthearted enough, the concern seemed genuine. He let the Housecarl guide him back onto the campstool before passing him his crutches.

Hammel stretched out his legs with a sigh. "Thanks Lydia," he paused, "Could you please wrap the fish and get my pipe? Thank you."

She answered, "Happy to serve," with her tongue planted firmly in her cheek. Still, she passed his pipe and began wrapping the fish. "It'll take us a bit to get home with your leg and chest in that condition. Please let me catch a few more salmon before we leave so this trip won't be a waste."

"I'll catch another salmon Lydia, have a little faith," Hammel responded with a grin. As the tobacco smoke flowed freely, he leaned back, adding, "Though if you want to try your hand, feel free to catch a few to add to the pile."

Lydia smirked and picked up the rod. "My parents taught me well, Thane. I'm a pretty good fisherman."

It turned out, she was.

If I wasn't so hurt I'd be able to catch a few more. I'm bringing her back here when my ribs heal to prove it.

It was midday, the sun was shining, the various farms and Whiterun herself faintly visible in the distance, all illuminated by the sun's rays. Travellers had been constantly walking along the road, a combination of merchants and mercenaries, who didn't bother interacting with Hammel and Lydia. After all, fishermen along the White River were hardly exceptional.

It was around the fourth fish Lydia caught that they were approached by the Alik'r warriors. The two men were dressed in the traditional Redguard style, complete with head scarfs and cloaks. Scimitars were strapped to their waists, the curved swords gleaming like the salmon's scales.

"Excuse me, my friend," the leader of the two said, "Do you have a moment to talk?" They seemed friendly enough, though Hammel hadn't seen either before. Neither he nor Lydia were wearing armor, but both were armed and he was confident that if this was an ambush, they'd win the fight.

Putting down his pipe, and slowly moving his hand notably towards the handle of his axe, Hammel said, "Yeah, I've got a few minutes. What can we do for you?"

Keeping their hands visible, the Alik'r approached slowly, giving a gesture of peace, "We're looking for a woman, a foreigner to these lands. A Redguard like us. She's a fugitive, likely operating under an assumed name. We believe she's hiding somewhere inside Whiterun." He gave a forced smile, "But we're not allowed inside anymore."

"As Thane of that city, I'd like to know why." Hammel's voice was firm and unyielding.

"That's unimportant, Thane. But rest assured, we pose no threat to your city. She, however, might be a significant one."

"How so?"

"We believe she's a collaborator with the Aldmari Dominion, who betrayed at least one city in Hammerfell to them." He tried to present a sympathetic face, attempting to sway Hammel against this mysterious Redguard woman. "The deaths of those men and women are on her head, and her hands." He paused, looking sympathetic, or at least attempting to, "I wouldn't put it past her to do the same to Whiterun, in fact, she may already be laying the groundwork for sabotage." He looked at Hammel with an obvious sense of patriotism, "So, if the money we're offering for information about her isn't enough motivation, and it is quite a large sum, do it for the city."

Hammel responded with a simple, "I'll think about it."

"That's all we ask," the Alik'r warrior responded warmly enough. "If you learn anything, and you would like the reward we offer, seek us out in Rorikstead. We'll be waiting." By way of response, Hammel gave a thoroughly noncommittal grunt. The warrior bowed politely and smiled, his teeth exceedingly white. Without another word, the Alik'r turned on their heels and began the long journey to Rorikstead.

Lydia and Hammel were silent, watching the pair disappear over the horizon. Once it was obvious they were out of earshot Lydia said, "Is that something you want to get involved in?"

"I don't know," Hammel said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "He wasn't telling us the whole truth, that's for damn sure."

"Are you certain?" Lydia responded sarcastically, unable to prevent the chuckle from escaping her lips.

"Pretty much," Hammel looked towards the White River thoughtfully, "Still, if there is a Dominion agent hiding inside Whiterun, I should do something about it."

I wouldn't want to lose another city to the Dominion. It'll be Free Elsweyr all over again.

"Do you have any idea where to look?" Lydia asked.

Hammel paused again, "I do. But first, I need to catch another salmon. Then I'll need a faithful Housecarl to lean on so I can make it back to town. I'm thinking about visiting The Bannered Mare tonight."

Lydia smiled, "Not a bad idea."

Galmar pulled his axe out of the unfortunate Imperial's neck, nearly severing the man's head. The carnage had been brief but bloody. Not a single Legionnaire had made it through the Barrow's doors to warn the others, leaving the Stormcloaks free to plan their assault.

"Search the bodies," Galmar ordered, voice rumbling like a rockslide. "One of them is bound to have a key for this gods-damned door! Find it!"

Snow was gently falling, blanketing everything in a dusting of white. Galmar resembled an angry bear, his breath coming in great gusts of mist. Lianna knew this mission was his suggestion, he'd pushed Ulfric to send them after the crown, and he didn't intend to let anyone, or anything, stop him. Neither did she. If the future High King needed the Jagged Crown she would die before letting it fall into Imperial hands.

Ralof was searching corpses, steam rising in the air as warm blood melted the snow. Lianna gave her husband a hand, bending low in the snowdrifts. Her warpaint was smeared, her hair coated in snow, and the tips of her pointed ears turning blue. Wool gloves kept her hands warm, but made opening pouches difficult. In frustration, Lianna began ripping the cheap leather apart, digging through its contents. She found nothing in the pouch, so with a growl, moved on to the next.

It was Natala who found the key. She waved Galmar over, clutching a leather strap in her hand, a blood-stained key dangling from it.

"Form up men!" Galmar barked, waving them over. A predatory grin rippled across his craggy face, as if he could see the crown and feel its weight in his hands. His anticipation infected the rest of the Stormcloaks, each unwilling to fail the Jarl they loved.

"Listen up!" Galmar began, looking at the gathered Stormcloaks. "Resting somewhere inside that Barrow is the Jagged Crown." A low murmur rippled through the rebels. All had heard the legend of the Jagged Crown and knew it was their target, but hearing its name aloud made the legend real. Galmar noticed their awe and leaned into it.

"Yes, that crown, made from dragon's teeth and legend, is still resting on the head of a long dead king. It's within our reach." He closed his fist dramatically, as if grasping the crown. "We don't know how many Imperials are lurking within the Barrow, trying to get it for their false queen. We don't know what traps or guardians the dead king Borgas left behind. But I do know this," he let the words hang in the air a moment before they fell like the snowflakes, "No amount of Imperials, or Daedra, or even Mehrunes Dagon himself, will keep me from that crown!" He pumped his fist in the direction of the Barrow and charged it.

Natala sprinted ahead, key in hand. She gave a moment's pause, allowing the others to draw their weapons, before slipping the key into the lock, nodding at Galmar, and throwing the doors open.

The doors opened, revealing a foyer with a roaring fire at its centre. Two baffled Legionaries gawked as the Stormcloaks rushed inside, while a third turned from his stewpot to face them.

Galmar cleaved the first man's head in two with a powerful strike from his axe while Lianna disembowelled the other. As that Legonarie collapsed,Thangar fired an arrow at the man by the stew. The arrow struck him in the neck, sending him backwards into the cauldron, knocking it over and spilling a mess of stew everywhere, extinguishing the fire. Blood and stew flowed together, creating a strangely pleasant smell.

The door opposite to the Stormcloaks flew open, and a grim-faced Legion captain strode through it. He was tall, obviously Imperial by birth, and wore a proud moustache.

Snatching a throwing axe from his belt, Galmar hurled it across the chamber with a snarl. The deadly missile shattered the captain's skull, sticking from his head like a macabre unicorn horn. The captain collapsed in a heap with a faint gargle.

The Stormcloaks rushed over the body, running down the tunnels deeper into the Barrow. The sounds of bellowed orders and rushing men echoed upwards, signalling that the Legion was preparing for the attack.

Lianna smiled like a hungry wolf.

Let the dogs prepare, it won't save them from us.

A wooden door blocked the Stormcloak advance but was no hindrance for Galmar Stone-Fist. Lianna watched as, without slowing, the burly man put his shoulder to the door, shattering it. The Stormcloaks followed, pouring through the empty door behind him.

The battle that followed flashed through Lianna's mind. A Legionnaire armed with a pickaxe rushed her, but she slew him with a quick slash across the throat. Another engaged her with blades and was likewise slain. A third soldier, a large Redguard with a shield and mace, followed, growling a war cry. A swift downward strike removed his hand and the following one his head. Lianna watched morbidly as it bounced away, body sinking to the floor.

The fight was quick and brutal. The chamber quieted, as if mourning the fallen warriors on both sides. Breathing heavily, Lianna took stock of Stormcloak losses. Vorth was down, his wounds clearly mortal, Ralvin was moaning audibly, clutching the stump where his left hand had once been, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Fallen Imperials littered the room and, judging from their number, the Stormcloaks had done remarkably well.

Ralvin groaned again, fur gauntlet stained red with rapidly leaking blood. After noticing Ralvin, Galmar waved Lianna over, "Do something with him," he ordered sharply, "We need to keep moving before Imperial reinforcements arrive."

"I don't know any healing..."

Galmar cut her off, "You know fire. That should be enough."

She almost protested, but a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her of the importance of this mission. She nodded curtly to her commander, before approaching Ralvin. The injured man grimaced painfully up at her. "Am I going to die?" He growled out, between clenched teeth, trying to project some levity into his words.

She shook her head. "Hardly, it's just a scratch." She smiled, trying to ease his discomfort. "I need you to hold out your..." she paused, trying to think of a good way to phrase her request.

Saving her the trouble and potential awkwardness, Ralvin removed his good hand from the gory stump. "Just make it quick." He requested, looking pale and nervous.

"One, two..." She began counting, readying a spell in her free hand. Ralvin winced, readying himself for the blow. Before she said three, Lianna released a quick wave of impossibly hot magical flame. The fire washed over Ralvin's stump, searing flesh and melting bone. Ralvin shrieked in pain as the wound burned closed. With surgical precision, she called back the magic flame before causing Ralvin any unnecessary harm.

He glanced down at his now cauterised wound, looked up at Lianna and winced. "You didn't count to three." His response would have been comical if he wasn't in obvious agony.

Lianna gripped his shoulder. "Bracing would have only made it worse."

"That's between me and Talos."

She was going to give him an equally pithy but sympathetic reply before being cut off. "draugr!" Ralof howled, slamming his twin axes together for emphasis, "Coming up from the crypt!"

Lianna smiled before drawing her blade. The Orcish steel sang magnificently as it came out. It would never match the chilling power of Frozen Heart, her first blade now lost to Imperial looters, but it would make short work of a few draugr. With a smile on her lips, Lianna dashed forward, ready to meet whatever foe came her way. Nothing would stop her from completing her mission. Nothing.

Lydia wasn't happy, but ultimately, she had to allow it. He didn't want her holding his hand constantly. He could go to the tavern himself, crutches or no, and ordered her to enjoy the night off. While she moaned about "being a proper shield for the Thane," he knew he was safe in Whiterun, and she knew it too.

But he wasn't here to think about Lydia and, despite what he told himself, he wasn't here just to have something to eat.

Mikael's music was playing in the background, adding some variety to the murmuring crowd. The fire was roaring, bringing some warmth to his bones, and his stomach was full of roast goat and mead. If not for that nagging question in the back of his mind he would have ordered another two meads, paid Hulda, and hobbled home to sleep off his hangover. However, that question, "is there a Dominion sleeper agent in my city?" wouldn't leave him alone. There weren't that many Redguard women in Whiterun, and there was only one with the mysterious past needed to be such an agent. Still, as Hammel watched Saadia swirl from table to table, eyes lingering on her curves, he desperately hoped he was wrong.

Well boy, do what's right for your city, not for your own ego.

Hammel drained his mug and slammed it down with more force than needed. The pain in his ribs was still sharp, and his breathing caused him to wince. Once again, he wondered why he was powering through the pain to see Saadia, alone no less. He wondered at his motivation.

He held his hand up so Saadia would see he needed a refill. She made eye-contact, smiled flirtily, and slowly approached him, swaying her hips with trained professionalism.

Here we go.

She leaned forward, pouring the mead with a smile, "Will you need anything else, Companion?" Her voice was breathy and hot, reminding him of Elsweyr, and some of the women he'd known there.

He could have let her walk away, he could have nodded and said, "No thanks, pretty lady," but instead he said, "I don't think so. But I was wondering if you could help me with something?"

She cocked an eyebrow seductively, "I probably can, what is it?" The words were flavoured with that same flirtatious tone which led to Hammel dropping a few extra Septims in her pocket on more than one occasion.

It's now or never.

"I met a couple of warriors down by the White River this afternoon, they were from Hammerfell. Alik'r, I think they were." Saadia's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, almost unnoticed. Her lips pursed, but she said nothing. "They were looking for someone, a Redguard like them." He looked at her directly, "A woman who sold a city out to The Aldmeri Dominion, and might do the same to Whiterun." She was trying to act unaffected by this information, but the growing fear in her eyes was there. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Saadia looked from side to side, before leaning in and whispering, "There's a lot that you don't know about what's going on, Hammel. I'm going to head to the back, I have a room there. Give yourself a few minutes and join me. Make sure you aren't followed and I'll tell you everything." She smiled, more for the benefit of those watching than for him. She tried to keep her walk suggestive but failed, visibly shaking as she left.

Hammel sat there, drinking from the provided mug, trying to figure out if he really wanted to follow her. He liked Saadia well enough, she wasn't Aela, who danced through his mind on occasion in ways he didn't dare share, but did like her. He didn't want to believe that she was some kind of Aldmeri agent, he wanted to believe that she liked him, but wasn't stupid enough to believe it.

After waiting the appropriate amount of time, Hammel forced himself to his feet with his crutches, groaning from the pain caused by battered ribs. No one noticed him slip into the back rooms reserved for the employees. There were a series of small doors, one of which had been left slightly ajar. Hammel pushed into it before finding himself face to face with a dagger.

"I know you're some kind of hero, Hammel Greymist, but I'll run you through if you try and take me! Are you working with them? Do you think I'm an easy mark?" The dagger point was shaking and, despite her best efforts to appear brave, Saadia was obviously panicking.

Hammel held up his hands slowly, bracing on the crutches, "Easy, Saadia, I haven't agreed to anything yet, but if you are who they say you are, I have a responsibility to protect my city."

"So why aren't you here with a squad of guards?"

"Because I want to hear your side of the story first. I'm not sure who to trust, but the dagger's not helping."

Saadia grimaced, nodded, and sheathed her dagger. "I'm sorry, I've just been on the run for so long, I don't know who to trust anymore." She pinched the bridge of her nose and said sadly, "My name is Iman and back home in Hammerfell I'm a noble of House Suda. My family opposed The Dominion, publicly, and they paid the price for it. I'm the only one left." Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them away, "The Dominion has put a large price on my head, and these so-called "Alik'r," are simply hired killers looking to trade my blood for gold. They'll drag me back to Hammerfell for execution without trial to prop up their regime. Please help me, I don't know who else I can trust." She looked at him desperately, trying to convince him. "Please Hammel, these men are ruthless vicious killers. They'll do anything to get me. I don't know anyone else to turn to. I'd be so grateful…" The last word was breathed out in that same tone of voice that always got the tips. She moved a step towards him, and he felt heat on his face.

"Maybe…tell me a little more about this group of assassins? How did they find you?" Hammel was trying to make sense of her story but she was standing so close to him, and she was so beautiful, he was finding it difficult to focus.

"They're a particularly dedicated band, they've tracked me all across Tamriel. Their leader Klamatu, has sworn to collect the price on my head. If you can find and kill him, I imagine the rest would flee back into the desert like cowards." She took another step forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, her dark eyes gazing longingly into his own, breath hot against his face. "There must be someone who knows where Klamatu is hiding, it should be no trouble for a noble Companion like you to track him down and kill him."

"Kill him?" Hammel muttered, trying and failing to focus on anything but Saadia's eyes.

"With Klamatu gone, I can live here in Whiterun, forever. Safe. Do you want that?" She asked, breathing again. Hammel was nodding before her lips crashed into his. His crutches fell to the floor with a clatter he didn't hear.

He was taking Saadia into his arms, tearing at her clothes while she did the same to his. As they fell into her rickety bed, Hammel could hear Arcadia's warning in the back of his mind about "not straining his body," but he ignored it.

This was an injury he was willing to suffer.

Markarth was a city of stone, and a city of sin. For not the first time as he walked its ancient stone streets, Tyranus, of the Vigilants of Stendarr, loathed it. He could smell the Daedra worship, he knew it emanated from somewhere within this festering heart of darkness called a city. If he could only find it.

Once again he missed the company of Vigilant Durgaz, his former protege who used to accompany him on such ventures. Two Vigilants were far better than one, but one could bring Stendarr's wrath if need be. Still, Durgaz had his own tasks to accomplish over in Whiterun Hold, when they met again they'd swap stories, for now, Tyranus wanted to learn the secret of the house before him.

There was nothing that should make this particular house of stone command Tyranus' attention, yet it did. None of the locals seemed to recognize it, or even acknowledge it existed, they looked at the houses to the right and the left, but none would even admit the house was here. Tyranus had watched it for days and during that time no one had entered or left. There was an aura of evil, a palpable darkness, that seemed to surround it.

He thought about leaving Markarth behind, returning to Stendarr's Beacon and recruiting a team of Vigilants. However, he wasn't sure what would happen to this place if he left it behind. Would it disappear? Would Markarth be consumed by Daedra like the Oblivion crisis of the Third Era? And what of the evil he was certain lived within that house?

If only I had backup…

"Can I help you?" The voice was hard, like steel, but with a seductive quality, reminding Tyranus of a serpent. He turned to face the voice, and saw a man, Imperial like himself.

He was a tall man, broad shouldered and well-muscled, with a proud black moustache on his lip. His hair was cut short, dark like a starless night. He was free of notable markings save for one thin duelling scar across his cheek. His eyes were dark brown and he was exceptionally pale, with a hawk-like nose and strong chin.

"And you are?" Tyranus asked, not quite sure about this man, who perhaps was delivered to him by the Eight in his hour of need.

"My name is Nero, Claudius Nero, and I'm an adventurer. I couldn't help but notice you were paying attention to this building, everyone else seems to ignore it."

"I've noticed the same."

"I'd feel much more confident in my investigations with a Vigilant of Stendarr by my side. I can feel this house's evil, it's in the very stones."

"Nero, you are an enemy of the Daedra?" Tyranus struggled to believe, but it seemed true, he'd found a righteous man in the city of evil.

Nero smiled, "Absolutely! Come, Vigilant, let's go into this house and meet our destiny."

Tyranus nodded and thanked the Eight once again that they'd sent him Claudius Nero. Surely the two of them could put this evil to rest. The Daedra Lord behind it all would regret opposing the Vigillants.

Hammel woke up with a sudden start. He was in a strange bed, the open window let in a faint breeze which sent chills along his sweat-covered form. Next to him, Saadia mumbled in her sleep but didn't wake.

His dreams were disturbed. Azura was trying to tell him something, or maybe warn him about someone. Hammel saw a dark man in a city of stone. He was a servant of evil, and he would be his enemy.

Was that all real? What am I doing?

He wasn't sure if it was a real dream or a real vision, perhaps it was Azura, perhaps it was nothing.

It was late and so he rolled over, snuggled up next to Saadia and went back to sleep.

He'd deal with it all tomorrow.