Kathodos: A Return of Exiles

[Dabiene Caristiana]

I'm gonna reread the story so I get caught up again. I read at a decent pace so I might read it all by the time 15 is up on here Can't wait to reread it! And for chapter 15 of course. Keep on writing!

(Btw, I don't mind rereading. I like the story so it's like seeing an epic movie again loool or a favorite one. I usually don't reread stories unless I like them so )

 

[Primrose the huntress]

This is absolutely amazing! You did a really good job I might have to start writing soon

 

[Docta Corvina]

Just wanted to give a shout out to my awesome readers - you guys are amazing with all of your support!

I'm currently working on Chapter 15 of course, but I'm also working on some more graphicy things to celebrate over 9,000 views and almost 10,000!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Also, will be working on a few moddy mods as part of the celebration. I know Bulba will be pleased.

 

[bulbaquil]

Also, will be working on a few moddy mods as part of the celebration. I know Bulba will be pleased.

I have been summoned, I see

 

[Docta Corvina]

I have been summoned, I see

Haha, just remarking. I know you've been keen on some moddy goodies for a while now and I've been slow. D: But I am working on it. Still trying to see if I can package everyone together with all their required files. Otherwise I can do totally vanilla versions. But...that's less fun!

 

[The Phoenician]

This has been a great read. Keep up the good work.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Thank you everyone! I appreciate your readership, as always!

I'm still working on Chapter 15 - it's proving a longer chapter even more so than 14. So it should be worth the wait. I hope. There's a lot going on!

 

[Docta Corvina]

SOON.

...I'm in editing mode. The overdue Chapter 15 will go up in a little while. Thanks for all of your continued patience, everyone!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Chapter 15

Author’s Note: This chapter features a character belonging to Bulbaquil, a Nord named Sjadbek. I have no ownership of him, I am merely including him as a guest character in this chapter with permission. In other words, if you’re an author who wants in on the sexy that is Sjadbek, you have to ask his keeper Bulbaquil first.

......

Morning found the Rift camp enveloped in an odd haze. It was not unlike the dewy mists of the fledgling day. But this was different. Thicker, like fog. But yet not quite like fog. If it had not been for the cool dampness on his skin as he moved through it, Carius would have been content to decide it was all a creation of his overly weary and disconcerted mind. The sun had begun its ascent, though it was difficult to discern as much. After finally and reluctantly rising from his bed and moving to the center of the camp, he again eyed the doctor’s tent. Empty – as it would have been had the Imperial with the troubling smile not appeared the night before. Empty – despite that same Imperial lying down to relax in refuge, and no one seeing him leave the camp in all of about a half-minute’s worth of time. Nothing remained. Not even the traces of blood that surely would have found the ground.

The young Nord Liulfr, who had been waiting for a good opportunity, approached his commander very skittishly. The Praefect greeted him with a reassuring smile, which did help ease the recruit's nerves somewhat.

"Sir...is everything alright? You've been staring at that tent for some time now."

Carius’ eyes darted to the side in thought, then back to the recruit before him. One thing he did not want was to raise suspicions, to cause his men to be more nervous than they already were due to the insufferable waiting. He was curious though. Ever so curious. He scratched his now much darker and rougher chin in contemplation.

"Did you...happen to see which way he went, the wounded man from last night? Did you see him leave?"

Liulfr blinked and cocked his head to the side. "Who, sir?"

"The red-haired man, the Imperial? You...came to tell me more about that Roscius Avienus individual while he sat there in the tent. He was being patched up by old Gnaeus."

"I...I did what, sir?"

"You...you don't remember that?"

Liulfr's face reddened as he raked a foot across the ground. "I...I know I had some mead earlier in the evening, but not nearly enough to make me forget something like that. I...I don't know what to say."

The Nord was considerably unsettled and even embarrassed. He knew that his commander, although fond of good humor, was not one to joke about something like this - it was in his voice, his demeanor. Something about the mysterious man in the tent unnerved his Praefect to an obvious extent. And that in turn worried him.

"Perhaps you were just overtired, Legionnaire." Carius smiled at the younger soldier again and then approached the doctor who had just begun to clean his instruments. The gray-haired man hummed as he worked and only looked up as the Prafect cleared his throat.

"Ah, Commander Serenus, what can I do for you this fine morning? I reckon not much, you look fine to me."

"Actually, do you remember that man you treated last night, that one that had been wounded by bandits? Did you see him leave?"

The physician finally pulled his attention away from his routine daily duties to quizzically face the officer.

"Man? Not one of ours, I take it? I'm afraid you're not getting enough sleep, Praefect. There was no one here like that last night."

"I...I saw you treat him. I was there, I saw it all, plain as day...despite it being night, of course."

"With all due respect, Commander, perhaps you yourself should take some time out to catch up on much-needed rest. We won't be in any sort of respectable shape with a leader hallucinating so!" He laughed, all of his confusion having made way for humor.

But Carius did not find it the least bit funny. Either he had hallucinated most vividly the night before - which, given his lack of rest in several days, could have been possible - or this man had in fact come to the camp and by some sort of witchcraft, managed to not only disappear completely but also to erase himself from the memories of all those who saw him. All of those, of course, except him. And that thought was enough to draw chills. But he would have to shake off those chills for now.

Just as he intended to pay his daily visit to the Quartermaster, an unfamiliar voice stopped him with an urgent shout in the breeze.

"Praefect! Praefect Serenus, I presume?" The officer turned to see an Imperial rider before him, one halfway out of breath and with one gloved hand prepared to salute. Carius nodded warily.

"Indeed, I am. Please state your business." More news? Already? I don't like this, I don't like this at all.

The messenger quickly dismounted and thrust the reins into the hands of Liulfr, who stood idly nearby. The Nord raised an eyebrow, but just shrugged it off and lead the horse away for tying off. The visitor removed his gloves and clapped them together to free the caked dirt.

"I'm afraid I must insist that we speak in private."

The man's black and closely cropped hair was itself discolored with dust, evidence of a very long and very determined journey from Solitude. He looked as if he had not even stopped for respite. Carius could certainly sympathize with his restlessness. And he fetched the other man a mug of cold water and gestured for him to follow him into the tent.

"Oh, uh, of course. Please, this way."

As soon as they were inside and sufficiently cloistered - Carius' lieutenant having put the groggy recruits to work fetching supplies and chopping wood - the messenger took a drink and leaned against the map table.

"Praefect, I trust you have received the correspondence from Solitude? Concerning a very important guest you're to be having soon?"

"Yes, I have. Erm, two or three days ago now. I've honestly begun to lose track-"

"Yet, she is still not here yet?"

Carius crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "Not as of yet."

"Well," The messenger took another gulp of water, "she was last seen in Solitude some days ago and has not been in contact since. We were sure - erm, hoping - that she'd found her way to your camp or that another that would have given her instructions to come here. But it appears that that is not the case."

"No, it's not...I assume the patrols have been notified to keep a look out?"

"Yes. Our men know who they're looking for and we're all hoping we find her before they run into her on the road. The way things have been going in this place lately, I'd say it's only a matter of time before they show their ugly faces again." He took another drink.

"'They'?"

The messenger hastily swallowed, half-choking. "My apologies...Praefect...but I am not authorized to disclose any further details at this point. I was only sent to check in with you and see if she was here. Given that she's not, I'll need to return to Solitude and get the alternative plan in motion."

Carius gave a sly grin as the emissary saluted and turned to take his leave. "This is...purely a shot in the dark, but...might the people you're obliquely referring to be called the Manes Imperii?"

As predicted, the name once more demonstrated its power to captivate, to freeze a fast mover in his tracks. The man’s mouth dropped open and he barely managed to eke out a half question.

"You...but…how do you-"

"It's just a guess, considering a man stumbled into my camp just this last evening, bleeding and wailing, and who eventually mentioned that very name to me. Told me it would save us the trouble of investigating who killed all of those poor souls near Bthalft recently. Seemed sure enough to swear that it was them who did it."

"A man? Can you describe this man? What did he look like, what was he wearing? The General will want to know this!"

"Well, it was pitch black night, so I can only share what the lantern light revealed, and that was sort of auburn hair, very, very blue eyes, a long dark gray or black coat and very nice, very fancy gloves. He was a striking sort, an odd one. Something about him seemed off, for lack of better description. He smiled a lot, that's for sure. Even despite his wound and his exhaustion."

"I suppose you didn't get a name then?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I did." He scratched his unshaven chin again, bristling with a few days growth. "I'm fairly certain he said his name was...erm...Quintus! Ah yes, that was it, Quintus! Said he hailed from Bravil. Was intending to meet 'friends' here."

"Quintus, eh? You're sure about this?"

"Positive. I rarely forget names, especially when the faces attached to them strike me so. This man's eyes, it was like they could see through me, into me. Like he was rifling through all of the secrets of my heart and mind, as he just grinned at me. It was all much too strange."

The sudden thud of the tankard on the table jolted Carius from his recollections. He looked on as the other man shifted to leave the tent and the camp behind him.

"By the gods...yes, I must ride back to Solitude without further delay. If your information pans out the way I suspect it shall, this is remarkable news! Frightening and remarkable."

But Carius was not ready to let him go just yet. Not yet. He hoped he would not have to chase the man down for more answers as he prepared for his return ride.

"I have to ask...the name seems to inspire you. You've heard it before? I know there are many Quintuses in Cyrodiil, but all the same-"

To his relief, the messenger turned back around and looked thoughtfully at the table.

"It's a name I haven't heard in many years, I'll give you that. Grew up with a Quintus back home in Anvil, but...aside from him, I'm not personally familiar with any. As you said, there are likely just too many. Though, I wonder how many have come out of Bravil in the last few decades. That might be worth looking into..."

"Also considering that he acknowledged ties to the Legion at one point in his life. I've got to admit, his attitude about that also was a touch peculiar. Surely there are records kept by the scribes back home and perhaps even here in Skyrim, up in Solitude?"

"Yes...and I'd imagine at the College of Winterhold, as well. There are some old histories and rosters and such that never see the light of day except on the rarest of occasions...such as when calamities like the ones at present occur."

As soon as the man saw the officer’s eyes widen and his brows raise, everything in him sunk with the gravity of a realized mistake. His own sight dropped to the ground and he sighed as an intrigued Carius mused aloud.

“Winterhold, eh? Indeed…I’d certainly have suspected as much…”

"Argh, you know what, forget that. Forget I said any of that. I've said too much and if the General knew, he'd have my head on a pike in short order."

"Already forgotten, friend." Carius placed a hand on the other's shoulder and re-offered him the tankard of water. For indeed the longer he could get him to stay, to speak, all the better for the Praefect. He was on his own, largely blind in this endeavor until those far more knowledgeable came to light. Speaking of which... "I also have to wonder...these special 'reinforcements' General Tullius assured me of in his letter...is there any indication of whom and what I'm to receive here? And perhaps most importantly, when?"

"Soon, Praefect. That's about all I can tell you with any certainty. As for the who and what...well, you'll just have to be surprised, I reckon. I've not the slightest idea what's detaining your Legate up in the capital, but rest assured that you'll have additional manpower and intelligence at your disposal here soon enough. In the coming days, I would wager."

"Well, I have a bad feeling we'll be needing it." Carius tried to smile through a frown, but it was to little avail. He sighed and saluted the rider as the latter found his horse and remounted, making his way back to the west and north. The Praefect was lost in the murmur of the camp and the thumping and clopping hooves of the horse as it galloped away. He was overcome with thoughts and anxiety, the twin banes of his sleep. And merely stared off at the horizon. That is, until ever curious Liulfr found him once more.

"What did he want, sir? Is it news about Ulfric?" When Carius didn't answer, the Nord stepped a bit closer to his commander and raised his voice as he repeated his question. "Sir, what was the messenger here for? What's happening?"

"Huh?" The Imperial's trance broke with a rare lurch backward. Not even he was sure what startled him, but something in his mind told him to go to his cot in the commander's tent. Liulfr, growing increasingly more confused with the other man's behavior, merely followed.

"Sir, what...what's wrong?"

As soon as Carius reached his makeshift bed he eyed it all, feeling along the covers and the pillow, even looking under it. Still goaded by urgency yet unsure, he sat down on the bed. And looked again at his pillow. Snatching it from its place, he turned it upside down, possessed by a certainty that Liulfr could only observe and wonder about. The Praefect reached into the pillow and when his fingers found paper, which had been folded into a small square, his face flushed and he trembled slightly.

The stunned young Nord just continued to stand by watching as his shaken commander unfolded the parchment and began to read the note. He noticed his lips part with surprise and he thought he heard a small gasp. Whatever it was, whoever it was that sent it and whatever they had said were enough to grip the usually steadfast Imperial with awe - perhaps even dread.

"My newest friend,

I must thank you again for your kindness. Not many would be as hospitable and as humane as you. Do not fear me, you have no cause to. Do not fear that which is, and that which should never ever be so. The temple bells are chiming. Bear these words and you will not know pain.

We will meet again soon. And I sincerely cannot wait for that day - or night.

Yours most warmly,
Qui.

: )
"

The scrawled smiling little face under the name did not look like it was meant to appear malicious, but nevertheless was a bizarre cap to the note.

Carius' hand quaked, the parchment in it crinkling. Had he been back that morning? This Quintus? Or had he somehow done this the previous night, just before he vanished from the camp? So many more questions now since waking up. How many more before the day's end?

"Sir?"

The officer stood, hollow-eyed. Throat dry. Heart beating rapidly. He shook his head.

"Nothing. Nothing, just a letter...a letter from..." He swallowed anxiously. Hesitated. "A friend. A letter from a friend."

He very carefully folded the note and placed it on the table by his cot. While reading it, he had heard the man's voice so clearly in his head, he thought he could easily have been standing beside him or behind him narrating it to him. He could see his eyes again, those dark blue eyes staring and twinkling in the torch light.

As he sat on his bed, looking past the anxious Nord, Carius thought about this strange man out there on the road - the wily one up to Divines-knew-what. And he thought about her, about Penelope. And hoped and prayed as hard as he could that she would manage to steer clear of such characters on her journey to his camp.

Nells...where are you?

…………..​

Ulfric Stormcloak did not so much as look up as one of the great palace doors groaned open. The icy wind chased inside did little to break his enjoyment of the ale and hot meal in front of him. Whereas even his lieutenant Galmar shivered ever so slightly at the brisk rush of air, the rebel leader himself remained unmoved - perfectly content.

A man clad not in Stormcloak regalia but in furs hastened from the door, clutching parchment and panting as he moved. Galmar watched him warily as he ran by and stopped at the Jarl's side.

"Ulfric, sir, there is news from the south. Interceptions were successful!"

The messenger waited with the paper as the other man took his time to lay down his utensils and take another swig of ale. After several slow seconds, he gestured for the parchment with lazily beckoning fingers. He cleared his throat as he began to read. Galmar stepped closer, noticing not a flash of intrigued eyes but rather the raising of a single eyebrow and the curl of a vaguely amused lip. He waited for commentary that did not come - the silence almost frustrated him. The courier was keen to gain some sort of reaction from his leader as well. In fact, he had been trying to imagine Ulfric's response to the note for the duration of his journey to Windhelm. What could it all mean? It was anyone's guess.

"They're on the move, sir! Sure as Stendarr, they are. Something's happening!"

After more deliberate reticence on his part, the Jarl gently nodded. “So, it seems something has got the Imperials extra nervous. That much is clear. I must admit, I'm very curious as to what. Or who.”

“What do we care?" Galmar snapped. "It only makes our task that much easier. With them doubly distracted, we’ll be able to march on Whiterun, then Solitude as we like! And be done with it!”

The lieutenant's solid fist pounded upon the table, shaking the flagons and crockery but still doing little to rouse an impassive Ulfric.

“You’re very optimistic, Galmar. And while I can certainly appreciate that, I find myself a bit more wary as yet.”

“Why, sir?”

“Because, whatever it is, if it’s bad enough to worry Tullius and his boys in such a way, not to mention their homeland, it’s not going to be any better for us once they're finally routed. This is as much of an issue for us as for them, like it or not."

"You're actually worried about this news, sir? Come now, what is it? What does it say, that letter there?" Galmar subconsciously let greedy fingers fly toward the paper, but Ulfric pulled it out of reach. And read on.

"Well, to begin, the Dark Brotherhood has allegedly been destroyed." Ulfric paused for the harsh, collective gasp in the room to subside before continuing. "What worries the Imperials about that is that someone has apparently done what they for so long could not."

Galmar crossed his arms. "You're saying it was not the Penitus Oculatus then?"

The rebel leader's eyes scanned the parchment repeatedly, searching every word, every phrase. He knew the value of diction, of word choice, of the inadvertent poetry of such messages.

"It would appear not. The intercepted messages show confusion, anxiety, even in-fighting. Finger-pointing. We will win this war by virtue of our strength of sword and conviction. But I do and always will welcome Imperial intelligence failure to save the lives of our own men. Indeed, whoever has ruined the Brotherhood has done us a great favor, both in the short-term and long."

“Who could have done something like that and no one know about it, eh? It was an inside job then, must have been. Or else the damned Imperials really are that incompetent.”

“They’re faint-hearted, but I don’t know about incompetent. Over-committed, yes. Proud, most definitely. Cowardly, indeed. But incompetent? Tullius is no fool. He’ll never be called a bear of a man, but he has his wit. I’m sure he’s seething that the Emperor’s Guard has allowed him to wander in the dark more so than he had even thought. In fact, I have no doubt. It’s plain as can be in the intercepted missives. So yes, Galmar, I am pleased. But remain wary. Until I know who or what is running around dispatching talented and time-honored assassins in their own sanctuary, I believe it wise to remain so.”

“But for how long? The perfect time to strike is now! Their right hand is much too busy trying to figure out what the left hand is doing. Why wait?!”

“Galmar, my old friend, you must look to your sense of timing. Of presence. We must gauge the situation before we move. It will be soon. Balgruuf will have to make his choice soon. He can’t straddle the fence forever. Meanwhile, there’s also been whisperings of something else that bothers me. A name I haven’t heard in quite some time. And I’d bet my life that it’s connected to the Dark Brotherhood’s demise.”

“A name? What name?” Galmar growled.

“Hmpf. All in due time, old friend.” Ulfric chuckled cynically. “I don’t wish to rouse you further. I need you to focus on the task at hand. And that is to start sending our own messages. There’s been some interesting news out of Hjaalmarch - I want you to ride out and find some of our best from there. And bring this. You've earned a small holiday away from all of the 'planning nonsense' you loathe so much.”

The leader handed his lieutenant a small bundle of parchment. The latter was compelled to read the note on the top, while the former just amusedly looked on.

"Yes...yes!" Galmar's approval bellowed forth in that gravelly voice, lips curling in a wild grin and baring gleaming teeth.

Ulfric just smiled and nodded to Galmar as the latter burst through the palace doors. Very chilly wind again blew inside the great hall, and again the leader ignored it. Not even a slight twitch.

The ale was cold, the meat tender, and the fires blazed as brightly as the ambition in his eyes.

…………..​

“Don’t you find it the slightest bit strange…the two of us being summoned to Windhelm and now?”

Sjadbek and Ralof had departed the Stormcloak camp in Hjaalmarch less than an hour prior, setting out on horses and dressed in common and hopefully inconspicuous clothing. It was late afternoon and there was a curious nip in the breeze, an icy bite even though they had passed beyond the most brisk snows. So as not to draw attention, they urged their horses along but did so at an even pace. They took the opportunity to talk in very hushed tones to one another, eyes always alert for Legionnaires, Thalmor or rogue bandits. Their journey would be long and they were requested not to stop for sleep at any inns. While Sjadbek found it somewhat practical given the apparent urgency of their summons, Ralof found it all the more odd – and unsettling. Things had failed to add up in his mind for many days now and his friend, the gentle butcher from Helgen, could only try to reassure him.

“Well, you know as well as I that there’s talk of a march on Whiterun. If they’re planning that, they want to keep everything else quiet. And to be honest, I’m humbled that they’d call for us. We must have done well enough to earn our promotions. We’re sure to know more soon, yeah?”

“Yes, but we…it all just…” Ralof’s words became tangled in a heavy sigh. He paused to draw a deep breath and eye the sky just before continuing. “Don’t you feel sometimes like we’re not being told everything? Like we’re being kept in the dark? My bones tell me something's amiss. Something we can scarcely realize.”

“Ah, my friend, but that’s the nature of hierarchy. We do what we’re told, carry on as we’re expected. Don’t think too much on it. Can’t afford to.”

“Something else, Sjad...tell me, the men you’ve killed in battle…do they haunt you?”

“You mean…do I think about them often?” When Ralof sorrowfully nodded, Sjad’s own voice softened in response. “Well…I do see faces. Hear their dying groans. But then I turn my mind to something else, something much more pleasant. You?”

“Yes, I am haunted by them…more than I care to admit. But for me, I can’t just shift my thoughts. I don't have that luxury.”

“Why not?”

“They come in nightmares. Nightmares, friend. Nightmares that just won’t relent. I’ve barely slept lately. Been having to steal rest during the day. It’s not easy!”

“I didn’t realize... Maybe you need to see a doctor, or maybe you just need to have a bit more to drink before bed. That always used to work before!” He tried to get his friend to laugh, but not even allusions to humorous nights gone by, surrounded by empty mead bottles, was enough to compel even a small chuckle.

“Bah, the way things have been since this all started, I wouldn’t be surprised if that only made it worse for me. You know I’ll not stop fighting until every last one of these fool Imperials goes home, but until then…I’m…so tired…you know what I mean, Sjad? I’m tired.”

Sjadbek nodded in acknowledgement, but he still could not help but feel like the other Nord had taken on far too much in his soul far too quickly. He knew the Riverwood man was earnest, genuine, and in some ways, naïve. But he never expected to hear such talk from him so early on. He spoke with the weight and wretchedness of veterans of storied conflicts from decades past. And while this current struggle would surely be recorded and remembered for all of its sacrifice and merits, he felt like it was almost too soon for Ralof to be haunted thus. That, of course, did not make it any less real for his friend and he would never wish to suggest as much. But it still troubled Sjadbek.

“I can imagine, friend. With any luck and divine blessing, it won’t go on much longer. I’ll do my damndest to make sure it doesn’t.”

Those words finally at least brought about a warm smile from Ralof, and that pleased his friend. Maybe the nature of precisely what haunted the other Nord would become clearer soon. And when that time came, they could fight to dispel it.

The two men continued on as afternoon started to slip into evening. It was not yet dark, but the sky began to glow with the sun’s descent. As instructed, they had not stopped for the sake of their own rest but rather only once to feed and water the horses. They were rewarded with good time and had just passed an old fort. Sjadbek thought about taking the opportunity to stop there in the interests of his ailing friend whom many a sleepless night had wrought with chills and anxiety. But he decided against it and with good reason: with rumors of the fearsome Silver Hand werewolf hunters in the hills, he wanted no chance of tangling with those who always suspected outsiders and often greeted them with cold steel. He nevertheless remained concerned for the other Nord and took to looking over his shoulder routinely, to make sure he had not fallen too far behind. It was something he feared.

A bit past the structure, they began to hear familiar growls and roars. Bears were not uncommon in the province and they each had had their fair share of encounters with them for as long as they lived. Their horses whinnied anxiously and reared up partway, clearly not desirous to keep going forward. But they knew that a bear or some such beast was close by and they wondered if some poor soul had stumbled onto it – and needed prompt assistance. After they rounded another bend, the situation became clear: they could see not one but two large bears up on their two hind feet, swiping and roaring at a lone man. The animals advanced as the man tripped over an unseen stone. And as he did, his long dark gray coat unveiled a black sash that caught the wind. Sjadbek and Ralof eyed it very quickly, but were much more concerned with the beasts closing in for the kill. Without even exchanging glances, they drew their blades in unison to charge the creatures and dispatch them.

But after they dismounted, leaving their frightened horses some paces away, the man in trouble turned to them and raised a hand for them to stay back, to halt their track. As he pushed locks of his auburn hair out of his face, he grinned at the two Nords - even as the bears prepared to swipe and likely maul the man beyond repair. Neither soldier wanted to witness such an end, especially one so unnecessary. But neither one could move. Their blades stayed fixed in their hands and their feet remained planted on the earth, anchored and restricted as though shackled by invisible irons. It disturbed them both, but neither spoke. They only watched in horror.

And to their shock the man raised his hands, his lips moving in a quickly spoken chant. And with the telltale glow and tricky haze of an issued spell, the bears' behavior altogether shifted. Instead of completing their attacks, they turned and faced one another and began to slap and swipe and bite. The animals had become completely fixated on destroying one another, when they had just been keen to seize upon what had appeared an easy meal. The man's grin broadened even more as he watched the beasts fight, and he winked at the two Nord bystanders as they looked on - utterly dumbfounded. They watched as the man raised his hand for another spell and after a brief incantation, the bears ceased fighting and started growling - their tones were almost musical. In fact, the Nords were sure the beasts were singing. And...dancing. The animals shuffled and swayed to an inaudible tune. And while it was humorous in its awkwardness, it put the Stormcloak soldiers on edge. All the while the man, who appeared to be in control of the bewitched creatures, just cackled at his handiwork.

So indeed Sjadbek and Ralof, whose journey had up until now been somewhat normal and uneventful, currently and inexplicably faced a bizarre spectacle in the wilderness. Could it have been the tricks of their tired minds? Or was there truly a pair of musically inclined bears before them? Before too long they would be alone again, finally free to move about and hurriedly remount their disturbed horses. For the man himself had disappeared behind a curtain of smoke summoned from one hand, a spell that crashed to the ground and exploded forth.

They wasted no time after relocating their path to Windhelm and spurred their animals to the east as quickly as the wind and hooves below them would take them. Neither could shake the feeling of eyes watching their frantic gallop along the road. And when each looked back over their shoulders to see if the bears remained, they were stunned to see that the animals were still strangely harmonizing and frolicking to a silent beat. Something inevitably told Ralof to take the encounter as a portent of things to come. And he could not halt his shivers.

…………..​

They had lingered in the great pool room for some time, listening to the rushing falls and allowing their thoughts to continue straying amid their memories. There was a certain kind of magic in it all, from the dazzling floors, to the sounds of the waters fast falling, to the beckoning figure in the wall. As much as she had fought it, Penelope found herself silently mourning the past she had taken for granted. And she was thankful that Mercer appeared too consumed with his own musings to notice the tears biting and welling up in her eyes. As she held her blade in her lap and heard her father's resounding voice in her mind, she finally had to coyly wipe away the evidence of her quiet sorrow. At the same time, her resolve was strengthened as she gripped the blade, compelling her to ignore her painfully hollow stomach and prepare to make the final push through what by now felt like an interminable gauntlet.

Before struggling to her feet again, she began to hear the heartbreaking chords of the funeral bells once more. The day of her father's "funeral" - which was only to inter an empty casket - was a cold, rainy day in Cyrodiil. The rain had not been harsh, rather falling in intermittent drops carried on a light wind. There was all of the fanfare of a traditional military funeral, with stark and shrill horns, somber drumbeats and salutes. She had stood there with her mother and two younger sisters - Heron was fighting for the Legion in Skyrim. All four women were wrapped in very dark gray and black, and looked on with anguished eyes. Amid her grief there was a great anger festering, bubbling just beneath her stare. All of the usual platitudes were given.

In fact, all of the highest ranking officials were there to give them, including even Elenwen who as the Thalmor's First Emissary in Skyrim wished to personally offer her condolences given the location of Adrianus' death. Penelope had shaken the Altmer woman's hand most languidly, which of course Elenwen answered with a hollow, "Poor thing, I cannot even imagine your heartache, gods be with you". Nothing in her words seemed sincere to a very bitter Penelope and though she did her best to smile in polite return, she blamed Elenwen and the rest of the Thalmor for her father's demise. Them, and of course the Stormcloak uprising. Ulfric himself was another she wished to see find his end sooner rather than later. And she knew that he would, one way or another. Such was the fate of a murderous traitor.

But in those moments, as official after official and officer after officer came up to pay their respects to the family and to praise the Redguard soldier's life and achievements, she could not help but to grow angrier. As soon as she had received that condolence letter from the courier, she had persisted in trying to get answers - anything more with which to piece together the truth and in her mind, truly honor her father's memory. It would never suffice for her to leave off with a foggy and disturbingly vague "official" account. Even if it killed her, she would go to Skyrim - to find not only what really happened but also in great hopes of locating his remains. As she gazed at the empty casket that day of the funeral, she could not suppress thoughts of him lying in some remote corner of the hinterland. Alone. And unclaimed. It was not about restoring honor, for he had died with plenty of that. Rather, for her, it was about doing what she felt was the honorable thing. Doing right by him. And family was a cause for which she would lay down her life.

Aside from Elenwen, two well-wishers had particularly struck her that day. Caius Chaerea, one of the foremost of the Imperial court and rumored to be among the Elder Council, had gracefully approached them all with a bow, hugging each of them and offering articulate words of consolation and accolades for the fallen Legionnaire. He had kissed Penelope's hand and assured her that if the family ever needed anything, they need look no further than to him and the rest of the court in the Imperial City. It was as much their home as Cheydinhal. But something in those dark eyes of his told her that he was holding something back. It was all so abrupt. So vacuous.

But as she watched the charismatic yet notably aloof Chaerea retreat back into the throng of mourners, she was stunned by the appearance of a somewhat unexpected face: the Emperor Titus Mede II himself. Gasps of some in attendance called her attention to the ruler, who approached her family with a compassionate and ever gentle smile. Penelope could not quite hear the sentiments of his soft voice as he spoke to her mother and sisters. But she could readily perceive the deeply felt emotion of them, noticing his eyes watering as he embraced each of them. And then, he turned to her. She had been holding back her own tears, trying to remain steadfast for the sake of her mother and sisters. That indeed was what she had been trying to do ever since they received the horrific news.

But now, in front of all of those who had come to pay their last respects, in front of most of the Imperial court, in front of Thalmor dignitaries, she could no longer maintain a stoic face. She could no longer fight back the tears that insisted on falling. And as the Emperor told her that no one was prouder of her father than he was, and told her very simply and earnestly, "Thank you for your family's sacrifice and all of the Empire's people mourn with you", she found herself falling into his very kind embrace and crying over his shoulder. She did not care about the very many eyes on her in these moments. Seconds would pass into nearly a full minute before she finally withdrew from the hug and smiled weakly amid her still streaming tears. As the Emperor with the careworn face smiled in return, in understanding, it was almost as if they occupied their own space in time. The weeping and gawking mourners faded into a blur, and nothing but an unspoken and profound respect passed between Penelope and the ruler.

And that is where her thoughts paused as she at last summoned the strength to stand up in the great pool room. Her legs wobbled from hunger and dehydration, as well as little sleep. And while she had no real idea how she would make it out of the caverns alive, she was determined to have it no other way. Brushing off dirt and running a cloth over her blade, nagging contemplations lingered in her mind.

How could they be content with this? Why is it that I am the only one asking questions on behalf of my family? How could they look me, us, in the eye and offer condolences for our loss, for his sacrifice, when they knew they were only telling us half-truths?

She gritted her teeth and drew a deep breath before turning to the oddly taciturn Breton man nearby. He had remained at the edge of the pool, turning all recent events over in his mind and also wondering how likely it would be that they would see daylight again. But when he noticed Penelope stand and catch his glance, he too stood up from his spot on the hard floor. And half grumbled.

"So, you're finally ready to get going, eh? Done enough thinking? I'd say we've wasted enough time here."

"I'm ready if you are. I want out of this place. I don't think we'll last another day in here anyway, not without more food."

The cool waters suddenly enticed her very dry throat and she knelt down to quickly splash her face and bottle some for the remainder of their journey. Neither had any idea how much longer the cave would stretch on. The least she could do was take water while they had it. She gestured to Mercer with her eyes to do the same thing. He did not speak, but instead groaned in reluctant agreement.

Filling his flask, he could not help but chuckle. "You know, the very first thing I'm gonna do, if and when I do finally get the hell out of here, is have a nice stiff drink from the nearest ale house. In fact, I may have ten."

"Trust me, I'm with you there. I'll even buy! Just don't expect me to carry you back to Riften though."

Both of their strikingly good-natured grins quickly fell as an arrow pierced the water. Mercer jumped up with his now full flask and after pocketing it, he drew his blade. Penelope did the same, bracing as her eyes darted around the large room. The thunderous whooshing of rushing water made listening for footsteps a much more difficult venture and they had to rely solely on their sight. Soon enough they spied the archers across the chamber, at the base of the great statue carved out of the wall. The Bretons could see a trio of skittish and wiry figures moving in the shadow, could see them readying their bows and arrows for a volley. And it took the burst of fresh adrenaline for Penelope and Mercer to dodge the barrage.

When they came to a stop along the wall, they exchanged grim but determined looks - and a shared nod. Summoning what strength they had left they charged across the hard ground, their steps resounding in the ears of the blind beings ahead of them. Finally close enough to discern details, Penelope gave a breathless whisper of "Falmer!", in awe of the creatures - and even vaguely sad, aware as she was of their tragic history. Despite the sympathy she felt for them in principle, there was no ignoring their terrible arrows and jagged blades, and her sword - her father's sword - would manage to find their flesh until each one crumpled to the floor.

By the time she and Mercer had dispatched all three and their corpses lay sprawled in pools of dark blood, a new menace had become obvious. Scuttling out from the doorway beneath the great beckoning statue were two large hissing and spitting Chaurus. Their eyes glittered in the darkness and the rhythmic tapping of their feet upon the stone was enough to drive chills up and down both Bretons' backs. But for Penelope, the effect lasted much longer - and was much more profound. For as long as she could remember, she had never liked bugs. They had always more disgusted her than frightened her, to which her mischievous brother Heron could amusingly attest. But Chaurus were an entirely different situation; she had not encountered any yet on her travels in Skyrim and had sincerely hoped that the monsters she had read about before coming to the province had been exaggerated. No such luck...

The creatures had frozen her in place, her simultaneous disgust and fear of them seizing her fast. As they reared up and spat, she managed to move backward in reflex. Mercer looked on puzzled, irritated and greatly concerned. He could handle one on his own but having one splattering him with that ghastly poison as he fought would be decidedly less than ideal. So he tried screeching at her to stir her, to break the spell. Once. Twice. Three times. She merely stood there, stepping backward as the giant insect crept toward her, strangely ignoring him altogether. Mercer used this opportunity to hack and stab the nearest Chaurus as it headed toward the Breton woman. The creature's hard chitin armor resisted the brunt of his blows, and the beast took the opportunity to turn around and thrust at the man. Mercer was nimble enough to miss the first lunge, but he was caught by the second. And as the other Chaurus crawled to swipe at his back, Penelope was suddenly freed from the binding trance.

Mercer's cry of pain from the strike was enough to shake her loose and call upon her courage. Though it still disgusted her she descended upon the insect, mercilessly hacking at its body and even doing her best to stab out its glowing eyes. Her efforts came not a moment too soon, as the Chaurus behind Mercer took a new interest in the young woman and pursued her alongside the other. She drew them away from the wounded thief and gave him time to partially recover and re-steady himself. In the meantime she was having to test her own fleetness of foot as the creatures snapped and struck and spat at her. She moved in zigzags, which did confound the beasts somewhat as they followed her. But she still needed to get in close enough to land her own blows on their shelled bodies and she had to plan her motions carefully.

She managed to get some solid strikes in before she lost her footing, slipping on some of the still-warm Falmer blood. Penelope landed on her back and watched as the closest Chaurus continued to approach. Pure adrenaline allowed her to roll out of the way as the insect spat another blast of foul poison. The liquid smacked the floor and bespattered Penelope as well, some of it landing on her arm and even a few drops hitting her face and mouth. She ignored it for the immediate moment, being much more concerned about evading the creature's very sharp limbs still jabbing forth like swords. As she scrambled she looked up to check on Mercer, who had fallen silent. But her worry rapidly shifted to admiration.

To her amazement the Guild Master produced a second weapon, a large dagger, and used the dual blades to dispatch with the nearest bug's head, chopping it at the middle of the long neck. The partial stump spurted very dark ooze and blood and the creature finally collapsed, twitching even after it fell. His technique had proven very timely, but also costly. In order to guarantee the deadliness of his blitz, Mercer had poured most of the stamina he had left into that power attack. And while it saved them from further having to contend with twin threats, he was now even more drained and wearied. Penelope was certain that he could not handle another onslaught, and prayed that they would find a clear path out. The thief staggered a bit, nearly falling to his knees. His blurred vision told him that the Breton woman was working to counter the advances of the other creature. And after a series of hits, the Chaurus was eventually defeated. The giant bug lurched and hissed as it dropped, and Penelope took the occasion to wipe away the poison from her face and arm. Mercer noticed this and with a voice uncharacteristically thin with exhaustion, he called out to her.

"Hey...you got hit with that stuff? You got anything to counteract it, any potions?"

"No," She eked out between shallow breaths, "I don't have any on me. I should be okay, it wasn't on me long."

"That doesn't matter, as soon as it hits you it starts doing damage. What about the spell?"

"Spell? To cure poison? No...I don't actually know that one. Suppose it's pretty ignorant for someone who dabbles in Restoration magic, huh? Just never thought I'd need it, I guess. More fool me for assuming so." She looked down at the floor in mild embarrassment. She was not usually so impractical in her planning. She had gotten lucky this time. But how many more times?

Mercer just shook his head and sighed. "You really are hopeless. Come 'ere."

Although drastically low on magicka himself, Mercer was able to apply a spell to cancel out the poison's effects, which were already starting to take their toll. Penelope had just been feeling the beginnings of wooziness and clutched her head in response. Taking a sip of water from her recently filled container and allowing the curative spell to work, she tried to dismiss the urgency in her mind.

"It's...that serious, is it?"

"Yeah, it is. You claim to have done so much research, yet you thought coming to Skyrim without learning a very basic yet very necessary Restoration spell would be a good idea?"

She smirked. "Well, in my defense, I didn't anticipate spending much time below ground."

"Hmpf. There's still never any reason to be that reckless, girl."

"Mercer Frey, do I detect...concern in your voice? Friendly admonishment? My, my, the tables have turned, haven't they?"

With that, the Breton man ceased his application of the spell with a huff and a grunt. "Pfft, tables...I am concerned with getting out of here alive and having to drag your corpse through the rest of this place is something I'm frankly not interested in. There's nothing 'friendly' about it."

"Incorrigible to the end, I see." She grinned as Mercer sighed and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the grand pool room and through the doorway at the beckoning statue's base.

They sought the extended corridor ahead with utmost haste, running past more buzzing and clicking Chaurus and even battle-ready Falmer. All they could do now was run - they had no more strength for skirmishes with all of the present enemies. Outnumbered as they were, it would not be a matter of spirit or tactics now, but instead one of plain, unavailing arithmetic. The Bretons' smaller statures were life-saving as they fled down the long hallway, avoiding lunges and swipes of blades. Though debilitated by their time underground, their feet did not fail them as they shot down the passage. But they could not help but slow to a stop as they started hearing and feeling the eerie echoes of rumbles. They could not tell if the noises were coming from behind them or in front, though they frantically hoped that they were far behind.

Uncertain as they were of what waited ahead, all they could do was charge on and try to keep steady amid the disorienting shaking and groans of something large and unsettled. There was almost what sounded to their ears like a mechanical clinking amid the vibrations, and both had their very particular ideas about what could well be happening. But they kept on, resuming their sprint.

After several minutes of running and labored gasps for air, they were faced with a four-way split in the corridor: they could choose to run straight ahead, to the left or right, or backtrack - the last seeming not to be any sort of viable option. They each looked at all of the new directions and something in Penelope's heart told her to go straight ahead, to keep on the same track. It was like a soft voice in the back of her mind, a whisper in her ears. But she would need to take her turn in grabbing hold of Mercer, who had become suddenly intrigued by a scattering of gold coin and trinkets along the pathway to the right.

He suspected it might lead to a grandiose treasure room, full of gleaming bits and pieces with which to adorn his own collection. He had had his eyes on Dwarven riches for some time now, lustful of the brilliant gold and handiwork that could fetch quite the handsome sum. Even his sword was a Dwarven blade and just as devastating as it was since its forging all of those many centuries prior. He wanted to follow the trail, even turning against his first instincts as a career thief to never do so blindly. But Penelope caught hold of him and urged him against going off of the track. He snarled under his breath and lamented the loss of what could have been waiting to be plucked from some impressive heap.

But both froze in their tracks when the rumbles they had heard earlier grew louder and were joined by a chorus of scampering feet. Raspy breathing in the shadows began to resound from every direction and they once again found themselves faced with unseeing eyes. Masses of Falmer had emerged from each of the four paths, trapping the two Bretons in the center of the crossroads. Penelope and Mercer watched as more and more Falmer warriors edged up the hallways, hobbling and shrieking. One of them caught Penelope's panicked glance and it seemed to twist its terrible mouth into a smile. The Bretons stood back to back with their blades raised and their hearts pounding in their chests. One swift move by any one of the former Snow Elves and their lives would likely be done. She was not yet ready to give in to that likelihood. Not yet. Not this way.

"So, professor, any bright ideas?!" Mercer barked over his shoulder.

"I...well..." Penelope winced and stammered. Then, it struck her. It was a meek hope, but it was the only recourse she believed yet remained. And she would give it her all, in the hopes that what her heart kept telling her would prove correct. She turned to face the Falmer guarding the path ahead, and put an arm out to keep Mercer back a step or two. "Stay behind me. Trust me. And when I say run, you run like all of the hell hounds of Oblivion are nipping at your heels!"

Mercer did not like uncertainty, did not like not having the drop on his prey - on any and every situation, really. But faced with certain doom otherwise, he took a breath. And agreed. "Alright..."

Penelope also drew a deep breath, squeezing shut her eyes and quickly reopening them wide. Then, she braced herself, planting her heels. And gave a great cry, shaking her sword as she did so.

"FUS!"

The Falmer in front of her were blown backward, tumbling into perplexed heaps on the floor. A few seemed like they had been knocked unconscious as they hit the wall and the hard ground. Mercer spun around to see what had just occurred, his mouth agape at the aftermath.

"What the hell did you just do?!"

"Hopefully just saved our rears, now run!"

The path ahead was clear - for the moment - and they had to seize it while they could. The two ran ahead, hearing the gloomy creatures behind them groaning and hollering in shrill tones. The gamble paid off in the Bretons' favor, as the way forward was amazingly devoid of any detectable life. The corridor sloped upward and eventually the end of the line became evident. The hallway stopped with a wall, and a lever on the floor. After making it to the top of the hallway, Mercer's frown tightened into an especially angry glare. He vainly punched at the wall in frustration and helplessness.

"Gods damn it all! All of it! We were so close!"

Penelope herself felt the sickening twinge of realization, of the gravity of their entrapment. She looked all over the wall, searching for anything to make the dead end yield for them. The Falmer had begun to catch up with them, shuffling their way up the long corridor and brandishing their weapons. A couple even readied spells. Time had very nearly run out and as the hallway flooded with Falmer, the Bretons' hearts were in their throats. Dark eyes poured over the wall as she tried to drown out the growing cacophony. Still nothing. She stepped back to eye the creeping Falmer and as she did so, her leg bumped against the bronze lever on the floor. And a strange circle around it, a dark line. Yes...that's it!

She pulled a whining Mercer within the circle and very close to her and the lever. And then, she pulled the switch. Clinking and clanking metal parts echoed as Falmer ambled ever closer. One creature even lunged with its awful blade, which Penelope parried with her own. But the attackers were thwarted as the circular area of ground the Bretons stood upon abruptly freed itself and rose upward. They had not even noticed that the ceiling in the hallway's end was open and tempted with the vision of an upper level. And as they rose upward and looked down at the furious beings below, they could only stare in wide-eyed and gape-mouthed silence.

The ascent felt like hours to them, though in reality it took but several minutes. As they rose past level after level, each wanted to say something. But neither could. It took them every moment to catch their breath and allow their taxed hearts to steady their beats. There was certainly much that could have been spoken. But they chose to enjoy the quiet. And to think about just where this contraption might take them - if it might well deliver them into the waiting hands and claws of more bloodthirsty enemies. After such fortuitous findings, Penelope at least was not willing to believe that the Divines could be so cruel. Mercer, unsurprisingly, was far more cynical.

But as a chilly breeze began to blow from above, their spirits were instantly lifted. Their platform still clanked and groaned as it rose, but it seemed to slow. And they could see why as they both turned to look above them. Twining metal and the early evening sky peeking through the bars confirmed their greatest hopes. And as they finally rose to the level of the world they had unwillingly left behind for those few days, neither could suppress wild smiles and overflowing excitement. Not even Mercer - his genuine grin which was almost entirely unknown now shone in the dimness of the night. No one who didn't see it for themselves would believe the man capable of it, Penelope mused.

Their platform finally came to a stop. The enclosure which surrounded them now was completed with a locked door, one which they could not easily kick open. And they did not have long to celebrate their escape as the platform suddenly started to clink and clank into motion again, to descend. They each leapt to the very narrow edges of the enclosure as the platform sank back down into the bleak depths. And as they watched it fall, Penelope gestured to the locked door with her eyes.

"So...uh...you're a master of lock-picking, so I'm told. Can you get us out of here?"

"What? That? Of course! Why would you even ask something so stupid?! You know better than to question my abilities as a master thief."

"Yeah, yeah, just work your magic already then, Master."

Mercer very carefully edged his way to the door, hugging the bars of the enclosure. And after huddling in front of the lock and picking at it for a few seconds, the bolt unhinged and the aging door popped open. The Bretons made their way out and onto the snowy ground as rapidly and as safely as they could. And once there, Penelope could no longer contain her happiness and relief. She grabbed fistfuls of the dusty snow, and even dared to grab Mercer for a celebratory hug and kiss on the cheek. As soon as she saw the Breton man's disgust and outright rejection of such physical contact, as well as realizing how unusual of a gesture it was for her, she promptly stepped back and chuckled nervously.

"Well...now that we're finally free...how about we look for the nearest tavern, just like you said? Hot food and cold drink will set us right."

Mercer crossed his arms, half amused. "Alright, I'm game. But first, we ought to figure out where in blazes we are. Any of this look familiar to you?"

"No...no, I can't say that it does." Her hand flew to her forehead in an effort to soothe fresh, dull pangs of pain. And once more she was visited by dizziness. She staggered along as Mercer strode ahead to look for the road - any road. He muttered to himself as he walked and only when he turned around to see why Penelope didn't answer a question did he see that the young woman had collapsed in the snow.

He ran back over to her to try to rouse her from her unconsciousness. But there was no response.

"Hey...girl...wake up. Wake up already!" He poked at her head and shoulder, his face twisted with a grimace. He tapped her cheek. Still nothing. And as the wind picked up and the sky darkened all the more, his frown deepened. Rolling his eyes at the sight of the Breton woman out cold on the ground, he muttered more. "Why? Why me? Why now? Why?!"

He crossed his arms in exasperation as he stared down at her for several seconds. But something in him decided to just swallow his pride and pick up the other Breton, carrying her over his shoulders. He thought he had seen a signpost signaling a road when he walked off previously, and pursued the same direction. With little to no food, water or rest, the burden was even greater. But he thought that surely he would come across travelers sooner or later - hopefully sooner. And his hunches would prove correct.

After about ten minutes, Mercer clearly heard the soft clip-clopping of hooves on the snow-kissed land. And as the sounds grew more distinct and ever closer, he stopped to wait for the inevitable riders to approach. He imagined they would be lone merchants or perhaps farmers, locals simply passing through. Locals who would be more than happy to assist once they saw a poor Breton woman in immediate need. But it was not any of those people whom he had imagined - he had hoped - would cross paths with them there. Instead, his heart sank as soon as he saw the drivers of the cart approaching. Red and brown uniforms worn by well-armed men told him everything he needed to know.

And before he could think of an alternative plan, the soldiers in the cart called out to him and ordered him to stay put. The driver of the cart stepped down from it and with one hand close to his blade, he insisted that the young woman be placed on the ground and that the thief back away. Mercer grudgingly did what he was told and re-crossed his arms in annoyance.

The driver walked over to look at Penelope's face and once he did, he shot Mercer with a very grim glance.

"What's happened here? What's happened to her? What have you done?!"

The thief could hardly believe his ears and could not suppress bitter laughter. "Hey, I haven't done anything, we just escaped from hell underground! Was trying to get her to town."

"Really now? Don't you know town is that way?" The soldier asked gruffly, pointing the opposite direction. Mercer's eyes narrowed.

"Well, aren't you the bright one! If I knew where town was, why the hell would I be marching off with her this way instead of that way, eh? For my health?"

The soldier by now had had quite enough attitude from the Guild Master, who by all accounts appeared rather suspicious out there in the wilderness. All of the Legion had been put on alert, with scouts being specially informed to watch for the girl. And now that they had her in their custody, they would not hesitate to bring the Breton man in as well for questioning.

"That's it, you're coming with us."

"What?"

The soldier called out to the others to secure Penelope in the cart and to see to any obvious wounds. As they did as ordered, he turned back to Mercer.

"By the authority of the Empire and the Imperial Legion, you are hereby under arrest. Now turn around."

"Hell no! I've done nothing wrong!" Mercer jumped backward, hand flying to his blade. But the soldier was not moved and drew his own weapon.

"We can do this the easy way or the not-so-easy - which one will you be choosing tonight?"

"Pfft, I don't have to choose anything, you're just a damn child! Leave off!"

Before the Guild Master could say anything more in refusal, he was struck by a blow from behind. One of the other soldiers had crept around and knocked him unconscious. They unceremoniously loaded the Breton man into the cart as well, and set out to make their way through the crisp night.

As the lead soldier, the driver, snapped the reins and the horses started to move, one of the others behind him asked very softly, "So, is she really...her?"

The commander barely even turned as he replied. "I've no doubt of it. She matches every description."

"So, we're off to Ivarstead then? Thereabouts?"

"Indeed, recruit. Indeed we are. Let's hope the Praefect's ready for his esteemed guest."

 

[bulbaquil]

My Sjadbek is equally unnerved by that... ursine performance.

He also quite approves of Carius arresting Mercer. "He deserved it. So what if it's the Legion who did it? I'm not complaining, and Carius happens to be one of my favorite Legionnaires anyway."

 

[Docta Corvina]

My Sjadbek is equally unnerved by that... ursine performance.

He also quite approves of Carius arresting Mercer. "He deserved it. So what if it's the Legion who did it? I'm not complaining, and Carius happens to be one of my favorite Legionnaires anyway."

Aww lol, that wasn't actually Carius who arrested him. But he will have to answer to him very shortly.

 

[bulbaquil]

Aww lol, that wasn't actually Carius who arrested him. But he will have to answer to him very shortly.

Oh, right, it wasn't Carius. Sjadbek says whichever Legion trooper arrested him deserves commendation, so long as they remembered to bind him.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Oh, right, it wasn't Carius. Sjadbek says whichever Legion trooper arrested him deserves commendation, so long as they remembered to bind him.

Haha, Carius will most definitely be laying down some law with our Guild Master shortly. It shall be quite humorous.

All in all, the immediately following events should be...funny and interesting. Hehe...

 

[Kynareth]

Loved this chapter!!! I do hope Pen is all right! Can't wait to see what happens next!

 

[Atmora]

Another excellent update, Docta. Very dramatic! Looking forward to your next installment!

 

[Docta Corvina]

As always, thanks guys! It means a great deal to me! I've been a little slower lately with chapters because of work sapping my soul, but I'm posting the next chapter by this Sunday evening this week - come hell or high water!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Thanks for your patience, everyone! This is just a note to say that I am NOT on hiatus in any official capacity, just been slow because of work and other RL things a'happening. I am currently working on the closing sections of the next chapter and while putting a deadline in print on this thread tends to jinx me, I'm confident it will be posted this weekend - for sure.

Also, given that next week is Thanksgiving Break week and I have a couple days off plus the weekend, I'll have to time to put together a few goodies.

Stay thirsty, my friends!

 

[DrunkenMage]

Oh hopes and dreams crushed again... XD

To see you posted in your thread thinking I'd see the next Chapter. Can't wait.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Chapter 16

Much of the province was treated to a not uncommon though particularly deliberate onslaught of storms. Everywhere was gray and the already dark evening skies were deeper in their shade. The moons hazily glowed like a pair of ghosts behind the thick clouds and rains. And there were more than a few who took all of this very chilly, very wet and noisy weather as the latest in a round of bad omens. Riften was not at all spared from the thunder and downpour. Most everyone in town had escaped to drier corners of the city, many flocking to the Bee and Barb. Keerava and Talen-Jei always loved and thanked such weather for the guaranteed business it provided them. And even though the thunderclaps were especially loud and persistent this night, the mirth and muttering inside the tavern did well to drown it all out.

Others had retreated to the world below, the twisting and dank corridors of the Ratway and the home of thieves waiting just beyond. Sapphire and Vex had taken care of some business above ground earlier in the evening and had hurriedly returned to the Guild as the sky first began to open. Most of the thieves sat around swigging mead and ale, exchanging stories of the day. Some haunted the Cistern as usual. But nearly all of them were wondering what had become of not only their Guild Master and the promising recruit, but now also Brynjolf – who had for years been a steady second hand at the helm. A career thief, he wasn’t one to waste time chasing fairytales – and yet, they wondered what could have detained him even this long. He was a talented swordsman and a streetwise Nord; there seemed little that could have given him trouble. Nevertheless he remained absent. And they all hoped that the three of them would reappear soon enough.

After pacing and a few flagons of ale failed to calm his nerves, Delvin quietly made his way up the ladder in the Cistern. He had thought that perhaps the rain and clean winds would help to clear his mind. Such a bleak and brisk evening he did not much care for. But in some unexpected way, the robust breeze was comforting - even though the near-spectral moons did give him pause.

"Certainly don't like the looks o' that. Not a bit."

The Breton warily shook his head at the sky, half-waiting for some monstrosity to fall from it. Returning his gaze to street-level, he thought he saw the eyes of the nearby Talos statue flash a brilliant red. He stopped to stare at it for a few seconds, squeezing his own eyes closed then reopening them in an effort to wake from an unknown dream. The hero-god's eyes stayed cold gray now, the stone glistening with the cold rain. And though he was troubled, Delvin walked on.

As he neared the center of town, the once bustling merchants' circle now devoid of any souls, he felt the familiar urge to visit the Bee and Barb for another drink and a hearty meal. He desired to escape the weather and work to warm his chilled soul and dry his damp clothes. But at the same time there was a strangeness that nagged at him, not unlike a warning. All things this night had set him on edge, from the moons to the mists to the eyes of the statue. And it now seemed to culminate in this harsh grasp of vexation. What could it all mean? Delvin did not really want to know the answer. And yet, he knew the answer would find him - all of them - whether they wanted it to or not. Such was the way of things in this world, especially lately. Ignorance could only ever be the most fleeting bliss.

With these thoughts swirling about his mind, the thief approached the tavern. He drew a deep breath before opening the door to ample light and good spirits. All of the usual characters were there, including the infamous Bunkhouse-owning blonde, the unassuming fishery owner and the Snow-Shod men. The last sat at a table across from the door and Delvin could hear the bitter grumblings of the elder man, the Snow-Shod patriarch. The son vainly had been trying to calm his increasingly alcohol-agitated father. And though it was fun to watch, the Breton thief could not help but cringe somewhat in sympathy for the young man.

As the waves of sound rose and fell and rose again, he could hear the muffled conversation between a certain yellow-haired Nord woman hawking her available accommodations and what Delvin assumed was an Imperial man, whom he had never seen before. He did not think much of it, as Riften had long been a crossroads for all sorts. But he was rather amused when he heard the man reply to Haelga's overture with a very droll utterance of, "You intrigue me...Divines know Dibella's my favorite....but I'd rather not walk away with anything...incurable".

He could all but hear the Nord woman's vicious glare at her re-buffer; witnessing it was comical enough. The thief watched Haelga, in her righteous indignation, sulkily return to her stand-by, Bolli. And once more pretend to listen to him expound upon the many boons of the fishing business in Riften.

Delvin indeed wondered to himself where the unsettled feelings in his gut had come from as things, by all accounts, seemed as they should be. Of course this was hardly an appeal for unfortunate circumstances to arrive. But as he looked around the alehouse, his apprehension began to slacken. Keerava gave the Breton a sarcastic grin as he took a seat at the bar counter. But even her ill-will for the thief could be easily tempered with a handful of gold coins. The Argonian woman accepted the septims and produced a full tankard - one which Delvin quickly set about chugging.

He could not stifle a chuckle at the sounds of an irritated and intoxicated Vulwulf Snow-Shod growing more and more boisterous. The grizzled old Stormcloak's deeply running hatred for Imperials was common knowledge and even those in the area who were sympathetic to the Legion had learned to brush off his venomous words when spat in their direction. But as Delvin would come to witness, the tavern was not full of only the standard clientele. The Breton shifted in his seat slightly to look over at the two Nords: the belligerent, balding father and the more mild-mannered son. The latter glanced back and forth nervously, wondering if he could manage to talk his parent into finally leaving the establishment to return home and sleep off the ale.

But just as another curse upon the people of Cyrodiil flew from those chapped and snarling lips, the two Snow-Shods were met by a stranger: the brusque tavern-goer who had just moments prior turned down Haelga's most enthusiastic invitation. This man - clad in a long dark coat, black boots and a hood newly pushed down - approached their table with one hand holding a half-empty wine glass. The coat was partially opened to reveal a posh set of embroidered clothing, golden threads adorning his fine black tunic and the sides of his pants. His somewhat dry voice readily countered the resounding tones of the rowdy Nord. Swigging off and on from his tall mug, a very curious Delvin simply looked on.

"So am I to understand you have a problem with Imperials then, friend? If so, I'm quite interested to know why that is. After all, I'd say we've done quite a lot for you people over the centuries. Even if the championing of civilization was lost on some of you..."

Vulwulf's already displeased face contorted into an even more profound frown. He leaned back in his chair and grimaced up at the visitor.

"Who the hell are you and what business have you with me? Out with it then and quickly, Imperial, there's only so long I can stand being downwind of your stench."

The man in black and gray chuckled to himself, and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Perhaps you did not hear me...I came over to inquire about your admitted prejudices. I pray I've heard you wrong, though I doubt my ears could have failed me for the nearly thirty minutes I've been in this place trying to enjoy my wine."

"Bah, I have nothing to say to the likes of you. Before long we'll have seen the last of your kind here, mark my words. Skyrim will be free of Imperial and Elf scum alike!"

The man gave a mock frown. "Ah, it's just as I feared then. It's really too bad. Another pig-headed Nord with all of his false hopes and co-opted ambitions. A pity. But I shouldn't waste my time arguing with barbarians. I have some most important business in Solitude. As soon as I finish my wine, that's where I'll be headed. And not a moment too soon."

The Nord, his rage gaining with each word spoken with that haughty tongue, blinked and lunged forward to knock the wine glass from the other man's hand. The vessel crashed to the floor with a ringing shatter, at which Keerava barked at Vulwulf to pay for it. The Imperial man shook his head slowly, closing his olive eyes as he did so.

"Classic response. Although I'm not surprised, I am disappointed as I had desired to finish that drink."

Vulwulf finally rose from his seat, edging forward into the stranger's face. "I don't give a skeever's ass what you desire. Now get out of here, Imperial! Before you force my hand again! You wouldn't be the first Imperial pig a Snow-Shod has put to rest!"

To this, the Cyrodilic man raised a single eyebrow and then smirked - clearly amused with the Nord's bluster.

"Hmpf, you're all the same, eh? You'd give your sword arm and your very souls for the meritless garbage Ulfric peddles you. Even a beast knows when it's being driven off a cliff. Pathetic."

The man turned with a snobbish flounce to leave the alehouse. And it was then that Delvin assumed that all would settle back down soon enough: Talen-Jei would clean up the shards and dark wine on the floor and Vulwulf would go back to drinking and bellowing. And the Breton thief finally exhaled after holding his breath through the entire spectacle - as had everyone else in the tavern. But if there was one thing everyone could agree on when it came to Vulwulf, it was his stubbornness. Even if it earned him punches to the face and more than mere threats, it was a character flaw he could never overcome. The aging Nord growled back at the Imperial who by now was on his way toward the door.

"At least we have the courage, the fortitude, to fight back - something your people are hardly familiar with. You're just content to sacrifice this land while you sit back, sip your damned wine and be a Thalmor lapdog. That's the real problem: Imperials don't know how to bleed."

It all happened in seconds, appearing a blur to the several inebriated customers sitting in the pub. Delvin just looked on wide-eyed as the man rapidly spun around and seized Vulwulf by the collar, catching the normally immovable Nord off guard. With this the tavern erupted into a great singular gasp, with some patrons rising from their seats and shuffling backward in anticipation of a major tussle.

"You have no idea of what you speak! You have no idea what it is to give everything and have ungrateful wretches spit it back in your face! Unless you were there...for all of those years...don't you dare open that old rat mouth again!"

The younger Snow-Shod, Asgeir, fearfully went to assist his father whom the Imperial angrily released. The older Nord sank down into his chair, taken aback but still every bit as wrathful. The Bee and Barb's visitors were collectively stunned by the events, but once again were expecting things to quiet down with the stranger's exit. Most half-prayed that the Nord would manage to keep his inevitable comments suppressed until the other man was well out of earshot. Some, on the contrary, wanted to see an escalation of the conflict, even counting their coins in the event of bets to be taken. The second group would have their wish granted by the Snow-Shod elder, who gritted through tightly clenched teeth.

"Filthy Imperial bastard..."

The Imperial seized up in his tracks toward the door, lowering his head. Delvin grew extremely uneasy as he watched the man extend an arm, palm aimed downward at the floor. And then, mumbling. A murmuring of unintelligible words in a hushed and ominous tone. A sudden breeze accompanied an unnatural glow, the light of magic craft, the opening of a portal. Black and purple smoke swirled up from the ground and around the summoned flare. And then, a low hum. Delvin leapt out of his chair and backed away to the opposite wall, mouth hanging open at the sight. His vague hunches had been correct.

As the man stepped to the side, a form emerged from the haze and light - and cries of terror echoed inside the tavern. Wiry, twisted limbs, swirling foliage and a trunk with radiant green manifested as the Imperial finally looked up at the creature and gestured solidly toward the dumbfounded Nord. Delvin, greatly alarmed and half-paralyzed with astonishment, whispered to himself as one hand flew to his blade.

"...Is that...a Spriggan?! He's...he's a conjurer...Mara have mercy..."

Vulwulf scarcely had time to react to the being that now lunged at him with two swipes, blows that knocked him backward despite his broad frame. But the nature spirit was not finished. For it too enjoyed the ability to summon - and readily did so, at the Nord's expense. The flames in the alehouse flickered and dimmed as a great buzzing cloud burst forth seemingly from the tendril-like wooden fingers and palm of the Spriggan. A dark and shifting mass of stinging insects shot toward the hapless Nord, descending upon his face and arms. Though he howled in terrible pain, no one moved forward to help - mostly from their own horror, but some just completely unsure what could even be done on his behalf.

It would be Vulwulf himself who would at last take action: he would somehow haphazardly make his way to the doors and throw them open, bolting into the rainy night in hopes of ending the attack. When the rain was not enough to dispel the insects, the rawest desperation found him tripping down the stairway to the lower level and tumbling into the waters below. His son would finally have his own spell broken and would seek his now grievously wounded father in the water. And he would drag him out. But none of this would happen before the rest of the Bee and Barb's patrons would themselves flee the building in shared panic. Delvin and the two terrified Argonian proprietors would be the only ones to remain inside with the Imperial and his Spriggan, which was thankfully dismissed soon after Vulwulf's departure.

The awestruck Breton thief slowly took a few steps toward the stranger, eying the black sash that hung from his waist. The ruby red initials "M.I." did not strike him as familiar and yet, he knew they unlocked some part of a greater puzzle. He repeated the name aloud, in spite of himself.

"M.I...M.I...what...what is-"

"Manes Imperii, friend." The Imperial replied dryly, and with an odd smile.

Devlin blinked as he contemplated the name. "Manes...Imperii? That...that sounds like...somethin' outta the Empire..."

"In that case, you'd only be half wrong."

"What?"

The man's expression darkened so rapidly that it drew shivers in the Breton. "Make no mistake, I neither speak nor act in allegiance to any Emperor. That allegiance was voided years ago. As well it should have been. This foolishness now...it's all but the growing shadow of tyranny. I sincerely hope they'll try to talk some sense into each other, before it's too late." He paused to sigh contemptuously. "But if they don't wake up to a new horizon of reason...let the cards fall where they may. There are no more tears to shed."

Before leaving the tavern, the stranger produced a handful more of gold coins to place on the bar counter and then helped himself to a bottle of unopened wine to take for his journey. It was only when the moist, chilly air rushed in as the Imperial pushed open the doors that Delvin knew for certain it had not been a dream. Letting some seconds pass, he too left the Bee and Barb to take a final glimpse of the man. Nothing awaited him outside the alehouse. Not even a sign of the afflicted Vulwulf. There was only silence and the ghostlike moons staring from afar.

…….​

The cold rain finally brought Penelope around again. After collapsing out of exhaustion and hunger, she presently found herself far from the cave and the Dwemer ruins she and Mercer had just escaped. In fact, she found herself in motion. She blinked her eyes and looked up at the night sky, one with stars thickly veiled by dark storm clouds. It was all quite beautiful and she did not even mind the icy drops on her face as she shivered. But as the breezes freshly swept across her cheeks, she was reminded that she was moving. As the rickety wagon she rode in bumped and creaked along, she turned to face her captors and gesture to them – but she could not, as her wrists had been bound fast. She thanked the gods that she had not been gagged and could speak, but she wondered who if anyone would hear her cries in such a woody and remote area rendered even more vacant by the weather.

“You! What is this?! Who are you and where are you taking me?!” It was only after she yelled out her question that she noticed the uniforms on the small group of men, the somewhat relieving red and brown. Imperials, or so she hoped - rather they not be costumed bandits rumored to skulk along the roads. The driver turned slightly to halfway look over his shoulder at her. His voice was weary, but steady.

“Good to see you awake. You’re in the custody of the Imperial Legion, my lady. And you are going to Ivarstead – rather, our camp just outside of it.”

“What?! But why? What is the meaning of this?!” As she struggled to move her hands while speaking, she grew angrier. “And why am I bound?! Release me!”

"I'm afraid not, we can't take any risks."

"Risks? I'm not a barbarian, I shall only defend myself if given cause to. Also, you still have not given your name and rank."

“I am Marcus Aetius, Tribune. And no, while you’re in our custody, our job is to get you to the camp safe and sound. Once there, you’re the ward of the Praefect. He’ll do as he sees fit.”

"...Tribune?" Really now?

"Indeed."

"Ah...I'll admit, it's a bit humbling that they're sending their officers out to collect little old me. I wouldn't imagine this happens much." She smiled, but the officer did not return it. Rather he maintained his stoic composure, though spoke with more than a hint of impatience.

"With all due respect, Auxiliary, we most certainly don't make a habit of this. It's more than 'humbling'. It should deeply concern you, that the necessity exists for this. Though I suppose you've been enjoying frolicking in the province too much to realize."

She wanted to return the man's bitterness a hundredfold, to remind him that it had been no picnic for her. That her sword still bore the stubborn blood of those she encountered not too long ago now, those whose blood refused to leave her blade. The ones whose dire grins persisted even in death and whose life-force she had slipped on as she scrambled away. Nothing had been simple since arriving in Skyrim. Nothing about it was carefree and she was as far from flippant as anyone could be. Still, she knew she could not say anything in retort. A career soldier's daughter, she knew better. She would never completely cloak her stubbornness and displeasure, but she had to choose her battles carefully. And with that, she let it roll off to the best of her ability.

“So...I'm to see the Praefect near Ivarstead? I was supposed to report in to Legate Rikke in Solitude, why am I going to the camp in the Rift?"

"That's what the brass has deemed safest for you at this point. Until this storm blows over, it's what has to be done. My understanding is your brother is also under special protection, but he is to remain at his current location. And that's about all I can tell you. If those of superior rank feel it necessary to divulge more, they shall. In my opinion, the less you know about it, the safer you'll be."

"Protection? Protection from what?!" Gods blast it all, stop speaking in riddles!

"It's really more a matter of who...but as I said, that's all I will say on the matter presently. Now, we're headed to the camp, at which time you'll be delivered into the waiting arms of the commanding officer - someone I understand you know well."

Sudden snickers from the other soldiers caused her eyes to narrow. She leaned forward. "Huh? Who would that be?"

The officer grinned and snapped the reins. "Ah, it'll be a surprise then."

"Whatever you say." Penelope muttered under her breath.

Exhausted and still woefully hungry, she decided not to press further. Instead, she leaned back in the cart and rested her eyes. After a few seconds of taking in the soothing sounds of the cart's wheels on the dirt ground and the kissing rain, she jolted back into the present. Her eyes opened again and stole a glance at the Breton man bound and unconscious beside her.

"What do you plan to do with him?" She nodded toward Mercer. The driver halfway looked over his shoulder and chuckled scornfully.

"Ah, that one? He's coming along for questioning. Was a bit of a feisty one, I can tell he's a character we'll have to keep an eye on."

"You don't know the half of it." Penelope shook her head cynically and leaned back in the cart again, closing her eyes. "You're wasting your time and effort though, I can guarantee you he doesn't know anything about...well, all that's related to me. You might as well let him go."

"Given the circumstances in which he was found with you, I hardly think letting him go will be prudent. But it's not my place to inquire, that will also be the duty of the Praefect."

"Hmm...well, since you all are so keen to make more work for yourselves, I can only spectate. Gods help whoever is tasked with 'interrogating' Mercer Frey..."

As she drifted back off to sleep, she caught herself in various musings. In particular, she hoped for the soldiers' sakes that the Breton man's bindings were as tight as they needed to be whenever he finally awoke.

....

The sudden lurching stop of the cart shook her awake once more, and the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat tickled her nose. The thought of warm food and icy drink gave her chills and new hope. And she was admittedly eager to disembark and settle into her latest accommodation. It was a surreal sight, the very late evening finding a handful of soldiers at the camp's edge, ready to meet them. It seemed that their arrival had not been expected then, though it was vaguely anticipated. Many things had of course happened in the past few days and none really wanted more surprises. But as the soldiers in the cart got out and unbound her wrists after she descended from it, it became increasingly clearer to the hosts just who had arrived and for what purpose. And there was great collective relief.

While rubbing very sore wrists Penelope looked around the camp, searching for any sign of this mysterious Praefect who was supposed to be so familiar to her. She could only imagine who it could be - so many of those she knew back home in Cyrodiil had been shipped off to fight in the wintry hinterland to the north. She hoped that they would all be reunited, she and all of her friends, former classmates, sparring partners, neighbors, oldest and dearest friends. Smoke twisted and rose from the spitting fires and she still could not make out much in the growing throng of curious soldiers. But when Tribune Aetius took her shoulder and urged her along, she was suddenly struck with a twinge of nervousness. The way in which several recruits paused and stood gape-mouthed, bearing lopsided grins, amused her greatly as she and the officer marched ahead. It was quite a lovely area, the Rift. The oranges and reds mixed with greens of foliage ruffled by cool and clean winds were among the many charms. She had been to Ivarstead before, while passing west for Guild business. And she always admired the scenery. The Rift camp was a lucky one, blessed additionally with breathtaking valley views. If she was to be assigned here, she would definitely not mind. It could be infinitely worse. It could be Hjaalmarch, she laughed to herself. Poor Heron.

As they finally entered the center of the camp, she could hear varied shouts and calls. A very inquisitive Nord soldier appeared at her side, his face bright with an immense smile. And even though the Tribune ignored him, the recruit did not hesitate to speak to Penelope with barely contained enthusiasm.

"You...you're her! Aren't you?"

"I...I'm who? I don't know who you mean. Then again, no one's told me much. Evidently you know more than I do about why I'm here." She shot the young Tribune at her side a sarcastic yet playful smirk, which also was ignored. The blond Nord just laughed.

"Haha, no, my lady, I don't know much either, truth be told. I just know how happy Praefect Serenus will be when he finds out you're here!" With that, he scampered off in the direction of what appeared to be the commander's tent, one somewhat larger than the rest.

But the very name the recruit just mentioned so casually nearly stopped her heart. Praefect...Serenus? Could it possibly be? No, there's more than one Serenus in Cyrodiil, there's bound to be more than one here in Skyrim now. But...still...

The Breton woman was abruptly swept up in more memories, more fond recollections from a past not quite so distant, yet seeming almost completely out of reach. It was a former life shattered by things they knew were never far away really, but tried with all of their might to keep at bay - as long as possible. The Great War was over. And it wasn't. That much was clear by now.

"Praefect Serenus, we have arrived with your guest!" The Tribune's voice snapped her out of her musings.

And she looked up ahead to see a man emerge from the commander's tent, accompanied by the same excited Nord. The Imperial, broadened by a set of heavy armor, the uniform of officers, made him appear much bulkier than she remembered. But that face, that gentle and handsome face she knew was quite the same - if not roughened a bit by several days of uncharacteristic beard growth. As soon as she was certain of who stood ahead, she bolted after him.

"Carius! Gods be praised!" She leapt right into an embrace, catching the Imperial off-guard but pleasing him nonetheless. The two old friends were all smiles, and Penelope did not want their very warm, very tight hug to end. But they finally pulled out of it to study one another's faces. Penelope, exhausted as she was, could not stop grinning. Neither could the Praefect.

"Nells! By the Eight, I was starting to think I'd never see you arrive here!"

"Look at you, Carius. So this is what life in the snowy wilds has done to you." She lightly pawed at his now rather scruffy chin. Carius softly chuckled, looking almost shy as his own hand flew to partially cover the nigh-week's worth of growth.

"Yes, well, surely you can cut me a little slack. It's been a little...strange around here the past few days."

"Strange, how?"

"Eh...lots going on. But by the gods, Nells, it's so good to see you! I've been...pretty worried. It's not exactly safe around here anymore. At least not to the extent it used to be."

"Bah, you know me. I can take care of myself...well enough anyway. I'm just so relieved to see you. I've heard things were getting...bleaker here. I had no idea where you were, if you were alright. I'd heard nothing since you left Cyrodiil with my brother. I..." As she stared into the smiling face of her dear friend, she became caught up in waves of emotion. She could feel the tears begin to surge in her eyes, which she knew were betrayed by their glistening. Taking a deep breath and returning the Imperial's warm and comforting look, she completed her thought. "I'm just so relieved."

Then came another embrace, and the two stood there locked in it. Savoring the immense relief. That is, until the Tribune finally decided to break in and address the other officer.

"Well, sir, as I expect you have your instructions from the capital, I trust you need nothing further?"

"Erm, well, no, I don't suppose so. I believe we're well-stocked-"

"Now we are, that's for certain!" Snickers that had prevailed since Penelope arrived now broke forth into outright uproarious laughter. The mouthy soldier responsible for the outburst did his best to quiet himself as soon as Carius silently glared at him. No one was used to that expression from the commanding officer, not even mischievous Liulfr. Penelope herself did her best to hold back her own giggles, which seemed to only encourage the audience further. The apparently humorless Tribune ignored the frivolity.

"In any case, Praefect, that's good to hear. Because you're about to be introduced to another guest you're to be having. At least for the interim. Though this one is of decidedly less friendly origins."

"What? Who do you mean? Who else have you brought me?" Carius craned his neck to look toward the camp's edge, to eye the stranger he had not yet seen. And it was not long that he and Penelope would have to wait. Indeed as soon as the other arrival was mentioned, Penelope clapped a hand over her eyes in disappointment and dread, whispering appeals to the Divines for strength. And as the Breton man was hauled forth, swearing, still bound, and still sore from his blow to the head just hours earlier, Carius could see and hear why the young woman next to him appeared so suddenly distressed.

"You gutless sons of bitches, unbind me and leave off!" The soldiers escorting him released their very sure grasp of his shoulders at the quick nod of the Tribune. They continued to stand very close by, swords at the ready if the captive decided to try anything rash. Given his disposition, it seemed not out of the realm of immediate possibility.

"Here we go..." Penelope muttered under her breath. Carius quickly gave her an uneasy look in response, and then stepped toward the other Breton. Mercer sneered up at the Imperial, snickering and narrowing his green eyes almost to slits.

"And you, I take it, are the lead clown around here. The jester in charge. I should tell you I don't take kindly to having my time wasted, especially not by a bunch of half-witted chess pieces. So be quick about it!"

Practical and mild-mannered as ever, Carius countered with a smile and a firm tone. "Considering your present circumstances, I'm inclined to let that outburst slide. But much more from you in that vein and I'll be forced to have you gagged while you await transfer."

"What?! Transfer?! Where and why?!"

"I'm not giving you specifics, but I will say that you are to be questioned-"

"Questioned?! That's a laugh! All of the Imperial chattel I've ever seen swore up and down they wouldn't do the Thalmor's dirty business. Guess they were as wrong as I suspected."

"This has nothing to do with the Thalmor-"

"You couldn't be any more wrong if you tried. When it comes to the Empire, everything has to do with the Thalmor. Though the ragtag bumpkin horde really isn't much better."

Penelope noticed her old friend narrow his own eyes and furrow those brows. She knew that each - the Imperial and the other Breton - was just as stubborn as the other. She could only guess as to what the former's orders were and how far they truly went up the chain of command. As the moments passed, tenseness increased, the knots in all of their guts tightening and twitching. She would need to do something, say something. The time was now.

"Carius...er, Praefect Serenus...this man helped me escape from a Falmer pit underground, he's been helping since I arrived here. He knows really nothing about why I'm in Skyrim. As you just heard, he has no real ties to the Legion or the war. He...really will be of little consequence if you keep him here, more trouble than he's worth honestly."

The Breton woman had turned to face Carius she spoke, whose face slackened a bit with muted intrigue. She did not see the Guild Master's own countenance flash with amusement and amazement.

"A...Falmer pit?" Black brows knitted. "How in blazes did you end up there, Nells?"

"I...well...we were running from a dragon, somewhere outside of Hjaalmarch, though I still don't know precisely where." She shot Mercer a glare, at which the Breton man only chuckled.

Carius crossed his arms. "Dragon? Come on now, Nells, you can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious. We would have been done for had we not taken refuge in a cave. Damn thing sealed us in by causing a rock fall. Thankfully it was part of a Dwemer ruin, one that I think isn't even on a map. We were incredibly lucky!"

"So you...you actually saw a dragon?!"

"Yes...and that wasn't even the first time. I was...I was at Helgen."

Her voice grew fainter with each word, almost breathless. The revelation drew brief mumbles and gasps from among the recruits. Of course by now the news of the resurgence of the beasts had spread far and wide through the land, but it still seemed a distant fairytale to many. They listened with a predictable mix of awe and skepticism. Carius himself was unsure what to believe since hearing the reports and the anecdotes of those who may or may not have actually been there. But he trusted Penelope, and knew she was not one to concoct such fanciful tales. Whatever his friend had seen had shaken her, evident in her voice and her bruised frame. Strange tales seemed a septim a dozen back home in Cyrodiil, especially their home town of Cheydinhal. But this was different. This had proven real.

"You were at Helgen the day that Ulfric was to be executed...the day that they say the sun was blacked out by a creature not seen for...lifetimes? The day of fire and blood?"

Penelope nodded softly.

"But why...why, Nells? Why are you even in Skyrim in the first place? I've been told nothing."

"It's...not something we should discuss now. Not here. I promise I'll tell you everything, but...first..."

Lightheadedness began to overtake her once more, and her legs wobbled beneath her. Her normally warmer complexion washed over with pallor and with an abrupt sigh, she crumpled to the ground. Carius hastily moved to catch her, taking her in his arms.

The Praefect looked around frantically for a place for her to rest but soon realized that before anything else, she should visit the physician. He had no idea what wounds she might have hidden or what ailments might be afflicting her. Liulfr proved himself essential once more, standing nearby and ready to assist in any way he could. Carius caught his eye.

"Legionnaire Liulfr, if Gnaeus is sleeping, wake him and tell him he needs to see to her immediately! Help him prepare if necessary!"

"Yes, sir!" The Nord ran off to the gray-haired doctor's tent, calling out as he approached. Penelope, who had been close to losing consciousness altogether, shook her head and struggled to stand on her own.

"No, Carius...it's fine...I'm fine, I'm alright. I just...I just need something to drink and eat. Haven't had much of anything in...I can't remember when." The Breton woman staggered a few paces ahead, but stopped as her vision began to blur. The Imperial was unfailingly observant and managed to grab hold of her and support her as she tottered again.

"You're going to see the doctor, Nells. Right now. As soon as you're situated there, I'm going to bring you some food and water."

Penelope's weak yet warm smile reassured the officer, who helped her along to the tent. He looked over his shoulder at Mercer, who stood by smirking to himself. The stalwart Tribune who had initially delivered the Bretons was content to watch the thief until Carius could return his attention to him. He kept his men in position as they moved the ornery Guild Master to the camp's holding area - blades drawn and gazes fixed. The irritable Breton would enjoy the vigilant eyes of not only the usual guards, but now the fortuitous Tribune and his soldiers as well - and he could hardly contain his excitement for the opportunity.

When they reached the physician's tent, Carius and Penelope were greeted by an anxious Liulfr and the dry-humored doctor. A fresh bedroll had been lain out for the young woman, who slowly lowered herself to the ground. The physician handed her a cold tankard of water to sip after she very gingerly sat down.

"So you're the guest whose coming was foretold to us, eh? The one prophesied. Well, I'd certainly have hoped to see you in better condition, but all things considered you could be much worse for wear."

The old Imperial examined the cuts on her face and the bruises on her arms, as well as her very weary eyes. After washing the injuries and cleaning away the dried blood, he asked her very plainly if there were wounds that he presently could not see. She shook her head impassively and as her belly gave a great rumble - one that actually slightly embarrassed her - the physician was confident that sustenance would make her bounce back in relatively short order.

"When was it since you last had something in that stomach, girl?"

"Depends." She spoke with the meekest of smiles. "You counting scraps or a proper meal? Because if it's the latter, it's been...days at least."

"Well, I see that the good Praefect has hustled off to find you something to gnaw on. No heroics for you for a day or so and I believe you'll be just fine. I've seen many in far worse shape than you in this tent, and they walked away alright. Most of them walked right back onto the battlefield, as a matter of fact."

He handed her a blanket before walking off to grab some supplies from the other end of the camp. She was left there to muse, to think seriously about her ever-evolving situation in Skyrim. It was an adventure always changing and doing so quickly. And sometimes she felt she could barely keep up with the pace of it all. The bumps and bruises and scrapes did not help her energy level, but at the same time there was a fire kindled in that heart and soul. There was a new optimism. Since coming to the province, she had seen both her brother and now her dearest friend in good health amid all of the chaos and she felt like even though she was far from home, there was a considerable piece of it here with her now. And she could manage. She could surely persevere with the support coming from that knowledge. It indeed was much too easy to get lost in all manner of thoughts presently, from the way the night breeze whispered in the trees surrounding the camp, to the way the rain fell to the earth in gentle plips and plops, to the murmur of the soldiers. It was a beautiful harmony.

"Nells, I've got some tomato soup and cooked beef for you."

Carius had reappeared and crouched down to deliver the food, which was hastily snatched away by a famished Penelope. The Breton took voracious bites of the meat, sparing little time to chew and swallowing with such speed that it worried the Imperial man all the more. Soon enough, the meat was dispensed with and the young woman moved on to the soup, which she sheepishly attempted to eat with a bit more decorum. She wanted to merely tip the bowl and gulp it all down, but she instead made use of the spoon and carefully imbibed the hearty liquid until it was all gone. After her bowl was all but empty, she grinned at her friend.

“That was delicious and much-needed. Thank you so much, Carius.”

“It’s the least I can do, Nells. You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but…you look like you’ve been through Oblivion and back.”

The young woman nodded pensively, reflecting. “I feel like I have, some days. It’s been…a hell of a journey so far. I don’t know where or when it’s going to end. But part of me is almost afraid for it to.”

Carius moved closer to her on the ground, eager to make sense of all that had been happening, all that he had seen and heard in some very bewildering and horrifying recent days.

“Afraid? Nells, what’s going on? You said you’d tell me why you’re here…I can’t for the life of me figure it out.”

Penelope drew a long sigh and looked toward the center of the camp. And then, the sky.

“Would you…mind taking a walk?”

“Not at all. Are you okay to be on your feet though? You’re still weak-“

“I’m much better now, Carius. The food's already doing right by me. I’ll need a good night’s rest, but…I think it’s better that we both to go sleep knowing exactly why I’m here.”

“Alright then.” The Imperial helped the Breton woman up from the ground and after informing his lieutenant of a few items, including inviting the Tribune and his men to stay until the morning and his current plan for a short walk, the two began their departure from the camp. The wind continued to rustle leaves and whisper with a shrill pitch against the rocks. It was a beautiful night. But there was sorrow within it.

Liulfr watched the pair move away and wondered just what they were saying, what Tullius’ messages and commands had meant, who the mysterious man in the doctor’s tent whom he could not recall had been…so many things remained a jumble of unknowns. And while he was glad to see the relief of his commander now that the young woman had arrived, there seemed even more unanswered questions presently than before.

Penelope reached out to touch the soft flowers and stiff leaves as she passed them by, taking one of the former to smell and place in her pocket. After drawing a deep breath of the sweet and relaxing scent, she sighed and turned to the Imperial man at her side.

“Carius…I’m here…on a mission. It's...a recovery mission.”

“Recovery?” The term had a sickening echo in his mind. In the army, it had nearly always involved a death – the recovery was that of fallen warriors or sometimes civilians. She was here to…recover someone? But who? He had spoken with Heron only quite recently and he seemed in brilliant spirits as usual. There had been no battles, no notable skirmishes that he had heard of and surely would have as the acting commanding officer of the Rift. If not Heron, then who? Who else in her family was fighting now? Her father had been sent ahead on a special reconnaissance mission, he knew that much. But there had been no word of any grievous harm coming to Adrianus. None that he had been given, in any case. Who? The answer would come soon enough.

“They didn’t see fit to tell Heron, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard either. But…my father. He died, Carius. He was killed in action here a few months back.”

“Wha-what?! Adrianus? Dead?!” The blood-stilling words tumbled out of a disbelieving mouth. His heart sank, forcing him to stumble and seek a place to let the rest of his body fall along with it. Penelope grimly lead them to a large rock to sit, just as she had her brother. And as much as she fought them once more, the tears swelled in her eyes and threatened to breach.

Once more the young Breton woman explained what she had been told, which was very little. Maddeningly little. And all of the same questions her brother had asked in his shock and anger were asked by the Imperial man, who had for most of his life seen the late Redguard as his own family. Where Heron had answered with a burst of heartbroken rage, Carius was overcome with the deepest sadness in his body and soul. He was not able either to hold back the brackish waves that sparkled in those hazel eyes. As was his habit, he strove not to cry audibly, suffering only the tears to betray his grief. And after allowing his friend to pull him forward, to cry silently into and over her shoulder, he drew back with new resolve – and awe.

“So you…you’ve been here, all alone…trying to do this yourself?”

“I had to, Carius. No one else was going to do it for us. We all deserve real answers and with Heron here and Mother and Korinna and Photina back home, keeping everything going, I needed to be the one. My father gave everything for the Legion, for the Emperor and the Empire. I’m seeing to it that his memory is properly honored. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”

She turned to look at her friend with wavering eyes. Her smile was friendly and hopeful, but melancholy. The scratches and bluish-purple marks on her face and arms served as graphic testimony to the quest she had embarked upon - one with an unknown end. As Carius eyed the young woman’s battle scars, stark waves of empathy swept over him again and he took her into his arms anew. Though the abruptness of his motion took the Breton by surprise momentarily, she was immensely thankful for the embrace. The warmth and the knowledge of truly shared grief were long missed things. The only other one in Skyrim who could possibly understand her pain was her brother. But now, reunited with her oldest friend, she knew she had another shoulder to cry on. It was a bond as deep as anyone could fathom.

“I’m just so thankful that you’re alright, Carius. So many have been lost here…to this…war, or whatever we should call it. So many lives destroyed. I’ve been to countless towns and villages through this land and in every one of them, there are mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters staring ahead with the same haunted eyes. I’ve seen Heron. I’ve seen my brother well and I thank the Divines for that every day. But I'd heard nothing about how you fared and with things getting worse...I just couldn’t bear the thought that anything should happen to you here. I’m…I’m so relieved.”

“Aw, Nells, don’t worry about me. You know, I’ve been given the impression that with promotion comes some special powers...or something.” He winked, and she laughed.

“I noticed, you’re a Praefect now, huh? How did that come about? Though if any one of us were to get promoted in the Legion, my septims would always have been on you.”

“Bah, you think too highly of me. Truth be told though, it just sort of…happened. Our Legate, Legate Fasendil, was called away to Solitude several days ago and, well, they needed an interim commanding officer. Guess I impressed somebody, though I know not how. This job isn’t all it’s cracked up to be though, that’s for sure.”

“How so?”

“I’m…on edge all of the time. These men, all of them are depending on me to keep them alive. Sure, war is war and some, many of them may well die. But at the same time, I just…I’m having a difficult time of reconciling that in my head. It's well beyond theory and practicum now. This is a real war. These are real lives. And it chills me.”

“That's…that's what reminds us that we have beating hearts in us. Don’t forget though that these men, your men, went into this knowing the risks. They’re all prepared to die for what they believe is right – as are we all. That’s the nature of it. We do what we can and no more can be asked. You’re a Praefect, because they believe in you. You certainly wouldn’t be one if they thought you were likely to blow it all.”

She offered a good-humored smirk and though the Imperial was still burdened by the fresh, devastating news as well as his own constant worries, he decided to take the Breton’s lead and proceed with a smile – weak as it may be.

“You have way too much faith in me, Nells. Always have. I have to hope I can live up to your expectations.”

“You’ve got it backwards, Carius. Pretty soon, you’ll be a Legate and you’ll be replacing your absent Fasendil straight away, just you wait and see! And then I can say that I fought alongside one of the greatest heroes of the Legion. That I knew him before everyone else who’s singing his praises now. I knew him back when he was being tormented by my evil brother in and out of school. Back in the days when we were little more than ankle-biting brats.”

She grinned again, placing a hand on the Imperial's shoulder. He in turn laughed at unspoken remembrances of the very many silly episodes the three shared. It all was so close, and yet so far. And for how much longer?

“Hmpf, that brother of yours…he’s certainly a handful.”

“You’re telling me." Penelope's smirk softened to another warm smile. "He…really loves you though. You’re never far from his thoughts. You know we all love you to bits, but Heron has always wanted to protect you. From what, I can’t say I really know. But…I guess anything and everything.”

“Ha…funny, then, how he couldn’t protect me from himself!”

“Bah, it’s always a show of affection with him, you know that. He doesn’t bother playing tricks on anyone who doesn’t strike his fancy in some way.”

“He must really care for me then.” Carius quipped. The Breton woman crossed her arms playfully.

“Are you kidding? Heron would marry you.” She paused to give a playful raise of both brows. Carius chuckled almost bashfully and the young woman continued an even more pressing line of inquiry. “Speaking of…who’s the lucky woman, anyway?”

“Huh? I’ve not the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come now, I know you’ve got to have someone waiting for you back home. I can’t believe no one’s snatched you up like a bag of gold coins in the middle of the street.”

“Well, you’ll be surprised to learn, then, that I am in fact still a sad and lonely bachelor.”

Her smirk grew even more sly. "You're telling me that if I searched your nightstand right now, I wouldn't find any love notes from any girls of any extraction?"

"Not a one."

“What? Well, by the Eight! Wonders never cease. I suppose it wouldn’t have been on your mind as of late anyway, not with this war business for all these months.” Penelope could not deny the sincere happiness at his reply, and she tried to tone down her fiercely beaming grin. Don't want to appear too transparent...

“That’s true. Still, it doesn’t mean I don’t think about settling down at some point, when all this is said and done. Would be nice, I think. Have a home in the country, maybe near the sea. Live out my days with someone. I could get used to that.”

“So could I, really…”

Predictable silence passed between them, with the whistling wind and still gently falling rain playing in harmony with crickets and other droning insects. It was a silence constructed not so much from awkwardness or embarrassment. Rather it was much more to the contrary: it sprang from a mutual realization, mixed with a coyness. It was also the sound of surfacing memories. And imaginings of an unclear future. Before too long, however, Penelope would be ushered back into the reality of her current position, as well as the status of her mission. And she could hold the question back no more.

"By the way, Carius...why was I brought here? All the Tribune would tell me was that it was in the interests of 'protection' from someone. Do you know who? You must know more than that."

The Imperial was not altogether certain that this specific inquiry would come from his friend. He had no way of knowing what she was aware of and to what degree. But now that it had, he did not wish to be wholly dismissive or evasive. He similarly did not want to alarm her. He had to thread the needle carefully, as he always had endeavored to do.

"I...I don't know much. There have been some bad things happening in the province lately - things not associated with the war. At least I don't believe so at this point. But anyway, I'm told reinforcements from Solitude are on their way. It seems as if they're going to provide resources as well as intelligence. We both should know more soon."

"Hmm...I...I suppose so... You better not be holding back on me though, Praefect Serenus!" She gave him a friendly jab in the arm. "Your friendship with me trumps - in terms of priority and significance - your post in the Army. You do know that, right?"

"You're a worry, Nells!" Carius laughed heartily, which in turn genuinely pleased the Breton woman at his side. She had been waiting to hear his laughter again. It had been much too long.

"And you're a worrywart." Another good-natured jab, this time to his armored chest.

“Heh, indeed." After more smiles and brief silence, the officer slowly stood up from their rock-seat. "I...suppose we should be getting back now, eh? Don’t want the men to think I abandoned them. “

“Oh, I hardly think they’d ever consider that. But you’re right, we should get back there. I’m about to fall asleep at any moment anyway. I should be much more with it in the morning.”

“You remain a marvel, Nells.”

It was a relief and a blessing how their mutual remembrances did well to ward off the most wrenching pain of the heart. The sad news undoubtedly reverberated in both of their minds and it shook them. But in their shared memories was a hope for the future. A hope that no matter what, they would all three have one another. Their families were all but one in most ways, and there was the earnest prayer that they could and would reunite and return to an old life after all of the current strife. Of course it would never be the same. But they desired to pick up where they left off, to the best of their ability. They had to try. Penelope’s heart told her it was at least possible – she had found both her brother and her best friend, oldest of playmates. Anything seemed possible now. She had to nourish that optimism, at all costs.

The camp had begun to settle down by the time they returned. Some of the loitering soldiers did not bother to hide smirks or stifle snickers. Many of them still recalled the day Liulfr had jumped behind their commander and stolen glances at his letter. They were wise to it all, though they would never dare say a word to Carius himself. Before heading back to the commander’s tent, the Praefect took a small detour to visit the detainment area. An angry Breton, one even more disgruntled than usual, sat on the ground still bound and still snarling.

“Oh, look who it is…so, when exactly was it you said you’re gonna cut me loose and forget you ever saw me?”

“I didn’t.” The officer quickly continued, denying the Guild Master another bitter outburst. “And I strongly suggest that you save your breath and your energy. Get some rest. If all goes smoothly, after we ask you a few questions tomorrow, you’ll be out of here. But try anything untoward tonight and you’ll be the one at a sore disadvantage.”

“Hmpf. Know this: the only reason why I’m playing along with your little game right now is I have other, far more significant things to think about. I’ll take advantage of your…hospitality for now. But if what you say doesn’t pan out tomorrow, so help me…you have no idea who you’re dealing with-“

The Praefect remained unmoved by the thief's threats. “You have my word. Cooperate and you’ll be released. It's that simple.”

“Pfft. We’ll see about that...” Mercer glanced past the Imperial and over at Penelope, who was trying to remain inconspicuous as she prepared to wind down for the night. The Breton woman felt his eyes in her direction and she tried to disappear before the bitter man could get a word out. But she did not move quickly enough.

Here we go again…

“While you’re at it, General, how about some damn food? In fact, why don’t you have her feed it to me, seeing as my hands are still tied and somehow I think she’d jump at the chance.”

“I beg your pardon?” Carius’ eyes flashed with irritation as well as confusion at the very suggestion. Mercer, markedly pleased with the reaction, only chuckled more as he continued.

"Oh, you know...I can't really blame her for wanting to get on my good side. Connections and all that. They're incredibly powerful in a place like this. Necessary, really. Yeah, I'd say nothing beats cozying up to the master of the Skyrim Thieves' Guild!"

He paused and turned to look at a very angry Penelope, who glared back at him with bared teeth.

"You...gods damn you!"

The Imperial, in contrast, stood confounded by the exchange. "You're the...you can't be serious...what's your name?!"

"Frey...Mercer Frey."

Carius looked to the side momentarily in thought before snapping his glance back to the female Breton. "I've heard that name before, I'm sure of it... Nells, is this true? Is this man who he says he is?!"

Deciding against igniting a full scale war with the thief in the middle of the camp - despite how much she wanted to do so - Penelope offered up a defeated sigh. She looked down at her foot as she raked it along the ground.

"Yes, Carius...he...he is..."

"What?! Mara's sake! What have you been doing here? What on Nirn are you doing consorting with...thieves?!"

The usually serene and soft-spoken Imperial's fresh and very genuine displeasure surprised the Breton. Even though she had long known of his very steadfast moral convictions, especially concerning thieves, assassins, daedra worshippers and other "undesirables", she was not fully prepared for his stinging reproach now.

"Carius, please, calm down, I told you I'd explain everything and I will. I just didn't get to this part yet."

"Might want to take some time explaining," Mercer chided, "exactly how you got mixed up in the Guild in the first place. In fact, you might mention Brynjolf while you're at it. I think he may be heartbroken when he realizes what's really going on."

"Brynjolf? Who's that, Nells?" Those eyes of his, those hazel eyes every other time reflecting with warmth and inner happiness now glowed with vexation. And Penelope simply was not sure what the cure for it was. She could not recall the last time she had seen her friend this way. And it almost frightened her.

"He...as far as I can tell, he's from Riften. He introduced me to the Guild."

"Oh, and how." Mercer cackled, twisting the knife ever more. Penelope wanted to throw her hands around the thief's neck to silence him. Not even she was sure what it was that held her back.

"You shut that rotten mouth of yours! More fool me for thinking the temporary truce we had was legitimate."

"Silly woman, I needed you off my back long enough to be able to get out of that hell hole in one piece. That's all. We're no closer than we were on the day you waltzed into the Cistern on Brynjolf's arm. Though, I still am surprised by the way you threw yourself at me after we got topside. Wasn't expecting that, or the kiss."

It was now that the Breton woman stepped in front of Mercer, hoping to get through to her friend as she looked at him with most determined eyes. She gently clutched his upper arms, trying to connect. Come on, wake up!

"Don't listen to this nonsense, Carius! This horrible, love-starved, heartless wretch of a man thrives on exaggerating and embellishing to give himself twisted pleasure at my expense." She suddenly spun around to holler back at the other Breton. "And by the Divines, it was a kiss on the cheek in delirious celebration of getting out alive! Don't you dare pretend otherwise!"

But to her dismay, the Imperial only shook his head and shrugged at it all.

"The Thieves Guild? Really? To be honest, I don't know what to believe right now, Penelope. Been in the dark a while, just didn't have any idea as to how long, apparently..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it sounds like...now, if you'll excuse me, I have a camp to run. It's late and the men need to get resettled. As do you."

With that, a very disappointed Carius headed toward the commander's tent to speak briefly with his lieutenant. Penelope turned to watch him leave, but returned her vengeful glare to Mercer as the other Breton merely threw his head back in very persistent snickering laughter.

"Why was any of that necessary?"

"All of it was."

"Why? It does you no good, so stay out of it! You have nothing invested in this."

"Once more, you're sadly mistaken, my dear. It does me quite a bit of good - above all, I've needed some good humor. Helps my nerves. You should try it sometime."

Penelope's dark eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "You do realize all you've done is seal your own fate?"

"Oh really? How so?"

"You've all but confessed that you're the King of Thieves. You think Carius...an Imperial Legion officer...will just let you run free in the morning? He's going to turn you in, you can bet your life on it."

Mercer just leaned back against a nearby crate. "Pfft, he wouldn't dare. And even if he did, I'm not worried in the slightest. I know how Imperial courts work, I didn't fall off the cabbage cart yesterday. Give the right people, Maven's people, the right amount of 'persuasion' and I'll be out again in no time. Not to mention, I haven't forgotten how to wield a blade yet. When I start forgetting things like that, I'll welcome death."

The Breton woman’s hands flew to her hips, unimpressed. "All of this coming from a man who's still bound at the wrists."

"Hmpf. All part of the plan. I've been in tougher situations than this, I promise you. Including ones with the damn Legion."

"Well, for your sake, I hope you're telling the truth and not just talking swagger as usual."

"Oh, you'll see...and I'll be seeing you back at the Cistern within the week. We've still got an investigation pending into the Meadery debacle. It's your job to clean up that mess!"

Penelope shot him an incredulous glance and shook her head as she walked off. "You're mad..."

As she gloomily headed back toward the physician's area she noticed the Praefect tidying up the map table, shuffling papers and placing them in neat piles here and there. After hesitating, she decided that no matter what his reaction wound up being, she had to try to reach out again. This time it would be away from Mercer’s leering presence and maybe, just maybe, she could make her friend understand. She stepped warily into the tent, trying to catch the Imperial’s attention as he moved around.

What else can I do? What else can any of us do?

"Carius...talk to me, please. Come on now...don't do this..." After a few voiceless moments the officer thought better of ignoring her appeal and turned around to face the Breton, treating her to a withering look that was half-annoyed and half-sorrowful.

"Do what? Forgive me for not being overly thrilled at your 'hobbies' since coming here."

"Look, I know you're disappointed-"

Carius threw a final heap of parchment onto the table and crossed his arms. "I thought you were better than that. The Nells I remember would never have had even a single kind word to say to a thief, much less the desire to join them in their crimes! What's happened to you?"

The young woman shrugged, raising disheartened hands and letting slip a sullen chuckle. "...Life, Carius. I'm involved because I thought it would help me find out what I needed to know about my father. I know it looks like I was wrong in that assumption and even so, can you blame me for trying?"

The Imperial looked to a distant corner of the tent and shook his head resentfully. "...We don't abandon our morals in times of strife. That's when it's most important we adhere to them. That's when it really counts. In times like these, we can’t afford weakness, no matter what motivates it-“

"Now look, I know you think we can afford to act like things haven't changed around us, that the very bottom hasn’t dropped out from under us in all of these months. But thinking that way doesn't do us any favors. Everything I've done with the Guild I have worked to undo or at least to mitigate until I can make amends properly, after this is all over."

"You're still turning your back on everything you were taught. What would your father say?"

It was a question she knew was coming. She knew not from whom, but she knew that she would be confronted with it sooner or later. And it was not an invalid question either. Every person that knew Adrianus - the strong and bold-hearted warrior and equally fierce friend, one of great integrity - would be wondering the same thing when faced with Penelope’s shadier dalliances. It was a question that haunted her, even though in her heart she continuously tried to reason with his ghost.

"He...I know he wouldn't be happy about it. But I would hope that he'd understand why I'm doing what I'm doing and have done here."

Carius closed his eyes and sighed deeply, honestly trying to understand how his dearest friend had arrived at such disturbing conclusions. Wondering how she had come to be where she was now, and what she was now. But the crushing news of her father's death was still exceedingly raw for him. Reminded of it anew, emotion surged in his words.

"Whatever you hope to gain by thieving and Divines-know-what else will always be overshadowed by the latter. You must know this! Or have you forgotten yourself already? I wouldn't have thought you'd have been away from home long enough-"

The Imperial’s dismissive tone finally stirred Penelope to snap back at him.

"For exactly how long have you been with the priesthood, huh? Because all of this preaching and judgment...it'd never have come from the Carius I remember."

Struck by the bitterness of her voice and her words, the Praefect turned away just as his frown grew deeper.

"I'm done talking about this right now. You have a clean bedroll, water, a blanket and two pillows. That's the best I can do for you at this hour...though I suppose you could steal something more if you should find yourself wanting."

Penelope stood looking at her friend in angry disbelief for nearly a half minute before finally exhausting her own patience. She turned to march back to her waiting bedroll in the medical tent. But she called out to the Praefect over her shoulder just as she started to stomp off.

"...Fine. Goodnight, Carius."

"…Night."

Something about his reply irked her all the more. She was not sure if it was the tone, the brevity, or a combination of the two - or something else entirely that she could not distinguish. Whatever it was, it kept her face frozen in a grimace even after her head came to rest on the pillow in her tent. Her sword lay nearby, which gave her some measure of familiar comfort. But she could not shake the agitation that Carius' words had evoked in her this night. His reaction to this was striking enough. What would he say when he knew everything? She wanted to tell him precisely that: everything, every detail from start to finish. She wanted to explain to him, to share with him the trials and tribulations she had faced.

Most of all, she wanted him to realize and be able to admit to himself that she was the same girl he had always known - the same stubborn, principled, soldier's daughter he had remembered. Circumstances they each found themselves in may have drastically changed and would again before the end. But the test of staying true to their souls was currently underway. And she wanted him to see that she was not failing in that, and would not allow herself to fail.

"Have faith in me, Carius...please..." She whispered to herself sadly as a line of tears trickled down her cheek.

What she did not see as she lay there in her tent was the young officer eventually walking over with his own bedroll, blanket and pillow. She would not see him place it all on the ground just outside of where she slept, and that he would do his best to keep a protective though very tired eye on her tent as the night lulled on. She would not see that even in spite of his harsh words to her but a few minutes earlier, the crack of a tiny smile would span his face as looked over at her modest sleeping quarters.

What neither one of them would see as they drifted into slumber was the long and twisting silhouette passing soundlessly across the cloud-draped moons. What they could not hear as they attempted to flit between burgeoning dreams was the flapping of great wings and a distant screech - one that the young Breton woman, as well as some others, now knew all too well.