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Chapter Text

A misunderstanding, she'd told them. She wasn't trying to cross the border – she wasn't trying to go anywhere. She was just minding her own business, going for a walk in the woods.

They hadn't believed her. Worse, one of them had just finished a tour of duty in the Reach and recognised her clothes and weapons instantly.

They'd disarmed her, tied her hands and slung her on the back of the cart with the other prisoners and to add insult to injury, they all seemed to be Nords. Great, so not only did the occupiers have her, she was stuck sharing a cart with the hated Nords.

So here she was, Shevawna ap Carlona, lately of Lost Valley Redoubt until a little misunderstanding with Matriarch Sharreela, mighty warrior of the Forsworn (or at least not dead yet anyway), caught like a rat in a trap.

They'd shoved her in with two others, one of whom was dressed in rather nicer clothes than the rest and firmly gagged as well as bound. His eyes had widened at the sight of her armour, but not in lust, she could tell that. She got the feeling he'd seen service in the Reach too. Pity he'd survived.

They'd been about to leave when the camp guards had found one more. An Altmer, young, female, red hair, wearing a wizard's robes, being manhandled into the camp by the perimeter guards, who'd clearly found her sneaking in the woods.

“You can't do this to me!” she protested. “I'm an Aldmeri citizen, my mother's a Justiciar! I've done nothing wrong – ow!”

One of the guards had slapped her.

“Shut up, you elven bitch,” he snapped. “I don't give a shit if your mother's Queen of the Dominion. Thalmor killed my parents in the war and took my uncle for Talos worship a few years later, so you know what, I'm fine with one of their kids getting arrested. Now, seems to me these identity papers say your exit permit from the Dominion was to visit Cyrodiil and Cyrodiil only. Well, missy, you sure ain't in Cyrodiil no more. Shall we take you to the Embassy, see what they do to people obtaining exit visas under false pretences and then trying to skip out from under the Dominion's nose?”

“They're not false pretences, I got lost!” the Altmer cried, to the general amusement of the guards.

“Lost? You mean you crossed Pale Pass by mistake?” one guard snorted. “I don't think so. You're clearly on the run from something, so you can either let us execute you nice and quick, get taken back to the authorities in Cyrodiil where we can find out what you did there, or take your chances with the Thalmor, Liriel of Alinor.”

“Execute me?” Liriel howled, struggling. “No, no you can't, you can't do this to me, you can't-!”

One of the soldiers had grabbed her from behind and held a potion-soaked cloth to her face and Liriel of Alinor collapsed into unconsciousness. The guards took her things, consisting of a coin purse, alchemy ingredients, potions, a steel sword and matching dagger, and then some female guards carried her away and swapped her robes for rags. Hands tied, the unconscious elf was unceremoniously left in the corner of the cart. Poor girl.

Shevawna couldn't resist looking closer. She'd never seen an elf before, not close up. This one was gorgeous, long legs, flawless golden skin, scarlet hair curling down to her shoulders, tousled and grubby but still beautiful. Shevawna wondered if she had a husband or wife out there, if elves had empathy bonds between spouses like the Forsworn did. She hoped so and that they'd know there was a problem and rescue her, such a pretty young elf didn't deserve to be executed like a common criminal.

Then they were off, the cart clinging precipitously to the steep mountain road, and Liriel eventually stirred, looking confused until she remembered what had happened and looked like she was going to cry.

“Hey. Elf. You're finally awake. Trying to cross the border, were you?” That was the Nord next to her, Ralof. He'd tried to make conversation earlier, but Shevawna had ignored him. If she went to the Void this day, so be it, but damned if she was wasting her last hours on talking to a Nord. In the end he'd given up.

“Border?” Liriel said faintly. “Right, yes, the border. This isn't Cyrodiil any more, is it?”

“You're in Skyrim,” Ralof said, not unkindly. “Guess you didn't intend to be here, huh.”

Liriel shook her head, taking in her carriage mates.

“You could say that, yeah,” she whispered. Ralof actually seemed to find that funny.

“Nor did we, as you can probably tell from the bindings. They caught us near Darkwater Crossing. How they knew we were going to be there, I'll never know. I'm Ralof. I'm part of the Stormcloak army, fighting for Skyrim's freedom.”

Stormcloaks! Shevawna had heard of the Stormcloaks and the civil war. None of it really the Forsworn's fight, but at least the world now knew what the Reach had known for years – Ulfric Stormcloak would kill anyone to prove a point.

“Freedom from what?” Liriel asked, confused. “I don't really know much about Skyrim, I'm afraid.”

“I don't suppose you would,” Ralof snorted. “We're fighting for our freedom from the Empire. They won't let us worship Talos freely. Well, a few of us Nords are sick of the Empire and the elves – no offence – telling us what to do, so when Ulfric Stormcloak decided to do something about it, we followed him. Of course, the Empire didn't take kindly to that, so here we all are.”

“I see,” Liriel said, looking a little dubious. Shevawna just rolled her eyes at Nord hypocrisy. Here were the Reachmen who'd been banned from speaking their own language, worshipping their own gods, their land taken from them, their culture splintered and dying until Caradach the Scholar had started piecing it all back together, and the Nords called them savages and barbarians who needed civilising. Yet as soon as the Nords lost one teeny tiny god who definitely didn't deserve the worship, they were all up in arms and murdering their king. Typical Nords.

“What about you, are you with the Stormcloaks too? You're not dressed like them,” Liriel said, turning to her, and it was a good thing Liriel was pretty, with those pointed ears and deep golden slanted eyes, because Shevawna had half a mind to take offence at that.

“Stormcloak? Stormcloak?? Are you joking? I'm not even a Nord!” Shevawna cried. “I'm a Reachwoman, one of the true Reachwomen, and we have been fighting for our freedom for centuries, ever since the false god Emperor this lot think is so special conquered us in the first place!”

Low growl from the gagged nobleman and Ralof turned on her in fury.

“False god? Talos is a truer god than whatever you worship out there! And freedom to do what, eat outsiders and cavort with Hagravens?”

“Don't tempt me!” Shevawna hissed. She wasn't exactly a cannibal per se... but it was hard to grow crops in the Reach's thin soil, and hunting animals only fed so many people. The Hags ate outsider meat and when times were hard, feasting at Lady Namira's table was often the only choice. There was said to be a shrine to the Lady of Decay somewhere in the Reach, a secret sanctum led by a priestess gifted with her power who organised regular feasting. Shevawna had never been, but a few travellers from Karthspire spoke of an ancient ruin near their camp that no one ever went into under pain of death. Matriarch Mireen had been unable to divine the exact source of the power within, but she'd known something dangerous was lurking inside and ordered her people away from it. Matriarch Sharreela had suspected Mireen just wanted it for herself. Shevawna didn't know what the truth really was, but she knew better than to get involved in a feud between two Hagravens.

“Hagravens?” Liriel asked warily.

“Women who sold their souls for dark magic and are now part bird,” Ralof growled. “Filthy witches, and Forsworn like this one worship them.”

“They're our leaders,” Shevawna hissed. “They earn their power and their keep. Watch your tongue, Nord, when the Reach rises again, your people will bleed!”

“Quiet back there!” the driver shouted, and Shevawna stopped, keen not to draw the attention of the Empire's lackeys. Not that she feared them, but there were a lot more of them.

Liriel was just shaking her head, staring at the floor.

“Politics,” Liriel sighed. “And the main means of settling anything seems to be blood. Just marvellous.” She tilted her head at the Nord with the gag. “Who's he?”

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” Ralof said, his voice taking on a reverence a Forsworn would use only for a Matriarch... or their long-lost king, Madanach Silver-Hawk, now the King in Rags. “True High King of Skyrim.”

Liriel's eyes widened, and Shevawna didn't blame her. Ulfric Stormcloak, here? With them? Well, that pretty much sealed their fate, Shevawna had a feeling the Empire wouldn't mess about. But there was definitely an upside as far as she was concerned.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” Shevawna murmured. “The Bear of Markarth. And here you and I are, brother and sister in binds now. I thank Sithis for this, Nord. I thank the old gods for this day, that before I died I got to see you humbled. I hope they execute you first. When I get to the Void, I want to be able to tell everyone I got to see you die.”

Ulfric's eyes narrowed but there was nothing he could do. Ralof glared but there wasn't a lot he could do either.

“When we die, we'll go to Sovngarde,” he said, voice full of contempt. “Your precious Void is nothing compared to that.”

Shevawna ignored him, her eyes not leaving Ulfric. What was one Nord lackey compared to the Bear of Markarth finally hunted down? She just wished someone was here to take the story back home. Well, word would get back to Markarth soon enough and maybe it would even reach their king's ears in Cidhna Mine. Maybe. If Madanach was still alive in there and still strong enough to hear it.

The carriage turned a corner and arrived at a town, and there were more Imperial soldiers... and some elves in blue robes. Liriel's kin perhaps? Or perhaps not because her first reaction was to hunch down and try and look less conspicuous.

Then the end of the road. Shevawna was first out of the carriage, head held high. She'd die this day like a true Reachwoman, and never mind her older sister back in Lost Valley and the niece and nephew who'd never get to know their Auntie Vawna. Well, one day she'd see them all in the Void and tell them of the day she saw Ulfric Stormcloak die. She'd take her victories where she found them.

Ralof next to her, staring impassively into the distance, and Ulfric behind him, and Liriel behind her. The Altmer was whispering quietly under her breath.

“Aedra help me, Auriel save me, Mara have mercy, I don't want to die!” Liriel whispered, shaking all over and Shevawna's heart went out to the poor elf girl. Shevawna was far enough past her initiations to have killed an awful lot of outsiders in the three years she'd been an adult, and she didn't fear death... but Liriel seemed awfully young for all this. Shevawna had the nagging sensation the girl hadn't actually passed all her initiations. Too pretty to be untouched, but she'd probably never killed anyone.

“Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak,” the Nord Legionnaire intoned. Ulfric stepped forward, moving to where the prisoners were being herded, showing not even a flinch. He had courage, she'd give him that.

“Ralof of Riverwood,” and there was hesitation this time, and Shevawna didn't miss the looks he and Ralof gave each other. They definitely knew each other. Friends once, lovers? Enemies now though.

“Shefforner apca Lonna of Lost Valley.”

Shevawna shook her head as she followed the Nords. Stupid Admorin, couldn't even get a simple name like Shevawna right. Never mind. Not her problem for much longer. Just concentrate on watching Ulfric die, and then she could go to the Void a happy woman.

“This one's not on the list, Captain. What do we do with her?”

“I'm not?” That was Liriel sounding hopeful. “Oh good, can I go?”

“I don't care,” the captain snapped. “Send her to the block with the rest of them. She pals around with Stormcloaks, she can share their fate.”

“WHAT?” Liriel shouted. “I'm not a bloody Stormcloak, I'm not even a Nord!”

“I'm sorry,” the Legionnaire said, sounding like he meant it, and Liriel sobbed, squirming in the arms of two soldiers as they hauled her forward.

The invocation to the Eight Divines followed, Shevawna ignoring it completely, although the execution of one Stormcloak who apparently also didn't care for the Empire's Eight livened things up a bit. Then the captain called out for the elf to be next.

“No, you can't, please, I didn't do anything!” Liriel cried, stumbling as they forced her forward. Then it happened. Some strange cry echoing off the mountains, and Shevawna felt her spine prickle. That sounded like nothing she'd ever heard, no beast or bird, and it was loud. Something that loud was big and it sounded like it was airborne.

Liriel had looked up, hearing it too, and the strangest thing happened. Something in her seemed to change, some resolve come out of nowhere, and the frightened girl of a few moments before seemed to vanish. Shaking herself down and straightening up, Liriel shrugged off her guards and walked like a queen to the block, glaring dismissively at the captain who'd sent her to her fate.

“Fine, kill me if you want, human. You're just sending me home.”

Shevawna decided there and then that she liked this Liriel. Then, as Liriel was kneeling, head resting on the block, the sound came again, louder this time. Whatever it was was getting closer.

Then as the axe was poised to fall on Liriel's neck, a giant scaly lizard wheeled over the town and loosed the Void on them all.

~~~~~~~~~

Ralof had been first to make a break for it, shouting at his fellows to run, the gods wouldn't give them another chance. The Stormcloaks as one had fled for a nearby tower, and Liriel had staggered to her feet, gasped 'thank Auriel' and fled after them.

“Wait for me!” the young Forsworn prisoner cried, chasing after her. Liriel hadn't got her name, Sheffona, Shevawna, something like that? She seemed more than a little crazy in Liriel's eyes, but on the other hand, she'd not tried to kill her. Unlike the Empire, and really, was that how they treated innocent(ish) Aldmeri citizens round here?

Liriel should have listened to her father. Liriel should have stayed in Alinor, with her parents and brother and sister-in-law and her little sister Ancalime who'd been heartbroken to see her leave. As it was, she'd lost all her money, all her clothes, her weapons, everything. She couldn't even cast because her hands were tied. And now here she was, a fugitive running for her life in a town currently being torn apart by a dragon. A dragon! She hadn't even thought they were real.

When she got home, she was definitely complaining to the Dominion's Foreign Affairs Office about this. Dragons, for Auriel's sake! They'd warned her about humans, men up to no good, pickpockets, gambling and skooma. Not a word about bloody DRAGONS.

If fifty-foot flying fire-breathing lizards didn't merit a warning before leaving the Summerset Isles, Liriel didn't know what did.

But she'd made it into the tower, and while the dragon roared overhead, Liriel stood by awkwardly, watching Nord rebels see to their wounded and get their bonds off.

No one coming to help her get free, and no one coming to help the crazy Forsworn girl in the fur and feathers getup that covered nothing either, although Liriel honestly felt the woman had only herself to blame for that one.

“What was that, Jarl Ulfric?” Ralof was asking. “Was it really a dragon like in the legends?”

“Legends don't burn down villages,” Ulfric purred and Liriel felt her throat go dry at that voice. It practically radiated power and sent shivers down her spine. This was a very powerful and dangerous man, even if he was just a human. Hah. Just a human – there was very little just anything about this one. Liriel could believe people were willing to die in his service. She was almost tempted to offer her own services... but not for Talos. Humans didn't just randomly get made gods when they died, it didn't make sense. The Aedra were the ancestors of elves, not humans, so humans weren't gods, couldn't be. At least, that was what they told her back home, but then again they'd utterly failed to warn her Skyrim had dragons, so possibly the Thalmor's Ministry for Education wasn't as infallible as she'd been led to believe.

“Nord ones do,” Shevawna muttered in Liriel's ear, blue eyes glaring at Ulfric. Liriel really hoped there wasn't a repeat of the carriage incident. That was all she needed, some short Forsworn human running her mouth off and getting her in trouble. She had enough on her plate what with the dragon.

“We need to clear these rocks!” one of the soldiers cried from upstairs, kneeling before the rockfall blocking the way. Unfortunately, the dragon chose that moment to smash the wall open and breathe fire through the gap... and Shevawna chose that moment to nudge Liriel and make for the door.

“Liriel, with me!” the young Reachwoman hissed.

“What, why, are you insane?” Liriel hissed. “The dragon'll get us.”

“No it won't, it's over there, that's why we need to run now while it's busy!” Shevawna said cheerfully, darting out of the door.

Liriel was sure that made perfect sense in some world, but not in this one. So why she left the Nords to their own devices and ran after Shevawna, she couldn't rightly say. Maybe it was Ulfric and the unsettling effect he was having on her. Maybe it was all the Nords shooting filthy looks at her out of the corners of their eye. Or maybe she just had a weakness for short silver-haired lunatics in bizarre tribal clothing. Who could tell?

~~~~~~~~~~

Sadly for them both, when dragons were concerned, over there became over here very quickly, as was proved when the dragon soared over their heads, wheeling round and landing some distance away, blocking the way to the gate.

Happily for them, although rather less so for the injured villager lying in front of the dragon, it didn't seem to care about them. Shevawna dropped into a crouch in the shadow of a burning inn, Liriel following suit. Which meant they got a prime view as the dragon burned the man to death while his son looked on.

Then that legionnaire who'd been reading the list was there, cajoling the boy to safety as the dragon flew off and sending him off with another villager. And then the man who that villager had just called Hadvar turned round and looked straight at them both.

“Still alive, Altmer?” Hadvar called. “Follow me if you want to stay that way!”

“How did he see me??” Liriel shrieked, before turning to Shevawna. “More to the point, why didn't he see you?”

“I guess I'm just the sneaky type,” Shevawna grinned. “Come on, let's get after him. We can overpower him, get his sword, cut loose, and then they'll see who they chained up!”

“You are actually insane, aren't you,” Liriel whispered, but she followed anyway. Best to keep the crazy woman where she could see her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There followed a mad dash through the burning village, keeping to the shadows, trying not to lose sight of Hadvar, and then finally into the keep, the dragon still audible but at least it couldn't get them in here.

Liriel sank on to a bed, exhausted but knowing it wasn't over yet, not until they got out of this place. What she'd do then, she had no idea, but she couldn't think about that. Just survive, that was all.

Shevawna was crouching behind a pillar, eyes and ears on the door. Oh good, more lunacy.

“Shevawna, what are you doing?” Liriel sighed, not in the mood for this.

“Waiting,” Shevawna said cryptically. “Hadvar comes in, you distract him, I sneak up and knock him out. Then we cut our bonds off on his sword, kill him, loot the room, find you some proper clothes and run!”

“What?” Liriel could swear she must be hearing things. “Look, he was trying to help us, we can't just kill him!”

Shevawna just shrugged. “He's a Nord. He's in the army even, and he sent us to the block. He'll go to Sovngarde, Nords like that. We're doing him a favour. I'll make it quick.”

“No!” Liriel hissed, getting up as Hadvar came in, shutting the door behind him, a little singed but mostly fine... for now. Definitely time to intervene before things got out of hand and the little psychopath she'd been landed with sprung into action. “Er... Hadvar, is it? Thank you for getting us this far. I'm Liriel.”

“Charmed to meet you,” Hadvar said, fleeting smile crossing his face. “I could wish it was under better circumstances. Here, let me get those off you.”

He drew his dagger and cut Liriel's hands free. Gasp of shock from Shevawna, but the young Forsworn rallied.

“Now! He's only got a knife in his hand!”

“Shevawna!” Liriel growled, making her way over and dragging the girl out of hiding, about done with wrangling short, murderous lunatics for one day, no, a lifetime. “He's helping us. Show a bit of gratitude. Hold out your hands and he'll free you.”

Shevawna looked a bit mutinous but did as asked, gasping in shock as her bonds fell free.

“He set me free!” Shevawna said, stunned. “But... why did you do that, Nord? Why not kill me?”

Hadvar slowly reached a hand to his sword, looking a bit warily at Shevawna.

“Because there's a dragon attacking?” Hadvar said slowly. “Because there's no Legionnaires or Stormcloaks when that happens, just humans trying to survive? I could use the help to get out of here and I'm guessing you don't want to die yourself.”

Even in Shevawna's twisted mind, that logic did make a certain kind of sense, and the surprise of a Nord showing her some small kindness despite the fact she was standing there in tribal Forsworn gear and purple warpaint drawn across her nose and cheeks, needing only a pair of swords and the headgear to complete the effect, did throw her sufficiently to take her mind off killing Nords.

“Not yet,” Shevawna admitted, weighing the situation up in her mind. “All right, Nord. I won't kill you today. Come on, Liriel, we should find you some proper clothes and another sword.”

“Should I be worried?” Hadvar asked, his voice low as he weighed up the wisdom of bringing this unpredictable savage with them.

“Not any more, I think you won her over a bit,” Liriel said quietly. “I'll keep an eye on her, she seems to like me.”

“You do that,” Hadvar said with a shiver, turning his back while Liriel got changed.

In the end, Liriel managed to find a set of Imperial light armour that sort of fit her, and an iron sword. Not that she really knew what she was doing with one, but her magical studies would probably suffice to drop most opponents before they got too close.

Shevawna just picked up another sword, complaining about the quality and swearing that given a bit of wood, some leather strips and a good solid rock, she could knock something better up in under an hour, but she grudgingly admitted it was also better than nothing and she didn't have time.

So off they went, and if Shevawna had to be reminded to leave the ones in red alone, and kept leaping out of the shadows to tear into any Stormcloaks they encountered, things could have been worse. It turned out Shevawna knew a bit of Destruction magic and could have grown men crying on the floor clutching melted faces in seconds. It turned out Liriel's studies hadn't gone to waste and once she'd been able to acquire a set of mage robes off a dead Nord prisoner, she abandoned her sword in favour of Destruction spells of her own, not to mention raising a few corpses along the way. Hadvar just said a quiet prayer to the Eight and turned a blind eye to all the blood. He'd seen war but not like this, not with these two burning and carving their way to freedom, and if Liriel seemed the more well-balanced of the two, Hadvar was starting to wonder if either were sane.

The final straw was the bear towards the end of the passage. Hadvar had been all for sneaking past it, but Shevawna had looted a bow off a dead Stormcloak and some venom off those spiders Liriel had burned to death while screaming in the cave before, and shot the beast before Hadvar could even finish talking. Liriel's firebolts finished it off.

Finally, they emerged into sunlight, just in time to see the dragon flying off into the distance. Hadvar turned to the others, one Forsworn warrior and one child of the Thalmor, and wondered how he'd acquired such strange comrades in arms – but he couldn't fault their skills or their bravery.

“Listen, it's probably best if we split up,” Hadvar began. “But the Legion's always looking for capable fighters, and you two are certainly that. I don't think I'd have made it out without you today.”

Shevawna just snorted.

“Doubtless you would not. I'm not joining your Legion though. I go my own way.”

Also probably for the best considering. Liriel just shook her head, but she seemed grateful.

“Thank you for not executing us as enemies or taking us prisoner. You and that dragon between us probably saved us both.” She ignored Shevawna's snort of disbelief.

“Ah, you're welcome,” Hadvar said, blushing a little. “I'm not sure you should ever have been on that cart in the first place, and as for you, Shevawna, whatever crimes you've done aren't my business. Listen, as far as I'm concerned, you both earned a pardon today, and after word gets out about that dragon attack, I imagine you'll both be thought dead and burned beyond recognition. The world won't hear otherwise from me. And like I said, if you want to join up in Solitude, I'll happily vouch for you both. In the meantime, there's a village nearby, Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there, he might be able to put us up and sort you out with some supplies. Don't suppose they left you much of your own.”

“That is so kind, thank you,” Liriel said softly. “Yes, I will come to this Riverwood place, I really could use sleep and some food.”

Shevawna couldn't think of anything worse. A Nord village? Full of, well, Nords? She didn't think so. Besides, she was a daughter of the Reach, even though this wasn't home, she was skilled enough to survive. She had weapons now, she could kill a few animals, make a tent from the hides and throw together some proper weaponry, and she was sure she could survive in the woods for as long as it took.

“I'm not coming,” she told them. “But I do wish you well. I might not kill you after all, Nord. And as for you, Liriel... you ever find yourself round a fire with me, I'll happily share a drink with you.”

“Likewise!” Liriel laughed, although she looked sad to be seeing her go. “I mean, you're quite mad, but you're interesting, you know? Are you going back to the Reach?”

No, was the short answer to that. They'd kicked her out and she'd be lucky if she ever saw her family again. Whatever the future held, it looked like the fight for freedom was no longer hers.

“I don't know,” Shevawna said quietly. “Not sure where I'll be. Out in the wilds somewhere. But maybe we'll meet again.”

“Maybe,” Liriel agreed. “In the mean time, Eight guard you. Or whoever you believe in.”

“The old gods keep you,” Shevawna said, grinning as she gave Liriel a parting hug, much to the elf's surprise. As she disappeared into the woods, she wondered if she'd ever see Liriel again. That elf was the first outsider she'd ever met who she didn't want to kill.

Chapter Text

Night fell, and Shevawna wasted no time hunting down and skinning some animals. She didn't really have the tools for the job, but every Forsworn knew how to improvise. So it was she soon had a tent good to go, and some furs to sleep on, and a little campfire and some improvised stakes hammered round the outskirts of her camp. It wasn't home and the wolf's heads on spikes weren't the same as Spriggan heads and goat's heads, but it was the nearest she was going to get. She'd gathered some alchemy ingredients too, could probably get some sort of alchemy set up going, maybe sort herself out with some potions. She'd need some more arrows too, these Imperial ones wouldn't last long.

So her physical needs were met... but all the same, she was lonely. No one ever got lonely on a Forsworn camp. No one ever left you alone for long on a Forsworn camp. Certainly not when you had a niece and nephew, only toddlers really but they loved her to pieces. Kaie and Caradach ap Shella, named for the Reachman scholar from Markarth who'd singlehandedly rescued Reachman culture and re-introduced them to themselves over sixty years ago, and for the current hope of the Reach, Kaie Brenyeen, she who kept them united and strong while their king languished in jail.

Shevawna missed them both, cheeky little scamps in the making the pair of them, and she even missed her older sister's nagging. Their parents were long dead, killed in some skirmish or other, and Shella's husband had proved less than adequate in that regard, and had died in an unfortunate accident a year ago, falling to his death from Bard's Leap. Shella and Shevawna were all the other had, but now Shevawna had lost even that. She was just shy of her twentieth birthday and all alone, and a lone Forsworn was no Forsworn at all. But if she was no longer Forsworn, what was she? Not a criminal in her own lands any more – she wasn't even in her own lands. She could still be one, she supposed, could try and scourge the Nords on her own... but she wouldn't last long and she didn't fancy prison, still less execution. So the woods it was.

She didn't know how long she stayed out there, hunting and fishing and exploring, eventually finding a large freshwater lake and staying nearby, but it was a few days at least before she found the little cabin. A small place, homely, just a garden full of crops and herbs, and a chicken coop, tended by an old woman who turned out to be called Anise and offered Shevawna a few coins for some rabbits she'd caught.

“You're a long way from home, youngling,” Anise said shrewdly, casting an eye over Shevawna's armour. “Don't see many of your kind outside the Reach.”

“I had trouble,” Shevawna admitted. “A little disagreement with Matriarch Sharreela. It's going to be a while before I can go back there.”

“An argument with a Hagraven!” Anise laughed. “A dangerous enemy to have... but they make useful friends. You know a little magic, I trust.”

“A little, why?” Shevawna asked. She knew Stoneflesh, a bit of healing and the basic Destruction spells, but the fireballs and ice storms the Hags used were a bit beyond her. Alchemy and crafting now, she was very good indeed at those.

Anise turned to her with a smile not unlike a Hag's.

“Want to learn a little more?” Anise grinned. “I know a thing or two, and my sister knows a lot more. The girl I was hoping to make my apprentice has run off to Riften with her wretch of a lover, which leaves Moira and I with a little vacancy. Want to join us? I could do with someone to help out around here and run errands into Riverwood. I'm thinking you might be in need of somewhere to stay, yes? And if you do well at the magic... Moira knows the Rite of Ascension. She would teach you if you show promise. You could be a Matriarch yourself, go back and take Sharreela's holdings for your own.”

Ascension... it was a huge step, but if a Hag fought a Hag, the Forsworn didn't intervene, just followed the victor. She'd have Lost Valley as her own.

“Of course I would,” Shevawna gasped. “Why wouldn't I?”

She moved in that night. And so Shevawna learned Conjuration and deepened her knowledge of Destruction and Alteration, and learned healing too, and sharpened her alchemy and enchanting skills. She also borrowed some robes and went into Riverwood, looking like a simple Breton peasant, just Anise's niece visiting from High Rock. And if the Breton who ran the inn looked a bit suspicious, she didn't say anything. Liriel was long gone, off to Whiterun to warn the Jarl about dragons but who knew where she'd gone after that. Not back to Riverwood, that was for certain, although Lucan and Camilla Valerius seemed to think she was wonderful. Sven the bard seemed rather less thrilled, but Faendal the wood elf had actually travelled with her for a bit and seemed a little in awe. He didn't seem willing to speak of her though.

Shevawna ended up spending most of her time at the smithy, crafting herself a set of leather armour, all the better to pass for definitely-not-a-Forsworn-no-sir-no-how. Alvor gave her a few lessons, praised her skill and Shevawna looked about the little village and began to realise perhaps they weren't all bad. Not very bright perhaps, but these Nords didn't seem like monsters. Then again, they had their land as theirs, despite what the Stormcloaks might think. These Nords of Riverwood didn't look oppressed, not like the Reachmen were.

The days passed and Shevawna was content with her lot. Until the day it all fell apart.

It started normally enough. She'd gone to take some meat to sell to the Sleeping Giant and some furs and potions for the Riverwood Trader. She lingered at the smithy to chat to Alvor about possibly getting some new arrows crafted and if he knew how to craft elven gear. He'd already taught her how to work steel.

“Elven gear? Save that for the elves, Shevawna. Steel's better for the likes of us,” he'd laughed.

For Nords, perhaps. But Shevawna had learnt how to smile and nod and act like their friend by this point. So she did that and then she headed home.

She got there just in time to see the bandits attacking, one of them running Anise through, and as her old mentor collapsed and died, they turned on her.

“Well look here, looks like we got ourselves a hero!” laughed one.

“Or the entertainment,” another smirked, and Shevawna lost her temper, casting her mage armour.

“I... will... destroy you!” Shevawna howled, summoning a Flame Atronach and leaping into battle with her sword drawn.

Shevawna fought hard and she fought well – a nightblade of the Forsworn was no base prey and her sword was poisoned. But there were five of them and although three fell to her magic and sword, the remaining two overpowered her. She sank to the ground, weak and dizzy from blood loss. So this was it. The Void waiting for her. Not the most heroic death and dying in a foreign land wasn't what she'd have chosen. She'd just lost the Reach forever, but perhaps there'd be comfort in the Void.

The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was an arrow drop one bandit, and then a dark-haired Nord in steel armour leap in to finish off the other with a sweep of a greatsword that gleamed more brightly than steel usually did.

Saved by Nord warriors. Oh the humiliation. Shevawna closed her eyes and let the Void take her.

~~~~~~~~~

Aela knelt by the young Breton's side as Vilkas finished the last of the bandits off. She was in pretty bad shape, her leather armour having taken a knock and her mage armour wearing off too. Some sort of spellsword type from the look of it – a young one though. And yet there were calluses on her hands and old scars, so she'd seen her fair share of combat. And three dead bandits before she and Vilkas got here.

All very intriguing, but good for nothing if the girl died in front of her. Aela had a couple of healing potions left though. They'd do.

She patted the girl's cheek, holding a vial to her mouth.

“Come on, drink,” Aela urged, watching as the Breton managed to get some of it down her throat. “That's better, you can do it, come on.”

The girl drank some more before passing out again, but she looked healthier. By this point, Vilkas had finished cleaning his blade and come to see how she was doing.

“She alive?”

“Just about,” Aela said. “We can't leave her here though. We'll have to take her back to Riverwood. I think Delphine might help. She's usually got potions on hand and she's discreet. Anise was known to be a bit of an alchemist too, see if she's got anything in her cabin.”

Not an awful lot, but there were some esoteric alchemy ingredients, a few basic healing and magicka potions, sufficient clothes to shred to bind the Breton's wounds... and in a chest, a set of Forsworn armour and a stone sword and axe like the ones used by the feared Reach natives. Vilkas brought them out, face sombre.

“I think these might be our Breton's. Can't see Anise running around in this, can you?”

Aela's eyes widened as she saw the armour, then her eyes flicked back to the girl.

“Why is a Forsworn living on her own out here with Anise? Do you think she knew?”

“Probably,” said Vilkas. “Probably didn't care as long as the girl helped out with chores and didn't cause trouble. But we don't have that option. Aela, if she really is Forsworn, we can't just let her go. They're criminals, murderers.”

“Yes I know,” Aela said grimly. “But what do you suggest, Vilkas? Killing her in cold blood? Leaving her to die?”

“No, of course not!” Vilkas protested, wondering why Aela's preferred solutions were never the diplomatic or lawful ones. “But we can't let her go either. We could take her to the Jarl.”

“And say what?” Aela asked. “That we found her taking on some bandits that killed an old woman so obviously she must be a criminal? We don't even know if she actually lived here, if that stuff's even hers.”

“They might know her in Riverwood,” Vilkas said, considering his options. “But you're right, it's not evidence of guilt, even if she did live here. I guess we have no choice. We'll have to take her back to Jorrvaskr, ask Kodlak what he thinks.”

A subject Aela wouldn't want to bring up around their Harbinger – ever since he'd spent six months as a Forsworn prisoner, he'd never been the same around them, and that had been twenty years ago now. Always acted a little strange when the subject was brought up, going over Forsworn jobs as they came in, sometimes passing it back and saying to take care of it, other times taking it on himself, other times hanging on to it for months before giving the go ahead... and sometimes it was never spoken of again. Bad memories? Aela didn't know but bringing one to Jorrvaskr was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, she had to agree they didn't have a lot of choice. They could hardly leave the girl.

“All right,” Aela said. “But you're carrying her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shevawna didn't really remember a lot of the next few days. She vaguely remembered being in a bed, with Delphine kneeling by her side with some healing salves at the ready for her wounds that stung and burned.

She remembered being carried a lot through the open air, by some dark-haired man who smelt a bit wolfish but who didn't seem unkind. Then there was lying in a bright, airy room with chimes in the background, and a woman in a robe leaning over her, magic at her fingers and a voice that soothed Shevawna despite its Nordic accent. Then nothing for a long time... and when she woke up, she didn't know where she was, but it wasn't Anise's hut or the Sleeping Giant or anywhere in Riverwood. The walls were stone – stone! The redoubt had stonework, but nowhere inside, although she'd heard some of the others did. There were also the animal heads on the walls, and the weapons and banners with one of those big Nordic axes on them, the cupboards and chests and various trappings of a bedchamber, all of a nicer quality than Shevawna was used to, and she'd been tucked up in a large double bed, dressed in a simple fabric undershift.

She didn't know who'd taken her armour but she hoped it hadn't been the elderly Nord sitting across the room from her.

“Where am I?” Shevawna asked, rubbing her eyes in the candle-light. Far too dark in here, and a few seconds later, she'd cast a magelight. The Nord, dressed as he was in shiny steel armour with a wolf's head on the front, was clearly not a mage and winced at the casual display of magic, but didn't tell her off. “How'd I get here?”

“You're in Jorrvaskr, lass, home of the famous Companions of Ysgramor. I have the honour of being their Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. You had the good luck to be found by two of my Shield-Siblings, Aela and Vilkas. They brought you here and got you healed. You're a fortunate girl.” He was smiling and looking altogether too kind for someone whose order had attacked their camps on many occasions. Mostly warnings came from the First Matriarch, known to be a gifted seer, and the camp could be evacuated with just a few brave souls to remain behind, giving their lives to provide the illusion that the camp had been slaughtered. But not always.

Shevawna looked for weapons but saw none in reach. So she cast mage armour instead and summoned flame to her hands.

“What do you want with me?” Shevawna hissed. “Are you here to hurt me or did you want to know where more of our redoubts are? I'm telling you nothing!”

Sadness but no real surprise in the old man's eyes.

“No, lass, I'm not after information. Assistance, possibly, but I wouldn't ask you to betray your own people.” He nodded at a chest by the wall, sitting open and in it were her armour and weapons – her original armour from Lost Valley, and the weapons of stone and wood that she'd crafted since. “Those are yours, aren't they? You're one of the Forsworn.”

Shevawna hissed, raising her hands, fire spells good to go... but something held her back. There was something about him, something of the old magic about him, something different. And if he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd probably have done it by now, or handed her to the Jarl perhaps.

“So what if I am?” Shevawna growled. “Have you taken me prisoner? Must I carve my way to freedom? Or am I free to go?”

“You are no prisoner, lass,” Kodlak said, slowly raising his hands palm open... before closing his fingers and bringing his fists to his shoulders, like a Reachman would. “Only lay down your magic. I would talk with you.”

“What could an Admorin possibly have to say to me?” Shevawna asked, not bothering to hide her contempt... but she did lower her hands, extinguishing her magic. Someone had taught him the Forsworn's universally accepted, if not always honoured, gesture of non-hostility and peace. No outsiders were ever taught that, except maybe the Mor Gwadoreen once. Not for a long time though and Shevawna doubted he was one of them.

“Speak then,” Shevawna said, folding her arms. “I shall listen but if I do not like what I hear, I shall be leaving and I don't yet feel grateful enough to spare you all.”

“Siaran an yn Rhanhina-vira,” Kodlak chuckled and while the pronunciation wasn't great and the accent appalling, Shevawna got his meaning. Spoken like a true Reachwoman. Someone hadn't just taught him the peace gesture, someone had been teaching him the language.

“Who are you?” Shevawna whispered, now utterly confused. “How did you...? You're not one of us.”

“No,” Kodlak said, shaking his head. “But I've had dealings with your people and not all at the other end of a greatsword either. I don't worship your gods and I know you despise mine, but I do respect you. You're fearless and while you're not always honourable, you're ingenious. You hold your own with what you do have. So why don't we talk as dim-gelynai for a little while, and then you can decide if you want to further your acquaintance with us or not?”

Dim-gelynai. Not-enemies. The odd state of affairs where you didn't hate someone enough to kill them, but wouldn't greet them by a fire with a shot of jenever either. Not the most stable relationship but nothing about this situation was as Shevawna expected. She could at least hear him out.

“All right,” she said, inclining her head. “Speak. I promise not to kill you just yet.”

“A fair bargain,” Kodlak laughed. “Tell me, lass, what's your name?”

“Shevawna ap Carlona, of Lost Valley,” Shevawna told him. “Or I used to be. There was a little misunderstanding with the Matriarch, so I had to leave.”

“Shevawna ap Carlona,” Kodlak mused. “Well met, Shevawna. What manner of misunderstanding was it exactly?”

“Her favourite nephew decided he liked me. I thought he was an insufferable bore who loved only himself and told him so. He disagreed and tried to rape me, so I killed him,” Shevawna said, shrugging. “Matriarch Sharreela wasn't pleased so I had to leave. I wandered for a long time until I found Anise in her cabin. She was a kind woman. I liked her.”

“I imagine you did,” Kodlak said gently. “We took her to the Hall of the Dead for burial. I think the funeral's tomorrow, you can go if you like.”

“I might,” Shevawna said quietly, grieving for more than just her mentor. With Anise dead, her chance of Ascending in her own right was probably gone. Which left her alone, homeless unless she wanted to go back to the little shack, and with no idea what to do with her life now.

“I imagine you might also be at a bit of a loose end now,” Kodlak continued, almost like he'd read her mind. “I have a little job you'd be well suited for. Nothing too dangerous, just courier duty really. But there's coin in it, if you're willing.”

Coin? True Reachwomen didn't need coin. Shevawna could live off the land indefinitely. All the same, spell tomes cost money and there were some alchemy ingredients you just couldn't get yourself.

“Where am I going?” she asked. Kodlak grinned.

“A little background first. I have this friend, this regular correspondent who is difficult to reach by normal courier. We've known each other a long time, grown close over the years. Sometimes I visit, but I am getting old and can't make the journey like I used to. So we write, and I know someone in the city who will take the letters and pass them on, for a fee. However, it appears the coin I give him isn't enough. This man's got greedy and too curious for his own good. It seems he's been reading the contents and is threatening to expose me and her both unless I pay him extra. It's a connection I'd rather not get made public. It'd be very embarrassing, you see.”

Shevawna saw. Shevawna saw indeed.

“Honourless dog,” she said contemptuously. “Where is he and how do you wish him to die, fast or slow?”

“I don't wish him to – Shevawna, I'm not hiring you to kill him,” Kodlak said sternly. “I just need you to visit my friend and take a letter to her for me, bypassing him entirely. Once it's delivered, I imagine the problem will resolve itself in short order with neither you nor I having to do anything unfortunate. Now, are you willing to take this one or must I devise some pretext and go myself, ideally without the younglings insisting on providing an escort?”

“I'll go,” Shevawna said. Coin and an adventure and the chance to stitch up some cheating bastard who deserved it? She was in. “Who am I delivering this to?”

Kodlak took a deep breath, almost as if he felt a little guilty to admit it, and he definitely was lowering his voice.

“Matriarch Keirine of Hag's End,” he said quietly. It took a moment for Shevawna to process what she'd just heard. Matriarch Keirine. Of Hag's End. First Matriarch of the Forsworn, de facto spiritual leader of all true Reachfolk and along with Kaie Brenyeen, keeping the movement going in Madanach's absence. And Kodlak Whitemane wanted to send her a letter.

No wonder he'd had trouble finding a courier.

“Are you serious,” Shevawna whispered. “You're a friend of Matriarch Keirine?”

“Aye,” Kodlak said, nodding. “Don't look so surprised, lass. Did you never wonder why your camps got warning of Companion raids? Why your First Matriarch would occasionally intervene and claim stolen trinkets off you for her own use? I don't always agree with your methods or hers, but the work she's doing is of more value than a few petty mercenary jobs. So we've stayed our blades, and in return she's aided us in the past. We buy an awful lot of alchemical supplies from her – Forsworn medicine's some of the best anywhere. We've also been known to use her enchanting services – she's faster and better at it than that mage in Winterhold. Not that the others know this, of course, just as most of you probably don't know she's helping me. Now, are you willing to both help me, and help Keirine and I keep your people safe?”

Shevawna nodded, amazed beyond words. A secret alliance between the Forsworns' most powerful witch and the Harbinger of famed Nord mercenary order the Companions. No one could have predicted that, but Shevawna found she could live with it. If Matriarch Keirine thought it was a good idea then who was she to argue?

“Of course,” Shevawna said, finally feeling her sense of purpose return. “When do I leave?”

“Soon,” Kodlak promised, seeming to approve of her spirit. “In the mean time, you can stay here as one of us. I only have one request – don't wear your Forsworn furs in the city. It'd likely cause a misunderstanding. I'd hate for any misunderstandings, wouldn't you say, lass?”

Shevawna got his meaning and promised to wear her leather armour when outside Jorrvaskr.

“I wouldn't kill anyone here,” Shevawna also promised. “We only kill outsiders in our lands and enemies. You're not in our lands, I'm in yours. So I won't kill any of you.”

“I'm relieved to hear it,” Kodlak laughed. “Come on, get dressed and get up if you can. Time for you to meet the others.”

~~~~~~~~~

First stop was one of the other bedrooms, home to four warriors sitting around. One old man with receding grey hair, wearing the same armour as Kodlak. The dark-haired warrior who'd carved that bandit into pieces, not bad-looking, not as big and beefy as most Nords which was a refreshing change, in fact he'd be rather attractive... if it weren't for the attitude. Another man who looked just like him but burlier. And a very pretty red-haired woman in sensible armour that didn't hold the sweat against your body and actually let your skin breathe. Well at least someone in this heathen place knew how to dress properly.

Their names turned out to be Skjor, Vilkas, Farkas and Aela, and both Skjor and Vilkas looked very distrustful. Farkas didn't seem to care though and Aela was actually looking appreciative.

“So that's the new blood,” Skjor said, frowning. “She doesn't look like much, Kodlak. Do you know what you're doing?”

“Hey!” Shevawna snapped. “I'm a warrior of the Reach! I've killed plenty like you, Nord.”

“I doubt that,” Skjor snorted. “So you are a Forsworn. Kodlak, are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” said Kodlak firmly. “I need her help with something, she's agreed to give it and in return I've offered her Jorrvaskr's hospitality. So long as she doesn't abuse it, I've said she's welcome here.”

“But Master, the Forsworn slaughter anyone who crosses them!” Vilkas protested and that drew a growl from Kodlak.

“I am no one's master, Vilkas! And last I checked, Jorrvaskr had spare beds for those with a fire in their heart. Shevawna certainly has that. She and I have talked and it seems she's on an extended leave of absence from the Forsworn. So I've agreed to overlook any past crimes, as long as they're not repeated while she stays with us. Is that clear?” Kodlak glared at all of them, and for someone who disdained the title Master, he was doing a very good job of being the man in charge.

Vilkas sighed and eventually grunted assent, still glaring at Shevawna.

“Fine,” he growled. “But I still think you're making a mistake.” Getting up, he stalked out, brooding. Kodlak just shrugged and turned to the others.

“What about you, Skjor? Aela?” He seemed to ignore Farkas completely, which struck Shevawna as a bit mean. Skjor looked her over and to her surprise, nodded.

“If you vouch for her, sure. Those Forsworn are tough bastards to a man – or woman. As long as she doesn't forget where she is and try to kill any of us, I don't care what she does anywhere else.”

As if she could forget. But Skjor actually seemed to approve of her in some way. It was very strange but Shevawna could live with it.

Then Aela looked at her and if Skjor had seemed to maybe approve, Aela actually was smiling a little.

“I think so. We don't really do politics here, Shevawna. Well, some of us have views, as I'm sure you'll find out, but we don't get involved. We just go where the coin is. I tend to specialise in dealing with beasts anyway. I think you and I will work together rather well.”

“I – thank you,” Shevawna gasped, really not having expected that response. She could get to like this Aela. Nord she might be, but she seemed friendly and by Sithis, she was pretty. Really pretty and Shevawna realised she might just have a thing for red hair, an unusual sight on a Forsworn camp with its various shades of black, brown, silver and blonde.

“Good,” Kodlak breathed, relieved. “Glad that's settled. Well, I have a letter to write so I'll let you show Shevawna where the quarters are... yes?”

“He hasn't said anything,” Shevawna said, pointing at Farkas. “Doesn't he talk?”

“Ah,” Kodlak coughed. “Well, he does, yes, but...”

“It's all right,” Farkas said gruffly. “I'm not normally one for talking. Kodlak says you're honourable so that's fine by me. I don't need to know anything else.”

That was... rather sweet. Naive, hopelessly naïve... but sweet. Shevawna honestly hadn't ever thought she'd be thinking of a big, gruff Nord warrior as sweet. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him. She had a feeling he'd probably get into trouble on his own. Not that he couldn't handle trouble, but she wouldn't want him to get taken advantage of.

Not her type sexually, of course – he was a bit too, well, big. But she had a feeling she could be friends with this one. If he wasn't tearing a Forsworn camp apart, that is.

“That's all right then,” Shevawna said, nodding. “So, er, there are living quarters, you said?”

“I'll give her the tour,” Aela said without further ado, and the little group broke up, Kodlak heading back to his room, Skjor heading upstairs and Farkas going into one of the other rooms off the main corridor.

“So, sister-to-be,” Aela said with a smile that contained only a hint of predatoriness and yet still made Shevawna shiver. “Let me show you around.”

Oh you can show me anywhere you like. Shevawna bit her lip and followed Aela out. This could only lead to trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

First was the sleeping room. An entire room for sleeping in. With beds everywhere. While Shevawna was used to not having a lot of privacy, the idea of everyone sleeping without the veneer of a tent flap in between you and the rest of the camp was a bit... unsettling.

The mess was also less than pleasing, with things everywhere and a very loose attitude to personal possessions, it looked like. Forsworn held most things on a camp in common, but even so you'd have some things of your own and woe betide anyone who took another Forsworn's stuff without asking.

Other than clothes and weapons, judging from the mess and lack of a personal chest each, the Companions didn't seem to have much of a concept of other people's stuff. Shevawna made a mental note to find somewhere to stash her own things. Somewhere this lot wouldn't pinch them.

There was Tilma, an old lady who cleaned up after everyone and cooked, which was a little mean considering she was one of the oldest there. Back home, the elders (and by Forsworn standards, thirty was getting on a bit and forty was practically ancient) rarely did anything they couldn't persuade a younger member of the camp to do for them.

There was Ria, from some place called Cyrodiil, one of the big countries to the south, but who'd grown up on tales of adventure and Ysgramor from her Nord stepfather and come north to find out more. Enthusiastic, clearly up for a good bloodletting, and Not A Nord. Shevawna decided she was all right.

Then Torvar, clearly either not all there or off his face on something, probably the latter. Still, he seemed all right, even if he did keep squinting at her and musing he was sure he'd killed someone who looked like her a while back.

Njada turned out to be Definitely A Nord, who looked her over in disgust, said “they let you in?? Must be desperate,” and walked off.

“Sorry about her,” Aela said sheepishly. “She's always like that with newcomers. Takes a while to warm up to people.”

Shevawna had a feeling she'd have died and been reborn three times before Njada ever warmed up to her.

Then Athis who was not only Not A Nord but an elf. A real one! An actual elf!

“You're an elf!” Shevawna squealed. “With the ears! And the face, oh my god, pointy face and your eyes, my goodness, your eyes!”

“Yes, I'm an elf,” Athis sighed wearily. “Dunmer if you want to be specific. With a face, eyes and ears, most of us have them. And if you don't pull yourself together, yours may end up getting rearranged. Sera.”

Shevawna barely heard the threat of violence in amongst the general haze of real elf! She'd hardly met any before, other than Liriel, and after escaping a dragon together, Liriel was less like an elf by the end of it and more like a real person. Still, Shevawna recollected where she was and pulled herself together. Just because slanted eyes, thin faces and pointed ears were considered signs of beauty among the Reachfolk, meaning elves qualified by default as stunning, didn't mean she should harass the poor man.

“I'm very sorry, sirrah Athis,” she said quietly. “I don't see many elves back home, you see.”

Athis rolled his eyes. “Could tell that. Still, better than the usual reaction I get from humans.”

Upstairs, and the main hall seemed to be tables around a central fire, another new one on Shevawna – tables that was, the concept of a fire was not lost on her. Then a room off to one side that was the private quarters of one Vignar Grey-Mane, seen muttering darkly about the Aldmeri Dominion, and his servant Brill.

“Stormcloak supporters?” Shevawna asked, one hand going to her axe.

“Aye, that they are,” Aela admitted. “But as long as you don't ask Vignar about it, you'll be all right. He's an old man, he retired his blade some time ago.”

Shevawna made a mental note to keep her distance. Retired he might be but he didn't look incapable.

Then the training yard with straw dummies and targets – Shevawna would have to keep them in mind for when she wanted practice against enemies who let you hit them and didn't fight back. Fortunately, seeing Ria and Vilkas in a training session gave her a bit of hope she might get some practice in against a live opponent. And if she drew blood in the process, that was all too the good. Especially if it came from Vilkas, the stubborn son-of-a-bitch. Just because he had cheekbones and smouldering eyes didn't mean a good thrashing wouldn't do him good.

Shevawna definitely didn't think much of Nords with smouldering eyes, even if he had apparently carried her back here from Riverwood.

And then there was the Skyforge. A vast eagle looming over it, perched on a crag of rock that the entire complex seemed to be built around, it looked like an ordinary forge... but Shevawna could feel the magic. Old and powerful, fire like the sun, Shevawna could feel it throbbing from a good twenty feet away. And underneath it, a darker source of energy, night energy, intertwining with the Skyforge's fire, and in the middle... Sithis yes, fire and ice on each side and where they met, magic danced and the world was born.

Shevawna felt dizzy at the very thought.

“Where did it come from?” Shevawna whispered, staring up at it.

“No one knows,” Aela answered, leading her up the stairs. “Some say the gods built it. Others the dragons. Some say it was always here since the world began. All we know is it was here when the first Companions came by, looking for somewhere to settle. They found the Skyforge and used the remaining timbers of their ship to build Jorrvaskr, and the city grew up around them. It's always been worked by a member of Clan Grey-Mane. And right now that would be Eorlund. Hey, Eorlund! Is my shield ready yet?”

Eorlund turned out to be a white-haired Nord who must be well over forty. Old as a Hag, maybe. Shevawna wasn't terribly well-versed in what happened as someone got old. She'd not seen it happen very often.

“It's here, Aela. I was going to bring it to you earlier but I've been kept busy enough up here, and with Fralia how she is...”

“I know,” Aela said softly, taking the shield off him. “Thank you. How is she doing?”

Eorlund shrugged, clearly not a man at ease with words, not ones that weren't to do with smithcraft anyway.

“She has good and bad days. Sometimes she's almost her old self, but others...” He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. He noticed her and nodded in her direction, seeming to become a little cooler. “Who's this and why's she walking around half-naked and covered in feathers?”

Before Shevawna could protest that these were the traditional clothes of her people, Aela stopped her.

“This is Shevawna. She's just joined us. She's from an obscure tribe some distance away and they all dress like that. Shevawna, this is Eorlund Grey-Mane. You need any smithing doing, he's your man.”

“I can do my own smithing,” Shevawna said proudly, and then she recalled that if she upset him he'd probably ban her from coming within ten feet of the forge and then she'd never get to listen to it sing while she worked it. “But I'm probably not as good as you, and I'm always willing to learn!” she added brightly. “It's a really pretty forge, let me know if you need an assistant!”

Eorlund just grunted but something in his attitude seemed pleased or at least less hostile.

“About time Kodlak found someone who knows her way round a forge,” Eorlund growled. “All right, you want to help or do your own work, you can as long as you don't make a mess or get underfoot.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Shevawna cried, some part of her conveniently overlooking the fact she was a Forsworn girl in the middle of the Nord heartland. But the Skyforge wasn't Nordic. It had a magic as old as time, older than Nords, from a time before this land was Skyrim. She'd do whatever it took to get close to it.

Chapter Text

Anise was buried the next day, and a few days after that, Shevawna left for Hag's End, clutching the map Kodlak had given her, her Forsworn gear packed away in her pack, ready for when she got off road. So she made her way out into the tundra, through the little village called Rorikstead and then north.

There were bandits, beasts, a few patrols (including the golden-skinned Thalmor) but nothing Shevawna couldn't handle. Then it was time to slip off-road, darting through mountain trails until she saw her first juniper tree and realised she was home. A quick change later and she was a Forsworn again, trekking through the country like she was born to it. She'd never been this far north before and it was cooler than the south of the Reach, but it still looked familiar and it was still home. She even saw the odd Forsworn band, exchanging brief words about the terrain ahead (“careful, there are dragons around if you go north” “thanks, there's a camp of Stormcloaks back that way, I didn't want to take them on alone but...” “really? Well, don't trouble yourself over them, sister, we'll see they're not there when you come back!”).

Then the temperature dropped as the mountains of the far north loomed up, snow on their peaks, and Shevawna knew she was there. The redoubt's entrance was what seemed to be a small Nord ruin built into the mountain... but Shevawna knew it was far more than it seemed. Forsworn warriors on watch saw her coming and, on seeing the non-hostility gesture, nodded her past. At the top of the steps, a Forsworn shaman was taking to another woman, both surrounded by more soldiers than Shevawna had expected – and one of them had stepped forward to intercept.

“Hey you. You don't live here. State your name and business, ortallan.”

Outsider?? Her? She was as Forsworn as they were!

“Shevawna ap Carlona. I've got a message for your Matriarch.” Shevawna folded her arms, hoping they didn't think to ask from who, or what camp she came from.

“Yeah? What camp is it from?” the shaman asked, glaring at her. “We're not expecting anyone from the south for another week and you're not one of the usual couriers.”

“I... um...” Shevawna backed off, seeing the soldiers reach for weapons and cast armour, and then the other woman's voice rang out.

“Wait. I know that name.” All weapons were sheathed as a woman with ash-coloured hair, braided at her temples but shaved at the sides into a crest, stepped forward. Dressed like any other Forsworn, but she had penetrating silver eyes outlined in black warpaint and a cruel little smile on her face, and everyone else had shrunk back. Shevawna could feel power crackling out of her and then she realised she'd seen this woman before... but not to talk to. Gods no, no one made idle conversation with this one without a good reason. And Kaie Brenyeen ap Madanach knew her name.

“You're a Lost Valley girl, aren't you?” Kaie said, looking curious. “I was just there the other week. Heard about you. You had to leave after a little altercation.”

Weapons were raised again but Kaie waved them all away. “Don't worry. I don't blame you,” Kaie laughed. “I'd have done the same. Sharreela should have taught him better. You're not going to be able to go back for a while, but your sister will be relieved to know you survived. So, Shevawna, where've you been? Another camp? Markarth?”

“Not likely,” Shevawna said, thinking of the bounty on her head in Markarth. “I've been living wild, mostly. But I made a friend who had a request to take a letter to Matriarch Keirine so here I am...” She faltered, voice trailing off under Kaie's steely gaze.

“This friend. Who is it?” Kaie said, frowning at her. “And this letter, what's in it?”

“Keirine's eyes only,” Shevawna began, but Kaie had plucked it from her hands, feeling it.

“Nothing suspicious in here,” Kaie murmured. “No sign of any poison or magic. Not even a rune-seal, although...” She tapped the back of the envelope. “A wolf's head with a K in the jaws, drawn on the back. Like a rune-seal, if the sender didn't know how to cast one...” She frowned at Shevawna. “Search her,” she ordered her soldiers while she fanned herself with the envelope.

Shevawna meekly submitted as one of the women patted her down while the other went through her pack.

“Set of leather armour, a few septims and potions, otherwise nothing suspicious,” one finally reported back to Kaie.

“Septims and leather armour,” Kaie murmured, still looking suspicious. “You've been travelling outside the Reach. Why else have a spare set of clothes to avoid attention? Come, bring her. Let's see what our Matriarch thinks of her.”

The ranks of soldiers fell in behind her, all keeping a close eye on her. Swallowing and feeling more than a little nervous, Shevawna had no choice but to follow in Kaie's footsteps.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kaie led them through the Redoubt's winding passages, everyone saluting or disappearing as Kaie passed, then out into the Vale, a cold snow-bound mountain valley with a Nord ruin hiding at the end. Further up and into the stonework, and Hag's End itself loomed up ahead.

Keirine herself was sitting at a long table in the main room, going over some paperwork, trimmed claws on her right hand letting her hold a quill, not something Shevawna had ever seen Sharreela do. Keirine was cleaner too, silver hair rather than black, cleaned and brushed, and jet black feathers on her back, arms and hips gleaming in the firelight.

“Auntie!” Kaie called as she entered the room. The various witches in attendance took one look and made themselves scarce, all recognising Kaie. Keirine glanced up, sharp Hag features a little more human than Sharreela's but all the more frightening for that.

“Nieceling!” Keirine laughed. “Nice of you to drop by, I was about to write to you. And who's this? A new friend?”

“Not quite, but she's one of us,” Kaie said, dismissing the guards as she took the seat opposite Keirine. “Says she's got a message. From a friend of yours. Your eyes only.” She produced the letter and pushed it over the table, much to Keirine's alarm.

“Did you read this??” It became vastly apparent to Shevawna in that instant that Keirine was as keen as Kodlak for their correspondence to remain secret. Which lessened her fear of the First Matriarch considerably.

“Of course not,” Kaie said, but she seemed curious. “What's in it?”

“Never you mind,” Keirine snapped, slipping the envelope into a pocket before getting up and gliding over to Shevawna, actually smiling.

“Well now. My friend's found a messenger of his own. That's unexpected but pleasing. Ainta, yeena.”

Your name, girl. Slipping into the Reach-Tongue deliberately to ensure she really was one of them.

“Shevawna ap Carlona, formerly of Lost Valley,” Shevawna admitted, wondering if Keirine had heard of her too. Apparently so, for the old Hag laughed.

“Formerly is the word. Banned from the camp due to murdering someone who from what I hear deserved it anyway. Your former Matriarch's after your blood, young one.”

“Are you going to tell her where I am?” Shevawna whispered. Keirine shook her head.

“No, why should I? Ironically, her attitude has sent you to somewhere you're of personal value to me. It's in no one's interests for you to come to harm, and definitely in my interests to have one of our own positioned out there. Of course, you won't be able to go back to Lost Valley, but you'll be welcome here and should you need to visit anywhere else in the Reach, just tell them your name's Mirela ap Cairine of Hag's End and that you work for me. That should get you anywhere you need to be.”

“You're letting her use that name?” Kaie said, incredulous, and Shevawna vaguely recalled Caradach the Scholar having married a woman of the Sundered Towers called Mirela.

“Yes,” Keirine said calmly. “Shevawna's going to be a regular visitor here in my service, I believe. So she gets a suitable name. Now, Shevawna cariad, you've come a long way and must be tired. You go make yourself at home out in the Redoubt, and we've got a spare bed in the quarters there when you want to go to bed. Don't worry about any trouble, you were brought in here and were allowed to leave, that'll be all the authority you need. Rest, eat, sleep, enjoy yourself and come see me in the morning, hmm?”

Dazed, Shevawna nodded. She'd just won the favour of the First Matriarch of the Forsworn. Just for delivering a letter. As she made her way out in search of food, she could have danced with glee. Looked like she had a place in the Forsworn yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next morning, Shevawna made her way back into Hag's End, feeling fed, rested, refreshed and very well taken care of indeed thanks to a young man called Kieran who'd kept her company the night before. He'd made her breakfast and cheerfully told her if she was ever in camp again and at a loose end to come find him.

Shevawna had made a mental note to do that very thing. It had been a while since she'd last had anyone in her bed. She'd missed it.

Now here she was feeling the post-sex euphoria fading as she made her way into Hag's End. One of the witches had directed her upstairs to Keirine's little lecture hall. Shevawna could hear Keirine talking with Kaie as she approached.

“You must tell him that,” Keirine was saying insistently. “An outsider will come, gold to his silver, a daughter of Sithis but lost in darkness despite having fire from the gods. He has to listen to her, has to go with her. The stars are aligned, child! If he doesn't leave that place now, he never will! He needs to bring his plans forward.”

“He was going to do it on Eithne's deathday,” Kaie said wearily. “Is that soon enough for you, auntie?”

“No!” Keirine snapped. “Ah, Void it, I can't see it clearly. Just her, the woman. He needs to listen to her and help her. We have her, it all just might work out. She sides against us, we lose everything. Soon, Kaie. It'll be soon.”

“I'll tell him,” Kaie promised. “But you know what he's like. You have to let him think it's his idea.”

“Bah,” Keirine growled. “I know all too well, stubborn man. But we shall see. He can sense power, I'm sure he'll at least realise she's special. Go on, get to Markarth. He'll need you.”

“Doesn't he always,” Kaie sighed. “All right, I'm going. See you soon, auntie.”

Footsteps and Shevawna had the wit to slip backwards and look as if she'd only just approached the stairs, having heard nothing. Kaie emerged, nodding thoughtfully as she passed.

“Morning, Shevawna. She's waiting for you. Old gods keep you,” Kaie said, nodding up to Keirine's room. Shevawna thanked her and entered, not needing telling to close the door behind her.

“Shevawna,” Keirine grinned, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the lamplight. “Welcome. I trust you had a good evening?”

“Oh, absolutely Matriarch,” Shevawna said without thinking, thoughts of Kieran going down on her still fresh in her mind, and Keirine cackled, clearly guessing exactly how her evening had gone.

“Glad to hear it, my dear,” Keirine laughed. “Always make the most of your youth, I never really did and I still regret it a little. But old age has brought its own rewards.” She produced a letter, sealing it with her own rune-seal, a letter K on a raven wearing a torc, and handed it to Shevawna.

“There you are. A response for our friend. Shorter than I would have liked, but it will have to do for now. So, girl. It seems you're going to be acting as courier for us – well, for him anyway. I can make my own arrangements for getting in touch with him if I wish.”

“Matriarch?” Shevawna said, confused. “I thought you said I was working for you...”

“You are, girl, you are,” Keirine purred. “And I need you based at Jorrvaskr, living as a Companion and doing whatever Kodlak needs you to. And when he needs you to bring word to me, you'll do that. For now, that's all you need to know – it's possible he'll tell you more. Well, Shevawna, can you do this?”

Shevawna nodded, still not sure she understood all this, but you didn't say no to a Matriarch, and definitely not the First Matriarch. The Hag hierarchy was very loosely defined and individual Hags would rise or fall in power, but there was very definitely a First and Keirine was very definitely it.... and not just because of her brother either. In fact, there were those who said that Madanach owed a great chunk of his rise to power to his powerful Hag sister. Shevawna was far too young to know anything about that, but she knew enough to know Keirine was not a woman you argued with.

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shevawna whispered, and Keirine smiled, flashing jagged teeth at her.

“Good,” Keirine purred. “Now go. And don't worry. Just settle in at Jorrvaskr, do what they tell you and try not to kill anyone there. They're not complete monsters, you know, Nords. They're not very bright on the whole but most of them aren't so bad.”

Shevawna nodded, surprised to hear a Matriarch say something like that – but Keirine was clearly a good deal brighter than most Hagravens, and Shevawna had to agree that they weren't all bad. Kodlak had treated her well, Farkas had seemed nice, Eorlund didn't seem to care about anything other than his smithing, and as for Aela... Best not to think too long about that or she'd never get anything done. Best not to think too long on Vilkas either, because he was smart. Too smart. Reachman smart and not too much taller than she was and...

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shevawna said, hoping Keirine hadn't picked up on her distraction.

“You have no idea what I just said to you, do you?” Keirine said, shaking her head. “Was it that Kieran, by any chance? Of course it was, he will flirt with anyone. Never mind. Go on, child. Go back to Whiterun. I'll reach you when I have need of you.”

“I will. Thank you, Matriarch,” Shevawna promised, taking her leave. So here she was, still a Forsworn, in service to the fiercest Matriarch of them all, and now the first ever Forsworn Companion of Jorrvaskr.

Wonders would never cease.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The journey back to Whiterun went smoothly enough, apart from the inconvenience of having to change clothes and equip a steel sword before actually approaching the city. The guards barely looked twice at her, apart from one mentioning she'd been seen in the company of the Companions.

“That's a honourable path you're on, friend,” he said, nodding as she passed, and Shevawna had just smiled and grinned. Yes, let them continue thinking she was honourable. They didn't need to know that no Forsworn ever bothered with niceties like fighting fair.

Then back to Jorrvaskr, and that was when things went wrong. First Skjor glancing up, seeming to sniff her and then shaking his head, tutting. Then Farkas looking up, confused and then frowning at her. Ria seemed pleased to see her, greeting her cheerfully, while Torvar looked up, tried to focus, failed and just said “hey! You're that one I didn't kill! Welcome back!”

“Hello Torvar,” Shevawna said with a smile, remembering Keirine's words, and it really was true, once you thought of Nords as largely like overdeveloped children, they seemed a lot less dangerous. “I promise not to kill you yet. Here, have a mead.” She'd taken it off a dead Skooma dealer she'd encountered on the road – well, he'd been dead after she'd finished with him anyway. Torvar didn't seem to care, eyes lighting up as he took it off her.

“Bless you, you are a sweet and loving woman,” Torvar slurred, eyes crossing as he uncorked the bottle. “Here's to your health, my very good friend.”

Keirine had definitely been right about Nords. Shevawna smiled, gave him a thumbs up and headed for the quarters. Njada was pointedly ignoring her, but Athis greeted her cordially enough. Then Aela emerged from the courtyard and walked over with a smile which turned into a frown as she approached. But she didn't say anything, and Shevawna wondered what she'd done. Then Vilkas exited the quarters and it all promptly went to the Void.

He saw her, stopped in his tracks, sniffed, strode over and there was no doubt now, he'd definitely just sniffed her on one side, and then again on the other... and then he actually snarled, grabbing the front of her armour.

“How dare you??” Vilkas shouted. “How dare you walk into this place, a fellowship of honourable warriors, smelling like something out of some cathouse??”

“Get off me, Nord,” Shevawna shouted, hiding her fear behind a defiant front. Vilkas wasn't stupid, not at all, and even though he wasn't built like his brother, he was still strong, as evidenced by her dangling an inch off the floor while he roared right into her face.

“WHO WAS HE?” Vilkas screamed. “Was it someone in the city? One of the guards? Are you whoring yourself round all of Whiterun??”

He... what? What had he just called her? She knew the words, all the Forsworn did, hateful words used by outsiders to try and shame them for being who they were, and the women got the worst of it, as always... but no one had ever used them on her. Until now, and suddenly Shevawna felt actually frightened. But damned if she was showing it.

She raised her hands and placed them just so on his metal armour, and lightning flicked out into the metal. Vilkas screamed, in pain this time as the electricity caused him to reflexively drop her and stagger back, and Shevawna hastily cast mage armour and backed off, drawing a Forsworn sword from her pack... but by this time, the others had intervened, Skjor and Farkas dragging Vilkas away while Skjor shouted at him that that was enough, while Ria was at her side and Aela had positioned herself between Shevawna and Vilkas.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Shevawna, that's enough!” Aela cried, looking shocked. “We don't kill our Shield-Siblings over a dispute!”

“Did you hear what he accused me of?” Shevawna cried, feeling the blood starting to return to her cheeks. “I didn't do anything wrong and he just went crazy! As if it's any of his business who I sleep with.”

“She's right, Aela!” Ria put in. “That was a horrible way to treat someone! And he looked like he was really going to hurt her.”

Athis had also joined them, and now he was sniffing her too.

“Stop it,” Shevawna threatened. “I don't need every man in the place sticking their nose in here.”

“Just wanted to see if he was right,” said Athis, shrugging. “But you smell like you always did. Like juniper and n'wah.”

“Thanks,” said Shevawna tersely. Really, no one had told her real elves were quite this annoying, but he was backing off, hands raised and grinning.

Then everyone fell quiet as footsteps thudded up the stairs and Kodlak himself emerged, steely eyes surveying the scene.

“What happened?” he asked wearily.

As one, the entire hall started talking and Kodlak winced, raising his hands and calling for calm.

“One at a time – wait a moment.” He saw the smoke rising off Vilkas's armour and his eyes widened as he turned back to Shevawna.

“Did you use Destruction magic on him??”

“He started it,” Shevawna said defensively. A defence that had never really gone down well with authority figures in the past and probably wasn't going to work now. Kodlak was shaking his head as he approached, then he stopped, nose wrinkling and then he was sniffing the air near her too.

“All right, that's it, you people have got to stop doing that or...!” Shevawna protested.

“I apologise,” Kodlak said quietly, taking a step back and turning to Aela. “Aela, what happened? Shevawna's been back five minutes and Vilkas picks a fight with her, why? Were there words exchanged?”

“No, Harbinger,” Aela sighed. “He took one look at her and started ranting about her dishonouring Jorrvaskr by whoring around. Then he grabbed her armour and I imagine that was when Shevawna panicked and cast magic on him to get him away from her.”

Kodlak nodded and to Shevawna's utter surprise, he actually looked sympathetic.

“Aye, I imagine she did,” he said quietly, then he turned to Vilkas, who at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“Harbinger, I'm sorry,” Vilkas began. “I lost control, I know it was wrong, I just-”

“Not me you should be apologising to, is it?” Kodlak snapped, arms folded as he radiated disapproval. “Is she your lover – no, actually, I'm not sure that matters. For the love of Talos, man, we do not treat even our foes like that. Family and honour, Vilkas, that's how you were raised. Or at least I thought that's how we raised you. Maybe I was wrong.”

“I'm sorry,” Vilkas whispered, utterly cowed, and Shevawna felt the relief prickling down her spine as she realised it just might be all right after all – in fact she could get very used to seeing Vilkas cowed and humiliated and begging for mercy and... By Sithis, she really needed to get a grip.

“I'm relieved to hear it,” Kodlak growled. “Now apologise to Shevawna.”

“I – what?” Vilkas said nervously and Kodlak narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer.

“Apologise. To. Shevawna.”

Vilkas swallowed and turned to her, eyes staring at the floor.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I was out of order. It won't happen again.”

“It better not,” Shevawna growled and truth be told, she wasn't as calm as she felt – but at least it seemed everyone was taking it seriously, which was the opposite of what she'd heard about Nords. Maybe it was just Markarth's Nords who treated Reachwomen like chattel. “All right. I won't kill you... not this time.”

Vilkas nodded and turned back to Kodlak.

“Will that be all, Harbinger?”

“Not quite,” Kodlak said sombrely. “Go back to your room and pack your things. All of them.”

Audible gasps round the entire mead hall, and Farkas had actually cried out in terror.

“Kodlak, no!” Farkas gasped, reaching for his brother. “Please...”

Vilkas closed his eyes, head in his hands, but he gave in.

“If you think it's for the best, I'll leave,” he said quietly. “Just please, take care of my brother.”

“Fuck that, I'm coming with you,” Farkas said fiercely. “You're not leaving me.” Vilkas did smile at that, patting Farkas's hand as he squeezed his shoulder.

“Farkas, no reason you should lose your home as well,” Vilkas said, until Kodlak coughed, interrupting.

“You're not leaving Jorrvaskr. Not this time,” Kodlak said, faint smile on his face as both twins looked up, relieved.

“I'm... not?” Vilkas said hopefully. Kodlak shook his head.

“No. But you are moving into the living quarters. Vilkas, if you're going to lose control like that, I can't in all honesty have you representing the Companions or serving as an example to the younglings. One who acts as a whelp is going to be treated as one, Vilkas. You're out of the Circle until the rest of us are agreed you've earned your place back.”

“Harbinger...!” Vilkas turned wildly to his fellow Circle members, but to his chagrin, Skjor and Aela were both nodding in approval and even Farkas, while sympathetic, wasn't arguing. Seeing he was beaten, Vilkas lowered his head, shoulders sagging and headed for his room, presumably to clear his things out. Unexpected... but not unwelcome. Shevawna almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Guess I'm getting a new trainer then,” Ria said quietly, then she gasped as the implication sank in. “By the Almighty Eight, I'm getting a new trainer! Eeehee! I wonder who it'll be? I was hoping for Aela, but Vilkas said she can't train me in long blades.”

“Long blades? What, like those roketeenai the twins like?” Shevawna asked, using the Forsworn word for two-handed weapons without thinking. Amazingly, Ria actually guessed the meaning.

“No, anything bigger than a dagger,” Ria sighed. “I was trying to learn how to use a greatsword but I just can't get the hang of it...”

“Ach, don't trouble yourself with those big grondlannai,” Shevawna said, patting Ria on the back and secretly thanking Anu that Ria wouldn't know she'd just used the rather more vulgar word for a greatsword. “Train with me, I'll show you how to drinia-dau like one of us. That's, you know, with one in each hand.”

“Really?” Ria breathed, delighted. “You'd do that?”

“Of course!” Shevawna said, smiling. “We Dim-Admorai must stick together, right?”

“Dim what?” Ria said, suspicious.

“Not Nords,” Shevawna explained. “I mean, I know you're not a Reachwoman, but you sort of know what it's like, right? Being surrounded by Nords but not really part of it.”

“Kind of,” Ria said guardedly but she did smile a little. “You're on with the training though.”

Shevawna smiled, feeling a lot happier. It looked like things were going to be all right. Even if Vilkas's demotion did mean she'd be sharing a room with him... and that made her heart plummet.

“Shevawna,” Kodlak called, and that got her attention. He was beckoning her over, looking grim. Ria patted her on the shoulder.

“It'll be all right,” Ria whispered. “You didn't do anything wrong!”

“And if it does, don't worry, we'll be waiting,” Athis added. “You can always complain about Nords to me, n'wah.”

“Thank you,” Shevawna whispered, before glancing over her shoulder at Imperial and Dunmer and Definitely Not Nords, not now. “I'd never kill either of you.”

“I'd hope not,” Athis growled and Ria just smiled nervously and raised her fist with the thumb pointing up, which Shevawna assumed was some sort of Cyrodiil sign of friendship or good luck. She hoped so anyway. In the Reach, vowing not to ever kill someone was the first stage of making friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kodlak led her down into Jorrvaskr's lower floor, empty aside from the sound of angry thuds from Vilkas's room. Shevawna instinctively shied away from the sound. Vilkas was dangerous, probably the most dangerous one here. Not necessarily the strongest warrior or the bravest... but the most dangerous. Because he was bright like a Reachman and passionate like one too, but not at ease with himself like a son of the Reach, no. He was a man at war with himself and men like that usually found a way to wage that war on others. And he'd chosen her.

The thought made her shiver. But Kodlak was here and he at least seemed to be on her side. He opened the door to his room and held it open for her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she went inside.

Kodlak closed the door behind him and leaned up against it, arms folded, glaring at her, brow furrowing.

“I hope you appreciate this, lass,” he growled. “Vilkas and Farkas were brought here as young boys by their father, they grew up here. Jergen and I practically raised them. Having to do that to him broke my heart.”

“He should count himself lucky,” Shevawna countered, her fear still not entirely gone, and Kodlak was after all bigger than her and blocking the door. “I killed the last man who laid hands on me like that.”

“Aye,” Kodlak sighed, stepping away and sitting down at the small table he had there, picking up a bottle of mead and taking a drink from it. “I know. I didn't forget you telling me that. I'm not saying he shouldn't be punished. I just wish I hadn't had to.”

“Well, I'm glad you did,” Shevawna said, finally feeling brave enough to take the other chair and join him. “I know you and the Matriarch are friends, and I would not kill a friend of hers for anything, but even if you were not... I do not think I would kill you.”

“Thank you,” Kodlak said, inclining his head in a way that told he knew what the Forsworn meant by that. “Now, are you all right?”

Shevawna nodded, although she was by no means sure of that. Kodlak didn't look convinced either but he didn't push the point.

“If it's any consolation, it is not entirely Vilkas's fault,” Kodlak sighed. “Nor is it yours, I hasten to add – you are not his lover and you did not know, and if you wish to enjoy someone else's freely given companionship, that's no one's business but yours. Was it anyone in the city, out of interest? I need to make sure Vilkas doesn't do anything foolish that will involve embarrassing conversations with the Jarl.”

Privately, Shevawna felt that if Vilkas did beat up innocent citizenry, it was entirely his own fault, but she didn't want to embarrass Kodlak either.

“No, it was someone at Keirine's camp,” Shevawna sighed. “He was nice and could sing and offered to cook me dinner. So I stayed in his tent, and I don't regret a thing.”

“Nor should you, you're only young once,” Kodlak laughed. “Don't let Vilkas's reaction put you off, the rest of us don't care what you get up to on your own time. Alas, I fear Vilkas may have had intentions towards you and realising you'd been with someone else... prompted an unfortunate overreaction.”

Could have been quite unfortunate for Vilkas if the others hadn't stepped in, but that did beg the question... how had he known? She asked Kodlak this, wondering what had given it away.

“Ah, well, you see, Vilkas is labouring under a... condition,” Kodlak said, coughing rather awkwardly. “One of the side effects is heightened senses – I imagine he could smell the scent of the other man on you. One of the other effects is heightened emotions. Sometimes it clouds his mind and he does not entirely know himself. He was always a boy of strong emotions, a gentle poetic soul at heart – but his father wanted a warrior and drove Vilkas hard. I did what I could to amend the damage but alas, I fear I've not done as well as I could wish. Now he is a grown man, and he's acquired an affliction that takes all that and makes it worse. It takes all his strength to keep it at bay... but sometimes it slips.”

Acquired an affliction. Shevawna recognised a euphemism when she heard one. That was what people would say when prisoners got out of Cidhna Mine and came home, pale, gaunt, shadows of their former selves, terse and argumentative and fearing sunlight and wide open spaces and craving Skooma and arguing with everyone. Sometimes they settled and were able to return to something close to a normal life. Sometimes they took their fury out on the Nords and found peace through death. Others took the Briar, accepting the loss of emotions that burned and burned and wouldn't stop as a price worth paying – a benefit in fact.

Others managed none of that and had to be put down. Shevawna had seen it happen, the first time as a small girl of five asking her mother why Rhysan was being executed.

“Because he loved Skooma more than the Reach,” her mother had told her sadly and Shevawna had had her first introduction to the cruellest injustice the Reachmen had suffered. And everyone who came out of that Mine was like that, half-crazy with the shakes. Yet no one ever said, ever spoke about the fact their King was down there. The true Rhan-Brenin, Hero of the Reach, former King Under Stone turned King in Rags, the Silver Hawk himself, shut up in Cidhna Mine for twenty years now, surely well over forty by this time, in there longest of all... and everyone knew the longer you were in that place, the worse you were when you came out. No one ever dared say it out loud, but after all that time, what in Hircine's name was left of their King? And what hope without him?

But Shevawna couldn't really think about that now. All that was Keirine's problem, both a political and a deeply personal one. Shevawna was more concerned about Vilkas.

“Is he a Skooma addict?” she asked, bluntly. Everyone agreed those who admitted they had a problem had the best chance of survival. She wasn't sure if Vilkas was one of those or not. Although she'd never heard of Skooma enhancing one's senses...

“Not Skooma, no,” Kodlak sighed. “I almost wish it were, that I might be able to treat with your Matriarch's help. No, it's... something else. I don't think I can speak of it now, but... well. Never mind. I work with what I have, and I will not let Vilkas lose himself. Nor do I wish to see you or anyone else here come to harm because of him, don't worry. Let me think on what is to be done. In the mean time, you are clearly here, so do you have a letter for me?”

A hint of eagerness in his eyes and Shevawna kept her grin to herself as she handed it over. Well now. Someone had a fetish for Hagravens, it seemed. An unusual, almost blasphemous one, and yet there were stories of Hags entertaining themselves with captives, or with their Briarheart warriors. There were also stories of impressionable young men, and sometimes women, who became perhaps a little too fascinated with their Matriarchs. No one ever really explained what happened to those foolish enough to make their preferences known, but it was always implied it was... unpleasant.

Perhaps that wasn't always so – or perhaps Kodlak liked it that way. Shevawna decided no good would come of speculating, although the expression in his eyes did rather give things away. Sadness, but a wistful smile.

“So she wants us to keep you, and for you to do courier duty more often,” Kodlak mused. “She seems rather impressed by you at any rate. I think that's probably a good thing. In that case, you can stay. I can't make you officially a full Companion quite yet, but I think we can accommodate you. Rest and enjoy yourself tonight. Tomorrow, your weapons training starts in earnest.”

Weapons training. As if. She already knew what to do with both sword and axe, and she wasn't a bad shot with a bow either. Never mind. She'd show them. The Reach did not breed weaklings.

Chapter Text

“All right, whelp, let's see what you're actually made of,” Skjor growled, standing across from her with sword in one hand, shield in the other. Shields, great big solid wood or metal things that got in the way and were a coward's tool in Shevawna's opinion. She was in her leather armour today, feeling a little self-conscious about wearing the other, and that grated, that the clothes she'd worn all her life and thought nothing of it now felt wrong.

“No fancy magic either, just weapons,” Skjor continued and Shevawna sighed and equipped two Forsworn swords. She'd done this before when her magicka ran out or foes got too close to avoid.

“Go on, Shevawna, you can do it!” Ria called and Athis raised a glass to her.

“Get in there, n'wah, show him what you're made of,” the Dunmer laughed. Well, it was nice to have some encouragement. The other Companions all looked like they wanted her to get her backside kicked, particularly Njada. Although Torvar looked a bit too unfocused to actually see her properly, Farkas and Aela on the other end were looking eager for a fight. Vilkas was also there, but he was on the far side of the courtyard tearing a training dummy apart with unusual vehemence and pointedly ignoring her, as he had been doing all last night and this morning. Awkward but she could live with it.

“All right, come at me,” Skjor barked. “Don't worry about hurting me, I can take it. Just show me what you've got.”

She'd do that all right. She cast mage armour, drew her swords and flung into action.

He turned out to be good. Better than she'd thought, blocking her without difficulty – but Shevawna was fast. Forsworn did not have two-handed weapons that swept all before them, but if they went in hard and fast, they could leave an opponent bleeding before they could get a swipe in. So Shevawna did just that, aiming high, high enough he had trouble getting his shield up in time, and then her sword slipped past his guard and into his cheek, drawing blood. Skjor cried out and staggered back, calling for a halt, and the others were on their feet.

Slowly, the bloodlust wore off and Shevawna lowered her blades. Silence, and then Skjor got up, wiping the blood away.

“Just a flesh wound,” he said gruffly. “I'll have to drop by the Temple, but it's not serious. Well done, girl. You might just make it.”

“You're not the first Nord I've fought,” Shevawna said, sheathing her weapons. “Better than most though. You're the first I didn't kill.”

“Let me guess, you're not going to kill me yet?” Skjor laughed and Shevawna had to grin at that.

“Not today,” she said with a smile and this time it wasn't just Skjor who laughed, Aela and Farkas were also joining in, Athis raising a tankard and Ria bouncing up and down and cheering.

“That's the spirit,” Skjor said, approving as he sheathed his sword and held out his shield. “Here, take this to Eorlund. There's something up with the grip, it's not holding properly, it's why I couldn't get it up in time.”

“There's nothing wrong with it, you were holding it wrong!” Njada shouted over the courtyard. A surprise, but Njada knew her shieldwork and perhaps professional pride won out over personal loyalties or lack thereof.

“When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it, Stonearm!” Skjor called back, although he didn't sound terribly serious and definitely didn't seem to mind when she poked her tongue at him in response. Skjor turned back to her, handing the shield over.

“Well, would you mind taking it up to him? Njada might be right, but I'd value Eorlund's opinion too.”

Normally Shevawna might have told him where to stick his shield, but she valued Eorlund's opinion. More to the point, she treasured that shining, singing, magical forge. Shield in hand, she ran off to the Skyforge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Umm, Eorlund? Sirrah Grey-Mane? Sir?” How one addressed a blacksmith who was also Custodian of the Beautiful Skyforge, Shevawna didn't know, but sir was a good way to start, right?

Perhaps not, because he was looking up and seeming rather embarrassed.

“Don't sir me, lass. I'm just the blacksmith. Besides, no one rules anybody in the Companions and don't let them tell you otherwise.”

“But Kodlak's in charge, right?” Shevawna asked. After all, they all did what he said without question, he must be their leader, surely?

“He's Harbinger. He advises. Of course, it's also good advice usually, and he did practically raise Vilkas, Farkas, and young Aela too for some of her childhood,” Eorlund chuckled. “So perhaps those three still think of him as their second father. They were all whelps once, you know, no matter how they may prefer to forget. But there's no leader here. Hasn't been since Ysgramor's day. Don't know how they've managed it but there it is. Now, did you want some work doing?”

“Not for me,” Shevawna said, handing the shield over. “Skjor said the grip on this shield was wrong, wanted you to look at it.”

Eorlund grunted, took the shield off her, examined it and laid it to one side.

“Nothing wrong with it. Damn fool's holding it wrong. He'd be better off getting Njada to look at his technique. Either that or sticking to two-handed.”

Shevawna didn't know enough about shields to have an opinion either way so she just nodded. Silence fell as Eorlund returned to his work, and Shevawna dared to have a look around, idly flipping through a nearby book on armour forging. Then after a few minutes, Eorlund laid his tools down and coughed awkwardly.

“Listen, Shevawna, I know we barely know each other, and this may sound a bit odd but... I need a favour. Coin in it for you, but I'll understand if you say no.”

Coin could turn her head, but curiosity and adventure would always do it.

“What do you need?” Shevawna asked, intrigued.

“Not me, not exactly,” Eorlund said, not looking up from the forge. “It's my wife, Fralia. A few weeks ago, we got word our son, Thorald, had disappeared. He's off fighting in the war, he and his brother both went off to fight when it broke out. I – look, I don't think we'll see him again, not in this life. I mourn him deeply but he knew the risk when he left, they both did. I'm sure Shor has him now. But Fralia, my wife, she won't accept that. She thinks he's still alive, refuses to give up hope. I've tried to talk her out of it, but she won't listen. She thinks the Legion have him prisoner and she keeps insisting our Battle-Born neighbours know where he is. Keeps making a fool of herself trying to get Olfrid to admit what he can't possibly know.”

It was a sad story, even if Eorlund's tacit admission the boy hadn't gone off to fight for his Emperor riled her a little. But Eorlund was Keeper of the Blessed Skyforge, and Shevawna felt sorry for Fralia.

“What do you need from me?” Shevawna asked. Please oh please, let it be the chance to beat the information out of Olfrid...

“I hear you're the sneaky type, and you don't care for Nords much,” Eorlund said quietly. “Listen lass, I know you can't possibly have any love for the Stormcloaks and I understand that, but this isn't about the war. It's about my wife and my son. I don't think there is any hope for Thorald, but the not knowing is killing my Fralia. If you could get into the Battle-Borns' house somehow, maybe get their confidence, find out if they really don't know anything, or perhaps maybe they do. Anything to at least try and get this obsession out of her head.” Eorlund's voice was almost pleading, a man at his wits' end, grieving for his lost son and wishing his wife would just let it go and be the woman she used to be.

Of course Shevawna would help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shevawna wasn't stupid, of course. First thing she did was collar Ria.

“Tell me everything you know about the Battle-Borns,” Shevawna said without preamble. Ria stared at her, confused.

“Why on Nirn do you want to know about them?” Ria asked, scratching her head.

“Just tell me,” Shevawna said through gritted teeth. “I'm doing someone a favour and it involves that family.”

“What sort of favour?” Ria said, guarded. “Shevawna, you're not trying to kill one of them, are you?”

“Of course not!” Shevawna protested, a bit wounded that everyone's first impulse was to assume it was something nefarious that involved killing Nords. But she could see she'd have to let Ria in on things. “Look, come with me and I'll tell you.”

So Ria went with her and the two of them shut themselves into Vilkas's now deserted room, Shevawna barring the door and beckoning her over for a whispered conversation.

“Look, you know about Eorlund's son, Thorald?” Shevawna said, hoping the gossip mill would have brought that to Ria's ears.

“Yeah,” Ria said, looking sympathetic. “I'm no Stormcloak but poor Eorlund, and poor Fralia too. They're good people, they don't deserve all this, and that pig Olfrid was being horrible to her about it. Why, what is this – Shevawna, no, please don't tell me you want to kill a Battle-Born.”

“No!” Shevawna cried. “I mean, no more than any other Nord – look. Fralia's convinced Thorald's still alive and the Battle-Borns know something. So help me find out if they actually do. Tell me about them.”

Ria looked thoughtful. “Well, there's Olfrid, he's head of the family, then there's his wife Bergritte, although I personally think they hate each other and she only married him for his money. Then there's their sons. Idolaf's the oldest, he's as obnoxious as his father. Technically a Legionnaire until an injury put him out of the fighting, or so they say. Married to Alfhild, they've got a son called Lars. Then there's his younger brother Jon. He never joined the war. Joined the Bards' College instead. A lover, not a fighter.” Then Ria grinned, leaning closer. “And he's going to be our way in.”

“Our way in?” Shevawna said dubiously.

“Our way in,” Ria confirmed, grinning. “What, you don't think you can tell me all this and leave me out of it, do you? Come on, get your nice clothes together. Tonight, we're going to the tavern.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Bannered Mare was Whiterun's tavern, big and crowded and noisy and a bard singing some song about the war. Shevawna didn't care for the Empire much, but a chorus that went 'Down with Ulfric, the Killer of Kings'? She was all right with that.

“All Hail to Madanach, our mighty Reach-King,” Shevawna sang quietly to herself, feeling suddenly nostalgic for home and saddened over her lost kingdom. Skyrim realising what her people already knew was scant consolation.

Ria was thronging her way through the crowds, eyes looking for someone – and finding her. A silver-haired young woman sweeping the floor. Ria beckoned Shevawna after her and led her over.

“Olfina,” Ria said cheerfully. “Good to see you. This is Shevawna, she just joined us. This is Olfina. Eorlund and Fralia's daughter... and apparently not as anti-Battle-Born as the rest of her family.”

“Do tell,” Shevawna purred, although Ria had already told her about the steamy affair Olfina was having with Jon Battle-Born. An affair not likely to be approved of by either family.

Olfina's eyes widened as she stared at them both. “What is this?” she growled. “Is this... are you trying to blackmail me? Companions?? I am going straight to your Harbinger with this...”

Shevawna stepped in front of her, barring the way.

“Do you want to see your brother again or not?” Shevawna snapped. That did get her attention.

“My brother's dead,” Olfina growled. “Despite what my mother might think. Now leave me alone.”

“What if he's not?” Shevawna whispered. “What if your mother's right? Thorald might be alive and if he is... the Battle-Borns might know something. Help us find out, Olfina. We know Jon'd do anything you ask. Come on, this is your brother's life we're talking about here...”

“And if I don't, my parents hear rumours I'm going out with Jon?” Olfina said bitterly. Shevawna and Ria both widened their eyes.

“Us? Tell Eorlund that? It'd break his heart!” Ria said, feigning shock.

“And then he'd go after Jon with a great big axe,” Shevawna said cheerfully. “Which would be simply awful.”

Olfina gasped, then gave in, defeated.

“All right, fine, look you could just have asked,” she snapped. “Give me a week, all right? I'll see what I can find out.”

“Thank you, Olfina,” Ria said cheerfully. “Come on, Shevawna. Let's get back to Jorrvaskr before Mikael sees us.”

“Mikael?” Shevawna whispered.

“The bard,” Ria grimaced. “Thinks he's Dibella's gift to women. He mostly leaves Companions alone after Farkas threatened to knock his teeth out, but he might not know you're one of us.”

Fortunately they made it out without incident and back to Jorrvaskr. Eorlund had already headed home, but that didn't stop Shevawna slipping up to the Skyforge and leaving a note up there for him.

“Sirrah Eorlund.

We're looking into it. Answers within a week. Stay strong.

Old gods keep you and Fralia,

Shevawna.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was barely four days later when Olfina came to Jorrvaskr, ostensibly to deliver her father's packed lunch – but she looked pale and her eyes were reddened, and despite assuring her father and uncle it was just a cold or possibly an allergy, Shevawna guessed otherwise. She was waiting as Olfina made her way down from the Skyforge.

“Did you find something?” she whispered. Olfina nodded, producing a small leather wallet from her basket.

“Jon broke into his father's office and found this on his desk,” Olfina whispered tearfully. “He – he wasn't killed in battle. Thorald was captured! But not by the Legion, not any more. It's worse.”

“Worse?” Shevawna asked, wondering what was worse. They didn't send Nords to Cidhna Mine, although if they did, Shevawna might just be able to help him. Possibly. If the idiot didn't start shooting his mouth off about Talos or how great Ulfric was.

“The Thalmor,” Olfina whispered, heartbroken. “He's with the Thalmor. They have my brother. I – I would rather he'd been killed outright, at least he'd be in Sovngarde now. As it is... sweet mother of Talos, I need to go.” Olfina turned and ran, leaving the evidence in Shevawna's hands.

Shevawna didn't know a lot about the Thalmor, only that they were High Elf soldiers who'd once pretended friendship to the Reach, only to desert them after the war and leave them to Ulfric's mercies. And so they too were enemies now, their elven heritage not saving them from the Forsworn's wrath. But she had a feeling they were not kind to their prisoners and the finality of the tone in this missive said all it needed to.

This news would break Eorlund's heart, and she had no doubt Olfina would break and tell her parents before long. She had to act quickly.

“Well, did she find anything?” Ria whispered, emerging from the mead hall. Shevawna handed her the missive. Ria read it and gasped.

“The Thalmor! Oh. Oh my goodness. Mara, this is worse than I ever thought... Shevawna, we have to do something. We can't just leave him there!”

“And do what?” Shevawna sighed. “We can't exactly storm a high-security prison on our own! Thalmor are tough!”

“But you've fought them, haven't you?” Ria said, looking rather cunning. “Forsworn hate Thalmor too. And you lot are magic-resistant.”

“We're not immune!” Shevawna protested. “Look, we don't even know where Northwatch Keep is!”

“It's in the north-west, on the coast of Skyrim,” Ria said calmly. “Vilkas and I cleared out a troll's nest near there a month ago. It's not that big, no worse than some of the bandit lairs we've dealt with. I know it's different, they're not bandits, but the Legion don't have anywhere nearer than Fort Hraggstad two hours away and there's no Haafingar guard patrols. If we kill them all, no one will know it was us and the Thalmor will have lost a major base! And Thorald gets to go home.”

“If there's anything left to bring back,” Shevawna said, still thinking this was a suicide mission. All the same, it had been too long since her last proper fight and she was itching for a battle. “All right, but not just us. We show this to Kodlak and see what he thinks.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kodlak was sitting outside his room, enjoying a quiet drink with Skjor. He looked surprised to see the pair of them arriving, and the expressions on their faces did little to reassure him.

“Lasses? What is it? Please don't tell me it was Vilkas again,” Kodlak sighed.

“No,” Shevawna said quietly, handing him the missive. “Eorlund asked me to find out if the Battle-Borns really did know anything about his missing son. So Ria and I did some investigating and we found this today.”

Kodlak looked at it, and looked very hard at Shevawna. “Do I want to know how you got this??”

“We had someone on the inside,” Ria said as Shevawna slowly shook her head.

“By the Eight, is that a genuine Imperial seal?” Skjor said in wonder as Kodlak opened it and read the contents. Both men went pale as they read.

“Gods help him,” Skjor said quietly as Kodlak laid the missive down, his eyes narrowing.

“The Nine help those who help themselves,” Kodlak said shrewdly. “Skjor, round up the Circle. And get Eorlund and Vignar down here.”

“Aye, will do,” Skjor said, getting up, starting to grin. “We're going after him then. Thought we didn't do politics?”

“This isn't about politics, this is about rescuing an innocent man whose father's a dear friend and whose mother's half-mad with worry,” Kodlak said shortly. “Of course we're going.”

As Skjor went to round up the troops, Kodlak turned back to Shevawna and Ria.

“I don't want to know how you found this, and I don't have to tell you that thieving is dishonourable and not in the spirit of Jorrvaskr,” he said, staring penetratingly at them both.

“Yes, Kodlak,” Ria said sheepishly.

“We never had to break in anywhere,” Shevawna assured him. “Just a quiet conversation in a tavern and a few days later, it just fell into my hands. Didna even have to pay!”

Kodlak shook his head but didn't argue. As he did, the others started to arrive – Farkas, Aela, Athis who'd seen Shevawna and Ria heading downstairs together and lingered around hoping for gossip, even Vilkas who'd heard a summons to the Circle and forgotten he no longer was part of it. Then Skjor was back with the Grey-Mane men at his back.

“What is this, Kodlak?” Vignar asked. Shevawna shrank back, still a bit intimidated over an unrepentant Stormcloak that she wasn't allowed to kill. “You don't normally call me to these councils, still less my brother. What's the matter?”

“I know what happened to Thorald Grey-Mane,” Kodlak said, and that reduced the entire throng to silence. Apart from Eorlund, whose eyes travelled to Shevawna and then back.

“How? I mean, what?” Eorlund whispered, voice hollow. “Kodlak, what happened to my boy?”

Silently, Kodlak handed the missive over, and watched as Eorlund read its contents, his composure shattering. Vignar took the missive off him, while Eorlund shook his head, hands over his face so no one could see the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Those elven bastards!” Vignar swore, his hands shaking. “Kodlak, I don't know how you got this, but I thank you. We'll make them pay if I have to go to Windhelm myself and get Ulfric's help...”

Kodlak must have seen the way Shevawna's eyes widened and the blood drained from her face because he was shaking his head already.

“No, Vignar. No politics. No getting Jarls involved. Jorrvaskr will answer this one. We rescue the innocent who've been kidnapped, and we'll do it again. We look after our own.”

“What?” Vignar said, confused, just as Eorlund looked up, hope finally dawning in his face.

“You'd do that for us?” Eorlund rasped. “Kodlak, I've no coin to pay you...”

“This isn't about coin,” Kodlak said quietly. “It's about family and honour. They have one of our own's kin, so we go after them. Eorlund, old friend, we'll get your boy back.”

“Thank you,” Eorlund whispered and then he'd flung his arms round Kodlak, and as the two men embraced, Shevawna felt a tear in her own eye.

“I'll go,” she heard herself saying, just as Vilkas said, “I'll do it, Harbinger.”

There followed an awkward pause, as the two of them looked at each other, acknowledging each other's presence for the first time in days and hastily looked away again, both flushing red. Great, that was all Shevawna needed, having Sirrah Afflicted along for the ride, judging and taking exception and constantly picking on her, and if he decided to go for her again, she was actually killing him and leaving his body for the bears and screw honour.

“And me,” Ria and Farkas both said in unison, clearly thinking the same thing and deciding letting Shevawna and Vilkas head off together was a terrible idea.

“Well, if you're all going, I'm not staying behind,” Aela purred, making Shevawna shiver a bit.

“Count me in too,” Athis added. “You need at least one elf proving they're not all evil bastards.”

Kodlak nodded, approving. “Well said, all of you. Skjor, any objections to leading this lot into battle?”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Skjor laughed. “All right, whelps, get your gear together, we're leaving now.”

“Who are you calling whelp?” Vignar growled, and that got Skjor's attention.

“You're not coming, old man,” Skjor laughed, but his smile faded as he saw the determination on Vignar's face.

“Says who, you need at least one Grey-Mane in the party,” Vignar snapped. “He's my nephew!”

“Vignar, you're sixty seven years old, you'll get yourself killed,” Skjor sighed and Shevawna's eyes widened at the thought of someone not a Hag living that long.

Vignar growled, hand trembling on his swordhilt, but it was Eorlund who spoke up.

“Brother. Let it go. It's not our fight, not any more. And besides, if it's family honour you want satisfying, I have someone who could help.”

“You're sending Olfina??” Vignar said, disbelieving.

“Of course not,” Eorlund sighed. “No, it's my other son, Avulstein. He – he's home. From the war. It was him who brought the news about Thorald. Except now it's not safe for him to leave so he's hiding at our house. But I'm sure he'd like to help.”

“Skjor?” Kodlak asked. Skjor nodded.

“If you can get him here, we can sneak him out of the city. Another blade will be useful and we could do with someone Thorald recognises when we get there.”

No one really wanted to admit why that might be necessary, or what state Thorald would be in when they found him, but Vignar did grunt and shrug, giving in.

“Fine, doubt I'd be much good to you anyway. I've still got a few friends in the guards, wait until after sunset and bring him out then, I'll make sure no one's looking.”

Everyone dispersed to make their preparations, but before Shevawna could go assemble her things, Eorlund stopped her.

“Lass,” he said quietly. Shevawna turned, feeling a little awkward but it seemed so did he.

“Thank you,” Eorlund said, staring at his feet. “For finding it. I don't know how you did it, but the truth will help Fralia and for that, I will always be grateful. Here.” He unhooked the axe from his side and handed it over. Skyforge steel and gleaming with a fire enchantment.

“I forged it for Thorald for when he returned,” Eorlund said quietly. “But I don't know what you'll find there or if he'll ever be in any shape to hold a blade again. I haven't the coin to pay you, but this is yours. If you want it.”

Did she want it. Did she want it?? Of course she wanted it.

“Thank you,” Shevawna whispered, Eorlund no longer being a Nord in her eyes in that instant. “I mean, I... I'll find your son, don't worry. We'll bring him home and we'll show those Thalmor!”

She'd been swept up in a full Nordic bear hug before she knew it. Eorlund held on to her for a few seconds before letting her go, wiping tears from his eye.

“I should go and tell Fralia,” Eorlund said quickly, making a hasty exit, leaving one confused Forsworn scratching her head and wondering how in the world she'd managed to make a grown man cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shevawna's preparations involved many things, but chief among them was retrieving a specially collected set of wood and leather, borrowing one of the cauldrons, filling it with water, assembling the whole thing into a makeshift alchemy set and throwing in whatever she could find or had collected, much to the horror of various passing Companions.

“What's she doing?” Farkas.

“Alchemy. I think. Or cooking, although gods know I'm not touching it.” Aela.

“I've seen you eat worse.” Vilkas.

“Shut up, Vilkas.” Aela again and to Shevawna's surprise, Vilkas did shut up, edging away and positioning his brother between him and Aela.

“Oh, is she doing Reach-magic? I always wanted to see Reach-magic!” Ria, and Shevawna was fairly certain the girl had no idea what Reach-magic actually involved.

“No you don't,” Aela, Farkas, Vilkas and Athis all said in unison. Clearly all people who'd gone up against the Forsworn or Hags before now, which did please Shevawna a bit. Not the attacking Forsworn bit, but the fact the experience had left them... nervous.

At length, the potions were done – healing potions, magicka boosters and restorers, magic resistance potions for which all the tundra cotton and lavender round here were just perfect, and then there were the poisons. Some very very nasty poisons. Or at least, as good as she could get at short notice. It was still pretty good though.

So with the potions done, it was just time to get armed, and Shevawna fingered her armour. This or her real set? She still felt a little self-conscious wearing it.

But Aela's armour was just as revealing and no one hassled her. And Ria was there too and Athis.

Decision made. Ten minutes later, and Shevawna was looking like a Forsworn again. Time to go kill some elves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour after sunset and they'd all gathered round the back of the hall. Eorlund's son Avulstein turned out to be about twenty-five, pale white hair, great big roketeen axe on his back and looking at her in disbelief.

“Who in Oblivion's she?” he growled.

“Son,” Eorlund said firmly, hand colliding with his son's shoulder. “Without her we wouldn't know where your brother was, and now she's going to help rescue him. Show some respect, aye?”

“Father,” Avulstein muttered, and he remained quiet thereafter.

Goodbyes were said, and then Skjor opened a door under the Skyforge, leading them out through a rock chamber and then a tunnel that laid out. Shevawna didn't have time to really look, not with Aela at her back nudging her on, but she could feel the magic in there. She didn't know what that chamber was for but you'd have to be blind not to sense the power. Or a Nord.

Then out into the countryside and north, north to find a Grey-Mane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The journey had been a long one, and even seeing the Druadachs in the distance hadn't helped. They'd gone off road and cut across the tundra, then into the Reach's winding mountain tracks, Shevawna scouting ahead and checking no Forsworn patrols were around. Then north again, up above the snowline and into Haafingar's remote western forest, and finally to the sea.

Shevawna had never seen the sea before, although she'd heard of it, the endless water that held the world in its arms. It was an awe-inspiring if frightening sight, although her awe was tempered by it being so damn cold.

“Perhaps you should have worn more clothes,” Vilkas snapped, and he immediately regretted that as every woman in the party turned to glare at him, and the men ran on as if nothing had happened, even his own brother who wasn't scared of a lot... apart from spiders and Aela.

“You shouldn't be looking, Nord,” Shevawna snapped, turning her back on him and running after Athis, while Ria took care to position herself between Shevawna and Vilkas, and Aela ran alongside Vilkas cheerfully pointing out that under the circumstances, wasn't commenting on Shevawna's outfits a little unwise?

Vilkas took the hint and shut up.

Finally Northwatch Keep loomed up in the distance, and all eight of them dropped behind a rock to survey the scene.

“Well, Aela, what do you think?” Skjor murmured.

“It's not as big as I thought,” Aela murmured back. “I can see one by the gate, three more on the battlements. Hit them hard and fast, we can be inside before you know it.”

“Good enough for me. All right, Shield-Siblings, you heard her. Two on each one, Aela with me, Farkas, you're with Avulstein, Vilkas, you're with Ria. Athis and Shevawna, watch each other's backs, Shevawna, be ready with any magic you've got handy.”

“Kill one quick, I might be able to raise them,” Shevawna said, recalling Anise's lessons. There was a definite shiver round the group, only Athis seeming unbothered.

“Where in the name of Talos did you find her?” Avulstein muttered.

“Never you mind,” Skjor told him. “Tactically, not a bad thing to do at all.”

“Just morally repugnant,” Vilkas growled, glaring at her and probably hoping she'd fall first. As if.

“Just don't raise me if I die,” Skjor said, reaching for his weapons. “Are we all ready? Good. To arms, Companions! FOR JORRVASKR AND CLAN GREY-MANE!”

They broke cover, four screaming Nords charging the Thalmor down, Aela moving off to the side to start shooting, while Ria ran after Vilkas, howling as loud as any Nord.

“Ready, n'wah?” Athis asked, producing his bow and taking aim at the nearest Thalmor.

“Always,” Shevawna answered, casting her armour, summoning a flame Atronach, then breaking cover, firing off Ice Spikes at any Altmer within range.

The guards were soon overwhelmed, and then it was inside the Keep, encountering Thalmor in twos and threes, no one really bothering with stealth, but with four big Nord warriors to take the flack, Shevawna found it didn't bother her. So she hung back, casting ranged Destruction spells instead and shouting abuse in Rhanic at them, feeling perversely pleased at the confused look on the faces of various Justiciars as they saw her and tried to work out why a Forsworn warrior was helping a bunch of Nords. That usually proved fatal as Vilkas or Farkas invariably took advantage of the distraction and carved them in two. Damnit but those twins were good, Vilkas in particular darting in and out before they even knew he was there, faster in his heavy armour than the elves were in light.

Damn it. But just because he was skilled didn't mean Shevawna had to like him and she certainly was in no way impressed.

So it was they bloodied their way through the entire Keep until they finally got to the prisons. Off to the right were the cells, various prisoners moaning and groaning.

“Is he in there, do you think?” Ria whispered.

“Don't know but there's only one guard,” Athis murmured.

“Leave him to me,” Aela said quietly, nocking an arrow to her bow and shooting the Thalmor through the throat before anyone else could react. “Right, that's him done, Ria and Athis with me, let's see who's in there. Rest of you watch our backs.”

The three of them had just crept off when a scream of pain echoed from the left hand passage.

“THORALD!” Avulstein roared, recognising his brother anywhere. Skjor cursed but with cover broken, he had no choice but to order Shevawna and the twins to follow him.

The robed Justiciar facing them was rather tougher than previous opponents, flame cloak going and fireballs sending Avulstein and Vilkas staggering back, and even Farkas finding it hard going. Shevawna whispered a prayer to Sithis and dived past the elf's magic with a ward up, going unnoticed until she got close and then she unleashed her own shock magic, and a little surprise of her own. Croen Y Davrha – Skin of the Dragon, the secret weapon that would absorb hostile magic and fuel her own magicka, and while her shock spells weren't the strongest, they'd keep his magicka low while hers just kept on recharging from his spells. The Thalmor fell to his knees, clearly wondering why his fireballs weren't harming her – and then Vilkas had sprung forward and carved the bastard into two, blood and innards flying everywhere as the Thalmor's magic died with him.

Shevawna lowered her hands, stepping away from the pooling blood.

“I had that under control,” she snapped. Vilkas just shrugged.

“Maybe. But it's always best to kill them quickly, hmm? Especially when you have an innocent man to rescue.”

Avulstein had picked himself up and shouldered past them all to where another Nord that looked very like him was chained to the wall.

“Thorald!” Avulstein cried. “Thorald, my brother, are you all right?”

Judging from the blood and lightning burns on his skin, the answer to that one was clearly no. Shevawna searched the Justiciar's pocket and found a set of keys, rushing up to unlock Thorald's manacles. Avulstein caught him as he fell.

“Avul?” Thorald gasped. “Is that you?”

“It's me,” Avulstein said gently. “Thorald, Thorald, we're getting you out of here.”

“Good luck with that, he can barely walk,” Shevawna said, rolling her eyes. “Here.” She began casting healing magic on his wounds – not terribly powerful, not like a Matriarch could do, but it would help. At least, it would if Thorald hadn't started screaming again.

“Stop it, stop it, please, just let me die!” Thorald howled, shaking all over and Shevawna stopped as she realised the Thalmor had probably hurt then healed him. Over and over again.

“I've got potions,” she said guiltily, emptying out the remaining healing potions – more than she'd expected, most of those present had insisted they weren't that badly hurt although she'd used healing spells on them regardless. They'd probably known what they were going to find.

Avulstein took one and held it to Thorald's lips while his brother drank. It took a while but finally Thorald rallied, finally feeling strong enough to sit up. First thing he saw was one young Forsworn looking hopefully at him.

“Talos help me!” Thorald cried. “Not the Forsworn as well, I can't... Av, is it really you?”

“It's really me,” Avulstein said quietly, holding his brother. “We've come to get you home. She – she's with us. She's... friendly. On our side anyway. At the moment.”

“It's true, I don't heal people I'm planning to kill,” Shevawna told him, before realising he wasn't looking terribly reassured. “Er, here, have the potions, I'll go and help Aela...”

“Wait,” Thorald gasped. “Girl. Forsworn. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Shevawna whispered, before she realised he was a Talos-worshipping Stormcloak and he was being grateful to her despite knowing what she was, and then she realised her brain couldn't cope with it at all and she ran off to see how the other prisoners were faring.

“Why's there a Forsworn with you?” Thorald asked as Farkas passed him a fur blanket and some armour Eorlund had provided before they left. “They hate Nords!”

“It's complicated-” Skjor began, but it was Vilkas who cut in.

“She's the reason we even knew you were here. She's a sneaky little cat but she got results, her and Ria. Who's an Imperial, in case you were wondering. But they're both Companions and we look after our own.”

“I got rescued by a Forsworn and an Imperial, who persuaded the Companions to come and get me?” Thorald asked, confused.

Nods all round, and then Thorald began to laugh.

“What?” Avulstein asked. “What's so funny? You nearly died!”

“Yes,” Thorald laughed, sounding a little hysterical. “Yes, I nearly did and then it turns out I owe my life to a witch of the Reach and some Imperial. Ah, brother, they're not going to believe this back in Windhelm.”

“I barely believe it now,” Avulstein admitted. “Come on, Thorald. Let's get out of here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the Thalmor all dead and the prisoners freed and supplied and left to make their own way, the Companions gathered outside, the sun just coming up. Thorald was dressed and armed now, well enough to stand at least, although who knew how he was really feeling.

“Are you coming with us?” Skjor asked. Thorald shook his head.

“No. Whiterun's the first place they'll look for me. I won't be the one to bring the Thalmor down on my family. But we can travel cross-country and rejoin the Stormcloaks, blend in with them. No Thalmor out east and what's two more Nords in a fort full of Stormcloaks?”

Shevawna shifted uncomfortably, not liking the reminder that however nice the Grey-Manes were, they still backed the monster who'd destroyed her homeland and enslaved her people. But nevertheless, she didn't think Thorald had deserved what the Thalmor had put him through.

“Nord... Thorald.” She unhooked the axe from her belt that Eorlund had given her and handed it over. “Your father made this for you. It was meant to be a gift for when you returned, but if you aren't coming back... just take it.”

Thorald took the axe, marvelling at the craftsmanship and as he sheathed it, he wiped a tear from his eye. Avulstein had an arm around his shoulders, giving him an awkward one-armed hug.

“I could practise smithing for a hundred years and I'd still not be the smith my father is,” Thorald said quietly. “Tell him thank you. And... and when you see my mother, tell her I'm sorry. And that I will miss her and Pa and Fina and Uncle Vignar and everyone. And if she wants to know where I am, just tell her to suffer the winter's cold wind. She'll know what it means.”

“I will,” Shevawna promised. She hadn't a clue what it meant, but as long as Fralia did, that was the main thing.

Helping out one of Ulfric's men. How it had come to this, she'd never know. But she didn't feel like a traitor because of it. She felt like she'd done the right thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whiterun was quiet, and as beautiful as ever in the setting sun. The others all headed straight back to Jorrvaskr, having seen the Grey-Mane brothers off and now eager to get back home and recover.

Shevawna was as exhausted as they were, but she didn't head home. Instead she knocked on the Grey-Manes' door.

All three of them were in, Eorlund having abandoned the Skyforge for once and Olfina apparently not working tonight. Fralia had clearly closed her store for the day too. They all fell silent as they saw her walk in.

“By the Nine,” Eorlund gasped. “Look at you, what happened?”

“I haven't slept for over a day,” Shevawna said, realising how tired she was. “And Northwatch Keep is a long way. But we found him.”

“You found him!” Fralia cried, looking like she was about to cry. “Was he all right? Where is he? Can I see him?”

“No,” Shevawna said, staving off a yawn. “No, he's not here. But he's all right. He and Avulstein went east to join the Stormcloaks, hide in their ranks.”

“You mean after all this, I can't even see him!” Fralia cried. “How do I know this is even true and you're not just telling me what I want to hear?”

“Then I'll ask Skjor in the morning, woman, they're not all going to lie to my face, are they? Better yet, I'll ask Farkas, the man's incapable of falsehood,” Eorlund growled. Then he glanced at the Forsworn axe on her hip. “I might ask what happened to my axe too.”

“Gave it to Thorald when we left,” Shevawna said, closing her eyes. “He said thank you and he wishes he could smith like you. And that he misses you all. And that you should suffer the winter's cold wind, except he didn't mean it like a Hag's curse or anything, he said you'd know...” Shevawna's eyes closed and her legs gave way, and it was only Eorlund's arms around her that stopped her crashing to the floor. As he picked her up and carried her off, Shevawna let sleep claim her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Warm, comfy bed. Fresh straw and clean sheets. Someone stroking her hair. Had she been ill? No one had doted on her while she was ill for a long time.

“Mama?” she whispered, before she remembered her Mama was in the Void, lost to a skirmish while out hunting six years ago now, and her da dead for longer than that – he'd had the bad luck to be running courier duty to Druadach Redoubt when the Nords breached it and slaughtered the entire camp... apart from Madanach, who they'd taken prisoner. Shevawna didn't even remember him.

“I'm sorry, dear, I'm not your mother. But you gave me back my son.”

Shevawna opened her eyes to see Fralia smiling down at her.

“What happened?” Shevawna whispered, trying to work out where she was and how she'd got here. It wasn't Jorrvaskr.

“You fainted, dear,” Fralia said gently. “You'd been up all day and night, running all that way – no wonder you were exhausted. But don't you worry. You're safe now. This is the boys' old room. You can stay here as long as you like.”

Shevawna nodded, closing her eyes again. That sounded nice, very nice indeed. With Fralia stroking her hair, she drifted off back to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Eorlund, you have to do something about her,” Vilkas growled at Jorrvaskr's resident smith.

“I do?” Eorlund growled, glaring up from where he was sharpening Kodlak's battleaxe. “Do what exactly?”

Vilkas pointed at where Shevawna was kneeling on the other side of the Skyforge, chanting in her own tongue as she slashed a goat's throat and captured the soul, reverently propping the soul gem up in the little holder she'd fashioned from a set of antlers. The whole thing was set up on a wooden frame with leather stretched in the middle, and Shevawna was now busy painting sigils in blood on it.

“You're not telling me there is anything natural about that!” Vilkas snapped. “I'm surprised the Jarl hasn't been down here.”

Eorlund just shrugged.

“What? She's not doing anyone any harm. Apart from the goat, but she tells me goat steaks are tasty and go well with lavender, so we're getting dinner out of it at least.”

“Dinner??” Vilkas cried. “You eat things she's cooked? Have you seen what goes in the potions?”

“Course I have,” Eorlund said, nodding at the crude but effective alchemy rig bubbling away in the corner. “Taste foul but they work. Olfina swears by that painkilling one for her cramps.”

“I don't want to know about – look, she's a bloody Daedra worshipper!” Vilkas sighed, wondering why everyone else seemed to be just fine with the trappings of blood magic and necromancy appearing all over the place. “And you're just letting her practice witchcraft all over your forge? You shouted at Farkas for an hour once just for spilling mead over it.”

“Farkas had ruined three hours of work on a greatsword I was particularly proud of,” Eorlund said calmly. “Whereas Shevawna has promised me a free Arcane Enchanter and a ready supply of filled soul gems. Also she is the reason my son is out there and free and not being tortured by the Thalmor, so as far as I'm concerned she can do what she likes as long as she cleans up after herself.”

“Eorlund, there is goat blood everywhere,” Vilkas said, gritting his teeth. “It'll take some doing sorting that out.”

Shevawna was already rolling the goat carcass up in a deer hide, before raising her hands and casting some sort of frost magic on all the bloodstains. Then flames, and then there was just red dust which Shevawna began diligently sweeping away.

“See?” Eorlund said, seeming a little smug. “Small price to pay, really. And our cow's never been healthier.”

“You really don't mind her living with you,” Vilkas said, scratching his head. Fralia had offered Shevawna Thorald's old room to stay in, and Shevawna had moved in that night. Now she apparently couldn't be happier, helping out with housework, giving weapons training to Olfina, curing various livestock-related diseases and now setting up first an alchemy rig and then an arcane enchanter on the Skyforge. Then there'd been the job Aela had given her, the one with the Spriggan grove in Falkreath and some missing hunters. Shevawna had taken it and returned with three Spriggan heads and taproots. The taproots were hanging on the Skyforge, while two of the Spriggan heads were mounted outside the Grey-Manes' front door. Apparently not a single Grey-Mane was bothered about it.

“What's a few hunting trophies here or there,” Eorlund shrugged. “Stopped Lars Battle-Born interfering with our cow, and Braith's not been causing trouble nearby, not since she says she saw one of the heads move on its own. Think she imagined it myself.”

Vilkas wasn't nearly so sure about that, particularly since the Spriggan head mounted on the Skyforge had been staring at him since he arrived and Vilkas was sure it normally overlooked the training yard.

“Eorlund, she's a bloody witch!” Vilkas sighed. “And probably a blood witch at that. You can't seriously be all right with letting her live in your home.”

Eorlund finally lowered his blade, glaring pointedly at Vilkas.

“If my memory serves me, Vilkas, the whole reason she said yes in the first place to living with us was because someone assaulted her in Jorrvaskr and she didn't want to share quarters with him. Perhaps you want to stop throwing stones, hmm?”

Vilkas wasn't sure what to say to that, but fortunately there came an interruption from the bottom of the steps.

“Er... excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt, but is this Jorrvaskr? I'm looking for the Companions.”

Vilkas turned to see who it was and mentally groaned to see yet another bloody mage and not just a mage but an elven one at that, staring up at him. Female, pretty enough but the golden skin and yellow eyes bothered him. Red hair, braided like a Nord's. Brown mage robes and some sort of silver circlet on her head. Strangest of all was the little girl, a Nord of about seven, clutching at her hand and looking about her. Why did an elf have a Nord child with her?

“You've found us,” Vilkas said, making his way down to see her, making sure to stand on the third step up so she wasn't taller than him. Altmer always freaked him out a bit. “Are you looking to join? We don't normally take mages.”

The Altmer's eyes narrowed but she let it pass.

“I heard you were mercenaries. I'm looking to hire one. My housecarl can't be spared now I have children, and Jenassa won't come with me on anything involving Hagravens, not after the whole incident in the Reach with the Sybil of Dibella.”

“The Sybil of Dibella's a Hagraven?” Vilkas asked, disbelieving. The elf glared at him.

“No, she's a small child who'd been taken prisoner by the Forsworn. I had to go and rescue her. Now, are you in the business of providing hirelings, or must I go all the way to Riften to find one?”

“We fight so others don't have to,” Vilkas said, looking her over and deciding that someone who habitually rescued small children from Hagravens wasn't really in need of a bodyguard. “Who did you want fighting?”

“I need a certain dagger,” the elf explained. “It's an ebony one that the Hagravens made. Danica at the Temple of Kynareth needs it to heal the Gildergreen. She was telling me about it after I had to collect this one from her.”

She patted the little blonde Nord's shoulder, smiling at the girl, and the little girl grinned back, cuddling the elf.

“I told Braith the Spriggans all over the Grey-Mane house meant there's a Forsworn living there,” the little girl explained. “But she didn't believe me and then she tried to hit me and I pushed back and...”

“And ended up fighting in the middle of Whiterun, I know,” the elf said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, Sissel, run away and find an adult next time, don't start fighting other children.”

Sissel pouted but just sighed yes, Mama, and Vilkas had to think about this one. An elf adopting human children, an Altmer of all people? Wonders would never cease.

“So you want help retrieving this dagger then,” Vilkas said, scratching his chin. “We could do that. How much coin are you offering?”

“Five hundred seems to be the going rate,” the Altmer said. “Will that compensate you?”

Five hundred?? It was more than enough, even if it did involve Hagravens.

“Agreed, when are we leaving?” Vilkas asked. Once he'd have given this job to someone else, Athis or Torvar maybe, but being no longer part of the Circle, he was no longer getting a cut. Which meant when someone offered five hundred septims all going to him, he was taking the job.

“LOOK MAMA, THERE REALLY IS A FORSWORN HERE!” Sissel squealed, bouncing up and down and pointing at Shevawna, making her way downstairs in her Forsworn gear with the wrapped up goat carcass in her arms. “I was right, I was right!”

“Good heavens,” the elf said, then she looked closer. “Wait, Shevawna??”

Divines help him. His new client knew the Witch of Jorrvaskr.

“Liriel?” Shevawna gasped, putting the goat down. “Oh my goodness, is that really you?”

“It's me,” Liriel laughed, reaching out to hug Shevawna. “Good gods, I didn't think I'd see you again, especially not here!”

“It's a long story,” Shevawna laughed. “Are you joining?”

“Me? Oh good gods no, they don't let mages in apparently.” Liriel raised an eyebrow at Vilkas but didn't give him time to respond before she was introducing Shevawna to her little girl, Sissel.

“You've got a kid?” Shevawna asked, confused. “Since when?”

“Three weeks ago!” Sissel announced cheerfully. “My papa died and I was all alone in an orphanage in Riften, with my sister who was mean to me, but then Liriel turned up and adopted me and now I live here with my new sister Lucia who is much nicer and with Lydia who looks after us, and Liriel's my mama now.”

“I couldn't help myself,” Liriel admitted. “Lucia was living rough in this city and I'd just bought a house and I ended up taking her in. Then I went to get her a new brother or sister and found this one at Honorhall Orphanage. A pity I couldn't take her sister as well, but Sissel says they used to fight, so I suppose it's for the best. Anyway, I'm here to hire a mercenary. I need to take something off a Hagraven and didn't fancy going alone. Your, er, colleague here was going to come with me.”

Shevawna's eyes turned to him, ice blue eyes turning positively glacial.

“You were, were you. To fight a Hagraven.”

“I'm a Companion,” Vilkas growled. “It's what I do. What we all do, in case you'd forgotten.” He glanced up at Eorlund, now hammering away at the forge and pointedly ignoring them all.

“Over my dead body,” Shevawna said softly. “Which Matriarch and what are you after?”

“The one at Orphan Rock,” Liriel said, glancing between them uncomfortably. “I don't care if she lives or dies, I just want her dagger. It's called Nettlebane.”

“I'll get it for you,” Shevawna promised. “Leave it to me, I can do this without bloodshed – hopefully.”

“You can't trust her near a Hagraven!” Vilkas cried. Also damned if his five hundred septims was wandering off like that.

“I could say the same about you!” Shevawna snapped back, and hands were going to hilts until Liriel intervened.

“That's enough!” Liriel shouted, raising her voice, and was it Vilkas's imagination or did the ground seem to shake?

“All right,” Liriel snapped, glaring at them both. “I'll hire you both, and that's five hundred septims between you, not each. That way Shevawna can do her thing the stealthy way but I have you to help out if it all goes to the Void. Meet me at Honningbr- sorry, Black-Briar West Meadery tomorrow morning and we'll get going, hmm?”

There was something about Liriel's voice that quietened them both down, and Vilkas began to realise that this Altmer was not as helpless as most clients, in fact she was in all likelihood a match for any Hagraven in Skyrim. But if she was paying, far be it from Vilkas to argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence. Long, awkward silence. Here they were, sitting in the forest, just an elf and a Nord warrior who'd made no secret of the fact he hated witches. Or maybe it was just Shevawna he didn't like.

Liriel didn't know but at least he wasn't making any remarks to her face. So just the long awkward silence here by the side of the road while they waited for Shevawna to return with that dagger.

They didn't have to wait long.

“RUN!”

Shevawna was sprinting through the trees, some strange magical shield around her and her mage armour on, clutching a dagger to her chest, shrieking and weaving to avoid the fireballs being hurled at her by the Hag, and the lightning the witches were flinging at her.

Liriel cast her own armour and took aim at the Hag, just barely visible on top of the Rock, and having to dodge Liriel's fireballs did take the pressure off Shevawna, who sprinted past without stopping.

Vilkas meanwhile had chased down one of the witches, carving her head off and toughing out lightning and frost to take on another.

“Vilkas, come on!” Liriel shouted as she conjured an Atronach to cover the retreat and prepared to run after Shevawna. “We got what we wanted, let's move!”

Vilkas growled but did eventually follow, a little singed but none the worse for the battle. Then the Companion, Dragonborn and Forsworn were fleeing away to the east, off to the next destination.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Eldergleam Sanctuary turned out not to be too hard to find, even if it was some distance away. Shevawna couldn't stop staring at it as they ventured into the cave.

“It's huge!” she whispered. “And so beautiful, look at it, Liriel!”

“It's gorgeous,” Liriel had to agree. “An entire tree in here, and it's the oldest living thing in Skyrim, can you imagine?”

“They told me tales as a girl of the Elder Tree,” Shevawna whispered. “That it grew from a seedling that the Great Raven dropped while she was flying over Tamriel. She'd stolen it from the garden of Dibella, thinking it wrong that the gods should know such beauty and mortals know nothing. But Dibella cried to her kin and sent dragons after the Raven, causing her to drop the seedling, and so it grew in secret and none could find it. But it was still here and thanks to the Elder Tree, it was possible for beauty to exist on our world too, not just in the Aedra's gardens.”

“That's not the story the Nords tell,” Vilkas snorted. “The Eldergleam was a gift from Kyne, a work of divine craftsmanship to show her glory to humankind.”

Shevawna rolled her eyes. “How boring. I prefer our version. Much more likely too, if the tree was planted by Kyne the Sky Goddess, why's it in a cave, hmm?”

“Who's the Great Raven?” Liriel asked, deciding to distract the two before they start arguing... again. Shevawna coughed and looked a little embarrassed.

“One of the old gods. The Lady of Darkness, the Carrion Crow, She who Embraces the Dead for her own. She's the ugliness from which beauty is born.”

“That makes no sense,” Vilkas growled. Shevawna just glared.

“You ask any farmer how she gets the crops to really grow,” Shevawna snapped. “Or go witness a childbirth, see how pretty that is.”

Liriel had a horrible feeling she knew who the Great Raven was, and fingered the twisted ring in her pocket. Probably best if she kept quiet about her own encounter with said Great Raven, in Shevawna's homeland no less, at the enticement of someone who was probably an ex-Forsworn herself. No, they had a job to do.

“The tree,” Liriel said firmly. “Let's get this over with. Watch my back, last thing I need is one of the pilgrims screaming desecration at us.”

As it turned out, the pilgrims were the least of their troubles. Liriel made her way to the tree, slashed the trunk open, and that was when the Spriggans attacked.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back in Whiterun and the Gildergreen was already starting to blossom again, Shevawna and Vilkas were paid off and Vilkas had gone to tell the story, already embellishing the details to Ria and Farkas who were lapping up every word.

Shevawna was sitting up by the Skyforge, bottle of wine in hand and pouring a drink for Liriel, who'd joined her for the evening.

“Thank you for helping,” Liriel said, sipping her wine. “I don't think I'd have managed the Hag on my own.”

“Ach, no trouble,” Shevawna said, stretching her legs out. “We're the ones who have to look at that tree every day, after all. It'll look lovely.”

“It will,” Liriel said with a smile. “Lucia's been saying for weeks how sad the tree looked. She'll be pleased to know it's going to be all right.” She paused and then turned to look at Shevawna, looking a bit uncertain.

“So I was in the Reach a few weeks back. I had to go out there to meet a, er, client.”

That got her attention. Shevawna sat up, eager to know what her friend had thought of the place.

“What were you doing out there?” Shevawna asked, curious. “Did you like the place?”

“Yes and no,” Liriel said uneasily. “It's a beautiful country, don't get me wrong... but Shevawna, the people are insane.”

This again. Shevawna rolled her eyes.

“Ugh. That book could have been better named. We're not mad, I tell you! We're just oppressed. And, you know, a bit different.”

“Different!” Liriel laughed harshly. “I got sent to one of your redoubts to retrieve a missing girl, and it was led by a man with his heart removed and some plant sewn in his chest. And in Markarth itself, first thing I see on arrival is a woman stabbed to death by someone claiming to be one of your lot. Then there's what I found in the Hall of the Dead – actually, no, I don't want to talk about that. Let's just say I've not been in a city so messed up in a long time.”

Shevawna would have been insulted, but it was hardly the Forsworns' fault Markarth was the way it was, was it?

“Nord injustice,” Shevawna sniffed. “What did you expect? She probably had it coming.”

“Indeed,” Liriel said, raising an eyebrow. “What I can't figure out is why the Forsworn executed her when she was actually poking her nose into the Silver-Blood family's affairs. I wouldn't have thought the Forsworn would care if the richest Nord family in Markarth who also support Ulfric Stormcloak ran into trouble. In fact, I'd have thought they'd be pleased.”

“We would,” Shevawna growled, recognising the name Silver-Blood all too well. “She probably had other enemies. Or was an easy target. She was an outsider, I expect. They're all targets. You should take care, Liriel. The Forsworn will target you if you go back, and I can't protect you.”

“I know,” Liriel said quietly. “Don't worry, I don't fear the Forsworn. I'm stronger than I look. Even if the Forsworn are running an assassination ring in Markarth. Listen, Shevawna, if you want this leader of yours, Nepos, to survive, you might want to get word to him somehow, tell him to stay off my back...”

“Nepos isn't our leader, and how in the Void did you find out about him??” Shevawna hissed. “No, don't tell me, I don't want to know.”

“Not the leader then,” Liriel said knowingly. “But high up. Why don't you tell me about him, Shevawna? It might just save his life. Save me investigating anyway.”

Shevawna sighed. She didn't exactly know a lot, but everyone knew the history. Everyone knew Nepos, by name if not by sight. Maybe it'd persuade the stubborn elf to leave well alone. Shevawna hoped so. She liked Liriel.

“He's the steward, or was,” Shevawna said. “Back in the old kingdom, when we captured the Reach during the Empire's war with your people, we had our country as ours for two whole years.”

“And Nepos was running it?” Liriel said, frowning. “Or, no, you said he was steward, so he was helping someone else...”

“Madanach,” Shevawna breathed, feeling the familiar feeling of sadness, awe and adoration as she said his name. “Y Althir Y Rhan – the High Lord of the Reach. Or more often, the Rhan-Brenin, the Reach-King. We were nothing before him, we were just hill tribes, bickering, warring peasants. We barely even remembered our own tongue. Then Caradach the Scholar came, and he brought tales and stories, went to each tribe and recorded their lore, and would take it to other tribes, and that's how we remembered we'd been a united people once, and many of us talked of how we wished it could be like that again. Then Caradach went away, and he died in Markarth. The Nords killed him. But his children escaped, and his son, Madanach, he became chief of Karthspire then went on to take over all the other camps as well. He united us at last and then he took the city from the Nords. Until they came back and dethroned him. He ended up in Cidhna Mine, the prison. He's still there now. But the orders still come, and we're still a united people. Thanks to him.”

“You have a king,” Liriel said in wonder. “And... he's still alive?? They didn't execute him? That doesn't sound like the Nords I know.”

“No,” Shevawna said quietly, brooding. “But he's still alive in there. Somehow. And he's still our king. We'd all follow him to the Void itself. If he ordered me to kill you right now, I'd do it.”

Raised eyebrow from Liriel. “You would find that a tougher prospect than you imagine. But if there's Forsworn killing people in Markarth, I take it he knows about it, even if he didn't authorise it.”

“He knows,” Shevawna said shortly. She wasn't entirely sure what Markarth's Forsworn operations involved but it beggared belief that Madanach wouldn't know what was going on.

“Interesting,” Liriel murmured. “So Madanach sends kill orders to Nepos somehow – well, that's not a surprise. What is a surprise is that he's having people who've annoyed the Silver-Bloods killed – well, it was just one person, maybe it was a coincidence. Still, thank you, Shevawna. You've saved me the bother of talking to Nepos. Thonar Silver-Blood now, he's worth talking to. I'll have to visit him next time I'm in Markarth. I have to help their court mage's love life out anyway, I'll talk to Thonar while I'm there.”

“Liriel, let it go,” Shevawna said, feeling a sense of foreboding sweep over her. “You don't want to – look, just stay out of it! You'll get yourself killed! You've got children, they need you.”

“The world needs me,” Liriel said softly, glancing up at the Throat of the World, High Hrothgar Monastery visible on its western shoulder. “I promise I'll be careful. I'm not an easy woman to kill.”

Many had said that. The Reach had claimed them all. Shevawna said a quiet prayer to Sithis not to claim Liriel just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a week or so later when the news came in. Jorrvaskr became aware of it when the hammering on the door echoed all around.

“Gods damn it, who in Oblivion's that?” Athis muttered, wrenching the door open, prepared to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. At least until he saw two human children staring up at him, tears rolling down their faces.

“Are you one of the Companions?” the little girl with ash-coloured hair whispered.

“You have to help us!” the little blonde one cried. “Our Mama's in trouble! She needs rescuing!”

Skjor had arrived by this point, waving Athis away and kneeling in front of them.

“Well, we do rescue people when they're kidnapped,” Skjor said thoughtfully. “But we need coin for that.”

“I've got thirty septims left from my last allowance!” the little Nord piped up, her sister nodding as well.

“And I've got twenty,” the little Imperial who Skjor could have sworn he'd seen begging near the Gildergreen a few months ago said. She was looking a lot healthier now, clean and well-fed, but clearly distressed, no doubt thanks to this mother they'd mentioned. Adoptive presumably.

“It'll take a bit more than fifty septims to hire one of us,” Skjor said, although if they could scrounge that up between them, said mother was clearly not short of cash. “Does your father have any coin?”

Both girls hesitated, looking a bit embarrassed and Skjor realised perhaps that had been a bit insensitive.

“We don't have one, it's just Mama,” said the taller one quietly. “And Lydia, but she's a housecarl not a parent.”

“But Mama's got money!” her sister chirped up. “She'd pay you lots if you rescued her! And if you rescued her, she might be so grateful, she'd marry you!”

Dear sweet Mara, these children were prepared to offer their mother's hand in marriage as part of the price. Skjor had never heard of it happening that way round before.

“Well, we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement. What's her name and who took her? Did they leave a ransom note?”

“Her name's Liriel,” the little Nord said confidently. “She's an elf and she does magic and she lives in Breezehome, and she's really pretty. She can't cook very well, but Lydia says when a woman's really pretty, that doesn't matter.”

Skjor wondered if this Lydia was the best person to have in charge of the children, although far be it from him to tell the newest Thane of Whiterun how to raise her kids.

“So where is she then?” he asked.

“Markarth!” the older one gasped. “She went to Markarth to help their mage get a girlfriend, but she got captured!”

“By the Forsworn?” Skjor asked, not giving a lot for her chances of survival if it had been them. Shevawna had said often enough the Forsworn didn't normally take prisoners, certainly not to ransom. Test subjects, usually. Skjor hadn't asked what got tested on them. He had a feeling Hagravens were involved.

“She's in a place called Cidhna Mine!” the older one cried. “Ri'saad the Khajiit said she got arrested for killing someone, but they can't do that! She didn't do it, she'd never kill anyone who didn't deserve it, you have to help!”

Cidhna Mine. Highest security prison in Tamriel. The one no one escaped from. Skjor sat back, seeing two scared little faces and wishing he could help, but the truth was, if she'd ended up there... He'd heard stories of that prison. Men came out of there shadows of their former selves. Shevawna had spoken of it too, her voice low and haunted as she talked of nightmares and Skooma addiction and fear of the open air and slow descents into madness.

“Kids, I'm sorry but we don't do jailbr-”

“SHEVAWNA!” the little Nord cried, as Jorrvaskr's resident Forsworn emerged from the quarters.

“Sissel?” Shevawna said, confused, kneeling to cuddle the girl as she ran over to her, her sister following. “What's the matter?”

“Mama's gone!” Sissel wailed. “Ri'saad the Khajiit said she'd been captured in Markarth and sent to Cidhna Mine and she was never coming home!”

“What?” Shevawna gasped, going pale. “Oh no. No, she didn't. I told her! I told her not to go poking around there, the stupid...!” Skjor didn't understand the stream of words that followed but could guess they weren't complimentary.

“Listen,” Shevawna said quietly, comforting the two girls as best she could. “You need to go home, and stay there and take care of each other as best you can. Lydia will take care of you, and I swear if I have to save every septim I earn here, you will not starve.”

“But Mama's in trouble,” Sissel whispered, clinging on to Shevawna's fur armour. “Please, please help!”

Shevawna hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I – I don't know if I can get her out of there, but I know people. I know someone who might be able to help. She can get word into the prison, make sure your mama's looked after. And then... well, she might be able to do more than that. Maybe. I need to ask her though, and that means I'm going to be gone for a few days. Will you be all right in the mean time?”

Tearful nodding and more cuddling, and Shevawna patted them on the back and sent them home. The gentle smile faded to a look of horror as soon as the door closed.

“Stupid, stupid ortallan, a dragon won't save you this time!” Shevawna whispered.

Dragon? Skjor had no idea what that meant but he could guess one thing. Shevawna was going back to her people.

“You think you can get her out of Cidhna Mine?” Skjor asked shrewdly. “No one's ever broken out of there before.”

“I have to try,” Shevawna said, before racing back to the quarters. Skjor wished her luck, for those little girls' sakes... but her chances were not good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shevawna had fled out of Whiterun within the hour, sprinting for Deepwood Redoubt. She was exhausted by the time she got there, having travelled all night.

Amazingly Keirine was actually up and Shevawna was shown straight into her quarters.

It was a strange thing indeed to see a Hagraven sitting quietly at a table drinking tea, but there Keirine was, looking not at all like a mighty sorceress who could command the elements, but more like a harmless old woman taking her morning tea. If you overlooked the feathers growing out of her limbs and back, of course.

“Shevawna. This is unexpected. Have you brought something for me?” Hope and expectation in Keirine's eyes and Shevawna cursed her stupidity. She should at least have brought a gift.

“Not exactly, Matriarch,” Shevawna said nervously. “I mean, Kodlak is writing a letter but it's taking time. And Belethor's... no longer a problem.” The man had taken his own life after clawing at his arms, screaming he was being consumed from the inside. There'd been no signs of that actually being the case... until the priest of Arkay opened his corpse to find what looked like tunnels chewed into his innards, and no sign of the creatures that might have made them. As if they'd materialised inside him, feasted on him and then vanished. There'd been a lot of whispering in Jorrvaskr and Shevawna had carefully schooled her face into a mask of appalled sympathy. Behind closed doors, she'd just shaken her head at the stupidity of the man, reading a Hagraven's mail and thinking it would end any other way.

“Good,” Keirine smirked. “That'll teach him. If he weren't dead, of course. You know I treated him for an arrow wound once – did he not realise I'd taken a blood sample? Fool.” She looked up at Shevawna, lips pursed.

“You didn't come all this way just to tell me Belethor's kin need the news breaking to them, did you?”

Shevawna shook her head slowly. “No, Matriarch,” she whispered. “Matriarch, I need help. Or... or my friend does. She saved me from a dragon once, helped me kill a whole bunch of Stormcloaks. Then she went to Markarth and I told her not to, I told her not to interfere, but she did and now she's in Cidhna Mine – Matriarch, please, she's got two little girls waiting for her, she's been framed, you have to get her out of there, you have to...” Shevawna's voice trailed off as Keirine slowly got to her feet, grandmotherly facade vanishing as the room got noticeably darker, some of the shadows seeming to hiss as they moved.

By Sithis, this had been a terrible idea, and if Shevawna ever saw Liriel again and didn't end up soul trapped, she was telling the elf in no uncertain terms that next time she went poking around in the affairs of the Forsworn, she was on her own.

“Have to?” Keirine said, her voice low and dangerous.

“I mean, you don't have to,” Shevawna babbled. “Of course you don't, you're First Matriarch, you can do what you like, oh Sithis, please don't kill me.”

Keirine kept advancing, claws flexed and teeth bared.

“You want me to get your idiot little friend out of Cidhna Mine,” Keirine growled. “As if I can rend the very earth apart to break it open. Do you not think if I had that sort of power, I'd have retrieved my idiot of a twin years ago??”

That was a very good point and now that Shevawna thought about it, if Madanach was still in there, the place really must be unbreakable. Except Sissel and Lucia's terrified faces kept swimming before her eyes, and she knew that even if Keirine killed her now, she had to at least have tried.

“She's got children, they're only little,” Shevawna whispered, and something in Keirine's face did soften just slightly.

“So did he once,” Keirine said quietly. “And I could do nothing for any of them because that bitch Mireen had her claws in them.” She lowered her hands, walking back to the table to sit down again, her own claws raking through her hair.

“Go back to those children,” Keirine said quietly. “Take care of them as best you can. I will send word to my brother to ensure she's not harmed down there. What's her name?”

“Liriel,” Shevawna whispered. “She's an Altmer. Red hair. Yellow eyes. She's really smart and a really powerful mage, she could be useful...”

Keirine had gone still, before turning to face her, surprised. “An elf. A High Elf. Your friend's a High Elf mage? Did you say she'd saved you from a dragon?”

Shevawna nodded, wondering what difference this made, but she didn't get a chance to find out. The outer door flung open and Kaie came running in, eyes wild. She didn't look like she'd slept either.

“Auntie!” Kaie cried. “Auntie, where are you?? You need to come quick!”

“Y ap Davrha tolas,” Keirine whispered. The dragon's child's come? That made no sense at all to Shevawna, but Keirine was getting up and making her way over to Kaie.

“What is it, child?” Keirine was asking. “What's happened?” A faint tremor to Keirine's voice, and seeing Kaie like that, Shevawna could see why. The Reach-Princess was trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks – but she was smiling, joy blazing from her face for all to see.

“He did it,” Kaie whispered, sounding like she was about to burst into tears. “He brought the plans forward. He broke out, Auntie. My da's out of prison at last. He's free!”

Shevawna sank into a chair as she realised what had just happened. The prison no one escaped from had just been broken out of... and the King in Rags was free. Madanach was free. The man who'd united the Forsworn and taken Markarth all those years ago was finally free. And if he'd got out...

Keirine had let out a choked sob and embraced Kaie, and Shevawna realised with some embarrassment that Keirine was actually crying. She'd not even realised Hags still could.

“He's free,” Keirine rasped. “He's really...” Kaie nodded, face flushed but joy all over her face.

“How is he?” Keirine whispered, joy subsiding as she asked the question asked of all ex-Cidhna Mine prisoners. Is he sane? Is he coping? Have the shakes started yet? Shevawna had wondered but no one ever dared ask – not of Madanach. Not of the Rhan-Brenin himself.

“He's fine,” Kaie laughed, seeming barely able to believe it herself. “He's OK, Auntie! He's sane – mostly, and he seems healthy and... I've got my father back!”

“I've got my brother back,” Keirine gasped, voice trembling. “By the old gods, I have my brother back. Sithis, I need to see him, where is he? Druadach, is it?”

Kaie nodded, and Keirine wiped the tears off her cheeks, pulling herself together.

“Right. Go tell Morchain I'm travelling for a week, he's in charge until I get back. Then wait for me outside, I need to pack. Potions, I need the potions, here's hoping they actually work...”

“Wait,” Shevawna said, shock making her brave, and Kaie and Keirine would be in too good a mood to kill her, right?

Both women turned to face her, Kaie's eyes narrowing a little, and Shevawna revised that opinion. But it was too late now.

“Was there a woman in Cidhna Mine?” Shevawna asked. “An elf called Liriel? What happened to her?”

To her surprise, Kaie's eyebrows flicked up. Evidently Kaie had indeed seen Liriel.

“You know Liriel,” Kaie said in wonder. “Now there's a thing. Yes, she was there. Beautiful, wealthy elf ends up in Cidhna Mine, you can be sure we start taking an interest. She's impressed Da at any rate. He's given her Ma's old armour and invited her to come visit him at Druadach. I hope she's single, because I think he fancies her.”

“I don't think there's anyone,” Shevawna said, wondering whether to mention the children then deciding against it. “So she got out? She escaped?”

“Probably on her way home now with all the obscure Daedric artefacts and fancy weapons and armour she was carrying,” Kaie said, massaging her shoulder. “Yes, she's fine. Surprised you know her though. How'd you meet?”

“We got arrested at the same time. Then a dragon attacked and we escaped together. I heard she'd been arrested again in Markarth...” Shevawna's voice trailed off but there was only sympathy in Kaie's eyes.

“She did indeed, but she appears to have luck on her side,” Kaie said kindly. “She's a free woman again, and no one's going to believe all the deaths were her now Da and his friends have rampaged through the streets slaughtering half the guard.”

It was all Shevawna needed to hear. A whispered thank you and then Kaie was gone and Keirine was returning from gathering her things.

“Well now, did that satisfy you, girl?” Keirine asked, looking more like her usual self at least. “Your friend's free and hopefully cured of poking into things that don't concern her, was there anything else you needed?”

“I don't think so, Matriarch,” Shevawna said, shaking her head. “But if Madanach's free, what happens now?”

“What happens now is I leave immediately and go see my brother for the first time in twenty years,” Keirine said, claws clicking impatiently. “But I suppose you want to know what this means for the Forsworn. Truth be told, I'm not sure. It's going to be a while before Madanach will know what his next move will be. Just breaking out of there was impressive enough. It'll be a while before anyone knows for sure what happens next. Even a Hag's vision has limits.” Then she actually smiled, tilting her head. “But I imagine you want to know what this means for you. Nothing, not yet. You'll be staying in Whiterun, running messages between me and Kodlak, living as a Companion. But I'll also need you to keep an eye on your friend Liriel – does she make her home in that city? Good, good. As I said, you keep a close eye on her. Keep her safe, and help her out, and if you find anything out about her that might be of interest or help the Forsworn, you be sure and let me know, hmm?”

“You want me to spy on Liriel as well?” Shevawna asked, conscience prickling. Liriel was her friend after all... but you didn't say no to a Hag.

“Feeling guilty?” Keirine smirked. “Don't. I think none of us have seen the last of her. I think she will be back, and I think she'll be a great asset to our cause. I'm not asking you to betray her confidence or anything, but I want to know more about her. If my brother is interested, it's only right I know just who might be marrying into the family, hmm? So find out more about her, listen out for gossip or stories about her, and let me know. All I know for sure right now is she's a High Elf who's good at magic, no great rarity there, and is not married but does have two young children, which surprises me a little. High Elves don't breed that often, do they?”

“They're adopted,” Shevawna admitted. “They're two little girls – human little girls. About eight, I think. One's a Nord, one's an Imperial. I've met them, they're lovely.”

Keirine's eyebrows shot up as her mouth opened a little.

“She adopted two human children? That's... rather sweet. My brother likes children, always was good with them. He'll not mind she's got some of her own. But enough of that. Get back to Whiterun, and be prepared for a somewhat hostile reception. Anyone who knows of your Forsworn allegiance will likely think you were involved in the jailbreak when the news arrives. You need to convincingly deny you knew nothing until after the event. But to Kodlak, you tell the truth. And tell him I will write and tell him more, but I don't know what will happen, not exactly. Only that I don't plan to cut ties with your Harbinger and will contact him as soon as I can. Go on, go. Rest here for a few hours then leave. As for me, I've got to check on my brother. I have a feeling they'll need healers.”

Shevawna nodded as Keirine bustled out. Madanach free, dear gods, Madanach free! This was beyond exciting. This was something else. This was... Shevawna hadn't ever thought it would actually happen. It was a legend, a story, of the king who'd won their kingdom and then been locked away but would one day return in glory to reclaim the kingdom they'd lost. It had been a tale like Red Eagle's – Madanach had been gone so long, no one had ever really thought he'd return. And after twenty years, there were few out there who remembered the old kingdom. To Shevawna, it had always felt more like a dream than something that really happened. But it was true. It was real, all real – and now Madanach really had returned. Shevawna itched to go after Keirine, see him for herself, see what this mysterious king looked like, see the Rhan-Brenin for herself.

But she had orders. And so she rested, ate, bathed and slept, and headed back to Whiterun.

Chapter Text

It was the early hours of the morning by the time Shevawna returned to Whiterun. The city seemed as it had done when she left. The guards nodded to her, one of them calling cheerfully out to her “Hail Summoner, summon me up a warm bed, would you?” Shevawna just laughed and ran on, in too good a mood to snap a retort back. The streets were quiet, most of the city in bed and no one seeming to know or care that the true King of the Reach was free at last.

Shevawna's good mood lasted until she ran up the steps to the Gildergreen... and saw Vilkas sitting under it, eyes like thunder. Oh good, exactly what she didn't need, but at least he couldn't do anything to her with guards wandering around in the distance and the Grey-Mane house not far away, still with its Reachfolk decorations over the door.

“What do you want, Vilkas?” Shevawna snapped. “I've been travelling all night, I don't need grief from you.”

“Were you involved?” Vilkas growled. No need to ask what he'd heard. Keirine had said there might be distrust when the news hit Whiterun but also that she only owed Kodlak the truth.

“No,” Shevawna said firmly. “I don't know or care what you heard but whatever it was, it's nothing to do with me.”

“Don't give me that!” Vilkas snapped, getting to his feet. “First Skjor tells me you've run off to Markarth to rescue that elven Thane from their prison, then the next thing we hear is that the entire prison's broken loose, the leader of your rebellion's escaped and killed half the city guard in the process, and you have the nerve to tell me it's nothing to do with you?? How can it not be, witch?”

“Because I wasn't there!” Shevawna cried. “I went to talk to my contacts back home, and while I was there, the news came in they'd broken the prison. So I came back. I never went near Markarth!”

“You expect me to believe that?” Vilkas growled, advancing closer, clenching his fists.

“I don't care if you believe me or not!” Shevawna cried, and Vilkas took a step closer, utter rage in his eyes and for the briefest of moments Shevawna wondered if she'd gone too far. Then, Dibella be praised, there came an interruption.

“Hey! What's going on here?”

Olfina, it was Olfina just off the late shift from the Bannered Mare, and Shevawna had never been so glad to see her in her life.

“Olfina, I just got back,” Shevawna said, not sure what to tell her but pleased to see her regardless. Olfina didn't look convinced.

“Is he hassling you? He's hassling you, isn't he, I knew it!” Olfina said sternly, glaring at Vilkas with her hands on her hips. “You disgust me, Vilkas. I thought you were better than that. You leave her alone and get back to Jorrvaskr this instant!”

He's going to kill her, he's actually going to kill her, he's three times the warrior she is! Shevawna fingered her sword, ready to strike if Vilkas went for her. But while he glared back, he didn't draw blades.

“You have no idea what you're harbouring!” Vilkas spat at her. “She's not one of us! She's a witch and she's probably plotting to kill us all!”

“If she's plotting to kill you, I'd be hard pressed to blame her,” Olfina said, looking Vilkas over dismissively. “Now are you going to go to bed or do I need to call my father out here?”

Vilkas grunted and strode back to Jorrvaskr, glowering at Shevawna but saying nothing. Olfina watched him go before returning her attention to Shevawna.

“Are you all right?” Olfina whispered. Shevawna nodded. Her relationship with Olfina hadn't been the easiest – blackmailing her over her love life wasn't the best start to have got off to. But Shevawna had kept quiet about it ever since, and rescuing Olfina's brother had persuaded the Nord that Shevawna wasn't all bad. They weren't close, at least Shevawna didn't think they were, but they lived under the same roof well enough.

“Do you need me to have a word with my father? Or go to the Harbinger?” Olfina asked, seemingly all sympathy. Shevawna really wasn't sure what to make of that at all.

“I'm fine,” Shevawna said firmly. “But thank you,” she added, feeling somewhat more gracious that usual even as her inner self cried out that she didn't need some Nord's help and could have handled Vilkas.

“It's not easy being a woman in Skyrim, I know,” said Olfina, kindness in her eyes and Shevawna really wasn't sure she could cope with Nords being kind. “But stay strong, and he'll come to respect you... and maybe even fear you.”

Now that was more like it. “I will certainly make him fear me,” Shevawna promised. Olfina actually laughed as she followed Shevawna into the house. All right, so maybe some Nords weren't so bad after all.

It really was a good thing the Forsworn only wanted the Reach, Shevawna reflected. She'd hate to have to put this city to the sword.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning, or rather afternoon, came all too soon, and with it Shevawna heading over to Jorrvaskr to see what awaited her. To her surprise the place seemed quiet, no one really reacting to her presence and Vilkas nowhere to be seen. Good. So she said hello to Farkas and hugged Ria and waved to Torvar and smiled at Athis and backed away shyly from Aela, and all went well until she saw Skjor sitting in the living quarters, watching her shrewdly.

“I had Sissel and Lucia in here this morning, wanting to thank me for rescuing their mother,” Skjor said knowingly. “They were trying to give me all their pocket money and find out when I'd be free for dinner with her. I told them to keep the coin, doing good was its own reward and that you'd done most of the work. Now, was I right in that observation or not?”

“I did absolutely nothing,” Shevawna admitted. “Met up with some of my people and then word came in Cidhna Mine had been broken without us. I didn't need to do anything so came home. Why, what have you heard?”

“Enough,” Skjor said, frowning. “Madanach's a dangerous man, Shevawna. For him to be on the loose again, well, it worries me. Don't suppose you know what he's planning?”

“He's hardly likely to share his plans with me, is he?” Shevawna said, hands on her hips. “Any more than General Tullius or that Stormcloak bastard are likely to let you in on their plans.”

Skjor did have to laugh at that. “Well, it's not my business. But you do realise we still get jobs against the Forsworn, don't you? It's possible we may end up fighting him.”

“Let me know who you plan to send against him, I will be sure to say goodbye before they leave and write a eulogy,” Shevawna said, feeling a little argumentative... but something in Skjor's voice had a calming effect. She got the feeling it really was nothing personal for him.

“You've got spirit,” Skjor laughed, approving. “I like that. Well, chances are Kodlak'll keep sitting on those jobs for six months like he always does anyway. Talking of which, he wanted to see you. I don't think you're in trouble, but he did look worried. He's in his room.”

Shevawna thanked him and moved on, feeling a little nervous. Skjor's talk of potential jobs against the Forsworn worried her. The last thing she wanted was Madanach to escape only to be killed by her own brothers and sisters. She just hoped Keirine had a plan for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kodlak looked up as she walked in, his expression grim.

“Close the door and take a seat, lass,” he said, lowering his ale. Shevawna did so, wondering how to start this one exactly. My Nord-hating king who I'd follow to the death is out of prison and I'm a bit worried it'll turn into all-out war, help!

“So, they tell me Madanach is on the loose again,” Kodlak said quietly. “Shevawna, I know you've been asked this already, but I need to hear it from you. Were you involved in the jailbreak?”

Shevawna shook her head. “No. I knew nothing until it had already happened. I think he's been planning it in secret for a while, but no one knew it was happening now. Even Keirine was surprised.”

“So you did visit her,” Kodlak said, smiling faintly. “How is she? Pleased?”

“Ecstatic,” Shevawna said, remembering Keirine's delighted expression as she realised she could see her brother again. “She's gone to see him. I don't know exactly what they'll be discussing but from what I hear, he's doing well. He's... he's sane, they tell me! Or as sane as he was before anyway, which doesn't really say much, I mean he was always a bit crazy, or so they say.”

“So Keirine tells me,” Kodlak said, amused. “But tell me, why now? What's he up to? Is he planning a new uprising?”

A tough one, and while Shevawna hoped yes, she also knew the Forsworn were in no state to launch one.

“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully. “I think eventually, yes, but we're not organised enough to mount one, not yet. I think he'll be working on that first.”

Kodlak nodded, seeming pleased with that. “I see. In that case, I will not worry and merely wait to hear from Keirine. If his priority's going to have to be internal reorganisation, well, that will keep him occupied for a while, I'd imagine. As for you, don't worry. You have a place here for as long as you want one. I take it he's not going to be attacking Whiterun any time soon.”

“I don't think so,” Shevawna said with a smile. “He wants the Reach, he doesn't care about Whiterun.”

“Good, good,” Kodlak said, smiling. “In case you were wondering, I don't actually have a problem with a Forsworn-run Reach. I was fighting in the war while Madanach was ruling, but when I came back to find an entire Hold of Skyrim lost to us, Askar stopped me, all of us, from getting involved. He said the Hold was peaceful and from what he'd heard, all those who'd been executed by the Forsworn deserved it. We were to stay out of it and let Madanach rule his country in peace, and after the war, none of us had the stomach for a long and drawn out battle. Of course, we didn't reckon on the dispossessed landowners of the Reach hiring Ulfric's private army. It was a tragedy what happened.”

“But not one anyone did anything about,” Shevawna said bitterly. It hadn't been Kodlak's people getting slaughtered, had it? “Don't tell me Ulfric wouldn't have listened if the Harbinger of the Companions had told him it was dishonourable.”

“He didn't,” Kodlak said, glaring back at Shevawna. “He stopped at Jorrvaskr on his way and asked if any would join him. We told him we'd have no part in the overthrow of a peaceful ruler and he told us he was disappointed and perhaps not the true Nords he'd thought. No one talks Ulfric out of anything once he has his mind set on it. You are either with him or his enemy, the man does not see a middle ground.”

Shevawna could certainly believe that.

“So what now?” she asked. “I mean, I'll still make your deliveries to Keirine for you, but you have to know if the King calls me, I have to follow.”

“Understood,” Kodlak promised. “Just tell me this, what camp is he staying on?”

“Druadach Redoubt,” Shevawna said, before wondering if that had been a good idea. Fortunately, Kodlak didn't let her down.

“In that case, I'll be sure to lose any jobs involving that one,” Kodlak said calmly. “And talking of jobs, I've got one for you. We had a scholar visit while you were away. He said he knew the location of a fragment of Wuuthrad.”

“Wuuthrad?” Shevawna said, confused. Kodlak indicated the banners on the walls.

“Yes. Ysgramor's prized battle-axe. It was shattered into pieces years ago and those are mostly lost, but we've been trying to track them down, with mixed results. Whenever we do hear of one, we go in search of it. Or rather, this time, you will be.”

“Me?” Shevawna asked. “Why me?”

“Because the job's there and I asked you,” Kodlak said. “See this as a chance to prove your worth to the rest of them.”

Including Vilkas was the unspoken comment there. Shevawna was hardly going to turn down that job in a hurry.

“All right,” Shevawna said. “Where am I going?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dustman's Cairn turned out to be about three hours west of Whiterun, nestled up against the mountains that Kodlak had told her were the Skyborns. Shevawna kept close to the mountains when she could, still not used to spaces that were this flat. So much land! So much space! If the Reach had been like this, might there have been peace after all? Enough room for the Nords to have their bit and her people to have theirs? In fact, couldn't the Reach Nords move out here, leave them the mountains? That would solve a lot of problems. She should suggest it to the Jarl maybe. Or get Kodlak to do it. Everyone listened to Kodlak. It was said even Jarl Balgruuf took him seriously.

Shevawna knew she didn't want to face a Nord Jarl. She wasn't allowed to fight the Jarl of Whiterun and he wouldn't care about her, which left her not sure what to do with him. So she stayed well away from Dragonsreach. Which she could still see on the horizon, even out here.

She really couldn't get used to this flat land. So now she was here, she slipped into the ruin without waiting. The inside of old Nord ruins was something she was quite used to.

Someone had been digging here, recently too from the look of it. And there were a lot of dead Draugr around. A lot of them, looking as if a greatsword had carved into them. Nords then. Were they still here? Shevawna didn't know but she hoped not... or that the Draugr had got them. Then she recalled that meant taking on the Draugr which was less appealing.

Then she slipped quietly through a set of iron doors and heard voices. Dropping into a crouch, she crept forward to listen in.

There were five of them, in fur and leather and studded armour, a Redguard woman, a Orc with a greatsword, two Nords, a man and woman, and an Imperial woman with a bow. They were gathered round a sealed gate, staring at someone they'd trapped inside. Bandits, ganging up on some lone explorer, and while with the Forsworn she wouldn't have shrunk from doing the same to an outsider, Shevawna was narrowing her eyes at these criminal scum doing the same to some innocent person.

“Which one is that?” the Imperial asked.

“Doesn't matter,” the Nord man growled, warhammer at the ready. “He wears that armour, he dies!”

“Killing you will make for an excellent story,” the Redguard sneered.

“Killing a trapped man in a cage is hardly a feat worth the telling. Although you will find it harder than you imagine,” a Nordic voice that Shevawna knew all too well floated across the room. Vilkas?? But what was he doing here? Kodlak surely hadn't sent him as well... and then she realised why he'd got here first. Bastard was stealing her glory! He wanted back in the Circle and thought finding the piece of Wuuthrad would get it for him.

Shevawna gritted her teeth, reaching for her bow. She would kill him for this, kill the quest-stealing Admorin and leave the body here so no one would ever find it or know it was her. But first, to deal with his captors. She wanted to kill Vilkas personally.

Had she been given to introspection she might have thought it strange that she was saving someone only to kill them later. The Forsworn soldier she'd been once would never have raised a finger if someone else had saved her the trouble of killing a few Nords herself. But Shevawna was a Companion now, the Witch of Jorrvaskr, and without her realising it, Nord ideals were starting to infect her. So it was she dipped her arrows in poison, raised her Forsworn bow, expertly handcrafted by her and honed at the Skyforge, and took aim.

The Redguard died with barely a sound. The Nord man staggered back, clutching his chest, and the others were looking for her, leaving Vilkas confused. The Orc was next, also sent reeling, but by that point the Nord woman was coming for her, shield raised, and the Imperial's arrows whizzed by. Time to break cover.

Armour cast. Atronach summoned. While that took on the Nord, Shevawna drew her sword and axe and sprinted for the release lever she could see through a stone arch. Vilkas could help her with the bandits, and then she could return his gratitude by murdering him while his back was turned.

The Imperial's arrows nearly hit her but Shevawna kept running – until the archer's aim finally did fall true just as she passed under the archway. Then the Orc recovered himself and charged her down, berserker rage in full swing. Shevawna, still staggering from the bowshot, wasn't able to dodge the Orc's weapon in time.

Pain, blood, and Shevawna went staggering forward, only momentum keeping her going until she hit the wall and collapsed in agony, weak and about to pass out. As her vision blurred, she saw the lever and before the sword could fall and finish her off, she yanked it back.

The gate rattled up, freeing Vilkas, and Shevawna expected her last sounds on Nirn to be Vilkas shouting Nord battlecries. She'd not expected to hear a wild howl of fury out of Oblivion itself, and human screaming as something sank into flesh and tore it open.

The Orc, turned, swore and ran back inside to help his friends, and Shevawna closed her eyes and cast healing magic, feeling flesh repair itself and skin knit back together, lost blood slowly replenishing itself, and finally, she staggered to her feet, pain not as bad as it was. Eased enough to take some potions for anyway. Bow raised, she peered in to see what was going on.

Both Nords, dead. The Orc falling to the ground, shredded to pieces, and the Imperial dying screaming as one of Hircine's manbeasts, Storihbeg incarnate, sank its claws into her. And then it let its prey go and turned to her.

Shevawna knew her folklore. When faced with a minion of Hircine, the last thing you ever did was run. Because then you were prey, and then you were dead. So she held her ground and kept her bow trained on it, and where in the Void had Vilkas fucked off to anyway? Maybe it had killed him too. She could but hope.

“Get back,” she said quietly. “Get back, son of Storihbeg. Go back to the Hunting Grounds, there is no more prey for you here.”

She could have sworn it whined at her, but she was fairly sure manbeasts didn't whine like a wolf pup. Then it dropped to its knees and did it again, and this was just weird.

“Stop doing that, minion of Hircine,” she snapped. “I'm not falling for your tricks! Go on, get out of here!”

The wolf closed its eyes and went on all fours, flesh and fur rippling, and then everything blurred, and then Vilkas was kneeling there, naked as the day he was born.

Oh. Oh. Sirrah Afflicted. Werewolf. Oh. Well, no wonder he'd been able to smell Kieran's scent on her. And the way the others had sniffed her... oh Sithis. Jorrvaskr was full of them. And no one had ever told her. Kodlak had never told her. Keirine had never warned her, and Shevawna refused to believe the First Matriarch hadn't known.

“Going to put the bow down so I can find my clothes in peace?” Vilkas asked quietly, not meeting her eyes and angling himself so she couldn't see his man bits. How very annoying. She could see his backside though and his shoulders, and very nice they were too – no. This went no further. This madness had to stop, they seriously needed to talk, and by Sithis, Dibella and Namira, he definitely should get dressed so she didn't spend the entire conversation trying not to stare at his cock. She lowered the bow.

“Not stopping you,” she said curtly. Vilkas nodded, getting up and walking off, not so quickly she didn't get a look at Little Vilkas, and it clearly wasn't so little either. Not bad at all – sweet Dibella, she was doomed.

Finally Vilkas had his armour back on, Skyforge steel greatsword on his back, still as grumpy as ever... and blushing? Certainly embarrassed.

“I suppose you want an explanation,” he said gruffly, voice devoid of hostility for the first time since she'd met him.

“You're a werewolf, apparently!” Shevawna said, looking him over. “And you think I'm wrong for practicing magic. At least I never gave myself over to Hircine – wait, you're a minion of a Daedric Prince and clearly not the only one in Jorrvaskr either, and you had a problem with me??”

“I'm sorry!” Vilkas cried. “I didn't... look, I didn't know about Hircine when I took the blood. I just wanted to be a better, stronger warrior, Skjor made it sound like a gift!”

“Hircine would say it is,” Shevawna managed to say. “Peryite claims disease is a blessing, that doesn't mean we'd want to get sick ourselves! You chose to be a manbeast?”

“You worship all sorts of weird gods and you have a problem with werewolves?” Vilkas snapped.

“No,” Shevawna sighed. “No, not as such – look, we worship Hircine, he's one of the old gods, we call on him when we hunt, we tell tales of him. But Storihbeg, King of the Manbeasts, he's... he's dangerous. Wild. We fear him, Vilkas. We fear dying at his hands, but we fear more being turned pelt-side-out. We fear losing our humanity, becoming beasts – pariahs. Prey. And to hear you chose this, half of Jorrvaskr chose this – gods, Vilkas, how many of you are there?? Are you going to make me one??”

“No!” Vilkas cried. “Eight, no. If anyone doesn't need the beast blood, it's you. It's just the Circle, Shevawna. Me, Farkas, Skjor, Aela and Kodlak. No one else has the blood, no one else is even supposed to know about it. You can't tell anyone. Please.”

Shevawna was half tempted to run back to Jorrvaskr and shriek the entire thing to Ria, Olfina and Athis, but something stayed the panic. This was the first halfway civil conversation she'd had with Vilkas since she'd met him. For the first time, the power was in her direction and she rather liked it this way.

“All right,” Shevawna agreed, deciding not to kill him after all. This was far too interesting to pass up. “I don't tell anyone. You stop being an Orc's backside to me. And in the mean time, you can watch my back in this place while I retrieve the piece of Wuuthrad and claim the glory.”

Vilkas hesitated, then looked down and actually laughed. “Aye, I deserved that, didn't I? All right, witch, you have your bargain. I'm not promising eternal friendship or anything, but I will at least treat you with a basic respect and courtesy while you're a Shield-Sister in good standing. And I'll watch your back in here. Eight know there's probably more where they came from. Damn Silver Hand.”

The Silver Hand? Shevawna had never heard of them – or had she? Now she thought of it, yes she had, there'd been a group of warriors with silver weapons calling themselves that who'd tried to attack one of the other Redoubts, claiming they were going to cleanse the Forsworn stain from the Reach for good. Half of them killed, half taken prisoner and put to death in increasingly brutal and creative ways by the Matriarch, quite possibly eaten in a feast to Namira, and one terrified one left til last, forced to watch his comrades die and then told by the Redoubt's Briarheart to go back to his friends and tell them the Forsworn would root them all out and destroy them in ways that made what he'd just seen look like a lover's caress if any of them ever set foot in the Reach again. There'd been no trouble since.

“Who are the Silver Hand?” Shevawna asked. “Are they like the Vigil of Stendarr, do they hunt Daedra worshippers?”

Vilkas laughed bitterly at that. “They wish they were. No, they're like bandits, worse than bandits. They say they're werewolf hunters, but they don't just hunt and put down feral beasts, no. They hunt innocent people who never asked to be infected, or even willing wolves living peacefully and lawfully, and they don't just kill cleanly. They imprison and torture. They're not good people. And they found out Jorrvaskr had werewolves and now they've made it their mission to hunt us down. They nearly had me today if you'd not turned up.”

For some reason, the idea of anyone else hurting and torturing Vilkas made her sad. Not to mention hunting and torturing werewolves – it was an offence against Hircine. Maybe Reachfolk wouldn't want to be one (and there were always exceptions even to that), but even so, werewolves were Hircine's children and deserved respect for that. These Silver Hand were animals, worse than animals.

“Wipe out werewolves?” Shevawna scoffed. “They might as well try to hunt Hircine himself. They could kill all the werewolves and he would simply make more. Storihbeg cannot be killed, no aspect of Hircine can even though you think you've hunted it.”

“Aye, I know,” Vilkas said wryly. “But that does not stop them hurting the innocent in the mean time. And I think there's more of them here. We'll have to be careful.”

“Then let's take them by surprise,” Shevawna said quietly, dropping into a crouch. “Show them what real hunters look like.”

Vilkas nodded and crept after her, actually looking pleased. “Spoken like a true warrior,” he murmured.

Shevawna couldn't help but feel rather pleased at that, and out of everything, that was the weirdest thing of all.

~~~~~~~~~~

So the two of them explored and sure enough there were more Silver Hand, not to mention Draugr. Shevawna dealt with the sleeping ones by creeping up and ramming a sword into them, which Vilkas muttered was not honourable and yet he didn't object to fewer enemies to actually have to fight either.

And so they explored and so they fought, and in the quieter times they talked.

“So they had this big werewolf in front of you, they sliced its arm open and made you drink the blood – Vilkas, at what point did you not realise this was a bad idea?”

“They said it would make me stronger, that all true Companions had the blood of the beast!”

“Peer pressure. I knew it. No Reach child would ever have made that mistake,” Shevawna sighed. “We all know it's a surrender to Hircine, we'd have said no. Or having said yes, would have gone in eyes open and not looked back. At the very least, we are taught from a young age that if you are invited to any sort of secret ritual involving drinking someone else's blood, you should ask a lot of questions before taking part.”

“Well, I know that now!” Vilkas sighed. “My childhood didn't involve a lot of discussion of the dark arts! My father hated all magic with a passion. Wanted no discussion of any of it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Shevawna sighed. “And so you grow up knowing nothing, not even the basics, so when you do encounter magic and the spirit world, you make stupid mistakes like this!”

“I didn't know!” Vilkas cried. Then he sighed and stared at his feet. “I don't suppose you know a cure, do you?”

“No,” said Shevawna firmly. “I do not. I know enough magic to keep myself and sometimes others alive and kill my enemies. I do not know how to cure the fruits of a Nord's own stupidity for him.”

Vilkas growled slightly but thankfully did little else. Werewolf, so that was why he had anger issues. Or maybe he was an angry person anyway but the beast blood made it worse. And he wanted a cure. Kodlak was one too from the sounds of it. Did he want a cure as well? She'd have to ask him.

She'd certainly have to ask Keirine. The First Matriarch must know all about werewolves, surely?

“What about you?” Vilkas asked. “Your king's free. You staying here or going to join him? He must be planning something. Is he raising an army? Planning a new uprising?”

“I don't know!” Shevawna sighed. “He's probably getting used to the sun again, enjoying his freedom and figuring out his next move. The Forsworn aren't organised enough for another uprising, not yet. Too much bickering among the Hags for that. He'd have to get all four of the big Matriarchs round a table and persuade them to lend him their troops. That's going to take a while, Vilkas. It's like a High King or Queen trying to persuade all the Jarls to do things their way. Except the Jarls are Hags who can do dangerous magic. Even our First Matriarch can't order them all just like that, and she's on the King's side.”

Vilkas actually looked thoughtful as he digested all this. “You know, I never really thought about it like that before. You lot as a people, an organised one, your own little country. So used to thinking of you as dangerous marauders who just like killing.”

“Oh we still are,” Shevawna grinned, the words out before her brain could catch up with her mouth. Then she stopped, looking sheepishly at Vilkas. “But, er, we've got a cause? We've got a land to free? Just Madanach's been in prison and not able to give us really precise instructions or plan like he'd want to. But now he's free so who knows what will happen.”

“Are you going to join him?” Vilkas asked quietly. “He has to be building an army.”

“He has one,” Shevawna smirked. Then, seeing the genuine worry in Vilkas's eyes, she relented a little. She could reassure him on that point at least.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she told him. “Not yet. I think Jorrvaskr is where I need to be. Madanach has plenty of young Reachmen and women willing to fight and die for his cause. But not many willing to work with outsiders and keep the Reach safe in other ways.”

To her surprise, Vilkas actually smiled, which Shevawna had never seen him do before. The effect was disconcerting to say the least. It made him look younger. More boyish. Less grim and intimidating. Gentler.

She could get to like that smile. That really was frightening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Silver Hand. A lot more Silver Hand. And Draugr. And Silver Hand and Draugr all attacking at once. Thank Sithis for Vilkas, Shevawna would never have made it on her own. As it was, they made a good team, Vilkas moving quickly and powerfully, carving into them with a greatsword that seemed to sing as it flew through the air, while Shevawna hung back, taking aim with her bow first, summoning Atronachs or raising corpses to help Vilkas out, then Destruction magic on people who got past Vilkas and were going for her, only switching to her Forsworn weapons when people got close up.

Then through into the locked part of the tomb after Shevawna found the key in a chest off to one side, and then skeevers, spiders and more Draugr. They finally ended up in a big chamber with a strange carved wall at the back... and on a table in front of it, a big chunk of iron with an elf's face on it.

“That's it,” Shevawna breathed, reaching out to take it. “Look, Vilkas, we did it, we got the – oh.”

As soon as she'd picked it up, the entrance door had slammed shut and locked itself, and one of the coffins smashed open, a Draugr stepping out, weapons raised.

There were an awful lot of coffins in this room, and if they all had Draugr... Shevawna looked at Vilkas, worried. He didn't look a lot happier.

“We fight them together, yes?” Vilkas asked, greatsword raised.

“Together,” Shevawna said, casting her armour and summoning an Atronach. If she died today, she would at least go out fighting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

At least the Draugr didn't all burst out at once, and if they had that would have been the end of both of them. Stupid Nords, if the Reachmen had built tombs like this, they'd have had all the bonewalkers rise at once to slaughter the intruders with cunning and power. But it was Nords who'd built this place, Nords with their ridiculous sense of fair play, and so the Draugr came out a few at a time. Which made life a lot easier, and so Vilkas's greatsword swung and Shevawna's magic flared and both would dance around each other to take down a foe the other had missed and really Shevawna was starting to enjoy this, just her and Vilkas against the world or twenty Draugr at least, moving in harmony, always aware of where the other was and not one spell hitting him or any stroke of the greatsword getting her, just seamless slaughtering.

And at last one Draugr fell burning at Shevawna's feet while another fell neatly cloven in two before Vilkas, and no one was moving but the two of them and Shevawna was breathless but ready for more. It was a shame there were no more opponents, Shevawna felt ready to take on more, and from the look in his eyes, so did Vilkas, only sheathing his sword with regret.

“We did it,” Shevawna gasped.

“We did,” Vilkas said, approaching with a smile on his face and half-closed eyes and before she knew it he was hugging her. “You fought well, Shield-Sister.”

“And you,” Shevawna managed to get out, hugging him back, still too high on post-battle euphoria to question why she was hugging a man she thought she hated. “But I'm not a full Companion, isn't there some sort of initiation first?”

“Someone from the Circle watches you on a dangerous mission to make sure you're honourable,” Vilkas growled, still not letting go of her. “They say you are, you're in. I watched you doing all this, you're honourable and you're brave.”

“But you're not in the Circle any more,” Shevawna gasped, suddenly feeling very nervous. He still hadn't let go of her.

“No,” said Vilkas quietly. “But my word still counts for something or Kodlak would have thrown me out.”

He still hadn't let her go and Shevawna was started to get a bit worried. She was still full of adrenaline from the battle, ready to fight some more or run, run run until it was all out of her system, or find someone cute and fuck them til they screamed, but Vilkas was holding her and she could do none of those things.

“Vilkas,” she whispered. “You need to let me go. Either let me go or have sex with me because I really need to get it out of my – mmm!” He'd started as she'd said the word sex, eyes wide as he'd stared down at her – and then she'd seen a wildness, an all too familiar hunger in his eyes and now he was kissing her, lips on hers as he crushed her to him, scooping her up and walking her backwards until she felt her back meet the inside of a Draugr coffin, pinning her in place as he finally stopped kissing her and began removing her top, her headdress having already fallen off by this point.

All right then, sex it was, which was a bit weird considering she'd thought they hated each other, but then his mouth found her nipple and she stopped giving it a second thought because damn that felt good.

“Yes, oh yes,” she whispered and then Vilkas's fingers were sliding into her smallclothes and that felt even better. Thumb on her clit and fingers sliding into her cunt, and it all felt good, so good, Vilkas knew what he was doing, that was a surprise but a pleasant one. She'd heard Nord men were all about the cock and fucking and not a lot else, but Vilkas seemed to know what foreplay was.

“Please... yes, more, harder...”

“Gods, I want you, gods I need you, I can't stop, I can't...”

“Don't stop... don't stop... yes, like that...”

“... what are you doing to me, why... gods yes, yes, you're beautiful, yes...”

Shevawna closed her eyes as his fingers worked deeper, orgasm claiming her as she clung on to him, and by the old gods, he really did know what he was doing. Shevawna clung on to him, shrieking his name as she came before collapsing in his arms.

Vilkas's fingers left her, and he let her go, stepping away as she slid to the ground, exhausted. Was there going to be more? Was he going to fuck her next? He must want more, she'd not even touched him. Would he let her suck him off? She'd be all right with going down on him after that orgasm.

But he hadn't said anything and when she looked up, he was blushing furiously, staring at his hand in horror, fingers still dripping with her juices.

“Vilkas?” Shevawna asked, confused. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” Vilkas whispered, looking horrified... and revolted and that was really not cool, he had no right to still hate her after all this. “I should never... I need to go...” He grabbed his gauntlets and helm, both cast to the side in all the flurry of kissing, and fled for the newly opened tunnel in one of the coffins.

“Vilkas... wait, Vilkas, we didn't even... don't you want to... Vilkas!” Shevawna shouted after him. It was to no avail. Vilkas was gone and Shevawna was left in a heap on the floor, half-dressed, exhausted and very very confused.

“Did I do something wrong?” Shevawna whispered, trying to work out whether she was angry or hurt or just plain puzzled. One thing was for sure though. She would never understand Nords.