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If she hadn’t been so exhausted and her Master so entranced by the broken Dwarven Centurion on the floor, she’d have never let the unbroken Centurion by the wall hit her. Master had obliviously put himself in the path of the oversized metal arm. A gigantic construction would normally have been easy to dodge, even after pushing another out of harm’s way. The part of herself that belonged to Master was completely devoted to his wellbeing could not risk him injured. The pain, soon followed by more when she hit the floor. Quickly she staggered to her feet. The sounds of her Master battling the construct alone were too much for a mind fixated on one person. Unsheathing her sword with her injured hand and threw a ball of magical lightening with the other, gritting her teeth against the pain.
The Centurion soon fell. It was the peak of Dwemer defensive engineering but her Master had been practicing combat for years. After he had acquired her, he had made sure she learnt it as well. The kind of lifestyle vampires were forced to live made it necessary for any of the living dead and their thralls to be decent fighters if they wanted long lives. In the case of this particular vampire, the games he liked to play and interests he chose to pursue made it necessary both of them were excellent rather than decent fighters.
It was Master’s latest interest in the Dwemer that had bought them to Aftland. Getting through the city would have taken several days even if Master hadn’t kept stopping to examine everything which caught his attention. As was typical of Dwarven Ruins the place was infested. The Dwarven constructs defending the place from intruders were everywhere, blissfully unaware their Dwarven creators had vanished millennia ago. And because Alftland was in Skyrim, the place was also infested with Falmer. Falmer were the reason they’d travelled Skyrim. It had been the Dwarves of Skyrim that had turned the once intelligent, rational Snow Elves into the twisted, brutish monstrosities called Falmer. Once he’d read about them, Master had decided he simply must see them. They’d had to spend a lot of time travelling across several provinces in and outside the Empire to reach Skyrim, but time had not been something Master had to worry about for centuries.
Master walked over as soon as the Centurion was downed, hissing angrily when he saw her bleeding from where the Centurion’s bladed limb had slashed her. He cast a restoration spell to heal the injury enough to stop the blood flowing. It wasn’t powerful enough to stop the bruising or ache but that hadn’t been his goal.
“Careless fool of an elf! Why did you let it hit you? You know I hate you wasting your blood.”
The part of her that didn’t belong to him wanted to snarl back that she’d been saving his ungrateful neck and that it was his fault she’d been too tired to dodge after this trek he’d led her on. But that part of herself was no where near as large as the part that belonged to Master. As the Master-part was also the part that controlled her body she fell to her knees, begging tearfully for forgiveness. Fortunately, Master was both distracted and in a good mood thanks to being surrounded by Dwemer artefacts so he only had her earn forgiveness by fawning at his feet a little before he pulled her upright. His reason for pulling her up instead of keeping her on her knees became clear as he pushed aside the tears in her outfit, muttering peevishly about needing to buy her new armour now. He didn’t use his too sharp teeth to bite into her flesh, just licked the still fresh blood around the healed wound with a tongue cold enough to make her shiver. The shaking made him laugh, misunderstanding the reason. “Don’t be scared, my little darkling. I’m not cross anymore. Wait there.”
Several hours passed while Master examined every inch of the room and broken centurions before opening the entrance to the underground city of Blackreach. Most of what he chose to take with him she had to carry in an already overburdened pack, hands shaking with fatigue. As Master hadn’t told her to sit while waiting she had remained standing. The Not-Master part had tried suggesting to the Master part that he wouldn’t mind if she sat to wait for a new order but it refused, still nervous about angering him again. Fatigue, thirst, hunger and pain from her injuries were making her shake by the time he spoke a new order.
“Follow me.”
She did. She made it halfway down the stairs when he appeared in front of her again.
“What’s taking you so long…oh. You’re tired” She did reply in the affirmative but Master ignored her, not having truly been talking to her. “I suppose we have been travelling a while. It’s easy to forget how delicate you mortals are. Hmm. Well, follow me as fast as you can.”
Master walked out of sight. The Master part obeyed his order, the Not-Master part seethed with resentment. This part was briefly distracted upon her first sight of Blackreach. Having seen many Dwarven Ruins recently, the ages old stonework and machinery had long lost any sense of wonder. What awed her was the mushrooms. Even though the city was underground it was well lit by the soft glow of the many mushrooms, that had obviously once been cared for before time had allowed them to grow wild, many to the size of trees. The Not-Master part of her wondered what they’d looked like when they were being carefully cultivated by experienced gardeners while the Master part limped across the ancient road to where her Master was waiting in the door of a small building.
The elf didn’t have time to look inside before Master reached for her. Even though she knew he was going to use his teeth to tear open her neck and drink the blood that would flow from the injury, she didn’t resist. Not even the part of herself which wanted to resist could feel any fear as the man pulled her hair to better expose her neck. Feeling mouthfuls of her own blood be sucked out of herself body had long ago become a horror to routine to be feared. The Not-Master part of herself mostly used its limited ability to feel in hoping her Master would leave her enough blood to stay on her feet, a hope that was only granted this feeding because when he lifted his face from her neck he kept a tight hold of her torso so he could stare into her eyes, blood still staining his lips. The Not-Master part of her knew what was happening even before the familiar feeling of fogginess enveloped her mind with its usual penetrating sharpness. Over the years she’d learnt the process was called vampiric seduction, although conquest seemed a better word to describe the violent intrusion and restructuring of her sense of self. Even after it had been happening to her for so many years, the sensations were impossible to describe. The results weren’t. The boundaries of the part of herself that belonged to Master were reinforced, while the Not-Master part was even more tightly restrained to prevent it from gaining control of her body. When it was over he finally let her go. It took every single scrap of energy the Master part of her had to control her collapse.
“I want you to stay here,” Master ordered with his usual unconcern for her comfort.
“Of course, Master” the Master part replied. The Not-Master part of herself wasn’t surprised. Drinking that much of her blood followed by a bout of psychic violation always indicated he was planning to leave her alone. Master did not like being hungry or risking his precious little darkling getting independent ideas she’d be able to act upon. “For how long?”
“Until I return. I plan to spend several days observing the Falmer here. I don’t want you wasting even more of your blood getting into fights. Your blood is mine. Don’t forget that.”
“Never, Master,” she said as he left. As soon as the door was closed the Master part stopped trying to keep up appearances and allowed her body to sprawl on the floor. After a few seconds she also raised her arms to cast the only restoration spell she knew. It wasn’t strong enough to fully knit her torn flesh back together or replenish the blood she’d lost but it was better than nothing. She ended up drifting off to sleep on the floor.
When she woke up, both selves were in complete agreement that the first thing she should do is eat and drink. After basic needs had been met the potential for conflict arose. While the Master-part could happily sit for hours doing nothing waiting for his return, the Not-Master part hated doing nothing. It wanted to explore. As it had no control over her body, it had to convince the Master part that exploring the building would not in any way interfere with her ability to await her Master’s return, as the place was so small there was no way he’d be able to miss seeing her when he did decide to come back, which wouldn’t be for ages anyway, he just left and said he’d be several days, and you know what he’s like when he gets a new interest… Over the years the Not-Master part had become quite skilled at getting its way when what it wanted was something her Master would consider harmless, especially when he wasn’t around.
The majority of the room was taken up by a double bed against the right wall which wouldn’t have been much better than the floor to sleep in, both being made of stone. How did the Dwarves sleep on this? Didn’t they get uncomfortable? Maybe once the bed had mattresses and pillows but they rotted away. Putting a cautious hand on the surface of the bed chilled her exposed flesh. I’d better make sure I find something to lie on before my Master gets back or I’ll be even colder than usual if he decides he wants to use it. And he almost certainly will if he’s gone as long as he plans… She quickly shied away from that thought. Times when her Master left her alone where rare, and Not-Master always tried to fully enjoy them while they lasted. To distract herself she investigated the contents of a shelf to the right of the bed, the most interesting item of which was a scroll to summon a Storm Atronach which she pocketed, assuring the part of her which belonged to her Master that whether it was used in a fight or sold, her Master would be pleased she picked up the scroll. Checking the area to the left revealed a body which had been there so long it had turned to bone, the Dwemer style crossbow bolts still nestled in its ribcage removing all mystery as to how the unfortunate soul had met their fate. Its presence caused her no anxiety as being in the service of her Master had meant she had seen (and made) far more alarming corpses. It was clutching an ancient leather book she also pocketed. Reading was an excellent way of whiling away the times when her Master was gone, and escaping into the world of a book was the closest approximation of freedom the Not-Master self could get. To its delight, she found two more books in the small building, one in a knapsack and one sitting between the arcane enchanter and alchemy lab opposite the bed, half buried in the mountain of alchemy ingredients scattered across the tables and shelves. That book, Di Rerum Direness, had a difficult start as it included a paragraph long account an ill girl whose bed was discovered surrounded by ashes after she’d drunk a potion which hadn’t harmed her but turned her blood to poison for vampires. If the concluding sentence hadn’t been: “If only that formula had not been lost in the midst of history”, the book probably would have been perceived as a threat to Master by the Master part and burnt in the small hearth someone had set up as a primitive kitchen. Fortunately after that the book was merely a biography of Asliel Direnni, the Altmer founder of the science of alchemy. Neither part of her had realised her own people had had such an impact on modern alchemy, although the Master part didn’t care, only being capable of caring about Master’s pleasure. After that exciting revelation, volume one of an Argonian Account, a tale detailing a work-shy merchant employee experiencing danger on his way to Black Marsh seemed rather trite, although it did help the time pass by.
It was couple of days before she got to the book on the corpse. Despite the Not-Master part’s determination to relish every single moment of this temporarily respite from his presence, the needs of her healing body for rest claimed first priority on her time and energy. The book turned out to be a journal, which answered several questions about the place. In life the skeleton’s name had been Sinderion, an alchemist who’d decided to come from Cyrondiil. This building had been the one he’d set up as his field laboratory, which explained the alchemy and enchantment equipment as well as the kitchen. The reason this alchemist had been lured from the safety of the Imperial City to the place which had ultimately claimed his life was nirnroot, specifically the crimson variety which only grew in Blackreach. It had been the ingredient given the most prominence in Sinderion’s pile, growing in a little pot. She’d ripped it out before her reading as the chiming was getting on the Not-Master part’s nerves. The journal ended with Sinderion on the verge of going to find 30 samples to complete his life’s dream, the implication as obvious as it was sad.
The elf was lying on the bed reading the parts about him staying at a farm with Avrusa and Aduri Sarethi again, enjoying the accounts of every day domesticity, when she heard the noises of whirring machinery and running footsteps. Neither paid any attention. Master’s part was incapable of paying attention to anything not related to him. The Not-Master part assumed it was just another Falmer-Dwemer Construct conflict. They’d come across the aftermath of several in their trek through Alftland. Neither believed it could possibly be Master, so they kept reading instead of investigating. For both he’d been such a constant overwhelming presence for so long, always powerful, always in control, never in any serious danger. It was impossible to believe he was in any trouble. Even when the door slammed open to reveal him covered in his own blood and a crossbow bolt sticking in his neck the shock paralysed both of her for a moment. It turned out to be a crucial moment. If she’d stood earlier she might have managed to pull Master inside and shut the door, perhaps even save him. He’d turned to look at her, was even making a noise half cry half gurgle around the bolt in his throat when the Automaton behind him impaled the vampire through the chest. He was clearly dead before hitting the floor.
The part of herself that belonged to Master, suddenly bereft of all purpose now the only thing she could care about was gone, began to scream. It hurled the elf’s body at the Dwemer construct in the doorway. The Not-Master part’s frantic attempts to persuade her there was no point now he was dead were futile. Making his enemies pay was the only thing left for Not-Master’s all-consuming need to serve his will to do. The construct was the type known as a Dwarven Sphere for its round base. The elf’s first attack forced the body of it backwards to the ground as she hit it. In her hysteria she hadn’t even grabbed a weapon. The attack had more negative impact on herself than the metallic construct, causing her nails to break and bleed. The Dwarven Sphere simply pushed itself forward on its round base, using the momentum to propel the elf off. The Master part, continuing to ignore the Not-Master part even more hysterical attempts at persuading her to at least stop long enough to get properly armed, simply got back onto her feet ready to lunge again. Her head looked up in time to see the Sphere aiming its crossbow bolt at her. The Not-Master part finally succeeded in a persuasion, getting her to dodge by pointing out she would be unable to avenge master if she died. Instead of through the heart, the crossbow bolt hit her from close range in the arm.
The elf was certain she heard the bone break. The pain was dreadful enough that she finally decided it was a good idea to run. The door slammed as the second crossbow bolt was fired. Using the unbroken arm to lock it, the Not-Master part of herself reflected it was probably only the length of time the Automaton took to reload that meant she had time to save the pair of them.
That was when it struck her. She’d saved them.
The Not-Master part had been the one who controlled their body to flee. This was the first time it had done so since Master had first tasted her blood before using his vampiric seduction on her. It should have been impossible. Fearfully, she waited for the Master part of herself to regain control, turning her focus inwards to see what it was thinking and planning.
But inside her head there was nothing but her own thoughts. The part which belonged to her Master was gone. It was as dead as Master himself, despite the lack of a physical corpse.
“I’m alone.” The revelation was as shocking as her saying something she chose to say for her own sake, not in service to anyone. “I’m alone,” she said a little louder, for the sheer novelty of it. “For the first time in…forever I am completely and utterly alone…”
There was a slamming of metal against metal as the Sphere outside, perhaps programmed to show aggression at the sound of a voice it considered an intruder, hurled itself against the door.
Alone my own head at least, she finished the thought silently. She was fairly sure the door would hold but didn’t want to test it.
The first thing she did as a free elf and single entity was do her best to tend to her injured arm. The ache stopped her from sleeping well but she managed a sort of doze, using her small restoration spell to speed the process of the bone and flesh knitting together whenever she was awake.
Time passed in a sort of haze of pain, sleep deprivation and mental unresponsiveness. For all the trapped part of herself had longed to be the one in control, now it finally was freedom turned out to be a bigger responsibility than she believed possible. It was hard to decide what to do as nobody was telling her. Self-autonomy was not a thing she had any practice in. It was mostly her body’s needs which drove her to make decisions and act upon them in this period. When she was tired she lay down, sometimes even sleeping. When she was thirsty she drank. When she was hungry she ate. When the pain became too much she cast the restoration spell. She re-read all three books after a while, doing what she would have done if she’d been trapped and Master was still around. Of course, in a way he was still around. But now he was truly dead. The corpse locked inside with her was starting to rot as no spark of unlife consciousness inside propelled it.
At one point, when the rage at all the suffering he had inflicted became too much she taken a sword and hacked at his finally, finally still body. She might have been yelling as she did because the automaton began pounding on the door again not long after she did, forcing her to shove a fist in her mouth to cry silently instead. She hated herself for it as he deserved no mourning but in a way it was not him she mourned. It was the part that had belonged to him and had died with him. It had only existed because of how her innermost self was regularly violated, had done nothing but deliver her to more pain and constantly prevented her from exercising control of her own body, her own mind, her own life…But at the same time it hadn’t really been her fault. For all the Master part had been a creation of her Master it had also been his victim as much as her. After so long together, being suddenly bereft of the other presence inside her mind was disconcertingly sad.
Well, she is gone. And I’m better off for it. What am I going to do now?
In a way, this question was more upsetting. The thought of all that time alone to be filled with things she needed to choose to do was daunting. For the first time she began to understand why her Master…no, no he wasn’t that any more. Why her old captor, who couldn’t die of old age had kept having such random and esoteric interests he devoted himself to with such whimsical passion. Researching, travelling, observing and practicing had at the very least been something to do.
What do I like doing? What am I interested in? Her memories of the time before catching the vampire’s eye were too long ago, and her mind too damage from all the years of being psychically overwhelmed to remember. Her attempts at remembering were derailed by the sound of the Dwemer Sphere outside, machinery whirring as it patrolled outside Sinderion’s laboratory. Her dry mouth was only partly due to fear. When drank she realised the bottle was over half empty. Her supply of food was equally low. If I don’t escape Sinderion’s laboratory soon, I might never find out.
In a way, making the decision was like having her captor giving her orders again. She had a purpose now, something to work towards. Something to prevent her falling into a mental paralysis capable of only tending her body’s needs. She repacked her bag, leaving the majority of the items Master…the vampire had collected, focusing on the practical. Clothes, dagger, money, the storm atronauch scroll, the rest of her meagre provisions and medicine. Her armour she left behind as too damaged to be much protection. She kept her leather boots, helmet and gloves. After some thought she decided the falmer sword and bow the vampire had wanted to keep as examples of Falmer craftsmanship were better than her own, although the arrows were not. The Falmer here were clearly capable blacksmiths but less capable fletchers. After a little thought, she also packed the books when the thought of leaving them behind was painful. Maybe I like reading. If…when I escape Blackreach I’ll have to investigate this further.
Of course, escape was easier said than done. She spent the next two days (or at least periods between long sleeps as she lost track of what constituted a true day underground) frequently (and futiley) opening the door to see if the Dwemer Sphere had gone away. In between she did her best to use Sinderion’s old supplies of alchemical ingredients to make potions. One of her Master’s old interests had been alchemy. She herself had never made any potions but she remembered enough from watching him at the alchemy station. Her inexperience and half-healed broken arm made her work clumsily, but she managed in spite of it to produce a few viable potions and poisons. Most of them she packed away in her backpack for future use. The health ones she drank straight away to speed up her healing. She still had her wounds from the Dwemer Centurion and the vampire’s last feeding as well as her broken arm. Whenever escape happened, the elf felt the chances of success would be higher the healthier she was.
Of course, the ‘when’ part of ‘whenever I escape’ is proving the trickiest part, she thought as she stared out the door at sphere rolling back and forth. Will that thing ever leave? She had a horrible feeling the answer was no. If it had been a Falmer, a creature with needs to eat and sleep, this plan of waiting it out might have worked. But that thing was a construct. It had only one need, to obey the orders of those who had created it: Protect their home from invaders. And as far as it is concerned, I am an invader. It isn’t going to leave until I’m gone. Waiting isn’t going to work. I need another plan. Her eye fell on the corpses. Inspiration followed. Restoration and destruction weren’t the only magic schools she knew spells in.
After unpacking the stamina potions and scroll she eyed the two bodies, the old and the new. Really the logical choice would have been to use Master’s corpse as it was the more powerful. But the thought of having his body walking, even completely under her control, filled her with fear. Despite her guilt, she raised Sinderion’s old bones instead. These sort of walking dead raised by spells were thoroughly different from whatever it was that made vampires walk. Vampires still had their free will, and did not fall to pieces after a few minutes when the spell inevitably failed. Raised corpses were mindless, or at least that was the widespread belief. Even though they never did anything not directly ordered by the wizard who raised them, the elf had heard too many make comments of relief or even worse, gratitude as their bodies fell back into the stillness of true death to be convinced they were quite as free of their own thoughts and feelings as people believed. Even though she’d never got to meet the dead man, she liked him. After reading his diary and staying in his space she couldn’t help feeling she had known him.
“I am truly sorry, Sinderion,” she whispered to his skeleton in case it did understand. “My need is great or I would not have done this.” Feeling suddenly inspired, the elf added: “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll find your thirty crimson nirnroot then give them and your notes to Avrusa. Maybe your protege can finish what you started.” She felt immediately better after making this promise, not only because she could make amends to the remains she was despoiling with conjuration magic. After her escape she had a task to do, to provide some guidance to her life in the short term and postpone the terrifying questions of what she was supposed to do with the rest of it a little longer.
Next she read the scroll, causing the storm atronach spell to be released. She pointed the atronauch and remains of Sinderion to the door. “Open it and attack the Dwarven Sphere outside. Kill it if you can.”
She didn’t stay around long enough to see how the fight went or who won it. The instant the Sphere was safely distracted by its two combatants she ran as fast as she could to the left. The way out back the way she’d first come was directly ahead of her but was no longer an option after her promise to Sinderion. His journal had been clear about how crimson nirnroot only grew in Blackreach. When she began to run out of stamina she chugged one of the potions she was holding and kept running. Eventually when she ran out of breath and stamina potions she headed to a small crevice to hide in. Catching her breathe, she peeked around to see if she had been followed by anything as she fled.
She hadn’t. For the first time since her arrival in Blackreach, there was only one person around. Herself. No one else inside or out. Truly alone. She covered her mouth to stifle a hysterical giggle of terror and relief.