Aoife wasn't sure what she'd done to end up in the cell. The last thing she remembered was travelling to Helgen to collect a package; the next moment, she had roused to painful fists in her side and a knife at her throat, held by a smirking Thalmor Justiciar.
She'd been asked questions she didn't know the answers to; things about dragons, things about Blades, and things about necromancy. Aoife knew her tattoos were strange, but no-one had accused her of being a necromancer before. With each plea and incorrect answer, the pain came, until eventually they took what mattered most to her, and she couldn't speak through the vomit in her mouth.
The Thalmor had discarded her when she'd grown silent, unable to speak, unable to move, and she was pretty sure she'd been left in the cell to rot. At one point there had been a riot. A massive rumbling had been heard overhead, and the other prisoners had broken out. They had been cut down, of course, but Aoife had stayed in her cell, laying on her side, eyes unfocused. What did it matter if she escaped? There was nothing out there for her any more. The Imperial guards had fled at the same time; cursing about a rockfall and potential flooding; duties didn't matter – the Thalmor didn't matter – when it came to potentially being trapped in a watery grave.
But it didn't flood, and with time, the Thalmor returned.
The man they carried between the four of them – Divines, what kind of person needed four Thalmor to transport them?! – was limp, and Aoife would bet that they'd used the same paralysing poison on him that they'd used on her. The first feelings in a while stirred in her gut as she heard the shackles click into place. The very same shackles she'd been in what felt like an age ago.
Later that night, Aoife stifled her cries with her fist as the crack of the whip came down.
In the haze of flashbacks and dissociation, she recognised some of the questions the Thalmor asked, some of them being the same that she was asked. They were also asking about his sword a lot. Aoife didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his answers, which started as sarcastic, and then devolved into pure profanity. He lasted longer than her before he started screaming.
Though the abandoned prison had never been livelier, Aoife hadn't been visited once. She was almost convinced that they'd forgotten she was even there. Fresh water was no longer a commodity, and she had never been so glad to learn the small amount of ice magic she had. Frost would form in her palms, and she would allow it to melt for just the barest amounts of hydration; she had learned the hard way to steer clear of water she wasn't sure about.
Time flowed freely in the prison, and her neighbour was brought out on many occasions to be questioned. The Thalmor were more thorough with the man, apparently not believing him when he'd said the sword was an heirloom, that he didn't know anything about it.
Aoife had never once counted the days, but she was beginning to wish she had. The prisoner garb she had been shoved into at some point was hanging off of her frame, and her skin felt paper thin. The average body could go two months without food, and she wasn't exactly the most well-fed person on Nirn to begin with. How long did she have left?
The rattling of a key in her cell door roused her from the uneasy rest she had found herself in, and she squinted against the light of the torch to see one of the Thalmor that had taken her initially. A surprised bark of laughter left his mouth, and Aoife felt her blood run cold at the glint in his eyes.
"You're still alive? Oh my, now isn't this a surprise!" he chuckled, stepping forwards. Aoife's eyes widened, but she couldn't make herself move as he stepped closer toward her; she was too weak, too tired.
"I wonder if the other one will be more talkative if there was someone else at stake?" the Thalmor thought aloud.
As he bent down to grab the back of her collar, Aoife panicked; her mind became overwhelmed with the memories of what they had done to her, and she screamed.
The Thalmor's body flew across the room and his head hit the flagstone hard enough that the cracking of his skull was audible. As he crumpled to the floor, a trail of blood and viscera followed where he had impacted. Aoife wanted to scream again, her senses undone by what she had just witnessed, but her instincts made her cover her mouth before she did. If a simple scream had done this, what would more do? She was still for several minutes, staring at the body in shock before she finally lowered her hands from her mouth. No-one had come to investigate, so either the place was empty, or they didn't care. Aoife hoped it was the former.
For the first time in an age, she tried to stand.
Her world spun dangerously as she did so, and she crashed onto her knees, scraping her palms against the floor. One thing she hadn't accounted for was the loss of balance. Aoife grit her teeth however, and tried to stand again. Her vision blurred as she did so, but she was determined to get out of the prison if it was the last thing she did. As shaky as a newborn foal, she staggered towards the open cell, even this exhausting her. Before she could collapse again, however, she spotted a small table in an alcove. On it was a keyring, and a few health potions. Aoife staggered over, her hands clumsily grasping for the first bottle she saw. She fell to her knees once more as she uncorked the potion and gulped it down. A white swirling mist engulfed her, and she could feel the strength returning to her legs, and her mind felt clearer than it had in a long while. She drew in a shuddering breath, and let the tears fall freely.
Freedom was so close.
Her balance was still off as she stood, but she was holding her own weight, so she counted that as a success. With fresh but watery eyes, she glanced about the prison to try and orient herself to where an exit could be. The main way out seemed to have collapsed, and she briefly recalled the thundering noise before the mass breakout however long ago it was. She looked to her right and stumbled.
The man that had been brought in was hanging by shackles, his long, dark hair lank over his face and matted with blood; but it was nothing compared to his back. Aoife's own back resonated with sympathy pain as she took in the torn skin and ribbons of flesh; the coagulated puddles of blood at the hem of his slacks; the ashy pallor of his skin that likely would have been a beautiful tan. She glanced down at the keys in her hand and the spare potions and didn't even doubt the decision she was about to make. Using the cell bars for support, she eased her way over to the door, wincing at the loud 'click' in the otherwise silence as she inserted the correct key and turned it.
She made her way over to him with difficulty, and as soon as she approached, he tensed. Aoife froze as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous; far from the sarcastic cadence it had had when he'd first been brought in.
"When I get out of here, I'll kill you all."
A shiver made it's way up Aoife's spine at the fatal promise in the man's voice, and her steps faltered slightly, causing her to stumble forward. She caught herself on a cell bar nearby however, and the man's gaze finally met hers. Her eyes widened at the blood red irises, and she felt her heart thud heavily in her chest. There was something about the man that she couldn't place, but it felt as though her blood was singing out in connection. The sensation ceased as he broke eye contact, roaming his view up and down her body before frowning.
"You're not… with the Thalmor?" he grit out – obviously noticing her famished body and prisoner garb – and Aoife shook her head, still not fully trusting her voice. She decided to chance a whisper. At least that way if anything else crazy happened, he wouldn't be blasted through the stonework behind him.
"I've been in the cell in the other branch of rooms. I…" she trailed off, not sure how to explain to him what had happened.
"I escaped. He won't be coming after us," she whispered. He was obviously straining to hear her, but she didn't want to risk anything. The man before her had been through a lot, and she would rather burn in the fires of Oblivion before adding to that pain. Instead, she held up what she thought to be the key to the shackles and took a wobbly step forward.
"I can help," she promised, and after a moment's hesitation, the man nodded. Aoife swallowed and slowly approached, leaning carefully around him to unlock one of his shackles. He grunted in pain and relief as his first arm came free, and Aoife let out a huff, also relieved. She was just about to go to the other shackle when a strong hand caught her wrist in a tight grip. The touch felt as though it was burning, but she didn't dare recoil, the sensation bringing her comfort. She did freeze in place, however.
"I swear, if this is some trick, I won't hesitate to end you," he advised roughly, his grip tightening further. Aoife nodded wordlessly and swallowed, meeting his red eyes once more.
"I swear it," she breathed, and he nodded, letting her go. The second shackle came undone as easily as the first, and Aoife stumbled backwards, falling to the floor once more as the man collapsed forwards, his hands hitting the floor either side of her legs. His eyes met hers immediately, and her blood sang out.
'This man is mine to protect.'
She wondered if he felt it too.
He regarded her with curiosity and she couldn't help but squirm a little under his scrutiny. Nobody had ever looked at her with such intensity before. She could feel the flush climbing up the back of her neck and filling her cheeks as he maintained eye contact the entire time whilst sitting up, but eventually he winced, and it brought Aoife back to their predicament. With shaky hands, she felt around for where she had dropped the other two healing potions, and pressed one into his hands. He didn't even question her before pulling out the cork and drinking it. She pulled the stopper out of the second one and handed it to him.
"I know some healing magic. May I see your back?" she asked quietly. The man froze with the second potion halfway to his lips and narrowed his eyes, and Aoife resigned herself to a future of untrustworthy glances. To prove her intentions, she held her palms face-up to show the scrapes that had gathered there from her fall, and allowed the tiniest amount of healing magic to glance over them and knit the cuts back together. Seemingly appeased by this, he downed the second potion and then nodded, showing her his back.
Aoife had to bite back a cry of shock as she saw the detail of the carnage on his back. Slowly, she started to work, but before long she had grown exhausted. Though the healing potion had given her some strength back, her magicka still wasn't at full capacity.
"That's a rare gift you have there," the man muttered, and Aoife nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden conversation. She didn't feel it was safe to talk yet – the previous incident with the Thalmor notwithstanding – and so held back comments of spell tomes being simple enough to get her hands on whilst she knitted together what was left of his injuries; the healing potion had done most of the heavy lifting. There was no saving it from scarring, however.
Briefly, Aoife wondered what her own back looked like now.
As soon as she was done, he stood and faced her, offering a hand to help her up. She took it gently, surprised at the height of the man. She just barely came up to his shoulders, and she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his eyes. His frame also dwarfed her her own; though Aoife was sure the starvation from being forgotten in prison wasn't helping her case right now.
Her hand was in his for barely a moment before he withdrew; she watched in fascination as his eyes darted to the side, landing on the cell door that could now easily be unlocked and exited through. A brief moment made her panic, however; he would easily be able to overpower her, and she held the key to his release. Something in her blood told her he was safe, though.
"Think you're good to go?" Aoife whispered, and the man nodded. She smiled as far as she could – it was more just a quirk of the lips – before he cleared his throat.
"Wait, there's one more thing," the man started, and Aoife met his gaze, unable to pull herself away from it. Whether the man noticed the effect he was having on her or not, he didn't show it. Instead, he bit his lip and checked the hallway again.
"One of the fuckers took my sword. I know I've no right to ask, but if you could help me get it back, I'd be in your debt," he asked gently. Aoife didn't have to think twice about her answer, and just nodded. From the way the Thalmor had been questioning him relentlessly about it, it was obviously important.
"Of course," she agreed, and she saw him relax the slightest bit. It was strange, Aoife thought, at how such a simple gesture changed the man's entire aura. They started off towards the other side of the cell, Aoife still unbalanced, but trying to hide it. She found the correct key once more and opened the door slowly, hoping for it not to alert anyone else.
"How many are there in here?" Aoife whispered as they turned a corner, still sneaking. The man let out a quiet breath in thought.
"There should only be two in total. I've been tracking their shifts for the last two weeks," he breathed out in reply. Aoife nodded.
"Then there should only be one left," she whispered, ignoring the questioning stare that was sent her way. Their attention was diverted, however, by the sound of someone standing from a desk.
"What's taking him so long down there?" the Thalmor stated aloud to himself, and Aoife's eyes widened.
This was the mer that had violated her.
Her skin broke out in a sweat, and she fought for breath and to quell the rising bile in her throat. Though it was difficult, she forced her mind to still. It wouldn't do for her to give away their position and lose any advantage. She was scared though. She didn't have a weapon on her, and though she was sure the man next to her would be able to handle himself in the fight, she could barely stand or keep herself balanced.
She did have a small amount of magic, however.
The Thalmor passed by their hiding place, and Aoife's eyes widened at the size of the sword on the mer's back. Before she could think too much about it, however, she stepped out from her spot silently and charged her hand full of electricity.
His scream brought delight to her heart.
The metal armour was no match for the currents coursing through her veins, and the Thalmor collapsed to his knees. The other prisoner stepped out, kicking him in the back to knock him down properly before getting on top of him to try and grab the sword. Aoife stood back, not wanting to get between the two, but wanting to help nonetheless. She had just made up her mind and stepped forward when the prisoner was blasted back into her from a large pulse of magic.
White spots danced behind her eyelids as her back hit a stone wall and she crumpled down amongst a weapon rack, wheezing. Her vision was blurry as she opened her eyes, and panic seized her once more as she saw the Thalmor approach the other man, sword drawn. Aoife struggled to her feet, grabbing an Imperial quarterstaff as she did so to steady herself. The Thalmor ignored her, thinking her to be no more than a mosquito-level threat, and raised the man's sword high.
The world around Aoife seemed to slow and icy horror gripped her guts at what was about to happen. Adrenaline coursed through her as she stepped forwards on steady legs for the first time that day, and swung the quarterstaff between the sword and the man on the floor, blocking the fatal blow. The Thalmor whirled around, shocked at the intervention, and his eyes widened in recognition.
"Why you insolent little-"
He didn't get to finish the sentence before Aoife had redirected the sword and hit him in the head with the back end of her quarterstaff with all her might. He crumpled to the floor out cold, but Aoife didn't stop hitting. She cried out as she brought down the quarterstaff again and again and again on what used to be his head until hands grabbed her arms, stopping her ministrations.
"Whoa there! Easy!"
Aoife had completely forgotten about the man that was with her, so focused on bringing pain to the mer that had destroyed her life, but the moment his hands touched her bare skin, she felt the fight leave her. He cried out in shock as she collapsed to her knees, sobbing with grief.
The two of them sat under an outcrop set deep in a forested areas next to a stream a couple of hours' walk from the prison. They had tried to go further, but Aoife's balance issues were slowing them down, and the man's back was rubbing the wrong way in his armour, so he had made the executive decision to stop and rest properly for a while whilst they sorted themselves out. His name was Kaidan, Aoife learned. He hadn't been too far from Falkreath when the Thalmor had ambushed him and taken him prisoner.
"What about you? How did you end up in that forsaken place?" Kaidan asked, handing Aoife her pack of belongings that had been collecting dust at the back of a cupboard in the prison. Aoife shrugged, opening the pack and hoping it hadn't been ransacked too much.
"I was just on my way to Helgen to pick up a parcel, the next thing I know I'm in a cell," Aoife whispered, still not used to talking after having gone for so long without doing so. At her answer, Kaidan's face twisted in disgust.
"Sons of bitches, the lot of them," he spat, easing his own pack onto his lap. Aoife risked taking a glance at the man beside her now that they were relaxing, and frowned. She was still feeling the inexplicable tugging towards him; she had initially thought it was due to their shared need for survival, but it was just as present in the safety of the alcove as it had been in the moment she had found him shackled. She shook her head slightly, and returned to her pack.
Her stash of potions had been taken, as well as any documentation she'd had, including her journal. She doubted they'd gotten much use out of it, considering it had mostly been filled with drawings of Tamriel's landscapes, with an odd poem here or there. Still, it bothered her that it hadn't been returned to her pack, and that she couldn't find it when they had been scouring the prison for clues afterwards. She couldn't even locate her armour, and everything that had been left in the prison was either extremely ill-fitting or too heavy.
"Ah, nice one!" Aoife startled as she watched Kaidan fish out his camping supplies from his pack and grin at the fact they were still there. There had been no such luck with her own pack.
The only thing that had been left was her amulet of Mara and a pair of pyjamas.
Aoife bit back the tears at the sight of her empty pack, trying instead to feel happy for Kaidan that he at least seemed to have a lot of his things left. She guessed it was difference between how long they had been in their cells for. After a moment she cleared her throat and turned to Kaidan.
"Do-" she cleared her throat again as it stuck on the next words. "Do you have a sewing kit I could borrow please?" she asked quietly. It was then that his eyes took in her deflated pack with all she had been left with around her, and he bristled at the lack of belongings. She was still in her prison rags whereas he was in full armour.
"I've uh, I've got a spare shirt, if you'd like to use that for now instead? Better than walking around in just pyjamas, eh?" he offered, and Aoife perked up at the kindness being shown, her eyes watering. Kaidan had to glance away as he handed her said shirt. It was a bit musty from being stuffed at the bottom of his pack for weeks, but it was better than what she was currently wearing. The pyjama trousers she had would blend well with the shirt, and so she wouldn't look too odd in her outfit, he thought. The only difficulty now would be getting her a pair of shoes. Kaidan still had some gold in his pack, and thought it would only be fair to get her a pair at the next cobblers or leather workers they came across after she had saved his life.
Twice.
"I'll send some money with a courier when I make my next delivery," Aoife replied, gingerly folding the shirt and placing it atop her pack to keep it clean. She was desperate to get out of her prison rags and into something more comfortable, but before that, she wanted a wash. Her long hair was matted and she was covered in prison grime – not to mention the gore from the Thalmor she had unleashed all her rage on.
Beside her, Kaidan frowned. He hadn't expected any payment for the shirt, and the fact Aoife had mentioned sending money with a courier didn't sit right with him. He owed her a life-debt, and yet she was clearly going to part ways with him and send him money for a shirt he hadn't thought twice about giving away. Just before the silence stretched into being uncomfortable, Kaidan cleared his throat.
"You could. Or, maybe I could repay you for your kindness," he started. Aoife looked at him, confused. There was a small tug in his gut as he met her eyes, a slate grey with flecks of blue. He didn't know why it was only now that the view of them shocked him – perhaps he had been too out of it in the prison to notice? Or perhaps it was how the fading light of the day was hitting them? He mentally shook himself from the thoughts of her eyes and continued with what he had been thinking, albeit a little shakier than before.
"Look, I owe you my life. And I ain't a man who's comfortable being in debt," he continued. Aoife opened her mouth to argue, but Kaidan raised his hand to signal her to stop. He needed to get the next words out before he lost his nerve and let his saviour walk into the wilds of Skyrim with nothing but his shirt and her pyjama bottoms.
"If you have need of me, I'd be glad to fight alongside you until that debt is repaid," he offered. Aoife bit her lip at the offer and averted her eyes to watch a flock of wild birds roost in a tree for the coming night. On the one hand, having company watch her back as she got accustomed to her new way of life would put her mind at ease; but on the other hand, the man clearly stood out amongst a crowd. How could she feel safe if the Thalmor were still looking for him? Kaidan could clearly sense her indecision, and he shifted uncomfortably.
"You don't have to make a decision right away, but I'd encourage sticking together until we get to the next town at least," he stated gently, and Aoife nodded, seeing the sense in his words.
"Thank you, Kaidan. I'll think about it, I promise," she told him, meeting his eyes. Once more she felt her blood rushing as she did so, and knew that her mind had been made up for her. She cleared her throat and blushed as she asked him for yet another favour.
"Do you have any soaps I could borrow? I'd very much like to have a wash before settling down for the night," she asked. Kaidan hummed in reply, routing around for the bar of soap he kept wrapped inside a course cloth.
"Make sure you get the bloodstains out, aye?" he tried to joke. Aoife attempted a smile as she stood, the unco-ordination now a common occurrence for her. Kaidan watched her from where he sat, feeling as though he should help, but not wanting to push again so soon. He handed her the clean shirt from where she had forgotten to grab it and waved her ahead. She had only gone a couple of paces before she turned to him again.
"May I also borrow a knife, please?" she asked. Kaidan raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as he handed her a small dagger that had been tucked into his boot, presuming it would be for protection against any of the various creatures Skyrim had to offer.
When she returned almost an hour later, the sun had set and Kaidan had built a small campfire with his supplies. There was only one bedroll, however, and he had placed in under the small canvas tent, which was nestled as far back as it could go in the outcropping. As he glanced up to see her, he felt his heart stutter.
Free of the prison grime, she looked positively radiant. The pale blue tattoos that had been buried beneath the dirt accented her facial features delightfully, and adorned only in his shirt and her pyjama trousers, she looked to be young; at oldest thirty. It was then that he noticed her hair. Previously, it had been matted into a long plait, but now it had been cut short, the ends only just coming past her chin; it was almost silver in the moonlight, but the firelight accented the warm blonde undertones that were hidden beneath.
Kaidan forced himself to stop staring when she placed the wash kit atop his pack and moved to approach the fire.
"Thank you, Kaidan. Is there anything I can do to help around camp?" she asked softly, which he struggled to hear over the crackling fire. He shook his head, now self-conscious about the state of his own hair.
"Nah, you're good. Though I wouldn't mind if you sat tight whilst I also had a wash. If you need me, give me a shout. I won't be too far," he reassured her, and she nodded, staring intently at the fire.
With Kaidan away from camp, Aoife didn't know what to do with herself. When she had been washing herself, there had been a task to do, and so her thoughts hadn't wandered too far. But now, as she stared into the flames, her eyes stinging from the heat, she felt lost. She still didn't know how long she had been in the prison for, and it was unlikely that her package was still waiting for her; it was also going to be very difficult to explain her absence to her employer. That was if he hadn't fired her for not showing, which was very likely.
She was penniless.
She was jobless.
She was homeless.
But at least she was alive. Crippled, broken, and tortured- but alive.
There had to be a way for her to make some more coin somehow, and until then, she just had to survive in the wilds. She had done it before, scraped by for long enough that she could pick up another contract or odd-job from between towns, but it would be hard for anyone to take her seriously without armour or a weapon. Aoife was seriously considering asking her companion to just dump her at the closest Temple of Mara before he came back, barely making a sound as he moved. If she hadn't been on such high alert, she would have been scared out of her skin.
"Nothin' like a cold dip to get the blood flowing," he spoke happily, and Aoife attempted to smile at the optimism he showed. The smile didn't get very far before he sat down next to her, and she tensed. A chill radiated from his body from the cold water, but soon he seemed to be absorbing and redistributing the heat from the fire. He had dressed down out of his armour, but still kept his sword close, and Aoife wondered what was so special about it that he had been tortured for information. The thoughts of her own interrogation and torture crossed her mind briefly and she shuddered. Beside her, Kaidan frowned.
"Cold?" he asked, but Aoife shook her head. The fire was doing a grand job of keeping her warm, and Kaidan then seemed to understand where her head was at. He fell silent, also staring at the flames.
It was some time before Aoife felt brave enough to venture the question. She glanced to Kaidan several times before opening her mouth, and by that point he had caught on to her hesitance.
"Kaidan?" she asked quietly, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them.
"Aye?" he responded just as quietly, trying to seem nonchalant, but finding it difficult not to catch on to the woman's nervousness. Aoife swallowed the lump around her throat and took a deep breath.
"Do you know how long you were down there for?" she asked, wincing when he stilled at the question. Gently, she turned her head to meet his eyes, trying to ignore the tugging as she did so. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him swallow in nervousness, and took the moment to look away out of courtesy. Kaidan's gaze returned to the flames.
"A little over two months," he replied tersely, the answer hanging heavy in the air. Aoife felt the air get pulled from her lungs, and she struggled to breathe. The answer he'd given her couldn't be correct, could it? She should have perished in the prison without proper food and water for that long- no wonder the Thalmor had been so surprised she was still alive. Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands and she chewed on her cheek.
"What about you?" Kaidan asked in return, his jaw clenching. Aoife squeezed her eyes closed and attempted to steady her breathing.
"I… I don't know. I was brought in long before you," she replied quickly. Kaidan hissed in a sharp breath at her answer and was silent a moment longer before he started the conversation back up.
"What was the last date you remember?" he asked gently, as if trying not to spook her. Aoife turned to watch his profile, momentarily distracted by the blood-red tattoo that marked his face. She frowned in though, sifting through her memories to try and find the last date she had written in her journal.
"It was First Seed. I think the twenty-second," she replied. Kaidan turned quickly to look at her, not hiding the shock on his face. Aoife was puzzled by this, but the puzzlement quickly gave way to terror.
"What year is it, Kaidan?" she asked desperately, hoping that his answer would be as she expected, but deep in her heart she it wouldn't.
"Fourth Era, 201," he replied softly, as if to ease the blow. Aoife felt as though she was free-falling, her head was spinning, and her vision tunnelled.
She had been imprisoned for almost two years.
Kaidan had reached out just in time to stop Aoife from fainting into the fire. The woman was light – dangerously so – but he expected little else when she'd given him the last date she remembered. First Seed wasn't for another month, so she had spent at least the better part of a year in the Thalmor prison. The way she had reacted to the year made him feel it had been longer than that, however. It was a wonder she still had any of her mind left.
There had been times during his own capture that had him questioning his sanity and if he'd be better off left for dead. When Aoife had appeared before him, he was certain Kyne herself was unshackling him to take him to Sovngarde. But instead, there was her. Limp in his arms and finally breathing evenly, her hair a bright halo in the lights of Masser and Secunda. He gently eased her into his arms and lifted her to the bedroll that had been set up. He had been intending to offer it to her anyway.
With the knowledge that traps had been set around the camp to keep them safe, Kaidan settled in front of the fire, and willed himself to sleep as a free man.