Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1

**a/n: I've been playing waaaay too many video games lately.**

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The first sense that came to me was scent. I sniffed the air to get my bearings, a habit formed from years of experience. It smelled of human, horse, salt, urine and woodrot and I barely held back a grimace. I'd breathe through my mouth but I really would rather not find how it would taste. I was dimly aware of the sound of thick voices over that of hooves trotting and creaking movement, but, my mind was too muggy to make out more than a few of the words; something about Stormcloaks and the Empire being lazy…

One thing was clear, however: I was surrounded by nords. If I could manage to open my eyes, I'd be rolling them. If the dull throb in the back of my head and my apparently bound hands were any indication, one of the brutish, tactless, humans clogged me over the head.

The voices got louder and clearer as my wits fully returned to me. I felt the telltale swaying of a carriage and I opened my eyes to see my own bound hands and the blur of old sun stained wood in my peripheral. There were nords sitting all around me, as far as I could tell. One was even pressed against me, whining to another.

_Ah, well. Playing dead will only get me so far, I suppose. Best look alive._

Gathering my strength, I shifted and moved my head to look up at what was in front of me. A blond nord man, bound in a similar state as I. _Not the worst thing to wake up to, _I mused. _At the very least he's handsome. _He opened his mouth to speak.

"Hey, you," he said. My ears twitched. _Not a bad voice either, nice and deep. _"You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?"

I nodded. My memory was fuzzy, but I remembered something like that. I was… trying to cross the border from Cyrodill to Skyrim… _Oh, now I remember. _

I had stolen from an apparently important ambassador and was spotted by a few guards. I managed to make my get away on the back of a stolen horse and just as I was crossing the border I was accosted by…

"You walked right into that Imperial ambush," the nord continued. "Just like us, and that horse thief." He nodded to the man sitting to my left. I looked to see a nervous looking dark haired man, a bit wiry and thin, but obviously a nord nonetheless. _Wait a minute…_

He looked familiar. Then, it hit me. "You…!" If my hands were free I'd have broken his jaw. "You're that damned robber!" The thief cringed but, he stood his ground, glaring back at me.

"As if you're so innocent! What was a slip of a bosmer like you doing with a Legion horse, girl? You're certainly not soldier material."

I hissed back at him, "The horse was mine to ride, how it was obtained was irrelevant, nord. What were _you_ doing lurking on the side of the road like a sick sabercat? Do you often prey on helpless women just trying to make it to the next town?"

"Oh, so the wench who threatened to rip my cock off if I didn't get out of her way is playing the dainty distressed maid? That's rich!"

Another voice cut in, a sharp and authoritative bark. "Shut up, back there!"

_Piss off. _

The horse thief seemed more than willing to change subjects. "What's with him?" he asked nodding to the huge, boyish-faced, bear of a man, bound even tighter than we and gagged, at the back of the carriage.

The nord from earlier seemed to take offense.

"Watch your tone!"

"What?" I asked, startled.

"That is Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!"

The color drained from the horse thief's face and he looked again at the gagged man. "You're… you're the jarl of Windhelm. The leader of the rebellion! But, if you're here… Oh, gods, where are they taking us?!"

The handsome nord smirked wryly. "Isn't it obvious? Sovengarde awaits."

"This isn't happening! This can't be happening!" The thief wailed.

_How dreadfully annoying. _"You're a bit of a coward, aren't you, highwayman? Shouldn't you be pleased to see your ancestors in the afterlife?" I mocked. "Your Talos ensures all you brave strong nords a seat in his oh, so divine meadhall, doesn't he?"

The rebel nord scowled at me as the horse thief began to weep. I shrugged at him. "Glare at me as much as you wish, nord. I have nothing to fear from a bound man and will state my opinions as I please."

His scowl deepened as he turned to comfort the thief. "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"What do you care?" He shot back.

The rebel had a wistful look in his eyes, "A nords last thoughts should be of home…"

"Rorikstead… I'm… I'm from Rorikstead…."

The rebel nodded.

My ears pricked as I heard the distant voice of one of the soldiers further ahead in our little caravan. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" We were entering a town.

"Good. Let's get this over with."

I lifted up slightly in my seat at this, peering ahead to try and see what awaited at us other than a swift beheading. If I was lucky, I might be able to slip away before we reached the chopping block. We passed a sign that read Helgen.

The thief began praying. I blinked at him as he began to invoke the name of the divines, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Pathetic," I sighed. Now all three nords cast glares at me. And the rebel spoke at me with fierce eyes and clenched fists. "I do not care what your beliefs are, elf," He spat the word like a curse. "But, the very least you could do is respect our right to pray to the divines in our final moments."

I scoffed. "The divines are as important to me as they are to you, nord. But, they do not help fools who sit and cry, sniveling for their lives like whelps. They are only with those who would keep their wits about them." I spat. "_That_ is why this damned crook is pathetic. Now, shut the fuck up and let me listen."

The rebel seemed cowed and the gagged one seemed to look at me with a certain kind of begrudging respect. There was a moment of silence between us and I took the time to listen to what the Imperial soldiers were talking about. Nothing particularly useful, unfortunately. The two nords began chattering again about someone named General Tullius and, judging from the tone, nothing good. "…And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Bet those damned elves had something to do with this." At this I cast them a reproachful stare. _Tactless human. _

I glanced at the town around us, hearing the voices of curious children, their shushing mothers, and general gossip. A blonde little boy stared at me with wide, awestruck eyes. I locked my gaze with his, before grinning and dipping my head in a playful nod. He hid behind a wooden post before peeking out to see if I was still looking. I stuck my tongue out at him and turned away. As fun as children are to tease, I was more concerned that our carriage was rolling to a halt. I turned to look questioningly at the blonde insurgent.

"End of the line." He seemed resigned to his fate.

The horse thief began to protest again. "This isn't fair! You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

I rolled my eyes and the blonde one scoffed out, "Face your death with some dignity, thief."

A soldier came to guide us off the carriage and the horse thief persisted, "No, wait! We're not rebels!" He looked at me then with the wild eyes of a terrified skeever. "Tell them!" I raised an eyebrow. He spoke as if we'd been traveling together. Still, I spoke in our defense.

"Ah, I am simply a traveler, I crossed your borders from Cyrodill, I had no idea there was even a rebellion to be a part of." I nodded towards the scared nord. "He is a horse thief and a rather cowardly one at that. I doubt he'd join any cause but to save his own skin." The soldiers simply ignored us.

_Ah, well. I tried my best. _

A soldier walked to stand in front of us. "When your name is stated, step towards the block."

The blonde sighed. "Damned Empire loves their lists."

A woman in official looking armor stepped forward, glaring at us. I met her glower with a bored stare and she scowled at me, placing a hand on the blade at her side. I cracked my knuckles in response, my lips tilting up into a half smirk. _Bring it, bitch. _The first soldier began listing names and the woman turned to regard the people who stepped forward.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." _ A jarl? I thought the Jarls were Skyrim's leaders. They can be tried as traitors here?_

The blonde nord spoke mournfully as the gagged man stepped forward. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

Then, "Ralof of Riverwood." He stepped forward, following the one he called Jarl, his head held high.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." And to my great surprise, the highwayman stepped forward, or rather frantically ran.

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" He tried to flee.

"Halt!" The nord woman from before drew her blade as he rushed past her.

"You're not killing me!"

"Archers!"

I grimaced and almost couldn't bear to watch. _Weave, Lokir! Not in a straight line!_

Lokir jerked and fell flat forward, an arrow embedded in his back. I bowed my head as the thud echoed around the town square. _May Kynareth guide you, highwayman. _

The woman turned to face the rest of us captives and challengingly spat, "Anyone else feel like running?" I narrowed my eyes at her and locked our gazes. Without breaking eyecontact, I spat a gob of sticky saliva to the dirt. I may not know much about nord customs, but that is one of the few insulting gestures I knew of. She growled at me and I flashed my teeth challengingly.

The male soldier called out to me then, apparently having missed our little exchange. "Wait, who are you?"

"I am called Sa'miail."

"What are you doing here, wood elf? On a pilgrimage? Trading?" He did not give me time to respond and instead turned to the woman, "Captain, her name's not on the list. What shall we do?"

The woman- captain- smirked then and said, "Forget the list, she goes to the block, too."

_Typical._

He nodded. "By your orders, captain." She walked off to speak to the headsman and he turned again to me. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood."

Dryly, I replied, "Actually, I hail from Elsweyr. But, your consideration is certainly appreciated, nord."

He blinked, "Follow the captain, prisoner."

I did as bidden, half tempted to strike out at her turned back. _Not yet._

As I approached, the one called General Tullius was speaking to this... Jarl Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak… Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But, a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king in a Daedraborn plan to usurp the throne." He spat on the other man's boots and Ulfric grunted. Tullius continued, "You started this war and now Skyrim's in chaos. The empire is gonna put you down and restore peace to this place."

Just after those words passed from his lips a sound filled the air. Like a thousand sabercats roaring to the tune of a hundred wolves howling. My skin turned to gooseflesh and my hair stood on end. _What… what was that horrid sound?_

Someone else apparently was having the same train of thought as I heard, "What was that?"

Tullius, after a moment's pause, said, "Nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," the she-captain saluted. "Read them their final rites."

A priestess stepped forward and began to chant out a Blessing of Arkay but was quickly cut off by a rebel prisoner. As he knelt down, his neck over the block, he spat curses to the Imperial soldiers until his last breath was cut off by the sickening squelch of the executioner's blade carving through his throat. I gulped. There were several jeers and cheers.

The she-captain merely kicked the headless corpse to the side before snarling out, "Next! The savage!" It took me a moment to realize she was referring to me with that little comment. My lips parted to spit some harsh words back at her before I was cut off by that bloodcurdling sound again. My ears twitched. _It's much closer now…_

The nords and imperials simply shrugged it off and the woman spat out, "I said: Next. Prisoner." I was pushed forward by the Imperial that requested my name earlier.

"Nice and easy," he said.

_Whelp. It's now or never. _

And with that thought, I kicked backwards, striking the soldier in the gut. There were shocked cries from the gathered soldiers and the crowd of onlookers. I dashed forward, straight for the captain and struck her in the face with my bound hands. I managed to snatch her blade up, when she was stunned and with a single quick motion, the crude hemp binding my wrists was cut away. The crowd of prisoners cheered me on, but I paid them no mind as I attempted to speed off, away from my captors. I rolled and leapt to avoid arrows, and waving my stolen sword to ward off the approaching foot soldiers.

In no time at all, I was cornered, my back pressed against the rough stone of a watch tower. The pack parted, allowing that damnable captain to pass through and stand in front of me. She glared at me and snarled, "I will behead this one myself." I snickered at the way her words slurred together under the blood gushing from her nose. _That's what you get, wench. _

Curiously enough, the scent of brimstone filled the air.

She strode closer to me, confident that the arrows trained on my heart would deter me from attacking her again. She may have been right, I must admit. Still, I kept a tight grip on the sword, and let my lips pull back into a snarl. She laughed darkly at me and reached forward to swat the sword to the side and grabbed for my throat. She may have succeeded, if not for two things. One, I hopped to the side to avoid her.

And two, the roaring was back. Louder than anything I've ever heard. So loud I was deafened for a moment. Painfully so.

I was dimly aware of the humans screaming about something, if their gaping maws and terrified bulging eyes were any indication. Several of them were pointing as they fled like singed skeevers at dawn. I followed their fingers to just above me.

A huge black mass filled my vision and was held in place by the penetrating stare of two huge orange orbs, glowering down at me. My hearing slowly came back to me and as I watched the huge beast paralyzed with fear, and through the din of nothingness, I heard what I supposed would be words as the beasts lips moved. Then, it cast its great jaws open revealing rows of huge sword teeth and my immediate thought was, _Run. _

I leapt to the side and the beasts roar suddenly sounded like words to me.

"_**Yol!" **_It bellowed and I narrowly avoided being roasted by the massive fireball that flew from its maw. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in its path were instantly reduced to ash. Immediately, I pushed myself from my knees and scrambled away from the beast- _the... the fucking dragon!- _as it lifted up off the top of the tower.

As I ran, I noticed two men, both nords, calling out to me. One was the legion soldier I had kicked and the other was the rebel I had ridden the cart with, Ralof.

_Well, this is an easy decision. _I veered immediately towards Ralof and he guided me into a building, slamming the door behind us with a mighty grunt of effort. We both stood panting for a moment and I took the chance to look at the rest of my company. There were two soldiers wearing the blue armor I had quickly learned to associate with Stormcloaks and Jarl Ulfric himself.

With a breathy chuckle I joked, "What lovely pets you nords keep. Does it do tricks other than roasting? 'Heel,' perhaps?"

Ulfric released a short whoop of laughter and came around to slap a hand to my back and I was nearly knocked off my feet. "I like you, elf! You put on quite a show! Gave them Imperial bastards quite the fight, and now you're cracking jokes during the middle of a dragon attack! I wish I had a drink to share with you, girl!"

Ralof took in a shuddering breath, saying, "I thought dragons were only legends…"

At this, Ulfric seemed to sober up, "Legends don't burn down villages."

Never one for idle chitchat when there was work to be done, I busied myself with rifling through the nearby cupboards. Upon discovering several well sharpened steel daggers, I immediately dropped the Imperial captain's sword. _Now if only I had a bow, _I looked down at the now singed and ragged cuirass I had rode into Skyrim in. _And some armor. Ah, well. Nothing much to do about it now. _

The nords were still talking and the roof above our heads shook. _Why are humans so ridiculously chatty, this isn't the time! _

"Well, gentlemen, dare I ask if there is a plan to escape this hellhole?"

Ralof walked over to the wall. "If memory serves right, there should be an underground passage out of Helgen from the watchtower just across the square. If we can make it there, the beast shouldn't be able to follow…"

As if on cue, the beast released another roar. Though muffled, I could make out what sounded like words again, _**"FUS RO DAH!" **_and the whole building shook and some pebbles were knocked loose from the ceiling above us.

Dryly, I commented, "I don't suppose there's an underground passage to the watchtower?"

"The Divines wouldn't make it that easy for us," Ulfric shot back.

"No, of course not." I strode over to the thick oaken doors and pushed them open just a crack. I peered out into the square, the great beast was preoccupied snapping up some hapless villagers; he seemed completely unconcerned with the building we sat in. I glanced back at the nords. "Well, he's not looking. We might be able to make it, if we move fast."

The jarl grinned boyishly, "Well, let's go then!" He pushed me out of the way and slammed the doors open with a loud crash. _Stupid…!_

The dragon heard it and turned to breathe a wave of red flames as we made our escape. We narrowly avoided a fiery death as we just barely managed to slip into the keep, slamming the doors behind us.

Patting out a flame that had caught on my sleeves, I snarled out, "Are all nords this brutish and loud? Have you never heard of sneaking!?"

They ignored me and Ralof took the opportunity to rip a tapestry off the wall, revealing a door.

The passage led us down into some sort of dungeon where we were met with a torturer, his assistants and several corpses bearing Stormcloak armor. Immediately, they attacked. As Ralof and Ulfric were occupied with the torturer, spitting curses and threats all the while, I was left to fend off the subordinates.

They came at me with dark, promising scowls and a heavy looking axe and Warhammer. They clearly weren't expecting me to be much of a threat. A danced easily away from their wide swings, a dagger in each hand. With a lightning fast flick of the wrist, flames flickered from my finger tips, blinding the one with the hammer. He bellowed in pain, swinging wildly in panic. I smirked when he bashed his companion's skull in. I tossed one of my blades, embedding it in his throat. He gurgled for a moment before falling limp.

I heard clapping, behind me and turned to see the two Stormcloaks grinning wildly. I rolled my eyes. And moved on ahead, but not before rifling through my opponent's pockets, pocketing a full coinpurse and a few weak potions.

We went deeper in before Ulfric stopped and said to us, "We part ways for now. Ralof, take the elf with you to Riverwood. I must wait in the dungeons to see if any of our men made it and are coming this way."

Ralof nodded and Ulfric walked off. The blonde nord put his hand on my back, pushing me forward. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"It is safer to travel with a companion than alone, elf."

"Sa'miail."

"What?"

"My name. You may call me Sa'miail."

The nord snorted, "As you wish. Not that it'll matter much if we don't get out of here alive."

"I plan on living another few days at the very least, so I suppose we had better get moving."

We traveled deeper through the caves, coming across and killing a few Imperial soldiers. To my great pleasure, one of them had a bow and arrow, which I later used to kill a bear we met. I wanted to skin it, but there was no time, so I settled for its claws.

By the time we exited the cave and walked into the sunlight, I had collected several more coins, some old bread and wine, and several vials of spider venom.

I stretched, enjoying the warmth of the sun. This province was much colder than the sands of Elsweyr, but sunshine is sunshine. I could only enjoy myself for a moment before my companion tackled me to the ground with a shout of, "Get down!" A huge black shadow swept over us and I saw the dragon swooping high over the mountainside and disappearing in the distance.

"That was close," he sighed.

"…Get off me."

"Sorry," he stood and offered me his hand. I grabbed it and he pulled me up. "The nearest town is Riverwood, we should head there first."

"Mm."

We walked down the mountain in silence for a long while.

"You fight rather well, Sa'miail."

"I've had practice."

"Would you consider joining the Stormcloaks, if given the chance?"

"The affairs of nords are not my concern. I have no idea what your cause is, but something tells me it has little to do with me."

"Surely, you have heard of the Thalmor and the Empire's conquests. You're a Bosmer. Didn't they try to "cleanse" Valenwood?"

"I was raised in Elsweyr. Valenwood is not my concern, either. All I know of the Thalmor is that they are high elves and as such they must be self-righteous assholes."

"Surely that is reason enough to fight their reign!"

"The Thalmor do not reign over me. I do as I please. No petty Altmer will change that." I cast him a warning glance. "And neither will any nord."

Ralof sighed in frustration, but kept walking.

We were soon beset by a pack of wolves as we neared a village in the distance. I suffered a huge bight on my upper arm and Ralof had a few scratches, but otherwise, the wolves were taken care of quickly enough.

With an irritated huff, I said, "Is your country normally this welcoming and comfortable?"

Ralof chuckled wryly, dry amusement lacing his tone. "Welcome to Skyrim, elf."

I snorted, drawing a fistful of healing magic over my wound. I didn't have enough energy to get rid of the scar.

_Welcome, indeed._

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**a/n: I love Skyrim. The amount of dicking about you can do to avoid the main quest in that game is unreal and it's my favorite thing.**

**facts: Sa'miail is a Bosmer from Elsweyr and that's important for later. She's generally a rogue but she knows a bit of magic as well. **


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: yo.**

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It turns out, Ralof made rather nice company. For a huge hulking nord who I had jeered and snarked at like there was no tomorrow, he was decidedly lighthearted. And, as we strolled into Riverwood, I found myself jesting with him as if he were one of my brothers.

"I definitely killed more Imperials than you! I was counting!" He laughed, boisterously, clapping his hand against my back, his strength nearly sending me sprawling forward.

I punched his arm and said, "You wish! I counted more men with arrows in their faces than their skulls bashed in! Have you been drinking wine and not shared?"

The townsfolk stared as we walked past; women tittering amusedly, men shaking their heads as they continued on with their work and children paused in their play to scramble after our heels at a distance. I felt more or less relaxed, more so than I'd been in the past day in this cold province. Which is why my guard had been let down so much that someone's dog nearly scared me up a tree.

The damned mutt snarled and barked ferociously just behind me and I could feel its hot breath on my backside. I screeched and flung myself in a dead sprint. I didn't slow until I reached a log mill and the dog's growling was drowned out by the sound of some cheeky little brat cackling like a damned troll.

"Nice one, Stump!" The little shit jeered, petting the still snarling canine. "Scared that silly knife-ear out of her skin, didn't you boy?"

I pressed a palm over my heart and panted as my wits returned. Ralof growled and slapped the kid across the back of his head. "Oi, keep that dog of yours under control, Frodnar. Do I have to tell your mum you've been causing trouble again?"

The kid yelped before he turned to make a retort. "It's not my fault! He just suddenly ran off! 'Sides, the stupid elf isn't hurt!" He backed away when the Stormcloak soldier raised his hand again. I made my way back to them, grumbling and begrudgingly sheathing my daggers again. When I got closer, the kid seemed to have had an abrupt change of opinion of me and hastily hid himself behind my legs.

"Hey, elf, tell Uncle that you're not mad at me!"

I parted my lips to chastise him but was interrupted by his dog releasing a sharp bark that tapered off into an angry growl. My irritation bloomed into an odd sort of rage, one that I had never felt before. I snarled at it like a wild beast, flashing the sharp canine teeth that Bosmer were known for. The dog, Stump, crumpled into a submissive cowering position almost immediately, whimpering pathetically. My rage was not quelled, however, until it fled when I lifted my leg as if to kick it in its snout.

"Hey!" The kid shouted at me, slamming his tiny fists into the back of my thigh. "Don't be mean to Stump!" Immediately, I whirled around and picked the little shit up by the back of his shirt.

"I suggest you keep that old mutt of yours on a leash," I hissed. "Something bad might happen if he were to get away from you again." A threat, pointedly punctuated by my free hand resting on my weapon. It was here that Ralof chose to intervene again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sa'miail," he exclaimed. "I think the twerp gets the point. Put 'im down." That last sentence sounded like an order. I glared at him for a few seconds, but nonetheless dropped the kid rather unceremoniously.

I huffed and under my breath, mumbled, "I fucking hate dogs…" Ralof seemed to visibly relax and tossed his arm over my shoulder, guiding me off towards a nearby house.

"You probably don't have a place to stay, yeah?" He gestured to the cottage. "When, you're ready to turn in, you can come here. It's my sister and her husband's place. They'll let you stay if you just drop my name. Or you can stay at the Sleeping Giant Inn, I suppose. Delphine's pretty alright as far as owner's go," he shrugged. "S'your choice. But, seriously, you should consider joining the Stormcloaks. We could use soldiers like you." With those words, the burly blonde nord strolled off to Akatosh knows where.

I was rather hungry, but I was feeling rather attached to the little bit of coin I managed to scrounge up. Therefore, instead of going to the inn and purchasing a decent meal, I dug up a few roots and tomatoes from a nearby garden and pilfered a few chicken's eggs to go on top of the musky old bread from the underground tunnels. Not the best meal I've ever had, but certainly not the worst. At least it's not sand skeever meat.

After, my impromptu breakfast, I decided to explore the tiny town of Riverwood. Thus far, it seemed to have the basics; an inn, a forge, a mill. There was the occasional cow and more than a few cats, to my pleasure- but the streets were practically overrun with chickens. I was tempted to kick a few, or roast them and save the meat for later, but a steely look from several of the citizens kept the fire magic from leaping farther than my fingertips.

I chatted with some of the locals for a while. Ralof had already told most of them about the dragon at Helgen but they still asked me for what I knew. There was an odd little job I took for two men. Each of them wanted to sabotage the other's chances with a woman called Camilla Valerius. The wood elf directed me to a small trader's shop when I asked where she might be.

"Riverwood Trader…" I muttered, reading the plain wooden sign. "Creative." When I pushed the heavy door open, my nose was assaulted by a variety of scents. Spices, worn leather, old paper and rust. Not at all unpleasant once you get past that first kick. When I got over the homey scent, I recognized that the owners of the little shop, a man and a woman, were having some sort of argument.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" The woman – the very, very pretty woman – exclaimed.

"I said, no!" The man thundered. "No theatrics, no thief chasing, no adventures!"

"What are you going to do then? Just let them get away with it?!"

"I –" They seemed to have finaly noticed me. The man switched from angry to cheery in less than an instant. "Hello! Welcome to the Riverwood Trader. Sorry about that little uh, discussion, you overheard. My names Lucan Valerius and that there's my sister, Camilla."

Camilla nodded. "What can we do for you?"

I blinked at her, and then switched on my most confident smile. "Oh, you're Camilla, then?" I was favoring the wood elf's side but now… "My name is Sa'miail. There are two men in town who are plotting for your affections…"

She scoffed and turned up her chin. "Sven and Faendal. I suppose they've made a courier of you? Did they send their love in a two hundred word epithet each?"

A smirk quirked at my lips and I tilted my head to the side. "Not quite."

"Oh?"

"Yes, both have given me a bit of gold to deliver a nasty letter to you, each addressed from the other in hopes to sway you against one another."

"What?!"

"Would you like to see them?"

Her eyebrows furrowed angrily and she huffed. "No… No, I believe you. When I see those two next I'll have to give them a piece of my mind." She nodded at me. "Thank you for your honesty. There are those who would have simply taken their gold and deceived me."

I snickered and patted my wallet. "Oh, rest assured, I'm keeping the gold."

She laughed and Lucan rolled his eyes. "Women…" he muttered.

"Now then, what's this I hear about thief hunting?"

Lucan spoke up this time. "We had a bit of a break in. We're running fine though. They only took our decorative counter piece; a golden claw."

"Hm," I murmured. "Sounds expensive."

"Not really, we found it when we were children actually. Kept it ever since."

"Ah. Sentimental value, then," I hummed thoughtfully. "How much is it worth to you?"

Camilla and Lucan seemed taken aback. "What?"

"How much is it worth to you? I can fetch it; for the right price, of course."

"I-" Camilla cut him off.

"A hundred septims."

"Oh, that much?" I truly was not expecting that much for a dingy little trinket. _Ah, well. No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth. _My ears twitched. "Sounds good. How does fifty up front sound?"

"Absolutely not," Lucan replied. "One hundred septims upon the claw's return and not a moment before."

"Well that's certainly unfair. How do I know you won't just take it back and refuse to pay me?" I crossed my arms and my lips quirked up into a grin. "I need some sort of reward before I go bandit hunting."

"Well, it won't be gold."

"Hm, then allow me to make you another offer."

Lucan raised an eyebrow, "Like what?"

"A hero's kiss from a beautiful woman would suffice," I teased, turning to the other Valerius sibling. "What say you Camilla?"

Lucan's face turned red with fury and I braced myself to have something thrown at me. Whatever he was going to say next was cut off into angry sputtering however, when Camilla leaned down – damned Imperials and Nords and their gargantuan heights! – and pressed her – soft, warm - lips to mine. The kiss lasted only a few moments and as she pulled away she murmured, "The bandits were last seen heading towards that mountain to the North, Bleak Falls Barrow. You'll probably find them there."

I didn't want to think about how red the tips of my ears were and instead cleared my throat, "As you wish, although," I pulled a few septims from my wallet. "I have a feeling I'll need some supplies."

* * *

An hour later, I was climbing the rocky crag with a much lighter wallet and some wolf fur lined armor – _this province is too damned cold! _I had also bought a few arrows and stopped at the forge to sharpen my daggers and restring my bow. Now, all that was left was to slaughter some bandits. My ears perked up as I heard the sound of voices. I pressed my body to the ground, the grey-black fur blending in with the snowy rocky cliff side.

Ahead was a decrepit old watchtower, tattered flags flapping in the harsh winds. Atop the tower was a large burly man dressed in heavy chainmail yelling down to someone at the tower's base. The large Warhammer strapped to his back might have been intimidating in close combat, but, at this distance he was a sitting duck. I drew my bow, notched an arrow, and took aim. For a few seconds, it was as if the winds meant nothing and the snow blustering around could never obscure my vision.

A moment later, the bandit fell from the top of the tower, an arrow embedded in his throat. There was a cry of shock and rage. _Probably his companion… _There was the sound of heavy boots crunching along the hard dirt path. I slid off the path and waited, crouched underneath a dying fir tree. A woman in rough studded leather armor dashed past me, her sword raised and an angry expression marring her features. I was behind her, running my blade across her throat before she had the chance to react.

I dragged the barbarian woman's body off the pathway and out of sight and began rifling through her pockets. _Lockpicks, my favorite. _I also came across a meager handful of septims and an apple; nothing particularly special. In her companion, the spoils were a bit better; more lockpicks and septims. I loosely considered taking his Warhammer but thought better when I felt how much the bulky heavy weapon would slow me down.

Eventually, I climbed higher up and came to what I assume was the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow. I approached the decrepit stone steps slowly. This place must have been beautiful back in its time, if the crumbling stone pillars and archways were any indication. I spied a bowman lurking about in front of the huge rotting wooden doors, but luckily, they hadn't spotted me just yet. I dropped down to a crouch again and slowly slunk forward, my hands wrist deep in snow, planning to loop around a pillar to flank them; a trick my brothers had taught me for pickpocketing guards, but it has many uses. _Thank Kynareth for these gloves, _I thought. _My fingers may fall off without them. _I could see my breath misting in the cool air as I exhaled.

Unfortunately, I wasn't expecting to be ambushed. I narrowly avoided having my head caved in by a waraxe.

"Skyrim belongs to the nords!" Was the brutish man's warcry as he charged me. Two more bandits wielding sharp blades of varying length charged at me and I was forced back. To add to my problems, the archer was now busily attempting to turn me into a hedgehog. Crossing my daggers over my head, I stopped the waraxe's second swing from cleaving me in two and kicked into the man's stomach. As he was sent reeling, cradling his stomach, wrapped a palm around the back of his neck and plunged a blade in his throat. His heavy body went limp and I just barely managed to maneuver him as a meat shield, blocking the next one's great sword as well as a few arrows.

"You never should have come here, elf!"

"Your father shouldn't have come at all, nord!"

He screeched and made another dive at me. I smirked as he lunged in the path of his remaining companion's next volley of arrows. He fell with a thud and a strangled sort of choking noise. The archer snarled with rage and picked up her pace, advancing slowly. I dived and rolled out of the arrows paths.

She cackled at me, "That's it, knife-ear! Dance!" _I always hated that name. _Still, there was no time to draw my own bow, and I was not so suicidal as to just charge at her._ But, there's still one more trick up my sleeve. _

I thought back to the words in the old book I had found as I escaped with Ralof. It had seemed ironically fitting that I should find it in my first few hours in this icy country.

"_**Take the power of the fiercest winds and the chill of the coldest nights in the palm of your hand. Strike your foes down with the sharp burning fangs of an ice wraith."**_

I concentrated on the cool energy pooling in my finger tips and just as the archer was pulling another arrow from her quiver, I cast my hands out. A spike of ice flew out and impaled the bandit right through her chest. She stood frozen for a moment before blood bubbled out from between her lips. She fell dead to the ground. I sighed in relief. There were some close calls there. She was skilled and some of those arrows nicked me more times than I cared to admit.

I moved on, already fed up with this little mission. There were two more bandits in the barrow's main hall, huddled around a camp fire. Two arrows later and there weren't anymore. Even in my impatience I kept to a smooth silent stride. My family trained me well. Being silent and dangerous like a cat was almost instinctual for me at this point.

The occasional skeever was dispatched quickly enough, as annoying as the little beasties were. The real problems showed up after I solved the first puzzle.

I had found a man swaggering ahead of me into what appeared to be a wide circular room. I was fully prepared to put an arrow in his back but just before I notched it, he pulled a lever in the room's center. Almost immediately, he was filled with arrows and he fell dead to the floor with only a pained grunt.

_Ooookay. Booby traps. Good to know. _

Still, when I examined the room, the lever seemed the only way to open the door and move forward. Then, I noticed three panels on the wall overhead and three stumpy pillars with matching sigils just beneath them. _Hm… I wonder…_

I reached out and pushed one of the pillars. It moved surprisingly easily, spinning and revealing another sigil. _Oh, those sneaky old nords. That's brilliant._

Eventually, I got the pillars to match the panels. Hesitantly, I approached the lever. _Whelp, nothing ventured, nothing gained. _I pulled it and immediately threw myself backwards, expecting to be pinned through by a half a thousand arrows.

Instead, the gated door flung itself open with a clang. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

The next room was filled with walking corpses. They stood from their little alcoves with a hiss as I approached them. I screeched at first but a few spells or arrows, and they crumpled like any other man. The next few rooms were filled with them and I found that they were actually quite entertaining; so easily led into obvious traps. I'd never thought a swinging spiked door could be so amusing.

Eventually the traps and undead became sparser and sparser before disappearing entirely only to be replaced by… spider webs.

"Oh, my favorite," I grumbled, as I hacked away at the sticky threads.

As I moved further in I noticed the corridor widening ahead of me and the sounds of grunting and struggling. There was a man, a dunmer, suspended by the webbing furiously trying to kick his way free.

"…Hello?" I called.

"Ah, Soling! Is that you?" I stepped forward, just in the doorway of the wide round room.

"'Fraid not, friend."

"Wha-? Oh, who cares you have to help me before it comes back!"

I arched a brow. "Before wha- !"

I got my answer when a spider – a giant, particularly ugly thing – descended from the ceiling with a thud. I rolled back into the smaller room, just in time to avoid being impaled by the creature's long legs. I scrambled back forward as the creature reached for me, but it couldn't manage to squeeze through the entryway. I drew my bow and notched an arrow, when curiously it stepped to the side and consequently out of the arrows path.

I tried again. And again, the spider scuttled out of the way.

"Are you serious?" I took aim again. This time the spider ducked and spat a venomous wad of spittle at me.

I hissed as it impacted against my arm, burning and eating away at the flesh, a drop or two landed on my brow as well. I growled as I brushed it away – leaving little wounds on my fingertips as well. "Fine, have it your way." I sheathed my bow and rushed at the spider, fire crackling at my fingertips.

A word to the wise: Standing there flinging fire at a spider's face will get the job done, but it's gonna bite you. A lot.

Nevertheless, it got the job done and the creature crumbled to the ground, its legs curling in on itself. Woozily, I leaned against the nearest wall, panting. _I hate this country…_

I was just considering giving into the urge to pass out when the dunmer shouted out to me again.

"You there! Bosmer! Excellent work!"

"So glad to have pleased you," I grumbled. I righted myself and sauntered over to him.

"Now, just cut me down!"

"First things first: where's the claw?"

"Wha- How did you- Oh, nevermind. Yes, I have it! Please cut me down! I'll give it to you if you do!"

"Give it to me first."

He rolled his eyes at me. "How? I'm all tied up if you haven't noticed. Listen, those shopkeeps didn't know what they were using as a decorative paperweight. Just help me outta this and I'll let you have some of the treasure; as sure as my name is Arvel the Swift!"

I regarded him carefully for a moment. "Alright. Fine…" I sighed begrudgingly. Carefully, I cut the webs away from his body and Arvel toppled ungracefully to the floor. He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt.

"Thanks, friend…" He said with a dark chuckle. He shoved me hard and I went sprawling on my back as he sprinted away. "Fool!"

_Yeah, that's about what I expected. _

I rolled over and stood again and followed after him at a much slower pace.

I'd planned to shove an arrow in his gut when I caught up to him but instead I found an undead with a rusty greatsword standing over his headless corpse. It was easily taken care of with a dual wielded flames spell and I looted both of their corpses.

After that, it was a simple matter of reading Arvel's journals and setting off deeper into the barrow in search of treasure with the dragon's claw strapped to my hip.

Any undead I came across were child's play at this point as I had simply gotten in the habit of roasting them before they even had a chance to rise from their resting places. A few more traps and simple door puzzle and I entered a grand room with a huge stone coffin resting in the middle.

It was ornate and beautiful as far as old coffins go, but that's not what drew my eye. There was huge wall with writing carved in no language I've ever seen etched into it. One set of symbols almost appeared to glow. It called to me and I moved closer, almost enough that I could touch it.

I reached to do so and the second my fingertips met the cool silvery stone, my vision was engulfed in the blue glow and the sound of chanting, roaring and war drums filled my ears. My breath was stolen from my lungs.

_Fus. Fus. Fus. __**Fus.**_

And as quickly as it started, it ended and I could breathe again.

There was a sound like grating stone behind me and I whirled around in time to see another undead rise from the huge coffin. I shook my head and prepared an arrow just as I had countless times against tese things. However, where I expected it to charge with the sword it drew, it merely spoke – or I should say shouted.

The force of its voice threw me backwards. There was that word again: fus. I laid stunned and for a breath moment I mused, _I'm spending more time on my back today than I expected. _Driven by instinct, I parted my legs just as the walking corpse brought its blade down inches from my groin. If I were male, I might have taken a brief moment to cringe but as it stands I am not so instead I immediately kicked the damned thing in the face.

It reeled back and I rolled away.

"Alright, asshole, let's try this again." Instead of waiting for it to make a move again, I immediately fired a raped volley of arrows at it. It grunted in pain but still parted its lips to shout at me again.

"_**FUS!"**_

However, this time I was prepared. I dived behind a broken down bit of wall and immediately began another volley of arrows. I aimed carefully, just as brother taught me.

"_Watch carefully, little Sa'm. Ra'urabi will teach you how to be a quickshot just like him. If you do well, this one buys moonsugar as a reward."_

My eyes narrowed. _First, the knee. _

**Thot! Thunk! **The corpse fell to a kneeling position, one of its frail legs suddenly rendered useless. _Then, the weapon. _

A second arrow, then, and the old sword was sent flying away, clattering against the stone. _And, for the finale…_

A third arrow, tinged with frostbite venom, embedded itself in the dead man's skull, just as it was parting its teeth to howl out that word again. It jerked instead, and fell limp, that strange haunting light dying from its eyes.

"_Oh ho ho! Sa'm may just put ol' Ra' out of the killing business, she picks things up so fast!"_

I sighed and sheathed my bow. I picked at the undead's armor, and found a few gems (and salvaged a few of my arrows), but there was something else there two. A piece of stone no larger than a large tome was shining with an odd, foreboding sort of magic. Perhaps this was the treasure Arvel spoke of. I picked it up and carried it with me, following the sound of howling winds to hopefully out of the damned barrow.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise as I kicked in the door of the Riverwood Trader.

"Oh, you're back!" exclaimed Lucan, a bit… unhappily.

"Thank Mara!" sang Camilla jovially.

I slammed the golden claw on the counter I front of the brother with a thunk and a grumble. "There ya go. All safe and sound." _So tired. _

I turned around and was engulfed in a hug by the female Imperial. I was so surprised I had to pointedly resist the urge to draw a dagger. "Many thanks!" she said.

"Hm."

She kissed my cheek – Lucan grumbled angrily – and grabbed my hands, placing a satchel of gold coins in my palms. "One hundred septims, as promised."

"Thank you," I turned and made my way to the door. "Now, if you don't mind, this one is very tired. I will be at the inn. Asleep." I paused, my hand on the door knob, and turned back to wink at Camilla. "Perhaps I'll see you in my dreams."

I heard her giggle girlishly as I closed the door behind me.

I was actually on the Inn's doorstep when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to give my most intimidating glare at the person. It was Ralof again, looking rather flustered.

"Sa'miail, I am sorry to – what happened to your eyebrow?" He gestured to his own.

"Wha-?" I pulled out a dagger and looked at my reflection in its shiny surface. A whore would have blushed at the next series of words that left my mouth. It looked like the spider's venom had burned out a notch in the center of my left eyebrow.

I huffed and put it away again, muttering, "Don't worry about it."

He raised an eyebrow at me skeptically, but dropped it. "I need you to take a message to Whiterun."

"No."

"It's very important. We need to warn Jarl Balgruf the Greater about the dragon that attacked Helgen."

"Yes, I see how that may be important. What I don't see is why you can't do it."

"I need to help prepare in case the dragon comes here."

Sighed "_And, I need to sleep."_

"Sa'miail, please, I promise you, if you do this, I won't bother you again. In fact, the Jarl may be so grateful he'll reward you somehow."

_Reward? That __**is **__the magic word._

I stared at him for a moment, a bit irritated, but still I sighed out, "Fine."

* * *

**a/n: next time Sa'm'll meet Lydia and probably piss off every guard in dragonsreach in the most fantastical way she could possibly manage.**


	3. Chapter 3

_If I complain enough about how much I hate this country, maybe Stendarr will have mercy and transport me somewhere warm. Like Elsweyr. Or Morrowind._

After encountering enough wolves to make a war tent out of their pelts, I finally got through to the mountain pass and was greeted by the sight of grassy valleys, farm land, and a hold in the distance. I nearly cried. The sign at the edge of the branching path pointed three directions: to Riverwood, to Whiterun, and to another place called Riften. _If anything is nice about Skyrim, it's that they make very helpful signs and put them everywhere. _

I took a deep breath and hoped that grassy hills were as soft as sand dunes. With a running start, I hurled myself down the hill and rolled into a tumble with a whoop.

I quickly found out that grassy hills have hidden surprises like rocks and branches. I miss Elsweyr. Still, that was just as fun as I remembered it and it _did_ get me to the bottom of this huge hill, bruises or not. As I was dusting myself off I turned towards the sound of heavy stomping, clanging metal and grunting from a nearby farm – a battle was going on.

I crouched down in the tall grass, shaking my head as the blades tickled my ears, and crept to around the sturdy stone walls.

_Well. That's certainly something you don't see once every day. _

There was a rather tall… man? In a furry loincloth-like thing swinging a crude club around the farm's cabbage fields at a bunch of nords. It didn't speak, it didn't shout, it roared like a saber cat, stomping around and tossing the nord warriors around like a spoiled child throwing _dolls. _I pressed myself closer to the ground and backed away. It hadn't seen me yet and I planned to keep it that way.

Or at least it hadn't until some red headed nord woman with a sword _pointed at me – how did she even see me? _– and shouted, "You! Are you really running away like a milk-drinker? Get over here and help!"

Of course, the monstrous man looked to where she was pointing, dropped the man he was crushing, and _began running at __**me**_.

_Dear Akatosh I hate this province. _I shot off like a scared jack rabbit, the monster rapidly gaining ground on me. I glanced behind me just as the man cast open his jaws to roar at me his club reared up over his head. He obviously planned to smash me down like a nail in a forge. Swears tore from my throat and in that moment prayed to Stendarr that my death would be relatively painless.

His roar was cut short as he grunted in pain and stumbled. I used the opportunity to get myself the hell out of swinging range. He looked confused, and his grip on his club loosened. Now, as the huge weapon was still held over his head, it fell and smashed into its skull with a sickening crack and the thing crashed to the ground with a distinct bang. I slowed to a stop, panting. Nothing works up a sweat quite like the threat of agonizing death.

I drew my dagger and slowly approached the fallen monster, my heart still thundering against my ribcage. I half expected the damned thing to leap back to life and throw me half a league away. I had no doubt that it probably _could. _I felt a bit silly but I shot an arrow at its body. It didn't move. _Nothing wrong with being cautious…_

I moved closer and took a good look at it. An ugly thing, but that was to be expected. It smelled, too. The way a goatherd smells like at the end of a summer day.

For all intents and purposes it looked kind of like an overgrown daedra cursed orc. Kind of. A bit of an insult to orcs really.

"Hmph," a woman's voice grumbled disapprovingly. "I suppose speed is a good substitute for courage."

I whirled around and sauntering up to me was the woman who set the goddamn monster on me. I inhaled sharply, an unearthly rage pooling up in me again and for one alarming moment an image of her, disemboweled on the ground, and my own hands splattered in blood flashed through my head. _This province is doing strange things to my head…_

"Oh, so very glad to have impressed you."

"You didn't."

"I was being sarcastic. A pretty face and that's all then, huh?"

She frowned darkly at me from behind her war paint and I smirked back up, flashing my teeth.

"You're awfully rude for someone I just saved, milkdrinker," she snapped.

"You're the one who sent it chasing me, wench!"

"If you hadn't been trying to run away, coward, I wouldn't have had to yell at you."

I stared at her, then slowly, "Excuse me?"

She leaned forward so we were at eyelevel and _dear god do I hate when people do that_, "I said, if you weren't such a spineless milkdrinker and actually helped, that wouldn't have happened." She punctuated the word "milkdrinker" by jabbing her finger into my chest. "Did you get all that this time, you faithless, rabbit eared fool?"

My immediate response was to direct a fierce, heavy punch straight at the thief-woman's face with a snarl. She caught it easily and as her disinterested gaze traveled from my fist back to my face, I found myself regretting that little bout of hotheadedness.

I barely had time to catch her smirk before my feet were swept from under me and I was tossed up and flipped over only to land on my back at her feet. The wind was knocked out of me and through the thick fog that swept over my mind I was dimly aware of her looming over me. I lashed out to swipe at her eyes – she jerked back to avoid it – and kicked out in panic. It may have been uncoordinated but if her grunt of pain was any indication, it had landed. I clawed at the grass frantically, trying to crawl away.

I might have gotten a good six feet away before I heard an angry, guttural snarl of "Oh, no you don't!" and was immediately tackled by the woman who was at least forty pounds heavier than me in steel armor.

_Don't let anyone fool you; light armor still adds at least fifteen pounds of weight. _

And, that is how I ended up face down in the dirt, with what could quite possibly be a dislocated shoulder and a heavy nord woman sitting on my back wrenching my wrist – _and goddammit that's the one I use to pull back arrows_ – behind me. Her companions had finally caught up with us and were now hooting and laughing like drunken trolls. The series of words that flowed from my mouth were not pretty.

"What have we learned," she asked, a condescending lilt to her growling voice. I hissed out a string of curses and tried again to rip my arm out of her grip only to groan at the dull pain that shot up to my spine. "Apparently, nothing." And, she pressed me harder into the dirt. There was a sickening pop as my shoulder twisted unnaturally out of place. Pain and panic shot through me and a scream tore itself from my throat. _Don't cry don't cry don'tcrydon'tcry. _

After a few shaky breaths, I grunted and tried to use my free hand as leverage to buck her the fuck off me. It was enough to lift myself out of the dirt just enough so that I could breathe air instead of grass. I coughed and sputtered but that was the most I could get. This is why I'm a thief: I am absolutely horrendous at the fair, upfront, brawling that warriors tend to excel at. My vision was swimming and I could only wheeze out more breathy curses.

I felt fingers stroke soothingly through my hair and entwine themselves in my locks. For just a moment it was a nice feeling. Just up until the point she dug her fingers in and yanked my head back to hold a dagger to my throat. The cool metal pressed warningly against my pulse point and I had to resist the urge to thrash again. _Today is not a good day. _

I stopped moving almost immediately, every muscle in my body tensed despite the futility of doing so. She leaned forward to whisper hotly in my ear. "Do you yield?" I hissed out a shuddering breath. She pressed the blade harder into my neck and repeated herself, slower this time. With more spite. "Do you yield, milkdrinker?"

Like any rational person, I normally would have just given up. Really, the dislocated shoulder and knife to my throat was a clear sign that I'd already lost. But, I got the distinct impression that I'd be proving her point if I did. And, if there is anything I am not, it's a coward. I've far too much pride for that. So, instead…

"Fuck you!" It came out a lot more breathless and pathetic than I had hoped, but I my point still stands.

Everything fell quiet and for a brief fleeting moment I thought I felt the blade press down harder. Then, the woman barked out a laugh and the threat of my throat being slit suddenly disappeared. The breath I didn't know I'd been holding rushed out of my lungs.

Her quiet chuckle tapered off and her weight disappeared from my back. I was half tempted to just lay there. It was just grass, after all. _And, goddamn my shoulder hurts. _

But, some part of me refused to allow me that small rest and begrudgingly I pushed myself to my feet, grimacing when my spine cracked painfully.

I backed away from her almost immediately, sputtering out bits of grass and leaf, my hand poised over my dagger. Or it might have been if it was in its sheath.

"Missing something?" The brunette woman twirled my trusty steel blade between her fingers.

Now, under most circumstances I would have lunged for the damned thing without hesitation. However, it doesn't take me two tries to learn one lesson. I was still recovering from the potential bone fractures. Instead, I played it cool, rolling my good shoulders and spitting. The clog of blood from when I bit my cheek probably took away from the intimidation factor.

I kept my eyes locked with hers and as she stared back at me I was filled with a growing sense of dread. We stared each other down for a moment. She took a step forward and I took one back; her brow furrowed. Another step forward, another step back; this time I thought I heard the sound of an actual wolf growling and my hair stood on end.

_Did…did that sound come from __**her**__? _

She took another purposeful step forward and before I could lift my foot to back away again, she snapped, "Stop that!"

I actually felt my ears shoot up and then droop down. A primal sort of self-preservation compelled me to obey. She moved closer to me and I stiffened. When, she got closer still, my dagger still in her hand, I took on a defensive stance, my teeth bared and my ears angled back.

Her cold grey eyes roamed over me once before I ended up on my back again. I yelped in pain as my hurt shoulder took the worst of the fall. _Oh, that's it. I'm fucking done with today. _A gob of something wet hit my throat and I looked up to see her leering down at me as she ran the back of her hand over her mouth. _Did… she just __**spit**__ on me?_ _What the fuck?!_

She grabbed the front of my armor and yanked me back to my feet with one hand. I glared at her hand, which still held a firm grip on me, then her face.

I didn't expect her to ram her fist into my hurt shoulder. I was so shocked that I chocked instead of screamed. There was a binding pain for a few seconds, but it soon dulled to a dull throb. Tears welled up as I clenched my eyes shut and gritted my teeth.

"Oh, don't cry, you useless shit," she grumbled. "You're fine."

"You broke my fucking arm!"

"No, I dislocated your shoulder and then I popped it back."

I coughed out a half stifled whimper as I reached back to massage my shoulder. "After you talked all that shit," I heard her sigh and suddenly I felt her knuckles rub soothing circles on my shoulder blade. "You fucking baby…"

I would have denied this but, she just physically beat me to near tears so it would probably be better for me to just shut up.

"Oi, Aela!" A man's voice shouted out. "You done playin' nursemaid, yet? We gotta get back to Whiterun eventually!" My ears perked up. _Whiterun?_

The woman, Aela, scoffed and shot back. "I don't know. You got the damned thing's toe or are you just pussyfootin' around?"

The man scowled and said, "What? But, I… Aw, dammit!" And, he turned back to the giant, his friend hooting with laughter.

I glanced up at the redhead, "Whiterun?"

"The nearest hold," she drawled.

"That's… The jarl there is called Balgruuf, yes?" She nodded. "I need to take him a message. Very important. About dragons."

She looked at me strangely. "Perhaps I knocked you around a bit too hard, elf."

I narrowed my eyes. "Will you just guide me to Whiterun? And give me my dagger back!"

She smirked at me and held my blade by its point above my head. "Sure. If you can take it."

I scowled up at her. "I'm not playing this game with you, Aela."

She blinked, surprised that I'd used her name, I assume. "Hmph, tough talk for someone who was ready to cry just a moment ago."

"I wasn't going to cry!"

"Sure you weren't, elf."

"I wasn't!"

"I believe you, elf."

"And, my name is Sa'miail, not elf!"

She rolled her eyes and tossed my dagger to me. "Okay, Sa'miail. Follow me." And, with that, she turned on her heels and walked off. I dashed after her. _Goddamn nords and their stupidly long legs._

…

When we got to the hold (and Aela sufficiently cursed out every guard from the gate to some tavern), we parted ways. She invited me to come back to that tavern, telling me I had the potential to become a Companion. Whatever that means.

Still, I made my way further into Whiterun. I slipped into the castle – which I had learned was called Dragonsreach. How funny. – relatively unhindered. The guards gave me a suspicious look, but let me in easily enough.

The castle was large. A great feast hall with several tables lined with delicious looking food. _Perhaps on the way out, _I thought to myself. I strode purposely forward.

Two women, a nord and a dunmer, on either side of the man seated in a throne at the hall's end perked up. They eyed me and stepped forward as if to intercept me, drawing blades. I stopped at the halfway point to watch them carefully. I'd had enough beatings for today.

The dunmer spoke first. "Who are you? What are you doing here, bosmer?"

"I am called Sa'miail. I need to speak with your Jarl. I bring a message from Riverwood."

The blonde man on the throne looked up from is scroll at this.

The brown haired nord woman spoke next. "You're well armed for a mere courier. How do we know you're not an assassin?"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I wouldn't have walked through the front door for one." They both scowled at me. "And, I'm not a courier."

The dunmer muttered, "Keep an eye on this one, Lydia. I'll go speak to the jarl." She took off back to the throne.

The nord nodded, never taking her eyes off me, "Understood."

_Mara, give me patience. _"Look, Lydia, was it? The message is really important," I began walking forward again and made to step past her. "So, if you just let me deliver it, I'll be outta your hair-"

She put her sword in my path, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Another step and I'll gut you."

My eyebrow twitched. "You know what? Fine. Second try's the charm."

I aimed a punch at her nose. She ducked, but then again, I only meant to distract her.

"Whoa!" She yelped and by the time she regained her bearings I was already leaping across the tabletops, scooping up food as I went along. I stuffed my mouth with rich buttery, warm bread, sweet grapes, tangy cheeses, and – _oooh, sweetrolls! My favorite!_

I laughed as the nord woman was joined by several more guards, each shouting out battle cries. Swallowing a swig of wine, I shouted, "Who taught you idiots to aim?" I easily avoided another arrow. "A drunken skeever?" I returned fire, nailing five guards with a few well aimed apples and pears.

"Damn you!" Snarled Lydia. She took another swing with her sword, but I had already leapt to the next feast table. I could almost purr as the rich taste of rare beef hit my taste buds. I cartwheeled to avoid a swing of a war hammer.

"Come now, is that your best?" I must admit, fine wine is the best sort of liquid courage.

With my hands still filled with grapes, I leapt down and made a final dash for the Jarl. The dunmer stepped in my path, scowling, her blade poised to strike me down with one cleave. However, one nice thing about being small is that it's really easy to slip away from people taking swings at you.

I slid between her legs easily and cackled wildly. "Nice miss!" Her blade embedded itself in the solid wood floors with a solid thunk.

In no time at all, I was in front of the Jarl, a tall, blonde, burly nord. He held up a hand and immediately, the guards put away their weapons and dispersed, leaving only the two women, both still scowling angrily. I grinned at them, still munching on grapes.

"Irileth, Lydia, calm down," He stared at me with a sort of amusement in his eyes as he swirled his goblet. "Let the elf speak."

* * *

**a/n: in this exciting installment, sa'miail is established to not be the strongest person in all the land and is also very prone to theatrics. aela has a point, i swear. i also really like aela as a character, though. **


	4. Chapter 4

I drew my wrist over my mouth, wiping away the remnants of any sweet fruit juices as I turned back to face the man. The last bit of food I slipped into one of the many pockets I'd added when I refined this armor. They'd serve me better if I made them last.

He stared up at me from his throne, his face propped lazily up on one fist. "I'm not one to take kindly to noisy troublemakers making a mockery of my guards, but," his mouth quirked up into a half smirk. "That was amusing, so, I'll let it pass."

"My jarl!" sputtered the dunmer woman. "She-!"

"Slipped past you as if you weren't there at all? Maybe you need to train a bit more, Irileth," He teased. _I like this guy. He's my kind of jarl._

"Hmph…"

He shifted his gaze back to me. "You said you had a message for me?"

I bobbed my head once in a nod. "I was sent to warn you of a potential dragon attack. And to ask if you had any spare troops to send to Riverwood."

"A dragon attack? I had heard rumors of Helgen, but I thought it was just drunken babble."

"Well, I may have dipped into your wine a bit, but, I was at Helgen that morning and I can tell you there was definitely a dragon." I pulled out a little violet berry and tossed it into the air.

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," I quipped conversationally, my tongue flicked up to catch the grape. "Had a fantastic view of it with Imperial soldiers backing me into a wall."

The brunette, Lydia snorted. "Glad to know you're so flippant about your crimes."

"Oh, what big word. Did you hurt yourself?" I tossed the words back at her.

She growled. "Not nearly as badly as I'm going to hurt _you_."

"Lydia…" Baalgruf warned. "Reign it in."

"… Yes, sir."

I stuck my tongue out at her and she sneered, her hand still poised on the hilt of her sword. My lips parted again to mock her but, I was quickly interrupted.

"And, you, elf. Stop antagonizing my captain of the guard. You may put on a good show, but I won't stop her from throwing you in the jails."

My mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth. Jails were unpleasant, dank, and smelly things and even if I were to escape I'd have to wait 'til sundown to do so.

"Now, if you are done acting like a child, how many days ago was this dragon last seen?"

"Morning before last, I think."

"You think?"

"Ralof told me about it. I was… on another errand at the time." The magic infused bit of rubble hummed against my thigh at these words.

"I see… Let us go speak with Farengar." He stood from his throne. I had thought he was large before, but standing I only came up to his upper arm, not even to his shoulder! "Irileth, Lydia, come with us, please." He strode off, the other two on his heels. All three were tall, even for nords and dunmer and I had to half jog to keep up with their strides, much to my chagrin.

He led the way to a small study filled with the sharp repugnant smells of potions. Sitting there, scribbling away at the desk was a man in ornate violet robes. He rubbed at his stubble as we approached. Jarl and his guard stopped in front of the desk and said nothing.

_What? Come now, this waiting game is getting tiresome. _I opened my mouth to demand the mage's attention. Again, I as cut off. "I'll be with you in just a moment, elf."

He hadn't even looked up. A spark of irritation lanced through me, but soon enough, he put down his quill.

"How can I help you, Jarl, Captain, Irileth and…" He raised a brow at me. "Guest?"

"Farengar," the jarl's deep voice rung out. "I think your special research will finally come in handy. There's a dragon on the warpath."

The mage looked overly excited and I could practically see starlight shining in his eyes. "Ah, yes! I'd heard the rumors but no one in town seems to know much about it."

"Well, you're in luck." He pushed me towards the mage. "This one's seen it first-hand."

"Really?" The mage was looking at me the same way a cave troll looks at goats. "You've seen the beast? How big was it? What was it like? What did it do?"

For some reason, I felt the overwhelming urge to correct him. "He," I said.

"What?"

"He. 'Twas a male dragon."

Farengar looked shocked. "You've seen enough to tell the difference?"

"No, I've seen just the one. I just," I paused. I just… what? It was a male dragon that I saw. Of that I was certain. I don't know why… The deep smooth timber as his tongue curled to form some strange sort of word. He sounded male, I suppose, but maybe they all sound like that. But, something else told me it was male, not my ears.

An odd sort of compulsion. A phrase slithered into my head. Nonsense words. Faint and incomprehensible. _Tar… Tarvoknaak…jun…?_

"I… just know."

"Okay…" Farengar said. "Tell me about him." Instantly, the phantom scent of brimstone and death filled my nose and a stifled the shudder that lanced down my spine.

My head hurt and my temper was rising. The stone slab pulsed again. "What is there to tell? He was big, scaly, sharp teeth, fire breath. Ate a few people, too, I think."

"I imagine everything is big to you," muttered the captain of the guard. I snorted, but didn't respond.

The mage looked disappointed but didn't push it further. Instead, he asked, "How did you survive the attack then?"

"I've been known to get out of a bind or two. Mostly lots of running and hiding."

"I see… is there anything else? Anything out of the ordinary you can recall?"

"Other than _the dragon burning down a village_?" The mage shot me a disproving look. Apparently, my cynicism wasn't appreciated. I considered telling him the truth. About the way his roaring melted into words. The way my very soul shivered in anticipation at his presence; in reverence at the sound of his voice. But, instead… "N-no, not much of worth." My tongue flicked out to pass over my lips.

"Hm." All four regarded me carefully, before Farengar eventually nodded. "Well, if you remember anything of value, please do not hesitate to come and tell me." I blinked.

The slab pulsed once more, this time with a magical sort of heat, burning insistently at my side. "Tsk! Damn it all." I pulled it from my pockets, with a hiss. "What is with this thing?"

The mage gasped the very moment the etchings caught the candlelight and practically ripped the relic from my hands. "Where did you get this?"

I scowled at him. The stone piece was _mine. _"I found it." I stressed the word "I." "In an old barrow in the mountain by Riverwood. Picked it off a walking corpse."

"Do you know what this is?" He asked giddily.

_Yeah. It's __**mine. **_

Instead, Balgruuf spoke up. "Why don't you enlighten us, Farengar?"

"This is the Dragonstone of legends!"

Irileth spoke up this time. "The what?"

"The legends are true!" He laughed heartily but, then trailed off. "Oh… But that must mean…"

"Hm?" I asked. "What was that?"

I was ignored. "Jarl Balgruuf, there is much we have to discuss and it cannot wait."

The jarl cocked his head, but nodded. "Of course, old friend. Let's talk in my private quarters. You, wood elf."

I glanced at him before my gaze flicked back to the stone. I inclined my head towards him and my ears twitched.

"Stay in town. I may send for you if we need more information. I wanted to protest but he and the wizard had already begun walking away. "Lydia, Irileth, with me."

Irileth followed wordlessly but Lydia turned to speak to me. "You'd do well to obey, elf." And with that, she stalked after them.

I rolled my eyes and with one last glance around Farengar's office I turned and left Dragonsreach.

…

I awoke to hammering on the door. The scent of pine and earth fluttered over me as Aela stomped past me to answer the door, swearing all the way. She'd allowed me to sleep on a spare bedroll in her room in Jorrvaskr. I kept my body relaxed, my eyes closed, but my ears still perked, ready to catch even the sound of mice moving in the walls.

"This had better be important," she grumbled. She threw open the door with a huff and with a growl said, "What?" I pressed myself down closer to the bedroll. I'd never get used to that, it was so very off-putting.

A man's voice, breathless, panted out, "We need every able bodied warrior at the western watchtower, now!"

"What? Slow down, you great git! What's going on?!"

"Dragon…" He whispered. "Dragon!"

There was a roar in the distance. It was muffled but unmistakable. In tandem with the thunderous sound I heard words. My mind could not comprehend them, though it felt like I should. My soul quaked in anger in response. _**Hi fen ag!**_My eyes snapped open. Every fiber of my being recognized those words for what they were: _a challenge._

I was filled with a rage I'd never felt in my twenty three years of life. A loathsome sort of feeling. I wanted to slaughter the dragon that spoke those words. I wanted to feel his blood between my fingers, on my tongue. I wanted to scream my victory over his corpse.

My blood burned hot in my veins and I could not stay here, idle in this bedroom for even a moment longer. I pulled my armor on as I pushed past Aela and the guard, forgoing my boots. I had no time to bother with them.

I snatched up my bow and quiver and dashed out into the night, ignoring Aela's shouts. The streets were filled with rushing soldiers moving far too slow for my tastes. I could hear the dragon still roaring its taunting challenge. _**Hi fen ag!**_

_Damn you, _I snarled. There was no way I'd manage to pick my way through the crowd.

Traveling by roof was easy. Far faster than taking the streets. I scaled the walls of Jorrvaskr and threw myself to the next roof. And, the next and the next. I reached Whiterun's gates in just a minutes time and as I stood on its pinnacle, I turned toward the roaring. I saw the Western watchtower not a mile off. The huge beast flew circles around it, breathing fire on the soldiers below. Again it roared. _**Hi fen ag!**_

I threw myself down, rolling when I hit the dirt. I would not let a moment be wasted. The worm needed to die. I broke into a sprint barefooted. There was another company of soldiers not far behind me. My tongue flicked out to pass over my bared teeth as they got closer. Among them, I recognized the captain of the guard, Lydia.

We exchanged a glance.

She nodded. I nodded back. An agreement.

We were almost upon the watch tower when my rage reached its breaking point. I still did not know their meaning, but they bubbled up from deep in my gut. My blood boiled as I roared at the top of my lungs, "_**Hi fen ag!"**_

The dragon turned its attention on me, still circling overhead. It swooped down, diving at me. Its lips parted and it laughed wildly. _**"Brit grah! Yol!" **_Fire streamed at me from its jowls.

I spun away from the stream of heat, drawing my bow as I took cover behind a crumbling stone wall. The moment the flames began to fade I notched an arrow and let it fly. It buried itself in the beast's cheek. Just a few inches shy of my target: its eye. It roared but did not seem to hurt. It circled around again. This time, it spoke in the common tongue.

"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

For some reason, the word "mortal" struck a chord in me and my fury grew.

This time, my arrow found its mark. Blood gushed from the dragon's left eye. It balked and howled painfully. By the time it had landed, I had already slipped into the watchtower. Several guards made a charge for it. It made quick work of them with a shout of "_**Yol!"**_

I was dimly aware of Lydia backing away from me as I growled viciously. "I am no mere joor," I sneered.

"What did you say?" she asked.

I shot her an angry glance, my lips pulled back in a snarl, baring my teeth. I shot up the crumbling stone stairs to get a better view. Lydia followed, but at a distance.

Apparently, I was too predictable.

The dragon was already at the window, his mouth gaping open and I could see embers rapidly pooling and brightening deep in his throat. I rammed Lydia back just as fire engulfed the room. She fell on her backside with a grunt and my anger grew more still at the sound of the dragon's cackle. _**"Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde, joor!" **_

My heartbeat hammered in my ears like war drums. I rolled away from Lydia, snagging her sword from the ground as I did. "Stay down," I hissed to her. She had her shield for defense, she'd be fine.

The dragon still was in the window, clinging to the side of the watchtower. His huge slitted orange eyes peered in, the one I struck clouded over. Still, I do not think he was ready for me to charge at his face through the flames.

My bare feet burned as they met the super-heated stone floors, but I paid the pain no mind. He drew open his mouth to attack me again. But, he was too slow. With a wide arcing swing, I severed his forked tongue. It fell to the floor as he shrieked wordlessly in agony. He swiped blindly with his claws as he jerked against the watch tower, still screaming. They grazed my side as I took another swing. Blood poured down my side as red as that which gushed from his mouth, his eye, his wing.

He clumsily leapt backwards, still flailing instead of flying, barely holding himself aloft. His belly was exposed and my bow found my hands again. I notched an arrow and sent it flying into his throat. The next three into his gut. He fell to the earth, still screaming. He landed on his back, thrashing wildly. Any nearby men were thrown away from him. I looked down at him, blood dribbling down my split lip as I held the bloody sword in a clenched fist. He looked back up at me, glaring hatefully.

I leapt down at him and despite all his thrashing, plunged the sword into his heart. His body jerked, fear dribbling into those cold flame colored orbs. I twisted the sword, plunging it deeper still. He hissed out, with a rasping breath _**"Dovahkiin? No!"**_

I looked down into those eyes and hissed out in a voice both my own and not, _**"Hi fen ag!" **_

And, with a terrible scream, filled with fear and hatred and desperation, the great dragon fell limp and died.

I panted, still frenzied from the rush of battle. The warriors rushed at the beast again, but paused at the sight of me perched on the monster's unmoving chest. I recognized a few faces: Irileth, Lydia, the guards from the gate, Aela, some of the Companions.

I took deeper breaths now, trying to calm my heart. The rage had faded as had the fire in my blood. I yanked the sword from the dragon's chest and thought, _heh, Farengar'll love this. _

I leapt down, landing sloppily, but still on my feet. The crowd, except for just a few, stepped back. I looked around at them. _What's the problem? _

I caught sight of Lydia. She looked a little singed but no worse for wear otherwise. I looked down at the bloody blade. Tiredly, I mused, _Well, it __**is**__ her blade. _

I shook the blood off a little before holding it out to her. She stared at me wide eyed and after a moment's hesitation, she took it.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it," I rasped.

She blinked owlishly at me, "…Any time."

"Heh."

There was a sound of burning behind me and I turned to see the dragon's corpse being consumed by some sort of unnatural flame. As more of the dragon's body was burned away, the larger the white fire grew. Eventually, all that was left was the beast's skeleton and a few patches of scales the fire turned to mist.

I was transfixed as it swirled and glittered in front of me.

I was very unprepared for the mist to come rushing at me.

I couldn't even scream. There was no air in my lungs to do so. I could see nothing but whiteness and hear nothing but the sound of rushing wild winds. I felt as if I were being engulfed in the fires of Oblivion, yet at the same time, it was like I was buried in ice. Only one word came to my mind.

_Fus._

_Fus.  
Fus._

_**Force.**_

In the next instant, everything went dark.

…

I dreamed of my mother. She tended my scrapes and bumps. She fed me milk laced with moonsugar. She swatted my behind when I troubled her. She taught me to cook. She taught me to clean. She taught me to heal. She taught me to survive.

I dreamt of my brothers. They taught me to play. They called me names. They teased. They fought with me. They took me climbing. They taught me to lie. They taught me to steal. They taught me to kill.

I dreamt of the warm sands of Elsweyr.

Of sweetest moonsugar.

Of strong skooma.

In a haze, I saw bears the size of mice. I saw mountains become molehills. The clouds were well within my reach.

I dreamt there was fire in my belly, it kept me warm even as I flew over mountains.

I dreamt of the hunt. With arrows. With blades. With nails. With teeth.

I dreamt of man and mer and beastkin. Armies of them.

I dreamt of gold. Vast valleys of it. Mountains filled to over flowing with all manner of treasures. I rolled in it. Slept under it. Guarded it. I dug it raw from veins. I sunk ships for it. I burned cities for it. Spilled blood for it. There was never enough of it.

I dreamt of werewolves and vampires.

Of walking corpses and skeletons.

I dreamt of the sky filled with glittering stars.

I dreamt of the moon eating the sun. The sun eating the moon.

I dreamt of dragons. All many shapes and colors.

I dreamt of slaying them.

I dreamt of flying with them.

I dreamt of feasts with fine wines.

I dreamt of madness.

I dreamt of peace.

I dreamt of war.

I dreamt of kings.

I dreamt of the divines.

I dreamt of daedra.

I dreamt of the black dragon at Helgen.

I dreamt of sages on a mountain.

I dreamt of countless voices. Some large, some small. Some of beasts, some of man. All whispering, _Dovahkiin. _

And, eventually…

I dreamed of nothing.

* * *

**a/n: heck yeah, we've finally slayed a fucking dragon. we can cross mirmulnir off the list now.**

quick guide to dovah:

Tarvoknaak jun - ravenous king

Hi fen ag - you will burn

Brit grah - beautiful battle

Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde, joor - my high lord will devour you in sovngarde, mortal

****Everything else is probably self explanatory.****


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke suddenly. It was dark. My eyes weren't even open and I could tell.

I was starving. Absolutely ravenous and the taste of blood in my mouth did nothing to dampen it. Still, I did not open my eyes. The cat who pretends to sleep catches the most mice.

My nose twitched. The scent of healing herbs was heavy in the air. Sweet mint and soothing sage is my favorite healing remedy. The smell reminds me of Maman.

I could hear footsteps, quietly shuffling around and the occasional pained groans. If I had to guess, I was alone in… where ever I was.

I peeked an eye open, just a crack. The only light in the room came from starlight and a flickering candle. No movement. I opened my eye a little wider. The candle was on a nightstand next to the cot I laid on. There was a bowl, a bottle of liquid, and a damp cloth as well.

I rolled to my side. A dull pang of pain lanced up my left side with the movement and I hissed out. My entire being ached but my dry mouth spurred me onward. With a bit of effort, I reached the bottle. I uncorked it and the scent of beef stock poured out of it. My stomach howled and I couldn't get the liquid down my throat fast enough. It may have been watered down wine mixed with broth, but in that moment, it was like an oasis in the desert. I needed it more than I needed air. I guzzled down the whole thing in less than a minute and some of my fatigue was washed away.

I licked my lips as I reached for the bowl next, but a soft voice interrupted me.

"Ah, I see you have woken."

My hand immediately shot to my waist – my daggers had been taken apparently, as my fingers wrapped around empty air – and I whipped around. A nord woman stood at the door. My back tensed as she moved to approach and I bared my teeth. She slowed down and held her hands up palms out – a sign of peace.

"I mean you know harm, Sa'miail. Tell me, are you in any pain? Your side? Anything at all?"

I didn't let my guard down intentionally. Just… something about her voice was so calming. Begrudgingly, I whispered, "Side. Left one." I still eyed her warily as she approached, her hands now glowing with golden energy. I almost leaned away as she pressed them against my side. My pain bled away as warmth ebbed into my side.

"Where am I?" I rasped. I cleared my throat and my next question came out much clearer. "Who are you?"

Without looking up from her work, she replied, "This is the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun. I am Danica Pure-Spring, head priestess here. Do you, per chance, know why you're here?"

I blinked and tried to focus. "A dragon attacked a few hours ago…?"

She smirked and with a wry chuckle, hummed, "Well, you're half right. The dragon attack was three days ago."

"Wha – ugh!"

"My apologies. Your ribs were broken."

"That was… three days ago?"

"Yes," she massaged more restoration magic into my side before pulling away. "I've already healed the burns on your feet. Can you stand?"

"Burns on my feet?"

"The soles of your feet were badly burned," She 'tsk'ed disapprovingly at me, like a mother chastising a child who'd been caught playing with wild skeevers. "The captain of the guard mentioned you running across stone as hot as the skyforge. _Barefoot._"

I coughed awkwardly as I pushed myself to a sitting position. "I was, uh, in a bit of a hurry." I expected at least a little pain when my feet touched the floor, but I felt nothing more than a bit of a tingling sensation. She lent me her shoulder and helped me stand. She smelled sweet like wood smoke and healing herbs.

"The jarl has requested to see you as soon as you are fit to walk. He wants your report. And, to see you for himself." I gave her a questioning glance and she pointedly avoided looking into my eyes. She hadn't looked directly at my face this entire conversation, actually. "I will take you there. I know cloth robes may be uncomfortable for you, but it is all we have available. Your armor and weapons are waiting for you at Dragonsreach."

I hadn't even noticed actually. As we made our way out of the temple – embarrassingly slowly to my chagrin. Really, this is terrible – I noticed a huge tree, thick, but wilting slightly. I hummed curiously as we passed it. It held some sort of peaceful, healing magic that even I could feel in it, but I could it was ebbing away, dying slowly.

"Sad isn't it?" Danica murmured wistfully.

"Hm?"

"That's the Gildergreen, the holy tree. It was struck by lightning just a few weeks ago and its condition has been failing ever since…"

"Ah, I see…"

We continued onward and made our way to Dragonsreach. The guards at the huge ornate door actually bowed before opening the way. _Must have something to do with her… high priestessness. _

"I leave you here," she said simply. "If you need healing again, please feel free to ask for me at the temple." She strode off without ceremony.

I watched her leave, blinking before I walked – limped – into the great feast hall again. Every guard in place turned towards the door and did a double take. Then, to my extreme surprise, they hastily bowed to _me_, deep at the waist.

"Dragonborn," they murmured.

"Uh…" _The fuck is a Dragonborn?_

Everyone bowed to me as I passed and dear Julianos was I confused. I occasionally waved if I recognized one from the watchtower, but all they did was avert their eyes.

As I approached the great throne, Balgruuf walked out from some passage behind it along with Irileth, Lydia, and Farengar. He immediately approached, grinning wildly.

"Sa'miail. It is good to see you up and about, my friend!" He laughed, shaking again. "Who would have expected… You of all people…"

I stared, feeling a bit like I was being made fun of, standing in front of the Jarl's court, drowning in mage's robes several sizes too large. "Me of all people… what?" I asked.

"Why, surely you must know!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're the Dragonborn!"

"I don't know what that is…"

"You…" He started, bewildered. Then, he shook his head and continued. "No, you wouldn't would you… you're not from Skyrim, are you?" He mused.

"Forgive me if Nordic customs don't come easily to me," I said drily. "I'm still learning."

Balgruuf snorted and Lydia spoke up. "The Dragonborn is a mighty hero of legend, born to slay dragons with their own power."

I blinked and stared before suddenly bursting into laughter. "Ohhhhh, that's a good one," I said between snickers. "Me? Some great dragonslayer? Come now, if you're going to play me for a fool, it has to at least be believable!"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "It is no jest. I saw it with my own eyes, you are Dragonborn. Irileth saw it, too."

The dunmer cut in with her usual grumpy tone. "I saw something, yes. But, the elf is no legendary hero." She shook her head. "I don't understand you nords' obsession with destiny…"

"Never expected I'd agree with Irileth on anything."

Farengar looked like he might burst with excitement. I leaned away from him. The way he was staring was absolutely unnerving… "The Dragonborn… amazing…" He mumbled.

"I am _not _the Dragonborn," I hissed. "So, stop that…"

"The guards saw you absorb the dragon's very essence! That is exactly what the texts say that only dragons can do that. And, a mortal with the soul of a dragon – the Dragonborn – would be able to do the same. You are destined to save Skyrim from the evils that plague her!"

_Oh, no. Not ever. _

"Look," I growled. This game was getting tiresome. "I can't be some Nordic hero. First of all, I'm not even a nord. Secondly, look at me!" I held out my arms, to emphasize my point. "I can't be some big strong hero because I am small! This is the smallest set of mage's robes that the priestess had and they still are far too big!" I didn't know if that was true, but it was likely. "I scarcely clear five feet! I hardly come up to most men's shoulders! I am a thief. A pickpocket and a liar! You ask too much of me!"

Farengar leapt in again. "The texts say nothing but the Dragonborn has a soul of a dragon and is a great warrior. Besides," he said staring at me. "Your heritage is practically carved into your face."

"I am no warrior! I cannot slay dragons! I am not this... legend of yours!"

Irileth cut in this time. "Well, you certainly handled a sword like one. A little sloppy, but you still killed the dragon…"

"Luck! Pure chance and a bout of temporary insanity does not make me a hero!"

"Enough!" thundered Balgruuf. "Dragonborn, or no, you still slayed a dragon Sa'miail. That is worthy of some praise." He turned toward short bald man who was pouring over some scrolls. "Proventus!"

"Yes, sir," The man replied, still not looking up.

"Make note: from this day forth, the Bosmer woman known as Sa'miail is a Thane of Whiterun!"

Angrily, I exclaimed, "Hey, wait a damned minute! Don't go thrusting titles at me!"

Balgruuf ignored me. "Lydia!"

"Sir!"

"You will be the thane's housecarl."

"What the fuck is a housecarl?!" My temper was starting to get out of hand now.

Lydia looked hesitant, "As you wish, my jarl…"

Balgruuf turned back to me again. "I'll have no complaints from you, now, Sa'miail. You are a thane, a hero, of Whiterun and this whole hold will honor you. Now, it is late, and time for my court to be dismissed." He turned his back and strode off, Irileth in tow. "Come back to Dragonsreach tomorrow if you need something. For now, Lydia will take care of you." A dismissal if I ever heard one.

I seethed, but stomped out of the hall nonetheless. Lydia followed not far behind.

Once we were outside, the guards bowed again and I spat, "Stop that!" I whirled to face Lydia now, "And you! Why are you on my heels?"

"That is what a housecarl does, my thane."  
"I don't know what that is and I damned well don't care," I hissed. "Stop following me."

"I cannot do that."

"Aren't you the guard captain? Don't you have anything better to do?"

She scowled at me. "Do I have anything better to do than follow around an ungrateful, foul mouthed, milkdrinking, half pinted, rabbit eared elf around? Plenty. However, you were appointed thane and I, your housecarl, so follow you is what I will do."

I glared balefully up at her. _How… how __**dare this pitiful joor speak to me that way! **_A vicious snarl tore its way from my throat. _**I'll…**_ I shook my head. "I am not your thane, or anyone else's, and you are not my house-whatever! Get. Away. From. Me."

"No."

I screamed with rage and had I been paying enough attention, I would have noticed the tiny sparks that flew from my mouth. She stepped back in surprise and I turned my back to her, stomping off all the way to the nearest inn, the Bannered Mare.

I kicked open the door, and it clanged against the wall with a thud. I swore. The innkeeper had been leaning against the counter but jerked to attention. I reached into my pocket, but remembered that I didn't have any of my supplies, including my gold.

"Damn it all…"

Lydia stepped forward already pulling a coin purse from her pockets. "A room for the night for this elf, please."

I sneered at her and she met my gaze without hesitation. The stare off lasted for a few minutes more, until the innkeeper tapped my shoulder. I begrudgingly turned away to walk off to my newly purchased room. "Wench," I muttered, closing the door behind me. I didn't bother thanking her, although I knew I probably should.

I was tired, probably more so than I had any right to be. I'd apparently slept for three days after all, but the bed called to me. I washed my face in the basin nearby, and, when I looked up at the mirror I nearly shrieked. My eyes, instead of their usual chocolate brown, were almost black as pitch, a bright orange ring, flecked with gold and upon closer inspection, green, circled the empty pitch pools. My breath quickened and I held up my hand, calling a flames spell to my fingers. The tiny flame illuminated my face and I watched as the blackness in my reflection's eyes slowly receded until it was merely a long vertical slit in a sea of orange. It appeared even the whites of my eyes had been taken over by the colors. It was unnerving, unnatural.

I flicked my tongue out to pass over my lips – a nervous habit – and caught sight of something else odd. I opened my mouth wide. My canines had always been pointed – a bosmer trait born of the ancient carnivorous diets of origin tribes. However, now they were about two centimeters longer, and sharp like needles. They glinted in the light of the flames. The rest of my teeth also seemed somehow sharper; not even khajiit or argonians had teeth so sharp! When I closed my mouth again, my teeth clicked together with an audible snap.

But, the most alarming part was my tongue. It had changed from a bright pink to a deep, bloody red color and seemed to fork at the end. I stuck it out further to get a better look. It hadn't increased in length or thickness – thank Kynareth – but I noticed it was more… flexible. It curled and stretched and twisted impossibly.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a bit longer. _This must be what Ferengar was talking about. _

I huffed out a puff of air. The sun was just starting to poke up on the horizon.

_It's too early in the morning for this._

* * *

**a/n : exposition and uh... stuff. yeah. we've taken a bit of a rocky start out of the gate. responsibility is not Sa'm's thing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: welcome back to sa'm hates responsibilities.**

* * *

It was nearly noon when I awoke. There was the sound of shouting and jabbering as well as the click clacking of horse hooves and tough boots. I groaned and rolled over, still tired, tossing my wrist over my eyes. _I need to get up_, I thought. I laid there for another few minutes. I might have slept even longer, if not for the eventual pounding on my room door.

"Get up!" A rough voice demanded. I groaned in response. "Get up, you freeloader! Yer room was only paid for last night!"

The voice continued on along those lines for a while and I ignored it in favor of sleeping just a little while longer. I was just slipping into a dream when I was grabbed by the collar of my still too-big robes and yanked out of the bed. The stringy woman I recognized as the innkeeper was stronger than she looked.

"Dammit, when I say get out of the bed," she began, her volume rising.

"Hey, can't we just talk about this," I muttered. Of course, while I flailed my limbs wildly, I couldn't do much to the woman.

"I mean, get out!" She thundered, tossing me out onto the steps of the Bannered Mare. I landed painfully at the bottom of the steps. No one on the street seemed to pay any mind.

I laid there for a moment, dazzled. I'd been thrown out of inns for many things; bar fights, excessive drunkenness, making shady under the table trades, assault, mixing skooma on the alchemy table. Never have I been thrown out for sleeping before. In Elsweyr and even Cyrodill, I'd been allowed to keep the room for at least until the next night. _Who'd pay gold for a bed for just the __**night**__…? _I pondered grumpily as I pushed myself to my feet. _Starting to hate this province more and more every day. _

As I brushed the dust off my robes I heard the sound of snickering, followed by, "Are you alright, my Thane?"

I narrowed my eyes and turned to see the captain of the guard again. Lydia. "Didn't I tell you I'm not a thane?"

"Whether you accept the title or not, Balgruuf has still made you thane."

I 'tsk'ed but decided not to argue with the stubborn nord any further. Instead, I strode off towards Dragonsreach. I heard the clanging and banging of Lydia's heavy armor as she followed not far behind. _Dear sweet Mara, have mercy. _I brought a palm up to my face with a sigh. I picked a few red and blue flowers and lavender as I went and when I collected enough I wrapped them in moss and washed up in the river close to one of the huge white stone walls. Lydia kept watch. Not that I asked her to.

I ignored every bowing guard I passed as I practically kicked open the doors to the Jarl's keep. I was immediately approached by the Jarl's stewart. I recognized him from my last visit: Proventus Avenicci.

"Honored thane of Whiterun," he groused flatly. "I assume you are here for your personal items."

"Yes," I grunted. I was already in a foul mood and Avenicci's attitude was not a help at all.

"Very good," he held up a pack, first. "I've taken the liberty of organizing your things and putting them in this bag. You'll find everything in order. I've also had your quiver patched, upgraded, and reinforced." He held up a bow next. Not the ragged, splintery thing I'd been using, but a sturdy hunting bow; smooth, pine and with a strong taut string. "This is the kind of bow we equip our guards with. It should be sufficient."

I took the pack and after a quick peek, I took the bow and quiver as well. Then, Avenicci laid out some armor on one of the feast tables. "You seem to prefer light armor, from what I've seen. Your kind normally does. So, I had your armor remade. A combination of wolf and fox fur for the lining and elk hide for the leather. It should keep you relatively warm – so long as you keep it well – and it's very light and quiet. I'd hope I shouldn't need to tell you that it won't stop much damage." He raised an eyebrow expectantly at me. I ran my hands over the fur. _So soft. _Over the heart, there was a patch worked neatly into the leather. It was shield shaped with an intricate warhorse's head made from brass molded into it; the symbol of Whiterun – I'd seen it carved into the wood of every guard's shield here, even on Lydia's.

While I wasn't a fan of affiliating myself with cities and leaders, I had to admit that the armor was high quality and perfectly suited to me. Even the boots were my size, and I have very small feet. Avenicci politely turned away and Lydia busied herself with inspecting my pack as I pulled off the oversized mages' robes and clothed myself in the fur armor – the fact that I was in a busy keep didn't bother me. I'd never been concerned with mankind's obsession with nakedness being taboo. The great public baths in the slums of Elsweyr had taken care of any shyness around strangers. You learn to not care when you're being watched by a shifty eyed Argonian with a shiv that you stiffed a few weeks back.

"Perfect fit," I murmured. Already I was relieved to wear something that would actually stop physical damage. Mage robes were nice, often they offered some resistance to fire and other sorts of magic but they were useless when it came to blades and arrows.

"My daughter will be happy to hear that, I'm sure," the steward replied proudly. "You should go speak to the jarl, he has something for you. Other than that, enjoy your visit to Dragonsreach." And with that, the balding man walked off but not before offering Lydia a nod. She returned it with a roll of her eyes.

"I've heard there's a house available to purchase near the west gate," Lydia began conversationally. "As thane, you have first buying rights to it. When you get enough coin, you should speak to Proventus about it." I grunted, but otherwise didn't respond. I hoped that if I didn't pay her any mind, she'd get bored and leave me be.

I grabbed a crisp green apple from one of the feast tables as I passed by it and I was already down to its core by the time I reached the Jarl's throne. Balgruuf appeared to be dozing and Irileth was leaning against the stone wall behind him, reading a book. I cleared my throat and the dunmer started. The jarl blinked blearily before sniffing and rubbing his eyes.

"I was told you had something to give me?"

"Armor suits you rather well," he commented with a snicker. "At least better than a baggy robe does."

"Ha ha."

He gestured to Irileth and the housecarl pulled out a large steel axe. It glowed, etched with arcane symbols that pulsed with a whitish blue light some; sort of enchantment, I knew, but not of fire. My mother was a decent enchantress, but I'd never paid much attention to what she was doing. Only if she was giving my dagger a hint of fire power or a ring with a bit of extra healing energy. Everything seemed rather unnecessary.

As she held it out to me, Balgruuf said, "By my authority as jarl of Whiterun, I, Balgruuf the Greater, give you the axe of Whiterun as a symbol of your position as thane."

I was going to take it but the moment I heard "symbol of your position" I snatched my hand back. "Never mind, you can keep it." I turned about face and made for the door. "I don't want it." Lydia made an odd sort of choking sound. "The hell is your problem?" I asked. She stared at me bewildered.

"You can't just decide you don't want it!"

"That is what I just did."

"Do you know what that is?"

"An enchanted war axe?"

Balgruuf and Irileth watched on in amusement.

"Not just any enchanted war axe! That's the Axe of Whiterun! It has been a symbol of Whiterun's prowess and victories for generations! Being given it is a great honor!"

I glanced at Balgruuf expectantly. "It's true," was all he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Too bad. I don't want your "oh, so great honored axe" and that's that." I turned and walked straight out of Dragonsreach.

It was apparently too much to hope my blatant disrespect would convince her to not follow me. I was in the market looking at some hunter's game when I heard the loud clanging of Lydia's armor as she dashed down the stone steps. I groaned and dashed off, leaving a bit of coin for the merchant.

I was a lot faster than her. Years of running from guards and my lighter armor made me swifter than her by a long shot. Like a rabbit compared to a lame cow. Still, she was persistent.

We were out of Whiterun and a good half a mile away when I stopped running from her and turned around. I took in the cool air and the sweet scent of the miles and miles of valley grass and herbs. Deer and rabbits spotted the rolling hills and I eyed a particularly big one. _Nothing like a fat juicy venison steak. _

I watched as Lydia approached and a word leapt to the forefront of my mind. When she was just a few yards away, I parted my lips and shouted, "_**FUS!**_" A warm rush of energy flowed up from my stomach, to my throat and flew from my lips along with the roar. It rushed forward as a visible wall of energy and sound and, as Lydia likely wasn't expecting it, rammed into the brunette like a raging bull.

She staggered, stumbled and ultimately fell flat on her face at my feet with a resounding thud. The word had ripped all the breath from my lungs. But, goddamn that was _hilarious. _I doubled over in a fit of silent laughter.

She pushed herself to her feet and said, "That wasn't funny!" She was _pouting like a child. _I laughed harder, sound was gradually escaping as giggles.

I panted as air returned to me. "It's not my fault you can't take a hint."

She brushed dirt and bits of grass off her heavy steel armor and pulled the Axe of Whiterun from her belt and held it out to me. I stared blankly at her and quipped, "See, this is what I mean."

"It's your axe," She replied. "Take it."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Here. Tell you what: I, by my position as," I sighed here and begrudgingly continued. "_Thane of Whiterun, _give you the Axe of Whiterun, to do with what you will."

Her eyes widened. "Whoa, wait, wait wai-"

"Nope!" I cut her off, walking away again. "Nope! Your axe now, not mine!"

I found the road again. "You're just gonna keep following me, aren't you? I just dragon roared at you and you're gonna keep following me."

"I am sworn to protect you."

"Of course you are," I rolled my eyes. "Do you know the way to a hold called Solitude?"

She cocked her head. "It's north from here. Why are we going to Solitude?"

"A bard said it was one of the nicest holds in this province. A place for celebration and such. Is that true?"

"Well, yes. In a few days there'll be a festival. The Burning of King Olaf."

"I don't know who King Olaf is, but there are certain things to be gained from a city of celebrations." I grinned. "A thief's paradise." Lydia looked disgusted. "And, I am rather fond of a good festival."

"It's also where the Imperial Legion is based, and where the High King usually reigns."

"Fascinating." And so, we set off down the road.

* * *

It wasn't so bad. At least until the frost troll.

It was cold, windy, and the fur in my armor could only stifle so much. We'd been walking in silence and we'd come across several bandit camps. Lydia had a tendency to just charge right in, which was annoying at first, until I learned to take advantage of the distraction she provided. Most people focus more on the nord in thick intimidating armor charging straight for them than the little wood elf slipping into cover. At least until several of their companions end up stuck with enough arrows to qualify for being a pin cushion. Then, they figure out who's the real danger. Not that they live to spread the word.

We found a few giants herding mammoths, too. Lydia had wanted to charge in, gung ho, blades a-swinging. To which I replied, "What are you? Nuts?" Call me a pussy if you'd like. I don't enjoy being trampled by goats, let alone mammoths, and I'd had more than enough giant encounters to last me a lifetime and a half.

We were scaling a mountain and had just found another barrow when I'd heard thumping. I assumed it was Lydia running back to me, since she had a tendency of moving further ahead to scout for dangers. "Look out!" she shouted from… behind me? _Then, what's… _The thick snow rendered me unable to see more than a few feet in front of me. I was completely unprepared for the walloping punch to the gut that sent me flying back like a ragdoll. The white haired beast bellowed and beat its fists against its barrel chest. I laid convulsing in the snow. _That's gonna bruise later…_

Lydia released a booming battle cry and probably rushed forward to defend me as I spent the next minute or so coughing up my lunch. I could hear the sound of sword meeting flesh and… flesh meeting steel armor, grunts, and pig like squeals.

I couldn't see anything. My archery skills were useless. I could tell right about where they were but, not much else. Certainly, not enough to make a blind fire with an arrow or use any of the novice level magic that, I knew. I might be able to get a better grasp of the situation if I rushed in to join the fray with my daggers but, I could hardly take down a human in close quarters. A troll would likely rip me in half.

So, I took the safest course of action.

I ran.

I dashed past Lydia and the troll, down the crumbling stone steps, and scrambled down the side of the mountain. I didn't stop until I reached the road at the mountain's base. I fell to my hands and knees panting.

I felt bad. Really, I did. Even if it was just a little. No one deserves to be eaten by trolls; even if it was someone as stubborn and irritating as Lydia. The sun sunk down lower in the sky, dying the horizon a brilliant fiery orange.

I continued onward in the direction of Solitude, cradling my doubtlessly cracked ribs. I moved skowly and quietly, my hand constantly engulfed in the fires of a flame spell. I took down a few more wolves but let their corpses rot for the vultures. A saber cat spotted me but after glaring me down for a few minutes it decided to pursue bigger game. The moon was rising when I made it to a hold. Morthal, the sign read. There was a burned out home at the edge of the town. It was gutted out and half ash. It filled me with a terrible sense of dread. I shivered.

There was a crowd of people in front of a large stately mansion. They seemed rather angry. "We don't need no damned wizards here!" Someone from the crowd shouted. I glanced at my hand, still alit with arcane power. Hastily, I shook my wrist and dispelled the Flames spell.

There was a man on the manor's steps, nervously trying to placate the crowd. "Please, people! The jarl is doing her best to solve these issues! But, the wizard has the same right to be here as any of you! There's no proof he's the one causing these problems! None at all!" A potato flew from the crowd and nailed him right in the face. He staggered back. The crowd eventually dispersed.

He sighed and shook his head, wiping the blood dripping from his nose. He turned to a cloaked man who had been peeking out from inside the mansion. "Sorry, Fallion," he muttered. "You have the jarl's protection, so they won't physically harm you, but…"

The other man finished for him, stepping out from the doorway with a sigh, "It won't stop what they say. Don't worry about it, Aslfur." He held his hand, glowing with healing magic up to the other man's nose. When he finished, he walked off escorted by a guard, murmuring, "You're a good friend."

The blonde man, Aslfur, watched him go with a frown. He shook his head again and spat a gob of bloody spittle into the dirt. He noticed me then, and his eyes lit up. _Oh, no…_

"You!" He ran to me. I was scowling already. "Are you the sell sword we sent for?"

"Uh, no-." He cut me off.

"Of course you are!" He grabbed my arm and dragged me with him. _Son. Of a bitch. _ "Come! The jarl's been waiting!"

And, just like that, I was dragged into the huge stately building, all my protest ignored. _Damn burly nords… _

He presented me to an old woman. "Jarl Idgrod," he practically _shouted in my ear. _"The sell sword we sent for is finally here."

I cut in, "I'm actually… not a sell sword."

The woman lifted an eyebrow. "You're certainly dressed like one. Either that or a bandit."

I looked down at myself. Other than the admittedly small symbol of Whiterun, it was just fur armor and an enchanted pair of studded leather boots I found in a bandit camp. _Should I be offended…? _It was my turn to lift an eyebrow at this Jarl Idgrod. "I'm not a bandit," I drawled.

"Then, you're a sell sword," she shot back with an air of finality. "Besides, I've seen your coming in my visions."

"…What?"

"Did you see the burned down home at the edge of the village?"

I decided to let that comment about visions pass. For now. "Yeah. What about it?"

"A man named Hronggar and his family lived there until it burned down a few days ago. Lost his wife and daughter in it. Very sad."

_I don't care. _"Hm."

"Hronggar blames it on his wife. Says she poured horker fat in the fire place and it caught. He was in Alva's pocket before the ashes were cold."

I snorted. "Sounds like someone moves on fast."

She gave me a wry half smile. "Indeed."

"So, what's your point?"

"We want you to look into this fire. We believe it's somehow connected to the disappearances. Not only that, the citizens think Hronggar killed his family. Intentionally."

"Whoa, what? Back up. Disappearances?" I shook my head and waved my arms. "Absolutely not. What do I look like some sort of suicidal snoop?"

"No, you look like a sell sword."

"I'm an archer," I hissed. "I don't even own a sword."

She chuckled at me. "A sell bow, then."

"Look, I'm not-."

"I'll give you two hundred gold if you find the answer," she said casually.

"Done." I surprised even myself. Yes, I liked having a lot of money. But, typically I'd never agree to put my neck on the line for so little. The word gold almost made me salivate this time, repeating over and over in my head like some alluring siren's song. Two hundred gold isn't really a lot.

She blinked at me. "…Very well. You can start tomorrow by asking around. For now, the Moorside inn is renting out rooms for ten gold. You can stay there."

I was ushered out by three burly, borderline hostile guards. "Come back tomorrow, wood elf. The jarl will be expecting you."

I yanked my arms out of their grips and made my way to the inn.

Outside talking to some flustered Redguard woman, was a bedraggled warrior in heavily dented steel armor. _No fucking way…_

"…Has a wood elf woman in light armor passed this way? Odd colored eyes, black hair, and ears as long as a rabbit's?"

The innkeeper furrowed her brow, "Hm…" She looked up suddenly and spotted me. I froze like an elk in a saber cat's sights. "Oh! Do you mean her?" She pointed at me.

The warrior turned around and there was Lydia. Wild brown hair, a bruised cheek, a split lip, and a trail of dried blood coming down from her nose, but still Lydia. Her eyes lit up in fury when she saw me. "Yes, that's the one. Thank you." My ears twitched downwards. _This can't end well._

She stomped over to me and I saw the innkeeper wince and shoot me a look of pity. She mouthed a 'sorry' to me and slipped back inside. I feigned not having seen my housecarl and did an about face. _Maybe it's not too late to duck somewhere and hide. _Lydia spoke then, low and deathly calm. I had to resist a whimper that threatened to force its way from my lips. "Don't you dare," she said. I could feel the rage dripping off every syllable. "I'm getting _real_ tired of chasing after you."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, faking surprise. "Where have you been? I was so worr-!" She threw a punch at my face and I barely managed to jack knife to the right to avoid it.

"You chickenshit little fuck!" She snarled. "You ditched me with a frost troll!" She made a grab for me and I scrambled backwards with a yelp.

"H-hey! Lydia, let's talk about this, yeah?" She snarled wordlessly and I squeaked as she grabbed me by my collar. "Let's go kill a bunch of bandits or something, huh?"

"No…" she growled. I may snark her and insult her terrible sneaking skills, but never let it be said that I don't respect the hell out of Lydia's raw strength. She literally hurled me into a building.

"Agh!" My back hit the solid log wall of the inn with a crash and I slumped to the dirt, upside down, with a groan. "Fuck…."

She dusted her hands off and crouched down next to my face. I flinched and cracked one eye open to peer up at her with a grimace. "We can go kill a bunch of bandits in the morning," she drawled. She opened the door to the inn. "Sleep well, my thane." She strode in the inn, leaving me outside on the ground.

"Fuck…"

* * *

**a/n: one of the best parts of this story is that i just play skyrim with sa'm's intended skill set and write notes on what happens. **

**i really did just leave whiterun and head straight for solitude and run across a frost troll and did run off like a wuss leaving lydia to fight it alone. **

**she showed up later when i made it to morthal so either she actually killed it or she just respawned when i got to highmoon hall. **

**i like to pretend she killed it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n: sorry for the wait. **

**side note: this chapter is in third person.**

* * *

After a few moments of lying on the ground, Sa'miail rolled to her hands and knees, grumbling about bitchy housecarls and broken ribs. She took in deep breaths, trying to calm her frantically seizing lungs. The heavy murky scent of the marshlands washed over her. Mosquitoes and termites buzzed and swirled in the cool night air, and she was tempted to shout at them when they strayed too close to her. Instead, as she laid in the moist dirt, she brought her hand up to her ribs, and let the golden glow of a restoration spell work its magic.

Her ears twitched at the sound of dainty footsteps approaching and her brow furrowed. It couldn't have been Lydia, she had already gone inside the inn and furthermore, the steps were far too quiet to belong to someone wearing such loud armor. Sa'miail peered up from her crouched position, eyes narrowed warily. Someone was trying to sneak up on her. Her lips were set in a firm line and a low threatening rumble, so deep it was almost inaudible, rose up from her chest.

As the steps slowly moved closer, the bosmer placed a hand on her dagger. She parted her lips and the growl poured from her mouth, loud and clear now, like distant thunder. Her voice now deeper and threatening and decidedly not her own, she said, "Who's there? Come out. Now." She quickly rose to her feet, despite her body's protests, fully drawing both daggers now. A spark of apprehension lanced through her.

There was silence for a few moments more. Sa'miail was just going to dismiss the incident as her own paranoia and the otherworldly rage pooling in her gut was beginning to slowly fade, before a woman stepped out, from behind some bushes. She was pretty enough, S'amiail thought, with dark hair and wide hips and an ample enough bosom. Her brown eyes held an orangish gleam and a spark of curiosity. "Alright, alright," she hummed, not at all unpleasantly. "No need to get all huffy, stranger."

Sa'miail's ears twitched again at the nord woman's tone, her eyes had taken on the slitted fiery serpentine appearance and they had not yet faded back into their usual honey-tinged brown. The woman seemed harmless enough, but something about her aura kept the wood elf's very soul on edge. Still, this is why she found the human races befuddling; how could you tell what a human was thinking if their ears didn't move with their emotions? She sheathed her weapons, but kept one hand on her hip, just above her dagger. She tilted her head and relaxed her stance ever so slightly; her guard disguised as a now casual demeanor. The familiar persistent edge of suspicion had yet to disappear. "Is that so? And, who may I ask are you?"

The nord woman smirked, "My name is Alva." Her clothing, more revealing than the Elsweyr native had seen anyone in Skyrim wear, emphasized the way she seemed to push up her breasts. Sa'miail made a great effort to keep her eyes trained up. "I see," the wood elf murmured. "Well then, Alva, why were you sneaking up on me?"

"I heard a bit of crashing and decided to see what it was."

Sa'miail scowled. "Yes, that was me. Nothing to worry about, though."

"Are you sure?" Alva asked, her voice taking on a huskier tone. "It sounded like a brawl." Her eyes flicked down to Sa'miail's lips, an odd glimmer glinting in her eyes. "And, you're bleeding."

"Eh?" The wood elf drew the back of her hand over her mouth, wincing lightly at the tinge of pain from her apparently split lip. Despite the low light, her serpentine eyes clearly picked up the streak of blood staining her fur gauntlets. "Tsk," she muttered. Lydia's face popped in her head and her eyebrow twitched.

Suddenly, an odd sort of apprehension shot through her and Sa'miail looked up to see Alva had moved closer and was now staring down at her. Immediately, she hopped back a few steps, her skin crawling at the sharp cold gaze Alva was directing at her. _Were her eyes that bright before? _A voice, hissing and old and with no small amount of alarm rasped out in the back of her mind, _**Ag las vasikiik!**_

"Well, aren't you the pretty one," the nord woman murmured, something odd in her voice now. "I bet all the men chase after you."

Sa'miail's mind felt… hazy. As if she was seeing, hearing, and even smelling things through a thick fog of sweet ginger. She felt oddly content, if not a little confused. The serpentine appearance her eyes had taken on faded back to warm brown clouded over and the voice that had been murmuring urgently through her thoughts faded away into almost nothing. "…eh?" She muttered, all traces of unease replaced with an odd sort of flattered happiness.

Alva just chuckled. "I may just keep you…"

"…Keep…"

The taller woman just chuckled again, reaching out to cup Sa'miail's chin and tilting her head up. With half lidded eyes, the shorter woman complied easily, baring her neck. Alva leaned down pressing her lips to the wood elf's throat and dimly in the back of her mind, Sa'miail pondered why she couldn't feel the other woman's breath and why she was so cold. She began to try to pull away, halfheartedly, but Alva's grip tightened, holding her in place. The nord frowned slightly, and murmured, "Hmph, cheeky." Another wave of fog washed over Sa'miail and she relaxed, the doubtful thoughts and uneasiness were lost again.

Alva pressed against her throat again, but suddenly, the moment was lost. The inn door was thrust open without warning and out stepped Lydia, wearing commoner's clothes and an irritated scowl. "My thane, I didn't throw you that hard, don't just lay-" She cut herself off when she took in the scene at hand. "What the hell are you doing?"

Immediately, the mist clouding Sa'miail's mind was blown away and the voice returned in a full blown panic, thundering in her head now. _**AG LAAS VASIKIIK! **_She grunted in pain, pushing away from Alva and pushing her palm against the side of her head, eyes screwed shut and her mouth twisted into a grimace. It felt like someone had cracked her skull with a Warhammer. "Son of a bitch!" She hissed. Alva slipped away as Lydia moved to the wood elf's side.

Sa'miail staggered and her housecarl grabbed her shoulder to steady her. "My thane. My thane, what's wrong?"

The bosmer said nothing coherent, her eyes still shut. She simply hissed, not like a cat, or a khajiit. Instead, she sounded like an angry snake, low and deadly with a promise of pain. Then, "**Ag laas vasikiik**!" And, her voice tapered off into a low growl; Lydia watched her carefully, "Sa'miail…?" It was when the wood elf's fingertips lit up with brilliant fire that Lydia decided to pull away.

At least, she would have, if not for the rogue reaching out and grabbing her sleeve, nails digging through the fabric and into the skin of Lydia's arm, the growl still pouring from her throat. "My thane," Lydia began warningly. "Let me go this instant." The growl did not stop. Instead, it rose in volume and lowered in pitch. Sa'miail's lips parted and she hissed out, "**Ag." **With her free hand, she drew one of the daggers at Sa'miail's waist and held it to the shorter woman's throat. "Sa'miail," she said firmly.

The wood elf cracked one eye open, her brows still furrowed painfully. One single frantic, orange, enraged eye met Lydia's narrowed brown eyes for a few moments. The single black slit became even smaller for a split second before widening into a black orb, erasing all traces of the fiery color. When the circle shrank again into a regular pupil, the orange was replaced with the usual, albeit confused, brown.

The bruising grip she had on Lydia's arm slackened, and Sa'miail blinked heavily, attempting to clear her thoughts. "Lydia…? Wha…?"

The warrior breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled the business end of the dagger away from the rogue's throat.

The flames spell dissipated and Lydia took a step back, examining her charge at arm's length. "Are you alright?" She asked, still wary of the bosmer's moodswings.

Sa'miail's lips parted, her tongue darting out to pass over her the split, cracked skin, and hazily replied, "This one… what happened to this one?"

Lydia blinked. She'd only spent about a few days' time with the elf, but she was very sure that Sa'miail didn't speak so… oddly. With her rough voice, quick tongue, and strange new speaking pattern, she sounded like a member of one of those troublesome khajiit trading caravans. The housecarl wasn't even quite sure she knew what exactly Sa'miail was asking. "…What?"

Still groggy looking, Sa'miail looked directly up at Lydia's face and said, "Is the bodyguard daft?" There was that cadence again. "This one is asking what has happened," she said slowly. The eyebrow with the little nick taken out of it arched higher than the other.

"You want to know what happened?"

"That is what Sa'miail said." She brought a hand up to rub her eyes.

Lydia stared back. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?" An eye peeked open to peer up at the taller woman.

Still more staring. "Never mind." A pause, then. "I have no idea what happened. You were just out here, with that…woman…?" The housecarl looked around. Alva was gone. "She disappeared. And then you seemed to lose your mind for a moment."

"Oh," Sa'miail drawled, a touch of irritation already leaking into her tone. "What then?"

"Then nothing. You snapped out of it, I guess. You were speaking during it. I couldn't understand you, though." When the wood elf peered up at her expectantly, ears twitching. Lydia grumbled, "I don't think I could repeat it if I tried."

Sa'miail seemed unbothered. "Ah, luckless," she murmured, nonetheless. "Regrettable. Perhaps nord can tell Sa'miail why she became a hatter, then?"

Lydia blinked, confused. _Became a hatter? What?_

Sa'miail sighed and rubbed her temples. "Lydia said Sa'm lost her mind. Does she know why this one became skooma-addled?"

_Why didn't she just say that in the first place? "_No idea."

"Hm, odd. Concerning," she murmured drowsily to herself. Then she looked back at Lydia and jokingly added, "Hard cheese. Perhaps Riddle'thar spiked moonsugar in wood elf's milk. Or Sangiin is playing this one for a marionette, eh? Ha ha."

Now, Lydia was getting irritated, trying to decipher her charge's quick, slurring, borderline nonsensical sentences was giving her a headache. "Enough! I cannot understand a word you're saying!"

Sa'miail started, her sleepy eyes, now fully open. She clearly wasn't expecting such an outburst and the muggy humid air had made her drowsy. Then, they narrowed as her temper spiked, upset at both Lydia for snapping at her and herself for lowering her guard so much that her accent slipped out.

"If housecarl is so bold - !" She made a short sharp noise, somewhere between a growl and a scream, in frustration, shook her head and started again. This time, she spoke plainly, all traces of Elsweryian speech erased from her voice. "You're being very bold about the way you speak to me, _bodyguard_. Perhaps, if you cannot stand to listen, then we should not speak to each other at all."

With a huff, Sa'miail pushed past Lydia towards the inn.

"Hey! Wait just a minute-!"

Without missing a beat, Sa'miail whirled on her heel and snarled out, "_**FUS."**_

It wasn't as powerful and wild as the first one was; with the wood elf's own intent driving it, it was softer, yet more deliberate. She had no intent to send Lydia careening halfway across the square, but it did have enough force behind it to send her staggering back a few feet.

"Hmph, we have much to do in the morning. I am going to bed," Sa'miail said, grumpily. "And, I am not to be disturbed until then." And with that, she disappeared into the inn.

Lydia watched her go, glaring as she disappeared. After a minute, she followed suit.

The dark square of Morthal was quiet once again.

A set of yellow red eyes watched the inn. They narrowed, before disappearing altogether.

* * *

**a/n: but yeah, really sorry. i'm trying to get everything updated, and update more frequently, but i've been really unmotivated lately. in fact this one was supposed to be longer and actually complete the major quest thing that happens in morthal, but, i just couldn't do it fast enough and i really needed to update _something._**

**thanks to all of you who've had patience with me! next chapter, action-y things will happen, i swear. and if you've played this quest you know how fun that'll be.**

** i decided to try out how this story feels in third person because i didn't think it was detailed enough with just Sa'm's point of view. you should tell me which way you prefer.**


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n: todays longer than average chapter is brought to you by lemon white chocolate cookies and strawberry crush**

* * *

Sa'miail awoke to the pleasant feeling of sunlight falling on her face; a welcome sensation in the coolness of the marshlands of Morthaal. She laid still for a moment, basking in the small luxury, her eyes still closed. She usually wasn't one to wake early, preferring to wait until the rest of the world moved around her than disturb the morning peace herself. It was unusual for the wood elf to enjoy the calmness of morning. A soft smile worked its way to her face as she listened to the sounds of birds tittering their sunrise songs and the leaves whispering in the wind. "Heh," she murmured to herself. "Some desert winds never change, eh? And, to think this one has never even been to Valenwood…"

Her eyes fluttered open. She stared up at the wooden ceiling. Lazily, she lifted one arm and traced the patterns and swirls in the old wood into the open air. She did this for a few minutes occasionally losing track of what she'd done and starting over. A bee buzzed in, thoroughly distracting her as she watched it lazily amble about the room.

But, Sa'miail could never just lie still for long.

She sat up slowly, stretching her muscles luxuriously; the bear pelt blanket she'd been sleeping under fell to her hips. She gasped and sighed pleasantly as her joints popped into place. She drew a palm over her bare side. Her ribs had healed nicely, leaving nothing more than faint bruising. She glanced down to her left hip next; where the dragon – Mirmulnir was his name, if her dreams had held any meaning to them – had ripped into her side with his claws in retaliation. She traced her own fingers over the milky pink scars; four stripes slashing up from her thigh to the middle of her back. They would fade but never disappear. She sighed. _That's four more to add to the collection. _

The wood elf eventually stood up, stretching her legs. She felt oddly energized. She placed her ear against the hard wood door, listening. If she recalled properly, the bathing room was not ten paces from her room. She heard nothing but the creaking of the wood and soft breaths from other nearby patrons. _Coast's clear…_

She grabbed a washcloth and pushed open the door. Ten paces later, she was in the washing tub, waiting for it to fill, occasionally adding hot water from the kettle to make sure it wasn't frigid when she got in. The whole room was filled with the scent of damp wood, rust, and various herbs – probably to disguise the scent of mildew. Altogether, it was not an unexpected mix.

The tub was more like a wide barrel and the moment she stepped in the warm waters, she sighed pleasantly.

"S'no Cyrodil hot spring," she purred, her muscles relaxing under the heat. "But, it'll do."

* * *

Lydia typically rose with the sun, unless some fight or scuffle broke out before day break. It was a habit ingrained in her since the very early days if her guard training. So, the very moment she felt the sun filter in through the window, she was already up and working.

First, she began hammering all the dents out of her armor. It was a long, irritating process and as she works her lips mouthed a variety of curses dark enough to make a bandit blush all aimed at the troll she ended up beheading.

The steel was brittle and stubborn, but eventually it gave under the sound beating Lydia gave it, returning to its original shape. The nord ran her fingers over the scuffed and scratched plating, a scowl on her face. _I really need to get a new set…_

She typically kept armor sets for months. She found it wasteful to just toss out a whole breastplate or boot set because of a torn leather strap or a ding or two, so eventually, she learned to repair her own things, instead of wasting gold on new ones. But, it looked like it was about time to send this one in for scrap.

Lydia blew a lock of hair out of her face and scoffed, wondering if anyone in this backwater hold knew how to forge decently. She'd grown accustomed to having her armor forged of a certain cut.

She swept a hand through her hair and grimaced at the gritty sweaty feeling of it. _Bath time.  
_A wash cloth was hung on her door and she grabbed it on the way out.

She strolled down the hard wood floors, barefoot, almost excited to peel off her civilians clothes, she glanced at Sa'miail's room as she passed, cocking her head. _Lazy milkdrinker's probably not awake yet, _she mused.

And as the warrior pushed open the bathroom door, she was met with the sight of that same lazy milkdrinker. Sitting, or rather standing, _nude _in the bath. Lydia choked and sputtered.

Sa'miail had been reclining with her head tilted back but at the sound of Lydia's panicked sputtering she peeked open one eye to look forward. "...hm?"

Lydia averted her eyes. "Uh, I, er…"

"Sometime today, housecarl?"

"Sorry, I…" Sa'miail arched an eyebrow. "Bath…"

"Yes, this is the bath. You're tracking skills might not be as shitty as I first assumed."

Silence.

"…so, did you came here to actually _take _a bath or just to let a draft in?"

Lydia immediately shut the door.

More silence.

"Well?"

"Well, what, my thane?"

"Well, get in."

More choking. "What?!"

Blinking. "Get in the bath, idiot. It's what you came in here for, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"But, what? This really isn't that hard…"

Lydia took a quick peak. The wood elf was still in the bath, arms slung over the side lazily, her brown eyes half lidded and bored. She looked away again. "It's so… small."

"It's an inn in a swamp town, Lydia. They're not gonna have a bath house." There was a snort of amusement then. "'Sides, you and I both know I don't take up that much space. And, I wouldn't venture to call you fat either."

"…I'd rather just wait."

A pause. "Very well, if that's what you wish. But, be warned, I won't be waiting for you. I've a lot to take care of in Morthal and I would like to be on the road to Solitude by this evening." There was a splashing and Lydia turned to see the Bosmer climbing out of the bath barrel. She settled for just covering her eyes. "You'll have to catch up when you're done."

"Understood."

"Do you? I'll leave you behind without hesita – look at me when I'm talking to you, housecarl."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you, my thane."

Sa'miail squeezed excess water out of her hair and as she did, she took in Lydia's posture. Her housecarl was standing there, shifting her weight from foot to foot with a hand over her eyes. Sa'miail didn't understand why the man races were so… needlessly squeamish about nudity. She snorted. _Nords… _

Lydia flinched as Sa'miail brushed past her. When she heard the door close she finally relaxed.

_Elves… _She thought with a sigh.

* * *

Sa'miail, finally checked out of her room and began chatting up the innkeep. She was directed back to the burned up old house on the edge of town. The wood elf flinched, something about the place was off.

"Why did you wanna know?" The Redguard woman asked.

"Doin' a favor for your jarl."

"Into the disappearances?" The innkeep's face grew serious. "I wouldn't if I were you. 'S bad news."

"Oh, trust me. I know. But, while I'm here I figured I might as well." She turned to head out the door.

"Stay wary, traveler."

All the bosmer offered was a wave of her hand in response.

The air in Morthal still smelt of old stagnant water and dead wood. Sa'miail's nose twitched and she grimaced.

As she moved throughout the town, she noticed something. No one seemed brave enough to venture anywhere near the burned put old cabin. They pointedly took care of any and all of their business on the opposite end of the hold. Everyone could feel the bad vibes coming off the place in waves.

So, no one was around to stop her from strolling straight up to the burnt wood and rooting through the ashes. As she dug, not entirely sure what she was looking for, she got the foreboding sensation of being watched. Her scalp prickled and she shifted her quiver, just to feel its reassuring weight against her back.

After about twenty minutes of digging through charred wood and ash she came upon a scrap of paper. It looked like a note; badly burned but a word or two could be made out. And, a name. She stood up and concentrated on the markings on the yellowed scrap. She was so focused, she hadn't heard footsteps approach.

"My thane?"

"Agh!" Sa'miail whipped around and notched an arrow. When she saw it was just her housecarl, she sighed, sheathing her bow in favor of holding a palm over her heart. "Mara, Lydia! Don't sneak up on me like that!" She huffed.

Lydia looked more or less amused. "I wasn't sneaking, my thane…"

Sa'miail put her hands on her hips, the burnt scrap still clutched in her fist and said, "Yeah? Well, - !"

She was interrupted by a childish giggle. "You two are funny!"

Both froze and slowly turned. There, standing by the remains of what appeared to be a dining room table was a little girl, glowing with an unnatural eerie blue light. A ghost.

"Hi," she chirped with a grin. "I'm Helgi!"

There was a long pause and both Sa'miail and Lydia were unsusre what to make of the situation. After a moment of watching the little ghost girl's beaming smile, the wood elf lowered herself to crouch at Helgi's eye level. With a weak smile, she said, "Hi, Helgi, my name is Sa'miail."

"Oh, wow!" Helgi exclaimed, looming closer. "Your teeth are so pointy! Kinda like Laelette's!"

At this, Sa'miail narrowed her eyes; Laelette was the name on the burned scrap. "Laelette?"

Helgi nodded vigorously. "Yup, Laelette's teeth are pointy, too! But, only these ones!" She held her pointer fingers in front of her mouth. "All of your teeth are pointy, though!"

Sa'miail opted to play along. She glanced over her shoulder, ears twitching. No one was around but Lydia who stared at her with a raised eyebrow. She turned back to Helgi.

"Well," She began her mouth splitting in a grin. "If little girl thinks Sa'm's teeth are strange, she should listen to the way she talks!"

Helgi looked astonished. "Whoaaaaa…"

"Heh, Sa'm is very silly, no?"

"Say more things! Say more things!"

"Let's play a game, eh? A question game, yes? Sa'm will ask questions and Helgi answers, yes? Then, Helgi asks questions and this one will answer next, yes, yes? Is a very fun game! Will Helgi play?"

Helgi clapped happily. "Yes! Yes!"

"Okay, Sa'm asks first. What is Helgi's favorite color?"

"Red!"

"Red, eh? A very pretty color." Sa'mial feigned enthusiasm. "Let's see… garnets are red, so are roses, and Sa'm brother's nose, when she punched it! Helgi has a question next. Helgi's turn!"

"Uhm," the little girl thought for a moment. Then, her eyes wandered over to Lydia. "Her! Who's that?"

The wood elf followed the girl's pointing finger and when her eyes landed on her housecarl they formed a glare, then, lazily she turned back to Helgi. "Who? Her?" Sa'miail pointed to Lydia. "That one?"

"Mm-hm!"

"You sure? That one?"

"Yep."

"She's no one important. A bit of a waste of a Helgi's turn, this one thinks. Is little one suuuuure she cares? Because, Sa'm doesn't care." She leaned closer to the ghost girl and feigned a conspiratory whisper, "That one is a bit of a pain in the mule, if Helgi fetches what this one is throwing."

Lydia sputtered indignantly, "Hey!"

Sa'miail paused to stick out her tongue, fluttering the forked tip to shoot the warrior a raspberry.

Helgi giggled.

"That one's name, if Helgi really wants to know," – here Helgi nodded vigorously – "is Lydia. She is Sa'm's housecarl."

"You have a housecarl? Are you a jarl?"

"Tut tut, is little one forgetting the rules?" She flicked Helgi's nose, suppressing a shudder at the icy cold sensation. "It's bosmer's turn now!"

"Oh…"

"But, no, Sa'm is not a jarl," the wood elf conceded. "Can Helgi tell Sa'm what happened to this place? Why all the ash? Smells of mischief and lamp oil. Kind of like Sa'm's brother. But, less fun, no?"

Helgi frowned and her eyes watered up a little. She sniffed. "I don't know… When I woke up, everything was really hot and I was scared. I tried to call for Mommy… but," a hiccup. "She never came, so I hid, and… and… and then…"

A pause. Sa'miail watched a tear slip down the girl's translucent cheek. "…Helgi?" She prompted gently.

"…I wanna play a different game now… Hide n' Seek, ok? I'll tell you the rest if you win."

"Sure thing, little one. But, be warned," She grinned challengingly. "I am the best at Hide and Seek!"

Helgi giggled. "We'll see about that!" And, with those words, she disappeared. "Catch me, if you can!"

Sa'miail stayed there for a moment. Lydia waited patiently.

She stood. "…"

"My thane?"

"Come on, we've got a game of Hide and Seek to win."

"What happened to Solitude?"

Sa'miail shot Lydia a venomous look, but then turned back and strode off in the direction of Highmoon Hall.

* * *

Sa'miail stood before Jarl Idgrod again. The duo had got into the hall with relatively little trouble. The guards had hassled the wood elf, denying her entrance at first. Lydia looming in the background – and punching one of them out – had shut that problem right down. Sa'miail had edged a way the moment she'd seen Lydia knock a man out through his helmet. She'd never admit she was impressed.

"So, sellbow," Lydia snorted at this. "What have you found for me?"

"I've found the spirit of the child who died in the house fire."

"Oh?" Idgrod raised an eyebrow. "I can't say that's surprising. Morthal is a very… spiritual place."

"Yes. Did you know much about the kid? Her favorite places? Friends?"

Jarl Idgrod looked confused. "Why is this relevant?"

"We're playing Hide n Seek."

"What?"

"I don't recall stuttering."

A nord man with wild tangled blond hair stepped forward with a snarl, "How dare you speak to Jarl Idgrod that way, you little whelp!" He drew a greatsword and advanced menacingly.

"Gorm," Idgrod called warningly. He looked as if he was gonna ignore her, but stopped moving forward. He still held his sword and was glaring fiercely at Sa'miail. She flinched.

Lydia rested a hand on her own blade and stepped forward. "My thane has a bit of a problem holding her tongue," she said. "However, she is still a dignitary of Whiterun." The unspoken warning was punctuated by her drawing her sword. She held it loosely, almost casually and placed herself between the other housecarl and her charge.

There was a glare down for a solid minute. "Gorm," Idgrod called again. "Stand down. Now."

With a defiant bit of hesitation, the blonde man sheathed his great sword with a savage thrust, "Yes, my jarl." He walked back and stood at her side, scowling, his arms crossed like an angry child. Lydia retreated back to just behind Sa'miail, casting her a stern look that seemed to say, 'Watch your tongue!"

"My apologies for Gorm's behavior, sellbow." Idgrod said with a wave of her hand. "Your report is much appreciated, but I'm afraid I cannot help you with your, ahem, quest. I didn't know the child well."

Sa'miail shrugged. "'Twas worth a shot."

"I would suggest you ask Hronggar, the girl's father. He should be wandering around town this time of day."

Sa'miail nodded and turned away. She stopped when Idgrod called out to her again. "Sellbow."

"Hm?"

"Be very careful. Hronngar has been a bit… of lately. Were I you, I wouldn't tell him you met Helgi's spirit. Or that you are investigating the housefire."

The wood elf's eyes narrowed thoughtfully but she nodded nonetheless.

* * *

Lydia and Sa'miail found Hronngar shambling around the towm square with a far off look in his eye. They approached slowly, but kept a measured distance. A rumbling voice in the wood elf's mine murmured some incomprehensible warning.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He was muttering to himself under his breath.

"Sir? Is your name Hrrongar?"

Still more muttering. The two women exchanged a glance. Sa'miail jerked her head towards the odd man. Lydia glared.

"Come on, do it," The rogue murmured. "Punch 'im. Should knock some sense into 'im."

"I'm not assaulting someone just because you've asked me to," The warrior hissed back.

"But, isn't that your duty?" The shorter of the two asked. "To follow my command? To aid me in all endeavors? That's what a housecarl does, right?"

Lydia grit her teeth and glared. Sa'miail didn't back down, a shit-eating grin still firmly rooted on her lips.

In one smooth movement, Lydia stepped forward and socked Hrrongar in the jaw.

The man was sent reeling with a grunt. Several people gasped, a woman even screamed. A guard stepped forward, probably to arrest Lydia, but Sa'miail intercepted.

"Step aside, elf," came a feminine voice from behind the stern mask. _Perfect, _Sa'miail thought. She put her silver tongue to work.

"Sorry, 'bout the commotion, ma'am. But, you have to understand, the slimy git deserved it."

"Oh? And, why is that?"

"He said, to my friend here, he said," she gestured for the guard to come closer. She stood on the tips of her toes and whispered some of the filthiest things she'd ever heard in the guard's ear.

The guard made a noise of disgust, her grimace clear in her voice. "Oh. I see. Carry on, then."

"Thank you for understanding, ma'am." Sa'miail couldn't hold back her grin.

And, with that she turned back to Hrrongar. Lydia was leaning over him, nudging him with her boot.

Upon seeing Sa'miail's approach she turned to her. "What did you say to that guard?"

Sa'miail's grin split wider, like a wolf baring sharp teeth. "Oh, nothing much. Just an old Elswerian saying."

Lydia looked confused, but didn't push it.

Sa'miail looked down at the unconscious man. "…You may have hit 'im a bit too hard."

Lydia shrugged.

"Ah, well. Too late now. Think we should just…?"

"Leave him?"

"Yeah."

"We shouldn't."

"But, we can. And, we're burning daylight. I'm sure he'll be fine." And, with those words, the wood elf walked away, back to the inn.

Lydia sighed, loosely considered picking up Hrrongar's still form, but changed her mind at the scent of dead goat coming off of him in waves. Instead, she chose to follow the small rogue.

* * *

Lydia was walking into the Moorside Inn when Sa'miail was walking out, and thus, she was hit in the face with a door.

Sa'miail looked up to see Lydia clutching her nose. "Whoops," she quipped, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Sorry."

Lydia glared.

"Come on, I know where to find Helgi." She strode off again. Lydia growled under her breath.

The sun was just setting in the sky when the two came across a small unearthed grave.

"Hm, that's strange."

"What?"

"The kid was supposed to be buried a few days ago. She shouldn't be above ground…"

Sa'miail leaned down and tentatively reached out ot nock on the coffin. "Helgi? You in there, kiddo?"

"_**Make Laelette go away!" **_

There was a low hiss and a feminine scream and the wood elf reacted instantly. She ducked and rolled to avoid the slash of a dagger. "What in Oblivion?!"

There was more enraged shrieking and she caught a blur of black cloth and a pale face. Too fast to track. She rolled out of the way as the blur lunged for her again, "Shit!"

She hopped back, trying to regain her bearings. She saw Lydia make a lunge for the figure, but they were too quick, twisting unnaturally to avoid the nord's grapple.

The cloaked figure made another beeline for the wood elf, a flurry of black cloth and slashing metal. The rogue flinched back, just barely managing to draw her own dagger to parry the offending blade. She grunted painfully struggling under the weight of the blade, glaring as she caught sight of red-yellow eyes peering madly back at her from beneath the black hood. A short scream was torn from her mouth as she felt another blade lance into her side.

Sa'miail twisted and kicked the figure in the gut. Her lips parted, "_**FUS!" **_and the figure staggered back, but was not thrown for long and Sa'miail was forced to fling a burst of flame to keep her attacker at bay. Sweat formed on her brow. She was no mage and thus her mana pools were rather shallow. She typically only threw short bursts and small tongues of flame, and the constant stream of flame was beginning to get taxing. The shout had stolen her voice. "Lydia," she tried to shout. But, it came out as more of a whisper, her voice breaking.

The nord was already ahead of her, however, and landed a powerful strike on the figure's side. There was the sound of tearing flesh and cloth and another scream. Sa'miail's mana pools ran dry at that moment and she caught the tail end of Lydia beheading the cloaked figure with one powerful swing.

Sa'miail could still feel her heart beat thundering in her ears. There was a pins and needles sensation running through her arms: mana over exertion. She placed her hands on her knees and coughed, her voice still raw from the force of the shout.

Lydia spoke, panting slightly, "…Well, that was close."

A breathless laugh, "White-knuckler. Like stealing a steak from a sabercat." Then, a pained whine.

"Are you alright?"

"I've been worse."

"Thank you," came Helgi's soft voice. "Thank you. That was really scary!"

The two women turnd back to the coffin, finding Helgi sitting on top of it.

"You found me!"

A huff. "Aye, that we did. Guess we win then, huh?"

"Uh-huh! I'll tell you the story now."

"Alright," Sa'miail said, her voice finally leaking back. She sat on a nearby cairn. Lydia nearby stood at the ready, just in case someone else decided to attack them.

"When everything was too hot, I hid in the closet, with all the food. And, it kept getting hotter and hotter and hotter. And, then, I started getting cold. Really, really, cold. And then, Laelette came. I wasn't afraid then. I thought she had left, but she was always really nice to me! She gave me candy sometimes, too! She told me Miss Alva wanted her to burn our house. She sounded sad. But, she said she'd save me. I didn't know what she meant." Helgi tilted her head, revealing two small punctures. "She kissed my neck and I fell asleep. When I woke up, my house was all burnt up and everyone was gone. I was really lonely. Thanks for playing with me!"

Sa'miail grinned and laughed softly. "No problem, kid. It was fun, right?"

"Right! Right!" She yawned. "But, I'm sleepy now. I wanna take a nap."

Helgi's spirit began to fade. "Have a nice nap, Helgi," the wood elf said. "We'll play again some other time, ok?"

"…Ok…" And then, Helgi was gone.

After a moment of sitting in silence, "Sa'miail?"

"…Let's go pay a visit to Alva, Lydia."

"Are you alright?"

"No. I'm not. But, I will when I've beaten this Alva wench half way to Oblivion," the rogue snarled darkly.

Just then, another voice cut in. "What the devil is going on here?!"

It was a man with a torch and a sword, "What are you two doing here? What's going o – " he caught sight of the dead figure on the ground. "Laelette! No! My beautiful Laelette!"

He cradled the disembodied head. Sa'miail and Lydia stood by awkwardly, both streaked with blood. "Who did this?" He cried. "Who killed my wife?"

Carefully, Sa'miail offered, "She was a vampire. She was turned into a mindless bloodthirsty monster. It was a kindness."

"How?" The man's face was streaked with tears. "She left to join the rebellion. How?!"

"A woman named Alva lives in your village. She did this."

"…No…"

"What?"

"What proof do you have? Alva would never!"

Sa'miail and Lydia exchanged a glance. The nord stepped forward this time. "Please, believe us. This Alva character is not what she seems."

"I don't believe you. Laelette must have met her fate out in the moors." He turned back towards the town. "I've got to warn everyone. You two should get back to town…"

He ran off.

"Should we report back to the jarl, my thane?"

With a grunt of effort, Sa'miail stood. "I guess…"

* * *

They didn't go to Highmoon Hall. At least, Sa'miail didn't. Instead, she sent Lydia to speak to Idgrod on her behalf, and snuck carefully around the dark hold. Her small stature allowed her to creep through the shadows with ease, keeping her out of sight of any lingering paranoid guardsmen. She kept her eyes low. At night, her eyes took on the fiery slit appearance and glowed orange in the moonlight; not something one wouldn't attack on sight in the middle of a moonless night.

She crept along the houses, reading the names on them as she went. The last house before the moors, she found, was the one she was looking for. Its door was marked with the name "Alva" in beautiful sloping handwriting. Beneath it, in much messier scrawl, was the name "Hronggar."

Carefully, she drew a lockpick from her pocket and slid in the key whole. The rogue flinched as each quiet click and scrape sounded like a hammer on a forge. After half a minute, the lock gave.

Carefully, slowly, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

There was a fire in the fire place and Hronggar sat there in front of it, sharpening a woodcutter's axe. His back was to her.

She watched him for a moment, before peering around the house. It wasn't abnormal. There were spices, foodstuffs, carvings. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for a foreboding energy radiating from the cellar.

She crept painstakingly slowly towards the cellar. Inch by nervewracking inch.

"I know you're there."

Sa'miail drew her bow immediately, her breath hitching in her throat. "Don't move," she said. She notched an arrow in one fluid movement.

Hronggar stood, slowly. Heavily. "I said, don't move!" Panic leaked into Sa'miail's voice.

"I won't allow you to hurt Alva," Hronggar said simply. He held the axe in a tight grip. "I can't let you tell anyone about her."

"Put the axe down," her voice was shaking. _What's this feeling…? _

"Die, elf!" And, Hronggar charged her.

Sa'miail yelped, just barely managing to stifle a scream at the terrifying manic look in the nord's eye. She released her arrow out of instinct than any real murderous intent.

It embedded itself in the man's skull. A killing blow. Or, at least, it should have been.

He didn't fall as most men did, when an arrow pierced their heads. He lurched and jerked and released a pain bellow but, still hurled himself at Sa'miail like a raging bear. She had little time to ponder this. She was forced to drop her bow in favor of dodging a cleaving strike with the axe. She leapt up on the counter and half dived half fell to avoid another swipe. Hronggar was in pain and blinded by his own blood dripping in his eyes, but he didn't stop.

* * *

Lydia stood in front of Idgrod again, this time by herself. The jarl looked tired and a little irritated, slouching in her throne.

"You are the sellbow's housecarl, are you not? What can I do for you? Has she given up the quest?"

"No," Lydia replied. She remembered the dark rage on the wood elf's face. She hoped the Halfling hadn't gone and gotten herself into more trouble. Sa'miail had insisted Lydia reported back to the jarl while she went to 'go check on something.' She had been hesitant, but acquiesced eventually. "She sent me in her stead to deliver her findings. She has reason to believe that a citizen of Morthal, called Alva is behind the fires and disappearances. She also suspects that this Alva character is a vampire."

"Hm," Idgrod rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "These are heavy accusations. I don't suppose she sent any proof of this with you…"

A moment's hesitation. "No… I have nothing to present to you."

"Then, tell your charge that I cannot act on her suspicions without something more solid than a hunch."

Lydia winced. Sa'miail would likely be displeased to hear that. "She has the word of the lost child's spirit. Would that be enough?"

"I'm sorry, but without hearing Helgi's testimony myself, I can't make a decision. The people of Morthal are suspicious enough. I fear acting on ghost stories and the unfounded accusations of a traveler would simply set them further on edge."

"I see…"

"Vampires, however, I can work with." She gestured to her stern faced steward. They whispered and muttered to each other quietly. Lydia caught a few words; swamp, cave, mob. After another minute or two, Idgrod turned back to Lydia. "Housecarl, would you mind fetching the sellbow? I have another job for her."

Lydia bowed. "As you wish."

* * *

Hronggar had landed a good hit on her, the axe's blade slamming into her side, Sa'miail just barely managed to twist her body and deliver a fierce kick to the thrall's gut. The blow was dampened and she suffered a deep cut and possibly a broken rib, instead of being disemboweled. Still, the hit was enough to send her sprawling.

Now, she was crawling away, a dagger clutched in one hand and clutching her oozing wound with the other. Hronggar grabbed her leg and attempted to yank her back. She lashed out, carving into the flesh of his hands, but he remained largely unaffected. He dragged her back from underneath the large round dining room table and pinned her on her back. Sa'miail thrashed wildly stabbing the man in every fatal weak point she knew and still he did not fall. She chocked on a scream as his mangled hands wrapped around her throat. Her breaths came out as breathy wheezes and spots danced across her vision as the hands slowly squeezed down on her neck. Her clawing grew more desperate and as she parted her lips one last time, she prayed to every divine and daedric prince she knew that the spell would work

"_Calm!" _She rasped, choking on the spell. Immediately, she lost all energy in her body as the spell drained every last drop of her mana. Luckily, Hronggar went limp as well, his vicegrip on her throat relaxing. Sa'miail didn't even pause to suck in her much needed breath. She immediately kicked the hulking form off of her and was on his defenseless form like a wild cat. _Eight seconds, only eight seconds! _She chopped at his neck with his abandoned axe frantically, and she just barely managed to cut all the way through as he came to his senses. His hands came up to seize her throat again, but fell down to his sides again as his head came free of his body.

The wood elf gasped for breath, coughing and retching as she staggered to her feet. "Fuck," she wheezed. "Fuck me…!" She spat a plug of bloodied spittle and glanced down at the headless body.

She gagged. Her cut hadn't been nearly as clean as Lydia's had been. It was jagged and messy and the scent of blood permeated her senses at it spread across the wooden floors. "Okay… okay…" She panted.

She stumbled towards the basement, hoping to Stendarr that there were no more unkillable thrall-men. The basement was plain and bare. Save for the candles and coffin, it was empty. Sa'miail did not know what she was expecting, but somehow, she hadn't been expecting a coffin.

She approached it warily. Her senses were on edge, her ears stood straight, and for a moment she might have understood everyone's cracks about her having rabbit ears.

Readying her dagger, she pushed the top off the coffin, prepared to plunge it in someone's heart and run, but instead, there was only a book; a diary. She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Stendarr," she mumbled.

She picked it up, and leafed through it. Getting increasingly angry as she read, ignoring the lance of sympathy that shot through her. After a few minutes, she snapped the book closed. "Bitch…" she murmured and made her way up the stair and outside.

* * *

Lydia had been searching high and low for Sa'miail and was getting increasingly frustrated with the situation. She was beginning to think the rogue had left her behind and ran off to Solitude. She was very surprised to spot her wandering out of a seemingly random house, streaked with crimson.

"Sa'miail?"

The wood elf turned, startled a dagger clutched in her hand. Her pupils were dilated and wild and filled with a fierce fiery glow. She flashed her teeth, but calmed when she realized it was just her housecarl.

"Lydia," she sighed.

"What happened?"

A cringe. "Nothing to worry about." She was evading the question. "What did Idgrod say?"

"She can't do anything about Alva without proof."

The shorter woman smirked, then, and held up a book. "Good thing I got her proof, then."

"A book?"

"Alva's diary. Let's go."

* * *

And, that's how Lydia and an extremely irritated Sa'miail ended up standing outside some gods' abandoned swamp cave with a mob of men behind them.

"This is the worst. I've had enough of this." The rogue hissed with a scowl.

"At least we've got back up," Lydia commented drily.

"Hmph." She turned to face the mob. "Alright, men! You're jarl has tasked us to get in there and kill a bunch of asshole vampires!"

She didn't get much farther than that. A lone undead wolf launched out of the cave's mouth and the mob scattered. Lydia dispatched the beast with a single swing of her sword. Sa'miail was trembling with rage.

"A fat load of pussies!" She bellowed, shaking her fist in the direction they fled. "All of you!"

"I guess it _is _just you and me, my thane."

A wordless snarl. Sa'miail whirled around, bright beast eyes flashing and slipped into the cave like a cat.

* * *

As it turned out, Lydia's terrible sneaking skills worked to their advantage as they made their way into the bowels of Movarth's Lair. The vampires and their thralls tended to rush right past the small rogue in favor of the more obvious warrior. Lydia distracted them, and Sa'miail put arrows in their backs. The sneak attacks did wonders on the vampires, and the thralls died easily enough once their masters were piles of ash. Lydia triggered a few traps, which Sa'miail swiftly abandoned her to with a scoff or a snicker.

"I think the rocks finally did it. You definitely need to get some new armor."

Lydia grumbled under her breath.

* * *

"Here's the plan: I'll shoot that important looking guy on the throne, get the jump on him. Then, you run down there and keep everyone distracted. I'll pick 'em off, one by one. Quick, easy, and painless."

"You want me to run down into a mob of vampires? Like, hell."

"Oh, don't be a baby. You'll be fine."

"You just don't want to get bitten."

"I think it's a very reasonable desire. And you have the thicker armor," Sa'miail took aim. "Besides," She fired, and it struck the vampire though the shoulder, pinning him to his seat. The others cried out and hissed in alarm, searching for the arrows origin. Sa'miail turned, sprung behind Lydia and pushed her off her perch. Lydia fell off the balcony with a shout. "I haven't forgotten about last night!"

"You damned-!" Lydia was cut off as she was forced to block the swing of an axe. "Sa'miail!"

There was a short bark of laughter and arrows flew down like rain, striking down several unprepared fiends.

Lydia held her own pretty well, for someone who had just been shoved down into the fray.

They were doing well, all things considered.

Until the master vampire, the one Sa'miail shot through first, finally freed himself. Then, everything went to hell.

He released a burst of energy that rocked the entire cave. "Who dares…?" He hissed. "Who dares trespass in my home?!" He didn't give either woman time to react, he lunged forward, ramming into Lydia and sending her flying.

"Fuck," spat Sa'miail she shot arrow after arrow. None of them connected, Movarth was too fast, but it did keep him away from Lydia.

"Show yourself, coward!" Movarth howled. "Stop shooting needles from the shadows and face me!"

"Yeah, right," muttered Sa'miail. She shot an arrow and struck Movarth through the leg.

The vampire roared and shot a bolt of lightning from his fingertips, striking the wood elf and sending her tumbling down. She landed with a thud, her senses over loaded from the spell. She jerked and twitched in the dirt, her bow fallen forgotten. _That's what the second time I've been disarmed today? The third?_

The wood elf laid helpless as Movarth approached.

"Sa'miail!" Lydia shouted, but, the wood elf could do nothing, even as the vampire grabbed her by her collar and lifted her up to his eye level. Her feet dangled uselessly.

Panicked orange met furious crimson. Movarth narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry, pal," Sa'miail muttered with some difficulty. "I don't kiss such ugly men. And, definitely not dead ones."

The vampire growled, "Impetuous fool." Then, he cast open his mouth, and plunged his fangs into Sa'miail's throat.

Sa'miail jerked, the only sound she made was an odd sort of gurgling screech and her eyes were wide and round.

Her life flashed before her eyes. Her breaths slowed and she thought she might die, if not for a sword plunging through the vampire's stomach.

Movarth shrieked and tossed the rogue away from him as the warrior twisted her blade in his back. He twisted and convulsed and Lydia scrambled away as he tried to claw at her. He shrieked out his death throes and exploded in a shower of glittering ash.

Lydia was at Sa'miail's side in an instant. "My thane!" She shook the still woman's prone form. There was a moment before she got any response. "Sa'miail!"

With a sputtering gurgling sound, the wood elf finally sprung to life, a palm cloaked with glittering gold magic moving to her throat. After a few seconds, the gurgling turned to barely comprehensible swears and panting. "Fuck's sake!"

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. Her charge was pale, angry, and hurt, but at least she wasn't dead.

The elf spat out a knot of spittle and snot, and looked up at the nord through bloodshot eyes, "Nice save. Thanks," She rasped raggedly. "Maybe a little quicker on the draw next time, huh?"

Lydia punched her shoulder, lightly, "Milkdrinker."

A bark of laughter. "Wench."

* * *

**a/n: aww, they're bonding. **

**thanks for waiting please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**a/n: quick note. this chapter occurs approximately one month after the previous chapter. nothing of great significance has happened except the following: **

**sa'miail was named thane of morthal, they returned to whiterun instead of continuing on to solitude, breezehome was purchased, sa'miail learned the YOL shout.**

* * *

The raid on the bandit camp had started out well. Some long forgotten prison fort taken over by a bunch of cut throats and thieves. Lydia and Sa'miail easily cut down every one that came their way. Where Lydia was the more solid fighter, with her classic sword and shield, Sa'miail was quick to dive and leap and dance around enemies attack, occasionally roaring out a shout. A powerful cry of _**FUS! **_sent a group of them flying back and over the sides of the wall. A roar of _**YOL! **_her newest shout sent a massive ball of fire at any archers who were unfortunate enough to pull her attention and ire away from their closer melee compatriots.

And then, their leader showed up. And she was a mage; a powerful one, skilled in the arts of Destruction and Conjuration. She turned her fallen warriors into thralls, undoing Lydia and Sa'miail's efforts in seconds. But, still, the nord and elf held strong, tearing down the deadmen again in seconds.

The mage didn't like that. So, when, they were a good enough distance from one another, she launched a massive Firebolt at Sa'miail's back.

Lydia tried to call out a warning, but the rogue had little time to react. She was sent careening into the crumbling stone walls and a spear of ice sent an avalanche of rocks down to bury her.

They were in trouble, now. Without Sa'miail to pick off and scatter them away, Lydia was eventually forced into a corner and worn down. The mage watched from a distance with a satisfied grin. A particularly scarred orc raised his blade to cut the nord down when a blood curdling howl split the air.

A tremor of dread shot down every man and mer's spine and a hulking black shape came barreling into the would-be executioner. He was knocked off his feet and the shape raised its claws raking them down his front over and over as he screamed. When his thrashing finally stopped, the beast reared back and howled again. A werewolf had joined the battle.

It turned then, slowly, its gold orange eyes glinting in the light of the crescent moon. A werewolf that didn't need a full moon to change. It just stared for a minute, its gaze sweeping over the group. And, with a snarl it was on the move again, charging straight into the fray. Powerful craws swept around the panicking bandits, disemboweling several with one swipe. It bit off and ripped off heads more than once, tossing the limp, bodies into the ones who tried to flee.

The mage had tried to retreat to the safety of one of the spires, summoning atronachs of all elements to her defense, yet, still the beast ripped through them as if they were cobwebs. She tossed up a ward and the werewolf broke through it as if it were nothing, wild eyes blazing. It wrapped its claws around her midsection and pinned her against the stone floor and with a mighty roar ripped out her throat with its teeth. But, it didn't stop there. It dug its fangs into her still chest and devoured her heart in a single hungry snap.

Lydia watched in mute terror as it turned and did the same to a nearby bandit. And another. And another still. It had eaten six hearts before it turned its gaze on Lydia, panting heavily, its long pink tongue lolling out stained red revealing two rows of sharp blood soaked teeth.

It snorted after a moment, shaking its body, sending flecks of blood flying off its furred hide. Something glittered in the dim starlight; there around the monster's neck. The sun shaped little bauble of an amulet of Arkay sparkled, its beaded chain just barely visible through the thick fur. The werewolf crept closer, tentatively, eyeing the axe Lydia clutched in her fist.

"Stay back, mutt!" She spat. "Get back!" She swung the axe warningly.

Said mutt didn't back away, but instead stopped where it was. The long ears twitched and twisted back at the tone of her voice. It tilted its head in a way that might have been curious, perhaps hesitant. It sat back on its haunches, a bit like a dog, but its vaguely human shape made the posture a bit awkward.

They stared each other down, and after a good minute, the werewolf rolled its eyes, an almost alarmingly human motion, the orange in its eyes dauntingly familiar. It barked, a husky grumbling sound. It stood impatiently and strode confidently, on two legs this time, closer to Lydia.

"I'm warning you, dog! Stop!" The wolf scoffed. It stopped just a few feet away, and opened its mouth. A rough voice sounded out, ragged and awkward, but words nonetheless.

"Wench," the wolf rasped.

Lydia blinked. _I didn't know beastkin could speak… _She stared. The wolf stared back expectantly.

"Sa'… miail…?"

The werewolf's lips – _snout?_ – widened in a toothy grin. It wuffed and its tail wagged vigorously. Its head bobbed once. "Yes," it, or rather, she growled; pleased, Lydia guessed.

Lydia's eyes narrowed, she pushed herself to her feet. "Sa'miail," she rumbled with a scowl.

Sa'miail's tail slowed to a stop. She cocked her head, "Hrrrr…?"

Lydia traded sheathed her axe in favor of her great sword.

Sa'miail shifted back a few clumsy steps, her hind feet had grown with the change and torn through her hide boots. She drop down to all fours and shuffled away from her glaring housecarl. A confused whine slipped from her throat.

"Sa'miail!" Lydia bellowed, raising her great sword.

The wood elf turned werewolf released a "yipe!" and turned tail, sprinting away.

Rabbits, squirrels, deer, and even wolves bolted as a huge hulking beast crashed through the forest, leaping over streams and fallen trees in a single bound. Not far behind this monster was a nord woman bearing a large, well sharpened great sword, screaming obscenities at the beast.

Eventually, panting like a regular dog, the wolf beast scaled a tree, digging its claws in the rough bark and scrambling up. By the time Lydia reached the tree's base she was met with a shower of pine needles and cones.

"Get down here, Sa'miail!" She shouted. A whine echoed back down.

Lydia gritted her teeth. "Get. Down. Here."

A birds' nest fell down next, and Lydia narrowly avoided getting hit in the face with it. "I'm not leaving, dog."

There was silence for a while. Then, eventually, the werewolf, perched at the top of the tree began snarling and growling and there was the sound of snapping and tearing as the guttural dog noises turned into more human-esque grunts and stifled screams.

Sa'miail huffed and puffed as the change reached its conclusion, watching as her claws melted away into her own normal fingertips, her gauntlets missing. She was still hyperaware of her Nordic companion waiting for her with a great sword at the tree's roots. So, with considerable effort, she fought to maintain her tenuous perch on the thin branch. A line of drool dribbled down her chin.

"Lydia," she called, still panting. "Put the sword down."

"Oh, I'll put it down alright," the warrior said darkly. "Right down your throat, when you get your ass down here, you mangy cur."

The elf winced and ran the back of her hand over her mouth. "Let's be reasonable about this. I haven't actually done anything to you. In fact, I'm very sure I saved your life back there."

"You're a daedra cursed abomination, and it is my duty as a citizen of Whiterun to put you down before you harm anyone else. Dragonborn or no."

"Oh, yeah," Sa'miail grumbled. "The divines shove a dragon soul in me and everything's fine. I choose the blessing of Hircine and _now _I'm cursed. Yeah, that makes sense." She spotted her armor draped over a nearby branch.

"Just come down and take your death with some dignity."

"Yes, I'm very willing to let you just hack me open with a great sword. The ultimate honor."

"Just as willing as you were to become a monster, I'm sure."

"It was either lycanthropy or vampirism and I happen to like sunlight."

"Vampirism?" Lydia asked. "What are you rambling on about now?"

Sa'miail shifted her position in the tree until she was directly above Lydia. A pair of orange eyes peered down from the darkness. "Morthal, remember? The whole nearly getting drained by a vampire lord? Didn't think I could just walk that one off without _some _consequence did you?"

* * *

The first time it happened, the change, was the one that hurt the most. The Companions told me that morning to meet them at the Underforge after sunset. That's where I was that night. Why I didn't come back to Breezehome until about noon two days later.

They told me it would be easy to find, and it was. That was the easy part. It was a tight squeeze. As short as I am, I still had to duck a bit.

It was dark. Really dark. I almost couldn't see for a minute. There was a little light at the end of the tunnel and I had to feel my way over to it. The stone was like ice, I remember, but the air was warm. And, as I got closer to the light it got warmer. I suppose it makes sense, now that I think about it. You nords compare heat to the Skyforge instead of the sun. Being under it was sweltering hot and by the time I reached the center, I was sweating.

Torches lined the walls of the huge room and they almost blinded me, I'd gotten so accustomed to darkness. And, when my vision cleared there was Skjor standing next to some sort of fountain. And, just behind him, there was a werewolf.

I was scared. Terrified. I thought this was some other Companion in training initiation thing. I couldn't do this one. We have werewolves in Elsweyr, too, you know. Big, hairy, beasts that came straight from nightmares. Not just fairy stories, no. I have seen the damage they can do. And, just the works of just one – not even a pack! – on an entire village!

I am small and a coward. I am not a proud warrior. I am not fit to slay monsters. I am made to steal and assassinate. I hide in shadows, I do not fight them. So, I ran. Or, I tried. I turned tail and made for the dark tunnel. I am fast. I might have made it just out of the room, but that's all. The beast tackled me to the ground.

I was sure I was already dead. It was on my back, so very heavy and growling. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, the feeling of death breathing down my neck. It was either the weight on my back or the fear in my heart that kept me from screaming. But, I am fighter, so – I'm sure I looked pathetic – I struggled. Didn't do much. Heh.

And, when I squeezed my eyes shut, the beast said something. "Fool rabbit." I almost didn't catch it. It was twisted and raspy and growling. But, still I caught it.

I stilled. Partially 'cause I couldn't believe it, partially 'cause flopping about like a slaughterfish on land was beginning to get painful.

"Aela?" I muttered.

"No run," she said.

"Yeah, okay," I agreed.

And, the weight disappeared. I'm a liar as well as a coward. I still ran. This time I didn't get two steps. She swiped my feet out from under me and I ate dirt.

Skjor laughed at me, "Relax, shield-sister. You're among friends here."

I slowly rolled over onto my back, watching both of them. "Right, friends. Large, hairy friends, with very pointy teeth," I sat up, my hand rested on my dagger. I pushed myself to my feet, wearily. "So, when do my friends gobble me up like Little Red Rider? Or, will you huff and puff and blow Breezehome down, first?" Aela was between me and the exit. I refused to turn my back to either of them.

Aela snapped at me and barked out what I suppose would be a laugh when I jumped back.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, whelp," Skjor rumbled pleasantly. "We're here to guide you on your next steps."

"Next steps?" I was confused. "For what?"

"Aela did a good job training you, shaped you up faster than any Companion trainee I've ever seen," he said. "Probably because she had a time limit. But, there's something else about you."

"Eh?" _Time limit_, I wondered.

"The sanguine vampiris you contracted. Had Aela not sensed it, and trained you so hard, in a few days' time, you'd be a blood drinking parasite. Little more than a dark dwelling flea, cursed to fear sunlight forever."

"Sanguine vamp – oh, right." Movarth bit me. Right.

"The rite of Hircine, will spare you this fate, and bestow the Glory of the Hunt on you, instead."

I understood. "So, are all of you werewolves, then?"

"No, just the Circle, if all goes well with your initiation."

"If all goes well? And, if it doesn't?"

"Then, your beast will destroy you from the inside out and you will die."

Sounds unpleasant, no? So, of course, I asked, "And, I suppose I can't just opt out of your rite, can i?"

Aela stepped menacingly forward with a snarl. Vilkas answered me in words, "No, shield-sister, I'm afraid we can't let you do that."

"Of course." I had n delusions about trying to fight them. My hand on my dagger was just a reflex. If Aela was a werewolf then it stands that Farkas was, too.

Wolf-Aela moved to stand by the fountain and next to Vilkas. "So, shield-sister Sa'miail, are you ready to join hands with the beast world."

I stared him down, "Well, you've just told me I only have one option so…"

"Good, good," He lifted Aela's claw over the fountain and slit her wrist, blood poured from the wound but after a moment, it slowed and healed. Vilkas dipped a golden goblet into the fountain, filled it with blood.

He beckoned me to come closer, and for just a moment, I thought to run again. Instead, my foot moved me closer, not further away. The heavy goblet was warm in my grip, and the viscous red liquid trembled with my hands. I saw a dim reflection of my face in it. I looked back up at the two who had been my teachers. They stared back, neither did anything but watch.

I swallowed my disgust and brought the goblet to my lips. It took me a few moments to force myself to actually take a sip, but, once I did, I found it difficult to stop. It's not that it tasted good. It didn't. It tasted foul, but something spurred me on. I drained the cup, and once I could get not another drop. I moved the cup away.

Nothing happened. I just had the taste of blood stuck on my tongue.

I was going to say something, some witty, scathing comment that I can't quite recall now, when it started. My mouth opened and the words caught in my throat.

My knees buckled first and I just barely managed to catch myself before my face hit the ground. A twisting clawing feeling pooled in the pit of my gut, and it spread quickly, like wildfire. My innards seized and twisted, I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside.

Dimly, I heard, "Don't fight it. It only makes it worse. Just let it happen."

I couldn't respond, my breaths quickened and shortened and I coughed, as if I had guzzled down gallons of unsweetened Argonian Ale.

I could feel my bones twisting, breaking themselves. I collapsed entirely on the floor and my vision blurred. Still, I could just barely make out my hands. It hurt. And, I watched my fingers – hell, my whole hand – stretch, elongating terribly and my nails sharpened, and twisting and ripping my fingertips, curling into wicked claws. I felt a line of drool drip down my chin as my jaws stretched and something… _grew in _in front of my teeth – fangs, a whole new row of them.

My spine stretched and new agony bloomed at my lower back and it felt like it went on forever. It stopped, suddenly, as quick as it came. And, new pain bloomed all over my body. Every inch of my skin was on fire. No, more like my skin was ripping. As if giving way to something. I'm still unsure if I was screaming or if my ears – and they weren't where I recalled them being before – were just ringing.

There was a sound of ripping leather and soon after, my shoes felt uncomfortably tight, until there was another rip, and the tightness disappeared.

When the pain disappeared, my world was new. I could see, hear, smell, feel things I'd never known before. And, it was like the pain had been replaced by heat and power and…

_And bloodlust._

_And, I liked it._

After that, I can only remember bits and pieces of that night.

Screaming. The sound of flesh tearing. The barely there pain of arrows just barely piercing my hide. Running through the gates of Whiterun and into an open field. I think I killed a courier, too.

When I awoke, my mouth was dry and the sun was high in the sky. I felt exhausted.

"Well, well," I heard. "Look who finally woke up."

I didn't want to move, so I was rather grateful when the person who spoke leaned down over my face; Aela, less wolf and more nord now. "How was your first roll through the hay, jack rabbit? Glorious, wasn't it?"

I groaned and tossed my arm over my eyes. Every part of my skin tingled not entirely unpleasantly.

Aela chuckled. "Welcome to the Circle, shield-sister."

Gingerly, I sat up. I was naked except for a ripped boot and my Amulet. I remembered the sound of leather tearing. "Oh, joy. S'not like I liked that set or anything."

"On your feet. We're going on a hunt."

She tossed a bundle of armor at me. "Wear those. You can alter them, if you wish. But, every set of armor you get, you should bring to Jorrvaskr. Eorland will enchant it for you."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

"You survived your first change, but as you can see, your armor sure didn't. And, it won't in the future. Your beast form is about double your size, Sister, like all of us. The enchantment allows your armor to simply disappear, instead of being ripped to shreds when you change. When you return to your smaller shape, it will always be nearby."

When I was dressed, she looked at me appraisingly. "Follow me," she said. I did.

Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. "…What did I… do last night?"

She seemed amused. "You fed for the first time. I'm sure you don't remember the details, but you were rather difficult to control. It was all Skjor and I could do to keep you from devouring the citizens of Whiterun." She chuckled. "For someone who runs more than she fights, you certainly were more than pleased to try and take swipes at us. Gave Skjor a nasty scar he'll probably want to tan your hide for. Speaking of which…"

She lashed out at me and again I ended up face down in the dirt with her sitting on my back.

"That's for biting me, runt." _I don't even remember that._

A snarl tore itself from my throat. "This is getting old, Aela," I growled.

She laughed. "Then, stop making it so easy, rabbit."

* * *

"...We were hunting the Silver Hand. A bunch of werewolf hunters. We've fought them before, remember? You thought using silver for blades was silly?"

"…Yes."

"Didn't you think it was odd that they focused on me more than you, even though you were the one with the heavier armor and bigger blades?"

Lydia didn't respond. Sa'miail peered down again, to make sure she was still there. She was and still glaring.

"Anyway, we found out that they… killed Skjor. And, we slaughtered them all. That battle is why you'll hear some of the other companions call me the Voracious. I ate enough of their hearts to power my bloodlust for hours after Aela's wolf was sated."

"This isn't a very convincing argument for letting you live."

"Oh, well," The elf mumbled sheepishly. "I wasn't really trying to convince you of anything. I may have been hunting with the Companions a bit too long. I'm beginning to simply enjoy bragging about it."

"…"

"But, if you want me to convince you, consider this: none of the Companions will be particularly pleased that you killed me. There will be a call for a bloodhunt on you. You won't be able to return to Whiterun. They'll slaughter you on sight. Hell, they'll probably track you down and kill you."

"I-!"

"Not only that, but, you've been very insistent that I'm Dragonborn. What do you think will happen if you kill me? No one around to slay the evil dragons that swoop down on you. The next attack the black dragon may just burn down Whiterun himself. And, I won't be around to do anything about it, like I have in the past. Isn't your duty to Whiterun to keep her out of danger?"

Lydia was quiet.

Sa'miail was, too.

The wood elf's ears twitched at the sound of a blade being sheathed. She slipped down the trees hesitantly. She dropped off the lowest branch and landed crouched in front of Lydia with a soft "oof." Blood still streaked her mouth like it had her muzzle.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at her.

It wasn't that the rogue hadn't seen the punch coming. She expected it, actually. She simply decided to let the warrior have one hit.

And, she regretted it almost immediately as there was a distinct crunching sound. Sa'miail staggered back a few steps, eyes watering and more blood was on her face this time gushing from her nose.

She placed a hand on the tree bark to steady herself as she twisted her nose back into its normal shape and cast a weak healing charm over it.

"…No more secrets," Lydia growled.

Sa'miail knew in her heart, she couldn't promise that. She had too many and many were too dark to ever speak of. Still, she gave a mock salute and a teasing grin, "Whatever you say, my dear housecarl. No more secrets."

Lydia scowled darkly and Sa'miail sobered up.

"Really, Lydia. I promise you can trust me at your back, so long as I can trust you at mine."

Lydia's arms remained crossed and she still looked furious, but she nodded nonetheless. "I am your sword and your shield."

"S'all I could ask for, really. Now, to Solitude we go?"

* * *

**a/n: i suppose you could call this an interlude chapter. nothing really happened except some side stuff. i just needed to get this out of the way and address the whole bitten by movarth thing. i'm trying to decide if next chapter will be about my fav quest in the whole game or actual plot stuff, but either way this needed to be done first.**

**a/n 2: if you thought sa'm was gonna be a vampire you thought wrong :P.**

**thanks for all your reviews, they motivate me a lot actually. i appreciate it.**


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Elder Scroll series, Adventure, Romance