Erik the Ass Destroyer

by Airie

Summary:

A sequel to "Erik the Pussy Slayer". After defeating Alduin the Dragonborn leaves Erik to do some adventuring on his own. He soon gets into trouble, but thankfully Aza returns and the two set out on another glorious adventure.

Chapter 1: Young Hero

“B-but you said you…!” The Redguard girl clutched her satchel. Her cheeks were burning with shame, her gut felt as if she had a huge block of ice inside.

“Oh, honey…” The rogue sighed almost embarrassed.

What foolish creatures young women were! All he had to do was butter her up for a few days and she practically begged she ‘escapes’ with him, carrying off with her father’s life savings. What the lass didn’t expect was his band of merry cutthroats, waiting for her (and her money) in the snowy woods east of Solitude. The look on her face was priceless.

“You used me!” She cried. Anger and betrayal mixed in a ragged whimper. Her shockingly blue eyes were burning.

“No, I haven’t… yet. But don’t worry, by the end of the night you will truly understand what being used really feels like.” The deceitful Nord grinned, getting off from the stone he was occupying. The Dunmer and Imperial that accompanied him surrounded the girl. Only her left was opened, leading straight into the dark woods.

She had to think fast. She bolted, throwing the satchel behind, hoping to slow them down. Curses followed, they weren’t giving up that easily.

She pushed self-loathe aside. She wanted something better, adventure and romance. Instead, she got… No! This wasn’t final, she could escape. Father is going to be furious with her… Later, she’ll worry about it later.

As with all Redguards, her feet were swift, but she couldn’t outrun an elf. After a few moments, a gray arm was slung over her waist. The Dunmer threw her against a tree trunk, snow fell from the pine branches. She screamed, but who would hear her in this time of night, so far away from the city?

“Do it again, my little dove.” The elf laughed amused and aroused. He brutally shoved his knee between her legs, getting a good grip on her throat.

“Fuck you…!” She managed to gasp out. A feisty one!

“Watch your tongue, honey” he ran his dagger up her skirt, the plain dark-green wool was cut like paper. “Now, you won’t bite, right? There are three of us, you got three holes… Did your ma teach you math?”

“What’s taking you so long?!” The Nord ringleader’s impatient voice could be heard from afar, back in their camp. “I swear, if you want her ass all for yourself, you…” the sentence ended in a gruesome yell.

“What in Oblivion?” The elf grunted. It seemed they weren’t alone. “Did someone follow you, you little cunt?” He hissed, almost choking her. The girl shook her head, desperately fighting for air. Her legs felt numb, her eyes rolled back.

He took a step back and forced her to bend forward. His knee plunged into her stomach, the girl fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Mother…!” She groaned, curling into a ball.

“Stay here, bitch. Move, and I’ll cut your tits off!” The elven bandit threatened, heading back to the camp.

Halfway through, he stumbled upon a tree stump. No, wait. It was… a head. Shit, it was the boss! He called out for the Imperial.

“Get over here you fool!” Was the response. “Son of a bitch took the boss out!”

“I know, idiot!” The Dunmer thought, reaching for his bow. The head was cut off clean, which could only mean one thing; an axe.

It was actually a good thing. Axemen were lethal, but slow. With an arrow readied, he snuck back to the campsite, mindful of any twigs or more gore.

The ebony axe carried by the Nord assailant was impressive, the price he could fetch for it… And since the boss was gone… The Imperial wasn’t holding on either. Yes, a good aim, one clean shot and he could spend this night with the little bitch and sell the axe for a handsome price the next day.

“Hurry up!” The Imperial called for him, dodging another swing. Damn, that bastard knew how to use that thing and keep his balance.

But the evasion left the Imperial off guard. The Nord got behind him with surprising swiftness and caught his neck behind his weapon’s handle. He pulled sharply, breaking the Imperial’s neck. The Dunmer risked and released the arrow the exact same moment his comrade died.

The vigilante used the dead bandit as a meat-shield, the arrow hit just below the collarbone. A cold, steady gleam was in the Nord’s eyes as he proceeded to approach the elf, still hidden behind the Imperial, whose mace and shield somehow staid in his grasp.

“That’s it! That’s it! Come at me, little hero!” The Dark Elf dared, switching back to his dagger. This was meant to be up close and personal.

The axeman didn’t get provoked. His brows crossed, but his face remained focused and cool. The elf could see his eyes set on him. He grunted, swishing the blade in the air to show he meant business.

The body of his fallen comrade was unexpectedly flung towards him, he dashed away, for a second losing his opponent between the tree trunks. He also hid behind one of the trees, somewhere in the distance he could hear the tricked girl whimper.

He heard movement. He jumped from behind the tree ready to cut the little hero’s eyes out. But instead of the Nord, he found a bay horse standing in the middle of the woods.

Cold steel pressed against his throat. There was no taunting, no last words. The Nord pulled the length of Skyforge steel against his throat. The elf’s face hit the snow, a black puddle bloomed under his severed artery.

The girl could breathe again. Hearing approaching footsteps, she got up on her feet, but tripped and crawled away like a wounded critter. She looked over her shoulder. She didn’t know who that man was, but in the light of Nirn’s twin moons she could see his red hair, clear blue eyes and a scar on his left cheek. Gods, what did he want with her?

“Can you walk?” Erik asked, there was no trace of emotion in his voice. He just wanted a straight answer. He took the slurs that spouted from her mouth as confirmation. He threw the girl’s satchel between her feet. “Solitude is that way.” He said, pointing at the city’s direction.

The lass quickly took off, clutching the satchel and crying. He ignored her, he was experienced enough to know they seldom acted grateful. It was good she didn’t pass out or puke herself, he was too tired to play rescuer.

He got back to the bandit corpses, looted what little there was of value and then got back to their camp. His mare was waiting patiently near the warm bonfire.

“Good girl.” He said warmly, patting her on the side of the neck. “Now let’s see if they have anything good to eat.”

The Gods smiled upon him, as the bandits had a stew brewing. And from the smell he determined it was pork, not skeever.

“I got more luck than brains” he said with a bitter laugh.

There was enough to feed two or more people. But he was alone. It was almost a month since that bitch Aza left him on his own in Markarth.

Chapter 2: Grizzled Warrioress

Frostflow Lighthouse. A place one normal, average family sought to call home. Only to be slaughtered by the revolting Falmer that just happened to have their nest below. It was an unnecessary tragedy one could not predict nor prevent.

The Falmer and their insect pets were history. Although the Dragonborn promised to refrain from using the Thu’um, the anger she felt when she found the body of a middle-aged Redguard woman and her two teenage children rendered the oath obsolete. Breathing fire on those blind, pale abominations was satisfying as Oblivion itself.

When she found the remains of the father, she couldn’t help but do something symbolic; putting the remains in the beacon on top of the lighthouse. It was an unnecessary gesture, but she felt it was the right thing to do. She paid the rest of the bodies the same amount of respect, burying them outside the lighthouse, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. One good firebreath made the ground soft and warm enough to dig up proper graves.

She wasn’t religious, but those people deserved better. She saw many bodies of innocent victims in her travels, and mostly ignored them. But this time she couldn’t look away and loot their house excusing herself with the old ‘they won’t be needing their stuff anymore’ card. It was a possible sign she was growing old and soft.

It was far too late to travel, and she was exhausted from the fighting and digging. She made herself cozy in the main chamber of the lighthouse, near the fireplace. Her mare was outside, in the back shed. She ate their still fresh produce, minding not to make much mess. She then laid on furs and blankets she gathered close to the warm, steady fire.

She was a light sleeper, a trait she was proud of. But recently she found falling asleep more and more difficult. At first she thought it was because she hadn’t a warm body next to her. But that wasn’t the case. She had some lewd fun with a number of men and women, but it appeared she needed one very specific body.

She fell asleep after chugging a whole bottle of good Hammerfell rum. Getting drunk wasn’t a good idea. When she heard noises late in the night she couldn’t react fast enough. Like a rookie she was surprised and beaten over the head, then gagged and tied up.

---

“But, um… We’re going to let her go, right?” The newbie asked, nervously rubbing his palms.

“Sure thing! And next we’ll donate to the temple!” The Breton said mockingly, getting a better grip on the Redguard slut’s fine ass.

Aza did what she always did in extreme situations; thought fast. Ignore the pain, push aside your dignity and don’t let fear overcome you. Think, you dumb bitch, your life is on the line!

There were three of them, as usual when her luck turned bad. The ringleader was an Orc woman, unusually the Breton was the muscle, and they had some Nord whelp tagging along. The boss went outside to check the shed. Aza realized with horror that Orcs found horsemeat a delicacy. No, not her horsie!

“Okay, but…” the milk-drinker kept nagging. “We’re not going to kill her, right?”

Even the Redguard grunted with annoyance. Was that kid really that thick-skulled?

“Oh sure, and a woman with toys like those” his chin pointed at two glass swords and a set of steel armor on the table, “and a face like this” he pulled her by the shoulders, so that she faced the newbie, “will just forget and move on?”

The pup swallowed loudly. The woman’s right eye was completely white and her body covered in scars. The Breton was doing her from behind, her hands were tied on her back. Her huge rack bounced with his hard, disharmonious thrusts.

“Uh… no. She’s… pretty pissed off. She’ll come after us.” He admitted, avoiding her glare.

“Atta boy!” The Breton laughed, roughly pulling out. His cock was completely dry, but it didn’t bother him. He stuck his thumbs into her asshole and spread roughly, trying to fit his cap in. The gag pulled over her mouth muffled a pained howl. “No hard feelings, right honey? We’ll do it quick, you’ll barely feel a thing. Well, not now, I can tell you’ve never had it this hard, huh?”

She growled. His size was decent, but she had bigger and more talented. She suddenly noticed a bent rusty nail sticking from the floor a few inches from her face. This was her chance. She struggled, managing to pull herself closer to it and away from the Breton and his filthy cock.

“Whoa, there! What a jibber mare I got myself!” He exclaimed, grabbing her by the hips. “Say, rookie, after I’m done you can have some fun with this one! Tight like a teen!”

The new guy was speechless. The second he was about to say something, the Redguard managed to get the nail under the rag and sharply pull her head back. The material tore and loosened, falling off her face. A stream of blood followed, as she cut her cheek as well. She spat and took a deep breath.

“FUS… RO-DAH!”

With a surprised cry, the youngster was thrown across the room like a toy.

“What the hell…” The Breton asked dumbfounded.

Seizing the opportunity, Aza squirmed form his grasp, flipping over to free herself from her binds with the same nail. Thank the damned Gods, the material tore easily. Their eyes met. He gulped, seeing a mad spark in her good eye. Aza kicked him in the jaw, then sprinted to the table. Her hands grasped the familiar shapes of her swords, her teeth gnashed in a mad grin.

The Breton’s pants were pulled down all the way to his knees, his chestpiece was tossed far away, he didn’t want it to get in the way while he had his fun. Before he could get up and reach for his mace, the crazed woman’s blade was plunged deep into his spine, just above the shoulders, instantly reuniting him with the Gods.

The whelp shook his head, reaching for his short iron dagger. He had no idea how to use it, though. She disarmed him with no difficulty. But instead of killing him, she kicked him in the crotch and punched in the face, splitting his lip and knocking out.

She shrugged, feeling her holes torn, she was going to be sore for a few days. But she wasn’t done yet. There was no time to get dressed. Nervous neighing coming from the outside made her pick up the pace.

---

The Orc woman smiled widely. The horse was well-kept and looked particularly tasty. She left that High Rock bastard and the Nord pup to have some fun with the Hammerfell slut they found. They should dispose of her after they’re done. Her stuff was worthy quite a penny, this was a good haul. She covered herself with her thick dark-green cape, pulling the matching hood deeper over her head. An impressive greatsword was on her back. The horse motioned away, but it had nowhere to hide.

There was a knock on the door.

“What?” The Orc asked annoyed.

“I killed them.” Aza said, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Come out, I want this over with.”

“Useless idiots!” The ringleader growled, heading out.

The Redguard was looking just like when she left her with the boys; what was left of a fatigued nightshirt was dangling on her in shreds, her hair was loose and tangled, her feet were bare. The swords the Orc was hoping to sale were in her grasp.

“Nice cape.” She said. They both knew what she meant; ‘It’s going to be my trophy, bitch!’

“Thanks. I’m actually grateful. They were useless fools, the new guy tagged along just recently. Wanted to be badass, but he was just a pussy.”

They began the dance, encircling the field before the lighthouse. The Orc unhurriedly reached for her gruesome sword.

“Men.” The Redguard sighed.

“I was hoping to use them to carry the spoils. But I guess now I’m going to ride your horse for a bit instead of eating it.”

“Her. She’s my girl. And you stay away from her.” Aza hissed. Damn her gear, but she grew attached to her paint mare!

“Oh? And what are you going to do, slut? Smother me with those tits of yours?”

Unexpectedly, the Redguard lowered her blades.

“You know what? Screw this, I’m not in the mood to play.” She said tiredly. She inhaled slowly.

“What ere y-?” The Orc’s survival instinct was tingling.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The bandit was set flying at the lighthouse wall. Before she could pick herself up, Aza jumped on her. Her blades sunk into the side of the Orc’s chest, piercing both lungs and heart. She quickly turned over the still warm body and took the cape and hood as trophy. There were no other valuables on the Orc – her armor was completely useless, the sword too troublesome to carry.

She anxiously checked up on her mare. Thankfully, the horse was not hurt. Her mount’s ears were flat on her shapely head, her hoof dug in the frozen ground.

“You be good, I’ll be back soon.” The adventurer said, closing the door. She had one more thing to do. She grinned vindictively, heading back inside.

---

Kjeld opened his eyes with difficulty. He was laying on his belly, his mouth was bleeding, he might have chipped a tooth. His crotch was swollen with numbing pain. When his vision focused, he noticed the Breton’s body laying face-down just a few feet from him. The blood had time to cool and dry.

“You’re up. Good.” He heard a voice.

It was her, the Redguard! He tried to scuttle away, but he felt the tip of her blade on his shoulder.

“As you were, whelp.” She said calmly. She looked far scarier in a set of steel armor with pauldrons, cuffed boots and gauntlets. The Orc leader’s cape and hood were on her shoulders, he needn’t ask how she got them.

“My father owns a mine and an inn!” He said quickly. She didn’t kill him, mayhap he could buy his life?

“That’s nice.” She replied with a slight smile. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Kjeld. Kjeld the Younger.” He answered quickly, eying the glass tip dancing inches from his face.

That name sounded familiar. Where did she hear it?

“Younger? So, I assume Kjeld is your daddy, eh? And where are you from?”

“Kynesgrove.”

Kynesgrove! Right, she was there with Delphine to investigate an old dragon burial site. Alduin beat them to it and resurrected a dragon they had to fight. Damn, it felt as if it happened in a completely different life. But in fact, it was over a year ago.

“Nice little hamlet, Kynesgrove. Why’d you leave such a cozy place?” She kept questioning, as if they were having a tea party.

“Because it was dull!” The whelp suddenly snapped, his red hair covered his face. His slightly freckled cheeks got red. “My father wanted me to oversee the mine or work at his inn, he practically owns the village. But I wanted neither of it! I wanted to get out of there and do something more exciting!”

Her hand slightly trembled. Oh, the irony. Another small-village boy, who wanted to get away from his daddy and see the world. Though, this one hung out with the wrong crowd and was now paying for it. She felt a twitch in her chest. This is how Erik could end up without her help. She kept telling herself she did the right thing leaving him in Markarth. She was worrying sick ever since, but it was the right decision. Even if it left her feeling empty inside. And she could bet her good eye Erik was furious the morning she was gone.

She kneeled before Kjeld, gazing into his insipid eyes. They hadn’t the same spark that caught her attention back in Rorikstead. None of that potential, just waiting for a chance. This one was useless, but he wasn’t her responsibility.

“It’s your lucky night.” She said with a wide grin. Her teeth were shockingly white. “You met the wrong people, shit happens. You’re just a dumb whelp, so I’ll let you go… But if I ever catch you screwing around again, I’ll gut you. Understood?”

He nodded eagerly, blood from his smashed lips drizzled on the floor.

“Good. Get up and strip.” Her eyes glimmered, as always when she was up to no good.

“What?”

“Strip. Your parents apparently never punished you for stupidity, so allow me to do it myself.”

“I’m almost eighteen! I’m not a child!” He protested, standing up. The woman kicked him in the kneecap. He cried out a curse, struggling to maintain balance.

“To your bare ass.” She said indifferently.

Sobbing, he got out of his plain fur armor and underwear. She also made him take his shoes off. He wasn’t feeble, but it was obvious he hadn’t worked a day in his life. Too soft around the edges.

“Turn around” she instructed, pricking his chest with the sword. “Hands behind your back.”

He obeyed, whimpering. His pride was suffering more than his body. No one had ever mistreated him like this! She quickly tied his hands behind his back with what was left of her own binds.

“Stick your arse out.”

“What?!” He squeaked, his buttcheeks instinctively tightened.

“Your bum, pretty boy.” She said patiently, drawing lines on his back with the glass blade, mindful not to hurt him.

He bent over, shaking and sobbing. With a powerful thrust Aza shoved his sheathed dagger all the way into his rectum, then slapped his ass hard enough to leave a handprint. Kjeld screamed and ran out of the main chamber as if he was on fire. She followed him outside, laughing like a lunatic, and watched until he disappeared in the snowy horizon. He didn’t slow down until he completely vanished into the distance.

Still chuckling, Aza took the body of the Orc and threw it over the cliff. She did the same with the Breton. After a moment of consideration, she took her mare inside. She drank a healing potion, rubbed some soothing salve into her knees, ass and face, then drank a contraceptive potion she had stashed away ‘just in case’. Better safe than sorry. She slept with her horse near the fire, with the door solidly barred this time.

Chapter 3: Markarth

In retrospect, Erik should have seen that one coming. There were signs the bitch planned to depart, but he was either too foolish to notice, or too stubborn to admit there was something wrong.

After defeating Alduin, they made a quick stop in Whiterun to pick up their horses and report to the Jarl. There were no honors, no piles of gold as reward for their valor. Balgruuf was relieved, his city was safe. The two left to do whatever they’d want. They chose to ride west.

The City of Stone was a marvel, as with all metropolises built upon ancient Dwemer ruins. Although it recently changed its Jarl, it remained a haven for sellswords of all kinds.

They arrived early in the morning, and for the rest of the day drank in honor of the two Dunmer who paid a significant role in their quest. They had no word from Erandur, it was said he assisted the healers as best as he could, then left a few days later. Jenassa’s body was cremated per his request, he took the ashes with him.

On a drunken whim they ended up sneaking into the inner sanctum of the Temple of Dibella. After being caught by the priestesses, they were rashly scolded and lashed with wooden sticks. In order to repent for their trespass the priestesses sent them out on a hopeless quest to find Dibella’s future Sybil.

---

The Sybil was barely eight years old. She was dirty and hungry, her plain commoner dress reduced to rags. Finding her was quite a feat, as she was abducted from her home village of Karthwasten by the Forsworn. It was best not to know for what purpose.

Erik and Aza fought through a small army of the savages, before freeing her from an abandoned Imperial fort. She was surprisingly calm and spoke too well for her age. There was certainly something strange about that child. They got her out of the damned ruin in haste.

---

A hoarse cough cut the night air; Aza caught another cold, probably from when she rolled in the snow on top of the Throat of the World. It was her turn to keep a lookout, she couldn’t sleep anyway. She had a plan brewing and intended to carry it out soon. In a day or two, just to savor the last moments.

Their camp was near a small pond, Erik and Fjotra were asleep, the horses were watchful of any nocturnal predators. Dragonflies raced above the water, lunar moths majestically fluttered in the cool night air. The night was as peaceful as possible.

She heard the rustling of leaves; the Sybil, was awake. The girl was standing stiff, as if paralyzed. She was staring straight at the Redguard, her eyes wide open and unblinking. Aza didn’t move. It was said the child was touched by the Gods, but the term was vague enough to mean she was either a seer or mad. She didn’t move a muscle as not to startle the girl, waiting for the Sybil to make the first move.

“Come” she beckoned. Aza dared not resist that tone. The obediently followed the little figure up to the pond.

Fjotra said nothing, her little finger pointed at the water. Aza got on all-fours and looked into the water. She could see her reflection, there was nothing new or unusual about her scarred face. But where should be Fjotra’s reflection was a mysterious naked woman. She instinctively knew it was the girl’s future self.

“Dovahkiin” the reflection said, the voice seemed to come from under the water, but was also strangely clear and warm.

“I’m delusional, it must be the fever.” The Redguard said with solid confidence.

“The Gods cannot entirely control the affairs of mortals. It is not their intention.” Adult Fjotra’s long hair was enveloping her luscious naked form. “And yet they can bend the odds to give their favored ones a small push.”

“I said I want nothing to do with you!” Aza grinded her teeth. “I killed that dragon, just like you wanted, so now leave me be!”

“A small push, Dovahkiin.” The reflection started to fade away. “No more, no less. What you do with it is up to you.”

The image disappeared, the surface was now smooth and dark. Aza spat in it with thick saliva mixed with mucus. She looked over her shoulder; little Fjotra was gone as well. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She gasped, then immediately choked and coughed. Her throat was burning, her head seemed as big as a barn.

“It’s okay, it’s me.” Erik said, still keeping his hand on her shoulder. “My turn to keep watch.”

Wait, where was she? This wasn’t the pond, why was she in her bedroll…? It was all a dream! She wanted to laugh, but hacked and coughed again. She needed healing badly, but the illness was too serious to shake off with a bit of potions and prayer.

“The kid?” She inquired, coughing up the fluids settling down her throat.

“Sound asleep.” He assured. Indeed, the girl was breathing peacefully next to the fire.

“Good, good.” She snorted.

“First, we’ll go to the temple. Then the apothecary, and a room at the inn.” Erik insisted, pressing his palm to her forehead. His hands were pleasantly cold.

“Are you going to take care of me?” She muttered, feeling a bit of relief.

“I’m going to pamper you until you beg me to stop.” He promised with a smirk. “Sleep. Your coughing keeps waking me up.”

---

“I must say, I am surprised the lots of you got our Sybil here safe and sound. You’ve earned the Goddesses’ forgiveness.” Mother Hamal said graciously, her hand rested firmly on Fjotra’s shoulder. She had the hands of a young girl, not an elderly woman. The beauty and elegance of Dibella’s priestesses was more than just a rumor.

“We’re honored” Erik said, whilst his partner was trying to refrain from spitting her lungs out.

They trotted in place for a moment, but Hamal had no intention of paying them.

“These people deserve a reward.” Fjotra suddenly said, her voice had nothing of a child’s tone.

The High Priestess looked down upon the girl. Her face was transfixed for a moment.

“Yes, of course.” She said slowly, reaching into her robe’s pocket.

“Mighty thanks!” Erik grinned, weighting the coinpurse Hamal presented. Meanwhile, Aza wiped the sweat from her face, maintaining balance with difficulty. She was going to either faint or throw up.

“You’re welcome. Now, if you excuse us…” Hamal gestured them to leave.

The Redguard gave the temple one last sharp look, before following Erik out, she was far too exhausted to even think.

“Don’t worry!” She heard the Sybil’s cheerful tone. “It’s going to be alright!”

The heroine stopped and looked over her shoulder; Hamal was about to enter the inner sanctum, but Fjotra squirmed from her grasp and was now bending over a stone basin in the middle of the chamber.

“What’s going to be alright?” The Redguard asked, fearing the answer. Will the kid give her another dim prophecy?

“You’re concerned whether the priestesses will be good to me, right? They will.” The girl smiled, her dirty cheeks lit up. Thankfully, she wasn’t in a trance of any sort.

“Good to know. Take care, kiddo.” Aza faintly smiled back.

“Good luck out there.” Fjotra bid the sniffing woman. “Dovahkiin” she added quieter after the bronze doors slammed shut.

---

Another city, another inn, another room that was going to be home for a day or two. The bed was made of stone, but cushioned with the softest and thickest mattress in all of the Reach. Erik smiled, mixing the ingredients they bought from the hag in the apothecary shop. It was a recipe he knew and enjoyed so well back home; troll fat with fire salts. The best remedy for a cough and fever. And an amazing lubricant to jerk-off with.

“Gimme booze!” Aza cried, laying flat under a thick blanket.

“No, you just drank your medicine.” He refused calmly. “Be a good girl and sweat the flu out.”

“Arse” she snorted. But she was just testing him. It was good to see he wasn’t so malleable anymore, that he wasn’t afraid of her and could say ‘no’. Although, she missed playing mom to the pup he used to be.

She rested her head on the pillow, her hair was wet and in a mess. Her skin felt sticky and slimy. She was repulsed by herself. She had to do something about it.

“Where are you off to?” He asked, when she jumped out of the bed and rushed across the room, leaving a wet outline of her frame on the mattress.

“Shower!” She screeched, throwing her damp nightshirt behind.

Markarth and Solitude shared one distinct feature; both cities had plumbing and running water. Thanks to the ancient Dwemer Aza could enjoy a hot shower. She approached two valves on the stone wall and turned them with effort; a stream of hot water came down from a bronze showerhead. She exhaled with relief, as steam rose in the small bathing room.

“Should I tie you to the bed?” She heard Erik call from behind. His hands closed on her hips, then slid up her waist. She felt his leg brushing against hers, it was amazing how fast he undressed and got here.

“Why not? But spank me first, okay?” She joked.

He snickered, cupping her breasts and gently massaged them, making her chest relax a bit. Pinching and rolling her nipples, he made her semiconsciously rock her ass back and forth.

“How about this” he proposed, whispering into her ear. “A quick shower, then you get to bed and let me do all the rest? What do you say?”

“Where have you been all my life?” Aza sneezed, closing her eyes.

“Tending the crops, ma’am.” Erik said with a slight twang he could never get rid of.

He pushed her heavy breasts up, so that the nipples were just below her chin. His cheek rubbed against her shoulder, as he watched her take them in her mouth and suckle on their velvet brown nubs. His member thickened and bumped against her leg, but he hadn’t planned to have her under the shower.

She sneezed again, reaching for a sponge and bathing mixture.

“I guess this is the part where I say something about being a dirty girl, hm?” She joked, handling him the foamy sponge.

She hacked as Erik scrubbed her back, but it wasn’t as hoarse as before, the medicine started to work. Her palms firmly pressed against the wall whilst she stuck her behind out, enjoying the rough sponge brushing against her skin. He washed her curves with pleasure, focusing a tad longer on her inner thighs. She squealed when he ran the sponge between her buttocks.

“You’re good, go lie down.” He said, turning the valves off. The stone chamber was stuffy with steam.

She dried her hair and went back to the bedroom wrapped in a thick, soft towel. The room and service in the Silver-Blood Inn were lavish and costly, but Aza thought they deserved one last luxurious moment before departing. She glanced at her armor left on the stone desk in the corner. In her satchel was a small bottle containing… She quickly looked away, laying down on the sheets, still wrapped in the towel.

Erik followed, energetically drying his hair. His bush needed trimming again, but she was too tired to nag. His cock looked like a red mammoth’s trunk. She wanted to snicker, but ended up sighing.

“I thought about checking out those rumors we heard about the Dawnguard, you know?” He said, whipping his hair back and using the towel to dry his pubes.

“I’m not pulling you from some undead slut’s grasp again.” The Redguard replied, sliding her arms and legs wide apart. “Hey!” She complained when he took her towel without warning.

“Relax” he said patiently, throwing it on one of the chairs.

He reached to the nightstand for the bowl with the salve he mixed. The smell and texture were just like he remembered.

“Whatcha got there?” Aza asked cautiously.

“Something good for you.” He replied, generously greasing his palms. “And I’m not talking about myself.”

“Don’t get cocky.” She grunted.

He proceeded to rub the mixture into her chest, neckline and ribs. Aza released a long, exhausted moan.

“Fire salts?” She guessed right.

“It’s hard for a Nord to catch a cold, but once that happens…” He dramatically cut the sentence. “… It has many other uses.”

“You used this to jerk-off, didn’t you?” She guessed without a blink.

He laughed embarrassed, his palms drew circles around her tits. He had a sudden idea.

“You want to kill me?!” She squeaked when he mounted her chest, his cock sliding between her greased breasts.

“My lady, you insult me!” He laughed, pressing them hard on his thickening shaft. His cock already started to pleasantly itch. This brought back memories.

“Asshole!” She grunted, but was too tired to fight. She let him ride her rack as he pleased. Truth be told, it was actually pleasant. The salve was working indeed, and the friction increased the effect. If only his glans didn’t try to pierce her throat.

“You know, speaking of assholes. Remember that little promise you made me?”

“Hm?” She searched her memory. She seldom promised anything, but she suddenly felt strange anxiety.

“On our way from Solitude to High Hrothgar you promised me something.”

“Oh shit…!” She remembered.

“Yep. You said that if we defeat Alduin and live long enough to bask in out triumph, you’d let me do your ass however I’d like.”

“Now?!”

“Yes, now. You’re burning with fever, so you won’t fidget. And I can only imagine how hot you’re inside…”

“You bastard! I’m defenseless and you’re taking advantage of the situation!” The wretch cried.

“Like you never done that to me.” Erik laughed disturbingly, pinching her nipples. “Come on, I won’t be rowdy, promise. And I got some salve and soothing balm. I don’t want to do any harm to you. ”

“Fine!” She gave in. She knew he’d nag until she’d scream. Men and their strange need to eventually ask for anal… “Just make it quick.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to relish on every moment of it.”

He rolled her flat on her stomach, then rubbed the remains of the salve into her shoulders and back. Her muscles were tense, her ass firmly shut. He stroked her rump, only making her anxiety direr.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m the first to do you in the ass!” He grunted, giving her a light slap on one of her round buttocks.

“Yeah, like calling me a slut will make me feel better.” She muttered, shoving a pillow under her pelvis.

Erik sighed. Looks like she won’t be much cooperative. Well, he was in charge, apparently, so he should get down to it. First, he mounted her, his fully awake dick slid between her cheeks, but he didn’t attack yet. Instead, he firmly sandwiched himself and rode her ass, conjuring a muffled coo from her.

Aza sighed, trying to relax. She contemplated having him in her backdoor in the past, but this didn’t seem like a good idea now. She didn’t feel like coughing anymore, her chest was warmed and relaxed. She was still famished and could only lay passively, hoping he won’t get any stupid ideas.

He pulled himself back, marveling at her bum shining from the salve in the warm light of the Dwemer chandelier. No other women had that distinct shape and curve like Redguards.

“Please tell me you’ll just keep staring and jerk-off like a good boy…” she whined.

“Nope.” He said cheerfully, moistening his finger.

Her asshole squeezed and jerked away as he pricked it. He snickered, pinning her thighs with his knees. She whimpered humiliated, biting into the sheets as he pushed inside. She had a fever indeed, he never felt her this hot. He kept poking her, enjoying her being the one to squirm for a change. The rhythmical pulsing around his finger made him wonder how will it fit around his cock. He pulled out with a popping noise, she moaned strained.

“You’re burning up inside!” He noted, groping and squeezing her ass. She was already perspiring.

“Thank you for stating the obvious… Hey!” She cried, suddenly felling his tongue. “Hah! Dirty deep down inside like all men.” She laughed cynically.

“I washed you first.” He replied unaffected.

His tongue played with her little hole, generously salivating all over it. Aza spread her thighs wider, he stuck his thumb in her relaxed, slowly moistening pussy.

“Just don’t forget the lubrication.” She reminded, breathing heavily. She knew the pain was inevitable, but having him inside was something she couldn’t pass up.

“Of course, what kind of insensitive bastard do you take me for?”

He reached for a bottle he hid behind her medicine and poured the content all over his veined cock and her trembling hole. He was growing impatient, but forced himself to keep it cool. This was a delicate matter and could end up nasty if carried out wrong.

The Redguard looked over her shoulder, as Erik’s palms rested firmly at her sides. His tip spread her cheeks apart, finding her hole. He motioned slightly, finding out how tight she was. He noticed her nervous gaze and winked. He knew what he was doing. Or at least he thought so.

Slowly, he pushed the first inch in. The resistance and heat were incredible, but this wasn’t a juicy pussy. Aza arched her back, but didn’t protest when the next inch followed. She just had to endure it.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Knock yourself out.” She replied.

His hairs tickled her rump as the rest of his length was inserted. He rested on her flat, pushing most of the air out of her lungs. He bit into her ear, refraining from any sudden moves and giving her some time to adjust.

Anal could be fun, but nothing would ever beat having her pussy fucked and her clit licked. Most of the times the discomfort wasn’t worth it. And with his size it was ripping pain. But she bit her tongue and didn’t complain. He deserved to enjoy himself before…

“You feel amazing.” He whispered into her ear.

“Your first blowjob, your first time, your first anal…” She gasped out, squirming below. “I have nothing more to defile, unless…”

“You keep yourself away from my arse.” He warned, guessing her intentions.

“Typical. It’s okay you tear my asshole, but Gods forbid anyone touches yours.”

“I’m not going to tear anything” he promised, breathing on her neck.

He pushed gently, then with more confidence. The salve greased her enough, and she had time to adjust to his size. He enjoyed the new type of tight flesh so firmly pressing against him. And the heat! He felt as if he was going to melt. He steadily increased the speed and pace, relieved that he could push in and out with less difficulty than anticipated.

Aza wetted the sheet she was biting on. It hurt, even though he was careful. But in time she stretched enough to feel his cock massaging her rectum. The faint pleasure made the whole ordeal a bit less unpleasant. She felt droplets of sweat slide off her sides as he kept pumping her rougher. Her asshole was going numb from the friction and tempo. He filled her completely. There was just one thing bothering her…

“Don’t come inside!” She conditioned. “It’s troublesome.”

“Too late” he said through clenched teeth, about to ejaculate.

He came, shooting his cum deep into her insides. Aza yelped, feeling how her feverish body was filled with his warm foamy sperm. His victorious groan mixed with her curses, his palms firmly held her by the shoulders, his nails leaving marks on her skin. The pressure was unbearable, some of his load shot out. Aza bit her lips painfully hard, her pussy dripped in response.

For a longer moment he rested his groin against her ass, with his eyes closed and head rolled back. He wanted to remember this moment right, knowing she won’t let him do her like this again. Well, maybe under special circumstances, but he suspected that won’t happen anytime soon.

“Fucker…” she groaned.

“Thank you, thank you.” He chuckled, enjoying one last, insanely slow jerk. “No, please, no standing ovations. I know I’m good.”

He pulled out, enjoying the humiliated sounds she made. Though she tried to keep it in, her asshole started to leak his seed. Soon, it was overflowing her thighs and the pillow underneath, some got on her pussy as well.

“This is the last time you get anal.” She said sternly, still laying on her stomach.

“The last time I get anal from you.” He corrected, forgetting most women would scream if he’d tell them he wanted his huge dick in their ass.

“Get me ice. Now!” She demanded, throwing the cum stained pillow at him.

He dodged with grace and sprang up from the bed. Dressing himself, he was humming a tune. His mood was splendid.

As the door closed behind him, Aza quickly got up. She cried a curse in pain, this was going to be a killer for the next few days. She reached for her satchel with a frown, knowing what she was about to do. But she made this decision long ago, and it was for the best.

As she was standing still staring at the little bottle, all of his cum leaked out, marking her legs and the floor. She’ll miss that feeling, though not necessarily in her asshole. She did what she had to do and got back to the initial position, waiting for Erik to come back.

“Gimme!” She ordered, reaching out for the bag of ice he brought. “And drink, you bastard, you deserved it.” She said, pointing at a freshly poured cup of spiced mead. She welcomed the coolness of the ice between her buttocks with a loud sigh.

“How kind.” He smiled widely, raising the cup.

But before drinking, he leaned forward and gave her a quick smooch on the cheek. Aza gasped surprised. She instantly felt terrible. Like a traitor.

“To us, the unstoppable duo!” He said, before drinking everything in one gulp. “What?” He asked, noticing her intense stare.

“Nothing. I’m just glad things worked out for you, that’s all.” She said, faking a smile.

“It wasn’t always pretty. But thanks for everything.” His irises already widened, but perhaps it was the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re welcome.” She replied, beckoning him to join her.

Erik laid next to her on his side. His movements were slow, it was for the best he didn’t stand up. He pulled himself closer, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She slung her arm over him and pulled to his favorite position with his face resting safely on her breasts.

“I’m proud of you.” She quietly said, ruffling his hair. “You’ll be careful, okay?”

“Whaat?” He asked hazily.

“Nothing, sleep.” She comforted, holding him tighter. She loathed herself, but endured her decision as best as she could.

“I don’t want to…” He protested, but his eyelids suddenly felt heavy. His mind slipped into darkness.

Aza kept stroking his hair until his breathing became regular and deep. He was bound to stay asleep for at least twelve hours, she should get some rest before leaving Markarth. To where? It didn’t matter, she knew she’d soon find trouble anyway.

She slept surprisingly pleasantly, only once suffering from a rough spasm of cough. In the morning she slithered form his embrace with a heavy heart. She rinsed herself, got in her armor and packed her things. She took the soothing balm and what was left of the fire salt salve. Although it was cliché and cowardly, she scribbled a quick note, as she couldn’t force herself to leave without at least trying to explain. She gave him one last look, feeling proud and torn. But he was a man, not a lad, and if she’d ever want to be his partner again, she had to give him some time alone.

She left, mustering up all her willpower to keep from looking over her shoulder. Downstairs, she paid the innkeeper for their stay, pretending she didn’t hear how the woman scolded her husband in a tone that would make any man want to kill himself. She left the inn, suddenly realizing how easily she could breathe. His ‘pampering’ did its thing.

Mounting her mare she realized her ass was going to keep reminding of itself for the next couple of days. She quickly dismounted and walked with her side by side. It felt strange to be alone again after so many months with the aspiring farmboy. The Slayer… He should call himself the Ass Destroyer! Her mare neighed miserably, now realizing she won’t be seeing her bay sister anytime soon.

---

It was around midday when Erik awoke from the poison infused sleep. His vision was blurry, his tongue stiff and dry. He fell off the bed and crawled into the bathing room in his clothes. With tremendous effort, he grabbed the valves and fell on the floor letting ice-cold water pour on him. He spent a longer moment on the floor, licking the pouring water straight from the stone.

“Aza!” He called out hoarsely. He must have got whatever she had. “Aza!” He called again, realizing this wasn’t the flu. It felt like a serious case of hangover, but with a metallic undertone, like… poison.

He tried to get up, only to fall down and hurting his knee, as everything went dark for a second. He stubbornly got up again and made his way back to the bedroom, holding on to the furniture in case his legs give in again.

She wasn’t there. Her stuff was gone as well. He pushed the thought of being abandoned aside, fooling himself this was too unreal to be true. But he was alone.

He noticed the note almost instantly, sticking out like a grave insult. He needn’t read it, its very presence turned his fears into a brutal reality. The bitch left him. Dripping water, he sat on the bed, trying to gather his thoughts. He could hear blood rushing through his temples, his heart was pounding.

He didn’t cry like a whelp. He got angry like a man. He reached for the cursed cup and took a deep whiff. The smell of his drink hid the scent of poison. The clay vessel cracked and broke under his grip, blood flew down his forearm. There was no point in searching or asking anyone, she was far away by now. And he had no intention of staying himself. He had to get out of this city as fast as he could, before he snaps and kills someone.

He sneezed. Great, she did give him the flu after all.

---

Berthe gave the man at the counter a long, scrutinizing look. He reminded her of someone, but it couldn’t possibly be who she thought. The contrast was too sharp.

“Who are you gawking at?” Her husband Seigmir asked, faithful to his jealous nature.

“That fellow over there, doesn’t he remind you of someone?” She questioned in disbelief.

Her happily wedded followed her gaze. His brows crossed, then rose as he observed a red-haired man argue with the barkeep. He did recognize that face, though the expression was so unfitting for it.

“By the Gods, isn’t that your friend from Rorikstead? The innkeeper’s son, Erik?”

“I think so.” She let her thoughts drift away.

She remembered being friends with him back when she was a young lass in Rorikstead. She used to spend a lot of time with the ginger whelp, even though he was a bit socially awkward and could often be found so deep in his thoughts, that he jumped when you approached him. She remembered that when Seigmir was away fighting the Forsworn, she snuck out with the lad and showed him how to kiss. She didn’t treat the whole thing seriously, as she was engaged with her now husband. Unlike Erik, who took it hard when she explained she liked him ‘only as a friend’.

Months passed, Seigmir returned with enough gold to take her away from the dull hamlet and live happily in Markarth, where he had a steady job as a guard in Cidhna Mine. She had almost forgotten her old life in the quiet village. She would never admit to her new friends, all townspeople, that she used to herd geese.

“I think I should go say hello.” She suggested, attempting to get up from the small table they were dining at.

“No!” He said harshly. “You stay here, woman. If it’s him I’ll give him your hello.”

He approached the counter. The man’s back was facing him, but Seigmir could clearly see how enraged he was. And the axe he was carrying was clearly not for show.

“She paid for everything?” The man’s shoulders tensed.

“Yes, your gold won’t be needed.” Kleppr replied, growing annoyed. He had difficult patrons before, but this was the Silver-Blood Inn. One wrong move, and it’s off to Cidhna Mine with you.

“That bitch. Guess she didn’t say anything more?” He ended the sentence with a cough.

“Only that you are not to be disturbed.”

“Of course she did… I won’t take any more of your time.” The man turned to leave.

He and the mine guard stood face to face. Gods, this was Mralki’s son, but he was so different. So… mature. His eyes were cold and at the same time burning, his jaws clenched tight, pronouncing a scar on his left cheek. He also had a small crescent-shaped cut under his right eye. And he had more than just a few hairs on his face, unlike when Seigmir saw him last; a clumsy smooth-faced whelp, knee-down in dirt from working the field all day long.

“Erik! What a surprise!”

“Get out of my face.” The man said, passing him without slowing his pace.

Even if he recognized Seigmir, he was too infuriated to bother with him. He passed Berthe, the woman gasped seeing the long-healed cut on his face and neck. She felt a strange fire in her womb. She kept staring until the doors shut behind him, trying to remember every detail of that face and posture. It was him! Divines, if she’d knew what would become of that spineless whelp, she’d stay in Rorikstead for as long as she’d have to!

“It wasn’t him.” Seigmir said gravely, sitting heavily next to his wife.

“Are you sure?” She knew he was lying.

“Yes, I’m sure!” He grunted. “It was just some asshole, now finish your food and let’s go home!”

As the couple went back to their meal, Kleppr thought he could have a short brake. A damp rag whipped the back of his head., proving how wrong he was.

“Kleppr!” Frabbi, his venomous wife hissed. “Did you tell that vagabond his room was already paid for? You thoughtless oaf, we could have charged him twice!”

Chapter 4: Separate Ways

Regular spiders were bad enough. Frostbite spiders were a revolting blight on the face of Skyrim. But a mine infested with frostbite spiders? Now that was something only a madman would agree to clear out.

That madman exited Redbelly Mine covered in gore and bits of cobweb. Thankfully, none of it was his. His vision was blurry, the poison the damned beasts bore was taking its effect.

“By the Divines, you alright?” Filnjar, the blacksmith and unofficial head of the local community, approached him concerned.

“Uh… I’m dizzy. But them there, those… uh things with hairy legs…” the hero had foam in the corners of his mouth. “I got ‘em alright. So… um… you can pay me and I’ll be…”

The blacksmith missed him by mere inches and the man fell on his back, his red hair was soaked in sweat. There was a woman’s scream, then a calm, but firm voice.

“Stand aside Filnjar, I got this!”

Erik felt warmth on his temples and light slipping through his shut eyelids. He opened his eyes with difficulty, seeing a familiar face.

“Erandur?” He whispered barely audible. Was he hallucinating or was it really the reformed priest of Mara?

“Don’t speak, my friend. You’re bloated with poison, I must concentrate.”

The Dunmer focused all his will on flushing the poison out. Erik inhaled deeply, enjoying the evening air fill his lungs. Erandur’s hands were pleasantly warm and soothing, he felt the toxins evaporate with his every breath.

He cautiously stood up. Now did he notice the chestnut horse grazing near one of the miner’s houses, next to his bay mare, but paying her no mind. He was Jenassa’s gelding. One of the miners, a petite but energetic young woman, was looking over Erandur’s shoulder. She had a small nose and pouty lips, her hair was short and dark. She looked an awful like Ysolda.

“Thanks.” He said, brushing off some of the strange goo one of the spiders gushed on him.

The four stood awkwardly for a moment.

“I’ll… go see how’s the stew doing.” The woman said, after trotting inn place a bit.

“I’ll join you soon.” The priest replied.

“I assume the two of you know each other?” Filnjar raised his brow.

“You could say that.” Erik scratched the back of his head.

“We… were on a mission once.” Erandur explained briefly.

“I see… Listen, laddie” the blacksmith addressed the hero. “It’s getting dark and you’re in no condition to travel. You can stay in my house for the night, I have some furs you could rest on next to the fire.”

“That would be great. But about my pay…”

“You’ll get your gold, no worries. I’ll even be generous and give you a small discount on repairing your armor and that axe.”

“So you can pay me less?” Erik laughed tiredly. Still, his gear could use repairing. “I’m in.”

“I’m surprised to see you again, my friend.” Erandur said once they were alone. They sat on logs near a small bonfire, where the miners would usually relax after work.

“So am I. We…” he bit his tongue too late. “We were in Whiterun after… you know, doing the deed. But you were already gone. Well, the world is still standing, so you know we got the job done.”

“I am relieved. Even though I was of no use to you…”

“Nonsense. We couldn’t have gotten so far without you.” Erik drew circles in the ground with a stick. “The bitch left me.” He suddenly said, surprised how calm he sounded.

“I see.” Erandur’s face was hard to read.

“Yeah. Left me a nice note and everything. Wrote I’m a man now and I don’t need her constantly looking over my shoulder. That I should go and make my own decisions and mistakes now. And if fate really does exist, like I kept telling her, we’ll meet again. Well, if that happens, I’ll be ready. ” He stuck the stick deep in the ground, the twig snapped. “And so will my axe.”

“I am not surprised she made such a decision.” The elf said quietly.

“What?!”

“Forgive me if I sound inconsiderate.” Erandur humbly bowed his head. “But I think some time alone can give you a lot of perspective. I… I’ve been here, in Shor’s Stone before. Back then I was on my way to Dawnstar. That’s when I met Sylgja, the lovely young creature you just saw.”

“She looks an awful like…” Erik coughed, remembering the night in Nightcaller Temple. “You were saying?”

“She had suffered from a fall and broke her leg. I helped her as best as I could, then was on my way to face the Vaermina coven. That is when I met our Redguard friend, and the rest you know.” He began his tale. An owl flew nearby carrying a fat mouse in its claws. “I was of no use after assisting the healers in Kynareth’s temple, whilst you fought the World-Eater. I left Whiterun with no fixed destination. I took her horse and ashes, it felt like the right thing to do.” He said. ‘Her’ was of course Jenassa, the amazon who met her end between Odahviing’s jaws.

“Go on.” Erik encouraged patiently. He missed talking to someone other than innkeepers and stable masters.

“I scattered her ashes in a place I found suiting. Forgive me, but I can’t tell, it’s considered bad luck among Dunmer to reveal where one’s ashes are. I needed some time to think my life over. I wandered Skyrim until I decided to go to Riften and visit Mara’s temple. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m a reformed priest of Her Benevolence, and yet I have never been to her temple.” He rubbed his gray palms.

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was. I was looking for answers, for Mara to give me a sign. I will never forget the priestess that welcomed me. She was a Dunmer like me, her eyes were completely black. And yet, she was the picture of peace and kindness. I told her who I was and why I came. She told me Mara needed an emissary. I was sent here, to Shor’s Stone, to tell the first person I would meet their prayer was answered. You already know that person was Sylgja.”

“Oh.”

“Mara moves in mysterious ways. I remained here for a few days, enjoying the company and hospitality. The miners often suffer from falls and poisonous gases, the nearest healers are in Riften. I was offered to stay and practice my skills as a healer in exchange for food and bed. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“You don’t want to settle down?”

“I do. I feel I finally found my place and purpose. Perhaps Mara is giving me a sign that my penitence is over? I dare not assume to know her intentions.”

“Why not? I say go for it.” Erik advised, feeling tired. He wished Erandur all the best, but he had his own problems. “I should get some sleep. I’m glad things are turning right for you, but I’m preoccupied with my own troubles. I leave first thing in the morning.”

“I understand and hold no grudge. I won’t preach, but know this; Mara is the goddess of love and compassion, but I think her greatest gift is forgiveness. And with that I leave you, I’m sure Sylgja grows impatient.”

They shook hands and exchanged wishes of good fortune. Erik went to Filnjar’s house, Erandur to Sylgja’s.

---

“I can see your leg is now fully healed.” He noted, gently rubbing her ankle.

“Due in no small part thanks to you.”

Sylgja’s house was small and cozy. It composed of just one room, but had everything she needed; a bed, chest, fireplace and table. Fire flickered in the hearth, casting warm light around the room. The smell of simple, but satisfying supper they ate was still in the air.

Erandur ran his fingertips up her calf and thigh, enjoying the peace of the moment. He reached for a plain clay mug and drank, surprised he never had spiced mead before. Enjoying the flavor settling in his mouth, he rested his head on her thigh. Her skin was light, surprisingly smooth and warm, unlike the hot dry skin of Dark Elves.

“Are you just going to stare?” The Nord woman asked, taking his reverie for lack of interest. “I was hoping to be your dessert.” She chuckled, adjusting herself more comfortably on the table, with her legs spreading over the edge.

“Your hospitality is unmatched, my lady.” He praised, massaging her thighs.

He rolled her shirt up, freeing her wonderfully soft and full breasts. Swinging a pitchaxe did wonders for their shape. Sylgja sighed, cupping them and pinching her nipples, whilst the priest’s gentle hands progressed towards her sweet pussy. She had a rare shape; her whole vulva was hidden inward between her plump outer lips. He had to spread them to see her hot and eager inner lips. Her hairs were trimmed short, dark and soft. Human females had body hair, unlike elven women, but he didn’t mind.

“Take your hood off, I want to see your hair…” She pleaded, pouting.

Erandur obliged, his well-kept dark hair was fashioned in a tight braid reaching all the way to the middle of his back. The miner blushed when he pulled it over his shoulder. He never suspected women could react so enthusiastically at the sight hidden under his monk hood.

“Ah! You tickle!” She cried with pleasure when he dug in, sliding his nimble tongue inside her. His beard was pleasantly itchy.

“Shall I stop?”

“No!”

He enjoyed her wetting slit, as he felt excitement overcoming him. She was full of life and energy. Her straightforward, spontaneous personality struck a chord in his heart. After his dark years as a Vaermina worshipper, and years of penitence as a priest of Mara, he could finally be himself and live his own life. Mayhap something did push him towards this sweet, young creature? Mayhap Mara did give him a sign? Mayhap…

Overthinking was a waste of time. Right now, all he wanted to focus on, was fucking her so good, that she’ll never want anything else than Dunmer cock. He already gave her a few intense evenings, but he wanted to fully convince her that once you go gray, you never go back.

“You make me melt…” Sylgja sighed, as he continued eating her shy pussy.

“I want to make you overflow, sera.” Erandur’s wide smile had nothing to do with innocence. He reached for a small bowl with honey.

“It’s all sticky.” She giggled enthusiastically, when he sweetened her already sweet flesh.

“It’s worth it.” He said, enjoying the unique taste that filled his mouth. “If only you knew how good you taste.”

She reached for his hand and pulled up to her mouth. She licked and sucked his fingers, little sparkles danced in her eyes. Though sweet and humble in the day, she was full of ideas at night.

“I want to taste you when you come inside me.” She whispered, licking off the remains of her own juices and honey.

“And how would you make me come?” The elf teased.

“First I want to suck you nice and good, so you’re hard and slippery” she said, sliding off the table and down to her knees. “And then I want you to take me on the fur in front of the fire.”

“I’d love that.” He said, relaxing and gently patting her on the head, whilst the miner took care of the bulge under his robes.

The very sight of his member always made her look so amusingly surprised. She never had a circumcised man before, not to mention a Mer. She was always overjoyed to take his thin, but long shaft in her mouth. And the sounds she made! Her lovely slurping and sucking were music to his ears.

She polished his spear until he felt he couldn’t take it anymore. Impatiently, he tore off his robe and dragged her to the fireplace. Giggling, she got on all fours and eagerly stuck her ass out like a bitch in heat. She reached behind and stretched her slit open, inviting him to nail her however he’d please.

Erandur struck with a finesse thrust. Her wail conjured shivers down his spine. He grabbed her arms and pulled back, so that he was buried inside her to the bare limits. Sylgja cried and whimpered, as her pussy was rapidly being jabbed by his gray dick. She felt the tip almost jam into her cervix. As the priest foretold, he made her overflow; wet moist dripped down her legs.

“That’s not fair, I can’t see you!” She complained, wiggling her ripe ass.

“Do you want to?” He teased, as her slippery cheeks grinded against him.

“Yeees!” She squirmed, but he held her firmly.

He made her endure the subtle torture for another moment before lessening his grip. She immediately lied on her back and wrapped herself around him, greedily biting into his lips. The Dunmer grunted, yet again awestruck by her vigor. He kept thrusting, squeezing out all the wetness out of her youthful pussy.

Sylgja impatiently undid his braid and let his hair flow freely down his back. Dark Elves had the most amazing eyes, their skin felt incredible to the touch. Tasting an elf’s mouth was addictive almost as much as sucking one’s uncovered cock.

“Aah…” he groaned when she reached and grabbed him by the scrotum. “Not that hard my lady, have mercy on me!”

“I’m almost there” her eyes were glazed with pleasure. “I want you to come inside me.”

“So you can have a taste?” He asked amused, slamming hard into her womb.

“Yes…!” Her sweet voice was strained and yet ecstatic.

He bit into her neck as he felt his loins move without his will. The girl sunk her hands into his hair, her thighs squeezed his hips like a vise. She cried, almost begged him to climax inside her burning vagina. When he gave in to her pleas, the girl felt streams of his cum fill her in hard, disharmonious intervals. She came, her plump labials shut tight around his throbbing shaft, greedily keeping his sperm from leaking out.

The smell of her sweat had a warm note. Perhaps it was a matter of pheromones. Whatever it was, Erandur was drawn to it. She moaned, patting him on the back; he drifted away in his thoughts and was now smothering her. With a muttered apology, he laid flat on his back, his hair and beard were in a mess.

Sylgja rubbed her belly, not a thought spoiled her bliss. The priest observed her with a smile. He reached down to her slit and scooped some of his cum. She licked his fingers with delight. This was it, no Nord could have that spicy flavor. She doubted she’d ever go back to Men after having a Mer.

“How does it taste?”

“Spicy… with something sweet, I think it’s the honey.”

“That’s you, my dear.”

She brushed her sweaty hair back, her heart started to slow down its crazy pace. For a moment there was silence. She started growing anxious of what will happen now. She glanced at the elf, who’s burning red eyes were fixed on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m simply trying to find the right words for what I want to say. I… well…” he lost his resolve. “Would love to have you as dessert every night.” He said before realizing how absurd his words were.

Sylgja laughed, rolling on the fur. Her tits bounced freely. He was sweet when he was awkward.

“My bed is large enough for two and I have a lot of room.” She made seemingly irrelevant note.

“I have little to bring into this house aside from my good intentions and devotion.” He said solemnly.

“Oh stop it you!” She puffed, resting her head on his chest. “I’d be glad to have you, my friend.”

“Friend?”

“You’ll need to do much better, than make me cry out your name in pleasure, if you want to be someone more than a friend.” She teased.

In the morning the priest went to find Filnjar. The smith was up early as always, going about his morning routine at his forge.

“If you’d got up a bit earlier, you could say goodbye to your friend.” The blacksmith said as a greeting. “Just as I was done with his gear overnight, he was on his horse.”

“We said our goodbyes yesterday. But that’s not why I’m here. I accept your offer.” The elf said.

For a moment Filnjar was staring into the distance. A good healer was hard to come by and accidents occurred daily.

“I’m glad.” He said, putting his hammer away. “A healer is exactly what the miners need. Your skills are invaluable to us. We have little to offer…”

“I think I have everything I need right here.” Erandur said humbly. This was going to be a good day.

---

“Trolls!” Borgakh the Steel Heart spat on the dead creature’s head. “No match for an Orc.”

The cave was now cleared of its inhabitants. There were next to no spoils, as trolls valued meat over trinkets. Yet, their fat and skulls could fetch a nice price with the right people.

The chiefman’s proud daughter sheathed her sword. The main chamber was filled with the stench of trolls, she had to catch a breath of fresh air.

“Warn me next time you decide to play juggernaut.” Her companion nagged, appearing from behind a nearby rock.

Borgakh snorted. The Redguard woman, who convinced her to get out of the stronghold and see the world, was a fierce warrior, but in the long term her company was tiresome.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” The Orc replied indifferently.

“You can go back home if you don’t like it, princess” Aza grunted. “Come on, I found a coinpurse one of the poor bastards they ate must have dropped. Enough to afford not skinning them for a few coins.”

“I’m the chief’s daughter, not a princess.” Borgakh protested.

“I see no difference.” The Redguard said. “Both have little freedom and have to marry some influential prick. But whatever.”

The Orc kicked a dead troll as they were leaving the dark cave. Yes, she had to marry another chief soon. And yes, she didn’t want that. She wanted to live her own life. And on the other hand, she didn’t want to disrespect her tribe. She prayed to Malacath to make her as strong as any man and still as wise as any woman. And Malacath answered her prayer. Oh, that he did…

“Finally, fresh air!” She exclaimed, inhaling deeply. Her orcish armor shone in the moonlight.

“There’s a pond nearby. Good place for a camp.” Aza noted.

“Lead on.”

The two set up camp and ate. Aza’s mare was grazing nearby. Borgakh refused to ride a mount as she wanted to ‘walk the world on her own two feet’. Thankfully she didn’t shoot hungry looks at the animal, like most of her kinsmen did.

“So, how are you enjoying freedom?” Aza asked, after they were done with their food and drink.

“It’s… good.” The Orc said. “I’m happy, I guess.”

“Oh, curb your enthusiasm less it overwhelms you.” The adventurer yawned.

She persuaded Steel Heart to travel with her on an impulse. It was more as a means to fill the irritating void she felt travelling alone, than the Orc’s good. Still, she didn’t envy the position of chief’s daughters. Strength and pride were what made a good Orc wife, yes, but in the end most had their weddings arranged.

“So… Had fun raiding that ancient tomb?” She made idle conversation, referring to a ruin they explored recently.

“Yes.” Borgakh agreed.

“I expected more than just confirmation. Come on, engage me in conversation.”

“I can engage you in some hand-to-hand drill.” The Orc’s yellow eyes narrowed.

“I’ll pass.” Aza shrugged. “Fine, be that way. I’m not gonna smooch your arse.” She yawned. “Nighty night.”

She was about to lay down under her cape and call it a night, but Steel Heart motioned closer to her bedroll.

“It’s chilly, we should sleep together.” She said boldly. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s the warmth I want from you and nothing else.”

“I hear you.” The Redguard gave her some room. “I’m not looking forward to pneumonia either.”

“Keep your hands above the waist.” The Orc’s voice suddenly had a sharp tone.

“Would you believe I can control myself?” The scarred adventurer grunted.

They spooned, giving each other some comfort from the cold that roamed Haafingar. The cape gave more warmth than a normal piece of material would. No doubt it was enchanted with a warming effect, a perfect thing for this weather. It started to snow, they semiconsciously clung to each other.

Aza dreamed. The dream was blurry, with no distinctive characters or events. She was positive of one thing; it was a dirty one. In her sleep she held Borgakh tighter, caressing the Orc’s flat and hard stomach. She muttered a name, advancing lower, gently stroking her companion’s groin. Soon, there was a bulge in the Orsimer’s pants. The Redguard’s nimble fingers had no trouble with unlacing them and freeing a steadily developing erection.

“Mmm… Missed me?” Aza muttered, steadily jerking the thick shaft. “Because I did…” She stretched to bite his neck. But it wasn’t him, it was Steel Heart.

A second later, Aza was elbowed in the gut by the Orc. Borgakh rolled away and got on her feet.

“I have no idea who this Erik of yours is, but I’m not him!” She roared enraged.

“That’s a…!” The adventurer shuttered dumbstruck. The Orsimer had a…

“That’s none of your business!” Steel Heart snapped, quickly fastening her pants.

She picked up a few furs and laid as far from Aza as possible, shooting her murderous glares. The snow and wind couldn’t break the awkward silence.

“Um… Well, I have no idea what to say.”

“Then shut up. And don’t you dare get closer.” Borgakh warned.

“Relax. I’m not going to jump you.” The adventurer assured, regaining her cool. “Not my business what you carry around between your legs.”

“Good.” Borgakh snorted.

---

Days passed and the strange incident seemed to fade away. The two maintained basic civility, steadily advancing towards the Pale.

“I had a good time with you.” The Orc said, whilst they prepared to rest in a cleared out fort.

“Those few weeks have been interesting.”

“Yes.” The green-skinned woman bowed her head. “But I’m afraid I will soon leave you. I enjoyed freedom to go wherever I please, but my place is with my people.” She frowned. “I am of age and should be married… If any man would want me like this.”

Aza said nothing, waiting for the chief’s daughter to start her tale. Honestly, she was curious how did Borgakh come to possess the best of two worlds.

“I was once conflicted about leaving the stronghold and marrying. I was young and selfish and had no idea what to do. I prayed to Malacath to be as strong as any man and still as wise as a woman. The Prince of the Bloody Curse answered my prayer…” She grunted, then snapped her jaw. Her ivory fangs were perfectly polished. “It seems he has a crude sense of humor. Or maybe he simply punished me for my arrogance, I will never know. The change was subtle, it happened during a longer period of time. In the end, as I matured I was a woman… with a man part.”

“A big, fat, juicy cock.” The Redguard’s good eye was fixed on the Orsimer’s savage, yet attractive face.

“I should’ve known you’d turn it into a joke!” Borgakh grunted, reaching for her weapon. “Stand, I want this over with!” Her yellow eyes were burning, the red war paint made her even more intimidating.

But instead of accepting the challenge, the scarred woman was lounging relaxed on the slain bandit ringleader’s double bed. She was calm and merely observed her companion’s outburst.

“Relax. I’m just stating the obvious. It’s big and fat like any Orc’s. And looks quite tasty, from what I remember.”

“What?” Steel Heart was speechless. Did the Redguard want to… mate with her?

“Yes, I’m hitting on you. Come here.” Aza beckoned, making room on the bed.

Borgakh cast her sword aside and sat on the edge. She felt Aza’s hands on her strong shoulders.

“You just want to bed a freak!” She tried to fight the pleasant shivers she felt along her spine, as the Redguard gently worked her tense muscles.

“I won’t lie, I will never have another chance to have such a… unusual bedfellow.” She smirked, feeling how the strong body reacted to her touch. “But I have the feeling you could use some company as well.”

“I’ve never used it on anyone.” The Orc confessed.

Aza almost squealed with joy. Orc dickgirl virgin! This opportunity was just too precious to waste.

“Don’t worry” she whispered into Borgakh’s pointed ear. “I’ll be gentle.”

“And I sure won’t!” The Orc grinned, exposing her teeth.

Before the human woman could act, Steel Heart slung her arm around her waist and shoved off the bed.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with you?!” Aza yelped, massaging the back of her head, where she hit against the floor.

“Undo my pants and find out.” The Orsimer teased.

With a curse, Aza crawled between Borgakh’s knees and did what she was told to. Gods, that was indeed an impressive dick. She stroked it with both hands, the Orc grunted with pleasure. Underneath the shaft was the slit of the green pussy. It seemed that the cock was previously her clit. The vulva was like most orcish; the outer lips were green, the inner coral. And just like the inner labials, the glans was also coral underneath the foreskin. The cock hardened and stiffened, ready for her undivided attention. She had no intention of hurrying, she wanted to enjoy this unique experience to the fullest.

“Just watch the teeth!” Steel Heart warned, nervously observing Aza working her member with her lips and tongue.

“I know what I’m doing, trust me.” She assured with a smirk.

There were no balls to cuddle, so she reached for the pussy. She encircled it with her fingertips, at the same time squeezing the base of the green cock, and taking it down all the way to the tonsils. The taste was strangely sharp, but not unpleasant. Borgakh reacted spontaneously, grunting and rocking her hips.

“Don’t slip your fingers in.” She conditioned, spreading her strong thighs wider.

“No worries. I’ll leave you unspoiled.” Aza promised, jerking the marvelously veined shaft. The web of thick veins was sure to make her scream tonight. Just the thought of having it inside made her pussy melt. The proud Orsimer was slippery and sleek as well.

“Do you like it?” She teased, tapping the tip of the penis with her tongue.

“Yes, I do. Are you going to rub it in my face?”

“I’d rather rub my muff in your face.”

“Then bring it over here…” She said boldly, pulling the adventurer up on the bed. She stripped her with little effort.

“You watch the teeth, okay?” Aza squeaked, feeling the sharp fangs on her inner thighs.

“I’ll only use them if you act like a wretch.”

“Ah, you are truly a woman at heart!”

Steel Heart ran her rough tongue up and down Aza’s vulva. Her pointed fangs did the gentle skin no harm.

“Nice haircut.” She noted, licking the strip of trimmed hairs.

“It’s a thing back on Hammerfell. Ah!” The scarred woman’s voice sunk into a wail when she felt the agile tongue brutally thrust into her vagina. “Aww, damn, damn, damn, I had no idea Orcs can do that!” She screamed, amazed how her companion’s tongue slipped deeper and deeper.

Borgakh knew how to please a woman, being one herself. Her sharp tongue found all the tender places and roughly worked them into submission. Aza didn’t try to act tough, she melted in the green woman’s tight clutch, dripping and squirming.

“Enough!” The Orc suddenly roared. She grabbed the Redguard by the knees and bend them, raising her hips to the desired angle.

“Wouldn’t you like to lay down and have me do all the work?” Aza asked, alarmed. Borgakh was a big girl, it wasn’t clear if she knew her own strength and the size of her member.

“No!” The dickgirl refused, roughly pushing her against the mattress. “No one’s going to be on top of me!” She grunted, as their abdomens clashed, her cock was sandwiched between the puce labials.

“Rowdy and selfish, you are part man alright!” She screamed.

“What?” The Orsimer suddenly stopped.

“Slowly, bitch. I want to enjoy myself as well.” Aza’s brows crossed. “Now fuck me.”

“Like this?” Steel Heart shifted a bit, her glans slipped inside.

“Yeah, first slow.” Aza muttered, bending her knees and holding her companion by the hips.

“Oh-uh…” The Orc growled, feeling the human from the inside. The slippery heat was amazing.

“Then hard enough to make me scream, love.”

Borgakh explored the new feeling. She now knew why males couldn’t resist something as seemingly trivial as a little hole between a female’s legs. She jerked her hips faster and bolder, grunting and moaning. Aza scratched her hips, then lifted herself a bit up and suckled the impressive green tits.

“That’s a nice pair” the scarred woman noted, sucking and biting the dark green nipples.

“I can say the same about you.” the Orc replied, reaching for the human’s tits.

They gave each other a pleasant massage, the green woman now deep in the Redguard to the limits. Her juices leaked out, slipping down her cock, mixing with Aza’s.

“Does it feel like a man fucks you?” She asked, smothering her with her bulk to show who’s boss.

“Mmm… better.” The Redguard laughed, slapping Borgakh’s ripe ass.

They kissed, the round human teeth grinded against the sharp orcish. Their flat, muscular abdomens were now so sweaty, that they glided against each other instead of grinding. The furs under Aza were wet from both overflowing pussies.

“Ugh…! I’m going to come!” The chief’s daughter groaned, feeling her cock throbbing and burning up.

As much as the Redguard’s twat was irresistibly wet and welcoming, the Orc nature took the best of Borgakh. She quickly pulled out and inserted the tip into her mate’s unprotected asshole. Aza cried in surprise, the Orc brutally kept her in place, roaring in pleasure as her sperm filled the adventurer’s ass. This was the way of the Orcs: unless you were chief, you didn’t earn the privilege of coming in a pussy. You had to swallow your pride or use the ass.

“Bitch!” Aza screamed in anger and humiliation.

“Is it the custom of Redguards to insult their mates?”

“Only those who do stupid shit.”

“Oh, there, there, princess…” Borgakh laughed, getting off her. She got between her sweaty, trembling thighs and proceeded to lick out all the come that was leaking out.

“Gross!” Aza muttered, bud didn’t push her away.

“It is custom that the woman eats the semen of her mate if they are not chief and one of his wives. No drop can go to waste.” Steel Heart wiped her lips, then rested exhausted next to her mate.

“I didn’t come.” Aza muttered offended.

“Let me catch my breath and I’ll show you things Orcs can do with their fangs.” The yellow eyes flickered.

---

Labyrinthian. In the past known as the city of Bromjunaar, an ancient capital of Skyrim under dragon rule. Now, a massive complex of ruins and underground tombs. A legend among adventurers and the last place many ventured to. Beneath the snow and rubble were countless bodies clad in various types of armor, still clutching their weapons and shields.

It was only natural Erik would venture into the fabled ruin one day. He was disappointed the only foes he fought were frost trolls and the occasional draugr. He took care of them with little effort, slowly progressing through the ruins.

He reached Shalidor’s Maze, a labyrinth built by the legendary mage. He had a map copied from a tome he once found on the body of a necromancer. So far, the map seemed reliable. Still, he realized how naive he was expecting fat loot. The ruins were explored and plundered by generations of bold adventurers before him. Most of the gear he found worthy came from the bodies of those, who weren’t fortunate to get out with their lives. He exited the labyrinth after several hours of fighting mediocre enemies and gathering his humble spoils.

He found his mare and headed towards a small circular building that seemed intact. Good, a roof over his head was exactly what he needed. At the entrance was a slain troll, a huge female. It seemed the beast was killed by an edged weapon, which ruled out other trolls. That was enough to make him cautious. He entered the ruin with his axe handy.

Inside was what must have been some sort of spiritual shrine. There were tapestries and urns scattered around and an altar in the shape of a semicircle. The altar was the seat of nine busts that seemed to be lacking certain components. Helmets or masks, perhaps, but it was irrelevant at this point, as the hero noticed a shape sulking in the corner. It was a person, barely able to draw breath.

He approached with caution and turned the shape over with his boot. He knew that face. It was Mjoll. Quickly, he sheathed his axe and pressed his palm to the survivor’s neck. He felt a faint pulse, there was no time to waste. He picked the woman up and hauled back to his horse. With some luck, Morthal should be safe to come back to.

---

The town was just like he remembered; damp and depressing. Thankfully, it seemed the residents were peacefully going on about their business. Mayhap it was because the vampires praying on them were no more. Yet, there was still the issue of the treasure that darkened the townsfolk’s hearts.

Mjoll was taken to Lami, the town’s alchemist. The Lioness was still unconscious whilst the woman was busy with the her wounds.

“There’s nothing more you can do.” Lami said, gently washing the Lioness with a cloth dampened in a freshly smelling tonic. “I’ll take care of her. My shop is not an inn, but you can stay here” she allowed.

“I can pay…”

“Please” the alchemist shook her head. “I hadn’t forgotten what you and your other friend did for us.”

“Oh…” he remembered the unpleasant circumstances that made him and the Redguard bitch leave Morthal. “So, how did it all turn out?”

Mjoll started to cry in her sleep. It was awkward seeing that fresh, robust woman weep like a child.

“It’s nothing.” Lami explained, gently caressing Mjoll’s scarred cheek. “I gave her a potion that put her in deep sleep. She’ll recover faster, but I can’t do anything about her dreams. You ask how it all turned out…” Her voice was now a whisper. “We were fools. The piles of gold and trinkets made us blind, we slowly started distrusting our neighbors, even out own families… Blood was bound to be spilled soon… And suddenly, it all vanished. The gold coins, the gems, the beautiful armors and weapons. All gone overnight. All that was left was clay and stone.”

“Divines preserve us.” Erik said with amazement.

“I’m not sure whether it was the vampires’ plan all along; too offer us fake treasure and watch how we rip out throats out. Or maybe it was the Jarl and that Falion wizard…” She gazed out of the window over at the marshes. “Whatever it was, we’re safe now. We endured, there are some animosities left. I only hope the people of Morthal are now wiser…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You can’t protect us from greed and foolishness.” The woman smiled tiredly. Her hair was so blond, that it was almost white. “You are welcome here for a couple of days, free of charge. I’m not a cook, so you should get your food over at the inn. For now, I ask that you leave, as… Mjoll, was it? She needs rest.”

Erik left the quiet alchemy shop and wandered the town, mostly keeping to its outskirts. Soon, he was approached by a guard.

“Is there a problem?” He asked cautiously.

“The Jarl wishes to speak to you.” The guard replied.

“Am I arrested?”

“No. The Jarl wants to have a word with you.” The man was growing tired. “But I wouldn’t keep her waiting if I were you.”

“Alright, I’ll go to the longhouse right away.” Erik gave in.

He headed there immediately. Just like he remembered, Jarl Ravencrone had jet-black hair despite being an elder. Her hawk-like face was focused and alert, one would almost expect her to suddenly snap and bite.

“I see you’re still alive. And alone.” She proclaimed in a hoarse tone so characteristic for her.

“Nothing hides from you, my Jarl.” He replied, clenching his teeth.

“Don’t sweet talk to me, boy.” She scolded. “I offer my help, yet again. I am not doing this out of my own initiative. It’s the visions I’ve been blessed with, that are telling me to aid you.”

For a longer moment she was silent, scrutinizing the adventurer with her otherworldly ayes. Erik bravely endured her gaze.

“Go home.” The Jarl suddenly said. “That is all.” She waved him off, before he could say anything.

Dumbfounded at what just happened, Erik left the longhouse. It was late in the evening, he should get back to Lami before she closes shop.

“She’s awake.” The alchemist greeted, busy with a fresh batch of potions. “I think she needs company now.”

“I’ll go see her.” He replied, heading towards the stairs.

The room was filled with the smell of medicine. Mjoll rested comfortably on a simple bed, the sheets reaching all the way to her cleavage. Next to her bed was her sword, Grimsever.

“So, it really was you who saved my life.” She said quietly, putting away an emptied bowl. Judging from the smell it must have been chicken soup.

“You were almost a goner.” He said, pulling up a chair next to the bed.

“Yes, it was one of the toughest fights of my life.” Mjoll admitted. She stared down at her bandaged forearms. Potions and salves Lami used did wonders, but the warrioress was still recovering. “Aerin…”

A few tears fell on the sheets, her athletic shoulders shook as sobs took over. Though it wasn’t any of his business, Erik felt compelled to do something. He pulled his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. The Lioness broke down crying full volume. He said nothing, words were just empty gestures at this point.

“He insisted I leave Riften. I… I agreed, that city didn’t need my help, but I was too stubborn to realize sooner. He wanted to come with me. I was reluctant, but he was stubborn as well… So we left together.” She whimpered, wetting his armored jacket. “We spend some time together. We did a few noble deeds, just like in my old days… There were rough times, but we pulled through. And…” She paused to blow her nose in a piece of cloth he offered. “Then I got the stupid idea to raid Labyrinthian. He… His…” She pulled herself together and looked Erik straight in the eye. “A troll alpha female, a huge one, bit his head off. If it weren’t for him, it would have been me.” She paused. She didn’t sob or weep anymore, last tears silently rolled down her cheeks.

“Mjoll…”

“I went berserk. Killed the matriarch, the rest scattered in all directions. I was wounded badly, but I managed to… take care of the body. I’d never let them eat what was left of him. I had only enough strength to crawl away to a quiet, roofed ruin. Then everything got blurry and I lost track of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I am. Aerin saved my life twice. He was always there for me, and all I did was treat him like a friend. He’s dead now, buried under rocks and ice.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know. But I’d feel better if it was. Because then I could blame someone.” She blew her nose. “I regret never sleeping with him. Can you imagine?” She snapped, her eyes opened wide. “He was the most important person in my life, but I kept him at a safe distance using the ‘friend’ excuse. I know I can be… difficult. I didn’t want to hurt him. And instead I got him killed. I’m an idiot!” She groaned, then coughed. “I’m a dumb cunt.”

Erik bowed his head. He sympathized with her, but meaningless words were all he could offer.

“Thank you.” She said with sorrow. “I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

“It’s just you now?”

“Yeah.” He jerked the corners of his mouth upward. Mjoll needn’t know. This was about her, not him. “Just me.”

“I…” The Lioness was about to comfort him, but changed her mind. “I need company tonight. Badly.”

“You sure?”

“Lami is a miracle worker. My bones are whole, my wounds closed up. I can’t strain myself, but…” She fell silent, seeing him undress. Gods, that was a fine body.

He slipped under the pleasantly soft sheets and helped her undress. The light was dim, but his hands liked what they touched. Her mouth was slightly bitter from the medicine, but eager. Her tongue encircled his, then grinded against his palate. She had small breasts with a slight sag. The skin was wonderfully soft, her nipples a bit thicker than normal. She sighed when she felt his teeth and tongue working them to full erection.

Erik reached down her flat stomach, feeling her pussy was covered in a rich, silky bush. He found her slit between the golden locks and stroked until the lips moistened and parted, allowing his fingers to slip inside her overheating vagina. He also poked her asshole, her cheeks squeezed hard in response. Her hairs soon got wet and sticky.

“That’s…!” She held her breath as his cock bumped against her leg.

“Mine. Relax, I got this.” He said patiently, working his fingers inside her pussy, loosening her up good.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” She bit her lip as two fingers slipped inside her.

“No problem. Just lay back and enjoy.”

Mjoll supported herself on her elbows, Erik got a firm grip on her hips and pulled down to meet with his hard penis. He didn’t expect her to moan so softly. She smoothly took the whole shaft in, pleased to be filled to the brim. He went easy on her, occasionally bending forward to taste her lips or bite her nipple. She rocked her hips, her pussy hungered for a man, it was a long time since someone fucked her this deep. She reached forward and held him in a tight clutch, scratching his back like a cat in heat. He knew well what that meant.

She came crying out a name. It wasn’t his, but he paid it no mind. The soles of her feet kicked his calves when the Lioness’ mind melted and slipped away. Erik gave her time to relish and regain her senses, before jerking-off until he came all over her abdomen. His seed streamed into her navel, some sunk into the golden bush.

They didn’t talk, it would only spoil the mood. He helped her clean herself up and get dressed, then let her rest. She fell asleep almost instantly. The bed was too small for the two of them, so he got down on a bedroll Lami provided. He made up his mind of what to do now.

In the morning he left quietly without disturbing Mjoll, insisted Lami accepts payment for housing him, and left Morthal, heading south-west, to Rorikstead.

Chapter 5: Homecoming

“Any news from your son?” Jouane asked, finishing his mulled mead. His age didn’t allow stronger drinks.

“No, not yet.” Mralki replied, sweeping the floor. “I got a letter from him a few months ago, but nothing new ever since.”

He sighed, putting the broom aside. In his letter Erik mentioned some dangerous assignment. Mralki feared the worst. Gods, he remembered his son as a babe crying, kicking and screaming, because he had no teat to suck on. His mother passed away too fast… And now he was somewhere, doing Gods only know what. He hoped he was safe and in one piece, but he knew he was fooling himself. The life of a wanderer was not an easy one.

As time flew by, he realized how overprotective he was. He regretted sheltering his boy for so long. His son was old enough to have a wife and child of his own! Mayhap if he’d been more lenient, Erik would grow up less curious and adventurous. But there was no point in torturing himself now. His son was old enough to make his own decisions.

“I’m sure he’s okay.” The elderly Breton comforted.

“Or” Lemkil, the most sordid man in the village, cut in. “That crazy woman you let him go with finally got tired of the oaf, cut his throat and dumped the body in a ditch.”

“Nonsense!” The innkeeper snapped. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Whatever. Was done talking anyway.” Lemkil grunted, shoving his cup aside. He left the inn bumbling and muttering.

“Sometimes I think he’s the cruelest man in all of Skyrim.” Jouane said with a frown. “My heart goes out to his girls.”

Mralki nodded. Lemkil’s wife died giving birth to his twin daughters. The man never recovered after that loss. It seemed he focused all his grief and anger on his children, and went to great lengths to make their lives miserable. The innkeeper and Jouane helped those poor girls as best as they could. Still, there was nothing they could do about their father.

“I managed to feed them some good stew the other day.” Mralki said, wiping his hands in his apron.

“Divines bless your kind heart.” The Breton smiled. “I’ll try to get them some nice dresses once I’m in Whiterun. They grew out of all their clothes, the sleeves barely cover their forearms.”

“I could give you some money.”

“Nonsense, you have a business to run. The money Rorik pays for my service is more than I can spend. I am too old for excessive drinking or the affection of wenches, so I’d rather do something kind for Britte and Sissel.”

The door swung open, letting in the chill of the rainy night. A man entered, kicking the door behind. He was soaked and weary, his armor and weapon were black. Mralki semiconsciously reached for a mace hidden under the counter.

“We have room and food, but you got to pay up front. No handouts or bartering. Your weapon stays on the rack.” He said sternly. He didn’t like that big axe the stranger was carrying. “If your horse needs food I got that too.” He added, hearing neighing from outside.

The stranger stepped into the light. The innkeeper’s hands went numb, the mace he was clutching under the counter slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

“Erik!”

“Hi, pa.”

Mralki rushed from his spot and took his son in his arms. Did Erik grow taller in all those months? His shoulders certainly were wider.

“What happened to your face?” Just as expected, this was his father’s first question.

“It’s nothing. You should see what I did to the other guy.” Erik laughed carefreely. It came so naturally to him, Mralki shrugged. “It’s good to see you, Jouane.”

“Likewise.” The Breton sensed he should leave. “It’s late. Goodnight to you two, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up.”

As they were left alone, both felt awkward. There were so many things they wanted to say to each other, but didn’t know how.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” The father broke the silence.

“There were rough moments, but I’m good, pa.”

“So… you’re hungry?” He asked, patting his son’s shoulder.

“Terribly. And I hadn’t slept in a real bed for days.” Erik confessed embarrassed.

“Good. I got roasted lamb. But, Erik” the innkeeper raised his brow. “I’m not providing for you anymore. Let’s see some coin.”

His son handed over a coinpurse without a word of protest. Mralki was astonished by its weight.

“How did you get all that?”

“Here and there. Some I got from selling things. Some I looted from ruins. Some was on fools that tried to rob me…” Erik confessed with a sigh. The roads were dangerous in times of war.

He was served a beautifully glazed roast along with bread and mead. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this hungry. Mralki let his son eat in peace, realizing how he had changed. He stopped slouching and held his head high. His movement was less sluggish, more precise. He seemed relaxed, and at the same time alert. The absent-minded pup was gone.

“What?” Erik asked, noticing his father’s gaze. “I got something on my face?”

“It’s just sinking into me. You’re not a lad anymore, son… I’m proud of you.”

“I… Thank you, pa. It means a lot to me.” He said dumbfounded. He’d never suspect his father would say something like that. And now that he did, Erik realized how much he wanted, needed to hear those words.

“You’re not staying.” Mralki stated instead of asking.

“No. I wanted to visit, and here I am. And I will visit in the future. But I’m not going to settle down yet.”

“I understand.” Pa nodded, showing no surprise. “So, what have you been up to?”

They talked for hours. Erik was grateful Mralki didn’t ask about Aza. He shared some stories, omitting the grimmer and unbelievable parts like dragons and ancient evil.

“And the Argonian?” Father asked intrigued.

“Went back to Darkwater Crossing. But that Falmer was less lucky.” Erik finished his tale, then yawned.

“It’s late, son. We have a lot of time to talk. Your room is just like you left it, though I was tempted to turn it into a storeroom. You should go get some rest.”

“I will. I’ll see you in the morning, pa. Goodnight.”

---

Nothing changed in his room, and yet Erik felt strange. As if a permanent place to stay lost all its appeal. He would much more like a one night stay in an unremarkable inn, or camp in the wild. The familiar shapes annoyed him. He couldn’t sleep, his bed seemed to creak more than he remembered. There were his old commoner clothes folded on the chair, but they were too tight now.

His room seemed so juvenile. The bed was too small. The moldy old books he used to adore seemed so ridiculous now. His childhood treasures lost all their magic. Father should turn this room into storage space. Ah, but Mralki would never do that. He’d never erase his son’s extended childhood just like that.

He was happy to see pa again. Moreover, he was relieved Mralki did not patronize him and treated like a man. The moment he said he was proud of him, Erik felt joy and peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps because of his independence, their bond gained new strength.

His eyelids felt heavy. Sleep overcame him in a second. He dreamed his old childhood memory. And yet, it was different. There he was, a toddler peeping at a Redguard woman taking a wash. He could see her, the first woman he saw naked. But she wasn’t facing him, he could only see her back. Her hair was shorter, her skin had a warmer tone. She unhurriedly washed her back and shoulders, soapy water dripped down her glistening skin. The rough sponge brushed her thoroughly, leaving slippery foam. In the candlelight he could see her skin shine with healthy radiance. Her moves were relaxed, she enjoyed every moment of her special privacy time.

Finally, she reached for a bucket of cold water and poured it all over herself. She cried, then laughed as cold water soaked her hair and washed off all the remaining foam. She stood up from the stool and reached for a towel. Humming a tune, she dried her hair, turning around with a pirouette. Erik couldn’t see her face yet, only her figure. The details didn’t match what he remembered. The woman was younger and much taller. Her hips were wider, so were her shoulders.

She finished drying her hair and shook her head, the towel rested on her shoulders like a scarf. Gods, it was Aza. But… different. Erik vaguely knew it was how she would look like if she hadn’t lost her family. Her both eyes were dark green, the few small cuts she had on her face were gone. So were the scars marking her whole body. Only the c-section scar remained, reaching from her navel to her womb. Her figure was less athletic; her stomach was soft and rounded, her waist thicker. Still, her arms and legs, though not as muscular, were by no means feeble. Her breasts had a slight sag, as if worn out by nursing more than just one child.

She noticed him. His heart stopped. In his sleep he moaned and rolled on his back. She laughed, bending forward with curiosity. He noticed her womb was covered by a thick, soft bush that steadily dripped water. The real Aza, obsessed with intimate grooming, would never allow that.

“You lost, little cub?” She asked, smiling. The deep rows the real Aza had on her forehead were gone. Instead, the dream-Aza had wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and mouth, no doubt from laughing.

He hesitated, his tiny hand clenched the doorframe. Though he wanted to say something, words couldn’t form in his mouth. He was a toddler, after all.

“Come on, I won’t bite.” She smiled, offering her hand.

He took a step forward and reached out his plump arm. The moment he crossed the doorstep, he went through the floor and fell into pitch-black nothingness. He gasped, waking up. His back was soaked with sweat.

It was just a dream, this was the good part. The bad part was that he hadn’t dreamed of her ever since Markarth. He had a faint certainty this wasn’t the last dream he will be having of the Redguard harlot.

He wasn’t sleepy anymore, so he decided to do something about it. He loosened his pants, and just like he used to, masturbated in the privacy of his room. A while later, with semen on his abdomen and chest, he whispered a curse and slipped back into uneasy sleep.

---

“No, you bitch! Nooo!” Aza protested, but Borgakh held her firmly by the wrists.

“It is the way of the Orcs! Don’t fight it!” She grunted, slapping her mate’s ass.

“Damn it, not in the ass again! Come in my pussy, you damned cow!” The adventurer pleaded, embarrassed by her own eagerness.

“I’m not even sure if my seed can impregnate you!”

“Then in my mouth!!”

“Fine!” The Orc agreed, releasing her.

Aza got off Borgakh’s laps and dropped onto her knees. She firmly gripped Steel Heart’s throbbing shaft and stroked it fast, licking the tip with her flattened tongue, just like the green-skinned woman liked.

“It’s going to be a big load…!” Borgakh warned.

“I can take it.” Aza promised, reaching down and stroking herself on the clit. “I want you to fill my mouth.”

Suddenly, the Orc grabbed her head, and forced down. Thankfully, Aza was an expert when it came to deep-throating. She squeezed her cheeks and throat just as Steel Heart was about to climax. The chief’s daughter grunted savagely, as her abdomen convulsed and her cock ejaculated with brute intensity. Aza worked hard to swallow every drop. Still, some slipped from her mouth.

“I knew you’d get me all clammy.” The Orc sighed.

“Relax, I got this.”

She thoroughly licked Borgakh, cleaning her cock and abdomen from the creamy seed. Orcish cum always had a deep bitter undertone.

“Alright, alright, I’m clean now.” Borgakh said, brushing her mate’s hair back. “Your turn.”

Aza squirmed and moaned as the Orc showed her what she could do with her fangs and long tongue. The spacing between orcish fangs was perfect for keeping the labials out of the way.

“Do you want my fingers inside?” Steel Heart asked, scratching Aza’s inner thighs. Thankfully, her usually sharp nails were now blunt.

“Yeees!” The Redguard muttered helplessly.

“You ask so nicely, you’ll get two!”

“Oh fuck…!” The Redguard melted, feeling rough fingers working inside her pussy. “Bend them a bit, yesss, just like that…!” A thin stream of saliva escaped her mouth when Borgakh’s fingertips found that small, sensitive spot inside her.

She rocked her hips faster and faster, feeling her womb heat up. When she came, she almost did a split. Steel Heart eagerly licked her pussy, then quickly stuffed her tongue inside, the Redguard’s quivering hole tightly squeezed around her.

“Ah… I enjoy your company more than you know.” The Orsimer said pleased, wiping her mouth.

“So do I.” Aza confessed.

The two took a moment to cool down, listening in on any activity in the pine woods. They didn’t hear anything alarming, the night was quiet and peaceful.

“I get the feeling now’s the time you tell me it’s over.” Aza heaved a sigh.

“Yes…” Borgakh’s thoughts drifted away. “It’s time I return to the stronghold. I wanted to part with you sooner… but you kept luring me back with your lustful offers. Regardless, my duty towards my people comes first. We’ll reach Falkreath soon, that’s where we’ll say our goodbyes. I must go back to Mor Khazgur. I will ask the Wise Woman for advice and beg Malacath for forgiveness. He does not forgive easily, but I will withstand his anger and accept any punishment.”

“Okay. If that’s what you really want, I won’t stop you.”

Borgakh got up from their makeshift bed and fumbled for something in her bag. Aza observed her partner’s firm ass with a nostalgic smile. Too bad, she hadn’t had enough of the Orc yet.

“Here.” Borgakh said, handing her a round object, looking away as if embarrassed. “A gift.”

“Damn, when did you get a hold of this?” Aza asked, accepting the item. It was a fine jade circlet with emeralds.

“I bought it from those Khajiit traders we passed on our way to Eastmarch. Don’t say anything more, just take it.”

They hadn’t slept nor talked until sunrise. Neither of them wanted a commitment, and yet they regretted they had to part. Falkreath was just a few days of walk away.

---

“Gleda!” Ennis cried, pulling his arms towards his prized goat. “I can’t believe you got her back safe and sound!”

“No problem.” Erik sighed, rubbing his blackened eye. “Though that giant was less fortunate…”

“You killed a giant to get my goat back?!” The farmer was speechless.

“He was old and ill, so it wasn’t that hard. Still, I wouldn’t recommend fighting any giants.” The hero was about to leave.

“Wait!” Ennis stopped him mid-track. “You risked your life to get Gleda back, even though I didn’t ask you to.”

“No, but I overheard your conversation with my father this morning, and I thought I’d try to help.”

“And you surely deserve a reward. I have no money…” the man confessed embarrassed, but suddenly his face lit up. “But I have this!” He said, taking off an amulet he was wearing under his shirt. “Please, take it. I hope it brings you luck.”

“Thanks.” Erik said, accepting the gift. It was an amulet of the goddess Kynareth. Just by holding it, he felt fresh and rejuvenated. “I should really get going now.”

He passed the plot, heading towards the inn. He caught a glimpse of the shed in the back courtyard. He shrugged, remembering the intense night he… they spent there. The night he saw her in all her shameless glory and felt her warm, welcoming mouth. He looked away before he could break down and admit he missed her.

“Hey, Erik!” He heard a voice.

“Sissel, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

The girl had grown, her modest commoner clothes were obviously too small for her. As usual, she had bruises on her forearms, bud didn’t seem to mind.

“So, did you do a lot of adventuring?” She asked, her eyes were wide open. Her dirty cheeks bloomed.

“More than I could handle.” He replied, rubbing his scar. “I even saw a dragon.”

“Really?!” Sissel jumped. “What did it look like?”

“It was big and gray, but wasn’t scary. Just like you said.”

“Just like in my dream!” She almost burst into happy tears. “What else?”

“Its breath smelled.” Erik confessed, remembering how Paarthurnax grabbed him in his jaws to save from Alduin’s teeth.

“Da says you ran away from honest work with some crazy woman.” Britte said, appearing out of nowhere.

“Crazier than you can imagine.” He agreed, looking away. His eyes set on the infamous shed again.

“Why are you alone, then?” Sissel inquired.

“Because I don’t need a nanny.” He quickly replied, getting a grip of himself.

“Unlike Sissel!” Britte grinned cruelly, pushing her sister into the dirt. She spun around and ran up the road.

Sissel got up and pressed her fists to her mouth. She was on the verge of crying.

“She wants to see your tears.” Erik said calmly. “Go after her. You can fend for yourself, can you?”

“Sure I can!” Sissel snapped. “I know magic and everything! I can even make light in a dark room! And one day I’ll show everyone I’m not a wimp!”

“Then go get her.”

“Just you watch!” The child wiped her grazed hands in her skirt and chased after her sister. Erik sighed and entered the inn, just as the sun set over the plains.

“You’re not wasting time.” Mralki noted the blackened eye, going about his daily routine.

“No. Sitting around makes me… jumpy.”

“You can always help me with choirs.”

They stared at each other, then burst into laughter.

“I’m glad you’re in a splendid mood, pa.”

“That I am, Erik. Things are going smooth for me. Now, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Mralki looked over his shoulder; the few patrons were dining too far to eavesdrop. “Listen… I know I did you a lot of harm by sheltering you for so long…”

“Pa, you really needn’t say anything…” Erik felt awkward.

“No, please, let me finish. I’m happy you’re your own man now. I won’t stop you when you feel you want to leave Rorikstead again.” The man rubbed his balding head. “I hoped to have grandchildren one day… But I’m not putting any pressure on you… I just want you to know, that when you decide to come back home and settle down, I’ll gladly welcome you and… Well, I’m not going to live forever. When I join our ancestors, the inn is yours. If you meet a level-headed person who will help you run the business, I will die a happy man.”

He bit his tongue, seeing his son tremble. Erik turned around, resting his palms on the counter, his nails sunk into the woodwork. He tried to breathe calmly, but it was loud and irregular.

“She left me.” He finally said, reaching for a bottle of ale under the counter. “She never gave me any illusions, and I was an idiot that I hadn’t seen it coming.” He chugged it all down. “But, still… I don’t know what to tell you, pa. I hoped I wasn’t just along for the ride, that it would be something permanent. I guess I’m still a bit naive. Funny thing is, she did it ‘for my own good’, would you believe that?”

“Erik…” Mralki sympathized, but didn’t know what to say. His son was always shy around women, so they never had this sort of talk.

“You were right. Women are devious creatures.” The bottle slammed against the wood. “I’m going upstairs, it’s best I try get some sleep early before I do or say something stupid.”

He left, avoiding looking him in the eye. Mralki forgot to tell him he didn’t pay for the drink.

---

He shouldn’t think of her so intensely. After all, there were other women he bedded. Aside from Mjoll, there was Gilfre, a mill owner. Erdi, a charming young servant working in the Blue Palace. Julienne, a fascinating half-Redguard half-Breton commoner in Dragon’s Bridge. Salma, the aspiring young adventurer, not so different from himself… He also had a few offers, but declined either of respect or simply because the woman in question wasn’t his type. Like the witch Illia, whom he helped kill her own mother. Ingun Black-Briar, who although attractive had something sinister about her… not to mention she was the daughter of Maven Black-Briar. Or Dravynea, a creepy Dunmer living in Kynesgrove.

And yet, his thoughts always drifted back to the cynical Redguard vagabond. Anger and longing constantly washed over him. Although he made no effort to find her, he hoped that the next inn, the next forgotten ruin will be the place where they coincidentally meet. He had a whole speech prepared specially for that occasion.

He laid in bed, embarrassed by what he was doing. He masturbated until it hurt, as if he took a major step back, and was a horny teenager again. But he couldn’t stop, his frustration needed to vent. His greased palm moved up and down his painfully hard cock, his glans was red and glistening in the dim light. He fought his imagination as best as he could, but it stubbornly made him remember her pleasantly smooth skin with the occasional rough scar, the touch of her thick, jet-black hair, and the dirty things she whispered into his ear…

“Yeah, like that… No, no, no, to the left, idiot… Oh, damn just like that…!”

“Watch the teeth! No, wait, bite me. Mmm…”

“Slip your tongue inside… Gods, you do have a hidden talent!”

“Want me to swallow? No? Come on my tits, then.”

“Inside, come inside. I want to feel you melt in my womb.”

“I hate you so damned much…!” He grunted, jerking faster, focusing on his throbbing tip. Sperm shot agonizingly intensely from his grip, staining his hairs and palm. He fought for air, groaning as rage almost choked him. He felt little pleasure, only temporary relief. And despite laying in bed for hours, working his cock every once in a while, he wasn’t sleepy at all.

The air in his room was stuffy, he needed to catch a breath of fresh air. He wiped himself dry and flung his clothes on. Remembering every creaking floorboard, he silently snuck out of the inn into the balmy night.

The night was quiet and warm, not a cloud in the sky, the moons were shining like gemstones. He trotted a bit in place, before deciding which way to go. Ha briskly crossed the main road, heading towards the edge of the village, to the point where the path climbed up the hills. From there, he stared down at his home. Smoking chimneys, animals sleeping in their pens, the vast plains of Whiterun… This view once filled him with profound hopelessness. Now, knowing he wasn’t part of the landscape anymore, it made him nostalgic. And that meant one thing: it was time to pack up and get going.

He heard a cry. He listened in for a longer moment. No, it wasn’t a cat, it was a child. He looked over the edge of the cliff. The night was bright, he saw a small shadow hiding between a barn and the foot of the hill, sulking and crying. He quickly went back with a very bad feeling.

He was just a few steps from where the shadow was sobbing. The mooing of cattle covered the whimpering, but he also heard angry curses. It seemed he wasn’t the only one searching for the little runaway.

“There you are!” He heard a drunken voice. He had no troubles identifying it as Lemkil’s.

“No! Leave me alone, da, I don’t want to go!” The other voice was Sissel’s.

There was a curse, then a yowl. Erik pcked up the pace. What he saw just over the corner made his insides clench. Sissel was desperately trying to melt with the stones behind her, her dress was in shreds, she was also barefoot. Her nose was bleeding, her cheek had a fresh mark. It came from her father’s heavy stick. Lemkil was barely able to stand. He was shirtless, his pants were loose, almost slipping from his arse. He looked over his shoulder, noticing they weren’t alone. His face expressed pure contempt.

“Oh, it’s you. The little hero. This is none of your business! Get lost!” He mumbled, raising his hand to hit his daughter again. Sissel curled up in a ball, helplessly whimpering.

Erik took a step forward and firmly grabbed the stick’s other end. Outrage and hatred flooded his mind, then suddenly ceased, making room for cold, clear determination. He snapped into his less pleasant self, the Slayer.

“You sick son of a bitch.” He said quietly.

“You don’t get to judge me, you oaf!” Lemkil turned around and spat on Erik’s boots. “They’re my daughters and I get to do with them whatever I damned please! They owe me for all my hard work, I feed them and give them a home to stay. And all they do is eat and sleep, they might as well make themselves useful to me!”

Erik sharply pulled the stick, almost toppling Lemkil over. The man supported himself on the barn’s wall, sweat dripped down his chin. The stick was thrown far away.

“What, you want to play hero? Come on, your father apparently forgot how to slap a disobedient brat like you, I’ll do it for him!” He gnashed his irregular teeth.

Quick footsteps followed, then sharply stopped just behind Erik’s back.

“Britte?” Erik asked calmly, maintaining eye contact with Lemkil.”

“I’m here.” He heard the child’s voice. A voice that tried as best as it could to keep from crying or screaming.

“Take your sister and go home. Lock the door and wait, someone will pick you up.”

There was silence, Britte was a difficult one.

“Britte, he won’t hurt you. Go take your sister.” Erik tried again.

“Okay.” The girl said after a moment of pause. She made a step forward.

“I’m your father, you listen to me!” Lemkil yelled, Britte immediately retreated.

“You’re a coward, Brit.” There was a quiet voice. Sissel regained control of herself and stood up. She quickly sprinted towards her sister, grabbed her hand and the two fled.

“You ungrateful brats!” Their father roared in drunken rage. “Just wait until I…!”

A punch in the face knocked him on the ground. A sharp kick in the kidney forced him to roll to the side, just where Sissel was hiding a moment ago. Erik cracked his knuckles, approaching Lemkil.

“Don’t you judge me! Don’t you…!” Lemkil spat blood and saliva, staring at Erik with pure hatred.

“It’s not up to me to judge anyone.” He replied indifferently. “But I’ll be damned if I let you leave in one piece.”

Calmly and methodically, he kicked, punched and headbutted until Lemkil stopped breathing. Then, he took a deep breath, shook his head and patiently waited until someone comes by alarmed by all the noise.

---

“So much trouble because of one little trinket.” Aza took Hircine’s ring, now free from the curse, into her hands and examined from different angles.

She was resting comfortably against a large werewolf’s side. The beast’s fur was light, almost golden. It turned its massive head and licked her bare ribcage, where a fresh cut just stopped bleeding. It was his claws handiwork, a small scar was inevitable.

“Yeah, you should be sorry, you ass.” She scolded, slapping his muzzle. “Battle-scars I have in abundance. Now, a love-scar, that’s something new to me.”

The werewolf grunted, snapping his jaw. His tongue curled lustfully. He quickly turned her over and pinned to the ground, his blood-shot eyes stared into hers. Aza yelped, feeling pebbles painfully sinking into her back and ass, but bravely stared back. She fought dragons, for Gods’ sake!

“Shouldn’t have taken off your armor, then.” He grunted ferociously.

“You’re going to talk, or work me a little bit more?” She asked with a sneer. Sinding, the werewolf, was a mate she never had before.

His sleek, purple member slipped between her wet, slippery thighs. Her legs were soaked in the beast’s thick semen. Aza muttered a curse, arching her back. This was crazy, borderline sick. She once met a temple harlot that lusted for large predatory felines, and as hard as she could, she couldn’t understand the harlot’s fascination with animals. A werewolf, however, wasn’t a mindless beast, and she thought she’d give it a try. She had no regrets so far.

She stumbled upon Sinding in Falkreath, where she parted with Borgakh. The werewolf’s case was gruesome and involved a child’s murder. It quickly turned out the cause of the whole grim mess was a cursed ring, with which the Redguard was later entrusted. In the end, she helped Sinding defeat a group of Hircine’s hunters, and refused to kill him herself, openly defying the Lord of the Hunt’s will. She would never murder and skin a man to pleasure a Daedra, she considered herself better than that. And she simply pitied Sinding. Eventually, Hircine was pleased and lifted the curse from the ring. The Daedra didn’t care who the prey was, the slain hunters entirely satisfied his lust for blood.

Sinding’s sharply pointed cock slid between her labials with little difficulty. Aza sunk her hands into his thick fur, the werewolf picked her up and wildly tossed in the air, jerking his hips faster and rougher. A serenade of curses and moans flew across Bloated Man’s Grotto.

“I’ll have you know I have the mind of a man, but a beast’s fortitude.” He said with a grin on his bestial muzzle. “This will be a long night for you.”

“Just don’t eat me once you’re done and we’re good!” She gasped.

“I’m not a monster!” He howled, ejaculating.

The amount and pressure was incredible, Aza could have sworn that some shot pass her cervix and streamed straight into her womb. She cried, her clit brushed against his rough fur hard enough to make her come as well. Sinding bit into her neck. Thankfully, he was mindful not to hurt her. Aza tensed, then went numb in his grasp. He released her, the woman rested on the ground in a puddle of cum. She was shaking and semi-conscious, but she knew this was just the beginning. She was grateful Redguards could regain their stamina faster than most races. She braced herself for a literally wild night.

Hours later, once Sinding was finally done with her, he let her catch some sleep on the bed of ferns. The next morning, Aza bathed in a cold stream, her muscles were hurting all over. Her mate brought her a deer he had hunted. As she baked it over a bonfire, he finally went back into his human form. It was hard to believe the unassuming man with receding hair was a Moonbeast.

“I want you to keep the ring.” He said, taking a large portion of venison and devouring it in mere seconds.

“I’m not a werewolf, I’ll gain nothing from it. Besides, you left me a nice scar to remember you by.” Aza replied, trying to adjust to a less painful position.

“I don’t want it either.” The man replied. The Redguard knew he was thinking about the child he murdered in a frenzy. “I decided to stay in the wild, I’m too dangerous to live among people.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I agree.” She nodded.

She knew Sinding wasn’t himself, and it was the cursed ring that made him lose his mind. Still, she didn’t believe he could integrate back into society. One of the reasons she spared his life was that it was painfully obvious how he was suffering from guilt. A man’s conscience was his worst tormenter.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill me. I wasn’t sure if letting me live was a good decision, but I made up my mind on what to do now. I’ll keep a low profile for a while. Once it’s safe enough to leave this place, I’ll go on a hunt.”

“Hunt?” She asked cautiously.

“Yes. A grand hunt.” He smiled, brushing his blond hair back. “I won’t waste this chance. There are others out there like me. Others, that wouldn’t regret killing an innocent child just to satisfy their instincts. I’ll find them.” His eyes had a cold, steady gleam. “And rid the face of Nirn from them.”

“A cause as good as any.” Aza approved, chewing on the juicy meat.

She said her goodbye and left Sinding with a sigh of relief. He was incredibly intense, but she doubted she could keep up with his pace for longer than one night. She headed east to find more fame, fortune and adventure. At least until the money and booze run out.

---

“What?” She muttered when her mare shook her head and turned left. “Oh, no!” She threw the bottle behind and held the reins firmly. “We’re not going to Rorikstead, honey! We’re…!”

She quickly consulted the map she had imprinted in her head. If she doesn’t pass Rorikstead, she’ll be forced to ride into the Reach. There were reports of increased Forsworn activity in the area. She was tired, still strained form playing with the werewolf. She was also a bit drunk, obviously in no condition to fight. The mare was sober, and that was the only good news.

The horse whined, digging her hoof in the soft soil.

“Fine!” Aza sighed. “You’re in charge now. Just get me wherever I can get a good drink and soft bed.”

She rested her head on the horse’s neck and took a short nap… which lasted until it got dark. She woke up at the sound of happy neighing and nickering. She raised her head, looking straight at the all too familiar bay mare. Erik’s horse.

“Aww, shit!” She gurgled, sliding off the saddle. With a cry, she fell to the ground. The two mares completely ignored her, busy with their greeting ritual.

The pen was next to the entrance of Frostfruit Inn. The door opened, letting out a beam of light. Two men walked outside.

“I don’t know what to do, Jouane.” It was Mralki, his voice drowned in sorrow. “It’s my boy we’re talking about, not some drunken thug. He did the right thing!”

“I know, Mralki.” The man named Jouane replied. “And everyone who has their heart at the right place would do the same in his place. But Whiterun falls under the law of the Empire. I’m sure he gets a fair trial.”

“Trial! He’s not a criminal! He’s…!”

Now did the two men notice a paint mare happily brushing her neck against the bay one’s. Behind her emerged a figure. As it stepped into the light, Mralki recognized the Redguard wretch he entrusted her son with.

“What the fuck did he do?” She asked, now completely sober.

Chapter 6: Favors

“Adrianne?” Ulfberth peeped out of the shop, hearing loud clanking over at his wife’s forge. “Are you upset about something?” He asked, seeing how red her cheeks were under the layer or grim.

“Of course I am!” The woman slammed her hammer exceptionally hard, making a dent in a shield she was forging.

“What’s bothering you?” He asked concerned.

“What else? The talk of the town!” She said, throwing the damaged shield into the scorching forge.

They both turned their heads to stare up at Dragonsreach. The whole city was talking about the man imprisoned in the Jarl’s dungeon. Some called him a hero and demanded his release, some considered him a common criminal.

“I always believed in the law.” Adrianne confessed, mincing her blacksmith apron. “My father taught me that the law is what separates us from savages, and that it is designed to protect the weak and helpless. But… this is just wrong.”

“I understand you’re conflicted.” Her husband put his heavy palm on her shoulder. “But it’s not up to us to decide. But if it were…” He sighed.

“If it were up to people like us, there would be no need for rulers. Let’s just drop the subject.”

Furious, she took a red-hot rod out of the forge with a pair of thongs, and started hammering it with force.

---

“A man does something so… unspeakable to his own flesh and blood, and gets just what he deserves. But the man who serves him justice is labeled a murderer?!” Carlotta Valentia’s voice was full of outrage. Despite being an Imperial, she was also a single mother of a little girl. “If someone would hurt my Mila…!” She helplessly shook her fist.

“I know what you mean.” Saffir agreed, she also had a young daughter. “I love my Amren, but if he’d do something so sick to our Braith… I’d kill him. Right on the spot, I’d tear the soul from his chest.” The Redguard woman’s jaws clenched. “Do you know what would happen to a bastard like that on Hammerfell?” She asked with a gleam in her eye.

“You needn’t give me details, I’m sure it’s something adequate.” Carlotta said. “I wonder what will they do to that young man? The Jarl is in a tight spot.”

“This is when the law backfires at you.” Saffir said gravely.

“My mother” Olfina Gray-Mane joined the conversation, “says, that in her day, something so ridiculous as arresting him would never happen. I mean” she leaned forward, her cleavage was shamelessly exposed, but she didn’t notice, “if I was in his place, I’d tear that bastard into shreds!”

“I know him.” There was a quiet voice.

The three women turned to look at Ysolda, who was slowly walking down the steps from the upper district. They nodded, encouraging her to say something more.

Ysolda rubbed her palms, remembering the incident in Nightcaller Temple. She had a few lovers since being deflowered by the young adventurer, but they lacked his… initiative. And his massive cock. As much as it was a one night stand, she wouldn’t mind bedding him again.

“Well, you can’t expect us to stand quiet like this. Tell us more!” Saffir demanded.

“There’s not much to say.” Ysolda was reluctant to share. “But he’s not a brutish oaf.” She said with confidence. “It’s a crime he’s rotting in jail for what every sensible person would do!”

The four women expressed their approval, then went about their daily routines.

---

“Milk-drinkers, all of them!” Aela shouted, chugging her mead, some streamed down her cleavage. “Spineless bastards, too afraid to do what their hearts tell them!” Her voice fell into a feral roar.

“Mhm.” Farkas muttered, busy with his food. He never liked to partake in someone’s rant.

Frustrated, Aela threw her tankard at him, the warrior dodged the projectile. She always did that when she was enraged and powerless, he got used to it.

“You’re not going to say anything? Anything at all?” Her eyes burned. “Damn, why am I even asking, you can’t form a straight sentence without your brother whispering into your ear.” She bit her tongue too late.

Farkas reached for a goat leg and gave his Shield-Sister a bold look. He wasn’t angry at what she said, they’ve all been through a very difficult time. They lost Skjor, then Kodlak, the future of the Companions was uncertain. The worst thing they could do now was fight each other.

“Want to know what I really think?” He asked slowly.

“Hit me.” She dared.

“If I had a kid, and some bastard would as much as look at it the wrong way, I’d rip his limbs off one by one with my bare hands. Then, I would split him open and start eating him. And I wouldn’t bother with waiting for him to die first.” He snapped the bone in half and sucked the marrow out. “And I’d be damned if I’d let some pansy jail keep me prisoner.”

Aela stared at him with respect. He was difficult to anger, but once something got to him, he was slow to cool down. Mayhap it was time she pays him a visit, after neglecting him for so long? His twin was busy with Ria, from what she remembered. Strangely, they spent a lot of time together…

---

“Please, not inside!” Ria’s begged.

“Why not, you always love it.” Vilas pushed harder, pulling the rope sharply.

Ria’s back arched in response. She wiggled, whimpering like a wounded animal, but the ropes around her ankles, wrists and under her arms efficiently immobilized her. The position was complicated. The ropes were thankfully soft, her Master showed clemency tonight.

He spent weeks planning this session. First, he gave her the usual routine involving humiliation, abuse and the occasional caress. Then, he tied her ankles crosswise of the edge of his bed, so that Ria did the split, facing the mattress. He then tied her hands behind her back in an elaborate knot, with her arms firmly pressed to her ribcage. He pulled another piece of rope under her arms and slipped the end into an iron ring he had under the ceiling. Whenever he needed, he’d pull the rope, bending her back until she could see him upside-down.

With pleasure, he interjectionally abused her asshole and pussy, using her throat to clean his cock before changing holes. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth grazed, but the wetness and looseness of her holes showed how much she enjoyed it. An additional torture was that she couldn’t scream or cry full-volume, because they were in his room in the living quarters. But the muffled, quiet sobs and moans she released were as much rewarding.

“No, you can’t!” She protested when he didn’t pull out.

“What was that, bitch?” He grunted angered, grabbing her tit, painfully twisting the nipple. He was the one in control!

“No, no, I’m sorry Master!” She cried conflicted. “But please, don’t come inside my pussy! It’s not safe for me!”

“You’ll manage.” He whispered into her ear, his breath was hot and heavy, he was almost there.

“Mercy!” Her voice was weak and pathetic, a sign she was about to come as well. “Use my ass, my throat, but not there!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ll get me pregnant!” She disobeyed, sensing he’ll slap or otherwise punish her.

“The safety word.” He murmured instead. “Say it, and I’ll stop. Hurry up, I’m almost there…”

She felt it, his shaft got hotter and more vascular, her walls clenched with anxiety. She could say the word and end it now, but didn’t want to. It was just one word, ‘Wuuthrad’, easy to pronounce, impossible to forget or mix up. But she wanted him to keep going, despite the consequences. Her addiction was hopeless.

“Ah… I… Please, don’t hurt me…” She cried defeated.

“I’m coming.” His soft whisper was like a blow with a fist.

Vilkas released the rope; Ria lost support and fell face-down on the mattress. She screamed in the soft sheets, as her Master grabbed her ass and rammed his member to the limits, right at her cervix. He groaned, almost animal like, coming in her pussy with his usual quantity and pressure. In a wild spasm, her ass pushed back. He gasped in pain, slapping her cheeks, but didn’t retreat. He kept ejaculating, now enjoying her fast clenching and loosening.

“Enjoy it, slut.” He laughed, falling on her with all his weight. He waited for her to calm down, then reluctantly pulled out with a moist sound.

Ria wept, with him her orgasms always had a bitter undertone. Gods, she knew his seed was strong, what’s she going to do now?! Arcadia’s shop was closed, the alchemist was away for a few days. Long enough for anything she could sell not to work.

“Squeeze and hold it in. You’re not getting my bed dirty.” He warned, untying her.

“How could you…!” She cried, rolling on her back. All over her chest were markings from the rope.

“You had a choice, but did nothing.” He refuted. “Don’t blame me, I never leave you without an option.”

She hadn’t said anything, laying passively, clenching her muscles to keep his seed in. He went across the room and grabbed a bottle and a towel. Without a word, he pushed the towel under her ass. She cooed, relaxing; a flood of thick cum leaked out. Closing her eyes, she went numb.

“I kept it in for so long, I’m definitely having his baby.” She thought, crying. The consequence dawned upon her with devastating momentum.

“Oh, will you stop acting like the victim.” He said displeased, flinging himself on the bed.

“How can you be so cruel?!” She wept, opening her eyes. “Oh…!” She shut her mouth, seeing the bottle wasn’t mead, but a contraceptive potion.

“Drink.” He ordered.

She swallowed a mouthful, feeling relief, then embarrassment. Of course he had that covered, he was always so foreseeing. She felt stupid like many times before.

“Thank you.” She said, putting the now empty bottle away.

“You didn’t really think I’m that irresponsible, did you?” He asked. “Well?” He asked again, grabbing her chin and pulling to face him.

“No, never.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I did.” She confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“Imperials!” He puffed, letting go and making himself more comfortable.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know what I mean.” He said casually, folding his arms behind his back. “You Imperials always act like everyone else is to blame.”

“That’s not true!”

“Really? Then what do you make of the recent events?” Vilkas gave her an unpleasant look. “You Imperials and your laws, great on paper but useless in real life. Admit those laws are meaningless, only there as an excuse for your helplessness!”

For a second Ria was speechless, then reached for the empty potion bottle and broke it on his head.

“Bitch!” Vilkas shouted, falling off the bed.

“You bastard!” She yelled, jumping on him. Her still dripping slit stained his crotch. She took a swing with her fist, but as he was an experienced fighter, he easily blocked the blow and pushed her off.

“How dare you!” He roared in anger. She was the Slave, she should know her place!

“You…! You…!” Ria was breathless with rage. “There aren’t words vile enough for me to use.” She slowly stood up, the two of them now opposite each other, waiting for either to make a move.

“Know your place!” He ordered, gnashing his teeth.

“No!” She refused, clenching her fists. “I’ve had it with you! You bastard, I let you do to me anything you’d please, but you’ve gone too far! This was unfair from the start.” She lowered her fists and slowly shook her head. “When you assaulted me…”

“Don’t even try it!” He crossed his arms. “I gave you several opportunities to fight back and make me back off. But you just laid there and took it.”

“Yes, I did.” She confessed with remorse. “I wanted you, but not like that. I was too stupid and meek to defend myself. You basically raped me! And I came back for more, I never drew the line. I should have had some self-respect, but damn it, I got addicted to you.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“You don’t respect me.” She said quietly. “As long as the game was on, you could do anything to me until I said the safety word. Beat me, lash me, abuse my body and mind. But you’re not the boss of me outside the game. So, how dare you imply I have no sense of honor!” A new wave of rage washed her over. “How dare you say I don’t know right from wrong and need some useless laws to tell me what to think, instead of trusting my heart!”

“Quiet it down!”

“No! I don’t care if someone hears! You’re not controlling me anymore!” Ria’s voice was cold and strong. “I am a warrior, and my heart is on the right side. You have no right to insult my pride. We’re through. I don’t need you anymore.” She said boldly, turning to her armor and getting dressed. “Go find yourself someone else to toy with… Shield-Brother.” She said, before slamming the door.

Vilkas felt sticky wetness on his nape and back. He rubbed his neck; his palm was covered in blood, she must have cut his skin with the bottle.

“Well, look who grew a spine…” He said amazed, staring at the blood on his palm.

---

Aza semiconsciously stared at Eorlund sharpening her swords. The talk she just had with the Jarl didn’t go as planned. After nearly running into the palace, she was asked to meet Jarl Balgruuf on the Great Porch.

“I knew you’d come here soon.” He said, stepping away from the balustrade.

“Then it’s no secret why I’m here, Jarl.” She replied.

“You’ve done me a great service more than once.” He acknowledged, staring into the panorama of Whiterun’s magnificent plains. “But I can’t just ignore the law and let your friend go, even though my heart tells me to. I’m sorry.” He looked her in the eye.

“Of course you can’t.” She said bitterly. She wasn’t surprised.

“There are those who want me to pardon him. And those who shun the very idea of disregarding the customs of the Empire. I can’t risk upsetting either side. I am Jarl before being a Nord.” Balgruuf stated heavily.

Aza didn’t envy his position. He was in a tight spot, with both the imperialists and rebels shouting into his ear. So far, Whiterun remained neutral. Apparently, the temporary peace negotiated in High Hrothgar was rendered obsolete.

“I can’t help you. But…” He hesitated.

“But what, my Jarl?”

“But I am sure you’ve made a lot of friends during your travels. Perhaps you have friends in Riften?”

The heroine said nothing, but nodded slightly.

“The city is much more prosperous since Maven Black-Briar became Jarl. As I recall, you suggested she takes Laila Law-Giver’s place.”

“I might have said so, but I was more preoccupied with the dragon back then.”

“Would you believe some people say she has ties to the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood?” Balgruuf made note, looking away. “It’s all gossip, of course, but who knows?”

Aza was already calculating. Fuck Maven, asking a favor from that manipulative bitch was like stuffing your hand into a beehive. But… The Guild. She had a contact in the organization. Someone who once said he never forgets a debt, and that it’s good to be his friend.

“Well, in my line of work you get to meet all sorts of people.” She agreed, casually.

“I don’t doubt that.” The Jarl adjusted his circlet. “Avenicci tells me that murder charges among peasants expire after seven years. Jail escaping is one additional year.”

“I’m not literate in the law, I’m merely a wanderer.” Aza knew where this was going.

“And people tend to talk and talk about something, then slowly cool down and finally forget.” Balgruuf went on. “Eight years is a lot of time for memories to fade away. And papers do tend to get… misplaced in my dungeon.”

“I see…”

“That’s all I can do.” His tone was almost apologetic. For a split-second the adventurer saw the man, not the ruler. And the man was greatly anguished by his burden.

“It’s more than I had a minute ago.” She faked a carefree smile.

“You can go and visit him.” The Jarl suggested.

“That’s… not a good idea.” Aza declined with a frown.

“You’ll start drooling soon.” The grumpy blacksmith snapped her back to reality.

“Sorry.” She wiped her mouth and chin.

“Your staring won’t make me work any faster.” The man nagged, working her blades with cool precision.

“I’ll… Go on a walk, then.”

“Be back in an hour. Don’t forget the gold.” Eorlund reminded, without paying her the slightest look.

Just as she was about to leave, she noticed an almost finished piece of armor. It was a variant of the ancient Nord Hero armor, with slight alterations. The back was covered with reinforced leather, unlike the original scantly design. The front was sturdier; the ribcage, sides and abdomen were also reinforced, though the amulets and leather top remained. The leather skirt was gone, instead there were pants made of thick leather with steel on the knees. The boots and gauntlets remained unchanged, save for metal plates in the front of the boots.

“That’s… impressive.” Aza said with amazement. She had to have it! It would look perfect with her cape and circlet! Not to mention, her old armor was a bit roughed up.

“It’s for Aela, so you have no business gawking.”

“Oh.” The Redguard’s enthusiasm quickly died. The Huntress wasn’t the type of person you could easily bargain with. She left the Skyforge and aimlessly wandered down the stairs.

“My, look who’s back! Missed us?” A voice called.

Aela was leaning against the stone wall with the hidden door leading to the Underforge next to her. Though she seemed relaxed it was just a pose, she was ready to pounce at any second.

“Just passing by.” The heroine tried to excuse herself. It was never a good idea for two alpha females to be in one place for too long.

“Nice cape.” The werewolf in disguise noted, halting her. She was apparently in a mood for a chat.

“Nice armor Eorlund is making you.” Was Aza’s reply.

“I need something sturdier. We’re in for some hard times, and I can’t be seen walking around Jorrvaskir with my ass sticking from under my skirt.” Aela’s brows crossed.

“Meaning?”

“Skjor and Kodlak are dead.” She said briefly. Her frown was barely noticeable. “The Silver Hand. I’ll spare you the long story of bravado, ambush and retaliation. In the end, we got them all. Then we mourned. And when we were done mourning, me and the twins travelled to Ysgramor’s Tomb and gave Kodlak’s spirit peace.”

“That’s good.”

“The old man liked you.” The Huntress said unexpectedly in a familiar tone so uncharacteristic of her.

“I have no idea why.” The Redguard muttered. Pity the old warrior died, but she never liked to meet with someone’s high expectations.

“Me neither. But he saw something in you.” Aela kicked a stone from under her boot. “Now the twin idiots are considering getting clean themselves.”

“You can do that?” Aza was surprised. She thought lycanthropy was permanent.

“Apparently, after you throw a Glemoril Witch’s head into Ysgramor’s sanctified fire, you can.”

“So, you’re going to pull straws to decide who’s the next Harbinger?” Aza joked.

“Are you kidding?” The Huntress laughed bitterly. “Neither of us want the job. We decided there will be no fixed Harbinger until someone worthy shows up. Until then, it’s just the three of us. My head already hurts.”

“Your problem, not mine. I have loads of my own troubles.” The Redguard fought the urge to stare up at Dragonsreach.

“I heard. I’m sorry about your friend.” Aela remembered the red-haired stud. And his colossal dick. She only caught a glimpse of it from a distance, but it was enough to make her remember it for a long time.

“Why? It’s not like I don’t have a plan.” Aza’s jaws clenched. “I’ll get him out, one way or the other.” She assured with force.

“Good hunting.” Aela nodded.

“Yeah, thanks.” She was about to leave, but suddenly remembered an artifact she had in her satchel. For her it was useless, but for a werewolf… “Say, since you said you’re in for some hard times, you’ll need something to give you an edge over the twins. Not to mention someone might notice how the Companions have suffered, and take advantage of the situation… And I have just the thing.”

“You sound like a skooma dealer.”

“I got something better than skooma. And it’s completely safe. I’d be willing to trade it with you for, let’s say… That pretty armor up in the Skyforge. Though, it’s going to need some work around the chest and hips to fit me.”

“Armor made by the finest blacksmith in all of Skyrim? I can hardly imagine what treasure would make this a fair trade!” Aela snorted. It was hard to determine was it outrage or amusement.

The adventurer smiled, sinking her hand into her satchel. Her grin widened, as she felt the familiar shape of Hircine’s Ring.

---

Riften was dangerous to walk by night. Especially, when you’re visiting all sorts of shady places asking about a very shady person. Brynjolf was nowhere to be found, no one in the Ragged Flagon could offer any information, and Aza got the strange feeling the Guild recently underwent a major shift of power. Mercer Frey wasn’t anywhere either, though the Breton’s absence didn’t bother her in the slightest. She left, as it was getting late and the thieves, though most hadn’t forgotten she was allowed safe passage in the Ratway, were growing annoyed of her persistent questioning.

She booked the room at the Bee and Barb, the safest place to stay after it gets dark in Riften. She was tempted to order a disgustingly large bottle of rum, but she had to stay sober and operational. As she had no appetite, she went upstairs early in the evening, undressed and flung herself on the bed.

She was restless, and hoped her only option to bust Erik out of jail was still available. Brynjolf was keeping a low profile, but word that she was looking for him was bound to reach him soon. Nevertheless, she was in a hurry.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, rubbing her stomach. Her guts were painfully clenched as she remembered the conversation she had with Mralki.

“Well, this is bad.” She stated the obvious, staring at the ceiling. “What happened to the girls?”

“They’re staying with me.” Jouane, the elderly Breton, said. “Rorik’s mansion is large enough to house two little girls.”

“And I make sure they eat properly.” Mralki added.

“I should go see to them.” Jouane excused himself. “They tend to have bad dreams and don’t like being left alone for too long. A good night to you both.”

He left. Aza felt a numbing headache, Mralki was silent and grim.

“He doesn’t belong in prison.” She said bitterly after a longer pause. It still hadn’t dawned on her. Erik (righteously!) killed a guy and was now in jail.

“Damn right he doesn’t!” The innkeeper slammed his fist against the counter. “My son is not a criminal!”

The Redguard took off her circlet, feeling little relief, the headache persisted. She had a bitter taste in her mouth. As much as she tried to get a grip of herself, panic was slowly building up inside her.

“I’m going to get him out of this mess.” She swore, blankly staring at Mralki’s face. “Even if I’ll have to do a bunch of nasty things on the way, I’m getting him out.”

“How?” The innkeeper didn’t look like it, but there was a spark of hope in his heart.

“I know the Jarl. He… owes me a favor.” She confessed vaguely. This was no time for a long, complicated story involving eating dragon souls.

“Are you sure you sobered enough?” The innkeeper scrutinized her. He thought little of the woman, and nothing had changed.

“Do you want me to pull your ‘muscle’ again?” She grunted, but immediately calmed down. “Sorry. I’m just so upset about this.”

“You can be upset about your son having relations with a harlot, not him ending up in jail!” He yelled, remembering how she painfully jerked him off, before strolling off with his son, only to do all sorts of depraved things to him.

“Stating the facts won’t bother me, innkeep. I’m a slut, what of it?” She was unaffected by the insult.

“I’m sorry.” Mralki unclenched his fists. “I’m powerless and in despair.” He exhaled, regaining his cool. “I don’t regret letting you take him anymore. I had my doubts about you, and I still have, but I’m proud of who he became. So, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it was mostly his doing. I just made sure he got a good beating if he did something stupid.”

“I noticed the scar.”

“That wasn’t me. Well, it was because of me, but I didn’t hold the blade.” She unnoticeably shrugged, remembering the carnage back in Nilheim.

Her belly suddenly grumbled. Without a word, Mralki turned to his pantry and brought her a cold piece of ram, bread and mulled ale. She wasn’t hungry, but needed a distraction. She ate, taking her time to chew and swallow. The food was bland, but it was just her tongue going numb and dry.

“Who found him?” She asked, staring into nothingness.

“I did.” Mralki’s voice was heavy with sorrow.

“What was he like?”

“Nothing like himself.” The father shook his head. “Calm, focused. Actually,” he swallowed, “he scared me a bit.”

“Yep, that sounds like him.” She noted with grief. Her assumptions were correct - the Slayer broke loose. “He does that when you push him real hard.”

“I… I know.” The man finally sat down, after pacing around. “When he was young… Well… younger, he sometimes… snapped. I hoped he’d grow out of it eventually.”

“He killed a group of bandits and walked out with just a cut on his face and neck.” She grinned morbidly. “So no, he didn’t grow out of it.” Her plate was empty. She got up. “Got to go. I’ll be in Whiterun in no time if I hurry up.”

“No, you’re in no condition to ride.”

“Piss off.” She grunted.

“Get some rest, you damned hagraven!” The innkeeper insisted. “You won’t do any good now, get some sleep first.”

“Fine.” She gave in, realizing being stubborn was pointless.

“No handouts in my inn. You pay for your food and room up front.” He conditioned before letting her head upstairs.

She paid and left the main chamber, after being told which room was available. It was the last door in the corridor. But before entering, she caught a familiar scent from the nearby room.

“Oh, fuck no…” She whispered, feeling her knees go numb. She turned around and pushed the door to the room opposite hers.

It was his room. Erik’s scent was everywhere. The room was small, the furnishing simple. She saw some personal items that made her throat feel tight. She sat on the bed, the frame creaked. She looked around, noticing his old peasant clothes folded over a chair.

“Don’t. Pull yourself together. Ah, dumb bitch…” She surrendered, reaching for it.

She took a deep whiff, almost losing her grip. She got dizzy, as if drunk. She missed that smell. She missed his company. She missed him. She bit her lip, forcing herself to put the green, coarse shirt away. She then slapped herself and marched out of the room, rubbing her cheek. She regained control and was now planning her next move. Get some sleep, ride out first thing in the morning, go see the Jarl.

But before that, she needed to blow off some steam. She franticly threw her armor on the floor, crawled on the bed and fingered herself until she came with a painful clench of her twat.

Morning brought some clarity. Though she hadn’t completely cooled down, she could think clearly. She had a quick talk with Mralki, asking him to pack Erik’s things and deliver them with his horse to a trusted friend she had in Riverwood. She wrote a letter to said friend, explaining the situation and reminding of an old favor they owed her.

Her paint mare wasn’t pleased to leave, as she just got back together with her bay sister. But time was precious and there was much to do.

“Hey, lady!” She heard a child’s voice just as she was about to mount her horse.

She needn’t ask who the twin girls behind her were. Sissel and Britte.

“Yea?”

“Is it true you’re that crazy lady Erik ran away with?” The girl asked. Judging by her challenging tone she was Britte.

“Yep.”

“You’re going to get him out of jail, right?” The girl demanded to know.

“I’ll try.”

“Not good enough!” The other girl cried.

“Shut up, Sissel!” Her sister scolded. “So? Will you?”

“If I fail” Aza grinned alarmingly, “you’ll know.”

“How?” The girls asked disturbed.

“You’ll see the smoke coming from Whiterun.” She promised, kicking her mount’s sides.

A tap on the window pulled her back to reality. She sprang out of bed and leapt to the frame. Pulling sharply, she opened the window, revealing a dark figure lurking in the night.

“I hear you’re asking about me all over Riften, lass. Missed me?”

“Get in.” She stepped aside, shrugging. The night was windy.

Brynjolf slipped into the room with grace. Unlike the last time she saw him, he was wearing official Thieves Guild armor. She remembered the piece he sent Erik, almost an exact copy.

“I’m glad you’re here. I need your help and I’m desperate.” She said without sugarcoating.

“Oh?” The thief rested on the only chair in the room.

“You once said you never forget a debt and it’s good to be your friend.” She swallowed with difficulty.

“I know what I said.” He interrupted. “And I never go back on my word… Well, almost never. But in your case, I’ll hold on to it.”

And he meant it. Some time ago, per Brynjolf’s request, Aza and Erik ventured into a desolated tomb and eliminated a necromancer that dwelled within, then burned all his mad research and the bodies of his victims. Among the corpses, some of ancient draugr and some of young women, was a girl bearing a striking resemblance to the rogue. They suspected she was close family, but didn’t inquire further.

“You did the job, no questions asked.” For a second his green eyes were narrowed. “And you sent me a confirmation letter without all that sentimental nonsense. For that, I am grateful. You didn’t ‘kindly’ offer me your sympathy. Because if you did, I would take it as an insult. And now you’re just standing here saying nothing. You’re not asking who she was, or why didn’t I want to take care of the body myself.”

“As it should be.” She nodded.

“Aye.” Brynjolf laid back. “So, putting my thanks aside, I’m all ears. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s troubling you?”

After several minutes of the adventurer’s tale, he got up and paced around the room making no sound.

“And that’s where you come in. Well, not you.” Aza sighed heavily. “I was thinking of…”

“… Cynric.” The thief finished. Yes, she was about to mention the professional jailbreaker’s name. “He’s retired, you know. After a job backfiring at him and forcing to rot in a jail back on High Rock, he doesn’t do that kind of work anymore.”

“Damn it!” She yelled. “What do you want me to do? Because at this point I’m up for just about anything! I’ll even crawl on my knees to the Ratway and give everyone full service, from the lowliest footpad to Mercer Frey himself!”

Brynjolf laughed, her uterus did a backflip.

“Oh, lass!” He snickered, sitting next to her on the large bed. “Mercer is the last thing you should be worried about. He’s dead, you see.” There was a gleam in his eye.

“Damn, what…?” She paused mid-sentence. This was probably Guild-only business.

“I see no harm in telling you.” Bryn slung his arm over her waist. She gave him a look, but didn’t push him away. “He stole from us and was responsible for our past bad luck. If you’d stuck around for longer, you’d know.”

“I still have no Idea why I agreed to help you with your shady work in the first place. I only needed your help with finding Esbern in the Ratway, and I ended up setting beehives on fire. No, wait, I know. You seduced me.” She realized embarrassed, stroking his ego.

“Still, your help was indispensable. You indirectly helped me catch wind of Mercer’s little scheme. Sometime later, an old Guild member and I crossed paths. Let’s just say they shone some light on Mercer…” He hadn’t mentioned Karliah’s name, Aza needn’t know the story in that much detail. “In the meantime, Mercer fled after majorly screwing us over. Me, Delvin and that other Guild member banded together, tracked him down, and… Well… Business is good once again.”

“And you’re on top.”

“I’m not happy about it.” He confessed with barely noticeable grief. “I’m not much for leadership. But I’ll be damned if I let the Guild sink.”

“So, you got more pull in the Flagon than ever…” Aza risked.

“That I do. No worries, lass, I’ll soften Cynric enough.” He assured with a wink.

She exhaled, now realizing she was barely breathing the whole conversation.

“Once you bust him out, I got a safe hidey hole in Riverwood for him to wait until the heat passes. Just ask the mill owner, she owes me one.” Aza instructed. She visited Riverwood on her way to Riften. Gerdur agreed to hide Erik for a day or two. After all, she was a Stormcloak supporter and couldn’t stand Imperial law.

“Consider it done.”

“Thanks.” Was all she could say.

“Call it even. Now tell me, did he like the armor I sent him?” He smiled like the rascal he was.

“He loved it.” She said, putting her hand over her chest.

“And you?” Sparkles danced in his eyes.

“He looked like the wettest of my dreams in that armor.” She bit her lip, remembering how well the black leather complimented Erik’s figure.

“You’re this cruel on purpose? What about me?” Brynjolf faked a sigh.

“Stop playing.” She punched his knee. She was in no mood for his teasing.

“Who’s playing?” The rogue got even closer. “Maybe I’m in the market for something… robust.”

“You’re a fiend.” She stated, not making the slightest move.

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far in life if it were otherwise. You smell nice, what perfume is that?” He asked, taking a whiff of her hair. Up this close, she could barely gather her thoughts.

“I don’t wear perfume, I bathe.” She replied, feeling her arms cover in goosebumps.

His goatee tickled the side of her neck. Damn his irresistible charm! If it were a year ago, she’d lay down flat with her legs so wide apart you could fit two guys between her thighs. But somehow, although she was turned on, she didn’t want to do it.

“Beat it, pretty boy.” She managed to shutter. “Or I’ll feed you my fist.”

“No means no.” Bryn gave her some space. “Can I at least get a kiss goodnight?”

Scoundrel! Oh, but what harm could a quick kiss do? She closed her eyes and puckered up.

Before a second could pass, his tongue slipped into her mouth and wrapped around hers. His lips were soft and he knew how to use them. Aza felt her thighs getting sweaty. Savagely, she grabbed his nape and pulled closer. Brynjolf grunted, his nimble fingers trotted up her spine, her lower back jerked in a spasm. He tasted intoxicatingly, what was his secret? Whatever it was, he could have anyone. It was hard to imagine someone could resist that red-haired bastard.

He finally broke the kiss. The adventurer hadn’t noticed the moment his hand slipped under her nightshirt, stroking her upper thigh. His other hand somehow went undetected under her neckline and was centimeters from her breast.

“Are you sure you want me to go?” He asked softly, the combination of his appearance, voice and smell was a deadly brew.

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme!” Raced through her head. On the floor, on the wall, even on the damned rooftop! Lick my twat, choke me with your cock, then ram it in and pound me like a piston! And then walk away triumphant, you smug…

“Get out before I throw you out.” Berating heavily, she gnashed her teeth but kept her eyes shut.

She could physically feel his warmth backing away. The frame shifted as Brynjolf got up, but made no sound. Neither did the opening and closing window. Aza was alone. Alone and incredibly horny.

Cursing and grunting, she pulled the nightshirt off and thoughtlessly threw on the nightstand. As her fingers slipped into her pussy, she smelled something burning. It was her nightshirt; she threw it precisely on the candle. She quickly grabbed it and threw on the floor, then poured over it water she intended to use to wash herself in the morning. The flame hissed and died, smoke filled the room. Although it was dark, she could see a large hole burned out on the left side of the chest area. The hole was big enough to fit her entire boob.

“Wonderful.” She said bitterly. Her mood was all gone now.

---

The second the window closed behind him, Brynjolf felt an odd sensation in his gut. Strange, he was tense all of a sudden. It wasn’t because the busty Redguard told him to get out. He sensed she wouldn’t give in, even if she couldn’t resist a kiss.

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, feeling heat growing in his stomach. He halted, wondering if it was something he ate. No, there was nothing physically wrong with him, it was something else. Something he wasn’t aware of up to this point. He never cared for politics, he couldn’t care less who was High King. He laughed at men and women losing their lives in this pointless war. But what he just heard… Rotting in jail for something that was so… right. Not heroic, every sensible person would do the same in the lad’s place. He felt an iron ball slowly building up inside him. He had to let it out, or it’s going to rip his throat open.

“Damned faithless Imperials!” He grunted with all the hatred he could muster.

The feeling passed as suddenly as it came. For a second he stood on the rooftop, surprised by the burning outrage he just experienced. It came so natural to him, as if from the very blood that coursed in his veins. Red Nord blood.

No matter now, he had to get going. It was late in the night, but Cynric should be awake for some… persuasion. He jumped off the roof of Mara’s temple, rolled on the soft grass and quickly entered one of the abandoned mausoleums. He found the secret button on the stone tomb, pressed it, and a second later he was home.

The cistern, the main part of the Guild headquarters, was looking better than ever. That is, if you can say something positive about a sewer. The treasury was slowly filling up with larceny targets, the shelf near the Guildmaster’s desk was heavy with priceless loot. A statue of Nocturnal was giving blessings of luck and stealth for those who wished it. The Guild was slowly reclaiming its former glory.

He jailbreaker was not in the cistern, neither in the Flagon. Most of the members were either asleep after a job, or up to no good somewhere else. On a hunch, the rogue took a peek into the training room. Jackpot. The Breton was busy practicing his lockpicking skills. Vex insisted they should focus more on training and Brynjolf happily obliged now that they had the funds.

The rogue took a step back and hanged his hood on a hook near the entrance. It was a universal ‘do not disturb’ sign every thief understood. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he crept up on Cynric. The jailbreaker was busy with a complex lock based on a Dwemer design. The breton muttered to himself, gently rotating the pick clockwise. He was so preoccupied with finding the sweet spot, that he hadn’t noticed the rogue just behind him. He pushed the pick, but met with resistance. He cursed, biting his tongue.

“Need a hand?” There was a velvet-soft purr next to his ear. He jumped, the pick broke.

“Brynjolf!” He yelled, his hand clenched around his chest. “Don’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s fun.” The Nord replied lightheartedly.

“What do you need from me?” The jailbreaker was alert.

“I’d tell you to pull up a chair, but…” Bryn dramatically looked around the training room.

“Just tell me what you need, boss.”

Brynjolf could swear he heard a change in pitch when Cynric said ‘boss’, as if mocking him. He began outlining the issue. Cynric hadn’t interrupted even once, but from the look on his face the thief could clearly see he wasn’t too happy.

“You know I’m retired.” He reminded in a futile attempt to end the conversation.

“I know. But think about it. Doesn’t it bother you even the slightest? That lad is innocent, for Gods’ sake! This is injustice… in the name of justice!” Bryn tried to play on the jailbreaker’s sense of dignity.

“And since when do you care about justice?” The Breton laughed. “Come on, Brynjolf, we’ve known each other for years, don’t try your tricks on me.”

“Okay, no games. I’ll be blunt - Do it. If not for our lovely…” he involuntarily made a face and crossed his arms, “Redguard friend, then for me.”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“She scratched my back, now I want to scratch hers, so we’re even and everyone’s happy.”

“And it’s my hand doing the scratching.” Cynric grinded his teeth. “I’m not going back to prison!”

He turned away with a grunt. Brynjolf knew he shouldn’t push, this was the crucial moment. Cynric hadn’t stormed out, so there was still a chance to influence him.

“I wouldn’t be asking if…”

“Everyone thinks I was ass-raped in prison. I wasn’t. No one ever touched me in jail.” He confessed, after a moment of pacing around. “Why, you ask? Because word somehow got out that I was a failed jailbreaker.” His face was barely sticking out of the shadow under his hood. “Three years of being ignored, as if I hadn’t existed. No one talked to me, not even to insult me. The more superstitious prisoners said I was bad luck. For three years I hadn’t opened my mouth to anyone.”

“You never told me.”

“As if you needed to know!” The Breton grinned bitterly. “I actually wouldn’t mind some mistreating or a brutal fuck. Anything would be better than treating me like furniture.”

“You’re a pro and it’s dull old Whiterun we’re talking about. You’ll be in and out in no time. If anything backfires, I got your back.” The Nord promised.

“Really?” Cynric was skeptical.

“Solidarity among thieves is sacred. Have you forgotten?” The Guildmaster raised a brow. “I take care of my own. You’re too valuable to us to go to waste.”

“Us?”

“Do you expect to hear ‘valuable to me’? Sorry, not going to happen.” Bryn laughed.

“At least you’re not lying to me to get what you want.” Cynric sighed. “What’s the current cost for busting someone out? I’m a bit out of the loop.”

“This isn’t official Guild business, I thought I made that clear.” Brynjolf stated sternly.

“And you’re short on coin, I imagine?”

“Are you a psychic? Yes, I’m broke at the moment, and I don’t touch our money. I’m not Mercer.”

“So, you expect me to get thrown into Dragonsreach dungeon for free?”

“Of course not. Name your price.” The deal was almost sealed, he knew it.

“I want to borrow the Amulet of Articulation, no questions asked. And a blowjob.” Cynric quickly stated his conditions.

This condition Brynjolf hadn’t expected. The blowjob, that is. He’d sooner expect himself to make a move on Cynric. Well, he was still in the mood, after being so coldly rejected by the buxom Aza. Her taste almost completely dissolved in his mouth. And his hood was still hanging near the entrance.

“Deal?” Cynric grew impatient.

“Deal.” The rogue smiled lustfully.

Roughly, they clashed. Endell bit the thief’s lip before shoving his tongue in.

“Who is it?” He groaned, pulling it out after a brief struggle with Bryn’s tongue. “I can taste someone on you!”

“No worries, we were just fooling around, that’s all.” Brynjolf chuckled innocently.

“Slut.” The Breton hissed through clenched teeth.

“Ouch.” Bryn got on his knees, proceeding to unbuckle Cynric’s pants. Without further ado he got busy, stroking him fast, interchangeably hard and soft.

“The client?” Endell asked, playing with the Guildmaster’s hair.

“Straight. A shame, really. But back to you…” Brynjolf pulled the foreskin down. He blew on the glans, before tapping with his tongue.

“Stop teasing, unless you want me to change my mind.” The jailbreaker observed lazily, pushing his hips a bit forward.

The rogue rolled his eyes dramatically. He squeezed the base, taking the shaft in. He sucked, giving Cynric his full attention, but the Breton wanted more than that. He grabbed him by the neck and roughly stuffed his dick deeper. The rogue gasped, coughed, but endured. Grabbing the jailbreaker’s hips he relaxed his jaws preparing for the rough skullfuck.

Cynric felt great being on top. Brynjolf was never openly arrogant and didn’t abuse his power, but it felt good having him on his knees, with his hot mouth full of cock. He felt the Nord’s honey tongue grinding his shaft, it was unbelievable how good he was with his mouth. Closing his eyes and bending back, the Breton let his mind slip away. The professional in him immediately started going through all the possible scenarios of the heist. The adrenaline that rushed into his head, as he remembered the thrill of jailbreaking, made him even more aroused.

Bryn was getting off himself. No, this wasn’t going to end in just a bit of cock-sucking. His hands moved from the hips to grope Cynric’s fine ass.

“Get ready, boss. I’m almost there.” Cynric’s smile was wide and insolent. Just to taunt a bit, he caressed his Guildmaster’s cheek.

“I’m going to pound your ass so bad, you’ll sleep on your stomach for at least a week!” The Nord thought, preparing for the Breton to come.

With a gulp, he took the cock deep, far past the tonsils. The jailbreaker came in one intense spasm, a forceful stream filled Brynjolf too fast; sperm gushed from the corners of his mouth. He worked hard to keep swallowing and sucking it all out. Finally, it was over. Cynric let his red hair go. Brynjolf wiped his mouth and stood up.

“Always at your service.” The Breton said almost sincerely.

“Get on the hay.” Brynjolf grunted, pointing at the haystack in the corner. “We’re not done yet.”

Moments later, the Guildmaster was roughly pumping his favorite Breton’s ass. Cynric casually lied on his side, enjoying Bryn’s efforts to make him scream. Lazily, he jerked-off, steadily getting hard again. He was going to be sore later, he knew that well. But seeing the usually laid-back rogue fucking him like a savage was worth it.

“You should see your face, boss.”

“Once you’re back from Whiterun” a mad spark danced in the Nord’s green eyes, “I’ll make sure you’re getting the nastiest jobs around here.”

“But I thought I’m your favorite.” Endell fluttered his lashes. Brynjolf couldn’t help but burst into laughter, getting a better hold of his hips.

Chapter 7: the Grand Escape

Aza woke up late in the morning to find a note slipped under the door.

“One month from now – B.” She read out loud. The cryptic message meant Cynric will get Erik out of prison in just thirty days.

She tore the letter into tiny bits. She was feeling better, more hopeful, but still strained. She packed in a hurry, there were still things she should take care of.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dirty mirror on the wall. The custom Nord Hero armor was superb, Eorlund was a master of his craft. The dark green cape fitted it perfectly, so did the jade circlet with emeralds. The glass swords were an icing on the sweetroll. Her face on the other hand… nothing new at first glance, no new scars or wrinkles. But she had deep shadows under her eyes, as if she spent several days worrying and had little sleep. Which was not far from the truth. She slept badly and spent her waking hours thinking about only one thing; getting her Erik out of jail. She stuck out her tongue on her own reflection, and walked out of the room.

---

The Rift was one of her favorite holds. Birch forests and warm climate gave her a bit of ease. She knew Erik’s fate was in good hands and he was as good as free, it was what will happen afterwards that bothered her. He could travel anywhere he’d want, except for Whiterun hold. Will he leave immediately, or will he want to find her? Of course he will be looking for her. He probably hated her guts now and wouldn’t miss a chance for a confrontation.

“Halt!” A woman’s voice called out.

Aza instinctively pulled her blade out, holding the reins with the other hand. Two figures approached. A man and a woman clad in outlandish robes, wearing strange skull-like masks. She felt her sixth sense tingling. Those two were trouble.

“State your business!” She demanded, eying the two.

“Are you the one they call Dragonborn?” The woman asked sharply.

The heroine grinded her teeth. Not this Dragonborn bullshit again! She had more pressing matters to take care of!

“Dragonborn? You mean the legendary hero of the Nords?” She snarled. “Take a wild guess.”

“Are you or are you not?” The woman behind the mask grew impatient. Her partner got dangerously close to the horse. The animal neighed as a warning.

“No, I’m not. You got the wrong person.” Aza knew her attempts to lay them off were futile.

“Not only a deceiver but also a coward!” The man was fuming. “The real Dragonborn comes, you are but his shadow!” He raised his fist, flames slipped through his fingers.

“Lord Miraak rises! None shall stop him! Death to you, impostor!” A dagger appeared in the woman’s hand.

Aza gave in to blind fury. This was one if those days you just wanted to go Merethic on someone’s ass. She kicked her mare’s sides with a wild shriek. The horse stood on its hind legs and dropped on the male attacker. The ground shook. His mask and skull cracked open under the heavy hooves.

The woman managed to dodge a wide slash of the glass sword. Aza let out another wild cry, throwing the blade at her with all her strength. The sword pierced the flesh just above the pelvis. The woman screamed, her blade slipped out of her grasp and disappeared in the thick blanket of ferns.

The adventurer dismounted her horse. She walked up to the assailant; the woman’s robe was soaked in blood, she was in agony. Later, Aza regretted she allowed herself to be this pointlessly brutal. She grabbed the handle and twisted the blade. The woman screamed again.

“You picked the wrong bitch to mess with.” Aza’s voice was full of anger she kept bottled up for so long.

“I am expendable! More will come!” The cultist behind the mask swore.

“The more the merrier.” The Redguard kicked the mask between the eyes. The woman’s nose broke with a loud crack.

She kept kicking until the woman stopped grunting in pain. She took a step back, gawking at her handiwork. This wasn’t necessary, she could just kill her quick and without excess pain. She felt disgusted of herself, but could not deny that felt good, relieving. She searched the bodies. The only item she took interest in was a note found on the man.

“Well, this just keeps getting better.” She growled after reading it. Solstheim? She heard of it, but never took interest. It seemed someone on the frozen isle harbored a grudge against her. Lovely.

The paint horse dug in the ground with her bloodied hoof, nudging the dead cultist’s body. She whinnied with sorrow, she never killed a person before.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Aza stroked the mare’s side. “There should be a stream nearby, let’s get those hooves clean, what do you say?”

The horse’s mild brown eyes looked at her with profound wisdom known only to equines. She then shook her head and let the Redguard mount her and ride off, away from the unpleasant scene.

---

“Prisoner, you got a new cellmate!” The guard opened the barred door and shoved a new inmate inside.

Cynric’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The cell was small, but he seen smaller. And thank the Divines, it was dry and didn’t smell too bad. There was only enough room for a bunk bed, a table with two stools bolted to the floor, and a bucket in the corner.

A figure on the bed moved and sat up. The first thing he noticed about the client was his face. Putting the scar aside, this wasn’t the face of a criminal. And those eyes! Brynjolf was right, Erik was a stud. What a shame he didn’t appreciate rough manly bonding.

Erik eyed his new cellmate. Breton, dark hair, lean. His posture gave away no fear, this wasn’t his first time in jail. A thief, no doubt about it, his alert eyes and confidence weren’t of a common cutthroat.

“Breaking and entering.” Endell said with pride, getting into his role. “With a side of burglary.”

“Murder.” Erik replied indifferently. “The top bunk is free. I don’t gamble, I don’t do skooma and I’m not much for conversation. Keep your distance and we’ll be fine.” With that, he lied down with his back facing Cynric.

“Well, this is going to be interesting.” The Breton thought, climbing up to his bunk. Making contact at this point was futile. Besides, there was half a month left, enough to explain the situation. He gasped, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to lie on his back yet. His ass still felt the Guildmaster’s recent pounding. Bryn decided to visit him again just before the Breton left Riften.

---

Sundas, the one day they let the prisoners bathe. Jarl Balgruuf was a merciful ruler, allowing five minutes of bath once a week for those prisoners, who weren’t entirely unpredictable. The guards phlegmatically leaned against the stone walls, observing the inmates washing themselves with cold water coming directly from the underwater streams.

As usual, there were at least three long steps form Erik. The other prisoners avoided him. Some did so because they considered him innocent; he was an outsider in their eyes. And some wanted nothing to do with a prisoner whose case aroused so much political debate.

Cynric tried to memorize every detail of the room. Just like in the plans he was provided with, the underground washroom was built into a natural cave that went deep under the city. There was, however, one passage even the jailor himself didn’t know about. But that was irrelevant now.

Erik dried his hair. The prisoners weren’t trusted enough to be given razors, so in time his stubble turned into a regular beard. How long has he been here? About… six weeks? He was slowly loosing track. Most of his days were spent on either exercising or sleeping. He wasn’t a recidivist and he hadn’t shown any signs of violence, so every other day an elderly man would pass by his cell and offer him a book from his cart. He read the less scandalous biography of the Dunmer queen Barenziah and some horror stories. Other books he had either read as a lad, or had no interest in.

The water was cold, good for the blood flow. He felt someone’s eyes on him. Unsurprisingly, it was the Breton. Endell smiled and looked away. Great, this was just what he needed, an admirer.

Only one week remained.

---

The next night, after his evening exercise routine, Erik was laying on his back, staring at the mattress above him. His cellmate was enjoying a late-evening read before lights out. He had dreams again. Vague enough to forget, but intense enough to haunt him awake.

He could only suspect Sissel and Britte were under Jouane and his father’s care. Lemkil’s house was probably empty, slowly gathering dust and cobweb. What happened to his belongings? His axe and armor? Pa probably hid his stuff and cherished like holy relics. He should sell the axe and spend the money on things he needed around the inn. He could fetch a nice price for ebony.

When he was first thrown into his cell he could hear the guards debating amongst themselves. It was him they talked about, then Skyrim’s overall situation. The conversation quickly turned into a fiery argument, and then a brawl the jailor himself came down to break up. Ever since, things were silent.

His future was uncertain, and that made him more hopeless than a death sentence. He came to realize he’s going to be stuck here for a long time. Or until the civil war is over and someone finally decides what to do with him, which was very unlikely.

Where was she? Wandering somewhere aimlessly? Savoring a drink in the back of some inn? Having wild, casual sex with some random mate? She could be anywhere, maybe even off Skyrim. She could also be dead. Or worse.

He pinched himself on the sensitive skin on the inner side if his upper arm. Every time he thought of her, he spiraled down straight into utter misery. What wouldn’t he give to have her within arm’s reach now! He’d give her the hard truth of what a bitch she is. He’d tell her how much he hated her and then punch her straight in the face. He would then spit on her and walk away. And he wouldn’t look back.

He realized there was silence, no sound of turning pages. He glanced at the Breton. Cynric was looking straight back at him like a collector observing an interesting specimen.

“Out with it.” He said tiredly. During those few days, his cellmate had made no attempt to talk to him or engage in any other form of contact. He just kept staring, which was even more unnerving.

Cynric closed his book and with unnatural speed pounced at him. Aside from jailbreaking, he was also infiltrating dungeons to assassinate targets, so he knew how to attack with no sound.

“Shh…” he whispered, covering the ginger’s mouth and deflecting his kick with his knee. “Our mutual friend sends her regards.” Endell quickly explained, seeing the clear blue eyes narrow dangerously. This one wasn’t someone you could stifle. His hand backed away.

“Who sent you?” Erik hissed, clenching his fists.

“I think you know who.”

“The bitch.” Aza! She knew! Oh, so now she sends help, after cutting him loose and washing her hands?

“If that is what you call her.” The jailbreaher shrugged his shoulders. “We’re busting out next time during wash-up. Keep close to me if you want your freedom.”

“And in return?”

“Everything’s been arranged and paid for.” The Breton explained. “I think a guard is looking. Hit me.”

The adventurer needn’t hear that twice. Endell fell off the bed and hit the floor.

“Okay, okay, I get the message!” He shouted dramatically, pressing his palm to his jaw. “I’ll leave you alone!”

He then got on the top bunk and hadn’t spoken a word. The cell was as silent as a grave.

---

The remaining days passed painfully slow. Erik had a lot of time to do some thinking. She knew, which meant she was either in Whiterun or… Rorikstead. During those weeks she managed to hire someone (no doubt a Guild associate) to bust him out. So, she did care. Or maybe she just wanted to prove how dependent he was of her, even though they were living separate lives for several months.

Cynric made no mention of the night’s brief conversation. In truth, he avoided Erik for the sake of realism. He felt actual excitement as Sundas was getting closer and closer. Maybe he was retired, but he was still in top shape.

Finally, the guards rounded the prisoners up and escorted them to the washroom. Erik quickly glanced at his cellmate; Cynric was looking straight ahead.

The prisoners discarded their ragged clothes, collected rough bars of unrefined soap and headed towards the washbasins. The spring water was colder than ever. Endell trembled, weighting the bar of soap he was provided. It was heavier than one would expect. He scrubbed himself thoroughly until he felt the outer layer dissolve, uncovering a hard, round object. This was it. He glanced at the client. Erik noticed the Breton’s incisive stare. He motioned closer. The guards and prisoners hadn’t noticed anything yet. It was now or never.

Cynric scooped a small glass orb out of his bar. The room was filled with thick, choking smoke the moment the orb smashed against the floor. Erik gasped and choked, someone grabbed him by the wrist. Before he could punch that someone, he was sharply pulled where there should be a wall. But instead of slamming against stone, he sunk into moldy-smelling darkness. There was a quiet scraping sound, after which the turmoil in the bathing room was almost completely muted.

“Shh…!” He heard a whisper next to his ear.

He saw a flicker and sparks. Then another one. Finally, a torch illuminated the darkness. Both he and the jailbreaker were in a cavern. There was a stream lazily flowing through its center, disappearing in a dark corridor.

“Where are we? What just happened?” He asked bewildered.

“We’re in one of the many escape routes from Whiterun, my friend.” Cynric explained. He paused, listening in. The commotion behind the secret door was quieting down. “There’s no time to lose. I doubt they’ll find the hidden switch, but I’m not taking any chances. Here” he handed him the folded rags he managed to snatch. “We’re getting dressed and follow the current.”

Erik pulled on the roughspun tunic and tattered pants. Footwear was an unnecessary luxury, so he had none. He followed the jailbreaker down the stream.

“What was in that ball?” He asked, looking around. If there were any beasts sulking in the dark, he couldn’t see them. They were exposed and defenseless in the sphere of light.

“In the business we call it ‘Nocturnal’s Bedsheet’.” Cynric replied. “You needn’t know more.”

“So, I guess you won’t tell me who smuggled it in the soap, and how you found that torch?”

“No.”

“Will you at least tell me where are we going?” Erik grew impatient. He hated feeling left out.

“To a safe place. Trust me, I’m a professional.” Cynric assured.

There was a nauseating crunching noise underneath the Breton’s feet. Cynric shone before himself. He stepped in a dried-out, web-ridden carcass, which could only mean one thing. They heard movement above. The torch’s flame was reflected in hundreds of black eyes. They entered a frostbite spider nest. Snapping of mandibles and trotting of hairy legs followed, magnified by the echo. The torch hissed when a drop of goo dripped onto it from the ceiling. The spiders lowered themselves, outstretching their disgusting legs. The smell of fresh blood woke them up from hibernation, and they were hungry.

“Well, this wasn’t on the map…” The jailbreaker laughed nervously.

Erik made a step back and felt a rock under his foot. He quickly picked it up and threw at the nearest arachnid. The spider fell off its web; the stone hit it right in the eyes. It gurgled, kicking madly in a hopeless attempt to roll off its fat abdomen.

Endell snapped out of it. He knew what to do the moment he noticed a tangled knot of web blocking their path. Few people knew how flammable frostbite spider webbing was. The torch was thrown across the nest, jamming into the exact center of the knot. A burst of flame erupted, for a second the entire nest was as bright as in the middle of day.

“Go!” Cynric rasped, bolting.

Erik followed, ignoring the sights before his eyes; a boiling mass of burning spiders. They ran in the dark, ankle-deep in freezing water. Soon, the only sound was their exhausted breathing. They halted, drank from the stream and cooled their sweaty foreheads.

“I’m getting too old for this.” The Breton complained. “Good thing we’re almost there.”

They marched in the cold, damp void, accompanied by the sound of dripping water. Before time could blur, Cynric suddenly stopped. Erik bumped into his back, almost toppling Endell over.

“What now?” He asked alerted.

“We’re here.” The Breton said. “This is where the stream pours into an underground lake. It’s not too deep, so we should make it.”

“We’re diving?” Erik had his doubts.

“No other way out.” Cynric replied. “If you want, you can go back, or stay here and feed on blind underground fish for the rest of your life, like some grotesque creature.”

“How far?” He gave in.

“You’ll manage on one lungful of air.” There was a crack, the Breton must have been stretching. “Don’t think, just dive and keep swimming until you reach the bottom. Then straight ahead, there’s a grotto that goes right into the White River. Once you’ll meet with the current, resurface. I’ll see you on the other side.” With a loud splash the jailbreaker was gone.

Erik didn’t dwell on his situation. He took a deep breath and jumped in the water. It was icy, even for a Nord. His lungs were crushed by the cold, his skin stung, his hands and feet were on fire, but he sucked it in and kept swimming. Freedom was just moments away. When he reached the bottom, he kicked off, swimming forward. He started to feel his ribcage convulse, his mouth got bitter. He needed air. Some escaped from the corners of his mouth and fluttered away. His elbow got grazed on a stony wall; he entered the grotto. He could feel the walls closing in on him, he’s going to get stuck! He’ll die here! When hope almost abandoned him, he saw the end of the tunnel. He worked his numbing arms and legs, his lungs burned in response. He was on the verge of gasping for air and choking with water. He entered the current, getting swept by it. He could see the surface! He kicked off the bottom, he needed just a few more seconds… Just a bit, just…

He bobbed up, fighting for air. He made it! Snorting and spitting, he swam, then raced to the shore. His knees were weak, so he crawled. When he felt grass under his palms, he fell on his back and rested until his head stopped spinning.

“What took you so long?” He heard his rescuer joke.

“You do not want to see me get up from here.” He heaved.

“I do, actually. It’s not over yet. Come on!” Cynric ushered.

Erik sat up. Before him were the plains of Whiterun with the city itself. Behind him was a pine forest. From where he sat, he could catch Dragonsreach between his fingers and squash like a bug. He now knew how much did he miss fresh air and space. He was weary, but hadn’t earned his rest yet. He followed Endell into the woods, still dripping water. Soon, the path started winding up.

“We’ll soon part, but you’ll be in good hands. You should lay low for a day or two, then you can go wherever you please. Well, except Whiterun.” Cynric said, making no noise on the dry twigs and cones.

“Great.”

“You can expect there’s going to be a bounty on your head, so try not to catch anyone’s attention. You already stirred enough commotion on both sides of the war.” The Breton went on.

“Mhm.”

“You got a mighty fine ass, by the way.”

The fugitive halted, giving the jailbreaker a dazed look.

“Who goes there?” There was a woman’s stern voice.

“A courier. I got the package.” Endell replied, his face still had a sly expression.

“Come forward.”

The men entered a small clearing. In the dark stood a tall figure of a woman. She had neither torch nor lantern to light the darkness.

“As you can see I delivered the package safe and sound.” The Breton assured.

“I can see that.” The woman’s voice was cold. She tossed a bundle before Cynric’s feet. “Here’s your gear… thief. Now begone.”

“Good luck, friend.” The jailbreaker bid, picking up his belongings. “Try to stay out of trouble.” He advised, retreating.

“Thanks.”

“It’s what I do.” The Breton’s voice was now heard from a distance, though Erik could have sworn he hadn’t heard him move. He was alone with the woman.

“You must be exhausted.” She said in the dark. “My house is not far away, let’s get going.”

They marched until they saw lights of a small settlement. The village was quiet, sound asleep. The few guards patrolling the main road were half-asleep themselves.

In the dim light Erik could see the woman was indeed tall and broad. He couldn’t see her face from under a linen cowl she wore. She signaled him to wait and looked over the corner, then pulled him to the back of town. They reached an unremarkable house. The woman looked around before knocking three times. Warm light slipped from the inside as a boy opened the door. They quickly entered, shutting the door behind.

The woman took her cowl off with a relieved sigh. Her hair was golden, her eyes crystal blue. Her cheeks were red, though her skin was light. She had large, heavy breasts and birthing hips. She was the picture of a healthy, fertile Nordic woman.

“Where’s your father?” She asked the child strictly.

“In the inn, just like you told him.” The boy answered.

“Good, good. Seat our guest, I’ll be right back.”

Erik was seated at a long dining table. He looked around; the interior was plain and homely, it was obvious this was home to simple, hardworking people. He relaxed, finally feeling safe. He didn’t want to think, he needed sleep and perhaps something to eat. He noticed the lad’s intense stare.

“Yes?”

“Are you a Stormcloak?” The boy asked, getting closer. “My uncle is a Stormcloak. He used to hide here from the Imperials, but now he’s fighting in Ulfric’s army.

“No, I’m not a Stormcloak.” Erik explained tiredly. Goodie, rebel supporters.

“Are you an imperialist, then?” The boy’s arms crossed.

“No, I’m an adventurer.” He hoped the answer will satisfy the kid’s curiosity.

“My ma says adventurers are good for nothing vagabonds, who don’t care what will happen to our land.” The boy pointed at him accusatory.

“Frodnar!” His mother appeared behind him. “Bed, now!” She ordered, slapping his behind. The lad yelped and ran out of the room. “Forgive him. He’s a bit nosy.”

“I’m too worn out to bother, ma’am.” He dismissed.

She placed a platter and cup before him. The food was simple, but he wasn’t picky. He was hungry like a wolf and hadn’t had anything decent in his mouth for a long time. He tried to remember what was the last thing he ate as a free man, but his memory failed him.

“We have some time to talk now.” She said, sitting opposite to him. “My name is Gerdur, I own the mill here in Riverwood.”

“Ah, so I finally know where I am.” He acknowledged with his mouth full. He grunted, food was getting in his beard.

“I can’t imagine what you must have went through in the Jarl’s dungeon. But you are safe now.” Gerdur comforted, though he needn’t any comfort. “I know all about you and what you did. You spat the Empire in the face that day, and for that you have a friend in me. You…” She started rambling about honor, freedom and the likes.

He remained silent, phlegmatically chewing on what was left of his food. He now noticed she had large, red hands, no doubt from working the lumber all day long. Her eyes were burning with fever, as her speech escalated.

“I didn’t spit in anyone’s face.” He interrupted, growing tired of her tirade. “I protected two girls I’ve known since they were babes. That’s all there is to it. The war is none of my concern. Now” he picked a piece of meat from his bushy beard, “what did she do to convince you to harbor a fugitive?”

“She and my brother escaped Helgen together.” The woman endured his cold gaze. “But even if I didn’t owe her, I’d still help. Like it or not, you made a stand and I applaud, even if you don’t appreciate it. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

“I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.” He assured, already feeling an itch to get out in the open.

“If that is what you wish, I won’t stop you. But I advise you leave after it gets dark. Are you full?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Then come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Gerdur approached and opened a large wardrobe. She pushed a false back panel aside, revealing narrow steps leading into darkness. She lit a lamp and descended into the dark. Erik followed, unsurprised she had a hidden cellar.

The room was small, dry and not stuffy at all. The light of the lamp licked the walls, conjuring shadows all around. Gerdur placed the lamp on a shelf and bid him goodnight, pointing at a package in the corner. But Erik was preoccupied with a familiar dark figure laying on the bed. His heart started beating faster, as he approached the frame.

---

“Did you miss me?” He asked, tenderly running his fingers along the familiar ebony curves and angles. “Because I missed you.”

She didn’t reply, she was an axe after all. He enjoyed the cool of the volcanic glass for some more, before putting her against the wall and focusing his attention on the package. It contained all his gear, personal items and travelling essentials.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He laughed, putting on Kynareth’s amulet. He immediately felt cool relaxation, as if the goddess herself eased his troubled mind.

He unpacked the rest of his things. The armor was there, so was the simple shirt and undergarments he wore underneath. He got rid of the rags he had to wear in jail, and welcomed the fresh linen material with glee. He then noticed the Skyrofge Steel dagger.

He took it in his hands and examined its condition; the blade was still sharp. He grabbed a handful of his beard and cut it off. He continued doing so, until he felt more or less groomed. He almost screamed with joy, uncovering another precious item; his mare’s brush. This could only mean she was nearby, ready to ride off to another adventure.

He noticed a new item; a black leather hood to match the armor. This could be useful, since he couldn’t show his face to anyone. He heard rustling when he minced the wonderfully soft leather. Inside the hood was a folded piece of paper. He felt the floor slip from under his feet, he knew well who was the note from. He sat on the bed, before he tripped over his own weak feet.

“Want to yell at me for everything I’ve done to you? I’ll be waiting where I met Jarl Ulfric. Only for two days after your grand escape, then I’m gone.” He read out under his breath.

He crumpled the note, before setting it aflame. The wretch was just within arm’s reach. Oh, he’s going to go to Helgen. And he’s going to do some yelling, then some punching. But first, he’s going to thank her for spinning the whole plan to bust him out, only to prove how much he needs her. After all, why did she go through all the trouble to free him? He rejected the attachment hypothesis. Why push him away, then act like she cared? No, this was about pride and dominance.

Women, pa was right all along.

---

It was obvious Gerdur harbored fugitives before. In the morning her son brought him water, soap and food, asking if he needed anything. Erik only asked if his horse was okay. The lad confirmed and was gone the next second. Gerdur’s husband Hod also came to pay him a visit. The man wasn’t as obsessed with the rebel cause as his lovely wedded. He merely wanted to know what Erik planned to do next. He was pleased to learn the adventurer intended to leave in the evening and stay out of Whiterun.

The day slowly rolled towards sunset. Gerdur came around the time shops closed and the fair folk of Riverwood were either home or at the inn. Erik was waiting, geared up and eager to go.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“I can’t wait.” He grinned alarmingly.

“I’m guessing you two have a complicated history.”

“You have no idea how. But there’s nothing a good aim can’t fix.”

“Men! They don’t grow up, they just grow bigger!” The woman slapped the back of his head as if he were a whelp. She then shook her head. “Laddie, anger is the worst advisor.”

“And a great anesthetic.” He talked back, putting the hood on. He couldn’t see for himself, but most of his face was now obstructed in shadow. He felt like his old self again, clad in his armor, with his axe on his back and dagger on his hip.

Gerdur muttered under her nose, leading him out of the house. They crept to the back of town, near the road heading south. She led him for a few more yards, until he heard familiar neighing. From behind the shrubs appeared Frodnar, leading the bay mare by the reins. Once the horse saw its master, it nearly pulled the boy on the ground, happily trotting towards Erik.

“My girl!” He welcomed, patting her neck. The horse rested its head on his shoulder.

“She looks much better now.” The woman noted. “She was so miserable for the past few days. Frodnar, home.” She said, nodding at the boy. The lad was gone the next second.

“Thank you. I don’t have any gold…” Erik apologized. He suspected all his money was safely in his father’s hands. Good, he couldn’t think of a better place for it.

“If you’d offer me money, I’d be insulted. You’re not bad, if a bit sullen, and I was glad to help. I packed you some food, it should be enough for three days. I don’t know what you’re planning, but good luck. Talos be with you.” She bid as a farewell.

“Talos guide you.” He said reflexively.

Erik mounted his horse. The world was once again all his to roam. Well… except for Whiterun. But he was free. He rode straight for Helgen. With every passing tree and rock, his heart grew colder.

---

Helgen was a ghost town. The ruins of houses and businesses were nothing more than burned-out husks. What little of value remained after Alduin’s attack, was long picked by scavengers. Soon, bandits sought the town as a perfect hiding place. When they grew in numbers, the Jarl of Falkreath had a team of his men march in and kill every outlaw in sight, impaling their corpses on spikes as a warning. Ever since, Helgen became a true ghost town, with the occasional fugitive or beast seeking refuge in the desolated keep.

The chopping block was still standing, as if nothing had happened. The traces of the executioner’s axe were still distinctive, although the rain and snow washed away the bloodstains. It started to snow. The type of snow Aza hated the most; little shards of ice combined with strong wind. She shielded herself from the cutting wind with her cape, finding little comfort.

It was long pass midnight and still no signs of him. Did the heist go wrong? Impossible. It was more likely he didn’t want to see her. No… He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to give her a piece of his mind. And a piece of his fist as well. He’ll come. She wanted to have this unpleasant business over with and head straight for Solstheim. She learned in the past how unwise it was to ignore her role as the Divines’ chosen. Though, that didn’t change the fact she wasn’t too happy about it.

Instinct told her she wasn’t alone. Someone was staring at the back of her head. She felt shivers down her spine. Amazed, she realized she was too scared to turn around.

The Redguard harlot hadn’t the courage to face him! What a surprise! He was just a few long steps from her, and already he felt his insides torn apart. Oh, but that would only give her satisfaction. No, he’s not going to give her the pleasure of seeing him in pieces.

“You know I’m right behind you, so let’s skip the greetings.”

Aza tiredly spun around. Daedric Lords, he was more furious than she expected. Furious enough to be so cold and cruel. He hadn’t made the slightest move, only kept staring with that gleam. This wasn’t him. Or maybe he changed during those months apart.

“Ancient Nord Slut armor? Some things never change. Well, start talking. I know you have a whole speech prepared for this occasion.” He said coldly.

“Speech? No… more like a retrospection.” She gave up and hunched her shoulders. “You know, this is where it all started. Right here…” She pointed at the chopping block. “It was my turn to get a smooch from the headsman’s axe. I was on the verge of going insane from fear, but there was no point in fighting, the only guy that tried running got shot in the back. I think… I think he was from Rorikstead, you know?” She kicked the side of the block. “I got on my knees and rested my cheek where the blood of the previous unlucky bastard hadn’t died yet. Suddenly, I was calm. When you know nothing can change the inevitable, you find solace. I thought of the great dunes of the Alik’r Desert. I relaxed, waiting for the final chop. But it never fell.”

Her gaze shifted towards the ruined tower. She frowned, remembering everything with clarity. She never had dreams about Helgen, the city’s destruction haunted her in daylight. She had other horrors to plague her dreams.

“Then Alduin rolled in and breathed fire. Some were fortunate to die on the spot. Most hadn’t been that lucky… And how they smelled.” She glanced at him and gave a weak ironic grin. “And do you know what the Dragonborn, the fabled heroine, the chosen of the Gods did? I pissed myself. My mind went black with terror I’ve never felt before. I pissed my pants and couldn’t move a muscle. I was lucky in my stupidity; one of the prisoners noticed me, pulled me up and punched in the face. That was enough to get me back in the game. I ran with piss dripping down my crotch. I doubt the bards will ever sing about that one time Dovahkiin’s bladder gave in, but it’s the true story… So, how was prison?” She asked casually. “Any admirers?”

“I should have guessed you’d turn everything into a joke.” He spat. “Well, go on, gloat. I know you want to. Go on and tell me what a fool I’ve been, getting into trouble without you. Tell me how much I needed you to get me out. Because we both now I’m not worth squat without you.”

“Go fuck yourself, you’re not my problem ever since Markarth.” She rebuffed, expecting such accusations.

“How could I forget Markarth…” Without his will, his hand reached behind, gripping the axe’s handle.

“That’s how you want to settle it?” She deftly reached for her swords.

“Why not? I’m an outlaw, a murderer, who knows what might cross my mind?”

He acted on impulse. The blade rose and fell. She dodged; the axe’s strike was futile, conjuring sparks against the chopping block. He regained balance in a second.

“Bullshit. You don’t belong in prison and you never will.” She got into a defensive stance.

“What does that supposed to mean?!” He yelled, angered.

“You’re too good to be rotting in the Jarl’s dungeon.” She grinded her teeth. “I’d never let that happen.”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted? To stop being my mommy?” He tried to round her, but the wretch kept in motion.

“Shut up. I didn’t expect you to be grateful, but I didn’t do it to prove anything.” She motioned back to a safe distance. “Shit happened, you acted. You did the right thing, though the place and time were unfortunate and you got screwed over. End of story.”

Erik’s arms went numb. He rested the axe against the ground. Although still enraged, he felt emotionally exhausted.

“They were nine… Just nine… And his daughters.” He frowned, realizing he might have lost his last shred of innocence.

“I know. It’s much easier to kill a group of bandits, than deal with the evil lurking in normal, ordinary people…” She said softer.

He shrieked, letting his weapon go. He rushed towards the Redguard and grabbed her by the shoulders. She didn’t strike, he was unarmed. His face was mere inches away, the mad look in his eyes gave her shivers.

“You just have the answer to everything, don’t you?!!” He shouted, giving her a good shake. “Well, you don’t! You’re not that wise and insightful. You didn’t ditch me for my own good! Admit it, bitch! Admit it, you got scared things were getting serious!”

“Get off me!” She dropped the swords to push him away. “Time apart did you good, you can’t deny it. But yes, I confess, I got scared.” She helplessly rose her arms. “I got scared things would start getting bad. That you’ll get tired of me. So I ran away while things were still good. It was the best I could do.”

“Yeah, and that did us great.” Erik laughed bitterly. “What would you do that night in the shed if I hadn’t controlled myself?” He suddenly asked.

“You mean that one time I kept teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore, jumped me and almost raped me? Well… Maybe I’d let you have your fun, maybe I wouldn’t. Regardless, I’d give you a good beating afterwards. And believe me, the beatings you got from me would be nothing in comparison. I’d probably leave you crippled for life, then be on my way. Why ask now?”

“I had a lot of time to think in prison.” He said indifferently. “I was thinking how different my life would be, if it hadn’t been for you. How different I could turn out.”

She gasped. That was one of her late night fears; what could have become of him if she’d leave him in Rorikstead. She immediately thought of Kjeld, the foolish whelp who she encountered in an abandoned lighthouse. The fool also wanted to live a life of adventure, but hung out with the wrong crowd and made bad decisions. He ended up with a few bruises, his pride in pieces, no clothes and a dagger up the arse. A very small price for stupidity and cowardice.

“There’s no point in dwelling on it now.” She dismissed, avoiding his gaze. “You turned out good, better than I could hope for. Nothing else is worth bothering with.”

The wind blew in her back, the cape flapped. He sneered resigned, he just couldn’t stay indifferent around that woman. Wherever he’d be, whatever he’d be doing, whoever he’d be doing, the thought of her would be with him, like a tumor clinging to the back of his head.

“Divines, I want to hate you. You have no idea how. But I can’t.” His fists clenched. The brief moment he touched her skin was enough to make his chest feel ripped open.

“Sure you can, you’re just not trying hard enough.” She encouraged.

“Despite you giving me reasons… You messed-up bitch.”

“That’s the spirit!” Aza cheered. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?” She inquired, picking up the glass blades.

“Nothing I can think of right now.”

“Well then, it was good seeing you, but I got to go.” She started to cautiously retreat, eying him in case he gets any new ideas.

“Where in Oblivion are you running away to now?” He grunted, making a step forward. His hot breath was like a cloud of fury in this weather.

“Solstheim. Not my choice, I have a score to settle. And I’m not running away.” She disclosed insulted.

“Yes, wretch, you are. You think I just wanted to do some sparring and yell at you? Oh, no! You’re not off the hook. I’m not letting you go.” He swore with a crazed gleam. He was dead serious.

“You’re coming with me?” She assumed with disbelief.

“No. I got my own plans. Go to Solstheim, I’m joining the Dawnguard, it was actually what I intended to do after visiting home. The first day of Autumn I’ll be waiting for you in Windhelm docs.” He approached his Redguard harlot and breathed straight in her face. Shards of ice on her lashes melted. “And you better be there. Because if you won’t… I’ll find you. And Divines help you.”

“Is that a threat?” Aza dared.

“It’s a date.” Erik promised.

---

Lord Harkon was now a pile of smoldering ash. So were his devoted followers. His castle was burning, the Dawnguard was as efficient as it was zealous. The fighting was still ongoing, but the cathedral was quiet and still after the fierce battle that claimed the Master Vampire.

The hero who landed the final, lethal blow heaved, observing moonlight illuminating the speckles of dust dancing over the ash. It was finally over. After all this time of near death, little sleep and constant pressure, it was finally over. The world was safe from Harkon’s delusional ambitions.

He smiled pleased, he outdid himself. He wiped his damp forehead, then swept his hair back and tied with a leather band. The woman sitting next to him on the cold stone floor was completely motionless, her chest didn’t move. It was natural for her; she was a vampire herself, after all.

“I can’t believe it.” Serana, Harkon’s prized daughter, said with sorrow. “He’s dead. My father is dead, and I’m finally free from his madness.” She turned to him, her eyes were otherworldly amber. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

“Well, I did come prepared.” Erik smiled tiredly, patting the handle of his new axe. The weapon was made from dragon’s bone.

He loosened the collar of his armor; the darker variant of Dawnguard light armor. His old armor was torn into shreds by a gargoyle during his first days amongst the ranks of vampire hunters. But losing his armored jacket and ending up with three diagonal cuts across his abdominals was better, than having the monster carve his belly open. The axe he was now using was a souvenir from the Soul Cairn. The ebony one was sold right after he and his undead partner came back to Mundus.

The vampire bowed her head, staring at her own hands. She was an ageless beauty, forever young and yet there was elder wisdom in her eyes. Her figure was slim, youthful and lithe. Her voice was enough to make anyone stop and listen in awe. But she was also fiercely intelligent and confident. Erik could stare at her for hours, but he wasn’t a fool. Although Serana was a beauty he never saw before, she was still a corpse with a thirst for blood. And that was more than enough to cool down his loins.

“What now?” She asked, seeing him stand up.

“I’m done.” He explained calmly. He still had some time before setting off to Windhelm, but he hadn’t planned on spending it with the Dawnguard, it was time to move on. “It was fun, venturing with you into the Soul Cairn and the Forgotten Vale, uncovering ancient prophecies and legendary artifacts… But I’ve had enough. It’s time I pick up where I left before joining in. So… goodbye. Give Isran and the others my regards.”

“Wait!” She sprang up. “I can’t let you leave just like that. I owe you a debt bigger than you can imagine. Please, if there’s anything I can do for you…” Serana couldn’t stand owing a debt. Though both knew carnal lusts were out of the picture.

“Anything? Well, I think I can trust you…” He handed her his coinpurse, heavy from the gold he made off selling his old axe. “Take this to Rorikstead and give it to Mralki, the innkeeper. Tell him I’m doing good. That’s all.”

“That’s it?” She asked surprised, almost offended how menial his request was.

“Well, I’m not going to ask you to turn me into a vampire.” He joked. “But about that…” He hesitated.

“Yes?” Serana was alert. He was about to touch a personal matter, or offer advice. Although they spent a lot of time together and been through many dangers, she kept him at a safe distance, just like everyone else. She hated when anyone tried to get too close, regardless who they were.

“You could get clean, you know.” He dared suggest.

“Why should I?” Her eyes now had a shot of crimson.

“I’m not going to judge you, or try to change your mind. If you feel comfortable with who you are, I have no right to preach. But maybe, since all this is over and you are free, you could take one more step and finally be your own person. It’s just a thought.”

“I’ll… consider your advice.” She promised reluctantly, remembering the degrading ceremony that tainted her mind, body and soul all those years ago. “Goodbye. And good luck, whatever new mess you’re going to get yourself into.”

He left the castle undisturbed, passed the rubble-ridden courtyard and sailed on one of the boats back to the shore of Haafingar. It was almost dawn, how ironic. The morrow was misty. He hiked towards Solitude, as he left his horse at the city stable. Before setting off, he intended to wander the city and do some shopping, maybe enjoy a bath or lavish feast.

He entered Solitude around noon. He quickly passed the Winking Skeever, warding himself from the sudden wave of tender memories associated with the inn. Some managed to slip pass his willpower, forcing him to slow down and sigh. Were there any good brothels around? Sure there were, this was Solitude, after all! He had some gold, he could treat himself to some hired affection. No… forget it. He wasn’t in the mood, he just didn’t want to remember, a jug of mead would do him more good. And would surely cost less.

A few hours later he was heading towards the city gate, pleased to see the weather was clearing up. He bought himself some supplies and had enough finds to spoil himself with silver-lined leather bands to fasten his hair and braids, which went well with the dark armor. He hummed, passing the city gate and strolled down the hill, heading to the stables. On his way he passed what seemed to be a large caravan.

“Yesss…” He heard a familiar purr. “You could strike a deal with this one. We know the roads to Windhelm…”

“Ma’dran!” He greeted loudly, approaching the circle of tents.

The cat jumped and bristled his fur once he saw the red-haired Nord. The person Ma’dran was talking to was a middle-aged Redguard, clad in outlander robes.

“Ah, it is you, my friend. This one is happy to see you in good health.” The feline’s eyes shone like gemstones.

“Too bad you didn’t bother with my health when you left us for dead in Winterhold.” Erik pierced the Khajiit’s skull with his gaze. “Too bad…”

He remembered the cat and his guards escaping once they saw a frost dragon on their path, leaving him and Aza to fight the beast. He didn’t want revenge, but he didn’t want the damned Khajiit to betray anyone either.

“What is the meaning of this Ma’dran?” The Redguard asked. He had a deep, low voice, that although calm, demanded an answer.

“Nothing of importance. Just some old business.” The deceitful merchant smiled insincerely. “This one offers delayed payment if you promise to leave the subject.” He addressed Erik, reaching into his pocket.

“Choke on your gold. I’ll bet you got it illicitly.” Erik declined, turning to the Redguard. “I don’t know who you are or what your business is, but don’t trust that damned cat. He’ll leave you to your fate the moment he spots danger.” He ended his tirade with a loud snort and spat next to where Ma’dran was sitting.

The Khajiit hissed, but couldn’t call for his trusted bodyguards, who were too far away to come to his aid. The tents surrounding them belonged to Redguards, together there were about thirty or so people.

“I see.” The man from Hammerfell took a moment to consider his options. “Thank you, but I am no longer in need of your services. Leave.”

“No, it is this one who lost his interest in business!” The cat hissed, storming out of the circle of tents.

Well, that was that. Erik shrugged his shoulders ready to leave.

“Wait.” The man’s voice hadn’t raised, but he daren’t disobey. “Please, join me. I have a proposition.”

“I’m listening.” He said, sitting opposite to him on a soft carpet laid directly on the grass. He already knew what the man will offer.

“The deal you just interrupted is important to me. I run this caravan, you see. We spent several months stranded here, in Solitude, but we must march out east today. I can clearly see you are a traveler yourself. Do you know the land?”

“That I do.”

“We need to be in Windhelm as soon as possible, but we cannot take the main roads. Can you guide us?”

“You’re lucky. I have business in Windhelm myself.”

“I’m glad. My name is Kemon.” The Redguard introduced himself.

“Erik.”

---

Just holding the Black Book made Aza tremble. There was ancient knowledge and evil in that piece of leather and paper. It was too powerful for anyone to read and not get corrupted by it. She remembered the place she took it from… And it wasn’t Solstheim, it was that… dark, cold plane, so… nauseatingly greenish, and moldy… She crossed her eyebrows, then shoved the book into a solid, iron case she ordered from the blacksmith in Raven Rock. She locked it and hid the key in her satchel. She then took a powerful swing and threw the case far away from where she was standing; onboard a ship heading back to Skyrim.

She knew it was pointless, one way or another Hermaeus Mora will find a way to seduce and enslave mortals with forbidden knowledge and power. But this was her way of saying ‘I’m out’. The rest of the Black Books she left next to Miraak’s skeleton in Apocrypha. She wanted to quickly forget about Solstheim, the first Dragonborn, Hermaeus Mora and his realm. But the farewell he gave her, made her blood curdle.

“Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded" She heard the Daedra’s hum from all directions, as if his voice filled the entire realm of Apocrypha.

“I don’t want any of your gifts.” Her voice trembled. “I want out of here. I want my life back.”

“Mortal ignorant.” Hermaeus’ thousands of eyes rolled with glee. “You can leave, you can do whatever you please, but you will never break free from your fate. I know that better than anyone. I am the Lord of Fate.”

Aza felt a sleek, slimy tentacle caress her inner thigh. She screamed, jumping. The Daedra laughed amused.

“I don’t believe in fate! If you want to break me, spare me the ordeal!” She managed to screech terrified. She was at the Daedric Lord’s mercy, she knew he’d crush her existence in a mere second. And if that was his aim, at least spare her the torture.

“Oh, my champion… What use would you be if I reduced you to a blubbering pile of flesh? No… I send you back to your world… With one final gift.”

Another tentacle wrapped itself around her throat and seized her chin, forcing the heroine to look up, straight at the ball of darkness and eyes in the green sky. Her eyes rolled back in her head, as the Daedra invaded her mind, forcing a vision upon her.

She was wounded and kneeling, holding someone tightly in her arms. She knew the life of that person was in her hands, and she’d sacrifice her own for theirs. Although she wanted, she couldn’t look down and see the face of whoever she was protecting.

All around there was fire and smoke. The smell of blood filled the crimson night air. She took a deep breath and called out a name. A dragon swooped in, landed in front of her and spread its red wings…

Her mind surrendered into nothingness.

She awoke on the snow in the middle of the Skaal village, with Frea, the new shaman looking over her. It was over, the deed was done. But she couldn’t sleep, and felt uneasy the remaining days she was on Solstheim.

“Well, that’s that.” She said with relief. “I need grub.” She added, strolling to the dining deck.

She ate little, as she was running out of gold; her funds were barely enough to get back to Windhelm and not starve along the way. She spent most of her resources on the case and two perfect Nordic swords. She conditioned they follow the Skaal design, but be made of ebony, which considerably rose the costs. But the result made glass look like a child’s toy in comparison.

She should find some work soon… or a chest of gold on the bottom of some forgotten ruin. She swallowed a mouthful of bland bread, staring into her almost empty cup. Perhaps it was pure coincidence, but the ship was going to sail to Windhelm exactly the first day of Autumn. She wondered was he going to be waiting for her…

“Excuse me?” A woman’s shy voice was heard from above. “Could I ask for a moment of your time?”

Aza looked up from where she was dining. The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman who looked like a monk or healer, accompanied by a younger woman with a clearly visible rounding under her dress. Both were her kinswomen. Something about them made her immediately think about the great dunes of the Alik’r desert.

“Yea?” She asked, trying not to sound unpleasant.

A mother and her pregnant daughter? Two women alone on a ship with mostly Nord sailors? She could see where this was going.

“My name is Saabi, this is my sister Kazi. As you can see, we’re travelling alone, and my sister is with child. Our trip is urgent. We’re not wealthy, but I don’t think any of the thugs eying our purses would bother with asking. Could we… accompany you until we reach Windhelm? I have no coin, but my husband will be waiting for us and he is bound to pay you.”

The heroine said nothing, but motioned away, making room on the bench she was occupying. The women joined in with relief.

“Thank you!” Saabi smiled. “I promise we won’t cause you any trouble.”

She had a warm, motherly disposition. Her frizzy hair was cut short, close to the skin. She had hazel eyes and pronounced laugh lines. Kazi, on the other hand, was a quiet, shy creature with plump cheeks, flowing ebony hair and wide, almost child-like innocent eyes.

The women laughed after the adventurer introduced herself. Aza almost forgot her name had a hidden meaning in Redguard culture. She talked with the older woman about irrelevant nonsense, Kazi remained silent, but was clearly felling safer, although avoided looking the heroine in the eye.

“You must have some urgent business back on the mainland, eh?” Aza asked, trying not to make a face, but the drink she just finished tasted terrible. She noticed the women exchanged looks. “Ah, sorry, not my business.” She waved her palm, realizing they must have had damned good reason to sail alone, and with one of them pregnant.

“Forgive us, but we can’t say. I hope you can understand.” Saabi excused calmly, but firmly.

“I did my share of escort jobs, ma’am. I don’t need to know much pass your names.”

“Thank you. And might I ask what drove you to Solstheim? I can see your armor is more Nordic than Dunmer, so you must be a traveler.”

“Scores to set. It’s all good now.” She miraculously managed not to shiver, remembering what she went through in Apocrypha.

“Ladies…” A stocky Nord waddled up to their table, attempting to act suave.

“Beat it.” Aza grunted.

“I said ‘ladies’, not you, she-ogre.” The drunken sailor was of the lippy type.

The heroine stood up, as he apparently hadn’t seen her in her full, athletic glory in the dim light of the lower deck.

“You want company, handsome?” She asked, with dare. “Because I’m something you’ll never forget. You’ll be waking up with a scream for the rest of your life after a night with me.”

Since she was taller and in an apparent mood for a brawl, the man muttered an excuse and retreated, accompanied by laughter from some of the other crewmen.

“All talk.” She sat heavily, the bench creaked. “Until you dare them to actually do something.”

Saabi smiled barely noticeably. Yes, this woman was perfect for the job. Kemon will surely agree to hire her.

Chapter 8: I Know You

A Danwguard crossbow was a weapon to be reckoned with. The highwayman trying to ambush the front of the caravan found that out the hard way. A bolt straight in the left ear ended his brief, troubled life. His associates were shot down by the archers of the caravan guard, and that was the end of the brief waylay.

Erik once again admired the weapon for its impact and accuracy. He strapped it back to the side of his saddle, next to the sack with bolts. Though he wasn’t a marksman, a crossbow was handy when one needed to do some damage while on horseback. An axe would be too heavy to swing and maintain balance.

It was the second day since the caravan set out from Solitude, and already the Nord knew this was no ordinary job. Kemon was constantly alert, his men went out on short scout outings, by night an oddly large number of sentinels was deployed. Erik didn’t suspect it was for protecting some precious cargo, he was positive they were on a lookout for someone. He didn’t ask, he got the feeling the less he knew the better.

“That was a perfect shot!” Kemon praised, catching up on his horse; a beautiful white Hammerfell stallion.

“Bows aren’t my specialty, but that crossbow saved my ass more than once.” He replied, patting his mount’s neck. The mare neighed joyfully.

“That is a fine horse.” The Redguard noted. “There are some of the best stables on Hammerfell, but I admire the equines of your homeland.”

“Really?” The hero raised a brow.

Redguard horses were nothing he had ever seen. They were smaller than horses found on Skyrim, with slimmer legs, longer necks and shapelier heads. They were quicker and more agile, yet the climate was obviously alien to them. Their hooves were too small and delicate for the mud and snow, and their hides too thin for the cold, so they had to wear warm horsecloths.

“I do not mock, friend. Your mare might not be as elegant as our horses, but she’s durable and knows her rider. That’s what truly defines a good horse. Well, there is also pedigree, but this isn’t a contest.”

Erik nodded, still alert of the surroundings. This was a large caravan, there were enough scumbags out there who would risk attacking it for whatever it was peddling.

“Is Windhelm a fine city?” The Redguard asked, curious of the land.

“Big, cold and icy. And not just because of the snow.” The Nord answered briefly.

“I hear the rebel leader has his seat there.”

“Jarl Ulfric? Yes, Windhelm is his city, just as Jarl Elisif calls Solitude her home.”

“The war ravages your land as much as it does mine.” The caravanner sighed with sorrow.

Erik gave him another look. Kemon was something between late forties and early fifties. Although he wore robes, he had gauntlets and boots made of ebony and on his hip was a Dwemer war axe. His head was bald, though he had a wiry white beard, fashioned in a long braid, held together by red leather strips. His face was constantly focused, his light gray eyes were unusual for a Redguard, peering into them made one feel instantly guilty of some major offense.

The caravan composed of experienced guards and colorfully dressed women. All were natives to Hammerfell. The others, aside from Kemon and his right hand man, Abdal, stirred clear of the hero. Was it either because of his role, or mayhap because he was a Nord, Erik didn’t know. And he didn’t care. His job was to get them safely and quietly to Windhelm, not make friends. Though, he did notice some of the women kept staring at him, commenting how strange it was his hair was like copper. He brushed it off, despite feeling his ego stroked.

“Tell me, friend, are you curious of our purpose?” The man inquired.

“Nope. As long as you don’t try to slit my throat in my sleep and leave my naked, robbed body somewhere off the road, I’m good.”

“Ah, I see that you are a wise man indeed.” Kemon laughed. “My wife would like you.” He added with a smile. Erik didn’t ask why he hadn’t met Kemon’s wife. “She likes people with a sense of humor, no matter how dark. Speaking of which, we should set up camp. Is there any place where we wouldn’t be exposed?”

The Nord consulted his map. After two days of travel at this pace, they just passed Dragon Bridge, entering less populated terrain. There should be a place nearby that was large and remote enough to safely camp. They made haste, before it got dark. Whilst the men set out the tents, he maintained his distance and groomed his horse.

“What?” He puffed, seeing her stare at the beautiful, shiny Hammerfell horses. “Forget them, girl. They might be slim and pretty, but you are the bravest and strongest of them all. Just wait until the snow gets really thick, we’ll see how they’ll handle that.”

The bay mare snorted at him with a pleased nicker. Erik tenderly ruffled her mane. He couldn’t see, but he was observed by a pair of clever blue eyes. The person who watched him banter with his horse was an old acquaintance, though he had no recollection of their meeting.

The girl minced her sleeve. It was him, no doubt about it: the man who saved her from three thugs in the woods near Solitude. It was months ago, but she still remembered the fear and humiliation, after a silver-tongued rogue convinced her to meet him in the woods by night. She was fooled and almost ravaged, weren’t it for the red-haired adventurer who swooped in and beheaded the bastard and his two fellow bandits.

And after he was done, he just… told her to go. Ignored her. And instead of thanking, she yelled obscenities at him. She felt embarrassed for acting so foolishly, but she was so scared back then. She regretted her rudeness, mayhap if she’d be friendlier, the striking hero would take her with him, far away from her overprotective parents and the cursed caravan life.

She sighed. That whole adventure was unpleasant, but thankfully she managed to sneak back to camp undetected. Neither mother nor father suspected anything, so she was safe and slowly the whole incident faded away.

And now he was here. Why? This couldn’t be mere coincidence! He must have seen her in Solitude and decided to join the caravan to speak to her! He could pretend to be unaware of her presence, but she was positive the adventurer fancied her! Oh, when will he finally approach her and confess he missed her ever since he saved her life and chastity? She couldn’t wait!

“What are you doing, dear?” Father asked, patting her shoulder. The girl jumped.

“Nothing. I’m just… bored.” She quickly lied.

“Bored?” Father’s gray eyes flickered. “Well then, why don’t you help the women prepare coffee for everyone?” He suggested.

“Papa…” Her face had a sour look. Father’s answer to everything was always chores.

“Come on, help with the coffee and then take care of your pet. I bet she’s bored as well.”

“And cold.” The girl added, before rushing off to the bonfire where the women were busy with the aromatic brew.

Kemon observed his daughter disappear behind one of the tents. She was a good lass, just a bit impulsive and stubborn for his taste. Just like her mother. He shrugged it off and called for the Nord.

“Yes?” Erik asked, finishing braiding his mount’s tail.

“Come, join us.” The Redguard beckoned.

“I don’t mean to fuss.”

“I insist. You’re our guide, not a beggar. And if you’re in the mood, might you entertain me with a bit of conversation? I’m very much interested in your land and customs.”

Despite his protest, Erik was led by Kemon to the main bonfire, where there was already a feast waiting on carpets laid around the fire. He sat down, accepted a bowl and ate, whilst Kemon was busy chatting with Abdal, the head of his guards; a burly, yet well-spoken man with the edge of his left ear ragged. Erik’s guess was an arrow missing the man’s eye by an inch.

“Tell me, Erik, is it true your land is now home to dragons?” The caravanner asked, after they both finished their meal.

“Was.” The adventurer replied.

“What do you mean ‘was’?” The Redguard was intrigued.

“The Dragonborn took care of them.” He explained, feeling uncomfortable. He was a part of it, but no one would ever believe him.

“Dragonborn? Forgive me, our caravan first travelled north, to High Rock, then east, and was grounded near Solitude for several months, so we don’t know much of your history and beliefs. We… tend to keep to ourselves.”

“The Dragonborn is the Nords’ fabled dragonslayer.” Abdal cut in. “I… Well, me and the boys went out to a tavern some time ago and heard the bard sing.” He added with a grin.

“Tavern, you say.” Kemon shot his guard a sharp look.

“It wasn’t my turn to keep watch, so I am excused.”

“That remains up to debate, but we’ll talk about it later.” He motioned closer to Erik. “Tell us more, friend. We’re all curious.

Now did the hero notice that some of the guards and women joined them around the fire, waiting for him to spin a tale.

“Well… I don’t think I’m the right person to ask, I’m just an adventurer. I don’t think I can do the hero justice.” He tried to backpedal. “All I know is that the Dragonborn is a mortal with the blood of a dragon, can consume dragon souls and use the Voice. And they’re the only one worthy enough to slay Alduin.”

“Satakal.” Kemon corrected. “At least, that is our name for the force that destroys one world, to make room for the new one.”

“Thank you, but I like this world very much.” Erik’s nose crinkled.

“So do we!” Abdal laughed, the crowd applauded. “Do you know any songs?”

“I do… but you don’t want to hear me sing.” The Nord joked.

That was enough to dull the crowd’s interest. Abdal and Kemon exchanged some words, going through their supplies and guessing the weather for the upcoming journey. Erik was left to himself, he reached towards the fire, warming his palms.

“A drink, my lord?” A young voice asked.

Erik turned to his right, facing a young girl, offering him a small ceramic cup. She had astonishingly blue eyes. She was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t pin a name to her face. She had pouty lips, her hair was long, fastened in a large bun, fixed together with colorful scarves. She was fourteen at least and still had some baby fat on her.

“What’s that?” He asked, accepting the cup.

“It keeps sleep at bay.” She revealed with a wide smile.

“Thank you.”

“Do you know stories?” She sat on the edge of the carpet he was occupying.

“A lot. Though, I don’t think you’d like them.” He politely tried to end the conversation.

“What makes you so sure?” She shook her head, he noticed she had several piercings in her ears.

“Zia!” Kemon’s harsh voice reprimanded. “Leave the man, can’t you see he’s tired?”

That name! Erik gripped the cup hard enough to feel the heat painfully on his palm. The girl pouted and in a second she was gone.

“Forgive my daughter. She’s very curious.” The Redguard apologized. “The months she spent pent up in Solitude are paying a toll on her.”

“No harm done.” The adventurer tried to keep his tone casual.

Maybe it was a coincidence? Maybe she wasn’t that certain girl named Zia. After all, his own name was relatively popular. He took a sip of the mystery drink and almost gagged. It wasn’t too hot, but incredibly bitter.

“Not your kind of beverage?” The caravanner patted his back.

“What is this?” Erik coughed, but hadn’t let go of the cup. Maybe the next sip will be more pleasant? It wasn’t.

“Coffee. It’s a popular drink on Hammerfell. The beans grow on Valenwood, but it was Redguards who mastered the art of brewing and drinking it. Sadly, ever since Hammerfell succeeded, the price of the beans rose.”

“It’s not bad… Maybe with a shot of milk and some honey?” Erik tried to be polite.

“Ah, you Nords and your sweet teeth!” Kemon drank his own coffee with a smirk.

There was a subtle laugh, as if a giggle of a woman. Erik felt someone nudge his back. He looked over his shoulder to see who it could be and faced the strangest… and ugliest animal he had ever seen. It was a strange type of wolf… but it didn’t seem one. It was grayish-brown, spotted, with large, round ears resembling that of a bear. It had a dumb-looking short maw and an arched back, with a mane going through its length. Its large, round eyes stared at him with all the stupidity the creature could muster, its sharp teeth had bits of fresh meat between them.

“What in Oblivion…?”

“Aza! Go away!” Kemon bend forward and slapped the beast’s nose. The animal laughed and scuttled away.

“What was that creature? I hadn’t seen it before.” He asked shocked . Aza?? This evening was getting stranger and stranger. The Nord shook his head in confusion.

“My daughter’s pet. You hadn’t seen her, because she was out hunting. But don’t worry, hyenas have a good sense of smell, she’ll always find a way back to us.”

“Hyena? That’s what you call them?” He asked, looking over his shoulder again, but the beast was out of the ring of light the bonfire cast.

“Yes, though that’s actually what city Redguards call them. Most of us in this caravan come from desert tribes. Our name for hyena alpha females is ‘aza’, so that’s how my daughter decided to name her pet.”

“I see. Could you tell me something more about them?”

“And would you tell me something more about the bears that roam your forests? For us they’re normal and uninteresting, but I can understand you’re curious. They’re matriarchal, the females run the pack. They’re rumored to be scavengers, but can hunt when there’s no other choice. They have a powerful bite, believe me, and could snap your femur like a chicken’s bone. There are many myths surrounding the unusual sounds they make.”

“It sounded like a laugh.”

“Indeed. They laugh even when angry or scared… Why so curious all of the sudden?”

The adventurer took a gulp of the bitter brew to hide his frown, but Kemon was patient.

“My mate has the same name.”

“Ah, then she must be a feisty one!” The man laughed. Apparently, that name on a person meant nothing to him.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Erik rubbed the back of his head, feeling a migraine approach.

---

“Everything okay?” Aza asked, offering Kazi her shoulder. The woman accepted with relief.

“I’m fine, it’s just that I’m growing tired of feeling like this.” She said embarrassed. “Please, make no note of me, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense!” Aza assured, helping the woman to her bunk. “You deserve all the help and comfort you need.”

The three of them shared a small cabin Saabi managed to pay for with her last coin. Kazi sighed and made herself comfortable, stroking her belly. The rocking of the ship was thankfully soothing to her and she soon fell asleep.

“Tell me” Saabi started conversation, after making sure her sister was sound asleep. “What are your plans after we arrive to Windhelm?”

“I’m… supposed to meet my partner. I have no idea what’s next.” The heroine confessed, crossing her arms. The room was so small, that the two of them sat on the floor, their knees touching.

“Could you possibly consider escorting a caravan?” Saabi suggested, trying not to sound too eager.

“Caravan? Like, a desert merchant caravan?” Aza rose her brows.

“Yes, like the ones back on Hammerfell.”

“Here, on Skyrim?” The heroine grew surprised.

“I cannot offer details unless you agree.” The woman conditioned.

“I’ll think about it…” Aza dodged the question. “I have some heart-to-heart to do first.”

“I see.” Saabi nodded. “I too have to have a talk with my husband. I hope he’s doing well without me. Oh, he’s a wise man, he just needs…”

“Careful guidance?” Aza grinned. Men, however strong and wise they thought they were, they still needed someone level-headed by their side.

“Exactly. And I miss my little girl. Do you have children?” She asked curiously.

“Had.” The adventurer replied bitterly. Irrationally, she felt hurt by the question.

“I’m sorry.” Saabi quickly backed away.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I almost forgot it myself.”

Kazi suddenly sat on the bunk, interrupting the awkward silence that filled the cabin.

“Morwha, I’m hungry!” She gasped embarrassed. “Do we have anything to eat?”

Saabi laughed, offering her a platter with dry, but still good apples.

---

“See those walls? That’s Windhelm.” Erik said, pointing at the city in the distance.

Finally, after so many days of slowly navigating through snow and ice, they reached the City of Kings. And as the hero suspected, the cold was paying it’s toll on the Redguards and their horses. Still, Kemon remained alert, his guards and scouts operating at full capacity. And the women, despite the cold, were energetic and cheerful, as always. Something told him they were not caravanners by trade… But that didn’t matter anymore. The job was almost done and he could move on.

“It looks magnificent.” Kemon straightened up in his saddle to get a better look.

“The trip has been safe so far.” Abdal said with relief. “I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.”

“You leave thinking to me.” Kemon said firmly. “Just let us set up camp, and you’ll get your gold.” He addressed their guide.

The caravan settled near a frozen waterfall, sheltered from any unwanted attention by one of the last rocky hills. Now did the people and horses native to Hammerfell experience the cruel climate of Skyrim in its fullest. The road from Haafingar to Eastmarch was surprisingly smooth, save for some random animal attacks and another desperate group of outlaws. But there were no losses and eventually, they got to their destination.

“Thank you for leading us here safely.” The Redguard thanked, presenting Erik with a silk coinpurse. “And… for your secrecy.”

“I’m just a simple traveler. Whatever your purpose is, I needn’t know. I have my own problems to take care of.” He said, accepting payment. “I’ll be on my way now.”

“I bid you good fortune, then.”

They exchanged some final pleasantries, before the adventurer tended to his horse.

“You’re leaving?” He heard a surprised call, as he was making sure he had all his belongings packed before setting off to the City of Kings.

Zia appeared from behind the mare. He clenched his muscles, trying to avoid finding any similarities in her features. But her nose… and that familiar confrontational stance. He was still uncertain whether her name was just a coincidence. After all, the name ‘Aza’ meant nothing to Kemon.

“Yes.” He tried to deprive his voice of any emotion.

She stared at him, biting her lip. Her shoulder met with the mare’s chest, the mount’s ears erect alarmed. Tension was in the air.

“Will you take me with you?” She pleaded, her cheeks burned.

What? It seemed crazy women found him just their type! He helplessly looked around, but there was no one nearby. Oh, what was he doing? She was just a lass, silly and naive. Why was he so lenient with her?

“No.” He refused boldly.

“Why?” Her tone suggested she was certain he’ll agree. “Why did you join our caravan in the first place, if not for me?”

“What?” He grew confused. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I agreed, because I was heading to Windhelm anyway, and could use the coin. That is it.”

“Gods…” Zia took a step back, realizing he had no memory of their first meeting. “You don’t remember me!” Her fists clenched. “You don’t remember saving me from bandits in the woods near Solitude!” She almost cried.

“I…” Erik searched his memory. “I do remember saving a girl near Solitude, but I still don’t remember you. I just did the right thing. Besides, it was dark and I was pretty tired. And hungry.”

“You oaf!” She yelled, tears ran down her cheeks. The horse was startled, but he held its reins with confidence. “Go then, you vagrant! See if I care!”

Zia spun and ran to the rest of the caravan, leaving Erik speechless. He quickly shook it off and got in his saddle. He had more pressing matters, than bothering with high hopes of some naive girl.

---

He was on his way from the docks to the upper district. He was told by one of the sailors that the ship from Solstheim is due in another few hours, so he had some time to spare. He decided to eat wholesome Nordic cuisine at Candlehearth Hall, paying no mind to how overpriced the place was. Then, he could contemplate a bit in the temple.

Hours flew by, and he had just exited the sanctuary. He still had some time to kill, so he decided to wander the city. Though it was getting dark, he went down the icy steps leading to the cemetery. He just wanted to use it as a shortcut to reach the opposite end of the city, but then the strangest thing happened.

He walked at an energetic pace, when from behind one of the tombstones a young lassie appeared. She gasped loudly, seeing a stranger with an axe approaching her out of nowhere.

“Sorry!” Erik said immediately, taking a step back. “Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to scare you. Just passing by.” He made an apologetic grimace, turning right, where the alley would take him out of the cemetery.

He was unaware of it, but the girl’s name was Nilsine, and she was of the well-known and respected house Shatter-Shield. She had lost her twin sister to a lunatic over a year ago. Ever since, her mother drowned her sorrow in drink, neglecting her remaining daughter. Father just became more distant. Nilsine grew up used to being the second favorite child, yet after Friga died she hoped something would change.

But nothing had changed. Nilsine sometimes felt as if she hadn’t existed at all. No one would give her the slightest bit of affection. She had no desire to be at the center of attention at all times, but desperately wanted to be noticed.

One evening she was walking home after a particularly slow day. She hadn’t sold any flowers from her basket, and now they were half-weathered and useless. It was late and few people were out, most were already in their homes or at the inn. Nilsine passed a lowly beggar, who had lost his legs at the Great War. The man lamely shook his bowl, but she had no gold on her.

Looking back, she had no idea why she acted the way she did. She threw her basket on the ground and stomped with blind fury. Then, she looked the beggar straight in his colorless eyes and pulled her skirt up. She feverishly masturbated in front of the lowlife, until she came like never before. Her orgasm gave the relaxation and bliss she needed so bad, but never received from another.

The beggar stared with his mouth opened, but hadn’t made the slightest move the whole time the girl pampered her pussy in from of him. When she was done, he cleared his throat and stared down at the stumps that were once his legs, until she was gone.

This became their strange, silent ritual. Whenever Nilsine needed to feel important for someone, or just relieve some stress, she would seek the hobo and show off in front of him. They never spoke a word, and the beggar never reached out to touch her. He knew the moment he would, the lass would get scared and flee, never gracing his bleak life again.

But Windhelm was a cruel city. A few days ago, she learned her silent admirer froze to death overnight. Funny, she never learned his name, she didn’t even know the sound of his voice. But the death of the anonymous vagrant was a blow to her already crippled heart.

Tonight was the worst. She couldn’t stay at home, she needed to get out. She thought visiting her sister’s grave would be a good idea, but felt little comfort whispering confessions to the cold tombstone. It dawned upon her, that the only reason she would visit Friga’s grave, was to wallow in self-pity.

And here was this strange man, no doubt a traveler. They were alone in the stillness of the cemetery. It was late, little chance someone would be passing by. The stranger was backing away, apparently convinced he scared her. With Nilsine’s every drumming heartbeat, he was getting farther and farther away from her.

“Wait!” She called out at an impulse. “Please, don’t leave.” She pleaded, feeling blood rush faster through her head.

“Why, are you in trouble, miss?” He asked, halting.

Damn it, this was a cemetery, it was late, and she was a young and pretty thing. How could he not ask if she was alright, at least to clear his conscience.

“Please don’t speak.” Nilsine felt numbingly relaxed. It was time for a show. “But don’t go. Just… watch.”

She stepped from behind the waist-high tombstone and tiptoed closer to a memorial wall. Her rump pressed against a plaque in the stone with a name of a long-dead queen on it. She looked around just to make sure, then unlaced the front of her dress.

“Whoa there!” Erik raised his hands to stop her. “You don’t need to do that to make me help you.”

“Don’t come any closer!” She cried, suddenly startled. “Please, just keep looking.”

Erik froze dumbfounded. What was going on? Was this an ambush? He tensed, but he was certain they were alone. Was she insane? Or drunk? Or… wow, that was some fine pussy.

Nilsine pulled her skirt up and tugged it behind her belt. She wore no undergarments, which was strange for someone living in a city as cold as Windhelm. She supported her back against the wall and pushed her hips forward, straddling her legs. She had a bouncy ass and thighs, her vulva was just a tiny slit between her flushed cheeks.

She impatiently freed her breasts from the uncomfortable dress, they jiggled hypnotizing slow before setting. She cooed softly, stroking her outer lips. On a whim, she reached behind her head and let her brown hair loose. With half-shut eyes she made sure the stranger was looking at her, but it wasn’t her pussy he was marveling at.

“Don’t look at my face!” She gasped, blushing heavily. “Look at my pussy, but not my face.” She pleaded, growing embarrassed.

Erik coughed, but gave in to her request. His eyes went from her feverish face, down her shamefully exposed tits, to her now full-spread vulva. She was incredibly wet in such a short moment. She was now running her fingers up and down her slit faster and faster, coating them in the clear juices. A lot of it streamed between her ass-cheeks, moistening her asshole. She dared to moan louder, reaching for her breast. She pushed it up and suckled on her nipple, fiercely biting into the pale, barely distinguishable areola.

She could feel his eyes piercing right into her very womb. Dear Gods, he was watching her! And he liked it! When he’ll leave, he will be thinking of her for a long time, possibly even dream of her tonight. Have her full, bouncy tits under his eyelids, and her ripe, overflowing cunt imprinted in his brain.

She noticed an icicle hanging from one of the nearby statues. Without hesitation she reached for it and cracked off the stone. She then proceeded to suckle on it loudly, until the tip was blunt enough to be safe.

She stuffed the length of the ice into her flaming pussy, crying with pleasure when the cold met with her hot insides. The ice began to melt quickly, wet streams of water and her dews flew down her fingers and thighs, steaming in the cold air, forming a glistening puddle between her legs. Gods, almost there!

The hero feasted his eyes on the girl fucking herself with the impressive icicle until it was short and thin. When Nilsine realized she used up her toy, she grunted like a madwoman and brutally shoved her fingers inside, almost her whole palm went in. She snapped them rapidly, feeling her walls tremble, her cervix swell.

She came. Divines, how did she come! All the water that remained within gushed out with a loud spurt. She quivered, but managed to maintain balance, her fingers still deep inside her. She realized she drooled a bit, but was still relishing on this forbidden pleasure. She was dirty, possibly even a bit crazy. Oh, but how good she felt right now! He was still gawking, he saw the whole thing. And she was sure he’ll never forget it.

“Oooh…!” She let out a relieved moan, sliding down the wall, resting her ass in the wet mess she made below herself. “Ah…” She looked up at the traveler, at his clear blue eyes and confused look. “Thank you. I’m all good now.”

Erik rubbed the back of his head, finally looking away. This was one of the strangest things to happen to him, and he saw a lot of strange things.

“I better get going.” Was all he could say.

---

He wasted enough time at the cemetery, the ship was bound to sail to Windhelm soon. He went back the way he came, only to find a familiar figure standing at the stone pier at the docks.

“Kemon.” He said surprised, approaching the Redguard. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for a ship.” The man stated the obvious, no more surprised. “And you?”

“Same.”

They stood side by side awkwardly. There were only a few people at the docks, mostly sailors and merchants.

“My wife is on that ship.” Kemon confessed to break the eerie silence, unaware he made Erik’s insides suddenly feel cold.

“Really? I was wondering why I hadn’t met her.” He replied breathlessly.

“Yes, she and I have been apart for so long… It feels like years.” The Redguard said with a sigh. “We… had some troubles, and we were forced to be apart for some time. But now she’s coming back.” He went on, his face softened.

“I’m surprised you came here all by yourself.” The Nord managed to utter through clenched teeth.

“It wouldn’t be wise to draw much attention to myself. I thought about taking Zia with me, but she was strangely moody today. Oh, my wife must miss her, she hadn’t seen her for so long, she might be surprised of the young lady Zia is growing up to be.”

Erik felt like Kemon spat in his face. This couldn’t be mere coincidence. He really was her… husband. How did he learn of her?! What did he intend to do now? How… how dared he think he had any rights, after over ten years had passed? Did she know? How would she react seeing the both of them waiting for her?

“I don’t think she’s expecting me, I want to make this a surprise.” Kemon said, making things worse.

He eyed the man with newly found contempt. That bastard! Did he know Erik was her partner? If so, he was one false-hearted son of a bitch. If not… Well, he had no intention of backing off, letting Kemon handle things from here. She was his. His!

“You know, I’m surprised she’s sailing from Solstheim, since your caravan was stranded in Solitude.” He noted, failing to flush the venom from his voice.

“Forgive me for saying so, my friend, but that is none of your business.” Kemon replied defensively. “I can assume the mate you mentioned is also on that ship?” He asked, pointing at the vessel’s silhouette now visible on the horizon.

“Yeah. My mate.” He confirmed, stressing the word ‘my’.

Was Kemon playing a game and pretending to be stupid, or was he truly unaware of Erik’s involvement? No matter. There weren’t that many people around. Just one good swing and he could dump the body in the water. If anyone notices, bribe them, he had enough gold. Then grab Aza and be out of Windhelm as soon as possible. The boarder to Morrowind wasn’t that far, it was time to get out of Skyrim anyway. And never-ever breathe a word to her about Kemon finding her.

The ship was now at shouting distance. Erik braced himself for the inevitable.

Chapter 9: Tough Reunion

“I can see land!” Surprisingly, it was the shy Kazi who spoke first.

“Yep.” Aza agreed.

Windhelm. Cold and unpleasant. She had a feeling this is the last time she visits the City of Kings. Good riddance! But first, there was the matter of the unpleasant meeting she had to go through.

Saabi was absentminded, staring at the frozen city drawing nearer with every minute. She seemed excited.

“Don’t mind her.” Kazi said with a smile. “She misses her husband and daughter.” She bowed her head and looked at her pronounced baby bump. “I’m happy for her.” She added quieter, unable to hide her true feelings.

It was obvious there won’t be any father waiting for her and her baby. The heroine didn’t want to interfere. Just get them safely on dry land, get paid. Then worry about your own problems.

The ship was about to dock, everyone onboard prepared for departure. Seagulls screamed, flying over the sails.

---

“What is wrong with me?!” Erik suddenly realized. “I’m considering murdering a man who did me no wrong… Aside from sleeping with her years ago and thinking he can sleep with her again.”

He mentally beat his outrage down. This was not the place nor time. If his dark prediction becomes an even darker reality… Then he’ll think of what to do. For now all he could do was wait.

The ship sailed into the port, the sails were dirty. The footbridge was cast, first people descended to the stone pier. This was it.

“If you could” Kemon addressed him, keeping an eye on the growing stream of travelers and sailors, “I’d like you to stay for a moment and meet my wife.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that for nothing.” He replied, maintaining a facade of control.

---

“Finally!” Saabi breathed with relief when it was their turn to leave the ship. She forgot all about her sister and went first, the footbridge was steep.

“No worries, I got you.” Aza comforted Kazi. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Thank you.” The woman brushed her hair back with embarrassment. In her condition keeping balance was a difficult task.

“Come on.” She gently put her hands on her shoulders. “I want off this boat more than you know.”

They advanced down the slope. Kazi joined her sister on the pier, but Saabi was too busy trying to find her husband in the crowd.

“I’m really thankful for all you did for us.” The pregnant woman expressed, halting Aza who also wanted to find a certain someone. “This… was a perilous journey for us. More than you know.” She dared confess, suddenly feeling weary.

“Whoa, there.” The adventurer supported her, the stones were slippery. “Slow down, catch your breath.”

“Saabi!” A man called out.

“Kemon!” Kazi’s sister cried.

Wait, what?

Kazi picked the worst time to lose her balance. Aza wrapped her arms around her and looked over her shoulder to where she heard the exchange of names. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. The man holding Saabi tight and looking over her shoulder straight at Aza couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry!” Kazi gently pulled herself away, mindful of her abdomen. “Is everything alright?” She asked concerned, seeing the look on the heroine’s face.

“No.” Was the answer.

---

He spotted her amongst the sea of sailors and travelers. It wasn’t difficult; her armor and posture stuck out immediately. She was busy helping some unknown Redguard woman down the footbridge. That other woman was visibly with child. Did she lose weight since they met in Helgen? Divines, she looked miserable.

Kemon stepped forward. No, no, no… Don’t say her name! Don’t…!

“Saabi!” He called out.

Saabi? Of course, the wretch obviously had a different name when… When she was his wife.

“Kemon!” A woman cried, but it wasn’t her.

Saabi was the name of a woman he hadn’t noticed before. She looked like a healer, her robes were similar to Kemon’s. He walked up to her and tightly embraced. At the same moment Aza kept the woman she was escorting from slipping on the ice. She caught her, staring at Saabi’s back, and in Kemon’s face. She tensed, her eyes were wide open. She recognized him! Erik she paid no mind, she probably didn’t even notice him.

So it was true. The ridiculous, impossible situation just happened… With an unexpected twist.

He had to get to her before anyone else does. He marched forward, but was stopped by a sudden band of merchants complaining about the raise of taxes on their goods. The merchants separated him from her like a wall. He cursed, but couldn’t walk around them, he had to wait for them to pass. She was gone during that brief moment, only the woman she was escorting remained.

“Where did she go?” He breathed, leaping towards her. Miraculously, he didn’t slip on the ice himself.

“I…” Kazi stared wide-eyed at his scar and the axe’s handle. She stepped back, frightened for some unknown reason. She protected her belly as if he wanted to attack her.

Forget her! He noticed a trail Aza’s cape left on the snow. She couldn’t be far.

---

Saabi fell into his arms. Tall Papa, it was good to see her again! Alive and safe. He feared for her and Kazi’s safety ever since he was forced to send them on a ship to Solstheim.

Speaking of which, where was Kazi? She was in the arms of some woman who looked like a mercenary. Their eyes locked. Why was that woman staring at him like that? There was something familiar about that face, but he never saw a woman as… battle-worn as this one.

The realization wasn’t as sudden as a strike with a fist. It came slowly, resurfaced like a numbing toothache as Kemon recognized more and more about her. He knew that face. She was over ten years older, her hair shorter since he last saw her…

The night was windless, not a cloud obstructed the sky over the Alik’r Desert. The caravan was attacked, only three of them left. Zia, around three years old, cried. Her voice pierced his ears, her soft round face was covered in tears, sand was sticking to the wet streams on her cheeks.

There was only one wagon with the last horse left. There was blood on the front, the reins were slippery. The coachman was the first one to die from the orcish ambushers.

“Go!” She yelled at him.

“I can’t leave you!” He yelled back, but against his will he sat Zia on the wagon.

“Damn it, save her!” She said as a goodbye.

She didn’t say anything comforting, no last ‘I love you’. It was so typical of her. She turned around and rushed where the stench of blood was the worst. He jumped onboard the carriage and took the reins. Zia’s life was too precious to risk. He took one last look back, then shouted at the horse. The horse screamed, taking them into the night, heading for Sentinel.

He rode until the sun rose over the dunes. Zia was asleep, crying wore her out. He knew he had to ride for Sentinel. There wasn’t enough water in the leather sack left on the wagon to go back and check if she was still alive. Even if she survived, there wasn’t enough water for the three of them.

It was her! She was alive! How? How did she survive? And how did she get here? Was this a coincidence, or did she catch wind of them and their caravan? No, the look on her face was as surprised as his. And then it was filled with the very pain he felt himself.

Some people passed, breaking their gaze. He could think again.

“Where’s the eunuch?” Kemon asked colorlessly, after Saabi was done with hugging him.

“He didn’t board the ship with us.” She replied, for a second there was fright in her voice. “But we found someone who agreed to escort us here safely… Oh.” She noticed her sister was alone. “Kazi, what’s wrong?” She asked, approaching her shaken sister. “Where’s Aza?”

“I don’t know. She suddenly acted strange and left. Then some man with an axe approached me and demanded to know where she went. He frightened me.” She said, almost crying. In her condition she was very fragile.

A man with an axe? Kemon searched around, Erik left. And that meant…

---

Aza blindly walked the icy steps. What was going on? How was it possible? Was this some cruel joke? How could this be happening?! This was all like bad dream, all her old wounds suddenly opening under the new ones.

She felt dizzy, she needed to sit down. She crouched near some nets and old barrels, they smelled of salt and fish. Pressing her cheek to the cold wall helped a bit.

“A small push, Dovahkiin.” She suddenly remembered the enigmatic words said by Fjotra, Dibella’s Sybil. “No more, no less. What you do with it is up to you.”

Of course. The circumstances were too cruel and ironic to be mere coincidence. This wasn’t a chance meeting. This was… fate. The Divines played with the strings of her life again! How dared they! She did all they wanted her to do, wasn’t it enough?! Hadn’t they enough of her suffering and sacrifice?!

She jolted up and ran with no fixed direction, all she wanted was to get away as soon as possible.

---

Lortheim was a humble priest of Talos. And he was damned proud of it. His service was devoted, his sermons full of fire. Windhelm and all of Skyrim were in a difficult time, faith and courage were what the people needed the most. He delivered as best as he could.

He was walking back to his quarters in the Temple of the One, after visiting the Gray Quarter. The Dunmer were a hard bunch to convert, most worshipped their unholy Tribunal. Still, comfort in faith and prayer was the least he could offer them in their difficult situation.

He passed a lurching vagrant. His shoulder brushed against her pauldron, he felt an unpleasant tingling down his spine.

“Hey!” He heard when he was two steps ahead of her.

“Y-yes?” He asked, turning around.

“You’re a priest, right?” She asked gravely, shooting him a deadly glare.

“That I am.” He said truthfully, trying not to sound alarmed.

The air was pushed out of his lungs, as the woman slammed him against the wall.

“You think those fuckers up there like messing with me?” She rasped, feverishly. “Huh? Do they? Because it seems they’ll do everything to see me break! Well, you know what? I won’t. And I won’t let them play with my life and my head, you hear me? I WON’T!” She ended her chaotic tirade so abnormally loud, that ice chunked off the walls and rooftops. Somewhere a window broke. Someone cried a curse, a cat mewled. “You tell them to finally leave me alone, priest.” She demanded with a mad gleam.

She then shoved him aside like a ragdoll and stormed away. Lortheim slid down the wall and sat on the cold pavement. What just happened? What was that rambling about? Who was that? Talos, he wanted to go home and lay down next to his wife. She was right telling him the Gray Quarter was dangerous this late.

There were loud footsteps, a man approached.

“Where did she go?” He asked, panting.

“What?” Lortheim was too disturbed by what just happened to think straight.

“Dam it, don’t test my patience!” Erik grabbed him by the front of his robe and pulled up. “Where did she go? I heard her voice, I know she was here just a moment ago! Talk!”

The priest opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a word. Instead, he pointed at the direction where the scary woman went. Erik muttered a curse and released him, pursuing Aza. Lortheim fell to his knees shaking.

---

She couldn’t remember how she got before Calixto’s House of Curiosities. She was in luck; the Windhelm’s serial killer’s faux museum was still unoccupied. She reached to a pouch she had with miscellaneous items such as old keys she collected during her travels. Calixto’s key was somehow still in her possession.

The lock grated, but gave in. She pulled the door, but it was abruptly closed by a palm that slammed next to her hand on the doorknob. A familiar scent flushed her, only adding to her problems.

“Nothing you’ll say can make me feel worse.” She said tiredly.

“Who said I’m here to talk?”

She spun and got a firm grab of him. They locked eyes; both looked like they wanted to kill the other. She gnashed her teeth, kicking the door open and pushing him inside, then closing them with another kick. He was quick enough to regain balance and grab her by the wrist, sharply pulling to the floor, so she couldn’t use her swords. A cloud of dust rose when they rolled on the dirty boards. Grunting and cursing, they struggled in the dark until Erik hit his head on a table leg. Aza used this to her advantage and jolted away.

“What the fuck is going on?!” She screamed, dashing to a safer distance. “That guy, on the pier. He… he’s…” She was at a loss of words.

“I know who he is!” He yelled back, getting up. “And I’m as confused as you!”

“Confused? Are you kidding me?!” Aza laughed bitterly. “This isn’t something you can be confused about! I was turned inside out on that pier!!”

She punched a wall. A meaningless painting fell down, the frame shattered.

“Look, I escorted them from Solitude to Windhelm, but I had no idea. I had my suspicions, but I thought the possibility was just too ridiculous to be true!”

“Them?” Her voice lowered dangerously.

“Kemon and his caravan.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear that name!” She screeched, losing her self-control.

“Oh, like it’s you who had it rough!” He growled, grabbing an ugly alabaster statue and smashing it against the door. “I thought you’re going to leave with him!”

“Sure, because he hadn’t moved on, right? Saabi!” She toppled a shelf with miscellaneous trash. “Her name is Saabi! I got her and her sister safely on dry land. She said she had no coin, but her husband will pay me for my help. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She suddenly recalled what Kazi told her about Saabi – the woman was excited to reunite with her daughter after being apart for so long… No. The Gods were as cruel as Daerdic Princes at heart. She felt like giving up and bashing her head against the walls until it smashes open. That, and howling until she goes mad. But she could only shake her head in disbelief, numbed by pain.

“Yeah, I’m having a hard time controlling laughter.” Erik took his axe and plunged it into an antique, but terribly preserved throne. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly said, losing all the rage empowering him. “I got irrationally scared you’ll leave… again. I was even considering…”

She sprinted to him and rammed herself at him. They stopped on a wall, on the other side something fell down and shattered. Possibly some other terrible exhibit. Aza was all over him, her heat was incredible.

“No, no, no!” She breathed feverishly, her lips and eyes were wet. “Don’t calm down. You fuck better when you’re angry.”

“You…” He roughly pulled her hair back. “I can’t believe the things you make me feel…!”

“Stop talking, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think. I want you to do things so bad to me, I’ll forget who I am.”

“My pleasure.”

After months of imagining what he would do to her, he finally had her! She was vulnerable and ready for everything. Divines, he’s going to leave all her holes gapping, she won’t be able to stand properly after he’s done with her! He turned her over and roughly pushed against the wall. The damned cape was in the way, he folded it over her shoulder.

“Pants down.” He ordered, taking off his gauntlets and working his belt.

She undid her pants and let them slide down all the way to her ankles. She straddled her legs as far as she could, sticking her ass out, with her hands flat on the wall, where he could see them. She felt cold, and realized how sweaty she was from all the stress and anger. She needed a good, rough distraction.

“Spread it for me.” Erik instructed further, groping her buttock, working his cock to a semi-erect state.

Aza reached down, her hands were trembling. She couldn’t keep balance, so she had to firmly press her cheek to the rough wall, whilst she spread her pussy. There was no place on Solstheim she could groom herself, so her bush grew back, dark and thick. But between the black hairs there was her hot, swollen puce slit.

He stuffed two fingers in without warning, she sighed agitated, her rump pushed against him. It was obvious it hurt and she wanted it that way. Great, no complaints later. He loosened her, getting hard with her each sigh and grunt. No foreplay, he just wanted to be inside her as fast as possible, then come and flush out all the mates she had ever since Markarth.

He was still a bit flaccid, but he had no patience left. He roughly put her legs together, then grabbed her by the hips and jammed his dick between her thighs. He didn’t penetrate her yet, but couldn’t resist feeling her skin. She moaned with strain, feeling his grip on her hips, and his thighs keeping her legs together. She said nothing, bending further forward, letting him do whatever he pleased.

Erik looked down on her sweaty ass, her trembling hands flat on the wall, her nails digging into the coarse wood. Mara, he dreamed and longed to hammer her hard, but not like this. Now that they were here, he didn’t want revenge anymore. And how low would that make him? Gods, he wanted to do it like old times, like when everything was okay.

“I can’t do it like this.” He said embarrassed, giving her ass a light slap. “Turn over.”

She turned around, expecting him to say something, but he muffled her with his tongue. She finally moaned like she should; with pleasure. Her tongue welcomed his after being apart for so long. Erik intertwined their fingers and pinned her hands above her head. His penis slipped between her legs, gliding against her hairy vulva. Yeah, this was more like it.

“Change of heart?” She breathed out, her pelvis grinded against him with eagerness. She bit her lip, feeling she was getting wet.

“After all we’ve been through, would you really want to do it like a couple of strangers? Come on, let’s find us a bed.”

He took her by the hand, and hilariously, as they both had their pants around their ankles, they tiptoed to the next room. There was a small, fur and hay covered bed there. They needn’t words to start throwing off their armors. The pauldrons and the likes hectically flew across the squalid room. The jade and emerald circlet rested on where the cape fell, followed by Kynareth’s amulet.

When they were done with all their clothing, they clashed. It was electrifying to feel the other’s skin after such a long time. Aza groped his back, scratching him and brushing her chest against his, feeling his thick hairs tickle her hard nipples.

“Are we gonna stand like this all night?” She asked when Erik just wouldn’t let go, massaging her ass and breathing into her ear.

“Just another minute” He muttered, snuggling his face between her shoulder and neck.

Neither of them noticed when he was sitting on the edge of the shaky bed with her on top of him. He insatiably sucked on her tits, grunting with pleasure. She sunk her fingers into his wonderfully red hair, her pussy overflowed, leaving marks on his groin and laps. She couldn’t take it anymore!

She wiggled her behind impatiently, wanting him to do the honors. Erik needn’t be asked twice. He got a grip of his base and slid inside in a blink, her vagina let out a moist sound, squirting juices. She gasped, then rocked her hips, bending back and almost falling off if it weren’t for him holding her by the hips. She missed that feeling of being completely filled up by that huge, veined, perfectly fitting cock.

Having wild, spontaneous sex with a temporary mate was great, but getting intimate with someone you know this well and close was just… Making her mind numb and her pussy rabid. She rode him, bouncing on his rock-hard rod, her clit grinding against his rough hairs, her womb getting hotter and…

“Wait, wait!” She cried in a spasm. But it was too late, she got too far and couldn’t stop from coming too fast like a newbie. She felt a shooting sensation through her abdomen, then a flood of contractions she couldn’t control. She yelped, giving up.

“What, what’s wrong? Wait, did you just…?” Erik asked in disbelief, when she clenched, quivered and suddenly laid on him exhausted. “Did you just come?”

“Shut up.” She shuttered, humiliated.

“Three minutes and you’re done?” He laughed like an idiot, she could feel his shaft move inside. “Oh, I missed you too.” He stroked her trembling back, then bit her ear. “I’ll make it quick, you just lay on me and look pretty.”

“You… Wait, I’m broke and have no potion, let go!” She protested, remembering this was her unsafe time of month and she had no precautions on her. And knowing him, he would generously show her how much he missed her.

“I’ll get you one from the alchemist first thing tomorrow, promise!” He said through clenched teeth. He’s not going to shoot his cum anywhere else than her pussy and that is final!

She was still sopping wet, her dews spurted out with his each thrust, streaming down his member and balls, spraying all around, sticking to their thighs and hairs. This was sloppy, hot and amazing! Despite the cold of Windhelm, the room felt stuffy. He kept pumping, gliding inside freely as he pleased; she was so outrageously wet and relaxed.

He started to feel it, soon just a minute or two! He’ll fill her up good enough to make her gush sperm for hours after they’re done. His glans swell, he could feel his muscles tense, preparing for a climax he hadn’t had in months.

“Waah!” She gasped surprised, feeling the first, hardest, stream exploding in her. “Aw, fu…!” She could only giggle, too tired and restful to complain. “Aah… Mmm…” She finally purred, feeling the throbbing and ejaculating cease. Her stud was out of ammo.

“I think I just lost a pound or two.” Erik breathed, fighting dizziness. “You’re going to have to do some cleaning up, with that bush you grew.” He teased, before kissing her lazily.

“Look who’s talking! It’s dark but I can see yours! It’s like a damned forest fire down there!” Aza rebuked, finding strength to stand up.

Just as expected, she oozed his seed and her juices, he couldn’t see too clear in the gloom, but he could hear it pouring to the floor. And that smell! Were it of two other people, he wouldn’t be allured by it, but knowing it’s the smell of the two of them, he was entranced by that unique aroma.

She found her cape and unstrapped it from her pauldrons, putting the circlet and amulet aside. In the meantime, Erik made himself comfortable on the creaking bed. The furs were old and the hay beneath stung, but there was nothing else.

Aza snug herself next to him and covered them both with the warm cape. She felt exhausted and sleepy. She also felt three diagonal slashes, when her hands wandered his chest and abdomen.

“What’s that?” She asked, running her fingers against the freshly healed cuts.

“That? Gargoyle got me.” Erik replied carelessly. “You should see one of those bastards!” He brushed her wet hair back. “I fought a few when I was with the Dawnguard.”

“That must be quite a story.”

“Sure is. I’ll tell you soon. I’m too tired now. How was Solstheim, by the way?” He inquired cautiously.

“Rough. But I settled the scores and everything is fine. I thought I could move on, but…” She bit her tongue, she didn’t want to think about it now.

“I know you’re too stubborn to ask, so I’ll say it myself. Whatever you decide; leave or walk into this new mess, I’m with you.”

“I missed you.” She suddenly said. “And I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for treating you like a whelp and cowardly leaving you on your own. I don’t regret giving you space, but it was stupid of me to cut you off without a goodbye.”

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting to hear that.”

“Well, I’m not repeating myself.” She muttered, losing patience after her short outburst of honesty.

“I’ll treasure this memory… What’s that?!” He raised his voice, feeling a new scar on her ribcage.

“That? I tangoed with a werewolf.” Aza confessed, though didn’t go into details about how Sinding left a mark on her. “You got all my scars memorized?” She suddenly realized.

“Of course I do!” He puffed. “Who else would?”

---

She woke up late in the morning with relaxation she hadn’t felt in a long time. It dawned upon her that she hadn’t had deep, good sleep in months. She was so deep in dreamland, that she hadn’t noticed she was alone. All his gear was gone, where…?

“I’m here!” She heard from the next room. “You got your potion next to the bed.”

No matter how many times she drank the contraceptive, she never got used to its pungent taste. She shrugged it off, getting up. Her thighs were crusty, so was her rump. Well, after that much bodily fluids being poured into, or gushing out of her, it was no surprise. She hissed, when some still leaked out. She needed a good scrub badly.

Aza entered the main chamber with the warm cape on her shoulders and whistled seeing the damage the two of them did in the night. But that wasn’t her problem, even when Calixto was around this place was a slum. Erik somehow managed to set fire in the hearth with the pieces of broken furniture.

“I hadn’t noticed when you left.” She said, scratching her sticky pubic hairs. She needed thorough waxing.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, though the thought of tying you to the bed in case you decide to do something stupid crossed my mind.” He replied, bustling around the room. “I melted some snow for you, I can smell you from here.” He said, gesturing at a bucket with warm water and a piece of cloth. He was even courteous enough to get a small bar of soap from the alchemy shop.

She sat down on a miraculously undamaged chair and cleaned herself thoroughly. The sun seeping through the barred up windows was bright, it must have been late.

“What time is it?” She asked, running the cloth against her chest, her nipples stood up at attention.

“Around noon.” He said, warming his palms against the fire.

“When did you get up?”

“Early. I managed to have a quick wash-up, eat and do some shopping, whilst you were still asleep. You’re not as alert as you used to be.”

“I’m getting old.” She said, undoing her hair. Her stomach growled.

“You can eat what’s left of my supplies. As I recall you’re broke, eh?” He gave her a smug grin. “So… what’s the plan?” He asked, finally giving into his concerns.

“You know where their camp is, right?” Aza stared at him intensely.

“They might have already moved out, but they shouldn’t be hard to track down.” He said after a moment of consideration. “Why, what do you want to do?”

“I want to see her.” Aza revealed, looking away, exhaling heavily. “I don’t want to meet her face to face, I’m not that selfish to turn her life upside down. But I just want to see her and make sure she’s healthy and happy. I want to know that all the shit I’ve been through wasn’t in vain and something good came out of it.”

“That’s a good plan.” He approved. “And what then?”

“I’m tired of Skyrim.” She confessed. “The plan is to let me see her and make peace, then… You said you wanted to see Hammerfell. You’ll need me if you want to survive the climate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I can’t handle a hotter day without your help.” He crinkled his nose, recognizing that patronizing tone.

“You’re a Nord. You have no idea just how hot a day on Hammerfell can be.” She rebuked without a blink. “Did… you see her? Talk to her?” She dared ask on a sudden impulse.

“She kind of looks like you. Her attitude is definitely yours.” He said faster than he could think.

“Oh, you did not just say that…!” She said in a tone that gave him the old familiar chills.

---

“This isn’t my horse!” The Redguard screamed at the High Elf stable owner, when he presented her with a paint nag. The poor thing looked like it just didn’t care about living anymore. “I left you a perfectly fine mare, how dare you tell me this emaciated horse is mine!!”

“I’m sorry, I did all I could, but she just wouldn’t eat!” The man swore, warding himself away with his arms. “I checked on her regularly and even housed her indoors, but she was just too miserable to bother with my efforts!”

Aza broke down into a bitter cackle. Excellent, the horse she cared for so much was now on the verge of collapsing and dying. Why? Was she sick, did the idiot elf neglect his responsibilities, or did the horse just fell into misery when left completely alone? Well, this was just great.

Erik passively observed the unpleasant scene, waiting for her outburst to pass, so they can make the Altmer offer compensation. His horse was in fine condition, although it spent only one night in the stables. He was in such a hurry yesterday, that the thought of checking up on Aza’s horse hadn’t even crossed his mind. The bay mare gently nudged the bony paint one, the other barely acknowledged her company and neighed sadly. This was a heartbreaking sight.

“And you call yourself a horse master?” Someone joined into the conversation.

Erik froze, but hadn’t reached for his weapon. Aza let go of the front of the elf’s shirt, then looked over her shoulder. Kemon stood at the base of the bridge leading to Windhelm, maintaining safe distance from them.

“And you’re an expert on horses?” She asked after a longer moment, facing the man who she had a daughter with.

“They’re a part of my life.” He replied, enduring her stare. He was also visibly tense. “That poor thing can still be saved if given the right care. Though, I wouldn’t recommend riding her until she gets better.”

“That’s reasonable.” She nodded, but her gaze was still set on him. When she saw him last he had some dark hair left in his beard. Now, it was completely white. “If you want me to leave without any incident you’ll pay me in gold for your transgressions, clear?” She turned to the High Elf.

“Yes. I was going to do it without your threats, madam. I know and respect my trade.” The elf replied with dignity, then went inside to get the gold.

“Could the three of us talk?” Kemon asked, addressing the two.

“I don’t know, can we?” She asked her partner.

“We’re all adults here.” Erik said blandly, fighting the clench in his jaw.

“I had a long talk with Saabi.” The caravanner said. “She spoke highly of you. I’m grateful you got her and my sister-in-law safe.” He reached into his satchel for payment. “She regretted not being able to pay you herself…”

“So, you’re doing it for her to make sure I won’t butt into your lives and mess things up? No worries, I won’t.” She declined payment with a daring look.

“I am not bribing you to step away.” Kemon replied calmly. “To the contrary. I think we can strike a deal. Please, accept your gold so we can talk about my proposal.”

She had no idea what would she do if she touches him by accident when she takes the coinpurse. She had no idea if she turns violent or tearful. Thankfully, their fingers hadn’t met. The silk of the coinpurse burned, the gold inside felt heavy.

“We’re listening.” She said, thankful Erik kept quiet.

“You already know our caravan is secretive,” Kemon addressed the Nord. “It’s been months since we were forced to leave Hammerfell, against our will. We have enemies, who are rich and influential enough to pursue us even here. We have to cross the border and get to Cyrodiil. We need someone who knows this land and can be trusted. I don’t know how it came to us meeting under these circumstances. But it doesn’t matter.” He turned to the woman. “I know you will do all you can to keep us safe. I know you can be trusted. What say you?”

“Sure.” Erik said carelessly before Aza could draw breath. “I’ll go see Abdal and tell him you’re on your way.”

He mounted his mare and was off to where the caravan camped, leaving the two former spouses alone. Aza knew he left them alone so they could talk, but she hadn’t looked forward to it.

“You’re alive.” He said with a frown, looking into her mismatched eyes. The pain on his face… It came from seeing all the scars she gained in over ten years. “I’m… glad.”

“And you’re old.” She talked back, crossing her arms. “Are you going to cry?” She dared through clenched teeth.

“Are you?” Kemon asked back.

“We both mourned and moved on, haven’t we?”

“That’s what I thought up until yesterday.” The man’s shoulders hunched. “Ism-”

“That’s not my name anymore!” She cut him off. “Don’t say it. Have some mercy.” Her voice shook, she covered it with a grunt. “We’re keeping who I am a secret.” Aza conditioned. “I don’t want anyone to suffer.”

“That goes without saying. I…”

“Please!” She said sharper than she intended. “We both know we will have this talk, but not now. I’m at my limits. I just want to see her and have it over with.” She looked at Kemon. “I’m scared to see her. I have no idea what will I do.”

“She’s blooming.” He said quietly. “Just how you’d want it.”

The adventurer spun around and grabbed a patch of snow from the ground. She rubbed it forcefully into her burning face, fighting tears and a scream that crept up her throat. It took a longer moment for her to stop shaking. Kemon just stood in place, knowing that whatever he’ll do will make things worse.

“Does she get along with Saabi?” She asked after wiping the snow off her face. Her throat was tight.

“Yes.”

“Then I am happy.” She exhaled loudly. “Let’s go.” She quietly said, when the elf came with the gold.

Riding the mare would be pure cruelty, so she led her by the reins, with what little gear she had stored on her own back to relieve the animal. Kemon walked next to her, leading his graceful Hammerfell horse.

“Is he good to you?” He asked when the silence became unbearable.

“He’s my boy.” She said without thinking. “My man,” she corrected herself. “It’s… complicated.”

“I am glad you found someone…” He dared to merely brush her shoulder, she didn’t push him away.

“What did I say? We’ll have a long, deep, excruciating talk later. Not now, there’s planning to do. And I want some answers once we get to your camp.”

They walked, with tremendous effort making idle chatter, pretending they weren’t once married, before being brutally separated. When the camp drew near they could hear the lute and a strong voice with a Nordic accent singing a ballad.

“… Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes…!”

“What the…?!” She growled angered. She hated that ballad.

“What is going on here?” Kemon asked sharply, leaving his horse with one of the guards, and gesturing her to do the same. “Abdal!” He addressed his most trusted man. “What’s going on here?”

“We caught him near our camp.” Abdal pointed at the man who was performing the song, visibly amused. “He claimed to be a travelling bard. Well, we told him to prove it, and as you can see, he is indeed a bard.”

“That I am!” The man with the lute exclaimed. “My name is Talsgar, master of song and lute! Unlike my colleagues up in Solitude, I firmly believe song and poetry are to be shared, not stored in colleges or moldy old tomes! Especially in times like these!”

He was tanned, which was unusual for a Nord. His windswept hair was short, brightened from living outdoors. He wore colorful, comfortable traveler clothing and held his lute as if it was his own child.

“Well, then. You’ll spend some more time sharing them in Windhelm, friend.” Kemon said calmly. “Abdal, would you…?”

“Let’s not be harsh!” Saabi pushed herself between the men, shielding the bard with her own body. “We could use some entertainment, it would do my sister good if she could listen to songs. And we would like that too!” She addressed the rest of the women, who loudly voiced their approval. “We would love to have you, master bard. And we do not take no for an answer…” She smiled kindly. “You could say, that from now on you’re a prisoner to our hospitality.”

“I am honored, madam!” Talsgar bowed, pretending not to notice the hidden threat. He then played his lute, conjuring a sigh of awe from the women.

Aza snorted. Although she tried, she just couldn’t hate Saabi. She was simply too good a person to be hated. But after learning who her husband and daughter were, her presence didn’t give her the slightest comfort.

The crowd dispersed, people were preparing for departure. Saabi approached the heroine.

“I’m glad we caught you.” She said warmly. “Did you take care of that thing you had in Windhelm?”

“I think I have.” She replied hesitantly, finding a red mane at the back of the camp. Erik was busy taking some of the burdens from Aza’s horse onto his mare.

“That’s good to hear. Have you filled them in?” She addressed Kemon, who dared not speak with the two of them present.

“All they needed to know.” He answered truthfully, unsure of where to look.

“Splendid.” She turned to the heroine again. “I must say, me meeting you and my husband meeting your partner is quite the coincidence.” She laughed like a young girl, even though she was much older from Aza.

“Yeah… Someone could say it was fate.” She agreed, uneasy.

“Maa!” A girl approached and jealously grabbed Saabi by the shoulder. “Is it true we’re taking a bard with us?”

She was perfect. Blooming, just like Kemon said. Healthy and energetic, she would be a great beauty one day. Her eyes were the most intense shade of blue. She was slender and graceful. Just like her birthmother dreamed her to be.

“Oh, just where I thought I got rid of you!” Saabi joked. “This is my daughter, Zia.” She introduced the girl to the adventurer.

Aza couldn’t utter a word, the world around slowed down and blurred. There was just the face she saw before her. She wasn’t three anymore. She was fourteen and had her whole life ahead of her. Aza’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. But that didn’t bring her closure. Instinctively, she felt like grabbing her and smelling the top of her head, where years ago she smelled so wonderfully, like only a baby could. All the things she did for this young lady hit her like a warhammer in the face. She birthed, nursed and provided for her. She gave up everything to make sure she was safe… And now she wasn’t hers anymore.

“Madame Aza will be escorting us with our Nord friend.” Kemon said, feeling how tense the atmosphere got.

“That oaf?” The girl snarled, breaking the lock that fixed her eyes with the adventurer’s. During that brief moment she felt… uneasy around that towering woman. Not because of her appearance, there was something strange in that mercenary’s stare.

“Zia!” Saabi scolded. “I’m sorry, she still hadn’t learned to think before she speaks.”

“It’s alright.” Aza managed to say. “We have some planning to do, yes?” She looked at Kemon imploringly. “Help!” Her eyes said.

“We’ll be going now. Thank you again.” The older woman excused herself and her daughter.

“Coffee?” He suggested, gently putting his hand on her pauldron and leading to where the women were busy with packing up the field kitchen.

“Rum!” She could only shutter.

Chapter 10: Going South

“They’re harlots, you know.” Aza commented, approaching her partner.

“What?” Erik looked over his shoulder, still busy with packing her stuff onto his horse.

“The women. They’re harlots.” She said, sipping her coffee. She hadn’t had any in so many years, she almost forgot she used to have stomach aches afterwards. She drank nonetheless. It was more about the memories the bitter taste brought, than the actual coffee itself.

“Don’t be judgmental.” He snorted.

“Erik, they’re really harlots. I know Redguard prostitutes when I see them. And those are not caravan members. They’re fine whores.”

“Wha… Why are they here, then?” He grew incredulous.

“We’ll soon find out. Thanks” she suddenly changed topics. “Thanks for making the decision for me.”

“Always. How are you holding on?”

“Better than I would expect.” She realized. “Now that I saw her I can stop imagining how good or bad things would turn out for her. It’s done. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“You’re at peace?” He asked hopefully.

“I should. But I’m not.”

“Well, I’ll keep you company at night and we’ll try to work something out.” He winked, brushing her side. She snorted, finishing her brew.

“Ahem!” One of the inconspicuous women coughed, approaching them. “I think it’s time I finally introduced myself. Because I am certain Kemon won’t bother.”

“I remember you.” Erik recalled. How could he forget her! She had the looks and demeanor of a princess. And the body of a, well, harlot.

“I hope you do!” The woman said with a wink. “Now that you two will be something more than a convenient tagalong, I thought we should get ourselves acquainted. My name is Excella. Yes, I am aware that is not a Redguard name but it is what I chose to call myself. Regardless, I speak on behalf of my sisters. If you want to have anything to do with them, you talk to me.”

“Mhm… And what business could we have with you and your sisters?” Aza asked, amused.

“Oh, I like to show, not tell.” Excella smiled innocently, stroking her impressively thick and long braid. “You can stop by our tent for a demonstration anytime, big sister.”

Aza smiled. Damn, it was a long time since she enjoyed the touch of a kinswoman. Maybe the two of them… or even the three of them could… No. Stop, you stupid slut. This is serious business, precious lives are at stake, whilst you’re thinking about having your pussy eaten!

“You are a sight.” The heroine swore, collecting herself. “But we’re here to do a job. Besides, my Erik and I were separated for so long… We have a lot catching up to do.”

“Ah!” The harlot gasped, clasping her hands. “Foolish of me… Of course.” She eyed the Nord with lecherous fascination. “Still, if either of you would like to keep me and my sisters company… We would be more than happy to have you.”

“I win!” Aza boasted when they were alone.

“Okay, you can spot a whore form a mile away, big deal.” Erik snarked. “Did you see the look she gave me?”

“Are you kidding? I’m surprised she didn’t drag you away. Kemon must have been sheltering them from any outsiders for months. I’m pretty sure they’re all very curious about the local flavor. Poor things… I bet they’re feeling lonely…” She sighed, allowing herself some innocent fantasy about giving herself to the colorful group of well-trained harlots.

“Do you think we could…” Erik dared muse. “No. We have a job to do.” He sighed heavily.

“Yeah, this is too important to get distracted by some pussy…” Aza shook her head to dispel the lewd pictures her imagination painted. “Even if it’s the finest sort. I guess you’ll just have to do if I feel the itch.” She teased.

“Hey!”

“We’re planning our route.” Abdal announced, approaching them. “You have experience, big sister?” He asked, eying the heroine with purely businesslike interest.

“More than you can imagine.” She replied briefly. “I’ve escorted my share of caravans across the sands.”

“Good.” Abdal smiled pleased. His accent suggested he was from Stros M’kai. “Come, we need to discuss a few things. And this,” he handled Erik a large rolled piece of canvas, “is your tent. Now that you’re staying for longer Kemon figured you could use one. Large enough for two.”

“Great!” The hero accepted the gift. Up to now he slept in his bedroll close to the bonfire. It will be nice to have some privacy together.

They headed to where Kemon and Saabi were bending over a large map stretched on a tree stump. The sheet was clean, with no notes or scribbles.

“We’re heading south. Our current goal is passing Eastmarch and getting to the Rift.” The head of the caravan revealed, tracing the border between the holds with his finger. “Since you two know the land I want your honest opinion. What’s the safest route?”

The two adventurers whipped out their maps, both littered with notes known only to their respectful owners. They stood side by side, every now and then peeking on the other’s map and comparing with their own.

“I wouldn’t recommend following the main road.” Erik warned, consulting his map. “Since you want to keep out of sight, I’d follow the Black River. It will be slower… But less obvious.”

“The part of Eastmarch we’ll be travelling through is mostly hot springs. Lots of open terrain, and we’ll be in plain sight if we wander away from the river, but the climate is pleasant and we’ll always have a steady source of water.” Aza added.

“Here”, Erik tapped a spot on the large, clean map, “is Darkwater Crossing. It’s a small village of fishermen and miners. I know a man there who knows the land like the back of his hand.”

“No.” Kemon cut the conversation short.

“Habibi…” Saabi gently, but firmly, cut in. “Let the man continue.” She encouraged the Nord with a smile.

“Derkeethus is his name, he’s an Argonian. He can help us and I can guarantee he’s trustworthy.” He promised.

“What makes you so sure?” Kemon questioned, crossing his arms.

“I pulled him out of a Falmer hive.” The hero boasted. That was a story!

Aza whistled impressed. Nice. Risky, but nice. Some part of her wanted to say how stupid it was of him to go alone, but she curbed that little overprotective voice. He knew what he was doing.

“What are these Falmer you speak of?” Abdal inquired, rubbing his chin, curious of the dangers lurking in Skyrim’s darkest corners.

“They used to be elves, until Ysgramor drew them out. The dwarves took them in and… well, enslaved. Centuries of living underground turned them into evil, twisted creatures.” Erik shook his head in disgust. “And the stench!”

“Agreed.” Aza waved her hand in front of her face as if warding herself from a nasty odor. “Whoever would pull me out of one of their hives would be my true friend for life.”

“We shall see once we get there.” The head of the caravan dismissed. “For now we should move out, we wasted enough time camping here.”

The caravan was ready to head out. With Kemon on his horse in the front and Abdal securing the back, they proceeded south, towards the Aalto. The pair of adventurers were close to the head of the caravan, but out of earshot. Since the paint mare was too weak to be ridden, the heroine walked at her side. Erik did the same, so that they could converse freely after being apart for so long.

“Please don’t tell me that’s a hyena.” Aza moaned embarrassed, spotting the animal prancing around the wagon with Saabi, Kazi and the girl that was once hers onboard.

“It is.” He crushed her hopes. “Why would you name yourself after such an ugly thing? Because you weren’t born under the name you now use, right?”

“It wasn’t me.” She refuted annoyed. “The boys named me like that. It stuck later, since I saw no reason to use my old name.”

“The boys?”

“Yeah. The ones from the weapon caravan that found me half-dead in the desert. I whored myself to them in exchange for food and shelter, remember?” She reminded carefree, as if that wasn’t part of a traumatizing memory. “I was beaten and almost dead, but I could still bite and laugh.” Her tone suddenly lowered. “I guess I’ll have to tell him’ right?” She sighed, staring at the back of Kemon’s head, several meters ahead of them. “He’ll want to know everything in full detail, even though he knows damned well what happened after we got separated.”

“I… Shit.” Erik shook his head, unable to say anything smart. “Hey, want to hear about my time with the Dawnguard?” He changed topics, hoping to catch her interest. They both knew this trip will be painful, and not just physically. No need to spoil their moods now, just as they were back together.

“Sure! I’m dying to hear about your careless exploits!” She teased, bumping her hip against his.

Though they had to stay alert, he talked for hours, unraveling an unbelievable tale about vampires, ancient prophecies, the Soul Cairn and immensely powerful artifacts. Aza listened in, gasping, laughing or uttering ‘bullshit!’ at the appropriate moments. The story was unbelievable and crazy. But then again, so was what she went through on Solstheim. Not to mention, that after travelling to Sovngarde to kill a legendary world-eating dragon, one tends to believe a lot more than they would normally do.

“And all that time, you hadn’t contracted the vampire curse?” She asked in disbelief.

“No!” He protested offended. “I didn’t want to become a bloodsucker, and I was always cautious and had cure disease potions with me. I’m not as reckless as I used to be, you know?” He pouted dramatically, looking her in the eyes.

“And the vampire temptress? Did she lure you into her arms with her vampire charm?” Aza made a grimace.

“Jealous?” He inquired with a cocky look.

“Over an ancient corpse that only thinks of you as sustenance? Please.” She replied with dignity. “She’d bite your cock off.”

“Probably. Still, she was nice to look at.” Erik remembered Serana’s noble brow and sensual lips.

The caravan suddenly halted. One of Kemon’s scouts came running to them, he was visibly alarmed.

“Kemon wishes to see you two.” He said urgently, reaching to relieve them of their reins. “Go see him.”

The two made haste to the front of the caravan where Kemon was questioning the second of his scouts, sent ahead to scour the area.

“Giant.” He sad gravely, as if he spoke of a calamity. “Straight ahead, impossible to pass.” He added. “I was hoping you could offer advice.” He addressed the Nord.

“Giants are not uncommon in these parts.” Erik rubbed his chin, ignoring the spite in the man’s voice. Or maybe he was imagining it? “Generally, we let them go about their business and wait for them to leave.”

“That one is no strangler. It has a camp just ahead, blocking the road. It’s not going anywhere.” The scout revealed.

“Then we kill it!” The head of the caravan decided with force. “You two can assist my men…”

“Bad idea.” Aza protested quickly. Were it Erik to oppose Kemon, a struggle for dominance would erupt. Men and their need to be on top. “Giants are best either avoided or… pacified in some other way. You go there with armed men and I can guarantee there will be casualties.”

“And what do you propose we do?” He asked, narrowing this thick eyebrows. His grey eyes pierced the woman. Back on Hammerfell, when they were together… He never had that hardiness. He changed. Just as she.

“Does anyone know their herbs around here?” She asked, already planning what to do.

“Saabi does.” Kemon pointed out.

“I’ll go talk to her. You two try not to whip your dicks out and try to impress the other while I’m gone, okay?”

She left them dumbfounded. The scout snickered, but ceased the moment Kemon’s eyes turned to him.

---

“Yes, just let me get my ingredients!” Saabi immediately crawled to the back of the wagon and rummaged through her supplies. “I just hope there’s enough to work on a giant!”

Quickly, she grabbed a few bottles and sacks with dry herbs. When she was all stocked up on ingredients, they made their way to their men.

“I am not taking chances!” They heard Kemon’s voice raised in anger.

“It’s pointless cruelty, not precautions!” Erik snapped back.

“I knew they’re going to be at each other’s throats the moment they’re alone.” The heroine grunted annoyed.

“Yes… My husband is a good man, but strict and adamant when it comes to our safety.” Saabi admitted. “He’s just so consumed with protecting us, he can sometimes seem… cold.”

The younger woman bit her tongue. She remembered a different Kemon. Less of an asshole. But did she have any right to judge him? She wasn’t always this cynical and depraved.

“Is everything alright?” The older woman entered the scene where the men were on the brink of getting physical.

“No.” They said unison, shooting glares at each other.

“What’s going on?” Aza sighed, but left Saabi to do the talking.

“Our friend here thinks that the well-being of one giant is more important than our safety and destination.”

“I don’t see any point in leaving a blood trail behind.” Erik snapped back.

Saabi was as sharp as she was patient. Instead of backing up any of the two men she addressed Aza.

“Have you ever encountered a giant in your travels?” She asked casually, refusing to give in to the tension.

“A few times. Peaceful things, unless you threaten their mammoths. They’re not that hard to outmaneuver.” She replied in a similar calm manner.

“Then I propose a compromise.” Saabi now faced Erik. “Since you two are adventurers and are not strangers to giants, I can only assume you know what you are doing. I’m sure the two of you can pacify it and grant us safe passage. Right, husband?”

“I am willing to let them try.” Her man grunted displeased, but made no attempts to force his way.

“Wonderful! Now, let me just prepare my herbs and you two can be off…”

She skillfully whipped out a mixture of herbs and exotic ingredients, an amount she estimated should be enough to put a giant to sleep. In the meantime Erik went to get his crossbow.

“What? Just in case.” He assured, seeing Aza’s brows cross. “You coming or what?”

They walked past the point where the path suddenly took a turn, and entered a gorge just at the side of the river. It was a perfect place for a giant camp, shielded from the wind, sun and any unwanted attention.

The denizen was sitting before a large bonfire, where a robust cow was roasting. The smell of tender meat and smoke hit their nostrils as they drew closer. The giant was turned back to them, busy with some handiwork, perhaps preparing itself food. Just behind him was a large basin with a milky brew, in case the giant’s throat needed wetting.

“You keep that crossbow ready. I’ll sneak up on him and get the mixture into his drink. Then we wait.” Aza whispered, already getting ahead.

Erik crouched and readied his weapon. There was no chance he’ll miss the giant if it somehow notices her and attacks. He observed in tension as his partner got within arm’s reach of the creature.

The Redguard loosened the pouch and quickly poured Saabi’s mixture into the mammoth milk. The intense smell dulled the scent of the drug. She was about to retreat to a safe distance and wait for the denizen to get thirsty, but that was when she noticed just what the giant was so preoccupied with. Jerking-off. The thing worked its massive cock with tenderness and zeal only a respective owner could. Forget Malacath, that thing was as thick as her thigh and as long as her whole arm!

“Well, I’ll be damned…” She shuttered, forgetting all about caution.

With surprising speed, the creature sprang up from the trunk it used as a bench and reached for its massive club, ready to protect its turf. It grunted as a warning, focusing on the small human that somehow managed to sneak behind it.

“Whoa there big guy!” She called out, raising her palms. “No need to get feisty! Everyone needs some alone time… Actually, I can help you with that!” She offered, grinning like an idiot.

Somehow, he must have understood human speech, or more so the familiar jerking gesture she made. The club lowered, the giant’s insipid eyes stared at her with confusion. It was time to act fast.

“It’s okay! Everything is okay!” Aza called out casually, wanting to calm down Erik more than the giant. “Come here, darling…” She purred, patting the trunk. “You just relax and let me give you a helping hand…”

The giant sheepishly sat back and stared at the undressing female. Erik grinded his teeth, dangerously fondling the trigger. Was she really about to…? She was.

Aza threw off the last piece of her armor and got busy. She groped the whole shaft, grinding against it and sliding up and down along with the thick foreskin. The smell was intense, but not as unpleasant as some men she’s been with. Actually, the giant smelled faintly of musk. The skin was velvet soft, warm with the veins clearly visible and throbbing.

“You must be so lonely out here, with no one to show you a good time…” She sighed, feeling the tip getting slippery from the precome.

She slid all the wrinkled skin down and stuck her tongue into the urethra, wiggling with zeal. The giant relaxed, complacent as anyone getting a good stroking of their dick. Aza couldn’t quite believe she was doing this, but considering she slept with a werewolf, jerking-off a giant was nothing new in her long and complicated sex life.

She squatted and grinded her crotch against the pleasantly velvet shaft, motioning up and down, leaving a trace of her own sticky juices. She giggled, realizing she was getting off herself. Oh, the depths of her own depravity… Right, Erik was watching. Well, she hoped he’d be mature enough to stand back and let her solve this peacefully.

The veins thickened and pulsed in short intervals, the titanic cock swelled with more blood, ready to explode any minute. She realized it’s going to be much more than a mouthful. A whole wave of giant cum. That white, thick, sticky shower… she wanted it. And had to act fast, if she’s going to get his load; the creature was inches away from climaxing.

“Oh, come here!” She pleaded with strain, grabbing his big hand and pulling to kneel on the ground. She lied on her back, with the glans just between her thighs, stroking it with her hands, whilst her feet worked the base. “Come all over me!” She groaned, her mind giving in to the lewd idea of tasting his load.

The tide that came a second later was overwhelming. The creature groaned, releasing the biggest load of semen she had ever received. She wasn’t stained with it; she was entirely coated with it. The force of the ejaculation shot some straight into her mouth. Aza gagged and snorted, whilst more and more covered her in sticky, warm layers.

“Whoa…” She managed to breathe when the heavy rod rested on her, completely exhausted and slowly shrinking. “I… no one’s going to believe this, even in a thousand years.” She shuttered, getting up and almost slipping on the sperm. Good thing she took off her armor.

The giant sat back and relished in the afterglow. When the last bits of pleasant glee faded, he grunted something in his primitive language, pointing at a leather sack a few steps away from the fire. Apparently he wanted the human to take interest in it.

“Wow… this is… you want me to take it?” Aza asked, after taking a look inside.

The sack contained fine, creamy mammoth cheese. She heard that giants produced this mysterious food, but never saw any with her own eyes. A small bowl on the market was as expensive as regular cheese of the same quantity served in a golden bowl!

The giant nodded, squeezing out the last troublesome squirts of come that got under his foreskin.

“How much can I take?” She asked, weighting the heavy sack. “All of it?” She nearly squealed when the giant made a circling gesture, covering the entire sack. “Oh!” She tiptoed to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You are just too sweet… You definitely earned yourself a stiff drink!” She suggested with a wink, reaching for the basin behind him and offering with a wide smile.

He took the basin and swallowed the entire milky liquid with a gulp. He burped and gave her a pleased, mindless look. Aza feared the strength of the drug wasn’t enough to put him to sleep, but after another minute or so the giant yawned and bent back on the trunk, falling off straight on its back. The ground shook from the impact.

“Phew!” She exhaled, relieved how smoothly everything went.

“Did you just… give a damned giant a handjob!” Erik appeared right next to her, his cheeks red from bottled-up anger.

“Haven’t you seen the size of that cock? It wasn’t a handjob! It was… a full bodyjob!” She refuted insulted.

“I… just. You still leave me speechless. And appalled.” He shook his head, seeing her soaked and gooey. And that smell!

“Look who learned new words. Oh, stop it. A sliver of my dignity is a small price for safe passage and the creature’s life, don’t you think? In the end I just added one more dirty experience to my biography, but no one got hurt.” She huffed. “And I earned us some nice grub!” She greedily eyed the sack with the finest quality mammoth cheese. Her mouth watered when she imagined slapping a thick layer of it on a freshly toasted piece of bread. With some good ale or mead to wash it all down.

“Congratulations. You whored yourself for food.” He said, grinding his teeth, forcing himself to avoid looking at the enormous dick now slumbering on the hairy, massive thighs of the snoring giant.

“The bonus was unexpected. But not unwelcome. If you don’t want it, you won’t get any of my cheese, suit yourself.” She ignored the insult, brushing off the cum. “I need a quick wash. Be back in a minute. Could you take that sack with you?”

“I’m not your slave.” Erik muttered.

“Oh, come on! I’ll make this up to you!” She promised playfully. “Now come on, give me a hug!” She teased, opening her arms.

Erik jolted away with a disgusted choke. Aza snorted and laughed before rushing into the river.

“Divines…” Erik whispered, watching her dive into the brisk waters. “I hate how forgiving you make me.”

---

“Well?” Kemon asked impatiently.

“All clear. The giant is sleeping like a log.” Aza assured, Erik looked away when she talked. She was still dripping water, but there were no traces of giant jizz on her.

“And… that?” The man pointed at the sack Erik carried.

“Bonus. No worries, the giant won’t notice. I… slipped and fell into the creature’s larder. I had to clean myself up, which is why it took us so long.” She lied without a blink, knowing Kemon wouldn’t believe her but won’t ask any questions for as long as the deed was done.

“Thank goodness.” Saabi said with relief. “I knew you two can be trusted.”

“Yes, let’s get a move on, before it wakes up.” Kemon said with a scowl.

---

“Hey…” Aza nudged Erik’s side when they were with their horses and he was tying the sack with the cheese to his mare’s saddle. “I think we should share some.” She suggested. “It will probably go bad before we have the chance to eat it all.”

“I’m sure Kemon will appreciate it.” He said with a sour expression. Nonetheless, he whipped out a smaller sack from his pack and carefully poured about half of the contents into it.

“I’m thinking about Kazi. She needs all the nutrition she can get.”

“The one with the baby? Sure, no arguments from me.” He agreed energetically.

He was raised to treat women with child with the utmost respect. After all, they were creating new life! That was a beautiful… and fascinating thing. Not to mention he felt like an ass, remembering how he scared Kazi in Windhelm docks.

“Such a gentleman. Take it to them, would you?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He hesitated, remembering Zia was also on the carriage the women took.

“Just go there and give it to her.” Aza shook her head. “Or are you afraid you’ll look like a softie?”

He didn’t argue, lest he’ll have to explain why he didn’t want to talk to Kazi, with Zia as an additional inconvenience. He took the sack and trotted to their carriage.

“Ahem.” He coughed loudly to announce his presence.

“I… yes?” Kazi asked, noticing him.

“Here.” He tossed the sack over the side of the carriage, next to her lap. “You should have this. It’s mammoth cheese, good for you.” He said quickly, trying not to sound abrupt or intimidating. “Got to go.” He excused himself, trying to ignore Kazi’s surprise and Zia’s interest.

“Well, that was nice.” Saabi concluded, groping the pleasantly filled sack.

“It was.” Kazi agreed. “I hadn’t expected that.”

Zia pouted, but said nothing.

---

The first day of their journey was at an end. And already, it was quite eventful. They camped in a sheltered plateau, close to the steaming springs. The camp was busy, the women, chatting and joking as always, were preparing food.

“You’re awfully broody, habibi.” Saabi pointed out, offering her husband coffee.

“I have a lot on my mind.” He replied, hoping she wouldn’t notice the pain in this voice. The reasons why he was this strained should not be known to Saabi. She needn’t know, lest she suffers like him over things that should be long mourned and gone.

At another bonfire, the one dedicated to the women, the chatty harlots gathered around the bard, pleading and coquetting him to sing. Talsgar was tuning his lute, exercising his voice for a night of song and dance. He didn’t make them plead for too long.

“Oh, there was once a man named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…!” He began one of the popular tavern songs.

“I like that one.” Aza said, watching him through half-shut eyelids at the small campfire she and Erik made for themselves. “Perfect for a nice evening with good food.” She added, before stuffing her mouth with cheese. Just like she planned, she had it spread over a crunchy piece of toast, with addition of some dried herbs. Too bad there was no fresh salmon roe…

“There are worse songs, I guess.” Erik replied, warming his palms against the fire. “It makes me homesick.” His voice dropped an octave.

She needn’t ask – he couldn’t visit home for another eight years, not until the bounty on his head expires. Eight years was a lot of time, especially for someone like Mralki, who had little precious years left.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being led in the dark like this?” He suddenly asked, glancing at the central bonfire, where Kemon and his family were dining and chatting. “They are running from something… or someone. Just who or what is so big and dangerous to have a whole caravan forced to travel through strange land?”

“No idea. But, come on! We both know the trade, whatever it is we’ll learn soon enough…” She foretold with an uneasy snicker.

“… Usually under some dire circumstances.” He added. “I’m taking the first watch, I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn.”

“Just don’t overdo it. You need rest yourself.” She conditioned with a yawn. “I don’t want you falling asleep when I finally get my hands on you alone.” She promised, trying to leer like she used to in the good old days when he was still her whelp. But all she could conjure was a warm smile. Too late, she couldn’t lust for him without getting that fuzzy feeling inside.

“I’ll hold on to your word.” Erik took the gauntlet with a wink.

He washed down his supper with mulled ale, then walked past the warm circles of light, into the nippy dark. His job was to keep watch to the east, over the vast plains of hot springs and barren hills. At least he didn’t have to watch the skies, expecting an ominous roar coming from above any minute.

From behind he could hear the usual sounds of a busy camp; songs, shouting and laughing, accompanied by the sound of burning wood and nickering horses. He also heard confident, quick steps closing in on his spot.

“I’m guessing… Kemon.” He mused, seeing the Redguard’s shadow paint itself on a nearby rock.

“There are old wise women back on Hammerfell who make a living out of soothsaying.” The man mocked. “You could learn from them.”

“And there I was thinking you and me had a bond forming. Pity.” The Nord snorted, bracing for an unpleasant conversation. Hopefully, conversation only. “Join me for this fine evening?”

Kemon sat at Erik’s side, saying nothing. A mammoth could be seen far in the distance, possibly a loner too old to be a part of the herd anymore. The two watched the gigantic animal roam across the volcanic landscape.

“It’s big.” The elder man whistled. “We have similar animals in our homeland, but they don’t have hair. We call them elephants.”

“Small world.” Erik said.

“Small indeed…” Kemon agreed. “I am not a man who would hold on to their past.” He suddenly revealed. “What matters to me the most is the present.”

“Same here. But let’s get to the point. I’m just a simple adventurer, no need to get all sophisticated when talking to me. You think there will be complication along the way. And there will be.”

“I understand you want to warn me?” Kemon guessed.

“Warn? I’m not a thug.” Erik protested calmly. “She’s had enough. Not just physically. Don’t add to her suffering.”

“I was there.” The Redguard said through clenched teeth, peering into the Nord’s profile, who was still staring into the distance. “You have no idea what I went through. What my daughter went through.”

“No one else needs to be dragged into this. Just the three of us.” Erik went on.

“Two.” Kemon corrected with force.

“Three.” Erik had no intention of backing off.

“Very well, then.” The older man said after a moment of consideration. “I do not have anything personal against you… But I have too many lives at stake, my friend. I won’t risk lowering my guard.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I don’t agree. I understand.”

“I took your advice under consideration. We will pass through Darkwater Crossing, I hope your Argonian is trustworthy.” The caravanner said as a goodbye, retreating to his position at the center of camp.

Hours passed, the mammoth was now a distant memory. The plains were still and peaceful, save for the sizzling of the hot springs. The adventurer was alone. Or so he thought. Somehow Erik’s gut told him to stay vigilant.

His spot was over the edge of a rise, sticking out no more than a few feet over the rest of the area. Erik could see clearly the plains – he could also be seen perfectly. He rested the crossbow on his laps, his feet dangling over the edge. His pupils dilated, his hearing attuned to the night. He was certain now that he wasn’t alone.

Rustling came from below. Faint, barely audible, but somehow he could pick it up. It resembled something (someone?) crawling on its belly, right to his position. He didn’t want to raise alarm, deciding to patiently wait for the creature (or person) to reveal itself… or strike.

It was getting closer, the sound was now recognizable. And it was now moving quicker. He saw it; a faint silhouette on the porous ground. It was larger than a skeever, but smaller than a wolf or sabre cat. The whatever it was, it halted, fully aware it was spotted. It’s head rose to look straight at him. The eyes glowed with cold light, peering into his face.

“Come on, don’t be shy…” He encouraged, picking up his weapon, ready to shoot it between the eyes.

“Was I ever?” Aza asked jokingly, surprising him from behind.

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder, then back where the intruder was. It was gone. That brief moment cost him a perfect shot. He hadn’t heard the slightest move, trying to track it now was pointless.

“Something of concern?” She asked, leaning forward, resting her hands on his shoulders. She wasn’t subtle, her rack rested on his head. Just how he liked it.

“Something was creeping up around here. You scared it off.”

“Critters? Or…” She paused, wondering if maybe Kemon’s paranoia wasn’t entirely unwarranted.

“No idea. Do you think it might have been someone sent by whoever is… stalking our caravan?” He mused, letting his favorite pair of tits massage his head.

“We knew this isn’t an ordinary escort job when we signed up. There’s no point in pondering now. For the moment I came to relieve you. Hit the sack.”

He stared into the distance one final time, then gave her a quick smooch before marching to their tent. The bedroll smelled pleasantly, he slipped into her scent and peaceful sleep.

----

“We are tired.” Excella complained. “Tired, bored and dirty. We want some fun!”

“You have your bard.” Kemon dismissed, adamant to pack up camp and get going.

“Bah! What good is he aside form singing?” The harlot puffed. “We want to enjoy the hot springs!”

“The scouts reported nothing.” Saabi, chimed in. “We can afford to stay here a few more hours.”

“Time is crucial, my light.” The man feebly tried to protest.

“So is morale. The hot springs intrigue the girls, they could use some grooming and leisure, after being cooped up in the cold for so long.”

“You are right.” The head of the group gave in. As usual, Saabi could patiently talk him into doing what she thought was best. “Excella, go and… do whatever you girls do to make yourselves pretty. But we head out at noon, if they’re not ready by then they’ll have to chase us.” He conditioned.

Collective cheering flew across the camp when the women were told they could enjoy a hot bath and some relaxation.

“Come, big sister!” Excella urged, grabbing Aza by the wrist when the heroine was returning from her watch.

“What, something’s wrong honey?” The heroine inquired, trying to crack up a confident grin, but she was too sleepy and hungry.

“We can bathe in the hot springs! You should join us.” The woman smiled.

“Wish I could, but…” Aza caught Kemon passing by. He turned his head to her and nodded, then turned away as if nothing happened. “Sure, lead the way.”

“Good! You can tell us stories! And we are already preparing sugar scrub. You could use it.” She teased, tugging the dark hairs sticking from under the adventurer’s arm.

Aza grunted, slapping the harlot’s behind. Excella spun around with grace and bolted to where the rest were gathering. Temple harlots, no doubt. Or runaways from a noble’s harem. Either way they were too good looking and too playful to come from a lowly brothel or the streets. She followed the excited screams to the secluded part of the camp, shielded from curious eyes by shrubbery and rocks.

Meanwhile, Erik got up and crawled out of the tent. It was early in the morning, but long past dawn. He was surprised that no one woke him up and ushered to get moving, but it seemed they were going to dally for a bit longer.

“We have some time to rest!” Abdal called out, noticing him trotting in place with no apparent intent. “Eat, relax. But Kemon wants to see you in an hour.” He added, heading to the horses.

Pleased, the hero went to get some food. Moments later and sat down with a steaming bowl on a fallen over tree, near where Talsgar was sleeping off a night of song and drink.

“Ah… Kindly share some of that delicacy with me?” The bard suggested, when the smell hit his nostrils. “Stew is exactly what I need… and maybe some mead.”

“Get your own.” Erik replied bluntly.

“You mercenary types.” The bard rolled his eyes with disapproval. “Always so serious.”

The master of lute and song left to get himself some breakfast, Erik was alone, but just for a moment. Kazi waddled nearby, nervously massaging her swollen abdomen. She suddenly burped loudly, then covered her mouth embarrassed. Looking around if anyone saw or heard, she found the redhead.

“I’m sorry! This happens every now and then.” She apologized, staring down at her belly. “I’m so terribly bloated. It must have been that mammoth cheese… There was nothing wrong with it! But it was so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s no big deal.” He assured, wolfing down his meal. “Want to sit?” He offered, realizing he was acting like a savage.

“Thank you.” Kazi seated herself on the log, whilst the Nord made himself comfortable on the bare ground.

He was pale, so very pale. But the most intriguing thing about him was his hair; copper red, with a golden hue when you looked at it under the light. He wore it loose and swept back, save for two braids at the sides of his face. Kazi admired whilst he was completely focused on eating, unaware he could be of any interest to her.

“Hey, uhh… about what happened in Windhelm.” He said after he was done eating, realizing he never apologized for frightening her back in the docks. “I acted like an ass. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Kazi replied, pleased to see he could behave civil.

“Shouldn’t you be bathing with the rest?” He made nonchalant conversation.

“No, in my state it’s not recommended to take hot baths.” She explained, protectively embracing her belly.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.” He shook his head, embarrassed by his own insensitivity. “So…” He tried to make small talk, but had no idea what to say without sounding like a crude simpleton.

“Is there any story behind that scar?” Kazi dared ask, focusing her brown eyes on the side of his face.

“Just as much as with any other scar. It’s not like I got it on a dare or for fun.” He said faster than he could think. “Sorry… I sound like an ass. But that’s not a story you’d want to hear.” He explained apologetically. “Really, it’s nothing heroic if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I see. Forgive my intrusion.”

“People ask about it all the time. I got used to it.” He managed to sound carefree. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. The truth is I just want my baby to be healthy. Would you like to feel it?” She offered.

“Sure!”

He took off his gauntlet and let her put his hand on her tummy. It felt strangely pleasant, though clothed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t feel the baby kicking.

“I think it’s too early for it to get in the mood.” Kazi excused her child’s lack of performance. “Maybe some other time.”

He smiled and nodded, noticing she hadn’t mentioned the father before. He was smart enough not to ask.

---

“OW!” Aza roared, when the last piece of sugar scrub was removed along with her hair.

“Please stop fidgeting.” Excella reprimanded, whilst another girl was holding on to her leg, giggling like a brat. “For a woman with so much scars you sure are overreacting.”

“Darling, you do not want me to tell you how I got them. You’d piss yourself in your sleep for a week at least.” The heroine dared, fighting tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sure. We’re done here, you are smooth and pretty for your boy.” She teased, signaling her assistant to let go.

Aza stared down at her crotch, almost forgetting how her private bits looked without hair. She kept only a thin strip, more as a decoration than necessity. Perfect, she’ll have to show it to Erik soon!

Meanwhile, Saabi was busy with disciplining her daughter’s hair. Aza tried to look any other way, at the landscape or any of the tempting harlots, but her focus was pulled towards the two of them. Saabi was middle-aged but looked amazingly youthful. Now did the heroine notice that the woman had an old ritualistic scar her shoulder. She vaguely recalled that symbol resembled desert tribe wise women. Interesting.

“Stop iiit!” Zia cried, when Saabi pulled her hair exceptionally hard.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t neglecting your hair that much! It’s not hard to brush it yourself.” Her mother refuted, working the knots with a solid ivory comb. “See? I combed out a twig! Twig! What was it doing in your hair, hmm?”

Aza dunked in the hot water. Right, she almost forgot this trip was going to be an emotional torture.

Zia tried to cry a bit, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She grunted, giving up and letting Saabi do as she pleased with the cursed comb. The big, scary woman bobbed up, splashing water around like a hippo. The girl shrugged, studying her profile. She was safe, as she was on her blind side; the white opaque eye couldn’t see her staring. Tall Papa, she was marked with scars all over. Suddenly, the thought of living a life of adventure lost its appeal to the girl. She didn’t want it anymore if she ends up looking like that. And it weren’t just the scars, that mercenary had an arm as thick as a man’s!

“Don’t stare.” Saabi patiently reprimanded. “It’s rude.”

“She can’t see me.” The teen talked back.

“That’s no excuse. Be respectful.”

Saabi caught a glimpse of Aza just as the adventurer turned over to avoid a splash of water caused by one of the excited women. Her gaze slipped from the neck, chest and down the abdomen to the old scar between the navel and groin. A c-section scar. Ignoring her own advice she stared at the long-healed cut, remembering a brief exchange they had on the ship heading form Solstheim to Skyrim.

“Do you have children?” She asked curiously.

“Had.” The adventurer replied bitterly.

“I’m sorry.” Saabi quickly backed away.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I almost forgot it myself.”

---

“I’m going to ask you to accompany me for the rest of the trip.” Kemon debriefed when Erik joined him. “On horseback.” He added, putting his map away and rubbing his eyes with irritation. He looked like a man who had little sleep.

“No problem.” The Nord agreed.

“Good. Since you assure me you know the settlement we’ll be passing, I think it’s a good idea for you to speak on our behalf in order to avoid any… incident. There’s no need to be brash.”

The younger bit his tongue, forcing himself to refrain from commenting on Kemon’s brashness. It wasn’t worth it.

Abdal signaled everyone to gather around and pack up, it was time to move on.

Chapter 11: Smoke on the Water

“Piss off.” Aza warned the hyena sniffing her mare all to intently. “She’s going to get better, she’s not for you to eat, scavenger. Go find your grub somewhere else.”

The animal tilted its head, but seeing the heroine’s stern look it whined and scuttled away.

“It’s okay, honey.” Aza tried to comfort the horse, but the mare was indifferent, passively allowing to be led by the reins. Thankfully, she started eating, so there was hope for swift recovery.

It’s been three days since they left their cozy camp at the hot springs. She almost forgot how slow large caravans could move. Were it just the two of them, they would be in the Rift by now. She was doing her best to avoid anyone who wasn’t Erik, Kemon or Abdal. The shock and pain seemed to finally ease and she was able to think clearly. They had to get the caravan safely to its destination, keep her identity a secret, get paid. Then, she and Erik can depart for another glorious adventure.

“Hey, lady!” A girl’s sharp voice called. Aza grinded her tongue against her palate, like she wanted to shove all the curses she knew back into her throat.

“Yea?” She asked, looking up.

Zia was leaning out of the back of a wagon she occupied along with Kazi and Saabi. Her nose, so similar to Aza’s, crinkled.

“Don’t start shit with my pet!” She warned, giving the heroine the stinkeye.

“Then put a leash on her and we won’t have a problem.” Aza sneered, hoping her unpleasant disposition discourages the girl from a longer conversation. “This isn’t her turf. A sabre cat could have a field day with her.”

“She can take care of herself!” Zia assured with confidence.

“Without her pack? Suuure…” The heroine doubted, surprised she could keep her voice from shaking. Then again, arguing came naturally to her.

“Whatever, hyena lady.” Zia rolled her eyes with a fake yawn brats do when trying to provoke an adult.

Aza jerked the corner of her mouth upward. Little shit. She had an attitude… Good. Glad Kemon’s overprotectiveness hadn’t raised her to be a sheltered goose. Or perhaps it was Saabi’s influence?

“Hey? Hey! I’m talking to you!” Zia’s impatient tone commanded she snaps back to reality.

“What now?” Aza sighed in a half-tired-half-annoyed tone she picked up when dealing with Erik.

“Are you from the Alik’r?” The girl asked, pillowing her face in her hands.

“I am. And what of it?” Aza said truthfully, realizing the brat wanted some entertainment. She didn’t blame her, life on the road could get boring. Especially when you’re the only teen surrounded by adults.

“Ha! I knew it!” Zia said, proud of herself for guessing right. “So, you’re far away from home too?”

“I’m not.” Aza replied, careful not to give away too much information. “The world is my home.”

“So, you’re a vagrant.” The girl teased with a smug look.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Have you been all around Tamriel?”

“Most of it.”

“Like where?” Zia pried, growing frustrated with the woman’s uncooperativeness.

“Here and there.”

“Don’t bullshit! Come on, tell me!”

“Language!” Saabi commanded from the front of the wagon, not bothering with looking over her shoulder. “I did not raise a savage!”

Aza sighed, feeling a hole in her chest. Yes, exactly, it was Saabi who raised the girl, not her. She only gave her a chance to have a normal, happy life.

“This is bullshit!” Zia complained quietly, hoping her (adoptive) mother wouldn’t hear. “This is all bullshit! I didn’t want to come here in the first place, but no one listened to me!”

“Mhm. Tough luck.” The adventurer clucked her tongue, undisturbed by the girl’s outburst.

“Ugh… It’s so unfair!”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Aza inquired.

“I… well…” The girl wanted to say something smart, but somehow she couldn’t find the right words.

“Haha, got you.”

Annoyed, the girl stuck out her tongue, and turned her back to the adventurer. Obviously, she was a feisty type, frustrated things were happening around her, but without her involvement.

Aza smirked at the childish display. Seeing Zia’s haughty attitude helped dull her pain. But in the back of her mind was the realization that her child was in danger… again. They were running from an unknown threat, which Kemon refused to disclose. Somewhere on the horizon was their destination. And she was going to get them to it safely. Even if it kills her.

Unhurriedly, she reached for an apple she had stashed in her satchel. She took a bite, then offered the fruit to her horse. The mare took the treat with a quiet, yet pleased nicker.

“Good to see you’re getting better.” Aza noted with relief, brushing the horse’s mane. “It must have been the loneliness that was eating you, right? I left you alone in that cold stable for so long… I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” She promised.

To the heroine’s dismay, Saabi suddenly jumped off the wagon and joined her.

“Can we walk together?” She proposed, stretching.

“Sure.” The adventurer agreed, blandly. She really wanted to be alone with her horse for now.

“Thank you, I am so fed up with waiting and… hiding.” Saabi sighed wearily. “You have no idea how happy I am to be out in the sun. And so is Kazi… I hope my daughter is not bothering you? She’s… at a difficult age. ”

“I can imagine she’s more than a handful now.”

“Kemon and I are doing our best, but I can feel she’ll soon want to make a name for herself.”

Aza bit her tongue. Damn brats and their need to venture out into the world.

“She’s lucky to have you.” She said with difficulty, hoping her tone remains casual.

“Yes… I did miss her these months we were apart. But… it was necessary that I accompany my sister. I hope to make it up to Zia once we reach our destination. Oh, I can only Imagine how frustrated you must feel.” She pointed out unexpectedly.

“With what?” Aza asked, tensing. How much did Saabi know, exactly?

“The secrecy. I can tell you’re a smart woman, you can see our logistics appear a bit… chaotic.”

“You might say that.”

“Can you trust?” Saabi asked.

“You’re joking, right?” Aza choked and cackled unpleasantly. Trust? In her profession trust was a commodity!

“Oh, you can try to hide it all you want, but I can tell you have a good heart!” She exclaimed, putting her hand on Aza’s pauldron. “Please, trust my husband. He is a good, caring man at heart, despite his cold demeanor.”

“Yeah, sure.”

---

“So, how much do you know?” Kemon asked nonchalantly, peering into the sizzling vista of Eastmarch.

“About what? The caravan? Not much, you’re pretty secretive.” Erik played dumb. “I’m not pushing, but I think it would be in your best interest to share with us as much as possible. Oh well… as long as I get paid in the end, I’m satisfied.”

“Please, no games. What do you know about… her.” Kemon’s usually measured tone was hollow.

“Enough.” Erik replied emotionlessly. “She told me everything, even the most gruesome parts. The rest is in the past. She’s with me now and we’re going to get you through this. And then we’ll be on our way.”

Kemon sighed. He hadn’t suspected such… hardiness from this local when he employed him in Solitude.

“I apologize for my past attitude. But you must realize that we already have problems and I don’t want to further complicate things by involving my family in matters that should have stayed buried beneath the sands all those years ago.”

“What a colorful way to put it…” Erik snarked. “You know, I could argue with you for hours, but I’ll leave that to Aza. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

They continued their ride in silence. Suddenly, one of the scouts came running towards them, visibly distressed.

“We have a situation.” He panted, pointing ahead of them. “Stormcloak scouting party.”

“Were you seen?” Kemon asked sharply.

“Yes. They’re heading our way. What are your orders?”

“How many?” The Redguard inquired, tensing.

“Three plus their captain. All on horseback. We can take them, but…”

“It’s the Stormcloaks we’re talking about. Tightly knit bunch. They immediately know if one of theirs is missing.” Erik warned. “Let me talk to them.” He pleaded, hoping the rebels will be less militant seeing a kinsman.

Kemon gave the order to halt, ready for anything. A group of four horsemen rode to meet them, carrying the tattered banner of Ulfric Stormcloak.

“Who are you and what business do you have crossing Eastmarch?” A man wearing a bear pelt over his armor, no doubt the captain, asked.

Kemon tensed. Erik had to think fast.

“Special delivery to Fort Dawnguard!” He said quickly, before the Redguard could do something abrupt. “Isran, our leader, is feeling homesick. So, we’re delivering him a little slice of home. If you catch my meaning.” He said with a wink.

The bearskin-clad man took a look at the back of the caravan. He noticed a large group of colorfully dressed Redguard women, chatting and laughing. It was obvious they weren’t merchants.

“You’re escorting Redguard… prostitutes to the Dawnguard? I thought vampire hunters were less… sociable.” He inquired incredulously.

“I’m sorry, when was the last time a vampire slaughtered your kin?” Erik asked sharply.

“What?! Never!” The Stomrcloak replied, outraged by such an outlandish question.

“Exactly. You’re welcome.” The hero said with a sly grin. “You know, it’s not that easy to get people to join our cause. Fighting vampires does tend to get you… killed. Or severely mangled. So, we thought we should offer our members a bit of… incentive. I don’t know about you, but after clearing out a vampire den I wouldn’t mind someone giving me a bit of warmth and comfort to make me feel alive again!”

The rebels chattered amongst themselves. What they just heard made sense. Because what sane person would willingly fight creatures as foul as vampires without the promise of a bit of gratitude in return?

“Sir, how do we know if they’re not smuggling weapons for the Legion?” One of the rebels unexpectedly asked.

“Shut up idiot!” The captain barked at his subordinate. “Why would Redguards support the Empire? Hammerfell succeeded, remember? By the way, how is that working out for you?” He addressed Kemon with genuine curiosity.

“Good.” Kemon replied, keeping his guard up. “The elves are still trying to get us to bend our knee to them, but so far we’ve managed to keep them at bay.”

“I hope their blood seeps into your lands!” The captain bid, raising his clenched fist. With disgust, Kemon noticed the Stormcloak had a gruesome necklace composed of elf ears strung around his neck.

“So do I.” He agreed drily.

“Move along.” The captain allowed. “And give my regards to the Dawnguard.” He said, addressing his kinsman. He then whistled sharply and the Stormcloaks galloped past the caravan, on their way to Windhelm.

“Phew! Am I glad I kept my Dawnguard armor!” Erik exhaled loudly, glancing at Kemon. “I hope Isran never hears of this.” He laughed nervously. “Fun guy. Very… solemn. Dedicated to his work like no other. You’d like him.”

---

“We’re almost there.” Kemon noted, studying his map.

“Right” Erik agreed, eager to get off his horse. “Darkwater Crossing should be just pass this curve… By the Nine.” The hero’s voice sunk, as they saw smoke rising above the tree tops.

The scout rushed back to them. The look on his face said it all. Erik gave Kemon a quick look and took off without a word towards the settlement. He gasped horrified, seeing the smoldering ruins and bodies of both Stormcloaks and Imperials. He jumped off his horse and began searching through the bodies, hoping Derkeethus wouldn’t be amongst the dead.

What happened? The war, obviously, but what triggered this attack? Who struck first? And what happened to the people? That Stormcloak party… They weren’t scouts, they were skirmishers. Of course, after Riften became Imperial, the boarder between the Rift and Eastmarch was bound to become a hotspot of guerilla warfare.

He couldn’t find the Argonian’s body amongst the casualties, but he did uncover a Dunmer in blood-soaked miner clothes. The elf’s head was smashed open and was missing an ear. Shaking his head, he briskly walked to the edge of the settlement, towards the river bank, hoping to find his friend there. Once there he nearly tripped over the trampled body of an elderly Nord, but no Derkeethus.

“Shit!” Erik cursed helplessly, kicking a rock into the water.

He was just about to lose all hope, when he noticed bubbles emerging from under the surface, in a spot where the water was colored vibrant red. The water stirred, then a reptilian snout carefully emerged, followed by the head of the Argonian miner.

“Is it safe?” He asked, his yellow eyes wide with fear.

“They’re gone.” Erik assured.

Relieved, Derkeethus emerged onto the shore, only to collapse into Erik’s arms; an arrow sticking out of his back.

“Stendarr’s mercy, no!” The hero cried, resting the Argonian on his side. Quickly, he pulled out the arrow and retrieved a small healing potion he had stashed in his satchel. “Come on, Derkeethus, stay with me!” He ordered, supporting the miner’s back and carefully pouring the potion into his mouth. The Argonian gagged, but obediently drank the concoction.

“How are you feeling?” Erik asked, unsure if the fact that the Argonian felt cold was a good or bad sign.

“I… It’s getting dark…” Deerkethus heaved a sigh.

“No, don’t you dare! Come on, you survived the Falmer, what’s a tinny arrow prick compared to them?”

The miner exposed his pointy teeth in a pained smile. He needed a real healer, not just some quick pick me up to keep him from bleeding out. Erik knew he was loosing him. He had to act fast, and he needed help. Quickly, he picked Derkeethus up and whistled at his horse to follow whilst he carried him back to the caravan.

---

“What’s going on over there?” Saabi pondered, seeing Kemon give the order to halt.

“I’m not sure.” Aza said cautiously, holding her hand on the hilt of one of her swords, but not unsheathing it… yet. Her gut told her something was wrong. “Oh, shit…” She whispered, noticing smoke.

She swiftly jumped on the wagon to get a better look, but the trees were obstructing the view. She could smell the familiar stench of a burned-down settlement.

“Healer, now!” Erik called out, appearing from behind the curve, carrying a wounded Argonian in his arms.

“Bring him here!” Saabi called back, her voice strong and calm. “Kazi, pass me my instruments. Zia, pass me that pelt.”

Quickly, the three women prepared a makeshift bedding on the road, just in time for Erik to lay Derkeethus on it.

“What going on?” Aza asked her partier, jumping off the wagon. “Does it have something to do with the Stormcloak party that passed us a few hours ago?”

“I don’t know.” Erik replied, peering into the Argonian’s unconscious face. “But Aza… they’re dead. Everyone. It was…”

“My scouts report no soldiers in sight.” Kemon stated, joining them and making a gesture at Abdal to replace him at the head of the caravan. “But I we cannot stay here for long.” He said frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Please, I need to concentrate.” Saabi requested, raising her palms above the wounded miner’s motionless body. But instead of using magic or herbs she started… singing.

“Well I’ll be.” Aza whistled.

“What is she doing?” Erik asked with uncertainty, but did not interfere, sensing something… mystical was beginning to happen.

“Just watch.”

Saabi carried a tune, her hands moved up and down above the Argonian, whilst her fingers danced in the air. The air around the group became… energized. Like just before the storm. Whatever was happening… was working. Deerkethus heaved, moaned and opened his eyes. His pale tongue slipped back into his mouth. Saabi kept singing in a strange language, then closed her palms above his face and retreated, falling into Kemon’s arms.

“There…” She gasped, pleased.

“My friend…” The miner panted, noticing Erik. “You saved me once again…”

“Don’t thank me.” Erik dismissed, pointing at Saabi, who was slowly regaining her composure, but still needed to hold onto her husband. “What happened?”

The Argonian looked around, seeing a large group of Redguard travelers peering intently into his eyes. He swallowed loudly, not wanting to relive the recent horror in front of all these strangers. Seeing him hesitate, Kemon helped Saabi up the wagon and ordered Abdal to take over. The four walked towards the river, away from earshot.

“I… I was back from a fishing trip when it happened.” Derkeethus began, shaking his head. “They attacked without warning… The Stormcloaks. By the Hist, Verner… they cut him down first. And then Sondras…”

“Why?” Erik asked disturbed.

“Maven Black-Briar.” The miner hissed bitterly. “Ever since she became Jarl, she has been rooting out the Stormcloaks and their sympathizers from the Rift. And they retaliated.”

“Figures.” Aza grunted, kicking a rock. “Maven and Ulfric… These two will keep running their turf war no matter what happens to their lands.”

“Tension has been brewing ever since Fort Greenwall became an Imperial garrison…” The Argonian recalled. “Maven even went as far as to install Imperial guards in our village, despite this being Eastmarch. She wanted our corundum for the Legion. And she wanted to make a statement.”

“And Ulfric got provoked.” Erik concluded

“And the common folk suffered.” Kemon summed up.

“This won’t end here.” Derkeethus foretold, bristling his scales. “I… I need to find my friends. Last thing I saw before getting an arrow in my back were Anneke and Tormir escaping with Hrefna. Anneke has a daughter in Shor’s Stone, they must have headed there.”

“Do you know anything more about the situation in the Rift?” Kemon inquired, rubbing his chin. “We need to head south.”

“We were just a town of miners. We kept to ourselves and hoped the war does not affect us… until now.” Derkeethus explained. “I… I should really get going.”

He took a look at the smoke coming from his burned down village. For a moment he wondered if he could salvage any of his belongings from the rubble, but decided he didn’t want to go back and see his friends’ massacred bodies again. A wayward tear escaped the corner of his eye. Or perhaps some water was caught under his scales?

“Can your friend keep a secret?” Kemon addressed the hero calmly, but his tone hid a threat.

“Derkeethus… we were never here, right?” Erik said carefreely, hoping the Argonian catches up.

“No. Never. I came to on the shore, patched myself up and then hiked to Shor’s Stone. Who even are you people?” The miner assured in the same untroubled tone.

“Go to my man Abdal before you depart. He can give you a weapon and some provisions.” Kemon offered.

“I thank you.” The Argonian expressed, turning his head away from the unpleasant view. “Stay safe, my friend.” He addressed the hero, shaking his head with sincere gratitude.

With that, he was gone, leaving the three with a new problem.

“What do you think?” Aza asked her partner, studying her map.

“I think it’s about time we get out of Skyrim.” He replied with a grimace, pulling out his own map, trying to forget about the slaughtered miners. “We can go here.” He traced his finger in a straight line alongside the sheet. “We pass Mistwatch, then climb this path up to the Rift, there’s a convenient ravine between the mountains, I used it once or twice. We can descend just past Shor’s Stone.”

“We’d be close to Fort Greenwall…” Aza warned. “But… we can sneak past the Imperials in the night. Then we cross Treva river and head west, avoid Haemar’s Shame and we should be good.”

“Then we continue west, dodge Helgen, pass the mountains to the south… and we’ll be in Cyrodiil.” Erik summed up, folding his map.

“That sounds like a plan.” Kemon agreed without a word of protest. “But… let me send out scouts first. I… we can’t afford any mistakes at this point. We’ve come too far.” He insisted.

“Then let’s make camp off the main road while you’re at it.” The hero insisted, looking up at the darkening sky. “If we cross the bridge and stray west we can stay hidden by the pines. If we head out now we should make camp before nightfall. ”

---

The camp was dark, only one small bonfire was lit, to reduce any chance of detection. Kemon paced across the campsite, waiting for his scouts to return. Damned Nords and their war! As if he hadn’t enough things to worry about, now he needed to keep a lookout for rebel and imperialist skirmishers! Damn it all!

“Papa… are we stranded again?” Zia pestered, clutching his sleeve and forcing to halt.

“No, of course not.” Kemon assured. “We just need to make a brief stop until the scouts get back and report.

“There’s a war in Skyrim, right? I saw smoke when we were passing the bridge. I heard those two sellswords talk… And I could smell… death.” The girl shrugged, her blue eyes darkened.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He dismissed.. “The Nords and their war are none of our problems. We’re fine.”

“Papa… I’m not stupid.” Zia frowned, letting go of his sleeve. “I… I wish you wouldn’t treat me like a child.” The girl said quietly.

“My joy…” The man bowed his head. “I promise, after this is over, I will make it up to you. But you must understand, lives are at stake. And they’re all depending on me. Please, endure just a bit longer.”

She looked at him so hurt, with fists clenched so tight. Her lower lip trembled, but she sucked it in. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms, hoping to look as indifferent as possible.

“Sure… whatever.” She scoffed.

She then stomped off to the edge of the camp where the trees were the thickest, hoping for some solitude, but it seemed someone was already occupying the spot.

“I thought I got used to seeing dead bodies, but…” A voice said, then there was a gulp, like when someone takes a large swig of strong drink. It was that red-haired adventurer.

“But those were simple, honest people attacked in their own home.” Another voice spoke gravely. It was that mercenary woman. She also took a large gulp, they were probably sharing a bottle. “Shit, I feel partially responsible…”

“Why? Because you suggested Maven takes over as Jarl? Don’t be stupid. It’s not your fault she wanted to pick up a fight with Ulfric.” He assured with confidence. “Did you know her daughter wanted to sleep with me?” He suddenly shifted his tone to half-boastful, half-embarrassed.

“Ingun? Bullshit!”

“True story!” He swore. “I got her some alchemical supplies; dried poisonous flowers. And she was suddenly all over me. Said she wanted to… test out some potions with me.”

“Did you…?” She held her breath with anticipation, genuinely curious.

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure she just wanted me as a live test subject! And even if she really did intend to sleep with me, I’m not stupid. Her mother would send the Dark Brotherhood after me! But Ingun wouldn’t take no for an answer… I think that runs in their family. I had to jump out of the window of the Bee and Barb, then run through the city with my gear on my back and no pants on. I was lucky it was dark!”

They both laughed. Then there was a longer pause, interrupted only by the sound of a bottle being passed on.

“You’re thinking about home, aren’t you?” The woman guessed.

“Yes. I just remembered you also proposed Thongvor Silver-Blood became Jarl of Markarth. Huge Ulfric supporter, that one… If the fighting spirals out of control in the west as well, Rorikstead will be a prime target with its large food supply,” he paused to clear his throat and took another chug. “But I don’t think that will happen… anytime soon. Thongvor would have to carve his way through the Forsworn first if he’d want to get to Rorikstead. And he’d have to be crazy to go up against them with General Tullius lurking up north, waiting for any excuse to attack.”

“Mhm. Good luck with that.” She snarled. “Well, at least there are no more dragons to worry about.”

“Yeah, at least we took care of that little problem!” The man laughed.

What were they talking about? Putting aside the lewd parts of the exchange, who were those people that they could propose who became jarl and claimed to rid Skyrim of dragons? Were they drunk, or was there more to them than met the eye?

“So… Kemon gave us the night off.” The woman noted. “Do you want to… forget about all this and just focus on us?”

“And what are you proposing, exactly?” He inquired, enthusiastically.

“Good drink and good pussy.”

“That was our last bottle. We’re dry. But I could use some good pussy… Do you know any? Ow!” He yelped in pain.

“Idiot!” She hissed. “Come here…” She added, in a surprisingly warm tone.

Zia fought the urge to gag and retreated before she could hear or see something she didn’t want to. Quickly, she joined the harlots at the only small bonfire Kemon permitted to light. The bard was amongst them, but given how cautious the caravan needed to be, he was not playing his lute. Instead, he entertained them with a bit of conversation.

“Love?” Excella laughed, pouring the bard a drink. “A warrior as legendary as your Dragonborn is love?”

“Aye!” The bard swore with fire. “Love! Love for us, mortals! For what else would motivate the gods to send the Dragonborn to our aid, if not love?”

“I cannot imagine a dragonslayer of Nord legend being a lover.” The harlot teased, motioning closer.

“Not just a dragonslayer!” Talsgar protested. “Dovahkiin is our protector! A true hero, who rises in times of great strife. The one who protects us from evil.”

“Even if that evil comes from our fellow men?” Excella asked, her voice losing that familiar playful tone.

“I… I wish I could give you an answer, friend.” The bard sighed, also falling into a dark mood. “You know, I ventured out of the Bard’s College for that very reason. To learn about the life and struggles of the common people during these times. About their small victories and dreams… I know well my songs will not be sang in courts or even the lowliest of inns… But it gives me comfort seeing how humanity’s spirit never gives up, even in such dire times…”

“Oh. I…” Excella was at a loss of words. So she decided to act. She leaned forward and took the bard by the chin, then planted a quick kiss on his lips. “You have a beautiful heart, my friend.”

“Ah, you flatter me.” Talsgar looked away, blushing like a lad. “I was hoping to find the Dragonborn during my travels.”

“Well, did you?”

“No. Not yet, at least. Their trail got cold in Whiterun. I have no idea where our hero is now. No one even knows who they are. Some say they’re a Nord, some say Dunmer. I even heard people say the Dragonborn is a Redguard. Regardless… I remain hopeful that one day our paths cross. I have so much questions to ask them!”

---

Meanwhile, the Dragonborn was busy sucking cock. On her knees, with her ass braced against a tree, she worked Erik’s thickening shaft with eagerness like only a trusted partner could. She missed sliding her tongue around his perfectly pointed glans, then alongside the whole length; from the frenulum to the sack. She missed steadily jerking him off until she could feel first droplets of precum on her tongue. Damn, he smelled and tasted even better then she remembered. Too bad he hadn’t had the chance to groom his fiery pubes, which annoyingly tickled her nose.

“Ah… no one can do this the way you do.” He panted, pressing his palm and forehead against the trunk, whilst his other hand was patting the back of her head, combing through her hair.

Aza smirked, relaxing her throat and letting his length and girth slide past her tonsils, to the limits.
Feeling mischievous, Erik cupped the back of her head and tilted slightly upward. He did a few quick, shallow thrusts, then kept going with more confidence and force. Aza gurgled and choked, but quickly regained composure and adjusted to his pace. Grabbing him by the ass, she forced him deeper, encouraging to give her a rough skullfuck. And he obliged, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of her neck, with his other hand reached down to wipe tears that streamed down her face.

She looked up at him through watery eyes, with saliva dripping from her mouth, generously coating his dick and pubes, lazily streaming down her chin. He loved seeing her like this; shameless, happy and stuffed with his cock.

“Next time we do this… can you wear make-up? I want to completely ruin it.” He pleaded, pulling out to playfully rub his tip against her cheek.

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stood up, coughed, caught her breath and scooped the drool off her chin, then flicked it off into the bushes.

“Mmm… I’ll think about it. Now, I’m off to bed.” She yawned, stretching.

“What?!”

“You’re welcome to join me.” She offered with a wink.

“Like this?” Erik grunted, gesturing at his proudly erect cock.

“Well… stuff it back in your pants.” Aza suggested, knowing well what a pain it would be to shove that monster back into his pants in this state.

“Hagraven!” He squirmed.

With a laugh, she was gone, leaving him to cool down. After a few minutes of thinking about literal hagravens, Erik felt flaccid enough to carefully put his pants back on. Breathing deeply and slowly, hoping his armored coat hides the uncomfortable bulge, he unhurriedly walked back to the camp. He was so preoccupied with looking as innocent as possible, that he hadn’t noticed when he bumped into Abdal.

“My friend!” The man greeted with a wide smile. “Come, join us!” He beckoned, gesturing at the small group of guards gathered around some game on a nearby carpet.

“Ah, I wish I could, but…” Erik tried to excuse himself politely.

“Don’t trouble yourself, we have sentinels on lookout. Come!”

“Abdal…” He said calmly, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders. “In my tent there’s a woman who wants me. And I have no idea when I will have another chance to be alone with her.”

“Say no more!” The guard said with a sincere laugh. “Life’s short and uncertain. We have to grab any shred of comfort we can get!”

---

“Will you ever stop teasing me?” Erik complained, crawling into the tent.

“No.” Aza rebuffed, her good eye flickered. “You love it when I tease you.”

She was wearing only her gauntlets and boots, but her weapons were within arm’s reach. She smiled lustfully, resting on the furs.

“And what if someone attacks us this very moment?” Erik inquired, sitting next to her, unhurriedly taking his gauntlets off.

“I’ll grab my swords and face them naked!” She declared, clinging to him from behind, her hands wandering up and down his chest, trying to find the best way to undo the front of his reinforced coat.

“W… what are you doing?” He asked confused, when she cursed after insistently nudging him with her nose somewhere around the back of his ear.

“Stupid armor, I warned to bite you in the neck.” She complained, finally able to undo one of the fastenings

“Good luck! This is Dawnguard armor, it’s designed to protect me from getting bitten from behind!”

“Take it off…!” Aza ordered, pulling at the damned thing.

“Make an effort.” He taunted, leaning back on her.

Quickly, she wriggled away and got on top of him. Like a spoiled brat denied their favorite toy, she struggled with his armor, then quickly pulled his shirt up and undid his pants and underwear, pulling them down to his knees. She ran her tongue up his chest, savoring his flavor, then brutally shoved it in his mouth. With a pleased grunt, he grabbed her ass, groping her firm cheeks.

“You shaved?” He realized excitedly, when he slid his hands further down.

“The girls waxed me.”

“Did… did you leave…? You did!” He exclaimed with joy, after reaching down her crotch and finding the thin strip of hairs.

“And you’re still as hairy as you were in Windhelm.” She pouted.

“Well, I… I hadn’t had the time to take care of it.” He excused himself, embarrassed. “And I’m not sure exactly where I packed my shears.”

“Mhm.” She doubted, reaching down to direct his penis at her dripping opening.

“Please fuck my brains out” he pleaded, “and I promise to take care of it tomorrow.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” She grunted, lowering herself on the whole length, nice and slow.

She released a soft sigh, getting filled and stretched with his rod. Bending forward, she gave him another kiss, this time gentler. Slowly, she rocked her hips, sliding up and down his shaft, whilst he reached for her tits and gave them a rough squeeze.

“Just let me know when you’re close. I don’t want to risk.” She warned, tilting her head back and increasing the pace.

“We’re covered.” Erik assured, reaching up next to his head to nudge a knapsack he had with his personal belongings. The contents shifted and chimed, like only small glass bottles bumping against each other could. “Did you really think I got you only one contraceptive potion in Windhelm?” He laughed. “Oh no. We have a lot of catching up to do.” He smiled roguishly, folding his arms behind his head and energetically jerking his hips.

Aza giggled, shook her head, and increased her own pace. Their eyes met. Though neither of them uttered a word, they wanted to make the other come first, just for some lewd sense of satisfaction. The game was on! Aza squeezed him harder, slamming her ass hard against his pelvis, conjuring that distinctive sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other.

“You wished.” Erik grinned, grabbing her by the back of the neck and pulling lower, so that he could sink his teeth into her neck, thrusting with more effort.

“I missed that huge dick of yours.” She talked dirty into his ear, whilst her pelvis drew eight figures, so he could feel her pussy form all the different angles. “No one compares to you!”

He laughed, but could not deny she stroked his ego. He slipped his fingers in her mouth, Aza moistened them without a word of encouragement. He then reached for her clit, closing his thumb and index finger on the hood and rubbing the hard nub underneath. She gasped, then purred, bending back as much as the tent roof would allow her.

“Y… you got really good at this.” She panted, feeling how her body responded to his touch. Her vagina clenched harder, his veins teased her sensitive walls.

“Why, thank you!” He chuckled, still playing with her clit. “Feel free to come whenever you want. This isn’t a competition.”

“You talk like someone sure of their victory.” She grunted, bending forward again, shoving her tits in his face. “You got cocky.”

Although he tried to look as innocently as possible, the look he gave her when he slid his tongue between her breasts was nothing if not cocky.

The position was getting boring. Gently, he nudged her to get off him, then positioned her on all fours, with her face on the furs, and her ass in the air. Admiring her sweaty curves, he quickly ran his tongue around her wet hole, then slid it up to her cleft. The sensitive skin of her vulva felt great on his tongue without hair. Impatiently, she stuck her ass forward and wiggled, demanding his undivided attention.

Erik crossed his hands behind his back, and pushed his hips forward, merely brushing his glistening tip against her opening. Aza muttered a curse, retreating a few inches and powerfully slamming her behind against him; his entire penis slid inside with no effort, the glans hitting hard against her cervix. He gasped, nearly falling off if he hadn’t grabbed her by the hips in time.

“I’ll tie you up next time, I swear!” He promised, spanking her hard.

---

Birds chirped as the sun rose over the already bustling campsite. The two woke up pleasantly intertwined and unpleasantly sticky from last night.

“I need a wash.” Aza complained, reaching to Erik’s knapsack for the contraceptive potion. With a heavy, but not unpleased sigh, she let out a large gush of cum from her worn-out pussy. As always, he came generously.

“Same.” He agreed, regretting he hadn’t had time to groom his pubes properly. “I could kill for some mead now.”

“Ugh… you filled me up good.” She muttered, putting the now empty bottle aside, ready to begrudgingly leave the tent and face another day.

“Really? Show me!” He requested cheerfully, reaching to spread her sticky lips and find out for himself.

Indeed, she was pleasantly flushed from last night, and still steadily leaking his seed. Gently, he ran his fingertips along her vulva, then slipped one inside. Feeling no resistance, he risked and inserted another. Slowly, he pushed them in and out, conjuring a soft coo from his partner.

“Come on, we have work to do…” She reminded, but somehow she just couldn’t get up and leave the safety of the tent. Defeated, she relaxed on her back to let Erik play with her for a bit longer.

“Just five more minutes.” He tempted, skillfully twisting his wrist and curling his fingers to tease her sweet spot. “Wow… I really did outdo myself last night!” He whistled, amazed by how much sperm he could still feel inside her.

“Ahem.” Abdal coughed outside of their tent to get their attention. “I hate to spoil your mood, my friends, but we have a situation. Kemon needs to see you. Now.” His tone, although polite and measured, betrayed something bad had happened.

The pair of adventurers hastily got dressed and crawled out of their tent, sensing a new problem on the horizon. They marched across the campsite to where Kemon was discussing something with his right hand man.

“What’s going on. What did your scouts find?” Aza addressed the man.

“It’s not about my scouts.” He replied, massaging his temples, fruitlessly trying to fight off yet another headache. “Excella… and that bard… they’re missing.”

“They must have slipped away in the night…” Abdal interjected, refraining from commenting on what would cause the two to separate from the camp. “Close to the river we found Excella’s scarf. And… some blood. I had my boys do some quick reconnaissance, we found her shoe near the bridge, like she was leaving us a trail. It seems hey were kidnapped. We believe they’ve been taken to that old imperial fort.”

“Mistwatch.” Erik guessed, looking over the trees. “An abandoned fort, off the main road… perfect for bandits to set up shop.”

Kemon said nothing, only gazed at the two adventurers. In his eyes was desperation. He had no men to spare on a rescue mission and was already stretched thin with his scouts out in the field.

“Tell you what…” Aza considered, calculating the odds. “You let the two of us handle tings from here… Give us one day to get them back. And if we won’t return by tomorrow morning, you go on ahead without us. We’ll catch up with you… or we won’t. But you won’t lose any more people. And if we do come back with the two of them safe and sound, you’ll cut us a small bonus after we get to Cyrodiil. What say you?”

“That sounds reasonable.” Kemon agreed. “Are there any supplies you need?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Aza turned over to Erik and winked. “We need to prepare. Can your girls whip us out some good breakfast? And some spirits to take the edge off? Oh! And a spyglass.”

Chapter 12: Harlot with a Heart of Gold

“This trip just keeps getting better and better.” Erik sighed, passing Kemon’s spyglass to Aza.

She took a look through the instrument. Mistwach was derelict, but still standing. Indeed, it was taken over by bandits as a few sentries were patrolling the crumbling walls. Judging by their weapons and armor, they weren’t anything the two heroes couldn’t handle. Still, they couldn’t tell how many of the outlaw scum were within the fort itself.

“It’s suicide to go in there now, while it’s bright.” The heroine assessed. “The place doesn’t seem too vast, but… It’s built around towers, so we’ll have to navigate tight quarters. We’ll need to wait for nightfall and take them by surprise.” She glanced over the horizon, but the sun had no intention of setting faster.

“I hope Excella and Talsgar make it until then.” Her partner wished, but his tone was far from optimistic.

“I’m sure they will.” Aza assured, not giving into fatalism. “A trained harlot and a bard are worth more undamaged. Unless these bandits are complete degenerates… Regardless, we’re leaving no one alive.” She swore, gnashing her perfectly white teeth.

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.” He agreed, adjusting the axe on his back. He had some frustration to work out and bandits were perfect just for that.

---

Excella and that jovial bard hadn’t returned to the camp in the morning. Coincidentally, the two mercenaries departed after hastily wolfing down their breakfast. They left their horses behind, but armed themselves to the teeth. Papa and mama nervously paced around the tents, talking in hushed voices. The usually chatty women sat around the fire with Kazi, who seemed like she lost all the color in her normally radiant cheeks. Zia wasn’t a stupid girl. She was stubborn and impulsive, but not stupid. Something was up.

“Mama, what is going on?” She asked, when Kemon left Saabi to have a word with Abdal.

The woman smiled tiredly, hoping her daughter could not see how exhausted she was. She wanted to say something reassuring, but seeing the intense look in her daughter’s clever blue eyes, she decided honesty was the best solution.

“Excella and master Talsgar are missing. Our guides went to look for them.”

“With all their weapons?” The girl pointed out, offended how little the adults around her would want her to know.

“You can never be too careful.” Saabi tried to dodge the question, but she knew she wasn’t fooling Zia.

“Mama… Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. Papa already does that. There’s a war. There’s beasts. There’s bandits. They’re in danger… aren’t they?”

“You’re right.” The woman agreed defeated. Her daughter was smart, but also hotheaded. A dangerous combination. “They’ve been kidnapped and our guides are out to get them back. By force.”

“So, what are we going to do about it?” The girl demanded, clenching her fists.

“We wait.” Saabi explained patiently. “If our guides don’t come back in the morning with Excella and Talsgar, we have to move out.”

“That’s stupid!” Zia grunted, frustrated. “We have guards, why can’t we send them?”

“And what of our girls and your aunt?” Saabi asked calmly, hoping her daughter realizes how foolish it would be to send their guards on a rescue mission. “Do we want to leave them without protection?”

Of course, mama was right. As always, she was right. Zia’s cheeks got red form anger and frustration she kept bottled up for so long, ever since leaving Hammerfell.

“The waiting. Always the waiting…!” She whined, staggering back and shaking her head. “I’m so fed up with being a part of this. And I can’t even do anything!”

“I know, my joy. But for now you must be patient and trust your father’s judgement. However frustrating this seems, it will all be over soon. And when we get to Cyrodiil, I think it will be a good time to pick up your training.” Saabi offered. “You’ll have a craft for when you’ll be ready to venture out into the world.”

“If we even get to Cyrodiil!” The girl cried out, dashing away before mama could see her tears.

Saabi’s brows crossed, but she had not followed the girl. As with most things that got under her skin, Zia needed time to cool down and think this over. And she will be there for her to talk once she is ready.

But Zia had no intention of cooling down and thinking things over. She wanted to do something! Anything! Even if it was something utterly foolish and would surely put her life in danger. Those two adventurers… They headed out to retrieve Excella and the bard with surprising… cheer. As if freeing hostages from a group of outlaws was no challenge for them. And the things they talked about last night…

She made up her mind before reason could kick in. She ducked into the tent she shared with her parents, retrieving the knife Saabi used for herbs. She then crept across the camp, whistling at her pet hyena to join her at the adventurers’ tent. Cautiously, she looked around to check if she was being watched, but none of the adults paid her any mind, everyone was too deep in their own troubles. She crept inside the tent. The interior smelled of sweat and pheromones. Gross. The woman’s cape was left behind, she obviously didn’t want it to get in the way. Her scent lingered on the green piece of cloth. Perfect.

“Come here”, she beckoned her pet. “Smell!” She ordered, presenting the animal with the cape.

The hyena took a deep whiff of the green fabric. Her long tongue rolled out of her maw as she caught the scent of the two. Her eyes sparked and she bolted out of the tent with an almost human like giggle. Zia followed.

---

Talsgar woke up in a small cell in what could only be an old imperial fort. Cautiously, he touched his face. The blood from under his nose already dried and thankfully his teeth were intact. Hazily, he recalled the events of last night…

He was blushing like a lad as Excella guided him further away from the camp for some alone time.

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea…” He voiced his concern when the two of them sat in the dark like horny teens out on a tryst. Though excited and incredibly aroused, he had a strange gut feeling they were doing something incredibly foolish.

“Don’t think about it now!” The harlot protested with vigor. “I am so tired of constantly looking over my shoulder!” She confessed, unlacing the front of her dress. She wore no bra underneath and yet the bard could see in the gloom that her breasts were wonderfully full and bouncy. “You have no idea how glad I am to finally do something on a whim.”

Her eyes and lips glimmered in the dark. Ravenously, she pressed herself against Talsgar. The bard gasped, pulling the woman closer. Closing his eyes, he allowed reason to slip away, whilst her tongue grinded against his.

Suddenly, she withdrew with a pained cry. Surprised, the bard opened his eyes. The harlot’s hair was held painfully firm by a cruel-looking Altmer, who was holding a dagger against her neck. A second later another blade pressed against the bard’s own throat. They were alone and helpless in the dark, at the mercy of two bandits.

“Well, what have we here?” The elf purred next to Excella’s ear, then a slid his tongue alongside her cheek. “You taste… expensive, my sweet. You’re smart and won’t scream, right?”

“Uh-uh.” Fighting a shriek in the back of her throat, the harlot choked and could only utter a shaky confirmation.

“Good… you be nice and you won’t get hurt. Now, let’s just get rid of the dead weight…” The elf coughed, signaling the other bandit to take care of the inconvenience that was Talsgar.

“He’s worth as much as I am!” Excella gasped, thinking quick. “Unharmed, he’ll fetch you a nice price!”

“Really?” The Altmer doubted, eying the bard whose face was transfixed with fear. “He doesn’t seem like much to me.”

“You’ve never heard of Master Talsgar, from the well-known Bard’s College in Solitude? He’s a bard and storyteller like no other!” Excella assured. “He’s graced the halls of Jarls with his presence! The rich and powerful of Skyrim will shower you with gold if you spare his life!”

“We’ll see about that…” The elf gestured at his comrade. “Change of plans, we’re taking two. Please prepare the merchandise.”

The blade retreated from Talsgar’s throat. He was spun around and abruptly punched in the face, catching a glimpse of his assailant; a brutish looking kinsman. Blood spurted from his smashed lips. Then everything went dark and the last thing he heard was Excella’s soft, pained gasp and the Altmer’s angry hiss.

“If you damaged the merchandise, I’m telling the boss!”

How much time had passed? He was unsure, the dungeon had no windows, only torches to illuminate the damp gloom. Was Excella safe? He prayed to the gods she was still alive, though he feared the worst. That elf mentioned a boss… No doubt she was with him. He clenched his fists, feeling rage and helplessness wash over him. She saved his life, and now he was in this cell, powerless to do anything for her. But he had to play it cool, the bandit mentioned a price and that meant there was hope the outlaws won’t just have their fun and then kill them.

Hearing him shuffle and moan with strain, a bandit arose from a nearby chair. It was the damned High Elf. Talsgar pressed his lips tightly, observing the golden-skinned bastard approach.

“You’re awake, maestro!” The elf greeted with an insincere smile. “Good, I was starting to worry. Have you slept well?”

“Where’s Excella?” The bard demanded to know, grasping the rusty bars.

“She’s proving her worth to the boss. You know, I was passing by their quarters not so long ago. Judging by the ruckus they were making, I’d say she’s pulling her weight.” The elf revealed with a chilling smile. “And the boss left me with assessing your value.”

Talsgar tensed, watching the elf retreat to a nearby shelf and retrieve the most unusual item to be in this dingy dungeon; a lute. He approached the cell with the instrument, gesturing at Talsgar to step away, whilst he opened the door and unceremoniously threw the lute in the prisoner’s arms. He then quickly closed the cell again and got back to his resting place, reaching for a half-emptied bottle of mead.

“Sing, bard.” The elf commanded, resting back on the chair with a snark. “Sing for your life!”

---

The bandit chief was a woman. But that didn’t make things less dire for Excella.

“We found them near the river. A whore and a bard.” The elf reported, after he and his partner dragged the two to an old derelict fort. Unconscious Talsgar was taken straight to the dungeons below and Excella was taken all the way up to be presented to an intimidating Nord woman in steel plate armor.

“Did you damage any of them?” The woman asked coldly, not taking her eyes off Excella.

“We needed to… docile the bard up. But he’ll be fine once he comes to.” The elf assured. Excella could detect a hint of fear in his voice. “He’s in the dungeon.”

“You better make sure that’s true.” The chief warned. “When he wakes up make sure he can sing something other than ‘Ragnar the Red’. Now leave us.”

The two were left alone in the bandit chief’s quarters. The room was circular with a small side room and sparse furnishing, although several emptied bottles served as decor. Excella remained silent, quickly analyzing the situation. The damned elf hadn’t let her lace up her dress properly, so she was forced to walk here with her tits bouncing carefreely in the breeze. Although cruel and arrogant, he didn’t want to risk angering his boss and hadn’t done her any harm, aside from painfully twisting her nipple, promising to take care of her after the chief is done with her. He was so preoccupied with describing in detail all the depraved things he was going to do to her, that he hadn’t noticed the harlot leaving her scarf behind, and then her shoe. Fool.

Now… what was so terrifying about this woman that she could command a group of bandits so effectively?

“So, little bitch, what should I call you?” The chef inquired, leaning forward, well aware she was towering over the Redguard.

Excella could sense the bandit chief wanted to have some carnal fun. She was prepared for anything, deciphering the small cues the woman in heavy plate armor unknowingly gave away. It was painfully obvious that one had some sexual frustration pent up, just waiting to be unleashed on someone.

“Whatever pleases you.” She replied, utilizing her most sultry tone.

Playing it sultry was a bad call as a second later Excella yelped, slapped in the face by the heavy gauntlet. The harlot fell on her knees, covering her reddened cheek with both hands. A bruise was inevitable, but thankfully the Nord woman did not hit with the metal backside.

“Let’s try this one more time. What is your name, slut?” The bandit demanded, standing over her, cracking her knuckles and ready to throw another punch.

This one did not want a smooth, complacent fuck, no. She wanted to feel in charge, to conquer. She wanted to feel powerful… fine. Excella bedded many people in her life. And they all had many different reasons to have sex. Pleasure, control, ego, dominance… She could adapt quickly to her mates motivations and needs and become the perfect vessel for their expectations. And this brutish woman was no exception.

“E-Excella!” The harlot cried out, scurrying away until her back met with a wall. “P-please… I’ll be good. Just don’t hurt me.” She begged, hoping to sound meek, but not too pathetic.

“That’s more like it.” The cruel grin on the Nord woman’s face told Excella she was on the right track. “I am called Fjola, but you’re going to call me ‘boss’, understood?”

“Y-yes… boss.”

The bandit kneeled, grabbing Excella’s exposed breasts for some brutal manhandling. The Redguard gasped and whined, but not because it hurt – the steel plate gauntlets were cold. Still, her reaction was genuine and that pleased her tormentor.

“So, you’re really a whore?” The Nord woman questioned, pinching and rolling Excella’s thick nipples between her steel-clad fingers.

“Y-yes.” The harlot whimpered, getting the chills.

“Did you whore yourself to any women?” The chief questioned further with perverse curiosity.

“N-no…” Excella’s golden eyes widened, which was not part of the act. She slept with numerous women, but never had to whore herself to any. “Never…!”

“Good! I’m going to bed you tonight, and I’m going to do things to you no man ever did. And if you do your best to please me, then I won’t share you with my boys like some common gutter tramp. So…” She mockingly caressed the harlot’s cheek. “You better do your best to impress me.”

She pulled her up by the hair and brutally stuffed the harlot’s warm mouth with her tongue. Excella choked and gasped, the bandit’s breath smelled like meat and strong alcohol. She endured the slimy tongue squirming in her mouth, then shrugged when Fjola pulled it out and slid it down her neck, breathing heavily into her ear.

“Strip for me.” Fjola demanded. “I want to see something more than just your tits.”

Thank Morhwa! The Redguard had a faint realization that if it were Fjola to undress her, her clothes would end up in shreds. And she liked her dress, it was one of the few possessions she still had from Hammerfell. Fjola sat heavily on a solid wooden bench and treated herself to some mead. In the meantime, Excella pulled her dress over her head, then took off her chemise and finally slid down her warm wool stockings. She never wore underwear. Pressing her hands to her stomach, she looked away, letting the bandit ogle her front, then turned around, so Fjola could also assess her behind.

The chief whistled impressed. The whore had a fine body! Perfectly soft and curvaceous, every inch of it was made to play with and to give pleasure. Yes, she could fetch a nice price for her, possibly even sell her to a good-quality brothel in one of the major cities… After she’s done testing her out for herself.

“Get over here.” She ordered, taking off her heavy gauntlets. “Yes, good girl. Now have a seat.” She requested, patting her lap.

Excella shivered, sitting down on the steel greaves. The sensation of cold steel against her behind sent shivers up her spine. Thankfully, the bandit had removed her gauntlets before groping her again. She gasped and clenched her hand on the greave when Fjola unceremoniously reached for her crotch and stuck her fingers inside without warning.

“You’re tight for a whore.” The bandit noted surprised, thrusting her fingers in and out with some effort. “And wet.” She added with a hint of pride, coating her fingers in the Redguard’s slippery dews.

“Ah… please…” Excella whined, involuntarily spreading her legs. “It hurts.” She complained, biting her lip. How could someone who had a pussy herself have this bad fingering technique?!

“Get used to it because I’m just getting started.” Fjola grinned, pinching the Redguard’s ass with her other hand. “I’m going to make you sing.” She promised, daring to stick a third finger inside, pleased to have her captive squirm and her pussy resist. She wasn’t going to be this tight by the end of the night, Fjola was going to thoroughly abuse her snatch and leave her gaping.

“And how are you going to do that… boss?” Excella questioned, emphasizing the last word, knowing well she will regret her haughtiness. But she really just wanted to have it over with, by now she was certain Fjola had no skills, only a large ego and brute force. She bedded people like her before, the Nord woman was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Know your place, slut!” Fjola took the bait, grabbing the harlot by her braid and forcing her to rest on her stomach between the steel-clad laps.

Keeping a firm grip on the Redguard’s hair, she took a powerful swing and slapped her round ass, conjuring a surprised cry form the woman. She gave her another slap, biting her lip, as the harlot arched her back and her impressive behind rippled from impact, a dark handprint now visible on her skin. With a frustrated grunt Fjola pushed Excella off and stood up. Holding the braid like a leash she pulled Excella to the side room where she unceremoniously threw her on a large rickety bed covered in a thick layer of furs.

The harlot landed face-first into the pelts, her yelp muffled by the furry layers. Never mind the spanking, she had it rougher, but that bitch nearly tore her scalp off! That hurt! Excella looked over her shoulder to see the wretched bandit hastily tear off her armor, eying her with a nasty grin. From where she laid, Excella could see how sickly pale the Nord was.

“Face down, don’t dare peek. I want this to be a surprise.” Fjola ordered through clenched teeth, impatiently freeing herself from her chestpiece, and proceeding to take off her greaves. “Unless you want me to make you sorry.”

Whimpering, the harlot obediently buried her face in the musky pelts, hoping, praying help was on the way. As long as nothing happened to the poor bard, everything was going to be fine. She could hear behind her the wretched Nord bustling around the room, whistling a jolly tune. A chest creaked, then closed loudly and Excella could hear the bandit curse, whilst fumbling with some… buckles? Just what was the surprise that got this brute in such a perky mood?

The tip of something textured and cold pressing against her exposed sex quickly answered that question. With a surprised gasp, Excella rolled on her back to see that Fjola was still grinning, but most importantly she was wearing an impressive ribbed strap-on carved out of mammoth tusk.

“Morhwa…” The harlot said breathlessly, overtaken by genuine fear. The bandit chief had no technique with her tongue and fingers, so no doubt she had no idea how to wield that thing too. She’s going to split poor Excella in half with that monster! “No, please… mercy!”

Chuckling, Fjola rowdily got on top of the Redguard, the length of the carved shaft resting between the harlot’s breasts, the tip jabbing her throat.

“Suck, bitch.” Fjola breathed heavily, getting off on the fear in the other woman’s eyes. “Or I’m going inside you dry.”

Excella gulped loudly, looking down at the thick ivory toy. She did some mental calculations – if she manages to somehow get in the mood and loosen up it shouldn’t hurt that bad. Her soft lips parted, as she gave the crown attention and zeal as if it were a real cock. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was sucking off someone else, anyone but not this brutish bitch. Someone like… like the big sister.

She involuntarily cooed, relaxing her jaw and taking the toy deeper down her throat. Yes, Aza would surely treat her right, the harlot was certain the adventurer would know how to wield this giant strap-on with finesse and give her a numbing orgasm. Or perhaps the other way around? Perhaps Excella would be the one to mount her kinswoman? Tall Papa, she could picture Aza’s strong body submit to her, allowing Excella to give her rough, yet tender loving. Oh, what wouldn’t she give to taste the adventurer’s mouth and pussy and to have her squirm under her agonizingly loving grasp.

And what about her cute companion? The young Nord was so intriguing! So… tall, broad and pale. And his hair was so beautiful, she wondered how it would feel between her fingers as she runs them through that red mane before getting a firm grip on it and forcing the strapping lad’s head against her clit…

Her pussy swell with excitement, releasing a generous stream of juices which lazily leaked out in a clear stream. Excella pressed her thighs together, rubbing them rhythmically, spreading her glistening dews between them. Gods, she was horny. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone in months and she was about to burst from bottled up desire!

“Do you like it that much? Nympho.” Fjola grunted mockingly, assuming it was the ivory toy that got her captive this riled up. She pulled the white cock out of Excella’s mouth to rub the saliva coated shaft against the harlot’s cheek.

Excella’s eyes snapped open. What a pity that after such a long time without sex she had to bed this rude bandit chief… Well, life was never fair. She remained silent, breathing heavily with saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth and her cheeks red, letting Fjola make her own assumptions.

The bandit seized her throat, sliding off her chest. She got between Excella’s legs, forcefully spreading them with her laps. The white tip met with Excella’s flushed labials, the grip on her throat tightened. The Redguard arched her back, bracing for the inevitable.

She gasped and groaned when the studded cock forced itself inside her in one powerful thrust. She tossed and turned, her nails dug into the hand pressing down on her windpipe. Through tears pooling into her eyes she shot Fjola a hateful glare as the wretched woman retreated and rammed herself inside her again, groaning in pleasure when the other side of the toy hit against her womb equally hard.

“Go ahead, cry.” Fjola laughed, leaning over the Redguard. “I love the sounds you make, whore.”

Excella whimpered, getting dizzy form lack of oxygen. But Fjola was not merciful enough to allow her to lose consciousness. She wanted the harlot to stay awake through the whole ordeal. She released Excella’s throat, her rough palms grabbing her by the thighs instead, her nails digging into the silky skin. Brutally, she forced the other woman down against the carved ivory. Excella shrieked, her pussy, though wet, was violently stretched to accommodate the double-tipped dildo. Fjola groaned, this couldn’t be enjoyable for her either. It was the conquest, the dominance that was giving the Nord pleasure.

“How does it feel? Tell me!” She demanded, spreading the Redguard’s thighs wider and leaning over her, a bead of sweat dripping from the tip of her nose onto Excella’s cheek.

“I’m dying…!” The captive cried, fighting for air. The ivory cock was unrealistically thick and the carefully carved studs were brutally grazing her walls. “Y-you’re ripping me!” She screamed to her tormentor’s delight.

“Take it, slut!” Fjola groaned, completely giving in to her primal desires. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re red and raw inside!”

She pulled out and flipped Excella on her stomach, pinning her wrists on her back. The harlot loudly inhaled when the tip of the dildo encircled her asshole. Though coated in her juices it was too big for anal! The pink hole tightened with anticipation, Excella let out another pathetic cry, knowing well what the pause meant. Fjola wanted to savor the moment before absolutely destroying her ass.

---

“What the…?” One of the bandits sharply turned his head to the darker side of the courtyard. He could have sworn he heard something move over there. An animal? Or maybe someone was foolish enough to try and take on Mistwatch?

He signaled his comrade to stay alert and with his weapon drawn he approached the crumbling stone arch that served as a gateway. He was so focused on getting a better look in front of him, that he hadn’t thought of minding his step. As he passed the arch, he lost his footing on a primitive trap; tripwire. He fell into the darkness, straight at the tips of two beautifully crafted Nordic swords. The ebony blades pierced his chest and the bandit died without uttering a single word.

Aza shook the body off her blades with a displeased grumble, whilst Erik readied his crossbow at the remaining bandit. With just one pull of the trigger the courtyard was safe for them to enter.

“I love this thing!” He whispered, amazed for the hundredth time of how useful the crossbow was. “Too bad I’m low on bolts…” He sighed, switching to his trusty axe.

They made their way into the fort, listening for any bandit activity. But it seemed the outlaws were not aware of the intruders, as the fort was silent save for the sound of blowing wind and the occasional drunken chatter. The heroes cleared out a small side room, slitting the throats of two more bandits who were unfortunate enough to be sleeping in a drunken stupor. Then, they advanced up the spiral stairs.

As they made their way up, Erik heard the familiar sound of a crossbow being readied, just a few steps behind them. Quickly he turned around just in time to see three more bandits creeping up on them.

“Watch out!” He warned, shielding his partner’s back from an incoming shot with his axe. The bolt bounced off the dragon bone, doing the weapon next to no damage.

The Bosmer shooter lost all color in his cheeks, his hands trembled and he would most likely turn around and make a run for it, if he weren’t backed up by two Nords. He had a crossbow, and that meant one thing – he had to have bolts too.

“Oh, sneaky fuckers, aren’t ya?” Aza taunted, slowly descending the stairs with her swords ready. “Care to dance, boys?”

“Y-you!” The elf finally managed to speak, his eyes wide with panic. “I know you!”

Aza gnashed her teeth, pleased by the effect she could have on people.

“I know him too!” One of the Nords gasped, taking a step back. “That’s Erik the Slayer! We’re fucked boys!”

Aza’s eyelid twitched hearing cheery laughter behind her. She dashed forward with a frustrated cry, slashing the elf’s throat, then kicking his blood-gushing body, toppling the Nord who dared wound her pride. The bandit fell down the stairs accompanied by the sound of breaking bones. The heroine would surely pay for her outburst if it weren’t for her companion, who jumped in just in time to parry the remaining bandit’s shield bash aimed directly at her head.

“Fuck him up Erik!” She screamed, her voice burning with rage.

Wasting no time on finesse, he took the low ground, plunging the axe into the man’s gut, then mercifully pulling it out and ending his suffering with a swift decapitation.

“Did you hear that? I got a reputation!” He boasted, kneeling to search the dead elf. “And I got bolts!” He exclaimed with joy, retrieving from the bandit’s hip a pouch with precious crossbow ammunition.

“Erik…” Aza’s warned, grinding her teeth, “I swear if you don’t wipe that grin off your face I’m gonna…”

Excella’s distant pained shriek echoed through the stone halls, reminding the pair of adventurers why they came to this Gods forsaken ruin in the first place. They shared a look and nodded, regaining their sense of purpose.

---

“No, please!” Excella shrieked, for the first time giving into blind panic. “I’ll do anything, just spare my hair!” She swore fighting tears pouring into her eyes.

Fjola laughed, pulling the harlot’s thick braid sharper, forcing her to painfully bend her head backwards.

“Beg, bitch!” She roared, thrusting disharmoniously, feeling the other end of the strap-on hit hard against her own dripping cunt. “Or I’ll shave your entire head! I’ll sell your hair to the best wigmaker in Solitude and make a fortune!” She swore, laughing hysterically, slapping the Redguard’s round ass.

“Morhwa, help me!” Excella cried, shutting her eyelids tight, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

The goddess must have listened to her desperate plea, as the painful grip on her braid eased and the disgusting woman withdrew along with her strap-on, sharply pulled back by no one other than Aza. The heroine threw the bandit on the stone floor with a disgusted grunt, whilst Excella squeaked and scurried to the corner of the bed.

Fjola wouldn’t hadn’t gotten this far in her life as an outlaw if she could get jumped that easily. Wasting no time, she got on her feet and took a powerful swing at the heroine. But Aza was in no mood, blocking the punch with her hand, dishing out a hit of her own, plunging her fist into Fjola’s stomach. The bandit chef gasped and choked, falling to her knees only to get kicked in the face, her head hitting hard against the stones.

“Bitch.” The heroine grunted with pure contempt, stepping on the bandit’s throat. “Yeah, not so fun when you’re up against someone your own size, huh?”

Fjola’s hands gripped Aza’s leg, but the Nord woman hadn’t enough strength to push the heavy boot off her throat. She grunted and gurgled, growing redder and redder in the face from lack of oxygen. Not wanting to stretch the confrontation for any longer than necessary, Aza stomped Fjola’s throat, crushing the bandit’s trachea and allowing suffocation to do the work for her.

“Don’t be cruel…” Excella pleaded, still whimpering. “Make it quick.”

Despite being beaten and abused by the bandit chief, she did not want revenge? What an odd harlot Excella was! Without protest, Aza showed Fjola mercy by swiftly sinking her blade in the Nord woman’s eye, putting her out of her misery.

“Are you okay?” She asked concerned, shoving the body aside with a kick.

“She threatened to cut my hair off!” Excella complained, coiling her braid around her hand and pressing to her chest as if it were made of pure gold.

With the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the cute red-haired Nord standing at the door, his back facing them. Perhaps he did so out of respect, or more likely to make sure no one was sneaking up on them. It didn’t matter though, as Talsgar was not with him.

“Please!” The harlot begged, reaching to touch Aza’s side. “The bard, they’re keeping him in the dungeon. We can’t leave him!” Her golden eyes met with the mismatched pair of green and white. “I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to him!” She tried to stand up, but was still feeble from the torment she had to suffer. She would surely fall over her own feet, if Aza hadn’t supported her.

“Save your strength. We still have a long way to walk back to camp.” The heroine said in a comforting tone, laying Excella back on the bed. “We got this. Erik, can you…?”

“I’m on it.” The hero replied, reluctantly leaving the two to get the bard. He had a bad feeling about splitting up, but Excella was still in no condition to walk and leaving her alone would be foolish. He’ll have to be quick.

---

“What was that?” The Altmer wondered, gazing at the dungeon ceiling, as if he were expecting any clues on the cracked stone. “Ah, who cares! Probably the boys blowing off some steam. Month’s been rough.” He concluded, drinking straight form the bottle, his third that night. “I didn’t tell you to stop playing!” He roared, throwing the now empty bottle at the bars of Talsgar’s cell. The glass shattered, spraying tiny shards in all directions.

Talsgar gripped the cheap lute tighter, playing the first tune of a more eloquent melody, popular amongst the nobles of Solitude. He chose that composition specifically, as needn’t use his voice which allowed him to do some thinking. Whatever was going on upstairs wasn’t just a brawl amongst bandits. Help has arrived! Thank the Divines the High Elf was too drunk to distinguish the sounds of real assault from primitive infighting. Regaining hope, he kept playing, though his fingers were sore and his back hurt from standing stiff for so long. But he had to keep the elf entertained.

“Oh, Excella! Just hang in there a bit longer and it will be all over soon!” He thought wistfully. “Where are you going?!” He asked out loud, abruptly ending the song, as the wretched elf suddenly yawned and got up.

“To get myself some more refreshments.” The Altmer replied with a drunken smirk, almost slipping on one of the several empty bottles. “Mind your tone, bard.” He chuckled, waggling his finger at outraged Talsgar. “Or I’ll send you to the boss in place of your little whore friend. You won’t be able to sit properly for at least a week after the kind of fucking she’s getting now.”

He laughed menacingly, leaving the cold, dank prison. Talsgar groaned, tossing the instrument away, gripping at the bars. He rattled them in helpless anger, but he knew his outburst was of no use. All he could do was stay sharp and hope that whoever was sent to save them was going to turn up victorious.

Seconds stretched into minutes when he could hear movement. Someone was cautiously creeping down the stairs. Suddenly, a battle cry was heard, then curses and the sounds of a scuffle. A shape appeared in the stone entryway; it was one of the bandits, the dim-witted looking Nord who accompanied the damned Altmer in the woods. He was desperately clutching his throat with eyes wide with shock. But it was no use, blood was gushing between his fingers and the outlaw collapsed to his knees, looking up at Talsgar with desperation in his eyes… almost as if he were pleading for the bard to do something, anything to save his wretched life. He gurgled, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his hands went numb, just like the rest of his body. Silently, he fell face down on the stones, dead.

Another figure stepped out of the dark staircase. Talsgar cried with relief, recognizing Erik. The hero surveyed the prison with cool professionalism, before deciding he could enter safely. He stepped over the body paying it no mind, wiping his bloodied dagger against the leather of his pants.

“Thank the Gods! I knew someone would come!” The bard rasped, for the first time allowing himself a glimmer of hope. “Where’s Excella?” He asked, realizing the hero came alone.

“She’s safe. I came down to get you so we can leave this hole.” Erik assured, examining the bars. Yeah, those looked rusty enough… “Step aside.” He warned, reaching for his favorite weapon. The dragonbone axe rose and fell, the rusty lock gave away with a metallic moan. Talsgar was once again a free man. Free, but not yet safe.

“Thank you!” He exclaimed, stepping out of the cell and taking a deep breath, despite the air of the dungeon having the same rank quality as the one he was breathing just a moment ago. “Did you take care of that damned Altmer?” He asked viciously. “I hope you made him suffer!”

“There were no high elves on my way.” Erik declared, confused.

“Then we’re not safe yet.” Talsgar whispered feeling a chill going down his spine.

---

Zia gagged, but managed not to empty her stomach at the sight of the first body. The bandit laid on his side with a large, still fresh pool of blood under him. His scantly hide armor exposed two wounds on his chest. He was killed with a pair of swords. She clutched her mother’s knife tighter, cautiously looking over the corner. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth when she noticed a second body just a step away from where she was standing. The second bandit had a bolt sticking through the neck. She whimpered, trembling, instinctively taking a step back.

Her pet hyena nudged her side with a weak giggle, somehow reassuring the girl. Zia took a deep breath and stepped over the body, entering the courtyard. The heavy wooden doors leading into the keep were left ajar, enticing her to step in and risk her life. A feeble voice of reason told her to go back to her parents, but she was away from the camp for far too long. Surely, by now they discovered her disappearance. So, she might as well carry on with this foolishness.

She pressed her cheek to the stone wall and peeped into the opening. She couldn’t hear anything aside from the cracking of burning torches and wind blowing through the crumbling halls. She couldn’t hear any fighting, which meant the two adventurers most likely advanced further into Mistwatch… or were already slain and looted of their weapons and armor… No, of course they were alive. They had to! It wouldn’t make any sense if they’d die so suddenly and pointlessly. Right?

“Hide and wait for me.” She ordered her pet. “Don’t you give me that look! I’ll be fine.” She assured, not believing her own words.

The hyena cocked its head and stared at the girl with dumb glee, drooling and completely oblivious of how dangerous and thoughtless this whole situation was. Zia nodded and cracked a confident smile, feeling absolutely no confidence at all. Only the stubborn need to push forward, however badly she wanted to turn back and run. The wood creaked and she was gone, entering the ruined fort and whatever lied within.

She kept close to the shadows, avoiding the flickering pools of light the torches cast. Stopping every now and then to listen in, she snuck past the entryway, reaching a set of spiral steps. She could either go up or down. Her gut told her not to go down. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with her cold, clammy hands. She long realized how stupid she was in her bravado. What did she want to achieve exactly, aside form defying her parents? The best case scenario was that she finds the pair of adventurers victorious… and then what?

Whatever the outcome, she was fucked. By her own volition.

The stairs were sticky, she needn’t look down at her feet to know why. The smell of blood was overpowering. And gods, the bodies. Three of them. One with his head smashed open on the stone steps. The other guy had his throat slashed. And the third one was missing his head. That young Nord and the brutish kinswoman… they were efficient. Too efficient to be simple vagrants with blades for hire. Could they really take down a dragon? Perhaps there was truth in the conversation she overheard them having last night. There was definitely something more to them. But now, seeing their handywork, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know more about them.

Zia was so preoccupied with studying the three dead bandits that she hadn’t noticed she was being watched. She was too surprised to act when a hand closed around her mouth and a second hand painfully twisted her wrist. Her mother’s knife fell down the stairs with a hollow ring.

---

“So… Kemon must be furious.” Excella guessed, lacing up the front of her dress. “I’m so sorry. This was all my idea and all my fault!”

“That’s not for me to judge. We just came here to get you back to camp safely.” Aza replied, stuffing Fjola’s body under the bed, per Excella’s request. The harlot didn’t want the bard to see the bandit chef’s corpse… and the unsightly sex toy around the dead woman’s hips.

“I’m glad you came.” Excella confessed warmly, remembering the fantasies she had of the adventurer to help her get through the ordeal with Fjola.

“Sure thing. You think you’ll be able to walk all the way back? I can carry you.” Aza offered, too tired to notice the lewd spark in the other woman’s golden eyes.

“I’m fine. I’ll be bruised for a few days, but she didn’t do me any real harm.” Excella assured carefreely. “I can take care of myself. It’s the bard I’m more concerned about.”

“You’re one if a kind!” Aza laughed, impressed how collected the harlot was after what she just went through. But mostly by how she cared more about the safety of the stupid bard, than her own. Truly, Excella had a heart of gold.

“I hate to ruin whatever it is between you two.” A cold voice called and a high elf stepped out of the shadows catching them both off guard. “But I must insist that you lay down your weapons. Or I’ll have to cut this young life short.”

Aza froze. Zia! Her Zia…! He had a knife against her throat! The girl was paralyzed stiff with fear. Her eyes were wide, uncontrollably leaking tears. Her lower lip trembled, but she couldn’t even whimper. All she could do was lock her bright blue eyes with Aza’s silently begging the heroine to do something.

“Don’t you dare…!” Aza’s voice dropped as she felt ice in her chest and her muscles go rigid. But she daren’t make a move.

“I’m not afraid to kill a lass.” The elf warned. “You, whore. Take her weapons.” He ordered, confident he was completely in control.

“It’s okay.” The heroine assured, hearing Excella take in a loud breath behind her back. “It’s going to be okay. Just do what he says.”

With her hands trembling, Excella disarmed Aza and kicked her blades to there the elf was standing. Could she use the Voice? No, whatever Shout she’d use would also put Zia’s life in danger. Her eyes… Gods, she was looking at her the same way she was looking over ten years ago that horrid night in the desert. Scared out of her mind, only able to cry.

“I’m glad you’re reasonable. Whore, the boss had leather strips in her dresser. Get them and tie the big girl’s hands behind her back. ” The elf barked, pressing the knife to Zia’s throat. The girl jumped, biting hard on her lip to keep herself from screaming. “These are mighty fine swords. They’ll fetch me a good price.” He taunted, drunk on power.

“What’s your plan, elf?” Aza asked through clenched teeth, allowing Excella to bind her without protest. She hoped to stall him for as long as possible. Where the fuck was Erik?!

“Well, it looks I’m the boss now. Thanks for your help!” The Altmer replied with a whimsical smirk, seeing Fjola’s pale leg sticking from under the bed. “I think I’ll drink to celebrate. Then, I’ll have some fun with the whore. You know what? Fuck it, I’ll take the girl too, it’s a special occasion after all!” He laughed, conjuring a disgusted croak form Zia. “Oh, and I’ll have the bard sing for us while I enjoy my plunder! And then-”

The sound of a well-oiled mechanism triggering cut his rant abruptly. The elf’s mouth opened wide, his right eye bloomed red, a stream of blood trickled down his cheek. He closed, then opened his mouth again, but no sound came, only more blood. The knife slipped out of his numbing hand hitting the floor with a clang. Zia dashed away, falling into Excella’s arms. Then, there was a thud as his body followed, hitting the floor face-first with a bolt lodged into the back of his head.

“I got the bard.” Erik said quietly, standing at the doorframe with his crossbow now lowered.

He crossed the room and approached his partner, ignoring everyone else. Her eyes… it was like she wasn’t here, but in a dark place, revisiting some horrible memory. In the meantime, the bard ran into the room, bombarding Excella with apologies. But the harlot was too preoccupied with calming Zia down, holding her tight in her arms, offhandedly swearing to Talsgar that she was fine.

“Let me untie you.” Erik offered, his voice snapped Aza back to reality. She remained silent, but nodded. He couldn’t read her face at all. He could only imagine the pain she was going through, now that everyone was safe. He got behind her to undo the bindings. Gods, she was stiff and completely still. He couldn’t make anything of that. “Let’s just get out of here. Okay?” He said softly.

“No. You three go ahead.” She replied colorlessly. “Please… just leave me with her. We’ll catch up with you. I need to do this. Alone.”

“You got it.” He agreed, then cleared his throat loudly to catch the attention of the room. “Let’s get a move on.” He ordered, sharply pulling the bolt out of the elf’s skull. He had to conserve ammo, bolts were rare and the trip wasn’t over yet.

“Yes, let’s get out of here.” Excella agreed with relief, releasing Zia. “Lead the way.”

Zia, now more or less collected, shrugged and sheepishly followed Excella to the exit, but the adventurer woman’s sharp whistle kept her in place.

“Not you. You stay.” Aza ordered sternly and Zia’s shoulders tensed because she knew it was her the woman was addressing.

Excella and Talsgar shared looks but seeing the look in the heroine’s eyes they followed Erik out without protest. In the meantime Aza paced around the room, paying Zia no mind. The girl wiped her teary cheeks furiously, awaiting the inevitable scolding. She crossed her arms, looking as defiant as a young girl could. But Aza wasn’t impressed. In fact, she really wasn’t paying the girl any attention at all.

“Well… aren’t you going to say something?” The girl dared, watching the woman retrieve her weapons. “Because you don’t have to say anything. I know what I did was stupid… But I don’t care! I’m tired of being treated like a child! No one lets me do anything!” She snapped, growing uneasy by the quietness of the adventurer.

Aza took a deep breath with her head bent back and eyes peering into the ceiling. She needed to calm down and gather her strength to go through with what she needed to do. She can do it. She has to do it, no matter how much pain it will cause her. She gripped her swords firmly, approaching the girl that she gave birth to. But instead of yelling at her, she unexpectedly tossed her one of the blades. Zia managed to grab the weapon, but had no idea what to do with it. Aza struck without warning, parrying her child’s feeble attempt at blocking, knocking the weapon out of the girl’s unsure grasp. Pushing at the unarmed girl, she cornered her. The Nordic sword swished in the air, the tip halting at an angle, just below the girl’s ribcage, inches from her franticly beating heart. Their eyes locked, Aza’s face betrayed no emotion. Zia was overtaken by shock, then fear.

“Do you have a death wish?” Aza asked, more exhausted and defeated than furious. “Because I can help you, just one good push and it’s over.”

Zia’s lips parted, but she couldn’t utter a word. In that moment she was positive that crazy woman would do it if she’d dared talk back. From this up close she could count the individual cuts on Aza’s face.

“I don’t care why you came here. You being stupid is not my problem.” Aza went on. Her hand remained steady as she pressed the tip of the sword into the girl’s chest, just enough for Zia to feel how sharp the weapon was. “You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive. How damned lucky you are to have people watching your back. Because when you’re out in the world alone, you can only count on yourself. And you… you can’t do shit. You can’t protect yourself.”

“Shut up!” Zia screamed, red in the face with childish fury. “You’re not my mother!” She breathed loud and fast through her mouth, her nose was blocked from all the crying. She withstood the indifferent look in Aza’s mismatched eyes, shaking violently form all the emotions she just went through.

“An attitude won’t save you when your life is on the line. But you’re right. I’m not your mother.” Aza said, her voice oddly hollow. “You’re Saabi’s problem, not mine. Now get moving, we have a long trek ahead of us. And for the love of the Gods, don’t run. I don’t have the energy to chase you.” Despite her best efforts, her tone sounded more like an exhausted plea than an order.

Chapter 13: Another Scar

It was almost dawn. Kemon and Saabi peered into the dark woods in silence. Soon, there was rustling in the nearby bushes, someone was approaching fast. They braced for the inevitable confrontation but it was only the hyena that emerged from the shrubbery. She sniffed the air and something about the scent the two humans radiated told her it was better to scurry away to the back of camp. Kemon exhaled a heavy sigh, unconsciously reaching to take Saabi’s hand. She gave him a reassuring squeeze.

A few moments later Erik arrived, escorting Excella and the foolish bard. The pair exhaled, glad the harlot and bard were back safely, but this was still not who they were waiting for.

“Excella!” Kazi called out as the three approached the tight ring of people sitting around the fire. She got up as quickly as her pregnant belly allowed her and waddled towards the woman. “Are you alright? I was afraid we lost you!” She cried, embracing Excella like her own sister.

“I’m fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” The harlot assured casually, winking at the bard who was smart enough to melt into the crowd, avoiding Kemon’s ire. “Morhwa… I’m so sorry. I get stupid when I’m horny. And it was so long since I had any company…” She smiled apologetically, guilt and embarrassment washing over her seeing the effect the ordeal had on Kazi.

“You’re with us. That’s all that matters.” The pregnant woman assured, tears of relief glimmering in her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t slip away again. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I swear!” Excella promised sincerely. “Not for all the charming bards in all of Skyrim!”

Whilst the women exchanged their teary greetings and apologies, Kemon and Saabi approached Erik. The hero noticed that both had deep shadows under their eyes, a tell-tale sign of a sleepless night.

“It’s okay, we found your kid. She’s fine.” He assured before they could say anything. Kemon and Saabi shared a look and exhaled a joint sigh of relief. “They’re on their way. I’m going to pack our things so we can move out right away.” He excused himself, seeing the fury slowly building up in Kemon’s eyes, now that the danger had passed. He wanted no part at what was about to happen once Aza and Zia arrive.

“Habibi…” Saabi spoke gently, touching her husband’s hand once the hero was out of earshot. “We need to be calm about this.”

“Not this time, my light.” Her husband said gravely. “The time for leniency is over. Abdal!” He called out at his passing by right-hand man. “Make sure everything is ready for us to leave immediately after I had a word with my daughter!”

Minutes passed and they could hear movement again. Two people were approaching fast. Zia stomped out of the bushes, trying to look like she was not on the verge of tears. She froze, seeing her parents waiting for her. She took a step back, bumping into Aza’s chest. She looked over her shoulder locking eyes with the adventurer.

“Your problem.” Aza said drily, ignoring the panic in the girl’s eyes.

“What were you thinking?” Her father asked, barely able to control his tone. “No, you needn’t tell me, because I know you weren’t thinking at all.” His voice rose as he made a step towards her. Zia tensed, but she was trapped between him and the crazy woman.

“Papa…”

“I don’t want your excuses. What I want is for you to know that you put our lives in danger. Mine, your mother’s, your aunt’s. But most importantly yours. Whatever reasons you had were completely selfish. And I want you to remember that the next time you feel like acting like a complete fool.”

“I wanted to do something! I’m tired of feeling powerless!” Zia cried, shaking her clenched fists. “And her! She pulled a blade at me! She’s crazy!” She said, turning to point her accusatory finger at Aza.

The heroine ignored her, lifting her gaze to look at Kemon. She said nothing, knowing this was not her place to get involved. And yet she remained in place, being a passive participant in this little tragedy.

“As far as I’m concerned she saved your life.” Kemon rebutted unsympathetically. “And you disappoint me, yet again, by being an ungrateful brat.”

Aza grunted through clenched teeth, observing the man that was once her partner rain down his fury on their child. She knew she should just walk away, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t even noticed when Erik returned, standing just a pace away from her side.

“I packed our things.” He said quietly, gently placing his hand on her waist to steer her away from the unpleasant scene, thank the Gods she did not protest. “But I couldn’t find your cape anywhere.”

“Great. Just my luck.” Aza muttered tiredly, rubbing her blind eye.

“I think we shouldn’t continue this conversation now.” Saabi joined into the fray just as the adventurers were about to leave. “Please, whatever you two want to say now-”

“I wish I never left Hammerfell! I hate this place! And I hate you both so much! I wish I was dead in the desert, like my real mother!!!” Zia screamed through tears of anger and frustration, running to where the wagons were.

Aza’s heart stopped beating for a second. She held her breath in tight, fearing she would start screaming if she dared exhale. Her eyes met with Kemon’s. He looked so torn. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. She shook her head barely noticeably. This was the worst possible time and place to dwell on the past. They had to get moving.

“You two, get your horses ready. We leave in five minutes.” The man addressed the heroes, getting a grip of himself. “Saabi, check if they need your assistance and then join me. I… need you at my side.”
With that, Kemon walked off briskly to find Abdal. Saabi was the only one remaining with the pair of adventurers. She took a deep breath and approached them, trying to crack a reassuring smile, but it was obvious she had little strength left.

“Are you alright? Do you need any healing?” She asked concerned, examining the dried red splashes on their armors, but it seemed all the blood was not theirs.

“We’re good.” Erik spoke before Aza could gather her thoughts. “Though if you feel like singing at us, I wouldn’t mind. You have a nice voice.”

“Ah! I’m glad you remain in good spirits, despite the circumstances!” She laughed, regaining some of her usual cheer. “I’m sorry for what you had to witness just now. But it is true what you heard… I don’t want to get into much detail, but Zia and I are not bound by blood and I am not her real mother.” She confessed, pain barely noticeable on her face.

“What are you talking about? You make sure she’s raised right, you feed and clothe her and you endure her childish tantrums. Of course you’re her mother.” Aza assured, feeling her heart ripped open. But she managed to keep her tone poised. She was so grateful for Saabi, but couldn’t say anything past that. She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to without breaking down.

“I… thank you. For all you’ve done for us.” Saabi smiled wearily, somewhat reassured by her words. “Now I need to get back to my husband.”

“Erik…” Aza said colorlessly once they were alone. “I am at my limits. I need you at my side anytime any of them is around, because I don’t trust myself anymore.”

“You got it!” He swore in all earnest.

“Thanks… Over there!” Aza suddenly snapped back to her usual self, pointing at a shape moving at the edge of camp. It was the blasted hyena, carrying her cape in her drooling maw. “My cape! Get back here bitch!” She yelled with fury, dashing to grab the animal. The hyena whined and made a run for it, disappearing behind some barrels.

“Let’s split up and rout her!” Erik called after her, knowing that way they’ll have a greater chance of catching the cape thief.

Aza grinded her teeth, following the hyena’s taunting giggle. If the beast ruins her cape she’s going to skin it alive and wear its pelt throughout the rest of this trip! Where was that little bitch?! Breathing heavily, she halted, realizing she was at the exact opposite edge of camp where the sleeping tents were erected just the night before, the smothered grass their only memento.

She heard rustling and saw movement with the corner of her eye. A figure emerged from the bushes; it was one of Kemon’s scouts, clad in the characteristic light Redguard traveler garb. They were probably coming back from a quick piss in the woods. They froze realizing they were being watched. Staring back at the heroine, their eyes caught the light of the nearby fires, reflecting it eerily like only Khajiit eyes could.

Kemon did not have any Khajiit scouts.

That was when Aza noticed a blade, a thin long dagger, clutched in the Khajiit’s palm. The cat glanced to the side, catching a glimpse of their mark; Kazi, walking unhurriedly back to the bonfire. The assassin stared back at the heroine, rolling their feline tongue out of their mouth in a taunting gesture. They bolted towards the unaware Kazi. Aza screeched, rushing after the cat, but she knew, she just knew it was of no use and there was nothing she could do herself.

The Gods seemed to smile upon her, as she saw her partner emerging from behind a wagon, still preoccupied with finding the cursed hyena. He noticed her and then the scout impostor running full speed towards his and Kazi’s direction.

“Erik!” Aza called out, still running, pointing at the Khajiit who was closing distance between them and Kazi in a matter of seconds. “Assassin!!”

Hearing the commotion, Kazi looked over her shoulder, instinctively covering her stomach. Her mild brown eyes widened, seeing the Khajiit running straight at her, their dagger completely black. She screamed, paralyzed by fear.

The eyes of the cat glowed ominously in the night. Erik remembered that glow from just a few nights before when he was keeping watch, staring into the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch. He cursed, grasping what was happening, springing as fast as he could to intercept the Khajiit, realizing that the cat was too swift for him to do anything other than act on impulse. Thankfully, he was quick enough to grab Kazi mere seconds before the assassin’s blade sunk into her chest, abruptly spinning her around and holding tight, shielding the woman with his own back.

The thin black blade hit one of the protective metal plates of his Dawnguard coat, the tip scraping down the plate and finding a weak point in his armor. The dagger pierced the leather and skin underneath. Blood gushed. His flesh burned. Erik yelled in pain having his coat and skin slashed from his left shoulder blade almost to his elbow. He saw white, but still held Kazi close, protecting her from another inevitable blow with his own body. Kazi screamed into his ear. The assassin hissed. Someone heard or saw what was happening and was loudly calling for Kemon and Abdal.

A blade swished in the night air, the would-be assassin let out an abruptly cut scream. Something hit the ground with a thud, a hot sticky shower fell on Erik’s back and head and he needn’t look behind him to know it was blood. Kazi trembled, her nails digging into his thick leather gauntlets. Erik lowered himself to his knees, Kazi holding on to him or maybe he was holding onto her, he wasn’t sure. His back burned, pain he had never experienced before shooting up his entire body.

“Kazi!” Saabi called out somewhere beyond his blurring vision.

Sobbing Kazi was taken away from his protective embrace and Erik had no strength to protest. He was sweaty and cold all of the sudden, like when he was but a wee lad and came down with the worst flu of his life. He had to get up and look around to make sure they were safe, but his knees were far too weak. He fell forward, supporting himself on his wounded arm, yelling yet again in pain, sweat beading on his forehead.

“They found me. They found me.” Kazi whimpered panicked somewhere close to him, no doubt in her sister’s safe embrace.

A hand closed on his shoulder, someone knelt next to his side. With tremendous effort Erik craned his head to look at Aza. Her eyes were wide open, her grip on his shoulder firm. Fresh blood dripped off one of her drawn swords.

“Erik…” She breathed, unsure if she should be panicking too. “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth to assure that although it hurt like a bitch he was fine, but he realized he was unable to draw breath, like he had lost control over his own lungs. He looked at her, half-terrified and half apologetic, falling to his side with his mouth agape.

“Erik!” Aza cried out his name, rolling him on his back. “Stay with me, whatever you do, don’t close your eyes. SAABI!” She yelled, her Voice scaring off birds from the surrounding trees. “Get over here, he’s been poisoned!”

Stendarr’s mercy, she was truly terrified whilst Erik himself felt quickly spreading numbness. He made one last tremendous effort to reach up and touch her face, but he was able to raise his hand for only few inches. Aza stared down at him, the look on her face the picture of horror and pain.

“Don’t leave me.” She whispered hoarsely, whilst Saabi’s gentle palms appeared from beyond Erik’s vision to move the heroine aside so that the healer could step in and do her job.

He lost all feeling, his numb hand dropped on his chest. He sunk into nothingness.

---

The first rays of sunshine pierced through his eyelids, signaling that it was already morning and he should get up and get to work. Erik yawned and stretched, sitting up in his bed back in his father’s inn. Wait… this didn’t feel right.

“Took you while enough.” Mralki scolded, entering the room to open the heavy wooden shutters, drowning Erik’s childhood room in blinding light. “I swear boy, you sleep like the dead!”

“Pa?” Erik stuttered, unsure if this was real or if he was dreaming. “What happened?”

“That’s a good question, son. What do you think happened?” Mralki inquired casually, turning to face the bed.

“I got hit. That damned Khajiit cut me up good. Shit, I’m going to have another scar when I wake up.” He groaned, his fists clenching tight on the blanket. “That is if I wake up. Where am I? Am I dead?”

“Well, where do you think you are?” His father asked, crossing his arms, somewhat amused by Erik’s confusion.

“This isn’t Sovngarde, that’s for sure. I can tell, I was there with Aza to slay Alduin. And if I am not going to Sovngarde after my death then I’ve been royally fucked over by the Gods!” He grunted, agitated by the whole situation.

“Do you think you deserve Sovngarde?” Mralki asked, unbothered by Erik’s tantrum.

“Of course I do!” The hero boasted with fire. “I helped the Dragonborn slay Alduin! I slayed Lord Harkon! I’m Erik the Slayer for Gods’ sake!” He said with fire, jumping out of bed.

Pa laughed at Erik’s outburst. He shook his head, then wiped his hands on his dirty apron.

“So, what happens now?” Erik asked, looking around his room. Some details weren’t right. And he couldn’t see the familiar plains of Whiterun from outside of the window, only that blinding white light.

“Well, that depends on that Saabi woman.” Mralki explained casually. “She’s a fine healer, but the poison on that dagger was made for a Redguard. And Redguards are somewhat poison resistant.”

“So, if I’m not dead, then where am I? I’m not dreaming, right pa? Shit, what am I saying, you’re not my father. Who or what are you?” Erik grunted frustrated, pacing around the room whilst Mralki remained frozen in place.

“It doesn’t matter, really. I’m just here so you don’t feel alone whilst your life is on the line. Just stay here with me and relax, son. It will all be over soon.” Mralki encouraged, in that characteristic caring and yet patronizing tone that always drove Erik insane.

“Like Oblivion I will!” The hero shouted, walking up to the door.

He pulled at the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t budge, kept shut by some unseen force. Figures. The hero shot the entity impersonating his father a dirty look before turning to the door again, knocking it down with a powerful kick. There was nothing behind the door, only more whiteness. Erik took a step back. It was this or staying here and he had no intention of being passive. He braced himself for whatever there was to come and stepped forward, falling into the endless stretch of light.

He gasped for air, frantically tossing on the bed of furs, throwing Aza’s warm cape off himself. Though his eyes were wide open, vision came back to him gradually, revealing the rough shapes of his surroundings. Wagon. He was laying on a wagon, wrapped from the waist up in bandages, Saabi, Kazi and Zia his only company.

“He’s awake!” Zia squeaked shocked.

“He’s alive!” Kazi whispered relieved.

Saabi said nothing, but gently guided Erik to lean over the edge of the wagon, allowing him to loudly empty his stomach. Black oily bile shot out of his mouth as the young adventurer retched and convulsed, vomiting all the vile liquid out until all he could do was dry heave.

“I fucking knew that wasn’t Sovngarde.” He muttered, laying back on the makeshift bed.

---

Aza and Kemon rode side by side at the head of the caravan. Aza rode Erik’s bay mare, leading her paint horse tied to the saddle with all their joined gear on her back. The soft whining of the still weak horse was torturous droning, only accenting the tense silence between the former spouses.

“Saabi won’t let him die, trust me.” Kemon assured, daring to look at Aza’s stern profile.

“Shut up.” She grunted abruptly.

“I should have seen this coming. I trust my scouts so much that I should have expected one of them to be quietly killed and replaced by an assassin. They must have seized the opportunity seeing our camp in chaos after Excella and the bard were kidnapped.” Kemon went on, ignoring that particular note in her tone that had most people bite their tongues.

“Shut. Up.” Aza repeated, clenching the reins like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry. I-”

Whatever Kemon was about to say was cut short by the loud sound of Erik violently vomiting in the back. Aza shot Kemon a death glare, turning her horse around, unhurriedly riding to the wagon where Erik and the three women rode. At the sight of the woman Zia jumped, scurrying to the back of the wagon, avoiding Aza’s piercing gaze.

“He just woke up. Don’t worry, the vomiting was to be expected. His body is getting rid of the poison.” Saabi said as a greeting.

“Is he going to be alright?” The adventurer made sure, not taking her eyes off her sweating and heaving partner.

“Yes, his life is no longer in danger.” Saabi assured, but somehow she did not seem to be relieved, looking into Aza’s mismatched eyes with uncertainty of what the heroine was planning to do next.

“That’s good to hear. Erik.” the woman addressed her partner in a cold, strict tone. “Grab my cape and get on the horse. I’ve got all our gear with me.”

“Please, whatever your plan is, don’t do anything abrupt.” Saabi pleaded, as Erik mounted Aza’s mare with some effort, the horse whining loudly in protest.

“That’s up to your husband.” Aza replied blandly, ignoring the miserable sounds the horse was making, riding off with her partner to confront Kemon.

She rode past the man, blocking the middle of the road with their two horses, forcing the entire caravan to halt. She was both physically and mentally exhausted, sustained only by her fury. It was time for a confrontation long coming.

“Your bullshit nearly cost me Erik’s life.” She said without any trace of anger and yet Kemon knew she was on the verge of killing someone.

“I’m sorry. I take full responsibility.” He swore solemnly, enduring her gaze.

“I don’t want your sorry. I want answers. I want to hear the truth. All of it. I want to know why you were forced to leave Hammerfell, who is after you, why they want Kazi dead, what is your destination and why is it so important. You’re going to tell me everything.”

“And if I won’t?” Kemon’s brows crossed.

“Then we leave and you’re on your own. You can choke on your gold, I’m not risking Erik’s life again.”

“Aza…” Erik protested weakly, practically lying flat on the paint mare, sitting up straight in the saddle too much of an effort for him.

“Shut up. I got this.”

“Are you in any position to make demands?” The head of the caravan asked with a dare in his eye. He had too much at stake to back down.

“Kemon, please.” Kazi pleaded, approaching as quickly as her state would permit, supporting herself on Saabi’s shoulder. “They did so much for us, I know we can trust them. They deserve to know.”

Surprised, the man stared down at his sister-in law. His usual hardiness melting away at the sight of determination in usually complicit Kazi. He cleared his throat and nodded at her, before turning to speak to Aza.

“Alright. You will get your answers, all of them.” He agreed, with a heavy sigh. “But not here. Once we make camp, we will tell you everything. What say you?”

“That works for me. But I’m warning you Kemon, if you hold out anything important on us, I’ll- Erik for the love of Mara!” Aza groaned frustrated, looking over her shoulder as Erik leaned over the side of her paint mare and vomited again. “You better not get my horse filthy!”

---
The rest of the day was spent on climbing up the Rift, leaving Eastmarch behind. The road was winding and steep, the threat of slipping and falling to one’s death real. No one was in the mood for conversation, not even the usually chatty flock of harlots.

And to make things worse it started to rain.

The group reached a plateau with a mountain tarn. The caravanners made camp in haste. The seven of them gathered in a circle in the grand tent normally occupied by Kemon and his family. Aside from Aza, Erik, Kemon, Saabi and Kazi there were also Excella and Talsgar present.

“Why is he here?” Kemon asked sharply, eying the bard with disapproval, the events of the previous day still fresh in his memory.

“He is our unwilling tagalong.” Excella explained calmly, glued to the nervous bard’s side. “He deserves to know why we’re keeping him with us.”

Talsgar shook his head, no clever words coming to his mind. He finally decided to shrug and look away, avoiding Kemons piercing grey eyes. The man grunted with disapproval, but did not push the topic further.

“I suppose before Kazi explains everything it’s best to tell you how Kemon and I came to be.” Saabi suggested, unable to read Aza’s face.

“Let’s stick to the most important facts.” Kemon interrupted abruptly, glancing at his first wife.

“It’s alright.” Aza said colorlessly, almost comfortable with the knife she felt in her chest.

“Thanks to our daughter’s outburst you know I am not her birth mother.” Saabi patiently outlined, unaware how much pain she was causing Aza with her every word.

“I used to run a caravan with my first wife. She died in the desert in an orc ambush over ten years ago.” Kemon quickly cut in, knowing that the words will hurt just a bit less if he is the one who speaks them. “If it weren’t for her, Zia and I would have died with her.” He stressed out.

“Tragic.” Aza summed up, conjuring all her strength to appear as gruff as possible.

“Zia and I made it to safety on a half-dead horse. Poor thing needed to be put out of its misery once we reached the city. Zia came down with a bad fever and I was forced to leave her at the temple healers. With no money and no caravan to run I took all sorts of odd jobs in the ports of Sentinel to afford her healing. That was where I met Saabi.”

“I was, and to this day am, a healer.” The woman elaborated, taking over the tale now that the most painful part was over. “Just like yourself, I am from the great Alik’r desert. Just like my mother and her mother before her, I studied the old ways. I would have remained a wise woman to our tribe if our lands weren’t conquered by a local lord.” With that she turned to Kazi and nodded, encouraging her sister to pick up the tale.

“Our tribe offered me as tribute for his harem and Saabi insisted she go with me and stay until I was of age. There I met my other sisters.” Kazi smiled, taking Excella’s hand. “We’re not related by blood, but they’re like family to me. Some of them came from noble families, some form other desert tribes…”

“And some from the finest brothels of Sentinel!” Excella laughed lightheartedly.

“It sounds horrid, but rest assured, they were all treated well.” Saabi assured seeing the horror on Talsgar’s face. “Kazi was allowed to study and live comfortably and never forced to give him affection unless she wanted to. I was at her side until she grew into a promising young woman, and the nobleman took a special fondness of her after being recently widowed.”

“A fondness which I also shared.” Kazi confessed with a blush.

“With my work as Kazi’s guardian complete, I asked that I be allowed to leave. I felt my healing talents could be better used in the outside world. My wish was granted and I left with only the clothes on my back and my instruments. Eventually, I wandered to Sentinel, where I volunteered to aid the local temple healers. That was when I met Kemon and his young daughter.”

“Saabi saved Zia’s life.” Kemon chimed in, attempting to keep the touchy subject to a minimum. “She healed her in full and refused any payment. So, I asked if she’d like to stay with us. And she agreed. I was slaving away at the docks, saving up and forging contacts to rebuild my caravan. Saabi helped me immensely. It took us another year, but we finally made enough to get back on the road. It was a small caravan at first, but over time we expanded.”

“Those were some of the best years of my life.” Saabi continued. “Kazi and I kept writing letters to each other so that I would be sure all was well. Until…”

“Until my lover started to lose his footing.” Kazi stated with a barely noticeable frown. “His ambitions and the fact that he was a Crown supporter did not make him popular. We knew it was only a matter of time before his enemies made a move on his estate. We were not safe and he decided we had to relocate. Thank the gods he had more reason than pride.”

Kemon cleared his throat before joining in. “Kazi wrote to Saabi asking that our caravan wait for them in a neutral location and help them reach his distant relatives back in Cyrodiil. We were near the border with Skyrim at the time. We spent…” he sighed deeply. “Weeks stranded in Solitude, waiting for them to catch up with us hoping the Nords civil war won’t affect us. Just as I thought things couldn’t get even worse, Kazi arrived. Alone.”

“My lover was assassinated along the way. Me and my sisters met Kemon in Solitude with no place to go. We thought it was over, but then I learned that I was with child. His heir.” Kazi’s voice lowered as she stared down at he pronounced stomach, deep in thought.

“Kazi is sweet, but she is also bright.” Saabi went on. “As she mentioned before, her ill-fated lover has relatives living in exile in Cyrodiil. Her unborn child has strong claims to a large portion of northern Hammerfell. Claims which I am sure said relatives would be more than happy to support in exchange for a cut.”

“But only under the condition that all my sisters could come with me and be kept safe.” Kazi swore with a hardy look on her face.

“We sent out letters and had to continue our wait in Solitude until we got a reply. In the meantime, Saabi and Kazi sailed in secret to Solstheim as a precaution against any more assassins. Finally, we got a reply that they were granted safe haven in Cyrodiil. The rest you know as that is then you two met us before we all came together in Windhelm.” Kemon recollected.

“But why come to Skyrim in the first place?” Aza wondered out loud, trying to understand Kemon’s reasoning. “Why not travel south and enter Cyrodiil directly through Colovia?”

“You’d be surprised how much the homeland has changed. A well-known Crown noble with powerful enemies better have a damned good reason to be travelling through south of Hammerfell. Not to mention approaching the boarder with Cyrodiil.” Kemon smiled bitterly. “I’m no fool, I know how risky this all is. But by now you know we are desperate and out of better options.”

“This is needlessly complicated, convoluted and you have no guarantee it will work.” Aza sighed, crossing her arms. “But fuck it, I’ll help you. Erik?”

“Sure, why not.” Her partner agreed carefreely, despite being soaked in sweat and just recently back from the verge of death. “Um… I’ve got just one question, though. What’s a harem?”

---

“Talsgar.” Excella said deep in thought, stroking the bard’s shoulder and watching the two adventurers heading towards a nearby tarn. “I think I will sleep with the big sister to make up for all the stress she’s been through.”

“I… Well, of course.” The bard blurted confused, clearly not the jealous type. “But what about her partner? That axe he carries is clearly not for show.”

“Oh, I think he wouldn’t mind.” The harlot smirked. She was good with reading people and could pick up the dynamics in a group with ease. She smiled like a child in on a joke, hoping that Kazi gets some comfort for herself as well. And no axes would be needed for that. Only the axeman.

---

“I thought you were done with being my nanny.” Erik joked tiredly, peeling off his sweat-soaked clothes and cautiously entering the wonderfully cold water. The day was almost over, but he insisted he needed a wash while it was still bright. He couldn’t stomach the idea of spending another minute smelling of blood, sweat, poison and vomit.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re still weak and I don’t want you fainting and drowning in shallow water like an idiot.” Aza refuted, taking her boots off and rolling up her pants to join him in case he needed support. In the crimson sunset she could clearly see the almost black outline of his fresh scar.

“That bad?” He guessed, looking over his shoulder and catching her staring.

“Yea.” Aza sighed, the concerned look on her face accenting the rows on her forehead. “Saabi did what she could, but that’s going to be a nasty scar. Sorry.”

“I’ll start wearing sleeveless shirts and tell people wild tales when they ask how I got it.” Erik joked, lathering a chunk of soap in his hands.

“Dumbass…” Aza rolled her eyes, staring up at the sky as if silently asking the gods for patience. “You alright?” She asked quietly, deflating and going numb after the harrowing day she just had. Absentmindedly, she stared off into the distance, thankful it was getting dark so fast.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Erik forced himself to crack a smile, taking his time to wash the sweat and stench of poison off himself. Thank Talos, the world finally stopped spinning and his vision was once again focused. Though, he still had a disgusting metallic-oily aftertaste in his mouth.

“Don’t be smart with me.” Aza grunted, turning her face to look at him. “You almost died.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He said lightheartedly, but dropped the act seeing the look in her eyes. She was on the verge of a breakdown.

Before he could say anything, she reached him in a few long paces and outstretched her arms, crushing him in a tight embrace. Through the reinforced leather of her top Erik could hear her heart pound like crazy.

“Hey…” He said softly, returning her protective embrace. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Erik…” She croaked through her clenched throat, burying her face between his shoulder and neck. “In my life I bounced back from some really bad situations. But if I’d lose you… My life would be over. I wouldn’t pick myself up again. I wouldn’t do anything abrupt, but… I’d remain a shell for the rest of my days.” She confessed.

Erik rested his cheek on the top of her head, patting her back and letting her have this moment of vulnerability in silence. It was only after her shoulders ceased to tremble that he spoke.

“It’s only another scar I can add to my collection. Everyone’s fine and we can keep moving. That’s the most important thing, right?” He comforted as calmly as he could.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Aza agreed, pulling herself away, back to her old self again. She cleared her throat and spat, but did not look him in the eyes yet. “But let me tell you, I can’t remember the last time I was this terrified. The thought of you dying… Knowing that it’s a real possibility because of what we do for a living … Fuck, it scares me.”

“Mhm, and what are you going to do about it? Love me so badly that you’ll shield me from the entire world just like my Pa did?” He teased, hoping that if he pisses her off a bit, she won’t fall apart. And he was successful.

“Shut the fuck up.” Aza grunted with her familiar ferocity.

“That’s my girl.” Erik grinned like an unruly brat. “Now how about you wash my hair, hm?”

“Forget it. I’m getting cold. You take your time and I’ll be waiting for you on the shore.”

---

“Please, join us.” Saabi beckoned when the pair of heroes was about to light themselves their own private little bonfire. “We should all stay together, I’m actually angry at myself for not insisting on this earlier.”

“Saabi…” Aza sighed, wishing the healer did not make things more difficult for her with her good intentions. “We really…”

“Please. You’re not beggars or convenient tagalongs. You did so much for us and deserve a spot at our fire. And if it’s my daughter you’re concerned about then rest assured, Kemon forbade her from leaving his side.” The older woman insisted.

So, the adventurers joined the caravanners at the main fire, where the mood of the group was still far from relaxed, but much better than the previous night. Talsgar remained at Excella’s side, attending to her and the other harlots’ every need, despite Excella repeatedly telling him he needn’t act like a servant. But the bard persisted, ever grateful to the woman for saving his life. Kemon shared quick words with Abdal, every once and again glancing at his daughter, making sure she was not about to run off and do something stupid again. Kazi sat comfortable on a pile of embroidered pillows, talking quietly with her sister, regaining her composure entirely after the failed attempt on her (and her unborn child’s) life.

“Here.” Erik handed Aza a dusty bottle once they sat down and accepted their food. “Ale. I snatched it from Mistwatch. I figured I’d save it for some special occasion, but I think you could use a drink. Feel free to chug it all down, my stomach is twisting at the very thought of alcohol.”

Aza took the bottle with relief. The contents were cold and strong, and went well with the steaming stew they were handed, just the thing she needed. She drank slowly, taking her time to eat and process the recent events and what they were just told. She thought her life was complicated, but after hearing Kazi’s story she wasn’t so sure anymore.

And by proxy, Zia’s life was getting very complicated. And that was a problem.

Speaking of which, Kazi was glancing at Erik with an oddly intense look in her big brown eyes. The way she not so subtly bit her lip was suggesting she was having some intense feelings about her dashing young savior.

“See something you like?” Aza made conversation, shuffling closer to the pregnant woman. Kazi laughed nervously, looking away, but she was already caught staring. “Being curious is nothing to be ashamed of. I guess growing up in the desert and then in the harem, you hadn’t seen any Nords, right?”

“No. First time I saw one was when we boarded the ship for Solitude. They’re…” She paused to watch Erik whip his still wet hair back. “Intriguing.”

Aza smirked, so thankful for the bottle. “I’ve seen them all over Tamriel, but the Skyrim natives are something else. I still can’t get over how tall and broad they are. And their hair! They have so much of it and it’s sooo smooth!” She exhaled dreamily, remembering all of the true sons and daughters of Skyrim she bedded since escaping Helgen. “How fare are you?” She suddenly changed topics, leaning confidentially so that no one would listen in on them.

“Still a few weeks.”

“You could use some fun before settling down to raise your child.” Aza suggested. “If there is anything you need…”

“I don’t mean to overstep.” Kazi politely declined, yet her tone was not all that convinced.

“I’m not the jealous type. To be honest with you.” Aza leaned closer. “I think he’s curious himself. Hey, Erik!” She called out loud, turning over to her mate who in the meantime moved to have a few words with Abdal.

“What?” The young hero asked, annoyed his conversation was interrupted. Abdal was just telling him about half-snake-half-woman monsters called Lamias inhabiting Hammerfell’s southern peninsula.

“How old are you now?” Aza asked innocently, as if she weren’t trying to set him up for a night of fun with the lovely Kazi.

“I’ll be twenty-one coming spring. Why?” He asked suspiciously. He was glad his partner was in a better mood, but that spark in her good eye usually meant trouble for him.

“Nothing. Eat, you need your strength.” She shook her head, turning to address Kazi in a hushed tone. “He’s young, but I taught him a few tricks myself and he has a lot of… enthusiasm. You’ll love him.”

Kazi giggled, embracing her protruding stomach and Aza couldn’t help but feel warmth in her chest for a change. She got back to her food and drink, happy she was doing something nice for someone. Even if that niceness had a lewd undertone.

---

“You’re joking!” Erik gasped. “How big?”

“Like a medium-sized pig.” Abdal confirmed with a smirk, savoring his watered down drink. As head of the caravan’s security he couldn’t afford his wits getting dulled by alcohol.

“A beetle as big as a pig?” Erik whistled amazed, still unsure if the man was speaking the truth or merely pulling his leg.

“I swear by Leki’s perfect blade!” Abdal swore, amused at the young adventurer’s curiosity. “You can find them in the desert. Nasty things, can cut your leg off with their mandibles without any effort. And they’re poisonous.”

“Hello there.” Excella gracefully slid to Erik’s side, so close that for a second he wondered if she was going to take a bite of his food. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good… all things considered. My arm almost stopped hurting.” He said politely, disappointed to see Abdal get back to conversation with Kemon. Too bad, he really wanted to prod the man about the creatures found in Hammerfell.

“I wanted to thank you. If it weren’t for the two of you I’d probably be dead or still in the clammy hands of that bandit chief.” Excella said, getting a bit too comfortable next to him.

“Don’t mention it.” He said casually, taking a cautious sip of water. His stomach was empty, but he didn’t want to risk another fit of retching.

“Can I sleep with your girlfriend?” Excella asked nonchalantly, without a hint of shame nor disrespect.

Erik snorted water out of his nose and coughed loudly. Excella patiently patted him on the back and handed him a clean handkerchief. The hero took it without a word, wiped his nose and face then gave her a scrutinizing look. Excella was smiling ever so slightly, saying nothing, waiting for his ok.

“Sure.” He laughed after the confusion passed, shaking his head. “Why not. She could use some comfort and I’m in no condition to give her any.”

“Splendid.” The harlot purred pleased.

The caravan, divided into smaller groups chatted and relaxed after the harrowing events, until everyone was done eating. The harlots quickly excused themselves, heading to their tents, somehow whisking Talsgar away with them. Though, the fact that the bard took his lute with him suggested neither sleep nor lewd pleasures were on his mind. Kemon and Abdal remained at the fire, whilst Saabi, Kazi and Zia headed to the largest tent for a night of well-deserved rest. The hyena followed them and rested at their tent’s entrance.

“So…” Erik cleared his throat, as he and Aza were done with their meals and ready to depart as well. “Just thinking out loud here. If for any reason Excella would make a move on you… I wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?” Aza blinked, equally surprised and excited at the very prospect of having some alone time with the glamorous Excella. “Damn, if this is the Gods making up for fucking me for the last few days, then I’ll take it! Anywayyy…” She looked around in case they were being listened in on, but it seemed no one was paying them any attention. “How would you like to sleep with Kazi?” She asked with a wide smile.

“I… well. I wouldn’t mind.” Erik confessed with a dumb grin. Kazi was pretty. And he never had the chance to spend some time with a pregnant woman. Now that the opportunity presented itself, he was more than curious.” But is it safe for her and the baby? My dick is pretty impressive. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“If you’ll act like her dashing savior and not a damned savage, then there’s nothing to worry about. Just go slow and have fun. Gods know she could use some comfort after all the things she’s been through…” Aza assured with an amused snicker. “And please… tame your pubes before you pull your pants down for her.”

“Well, look at you! Is that… are you doing something nice for someone? With no ulterior motives?” Erik teased, slinging his healthy arm over her shoulder.

“Shut up.” She muttered and yet she rested her cheek on his shoulder for a second. “Now, I haven’t slept since we went on our merry rescue mission the day before, so I’m off to bed. You coming?”

“No, you go on ahead without me. I was knocked out cold for the entire day and I’m not sleepy at all. I think I’ll keep watch and think things over.”

“Suit yourself.” Aza shrugged her shoulders, resultantly slipping out of his warmth and heading to their tent.

She crawled inside and quickly got undressed, flinging on a loose shirt instead. Once alone and away from anyone’s prying eyes she cured up in a ball on her side. She took in a slow breath, exhaling a quiet whimper, covering her burning face with her cold hands. She had no tears left to cry, but needed a moment to let it all out.

The day was finally over. One of the toughest days she had in years. Preparing to slay Alduin was nothing in comparison to what she just went through. But the important thing was that she prevailed… barely and could face another day tomorrow.

Gods, she needed sleep. And a drink. Anything to help get her mind off her past and present.

Someone gently scraped their nail against the canvas fabric of the tent’s entrance, ending the heroine’s dark thoughts. Aza rolled to her back and rose on her elbow, catching a dark outline kneeling outside.

“Do you need some company?” Excella’s quietly asked.

Aza smirked.

“Come in, gorgeous.” She beckoned.

Chapter 14: Between a Rock and Certain Death

Excella pushed the canvas flap aside and crawled into the tent, mindful not to put out the small lantern she was carrying.

“Don’t you know how to light up the mood.” Aza joked, shifting on the furs to make room for her surprise guest.

Carefully, the harlot placed the lantern in a corner, then scuttled to lay at the adventurer’s side. Naturally, as if they were lovers for years, she melted into Aza’s embrace. “Rough day?” She asked, resting her cheek on the adventurer’s abundant chest.

“Rough life.” Aza muttered, pulling Excella’s soothing warmth closer. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“People say my presence makes them comfortable. But please don’t get too relaxed just yet. I was hoping the two of us could have some fun. Would you like that?” She asked with a smirk, her thumb running the length of Aza’s lower lip.

“Very.”

Excella had the softest, pillowiest lips Aza had ever tasted. She kissed fine – enthusiastically and yet slowly, enough to conjure a low moan from the back of the adventurer’s throat. Was Aza surprised when the harlot got on top of her and reached to help her undress, not so subtly pausing to squeeze her tits? Hardly. The thing that did surprise her though, was a small hard nub she felt in Excella’s mouth when they kissed.

“Tongue piercing?” She guessed, rising her arms, so that Excella could pull her nightshirt over her head.

The harlot didn’t bother with words, instead sticking out her tongue to show the adventurer that yes indeed, she had a small golden stud piercing through her tongue.

“Nice.” Aza summed up amused, helping Excella unlace her dress and slowly pulling it down to reveal the woman’s soft, curvaceous figure. “Damn, even nicer.” She exclaimed, seeing that Excella also had golden rings piercing her nipples. Kinky.

“I put them on just for you.” She said sweetly, tilting her head to the side, letting the other woman ogle her freely. “Skyrim is normally so cold, that I didn’t bother. My nipples were constantly standing at full attention.” She said with a whimsical smile, encircling both areolas with her fingertips, before gently pulling on the golden rings for emphasis.

“Ha! I’m flattered, truly.” Aza chuckled as she sat up with Excella still straddled over her. Wrapping her arms around the woman she bowed her head to trail kisses down her neck and chest until she was giving the pierced nipples cautious nips. The flavor of scented body oil and sweat mixed on her tongue. Goods, she missed the touch and taste of her kinswomen.

“Go harder…” Excella purred with her eyes closed, gripping Aza’s shoulders and practically smothering the adventurer with her chest.

“I’m gonna!” Aza protested from between the unbelievably ample tits.

“Mmm, yesss… Just like that.” Excella softly exhaled, running her nails down Aza’s toned back. “Ooh… now the other one. Good, a little harder… Ah! Too hard!”

Aza grunted, annoyed by being the one ordered around, kneading Excella’s bouncy ass, whilst her tongue danced between one tit and the other. The harlot giggled, arching her back, her head tilted backwards, exposing her neck for Aza to bite unexpectedly.

“Let me fish you out of the rest of this dress so we can get to business.” The adventurer swore.

The dress was surprisingly easy to slip out of. Or perhaps it was the oils Excella was covered in? Gods, she was so soft and smooth, her skin glistened in the faint light of the lantern like a rare treat. Aza could spend the entire night just wrapped around Excella, caressing her and taking in her presence like a chaste lover. But despite appreciating and admiring every inch of Excella, she wanted to enjoy her in a more carnal way.

“You’re smiling!” Excella sing-sang, as the adventurer slowly guided her to lay down and kneeled between her bent legs. “You look good when you smile. You should do that more often.”

Aza snorted awkwardly, looking away for a moment to regain face. Ah, fuck it. She was allowing herself to be happy for a second, who cared? She peered into the woman’s golden eyes, sliding her hands all the way down the oiled-up breasts and stomach, pausing just below Excella’s navel. The harlot smirked, slowly removing her hands, up to now protectively covering her pussy. Aza looked down and her jaw dropped.

“Morhwa’s fat titties…” She whispered in awe, stunned by the sight laid down before her.

That was the most beautiful cunt she had ever seen. A smooth, soft mound with plump, delicate lips just beckoning to be licked and sucked. The pearl of the clit was shily peeking from under its hood, throbbing with excitement. A small tuft of the silkiest hairs possible perfectly framed the entire picture.

“Like what you see?” Excella smirked confidently, proud of making such an impression on the adventurer. “I once made a man cry and beg for my hand with just the sight of my pussy. Granted, he spent months in the desert without a woman, so he might have been exaggerating.”

“You’re perfect.” Aza exclaimed, bending forward to take in the sweet, feminine scent of Excella.

The first lick she gave was cautious, more a way to slowly get acquainted with the taste and feel of this divine pussy. Her flat tongue slid the length of the lips without parting them, pausing only to grind flat and hard against the perky clit.

“Ah… Aza.” Excella moaned and the very sound of her own name in the harlot’s mouth sent lightning up Aza’s abdomen. “Your tongue… so good.”

Aza dug her nails into Excella’s thighs, going lower, lapping away at the woman’s silken lips, impatiently rubbing her sweating thighs together. Excella’s fingers twisted into her hair, pushing her head closer, soaking her face in sweet, sleek wetness.

“Mmm… yes, now my turn.” Excella’s calm voice pulled the adventurer back to reality after a few munities of her blissfully licking and sucking.

“What?” Aza looked up, mouth and chin soaked in pussy, apparently too cunt-drunk to register what was being said to her.

“Your turn. Lay down please.” Excella repeated patiently, wiping off her own juices from the corner of Aza’s mouth.

“You sure? You don’t want to come first?”

“I’m good. Now stop being difficult. Unless you don’t want to feel my pierced tongue on your clit?” The harlot rose her shapely brow.

Aza practically threw herself on the furs spread-eagle, twat-first at the other woman’s face. No, she wouldn’t miss this opportunity for anything. Excella stifled a laugh, quickly adjusted her position, flinging her long braid over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get in the way.

The harlot had the unique talent of knowing what people wanted and giving it to them in the most pleasurable way. She knew Aza needed a little bit of comfort in an easy lover’s arms, just enough to forget about the past few days, and to have the strength to go on for just a few more. She also knew the adventurer would not settle for just gentle kisses and soft moans. Once or twice Excella caught a glimpse of Erik’s cock outlined under his pants. If her suspicions were correct, Aza was a true size queen. This was going to be fun!

“S-straight to the point?” Aza stuttered as Excella pushed both her thumbs inside, stretching the adventurer’s slit wide open.

“Yes. You’re so wet and needy by now, that I am afraid you might come from foreplay alone.” She teased.

“That’s mean!”

“You want me to be mean to you.” Excella said confidently.

Aza opened her mouth to protest, but she closed it before she could say a lie. Yeah, she actually wouldn’t mind this cheeky beauty bullying her a bit. Within reason.

She bit into the side of her palm as the golden stud encircled her twitching clit whilst Excella’s thumbs pushed in and out of her. She exhaled a loud breath when the soft lips sealed around her hood, sucking hard at the sensitive pearl. Truly, Excella had talent! Aza was so excited, that her juices leaked freely from within, slicking her thighs and behind. Yes, this is exactly what Excella wanted.

“Easy now.” The harlot purred, pulling her thumbs out. Instead, she gently ran the fingertips of her one hand the length of Aza’s drenched mound, generously coating them in slippery dews. “Yes, this should be enough… Relax and let me handle you.”

Could she stick her fingers in any slower? Aza arched her back, jaws still closed on her own palm. She mewled, spread by four sleek fingers, three knuckles deep. Her hips bucked against them, pushing down on Excella’s palm, wrapping her hot cunt around her hand, just before the thumb. Excella looked up to meet with Aza’s mismatched eyes, smiled mischievously and began thrusting, sealing her lips around the adventurer’s clit.

The heroine cursed, covering her mouth all too late. She trashed when the crafty harlot curved just the tips of her fingers finding that tender sweet-spot. Unbothered by this dramatic display, Excella kept her attention on shallowly fisting Aza’s pussy, giving the adventurer a warning swat on the thigh with her other hand.

“Tall Papa’s hairy balls, yes!” The grizzled warrioress mewled, cupping the back of the other woman’s head. “You’re amazing, keep going. Yes, yes, yesyesyes!!”

Lazily (but keeping up the steady pace of her palm pumping in an out of Aza’s thoroughly drenched snatch), Excella peeled her velvety lips from the swollen clitoris. Her golden eyes twinkled, her mouth glimmered with slick wetness.

“Do you want me to let you come?” She asked sweetly, causing tears to pour into the corners of the adventurer’s eyes.

“Uh-huh!” The other could only stutter.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem convinced.”

Cheeky little thing!

“Please!” Aza grunted hoarsely, bare and completely defenseless in dear Excella’s gentle grasp. “You make me feel so good! Let me come, pleeease, I need it so baaad!”

Excella curved her thumb under her palm and pushed deeper, burying herself wrist-deep, forcing a half-surprised-half-ecstatic cry from Aza. The adventurer came instantly, her pussy tightly gripping and pulsing around Excella. She covered her mouth or she would risk screaming and alerting the entire camp. Rocking her hips into that slender hand, she rode out her orgasm until the only thing she could do was lay flat and numb, crying, and sweating.

“Mmm… you look so blissful.” Excella cooed with affection, pulling out with a wet pop. She licked her hand clean, gently rubbing the adventurer’s perspiring stomach, gazing at her handiwork with pride.

“You’re… truly…” Aza struggled to find the right words for what she was feeling.

“You can just say thank you”. Excella laughed, laying at her side, wrapping her arms around Aza for another embrace.

“Thank you. That was amazing.” Aza panted, showering her guest’s face and neck with soft kisses. “Just give me a second to catch my breath and I’ll be right with you.” She promised, though Excella knew the exhausted adventurer would be sleeping in her arms in just a few moments. She didn’t mind, though. Perhaps they could have a rematch in the morning?

---

Blackness filled the endless void around her. Somewhere in the distance a horse screamed in fear and pain, like it was dying. And it probably was. Aza panted, sticky from blood and sweat. Yet she pressed on, traversing the darkness. The weight of the person she was carrying was starting to wear her down, but she refused to let them go. And although she desperately wanted, she couldn’t look down to see who she was carrying in her arms. She could only push forward.

Wisps of grey smoke swirled around her, filling her lungs with the smell of burning wood and slaughter. She halted, certain that something terrifying and dangerous was lurking in the blackness just a few steps ahead of her.

Wings, leathery and red, stretched in front of her while a deep, inhuman voice called out above her.

Dovahkiin.

Aza gasped, bucking wildly on the furs, throwing the cape off herself and her nightly companion. Sitting up, she clutched her chest, breathing fast through her nose. Clarity came to her gradually as the beating of her heart slowed down. A dream. It was only a dream.

“What’s going on?” Excella asked, rising on her elbow, half-asleep. “Everything alright?”

“I had a bad dream. Sorry.” Aza muttered, rubbing her burning face. “Don’t worry about it and go back to sleep. I need a walk.” She assured the concerned harlot, reaching to cover Excella back with the cape.

The woman muttered a soft ‘goodnight’, rolling to her side. Aza sighed, flung on some clothes and crawled out of the stuffy tent into the cool night. She stretched, muttered a quiet curse and briskly walked across the campsite. She should check up on her horse, the trek with Erik on its back must have almost completely exhausted the poor thing.

To her silent dismay Kemon and one of his scouts were attending to the horses. The head of the caravan gave the scout quick instructions in an hushed, urgent tone. The other man nodded, swiftly mounted his horse and rode off, leaving the two alone.

Aza said nothing, approaching her paint mare. The animal neighed weakly at her approach, parting from its bay sister and trotting up to greet her. Aza stroked the mare’s warm, dry nose, whispering a few meaningless words of comfort.

“You’re up.” She noted as Kemon approached, trying to ignore the quiet pain in the horse’s eyes.

“I needed to make sure no more assassins are following us.” He explained, gazing at the direction his scout departed. Deep shadows under his eyes deepened in those few days.

“Do you ever sleep?” She asked stepping away from the mare to focus on her former partner.

“There’s too much at stake for me to earn a peaceful rest.” Kemon crossed his arms, somehow managing to not look like a man who barely slept at all.

“You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse from exhaustion.” Aza noted casually, realizing this was going to end in a confrontation. “You keep your head high, but you’re a mess.”

“You seem to be holding yourself together just fine.” He pointed out before he could think. “Enough to lose yourself in Excella’s arms tonight after almost losing your partner the day before.”

“I could be bawling my eyes out. But what good would come of it? None. At the end of the day, if everyone is alive and I have all my limbs intact, then I’m good. So, I’d rather enjoy every precious moment whenever I can.”

“Some would say that’s… irresponsible.” He measured his words carefully.

“They mostly say I’m a slut. And I don’t mind” She shrugged.

“That’s not what I meant.” Quickly, Kemon rose his hands to apologize.

“I know. But why dance around the subject? I’m not hiding who I am. Why bother?” She said casually.

“You were always so… honest with what made you happy. But I don’t remember you ever being this…” he paused to find the correct word “upfront.”

“It’s been over ten years. I changed. I had to if I wanted to stay sane.” She tensed, waiting for him to ask the dreaded question.

“That makes at least one of us.” Kemon said bitterly. “What…?”

“What happened that night when we got separated?” Aza interrupted. Yeah, she might as well tell him every obvious thing he wanted to know and have it over with. “Exactly what you think. I survived. Lost sight in my right eye, but I was alive. A caravan shipping weapons found me and saved my life. I entertained them in exchange. Picked up some fun tricks.” She grinned, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Don’t give me that look, I did much worse since them. They dropped me off in Hegathe. It took me weeks to get to Sentinel, but I finally arrived. I searched for days, asked around for a man and a little girl. No one could tell me a thing. I finally convinced myself that you got on a ship and sailed to Gods know where. But all that time you were working your hands to the bone at the docks while Zia was fighting illness in the temple under Saabi’s care. Right under my nose.” She grunted, angrily kicking a rock.

Kemon remained silent, but his posture and the heartbroken look on his face spoke volumes. Aza hated when people gave her that look, but was somewhat glad he was still able to show any emotion other than grim determination.

“But I think it’s good that I didn’t find you.” She continued, calming down with some difficulty. “I came to Sentinel a changed woman. Angry. I was not someone you needed in your lives.” She shook her head sadly. “You needed someone kinder and better than me. Someone like Saabi.” She paused to look away for a moment, she didn’t want him to see her lose control over her own face and voice. “I left Hammerfell behind. Wandered the world for years with no goal bigger than the next drink or fuck. I had some fun. Sometimes I got unlucky, but that’s life. But hey, at least we both finally got closure, right?” She grinned, silently begging for the conversation to end now and there.

“It pains me to see how that night changed you.” Kemon whispered horrified and his tone, though genuine, was enough to set her off.

“Oh, stop it!” Aza lashed out, taking a step towards him, but halting just in time. “I’ve been through much worse since that night in the desert. But I always kept going. I endured. My pain is mine alone, not for you to feel sorry for me! I still love life and I’m not afraid to face another day! Maybe I became a slut with a drinking problem and an itchy fist, but I’m not a cold asshole who can only snarl at people!”

“I suffered as well!” He struck back, rising his arms to the indifferent night sky. “It was I who decided we took that damned route, remember? Our entire caravan got wiped out because of me. Zia sometimes still wakes up from bad dreams, crying and shaking. True, I became hard. A small price to pay if I can make sure no one dies under my watch.”

Aza rose her hand, then lowered it, clenching both hands into tight fists. She wanted to say something, but talking was suddenly too exhausting. The last two days were more for her to handle than the past decade. She remembered the old, long gone Kemon. Patient, kind and understanding. Bit of a pushover, but always meaning well and always putting his loved ones first.

“You’ve changed too. You’re an asshole.” She finally spoke without a trace of emotion, hunching her shoulders. She was too tired to be angry anymore or fall into despair. She just wanted all this to be over with so she could finally put the past to rest and be on her way. There was nothing more to talk about, so she should change the subject. “Erik is in no condition to put up with you for the rest of the journey. He can stick to riding in the back with Abdal, I’ll ride with you up front.”

“Saabi and I agreed that it is best Zia stays close to me for the rest of the trip. I want to keep my eye on her in case she decides to do something foolish again.” Kemon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t talk smart to you.”

“Well… shit.”

---

Zia was fucked. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than riding with her father on one horse with the crazy woman in parallel to them on her sadly neighing paint neg. And yet, here they were, the three of them in grim silence. Even the hyena accompanying them dared not make a sound.

“Papa…” She dared risk, looking over her shoulder to read Kemon’s face. Despite his stern expression, she decided to prod. “My back hurts, can I ride on the wagon with mama?”

“Oh, so Saabi is your mother now that it’s convenient?” Her father reprimanded, eyes locked at the path ahead of them. “Did you apologize to her?”

“Not yet…”

“Then you stay with me until you do. Sincerely.”

“It’s going to be alright honey.” Aza cut in, her voice uncharacteristically warm. “This will all be over soon.”

“I don’t need you defending me!” Zia snapped, turning to shoot the adventurer a glare.

“I was talking to the horse.” Aza rebutted in her more natural, unpleasant tone, staring straight ahead and gently patting the apathetic mare on the neck.

Zia bit her tongue. This was hopeless, she just had to soldier on.

“I don’t like us having to take this pass. It might be relatively unknown, but it’s too narrow for my liking.” Kemon commented, staring up at the craggy mountain peaks stretching from both sides. “If something would happen, then we’re going to be trapped here. And your partner said we’ll be descending dangerously close to an Imperial fort. Greenwall, was it? I don’t like the idea of brushing with the Legion.”

“That’s what you have your scouts for, yeah?” Aza reminded, pulling out her map for study, despite having their route burned into her memory by now. “If we run into any surprises down the road they’ll report back to you just in time to head back. Besides” she turned to give him a morbid grin. “How much worse can it get?” She laughed unpleasantly.

“Are you a gambling woman?” He wondered.

“Never picked up the habit, no.”

“Then let’s keep it that way and not tempt fate.”

“Fate…” Aza grunted, agitated by the word like it was some obscenity. “To Oblivion with it.”

---

“Are you sure?” Abdal checked, offering his travel companion a flask full of still hot black coffee.

“No, I’m good. I guess it’s not the drink for me.” Erik shook his head. Despite flushing out all the poison from his body, the very thought of coffee made his gut churn. Now, a good ale or mead would be just the thing. Alas, the terrain was tough and he needed his wits about him. Besides, the caravan ran out of spirits some time ago.

Abdal shrug his shoulders taking a hefty gulp from the flask, exhaling with pleasure as if the drink was the finest rum. “Glad I’m not the one riding in the front.” He noted, pointing his chin at the head of the caravan. “I would not want to be in Kemon’s daughter’s shoes right now.”

“Mhm.”

“Kemon can keep people at a distance, even those closest to him, but he’s always putting others before himself.” Abdal assured.

“I’m sure.” Erik kept his tone dispassionate. Kemon and his family life were not topics he wanted to get into.

“Have I told you I was once a bandit?” The man said nonchalantly, instantly gaining his companion’s attention.

“You?” Erik straightened up in his saddle, staring at Abdal incredulously. “You have to be joking!”

“I swear on Tall Papa’s heavy, hairy balls!” Abdal swore, rising his hand like he were cradling his god’s invisible sack. “I grew up on Stros M’kai. It’s a beautiful, but terribly small island. Too small for my liking. I was a young man with a problem with authority and wanderlust. As soon as I grew my first chin hairs I boarded a ship and sailed for the continent. I met some unsavory types and joined a small band in the Alik’r. Nothing big, just a rag-tag group of idiots with enough nerve and numbers to hit small caravans and usually get them to surrender the goods without a fight. Which was the way I liked it.”

“So, how did you become the respectable man you are today?” Erik asked, his curiosity peaked.

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” The man laughed, glad he was getting some attention. “Our boss decided we should expand our horizons and start hitting bigger marks.”

“Kemon’s caravan.”

“Exactly. Like I said, we were a rag-tag group of young idiots… We got obliterated. Kemon would have our heads decorating spikes along the trade route as a warning, but Saabi intervened. I guess seeing us smooth-faced and snot-nosed whelps trembling on our knees made her feel sorry for our asses.”

“I can believe she got Kemon to spare the lives of juvenile bandits, but how did you end up from trying to rob them to running their security?”

“I fell on my knees and begged they let me go with them.” Abdal reminisced, taking another gulp of coffee. “Don’t ask me why, after all these years I’m still not sure why I did that. Kemon stared me down, grunted, then told me to drop my weapon and stick to the back. It was tough…” He sighed hoarsely at the very memory. “He had me doing all the nastiest, dirtiest jobs available. I reeked of camels and sweat. After a year, he had me moved from errand boy to scout. Eventually, I proved my worth and loyalty and he had me join his guards. I became head of security shortly before we left Hammerfell. Don’t laugh, but that was the happiest moment of my life.” He smiled with pride.

“Why are you telling me this?” Erik asked cautiously. People never shared such personal stories without a damned good reason.

“There were times I was thinking of slipping away and leaving the caravan.” Abdal went on, seemingly ignoring the question. “Especially after a particularly grueling day, cleaning hooves or brushing the animals. Ever got pissed on by camel? Not fun. But over the years those people became my family. What I’m saying is that Kemon can be an arsehole. He takes some getting used to. But I’d gladly give my life for him. In a way, I think he and your lady friend are very similar.”

“What?” Erik blinked confused.

“They both act like they don’t get attached to people and only protect them out of obligation or for pay. But they care. A lot.” Abdal explained patiently. “They just can’t afford having to deal with loss… Ah, look at me, getting all profound!” The Redguard laughed, waving his hand as if wanting to dispel the somber aura. “Have I ever told you the joke about a sailor and slutty Nereid? No? Great! There was once a salty old sailor…”

---

The caravan made their last stop before descending the mountain. No tents were erected, only one cooking fire was lit. The plan was to await for nightfall and slip past fort Greenwall in the dark, hopefully avoiding the Imperials attention.

“And the moons are full tonight.” Kemon grunted, staring at the slowly darkening sky. “Gods preserve us.”

The formation was simple. Erik in the back, alone. Abdal in the middle having a watchful eye on Saabi, along with her sister. Aza in the very front with Kemon. And despite everyone’s protest, the man absolutely refused to part with his daughter.

As soon as the sun set he gave his final orders. With no lights and the horses’ hooves muffled with cloth the caravan carefully and slowly navigated the narrow mountain pass only to be halted by a courier approaching quickly from the rear.

“Stormcloaks are on our tail.” The scout reported. “My guess is they’re planning to assault the Imperial fort. We need to pick up the pace or they’ll catch up to us.”

“How many?” Kemon colorlessly asked, staring tensely at the back end of the caravan, as if expecting to see Ulfric’s skirmishers any second.

“Enough to pose a threat to the Imperials. And to outnumber our own men at least three to one.” The scout summed up.

Aza gripped her reins harder, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. They were in the way of an approaching battle. Not a guerilla-style skirmish but a full-fledged assault.

“Papa…” Zia whispered apprehensively, spotting the second courier approaching from the front.

“Imperials.” The other scout reported. “I don’t know why, but they’re mobilizing. I-”

“Stormcloaks are approaching form our rear to attack the Imperial Fort.” Kemon said louder than necessary, his voice echoed by the rocky sides of the passage. “We’re as good as dead if we stay on their path. Everyone!” He stood up in his saddle, his voice commanding and confident, despite the dire situation. “We’re going to slip past both of them, so they can slaughter each other however they please! Stay calm and follow my lead.”

His eyes met with Aza’s. She nodded, kicking her horse’s sides. In absolute silence the caravan descended the treacherous path down the mountain, entering a birch forest, so characteristic for the Rift. Were it not the impending threat of death, the still woods could feel serene.

Zia breathed loudly through her nose. She covered her mouth to suffocate a quiet whimper. Was it just her, or did she really hear someone approach? Her father pulled the reins, his horse taking a sharp turn to the west. Merciful Tall Papa, make them be alright!

---

Erik needn’t strain his ears to pick up every word from Kemon’s mouth, the acoustics we’re so good in the narrow pass, that he could hear as if the man was standing right next to him.

“Shit.” He whispered under his breath, as they passed the first slim birches. “Okay, girl.” He spoke to his horse, reaching to the side of his saddle to retrieve his crossbow. “We got this.”

He tensed and swallowed, hearing the faint sound of disturbed rocks rolling down the path behind him, no farther than you could throw one.

“Get fucked Ulfric. You and the bear you rode on.” He whispered, ignoring his spine tingling.

Just as he was about to look over his shoulder (and possibly put a bolt into someone’s face) the forest thundered with battle-cries from both sides, as both the Stormcloaks and Imperials simultaneously decided it was time to attack. The ground shook, arrows flew, horses screamed. Erik’s mare rose on her back legs, throwing her rider off. She ran off in a blind panic into the woods.

Erik hit the ground, his crossbow slipping from his grip. Thankfully he had enough brains to immediately roll to the side instead of searching for it, pressing his back against a tree trunk. Stormcloaks, at least fifty of them, passed him, yelling and tramping the leafy grass. And when they passed, he finally noticed his crossbow in the grass, stomped into tiny bits, damaged beyond repair.

“Alright.” He grunted bitterly, reaching for the axe on his back. “Guess I’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.”

---

Arrows flew from all directions. Screaming, both animal and human, proving some of them found their marks. One of them being Kemon’s horse. The poor beast neighed, wildly bucking from fear and pain. Zia, too terrified to even peep, gripped the saddle, holding on for dear life. Papa’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her sharply to the side. The girl fell off the horse, her father shielding her from hitting the ground with his own body.

Kemon’s horse fell to its side next to them with a gut-churning thud. But the ground didn’t stop shaking, people and horses running through the forest; some to escape, some to kill.

“Get up.” Papa hoarsely ordered, pulling Zia up by the shoulder. “Stay close to me.”

Someone approached, dazed by the dark and battle. They had the characteristic reddish light armor of the Legion. Without thinking, Kemon reached for his mace. The weapon rose and fell, crushing the face of an Imperial. Thank merciful gods, they had a helmet on, so Zia couldn’t see their face before looking away.

Someone else wandered too close, this time dressed in blue, the hyena instantly jumping on them, going straight for the throat. The poor bastard’s surprised scream cut short .

The crazy woman yelled a curse, steel cut the air. The paint mare neighed sharply. Another nameless someone cried out in pain and fell to the ground motionless.

“What are you waiting for?!” She yelled, dragging her horse by the reins, glaring madly at Kemon, her cheek glistening with fresh blood. “Go! Save her!”

“I can’t leave my people!” Papa protested. But he also couldn’t leave his daughter. “Saabi and Kazi!”

“I’ll find them!” Aza swore, handling him the reins and something about the quick glance she gave Zia sent white-hot daggers through the girls heart.

With a blood-curdling shriek the woman ran straight into the fray.

---

Saabi and Kazi’s wagon stood toppled over to its side. There was no horse, the beast probably tore free from its reins and ran off. Dodging an incoming kinsman Erik took a powerful swing, nearly slipping on the blood soaked grass. Letting his instincts guide him, he spun around, his axe biting into the Stormcloak’s side. He didn’t have time for a proper send-off, kicking the kinsman away, letting him die without his presence.

He approached the side of the wagon. First, he heard sobbing. Then, he saw a flash of steel and instinctively stepped back avoiding his throat getting slit.

“It’s me!” He assured the frightened Saabi, who despite being terrified out of her mind stood between him and her cowering sister.

“Thank the Gods!” The woman wept, withdrawing her herbalist knife. “I-I’m glad I didn’t have to…”

“Where’s Abdal?” Erik asked.

Saabi stepped away, revealing her sister kneeling next to the man. Or rather his still, body.

“They ran him through the chest, his lungs… We managed to drag him to safety but we were too late, there was nothing I could do.” She said, fighting away tears.

Erik gripped his axe tighter. They were stuck in the very center of the battle and there was no chance of sneaking away. It was kill or be killed.

“I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.” He calmly said, bracing for possibly one of the toughest fights of his life. “Stay here. Whatever you do, don’t leave this spot. You… you really don’t want to see what I’m about to do.”

With that, he walked to the other side of the wagon, ready for anything, feeling the familiar cold focus wash over him.

---

Excella passed her along with the other harlots, escorted by few of Kemon’s men. Aza shouted at them, pointing to where they could find Kemon and possibly safety. She had no time to explain further, running past them, ignoring the bard.

“You’re going the wrong way! That’s where there’s the most of ‘em!” Talsgar called out in vain.

Aza didn’t care. Dodging both those clad in red and blue armors, her only focus was on finding that distinct, brightly colored wagon.

“Dear Ysmir, if I’m indeed your incarnation, do me a solid and make sure Erik is alright!” She thought and as soon as those thoughts formed in her mind she saw him; swinging his gruesome axe like a man possessed, fending off any who dared come too close to Saabi and Kazi’s overturned wagon.

Whispering a quick thanks, Aza dashed forward, managing to get between him and an approaching Imperial just in time to deflect a blow that would otherwise hit Erik’s back.

“Come on!” She taunted the Legionnaire, dancing around them with her dripping swords ready for their next move.

The Imperial soldier took a step forward, ready to slash her with their dual shortswords. Unexpectedly, they were hit from behind by a Stormcloak soldier armed with a shield and war axe, the weapon now plunged into the Imperial’s skull. The Stormcloak pulled the Legionnaire off his axe with a kick. He and Aza stared each other down. This was neither the time nor place to ask ‘friend or foe’. Aza couldn’t take any chances.

She struck without warning, not giving her foe the time to react. He dodged, regaining his balance effortlessly. Aza braced, parrying his counterattack. She could have sworn his fighting style was somehow familiar… The Stormcloak played it safe, maneuvering to get some distance form her. That was his mistake; Aza dashed forward, dodging his swing and rolling on the bloody ground to get behind him. She spun around, kicking off the ground, both her swords shooting forward, lodging in his chest.

Their eyes met. It was dark, and he wore a helmet, but still she could make out how blue they were in the moonlight. The look in them betrayed shock, then something else… Pain, regret? No, it was recognition. Wait… No! By the gods, she knew those eyes!

“Ralof…” She whispered as the light faded in the Stormcloak’s gaze. “Gods, I’m sorry…”

Without a word, Gerdur’s brother fell to his knees, silently sliding off Aza’s swords. There, he laid on his side exhaling his last ragged breath, foamy blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Aza fell to her knees, sharp pain radiating from her side. She looked down only to see Ralof’s war axe cutting into her side, just above her hip. He got her. Fair.

Dazed, she looked around. The damned Imperials and Stormcloaks just kept coming! Erik was doing his best to fight them off, while Saabi And Kazi whimpered somewhere on the other side of the wagon.

“Erik…!” She called out weakly, deciding to do something drastic while she still had fight in her.

He reacted to her voice instantly, pulling his axe from another sorry fool’s forehead, turning to meet her in a few quick steps

“You’re hurt!” He realized, immediately snapping back to normal self.

“I’ll be fine. Just… help me up.”

With some effort the two braced their backs against the underside of the wagon. They panted, dripping blood and sweat. Still, the fight showed no sign of dying down.

“There’s too many of them.” Erik took her by the shoulders, the look on his sweaty, grimy face determined. “I can still take a few. Grab Saabi and Kazi and get out of here!”

“I don’t think I can walk.” She grunted, cradling her wound. “But I can Shout. Just keep me from falling over and I’ll do my best.”

Erik’s brows rose. But this was a life or death situation and people counted on them. He nodded, taking her under his arm for support, mindful not to do her any more harm.

Ignoring her surroundings, Aza took a long, deep breath, conjuring all her willpower to form the Words she needed.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” She Shouted, her Thu’um shooting from between her lips in a blazing stream of fire, igniting the dry, ruddy treetops and the nearest foes, lighting up the birch forest like a Giant’s bonfire.

What ensured was chaos. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the direct path of the fire ran into the night like human torches, screaming from the top of their lungs. Both sides scampered in terror of what just happened, running as far as they could from the center of the fiery blast.

Somewhere in the dark a war horn sounded, signaling the Stormcloaks to retreat. Those who could walk evacuated, carrying their injured brethren. In a matter of minutes, they we’re gone back up the mountain, leaving behind the dead and scattered weapons.

Which left the caravan with the Imperial threat. Somewhere in the distance Kemon whistled and yelled, rallying anyone nearby and still standing to gather. A few minutes later he and most of his guards reached the wagon wreckage. He was bleeding profusely from a cut where his left eye used to be. Saabi and Kazi crawled from the overturned wreck for a teary reunion. The group formed into a tight circle with the sparse remaining guards at the outer ring, their swords and shields drawn and ready.

Despite the surprise attack and their losses, the Imperials quickly regained their formation. Orders and sharp, metallic sounds of metal war horns echoed through the forest. And then they fell into disarray again as another group unexpectedly arrived from the south.

“No…” Kemon whispered, making out from between the burning trees the outlines of characteristic greenish-gray armor. “Tall Papa, please, anything but this…”

Screaming bloody murder a party of Orcs, clashed against the Imperial army. The earth shuddered as their leader, a warrior fully clad in orcish armor and wielding a huge warhammer, swung their weapon, sending several Imperials flying. The chief’s footmen followed, cutting down the remaining Imperials like young trees. Archers, hidden somewhere beyond view, finished off the remaining opposition. The fight was over in a matter of minutes with the Orcs sustaining zero casualties.

“Papa…” Zia cried, hugging Kemon’s site with all her strength. “We have to run!”

But there was nowhere to run. The entire caravan was trapped between the retreating Imperials and the Orcs.

“Boss! There’s more of them!!” One of the skirmisher’s called out. “But they ain’t the reds or blues!”

“Go with the throat-cutters and finish off any reds. Ogol, Lob, you come with me. I want to see for myself.” The leader yelled back. It was a confident, commanding female voice Aza knew all too well.

“Don’t let any of them get close!” Kemon ordered, pulling Zia and Saabi aside, then reaching for his mace.

Aza had to think and act fast, and most importantly, she had to do something before Kemon orders his men to attack and more lives get lost.

“BORGAKH!” She yelled from the top of her lungs, putting whatever was remaining of her strength to push in front of the caravan, despite her limbs going numb. “BORGAKH, IT’S ME!!!”

“Aza!” Erik called out, elbowing people to be one step behind his partner.

“It’s fine, I know her.” Aza assured, gesturing at everyone to remain in place. “Nobody do anything brash.”

The ground shook as the Orcs approached, their weapons lowered. Aza wiped the sweat from her brow, focusing her vision on the familiar silhouette. The orcish leader stepped forward, meeting the Redguard halfway in just a few quick steps. Saying nothing, the Orc took off their helmet, revealing a familiar female face. Borgakh the Steel Heart.

“I meet you in strange places.” Borgakh spoke, focusing her gaze on Aza’s ashen face, then on her partner and finally on the tightly-packed caravanners. “You’ve been busy since we went our separate ways.”

“Y-yeah.” Aza stuttered, leaning on Erik (who was too stubborn to listen and stay back) suddenly feeling cold and lightheaded. She was weak, too weak for it to be mere exhaustion. Her cape felt heavy and unpleasantly sticky. No wonder, as it was soaked with blood pouring from her side, right where Ralof’s war axe had hit her. This wasn’t a mere scratch. She was hemorrhaging.

“You’re injured.” The orc woman noted.

“No shit.” Aza hissed, thankful for Erik taking all her weight on himself. “Borgakh… fuck… These people, they’re with me… they need help. Shit, I need help… I-I think I’m gonna…”

Aza lost her voice as well as consciousness, falling into Erik’s arms. The hero’s eye’s met with Borgak’s.

“We have a healer with us, but she’s lost a lot of blood.” His voice shook, as he scooped his partner up in his arms. “If we stay here she’s done for.”

“Boss, the throat-cutters are done. What now?” The same skirmisher asked, but dared not approach. “If we stay here we might have to deal with reinforcements.”

Borgahk peered back into Erik’s eyes, pondered for a second, then nodded.

“Alright, listen up!” Steel Heart addressed her brethren, raising unconscious Aza’s arm. “I declare this woman as blood-kin!” She sharply turned to address the caravan. “Who gives orders around here?”

“I do!” Kemon stepped forward, leaving his petrified daughter in Saabi’s arms. “You will address me, Orc.”

“Gather your survivors and come with us.” Borgakh ordered, putting her helmet back on.

“To where?” Kemon asked, too desperate to feel any more fear or distrust. Despite his hatred for orcish kind, he knew that they were all as good as dead if he does not cooperate.

“Largashbur.”

Notes:

❤ Hope you enjoyed! Consider checking out my carrd for my other socials! ❤

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Erik the Pussy Slayer