A great end to a great chapter. I appreciated his choice to let Uncle Sweetshare live, but I worry for him due to his choice to stay in that cabin. Your description of his descent toward death and despair was very powerful, and I look forward to reading about whatever it is that will finally pull him out of this dangerous downward spiral.

Oh Athlain! Hanging around in that drug-nest for quite some time if I'm not mistaken? And naturally he didn't write home during that period...oh my my that will cause worry among his family and friends. imagine Mother Baria...she will be very worried, not to mention Athynae! Hmm those two ladies are no whimps, they will probably take some serious actions....

Looking soo much forward to the next chapter!


S.V.G.M.P.I

Story.Very.Good.More.Please.Immediately

A letter from Louis Beauchamp, Ald Skar Inn, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

To: Athlain Treyson, currently resident at Fort Frostmoth
Re: Our Arrangement

…not heard from you for several weeks. I understand that you are in the Legion now, and your time is not always your own. However, we had an agreement- a contract, as one might say. I would prefer not to involve your Legion superiors- or your parents….


Excerpt from the Prophecies of the Hunter-

Fate ordains, blood calls, the meeting delayed
Cannot be denied

Rescued, restored, the child of the blood finds
Solace granted, a deadly gift


A note from Tel Fyr to Indarys Manor, Ald’ruhn (a portion):

Of course, without direct examination, I cannot speak with absolute certainty. Nevertheless, I believe your surmise may be correct. As to how to proceed with this information, I cannot advise you- as you know, my own familial relationships are—unique.


A note left at Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell (a portion):

…has gotten himself in trouble; I just know it. And he needs help to sort it out. I am asking forgiveness rather than permission, because I would rather not defy you if you forbade me to go. Please understand that this is something I need to do- you cannot keep me at home forever.

P.S.

I borrowed a sword from the armory.

I leave for a while, I come back, and I find this.

The early post about the mission back in Vvardenfell, and now the note from Tel Fyr does beg an interesting arcane-scientific question: What effects of the Divine Disease would a divinely-blessed father pass on to his child?

Looking forward to more!

yay!!!! I just knew it! She would definitely take off to help him out...ohhhh this is gonna be sooo awesome.

I just hope Athlain will get out of his addiction somehow without being too much hurt.

Sometimes I think I enjoy these letters as much as the installments. They contain just enough information to pique my curiosity, yet leave out enough to leave me wondering about the possibilities. Thanks again.

*Shakes head despairingly*

Oh Athlain...

I find I agree with Planty as to the fact I'm enjoying these letter bits very much. They're most interesting indeed.

Those interludes are excellent. Enough to know the gist of the letter but no details. Things look bad for him, I wander what shook him out of it. Yup I'm as hooked on this as he is on his tea.

I'm really enjoying this - thanks.

The days blurred one into another, and I rarely left the cabin. Food had become increasingly difficult to find, but the skooma suppressed my appetite to the point that I was no longer bothered by hunger. I melted snow for water and used the firewood already stacked against the walls. I made no attempt to replace what I burned- it would be too much work- and besides, I could not be bothered by thoughts of the future. Much of the time, I was in a waking sleep, a condition defined by the most vivid dreams- dreams that seemed real, but which then vanished beyond recall. Many people and creatures came to me in that dream state- my parents; my sisters; even the ghost of Dagoth Ur, demanding to know what I was doing. So, when the snow-spirit came into the cabin, I was not surprised; in fact, I was somewhat relieved that death had finally arrived.

A cold gust disturbed my fitful slumber in the hammock, and I turned my head to see a figure dressed in white pushing through the door. I could not see the face inside the hood, but saw a large blade strapped to the figure’s back. So, I thought, Death grew tired of waiting, and has sent someone to collect me. Good. Some befuddled part of my brain reminded me that it was good manners to stand when a guest entered the room… or was that when a ghost entered the room? Either way, I really should get up- the spirit had come all this way, after all. So I flopped out of the hammock and staggered to my feet. The spirit had not yet moved from the door, and I frowned as I noticed something. I took a hesitant step forward, mumbling,

“I thought you would be taller.”

Before the spirit could reply, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I fell in a heap.

* * * * *

When I next became aware, I was still sprawled on the floor, but some things were different. The fire, which I had allowed to die down to coals, was now blazing with fresh logs. The clutter from my uncertain housekeeping had been straightened- including the removal of the bristle-back bones that I had taken to tossing in a corner. Beyond that, there was no sign of the spirit that had visited me. Perhaps, I mused, it was not an envoy of Death after all, but one of those helpful spirits- the sort that mend shoes. But if that were true, why did the spirit carry that great black sword? I would have to be sure and ask if it returned. But for the moment, the warmth of the hearth was an invitation to sleep, and I was only too glad to accept.

* * * * *

Eventually, thirst overcame my weariness, and I struggled upright. Hard on the heels of my normal thirst came the craving that clenched my abdomen and fired my blood. How fortunate, I thought, that a cup of tea will quench my thirst as well as my need. The shallow pan I used to melt snow should still hold some water, so I would not even need to venture outside. When I shuffled over to the table I used for the only alchemical process I still performed, I saw that my helpful visitor had straightened and cleaned that area, as well. The apparatus was carefully arranged, and all the haphazardly strewn ingredients had been returned to their drawers or paper packets- all except one. With increasing panic, I pulled open every drawer and cupboard, shook out every packet in the cabin, and went through the pockets of all the clothing. At the end of my frenzied search, I had returned the room to its previous state of disorder, but I had found not a single grain of moon-sugar.

* * * * *

The next several hours were difficult in the extreme. The cabin became too hot, so I threw open the door to let in cold air. Within minutes, the icy draft chilled my sweating body, sending me into uncontrollable shivers, so I slammed the door shut again. My stomach cramped fiercely, feeling as if some live thing was struggling to escape from within. My thirst seemed unquenchable, no matter how much water I drank down. I even went so far as to sprinkle salt from my small store onto my palm and lick it off. Racking hunger pangs were interspersed with bouts of nausea. Physical exhaustion soon overcame my weakened body, but blessed sleep refused to come. Instead, I was unwilling witness to a parade of waking hallucinations, visions that frightened and shamed me. I saw red-eyed Draugrs prowling the room, sniffing and growling as they sought living prey, but somehow ignored me. Senior Trooper Carbo stepped out of the wall, drew his sword, and reversed it- offering the hilt to me. He shook his head sadly and said,

“You have to do the right thing, kid. Everyone is depending on you.”

He turned and gestured at a horrible scene behind him- Mae and Cai were bound and laid upon the altar of a Daedric shrine- Ashalmawia, I realized. The Daedra-worshipper I had fought, the first man I had ever killed, stood over them with an ebony dagger poised to strike. Carbo looked at the scene, then at me, and finally at the sword he had offered. His face took on an apologetic look as he re-sheathed the blade and said,

“Sorry. I forgot you can’t use one of these. I guess they’ll just have to pay the price.”

He vanished, and the dagger plunged downward. My sisters weren’t looking at it- their pleading eyes were fixed on me. I reached out a weak hand, seeking comfort more than offering it, and the scene changed again. The altar became our dining table at home, and the whole family was seated around it. Someone sat in my chair, but I could not see who it was until Carnius Magius turned to leer at me as he pulled a skooma flask from his robe and offered it to my mother. That scene melted away to reveal Father leaning tiredly against his workbench, holding a sheaf of papers. The papers shifted and became one of Mother’s prize flowers; the petals wilted and fell away, revealing a Dwemer mace. The mace grew into a daedroth, which turned and sank its teeth into his throat. His thoughtful expression never changed; he simply gave me a probing look and asked,

“What are we going to do about this?”

Blood spilled from his mouth and a chill even worse than before came over me, a cold wind that blew away the vision and the mist that had surrounded it. The wind seemed to waft a familiar perfume to my nostrils and I thought I heard Athynae wailing,

“But I just cleaned this room!”

A very intriguing start to chapter 8. I have to admit that I feel uncertain about what has actually happened vs. what was a dream, but I'm confident that will get resolved soon.

Ohhh dear...withdrawal symptomps...could be so painful. Athlain surely pay his price here, but ir's just necessary, he's got to get out of it, his addiction. But poor kid!

Let's hope the ghost will aid him in his struggle, after all Athynae loves him I'm so sure.

Most intriguing update, really can't wait to see how the meeting between those two turns out

It was then that I knew for a certainty that my mind was truly gone. Athynae, of all people, could not be here. She was lost- lost to me, anyway- for all that she was safe at home in Ald’ruhn. When I had left my life and my name behind, I had resigned myself to never seeing her again. The only comfort I took from that knowledge was that she would not discover the depths to which I had sunk. She would be sad for a while, no doubt, but her last memory of me would be untarnished by the reality of what I had become. So… this must be another hallucination, a dream that sprang from my addled mind. I would turn around, and there would be no one there. I would turn around, my heart and my mind in conflict. I would turn around, pitting logic against hope. I would turn around, and face the disarray of the cabin and the ruin of my life. But I would face it alone. A lifetime passed between one breath and the next. And then I turned.

A quiet voice, a bit breathless and with a hint of humor, said:

“It would probably work better if you opened your eyes.”

It was Athynae. She was real, and she was there, not five feet away from me, looking like a creature of the Aether in the midst of the wreckage. I could find no words; my heart was too full. She stood there, and it was as though every good thing in the world had entered that door with her- family, home, love. My weary eyes drank in the sight of her, and the skooma-thirst that had burned within me momentarily abated. She looked much as when I had last seen her the day after the party- slender, athletic, and altogether beautiful. Her violet eyes seemed shadowed with anxiety, but her smile lit the room. I took in the white armor she wore, and the katana hilt that rose over her right shoulder, and I understood that the path which brought her to me had not been straight or easy. Still the silence stretched as we stared at one another, until I finally broke it with a mind-numbing inanity:

“You’re here.”

With those two words, I proved once and forever that my sister Mae had been correct- I would make an absolute hash out of things when I encountered an elven princess.

But Athynae did not seem to care. She threw herself across the space between us and grabbed me in an embrace that was anything but ethereal. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held me tightly and her words came in a rush:

“I was so worried. You got sent off to Fort Frostmoth, and I didn’t have a chance to see you. And then your letters stopped, and I was afraid you had met someone else. But you stopped writing to Aunt Baria, too. So I sent a letter to the Legion, but nobody knew anything. The only thing to do was come and find you myself.”

She finally relaxed her fierce grip just a bit and leaned her head back to look at me. There were questions in her eyes, questions I knew I would have to answer. But for now, it was enough that she was here, in my arms. She backed up a pace and dried her tears, then resumed her story in a slightly more coherent fashion:

“I stopped at Fort Frostmoth first. They weren’t even worried about you- just said you were ‘on assignment’ for Severia Gratius, and that you would come back when it was done. Well, that nice young trooper Saenus seemed a little concerned, but he wouldn’t say why.”

My heart lurched at the thought of my Athynae alone amongst the dregs of the Legion at Fort Frostmoth. It was no place for a young woman. And then my brain caught up with my ears and I felt a stab of jealousy- “nice young trooper Saenus” was it? I started to launch into a withering lecture on how foolish she had been to come here unaccompanied, how dangerous Solstheim was, how frantic Serene and Athyn must be…. And then I closed my mouth, leaving the words unspoken. The hypocrisy would have choked me. I was in no position to condemn anyone for foolishness, for leaving their family to go out into the wide world. At least she had left home for a purpose greater than herself; out of concern for someone else, rather than out of boredom. And there was something more, a realization that brought with it an infinite sadness- seeing that slender girl bearing a sword on her back should have been faintly ridiculous- but it was not. The katana seemed a part of her, as if it had always been there and I had just never noticed it before. Meanwhile, she continued:

“But Saenus wouldn’t tell me anything- said it ‘wasn’t his place,’ and that I should talk to the Captain. And Captain Carius wasn’t there- he had to go to the mainland for something. I got tired of waiting and went to Thirsk- that’s the Nord village up north. Mama has friends there. Anyway, I got Brynjolfr to make me this armor from snow wolf furs. It’s a lot warmer than chitin or glass would be.”

As always seemed to happen, Athynae’s rush of words and sudden changes of direction left me dizzy. I had a feeling she had left some important information out of her rapid-fire narrative; for example, I had noticed a slight catch in her voice when she mentioned Serene’s friends at Thirsk. Somehow I doubted that her parents had approved this unaccompanied trip into the wilderness. I also noticed that she made no mention of how she had gotten the fur for the armor- and I knew that you couldn’t just buy it. But before I could raise that issue, Athynae had a question of her own:

“Speaking of armor, what happened to your Legion uniform? I didn’t see it anywhere in the cabin when I cleaned up.”

The way she crossed her arms and the look in her eyes when she mentioned her housekeeping efforts told me that was a topic that she planned to come back to- probably in the very near future. Meanwhile, she tilted her head inquiringly and asked,

“Well?”

A full answer to that question would lead to other questions, many of which I was not ready to have raised. Therefore, I decided to respond literally- to the letter of the question, rather than the intent. With a vague gesture to the south, I mumbled:

“My uniform, it’s…. I left it… back there. I resigned.”

There was a long silence, which I rushed to fill:

“I left a note….”

Athynae gave me a look of exasperated affection.

“You left a note. How thoughtful. What did you say- ‘Dear Emperor Septim, I quit. Respectfully, Athlain’?”
She shook her head. “You always did have an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic.”

This from the girl who had seen every performance of The Terror of Castle Xyr when the traveling company came to Ald’ruhn. And who had then insisted on going to Balmora to see it again. For just a moment, I was back in school, where we had argued endlessly with one another about everything. But the illusion was fleeting- we were neither one of us in school any longer, and my problems were not the problems of childhood. Whatever we might have once meant to each other, whatever future we might have had, my failures had destroyed for all time. My initial surprise at seeing Athynae had passed; so too, my clouded thinking. And, just to add emphasis, I felt a familiar cramping of my midsection. Whatever she had experienced in her search for me, I could not let her see this; she could not see the addiction overcome me. I knew what I must do, and steeled myself for the task. I looked into her smiling eyes and said,

“Athynae, you shouldn’t be here.”

I like.

The last part was good, I liked the addiction sequence. On its own it seemed a little too disjointed (I realise this was deliberate and like the effect it achieved of moments of togetherness fading in and out of memory) but once tacked onto the longer part it works very well. Also its a good introduction for Athynae, there's some back story there to come out which has me hooked. You've also introduced her as changed from earlier, I'm interested to see how much and how her greater knowledge of the island will affect their relationship.



Ooooh... I think sums that up.

We're so accustomed to knights-in-shining-armor rescuing the damsel-in-distress; it's really refreshing to see the damsel-in-shining-armor rescuing the poor-sod-in-distress. I hope this marks a very positive turning point for Athlain.

Without a word, Athynae ducked back out the door. I closed my eyes and cursed myself for my clumsiness. Why was it that I could speak with anyone from a Redoran Councilor to a nomad guar-herder with ease and confidence, but I always said the wrong thing to this girl? Although I had meant what I said, I had not intended for her to go immediately back out into the cold. She could have stayed for a short time- an hour, perhaps two- maybe even until the next day. And I would have managed an explanation, preferably one that did not involve drug-addiction, as to why she needed to leave, rather than a rude dismissal. As I looked for a solid surface against which to bang my head, my bout of self-loathing and self-pity was interrupted as Athynae pushed back through the door, bearing a massive pack and a silver longbow. She eased her burden to the floor and took up the conversation again, apparently misunderstanding my meaning:

“Well of course not, silly. You can’t stay here, either. I only have enough food for a few days; then we will have to go somewhere else. I think Thirsk would probably be best. Don’t stand there gawping; help me hang some blankets to make a curtain so I have a place to sleep.”

She was staying! That was wonderful- no, that was terrible. This was not working; I had not made myself clear. I ruthlessly stamped on the thrill I felt at her nearness, and moved to where she was sorting through her pack. When she turned with a stack of clothing, I grasped her shoulders and made sure she was looking at me. I spoke slowly, as if to a child,

“No. You should not be here. You cannot stay with me. You have to leave. There are reasons, good reasons. Listen, Athynae, I….”

That was as far as I got before she shook off my hands, dropped what she held, and shouted,

“No, you listen! I don’t want to hear about your ‘reasons.’ I don’t want to hear what a terrible person you are and how you’re only trying to protect me! I have had people ‘protecting me’ all my life and I’m sick of it!”

Her eyes flashed fire as she stared at my face as if daring me to speak. Even if I had been foolish enough to try, I was too stunned. I had never seen Athynae in this mood before, and I dimly realized that she possessed a strength, a…dangerousness… whose depths I could not calculate. She shook her head and looked around the cabin before turning that burning gaze back to me. She spoke in a low, angry voice,

“I know, Athlain. All right? I know about the moon-sugar. I found it when I cleaned this place up, and I got rid of it. I dumped it in the sea, every last speck. I know enough of alchemy to recognize what you were doing, and I know enough about healing to recognize that you’re addicted. And I am not leaving until you are cured.”

Her eyes lost their fury and she lifted a tentative hand and touched my cheek,

“Let me help you. Please? If I left you like this, I could never face your family again.”

Of course she knew; I should have realized that the drug had not just magically disappeared. And of course she would want to heal me- she was Serene’s daughter, after all. I stumbled to a bench and sat down heavily. Unable to face Athynae, I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

“I have been so lonely and ashamed. I’ve let everyone down. All because of Carnius Magius and his accursed ‘tea’.”

The thought of the man who had enslaved me was a flash of lightning through my fogged brain. I sat up and muttered,

“No more. I can make sure he pays for what he has done to me.”

I looked to the corner where I had dropped my mace when I took over the cabin, and stumbled toward it. Athynae placed a restraining hand on my arm and pulled me back to the bench, saying,

“I knew it had to be something like that, that someone must have tricked you; you would never take the drug willingly. But please wait. First, because you are not strong enough- in your condition, you probably wouldn’t survive the trip to the fort. And besides that, there may be a better way.” The smile that came to her face would have given a Daedroth nightmares. She continued, “He’s a money-man, yes?”

At my nod, she sat down beside me and took my hand:

“Once, when Mama was talking about the Hlaalu and all that business with the Caldera Mine, she told me- ‘The way to hurt them is to take their money. They don’t value life, but they love making money.’ So that’s how you deal with this Carnius- find a way to take his money. And if you can find a legal way to do it, so much the better. You can only kill him once, and then it’s over. But if you beat him financially, he’ll have to live with that forever.”

I reminded myself- again- to never really provoke Athynae. I knew from growing up with two sisters that girls were far more devious than boys ever thought of being. But this plan was absolute vengeful genius. I nodded my enthusiastic agreement and then doubled over as a spasm racked my whole body. I felt Athynae’s arms around me and gasped,

“Gods, I think I’m dying. Wish we had had more time. Love you—sorry I never said before…. Hold me, please.”

The next thing I felt was the back of my head thumping against the bench as she dropped me.

I'm honoured by the presence of Athynae in this story, I truly am. She's a special young woman and you picture her so vivid and her personality is just so right!

I just hope she will be aiding Athlain through his recovery from his addiction, and that the wicked captain gets what he deserves.

Your description of the agony and pain Athlain feels when he suffers from withdrawal symptoms are so "on the spot"

So now I sit here eagerly waiting for more



(and hopefully come up with some writing myself)

Ah, dropping the 'L-bomb.' Gotta appreciate how she drops him right as he says it. Goes to show why some of us are always apprehensive about using it.

Athynae put her hands on her hips and gave me a critical look.

“Oh, grow up. You aren’t dying.” She sniffed disdainfully and muttered, “As if I would let that happen anyway.”

I was so surprised that I nearly forgot the pain that cramped my belly. I was never going to understand this girl. She came all this way to “save” me, and then dropped me on my head. If she planned on becoming a healer like her mother, her bedside manner definitely needed work. Still, given my previous disastrous attempts at conversation, I decided that silence was my greatest ally. She looked me over clinically and continued in a brisk, detached tone:

“So it’s your stomach, right? Lift up your shirt. Oh, don’t look at me like that- Mama says that direct contact is best for healing spells- you wouldn’t bandage your greaves if you had a leg wound, would you?”

I meekly obeyed and she pushed up her sleeves and flexed her hands. As she prepared herself, my eyes fell on the bracer that she wore on her left forearm- the bracer I had given her all those months ago, before things went to pieces. She took in several deep breaths, and her face seemed to change, to become far older and more majestic and yet hauntingly familiar. Her hands began to glow the blue of the dawn sky and she placed them on my stomach. I had been healed before- like any active child on Vvardenfell, I had experienced bumps, bruises, knocks on the head and even broken bones. So the sensation of mingled warmth and cold radiating through me was nothing new. But Athynae’s touch was different. There was an intimacy to it, a sharing, that I had never felt before. It was at once thrilling and disturbing, and my body reacted in a way that made me glad I was wearing heavy trousers. The sensation passed and Athynae lifted her hands and stood slowly. Her face was her own again, although drawn and streaked with perspiration. I recognized the signs- it had been a difficult healing. She sat wearily and drained a flask of water, then shuddered as if taken by a sudden chill. She was silent for some minutes, then finally looked at me and asked,

“How do you feel?”

I felt alive, invigorated, intoxicated. I felt better than I had in years- as though I could race from Ald’ruhn to Suran without stopping. I wanted to pick Athynae up and whirl her around the room. What I said was somewhat more subdued; perhaps if I stuck to polite civility, I would manage not to put a foot wrong. Again.

“I feel much better. I think I am completely well now. Thank you.”

Athynae frowned thoughtfully and stoppered the water bottle. Unable to completely contain my energy, I stood up and stretched luxuriantly, trying out the little smile that usually worked on Mother. Athynae appeared to be immune to it; she nodded her head once, as if coming to a decision, and replied,

“That’s good. Because….”

She rose lithely to her feet and with the same motion threw a punch that started somewhere around the floor and ended on my chin. It was no girlish swat- it was a serious blow with plenty of muscle behind it. I flew backwards and crashed to the floor, watching stars burst behind my eyes. When my vision came back into focus, I saw Athynae standing over me, her face pale with anger.

“Just tell me how you could be such an idiot. Explain to me how it is you managed to survive on Solstheim for two minutes when you also managed to forget that you know the greatest healer in all of Morrowind. Enlighten me as to why you thought Mama wouldn’t help you and wouldn’t keep your confidences if she did. I could understand you joining the Legion, although you might have at least told me about it first. But this… this….”

She searched for words sufficient to convey her assessment of my monumental stupidity as I huddled on the floor at her feet and contemplated the idea that I should always wear armor in the presence of the women in my life. Unfortunately, I knew of no way to armor my heart. Nor did I want to. Her rapid breathing turned into sobs as she continued,

“Whatever possessed you to think you should just run off into the wilderness, as if you had no friends, no family… no one who loves you?”

She dropped to her knees and cradled my aching head in her arms, whispering the words of a healing spell that took away the pain her punch had inflicted. She bent her head to mine, and the salt of our tears mingled as we kissed. Fireworks burst behind my eyes again and I reached up to hold her close. What might have happened next, I do not know, for the soporific effect of the fire combined with the exhaustion that follows a major healing spell overcame us both and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Some unknown time later, a nightmare came stealing and I-

Found myself standing alone in a snowy clearing. Broken clouds alternately covered and uncovered the full moon and the wind carried the voices of wolves howling their hunting calls. I heard the soft pad of paws amongst the trees, and a deep, throaty howl sounded close behind me. But when I turned to face the source, there was nothing there. There came another howl, from a different place. Every time I turned to look, I saw nothing but shadows. The sounds and shadows seemed to be all around me, except to the north. There, through a break in the trees, a path gleamed in the dappled moonlight. I cautiously stepped that way, eyes straining to discern if it was really a way out, or simply a trap. I saw nothing, and the pack fell silent. I took another step, and another, and I was on the forest path. I turned once more to look behind me and perceived the hunched shapes that had crept into the clearing. Just at the edge of the trees, I sensed rather than saw movement- a darker shadow against the dark trees. It walked like a man, but was far taller, and seemed to have antlers on its head. Hands rose to hidden lips and a howl louder than any before shattered the night and shook the limbs overhead. I felt as though I was being driven by a high wind, and broke into a panicked run. The pack took up the call, and I ran faster, coming to a stop at last against a cliff of ice. The first wolf leapt, and I felt its jaws close on the arm I threw up to block. The antlered figure rose behind the wolves and called my name.

“Athlain! Athlain, wake up! You were having a bad dream.”

Athynae’s voice called me back and I struggled up out of the depths of sleep. She loosed her grip on my arm and her concerned gaze sharpened.

“Your eyes,” she murmured, “that’s odd.”

“What about my eyes?”

She did not answer, but frowned with concentration and firmly grasped my head, turning it back and forth like a housewife examining a doubtful melon in the market. She at last relinquished her grip and shrugged.

“It was probably just a trick of the light. They’re bloodshot, which is no surprise. A little more rest and a compress of bittergreen leaves will fix that.”

Her words were dismissive, but there was something in her tone that sounded almost like—fear. Before I could frame a question, her gaze moved to a point behind me and it looked for all the world as if she was listening to a voice only she could hear. She frowned and shook her head, then rose to her feet and spoke briskly.

“But that will have to wait. It’s morning, and I’ve changed my mind. We should start for Thirsk as soon as we can finish packing.”

I responded carefully, watching her hands in case I needed to duck or dodge.

“Could we eat something first? It has been some time since I really enjoyed a meal…. And I’m sure the healing took a lot out of you, as well.”

She considered my appeal and relented slightly- “I suppose we can have breakfast first, but after that, I don’t see any reason to stay here any longer.”

I could think of several, but the memory of getting knocked to the floor the previous night was fresh in my mind, so I wisely said nothing.

This is a joy to read. You introduce Athynae quite effectively, its also nice to see a strong female character in TES fanfic (or fantasy in general). The story progresses very smoothly. That dream sounds distinctly ominous and is a nice hook. You must have these fairly well planned before you write them?

As far as criticism goes... You use adverbs quite heavily which is mostly fine though sometimes a better verb might negate the requirement for the adverb. Just a thought, and to be frank looking from something to say as there's not much wrong.

Good stuff.

Yessss Yesss....this is really going to be most intriguing! Thyna is after all the first born child of Serene and Athyn Sarethi. She has to be strong, and wise, and also quite stubborn!

I just love the interactions between Athlain and her, who knows what all this is gonna lead to? I'm curious to learn more...yummy!

Oh it's about time you get a

S.G.M

Well, Mr. Treydog, I've been reading your work for a long time, and I've come to expect great things from you. This installment caught me by surprise. It was, perhaps, the most impressive bit of writing of yours that I've ever read, and that's saying something. You managed to combine your incredible powers of description with a depth of emotion that nearly had me in tears. In case I haven't said it enough times in the last few years, THANK YOU so much for sharing your skills and giving us this story.

We dined on scuttle and the last of the kwama eggs ‘Thyna had brought from home. The return of my sense of taste was a welcome change from the stolid eating I had done previously- and the company certainly had something to do with that. I did not even mind when she insisted that I clean up the cabin, a task she summed up with the comment that:

“We should leave it in a fit state for habitation by people, not a family of bristle-backs.”

Even so, it was still early when we turned north, and I was glad to leave the cabin behind me- my few clear memories of it were less than pleasant. More to the point, departing the workshop meant staying with Athynae, and I could think of no brighter prospect. The chill brought color to her cheeks and her breath frosted the air. She was altogether the most beautiful sight I had ever beheld. We moved quickly and with little conversation for the first fifteen minutes or so, and the silence was companionable. But my brain refused to be quiet or satisfied with things as they were. It kept producing difficult questions, most of which I would rather remained unvoiced. Unfortunately, an artifact of my Imperial heritage was a certain degree of verbosity…. To say it another way, I had a big mouth.

There were things I wanted to say, questions I wanted to ask- but I was more than a bit afraid of the answers. I wanted to ask her why she had come looking for me, what exactly she had meant when she accused me of “running from the people who loved me,” what she had seen in my eyes that morning- and whether whatever it was had prompted her to change her plans and decide to leave immediately. Or whether that decision was brought about by what had- or had not- happened the night before. And then there was my proven history of babbling inanities and non-sequiturs whenever I was around her…. Given that we were on Solstheim, perhaps it would be better if I followed the apocryphal Nord tradition and rapped her smartly on the skull and threw her over my shoulder. The only problem with that plan was that I would more likely find myself stretched out again, and probably skinned into the bargain. The fact that she would heal me afterwards was small consolation. And still, my traitor tongue could not be silent:

“Ummm- so anyway, I just wanted to be sure that you knew that nothing happened last night. Well, I don’t exactly mean ‘nothing’—after all, you healed me and I truly appreciate that. And, and- we, err- kissed each other, which was wonderful, too. But, what I mean is, ah, ummm, … I, that is we… you know….”

In the theater of your mind, your words are always perfectly scripted, and your fellow player cooperates by picking up her cues. In the real world, I stumbled to a verbal and physical halt and stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She stopped walking and turned to face me squarely, raised an inquiring eyebrow, and gravely said,

“Was there something you wanted to ask?”

The gesture and tone were so reminiscent of my mother that I nearly choked. Fortunately, I managed to keep the comparison to myself. But she was looking at me, waiting for a response, and even though the sight of her drove every coherent thought out of my head, I had to say something. From a wide array of available topics what I managed was:

“Why did you think it was necessary to hit me?”

I looked forlornly at the vapor of my question as it condensed before me, wishing that I could draw it back in, or scrub it out of existence, or that it at least did not sound as much like a whine as I suspected it did.
Athynae’s mouth curved upward in a smile, and I gave silent thanks that she was amused rather than offended. She answered my question with one of her own:

“You know Mama spent some time with the Ahemmusa Ashlanders?”

I had no idea where this was going, but had learned that she usually had a point, no matter how circuitous might be her route. Therefore I nodded encouragingly. She went on:

“Well, the Ahemmusa are guar-herders, and Mama noticed that they all carry these heavy wooden staves. She assumed they were to defend against predators that might attack the herds and asked the wise-woman. The wise-woman explained it this way- ‘Guar are very intelligent when they want to be, but they are also very stubborn. You can train a guar to do almost anything, but first you have to get its attention.’”

Athynae then smacked me lightly on the back of the head and added,

“I figured the same technique should work with you.”

She raced away from me and added laughingly over her shoulder, “After all, you’re almost as smart as a guar!”

I had no hope of catching her in a foot-race; even if I had not been given the task of carrying our gear, she had always been far swifter than I, ever since we were children. But, as I watched her feet kick up clouds of white powder, I recalled something Mother and Father had talked about when they tried to explain snow to me. Quick as the thought itself, I bent and scooped a handful and patted it into shape. Athynae had slowed when she realized I was not pursuing, and I made a perfect throw that caught her right between the shoulders. The snowball exploded in a satisfying spray of icy fragments, some of which, judging by the way she moved, found their way down her neck. My moment of victory was short- ever a quick study in all the martial arts, she grasped the concept immediately and pelted me with a storm of snowy missiles. I was getting hit three or four times for every one I managed in return, and decided that desperate measures were necessary. Senior Trooper Carbo had taught me that the best thing to do when confronted with an archer was to hold up my shield and charge. I had no shield, but decided my left arm would have to do. Athynae was so focused on lobbing snowballs at me that I had dropped the pack and gotten within reach before she recognized the danger. I did not stop my rush, but lowered my shoulder and tackled her, dumping us both into a drift. She protested this treatment by rubbing a handful of snow in my face, laughing all the while. I cleared my eyes and mouth and informed her that she made a quite comfortable couch and that I believed I would simply rest where I was, exhausted by my great triumph.

“‘Great triumph,’ is it? I’ll show you a triumph, you great oaf!”

She twisted slightly and moved her arms and legs, then the blue sky spun over me and our positions were reversed. From her seat on my chest, Athynae spoke with mock thoughtfulness:

“Yes, I think you would make a fine pack-guar. I might even get you a harness with some nice bells. Would you like that?”

She poked me in the ribs and added,

“I don’t know though; you seem awfully skinny. I want a guar with lots of muscle.”

It was a scuffle like those that we had played out any number of times back in Ald’ruhn, and that was the problem. We weren’t in Ald’ruhn.

Rest assured that I am still reading this fantastic series of Athlain Treyson!

Me too! i'm just so fascinated how you describe the interactions between Thyna and Athlain...so right on spot! My my I'm ever so curious about how this will turn out!

Athlain is just so charming in his approach to her...I just love it!

Thank you, folks. I love writing this story, but I have to admit that it sometimes feels like I'm shouting down a well. Petty of me to vent to the folks who love me, I suppose, but who else would I complain to? Anyway, enough of that, let's have some more story:

We should have died from our carelessness, in our happiness, in our childish play. And if our attackers had been reavers or other human predators we probably would have. But they were wolves, and that is what saved us. Wolves hunt cooperatively and with a particular method- they try to separate one animal from the herd and then they chase it until it is exhausted. An exhausted animal cannot fight, not even for its life. So the hunting pack howls. They do this to communicate, but also to start the prey. A running animal does not think about anything except running. So we knew the wolves were around us when they howled. But we did not run. I stood and quickly drew my mace, standing guard as Athynae pulled her bowstring from an inside pocket and strung her bow. Our movements were fluid and natural, as if we had always been a team. In Athynae’s case, it might just have been the grace with which she did all things- for me, it was because of my training. Carbo had drilled me endlessly on the concept that one of a maceman’s most important tasks was guarding the archers. I watched the wolves as they circled us, but I also watched Athynae as she stood relaxed, an arrow half-drawn, choosing her targets. Then she began to shoot, and it was as if a warrior goddess of old had come to life before me. She was like a statue except for the movement of her hands and arms, feet planted solidly, letting the wolves move into the killing zone. And the vision prompted a memory-

We were around ten years old, and Athynae had so far managed to avoid the “icky girl” label by being better at all athletic endeavors than any of us. We had recently discovered that, by climbing onto the roof of the Emperor crab, we could hide from Mae and Cai, who were, by dint of being my sisters, definitely “icky”. As we basked in the sunshine, we saw cliff-racers wheeling over the foothills outside of town. Like all residents of Vvardenfell, we despised the foul beasts, but also knew to be careful of them. Their razor beaks and clubbed tails meant danger to any unwary traveler. Efforts had been made to wipe them out, but no one had been able to find their nesting grounds. Some even speculated that they were a creation of the Telvanni, designed to slow settlement of the island. Normally, we would run inside if one approached, trusting the Redoran guards to handle the threat. But on this day, Athynae got a stubborn look on her face and told me, “Wait here.” She scrambled off the roof and went inside, only to reappear with a rolled blanket, out of which she pulled a flask, a bow, and a sheaf of arrows. The bow was of bonemold, and made for someone of Athynae’s size. In fact, it had been a gift from the Ahemmusa, and she treasured it and practiced with it daily. She set the archery equipment down beside her and opened the flask. I waved a hand under my nose and piped,

“Phew, ‘Thyna! What is that?”

She took on the look she got in the classroom when she was reciting: “Cliff-racers are scavengers. They eat carrion, as well as small or injured animals.” She brandished the flask, and added, “This is bait.”

She looked at me and amended, “Actually, you’re going to be the bait as soon as I dump this on you. Do you think you can look small and injured?”

Afterwards, we were banned from ever again climbing on the roof; Athynae’s bow was taken away for a month; and I got to go “camping” for a matter of several days, while Mother and Serene tried various soaps and other mixtures to remove the smell. However, we did get to keep all the racer plumes we had collected.

The wolves were canny enough to avoid a massed attack, and also wove in and out of the trees, preventing easy shots. The ones in front of us mostly acted as distractions, rushing forward to hold our attention while their mates closed from the sides and rear. The wolves of Solstheim had hunted people before, and knew that our noses were useless and our peripheral vision nearly so. Still, Athynae had killed or wounded several before the rest began the real attack. I turned so we were back-to-back, and stepped a few paces away. If she drew her katana, she was going to need room to use it. Howls rose from all sides and a smoky grey shadow, larger than the rest, lunged toward me, snarling and snapping. I batted it aside and set myself for the next. Others crowded in on me and things got a little vague after that. Time slowed as I battled silently, with my own puny teeth bared in imitation of the creatures I fought. My only thought was that I could not let a single one get past me, that I must account for them all. I wanted desperately to make sure Athynae was all right, but I could not spare the time. I whirled and dodged and bashed, never focusing too long on any one opponent. Finally, the last of the wolves that were able dragged themselves away, and I could look. She was still there, still standing, no wound or injury anywhere to be seen. In fact, she seemed completely relaxed, resting the bow against her thigh and looking at me in a peculiar way. I realized that she had never drawn her sword, but had simply continued to shoot as long as there were targets. I caught my breath and asked, a bit crossly it must be admitted:

“Why didn’t you change weapons when they got close?”

She smiled at me and replied, “There was no need. I knew you were there.”

That answer washed away my annoyance, and I felt myself flushing with pleasure and embarrassment. I also felt something else- the skooma craving that always seemed to strike after combat. I turned away, as if surveying the distant landscape, hoping to hide my weakness. But Athynae was as perceptive as ever and place a comforting hand on my shoulder,

“Is it bad?” I looked at her and she bit her lip and explained, “I was able to heal your stomach and to cleanse your blood of the physical effects of the drug- but there is still a… need. That will pass- eventually.”

She shook me and continued, “But until then, you have to talk to me and let me know. Trying to keep it all to yourself is what got you in such a mess to start with.”

I understood then, in a way I hadn’t before, that love takes many forms. The moment passed, and Athynae rummaged in the pack for a couple of knives. She tossed one to me and said,

“We can collect the best of the wolf hides and take them with us to Thirsk. It helps if you don’t show up empty-handed.”

I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more- her assurance with a skinning knife or her familiarity with Nord customs. As we worked, I asked what I hoped sounded like a casual question:

“So, you keep talking about Thirsk. What is that, exactly? Is it a town or settlement?”

Athynae replied without looking up from her work:

“Thirsk is mead-hall. Like what we would call a ‘corner-club’ or tavern back home. There really isn’t much there- just the hall itself and Brynjolfr’s smithy. The people are nice enough, though.”

As we gathered our belongings, she elaborated, “There’s a village, too, a bit north of Thirsk. The people call themselves the ‘Skaal’. As long as you’re respectful, we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Edited to remove gratuitous whining.

Good update. You move their relationship forward very well, without seeming to force anythin they're now a unit. And again I must say that it's refreshing to see a strong female character in fantasy and I'm interested to see how things go in Thrisk and with the Skaal.


Fanfiction can be like that but you do have quite a following of readers and I can say personally that this story is one of the best I've read online and better than pleanty I've paid good money for. Thanks for sharing your talents.


I disagree, if you need to vent then vent away.

Ahh, heading for Thirsk, are they? Now Meadhalls are ..ehh nice(?) Then again a nice good hefty mead will probably do them good ... .

I like them connecting with the Nords, Nords are good strong ones and I'm sure they will have a good time in thirsk..or will they?

Anyway I'm ever so pleased with your development of Athynae!

I appreciate the feedback- and Minque, I especially appreciate you letting me "hijack" your character; I have grown quite fond of her, and she ties Athlain in such knots.... Which makes it fun to write.

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There was more wrong with me than the skooma-craving; Athynae’s joking reference to my “needing more muscle” was based in truth. In the midst of the arduous work of skinning the dead wolves, my hands began to tremble so badly that I had to put down the knife before I sliced myself. I was beyond tired- our scuffle and the subsequent battle had pushed me to exhaustion. I knelt in the bloody snow, heedless of the melt water seeping into my clothes. Athynae came over and gave me a playful shove, saying:

“I don’t pay you to sit around- let’s see some work.”

When I crashed to the ground, she was instantly contrite and began sorting through the small healer’s kit she carried at her waist. She drew out a couple of vials sealed with Serene’s personal mark and dosed me with them. While I waited for the full effects to take hold, she explained:

“Fortify potions. You really need more time to recover, but we can’t stay out here. Did anything about that attack seem odd to you?”

I looked at her blearily, my tired mind trying to follow the convoluted logic of her words. Which attack- my attack of weakness or the attack by the wolves? If the first, I always seemed to go weak in the knees when she was around. If she was asking about the wolves, it had been my experience that everything that moved on Solstheim wanted to take a bite out of me. I was even beginning to suspect some of the trees of harboring homicidal thoughts. I summarized those concepts with a plaintive, “What?” That was enough to prompt a torrent of words from Athynae. Even as she gathered our scattered possessions, she kept up a running commentary:

“Wolves. Wolves rarely attack people, right? They have to be sick or injured or starving. The wolves I mean, not the people. Although a wolf would be more likely to go after a sick or injured or starving person if they did. Attack people, I mean. Which they don’t. Except that they did. And then they didn’t stop as soon as I- well, we- had killed and hurt some of them. They kept pressing the attack long after it was clear it had failed. That’s not right, either.”

Even though I had not made a sound, she held up a hand as if to forestall argument while she settled the pack on her shoulders:

“Fine. I know we’re on Solstheim and these wolves are different than the wolves in Cyrodiil. But why are they different? If anything, they should be smarter….”

She stalked several more steps and ended with a phrase I had heard quite often over the years, delivered in a querulous tone:

“It doesn’t make any sense!”

Her monologue had carried us out of the trees and I stopped in my tracks as I beheld Lake Fjalding. As I had heard, it was almost completely covered with ice, with only a few small patches of open water to show that it really was a lake. I noticed movement far out on the ice- low, white shapes that seemed to undulate rather than walk. Athynae saw where I was looking and explained,

“Those are horkers. They don’t have paws, just these flippers. But they can get around fairly well on land, and are incredibly fast in the water. You can hunt them, I suppose, but it would be like clubbing baby guar. Anyway, we’re almost there.”

She pointed toward a large structure on the east side of the lake; a steady stream of smoke poured from the chimney, and I faintly heard the sound of a hammer ringing on an anvil. I did not bother to tell Athynae that I had already seen horkers; there was no reason to spoil her pleasure in playing “tour-guide.” Now that we had almost reached our destination, I wanted to take a closer look at the ice-lake, so Athynae said she would meet me at Brynjolfr’s forge and turned to go up the hill. I watched as she walked away, the low light of the afternoon illuminating her beautiful form, and it was like a vision of Dibella come into the world of men. I still dream of that moment, especially the part where she turned to look back and wave to me. I wondered how I had ever been able to leave her- and what I was going to do about our situation. Although she had cured me of my addiction and probably saved my life, little else had changed. I was still absent from the Legion without leave- even I knew the excuse of my “resignation letter” was thinner than the paper on which I had scrawled it. Apparently, from what Athynae had said, the commander assumed I was still working for Severia Gratius, but that could not last forever. No, my life was just as much a ruin as it had been- only now, thanks to Athynae, it would likely be a ruin that lasted much longer. If I loved her, how could I drag her down with me, especially now, just when she was seeing everything the world had to offer? The setting sun threw long shadows across the lake, and I knew darkness would come quickly. There was nothing to be done at the moment, I rationalized, and so I put off making a decision. The fact that waiting to decide also meant at least one more night with Athynae was simply a beneficial side-effect.

The smithy was set up in a small building to one side of the great hall, and I followed the smells of charcoal and hot metal to the open front. Athynae was seated on a bench inside the door, displaying our fresh wolf pelts to the smith. When my shadow loomed in the entry, he paused at his work and glanced up. His frown of concentration became a ferocious scowl and he spoke to Athynae:

“Come away from the door, lass. A skraeling has followed ye out o’ the forest. I’ll just see him off wi’ my hammer.”

Athynae turned to look and put a hand on his arm.

“That’s not a- skra… skrat…skraeling,” she said. “That’s Athlain. He’s my….”

Here she paused for a long moment, and her face grew flushed from more than the heat of the forge. It was a treat to see her, for once, at a loss for words. My pleasure was short-lived, however.

“He’s my betrothed,” she finally blurted.

You have a talent for beaking off at moments where everything has suddenly and unexpectedly (well perhaps not unexpected per se as it fits well with the characters but still surprising in the way it changes the immediate situation) changed. It leaves me wanting more and wandering exactly how Athlain will take it.

I also wander what will happen next. I like the situation you've put Athlain into, he's getting increasingly torn between dutys and his own pride and I'm interested to see what he plans. The wolves also create some nice foreshadowing...

If I had any criticisms of the previous part (and as ever they're trivial but I feel compelled to criticise something) it's that the walk from where they were attacked seemed a little short and disjointed. On re-reading it I think it might be that Athlain is on the ground then they're at the lake. But either way its a minor continuity error at worst.

Another thing I don't think I've said yet is how much I like the characters. They're very strong and their actions seem their own and the plot entirly a function of them which is excellent. You have the dialogue nailed too, their lines 'sound' different. Great stuff

ah treydoggie! It's true I invented Athynae, but you surely developed her into a great charachter! Sure she's a "besserwisser" sometimes but that is just so .."her"

Ok about those wolves...I have a dreadful feeling about them....could it be? nooo,....or?

Then Athlain in a meadhall, now that will be most interesting, I wonder if het s taste for mead..hehe wonderful beverage ... but for Athlain?

I also hope he will let go and make a move towards Thyna....I'm sure she would love it...in the end

Can't wait for more now!

Olen- I tend to agree- that walk was over rather suddenly. Guess I just wanted to move things along a little too quickly....

Minque- You have no idea how much I depend on your example and inspiration. Without Serene to show me the way, I do not believe I could have understood Athynae.

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The world paused in its turning, and Time slowed to an imperceptible crawl, giving me a chance to contemplate the individual hairs on Athynae’s head as they stirred in the slight breeze. Perhaps it was a trick of the failing light from the sun, combined with the glow of the forge fire, but I noticed a slight reddish tint among her tresses. It was not the true auburn my mother displayed, but more a tinge, similar to Serene’s elegant locks. Oh by the gods! Mother and Serene! They would flip a coin to decide which one got to kill me. No, strike that; they were friends; they would come to an agreement. Perhaps Mother would kill me and then Serene would resurrect me. Even though she despised necromancy, she would make an exception in this case- probably several times over. That way they could take turns killing me. I needed a plan. Lying was a plan, wasn’t it?

“Athynae? No, I haven’t seen her since the day after the party. Why do you ask?”

That was no good; we had been seen together. Perhaps I could disguise myself as a boy and take passage on a ship to Akavir. Wait…I was a boy, well, a man- or at least I would be until Mother and Serene caught up with me. But I had no idea where Akavir was or how to get there. Maybe Divayth Fyr would tell me. But he was Father’s friend. He would just hand me over to Father, who would hand me over to Mother, and we were back to the whole Matrons of Redoran Society for the Killing of Athlain enterprise. If I turned and ran immediately, I might make it to the lake, where I could drown myself. But Athynae would almost certainly save me- and then she would kill me for running away. Athynae… Athynae, who was still standing before me, her embarrassed flush changing to something else as an ominous light came to her eyes. Several centuries passed and still we stared at one another in silence. She stood- the girl I loved; the woman who had rescued me, only to now ensure that I would suffer a lingering and painful death; the person who, in her slender form, encompassed all my hope and terror. And I waited for her next words, for the syllables of my doom. What she said was:

“Well, then. Don’t just stand there gawping; it isn’t polite. Anyone would think you’d never seen a forge before. We’ll just leave Brynjolfr to his work now, and see about accommodations. Right, dear?”

She linked her arm possessively through mine and led me away. When I could manage to form human sounds again, I choked out:

“B-, but… betrothed? Why did you have to tell him that?”

“Did you want me to let him whack you with a hammer instead?” Athynae hissed back at me.

“I’m not sure; let me think about it.”

The silence which ensued was even chillier than the snowy air. I finally broke it with one of my usual irrelevant questions:

“What’s a ‘skraeling,’ anyway?”

Athynae cast a guilty glance at me from the corner of her eye and mumbled something inaudible.

“Excuse me? What was that?” I prompted.

She looked everywhere but at me and finally said, “I think it’s like a beggar or a wild man of the woods. Ummm- your clothes are a little ragged…. And then there’s your hair- and the, ahh- beard. Plus, sweetheart…. How to say this…. It seems like maybe it’s been a while since you…”

Her darting eyes fell on a small structure behind the mead hall and she spoke as if a thought had just occurred to her:

“Do you know, the Skaal have this marvelous thing called a ‘steam bath.’ It’s warm and really helps loosen up your muscles. I imagine that would feel good- to you- after that long walk through the snow. Why don’t I ask Svenja to get it ready for you? I… yes, I’ll just go and do that now, shall I? And you can wait right here, right… ahh, outside.”

She made to scurry away, but I was feeling more put-upon and surly than usual, so I tramped after her, showing only enough bad grace to stop outside the main door of the mead hall while she darted inside. As the doors opened and closed, a brief burst of sound wafted out. It sounded as if someone, or more likely quite a number of someones, was having a wonderful time. Lucky them.

After several minutes, the doors opened again, and Athynae emerged, trailed by a woman of obvious Nord heritage. If the ring mail and fur greaves had not been enough of a clue, there was her white-blonde hair, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. She was really quite pretty, but seemed rather washed out standing next to Athynae. But then, most women did, at least to my eyes. When she spoke, it was apparent she had been returning my scrutiny and was less than impressed by what she saw:

“We can certainly heat up the stones for your… companion. In fact, I think the bath is empty at the moment, so he can go right in.”

I was about to protest being discussed like so much livestock when she finally addressed a remark to me:

“By the way, I am Svenja Snow-Singer, Hunter of the Skaal. Just leave your clothes outside the door to the bath. I imagine we can find something that will fit. And I’ll send along some shears.”

She turned back to Athynae: “And will you be needing a room?”

Athynae colored nicely at the off-hand remark about our sleeping arrangements. I was becoming quite enchanted with seeing her blush for a change. She composed herself enough to say,

“That would be wonderful, Svenja. But make it two rooms, please.”

At the Nord woman’s questioning look, Athynae waved a casual hand, as if to say this sort of thing came up all the time, and explained in an airy voice:

“Oh, you know. Redoran customs. The betrothed couple have separate rooms until after the wedding.”

She laughed and continued, “It’s silly, I know- but- traditions and all that.”

I should have kept still, but I was enjoying her discomfort too much, plus I was still a bit nettled at being made to wait outside. I put an affectionate arm around her waist and drew her close, giving her a leer as I said,

“Since we aren’t in Ald’ruhn and there aren’t any House members around, is tradition really that important?”

I made as if to nuzzle her ear and she jabbed an elbow sharply into my ribs, smiling tightly while she purred:

“You forget, darling, that I am a member of House Redoran.” And then to Svenja, firmly: “Two rooms!”

If the Skaal hunter thought our actions were odd, she managed to keep any indication of it from her face. Athynae, on the other hand, had an expression that promised retribution- and in the near future.

Good update. Your characters make this story, they really seem to come out of the page. I'm still wanderng how he's going to like the Meadhall though.

Also I like the degree of realism added in him being dirty, stories are often guilty of ignoring the trivial things which nonetheless matter and when included make everything that bit more direct.

More?

EDIT: I forgot to say whoo and great : 'tresses' was a word I'd never come across before and thats not a particularly common occurance. I like words.

Ohhh jeez! this is getting better and better! The humour is astonishing...I was completely smiling the whole time I read this!



Just hilarious!

Athynae is so strong....makes one wonder huh?

I'll second Minque's comment on that superb line; some phrases are just enticing and quite satisfying, and that one certainly is.

I am amused by the slowly developing romance between Athlain and Athynae. Sometimes it feels like two children fighting, unwilling to admit that they fight because they "like" each other; other times it has the sense of an angst-ridden adult lover's quarrel. I am really enjoying the playful jabs that sneak in between the more serious concerns.

I am also starting to realize that this story has somewhat broken with the precedent set by the stories about Athlain's father Trey. In those stories, your plot generally followed the main- and side-quests fairly closely, with liberal artistic license to keep things interesting. With this last storyline of addiction and rescue, you've deviated more than in the past from that framework. I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm really enjoying seeing this more creative side, and I'm hoping it will continue.

Assuming (which might be a bad idea, but we'll see) that Athlain will eventually find his way to the Skaal and the Bloodmoon prophecies, I am very curious to see not only how you get him from here to there, but also how his time in the moon-sugar hut has changed or matured the Athlain of the Legion that left Fort Frostmouth what seems like so long ago. (Yes, I realize that was a bit of a run-on sentence; my graduate advisor yelled at me for those all the time, but I still can't seem to stop writing them).

Part of me would really love to see Athynae journey with Athlain through the rest of his time on the island, as she seems very capable and they certainly worked together pretty well during the wolf attack. However, I worry that her presence would cause him to second-guess himself too much, which could lead to mistakes that Trooper Carbo would shake his head at most sternly. I guess only time will tell.

This has been such an enjoyable read! I keep popping back every few days hopeful to find an update. Excellent work Treydog!!

The steam bath was every bit as pleasant as promised; even more so was the opportunity to comb out and trim my unkempt hair. Despite what Athynae had seemed to assume, I was quite familiar with the traditional Nord sauna, even if I did forgo the dubious pleasures of afterwards whacking myself with tree branches or diving naked into a snow drift. Trying to fit in to the community was all well and good, but I saw no reason to overdo it. My happiness was cut short when I examined the clothing that had been left for me. The lack of an opening at the front of the trousers, not to mention the cut of the shirt, indicated that they were cast-offs from a woman- and a well-endowed one, at that. Still worse, I had to roll up the cuffs of the trousers and the sleeves of the shirt to keep them from flapping outrageously at every step. Thus, despite the satisfaction of being clean, I was not in a particularly friendly frame of mind when I at last made entrance to Thirsk, the mead hall of which Athynae had spoken so happily.

The interior was smoky and loud. There were some dozen or more Nords eating, drinking, and dicing; as well as singing, laughing, and arguing- all at the top of their lungs. The building consisted of a single open room on the ground level, with rough steps leading to a gallery and additional rooms above. The packed earth floor was dominated by a central fire pit, and animal hides did service as rugs- or, in some cases, sleeping mats. I squinted against the smoke, but could not see Athynae amidst all the chaotic activity. Someone had seen me, however, for Svenja emerged from the gloom and greeted me. It might have been my imagination, but I thought a hint of a smile touched her usually impassive face as she took in my attire. If so, she kept it from her voice as she said,

“You should speak to Skjoldr Wolf-Runner, Chieftain of Thirsk. Also, know that you are welcome here, but be careful of Erich the Unworthy if he returns from hunting. He is my clan-brother and a good hunter, but he is not a good person. And he doesn’t like outsiders.”

She then gestured for me to follow and threaded her way toward the other end of the hall, where a man surveyed the raucous activities from a wooden throne. When we were close enough, I could see that he was a Nord of 30 or so, with a handsome face and a pleasant demeanor. He was a large man, but then, everyone in the room was large, or at least larger than I- including most of the women. He gave me a smile and rose smoothly from his seat. Taking my forearm in a traditional warrior’s clasp, he boomed:

“Be welcome in this place. I am Skjoldr Wolf-Runner and I offer you guest-right. Enjoy our hospitality- take shelter from the cold and taste the nectar of Shor.”

He then produced a large earthenware flagon and presented it to me ceremoniously. I raised it high and took a quick gulp. The beverage was sweet and golden, but even a small swallow made me a bit dizzy- I had never had much of a head for strong drink, and it had been some time since I had taken any. Fortunately, courtesy was satisfied with a single draft, and I was wise enough to restrict myself to that. Meanwhile, if I was to enjoy guest-right, I must give a name, which I did without thinking-

“I thank you for your hospitality. Athlain Treyson, at your service.”

I only just managed to avoid adding “of the Imperial Legion,” but a knowing look still came to Skjoldr’s eyes and he grinned.

“‘Athlain,’ is it? I had some thought that you might be a different wandering Imperial warrior- one who had speech with Sigvatr the Strong and secured wergild for young Kolfinna…. The name escapes me at the moment, but I am certain it was something other than ‘Athlain Treyson’.”

He watched me carefully for a few moments and then shrugged. “No matter. Whatever you may be called, you are welcome here, especially when you bring with you such good company as that.”

He pointed to Athynae, who had just come down the stairs, and was making her way to where I stood.

Her progress was slow; it seemed that everyone in the hall wanted at least a few words with her. I bore the delay with good humor, at least until a Nord youth of about 17 came up and presented her with an intricately decorated belt, which he proceeded to fasten around her waist. I could not hear their words, but I recognized the emotion behind the rather stunned smile on the youth’s face. I set aside my drink and walked over.

“Friend of yours, dear?” I asked Athynae with deceptive calm. “Why don’t you introduce us, since I am after all your…‘betrothed’?”

Athynae said, “Oh, Athlain- this is Ingmar. I met him while I was… looking for you.”

The Nord clasped my hand and then, with one last adoring look at Athynae, disappeared into the murk of the hall.

“He’s a sweet boy,” Athynae told me. “I helped him out a bit with a small problem.”

She touched the belt gently and added, “And so he just had to give me a gift in return. It’s a Nord tradition, you know.”

I grunted a response that might have signified anything, including what I thought about strange men putting their hands on her. And as to him being a “sweet boy,” he was taller than I was and broader across the shoulders, as well.

The combination of mead, smoke, and the bath all worked together to bring a great wave of exhaustion over me. I had no desire to drink or mingle with this crowd of boisterous strangers- I just wanted to go upstairs and sleep. Beyond that, I also felt the stirring of a familiar craving, like an itch at the back of my brain. All of which may explain, but not excuse, what happened next. Athynae walked up the stairs with me, and I waited until we had reached the gallery to speak my mind:

“And is this your idea of an appropriate situation?”

Her face showed puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it is no sort of place for you. It is no better than a low tavern filled with drunken, brawling, animal-hide-wearing….”

That was as far as I got before she poked me in the chest with a stiff finger.

“These people took me in and gave me food and shelter. They made no judgments and asked no questions. They are my friends. And as to their clothing….”

She raised her own arm to better display her wolf-fur armor: “If you haven’t noticed, Serjo Oh-So-Superior Imperial Soldier, I am wearing animal hides, too. I don’t know what has made you so grumpy, and I don’t care! I’m going to my room. You can go soak your head!”

She whirled and stomped down the hall.

“Fine!” I yelled to her retreating back.

“Fine!” she shouted back as she slammed the door hard enough to cause a momentary lull in the din coming from downstairs. Then, with a wave of laughter, it resumed.

There was no way I was going to go back into the mead hall proper, where I would no doubt be subjected to all manner of ribald jokes at my expense. Therefore, I started toward the room that had been set aside for my use. Before I could reach it, a voice called from behind a closed door at the end of the hall:

“Please! Is someone there?”

“Wonderful,” I muttered to myself, “who would have thought a mead-hall patron would be disturbed by one more shouting match?”

Aloud, I called back: “Sorry. We’ll keep it down. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving.”

The unknown voice answered: “No, please wait. You sound like an Imperial. Are you?”

When I acknowledged my Cyrodiilic heritage, the woman cried, “Thank Mara! I’ve been imprisoned for weeks- first in a cave and now here. Please get me out.”

“Certainly. But- with whom am I speaking?”

“I am a missionary from Fort Frostmoth. I wanted to bring the message of the Imperial Cult to these stinking barbarians. My name is Mirisa.”

Ooh deary me. This is going to be very interesting indeed, and not necessarily the good kind of interesting.

This has been fascinating so far, Trey, and I'm kicking myself for forgetting to read it. Suffice to say, I've spent a very enjoyable hour or so catching up, and I'll make sure to keep following this in the future. Athlain's a fascinating character, and the little bit of nuttiness at the back of his head thanks to the Skooma addiction makes him all the more engaging.

Job's a good 'un, Trey. Keep it up!

Now this is going to be very interesting! ok so Thyna got him aquainted to the Nords..hmmm and Ingmar seems to be very sweet indeed. watch out athlain!

So now the Mirisa story begins! if I remeber correctly Mirisa is a very beautiful woman, and if Athlain's gonna escort her or save her or whatever...now it will be very interesting to see Thyna's reaction to that!

Oh boy i just can't wait...it's gonna be......hmmm veeeeeery interesting

Mirisa. The name was known to me- from somewhere…. And then I remembered- Jeleen had asked me to look for a missionary by that name when I started investigating the moon-sugar poisoning. It had been obvious even to me that his concern went beyond that of a priest for one of his subordinates. In fact, “Uncle Sweetshare” had mentioned that Jeleen was sad because his “true love had disappeared.” As I worked out those memories, I also determined that the door was held shut with a stout lock. A spell took care of that problem, but I was not sure what might await me inside, so I readied my mace before entering the room. What I found was a shock. I discovered a Redguard woman who had been badly treated, and apparently for some time. Her hair and clothing were even more disarrayed than mine had been when I arrived at Thirsk, and a fading bruise marked one eye. Her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes indicated a lack of nourishment, as well. When she saw me, she clutched my arm with a strength borne of desperation and pleaded,

“Thank the Nine! You have to get me out of here! I think Erich will probably kill me, once he gets tired of his games.”

The appearance of a friendly face seemed to trigger a flood of words, and she continued to speak, almost hysterically:

“I came here to tell the local savages about the Imperial Cult…. But then I saw how much they drink, and decided that a message about the perils of alcohol was in order. I should have known better. These heathen animals aren’t much better than the Dark Elves. Why, they even revere the bones of their ancestors- just like those superstitious Dunmer. Most of them just laughed at me and went back to their carousing, but one- Erich the Unworthy he’s called- dragged me outside. I thought he was just trying to get rid of me, but he took me to a cave, where he kept me for weeks. Whenever I asked for food or water, he would dump a mug of that awful mead over my head. He brought me here this morning because he had run out of supplies and wanted to go hunting.”

When she stopped speaking, I asked what seemed to me an obvious question:

“Why didn’t you just cast an Intervention spell and get back to the Fort that way? You are an acolyte of the Cult after all.”

She raised a hand to her jaw, as if feeling an old injury, and explained, “I started to, but he hit me before I could complete the spell. He said something about ‘knowing how to deal with witches’ and then put this on me.”

She held up her arm to display what appeared to be a bracelet- a bracelet that gave off a telltale glow of enchantment. But I knew it was not jewelry- it was a slave bracer, used to prevent the wearer from casting spells. Father and I had our disagreements about many things- but slavery was not one of them. Nor was the proper treatment of women. I could feel rage building inside me, but I banked the fires of my anger for the moment; I would need it later, but now was not the time. I considered my options and then stepped across the hall to tap on Athynae’s door. When she did not respond, I knocked louder and called:

“’Thyna?”

A muffled voice replied, “Go away.”

I answered, “I need your help right now. You can be as mad at me as you want later.”

And then I added the words no Redoran could ignore: “It’s a matter of honor.”

Athynae opened the door, and even though her eyes showed signs that she had been crying, she had also picked up her bow and strapped on her sword. She looked at me without favor and asked, “What?” in a low voice.

I waved her across the hall, and she stifled a gasp as she saw Mirisa’s condition. I explained the situation before Mirisa could begin another extended diatribe, especially one involving the relative barbarism of Nords and Dunmer. Athynae, as always, preferred direct action:

“You’re right. This is a matter of honor. As soon as Erich gets back, I’ll deal with him. He’ll be lucky if I just let him off with a beating.”

I interrupted Athynae’s progressively more vivid descriptions of what she planned to do to the absent hunter and said,

“That is certainly one plan, but I actually had a different idea in mind. First, do you know a way to open a slave bracer without the key?”

Serene, I knew, despised slavery as much as Father; if anyone could devise a method of removing the symbol of that hated practice, it was she. Athynae looked at the bracer for a moment and said,

“We could try to pick the lock or open it with magic, but I think there’s an easier way.”

She took Mirisa’s hand, frowning a bit as the Redguard flinched from her touch. Displaying her usual exasperation with a reluctant patient, she muttered:

“Oh, hold still. I’m not going to cut off your hand or anything.”

Athynae pulled a bottle from her pouch and asked me to open it. When I did so, the scent of bittergreen drifted into the room. She took the bottle back and poured some of the oily contents on Mirisa’s arm and hand. Then she squeezed the captive’s thumb and fingers into a small bundle and started working the bracer back and forth. In a few moments, it slipped right off. She dropped it with a disgusted grimace and stated:

“Erich’s apparently as stupid as he is mean. He’s starved her to the point where the bracer doesn’t fit, and he never thought to adjust it.”

Then she looked at me and added: “Now that that’s done, do I get to kill him?”

For answer, I shook my head and gave each of the women a Divine Intervention scroll. Then I took my paired Mark and Recall amulets from a pocket and handed them to Athynae.

“First, use the Mark amulet to set a teleport locus here. Then, you two use the scrolls to reach the Imperial Cult shrine at Fort Frostmoth. Once you have made sure Mirisa has someone to care for her, Recall back here. I will wait for you.”

Of course, Athynae argued- it was simply her nature to do so.

“But don’t you need the amulets? Why don’t you go back to the fort while I wait for Erich? What about…?”
I placed my finger tips gently against her lips and smiled at her.

“Enough. I need you to do this. You are going to bring the amulets back. If I go to the fort without my uniform, it will lead to questions I don’t want to answer right now. And besides, Captain Carius or one of the other officers might give me new orders, and then I wouldn’t be able to come back to you. Now go- and be careful.”

I did not add that I thought it would be educational for Mirisa to be rescued by a “superstitious Dunmer.” Nor that I had my own plans for the aptly-named Erich the Unworthy. With a last searching look, Athynae nodded her head, activated the Amulet of Mark, and then gave a signal to Mirisa. Voices blending, they read the scrolls and vanished. Air rushed into the void where they had stood, but nothing came to fill the emptiness I felt inside.

Here Ends Chapter 8

I like the take on that quest, I also wander that Athlain has planned for Erich...

“Now that that’s done, do I get to kill him?” -- Excellent line.

I'm interested to see how this alters the dynamic of the story, now Athlain won't be suspected missing anymore and more AWOL. Makes me want to read the next bit.

O_o...so that was the plan? Very clever Athlain...very clever...but imagine what Athynae would say when she returns and Athlain maybe already killed Erich? I would not be in his clothes when that happens....now if he really is going to kill the Nord that is..

I find it very amusing that Serene got a daughter who actually likes fighting! I like it, I really do! Seems she's more like the dunmer-side of her heritage


Who ever her father is?

First, the important stuff- pictures!

Athlain Outside of Thirsk

And this one is from much earlier in the story-

Athynae Trying on Her Party Dress

ETA- Screen-shot taken using Better Bodies 2 and Better Bodies Silk Dresses.



Excerpts from several letters from Solstheim to Ald’ruhn:

Mother:

I apologize for not writing sooner. I have been on a difficult confidential mission for the Legion, and had no means of sending word. I am well and hope you and all the family are the same. I have no idea when I will be able to come home; the situation at present is-- unsettled. Please give my regards to Aunt Serene and Uncle Athyn.

Oh, and to Athynae, of course.

Athlain


Mama:

I am fine. I will be home eventually. So for now, please STOP IT! I saw Sethyas lurking around Fort Frostmoth- you should tell him he is slipping.

Athynae


To: Sarethi Manor, Ald’ruhn, Vvardenfell

Serene:

You worry too much. You always did.

Seth


Excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter-

The child of the blood
Whole in body, wounded in spirit

Loses all and only, alas
Seeks surcease in sacred stones

Taking up off-cast skin,
The invader seeks to atone



A note left at Thirsk, Solstheim (a portion):

…and so I must leave you, my love. Please forgive me. I wish things were different, but it is better this way. In time, we will see each other again- if you want to, of course. I will look for you in Ald’ruhn when the flowers bloom.

Now that left a smile on my face.

(If she saw him, it likely because he wanted her too.)

If it wasn't the case, it would be a very un-Sethyaslike slip (hey, I just invented a new word! Whoo!)

Anyhoo, I'm looking forward to seeing how this pans out-having Sethyas thrown in adds an extra element of surprise to this, and should end up with some very interesting scenarios.

I'm also interested to see what reception Athlain will get on return to the fort. Very interested indeed...

It was deep night by the time Athynae and Mirisa vanished in a flash of magicka. My weariness, formerly held in abeyance by the needs of the moment, returned full force. I glanced at the door to the room that I had been given, and then went instead into Athynae’s room. It seemed unlikely that she would return before morning, and already I missed her terribly. She had not unpacked yet, just dropped her things inside the door. I could see the outline of her body where she had lain on the bed, and felt a twinge of guilt at the tear-stains on the pillow. But I was too worn out even to engage in a new round of self-loathing, so I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and removed my boots. I reached inside the too-large shirt that had been loaned to me and extracted Athynae’s scarf- her “favor,” as she had called it back in Ald’ruhn. I had carried it with me ever since that day, and it was frayed and not so clean as it might have been. But through some magic or alchemy too arcane for my poor brain to fathom, it still retained a hint of her perfume. I wrapped it around my throat, laid down my head, and let my tears mingle with hers on the pillow.

The night passed, as we always hope darkness will, and I awoke to the light of a new day. When I opened the door, I discovered that someone had laundered and patched my clothes and left them on a bench in the hall. I donned them gratefully, and went downstairs to see about something to eat. My healing at Athynae’s hands had brought back my appetite, and I hoped the Nords of Thirsk not only drank, but ate. In fact, I discovered that they ate quite well- bread liberally covered with honey, sausages made from bristleback, and a choice of wine or berry juice. Better still; the morning meal was a relatively quiet affair, perhaps out of deference to those who had over-indulged the previous night. I lingered for a time after eating, hoping that Athynae would put in an appearance and allow me a chance to apologize for my behavior. One of Father’s rules for a harmonious home was to always admit fault, whether or not he had, in fact, been in the wrong. His words came back to me, spoken as he smiled at Mother, seated across the room reading:

“You won’t understand this now, but someday you will. What matters is that I love her. Who is right and who is wrong has nothing to do with it.”

And now I did understand. I only hoped Athynae would give me a chance to tell her that I had been a fool.
By midmorning, she still had not returned, but I tried to ignore my worry. She was safe at Fort Frostmoth, a stronghold guarded by Imperial Legionnaires…. Hmm. Perhaps it was just as well not to spend too much time on the idea of Athynae in a fort full of lonely soldiers. Besides, I had other concerns. The main one was to see to this Erich, who thought he could get away with abusing women. Mirisa was a member of the Imperial Cult and was based at the same fort as I- that made her mistreatment my business. More than that, I had been raised with Redoran values and with Father’s unyielding concept of honor- and that made it personal. I hoped the Nord hunter would return soon, as I preferred to keep Athynae out of it, if I could. But if I was going to confront Erich - and possibly his clan- I needed to prepare. Thanks to ‘Thyna, I had a handful of restorative and fortification potions, but I needed something else. After I was promoted from Spearman, my Legion training had emphasized fighting with a weapon and shield- a shield which I no longer had. Facing a Nord who was liable to be armed with a hammer or axe, I really wanted the extra protection, especially since I was going to be fighting without armor. My Legion kit was back in Gandrung Cavern, and I had also left behind the cast-offs taken from the smugglers.

Before stepping out into the cold morning sun, I let Svenja know where I was going, and then crunched through the new snow to the hut where Brynjolfr’s fire still glowed. He was not working at the forge, but was instead seated on a bench, fitting pieces of light metal into one of a pair of fur greaves. He glanced up briefly when I entered, but went on with his task without speaking. I observed for a minute and then took up the opposite greave and mirrored his actions. He still made no comment, but moved the armor plates closer to me with his foot. When we had finished inserting the reinforcement into the specially-made pockets in the greaves, he produced two large, curved needles and several lengths of waxed rawhide cord. We sewed the pockets closed over the metal, continuing to work in silence. When I was finished, Brynjolfr took the armored legging from me and checked its shape and stitching against his own. He gave grunt of satisfaction, then stretched his back and set the greaves aside before retrieving a clay bottle from behind the forge. I shook my head when he offered it to me, waiting while he took a long swallow. When he corked the bottle and put it aside, I said,

“I need a shield. A buckler will work, but a tower shield would be better. I’ll borrow it if I can, buy it if I must.”

He rubbed a shovel-sized hand over his chin and considered me.

“When ye came in last night, I wasna sure if ye were living or dead. But yon sweet girl seems to set store by yerself. Ye know yer way with armor. And ye don’t demand- ye ask honest, like a man.”

He paused for another drink and gave me a searching look.

“And if I was to ask for how long ye might need this shield, and for what reason- would ye answer true?”

“For as long as it takes to put paid to Erich the Unworthy,” I replied steadily.

I love how you make this quest more then just 'whack-a-nord'. If you have to kill, there needs to be good reason for it, and you set the stage like a master.

More...more! MORE!

The subtext of the two notes- the one from Athynae and the one from Seth indicates that he allowed himself to be seen. The idea being- Mama Serene is worried; badgers Seth into checking up; he does so, even though he thinks it is a waste of time- and so does the task in an "unSethyas-like" (hee hee) way to demonstrate his feelings about it

Nice update. I like the interludes and the background they create which can often be lost in first person. I also like the ominous foreshadowing of the final note portion. Makes me wander...

I'm interested to see how this goes.

Brynjolfr gave an explosive snort at my words, and then stood and went into the area of the smithy that served as storage. His voice drifted out to me:

“Well, ye aren’t shy; I’ll say that much. And how does yer young lady feel about this?”

I shrugged and then, realizing he could not see me, spoke:

“Actually, I hope to take care of it before she gets back.”

Honesty compelled me to add:

“She’ll probably be upset with me- she wants to kill him herself. But then, she’s already angry with me, and rightly so….”

I trailed off as the smith clumped back to the front of the building, carrying assorted bits and pieces of armor. He dumped the pile in front of me and gestured for me to stand up.

“Ye’ll need more nor a shield if yer goin’ to fight that bloody-handed spawn of a snow-demon. So we’d best be about it.”

As he began measuring me and fitting various bits of hide armor, he continued:

“I know it isna what yer used to, but ye will be able to move well in it- and ye’ll have need to be quick.”

He shook his head with a wry smile and added:

“I canna see how ye soldier-fellas manage to take a single step in the steel corsets ye wear.”

“Why do you think I’m a soldier?”

The smith just grinned at me and said, “It’s the way ye move, don’t ye see? And the way ye stand. If I had to guess, I would say ye was trained at one of the out forts, not back on the mainland.”

The fitting and adjustment of the armor took over an hour, but at the end of that time I had a complete outfit made of wolf hide, which fit me like a second skin, along with a heavy Nordic mail shield. Brynjoflr pronounced himself satisfied and held up a hand to stop me when I mentioned payment.

“Nay, young fella. Yer little girl has brought in enough hides to more than make up the cost- and beside that, I figger to get that fur suit back one way or another. If Erich kills ye, then I can just patch up the holes good as new. If not, I reckon ye’ll give it back yerself. I seem to recall hearin’ summat of how ye don’t much care for the wearin’ of animal hides.”

He winked at me and then laughed uproariously as I blushed scarlet. Apparently, my fight with Athynae had been a major subject of conversation around the mead hall. And she did have a rather… carrying… voice, especially when she was annoyed. The smith’s face grew grim and he said in serious tones,

“Be ye careful of that Erich. He’s a black-hearted, foul-minded creature, but he’s dangerous for all that. He’ll want to hurt ye before he kills ye, if he can. So here’s what ye’ll need ta do….”

I listened carefully, knowing that my very life depended on how well I learned this lesson. And I feared that Athynae’s life might depend upon it, too.

But when I returned to the mead hall, she still had not arrived, and I was disappointed- and relieved. I spent the next few hours practicing with my new armor and resting. And I needed the rest. During the time I had spent in a skooma-haze, my physical condition had deteriorated alarmingly, and it was mainly due to Athynae’s spells and potions that I had made it to Thirsk at all. Though it shamed me to do so, I went back to Brynjolfr and asked for his help again. When I had explained my situation, the smith nodded thoughtfully and dug out a large leather pack.

“Take this down to the lake and fill it wi’ stones- all the way to the top, mind. Then run it back up here to the forge. When ye have done that five or six times, we’ll see about a little sparring.”

The long afternoon was an agony, but I kept before me the memory of Mirisa’s bruised face and haunted eyes- and the thought that it might have been Athynae who was so abused. Despite Svenja and Skjoldr’s acceptance of her, the Nords and the Dunmer had a long history of conflict, and Athynae had been more fortunate than she knew. The training routine was also reminiscent of my early days at Fort Darius, under Senior Trooper Carbo’s watchful eye. And so I gave myself up to the rhythm of my feet pounding a path in the snow and the rocks bouncing against my back. And every time I reached the forge, the smith was waiting, ready to “spar” with me. At least, that was what he called it- to me, it seemed more like being whacked repeatedly with a practice sword. Brynjolfr kept me at it until I could no longer see my hand in front of my face and I was staggering from fatigue. He then pointed me toward the sauna, where the steam did its work on my bruised, trembling muscles. I slept again in Athynae’s empty bed, where my only dreams were of endless hills, every one occupied by a bellicose Nord who chased me with a piece of firewood. And so passed the following day- and the next.

Still, Athynae did not return, and I began to worry in earnest. I considered leaving Thirsk and making sure she had arrived at Fort Frostmoth. But I had told her I would wait for her- and I still had my reasons to avoid putting in an appearance at the post I had frankly deserted. The good news was that Erich had also not returned, and I chose not to dwell on the coincidence. The better news was that my return to fitness progressed quickly, to the point that even Brynjolfr grudgingly admitted that there might be something to Legion training after all. By the morning of the fourth day since Athynae had left, the smith pronounced me ready, although his exact words were less than glowing:

“Aye well, it seems that anow, ye’ll at least not trip on yer own feet and spit yerself on Erich’s sword. He mayhap will have to work a bit afore he carves out yer liver and lights.”

He smiled as he said it, though, and I grinned back. Feeling like a warrior again for the first time in weeks, I entered the mead hall, torn between my desire to see Athynae and my hope that she still had not returned. In the event, the hope was answered- she had not come back to Thirsk- but someone else had. When I entered the hall, all eyes seemed to turn toward me and then to the steps leading up to the guest quarters. From that direction, I could hear things being tossed about and a voice shouting curses and threats. As I came further into the hall, the gathered Skaal moved away from me, leaving an open space. And still, they did not speak. I looked to where Skjoldr sat upon his throne, hoping for some sign, but he simply returned my look with a troubled gaze and a shrug of his massive shoulders. Meanwhile, the shouting from overhead had ceased, and I heard footsteps crossing the gallery and descending the stairs. I drew several deep breaths and made sure of my footing, then stood still. The man who appeared on the stairs was everything I had feared- he was large, he was angry, and he had a murderous scowl on his face. His attire was a mixture of wolf and bear hides, including a helmet made from the head of a brown bear. The effect was as if two faces were snarling at me- one human and one animal. Bear-claws decorated his cuirass, tokens of successful hunts. The one surprise was that, instead of the expected hammer or axe, he carried a silver longsword. All of this I observed as I maintained the slightly unfocused gaze Carbo had taught me, looking at everything and nothing, all at the same time. Erich glared around the hall, and his bloodshot eyes finally fixed on me. Lip curling in a sneer he demanded,

“And are ye the pox-ridden whoreson thief who has no respect for the property of others?”

I flinched at the word “thief;” I could not help it. Father’s sensitivity on that subject had carried over to me. But then I grew still again and answered quietly and contemptuously.

“And are you the sorry excuse for a man, Erich, rightly named ‘the Unworthy,’ who makes war on women? As to theft, I vow before all here that I never touched nor took anything that belongs to you.”

Although there was much more I wanted to say, I clamped my teeth shut on the torrent of insults and abuse I longed to hurl at him. There was a form to these things, and I must observe it scrupulously. I had to count on my enemy to make the mistakes. Fortunately, Erich did not disappoint me:

“Again, I name ye thief and rogue. I call upon my clan-brothers and sisters to aid me as I defend my right to what is mine.”

So saying, he drew his sword and looked at the assembled hunters. I glanced around as well- for I was uncertain as to how the Skaal would react. Long seconds stretched out, and then all of the Nords, including their chief, carefully moved their hands away from their weapons, folded their arms, and looked impassively back at the raging hunter.

I let out a slow breath, relieved that they had decided that this dispute was between the two of us, and was not clan business. Erich, on the other hand, was driven into still greater fury at their refusal to help him. Bright red spots bloomed on his cheeks as he screamed,

“Cowards!”

And then he was charging across the hall, his sword held out to the side, poised for a scything blow.

Fabulous update!