20th of Last Seed, 4E202

The noise of the battlefield was drowned out by the sound of my own blood thundering in my ears and the reverberations of my footfalls as I sprinted past a sea of ashen faces and crimson eyes. Their confusion was evident but I couldn't care less, not in that moment. I spat curses with each ragged breath, cursing the beastfolk, the damned ebony armor I was wearing, even the swamp beneath my feet. My officers came after me, hollering and howling for me to halt, slow down, or at least give instructions, but I wasn't listening. Ahead of me, a column of smoke rose from behind a thicket of marsh brushes.

Gods, no. Please. No.

My headlong dash took me straight through the vegetation. Beside myself with fear and rage, I cut at the hapless plants with my blade as if they were my mortal enemies and squashed their stems beneath my boots. This allowed my pursuers to catch up, now positively screaming for my attention. "Sir! Sir, please, stop! What are you doing? The battle--"

They jumped back when I wheeled around, sword at the ready, spittle flying from my lips and my eyes bulging. "FUCK THE BATTLE!" I roared. "Help me, n'wah!" The hesitation in their eyes infuriated me even more and I forced the words, as painful as they were to say, through my throat. "It's my sister!" Using my blade, I pointed at the smoke ahead. "That's-- she's--" My tone became pleading and the anger drained from me. Struck by my despair, one of my officers stepped forward and started laying into the vegetation with diligence. Shortly, the others followed suit and I redoubled my efforts.

The sight that greeted us when we made it through was one that would haunt my nightmares for years to come. There she was, surrounded by corpses and scorched earth, laying completely still. The smoke made my eyes water and the heavy and cloying smell of cooked blood was so thick in the air that it I gagged. "Nerevar guide me," I heard a trembling voice mutter to my left. Everything seemed surreal, as if it was happening to someone else. My useless hands dropped my sword and I stumbled forward and down onto my knees by her side. There was so much blood. I wept and cradled her in my arms.

Her eyes opened -- two bright signs of life in an otherwise gut-wrenching crimson death-mask. My heart stopped in my chest and I almost dropped her. She opened her mouth, I think to say something, but instead started violently coughing up more blood while it continued to pour from a savage wound in her face. I screamed incoherently and scrambled to my feet, lifting her up, one arm behind her knees and the other around her shoulders. The men behind me cursed and one of them immediately ran for help. I followed, ignoring the indignant protests of my tired arms and legs, torn between sprinting as fast as I could and making sure she didn't fall. "Hold on," I gasped, wheezing with every breath. "Hold on, Niernen. Don't die on me. Don't you dare."

"Don't you dare!"

--

24th of Last Seed, 4E202

I hesitated before stepping into the tent, afraid of what I would find inside. The Temple priests had assured me that she would be fine, but the look on his face when I asked what 'fine' meant, exactly, wasn't comforting. After taking a deep breath to steel myself I lifted the tent flap up and entered. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom inside. She had been sleeping but awoke at the sound of my sharp intake of breath. "Ayem's mercy," I hissed. "What did they do to you?"

Niernen used her elbows to prop herself up and managed a wan smile. "Narzul," she whispered. Her voice was as hoarse and thin as the dying and the ghastly paleness of her face wasn't far off, either. The grave wound had healed into a fearsome scar that ran from her left brow over her eye and down her cheek. She winced at the pain and I stepped forward quickly. "Don't move," I said. "And don't try to talk too much either. The priests told me you need to rest." My hand found a place on her shoulder. I squeezed gently in an attempt to be reassuring. Truth be told, I was at a loss for what to do. This was my fault. I shouldn't have let her come with me.

"I shouldn't have let you come with me," I said and put those thoughts into words. She obeyed my command and remained silent, but I could see in her eyes that she immediately hated me for saying that. It was so characteristic of her that, despite the situation, I chuckled. "Please don't be mad at me for saying that. If you're going to be upset, be cross with me for almost getting you killed. I never should have placed you so far away from the rest of the army -- the Argonians knew you existed by then -- Gods, why didn't I see it coming? They've used these tactics befo--"

My tone, initially jovial, had grown increasingly strained as I talked and Niernen cut me off by grabbing my hand. "Hush, you," she croaked. "It isn't... your fault."

"No, it is my fault," I retorted sharply and sighed. "Look, Niernen, sweet sister, I know how talented and skilled you are, but a sorceress does not a warrior make. I trained my whole life for war. You haven't. Your successes in the field blinded me to that and I put you in mortal danger."

She looked away, her lips drawn into a thin line and a heavy frown creasing her brow. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't find the words.

A long silence followed. "Niernen," I said softly. She hesitantly turned her head to look at me, her expression still as venomous. "Please," I pleaded with her. "After you're well enough to travel, you're going home, and for the love of the Reclamations, please stay there. Promise me."

At last there was some resignation in her eyes, swiftly followed by sorrow, the depths of which broke my heart. She started crying, her body wracking with sobs. I got down on my knees next to the bed, took her in my arms and pressed her against my chest. I shushed and stroked the back of her head like our mother used to do.

And she wept.

I watched her leave, and I watched her return a changed woman.

Thick gray clouds blanketed the sky over Falkreath bringing an unwelcome chill to the air. Nevertheless, I had finished my tasks for the day and took it upon myself to soften the aches in my muscles with a mugful of ale. All around me were familiar faces of the townsfolk, I knew every person here. Most of them knew my ma and pa, and I grew up with their children. There were weary faces this day, news reached us that the war had ended days before. The celebration of the Stormcloaks winning back Skyrim had had mixed reactions amongst the folk here. Those who had supported the Empire changed their attitudes weeks before the war came to a close, and even now they were tight-lipped and grim-faced. Even now, the atmosphere in Dead Man’s Drink held a tension unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

But I knew.

I knew why these people wore the expressions of mourners at a funeral pyre. They had yet to learn who had perished in the final battle at Solitude. There were countless men and women alike that had gone off to fight in the war. Edith Bright-Wings, Arnbjorg Cracked-Tooth, Helgi Thorn-Raker, Kjeld Stone-Crusher, Thranvir Fire-Nose and Sevine Varg-t’uk were the first to volunteer to aid in the fight against the Empire. Now, we waited in earnest for the day they would stroll through the gates of Falkreath, alive or dead. I raised the warm mug of ale to my lips and let the liquid wet the back of my throat. Out of nowhere, the door to the tavern flew open. Heads turned including my own, thundering cries erupted from everyone surrounding me. I gave a cry of surprise as well. There in the doorway stood our soldiers, alive, in the flesh. Chairs tipped backwards as they scrambled to welcome them home.

“Edith! Oh my dear girl!” Came the cry from her father as he wrestled through to crowd to reach her. I noticed immediately that not all of Falkreath’s warriors had returned. Amongst the ones present were Edith, Kjeld, Thranvir and Sevine. While other patrons brushed past me, I awaited my turn, that’s all I could do. Everyone embraced those that had returned home, tears were shed, cries of anguish and joy mixed together. My hands were cold, my head spun, I needed to sit down, but I refused. Then, I saw her. My sister. She pushed her way through the throngs of people, several of which clasped her on the shoulder and said things like, “It’s the Huntress!” and “Welcome home, Sevine.” or “Your father would be proud of you.”

She had changed. I could see it. Three years away at war, what more could I expect? Her shoulders drooped, her green eyes that were always bright with a fire had dimmed. Even her copper hair had dulled. The skin over her cheeks were pulled tight, and there were new lines on her face, lines that had not been there when she left. She wore her Stormcloak blue armor, an axe at her hip and her long bow strapped under a shield. My eyes burned as a strained smile crossed her lips.

“Little sister.” I lost it, the sound of her voice after so many years pushed me over the edge. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, much less speak. She pulled me to her chest, her arms wrapping tight around me. I couldn’t hold it back anymore, so I buried my face into her, I let myself cry, I didn’t care. No. She was home now. And that’s all I had ever wanted. “Oh Lili.” Her strong arms held me tighter, one hand stroking my back just like she used to when I was a child. She rested her chin atop my head, rocking me back and forth.

When I found the courage, I lifted my chin and found her own eyes red with tears, “I missed you so much.” Her face split into a smile as she chuckled, she placed a hand on my head and ruffled my hair.

“I am home now.” Sevine stooped down and kissed my brow, her lips were cold against my flushed skin.

“I heard so much about you, about your heroic deeds.” I said, perking up at the thought that my sister, Sevine, had earned a Name for herself. At the mention of my words, a dark cloud crossed her features, but passed within seconds. “Is something wrong?” I asked, I knew my sister too well.

“I… am tired.” She said with a heavy sigh, it reminded me of pa, how he sighed after a long day of tending to the garden. “Shall we go home?”

“You don’t want to stay and celebrate? Valga promised a feast whenever our soldiers returned home. She’s already run off to fetch Solaf and Bolund to help.” I glanced around, watching as Valga darted out of the door to the inn.

“No, little sister. Let us go.” Her face screwed up into an odd expression, one that I couldn’t identify. I had an inkling something had happened that she withheld from me. I relented with a nod, I wasn’t going to argue with her, not now of all times. Together, we strolled out of Dead Man’s Drink and made our way back home.

For the most part, I was surprised that Asper had come home too. The dark bay stallion appeared lean in my eyes, and like my sister, his coat had lost his luster. Sevine hoisted herself into the saddle, and extended her arm out to me. I took her hand in mine, noticing that her hands were cold and calloused. With one pull, she had me behind her, and at the cluck of her tongue, we set off down the road at a fast trot. What would have taken close to an hour, we made the trek home in thirty minutes. We turned off the road near Pine Watch and onto a dirt path well-worn from Pa’s wagon. My stomach plummeted at the realization that I had yet to tell her of the tragic news. Days before, our father had passed away. He had a cough for months that would not leave him, and a fever in the last week that would not break. I had just sold a chicken to pay for his medicine when I returned home to find him not breathing. Were it not for the people of Falkreath checking on me, I would have had to bury our father alone.
We crested the hill where the pine trees cast us in shadows. With my arms wrapped tightly around her, I noticed that my sister’s scent had changed, she smelt… foreign to me. Like the earth and of steel. Even with my arms about her, she felt thinner. To our left, the pine trees thinned out into a clearing where our house stood. No smoke rose from the chimney, and the garden had become a wild jungle of weeds. My face grew hot from shame. I wanted to cry then, but I resisted the urge. I leapt off from Asper first and watched as Sevine dismounted. Her brows were furrowed, as if she sensed something amiss. She glanced once at me, before turning her attention back to the log and stone cabin. I watched her cross the clearing in long, powerful strides, where she pushed opened the door with a thunderous bang. I could see where I stood how her shoulders dropped, she disappeared inside. Her shouts echoed across the clearing, calling for our father. She emerged moments later, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.
“Lili-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, she must have seen the look on my face. I watched as my sister fell against the doorframe, a hand covering her face, she never wanted me to see her cry. I don’t know why. Within seconds, I crossed the clearing and wrapped my arms around her. She tried to push me away, but I held on tight. I regretted my decision then. I knew I should have told her when I first saw her. Eventually she quit fighting as I weaseled my way against her chest. As I rested my head on her chest, I could hear the struggle in her, how she fought back the tears, the anguish and turmoil rising in her.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, if I could take her into my being to shield her from the pain, I would have done just that.

“How?” She croaked, her voice cracking through the grief. I inhaled, fighting past the lump in my own throat that made talking difficult.

“He had a cough that wouldn’t go. A fever that wouldn’t break. I went to town and sold a chicken, we didn’t have any money, and I bought him medicine. But when I returned…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish my own sentence. A sob escaped from my mouth as continued, “We buried him in the cemetery next to Ma.”

Later that night, we ate dinner in silence. Sevine used to tease me about my cooking, but tonight she said not a word, just stared languidly at the food on her plate. Even I found it difficult to eat, the food was tasteless and I could barely swallow a bite. Nevertheless, I cleaned up after dinner, and went to bed. As I lay in my bed, I tossed and turned restlessly on my mattress. I wanted this night to end, but I couldn’t unwind. Downstairs, I heard Sevine bustling around the room, I wondered what she was doing, but I didn’t bother to check. It would be best to leave her be, or so I thought. Each person dealt with grief in their own way.
I lost track of time, I think I slept, because I jumped at the sound of Sevine’s feet climbing the ladder to the loft. Night had fallen, casting the loft in absolute darkness. I could feel her presence lingering over the foot of my bed, was she angry with me? I couldn’t tell. I wanted to open my eyes, but I didn’t want her to know that I was awake. The floorboards creaked under her boots and I heard her sink into the bed across from me. I listened for a while, her breathing was shaky and unstable. I wanted to reach out to her, to tell her to come sleep with me like we used to when we were little. But tonight I refrained, she let out a trembling exhale where she sniffled. I knew she had been crying, and the urge to comfort her washed anew over me. I fell asleep from my own weariness, too tired from tending to the animals that day to stay awake any longer.

When I woke next to the grey light of dawn filling the house, I saw Sevine still asleep on her bed. And for the first time in a long time, she slept.

Years of my Life, 190-220, by Pakseech Otuwei - Chapter 3, During the War of 203

---

…It had been some time since the ambush, but despite the hostilities having been brought to a cease thanks to our hurtful bondage, our losses had not ceased. Xil-Aah and Tan-Shai had died to infection by then, and I feared that exhaustion could begin taking a toll on us if the marching did not stop. Already Jee-Teeus was lagging behind despite the extra whipping he’d been getting for it. The officers were discussing on whether to have us carry him, or just put him out of his misery. I myself would have preferred the latter, many of my kin also would, but, something just drove us on, through the pain and humiliation.

One time, the one-armed one berated one of their men, for unnecessary whipping. It is not out of compassion that he did this, I know. He didn’t even look at us like cattle. It’s almost as if he didn’t have anything that came to mind when he did look. Maybe he wanted to isolate us from the mercy a shepherd would show to his herd. Maybe he thought we weren’t worthy of his attention.

It wasn’t until later on that they realized I spoke their language. Only two groups of the three spoke Dunmeris – the third group mostly kept to the common tongue, and seemed to show contempt for the others who kept to their native language. It makes me think even now. Why even fight for your nation if you aren’t going to abide to its principles? Then again, it is not hard to expect such hypocrisy from a people who worship Boethiah.

The fat one constantly talked about his home in Cheydinhal, about how easy life was there, despite the Empire’s situation. I wished to ask him why he had come here to fight us, then, but I was afraid of getting a whipping, or worse. Our leader, Sakeneen, had insulted the Redoran after he had spat on Sakeneen, and was nearly beaten to death for it. Had the redheaded one not interrupted, he would’ve likely not stopped with Sakeneen. The Redoran would have nearly attacked the redhead, too, but he was stopped by the one-armed one, who later had one of the tattooed women put Sakeneen out of his misery.

-

It was only towards the end of the journey that they found out that I spoke common. The fat one, whose name I would learn that day to be Fermal, noticed it when he shouted that one of the guars were running away and I reflexively looked at the guar pack despite not facing them. This would prove to be a big mistake.

My bilinguality became the cause of many complications. Fermal, for some reason, gave me his name, and began trying to socialize with me, make jokes, despite the situation. Had the one-armed one not stopped and berated Fermal in a stoic and rare display of empathy, I would have likely attempted to bash Fermal’s brains out with a rock.

The one-armed one then approached me and asked me if I really spoke the Common tongue. After giving him confirmation, I was repositioned to the front of the row, as some sort of spokesman. Immediately I felt regret, for I was afraid that my new position could put a distance between me and my kin, and I would be proven right. At nights I would be given the leftovers from their dinner, even though the rest of my kin were rarely fed, and despite either throwing it away or dividing it between all of my group, I could notice aside glances at me, hateful of my new, privileged station.

There was still some positive parts of my situation – my position as middleman made me less likely to get beatings, and I could use their prejudice of us as ‘savages’ to indirectly insult them whenever possible. I would refer to Fermal as ‘Fat Fermal’ whenever I had to refer to him, as if I had learned his name as such, knowing that being called fat made him very angry, and he would get heavily irritated, but unable to do anything about it.

-

…Of course, by then, few of us were in any condition to walk long distances, but our captors were also heavily battered, and more importantly, heavily spiteful of each other.

Thanks to the Redoran’s insistence on chasing the skirmishers who had killed Fermal, they had gotten most of their animals killed, while passing a bridge that was trapped. I noticed that the trap wasn’t sprung and was operated by one of our kinsmen, who quickly disappeared after a curt nod. To his precision and restraint I and many others owe our lives.

With their pack animals gone, the Redoran quickly had his retinue put to work the idea of using us as pack animals, which made the tattooed sisters, and the redhead, very angry. They argued and exchanged insults on how it was the other one’s fault that they had lost the guars, and eventually the Redoran slapped the redhead to the ground and began kicking him, which caused the argument into escalate into a proper fight, and from there, a mutiny.

We watched as the tattooed sister with grey hair punched the Redoran in the face for his treatment of the redhead. As retribution, the Redoran stabbed her in the gut with his ceremonial dagger. Seeing this, the Ashlanders amongst our captors pulled their arms and attacked the Redoran and all those affiliated with him. The fight was very bloody – I can say that the Dunmer fight most ferociously and ruthlessly against their own kin, which, even when I first saw it, did not come off as very surprising.

After a couple of minutes of fighting, the two parties killed most of each other. The foreign born had chosen to stay out of the combat in a display of cautiousness and cowardice, although it was obvious that they supported the Ashlanders, given how they had fought for their sake. Again, we were forgotten as we, chained to each other and immobilized by shackles, watched the foreigners gather the goods of the dead, and gather up the surviving Ashlanders – the Redoran group, too damaged by the fight, were unwilling to risk an offensive on the unscathed foreigners and the surviving Ashlanders that circled them. The three that remained of them were gathered around the nobleman who had killed the grey-haired woman, who was pinned to the ground, his thigh pierced by a chitin spear.

That was when the one-armed one approached me. He sighed, and said, ‘’Funny, don’t you think?’’

I did not answer him at first. He continued.

‘’I know you think it’s funny. I think it’s funny. It’s as sad as shit.’’

‘’Why kill your own kin?’’ I asked. We Argonians also fought each other, but I had never seen a group that had shared meals that morning kill each other with such brutality.

‘’Oblivion if I know, pal,’’ he said, dejected.

I looked at his face. He pulled out a key and approached the lock that kept our group together. We were no longer bound together – our arms were still cuffed, but the collars around our necks that held us together were now gone. I could feel newfound strength coursing through my veins.

‘’The Redoran have the key for your handcuffs,’’ he said, before he ran back to his group and they hurriedly left, leaving the fifteen of us face to face with the four Redoran.