Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Her Best Work In Red	By : Johnny-Topside Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 710 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters. I do not profit from this work. Its in Ye Olde Format, but give it a chance, I swear it grows on you!

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Chapter 3: The Avenger and the Dream Child

1.

Vayniya Navalnim lingered within Frostfruit Inn’s embrace, fingers tightened about the flagon of blood wine. Its crimson trembling mirrored her seething fury. The sting of Karin’s refusal was a wound that threatened to drive her to madness.

She quaffed deeply, resisting urge to simply pursue the murderess up the dust-choked road and hew that hateful head from its perch with single, vengeful stroke. ‘Twas not vanity that fueled her rage, nor any true desire to lay hands upon the wench’s flesh. To lie with a depraved monster like Karin, woman or no, was but means to an end, and trifling price compared to Vaermina’s shadow.

Nay, the offense lay in its defiance of all she knew of Karin’s nature, an unbridled whore of insatiable appetites. How could such a creature spurn her?   Vayniya’s mind turned inward, probing for flaw in her approach. Had she been too brazen, too reliant on the ghosts of the past?   The assassin was no fool, though her impression was near flawless. Perchance she had sensed the Dunmer’s veiled intent. Vayniya drained the last of the wine, its taste now bitter with failure.

Mralki the innkeep polished his tankards with a methodical hand, his gaze upon her laden with unspoken judgment. Vayniya signaled for more wine, her patience fraying as his look lingered.

“What dost thou gape at old man?” she snapped. “Dost thou also find fault in my visage?” Mralki’s brow arched, hands pausing in their task.

“I marvel only that thou wouldst cast thy net for Karin of all folk. A bold venture, and a fool’s errand methinks.”

“And wherefore not? This sodden hamlet offers naught but bread, ale, and bedsport. For the last there is naught but wedded farmers. I deemed her an easy prey, ripe for the taking.”

“Easy she may seem, but wise? Nay. Karin’s a storm that brings rising flood. Yet her refusal surprises me no less than thee. Thou shouldst not suffer thy heart to linger o’er such trifles. Perchance ‘tis my son Erik’s doing. He is a steady hand to temper her wildness.”

Vayniya’s violet gaze sharpened, her interest piqued despite her rancor.

“Erik? The warrior who dogs her steps?” She leaned forward, her voice softening. “Dost thou claim he sways her heart?”

Mralki shrugged wearily.

“Who can fathom the workings of one such as Karin? I gave up such riddles long ago. My son, fool that he is, treads her shadow willingly, though to what end I cannot say. Yet she and the lass Kahira have wrought some good change in him, ‘tis certain.”

Vayniya had thought Erik merely a simpleton whose blade outstripped his wits, yet Mralki’s words hinted at depths unplumbed.

“Thou speakest of thy son with pride, yet grudge his path,” she said, her tone as velvet. “Tell me more of him and the Snow-Fells.”

Her vigil in the tavern afforded her ample time to converse with Erik’s sire. Though Karin was her target, she found her interest kindled in her faithful hound despite herself.   Mralki’s voice told Vayniya as much as words, often tinged with scorn but softened by the unmistakable notes of a father’s love. It filled Vayniya with a jealousy that ached more than seethed.

Mralki bore a love for his son both overzealous and true, yearning for him to remain a farmer safe from the world’s perils. ‘Twas plain he held little fondness for Karin, deeming Erik’s dealings with her folly. Yet he had come to a grudging acceptance of the matter, as he had most of his son’s decisions. For young Kahira howe’er he had naught but esteem, looking on her almost as kin and as the wisest and least shiftless of the trio. Though he saw Erik’s ties to his found family as a tax upon time and spirit, he could not deny that caring for the twain had instilled in his son a sense of duty nigh to a father’s own, if not common sense. His grievance lingered with Karin however. She was a most shabby siren whom Erik, it seemed, forever pursued with the ardor of a lovestruck youth lured to doom.

When not in the tavern or with Kahira in tow, the twain oft wandered abroad as comrades are wont to do, perchance seeking battle and the spoils they sold to Britte. It was just possible they might be suitors, but Karin’s preferences were well known and the consensus held they had never shared ardent words in public. Vayniya yearned to know the hidden nature of their deeds, yet she dared not risk discovery by trailing them too close.

The greatest revelation Mralki shared was tale of how his son had taken up the mantle of sell-sword with none other than the Dragonborn himself. This stirred Vayniya’s heart with quiet astonishment. ‘Twas too humble a deed for so legendary a figure, procuring armor for a farmer’s lad with not more promise than a wanderer’s spirit and thirst for battle. She had aforetime cast it aside as idle braggadocio or fanciful yarn spun to seem noteworthy. Yet Mralki’s demeanor, steeped in cynicism and worn by weariness, was marked by disinterest in the attention his tale summoned. He spake of his son’s feats with the Dragonborn with grudging pride and the vagueness that comes from hearing tales second-hand. Yet his sincerity left her no choice but to marvel at the strange convergence of their paths. If there was any truth to them at all, Vayniya resolved she must now pay heed.

She had dismissed Erik as a witless fool whose mind was better suited to tilling soil. This was perchance another assumption that would lead to bitter disappointment if she failed to confirm it. She could not allow Karin to escape her grasp again.

Vayniya had erred in allowing the phantom of that reckless hedonist to color her current perceptions. What ought be true about Karin did not matter, only what was, and there was no use lamenting it. If the most direct path would not suffice, Vayniya’s schemes would bend to match.

She drained her flagon, her smile coltish as she met Mralki’s curious gaze.

“Perchance I’ve aimed amiss, good innkeep. Instead of wild women, might a widower of some maturity sate my boredom?”

Her tone was light with the jest, and in return he smiled at her less earnestly. The innkeep was easing into old age and he was not such a fool. The stubborn remnants of hair above his ears had begun to turn silver.

“Thou’rt bold, fair lady. Keep me in mind then, should thy heart tire of chasing storms.”

He turned to fetch her meal, leaving Vayniya to her thoughts. Karin had slipped her grasp the once, but she would yet bow to Vaermina’s will, or break beneath it.

2.

Rorikstead’s semblance of a market was a piteous affair, their wares as weary as the folk who hawked them. Vayniya’s gaze fell upon the Snow-Fell lass as she bartered with Varo, the vendor of foodstuffs. Their fellowship was a stark contrast to the chill that ever marked dealings with Britte, or the icy rift ‘twixt the Snow-Fells and the Enronson farm. Vayniya had gleaned from idle exchanges that Kahira and her dam would sooner starve than grant Bramm Enronson a single septim, though he offered crops at a beggar’s price. A folly from which Varo didst profit well, buying from the farmer to sell to the painter at a pleasingly swelled cost.

Her parley done, the girl heaved a ponderous drawstring sack, her frame bowing ‘neath its weight. Now was as good a moment as any Vayniya mused, her own form rising with the fluid grace of a sabre cat.

“Ho, maiden of the brush!” Vayniya called. “I would have words with thee concerning thy craft. If this time be fitting, I should wish to purchase a work this very day.”

Kahira turned and looked about the meager village as if seeking some path of swift escape.

“This moment suiteth me ill,” she declared.

“If ‘tis but the weight of chores that burdens thee, permit me to shoulder thy load,” Vayniya offered. “Perhaps we may speak as we wend our way. I have coin aplenty today for such a stroll.” She gave the wary lass a peak inside her purse, swelled with septim.

Yet Kahira’s countenance remained clouded with uncertainty. Her distrust seemed to have waned slightly, though the maid appeared preoccupied in cares beyond the Dunmer before her.

“Thou may bear my blade, if it please thee,” Vayniya added with manner she hoped bespoke earnest intent. “‘Tis sheathed and weigheth heavy as a grudge. Yet should trouble find us thou must vow its swift return. I am not so fierce with naught but a loaf of bread in hand, howe’er hardened by time it be.”

A flicker of mirth danced in the maid's gaze ere it was vanquished. She held forth the sack.

Vayniya accepted its weight, a surprise to arms seasoned to the heft of a longsword. ‘Twas a burden, and she could not withhold the lass some respect. She had strength beyond the delicate form of an artist’s soul. Vayniya knew not what course she would pursue upon reaching the Snow-Fell dwelling, yet it seemed worth the venture. She had culled all tidings the hamlet could yield. The hour had come to face the actors upon the stage again. Karin had been absent from the tavern’s haze since her last approach, and if naught else, this presented a chance to close distance.

‘Twas a fair distance, rendered longer by the ponderous sack she bore. ‘Twas the girl who first broke the uneasy hush, as she proffered the sheathed blade.

“May I behold it?”

“Of a certainty.”

Kahira unsheathed the blade. ‘Twas a marvel of steel and quicksilver, it’s curved edge agleam with verdant shimmer, reminiscent of a dragonfly’s delicate wing. Too vast for her slight frame, the lass clasped it in both hands. Her shoulders tautened. For a moment Vayniya fancied the girl had divined her veiled intent, perchance through prophetic stroke of her canvas, and meant to fell her now with her own weapon.

Yet instead, Kahira swung the blade through the air. A deft arc from shoulder to midsection, pausing ere reversing it upward, then sweeping it round an arc that would cleave a foe’s crown. ‘Twas not identical, yet bore a likeness to the drills Vayniya had mastered in her youth. The lass offered a sheepish smile at Vayniya’s gaze, as though caught in a moment of boastful play.

“Fine flourishes,” Vayniya remarked, and truly she meant it. They lacked the polish of a devoted disciple, yet neither were they clumsy thrashings of a novice. “I perceive thou hast been schooled. I would not have marked thee for a warrior.”

“I told thee afore I was formidable.” Her expression affirmed the jest. “My uncle Erik hath insisted I ken some of the sword’s art, though it ill befits me.” She sheathed the blade with care. “Forgive my boldness. He oft said one may know a warrior by their steel.”

“Ah. And what doth this blade whisper of me?”

“It be lighter than that with which I wield in practice. Thou dost favor swiftness o’er brute might. This edge is queer as well. I have ne’er beheld it’s like.”

“‘Twas wrought in the image of the near-extinct Akaviri blades,” Vayniya explained, a fond note in her voice. “I harbour a tender regard for their craft.”

“‘Twas dear in coin. Thou art prosperous in thy trade and dost cherish the uncommon.”

“And history besides,” Vayniya added, amused at Kahira’s attempt at her art. “Yet thou couldst have surmised those latter from mine interest in thy canvases and the weight of my purse.”

Kahira’s cheeks flushed as they proceeded a measure, and Vayniya feared she had stirred the lass’s ire.

“I meant not to mock thee,” Vayniya offered, sensing a rift.

“I regret if I seemed curt afore,” Kahira said at length, her voice gentled. “‘Tis truly an ill hour for me.”

“If it concern thy dam I shall bridle my grievance. I have not spied her at the Frostfruit Inn of late. Perchance a kindly word and smile might mend the rift?”

“I doubt my mother will be there. ‘Tis not thy affair, yet I would not drive thee hence.”

“If thou wilt suffer my prying, a quarrel?”

“Not ‘twixt us twain. At least, not yet,” she replied, ere she regarded Vayniya with a speculative air. “Wherefore so curious?”

“In truth Rorikstead holds naught else to stir interest save your family. I am a student of souls, and to fathom them is the keystone of all pursuits of note.”

“How so?”

Vayniya shifted the sack, adjusting her hold and considering a moment. ‘Twas a curious warmth, this discourse with the monster’s progeny, as one might with any sane mortal.

“In battle, in love, e’en in parley. Assuredly, it would serve us both in the barter of thy works to fathom one another better.” The lass nodded in accord.

“I grasp thy meaning. Yet I find it uneasy to be so keenly observed.”

“One cannot truly behold another without steadfast focus and deliberation. Whoso claimeth otherwise be fools. Rejoice that others take heed. So oft in this realm, one may weep one’s eyes dry, and none deign a glance, let alone inquire the cause.”

Kahira regarded the Dunmer silently, perchance weighing if Vayniya wove a parable or unveiled her own tale. The womer hefted the sack anew, for she could scarce gesture whilst bearing its load.

“I speak thee a truth now, whether it please thine ears or nay. One must oft unearth another’s secrets and divine the rest to comprehend them. In my ken, thou shalt ne’er hear truth from a soul unless ‘tis their sole recourse or they be deep in their cups.”

The Breton maid grew pensive at that, and Vayniya feared again she had overstepped. Kahira halted upon the path.

“Wherefore dost thou e’er appear so weary?”

The girl’s gaze held less of the caution of one bartering with a stranger who might beg further coin. Vayniya deemed this worthy at least of a shadow parallel to the truth she had just extolled.

“In sooth, I have not slept soundly since I was but little older than thee. One grows so accustomed to the specter of a blade at one’s throat, expecting it each night, though it ne’er falls.”

“I pray thou findest rest anon.”

“As do I.”

“‘Tis not far now.”

Vayniya had oft observed the Snow-Fell dwelling from afar. Yet approaching it boldly in daylight’s glare without need for stealth afforded a keener view of its stark visage. Perched upon steep hill, ‘twas a rustic cottage of thatch and timbered stone, its weathered porch clinging to a sheer and rocky slope that formed a natural bulwark. Adjoined was a crude and forlorn attempt at a shed, yet such flaws were a trifle amidst its greater tale. ‘Twas not merely its perch amid the barren wilds. All about it bespoke seclusion and desolation. The contemplation of dwelling within its confines filled Vayniya with an impulse to end her own days.

As Kahira opened the door they were greeted by none other than Erik, he who styled himself the Slayer, lounging upon a settle with the ease of a lord at rest. He lifted his gaze from his tome, a flicker of mild astonishment crossing his ruddy features.

“I knew not that we awaited a guest.”

“Nor I,” Vayniya replied, donning a smile to veil her swift chagrin. Verily, matters might have flowed smoother with the lass alone to ply yet perchance this twist bore promise. Of Erik she knew scant beyond gossip and his sire’s recounting.

“This be Vayniya, a seeker of art come to behold my creations,” Kahira interposed, pausing to cast a troubled glance about. “My sketch? Hast thou moved it?”

“Which one?”

“Thou knowest, the one that disturbs.”

“Most of them bear that stamp.” As the lass scoffed, he raised a placating hand with a grin. “Peace, I knew thy meaning. I set it yonder.” He motioned toward a cluttered nook. “Methought he peered o’er my shoulder as I read.”

“A piece that might pique mine interest?” Vayniya ventured and Kahira shook her head.

“Not that one. I thank thee for bearing this burden. Oft my back aches the day thereafter.”

She reclaimed the sack and set to stowing the contents within their meager pantry. Vayniya arched a brow at Erik, who returned a genial smile. Older than she, a seasoned warrior she knew by repute. Yet his countenance remained open, his eyes bright as a youth’s.

“I marvel that a robust fellow such as thee offered not to aid her with so heavy a load.”

“I have proffered aid oft, yet the Snow-Fells must tread their paths as they deem fit and none may sway them. So they leave me to guard their treasures.” Erik replied with a wry flourish, his gesture encompassing the room with mock grandeur.

‘Twas indeed a humble hovel, though she had witnessed far meaner. The chief blight seemed the heaps of belongings strewn about. Beyond the common space where they stood lay the kitchen, and nigh it a small, disheveled bed. Beneath which were crammed an array of refuse, trinkets, and empty wine flasks. This Vayniya surmised marked Karin’s crude chamber.

She took a few paces, feigning a stretch, yet truly gauging the space. Scant room existed here for proper swordplay amidst such clutter, ‘twas better suited to a chaotic close-quarters fray. Or perchance the thrust of a dagger. With a casual sweep of her gaze Vayniya espied no fewer than three such blades favored by an assassin’s hand. A lone narrow window offered scant escape. One must needs enter by the fore door.

“I have seen thee at the Frostfruit Inn, have I not?” Erik broke her reverie.

“Aye, and I thee, though our tongues have ne’er met.” He shrugged, as if chagrined by his own neglect.

“In sooth I deem most unfamiliar faces at the Inn to tarry but a night ere wending down the road. Rorikstead brims with excitement and I fault thee not for lingering.”

“Yet thou dost,” she noted, and he grinned anew.

“‘Tis for the free paintings,” he quipped. A sharp clearing of throat drew her eye to Kahira, glowering with a visage as one who hath tasted curdled milk or endured their prattle with mortified ears.

“I have known mine uncle since I clung to his knee, thus I gift him a sketch now and then,” Kahira clarified with crisp resolve. “Yet I would not foster expectation that my labors be freely bestowed.”

She beckoned Vayniya to follow. The farther reach of the abode was consecrated to Kahira’s art, with pigments and canvases piled nigh to the beams o’erhanging her modest bed. It was in a better state than her dam’s at least. Kahira drew forth several works, propping them with care against the wall.

They bore the mark of rare talent and kindred manner, though Vayniya was unskilled in art’s lore and could scarce expound further. One sensed the figures poised to stride forth from the canvas...or draw the beholder within. 'Twas their elusive virtue, the dissolution of barrier ‘twixt portrayal and perceiver. The longer one gazed, the more intricacies unfurled. Yet many were grimly morbid, stirring wonder at what shadows the young mind that birthed them had gleaned therefrom.

One depicted what seemed a priest of Arkay arrayed upon a slab as a macabre banquet’s centerpiece, bedecked with fruits. Guests hovered around him with fork and knife, their countenances twisted in demented hunger. A jest belied by their ravenous stares.

Another depicted two hagravens locked in combat, feathers and blood-drops awhirl as a trampled bouquet lay betwixt them. One bore a single piercing azure eye in lieu of the usual ebon.

The direst portrayed gore and havoc. Draugr pursued shrieking townsfolk. One clutching an aged crone by her tresses, an axe raised with fell intent. The faces bore haunting terror, blades buried in flesh, heads half-severed. Organs strewn upon cobblestone, detailed so that Vayniya could name each part. The more she noted, the surer she grew this was Solitude’s marketplace.

“I know this city. I recall no such slaughter. What canst thou tell me of it?” Kahira regarded it with detachment, her eyes oddly glazed.

“A mighty queen’s host. A queen of wolves. Her wrath swells in a place of frigid gloom, and she shall wreak vengeance upon the pretenders.”

Vayniya recalled Solitude’s wolf-emblazoned sigil.

“Dost thou mean Elisif the Fair?”

“I know not that name,” she replied plainly. “Nor this place. I know only that it is, was, or shall be.”

Others eluded Vayniya’s grasp. A trio of opulently clad Khajiit quaffed wine amidst a throng cheering a gladiatorial bout. A destitute Orc couple. The wife was a colossal Orsimer and blindly cheerful amid her husband’s clear woe. A jester in crimson and ebon, his grotesque grin nigh rending his face, rapping upon a farmhouse portal. The eyes made one want to bar the door.

One featured a queer form. Perchance a foreign mer from his traits, yet skin and tresses pale as fresh-fallen snow. Upon grand stairs he battled mace in hand ‘gainst a swarm of sightless, slavering Falmer. A desperate valor infused it. A stark foil to another scene Kahira unveiled of Falmer, so bleak that Vayniya pondered who might crave to gaze upon, much less acquire such a grim sight.

“Not to offend, but hast thou more? I favor none save this.”

“I deem I may have one to thy liking if thou wouldst bide here.” Kahira stepped without, leaving Vayniya alone with Erik.

With Kahira departed the Slayer swiftly arose and proffered his fist as though intent to drive it into the Dunmer's jaw. She beheld it calmly, then clapped the back of her own fist 'gainst his and he grinned with content.

“Thou art a fellow sell-sword, art thou not? Might I know aught of thy deeds?”

“Like as not. I pursue coin, not renown. Speaking thereof, doth rumor hold true?   Thou didst quest with the Dragonborn?"

“Aye, in my youth. 'Twas ages past.” He scratched the nape of his neck, as if abashed. Either humility beset him sorely, or the yarns were swells he'd sooner let ebb.

“Wherefore not swell with pride? Recount it unto me. Scarce grander exploits can I conjure.”

“I do take pride, yet my sire schooled me against vaunts. Trials have taught me a boast to one is a challenge to another. I've beheld the realm and returned, which surpasses most. I stand apart enough in Rorikstead as ‘tis.”

“Relate it,” she entreated, her tone a blend of plea, command, and jest. “What manner of soul was the Dragonborn? Wherefore thy parting?” 'Twas not mere prattle to beguile a likely foe. She yearned truly to know.

“He was...” He faltered. “A tangled mer. He embodied all to all folk, denying aid to none. At times those he succored were of ill repute. Yet I deem in sum we wrought good upon the land. As for me, I exchanged plow for steel and learned its mastery ere death claimed me. I slew a dragon.” Something in Vayniya’s expression disquieted him, for he amended: “I aided in slaying a dragon, I should say. That sufficed for me. We battled draugr, sorcerers, Dwarven sentinels, and once a colossal mudcrab vast as this cottage. But valor differs from suicidal folly. The Dragonborn could hazard the latter, armed with prowess and might. I had drank my fill. The hour was ripe.”

Once more Vayniya pondered. Like his sire, he seemed no deceiver, nor overtly dangerous. Aught in his visage and speech lingered fresh and green as the yields he'd doubtless reaped ere glory sought him in this improbable nook   His ordeals had fortified him yet left his essence unaltered.

Kahira returned then, bearing a solitary canvas, which she set upon her easel.

“My pardons, ‘twas buried at the stack’s base. Yet read naught into that.”

“Aye, this one I recall. Thou shouldst recreate one of mine adventures sometime Kahira.”

“Thou knowest 'tis not how it unfolds, uncle,” Kahira replied, yet Vayniya scarce heeded them. The painting enthralled her.

She knew the Dragonborn at once. A fellow Dunmer of countenance so foul as to echo the splendor of his unmatched prowess. His features bore strife’s cruel scars, one eye milky as a frost-kissed dawn. Some murmured ‘twas dragons’ ire that scarred him, others a clash with Hermaeus Mora’s mighty acolyte, or a rite of magick exploded upon his face in fiery cataclysm.

She had beheld portraits of him afore, one could discern those wrought from true sight. Oft the details erred, or he appeared nigh comely in scarred oddity. This captured the truth of his ravaged glory. Flame erupted from his maw as a dragon’s breath, smiting a looming form clad in ebony plate.

Yet ‘twas the figure at his flank that seized her breath. There stood her sire, absurdly garbed in priestly cowl and robe. Shoulder to shoulder with the Dragonborn, flames spewing from his palms, merging in a mighty torrent that set the foe’s armor aglow with its heat.

The work evoked brotherhood, valor, and defiance ‘gainst vast, unfathomable darkness.

“‘Tis wonderous. I can scarce credit none hath claimed it!” she exhaled, and Kahira’s guarded visage yielded to a shy smile.

“Paintings of the Dragonborn abound. What is one more, e’en from my brush? Dost thou truly esteem it so?”

“Aye. My blood kindles at the sight. What canst thou reveal of yon one?” She indicated her sire, and the lass’s gaze grew distant, as if peering beyond the pigments.

“He erred oft in youth, yet eventually confronted his terrors. He held true to his oaths and became a mer of profound honor. They were steadfast companions, the Dragonborn and he, sacrificing much for their bond.”

Kahira furrowed her brow deeply then, eyes fixing upon the Dunmer sell-sword as though unveiling every secret. ‘Twas absurd to dread the slight girl, yet ‘twas as if being scrutinized by a Daedric Prince incarnate. Vayniya braced for her denunciation.

Instead, she asked: “Be it so sorrowful that thou weepest?”

Vayniya blinked, her eyes damp. Regaining poise, she wiped them with her hand’s back.

“Nay, it merely...thy words stirred me profoundly. ‘Tis a work that moves my soul. Dost thou deem he...they, yet draw breath?"

The lass regarded the canvas anew, without the mist-reading gaze.

“I cannot say. I sense they do. Uncle Erik, what knowest thou of them?” He shook his head.

“Last tidings placed the Dragonborn journeying to Morrowind. Yet I parted from him more than a dozen winters past. That one I ne'er encountered.”

She beheld the painting once more. Surely a portent, but of what?

“I shall claim it if thou canst part with it. Name thy price.”

The lass and Erik exchanged glances.

“I would not usually proffer this sum, yet I perceive thou cherishes this work as few might. Two hundred septims?”

‘Twas not trifling compared to most wares, yet for Kahira’s craft... she shook her head at the excess benevolence.

“Nay, nay, I esteem the offer, but thou near gift it at such. I possess the coin. Four hundred be the least I may tender.”

“I insist. Shouldst thou press e’en a single septim beyond two hundred, thou shalt not have it. Yet thou shouldst. I sense it destined for thy grasp.”

The girl swathed the canvas in cloth, and Vayniya accepted it, profoundly moved and disquieted by the lass and her uncle’s smiles. For the first time, doubt gnawed at her quest. How could such warmth and affection dwell in the monster’s lair? How diverged they so from her? Or had she erred? Had they instead wrought upon that thing’s withered, blackened, fetid heart day by day? Then where tarried she?

“Verily a momentous exchange, and my gratitude. I would linger, and if I impose not, to hear more yarns from Erik. Or perchance from thy mother. I have scarce traded words with her.”

Thereupon an oppressive awkwardness fell, their faces tautening.

“Now is not the eve, methinks, yet I shall see thee at the inn anon,” Erik spake. His mirth seemed ebbed. “‘Tis been ages since I heard tidings from beyond Whiterun. Wilt thou abide longer?”

“Assuredly. Mine overlord bids me bide till summoned, at their whim. They fathom naught of such affairs, yet the coin flows well, so I bear it. I shall safeguard this painting this night, and on the morrow anticipate thy companionship.”

"I shall escort thee down the path."

"My thanks. Till another day, Erik!"

3.

They ventured along the blighted serpentine trail. Kahira’s manner appeared far warmer than afore yet the lass was fain to utter more.

"I ponder. Thou oft renderest prophecies and works of moment, aye? Might thou conjure aught for me? Something that touches mine own fate?"

The girl mulled it o'er.

"'Tis unlikely. I paint what the brush bestows in the instant. I can no more guide it than command the rains."

"Now I speak in earnest. Hast thou e'er essayed such, sought to bend it to thy will?"

"In measure. Seldom hath it availed."

"This canvas spake as unto my soul. I would tender dear coin for another of its kin, something I yearn to behold."

"Didst thou know either Dunmer in yon painting?"

"Nay. In sooth, ne'er have I encountered them. Yet mine heart stirs as it doth. Dost thou comprehend?"

"Yes. If I undertake it though, I pledge naught."

"'Tis well, let us strive. 'Twill be a trial for thee. If thou prevailest I shall pay full measure at least. If we falter, the endeavor was wrought. I shall claim that other work I esteemed, or thy fresh creation. Agreed?"

The lass nodded, warming to the notion, and they attained the hill's foot. Here coursed the chief road.

"Thou headest north?" she asked astonished, and Vayniya inclined her head. She perceived no cause to dissemble.

"I possess a nook where I hoard my prizes. Safer than the inn when I might roam abroad."

"Ah, that I grasp wholly."

"I suppose we part till another morn. Yet speak truth. Dost ye all mistrust me so?"

"Nay, nay!" The girl shook her head with vehemence. "As I spake, 'tis a difficult season for us. My dam proves trying."

"Trying?"

"Uncle Erik hath taken to biding with me by day, yet she wanders till eve's deep hour. Methinks they quarreled."

"Verily? I deemed them bound as thieves."

"They bestow me naught. 'Tis more in their silences than utterances. I deem Erik seeks amends, yet he be of gentle bent. The blame likely rests with my dam, but she loathes to confront such matters squarely or own her fault." Then, as if she’d o'erspoken, she bowed her head. “'Tis ne'er befallen in my recollection."

Vayniya clasped the lass's shoulder. 'Twas strange for both. Stranger yet that she should favor the girl.

"'Tis trifling, I warrant. The manner of men and women, kin, and all who share walls and roof o'er time. Fret not upon it. Whither thinkest thou she roams?"

"She roves." Kahira gestured round. "For our good fortune, yet also to temper her ire. She shall seek her bed when weariness claims her. If she squanders no coin in drink at the inn, perchance 'tis no ill. Well, I've prattled o'ermuch. Thou wilt not utter this?"

"'Tis naught, lass." Vayniya smiled winsomely. "Till another time."

Vayniya had not crossed paths with Karin since her last ploy to draw her aside. As she traversed the rugged way, she indulged in grim delight of envisioning chancing upon her amid the solitude of the road. A fleeting vision of subduing the wretch with swift grace. Yet 'twas no flawless ambush. Perchance some meddlesome wayfarers might rally to the fiend's aid, and the merest diversion could shatter her designs. She walked on. The path cleaved through jagged hills and stony bluffs, then plunged steeply into the valley below.

She descended to the road's fork, whence one path pursued far enough would wind o'er peaks and span rivers, unto Markarth's stony halls and e'en Solitude's lofty spires. A forsaken wagon lay shattered nigh the signpost, its burdens scattered like the leavings of a rout. Curiosity beckoned her nigh, when a vile voice rent the air.

"Well, well, what have we here? A comely little greyskin, aye?"

Brigands. Not Reachmen, but common cutthroats. An Orc of hulking frame, an Imperial harridan, and a Nord lout. They lacked but a tavern to stumble into and she'd have the makings of a jest. The Imperial wench seemed their chieftain, her face daubed with crimson talons as if clawed by some beast. She brandished her axe like a child's bauble. Vayniya scanned the environs. The Nord held arrow nocked from high ground, the Orc a massive blade. Though the road was oft trod and open to the skies, no aid appeared in sight, as if the Aedra themselves mocked her plight.

"My thanks for thy flattery." The leader glowered at Vayniya’s reply, the Orc guffawed ere stifling it. "Hark, I lack temper for this folly this day. I can fend for myself, yet I'll tender a hundred septims to depart in peace, and ye need forfeit not a limb."

"Ho, but why content with a hundred? A mark who parts with such so swift must hoard far more. Fret not. Yield thy full purse, and no harm befalls thee, I vow. And what clutch thee there? One of that Daedric harlot's daubings? Worth more than a hundred to the discerning eye methinks."

Vayniya sighed, strode to road’s edge, and laid the swathed canvas tenderly upon the earth where perchance it might endure the fray.

"Stir not thus again! Thou truly court death, dost thou?" The bandit stared in disbelief. Vayniya loosed a laugh, pure and unfeigned, darkening their visages.

"Art thou in earnest? Well then, so be it. 'Twill prove diverting. Let us commence."

"Slay her!" Shrieked their leader.

With nonchalant grace Vayniya unleashed a crackling fireball upon her. The rogues dove for shelter, the arcane blast grazing them, flinging earth and foes alike. The archer loosed his shafts. Vayniya contorted her form, evading them with ease. From his distance she beheld their flight, a smile curling her lips as they whistled past. How she had yearned for this! Foes unburdened by nuance, throats ripe for the grasp. No night-terrors, merely unyielding reality, stark and solid.

Vayniya hurled lightning bolts anon, the first twain erring. The archer wisely fled the field, yet lacked wit to weave or dodge. Vayniya's strike felled him mid-stride, where he convulsed ere stilling as the slain do.

She unsheathed her blade as the Orc regained footing and lunged. Vayniya crouched low and aside, the brute’s broad edge biting earth as she rose. Her sword spilled a torrent of gore that stained the way. He gurgled, drowning in his blood, ere Vayniya severed his performance with a stroke that sent his head tumbling. She advanced leisurely toward the survivor. The cranium, bereft of trunk, rolled onward down the steep incline, as if fleeing its fate.

"Now hark thee!" The wench raised palms, recalled her axe, and cast it down as she retreated. "I yield! I be done with brigandry! I'll scour skeever filth from privies ere cross thee again. Behold, take this?" She wrenched a silver bracelet from her wrist and proffered it. "All I possess."

"Ah, but one who'd proffer such so swift must conceal more," Vayniya intoned, then bathed the bandit in a cascade of fire. The woman's wail rent the air hideously and she clutched her face in vain. Flesh blackened, charred, and at last her face sloughed away like overcooked flesh. Vayniya regarded the remnants with grim content. 'Twas akin to roast scorched o'erlong upon a campfire.

How gratifying to chastise the deserving, unbound by scruple o'er the manner!

4.
Her lair was a sufficient trek off the beaten path and unlikely to ever be found. If ever it was the grisly tokens outside would likely dissuade interlopers. It had once been another bandit hideout until she'd disposed of the former residents.

Far from Rorikstead’s flickering hearth, Vayniya lay within, restless, her furs sodden with the sweat of dread. Yet Vaermina, displeased with the languid pace of her designs or inflamed by memories of the Dragonborn and her sire unleashed her wrathful dreams ‘pon her once more. As oft before the Daedric temptress wove nightmare of Karin. It was a relentless tide that denied Vayniya mercy of waking or peace of dreamless sleep, as though she drowned.

In those visions she fled yet ne’er escaped. Drew her blade yet struck amiss. Laid cunning traps through which the assassin glided with mocking grace. Ever present was Karin’s malicious grin. Her hands upon Vayniya, inflicting torment with knife or shank or shiv, each cut a prelude to horrors unspoken. Years of mastery o’er sword and spell fell to naught, for in these dreams she always became but one of an endless throng of Karin’s hapless victims. Powerless to resist in Quagmire’s grip. She would start awake, heart hammering as if to shatter ribs, muscles taut with electric dread, only for weariness to claim her anew. She would be granted a blessed hour of reprieve, perchance less, ere the cycle recommenced. Seldom did her fire wane ere she endured this torment half a dozen times o’er.

At length, she roused, heart pounding and body aching. No hope remained of returning to sleep, and she grew weary, so weary of this ceaseless strife. Enough, she vowed. If Vaermina disapproved of a quick and plain-spun fate for Karin, she should have pondered the cost ere driving Vayniya to the brink of madness. Lost in a towering rage where sleep itself was a hopeless dream, she ascended the road ‘neath the watchful gaze of Masser and Secunda. By the heavens she could tell it was an unholy hour, fit only for all sane souls to slumber, and those others to plan for the business of murder. The mismatched moons in vaulted sky resembled the half-mad, wicked eyes of Skyrim’s vilest spawn, eager to unleash fresh horrors ‘pon her in her nightmares.

No more stealth. She would burst into the Snow-Fell home and hack limbs asunder. If Karin survived long enough, she’d cauterize the wounds to prolong her end. If the whelp got in her way, a swift end for her. Let it be on her head.

As she neared the dwelling she spied a figure at the window. It bore the semblance of a man, yet the darkness veiled its features from her sight. Its grin remained fixed and jolly, a lunatic’s mask, whilst its eyes followed her as she advanced two steps, then another. Verily, it watched her, though it stirred not from its perch. Undeterred, she pressed onward three paces more, only to freeze, her blood turning to ice.

“Come in, come right in, yes!” A voice resounded within her mind, a man’s tone, boisterous and strange and hungry. Those eyes grew clearer to her gaze. Even in her daze, she knew with primal certainty that to cross the threshold would invite that spectre to fall ‘pon her like a grizzly bear, rending her limb from limb.

Her legs, once steady, quaked like jelly, and she slunk back to her cavern. There, she quaffed a double draught of her sleeping potion, though she knew it would render her even more useless on the morrow. If nightmares sought to reclaim her in Quagmire’s depths, the elixir wrought its charm, and by afternoon’s light those visions faded from memory. Yet that face, with its unblinking grin, lingered as a shadow in her thoughts.

5.

Vayniya awoke late, head stuffed with cotton, eyes gritty as if scoured by sand. The sleeping potion had granted her slumber, but her limbs felt leaded. She staggered up the road, thoughts sluggish. She briefly considered the path to the Snow-Fell home again, but her bleary state dulled her cunning. She was in no shape for clever maneuvering. Instead she turned toward the Frost-Fruit Inn, seeking solace in the simple smells of ale and hearth-smoke.

And there was Karin.

She swayed back and forth like a ship in storm-tossed waves. Her tankard swung with her arm as if in mirthful dance. As she approached, Vayniya thought at first she sang a song, low and swift and without rhythm. A droning mutter almost like a spell incantation. But her keen ears picked up the words soon enough. The monster talked to herself in a bitter voice thick with crude jest.

“Thou hast fucked it all proper, Karin,” she slurred. “Aye, thou’rt ever right, art thou not? Tis a gift I wager, botching it like a novice lover! Like a trembling whelp with rockjoint feeling about, a mess all would sooner forget. I’ll own it, another feather in my cap. Would a kiss have been so vile? Yet that’s how it begins, is it not? Aye, and oft how it ends! Perchance with more ale in my gut, thou’d have stomached it, but wouldst thou have him know thou needest be drowning in drink to bear his touch? Nay, we see it clear, don’t we Karin? Aye, we do, we do. So quaff another. Thou booze-soaked hag of a bitch, thou—”

Vayniya stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“Hail, Karin. I have not seen thee about of late.”

Karin’s head swiveled, her eyes glassy, then straightening a fraction.

“Ah, Vayniya. Been walking about, aye. ‘Tis wonderous for clearing the head.”

“Hath it helped?” Vayniya asked, her tone casual.

Karin swallowed a deep swig that spilled down her chin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Not even a bit!” She replied with a bitter bark of a laugh.

“Where hast thou wandered?” Vayniya pressed, settling onto a stool next to her.

“Ruins,” Karin replied, gesturing vaguely, here, there, in every direction. “Many ruins ‘round here. Bandits, Forsworn, even vampires love to nest in such forsaken holes. I know how they think, ye see. Observing them and thinking how to dispose of ‘em helps me sort other problems.”

Vayniya leaned even closer into the halo of alcohol that wafted from the woman.

“Hast thou slain a vampire then?”

Karin laughed raucously.

“Slain? Ye simply drag their coffin out into the sun and pop the lid like a cork! Whoosh! Flame and dust and regrets! But not for me!”

She was very drunk and flushed, her words weaving. Vayniya lowered her voice and injected it with all the seduction she could muster.

“Hast thou reconsidered my offer comely lady? A night of passion to help clear the cobwebs?”

Karin’s grin widened, sloppy and knowing.

“Aye, I’ve thought on it much,” said she, her eyes sparking with something beneath the haze. “Let’s retire to thy room then. Some loving sounds a fine distraction.”

Vayniya hesitated. The inn buzzed with the village’s heart. Erik’s father, the townsfolk, all a door away. Her plans for extended torment could not unfold here.

“Perchance somewhere beyond Rorikstead? ‘Twould be awkward here, with Erik’s kin and the like.”

Karin’s eyes narrowed though her sway persisted. Mention of Erik had pricked her.

“Shit and nonsense,” she said, unsteady from drink and whatever turmoil brewed within. “Since when dost such as thou care for awkwardness? Don’t play coy now after making the invitation thou vixen.”

There was something oddly clever in her lopsided grin, or perhaps Vayniya’s paranoia wove shadows. To insist or refuse now when she had made the proposition would surely rouse suspicion further.

Vayniya’s jaw tightened, but she nodded.

“To my room then.”

She rose and Karin followed, her steps uneven but her gaze growing steady as they shut and locked the door behind them.

They kissed at once, lips meeting in tentative dance that Karin deepened. Her hands caressed Vayniya’s curves with a hunger that bespoke years without fulfillment.

"Thy shape be a vision." Karin murmured, words hot and husky with drink. "Let me now show thee pleasures to make Sanguine blush."   The raven-haired creature’s hands roamed bold and insistent, while the hated lips promised delights almost poetic in their graphicness.

Vayniya played along, a murmur here and touch there, though in her mind she chided herself. Sleeping with Karin was not a deed to dwell upon. If it kept her close to her target ‘twas a stain she could scrub from memory later.

Their entanglement neared perilous edge, fingers straying toward Vayniya’s forbidden bounds, when Karin paused.

“Thou’rt not truly here.” she said. “Why holdest thou back?”

Vayniya’s disgust roiled within. Not for a woman’s touch but for her target, a revulsion far deeper than mere preference. Though this intimacy might pave way for later scheme, for the nonce it was a bridge too far. She pulled away from Karin more gently than she wished to.

“I sought but casual sport. Yet it seems thou use me as thou dost thy tankard, as mere escape of thy woes. I’d not whet the tongues of village gossips in a matter so tangled.” Karin’s face darkened.

“And what of it? Prying into my business with Erik, art thou? Tis none of thy concern or anyone else’s!”

“I named no Erik,” Vayniya countered coolly, and Karin fell silent, her lips parting then closing. She was well pleased by the improvisation’s success. “Yet, aye, I knew. Near everyone doth. ‘Tis no secret.”

Distress clouded Karin's face and Vayniya took yet greater delight in it. She could ne’er have conceived in a lifetime that such trifling village intrigue could reduce the once-fearsome murderess to so womanly a wreck. She struggled to believe it was not merely a cunning performance. Erik was far more a linchpin to that wretched soul than she had ever deemed possible.

"Everyone?" Karin rallied, insistent. "Everyone would understand if I took thee to bed! And if it disappoints ‘everyone’, they just expected too much of me aye? It chokes my gorge living forever within their expectations."

Vayniya saw her chance to bide time for another opportunity. Feigning understanding, she nodded.

"Mayhap we might try again when thou art more thyself Karin. When the drink and woes do not cloud thee so. I’d not complicate thy burdens "

The drunken woman’s eyes flashed in defiance.

“I am my true self. This is me Vayniya, unyielding and unbroken,” she snapped, words heavy as she clung to a fading memory. “This would help me sort it out. Another kiss, mayhap?”

The suggestion hung and the Dunmer considered.

"I deem it imprudent for now. A kiss oft be the first droplet heralding a deluge of broken restraint."

That refusal seemed to reopen a wound within the monster. Vayniya could see it as the shrew’s features twisted upon themselves in self-reproach, as plain as it was delicious.

"At least let me release some tension for us both. I could knead the aches from thy bones, nothing more. It shan't go anywhere unless thou wishest it."

Vayniya, seeing no immediate escape without rousing suspicion, reluctantly agreed. Karin bade her doff her chestplate, pauldrons, and at last tunic from her back. Upon honor she did not possess Karin swore no untoward act would pass, and Vayniya with grudging acquiescence shed her breeches, standing vulnerable in naught but bra and smallclothes.

She lay upon her stomach and Karin’s fingers set to work, kneading the taut sinews of her shoulder blades. Her ears were teased with delicate touches, her flanks and the backs of her legs traced. Just shy of her buttock she felt the firm ministrations. Those fingers moved like playful spider legs, skittering with purpose ere finding some weary knot through touch, then pressing firm. The palm heels rolled in slow circles, the fingertips raking. The act was sensual, yet Vayniya sensed therein the assassin’s craft, a more disciplined art cloaked in intimacy.

“I’ve ne’er seen one as tense and as tired as thee,” Karin murmured, her breath warm against the shadowed skin. "Like a bowstring drawn too taut and ready to snap.”

Vayniya’s mind recoiled, disgusted both with Karin and herself. Yet her body betrayed her, lulled by the relief. The air grew thick, Karin’s hands working with surprising skill. She was very, very good at it. The fingers sought and dug into knots, kneading away iron tension from endless nightmares. She was loath to admit the touches had begun to send shivers down the spine.

Vayniya’s eyelids grew heavy. Thoughts sharp with loathing blurred into a haze. Her body succumbed to the murdering bitch’s skill, dragging her unwillingly into a restful sleep. The world faded to blessed oblivion.

6.

Vayniya dreamed she lay upon a raft, drifting serene o’er the ice-veiled Sea of Ghosts. The sky hung in gloom, yet no fear stirred within her breast. Clad only in her smallclothes, she felt no chill amidst the abounding glaciers. A breeze caressed her skin from every quarter, soft as a lover’s whisper. The night sky softened, weaving glowing curtains of pale green and violet that danced and undulated above.

Night yielded to day and the raft floated onward, beneath the great rock archway that upheld Solitude. Down the river it glided, past the sawmill and under the shadowed span of Dragon Bridge.

A dim corner of her mind whispered of waterfalls ahead, poised to crush her fragile craft. As if to oblige, total darkness descended. A liquid pool of night enveloping all. No land or water remained. She could not discern where sky ended and void began. There was only she and the raft adrift in sweet nothing. Masser and Secunda hung suspended in the blackness, their glow casting no menace, only soothing quietude that cradled her soul.   No peril loomed. Only the gentle rhythm of drifting and the hush of darkness.

Vayniya stirred, striving to rise, yet could not. A profound exhaustion weighed her, distinct from the familiar ache of her tormented nights. Marginally awake, her form refused to heed her will. ‘Twas not unpleasant though. Quite the opposite, a velvet surrender in her muscles, profound and enveloping. She essayed a groan which escaped almost as a purr.   She blinked twice, her eyes free of their usual scratchy burning. She had not rested thus in years untold.

At length, she came enough to herself to remember who she was. She lay in her room at the Frost-Fruit Inn nestled under the cover. With a mix of relief, surprise and insult, she took inventory and found no violation had been wrought upon her by Karin. With greatest effort she hobbled from the bed and checked her belongings. Not a single septim was amiss. She could scarce believe it.

If naught else, she vowed, she would seek one who could tend her body thus when this task was done. The whore’s practiced touch had subdued her as even the sleeping draught could not.

The sensation lingered as she took a barely tasted meal in the inn’s common room. ‘Twas the hour yet before dawn when only Mralki’s dull-witted lad tended the front. Vayniya shuffled back to bed and with utter satisfaction drifted off anew almost at once.   Neither Vaermina’s malice or Karin’s dagger plagued her mind. Only the embrace of true slumber.

7.

Vayniya had another dream, a vision most pleasant indeed.

She lay upon her back on a floor strewn with furs, the hearthfire casting a romantic glow that danced o’er her. There was Erik, without a wisp of clothing, his form bared in rugged glory. Dreams oft bore the fuzziness of tales poorly recalled, yet here she drank in every detail. A scar slashed across one shoulder, another o’er his flank, and claw marks raked his forearm. His body tensed and flexed, taut, and his member stood erect and ardent, throbbing with unspoken promise to her.

Yet ‘twas not his form that struck her deepest, but the gaze he bent upon the Dunmer. Her obsidian skin flushed as if set ablaze. His eyes, the hue of a mild and misty morn’s sky, brimmed with such longing and devotion that she felt herself more than she could ever hope to be.

“O flame unquenchable,” Erik murmured, his words bewitching, “my dauntless heart, my only.”

Vayniya’s eyes widened as he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss. His voice, husky with adoration, stirred her to return the sentiment, their mouths melding fervently.

His hand traced her curves and parted the dark elf’s thighs gently. She had never thought of him that way. She barely knew the man, but she knew in the moment she could not endure without him. She stiffened then melted into his grip as he thrust within her.

It was a dream surely, but in that haze she felt the pleasure, if not physical then mentally just as potent. To be wanted and adored so. Her breath hitched as he pressed further, warm and eager. She, a trembling furnace, a guttural groan tearing from him as he drove to the hilt. Erik’s grip tightened on her hips, entrance after entrance echoing the wet thunder of their ardor. Erik drove himself into Vayniya’s yielding depths, each thrust a drumbeat.

“Thou art mine eternity, and I thine. Only thine.”

“Yes! Yes! Thy words are sweetest poison,” she gasped, quivering as his voice spilled over her.

“Poison, thou sayest?” A voice crooned, and horror seized her as Karin’s hands rose from below to cradle Vayniya’s breasts, thumbs rolling the peaked flesh betwixt them. “Fill her,” Karin moaned, pressing her cheek to Vayniya’s back, “fill her as thou wouldst fill my very heart.”

She tried to yell, but no sound came and she could only shake her head helplessly. Karin leaned forward to whisper hotly into the elf’s ear.

“See how he trembles for us both Reldith? Let this union bind us beyond flesh.” The name sparked faint recognition, but Vayniya was more desperate to break free.

“I would dwell within thy fire until world’s end!” Erik’s words carved heat into Vayniya’s flesh, though his eyes were for the companion beneath, forging chains of ecstasy and humiliation.

“Pour thy fervor into fair Reldith,” Karin urged, voice thick with longing. “As though each plunge would find me in her place.”

“Look at thee. My only daughter, cavorting with two Nords!”

Vayniya’s gaze snapped to the hearth. Her mother, fifteen years dead this day, stood with sorrowful disgust.

“A slimy murderess and her two fools. How far thou hast fallen, how thou dost shame me.”

Vayniya scarce had time to sting of embarrassment or question the logic when another voice intruded.

“I told thee a thousand times, lass. If there be more than one foe, keep them afore thee at all times.”

‘Twas her old sword instructor Marius, as he appeared years ago, glaring with disapproval at a student who heeded not his lessons.

“Now look at thee. Trapped in that clinch, no escape afore or behind. Here, this is how it should be done.”

So saying, he strode o’er and kissed her departed mother deeply. Karin held fast while Erik cleaved Vayniya in twain, as they whispered words of passion and endearment to each other across her cheek. The tableau was vile, the incongruity piercing the dream’s veil even as her limbs struggled without strength.

“Vaermina!” She managed to shout, and still it would not end. She drew breath again. “Vaermina!”

The scene faded as tricks of light do if one blinks hard. The hearth dissolved, leaving only darkness. Masser and Secunda gleamed anew above, before transforming into violet eyes. Though many times larger than aught in creation, Vayniya could scarce perceive them.

“Thou called…my child?”

Vaermina’s voice came with a small chuckle. ‘Twas not as one expected, a reverberating power or the ageless croak of a hag, but cool and sweet as a maid of Vayniya’s own years. Of course, a Prince could be aught they wished.

“Why dost thou torment me so when I am about thy task?”

“Thou art not,” Vaermina corrected. “I granted thee reprieve to replenish thy strength, yet thou dost overindulge and laze like that sot Karin. This is no torment, but a friendly warning, and a helpful hint.”

“A hint?” Vayniya echoed. The vast eyes blinked once, deliberately, lashes sweeping large as storm clouds o’er Tamriel.

“Indeed. If thou canst not discern it, thou deservest thy suffering. So be about thy work again…my child.”

Vayniya woke with a start, her heart racing. Anger simmered as she broke her fast in the Frost-Fruit Inn, surrounded by the usual throng of farmers. Yet as she observed their mundane bustle the true meaning of the nightmare dawned upon her, clear as dawn’s first light.

8.

Since arriving, Vayniya had taken to questioning the folk of Rorikstead whensoever chance allowed. There was scant else to occupy her between events, and the Snow-Fells were already the village’s chief wellspring of gossip. Her alibi of boredom could be appreciated by all. Though most looked upon the family with disdain, the residents seemed grateful in their way for aught and any to prattle about. Kahira’s paintings too drew well-heeled travelers laden with coin who oft lingered a night and eased Britte of her more frivolous wares.

Karin and Erik’s odd conduct of late had not gone unmarked, though when had their ways e’er been aught but strange? Britte in particular opined that Erik might at last be wising to the futility of chasing Karin’s shadow. For the price of a twenty-septim apple she waxed eloquent on the matter. Though she spoke not of it, Vayniya sensed a flicker of envy in her for the besotted mother. Surely Britte’s henpecked, plain husband would ne’er venture aught more thrilling than gathering potatoes or threshing wheat.

Rorik, he for whom the stead was named, was a piteous tale, offering little of worth. His mind had softened with age, and Vayniya gleaned he scarce distinguished the Snow-Fells from the common tillers. At one point, he asked Vayniya if she had fared well since the Great War, a strife ended some years afore her birth.

A far more unsettling discourse came with Jouane Manette. The healer and Rorik’s caretaker, he had been little better in their last exchange. He spoke at length of Kahira’s gift with admiration, yet remained frustratingly vague about the girl and could not be prodded even forcefully to feign care for her mother.

This time he met Vayniya with an unnerving familiarity.

“Hail!” he said, his eyes glinting with a queer light. “Do no harm to the Snow-Fell daughter.”

“What?” Vayniya feigned shock, no hard task. “Why would I e’er harm the girl?”

“Why indeed? She is much favored by the Daedra. ‘Twould court catastrophe for ill to befall her, no matter at whose behest.”

Vayniya misliked the man even more now. ‘Twas something, a dry amusement, as if he divined the motives lurking behind her idle chatter.

“Thou art quite mad.”

“Not at all.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “For I too serve the Daedric Princes. All Princes who might bring Rorikstead good fortune, as we have had these many years. One Prince is fewer than many Princes, no matter how mighty He...or She might be.”

The encounter left her shaken. She nigh drew her blade to silence him there for dread of what he might proclaim of her. Yet he did naught more, so in the end, she let the words lie as spoken. She desired not to harm Kahira truly, noting he had said naught of what she might wreak upon others.

Reldith however, proved the key. A stoic and formal Altmer, as farmers went, she flushed visibly when Vayniya spoke lightly of Erik.

“A fine man,” Vayniya observed, “not merely in character. Loyal to a fault, and unwed. What sport might one have with such a one in her bedchamber, to beckon and command at will?”

Reldith had sputtered as one doth only in embarrassment, far too deep for one of her years and temperament. Mention of Karin fared worse still, until she mumbled some excuse and fled into her house, leaving tools scattered and crops half-tended. Vayniya caught glimpse of the interior as the door opened. She recognized it well.

Her words to Kahira, of heeding what was left unsaid, rang true anew. The dream had been no fancy. Karin had lured Reldith into their bed, entwining her with Erik.   She could but imagine how. Perchance beneath the prim and mature veneer, Reldith yearned for Erik for the selfsame reasons as Britte.

In Reldith’s bashful retreat, Erik’s recalcitrance, and Karin’s drunken ravings did Vayniya behold their true folly. Thus was the plan hatched from seed to harvest. If she could not lure Karin forth with her own flesh, the added promise of Erik’s might suffice.

9.

Her sleeping draught was a brew most singular. For her, ‘twas needful for aught resembling normal slumber. For others, it would fell a giant, leaving them senseless for days. Mingled with wine, a toast, and credible deceits, it would ensure the assassin’s removal from her lair, or that no lovesick hero might pursue.

Karin’s comings and goings had grown erratic, especially in these latter days. Erik still frequented the inn, to converse with his father and lend aid in menial toil. He tarried ne’er long. So when she beheld him, she knew to strike.

Vayniya came upon him as he took his meal. He had not marked her yet, so she seized a moment to observe. He ate with a melancholy ill-suited to his visage. Since the dream ‘twas strange to behold him thus, and perchance she grasped now why a dame as reserved as Reldith and e’en a lover of women as Karin might fancy him.

“Hail Erik, slayer of dragons and large mudcrabs.” He looked up and laughed, crumbs flying from his lips. It lent him the air of a young innocent.

“Well met Vayniya, collector of heroic feats! A fair day! Come to hear my tales, then?”

He smiled warmly, yet ‘twas fractured at the edges if one read deep, as she now did. She returned it as best she could and eased nearer.

“Do not take this amiss, but I wish to speak of thee, and Kahira’s dam, Karin.”

“If thou wishest to trade tales of bladework or kin, ‘tis well. But I sense from thy tone thou seekest something more.” She leaned closer still, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“I know of thee two, and Reldith.”

He paused, setting aside his plate with grim cast.

“What of it? Dost thou want coin for silence?”

“Nay, thou misunderstand. Karin spake to me yestereve, deep in her cups.”

“‘Tis her way. She means naught by it. Put not o’ermuch weight in her cask-valiant words.”

“I know thou art smitten with her. Take a comfort that she is with thee likewise, as much as one of her bent might be.”

His expression softened, turning thoughtfully to the bar. A flicker of hope danced in his rather pretty eyes.

“She was sore distressed,” Vayniya continued, “and knows this tangle is of her own making. She told me of thy passion with Reldith. How she thought it would grant thee relief, yet hath instead demanded more.”

“‘Twas folly to think it would suffice for either of us.”

“I saw the flaw straight away.”

“And what is that?”

Vayniya laughed lightly.

“‘Tis Reldith!” He looked absurdly offended.

“There is naught amiss with Reldith. She is fine and upright.”   Vayniya placed a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, and she raised the hand to ease his ire.

“Be not thus. I am sure she is, and therein lies the point. She lay with thee, aye, but shyly I wager. She endured thee and Karin, naught more. A Rorikstead pillar like her is unfit for games of passion with twain partners.”

“What art thou saying?”

“I am far better suited for such a task, which might succeed if I offered myself. I know Karin desires me, as I her. She told me so. Thou too art also fair in mine eyes. I would relish a hero of such renown in my bed.”

He flushed deeply, looking more farm boy than warrior.

“It sounds another disaster to sever the fraying thread betwixt me and Karin, as if the first were not enough.”

“Nay, ‘tis not. Hear me out, do me this favor and I vow thou wilt change thy mind. But such words are better shared o’er wine in private. I see thine ears burn already. I have a room.”

He eyed her warily.

“Thou art fair, and I’m flattered, but my heart lieth with Karin.”

“I understand from the outset and seek not to sway it. I speak true. I shall not so much as touch thee unless thou biddest me expressly. ‘Tis my way to speak boldly at times, but I’d wager thou favor that in a womer.”

He awaited Vayniya in her room, and she procured a bottle of Argonian bloodwine with two goblets. Ere she entered, she poured a healthy dose of the sleeping draught into the bottle.

She filled the goblets and took a sip. Erik hesitantly followed, eyeing the wine.

“This vintage hath a peculiar edge. Perchance it hath turned?”

Vayniya drank deeper, smacking her lips. So long as she shunned the bottle’s dregs and kept from pillow, she would endure.

“‘Tis fine to me. So, here is the matter plain. Thou, a man, art in love with a woman who favors only women. A rare challenge is it not?”

“I suppose so,” he conceded.

“Dost thou relish such challenges?”

“Mayhap I do, though perchance ‘tis merely that I cannot abide defeat.”

“Tell me truly. Why Karin? Why her and none other?”

“Thou wouldst not understand.”

“I shan’t without some explanation.” He hesitated, then took more wine to her delight.

“Thou dost not always love someone for what they are, but for what they should be,” he said cryptically.

“And what should she be?”

“She should be with me.” Vayniya thought he jested or might say more, but his tone was earnest and his mouth held steady.

“‘Tis the most romantic and arrogant thing I’ve e’er heard.” At that, he smiled.

“She said nigh the same when I told her so. Liked the confidence, so she said. It availed me naught though.”

“I still grasp it not.” Vayniya admitted.

“Not all things are meant for understanding, especially those we know true.”

He was handsome in a Nord way. One would not swoon at his sight, ne’er that, but ‘twas the strange blend of experience and peril with naivete. The broad shoulders harmed naught either. The dream surged anew, writhing beneath his form, and she briefly considered making it flesh. Would it not burn Karin to cinders, leaving her a self-cursing wretch? To steal her heart’s mainstay and show him a true womer’s fire? Yet the fancy fled swiftly. Such was a village wife’s petty vengeance, not the woeful warning Vaermina would savor, one to sear mind and soul in all and-

“Thou disagreeest?” Erik’s voice broke her reverie.

“I but pondered. At any rate I grasp this much. A battle is rarely won with a single stroke. It demands maneuvering, patience, seizing the right opening, aye?” He nodded, warming to the analogy.

“What thou desirest is Karin’s lips on thine, and she wishes for thy bond to endure, for thee to find some comfort in it, aye? I care not if ‘tis man or woman. Command me to kiss along her breasts as thou wouldst, and I’ll do so.   And if she bids me kiss along thy thighs as she would mine, I am more than happy.”

Erik flushed deeper, his goblet trembling. Vayniya sipped lightly and he took a larger draught.

“That sounds…diverting for a few days, but what when thou movest on? We’d feel the absence of such touches and our inability to echo them keenly.”

“I told thee, ‘tis victory in small movements. I, freely and without shame in Karin’s arms, and in thine. Betwixt ye, aye, but sharing all, until perchance the smallest brush of thine lips upon hers grows tolerable in my company. As this wine would grow more tolerable with a few drops of water added.”

Or sleeping draught, she thought. Its work began and her eyelids grew heavy. Erik shook his head, at first seeming to refuse, then plainly to ward off slumber.

“Thou really think it could be so simple?”

“She loves thee,” Vayniya insisted. “She’d not have arranged the Reldith folly if she did not, ill-conceived though it was. The heart counts most. Once that first barrier falls, the way lies clear. Is that not what thou hast always believed?”

He nodded, but tiredly now. His eyes drooped and he swayed noticeably.

“‘Tis a fine idea,” he murmured. Vayniya took him in her arms and eased him back gently.

“There, there.” She teased. “One more sip my lord, to seal our accord?” He drank, dribbling most into his beard. A droplet of drool gleamed at his lip’s edge.

She laid him upon her pillow and covered him with a spare blanket. She cast one last look, seeing him as another might. A man who could not hold his liquor sleeping off a stupor. If any insisted on rousing him they’d soon discern the ill, but it seemed unlikely this day. She took the bottle’s remnants, closed the door, and flashed Mralki’s cautious glance a wink as she departed. One obstacle removed, and she’d not e’en needed to slit his throat.

10.

Emboldened by her success with Erik, Vayniya devised a like scheme to bridge chasm betwixt him and Karin, this time with the bitch herself. A shared drink, laced with her potent sleeping draught, ‘twould seem the most natural thing should Karin tumble into drunken slumber. The girl Kahira remained a concern, but perchance a sip could be coaxed despite her tender years, enough to quiet her. With Erik removed, the Snow-Fells had lost their stoutest shield and Vayniya’s path lay clearer.

She approached their home and rapped upon the door. After a pause, Kahira’s wary voice answered.

“Who cometh?”

“‘Tis I, Vayniya, come for the painting thou didst promise wrought in thine own hand.”

“Might thou return another day? I expect Erik anon.”

Vayniya pressed, insistent.

“I have a feeling now is the hour for it. Is that not how thy paintings work? The moment’s whim?” Kahira sighed softly.

“I truly know not, but I shall assent.” The door creaked open and her eyes fell upon the bottle in Vayniya’s grasp, noting the Dunmer’s slight sway. “Thou hast been at the cups I see.”

Vayniya chuckled. Tipsiness would do as cover for the draught’s effect.

“Aye, I’ve indulged a touch and Erik lent his aid. He sleepeth it off at the inn even now.”

Kahira frowned at Vayniya’s grin.

“‘Tis unlike him.”

“‘Twas a contest of tales, who could top whose feats, and I prevailed. Pardon my state but perchance a clear mind is not what this art demands.” She slyly proffered her pouch heavy with coin. “A full six hundred septims, for the special request and enduring me.”

“Too much surely!” Kahira protested, eyes wide.

“Nay, ‘tis fitting. I-”

With a start Vayniya nigh dropped the bottle, her next words forgotten. Her gaze was snared by Kahira’s sketch perched atop a pile of canvases and leering down like mad sentinel. She recognized it forthwith, the frightful figure that had stayed her blade the night prior. Her heart stuttered as Kahira followed her stare.

“Ah, there it is.”

“Doth it not frighten thee?” Vayniya asked, her laugh shaky.

“It did once, but I worry not whilst I can see where it rests.”

“I would have called upon thee sooner but that sketch gave me a start in thy window. I thought it some ghostly terror.”

Kahira frowned deeper, puzzled.

“I recall not placing it thus...perchance a jest of Mother’s.”

“At any rate,” Vayniya said, recovering, “I brought this bloodwine to share if thy mother return. I wager she’ll be home for supper, like a stray dog sniffing for scraps?”

Kahira snorted as her smile broke through.

“Aye, like as not.” She gestured to a chair. “Sit thee down and set the bottle aside. I’d counsel against more drink. Mralki only stocks bloodwine for my mother’s sake thou knowest.”

They bantered lightly of Karin and Erik and she. How Karin had once learned of a bard’s song praising Erik’s deeds with the Dragonborn, and yearned to hire one from Solitude to croon it for all. Yet Mralki deemed the cost unjust and misliked Erik “showing off” besides. Kahira seemed to have become comfortable with her would-be betrayer once more, for she gathered herself.

“Wilt thou accept failure should it come?”

“I shall if I must, but let us not expect such.”

“Sit and close thine eyes” Kahira instructed firmly. “Empty thy mind. Think not of what the painting may become, nor of past woes or desires. Speak not of trifles, open not thine eyes to wander about or fix on some curiosity. Heed only the brush’s strokes upon canvas and thy mind shall hopefully fill the rest.”

Vayniya obeyed, settling into the chair with eyelids sealed. With effort she resisted slumber’s pull, the draught’s remnants tugging at her. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft scratch of Kahira’s brush. Her mind strained to wander to schemes and trifles unbidden, but she restrained herself.

Some time passed and Vayniya needed open her eyes or succumb to slumber’s grasp. She parted her lids, beholding the girl at work. Kahira painted not as others might, pausing to select hue or ponder detail, but in a ceaseless thrashing trance. A painting had taken shape and Vayniya, loath to break the spell, crept closer with all her stealth. The girl beheld what she wrought, clearly, yet something in the cast of her eyes bespoke she saw it not

The background emerged as a cave’s yawning maw. A pale female figure with raven tresses. She knelt upon knees, besmirched in dirt and bloody gashes. A stump marked where one hand had been, clutched in agony. Behind loomed a shadowy executioner, blade poised at the woman’s throat. Vayniya watched rapt as vague blobs became pieces of armor with deft whites for gleam. The slayer bore dark skin, and as Kahira layered another shade, the race grew plain. She stole a glance at the girl’s visage. Focused upon her toil, yet dawning horror etched her features. Surely she must halt at any breath, Vayniya thought, but nay, the lass persisted in that strange, nonsensical dance. The background, a face, a detail, with no order’s grace.

The kneeling figure was Karin, unmistakably. Though the executioner’s face was half-veiled, the visible smile of contentment was familiar. Kahira paused, selecting a dark red, and with awful grimace, painted a scrawl of it dripping from her mother’s throat. As if she herself had slashed it fresh. She turned, her eyes haunted, catching Vayniya’s similar smile.

“A fine piece, surely meant for me. Six hundred septims, as agreed?” Vayniya asked.

The girl’s mouth gaped like a fish gasping its last upon shore. Then she dashed aside, but Vayniya’s fist caught her temple true. Kahira tumbled to the hovel’s floor. Scrambling up the lass seized a blade from a table and held it tight. Though fright paled her, her lips curled like a wolf maddened with rockjoint, snarling defiance. Vayniya arched a brow.

“I desire not to slay thee girl. Submit now and I shall spare thee.”

Kahira lunged, blade thrusting fierce, and Vayniya mused ‘twas like battling a pale echo of Karin herself. She blocked the strike with her sheathed sword, swinging the scabbard to bludgeon. The girl ducked, springing forth at her, but Vayniya’s boot met her mid-leap. Kahira went sprawling. Then came blows to ribs and crown, the girl stirring feebly ere Vayniya struck again, mindful not to crack her skull.

Kahira lay unconscious, blood flowing free from her scalp, yet her chest rose with breath. Vayniya surveyed the room, noting with distress the sketch’s absence. Likely fluttered away in the scuffle’s gusts. She weighed waiting for Karin but feared the mother might sense amiss if her whelp answered not. ‘Twas not her plan, yet she had ever been prepared for such a turn.

Smiling at the blood on her fingers, she devised her course. She daubed a sticky message upon a blank canvas with it, then hoisted the unconscious girl o’er her shoulder and departed. The painting she left behind. It would serve as another message, and a portent, Vayniya deemed, of her imminent triumph.

This wound up being much longer than anticipated, I still had to cut a lot. But least it got written, some of the material will show up in chapter 4. I really wanted to have the full reveal of Vayniya (there’s more) and not just strong hints this chapter but there just wasn’t room. I think it’ll work just as well next chapter, and we get to maintain a bit of tension. It’s still very talky, its amazing how bloated it is trying to keep things brisk. What I liked besides giving Vayniya a couple moments to be sexy is we got to see more of the other characters.

Next chapter:

A somewhat Karin centric chapter though we’re finally putting all the pieces together for the final chapter so you’ll see it from all three perspectives. Also, the return of Sheogorath, say it with me, SHE-OH-GO-WRATH! All that multiversal weirdness he was talking about and in the tags? Going to show up, there are other worlds than these and such. I also promise a fight that won’t go how you expect, and a jarring style and venue change that’ll make sense in context, so be prepared for that. Last chapter, will Karin let the old blood slicked psycho out of her cage for this fight, or does it call for sober mature parental responsibility?
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Her Best Work In Red