@haute- Oh, she was right. He really wanted to yell at her, but ended up with a feeling of "what's the use?" I sometimes imagine Athlain as looking like the constantly several steps behind and harried Watson as played by Martin Freeman in the Benedict Cumberbatch version of "Sherlock."

The battle was interesting to write- the main thing was to keep the chaos manageable, but still convey it...

@Burnt Sierra- Many thanks. A tip of the (floppy-eared) hat to my co-author for doing the heavy lifting on the fight scene. Once the flow was established, I just had to "see" it from Athlain's perspective and try to avoid too much repetition. It is gratifying indeed that you feel we succeeded.

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Athlain still seemed to have a great many things he wanted to say, but for the moment he just nodded toward the doors that would take us to the throne room. He did go so far as to dryly point out, “Why don't we look first this time?”

As it turned out, the room was empty, except for a truly massive throne that appeared to be carved from a block of blue ice. A scuffle of small feet from behind us caused me to whirl around, Dreamer in one hand and my dagger in the other. Krish cowered as he looked at the carnage in the banquet hall, but he still crept closer and peered into the empty room. My hands were white-knuckled on the hilts of my weapons as I growled,

“Where is Dulk?” It was a question I was fast becoming tired of asking.

Krish pointed and squeaked, "He is there, behind the throne." Then he put his hands over his head in an attempt to hide and crouched close to the ground.

I strode toward the throne and commanded, "Show yourself Dulk; I have some questions for you."

I growled like an animal because to be quite honest I was beginning to feel like one, like everything on this hellish island was leading me toward doing everything just from instinct, without thought or calculation or strategy- only savage reaction.

Dulk emerged from his hiding place, not cowering like I expected but not quite confident either. "I am Dulk. I posed to be da leader."

"You mean you wrestled control from Krish."

"Nope. T'aint what I said. Da giant leaved me in charge afore he left. Dat Krish thought to get dem grahls so's he could take over and you sees what happened."

At that moment, he caught sight of his rival, who was trying to hide behind Athlain. He glared at him and squeaked, “Evil Krish.”

Krish stepped out and glared back. “Evil Dulk.”

It looked like they intended to continue the staring contest until all the ice melted, so I sheathed my weapons and snapped my fingers at them. “Look- I don't care which of you is wicked, or how wicked you both are or whatever. All I want....”

Dulk interrupted me and I had to admire his courage if not his common sense. “Not 'wicked'! 'Evil'. Is part of our name, cause we have same momma.”

The last thing I needed was a riekling genealogy lesson, especially as I could feel a headache coming on. So I ignored all that and asked, "Where is Karstaag?"

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Don't know.”

"What have you to do with the horkers dying?"

"We dint do nuthing to no horkers."

Then the two rieklings began bickering, sounding like a pair of mice squeaking in a flour barrel.

“You brought grahl! They eated us! And you brought elfs with swords that kilt everything!”

“Not my fault. Din't know what grahls eat. And elfs made us- pointed black sword at us! And they got rid of grahls.”

“Karstaag gone anyway. Everyone gone. Don't want to clean castle- big mess in eating room. Furry wolf mens took Karstaag.”

“Let's go home. Let elfs and tin man clean castle- phooey. Giant platter will let tin man carry lots.”
And still squeaking, they disappeared through a crack in the ice behind the throne.

So, if Dulk was to be believed, werewolves had taken Karstaag. Meanwhile, we were no closer to knowing what was killing the horkers- other than my gut feeling that it was all part of Hircine's game, prophecy, guar dung- whatever you wanted to call it. But now we had added to the number of dead, and whether those who had given their lives in Karstaag Castle deserved their fate, I couldn't say; other than it boiled down to us or them, and I wasn't going to let something as ugly as those grahl touch me, much less kill me. I was still trying to figure out how the beast makers could cram so much mean into the tiny reiklings; I now knew why Athlain had the view of them that he did. It made me shiver too; not because we had any real difficulty with them, but they were definitely the creatures of a child's nightmares.

I turned to Athlain, who had been remarkably silent through the riekling brothers' exchange. I idly wondered if he had fallen asleep on his feet, with his armor holding him upright. He dispelled that notion when he spoke, voice freighted with weariness. "It's dark, so do we stay here in the castle until daylight or do we make camp in the forest?"

"Since Dulk and Krish cleared out, I don't sense any other beings in the castle; less work, plus maybe we can actually rest instead of having to be on guard. We can bar the door to the hall and be mostly secure."

I felt a lot safer being inside rather than out in the open. There were caves we could stay in on the way back, but there was no way to know how deep they went or what was hiding in them that we might have to deal with- so to me this was a better option. On this island there was no such thing as a good option, just some that were less bad than others. “Solstheim,” right -more like ”Stupidstheim.”

The beasts we had eliminated had been kind enough to leave us a stack of wood for the fire that was already blazing in the huge fireplace and we could easily put enough of the reikling pallets together to make one for each of us, so we wouldn't just be lying on a cold stone floor. Athlain stoked the fire as I collected food stuffs out of my pack to prepare something that might be edible.

It was a tad surreal, perhaps because doing those mundane tasks seemed almost normal, something neither of us had experienced in what felt like a lifetime. My mind wandered back over all this island had thrown at us, not only together, but as individuals. I didn't know everything about Athlain's experiences, but I knew enough from observing the changes in him, both physical and mental. He had not suffered any major physical wounds, a testament to his skill as much as the steel fortress he insisted on wearing, but the emotional ones cut deep and were not yet healed.

As children we had never known darkness nor insecurity nor any true fear. We listened intently to the stories our parents told of times before we were born. They were stories of darkness and hunger, and lives lived in fear of the monsters, both human and inhuman, that had made them who they were. But we were children and they were merely stories to us then, something to create a delicious shiver while we were safe in our beds. So, even though we knew they were true in our heads, our hearts told us that if those monsters had truly existed, no one would have survived- not even our parents, who could do anything. For the first time, I began to appreciate that we had been protected rather than restricted.

Athlain and I were learning the lesson, more with each passing day, that strength, inner strength, is born of trial and hardship. And we had become closely acquainted with fear- the real sort, the kind that weakened your knees and caused your heart to race. It was the constant threat of death- not only your own, but of the people around you, people you felt it was your duty to keep safe. And there was fear's companion- desperation. In desperation, things that were impossible became possible because you could not contemplate failure. Everything on this island was a test, and there was no chance to “do better next time.” Although I had never accepted defeat, the truth was, until I came to this Oblivion-forsaken island, I had never been truly tested. I now understood all of Uncle Seth's cryptic dark lessons.

"You will face challenges, Princess, that you will not see a way through, times when there are no options, no clear paths, nothing but the stubborn unrealistic knowledge that whatever it takes, whatever you must do, you will do just to live to see another day."

I now knew exactly what he meant when he told me that. And I realized how thankful I was for his unconventional lessons, the hours upon days I had spent training with a blindfold and becoming proficient using both hands to wield every weapon I had ever touched. The list was endless and I was not certain, but since coming to Solstheim I had probably utilized almost all of those lessons and maybe learned a few new ones, no matter how complete his training may have been.

I passed Athlain a tin of food and sat on the end of the pallet I had chosen.

"So what do you think is killing the horkers?"

I asked mostly to fill the void of silence. I needed to hear another voice, to have a conversation to distract me from my own thoughts for a while. In the last month or so, I had spent more time in my own head than any elf ever should, and it wasn't always a happy place. And there, barricaded in a room inside a castle filled with the dead, most of them slain by our own hands, more than ever the darkness sought to engulf me.

"It's all part of this prophecy Korst keeps talking about, but I don't know why or how."

Athlain was swirling his fork around on his plate, just pushing the food around- which meant either my culinary skills had not been up to snuff tonight or he was deep in his own mind. I decided to try and see into his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about? I don't think it's the horkers."

Athlain didn't raise his eyes from his tin but he stopped swirling his fork. "Just thinking about what our parents survived and wondering if that's the legacy they've passed to us. And wondering if their love- their single-minded desire to keep us safe through our early years will, in the end, be a good thing or a bad one."

"What do you mean, a good thing or a bad one?"

"Their lives were hard from the start; even as children they had to fight to survive. We've always known the love of our parents, 'Thyna; we never knew what it was like to be alone or cold or hungry. To be afraid that death waited at every step. They survived all of that. And now, we are doing the same- learning the same lessons. I just don't know..." He paused and looked into the fire before he whispered, “I just don't know if I am prepared.”

"We didn't know those things before, but we do now- since coming here anyway. " There was a brief silence and then Athlain sighed.

"My father tried so hard to keep a weapon out of my hands, but in the end he relented. Why?"

"What answer are you looking for Athlain? That he couldn't stand against you choosing your own path or that he couldn't fight fate? Are you trying to take responsibility- or avoid it?"

"I don't know what I'm looking for, 'Thyna. You're the one that asked me what I was thinking and I told you. Now you want to get angry because I still have more questions than answers?"

"I'm not angry- I just don't understand what you're disturbed about and since I don't understand I can't help and if I can't help then why am I here?"

He placed his dish on the ground and stood convulsively, his hands clenching and unclenching as he turned his back to me, facing the wall.

Athlain had always had a more romantic notion of combat than I; his thoughts had been of knighthood and noble causes. But my training had been as much about being mentally prepared for killing as the use of weapons. So I knew that the lives he had taken weighed on him. It was not that he was... soft... more that he was- kind. It was one of the things that made him who he was- he always cared about everyone else, often to his own detriment. I knew that I was often hard on him, but this was not a situation where I could simply pummel him into seeing the facts. It called for diplomacy, a word at which I shuddered inwardly. I knew I was direct to the point of harshness, but what he needed now were the qualities he seemed to give so easily- kindness and understanding.

“The deaths bother you, I know. But what was the alternative? Would it have been better to have given your life instead of those of Boethiah's servants? Would it have been better to have killed that Nord girl they wanted you to sacrifice? What about Carnius? You told me he threatened your entire family.”

He still did not turn away from the wall, but I could tell he was listening from the way he stood. And I could tell he was hearing my words. A part of me wanted to slap the back of his head to drive my point home, but I restrained the impulse.

“I know you. You never took pleasure in killing anyone. You only did it to save yourself- or others. Do you remember the fight with Erich back at Thirsk?”

He did not reply, so I continued: “Well, I do. You fought him to save that silly Redguard missionary he had kidnapped. And you would have let it go at first blood if he had let you. But you knew he would kill Mirsa if he wasn't stopped. I was there. I saw how you gave him chance after chance. Would it have been better for anyone if he had beaten you? So, I ask you again- if I cannot help you, why am I here?”

"Because you are my..." his words trailed off and he bowed his head.

I stood only because I didn't want to crane my neck to look up at him. "I am your what, Athlain? I am your what?"

"You are many things to me 'Thyna. First and foremost you are my closest friend, a part of my soul. You are my mentor, my light on the darkest of days. I left home to become the person I felt I couldn't under the shadow of my father and it was the right thing to do, but I never imagined the pain being away from you would cause."

Athlain placed his palms on the wall above his head and leaned in, and the silence left a moment for me to stare uninhibited at this person I had shared all of my childhood with and who in some ways I felt I no longer knew. What was he trying to say to me? I was feeling things I couldn't explain as well, but speaking them, even to him? At that point, I couldn't begin to even think about it because I hadn't figured out what it meant to me yet.

"Lainie,” I purposely used the childhood nickname, as much to gain distance from my unfamiliar feelings as to cajole him out of his black mood, “this island has changed us both. The life you've led since leaving home has changed you in ways I am only recently beginning to see and understand. You were a boy when you left home and now you are the man that you wanted to become."

"Am I? Or have I become someone else entirely? I see your expression when you look at me and there are times when it seems you are looking at a stranger." He was still pushing at the wall and his voice sounded as if he were in pain.

"You will never be a stranger to me, Athlain Treyson. I am just..." How could I explain to him what I thought of the man that stood where a boy once had and the transition that had happened while we were absent from each other? Perhaps I couldn't, but weren't words and feelings his strong point? "So have I changed so little then from the girl you left behind when you went in search of yourself?"

"What? No, and... yes... in ways that are obvious and confusing. But who you are, what you stand for, none of that has changed." He had turned to look at me finally and some of the pain had eased from his voice.

"First of all, who you are and what you stand for has not changed either; it has matured and grown, but at the core of you it has not changed." I wanted to know what he meant by obvious and confusing, but we had to work through the other first. I could tell he was on one of his negative to nowhere turns and that had to stop right now.

"How do you know, 'Thyna? What have I done but maim and kill since you arrived here? How do you see who I was in who I am now?"

The impulse to slap the back of his head was stronger than ever. But this was a head-slap he needed to deliver to himself.

"Really Athlain, sometimes you just make me want to throw something at you. What are you doing right now?"

His look said he thought I was the one acting foolish. "I'm sitting in the castle of a giant after killing a number of beings that, before entering this place I knew nothing about and therefore had nothing against. But that doesn't change the fact that they are dead now."

"Would you please put your big boy armor on and stop wallowing? It isn't very impressive for the warrior that I know you are. You are here because you started a search for your commanding officer and then, because you are the person you have always been, you are trying to help the inhabitants of this island survive a prophecy that will see them all dead if you don't succeed. Somehow you always seem to forget the good stuff, Lainie. And that's another trait you have always had; why can't you see the good in yourself?"

"Will killing get easier 'Thyna? Because I hate it; it makes me sick inside and it doesn't seem to matter who or what. I understand now what my father tried so hard to tell me."

"I hope it doesn't get easier, Athlain, because if it does then that means we have lost something integral to who we are and how we were raised. I've trained my entire life to be a warrior- which means to kill, doesn't it? What it means to me is that I fight for what's right; I kill so that others may live. I know that I have always seen things differently than you do, but don't think that I can kill one of these beasts without it leaving a mark on my soul."

"I'm sorry 'Thyna; I didn't mean to go all woe is me on you; it just gets to me sometimes. At least with you I can tell the truth." His expression lightened and it was almost like watching ghosts float away through the darkness that surrounded him.

"Well now that that's taken care of and we're all telling the truth here, can you explain something to me?"

"I'll try; what it is?" He shuffled around and sat on his pallet so I slid mine closer and sat beside him before I continued.

"When I asked you if I had changed you said 'yes, in ways that are obvious and confusing.' What did you mean?”

Ruh roh!

I feel that the BIG MOMENT is getting closer, the MOMENT OF TRUTH, when THINGS SMACK THEM ON THE HEAD and LIFE CHANGES FOREVER for them both . . .

Am I right?

And I am looking forward to solving the mystery of Kaarstag!

Oooh boy. No time like the present, it's your time to shine Athlain!

Besides, there might not be much time to catch your breath later if you continue on the current investigative path...

@haute- Oh yes- shoes be dropping like mad in just a bit- and definitely clunk some folks in the head....

@hazmick- As you will see, Athlain tries to “sidestep” rather than “step up”- and it works about as well as you might imagine....

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"When I asked you if I had changed you said 'yes, in ways that are obvious and confusing.' What did you mean?

As that question echoed in my ears, I eyed the barricaded doors with longing. Perhaps I needed to unbar them and go look for... something? Perhaps I should fetch some water. Fresh water. In fact, I should probably go to Vvardenfell to get it, because everyone knows that the water in foreign places tastes strange. And while I was doing that, perhaps I could ask Mother... oh gods no! Ask my father... how to deal with this situation. That was not a conversation I wanted to have. Nor was the one Athynae seemed determined to initiate- I had intended to discuss her recklessness, but she had managed to sidetrack the topic as usual. Worse still, she had done so by... being understanding. That hardly seemed fair.
My silence had gone on too long, and Athynae's patience could be measured in heartbeats at the best of times.

“It's a simple question. What did you mean?”

I took a deep breath and attempted to organize my scattered and frightening thoughts. No matter how I answered, something fundamental was going to change between us. “I... you.... it's complicated.”

She was not to be put off by that bit of obfuscation. “If you say that, it means there is an explanation- just a complex one. So...?”

“You are my best friend.” I was on safe ground there. You couldn't turn your back or run from a bear- you had to stand tall. And pray.

“As you are mine, but that still doesn't explain anything.”

“And- we have been through a lot together, especially recently." If I kept stating the obvious, perhaps the bear would get bored and go away.

“Yes we have, enough to write several long books.” Her eyebrow was starting to rise- not a good sign. The bear might be considering if you were worth eating- or just disposing of as an annoyance....

Time to plunge ahead. Short, declarative statements had failed- perhaps a longer flurry of words would be enough. “And so... well... I mean- you say we are still the same people and I guess that's true... in all the ways that matter really. Except... it's not that the... erm... other things (how to explain what those 'other things' were was the problem) aren't important. So you see... that's what I meant.”

“What? That made absolutely no sense whatsoever!”

Athynae was like a hungry guar digging into a scrib nest; she wasn't going to stop until she had extracted every last bit of truth from me. Which was going to be interesting, since I didn't know what “the truth” was any longer. “Different and confusing” had covered things perfectly. I wished we could have left it at that.

I glanced at the hole the rieklings had used to escape and wondered if I would fit. Perhaps if I removed my armor...? But that caused other thoughts I very much did not want intruding at this particular moment. I took another deep breath. Breathing was important.

“I... have... noticed you... recently. So... that was all I meant.”

“What on Nirn are you stuttering over? You are never like this. I am the one who can't find the words to say things. Just spit it out.”

When I didn't respond immediately, she shook her head and added, “ 'Noticed?' Of course you have- you aren't blind. I'm the one suffering from that affliction.”

The reminder of her night-blindness was painful, but it might also provide an escape. If I could get her talking about alchemy.... “And I am so sorry for that. I was sure I got the formula right. I always check everything twice when I make potions. Although maybe I did not use enough of the monk's hood...?”

She folded her arms and I knew the tapping of the fingers on the bracer was about to commence. In desperation, and also because the thought just jumped right from my heart to my lips, bypassing my brain entirely, I added,

“And I have always found your eyes... um... wonderful. So it seems really unfair that anything happened to them.”

“The only thing that happened to them was because of some stupid Daedric prince and his stupid games on this stupid island. And anyway, that is a different discussion for a different time. What is 'confusing' or 'different'- besides my eyesight?”

“Um... different.” 'Different' might be safer. 'Confusing' was... well... confusing. “Well- like just now before. You asked me what was bothering me. And you … didn't hit me. That was... different.” My mind went to “hitting” because I had the feeling there was going to be some- very soon.

She gave me an exasperated look, both eyebrows now arching upward. “I had to ask you because I could see you were on a long, dark path to nowhere good. And I didn't hit you because you needed to say what you said. But now, I am thinking perhaps a swat to the back of your head will loosen up whatever it is you are choking on.” And now the fingers were most definitely drumming a warning song on the bracer.

“Athynae. You have always been strong. And... um... athletic... and... strong.” My traitor mind was thinking of how her leather armor fit and how her muscles flexed when she moved and... I really wanted my imagination to just leave me alone!

The tempo of fingernails on bracer increased. The drums were signaling all who valued their lives to seek safety.

“But so- sometimes... like now... or... ah, back at the hot springs....” An image of Athynae plunging into the warm water brought my tortured explanation to a sudden halt. Better to forge ahead than pause on that particular vision. “The light... it... illuminates your face and shines through your hair.... I like the red by the way- not that it matters what I like, of course!”

That elicited a response. “My hair? Truly? My hair... confuses you?” She reached up to touch the item in question and I could not help but admire her shapely fingers. I shook my head to clear that thought.

“Ah... “ Inspiration, of a desperate and forlorn sort, arrived. “You know back when we had to study art in school? And we would stare at the pictures, and the instructor would go on and on and on.. about 'line and form and blah blah blah....?”

She rolled her eyes, but at least the warning tattoo on the bracer had halted- for the moment.

“And we would be thinking- 'Fine- it's a picture of a bowl with some fruit in it. So what?' ”

Now her eyebrows were dancing in confusion and her fingers were heading back toward the bracer.

“But... if you came in from a long sparring session- and saw a real bowl of fruit on a table....”

“I would eat it.”

“Yes. You would. And... and... you would think it was the most wonderful thing you had ever seen.”

“Because I would be hungry.”

“Yes. And because, in that situation, the fruit would mean something. It would feed you.”

“Yes. It would feed me- if it wasn't just a picture.”

“It would fill an emptiness you perhaps did not even realize was there- until you saw it.”

She said so softly that I almost didn't hear her. “Like something you were missing, but did not know until you really looked.”

With a prayer to whatever benign powers might be listening, I went on, “Sometimes, when I look at you.. you do that. And that confuses me.”

Her eyes were closed and I wondered what she was seeing. The answer came as a relief... and as a blow.

“Like the first time I saw Lumhara. And I knew she was mine even before I knew. Because she completed a void I had not known was there, until she came to fill it.”

I couldn't help but let a bit of my hurt come through. I had finally admitted to something that scared me worse than any of the monsters of Solstheim ever had, and... a guar? That was her response? “Wait. What? Yes- certainly. Just like looking at a guar. That's what looking at you makes me feel.”

“Not just any guar, you buffoon! My guar!”

“And I am sure she is a lovely guar, with smooth beautiful scales that invite your touch and expressive eyes and that big, purple tongue.”

“She is beautiful and graceful, as far as guar go. She is my companion and understands me like no one else. When I ride her we are one.”

That last statement sent my mind veering off in directions I assuredly did not want to go. Faintly, my words again escaping my judgment, I muttered, “Riding. Yes. Guar riding is very... pleasant.” My face was crimson by this point, and she apparently misunderstood the reason.

“You're being silly, Athlain. Why are you getting mad because I want you to explain what you said?”

I tried to dodge, “I am happy we understand each other now. And... I am awfully tired. So... goodnight, Athynae.”

She wasn't having it. “Hold on, Mr. I-can-talk-about-anything-with-you-you're-my-best-friend. You aren't telling me everything.”

Gods save me, I implored silently. But whatever gods were listening were either not interested, or more likely were so entertained by my discomfort that they refused to intervene. Why was there never an earthquake or volcano or other natural disaster when you really needed one? With no hope of salvation on the horizon, I tried again.

“I never really used to think about the fact that … ah... you are... a woman. Because it shouldn't matter. Well, yes it... matters. But... ah... you... I... it.... Sometimes I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen! Now- goodnight!”

She merely looked puzzled. “I have always been female, Athlain. And you are confused now because I used to be ugly?”

I beseeched a different power this time, since the gods were obviously having too much fun at my expense. In a whisper, I queried, “Mother, why didn't you prepare me for this.”

Athynae's elven hearing picked up my rhetorical question and she leapt upon it. “Prepare you for what? And you haven't answered yet- did I use to be ugly?”

“You have never been “ugly!” It isn't you. It's... I... have been... noticing... is all.”

“Again- 'noticing'. Noticing what?”

“Feelings.”

“ 'Feelings?' What sort of feelings?”

“Feelings. About you. And me. And... us. And... things. That time you kissed me... was something I might like to... to do again. Sometime.”

“Kiss me?”

“Um... yes?”

Now she was looking as uncomfortable as I felt. “I... I'm not sure that would be a good idea. And I am glad we got that all cleared up.”

But now that the dam had burst, I could not stop the words. “Probably, it didn't feel like anything different to you... probably just like when you kiss Lumhara.” I couldn't help but toss that verbal dart, even though I felt bad for it immediately afterwards. And there was more I had to say. “But... for me... it was like when you do a really amazing and difficult healing and the feeling overwhelms all your senses.”

She was suddenly very interested in sorting through her pack, but I heard her mumble, “Yes... it was.” In a firmer voice she added, “That's... fine. Athlain... you can stop now.”

I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from me, so I allowed myself a small smile and concluded, “So.. confusing. Now do you see?”

She still was not looking at me and was really throwing things around on her side of the room, but she paused long enough to mutter, “Yes. I mean 'no,' we don't need to talk about this any more- ever. Thank you.”

Still watching her frantic efforts and a bit concerned because now her face was flushing, I pressed on. “I was afraid it would make you mad. Because I mean... I know... it's was just weird for me to feel any of those things. It was probably just... lack of sleep... and... like that.... So I am glad we are still good.”

“Yes. We are... good. Just fine.” Then her words trailed into a mumble, “ 'Lack of sleep'. Stupid.”

“And I am really glad you don't have the problem I do with... anything like that.”

Her head came up and her cheeks really were blazing. “Oh? So now it's a problem?”

“Um... well. It could be... because... you... we... um.. hitting... and yes. I mean no!”

She glared at me and practically shouted, “Look. I see you with your broad shoulders and your strong legs and those arms that wield that mace like a tinker's hammer. And... and your glistening chest with the water running off of it, and.... Problems! Problems?”

I blinked, completely bereft of the power of speech for a moment. When my senses returned, they were still addled. “You... do what?”

She continued, still sounding furious, “Look, I don't know what's wrong with us. Maybe Svenja mixed up something with those potions we got or something.”

I grabbed on to a possible explanation like a drowning man clinging to a board. “Yes! That must be it! Nord mead hall, what a relief.”

She shook her head at me and her voice was more subdued, “You grew up, all right? We both just... grew up. You have developed muscles and skill,” her voice dropped to a whisper that the acoustics of the room brought to my ears, “and a lovely face.”

I misunderstood and looked at her there in the fire-light, her cheeks full of color, and I could not help but agree, “Yes it is.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What is?”

“What is what?”

“You just said, 'Yes it is.' What is?”

“Oh. Ah... erm... your face.”

“What about it?”

“What you said.”

“Do you half hear everything I say?”

“Probably. But I just like the sound of your voice. So sometimes I don't pay attention to the words.”

“If you must know, I said your face is lovely!”

“You... what?”

“As is the rest of you! Stupid!” Now she was back to tossing things around. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! My brain, my mouth, and... you! Ugh!”

“Um... 'Thyna? Are you mad at me? Because I really do like the sound of your voice. I mean... not so much when you are yelling at me.... but.... When I hear you... I feel safe.”

“Mad? No, I'm not mad. What would make you think I am mad, Athlain?”

“Well... you're throwing things. And your face... it's kind of... red. Sort of.”

“Yes, and yours will be too in a minute.” She drew a deep breath and folded her hands. “Look. Yes. I am also confused. When I look at you sometimes, I feel things I don't understand and that I'm not sure I want to. It scares me. And- I am a warrior. Warriors aren't supposed to be scared or confused.”

“Then... I must not be a warrior. Because I get confused a lot. And scared too.”

She was back to shouting, “You are a warrior! I have watched you fight! You don't let the fear hold you back- you just... get on with what needs to be done. It's harder for me. I... I am not used to having doubts. I hope you know what I mean.”

I nodded and then spoke the deepest part of what I was feeling. “What I know is, I am better in all ways when you are with me. So... don't leave me, please?”

“I am sworn to protect you. I promised Azura. I will never leave you, Athlain.”

“Then nothing else matters. Except... you know... rushing into a room full of fighting grahl and rieklings might be considered... leaving.”

She ignored that, only giving me a brief smile before she turned to her blankets. “Go to sleep, Athlain. We need to rest before we journey back to tell Korst what we didn't find.”

“Rest well, Athynae Sarethi. It is my honor to fight by your side.”

“As it is mine to fight beside you, forever.”

*sinks head into hands*

Umm, are they getting it yet? Or are they in DENIAL??

LOL just how OLD are they again? Because this makes me think of my eighth grade dance all over again . . .

I have spent the loveliest morning catching up with the A team. In the last few segments I am struck by Athynae’s changing perspective of Athlain, starting with the chiseled abs moment. I loved her image of him wading through the rieklings, and the way his face changed when she caught his eye.

Gosh, the grahl and riekling battle was thrilling! With Athynae’s acrobatics and Athlain’s steady mace and shield work, I was delighted to see it through both of their eyes.

Oh my, when Athynae compared her feelings to the first time she saw her beloved guar, I spit tea. Poor Athlain, if only he knew how precious that makes him!

@haute- There was some discussion of their relative ages, because it was never something I had firmly fixed in my mind. After consideration, Athynae is two years and one month older than Athlain's 17.

And yes- it did feel very much like junior high or so. Thyna has the “elvish” excuse- the idea that the long-lived mature more slowly. Athlain... is just... obtuse.

@Grits- I am so glad you enjoyed the newest installments. The fight scene was one of my favorites so far, with the two of them working as a team, despite the whole “rushing in” start to the battle. And yes, he should know how much the comparison to Lumhara means, but his brain is a little... jangled.

@Everyone- we took a different approach to what will be the final chapter of this story. Instead of just getting enough on paper (or pixel) to equal a post or two, we decided to finish prior to posting. That relieved some pressure and also meant we could adjust things as needed to make a coherent whole. That is also a future task for the early parts of the story, which do not give Athynae as much scope as she deserves, and also have a decidedly... inaccurate... view of her. At present, the plan is to post once a week until the chapter (and the story) is complete. Hope you enjoy reading as much as we have enjoyed writing.

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A report submitted to Severia Gratius, Fort Frostmoth, Solstheim regarding the late attack upon the fort (a portion):

Investigation has proved definitively that the attack on Fort Frostmoth was carried out by forces other than the indigenous Skaal. Supporting evidence can be found in the fact that their own leader, Tharsten Heartfang, was taken in a similar manner as Captain Carius. This officer continues his inquiries and will do his utmost to bring justice to those responsible for this act of aggression.

Respectfully,

Athlain Treyson, Agent

A letter posted from the Skaal village, Solstheim to Indarys Manor, Vvardenfell (a portion):

… feel that we are now close to the end of all this, but I cannot see what that end may be. I now have a better understanding of your words regarding prophecies.... In fact, I think I understand a number of things you tried to teach me. Thank you for that and your innumerable other acts of kindness and patience. I love you, Dad. Also, please give my love to Mother and to Mae and Cai. Kiss them all for me.

Your son

A note accompanying the above documents, addressed to Svenja Snow-Song, Thirsk, Solstheim (a portion):

I know you will see that the enclosures reach their destinations. I have always been able to rely upon you. Therefore, I name you Chieftain of Thirsk. We both know that you are already the leader in fact if not in name, and that only your own doubts and humility have held you back. The time for doubt is past. Please honor me by accepting the title which is yours by right, and by the work of your hands and your heart.

Honor to you, Chieftain of Thirsk,

Athlain

A letter accompanying two parcels sent from the Skaal Village, Solstheim to Thirsk, Solstheim:

Ahnya,

I hope this finds you in good health and that your training is continuing as it should. Though we never discussed at length your role as my second, I feel comforted by the assurance from Athlain that you accepted the title and are willing perform the duties expected of someone in that position.

Athlain and I are in the final stages of preparation to meet Hircine and bring an end to the unsettling and detrimental situation that has been occurring due to his call of the Wild Hunt. This letter is part of that preparation, and the only person I trust with the tasks I’m giving you is the person who also stepped forward to perform as my stalwart supporter.

First, I give you my diaries. They are wrapped and sealed but should the end find me, I would ask that you read them, and thus become acquainted with my family. I ask this because you will be the one to share with them the news, if things do not turn out as I hope. I apologize ahead of time for placing this burden on you, but your heart more than any other will see it done with compassion and empathy.

I would also ask, if you can find it in your heart, to remain close to them, especially Rahvin and Breanna. They will need someone to be there to watch over them, even if they don’t think so, and if it can’t be me, then I choose you. You will love them as I do; for who they are personally, individually, and not because they are the “children of the Arch Mistress.”

The other package contains items I need sent back to Indarys immediately. A courier will suffice for those, so long as it is someone trustworthy. Consult Svenja- she will provide wise counsel. Some of those items are mine- Mother’s journals; two books and a pendant for Bree; a pouch for Rahvin that contains the vial that held the potion that cured my lycanthropy, as well as a small stash of flora I thought he might find interesting.

I only entrust you with these burdens because you have shown that you are equal to them.

Go see Brynjolfyr; he has my gift for you; treasure it as I treasure you.

Good health and long life to you, Ahnya of Thirsk.

Athynae Sarethi

A conversation at Indarys Manor, outside of Ald'ruhn (a portion)

“Bring them back. Safely. Please.”

“Seth will tell me when it is time. But, you must understand- I will intervene only if there is no other choice. To do otherwise will destroy all the progress Athlain has made.”

“ 'Progress!' I do not care a whit for 'progress!' I only care about my son!”

“As do I. My life upon it.”

An excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter:

And when all has been made ready
And the champions are assembled
One moon will hide her face
And the other will be as blood

Under the Blood Moon
The Wild Hunt is called
Hunters become prey
The Hounds bay the scent

Strides forth the eternal Hunter
Who will face him in his maze?
Who will be left standing,
When claw and fang meet flesh and steel?

Yay, more bloody moons!

What a delightfully epistolary interlude, as the various parties prepare for the final act of the struggle. I am looking forward to seeing the rest.

As am I! I loved these letters - it indicates that Athlain and Athynae have given thought to their own mortality - a sure sign of maturity. It's wonderful to see how they have grown through this story - both individually and together.

The acknowledgement of mortality makes a nice contrast to the prior episode's suicidal "rushing into a room full of fighting grahl and rieklings"

Ooo, I love this interlude! Taking a deep breath before the final battle makes me even more nervous for them. *scribbles notes*

Hello treydog, I am Renee, and I have interest in Blood on the Moon, but not the time to catch up with everyone else. Because wow, this back to 2007! What is happening in the latest chapter, especially with the letters going back and forth?

Whoa, okay, so Hircine is about to get met. Okay, so some documents are being entrusted to Ahnya. Just in case things don't go well. Yah because I imagine meeting a daedric prince... all sorts of things could go wrong. All Hircine has to do is call up his Wild Hunt and ...

What's happening at the end? With the conversation there? See, I'm the lady who shows up to Game of Thrones (or Stranger Things, or Walking Dead....) seasons after everyone else already knows what's going on. Lol.

Yeah- I don't really want to ask anyone to read all 600(!) pages just to “catch up”. That is especially true since there are some pretty big inconsistencies, especially in the characters now versus the early days. Therefore, to quote Inigo Montoya- Let me es-plain.... No. It is too much. Let me sum up.

So- for those who need the Cliff Notes version- Athlain is the son of Trey of High Rock, who defeated Dagoth Ur. He is 17 at the beginning of this story and has left home, due to reasons- some good, some less so. One of his distinguishing characteristics is an absolute inability to wield swords of any kind. That did not dim his desire to be a warrior of renown. As a result, he (reluctantly) learned to use blunt weapons, and now carries an ebony and silver mace that Athynae had made for him (known as Athynae's Gift or simply the Gift. Athynae Sarethi is the daughter of Serene of Cyrodiil, Arch Mistress of Great House Redoran and wife of Athyn Sarethi. Athynae is 2 years and 1 month older than Athlain. She is a master of almost any weapon, specializing in archery, thrown weapons, and her beloved ebony katana Dreamer. That sword was a gift from her mentor and trainer, Sethyas Velas (Uncle Seth), Master of the Morag Tong.

Athynae and Athlain have been best friends practically since Athlain's birth and have shared a number of adventures. Some of those that might be more accessible (because they are short) can be found in 3 threads within the Fan Fiction subforum- a couple will require a bit of digging--- “Postcards from Tamriel,” “Morrowind Memories,” and “Athynae Sarethi: The Making of a Princess”. Those are worth a look, as they have some insight into the characters in their earlier (pre-Blood on the Moon) days.

So- skipping a LOT of story- Athlain joins the Legion, goes to Solstheim, becomes involved with the East Empire Co. colony at Raven Rock. In the course of that, he is unwittingly dosed with skooma and becomes addicted. Athynae cures him and saves his life. Meanwhile, the Legion fort is attacked and the commander disappears. Athlain is tasked to investigate. In doing so, he spends time at Thirsk and the Skaal village. (The Legion officer who assigned him to investigate believes the Skaal are behind the attack on the fort). At Thirsk, he and Athynae befriend (and avenge) an orphaned Skaal girl, Ahnya Torvarsdottir.

Somewhere in there, while waiting for Athlain to show up from some task or other which has taken him away, Athynae is attacked (and infected) by a werewolf. With Athlain's assistance, she barricades herself in a cave while he chases a rumor of a cure. She is mentally besieged by Hircine, who urges her to accept his “gift” and become a great hunter. She resists, but also contemplates suicide as a better alternative to becoming a monster. Athlain succeeds in finding the formula for and preparing the cure, and (with Azura's aid) assists in Athynae's healing.

Athlain must win the trust of the Skaal before they will tell him what they know about events taking place on Solstheim. To do this, he must complete a number of “Tests”- Loyalty, Wisdom, and Strength. As he has finished these, werewolves attack the Great Hall and the Skaal Chieftain, Tharsten Heartfang, disappears.

Athlain and Athynae must now attempt to determine if what the Skaal shaman, Korst Windeye, suspects is in fact true. But first, there are more tasks- retrieving the Totem of Claw and Fang, and then completing the Ristaag. They manage both of these, and Korst divides the Totem, giving the bear claws to Athynae and the wolf fangs to Athlain. Shortly thereafter, the horkers begin dying all over the island. For reasons that are never made clear, Korst asks them to go to Castle Karstaag to investigate whether the frost giant (also named Karstaag) is causing the mass die-off. The giant is not there, but numerous rieklings and grahl (ice trolls) are- and they are fighting each other. Mayhem (and poor judgment- in Athlain's opinion) ensue. The A Team discover that werewolves took Karstaag.

Throughout their lives (and most of this adventure), the kids have remained obstinately oblivious to their feelings for one another (with occasional, quickly repressed exceptions). But the months of close contact and a growing mutual awareness of their attraction for each other finally comes to the forefront. With the investigation of the ice castle complete, they are about to go back to the Skaal village to ask Korst to explain what the point of that last adventure was.

@SubRosa- The Interludes were something I originally intended to take the place of an omniscient narrator, necessary as the story is told in first person. But- like the rest of it, they grew larger. Happy to have you reading!

@haute- They are both more aware that this is not going to be an “average” confrontation. And the growth you mention is something that matters to me- as a reader, as well as a writer. If I read 200 pages and on page 200 the protagonist ends up being pretty much the same as she was on page 1- I am profoundly disappointed. So- we have tried to avoid that trap.

@ghastley- Yes- and I think Athlain will probably have more to say about that....

@Grits- We will be ratcheting the tension a bit before they get to that ultimate showdown. So- I recommend a cold beverage and a comfy chair. And I hope what follows meets with your approval.

@Renee- Welcome! The summary at the top of this post should help you get caught up. And thank you so much for reading!

And now- more story!

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We left Castle Karstaag the next morning- by the front door- no swimming necessary, thankfully. I didn’t need a recap of Athlain’s naked torso exiting the water- the image was already quite solidly implanted in my mind in vivid color- embedded like the gem in Dreamer’s hilt.

Athlain was more silent than usual and that was good; I needed time to think. Discovering that the missing giant and his pet rieklings weren’t responsible for the dying horkers had not really surprised me. I knew it was just one more of Hircine’s cruel games. And the proof, had I needed any, came when Krish casually mentioned the ‘wolf mens’ who had taken Karstaag. So none of that was what I needed to sort out in my head. I have always preferred simple answers to stupid problems and the stupid problem of Hircine had a very simple answer- find him and send him, as painfully as possible, back to his plane of Oblivion. See, simple end to stupid problem.

What were not simple were the complicated thoughts sneaking in without my consent regarding the metal-wearing man whose breathing I could hear above his clanking progress just behind me. Fine. He wasn't actually “clanking.” But anyone wearing that much steel should have been, so I heard it in my mind if not with my ears. And after all the words we’d shared last night, knowing he was experiencing the same confusing disturbances of thought brought no sort of comfort.

Practically since before I could walk, I had known I was going to be a warrior, in the Redoran tradition. I would protect the weak and innocent and combat evil in all its forms. And not too long after I had pledged myself to that goal, I had added another; I would keep Athlain safe. That vow had come to me as naturally as breathing, even if it did happen after an injury to Athlain that I felt responsible for. There had never been nor would there ever be a reason to ask why. But with Lord Dog Breath after us, I really needed to work out how.

For all the time I had known Athlain, I had known where things stood- he was going to become a great warrior, because that was what he wanted. And I was going to keep him alive to do it, even if I had to half kill him first. Now that goal was achieved- the great warrior part- but I was still bound by my oath to keep him safe. And these new feelings were definitely going to complicate everything. I was a warrior and now he was one too. And, dammit, warriors didn’t have time for feelings- especially feelings outside compassion or anger. Athlain was my friend, my best friend in fact. And now we were combating all of these new feelings that could interfere with that friendship, possibly even destroy it.

“Do not ask me about love, Princess. Love is complicated, not the feeling of it; for you either feel it or you do not. But the defining of it in all its forms is beyond even the greatest scholars.” Papa’s words floated by as if carried on the breeze.

Loving Athlain wasn’t the question; it never had been. At some level, I had always known that I loved him. But that had been the love between best friends- companions who shared adventures and secrets and dreams. The current conundrum was how to navigate the change. It loomed like a rocky shoal suddenly appearing in once familiar waters. We had been side by side since he was born. I remembered rocking his cradle as he slept, impatiently waiting for the day he would walk and then run- with me. The knowledge that he would be my companion was palpable even then. Was this the natural progression of that? Did Mother and Trey have feelings like this? Or Mother and Seth? For each other? After all, I knew she had been central to their adventures and their triumphs. Had there been more than that? No! This was different, in some undefinable way. And yet I knew that they all loved each other; that they shared an unspoken, unbreakable bond. And I loved the brats and even the twin terrors, most of the time anyway. But that wasn’t it either. Was it because of my vow? The oath I had made to keep him safe? Or was it yet another plot by Hircine or some other Daedric meddler, playing with my mind, determined to drive me insane? I considered that, then considered the person who was troubling my thoughts.

Athlain was by turns serious and silly, cautious and reckless, kind and implacable. He was no longer the uncertain boy who had slipped away from home to join the Legion. But what he still was, in every way that mattered, was Athlain, with all his contradictions and complications. And that was what I had promised to keep safe, the essence of the man who I turned my head to look at, ready to explain to him that we did not have time for feelings, using simple words to get through his thick skull, only to notice he was lagging. What was that about? He definitely knew better than to try to lead, but he had never had any trouble keeping up, what with those long, muscular legs…”STOP IT!” I yelled inside my stupid brain, ”You are a WARRIOR, no feelings!”

I took a shallow breath and looked at him more closely. My nostrils flared in annoyance at his absent expression- didn't he know we were in the wilderness, far from safety? And when I inhaled, the air carried a scent with it, fresh blood. I whirled the rest of my body around to face him and glared. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? Where is it? How bad? How could you be so stupid?”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled through pale lips. “I just, I need to catch my breath is all.” As he dropped to sit on a boulder, his hunched shoulders gave the lie to his words. Why was he lying to me? I had seen him traipse up and down hills, cross streams, and push through snow drifts- all while wearing most of the contents of a forge, along with a serving platter and meat tenderizer from the kitchen. Besides all of that was the blood. I knew it wasn’t riekling blood because I had seen him clean his gear, but also for...other….reasons I really did not want to think about. I could just tell that it was his blood.

I folded my arms and the fingers of my right hand started tapping against the bracer on my left arm. “I don’t think so; try again. And do hurry as I’d prefer not to be dinner for any of the many beasts that might believe the scent of your blood means an easy meal.”

He tried to hide a wince of pain by turning his head. “It might be this place on my back.” He tried to sound offhand about it, but the words were strained. I stopped tapping and walked to his side as he continued, still avoiding eye contact. “I would have dealt with it, but it’s in an awkward spot and I didn’t want to waste a major healing potion on a minor scratch.” He tried to smile, but it was a weak attempt that turned into a grimace of pain.

“Minor scratches do not keep bleeding,” I responded, and then growled, “into the next day!” I felt like knocking him out, but I didn’t want to carry him, not that I could have anyway. “Let me see,” and I leaned toward him.

When he didn’t say anything, I glanced up to see his face set in a stubborn frown. “It’s fine. We can check it when we get back to Korst. In fact I’m feeling much better.” But when he tried to stand, his legs gave and put him right back on the boulder.

“Uh huh, I can see how much better you feel. Just dizzy from the clean air then?” I reached to the clasps on his breastplate and unceremoniously removed it. I got a muffled groan for my efforts.
His under tunic was saturated on one side all the way down and into his breeches under his cuisses. “Pull up your tunic and let me see.”

The ‘scratch’ was actually a gash as long as my hand and I didn’t really want to investigate exactly how deep it was. The bunching muscle and continued trickle of blood told me enough. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just cleaned the wound, threaded my needle and started sewing. He let go a wince and then a whine, followed by a moan of words, “Are you using the training you got from your mother or from the butcher?” He sucked in a wheezing breath. “And where did you find that sail-makers' needle? The same place as the hawser you threaded it with?” Athlain complaining was actually a good sign- far better than him suffering in silence, but I could see the seriousness of the wound made by the riekling blade, so I had little patience for his attempt at humor.

“Perhaps if you had told me earlier, rather than ignoring it, I could have used finer thread. But you decided to bumble around in that wood stove you insist on wearing and made it worse.” I wish I had bailing twine, I thought to myself. Stupid. I paused to press the edges of the wound together with one hand before passing the needle through again and added as sweetly as I could, “Of course, if you would rather sew yourself up, I will be more than happy to stop. No? Then quit complaining and let me do this.”

The truth was, though I would never admit it to Athlain, that I was amazed he had managed to go as long as he did without collapsing or making a sound. Of course, I was even more amazed- and annoyed- by his stupidity,. There were other, older scars on his back, plus the ones I had seen on his arms and torso when he emerged from the hot spring...NO- not thinking about that! The point was he was no stranger to injuries or the need to treat them promptly.

“Stupid,” I muttered as I knotted the thread and stepped back, reaching for my pack and a healing ointment to coat the wound. I resolutely refused to think about whether I was referring to him or to myself for admiring the muscles of his back and the way they made a “V” as they plunged down to his…. NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT!

“Would you be willing to 'waste' that healing potion now, Sera 'I’d-rather-bleed-everywhere'?” I was caught between “want to kill him” and “want to save him,” so the sarcasm dripped like melting metal.

Athlain dipped his head and mumbled, “Um, my potions kind of got crushed somehow in the brawl, so I don’t actually have one. Which was another reason why I sort of didn't....” He trailed off and stared at the ground between his feet.

Breathe 'Thyna. One, two, three...two hundred seventy seven. “And so you just thought you’d try to bleed out and I wouldn’t notice,” and then my voice climbed in volume so that Aunt Baria could have heard me, “INSTEAD OF JUST ASKING FOR ONE? WHAT ON NIRN IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“I really didn’t think it was all that bad until I started feeling the blood run down my leg and then I knew if I said anything that this is what I would get. So I’ll take the yelling, along with one of your perfectly wonderful healing potions, if you please.” And he gave me such a classically Athlain sheepish grin that it was all I could do not to kick him.

I didn’t say a word as I handed him the vial. He drank it and reached for his breastplate.

I smacked his hand. “No, leave it. In fact, remove the rest of your armor as well. You don’t need anything rubbing on the stitches I just finished.”

I didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree; I just looked around until I found a place a few feet up the path that offered good enough cover to hide his metal monument until it could be retrieved. He brought me the pieces and I stashed them, after which I placed a marker that could be spotted if someone knew what they were looking for. Of course, I didn't say anything to him about that, I just noted that the armor could be a “Shrine to Stupidity” and that people could come from all over the world to worship there. In fact, he could achieve an even greater fame than he would have as a warrior- he would be “St. Athlain, Patron of Stupidity.” Maybe that last was a bit much, but he had scared me, and I hated being scared. Then I reached for his pack and drew out his cloak and tossed it at him, before placing his burden over mine.

“Put the damn cloak on, and if you say one word about this extra pack on my back, I promise you it will be the last thing you say until you’ve seen fifty summers.”

I started for the village and knew he was no more than two steps behind me. The remainder of the walk to Korst’s was very quiet. And I struggled to ignore his scent- lavender, a hint of blood, but mostly the mixture of soap and steel and... everything that went straight from my nostrils to that place inside of me that was labeled “Athlain.”

Like like "Thyna's simple solution to a stupid problem

She would keep Athlain safe? What about that cliff racer hunting incident?

Love is indeed complicated. Aphrodite was the most vicious and cruel of all the gods...

Athynae's smelling Athlain's blood was a nice, subtle nod to her werewolvery.

Is St. Athlain related to St. Hubbins - the patron saint of quality footwear?

Shrine to Stupidity, indeed! I was chuckling throughout Thyna's tender ministrations to Athlain's little cut . . .

Oh, and yeah, that "V" of the back muscles . . . hrmmmm

I like the way that TES lets healing run the entire gamut from stitches and time, to the instant mending of broken bones in the middle of combat.

Somebody is going for the high-quality cosmetic repair here, because that's the result she wants.

Speaking of healing, when are you going to heal your broken avatar treydog?

Athynae’s very simple answer to the Hircine problem is Nord approved!

I love how her emotions swung all over the place throughout the walk, the sewing, and some more Athlain-scented walk, while she intermittently declared that a warrior has none such feelings. It reminded me very much of my own processing at her age. Wondering about her mother, Trey, and Seth tells me she’s seeing them as people instead of only as parent and parent-adjacent others. I love how the strands of growing up that weave throughout this story are coming together (in a V shape, lol) at the end.

@SubRosa- Let's just say Athynae's definition of “safe” is... flexible. And I think the relation to St. Hubbins in entirely possible; we just have to hope Athlain is never overcome with the desire to be a drummer in a band.... Finally found a pup picture to use- that's the problem with changing computers and not being able to locate the backup drive....

@haute- Hope you are recovering well from your bronchoscopy- somehow, I think that should involve dinosaurs.... Anyway, she is a great believer in the idea that the 'healing' should involve a significant amount of 'and here's why you don't do the stupid thing that got you hurt in the first place'. And whatever her brain is telling her- her eyes have their own ideas.

@ghastley- It is true that in “A and A World” some healing (even of major injuries) is instantaneous- while other things take longer. And Athynae definitely has her own agenda at work, even if she is not completely aware of it.

@Grits- I think you are correct- Athynae has been spending too much time with Nords! And the emotions are anything but simple for her, which perhaps explains some of her... less-than-gentle healing method. One of the best things about this story has been giving the kids room to grow- and watching them do so.

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After Athynae had sewed me back together, with what I felt was a certain amount of savagery, not to mention the use of some sort of inquisitor's tools, she also made me dump my armor. And that meant we made good time toward the Skaal village, even though my head was somewhat fuzzy. I suspected the “healing potion” she had used was one of the “special” ones that contained a couple of extra ingredients. And I hardly needed the cloak she threw at me; she was putting off enough heat to melt iron.

I didn't actually mind her eloquent silence, as it gave me an excuse to remain quiet and to get a respite from the thoughts that had been chasing each other around in my head. The silence between us was fraught, but Athynae being angry with me over my failure to “take care of myself better” was familiar. The problem was, this latest silence felt like a pause in the conversation we had had the previous night. I wondered if we would resume that talk or if we would let the silence stretch until we could pretend it had never happened, and that we were the same people who had left Vvardenfell for this other, more deadly island. I stole a look at Athynae, seeing the way she walked so lightly, yet with such purpose, as if the very act of moving from one place to another was at once a dance and also a warning to anything foolish enough to challenge her. And I hoped with all my heart that things would not go back to how they had always been.

Before long we smelled the smoke from the village and emerged from the trees, where we were greeted by the hunters serving guard duty. One of them was Ingmar, the young Skaal hunter who I suspected could hunt ice bears with a stick. And my darker suspicions about him were once more awakened when 'Thyna veered off to speak with him, waving me toward the Blodskaal's house while she began a quiet conversation with the smiling Nord.

She caught up with me at the cabin, where she dropped the packs. She said nothing of her conference with Ingmar, and I refused to ask. Instead we just walked to the shaman's house in silence. After he let us in, he smiled and said, “I imagine you didn't encounter much trouble- no doubt Castle Karstaag was empty? Not that it especially matters, as I had my doubts that the giant had anything to do with the horkers anyway."

Korst's casual words seemed to go straight to the wound in my back, which chose that moment to remind me just how much the battle at Karstaag had cost- and how much it might have cost. A vision of Athynae sliding down a table toward the gaping maw of a grahl popped into my head and then all I saw was red.

"She... could have died!" I roared as I launched myself at the shaman, fingers curled to grasp his throat.

But somehow, before I could reach him, I found myself being grabbed, tossed, and spun, only to land on... Athynae? She let out a “whoof” as we hit the floor together, but still kept her hold on my arms. As we lay there, she spoke into my ear, “You never lose your temper, not even in the middle of a fight. What's the matter with you?”

How could I explain? When he dismissed what we had experienced in that frozen castle, and then added that the frost giant was not responsible- it meant the whole trip and the slaughter that followed had all been for nothing. The memory of the battle in the banquet hall would likely haunt my dreams for years to come, not to mention the gash in my back that Athynae had carefully cushioned when she brought me to the floor. And while our position might have been a pleasant diversion in other circumstances, just then it simply reminded me of our conversation after the fight, a conversation that was in many ways more frightening than the battle itself. I had barely been able to speak to her since confessing my feelings. And that too, I now saw, was the shaman's fault. Blast him and all of his pointless, perilous errands!

“Let me up. I am going to kill him.”

She kept her grip on my arms and replied, “No. You will not. I understand that you are angry, just as I was angry after the Ristaag. And yes, I put my dagger to his throat. But you would not have allowed me to kill him, even if I had honestly intended to do so. And I won't let you do this. You need to do what you always tell me to do, Lainie. Think.” She waited a moment to gauge my mood. “Now, is it safe to let you up?”

Part of me wanted to stay there, but her voice was sounding a bit... strained, so I relented. “Yes. I promise I won't even try to hurt him.” She released my arms and I took my weight off of her- carefully, because the wound in my back was letting me know it did not appreciate my recent activities. As soon as I was clear, Athynae sprang lightly to her feet, making sure to stay between Korst and me. She might have trusted my promise, but she apparently did not trust him not to say something stupid. With a shake of her head, she said, “It is prophecy, Athlain.” She flicked her fingers dismissively. “And you know what Uncle Trey says about prophecy.”

My head felt too heavy to lift, let alone the rest of me, so I stayed there, shifting just enough to take the pressure off my stitches. I thought my movement was subtle, but 'Thyna's frown of disapproval told me otherwise. From my place on the floor, I quoted: “Prophecy is impossible to understand until after the fact because the gods are all bastards. And even when you think you do understand, it is only because your mind twists the words to fit the events. You would do better to wager on which way a scrib will go than to try to understand prophecy. At least a scrib has a reason to go one way or another.”

Athynae nodded once, and then pointed at the shaman. “And if we are dealing with prophecy, we need him.” She stared at Korst and added softly, but with steel behind the words, “So- if not Karstaag- then who?” It was clear from the way she gripped the blade in her belt that she already knew the answer. Without waiting for him to respond, she went on, “And what happens now? Is there a shrine or a special place we need to go? And how can we be sure which one of us Hir....”

Korst held up a hand, indicating that she should be silent. And it actually worked. I wondered if I would ever be able to do that. Maybe if I lived to be 500 years old and became a shaman? Probably not. Meanwhile, the only actual shaman in the room was explaining, “It is best not to speak that name just now, when he has manifested in our world. As to your other questions, the answers are not simple.” He turned to gaze at his books and added, “I will see what I can glean and meet with you again in the morning.” He turned his eyes to the darkness gathering outside the window. “Some things are best discussed only in the light of day. For now, you should rest and recover.” His hawk-like eyes studied our faces before he concluded, “I do know enough to tell you that what is to come will not be as easy as the chasing of the signs, for now you come to the facing of the god. Be ready for anything, daughter of Serene and son of Trey, for this will be the test of your lives.”

I finally rose from the floor to a more or less upright position and sucked air in through my teeth as the stitches on my back pulled and the muscles that were just beginning to knit back together threw in a spasm for good measure. 'Thyna narrowed her eyes at me, but I shook my head to let her know it wasn’t bad, just surprising. We stepped out the door onto the little porch and I looked across the open ground of the village. “I will go to Lassnr’s and you can go to the Blo-, … ah, the house you’ve been using.”

Athynae put her arm across my chest like a bar and declared, “Oh no, I don’t think so, sera. I am not letting you out of my sight until this thing is through. Besides, I need to change the bandages and clean your wound again. Let’s go.”

or if we would let the silence stretch until we could pretend it had never happened
This is a nice acknowledgement of how people deal with uncomfortable things in the real world. By studiously not dealing with them.

I can certainly agree with Trey's assessment of prophecies and scribs. You might throw shamans in there too for good measure. Korst certainly likes to live on the wild side.


Nit
She waited a moment to gauge my mood . “Now,
It seems a pesky space sneaked between your period and the word preceding it.

I do appreciate the Cliff Notes. They help big time.

Wow, so yeah, I would not want to see any of mine infected by Hircine either, unless they wanted to be (and so far, none of them have wanted this in Skyrim).



Yes grasshopper, maintain focus. (not that he is a novice who's just coming up in the world...probably not actually) Sounds like he has quite the temper going on, very understandable under the circumstances.

Where exactly are they? Which province? Or even in a province?

I hope she cleaned the inquisitor's tools.

They are on Solstheim.

@SubRosa- I experienced that “just get on with your life like nothing ever happened” a number of times when I was Athlain's age. Denial is a powerful force.

Yes- Korst has the unfortunate habit of mixing mysterious with mysticism- I blame the fumes from his rituals.

Found and fixed the errant space.

@Renee- Excellent! As stated, I cannot in good conscience ask anyone to “start at the beginning.”

Athynae has strong feelings about NOT becoming a were-beastie and craving human flesh- it goes against a number of her principles....

And it is good to let Athlain's inner rage out every now and then- he feels it, he has just learned to keep it hidden most of the time....

@ghastley- There will be a couple more visits to the dungeon ah- healer's hut for Athlain. But she is good about cleaning up the red-hot irons and etc.

---------------------------------------

When we got to the cabin, I saw that Ingmar had been as good as his word- Athlain's armor was carefully arranged on a stand in one corner. It was so nice to have someone who did not argue with me every step of the way. Athlain's eyes widened at the sight, but I pretended not to notice. Meanwhile, all I could think was, thank Azura he didn’t have that on when I stopped him from jumping Korst or I’d be Athynae-flavored scrib jelly now. So instead, due to his completely uncharacteristic outburst, I just had a few bruises and maybe a cracked rib or two that Athlain would never know about. It was a small price to pay to keep him from doing something he’d regret. The constant tension from fighting an unseen opponent was obviously getting to both of us and the pressure was provoking us into reacting in ways we never would have under less stressful circumstances. If we were going to defeat Hircine, we both needed to re-center ourselves and ignore anything that was not essential to our goal. And that reinforced all of my previous thoughts about warriors not having time for feelings, especially confusing, unsolicited ones. So- goals. First order of business was to make sure my and Athlain's gymnastics had not opened up his injury.

“Sit.”

I pointed at the cot as I walked toward the cold fire pit and made short work of getting a fire going and placing a pot of water to heat while I gathered ointment, bandages, and a cloth to clean the wound again while also making sure there was no infection. The ointment usually sterilized what wasn’t clean, but those riekling blades were like nothing I had ever seen, so I wanted to make sure. Right now the last thing we needed was an infected wound. Athlain didn’t say a word, which was bothersome, because usually he would be yammering like a guar having her toenails clipped.

“So what’s with the silent treatment?”

“Just waiting for you to stop shuffling around.” His voice was flat and I looked at his face to see that his jaw was clenched, as were his hands.

“Are you still angry at Korst for something he didn’t do?”

“No 'Thyna, I’m mad at the situation; I’m mad that we’ve been drawn into this and have no idea what we’re facing. Or when. Or how. It also doesn’t help that this wound on my back feels like a thousand thorns are stabbing into my vital organs. Satisfied? Now do I have your permission to be angry?” His mouth was tight and his eyebrows both rose with the question.

“Very well, Sera Pin Cushion. Being angry is one thing, but taking it out on me, or Korst, for that matter, is a whole different exercise in stupidity. The stinging or thorns stabbing is probably due to the accelerated healing from the potion and the ointment working together. And if you think I’m not mad as a mistreated guar, then you are even more stupid than you proved just today by not telling me about the wound I am about to clean. The one that is responsible for all of this is Hircine and his machinations with this stupid prophecy.” Korst's admonition to avoid naming our enemy meant nothing to me. If the Lord of Mongrels had stuck his antlered head in the door, I would have cut it off and made a trophy out of it. Athlain was not the only one who was angry.

One side of his mouth almost quirked and his eyes were less dull. “Sera Pin Cushion? Really?”

“You’re the one that was talking about thorns,” I reminded him. “Give me your cloak and take off your shirt.” Think of him as a patient; don’t notice anything. I forced that thought into my brain with a mental kick as I put his cloak on the peg by the door. When I turned back he was sitting sideways on the bed with one leg stretched out and the other dangling over the side, his body turned to give me easy access to his injury. I uncovered the wound and was happy to see the ointment and the potion had already done quite well healing the skin back together with the aid of the stitches. I could probably remove those now, but decided another few hours would support the muscles underneath as they continued to knit. Tomorrow morning would be good, no later than midday.

“It looks pretty good and, as I said, the sharp stinging is probably the muscle healing. Athlain, it was quite deep, and as long as my hand.”

“Well that’s not too bad; your hands aren’t overly large.” I could feel him smiling until I popped the back of his head and he chuckled. “Do you abuse all your patients this way?” he asked, but his voice betrayed his weariness.

“Only the stupid ones,” I responded, going over to toss the used bandages into the fire. With seemingly every Daedra in Oblivion after us, plus who knew what else, I wasn't taking any chances with something that had his blood on it. I turned back and studied him for a moment. He still looked very tired; healing a wound like his under normal circumstances was taxing, and when it was pushed to heal more quickly by potions, it fatigued the body like running up hill for a couple of days. I retrieved my potions pouch and covertly combined a sleeping draught with an additional healing potion because he needed to rest, and without help, he would try to stay up half the night making plans. We needed rest more than useless plans if we were eventually going to face the Father of Hounds. I considered feeling guilty about sneaking in the sleeping draught, but not for very long.

I walked over to him and held out the vial. “I want you to take another healing potion and then rest.”

“After that we need to prepare, 'Thyna.”

“We are preparing. I’m preparing your medicine and then you are preparing to rest and heal. And you will rest if I have to tie you to the bed.” That was the last thing I needed to say because it set off all kinds of images and thoughts that slipped in through the ‘patient’ barricade I had erected earlier.

“You know what I mean, Naynay.” He liked to use Rah's name for me whenever I said “no,” because he thought the word play was funny. Which it was- but I would never admit it.

“Just take this and then we’ll talk about what we need to do,” in the morning, my brain finished as I handed him the vial.

Athlain downed it like he always did, in one gulp- mostly a result of conditioning from one too many nasty-tasting concoctions Rah had come up with that he wanted us to just ‘try’. I sent up a silent thank you for the few things that were still constant in my life. But then his eyes flew wide as the aftertaste registered.

“I hate you.” He glared at me with narrowed eyes.

“It was either that or using one of the forge hammers on your head; although that wouldn’t cause too much damage, since nothing is in there.”

“Only because you already knocked it out.”

“I was trying to knock loose the stupid, but you just keep managing to make more. Lie down before you end up on the floor.”

“You know, one of these days I’ll find a way to pay you back for all the stuff you’ve done.” He tried to look angry, but the potion was already kicking in so he just looked drunk.

“Everything I have ever done has been for your own good, even if it didn’t feel like it at the time.” As his eyes drifted closed I added, “Just know that every injury done to you hurt me too, as much or more and for longer. But look at who you have become. You are the warrior you always wanted to be.” I pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and leaned in to lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You are my warrior.” I whispered the words that I knew he was too far gone to hear.

I sat on the floor propped against the cot as Athlain slept and I stared into the fire as the flames undulated through oranges, reds and yellows, transforming in my thoughts to the sunset over the dust and ash of Vvardenfell. Rahvin's face came readily to my mind after Athlain had called me “Naynay”. I pulled my pack to me and drew out my journal and a small quill. After a brief moment's thought, I began to write. But these entries were different. Rather than recording the events that had occurred and my thoughts about them, I considered each of the most important people in my life.

Rahvin. Would I ever again see him caught up in the excitement of creating a new potion or contraption? Or celebrating his success in practice, conquering yet another weapon, Oblivion bent on learning them all because “you never know what will be close at hand”? Or hunched over the table in his laboratory as he meticulously measured and calculated to create a new concoction? One sleeve would be pushed past his elbow, the other dragging against the tips of his fingers, his hair sticking out in every direction, mussed from running his hands through it repeatedly. And the look on his face would be of complete and utter concentration on the task at hand, even as he carried on a conversation about something completely unrelated. Whatever Rah was doing, he was absorbed totally in, whether it was building something, destroying something, creating something or fighting an invisible foe in the training room. But at the same time, that agile brain never stopped working on at least one other problem. A single tear slipped down my cheek.

As the tear slid unhindered to drop from my chin I thought of Brianna. Bree, whose strength was in her supposed weakness. It was not truly weakness, but some people were foolish enough to think so. Her defining characteristics were her empathy and her sympathy, her abhorrence of injustice of any sort. Of the three of us, Bree was the diplomat; she resolved, or tried to resolve, any argument she was privy to. As young as she was, she had spoken eloquently before the Council about how the guar that came from the surrounding areas for the tournaments were treated. And, largely because of her words, rules were changed. If you thought because she had a big heart that she was weak, it might be a fatal mistake. She did not choose to be primarily a warrior, but she was not second rate with a weapon by any means. She was almost as deadly with a crossbow as I was with my recurve and she could snatch a knot out of twine with a whip. Did I sound like a proud big sister? I was- very proud. But her favorite weapons were words and she used them with same deadly accuracy as I did Dreamer.

Dreamer. Uncle Seth. I wished I knew what was going on with him slipping in and out, leaving cryptic messages and gifts, taking journals, watching. My mentor, my instructor, my confidant since I was old enough to form words into sentences. Tumbling through all the memories was nothing I could explain, for there weren’t words to describe it all. He was the parent my parents couldn’t be; he let me get hurt so I would learn lessons then dried the tears as he showed me how to heal those hurts. He taught me about honesty and integrity, about character and what kind of person I needed to be.

And then it occurred to me that there was the answer; he was watching to make sure I was applying all of the lessons, and that I could and would survive being an adult, but more importantly, a warrior. I stopped there because I didn’t want to delve too deep beyond that, mostly because I needed that positive to hold onto. I wanted to prove myself to him, but I also liked the comfort of knowing that if he was close I was safe, or safe enough. He wouldn’t stop the pain, but he would keep it from killing me. That was my hope anyway, as small as it was.

Mother, whose lessons had helped me keep Athlain alive several times over. Her training in the art of healing was a priceless gift that could never be taken from me. And her mentoring Athlain with the staff had given him what he had needed the most, a way to fight and win. Then there was the chance to see her for the person she was, the mother, the wife, the leader. I did not always understand or agree with her, but I never questioned her goodness. Yes, that was my mother- beautiful and intelligent, honest and kind, and if I was half the woman she was, I would be happy.

Papa, my place of peace, my shelter in the storm. His calm and stable presence was a gift beyond estimation. Bree took most after him with just enough fire from Mother to turn her words into iron. He gave me a love for reading and knowledge, and the certainty that there was a safe harbor, no matter how violent the storm. Papa, I love you so much. I love you all so much.

I think I was preparing for the “maybe”. I refused to think it wasn’t possible for me to defeat Hircine, but it was also possible that he would win and I wanted to make sure each of them knew how I felt and what I thought when I thought of them.

Uncle Trey and Aunt Baria, Maesa and Caia. They were the rest of my family and I could not begin to imagine how lonely and cold it would have been had they not been a part of my world. I promised them I would do everything in my power to get Athlain safely back to them.

At last, I returned my journal to its pocket in my pack and prepared my pallet, for I needed sleep too. I put my head down on the rolled up fur that was my pillow and stared into the flames, willing my eyes to close and my mind to still. Finally sleep came to me over the snow-capped peaks of this frozen island that had become my personal pocket of Oblivion.

The next morning, after a long and not terribly restful night, helped only slightly by the minor healing potion I took for the cracked ribs and bruises, I built up the fire and prepared tea for myself. Normally, someone else would do it for me, but that “someone else” was snoring, which was an impressive feat as he was lying on his stomach. I knew I had brewed the hackle lo just like Kausha always did, but it did not smell right and when I took a sip, it tasted faintly of... scorched mud. The sizzle it made when I spat the mouthful back into the fire woke Athlain and he must have read my expression correctly from all the way across the room, because he managed not to say something annoying. Which, under the circumstances, would have been anything at all. He was even able to breathe quietly as he wandered over to the kettle and gave it a cautious sniff. He recoiled quickly and then silently carried the container to the door and outside, where he emptied the contents on an inoffensive snow drift, which turned an odd shade of green.

When he came back, I watched closely as he poured water into the kettle, followed by five new hackle lo leaves and a spoon of honey. He then placed it on the hob to bring it to a boil. And that was what I had just done a little while earlier. But the steam that rose from his effort smelled like... paradise. He lifted the kettle off of the fire and placed it on the hearth, took my mug from my unresisting fingers and repeated the process of disposal, then cleaned the mug thoroughly. By the time he returned, the temperature in the kettle had dropped below “boil your lips, tongue, and tonsils” which meant it was ready.

He poured the first cup and handed it to me, and I just held it for a moment, reveling in the way it warmed my fingers. Finally I took a sip and then closed my eyes and decided life might still be worth living. As the miraculous beverage warmed me, I opened my eyes and told him, “I'm still mad at you, but I won't kill you... for now.”

So long as NayNay is not CrayCray, things will be fine for Ser Pin Cushion.

Good luck knocking loose the stupid, I find that tends to stick tighter than superglue...

That was a very nice interlude as Athynae took stock of her life and the people in it. As you said recently, some writers forget to put the people in their writing, and just concentrate on the Blam! Pow! and Boom! Here we see Athynae's humanity (elfmanity?) shining through.

I really enjoyed this quiet time on Thyna's part, where she took stock of the people she loved (not Athlain, I noticed, but she's been a bit - preoccupied - with him lately so . . . ). It was good to be reminded of her family, both blood relations and otherwise. And yes, considering her own mortality beneath all of this - the silent, looming dread that she wouldn't see them again in this lifetime flavors these recollections. For me that was the most powerful part of this segment.

That's not to say the preceding conversation with Athlain and the healing process weren't interesting, either. Ser Pin Cushion, indeed! This made me chuckle, as straps and chains are part of my Alise's bedchamber as well . . .

Aw that poor healer. I understand how it is though... sometimes taking medicine / healing is not an easy process.

That's neat how all those names get brought up. I don't know them yet, but it's neat how each name gets is own dedicated tribute.

I think it was a great idea to post the summary for the story that began in 2007(Wow . . . that is dedication!). Athlain and Athynae have a very solid and deep story together, and the summary itself, of course, doesn't capture its entirety as the actual tale itself.

Athlain's ire against the shaman isn't without understanding. Korst's nonchalant attitude toward their trek to Castle Karstaag was more or less, I imagine, slap in the face. The stakes were high.

"Prophecy is impossible to understand until after the fact because the gods are all bastards. And even when you think you do understand, it is only because your mind twists the words to fit the events. You would do better to wager on which way a scrib will go than to try to understand prophecy. At least a scrib has a reason to go one way or another.”

I liked this very much. Prophecy can be tricky, just as the gods and deities in the ES universe.

It would seem Uncle Trey has inspired our heroes here. I can imagine being out in a frozen island in the middle of nowhere infested with snarling dangers would remind one of the warmth of home and the embrace of family members. Chapter 20? Or perhaps still 19, gave some insight in the mind of one of the protagonists. I enjoyed Athynae's inner thoughts.

@SubRosa- I realized we never did explain the origin of “Nay” as a use-name for Athynae. The back-construction is that it came from when her brother Rahvin was very young and had trouble with the “th” sound. And Athlain's head has been bashed so many times that I think the “stupid” is now a feature rather than a bug.... And it is good to know that this quieter moment allows readers to see the thoughtful side of Athynae, whose larger-than-life personality usually communicates itself via more physical means.

@haute- From the beginning, I wanted this to be a story about growth. And realizing that she may not win every battle is quite a change for Athynae. And yes- she has a different place in her head for Athlain- one she is still trying to figure out. And that appears again in her momentary lapse into fantasy....

@Renee- some of the names are explained in the text- so let me see if I can give a quick back of a postage-stamp summary of the others.

Rahvin and Brianna- her younger brother and sister.

Uncle Seth is Sethyas Velas, a Dunmer and leader of the Morag Tong, Redoran council member and friend of the Sarethi family. Athynae's mentor in all things a warrior should know.

Mother- Serene of Cyrodiil, (minque's main character in her fan-fiction, when she was still writing). A contemporary of Trey during the time of the Blight and the struggle against Dagoth Ur, she married Athyn Sarethi and became the leader of Great House Redoran.

Papa- Athyn Sarethi.

Trey and Baria, Maesa and Caia- Athlain's parents and younger sisters.

@D.E.- It was really past time to provide that summary- it has been a long journey to get to this point, with many pauses on the way. And just as showing Athynae being thoughtful was important to making her a fully-realized character, we wanted to let Athlain finally let go of his iron control, just for a moment. And I enjoy the idea that prophecy is made vague and obscure on purpose, just so the gods (or whoever) can claim that whatever actually happens was what they intended all along.... They are both having thoughts that maybe the definition of “adventure” as “someone else having an absolutely horrible time” has some truth to it.

-----------------------------------------

Korst guided us to seats at his table, the surface of which was piled with books and scrolls. For the first time since I had met him, the shaman looked tired. Even so, his voice was still commanding as he launched into his explanations. “The 'Wild Hunt,' or the 'Great Hunt,' or simply the 'Hunt' is a... game whose origins are lost in the mists of time. It is a contest or tournament that the Daedric prince Hircine initiates every thousand years in his guise as the Hunter. It is because of that long span between Hunts that the records are fragmentary.” He gathered his thoughts before continuing, “The coming of this event is foretold by the Bloodmoon Prophecy. There are three signs that foretell the Hunter's return to our world. Like all prophecies, they can be interpreted several ways, but I think you will agree with my thoughts. First, 'Fire blazes from the Eye of Glass'.” He reminded me, “You yourself investigated the unnatural fire that even now burns at the center of Lake Fjalding.”

At my nod, he continued, “Second is the Tide of Woe. You have but to go to the coast with its dead and dying horkers to know that the Tide has risen.” He then pointed to the window and reminded us that Masser was in her dark phase and that only Secunda would be visible for the next several nights. “And the final sign will be the Rising of the Bloodmoon. Secunda's face will turn red, and by this it will be known that the Hunter has come with his Hounds and that all that remains is for him to choose his prey. I believe we all have our suspicions regarding that.”

He paused long enough to place his hands lightly on the documents scattered before him. “Apparently, the rules of the Hunt are not always the same. Still, some aspects remain constant. First, he sends forth his 'Hounds' to 'course the prey,' that is, to drive his chosen quarry to the site of the actual contest. Second, he is scrupulous about giving the object or objects of the Hunt a 'sporting chance' to survive. And finally, anyone who evades or defeats his Hounds faces the Hunter himself in combat.”

Athynae had sat patiently through the recitation, but now her restless energy propelled her out of her chair and set her to pacing the limited space in Korst's cabin. “So, we are just supposed to wait? I hate waiting! And besides, I,” she looked at me and paused, “we have already defeated every one of his mangy mutts that we have encountered. So where is he? And don't even get me started on a 'sporting chance' after he tried to invade my mind!”

Korst picked up a yellowed scroll and said somberly, “I do not think you have met any of his Hounds yet.”

Athynae whipped around, prepared to argue, but the shaman raised a placating hand. “I know that you have fought and destroyed a number of werewolves- the Totem you returned is proof of that. But those were 'normal' lycanthropes, if you will. The Hounds are said to be larger, stronger, and far more cunning.”

That pronouncement slowed Athynae's steps and she finally settled back into her chair. She looked as hopeless as I had ever seen her. Her voice was low as she asked, “So does that mean we aren't close to the end of this- that it might continue for months... or years?”

Korst laid a comforting hand over her clenched fists. “No. All the signs indicate that the final act will be soon.” He replaced the scroll and picked up a volume bound in red leather with gold script decorating the spine and cover. “Kensei Sosine recorded that, when he fought Hircine, Secunda turned red three days after what he refers to as 'the Blood Tide'.”

The name caught my attention. “Wait. Kensei Sosine? You mean he was real?”

If I was surprised, Athynae was practically electrified. Her hands reached for the book Korst was holding, and it was clearly only supreme will and a deep respect for the written word that kept her from snatching it out of his grasp. Her agitation became even more profound when Korst lifted a bushy eyebrow and answered, “Not just real, but he is perhaps the only person known to have emerged victorious from the Great Hunt. He then had the Cuirass of the Savior's Hide crafted from the Daedra prince's own skin. This book, the Gaiden Sosine, is the story of his life.” Now Athynae was quivering like a spring. Korst handed her the book and added blandly, “Would you like to see it?”

What you need to know is that Sosine was more than a hero or even a myth to Athynae and me. Seth had given her a book called The Way of the Sword for her sixth birthday. And Kensei Sosine was the purported author of that book. She had devoured it that first day and practically worn the pages out from reading it thereafter. I know for a fact it had been rebound at least 3 times. More than that, it had featured in our imaginary games, and many of our early arguments had been over who got to “be” Sosine.

I had pointed out, with impeccable 4-year-old logic, that since Sosine was a “he”, and I was also a “he”, that I should get the choice role. 'Thyna responded just as forcefully that the Kensei was a swordsman, and that she happened to have a (cut-down, wooden) practice sword, which she actually knew how to use. And besides that, she was older and bigger than me, so there. And, as an additional note, even a (cut-down, wooden) practice sword can leave some serious bruises when wielded vigorously. Finally, let it also be known that coming back home with spectacular bruises will get you forbidden from playing with someone for a week and that someone's (cut-down, wooden) practice sword taken away from her for a month.

But what really mattered, and the reason Athynae was so intrigued, was that here was proof that someone had faced Hircine and survived. Perhaps we, or at least one of us, would be able to do the same. My thoughts gave rise to a question whose answer I dreaded, but one that needed to be asked, “So, it has always been a single champion who faced the final trial?”

Korst shook his head decisively and again laid his hands on the documents he had gathered. Even Athynae looked up from the Gaiden Sosine, which she was cradling like a newborn child. “Not at all,” the shaman said, reinforcing his head shake. “In times past, entire villages or tribes have been... invited... to participate.” He looked into the distance, weighing his next words before speaking. “Though you have done much for us, including retrieving the Totem and completing the Ristaag, you are not Skaal. So some of our beliefs will seem strange to you.” He looked at Athynae and went on, “You were upset at the deaths of Sattir and Grerid, I know. But they went not only willingly, but happily. Because, to die in the Ristaag- or in the Hunt- is considered one of the highest honors a Skaal can achieve. We see this world as a test of our skill and our courage, merely a step on a longer path. As a result, we revere the events and the opponents who test us the most. For it is only by facing challenges that we achieve greatness and are found worthy in the eyes of the All-Maker. A Skaal may lose a battle or even their life, but what matters is to fight honorably and well.”

I am imagining Korst as being played by Max Von Sydow, as he goes over the prophecy.

They have not even faced the real Hounds yet? Yikes!

Wow, six years old and Athynae was already training to be a warrior. Granted, Knights became pages at that age, and Spartans entered the Agoge...

I laughed at the convoluted story about the cut down wood practice sword!

And some great Skaal world building there.

If things get really bad for A&A, they could always call in some backup. I know a Stormcrow who would be delighted to throw her cape in to the fray. Not to mention an Arvern Witch and Light Elf wizard. I have even heard that if you say her name in the mirror five times, Persephone will appear...

@SubRosa- Oh yes! Max would be perfect! I still sometimes see Athlain as played by a slightly taller Martin Freeman- especially his constantly beset version of Watson playing opposite Benedict Cumberbatch's Holmes....

She "declared herself an adult" at something like 4... Her earliest amusement (rather than "toy") was a bow adapted to her ability. And yes- despite all of that, they were children too- with all the squabbles and scuffles attendant upon growing up together.

We have been watching "The Last Kingdom," and that, plus other random reading, influences my view of the Skaal. Thus the idea of the mundane realm as a place of testing, with something like Valhalla (or Sovngarde) as the reward for dying a warrior's death.

They will probably be wishing for all the help they can get- after a couple of details are worked out. Though I imagine Persephone might cause Athlain to pass out...

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After we left Korst, Athlain gave an apologetic shrug and started back to our cabin, mumbling something about “needing to write a report.” Despite his uniform, I sometimes forgot he was now an officer in the Legion, but he obviously did not. Although part of me wanted to enjoy the sun and sky, I also wanted to see what the translation of the Sosine Gaiden could tell me. Plus, I felt the need to keep Athlain where I could see him. It wasn't so much that I didn't trust him as that I knew him. His question about a “lone champion” was as plain to me as the printed page. So I linked my arm through his and said brightly, “Sounds good to me. I need to check your stitches anyway.” And possibly put a leash and collar on you, I thought, but did not say.

He grumbled a bit, but only for form's sake. It was when he decided not to argue with me that I became concerned. So I was encouraged by his continued muttering as he sat on the bed and removed his shirt. Once he settled, I decided everything looked good. Um. What I meant was the wound had healed well.

“This might hurt,” I said before I started snipping and removing the stitches.

Athlain gave a sudden hiss and then wheezed, “Do you really think so? Maybe we could ask Krish or Dulk if they would rather do it.”

“Did you just compare the person who is treating your injury to a couple of rieklings? The well-armed person who is sitting behind you, I might add?”

“Ah... no? It was delirium brought on by your excellent medical skills? I'm still under the influence of the sleeping potion, which reacted with some unexpected vapors in Korst's house? It was just the wind?”

I was in a perfect position to see the tops of his ears turn red as he tried to talk his way out of the hole he had just dug. Finally, I gave in to the laughter that was threatening to choke me and watched his shoulders relax. And I resolutely avoided noticing how broad and muscular they were, except for maybe a second or two. The laughter felt good; we always used to laugh as much as we argued.

“Now put your shirt on and write your report. Remember that 'Legion' only has one 'L'. I'm going to read for a bit.”

Athlain stood and pulled his shirt back on then stepped back out of my reach before saying, “Are you sure you didn't train with the Imperial torturer?”

He should have known better; I sent one of my blunt-tipped darts flying and caught him dead center. I always kept a few handy to drive off annoying pests that I didn't want to kill- or Athlain. Same thing. I pointed him to the writing table and he gave me that “Athlain grin” that said he had scored a point by making me hit him first. Rather than giving him the satisfaction of another bruise, even if he deserved it, I vented my frustration by punching my bedding into submission.

He wandered over to the desk, but then turned back to me. It was clear from his expression that his good mood of a moment before had vanished. His complaint was one that concerned me too, but that I had not given voice to. “We don't even know how to find Hircine. How do you hunt a hunter?” His question was a good one, but also one for which I did not have an answer. I touched the bear claw that hung from my neck, more for reassurance than because I thought it held any answers. My response, when it came, was annoyed and not terribly helpful- which was a good description of my state of mind. When Athlain saw that I wasn't in the mood for pointless discussion, he went back to the desk and started working on his report.

As his pen began scratching away, I felt the need to make some preparations of my own. Mostly, that meant ensuring my weapons were in top condition. Besides being a good precaution, the ritual of cleaning and honing and oiling helped focus my thoughts. I went to the table and set out most of my weapons, but not all. There was some part of me that became almost physically ill if I did not have at least one blade or projectile with me at all times. As I arranged everything to my satisfaction, well-remembered words came to me-

The mind is the warrior's greatest weapon. Neglect the mind and you will go down to defeat, no matter how sharp your blade.

I bowed to an ancient warrior whom I had never met, but whose words were as precious to me as gems. Thank you, Kensei Sosine. My physical weapons could wait; what I needed first was information. And the same master who had guided me in the way of the sword would now provide the knowledge I sought. As much as I wished to savor every word of the Sosine Gaiden, I knew there wasn't time. So I turned the pages carefully until I saw familiar terms- the Hunter, the Blood Tide, and shape-shifters. Even in translation, much of what Sosine narrated was obscure. He made reference to places, people, and events that were long lost to the intervening years. The bits and pieces I could understand were these:

On the night of the Bloodmoon, Sosine had gone to sleep in his chambers as usual, only to awaken in an ice cave. There, the Hunter appeared to him and told him that he had been chosen, because of his fame and his prowess as a warrior among warriors. He would be “tested” and, if he survived, he would have the honor of facing the Hunter in single combat.

Unfortunately, when the story reached the point where he described the actual battle, the translator had noted- “text damaged and unreadable.” It picked back up as Sosine explained how he had “taken the Hunter's own skin as my promised boon. This I then had made into a most marvelous light cuirass which rendered me proof from many spells and curses.” He then ended the section with the words:

There is no dishonor in exploiting your enemy's weakness.

I knew those words; they were one of the tenets in The Way of Sword. And what they meant was that Lord Dog Dandruff had weaknesses, weaknesses which could be exploited.

With my mental preparation as complete as I could make it, I turned back to my other weapons, and scanned the array before me. Satisfied with the arrangement, I went to my pack for the kit I had carried since I got my first blade, a kit that I kept stocked with whet stones, oil, and various kinds of cloth. It even had some small knives and other tools that I could use to fletch arrows or make the bodies for my darts. And all of it was rolled in a piece of soft leather, with a pocket for each item. As my hands winnowed the contents, seeking the familiar roll, my brain was already engaged in cataloging my weapons and the order in which I would maintain them. But then, my fingers encountered an unexpected bundle. It was squarish in shape, with an oilcloth covering. I questioned Athlain, “Did you sneak some of your books into my pack?”

“No, 'Thyna. You know I carry my own burden. Well, except for the other day,” he added sheepishly.

I tugged the offending item free and shook it at him. “So what is... this?” My words trailed off as I recognized what I held- an oilcloth package, just the right size to contain Mother's journal. But now it was adorned with an intricately knotted black silk cord.

“Messages, Princess, are sent in various ways, not just words on paper. Broken branches, scuffed prints, colored cloth folded into different shapes and,” he held out a ribbon, “knots in a string, cord or rope.”

I took the ribbon from his hand and noticed it had several knots with different sized loops and different spacing.

“It is a very good way to leave a simple message covertly, one that few would ever suspect.”

I held the bundle to my heart for a moment before I looked at the cord to decipher the code we had created that day as he sat on the side of my bed keeping me company. I was convalescing from an encounter with an injured guar, victim of an excursion through a scathecraw patch. A sound kick to the midsection had left me with cracked ribs and the slam into the wall had broken my leg.

I pulled the cord free and measured as I counted the loops and knots.

“Honor first”

Why would he send that of all things? And wrapped around Mother’s journals? With all that was happening what did he mean, “honor first”? This fight with Hircine was for my honor; I had understood that from the first time the Mutt Lord invaded my mind. I knew in my core that he was responsible for everything that had befallen us, including luring Athlain here in the first place. I could not let that go, nor could I walk away and leave the inhabitants of this island to the brutality of his whims, not even if doing so might save Athlain. My honor would not allow it. So... what did the message mean?

And besides all that, I wondered what Uncle Seth was trying to do. He never had just one purpose; there were always wheels within wheels with him. He had been direct enough when he left a black arrow pointed at Athlain's heart, along with a note telling me to work on my defense. “Honor first” and “codes in everyday objects.” Images of all my training flitted through my mind- weapons, potions, codes, reading terrain, reading people. But what had been “first?” For one thing, I had been, the first child born on Vvardenfell after the end of the Blight, followed two years and a month later by Athlain. And that had led to another “first,” my first vow- that I would keep him safe, that child with his intelligent eyes and serious face. Everything that followed had been because of that vow, right up to the present moment.

Codes and lessons were all very well, but I was in a fight for Athlain's life, because I just knew he was going to do something brave and foolish and I needed to be more watchful than ever. Perhaps that was what it meant- “honor first.” That I could not allow myself to be distracted- not by Mother's past and our sometimes difficult relationship, not even by Seth himself. So, “honor my vow.” Put all distractions aside and keep Athlain safe. Mother's journal would not help me do that, so it went back into my pack, followed by Seth's knotted message. I wandered back to the table that held my weapons and stared at them, their shapes so familiar to my hands that I would know each one by touch alone.

Cords, ribbons, ropes, and knots.... Don't let yourself get tangled up in confusion. That was another part of the message, even if he hadn't said it. I also mentally put away the other distractions, the feelings, and whatever other nonsense had been thrown at me. And, just at that moment, what I needed to do was stop Athlain from slipping out of the cabin, without even bothering to take his armor. My dagger flew from my hand to the door frame, and I told him, “Not gonna happen, Prince of Party Platters; just because my eyes are on what I’m doing doesn’t mean my ears don’t work.” I looked at him, standing there like a statue, trying to act as if he had not been trying to sneak away. “No one is going off on their own, not until all of this is finished. And maybe not even then.”

Athlain obviously grew up watching the same movies that most men do, extolling the virtues of a lone champion who can do everything on their own, including washing their own back.

It is great to see the very comfortable bantering and playful back and forth between A&A. It shows a great deal about their relationship, without telling it to us.

I have a suspicion that they might not need to find Hircine. If he is the Hunter, and they are the Quarry, he will come to them. Or he will try to flush them out.

Lord Dog Dandruff
The Master of Mange?

Hey, thanks for explaining various names, that helps a lot. So is Trey the person who started this story? In other words, Trey is mentioned in your short list of names, and treydog is your name, so is Trey the one who you began with?

Why are you named treydog? (I ask lots of people questions about their names).



So it's probably okay to bring that (cut-down, wooden) sword to the hunt. These upper scale enemies they're going to face might take a few bruises, but at least the Skaal will die with the highest honor! Yikes.





That's rather neat how they don't know where to find Hircine, but they're engaging in some detective work to try to pinpoint his location. And then that makes me wonder what tricks Hircine might also have. Especially with 1,000 years per instance under his belt.

I enjoyed the explanation on the Great Hunt, or the Wild Hunt. As a huge Hircine fan, this was especially interesting to read about. With each passing day they are getting closer toward the end, with these signs on the rise.

"Still, some aspects remain constant. First, he sends forth his 'Hounds' to 'course the prey,' that is, to drive his chosen quarry to the site of the actual contest."
A great thing it is to have Korst explain the 'rules' of the game. This can definitely save and prepare them for the worst; from Hircine's flushing of his quarry to the eventual face off.

Athynae being thrilled at discovering an old hero actually participated and survived in the Hunt was no doubt inspiring, giving that much needed motivation in this quest.

The legendary Kensei Sosine provided great wisdom to Athynae. Indeed, the mind is one's greatest weapon. And they'll need to do a lot of thinking if they're going to make this out in one piece.

'This fight with Hircine was for my honor; I had understood that from the first time the Mutt Lord invaded my mind.'

I had a kick out of 'Mutt Lord'

Did you just sneak a quipu into this tale?

@SubRosa- Yes, despite the (constantly reinforced) lessons about teamwork they have both been getting, the “lone wolf” tendency is strong. Writing them in their less fraught moments is great fun- they are more “real” to us than some people I have known in the mundane world....

And yes, Hunters- especially Daedric prince-type Hunters- have their ways.

She has a thesausus' worth of names for Hircine- he made a tactical error when he chose to annoy her.

@Renee- My “original” Morrowind story (based on the Nerevarine main quest) was completed by Trey. And, to be honest, it was a pretty vanilla recitation of the game story as presented to the player. As for my screen name, and Trey's character name, that started out many years ago, with our long-haired, silver-dapple dachshund. The one over there <----- Since he was a tri-color, we named him “Trey.” Then, I imagined him sitting at my computer, playing my CRPGs while I was at work. So I began naming my main characters after him. He was around for 20 years, and lives on through my continued use of his name. I am happy to say that “treydog” actually pre-dates the Three Dog character in Fallout by quite a few years...

Oh I think the A&A team will bring the most effective weapons they can- since they are not themselves Skaal, tactical nukes would be perfectly okay with them...

And most of Athlain's worrying about “finding” Hircine is because Athlain is a worrier. He knows the meeting is inevitable- he just wants to feel more in control of his destiny. (Good luck with that.)

@Darkness Eternal- I really enjoy shamanic mysticism, so having Korst as the person who provides cryptic explanations is quite useful. It prevents A & A from being unrealistically well-read on the opponent they are about to face, and also allows me to give another interesting character some time on the page. And Kensei Sosine grew out of a random snippet in one of the Interludes (in which I got his name wrong) about becoming a true devotee of the sword. So when the chance to point out that an “unnamed adventurer” had defeated Hircine, I retconned that bit of lore to add some “flavor.” “Mutt Lord”- yes... she really does not like Hircine at all.

@ghastley- I did not intend to... But yes, I have always been fascinated by ciphers and codes, especially non-typographic ones.

------------------------------------------------------

"We don't even know how to find Hircine. How do you hunt a hunter?”

I had the uneasy feeling that my question sounded like whining. As always seemed to be the case with mysticism and prophecy, Korst's explanation had left me with more questions than answers. Athynae did not answer immediately- she was busy making up the bunk in the Blodskaal's house- my house now, for herself . She had finished up her impromptu torture session on the wound in my back and even added a new bruise to my front, then pointed out that it was her turn to use the bed.

When she got the bedding arranged to her satisfaction, she reached a hand to touch the bear claw pendant that hung from her neck, her half of the Totem of Claw and Fang. “I don't know, Athlain. But I do know that the stupid Daedra Lord of Flea-bitten Mongrels has been chasing me and haunting me ever since I came to this stupid island.” She punched the pillow on the cot savagely to punctuate her statement. “If I was dumb enough to go out into the forest alone, I would probably trip over him.”

With her usual energy, she stalked away from the bed and collected her weapons and laid them out on a bit of oilcloth, a prelude to the lengthy process of honing, cleaning, and oiling. And I could not help but recall Korst's mention of the prey sometimes being the “hero of the age.” Perhaps the wider world did not yet know the feats of Athynae Sarethi, but I had witnessed them first hand. And I also knew that her attention to her task would be total, and that she would not welcome more questions. Finally, there was no point in asking them- neither of us had any answers. So I contented myself with making my pallet on the other side of the room and building up the fire. Then I set myself to my own task- preparing a report to Severia at Fort Frostmoth. I had enough information to keep her from launching a foolish attack on the Skaal, and that needed to be taken care of before... well, before whatever was going to happen next.

Even as I fell into the familiar rhythm of writing what I had come to think of as Legionese, my brain was still spinning furiously. Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt; lord of the monstrous, the misshapen, and the misbegotten. My question about finding him had not been the real one. Rather, what I actually wondered was- how do you kill a Daedric prince? But perhaps killing him was not the answer. There had been numerous “Hunts” in the past- and most of the time, the people who faced the Daedra lord did not win. So, what if the point was to just face him- even if you lost the fight? Korst had mentioned that, to the Skaal, it was as much about having the courage to accept the fight as it was about being the victor. Maybe it was about sacrifice, rather than about winning. I glanced to where Athynae sat, absorbed in her task, and shook my head. Perhaps, despite Hircine's apparent interest in her, she was not truly his quarry? What if he was using her to... lure someone else into the Hunt? Her words came back to me- “... in the forest, I would probably trip over him.”

Or possibly, if that “someone else” took a quiet walk away from the Skaal village and into the forest, and... called the prince by name, the Hunter would come to him? After all, Korst had said that Hircine was already touching the Mundus and everyone knew that names have power.... Even as I worked through all those thoughts, my feet were carrying me ever so silently to the door, a door that would let me out into the village and the forest beyond. But as I reached for the latch, a dagger thudded into the wood just inches from my hand.

“Not gonna happen, Prince of Party Platters; just because my eyes are on what I’m doing doesn’t mean my ears don’t work.”

'Thyna's voice was quiet, but as hard as the steel blade quivering in the door frame.

“No one is going off on their own, not until all of this is finished. And maybe not even then.”

She finally looked up at me and her voice gained some warmth. “I appreciate your desire to be... 'noble'... but you aren't thinking. Even if Korst had not said we are in this together, even if there was no prophecy,” her tone gave the word a sour taste, “even without all that, I will not let you face this by yourself. If you feel the need to do something, why don't you head to the forge and see about repairing your tin suit? After I went to the trouble of having it brought back for you, it seems that's the least you could do.” She quirked an eyebrow at me and the hint of a grin lifted one corner of her mouth, “Unless you have finally decided to fight in more reasonable armor? While I think that is a fine idea, your tunic and breeches are a bit too light.”

Her eyes held mine and I felt myself disappearing into those lavender depths. If we had been anywhere but there, in that untenable position, facing horrible odds against a Daedric prince who toyed with men and mer, who turned them into bloodthirsty beasts.... In another place, I would have asked her to marry me. But I did not know if I was going to live to see tomorrow, let alone all the days I wanted to spend with her. What I did know was that I would do everything in my power to make sure she would see a hundred years of tomorrows, because the world needed her far more than it needed me.

So I took her advice and lifted my “tin suit” from the stand, preparing to go to the forge, where I would make it as strong as possible for whatever might come. And when she gathered some of her blades and followed me, I didn't say anything; but I smiled, glad to have her company.

How do you find a hunter? By watching what they hunt. Or better yet, disguising yourself as what they hunt. they will always come to you.

Good thing Thyna was ready for that lone wolf attitude with a handy throwing dagger.

I see there's some contrary-intuitive thinking going on there. Maybe Hircine can't be beat .... so what else is possible?

Thyna threw a knife at him!

Okay, see my eyes aren't that great any more. Now I can see the dog in your profile pic. Had to focus my eyes a little more. Wow.... 20 years.

@SubRosa- And since the kids have apparently become the “sacred prey” or something- they should just relax. But... that doesn't fit their personalities. And Athynae has been “reading” Athlain his entire life, so she can usually predict his moves- especially the (attempted) dumb ones.

@Renee- Yes, Athlain decided to try and go all “noble human sacrifice.” With the result of being reminded that he DOES NOT get to do such things. Well- yes she did throw a blade in his vicinity- but she missed- or rather- hit what she aimed at.

As to the avatar- to be fair, once the hosting site I had been using packed it in, I did not update the picture for a long time. And then I could not find a good digital pic of the pup, so had to scan a small photo I have on my desk.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

We spent some time in the forge, Athlain repairing his armor and me checking all of the improvements that Bryn had made to mine. All the while I was caught up in thoughts of what Korst had told us along with what little I had read in the book Korst had allowed me to borrow. In Sosine’s case, he had simply vanished from his bed and appeared in an ice cave. I knew that Hircine was after me; that was no secret after I’d been attacked by the lycanthrope and Hircine had invaded my mind. But what did that mean for Athlain? We had both recovered the Totem of Claw and Fang, and we had each been given half of it, following whatever mysterious ritual the shaman had performed. So, did that have some bearing on who was chosen to face Hircine or was it just part of the game that the Daedric prince of mangy mongrels was playing?

“Are you finished with your repairs?” Athlain's question drew me out of my mental meandering.

“No repairs for me really, just sharpening a couple of blades and double checking the stability of the inserts that Bryn did for me. I’m ready when you are.” I gathered my armor pieces and rolled my blades in the oilcloth and put them all into my pack.

Athlain had the armor he’d repaired tied together and strapped to his back. I looked to make sure it wasn't rubbing on his wound; I sometimes thought I spent half my life watching that he didn't do something stupid. As to the other half, well, it was possible that I was sometimes responsible for the situations he got into. But if that was so, it was only because he decided not to follow my directions.

We departed the forge and headed back to the cabin we’d been using. I still didn’t know that whole story and I decided it didn’t matter. He had arrived on this island like a storm and from everything I had seen the effect he had on the inhabitants was quite impressive. Even the ones that maybe didn’t like him exactly knew him to be honest and forthright; and also as a deadly enemy, if they made the mistake of hurting anyone under his protection. Aunt Baria and Uncle Trey should be very proud of the man and warrior that he had become.

“So, I’ve been thinking about this whole prophecy thing and the fact that we don’t really know what’s going to happen.”

Athlain stopped and turned his head toward me with one of his eyes squinted, “Okay, and what does that mean?”

“I need you to promise me something.” I crossed my arms

“I guess it depends on what it is doesn’t it?” He mimicked my arm crossing; this was not going to turn out well because he was already going on the defensive.

“Not really. You could just promise you’d do whatever I asked.” It was a faint hope, but I had to try.

“Not this time, and not with that look on your face. It’s something I’m not going to like; I can tell.”

“Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it isn’t something you should do.”

“No promises until you tell me what it is, and maybe not even then.” Athlain’s face was completely clear of emotion.

“Oh fine. So if the manager of mangy mutts just takes me, I want you to promise you will go home, immediately.” I pressed my lips together and clenched my jaw in anticipation of his response.

“No,” and he turned back toward the cabin and took a step.

“If I am the one he wants, why do you need to stay here? I want you to be safe; I need you to be safe.”

“No one goes anywhere by themselves until this is over and maybe not even then.” And he started walking again, throwing my own words back at me over his shoulder.

“Athlain Treyson, stop!” He stopped and turned again to face me, smiling slightly as he put forward his next argument.

“Just imagine- what if you only thought he just wanted you and then, for the first time in living memory, Athynae Sarethi,” and he uttered a mock gasp, “made a mistake? And I was all alone on a storm-tossed sea and he decided to come after me there?” His face became serious, with a large helping of stubborn. “I’m not leaving you, 'Thyna.”

“If it happens the way Sosine described, you won’t even know where I am! Promise me you will go home. You are acting like you think this is funny; please stop; it is not funny, and I am serious.”

“No it isn’t actually funny. And it also isn’t going to happen. So- you will just have to find a way to deal with it.” And he cocked his head to the side and opened his eyes wide.

Deal with it? Did he just tell me to “deal with it?” I took a deep breath to calm myself, trying very hard not to grind my teeth. “If he only takes me, I have to know you aren’t being stupid. Promise me you will go home and tell them what happened.”

“I can’t tell what I don’t know, 'Thyna, so logically I have to find you first. Otherwise I would be providing incomplete information. The Legion- and your mother- frown on that.” He was so calm; how could he be so calm?

“And if he’s taken me to some other plane, you’re going to follow me how?” He couldn’t fight this; I was right, and he just had to understand.

“Athynae, if that happens, I will find a way. I will find you.” His expression said he meant every word. But I didn’t want him putting himself in danger to find me; why couldn’t he understand?

“Athlain, Mother and Uncle Trey both know how this Daedric stuff works. It’s all stupid, but they’ve been through it before. I just want you to tell them what has happened.”

“Uh-huh, so I just scamper home and ask them what I should do? And in the meantime, you get your way after all? Nice try, but not this time.”

“Be reasonable, Athlain. How are you going to get to another plane? How? And I didn’t say go now! I said if I disappear like Sosine did.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and I hoped that he was finally seeing sense. But his words crushed that brief hope.“From what Korst said, I think some of the Skaal actually worship Hir... our enemy. They will have rituals to invoke him. I will find him and I will find you.” He exhibited a triumphant smile- an attempt to negate my logic.

“I don’t want to face him alone, and I don’t want you to face him alone either.”

“So what are we discussing? I suppose we could tie ourselves together, but it might cause talk…” He was rolling his eyes around trying to be funny again.

“He will not come to their call if he is in the middle of a damned battle with me!” I was barely containing my anger at his belligerence. He appeared to be intentionally trying to make me mad and I didn’t understand why.

“Um, he’s a god? By definition, I think that means he can be in more than one place at a time. So, I will get to him and ask him- politely of course, and diplomatically, to hand you over. I can be polite and diplomatic.” He nodded his head as if he was agreeing with himself, “And also persuasive.” He punctuated his words with a fake smile.

“You’re about as persuasive as a scrib,” I snarled.

“Besides, after he has spent some time with you kicking his shins and calling him names, he will probably be happy to give you back.”

I launched myself at him and hit his chest with both of my palms flat, but he only moved about a half a step, which just added to my anger. “I’ll show you kicked shins, you ignoramus guar butt.”

He smirked at me before he said, “Hey! I’m wounded, remember? You don’t want to undo all of your fine healing do you?”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you so hatefully insulted me!”

“You mean you don’t intend to annoy, aggravate and harass him?” He had a mock shocked look on his face.

“You rotten kwama egg eating, wood stove wearing kagouti, I intend to kick his Daedric ass!”

“See, kicking, just the back instead of the front. Semantics, piffle,” and he waved his hand at me.

My right hand took off of its own accord, headed straight for his chin, but he turned his head just as I made contact, so it was a glancing blow.

“Ow!” He pretended to be hurt, but his eyes were still dancing with laughter. Why could he not be serious?

“Obviously you want to fight, judging from everything you are saying, so fight back.” I was standing in a guard position waiting to see if he was going to move.

“Just a thought but I won’t be able to tell anyone anything with a broken jaw.”

“Good! That will mean you can’t say anything else to me either!”

“So- if I can’t tell them anything- I might as well come with you.”

“Write them a letter while you’re convalescing in the infirmary.” I could feel tears welling, which just meant I was on frustratingly angry overload. “You sat in that castle after we killed all those rieklings and grahl, with a nasty stab wound that you never mentioned, while you were telling me you loved me and now this.” I used my hands to emphasize everything between us. “ This is how you show that? By being a stubborn guar’s butt? I’m trying to keep you safe! The stab wound makes me question whether you can survive the battle that's coming.”

“I do love you. Maybe it’s changing into something new and different, but really 'Thyna, we’ve always loved each other. And,” I opened my mouth and he put up his hand to stop me so he could continue, “and that means I don’t let you face deadly peril by yourself. Because I can’t see living in a world without you in it.”

I looked toward the trees and shook my head as I willed the tears back to where they came from instead of tracking down my face. “You’re missing the whole point of what I said, as usual.”

“We are better when we are together; surely you’ve seen that since you’ve been here?”

“The stupid never ends with you. If his highness of hounds takes just me! Did you miss that part?”

“But remember, I carry the other half of the totem.” He actually sounded smug.

“And yes! We are better together. But if we aren’t together, I want you,” and I punched his chest with my finger, “to go home!” And I balled up my fist and punched his chest again.

He didn’t react at all to my physical assault; he just said, “Korst divided it for a reason.”

“And that matters to the antler-headed dog butt because why?”

“Well Hir... dog boy hid it for a reason.”

“We don’t know what he wants. We don’t know who he’s after. All we know is we’ve been led here.”

“Don’t forget, sometimes he targets entire villages. I asked, remember?” Both eyebrows went up as his eyes opened wider to emphasize my need to recall.

“I was just asking you to please honor my request if he only takes me.” Was that a slight whine I heard in my own voice? I did not whine! “Well if he targets this whole village, then we will do what we do best. I will carve him up in tiny pieces that you can promptly tenderize before we send him back.”

“ 'Thyna, I will not be separated from you. Not after all that’s happened.” His eyes were sharp as he stared into mine.

I looked down at the ground and then back up into those eyes I'd known for so long. “That’s my line. Lainie. It’s always been my line.” And I pressed my lips together and clenched my jaw.

His smile softened, but did not disappear. “Now you can beat me bloody if will make you feel better. But I will never leave you again.” He laid his forehead against mine and put his hands on my shoulders.

My voice was quiet, “I don’t want to do this without you and I don’t want to think that something could happen to you either.” I pulled my head away to look into his eyes again. “Don’t you get it? This world needs you, Athlain Treyson!”

“And it needs you even more!” He wrapped his fingers around my shoulders and shook me slightly. “And,” he leaned forward and whispered into my ear, ”I need you. I’d be lost without you.”

“Look at all you’ve done on this gods forsaken island, just in the few months you’ve been here. All without me.”

“No, 'Thyna, you made it possible; you made me the warrior that I am. And if you hadn’t come and cured my skooma addiction, none of this would’ve happened. Remember what Father said about Aunt Serene? ‘I would never have succeeded if she had not smoothed the path for me. She made it possible.'”

I laughed halfheartedly. “And what path did I smooth by beating you bruised and bloody?” I closed my eyes to block the pain of his eyes on me. “I can barely believe you don’t hate me for torturing you.”

“I am strong because you made me strong.”

“I’ve seen the scars, Athlain. I didn’t put those there, but I have seen them. And you won!”

“Yes, but only because you knocked me down, because you gave me the courage to get back up.”

“You got back up without me, Athlain.”

Athlain shook his head. “No,” and he touched his chest with his fist and then pointed to his head. “Always- in every battle- every tight situation- you were here. The training we did- that’s what saved me.”

“I am never away from you. Never.”

“The Legion was just my graduation exercise.” His face brightened into one of his beatific smiles. “They didn’t teach me anything I didn’t already know.”

“I hated it, did you know that? But I couldn’t stop.” My mind's eye was playing through all of the memories, the blood, the bruises, even Athlain saying ‘just give me a potion 'Thyna; don’t tell Aunt Serene or Mother; it’ll be fine'.” He took it all and asked for more. The truth was Athlain was stronger than I was, than I ever would be, in so many ways.

“I know. I...,” and he lifted my face because I was looking down again, “I was never angry with you. It was all there, in your eyes.”

“I was angry with me! Every time I hit you it shot through me. It made me sick to my stomach.”

“So let me ask you, do you think I'm a competent warrior now?”

“Competent?” I scoffed as I raised one eyebrow, “No.” and I shook my head to emphasize.

Athlain looked taken aback. “Capable then? Moderately acceptable?” He paused, “Not completely hopeless?” All with that tiny Athlain grin, the one that had melted my mother and his more times than I could count.

I smiled as brightly as I could. “Lainie, the Legion soldiers at Fort Frostmoth are 'competent;' you are a warrior in league with Uncle Trey, and Mama and Uncle Seth.”

His expression was a mixture of humble and surprised before he spoke. “So ask yourself- how did that happen? Was it a few months of running around,” he smiled facetiously, “in a wood stove?” And then his face got serious again, “Or almost twenty years of sparring, of getting knocked down and getting back up? Which?”

“If I had known then what I know now, it would’ve been different. Maybe that’s my problem.”

“I don’t think I want different. I prefer you just the way you are.”

We walked to a bench and sat down. Athlain leaned forward bracing his elbows on his knees. I pulled one foot up onto the bench and wrapped my arms around it.

“Logically I see what your are, what you have become, but that was after you removed yourself from my shadow.”

He turned his head slightly and shifted his eyes to me. “Again, dear 'Thyna, you miss the point. And that is strange because you never miss.” He pushed my shoulder, “Except when you intend to.” He raised up and turned his face to fully look at me. “Without you I would never have become who I am now.”

The A-Team is back!

Looks like lots of soul-searching and culminations and hopefully starting to jell as an actual A-Team.

Forget Hircine, I believe at some point Thyna and Athlain might just rip each other to shreds with all their slight words and sinister glances!



I love that!

It is a little sad in a way too. I mean, Thyna asking him to just turn back if something happens... That's pretty heavy.







Awww. Sorry I keep quoting. It's a touching conversation between these two though. They obviously know each other well. Thyna saved him from skooma addiction, something I can relate to from real-life. Not that anybody 'saved' me, but I can relate to the way they help each other along. They are mutually beneficial, and so on.

I still think they might wind up tearing each other up a little more though.

@SubRosa- And actually beginning to operate as a team. And yes- in many ways, that conversation was more important than the whole "Do you like me?" fumbling about from earlier.

@Renee- They do tend to be more dangerous to each other than almost anyone else.... Something about knowing someone so well that can be... painful. Athynae has dedicated her life to two things- becoming a great warrior and keeping Athlain safe. She added the "help Athlain become a great warrior too" as a way of accomplishing the second goal (and because she knew it was his heart's desire.)

And the quotes are more than okay- they tell me we are "getting it right"- saying something that resonates.

Now for this installment, we will have a "double," because Athlain didn't have a lot to say, so we will start with him and then return to Athynae.

----------------------------------------------------------------

When we got back to the cabin, my armor went onto the stand once more. Although my wound was almost completely healed, Athynae was correct- it didn't need my back plate bumping into it. Of course, I did not tell her that. She had always touted the superiority of her leather armor in terms of weight and flexibility, and now that she had found that Kensei Sosine had turned Hircine's own pelt into a leather cuirass, she was practically insufferable. Besides all that, I had just won an argument with her and I wanted to enjoy the experience for at least a few minutes. But then I saw my report sitting on the desk, its pages a reminder of responsibility.

Writing the report was not enough; it had to be delivered and read to do any good. And that was an uncomfortable indication that Athynae was right about something else- our families needed to know... I let out a long breath as I at last allowed myself to accept the doubts that had only lurked on the fringe of my mind. The people we loved needed to know what was happening and that we might not survive. So, I had more writing to do and those words would not be as easy as the dry, factual “Legionese” of the report. However, the personal messages shared this much with the “official” one- I had to find a way to ensure that they reached their destinations. I needed someone who I could count on without question and who had no other duties which would take precedence. A face appeared in my mind, a face set in an expression of fierce determination. And I knew I had my answer.

That had been easy. The hard part would be committing the words to paper. And then there was the matter of getting them to my chosen courier. For that, I needed 'Thyna's assistance, which meant I was going to have to pay the price. Best to rip off the bandage quickly, then.

“You were right, you know.”

She must have been thinking deep thoughts of her own, because my abrupt admission seemed to startle her. But she was quick to sense an advantage and replied, “Of course I was.” But then her innate honesty- or possibly suspicion- tripped her. “About what?” She made a valiant attempt to recover, adding lightly, “It's just that I am right about so many things that I lose track. Which one do you mean?”

I had to smile. Her unburdening of the guilt she had felt about me, and her even more surprising admission of what she saw as her “failure” had shaken me. But this response was the Athynae I knew, and yes, I could admit it to myself, loved. But something told me that our time was growing short, and that meant I had to forgo our usual banter. “You were right that your family- both of our families- deserve to know, whatever happens. We need to tell them what we can. And we need someone to carry our words, someone we can trust, who will not fail. Someone like...”

“Ahnya,” she finished the sentence for me.

“Yes.” And I couldn't help adding, “Maybe you can get Ingmar 'I would do anything for yewwww, Miss 'Thyna' to take the letters and my report to Thirsk.” I deepened my voice and fluttered my eyelashes at her, while making my expression as empty-headed as possible. And of course, I ended up with another bruise for my collection. Apparently her guilt regarding hitting me applied only to training sessions- or else she had gotten over it quickly. For approximately the two millionth time, I reminded myself that she was a complicated person.



If Uncle Seth wanted to send me cryptic messages, perhaps it was a reminder that there were words I needed to write as well. From what Korst had told us, we were very close to the final challenge. I had a responsibility to more people than just the adorable, impossible one who was trying to condense all we had gone through into a report. I started to reach into my travel bag for my everyday ink and quill, but paused. The letter I had in mind was important, as was the person who would receive it, and who would perhaps have to carry out the instructions therein. So the ink, the paper, even the quill had to be equal to the task.

“Is this a lesson?” I asked as I continued forming the characters rapidly yet legibly. “Because I already know how to write. I'm eight years old, after all. And besides, the words don't make any sense.”

“Everything is a lesson, Princess. And sometimes, the meaning is not in the words themselves, but in the way they are conveyed.” He waited until I had finished and then scanned my work in the quick yet thorough way he had. “Now. What is the date on the letter?”

“Second day, Rain's Hand.”

“Read the fourth word of every second line, please.”

I furrowed my brow as I tried to see only the words he had indicated. “Ten... days... Gnisis... be... ready.”

So the letter I was about to write would also be a lesson. It would not contain a cipher, but by the words I used, I would be teaching Ahnya how a warrior faced the possibility of defeat and even death, how a warrior took responsibility. And I would also be telling her that she had earned my trust. So... special ink and special paper for an extraordinary girl. The entries in my journal would do for everyone else, because I would run out of ink and paper before I could write all the words I wanted to say to them.

I finished the letter and made a parcel of everything that needed to go with it; all that was left now was to get it to Ahnya. Athlain should have his report wrapped up by now; after all, how many ways were there to say, “bad things happened?” I looked over in time to see him folding the parchment he had been writing on and sealing it with wax. That was something he hardly ever did, and besides, his report still sat on the desk. I wondered what it was all about, but let the question go. Later, I thought. Instead, I asked him, “So have you finished writing The Complete History of the Empire? Because, if you have, we should see about getting it delivered.”

He surprised me then, by admitting I was right about getting word to our families. Of course, I had known I was right, but getting Athlain to say so without having to drag it out of him counted as a point to me. Meanwhile, as he tended to do, he was babbling on about finding someone trustworthy, when the answer was already obvious. So I saved us both some time and said, “Ahnya.” Then he had to make a bad joke about Ingmar- which meant he got another blunted dart for his troubles. Point to Athlain; I hoped he enjoyed the bruise that went with it. After all, Ingmar was... sweet. But he was also only slightly smarter than Bryn's anvil. Still, he was the right person to get our correspondence to Thirsk, but I wasn't going to tell Athlain. Instead, I gathered up everything that needed to go and pointed at my pack. “Set up my alchemy apparatus and don't break anything! I will be back in a minute.”

When I got back, I checked that everything was done to my satisfaction, and only had to make a few adjustments. Every alchemist I had ever known had their own way of arranging their instruments and materials; Athlain had gotten it almost right. Before starting on new concoctions I went about the task of taking an inventory of the items I didn’t really consider weapons but that would be almost as necessary. I made a space to lay out the potions and scrolls and other magics that I carried in my satchel. I wanted to make sure I had all the healing, regeneration and energy potions I could fit and to also take out the items that I didn’t think were integral to facing the horrible hounds and their headmaster. While having one of everything was a nice idea in the abstract, there was no need to be a walking apothecary shop. Uncle Trey used to tell stories about how he couldn't help but try to pick up everything that “might be useful,” only to find himself so weighted down he couldn't move. The memory caused me to smile briefly, before I turned my attention back to the work at hand.

First, I wanted to prepare some additional major healing potions and also some to regenerate health and energy. I had a feeling trying to carry food in any major quantity was not only unnecessary, but would just mean carrying extra weight that we couldn’t afford. “Athlain, we should probably carry a small bit of jerky. We should eat as much as we can tonight, just a feeling. I don’t think this is going to be some long, drawn out situation, but we probably aren’t going to have time to sit down to a fine meal either.”

He came to look over my shoulder, “What are you brewing now?”

“Extra potions. Especially since your pouch got crushed. We can’t run out of healing potions; we need to have all we can carry.”

“I agree. Also some magics to keep the power at optimum on our weapons.” He went over to his pack and brought it to the table to do his own inventory. He combined the scrolls and materials that he had with what I had already lined up. Of the two of us, he was the better enchanter, so I would leave it to him to make sure our magical weapons were fully charged- as long as he asked first. I felt a flutter of doubt and tried to tamp it down by asking a question.

“Are we ready for this, Lainie?” I looked up from my measurement of ingredients.

“As ready as we can be, as soon as you finish your concoction brewing.” His smile was full of confidence. “We have to be, NayNay. And if I were a betting person, I’d bet on us.”

He bent back to the table and started sorting his scrolls and mine so we could divide them between us in a way that would serve each of us best. Even as I continued to prepare the potions I watched him out of the corner of my eye. His movements were concise and confident. It was such a change from the boy that had left Vvardenfell only a few months ago. I knew he was still Athlain, but he was also more; his growth into the warrior he had become had also given him a confidence that was as obvious as his adeptness with The Gift. I allowed myself to think, in a corner of my mind, “Hircine, you have no idea how badly you have miscalculated.”

No idea indeed! I wonder if Hircine will even know what hit him? LOL

Looking forward to the big showdown!

So lots of epistles being prepared before the final confrontation. I have to admit, I was thinking that Kevin Costner would make for the ideal postman, but I guess he was busy?

I loved the little in-game joke about picking every ingredient there is and always carrying them all with you until you could not move. I was shocked when I first discovered that I was carrying 80+ pounds of just ingredients. And I immediately created a mod that made all of them weightless...

Time for NayNay and CrayCray to go hunt the hunter!

Ah okay I get it. So the first part is from his point of view, second part from hers. How neat. I didn't know you could do this in Fan Fiction. I thought this was considered a no-no. That's what I was told long ago when I joined this site. But if you do it, so will I in my own story, because there's one part where an NPC's perspective is needed in a future chapter. (Not that I consider Goblin Lady to be FF).

Who is she talking to as she writes the letter? Is she reaching into someone from her past?

Ha that's funny. He only decides to compliment her about being right so he can get something from her. Very coy. This is fun to read.

Changing POVs in fiction is fine, so long as you make it clear you are doing so with either a divider to break up the text, or starting an entirely new chapter for the new POV. The Dog has a * * * * * to let us know the POVs are changing, so its fine.

Awesome, thanks for explaining.

@haute- The amount of practice they have had beating on each other should serve them well against Hircine. And the showdown is near....

@SubRosa- Yes- Kevin was building a baseball diamond in a cornfield or perhaps teaching Kelso to not be a complete tool and become a better SAR swimmer with the Coast Guard....

And Trey's biggest issue was picking up books... even books he already had... I kinda like that the ESO limitation is total NUMBER of items, as opposed to weight- and thank the Nine for the craft bag!

@Renee- There is a ... caution about "head-hopping"- changing point-of-view frequently, especially trading between characters in rapid succession. Swapping perspective or narrator is acceptable provided you signal the change is a clear fashion- (unlike Tennessee drivers changing lanes).

The "cover letter" to go with everything else is to Ahnya Torvarsdottir, a Nord girl she and Athlain met and mentored at Thirsk.

And the two of them have a running game with rules approximating those of Calvinball (if you have read the Calvin & Hobbes comic strip, you will understand the reference).

---------------------------------------------------

While Athynae worked at her potions, something she did with total concentration, I made sure those of our weapons that carried enchantments were fully charged. The nature of that task was such that it allowed my mind to contemplate other, more abstract things. I had always maintained a certain agnosticism regarding “the gods,” an attitude inherited from my father. That is not to say I did not believe in the existence of the Daedric princes or their Imperial equivalents. What I doubted was their divinity. Just because they had powers we could barely conceive, were well-nigh immortal, and inhabited some plane that was normally closed to us- none of that made them “gods.” A scrib might view us in the same way, if scribs did not have better and more useful things to do with their limited time.

Even 'Thyna made a distinction between her “reverence” for Azura, as opposed to actual worship. Father's relationship with the Lady of Dawn and Dusk was more complex, mostly because his stubbornness was as unyielding as the mountains where he had been born. (At least, so said my mother). But for all that he grumbled about Azura and her “meddling,” he never cast doubt on her power. After all, she had managed to bend him to her purpose, despite all his protests and attempts to wriggle out of her plans.

So, it seemed to me that the Daedra did not require our worship. It probably amused some of them, in a distant way, but they did not need it. Rather, they seemed to enjoy playing games with we mortals who crawled on the face of the Mundus, as we all the while imagined our lives and deeds had some significance. Or, to sum it up in Father's words, “They're all bastards, and a wise person has as little to with them as possible.” And that was wonderful advice- so long as the Daedric princes maintained the same indifference towards us. But with at least three of them squabbling over us, it was rather like being a pair of sweet rolls tossed into a pack of hungry kagouti. The odds were, we would end up torn to pieces, trampled, or swallowed- or more likely, all three.

And yet another thing about the gods, as Father also often reminded me, is that they cheat. You would think that, with all their power and all of eternity to wield it, the Daedric princes would develop patience. And some, like Mephala, did spend what men and mer counted as generations to nurture their plots. But most of the others were like spoiled 3-year-olds- they wanted what they wanted, and they wanted it now. And what Hircine wanted was us.

Something about the cooperative nature of the work we were doing, the passing back and forth of materials, the decanting and stowing of completed potions, all without having to speak.... The intimacy of it caused a lump to rise in my throat. I stopped what I was doing to look at Athynae, her head bent as she ground some wickwheat, the lamplight and the flame under the calcinator shining on her hair- and I was overcome with a depth of feeling for her that I suppose had always been there, but that I had been too stupid to recognize. She turned to see why I was not handing her the next ingredient, and I opened my mouth to say... something.

And then time stopped. I am not being metaphorical- everything around us froze, holding us like insects in amber; my head turned to look at Athynae, my lips parted to say something irrevocable. And then something akin to sleep claimed us, but not a natural sleep. Apparently, the Lord of the Hunt had decided that things were not moving quickly enough to suit him. My last waking memory was of the door to the cabin being torn from its hinges and thinking, I should probably see about that. And then there was nothing until we found ourselves standing in a chamber of ice, in front of a large black door covered in Daedric symbols.

One bit of luck (or what might have passed for sportsmanship) was that whoever or whatever had brought us there had also brought our armor, weapons, and other gear. Athynae's only reaction- in fact her first and only words for some time- was to remark that it “smelled like hounds had been pawing” her armor. And the fury in her eyes boded ill for whichever of Hircine's servants was foolish enough to show itself. Despite her look of disgust at the odor only she could discern, she made haste to put on her armor, only slightly hampered by the fact that she insisted on keeping a dagger in one hand or the other throughout the process. I also got myself encased in armor as rapidly as I could and then helped her tighten her gauntlets, the only thing she had been unable to do for herself. That accomplished, she checked that every blade and projectile was in its accustomed place, except the one she still held ready.

“So what now?” I asked, watching the black door from the corner of my eye. In part, it was because the Daedric letters seemed to blur and crawl in a most unsettling way when viewed directly. But mostly, I was wary of a trap- a ruse to get us to focus on the shiny (or, in this case, night-black) object, the better to sneak up on us while we gaped like a pair of farmhands on their first trip to the Imperial City. Athynae had started to snarl an answer when the air before the door shimmered, and a gigantic figure appeared. It was easily eight feet tall, not including the antlers, which rose an additional couple of feet from the sides of the helmet- or the head- I could not tell which. Other than the closed helm, the Daedra wore no armor, although parts of its skin appeared mottled, giving the appearance of scales.

Otherwise, he wore a kilt and tall boots and carried a spear that was taller than he was. My first thought was that the lack of armor was a possible weakness, but then I decided that he was not armored because he did not need to be. He was a creature from another plane, and therefore, highly magical. And some of his magic was almost certain to be protective and damage reflecting. The reflection did not concern me; I had no intention of trying to incant spells while encased in steel, especially not when I would have to forgo mace or shield in order to make the required gestures. If I had tried to do something so foolish, Athynae would have saved the Hunter the trouble by killing me herself. All those thoughts passed in an instant, but Athynae was even faster.

My hand had just touched the Gift when she sent her dagger flashing toward the monster's throat, and ran forward while pulling Dreamer out and over in a two-handed grip. Her strike would have cloven a troll in two, but it seemed to pass right through the armored figure without resistance. In a feat of strength and skill that amazed even me, she recovered without grounding her sword, and turned the twist of her arms into a left to right horizontal slash. That blow also had no effect, and she went into a guard position, muttering, “Coward,” while glaring at the figure that had to be an image of Hircine.

By that time, I was at her left side, but facing away from the Daedra, still concerned about an ambush. There was a short space of quiet, broken only by the sound of our breathing, and then the image spoke. At least, so it appeared, although the words seemed to sound inside my head as much as to enter through my ears.

“So now the champions are assembled and the Hunt can begin. The contest will decide who is the greatest, who will face me to strive for life... or death.”

Athynae replied with a growl, “Then face me now, you Daedric coward. Stop hiding behind masks and images, behind your slinking, half-breed dogs. You want to fight a champion? Then fight me!” She gestured a taunting invitation with Dreamer and then resumed her watchful stillness.

“You do not set the rules of this contest, Child of Dawn. You may choose to participate- or not,” the voice sounded almost regretful at the idea that Athynae might decide to walk away, “Or you can hear the rules I have devised.” Athynae again made that come on gesture with her blade, inviting him to get on with it. “This game is simple, dwellers upon the Mundus. Beyond this door lies a maze. At the center of that maze is a chest which contains the key to a gate. Find the chest, take the key, unlock the gate. Beyond that gate is the inner maze. There, you will repeat the process. Simple. However,” and the voice fell to almost a whisper, “ 'simple' does not mean 'easy.' The maze also contains a number of my Hounds, and they hunger for mortal flesh. Know also that you are not the only ones who seek the prize. How you handle the other contestants is up to you. Whoever survives both outer and inner mazes will find me waiting."

He bent his head to regard me and let go a gusty sigh. “I had hoped to lure your father here, son of the Gods-slayer. But he proved more stubborn than even my sister related. Still, you have proven formidable in your own right, and you brought the Child of Dawn with you, so I count myself fortunate. The tale of this contest will be told through the ages.” He straightened and pointed with his spear. “Enter the outer maze when you are ready... or... turn back now and spend the rest of your lives wondering what might have been.” He threw his head back and let go a peal of laughter that changed into the howl of a hunting wolf. The air shimmered once more, and the image was gone.

After Hircine's image had disappeared, I waited while Athynae sheathed Dreamer and collected her dagger . And I waited some more while she checked the tip and edge for damage, before she finally tucked it back into her boot sheath with a frustrated snort. Then I waited still longer for her to say, “I told you so,” followed by a strong suggestion that I go home. But she didn't. Instead, she prowled the small chamber, her breath coming in frosty bursts of vapor, her hands taking an inventory of her weaponry. At last, I broke the silence myself, telling her, “I have no interest in teleporting out,” I pinned her with my gaze before adding, “and leaving you on your own. Also, I would prefer you not try to talk me into it- nor cast a spell on me when I'm not looking.”

It was hard to tell in the gloom, but I thought she might have blushed a little. But if she felt any twinge of guilt, she got over it. She showed me a feral smile and remarked, “If we take out his legs, it will bring his head low enough that I can cut it off. So open the stupid door.” She again drew Dreamer and gripped the hilt with both hands. I moved up beside her, ready to comply, but then paused with my fingers resting lightly on the latch.

“Before I do, let's not have a repeat of Castle Karstaag. No matter what we see, or think we are seeing, no one goes rushing in on their own.” She mumbled something that someone who didn't know her might have taken for agreement. I had more experience and said, “Not good enough. You could have been ordering tea at the Ald Skar for all I know. I will have your word on it- no quibbling. Neither of us rushes ahead- yes?”

She tossed her head and asked, “When did you get so suspicious?”

“About five minutes after I met you, or possibly a couple of thousand 'adventures' ago. And you're still evading.”

“Guar butt,” she muttered, followed by, “No rushing ahead, you have my word. Now open the damned door.”

I have often felt the same way about gods. My cat must think I am a deity. But I don't think she is right.

Wise words from Trey.

Those cheating Daedric Princes sound like CEOs. They want it now, and don't care about what it means for tomorrow.

Speaking of which, I think someone just cheated. Looks like they will not have to find Hircine after all.

I loved that Thyna just immediately attacked Hircine at first sight. It is exactly what would have done as well. I also approve her plan - legs, then head, but I suspect it will turn out to be a little more complicated than that.

Okay, I see now. Basically I was worried because sometimes i do change perspective in my own stories, but I don't do so every other moment. It'll usually be an entire chapter or update devoted to somebody other than the main character.

Since I am coming to this story way late, I am wondering why does Hircine want Athynae and her companion? What is Hircine's desire?

Yikes. I didn't expect that! A kilt-wearing Daedric giant illusion with a spear. The hunt begins now!