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Fandom Righting Regrets [Skyrim] - Alba and Savvy

AlbaGuBrath

AlbaGuBrath

"Scotland Forever"
Part One: The Killer's Mark
WIndhelm, Early Summer
​
A contented smile crossed Saorat’s face as she walked out of the great stone courtyard in front of the Palace of the Kings, lifting her face towards the warm summer sun and breathing deeply of the fresh, clean air. A whole world of possibilities stretched out before her, whether exciting or peaceful was all up to her. After months of being largely confined to the city and surrounding areas, she was finally free to go where she wished. Working during the springtime had been difficult, but the farmers among the guards needed that time off for planting, so Saorat was part of the off-quarters, taking her reprieve during the slow agricultural months. But now summer had come and the rest of the quarter was hers.

Not that she resented the demanding schedule of the city guard, far from it. She was proud to serve the people of the city and, most of all, the Jarl. True, he wasn’t to be High King anymore, but at least he was alive, and that’s what mattered to her. Though she hated to admit it, she had been afraid when the Stormcloak army had started fighting with the Empire after their brief alliance against the Thalmor. With their common enemy gone and the possibility of peace near at hand, she’d hoped they would take it, but reluctantly answered when called to arms again to win their rightful place. But the men were exhausted from the previous war and many were tired of fighting, so they were quickly defeated. Saorat had expected to be executed along with her brothers and sisters and their king, but the Imperials did something she’d never imagined them doing.
They showed mercy.
In return for their help defeating the Thalmor, the rebels would be allowed to live, even Ulfric could stay in Windhelm, but they were to abandon all claims to secession, Ulfric’s kingship, or any further resistance to the Empire. There were Imperial soldiers in all the cities now, which Saorat disliked, but it wasn’t intolerable. Former Stormcloaks were allowed into the city guard as well, but they were closely watched. Of course, there were some rebels who refused to accept the compromise and chose to continue fighting, but they were quickly being hunted down and were only a minority anyway. Most of the soldiers, including the young Khajiit, simply wanted to live their lives in peace.

Although she had grown quite fond of the stone city and most of its inhabitants (with a handful of particularly nasty exceptions), Saorat had felt the need to travel for some time. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t had the opportunity to travel on her own terms since she was a girl; she’d been on duty ever since she returned to the north. Where would she go? Riften was out of the question, of course, but who would want to go there anyway? She’d heard great things about the beauty of Solitude, but she was reluctant to travel west just yet. It was too soon, only a few months since the war ended. It might not be safe for her there. Whiterun, perhaps? It had been a long time since she’d visited the trading city, but knew a few people there. Perhaps feeling guilty for the arguments of prejudice against the rebels while still holding prejudices of their own, the Imperials had begun to allow passage of non-humans into the cities recently, though many citizens on both sides were still reluctant and there was a general suspicion of mer. She could visit the city, maybe drop in on some acquaintances there and in Riverwood, and see what sort of interesting things could be found in the area.

Saorat had been wandering through the city, enjoying the familiar bustle of the afternoon and these pleasant thoughts, when an uneasy feeling began to creep into her mind. She couldn’t explain why, but there was something that made her fur stand on end, as though she was being watched. She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. It was nothing but paranoia, old anxieties from ambushes and escapes from a day when potential enemies really were around every corner. But those days were past now and she was safe. Right?

But as she walked through the city, she couldn’t shake the feeling and began noticing a strangely familiar figure that kept cropping up in her field of vision. Were they following her? Cultivating a casual demeanor despite the shaking of her paws, a skill carefully learned through much practice, she continued about her business of buying supplies for her travels, taking circuitous routes and stealthily watching for the stranger. When they were unshaken, a knot began to form in the cat’s stomach and her mind whirled. What business could they have trailing her like this? A number of explanations presented themselves to her mind, each one more dangerous than the last. She needed to get away from them, but was unwilling to lead them back to the Iceblade’s by going home. Neither could she walk outside of the city, not if she wanted to get away from them safely. A sudden image of being ambushed and carried away to some prison flashed into her mind and threatened to choke her, but she shook her head again to chase it away. Nobody was going to take her away, nobody was going hurt her. She was safe. It was over.

But whatever was going on, she couldn’t stall them forever. A hesitant glance a moment ago dashed her hopes of the stranger going away; instead, a second figure had converged on her. The fur rising on her neck, Saorat reached for the small blade at her belt and gripped it tightly. Suddenly, she darted around a corner and waited with drawn weapon for her pursuers to follow. When one of them did, she grabbed them as they passed and lifted the weapon as she hissed into the elf-woman’s face.
“Who are you?” she demanded with a hunted look in her eyes “Why are you following me?”
At that moment, someone attacked her from behind.

BegoneThought BegoneThought
 
Lyla thought she had a good idea of how big Skyrim was. When she was a child, she was afraid of the older children because they were so big. She would dash to her mother, blubbering about how the big kids were too rough with her, and her mother would always say "Lylandor, they are only big because you are so small!" She thought, as she grew, that the world would get smaller. As she became taller, the world would become short in turn.

She was wrong.

Riften was huge, with long buildings full of bustling people and over-arching bridges and walkways that made the city double in size. The Ratway, a labyrinth underlying the already sprawling city, could easily be lost in. The fact that it had taken more than half a day to walk to Falkreath was, at the time, baffling to Lyla. Later, she had spent days on missions simply walking or riding to her next contract during her time with the Brotherhood. It had taken her ages to arrive in Windhelm, and Lyla had arrived with one thought on her mind: Skyrim went on forever, yet she still couldn't hide within it.

She had been running for almost... five months? Six? It had to have been Second Seed when she arrived in Windhelm approximately two weeks ago. Or maybe it was Mid Year? Lyla didn't know anymore. Her mind was occupied, for every city seemed to have an assassin hidden within it. There had been so many close calls that Lyla couldn't keep track of them all, and she had already killed one particularly sneaky Slayer that had gotten too close to comfort. That was her job, though, right? The Silencer's duty- to silence through any means necessary. The close calls and the paranoia was getting to her and she needed both to cease, but what could she do? The Brotherhood was relentless.

They seemed to be relentless in pursuit of this Khajiit as well. Fortunately, the assassin was inexperienced. He was too obvious as he followed her, and it seemed the Khajiit knew he was there, because she had walked the same circular path almost three time now. Lyla had gone unnoticed by him for nearly half a candlemark (yet another example of his clumsiness) as they played this game of cat-cat-mouse. Or former assassin-assassin-... cat? Lyla felt a grim sort of amusement at the irony. The Bosmer had been going about her business, hoping to purchase tomatoes before they went bad, and most of the people around her had been doing the same, all caught in their own worlds. The sun was brutal that day, but the air was cool enough that everyone wanted to be out. Lyla had seen the Khajiit earlier in the week- a guard of Windhelm, Lyla was sure- but she wouldn't have noticed her that day had she not noticed the man persistently following her. She didn't know why she decided to follow the assassin. She could have ignored it and continued on to Aval's stand for her stupid tomatoes. She could have moved on without the risk of exposing herself to a Dark Brotherhood member. Nonetheless, it seemed that the same ridiculous self-righteous part of her conscience that decided to help that orphan out of Honorhall so many years ago was back with a vengeance, and it seemed to have a preference for Khajiit.

Lyla watched closely as the assassin decided to start closing in. She almost winced aloud at the assassin's recklessness. She had to step in soon or all the fuss would have been for naught. Lyla swiped a finger across her forehead, brushing a long strand of hair out of her good eye's line of sight so she could keep the assassin consistently to her left side. The Bosmer had yet to stop Silent-Stepping, her shrouded shoes assisting greatly in this, but she sped up, gripping the ground with her toes through the thin barrier of her shoes. Lyla noticed the Khajiit's fur bristling just before the light-colored guard turned a corner. Lyla saw the assassin speed up from across the walkway, but Lyla was faster, darting as inconspicuously as possible after their shared target.

Clawed paws gripped onto her robes, tugging her forward and drawing a sharp gasp from her chest. Lyla's eye met two slitted yellow ones, predatory, dangerous, and unmistakably angry. Lyla felt her own anger twist in her chest, a familiar feeling that the "good" part of her conscience attempted to rein in.

"Who are you? Why are you following me?" the Khajiit demanded.

Who am I? Who are you to be making demands, hm? Lyla's thoughts hissed back. She swallowed thickly to force them back down, but before she could reply properly, there was a scuff behind the Khajiit. Lyla barely ducked in time to dodge the Khajiit's head, which had shot forward after a blow from behind.

Lyla stumbled away from the hit, back slamming against the wall hard enough that it jarred her eyes shut for a moment.

"Dirty shot!" Lyla growled through clenched teeth, eyes snapping back open and meeting the assassin's. His flickered with recognition, no doubt having seen her face in drawings or read about it in descriptions on the countless contracts she had undoubtedly acquired. Lyla clicked her tongue and thought about whipping out a poison-bomb, but that was too dangerous in a public place. She didn't have time to dip her daggers in poison, so she settled for a poison dart, deftly snatching it out of the pack slung across her waist without pricking her finger. She pulled the dagger out as well, to distract him so she could get a clean hit to his neck. The tavern wench (Elda or whatever) would throw a fit if she came back covered in blood. Luckily, Lyla was an expert.

She looked to the Khajiit and bared her teeth in an expression that wasn't exactly a smile, but wasn't exactly a snarl either.

"You any good in a fight?"

AlbaGuBrath AlbaGuBrath
 
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Saorat’s vision blurred as her head bounced forward and collided with the stones of the nearby wall. Her surroundings seemed to spin around her as she blinked slowly to clear her vision, still disoriented. She thought she could taste a bit of blood in her mouth. It took a few moments before she was able to make sense of what was going on, glancing between the strangers with a baffled expression. Her first thought after the attack was one of frustration with her own mistake. While she was distracted by the first pursuer, the other slipped up behind her and left her pinned between them.

But as her vision cleared, Saorat thought something seemed off about the pair. They apparently knew each other from the look of recognition that passed between their eyes, but didn’t behave as though they were working together. If anything, it seemed that the elf-woman considered the other an enemy. At any rate, she had shifted her attention to the other stranger instead of stabbing Saorat in the ribs. The woman bared her teeth at Saorat and hissed “You any good in a fight?”
A grim smile tugged at the cat’s mouth as she replied.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

That wasn’t entirely true, though. Yes, she had survived many battles and dangerous situations so far, but most of her experience had been as an archer covering the melee soldiers. Although there was danger from enemy archers and the occasional mage, she was usually on the wall or other high place safe from the killing blades. Here on the ground, outnumbered and in too close quarters to use her bow, she was in grave danger. If it came to a fight, she would have to run for her life and hope that her speed would serve her well enough to find help. Preferably, it wouldn’t have to come to that.

She took the opportunity of the attackers’ distraction to retreat a few steps away and get them both to her front, feeling uncomfortable with their proximity to the civilian’s street just beyond them. Drawing herself up to a hopefully more intimidating posture, she barked with more confidence than she felt
“Stop right there! There will be no fighting in this city. You will put away your weapons and stand down, or be arrested on the spot.”
It was a bluff, of course. There was little she could do to stop the both of them if they really wanted a fight, but at least the demand would alert passersby of the potential danger. She glared at the both of them, fighting an urge to bolt away as quickly as her feet would carry her. But that could be dangerous, she didn’t want them at her back. Her heart thumped in her throat as she took another breath and tried to break the others’ will to attack. She needed answers; she needed to know what she was in danger from.
“I ask you again. Why are you following me?”
 
Lyla rolled her eyes at the Khajiit, catching a glimpse of the assassin to her left. He had gone sightly pale, obviously unaccustomed to being caught. Assassins like those trained in the Dark Brotherhood were trained to stay out of sight, and Lyla found it was often drilled into them so hard that they didn't know how to react to being spotted. His body was tense, hand quivering with restraint as he no doubt fought the urge to brandish whatever weapon was hidden on his body. She didn't want to give him the time to make a decision, but if she moved too quickly, the Khajiit could, too, putting both her and Lyla's life in danger.

"Now's definitely not the time," Lyla barked, readjusting her grip on the dagger. Irritatingly, Lyla was forced to constantly look between the two. She couldn't move to widen her vision- backing up any further would leave the Khajiit precariously vulnerable. The anger that had been knocked out of her before was roiling again, excited for the bloody sort of fight that was sure to follow if she didn't act soon.

The way Lyla saw it, she had two options.

She could attempt to kill the assassin now. The poison dart followed by a knife to the jugular would suffice- unfortunately, just the dart was not enough to kill him, it would only leave him immoble. She simply needed to get close enough to prick him with the dart and the paralyzing agent would (hopefully) take effect quickly. But he could see her, and saw her as a threat, so a sneak approach wouldn't work unless she used the Khajiit for a distraction. The problem there would be that the Khajiit could be injured or killed while Lyla tried to get a hit in. The Khajiit was obviously bluffing- her legs tensed and twitched with the urge to run- even if the assassin believed her, it was a risk Lyla was hesitant to take.

She could throw a poison bomb and run, conscience be damned. It would ensure a clean exit, and even if the assassin didn't die immediately, the fumes would ensure he wouldn't have enough time to write a report back to the Brotherhood, especially if Lyla's assumptions were correct in that he didn't have a personal scout to deliver missives. But it would potentially poison the Khajiit and others as well, possibly putting a target over Lyla's head and definitely calling enough attention that the Brotherhood would take notice.

Either way, the assassin could not be left alive. The Brotherhood mustn't know her location.

Lyla looked to the Khajiit, watching her expression in the hope that it would give her inspiration. Her mind distracted, she failed to notice the Brotherhood assassin making his move, sprinting toward his original contract with a forbidding grimace on his face. Lyla's conscience and logic warred for a moment, but it seemed stupidity won over them both as she threw the dart, hoping with all hope that it made its mark. She sighed when it did, just barely sinking into the flesh of his arm through the sleeve. He grunted in pain, and while he was distracted yanking it out, she dashed to the Khajiit, grabbing her by the wrist.

"We have to go! Quickly!" she urged, tugging on the Khajiit, before pausing to roll her eyes again. "He wouldn't risk hurting civilians in a crowd, we just have to get away from him. Now let's go."

AlbaGuBrath AlbaGuBrath
 
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Well, at least she’d figured out that the two pursuers weren’t working together. But now Saorat only had more questions. Who were these people? What did they want with her? If they were some sort of assassins, as Saorat guessed from their hidden weapons - certainly not those of the Guild or a common pickpocket - then how did they get into the city? As these questions swirled around in her mind, she blurted out in sudden concern “Did… you kill him?”

But the elf-woman was right; this was a time for action, not questions. Her remark made Saorat believe that the man was unconscious, not dead, so he could wake up at any moment. She hesitated, unsure what to do. The man had shown himself to be dangerous, had tried to attack this woman and apparently meant Saorat harm as well, but this woman didn't seem particularly safe either. If they split up, she would have to leave one of them alone with the people of Windhelm. She didn't want to leave the dangerous assassin alone, but he was unconscious while the woman could still run.
“Right, come with me. I know where you'll be safe.”
With that, Saorat gently but firmly pushed the woman along in front of her, unwilling to put her in danger of attack from behind or to put her in a position to escape or slip the dagger into the cat’s back.

Saorat led the woman through the narrow streets of Windhelm, glancing occasionally over her shoulder for her former pursuer who she expected to recover at any moment. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally emerged out into the stone courtyard Saorat had only just left earlier that afternoon. She walked straight towards the nearest and, as their eyes met, a palpable tension entered the air. He was not one of their men, and he knew she wasn’t one of theirs.

There had been something of a stir when she returned to the city guard after the war ended. After months of answering the same question dozens of times, at least once everytime she met a new set of soldiers, her presence in the army had finally become a reasonably normal part of the local landscape. But with the influx of new faces, she’d had to endure yet another gauntlet of incredulous soldiers who simply couldn't believe that she was really there.
“Why shouldn't I be?” she’d wanted to shout. “This is my home too…”

But this particular soldier had evidently heard the story before because, though his eyes registered surprise and a touch of wariness, he didn't question her right to fight for her home, which Saorat was grateful for. She looked him straight in the eye, unflinching but not hostile.
“There's an armed man just down the street; he was following me and attacked this woman. He’s unconscious right now, but he may be dangerous, so we need some assistance. He's this way.”
He didn't say anything, but motioned to one of the other soldiers to keep an eye on his place and followed them down the street. As they walked, Saorat leaned close to the woman and whispered, “You'll need to stay close, ma’am. If this man is arrested, you'll be asked some questions about him -why he attacked you and such as that-, and I'll need you to explain what you were doing trailing me earlier. Don't worry; you'll not be arrested if you cooperate, we just need answers.”

At about this time, they turned the corner where the confrontation had taken place. The soldier stopped and looked hard at Saorat, a note of suspicion entering his eyes.
The assassin was gone.
 
Lyla ran her tongue over her teeth as the Khajiit leaned into her space, whispering about what Lyla needed to do and what she needed from Lyla, as if some random do-gooder Khajiit that she didn't even know the name of had the right-!

Lyla took a deep breath, holding her tongue firmly between her teeth, tasting blood from earlier. When the Bosmer had felt the pressure of the Khajiit's paw on her back as she pushed her through the streets, she had come so close to losing it that she almost bit through her tongue. She hated being guided, even if Lyla knew she had to bear it. She already got herself caught up with this stranger, and it was no one's fault but Lyla's. Besides, she felt a little guilty for being mad. The Khajiit had covered for her, something Lyla had not expected in the least, and was very grateful for. Or, at least, she would be very grateful, once the fury stopped raging through her bloodstream.

She knew she couldn't blame the Khajiit, but as they rounded the corner and saw nothing but dust and stone, she wanted to do nothing more than turn and scream in the Khajiit's face. She exhaled slowly between gritted teeth as she cracked her neck, turning it to and fro in an attempt to relieve the tension holding her muscles in a vice grip. While she did this, she realized the Khajiit had somehow moved to Lyla's right. Lyla tsked as she tried to shift in that direction so she could watch her expression and so the Khajiit wasn't left in her blind spot.

"Well, great," Lyla huffed, unable to help the bitterness that laced her voice as she spoke. "He must have ascended. Perhaps a dragon took him." She turned to the soldier that was still giving the Khajiit a dirty look. "Well?" she snapped at him, glaring at him when his head whipped around and his eyes met hers. "I know you're itching to arrest something! Do you even have a jail cell large enough for a dragon?"

He frowned at Lyla then turned to the Khajiit to glare at her again, as if he was blaming her for Lyla's words. Lyla rolled her eyes, cracking her jaw when the furious tension spread to it.

"Quit it," she snarled. "Why would she lie about someone else being attacked? Where's the benefit, huh? What's the point? What do you think she wanted, your attention? Don't be daft."

The soldier's jaw tightened with irritation, but Lyla ignored him. She'd met his type before, and though she knew he had a right to be suspicious, just as the Khajiit did, Lyla found she didn't care. She had lived so long with the Dark Brotherhood, devoid of practically any questions, that she forgot how to react to them. As a Silencer, he job was to make judgement calls, no matter anyone else's opinion. If these two were Brotherhood recruits, she would have them brutally whipped for their suspicions.

Lyla sighed, inhaling slowly in another attempt to cool her head. She shouldn't have thought like that, she knew. She wasn't a Silencer anymore- getting away from the Brotherhood and that life was kind of her life's mission at that moment. Blood slightly less scalding, having been chilled by the fresh air, she turned to the reason why she was in this mess in the first place. Lyla met the Khajiit's shockingly yellow gaze (a similar shade to Lyla's own left eye).

"We need to find that man, and quickly." Lyla thought back to her dragon comment earlier and knew it rang somewhat true. "Someone must have moved him out of sight," she affirmed with increasing dread. "And only another assassin could do so without alerting anyone."

Lyla's stomach clenched into a shriveled and pathetic ball of foreboding as her mouth opened without her permission, spilling her greatest fear to this Khajiit that she hadn't even spoken more than a handful of sentences to. "The Brotherhood is here."
 
Saorat felt her heart drop as they discovered the absence of the assassin they’d left only moments before. She knew that had been a possibility, but the woman was about to leave and Saorat wasn’t certain that the elf-woman or the citizens of Windhelm would be safe if she left. It had been a gamble to leave the man where he was, but they had lost. A feeling of dread constricted around her throat at the thought; the assassin had escaped to who-knew-where, and it was probably her fault. Her mind was reeling with the horrific possibilities and frantically searching for a way to stop them, but found itself paralysed into a rising incoherent panic.

She had closed her eyes and tried to back against a wall, pressing her paws against the cool stones, when the elf-woman moved to Saorat’s other side, causing her to flinch slightly in surprise.
Breathe… she thought to herself, kneading her claws against her palms It’s alright… Just relax. Breathe.
But the circumstances were conspiring to make it impossible to do just that. The soldier was looking at her like he suspected her of something, what exactly she was unsure, but knew it must have been terrible. The elf-woman had become hostile, snarling at the soldier and making Saorat wonder whether or not she was expected to intervene and how. The would-be assassin was on the loose, probably gaining ground on his next hapless target at this very moment, or using their distraction as an opportunity to smuggle scores of killers into the city… Her tail lashed erratically as she struggled to think clearly and positively. It was okay; it wasn’t really that bad. They had it under control. At least it wasn’t as bad as it could be, right? At least he was alone.

“The Brotherhood is here.”
Saorat’s eyes widened at the news, a look of horror spreading across her face. She gulped like a landed fish a couple times, then forced herself to squeak out a reply.
“That… That’s impossible. They’re… just a story, right? Nightmares, shadow-terrors... They’re not real. Are they?”
She had heard of shadowy assassins before, of course, but they were rare and usually reserved for important leaders, not regular citizens. On the rare occasion that an assassin was caught, they always insisted to their death that they were alone, that they had been hired individually and not sent by some murderous organisation. Though rumors of such a shadowy group sometimes floated around faltering fires, she personally had always considered them to be nothing but ghost stories to spook naive newcomers. There was no way that a shade was responsible for the appearance (and disappearance) of this man, was there?

The soldier also appeared to be taken by surprise, but he recovered more quickly than Saorat did.
“Right, I’ll put people on it. Shira, or whatever your name is, you head for the gates to make sure he doesn’t escape. You can keep a criminal from escaping, can’t you?”
Saorat’s eyes narrowed irritably at the man, uncertain whether or not he meant to insult her or if she ought to confront him about it. Mistaking her name was annoying, but at least he hadn’t called her “cat”. But assuming that he could give orders when they were of equal rank - she’d actually been there longer - rubbed her the wrong way. And then that final comment… Had she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice? Was he implying…
No, this wasn’t the time to worry about that. There was a dangerous man out there and he had to be stopped before he hurt anybody. The tension between the two groups of guards would still be there when she returned; it certainly showed no signs of going away anytime soon. A flash of bitterness stabbed at her heart as she thought Very well… If you want to go, I’ll be ready for you. And so will the rest of us.
But all she said was “Easily. Ma’am, will you come with me? You can help identify him if we see him. We don’t need more killers in the city.”
 
It was not the terrified words that snapped Lyla out of her reverie, but the long tail flicking back and forth out of the corner of her eye. It lashed about like a torn sail caught in the wind. But Lyla had not needed to hear the Khajiit's words to know what she had been reeling about. Lyla knew shouldn't have let it slip. All it could do was cause panic. She knew that fear- knew it intimately. Felt it every waking moment of her life since she left that savage cult. Lyla heard the tail end of the Khajiit's squeaking, asking Lyla if they were real, and Lyla felt a strange sort of irony. She was one of those nightmares, once. She needed to leave before the Khajiit connected the dots.

"You can keep a criminal from escaping, can't you?" the soldier gibed. Lyla's mouth tasted sour at the slight aimed towards her and the Khajiit at the same time. Lyla would usually dub such a remark unintentionally offensive from a moron, but she felt like the soldier was apt enough to know exactly how that sounded. Lyla was also definitively not in a forgiving mood. She fought a snarl off of her face and glanced over to see the Khajiit seemingly doing the same. Lyla didn't know the cause of the mutual animosity between the two soldiers, but the man seemed to look down upon the Khajiit. The Bosmer knew and could recognize racial tensions, and while she saw it here in the mispronunciation of the Khajiit's name, there had to be another constituent.

"Easily. Ma'am will you come with me?" the Khajiit asked. "You can help identify him if we see him. We don't need more killers in the city."

The little solidarity Lyla felt with the Khajiit trembled, threatening to dissolve entirely. She had better not be insinuating that Lyla was a killer. She had saved this fool Khajiit from certain death, risking her own life and freedom in the process, and Lyla was being accused of murder!

I mean, I am, but that's not the point, Lyla thought, tendrils of that earlier fury caressing her mind. She huffed through her nose, clenching her teeth to try and keep the anger out- or perhaps Lyla was keeping it in. Either way, her jaw was beginning to ache with it. She needed to leave before she spilled something else stupidly consequential like 'they're here for me' or 'I've killed more people than I've properly spoken to.'

Lyla scoffed, not even waiting for the man to leave before sniping, "Thanks, but no thanks, ma'am." When she remembered the anxiety displayed (but carefully hidden) by the Khajiit earlier, the Bosmer felt her conscience buck and rear like an agitated horse, but the anger coursing through her veins outshone its pacifistic counterpart. The man frowned at Lyla, though, fanning the flames of her ire in his direction. She whipped her head around so fast that the hood over her head almost flew off, burning her glare into his very soul. He cleared his throat and turned to depart, giving ogg the impression that he wasn't hearing their conversation.

"Listen, kid, there's not much I can give you soldiers," Lyla murmured to the Khajiit in a lowered volume, feeling her anger unravel a little now that she was only under the scrutiny of one person. "I'm not interested in being arrested," she began, remembering the soldier's comment earlier that she wouldn't be arrested if she cooperated, "but I will probably be arrested either way, so I choose to leave and wash my hands of this." She looked into the Khajiit's eyes, piercing her with a gaze to her soul like the other soldier, but this time with less loathing. "You should too."
 
As the woman snipped at her, Saorat’s brow furrowed and a look of baffled hurt crossed her eyes. What had she done? She’d never intended to cause any offense, and couldn’t think of any reason for the woman’s irritation at her. Well, there was that first time she’d snarled at her, but that had been a mistake. How was she supposed to know that she wasn’t working with the assassin? She thought she was one of them herself, but since seeing otherwise, had done nothing but try to keep the woman safe from a dangerous criminal. But to apprehend that criminal, Saorat needed the woman’s help and now she was refusing to do anything useful. A spark of anger followed the confused look, but she pushed it away with a shake of her head and a sigh.

“I can’t do that.” she insisted, trying to keep the frustration out of her tone “If this man is dangerous, he has to be stopped.”
It occurred to her that, technically, she could follow the woman’s advice. True, the man needed to be found, but she didn’t have to be the one to do it. She was off-duty now; nobody could say anything to her if she continued on her way and left the next group of guards to deal with this threat. She wouldn’t have to risk her life trying to chase down a cornered assassin, wouldn’t have to deal with the snide remarks of that soldier, and, most of all, wouldn’t have to worry about getting on the wrong side of a half-mythical band of killers. Even with this delay, she could probably reach a town safely before nightfall, where she could relax with a hot meal and pleasant music.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Saorat knew that she couldn’t heed it. More to herself than the woman, she repeated “This is my home. I swore to protect these people; I can’t abandon them now.”
Aware that time was slipping quickly away, she became anxious to get moving again.
“Look, ma’am… Err, I mean… Uhh.. Sorry. I have to go now. He can’t be allowed out of the gates, someone has to be watching. I’d recommend for you to stay indoors if at all possible to keep him from seeing you. And if you see him, you know where I’ll be.”
She took a few steps away, then paused and turned back with a mischievous smile.
“And, uh, you might want to take that hood off. You don’t want to be mistaken for the assassin.”
With that, she turned and sprinted towards the gates, silently pleading that the killer hadn’t reached them before her.

(Is a little short... Sorry!)
 
Lyla swore as she watched her dash in the opposite direction, the Khajiit's little smirk falling away into something more concerned as she turned away from the Bosmer. Lyla knew that the Khajiit wasn't about to leave the assassin to her- the soldier was far too righteous. But she also knew that the Khajiit was going to get herself killed if Lyla didn't step in. A fight, especially one caused by an assassin being discovered, was sure to attract attention of the higher-ups- it likely already had. The Slayer's partner or whatever was unharmed, and had to be extremely well-trained to be able to get a body out of sight that quickly. A note could already be on its way to headquarters.

Lyla sucked her cheek between her molars and gnawed on it, hoping the pain would make her focus and help her make a decision. The Khajiit would soon be difficult to catch up with, and could possibly make a detour that Lyla couldn't account for. She felt as if she caught between choices often with this stranger, even though she had not spent long with her. Lyla felt she was involved with the Khajiit now, despite wanting to stay out of everyone's business until she was rid of the Brotherhood. Her long-forgotten conscience seemed to have taken responsibility for the soldier's safety, and to Lyla's surprise, the selfish part of her agreed. Her self-preservation decided that hanging with a soldier meant Lyla was less likely to be noticed should she pursue the assassin, and leaving the assassin free was probably not a good idea.

Lyla groaned and ran a hand over her face. Her pride felt a little bruised- a little dented- but she kicked up dust as she ran after the Khajiit, dodging pedestrians and corners as she chased her. A tail caught her eye and she followed it, soon gaining on the irritatingly quick-footed soldier. Once they were neck-and-neck, Lyla begrudgingly turned her head and met the Khajiit's stare.

"My hood is not nearly the same shade of black as that guy's."
 
“Watch out! Excuse me! Sorry, ma’am!”
Saorat’s ears burned with embarrassment as she tried to avoid the afternoon-shoppers as she barreled down the street, wincing slightly with each cry of alarm or anger as civilians ducked out of her way or sent their wares flying. She overheard more than a few muttered curses, including one or two directed against her specifically. The words stung bitterly and a few frustrated tears burned behind her eyes, but they were forced away as a distraction. There was no time to feel sorry for herself. She had a job to do; whether those people appreciated it or not made no difference to her duty. It wouldn’t hurt for them to be at least a little bit more respectful, though.

After a short while, her presence was made known and the streets cleared, much to her relief. But presently, the confused cries and angry curses started up again behind her, causing her to slow her step slightly and crane her head around to see what was going on. A dark-hooded figure was close behind her and a sudden stab of panic grabbed at her heart, only to be replaced with a breath of relief when she recognised them as the elf-woman she’d just left. When the woman drew near, she retorted,
“My hood is not nearly the same shade of black as that guy's”
For some reason, Saorat found the remark quite entertaining and threw back her head with a short laugh, relieved for the momentary distraction from her anxious fears.
“Oh, of course, my apologies…” she replied with a chuckle “Clearly it’s only a very dark grey.”

Further conversation was interrupted as they approached the gates and Saorat skidded to a stop in front of the two soldiers already there, clutching their weapons uneasily. A quick glance at them told her that they were both unfamiliar, most likely part of the new shift, and she was uncertain how to approach them. Were they her superior, or was she theirs? Which of them should speak first? Should she salute? Had they received different orders than she had? If so, since she certainly didn’t have the authority to supersede them, what should she do?
The questions buzzed around in her head, causing her ears and tail to begin twitching again. After what felt like an uncomfortable eternity, she finally decided that this was the wrong time to worry about ceremony, but kept in mind the necessity to be careful not to overstep her bounds. Impatience and stress had caused her much trouble in the past and she didn’t want a repeat of it.

“Sorry to disturb you, sirs.” she said, speaking quickly and still breathing heavily, “There’s an escaped criminal in the city; Carorel has sent me to the wall to make sure he doesn’t escape while he organises patrols in the city. I need to get up onto the wall.”
One of the guards stared at her for a while, apparently a little unsure exactly who this was. He seemed to consider refusing until he could confirm what she’d told him, but finally decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and gestured towards the gatehouse with a shrug.
“Fine, suit yourself. It’s windy up there; don’t fall off.”
Saorat breathed a sigh of relief as the encounter went more smoothly than expected, but it caught in her chest again as the other soldier spoke up.
“Hey, what about that one?” he sneered, nodding towards the elf-woman “Sure she’s not your criminal?”

Saorat’s claws dug into her palms as she took a deep breath to control herself before turning towards the second soldier with burning eyes.
“This woman is helping me.” she replied coldly, barely controlled anger simmering just below the calm surface “She is not a criminal. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
Without another word, she swept past the guards, fixing the second with a stare daring him to try stopping them. Inside the gatehouse, she quickly scrambled up the ladder and onto the wall, then turned around at the top to offer a hand to the woman following her.
“Thanks for your help. I’ll take this side of the wall and you can take that one. Having an extra set of eyes will help with the lookout.”

She froze as soon as the words left her mouth, suddenly aware of how they sounded as horror spread across her face. Furious rebukes reverberated through her mind, condemning her in the strongest terms it could conjure up.
Idiot… Cruel… Insensitive... You don’t even know this woman’s name and you’ve already insulted her.
But the moment was stretching out and becoming infinitely more uncomfortable with each rapid heartbeat. There was an unbearable need to do something, say anything, to escape the unthinking words hanging in the air and the discomfort of her new acquaintance. Stumbling over the words, she tried to offer friendly instructions, though she was doubtful that the woman would even be willing to help her now.
“If you sit behind the stones, you can’t be seen from the ground. It’s more comfortable if you sit like this.”
She settled into her place quietly, taking a bit longer than necessary to snatch a few more moments to think, then whispered hesitantly,
“I’m… sorry. About people saying foolish things.”
She was uncertain whether she meant the guard or herself.
 
Lyla was surprised to hear the Khajiit defending her against the snarky guard, especially with the amount of barely restrained malice that she had retorted with. Lyla had been about to snap at the guard herself, but she was pleased to not have to. The Khajiit said Lyla wasn't a criminal, and even if it wasn't exactly true, it certainly upped Lyla's respect for her. The wall that the Khajiit had nimbly scaled was precarious, and Lyla did not have amazing balance, so she begrudgingly accepted the hand that the Khajiit had offered. The Khajiit's grasp was tight on hers as Lyla stepped up the ladder, suppressing her wince at the immediate flip in her stomach.

Though Lyla commonly found herself attacking from above with her bombs or darts, simply because people are less likely to look up and will have less time seeing the bomb/dart approach, she had yet to overcome her fear of heights. Her body had decided from a young age that she was going to fall, no matter how high the platform. She often did when she was younger, her balance completely thrown by the half-blindness, but Lyla had adapted well. She felt how the land moved beneath her feet; knew how the wind moved against her; sensed the placement of objects in a space.

"Thanks for your help," the Khajiit said. "Having an extra set of eyes will help with the lookout."

The Khajiit froze at the same time as Lyla, though the Bosmer suspected for a different reason. Guilt washed over the Khajiit's expression and Lyla watched the pure horror playing out on her face. Lyla clenched her jaw, readying herself to hold back any insult that may bubble up from the rage-filled creature that often took over her body. Lyla was shocked to find that nothing came up, though she resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation- both at the Khajiit's panic and at the mistake in phrasing she so often endured.

The Khajiit broke the silence, settling into her position behind the stones on the wall as she rambled off overly-friendly instructions. Lyla noted that the Khajiit had faced herself towards the outside of the city- convenient for Lyla. She had more experience within the scene, up close and personal, and even preferred that method, but she was also better at picking people out of a crowd like the one bustling within the city than an open expanse of land. She sighed, deciding it would be useless to argue their positions, even if it was only to salvage her pride.

"I'm... sorry," the Khajiit apologized, shocking Lyla even further. "About people saying foolish things."

Lyla figured the Khajiit spoke of her own slip-up as well at the guards' insults, and decided to pile in everyone else who had made a foolish remark about her eyesight as well. Lyla couldn't remember the last time someone had actually apologized for insulting her, intentionally or not. She thought that maybe no one had! Ever!

Laughter, throaty and genuine, gushed out from her lips, parted wide in a grin that she hadn't felt tug her mouth for over half a decade. Though she knew she was amused mostly over the Khajiit's stiffness, she also thought it was terribly humorous that she hadn't heard an apology in so long that it became foreign to her. The Khajiit woman was just so awkward about it that Lyla couldn't help but laugh. She plopped herself down in a position similar to the Khajiit's, facing the opposite direction and still snickering. She let herself calm down before, at last, groaning good-naturedly.

"Wow. Sorry, but that was pretty terrible," Lyla teased. "Listen, I promise you aren't going to hurt my feelings for things said mindlessly. It was a turn of phrase. Not a big deal. You're beating yourself up way too much over this." Lyla chuckled again. "I don't even know your name. So far, I've only thought of you as the Khajiit, so if anything, I'm the insensitive one. You could have definitely reacted worse to that, though, so props to you."

Lyla shifted her legs, feeling her bag poking into her upper thigh and shifting it accordingly. She took a moment to fiddle with it longer than she needed, acting as if she was busy even though the Khajiit probably wasn't looking at her. "What is your name, anyway?" Lyla asked.
 
At first, Saorat stared at the woman with wide eyes as she began to laugh; that had been the last thing she’d expected. The woman would probably have shouted at her, flung back insults in return, maybe even used those darts of hers or pushed her off the wall. She wouldn’t have been unjustified, she thought. But as the laughter spread, Saorat found herself catching the humor and nervously chuckling as well, adding her own rasping laugh to the mirth. The woman was right; she was awkward, and had panicked over nothing. Funny the things she decided to be afraid of. After all she’d seen and done, she was afraid of talking to a stranger.

The laughter had dissolved much of the tension, but Saorat still felt a little nervous. Small talk had never been her strong point, despite her efforts to improve it, and had been the source of much amusement for her more extroverted friends. She wished one of them had been with her now; they would know what to do. But, for the moment, they were not and she would have to navigate by herself. Since the woman seemed to be in a jovial mood, Saorat decided to try keeping it up.

“That’s better than some I’ve heard…” she chuckled, trying to maintain a friendly smile “And I just thought of you as ‘that woman with the hood I accidentally tried to attack.’ Sorry about that, by the way… I thought you were the assassin. Kinda silly, right? Just paranoid, I guess.”
She trailed off with a nervous laugh, then tried to find words to fill the silence.
“Oh, uh, I’m Saorat. I… don’t have a family name, but my father was called Amker, and my mother was Adasi. I never met their parents. But the Iceblades said I should have a surname, so they call me ‘Stormheart’. It’s... a big name for a little cat.”
She thought of her friends with affection and smiled at the memory of their conversation. In a culture that valued names and kinship ties, she’d felt honored by her friends’ determination to share that with her. Although it never really caught on with anyone beyond their immediate circle - the Iceblades and the Whiterun cubs Aemon and Jorgn - it made her feel like she belonged. That was a good feeling. Unfortunately, it was very far away right now.

Aware that she’d been rambling, Saorat quickly changed the subject to her companion, taking the opportunity to scan the road and not have to speak anymore for a while.
“So, Miss Hooded Woman…” She grinned to show she was joking. “What should I call you? You… don’t sound like you’re from around here. What brings you to Windhelm? It’s not always this problematic, I promise. Really, it’s relatively safe. Mostly.”
Her tail began to flick again and her fingers to drum against her palm, which she tightened to hold still as she focused her gaze on the road outside the city. She had to be vigilant, who knew where the assassin could be hiding? He could be in plain sight; she had to keep watch. He was much less intimidating than a friendly conversation.
 
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Lyla quickly glanced back at the Khajiit- who she now knew was called Saorat. The names she had mentioned sounded almost familiar. It made her think of... spices? Maybe it was because they were Khajiit names- those always sounded sharp to Lyla. The Bosmer shook the thoughts free and remembered the Khajiit had asked her questions.

The grin on her countenance faltered, though Lyla fought to keep appearances. "I'm from here and there," Lyla answered- not lying, per se, but remaining vague enough that she didn't have to reply directly. It was a technique she learned long ago, in her time with the Guild- to lie effectively is to include as much truth as possible. "Wherever I can get a bed and food, and where the guards aren't di- ehm."

Lyla shot her gaze to the Khajiit again. "Aren't, uh, rude," she finished, clearing her throat. "Same reason why I'm here. I'm a... merchant, of sorts." It wasn't incorrect- she did sell her poisons. "I wouldn't worry about the danger around here. There are places far more dangerous than a guarded city, I can assure you."

Lyla thought of how she was one of the dangers of the world. She thought of the winding labyrinth underneath Riften; the devastating secret that the Companions kept under lock and key; the Sanctuary perilously close to Falkreath that now felt less like a haven and more like the gallows. Lyla's heart missed a beat. Yes, there were much more dangerous places to be than Windhelm.

"And you asked my name?" Lyla recalled. She contemplated fibbing, but the Khajiit she left to her back had trusted her with her name and more, and Lyla had no real reason to keep it from her. When she was with the Brotherhood, she eschewed her name. Even they only knew her by an alias, though Lyla had always suspected the Hand had found out what it truly was. Now, she was trying to flee them. If she truly wanted to escape them, she needed to rid herself of her old habits.

"You can call me Lyla," she answered. Her own name felt awkward in her mouth, as if she had forgotten the taste of it, and she let it settle across her tongue.

In the quiescence, she felt the urge to continue the conversation, strange as that feeling was. "You're a guard, right? Why'd you pick these parts? Must be hard to earn respect when you have to earn it near the 'Gray Quarter.' These Nords get on my nerves- I can't imagine how they treat you."
 
“Pleased to meet you, Lyla.” Saorat replied, dipping her head a bit, then chuckled slightly to herself at her description of travel.
“I can certainly understand that; I’ve done a bit of travelling myself. Across the provinces, in fact!”
Thinking about her journey, she suddenly realised just how long ago that had been. She’d been just a girl, barely eighteen, walking or hitching rides to whatever town or farmstead would give her work, clawing her way inch by inch back to the north with a single-minded determination. It had been a reckless decision, she realised, as had her decision to become a soldier, but she had no reason to regret it yet.

But others wouldn’t see it that way, and from the tone of Lyla’s voice when speaking of the city, Saorat suspected that she would be one of them. She stiffened at her comment, an instinct warning her to tread carefully, but to keep her claws sheathed.
“This… is my home. The people I care about are here. The Iceblades, they…”
She paused as a great lump in her throat suffocated the words, until she forced them out with deep conviction.
“They adopted me. They’re my family now, and this is my city. After… what’s happened, becoming a guard was the best way I could serve the people I owe so much to and the people I have come to care for.”
It was an ironic image, she thought - the young thief grown into a soldier and member of the city guard - but decided against mentioning it to her companion. If possible, she thought she should also perhaps avoid mentioning the army or the Jarl, though it stabbed her with a pang of guilt.

Saorat shifted uncomfortably as she tried to find the words to speak of the citizens of the city. A strong urge to defend them sprang to her mind, but she couldn’t deny that there was much prejudice and cruel behavior among some of the citizens. She’d faced some of it herself, and tried to intervene whenever she saw it happening elsewhere. Although not directly involved in it himself, the Jarl so far had done little to change the circumstances, despite her tentative attempts to speak to him about it. Perhaps she should try again soon.

“The people can be… set in their ways. There are some that can be very nasty indeed. But many, after they get past their initial distrust of strangers in general, are good, loyal people. Most of the time, they don’t bother me too much; they have… reason to offer at least grudging respect, if only to refrain from cruel behavior when I’m nearby. The Imperials, on the other hand…”
The final words hissed out before she could stop them, but she managed to snap her jaws shut to close off the rest. Speaking of the occupying army in that way was a doubly dangerous business; it not only could earn her an enemy from the woman with poison darts right behind her, but could also cause trouble with the Imperial soldiers in the city. If it reached the wrong ears, they might take it as evidence of another rebel uprising and seek to stomp it out before it became an issue. They could all be in danger. She spoke quickly again to cover her blunder.

“I don’t usually have too much trouble in the Grey Quarter; they’re mostly law-abiding people. The worst is the early morning when the drunkards decide to come spew filth everywhere, but I’ve always managed to drive them away. Once, one of them decided he wanted to fistfight past me…”
She smiled grimly and examined her claws.
“That didn’t end well for him… But the elves there are generally decent enough to me as well. They’re not overly friendly, but not all that rude either. Except Ambarys; he doesn’t like me.”

Feeling a little uneasy with the conversation, Saorat turned her attention back to the area she was watching. One patch of the wall to her right caught her eye, but there was nothing of note to see there. Just as she was about to turn away, a patch of shadow detached itself from the wall and began moving away at a quick pace. She stared at it for a moment, confused, then suddenly stood to her feet.
“I think… That’s him!”
 
Lyla felt a little regretful of her words as Saorat described her time in Windhelm. She defended the city as one would a troublesome family member. But Lyla knew Windhelm as the place where it all started- this whole mess with the Brotherhood. Besides, Lyla could barely recall the last time she felt at home- and even then there was doubt that she could return, let alone speak in its defense. She had no clue where it was, how to get there, how to even start looking. She remembered vibrant green, cornflower skies, loving irises of yellow and blue, laughing and shoving under an incandescent sun; boiling in a small hut high off the ground, cooing words of comfort and cool cloth on her forehead, the muffled sound of crying over the deafening sound of her rasping breaths, the confusion when she could only see her father when he was on her left, the ache when she ran into things because she couldn't tell how far away they were anymore; they were minuscule glimpses of a time when she was home. She had a family, and no matter how hard she tried to replace them with dirty children on the other side of a door, packs of underground thieves, and a tight-knit band of assassins, she was likely to never get them back.

She understood the Khajiit's distaste for the Imperials. Though Lyla had kept out of the war, herself, there were enough gruesome contracts she had received from the Night Mother courtesy of the Imperials looking to enact some punishment on their Stormcloak enemies that she had a pretty good idea of their kind of people. Of course, she had also gotten contracts from the Stormcloaks, who had certainly seemed hypocritical for doing so. Truthfully, she didn't like either side. She was just glad it was over before she began running from the Brotherhood, otherwise it would've been yet another obstacle to hurdle. (Sieges and infighting? No thanks.) Lyla held a distaste for the Nordic people, however, as they made up the majority of who had been outright rude to her.

She hated getting chased out of taverns because the Nord owners thought she was stealing because she was a Bosmer. Even if she was stealing (which she was, occasionally), they certainly didn't have to call her a tree-hugger as they pushed her out the door.

Saorat's comment about the fistfight reminded Lyla of her scuffles with other kids in the Thieves' Guild. It sounded like something she would've said when she was a chit with nothing to lose, but the Khajiit's voice had more weight. She sounded somber, in the way soldiers do.

Lyla was snapped out of her musing by abrupt movement behind her. Saorat exclaimed and Lyla quickly got to her feet, rushing to stand next to the Khajiit and peek over the edge of the wall. She watched for movement and sure enough, there it was- a shadowy figure darting away. Lyla's stomach dropped a little, as it often did the higher she got, but she ignored it.

"He still looks woozy," Lyla observed, seeing the man stumble as he tried to make his getaway. "I suggest we make our move now. Are you prepared?" she asked, turning her good eye toward her companion. Though it was risky to take one's eyes off of the target, Lyla wanted to gauge Saorat's reaction. If Lyla were to kill the man, would Saorat stop her? Should she dismiss even trying in order to avoid conflict with the Khajiit? Which was worse: the idea that a Brotherhood agent had seen her and was still alive, or possibly betraying this Khajiit who had shown her nothing but respect, had defended her, and who could possibly be future access to a plethora of soldiers?

Lyla couldn't decide. She supposed she would see when the time came.
 
Saorat was already leaning over the ladder leading off the wall when Lyla spoke, causing her to pull up short and glance sheepishly at the woman.
“Ah yes, preparation. Right. Umm…”
She straightened and thought quickly, her fingers drumming impatiently as she watched the dwindling figure move out of the corner of her eye. Even half-drugged, he was moving quickly and might soon escape. They had to hurry.
“It’s good that he's still woozy. That should make him easier to catch up to. When we do reach him, uhh…”

She hesitated, unsure what to do. She'd never chased down an assassin before; there were bound to be unexpected challenges. What if those challenges were fatal? It was a familiar risk in her line of work,but she was reluctant to put someone else in danger. Should she leave her new companion on the wall? Maybe, but she seemed to know more about their opponent than she did, so her experience might be useful. Besides, she thought with an amused smile, Lyla seemed as strong-willed as herself. Probably she wouldn't stay on the wall even if Saorat put her under armed guard.
“When we reach him, I'll try to make the arrest. Most likely he will fight back, but I have to give the chance to surrender peacefully before making any aggressive moves. If you'll edge around behind him, maybe we can keep him from running, but keep your distance. If he does, do you have anymore of those… whatever they were? They can help us bring him into custody, if they won't kill him.”

She glanced back towards the fleeing assassin and turned back to the ladder, her tail lashing around her ankles.
“We have to go. He's getting too far away.”
As they hurried out of the city, Saorat’s mind buzzed with decisions and potential scenarios. What should they do if there were enemies in hiding? Where would be the ideal terrain? Would she be able to fight effectively on the flat ground against a swift opponent? What if one of them were hurt? Did they have a good retreat plan? What if…

She scowled and shook her head to clear away the crowding thoughts. None of them would matter if she didn't focus on getting there first. The assassin had a strong lead on them, but Saorat knew both of them were fast and guessed that Lyla’s endurance likely matched her own if she did as much travelling as she'd said. They could probably still catch him, though they would have to fight winded. That could be dangerous… Her brow creased as she made a quick calculation. The stables were out of their way, but borrowing a horse could save their strength. If they moved quickly, they could perhaps even make up the lost time. Without warning, she abruptly turned and ran in another direction, calling over her shoulder.
“Wait… I'm going to the stables! Can you make sure he doesn't get away?”
 
Stables? Lyla thought. She's going for a horse... but we already have one!

"Woah, woah, woah, hold it!" Lyla shouted. Saorat slowed and looked in her direction. "You go after him! I've got a horse!" Lyla skidded as she sharply turned back in the direction of the city. "I'll be right back, so don't lose him!"

A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Saorat had listened and changed course to follow the assassin. Lyla sighed in relief and sped up, digging harder into the ground to propel herself forward. She had hidden her mount along the walls since nobody liked when she put it in the stables and it always attracted unwanted attention. Lyla could understand why- her horse was a beauty. Lyla was immensely glad when her horse did not abandon her after she left the Brotherhood, and it had been a steadfast friend. She had always wondered why it stuck around, but it had certainly done no harm. The horse was intelligent enough to accommodate for her blind eye, and had saved her from injury more than once by warning her of incoming enemies. It had never fought with her against members of the Brotherhood, however, choosing to disappear and reappear a while later after the fighting was over.

Lyla wondered if it thought Lyla was killing its friends.

Once Lyla got near enough, she stuck two fingers in her lips, curled her tongue, and blew. The whistle was shrill against her sensitive Bosmer ears, but it did the trick. Shadowmere came dashing out of the shadows, darkness roiling around its ebony hooves. It whinnied and a shiver ran down Lyla's spine as its ethereal tone echoed.

"Let us go, then, friend," Lyla directed as her horse reached her side and slowed. With a grunt of effort, Lyla jumped, gripping the pommel and swinging her leg over the opposite side of the horses back. Shadowmere immediately accelerated, giving Lyla mild whiplash. Shadowmere never failed to remind her of its power.

"Her, Shadowmere," Lyla designated, pointing at Saorat. The Khajiit was still dashing after the assassin, and though Lyla had poor depth perception, she was fairly sure Saorat had gained on him. "She will ride with me." Lyla thought she should warn the horse. Even if it could easily carry both of them, she wasn't sure how happy Shadowmere would be with a stranger on its back. Nonetheless, it snorted and angled towards her companion. Shadowmere, as intelligent as ever, kept to the Khajiit's right side so Lyla could see her with her left eye.

"Saorat! Here!" Lyla shouted once they got close enough. Shadowmere slowed again, though not enough for Saorat to safely mount it once they reached her. Lyla cleared her throat and nudged the horse, but it huffed and maintained the same speed it had been. She sighed, not wishing to anger it further, and stuck out her arm toward Saorat, clenching the pommel tightly in her other fist. "Grab on!"
 
Saorat had been surprised by the sudden change of plan, but accepted the new order easily and quickly changed direction toward the fleeing criminal. He was still stumbling, but moving with a surprising swiftness for his drowsy state. Saorat wondered if the drug was wearing off and willed her feet to move faster. Her breath was beginning to catch in her throat and stab in her ribs when she heard approaching hoofbeats. For a moment, she thought she was being pursued by an enemy patrol and nearly dashed for cover, but breathed a short sigh of relief when she recognised the figure mounted on the horse.

But what a beast! Her first glance just saw a large black horse, but her double-take revealed a purple sheen showing through its sweat-flecked sides, fierce red eyes glaring from a powerful head, and shadows curling around hooves black as night. Saorat gaped at the creature in awe and wonder, even as she suppressed a cold shudder. The horse was beautiful, but unnaturally, deathly so. And it was gaining on her.

Lyla approached and reached out a hand, but Saorat found herself hesitant to take it. Although she trusted this woman, the horse looked at her with hard, unfriendly eyes and showed no signs of slowing enough for her to make the climb. Now that it was close to her, where she’d expected to feel the heat rising from its body, she could only feel an unsettling chill. It reminded her of the cold, stony tombs where the dead would walk and every instinct warned her away from the darkness. But she had a job to do, and she would do it, whatever it took to keep her people safe. With an effort of will, she took Lyla’s hand and scrambled up, lying to herself that this was just a normal old horse. As she awkwardly took her seat and reached back to grip the seat of the saddle behind her, she forced a nervous chuckle to cover her uneasiness.
“So, uh… I gather you didn’t find a beast like this in Windhelm.”

For all its strangeness, the dark-colored beast devoured the distance with a ravenous hunger that Saorat couldn’t help but marvel at, and they soon drew near to the assassin. Relieved to escape from the uncomfortable ride, she practically flew off the horse’s back to capture their dangerous fugitive, nearly falling flat as she rolled to the ground. She was on her feet in a moment, holding her bow ready to fire but not drawing back.
“By order of the Jarl, stop right there. You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?”

The familiar words spilled out without her even thinking of them, but she was surprised to find a sudden flash of anger flare up behind them. This man had endangered her people and it threatened to smother restraint. She should end his miserable life here and now, make sure he would never try hurt anyone again. The wretch deserved it, sneaking around and trying to kill the innocent, bringing evil into their city. Her eyes hardened and her hands began to tighten on her weapon, but then a sudden memory flashed into her mind. Kneeling behind their king, who had been bound and forced to his knees before the enemy commander, Saorat and the other soldiers had heard those very words addressed to the Jarl and his men on the day the city fell.

She’d expected to die that day, expected them all to die. They were not ashamed - they’d fought to save Skyrim’s people, not destroy them - but though few would admit it, many, including Saorat, were afraid. And, as far as the enemy was concerned, they’d deserve it. It would have been so easy. But yet, they didn’t, and she, her dear friends, and even their Jarl were alive for the mercy of their enemy. She glanced at the assassin, the man who had just snuck into the city and tried to attack her, who now was staring with her with wide and frightened eyes. He looked younger now than before, she realised, maybe twenty years old. Did he deserve mercy? Probably not, but the thought pricked her conscience, and Saorat reluctantly relaxed her grip on the bow. He may still die, she thought, but at least he would be given a chance. It wasn’t her place to execute the law, only to enforce it.

But, mercy or no, the criminal still had to be apprehended. He would be brought before the Jarl, who would pass judgement and decide what was to be done. If a criminal was cooperative, he sometimes could be granted leniency. Saorat addressed the young man with firm authority, but with less of the hard edge it had carried earlier.
“Lay down your arms and come peacefully, and you will not be harmed. Refuse, and you will be subdued by force. What do you choose?”
 
Lyla rolled her eyes when Saorat made the comment about Shadowmere not being from Windhelm. Wow, really astute observation there, Lyla thought, and fought to keep herself from saying it out loud. Lyla knew it would do nothing but offend the Khajiit, but the dark part of her stirred in indignation at her self-censorship. Luckily, before she could begin having an argument with herself, they had already caught up to the Brotherhood assassin. Lyla thanked whatever magic or daedra or whatever created Shadowmere for its breathtaking swiftness. The sound of her mount's huffs and jostling of its stride boiled her blood, her heart pumping louder than the wind blowing in her ears.

Lyla grunted in surprise when her Khajiit companion jumped and rolled off of Shadowmere. Baffled, Lyla barely remembered to catch hold of the reins. Then she yanked, hard enough that Shadowmere turned with an irritated neigh and skidded to a stop, dust billowing around the dark shadows of its hooves. Lyla hopped off, too, trusting Shadowmere to stay in one place as she listened to Saorat recite her whole 'Skyrim and her people' arresting spiel. Lyla snickered but covered with with a cough, knowing how sensitive the Khajiit's ears had been so far. She had heard variations of the exact same sentence in every city she traveled to. At this point, it was a running gag.

Lyla composed her self and crouched, moving as quick as she could without the assassin picking up her movement in the background. She eyed them both carefully, one good eye flicking back and forth between them to watch for any minute signs of attack. If Saorat did not act soon, the assassin would strike first. Lyla was not about to let that happen, so she began creeping forward, staying carefully out of both their lines of sight.

Lyla fought the urge to groan when Saorat's expression went from righteous fury to lawful mercy. Lyla watched the Khajiit's irises cool from the shade of flames to gold, and she knew that the guard would never knowingly let her kill the assassin. Lyla was doubtful that, even if the Khajiit couldn't stop her, Saorat would let her run free after she killed him.

Sighing in her mind, Lyla touched her fingertips to the ground for balance, drew her legs up underneath her, and leaped, grabbing a hold of the back of the assassin's robes as hastily as she could. The Slayer squawked, moving to stop her, but Lyla knew he couldn't outmatch her- Silencing was her specialty after all. She gripped him more firmly and swung her legs up to cross her ankles in front of his torso, trapping his arms in the process. She then flattened her hand, pressed her fingers together, and chopped him on the neck, right where Gabriella had taught her to target. She kept her arms ready for a chokehold if need be, because the jab didn't always work. Thankfully, it did, and the assassin slumped to the ground just as Lyla rolled off. It left him open for a clean, quick, quiet kill, Gabriella's favorite kind but not Lyla's, even if it worked especially well when her opponent was bigger than her, like he was.

She knelt on his back then leaned to reach into her boot, unsheathing a dagger from a hidden compartment and readying it in her grasp just as she felt him stir barely underneath her.
 
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Saorat stared slack-jawed as the woman suddenly sprang up behind the assassian and carried him to the ground without a sound. The Khajiit was agile, but she doubted she could have pulled off an attack like that, even if she’d known how to execute it. The tactic was similar to her own training, using the weight of a larger opponent to her advantage, but it was different from anything the soldiers had taught her or that she’d seen anywhere else. It was an impressive and clearly useful ambush, and Saorat was about to say so, when Lyla knelt over the unconscious figure and drew a knife.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”
She lunged forward and grabbed Lyla’s wrist, wide-eyed with shock. The furious look in the other’s eyes made her flinch, but she didn’t let go and returned the stare without blinking. Reaching down with her other hand, she felt of the fallen man’s pulse and was relieved to find it still going, though faint.
“He’s still alive…”
She glanced up at Lyla with a sharp look.
“And he’s going to stay that way… I have my orders; he is to be left alive if at all possible.”
Feeling that she may have been too harsh, she forced a smile and explained.
“Only if he poses an immediate and unavoidable threat should a criminal be taken by force. And, thanks to… whatever it was you did, he doesn’t pose a threat any more, if we move quickly. We’ll tie his wrists and lay him over the horse, and when we get back to the city, the Jarl will decide what to do with him.”

The man stirred a bit more and she glanced down with alarm, then looked at Lyla with serious eyes.
“He’s waking up! I have the cord to bind his hands, but it will take a moment. Can I trust you not to hurt him?”
 
Lyla clenched the dagger in her grasp, grinding her teeth as Saorat questioned her. She didn't bother to keep the fury out of her countenance, and barely noticed when the Khajiit flinched. Saorat was saying something about 'her orders' and taking the assassin by force or something, but Lyla's blood was rushing so loud that she missed most of it. She could hear the thump of her angry heart in her head, and could swear that her veins were throbbing with the force under Saorat's grasp.

She finally broke out of the fog of her own anger when Saorat turned her gaze in her direction. The Khajiit's questioned only proved to make Lyla more mad.

"What do you think I am?" Lyla hissed, jerking her arm away from Saorat. "A child to be reprimanded? This man is an assassin. He was sent to kill you. I was returning the favor because if I don't he's just going to try it again!" Lyla threw her hands in the air. "But whatever I guess! Have fun with your death wish! You can trust me to 'not hurt him,'" Lyla mocked. She scoffed, trudging over to the half-awake agent and sitting on his upper legs, making sure he was immobile for the Khajiit to bind him. Though Lyla was mad, she wasn't stupid. Saorat would no doubt throw a fit if Lyla went against her request, and the agent was rapidly regaining consciousness.

Lyla supposed a jail was better than nothing, if only to allow her a bit of distance between her and the Brotherhood for however long it took them to get the agent out of incarceration. Lyla contemplated for a moment killing the agent while he was in jail, but that would just take time that she could be using to get out of the city and out of the Brotherhood's radar. Saorat knelt down and behind her and Lyla figured the Khajiit was binding the man's hands. Lyla didn't care to look. The man began to wriggle underneath her, legs jerking as he attempted to throw her off, but Lyla bared down. She grabbed his ankles when they rose to kick her and resisted the urge to break them or pull them towards her to bend him in half. For now, she had to settle with the image it brought to mind.
 
Saorat pursed her lips as Lyla hissed at her and looked at the elf with an icy stare.
“You’re certainly acting like one... You can’t just go around killing people because you want to, there are laws! That would be no better than this assassian, judging for himself who should live or die. I don’t have the authority to just deal out death like that, and neither do you.”
Shaking with indignation, she turned away and closed her eyes as her face contorted into a grimace.
“I’ve had enough of death…” she muttered to herself, barely more than a whisper “No more…”

She glanced back at Lyla with something of a haunted look in her eyes, silently pleading for a moment, then shut her eyes again and gave her head a single firm shake. As Lyla moved to hold the man immobile, Saorat quickly pulled the cord from her pouch and fumbled with it until her shaking hands managed to tie the appropriate knots. She nodded her thanks to her companion and stood to her feet as the assassian struggled unsuccessfully against the binds, perhaps still trying to get to a weapon, perhaps only trying to escape with his life. Her brow creased as she looked at him, feeling a twinge of pity as his fear and dismay seeped into her own mind.

But at the memory of him slipping through the city streets and stalking his prey there, a frightful thought wormed its way into her mind. If Lyla hadn’t incapacitated him earlier, would her weakness and hesitation have allowed him to escape? Would she have allowed him another opportunity to hurt somebody? She should have been more decisive and taken action immediately. He wasn’t going to come quietly, he was certainly guilty… Right? But what if he wasn’t? What if there was a chance? There wasn’t a chance. She couldn’t take that chance, not with her people. Their safety was more important. This wasn’t the time for pity. It was time to move, and move now, before anything went wrong and he got away.

“Everything’s secure.” she told Lyla, her voice gaining a bit more determination as she began briskly moving again. “We can head back now. Thanks for your help. But… What’s that?”
A folded piece of paper had fallen to the ground, which Saorat carefully retrieved. Upon opening it, a familiar but strangely ominous aroma reached her nostrils. A fruity scent, but a little musky. A bit dark. She tilted her head to one side as she squinted at the unfamiliar script, trying to pick out enough of the words to understand their context. Suddenly, she gripped it tightly as her eyes widened and the color fled from her ears.
“That’s… impossible…” she whispered shakily. “How…”

The paper fell to the ground, revealing at the bottom of the paper the sender’s sigil, a pair of dark thorns twisting around a pair of daggers, and Saorat stared at it with disbelief as the origin of the familiar scent flooded her mind.
Black-briar mead.
 
Lyla knew she shouldn't have snapped. Sometimes it just... happened. The orphanage and the people there- they had made her bitter. The continued violence following her escape just fueled her rages. For Lyla, the world had been bathed in red for so long that she had forgotten what other colors looked like. Though she still thought she was correct in her opinion that the soldier was being dangerously naive, Saor didn't deserve to be yelled at.

Ugh, Lyla thought, squeezing her eyes shut against an impending headache. This is why I prefer working alone.

She glanced back at the downtrodden Khajiit, feeling the nasty prick of guilt in her rib cage. Luckily, Saor was looking better by the minute, nodding her thanks in Lyla's direction as the Bosmer kept the assassin secure. By the time Saor had finished up, her ears had perked back up and she had that purposeful light back in her eyes. Lyla silently sighed in relief, frustratingly glad that her companion didn't seem to hold grudges. She knew Saor was likely not going to give her many more chances. Saor had already argued back at her on several occasions- eventually the Khajiit might just leave.

Not that I care, Lyla told herself stubbornly.

Saor leaned down to pick up a parchment that had fallen on the ground. Lyla turned her head to get a better look with her good eye as the Khajiit read it. To her concern, Saor seemed... frightened? Whatever was written had caused a spark of recognition in her companion's countenance, quickly followed by horror. Lyla never knew that a Khajiit could look pale, but Saor did in that moment. The slip dropped from her trembling paws, falling once again onto the ground. The assassin grunted as Lyla kneed him before leaning towards Saor, snatching the paper that had caused her reaction.

Lyla figured rather than asking Saor what the matter was, she could just read for herself.

The paper, though vague and innocent-sounding out of context, was certainly a contract for Saor's life. Lyla's suspicions were confirmed. Someone had put a hit out on Saor. Lyla clenched her jaw and held the paper up to the light, looking for any hidden messages or erased writing. Unfortunately for Lyla, the note had been written by a steady hand and every word had been spelled correctly. The phraseology was elegant, as was the penmanship- all indicative of a well-studied and particular author. Lyla's first thought was a professor, perhaps one from the College of Winterhold due to the strange smell wafting from the material (strange smells often pointed to alchemy, in Lyla's experience), but the sigil threw her off.

"Thorns and daggers...?" Lyla muttered, running her finger over the ink. She licked her finger and wiped it over the sigil. Nothing smeared. "Hm. Expensive ink. And I recognize this symbol. Is this a royal house of some kind?" Lyla asked, turning back towards her frozen companion.
 
A dry, bitter laugh escaped Saorat’s throat and she spoke with derision.
“Hardly. Not a drop of noble blood among them all, despite all their wealth and high breeding. Ambition too, grasping at any power that comes within reach.”
It was dangerous, she knew. If Maven could find her here, she could probably also hear of her words. But what did it matter? There was clearly no going back, even if Saorat had wanted to, and although she might hold her tongue about the occupying army out of a grudging respect for her former enemies, she held nothing but disdain for her former employer.

But then a terrifying thought came to her mind. They were ambitious, and times had changed since Saorat had been in Riften. She didn’t hear much from the southern hold, but knew that there had been many changes in leadership after the end of the Second War. Some of the Jarls, especially the powerful ones, had kept their position if they agreed to certain terms, but others were replaced entirely. Was it possible that Jarl Law-giver, the Jarl of Saorat’s youth, had been one of those replaced? And if she was gone, then who might step into the power vacuum? A vision of Maven Black-briar sitting inside Mistveil Keep flashed in her eyes. Maven had always wanted to extend her reach into the other provinces but was limited in her ability to carry them out. What if she had that power now? And what if she’d turned her gaze on Eastmarch?

Alarmed, Saorat glanced at the letter and then at the bound assassin with wide eyes, trying to piece together what they might mean. Was this letter a warning that Maven was coming? Was that the reason for sending a poor assassin? Was she meant to find the letter? Was she playing into her plan already?
Her face contorted into a grimace and she pressed a paw into her eyes as she struggled to sort out the tangle. All she wanted was to be left alone, to protect her people and serve her Jarl, and not to be dragged across the world and involved in plots or schemes. Was that really too much to ask? But the world was full of dangers and she was to protect her people from them so that they could enjoy peace and plenty, even if she herself could not. And right now, one of those dangers might be coming here.

When she looked up at Lyla, the shock had left her eyes. In its place was the same sad but resolute expression that had become so familiar to her companions before every battle. It was the look of a reluctant fighter, picking up again the heavy arms that each time she’d hoped was her last. But until threats stopped coming, she would continue to meet them.
“We need to deliver this man to the Captain of the Guard… And I need to speak to the Jarl. Whatever happens, Maven Black-Briar will not touch this city...”
 
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