Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Everyone's saying there's trouble in Kvatch.”

Demivah nodded wearily. In the crowded-but-contained community of the Waterfront, no one knew of her work with the Blades. But everyone had an opinion on the assassinations, the daedra, what it meant for the simple price of a cabbage…

“The whole town destroyed!”

Demivah nodded again, lips tightly pressed. She needed her bed. Two out of four books collected for Jauffre, and oblivion gates were ravaging the countryside around them.

“Only a few survivors."

She had done her best. Those who had never met her called her a hero. Those who had knew she was first a mercenary, then a thief. Not a very good one, apparently, since she found herself in the Imperial dungeons. And that Demivah, failed-thief-Demivah, was all her neighbours knew of now. Best it stayed that way, even if it meant hearing Jair’s thoughts on Cyrodiil’s current affairs for the seventeenth time.

“Just terrible.” He shook his head. “You take care now.”

“And you,” Demivah murmured.

On she trudged past the few moored ships in the bay, keeping her eyes to herself should any of the less savoury sailors decide they’d like to end their day with a brawl. Demivah could hold her own in an honest fight, but she’d already had a number of those today and her body couldn’t take one more. And who trusted a pirate to fight fair?

The stairs that led through the wall and into the patch of shacks on the shore were the toughest opponent she’d fought yet. Her motivation to keep going was doubled when she noticed Uzul gro-Grulam approaching from behind, knowing he would love to give her his thoughts on Cyrodiil’s current affairs as well. Her thighs screamed, but she made it to the other side, staggering a little onto the soft mixture of mud and sand.

“Please, I-”

Demivah tossed the woman a coin. A reflex from living in the city for so long. Someone was always looking for a little help and giving out a septim a day wasn’t what kept her in her creaky shack. She was… somewhere in between.  She had the coin to spare one for the beggars but not the coin to ever afford to live anywhere that wasn’t a neighbourhood of thieves and skooma dealers. Mercenary work was inconsistent, and she’d reached a particularly quiet season when she’d resorted to trying her hand at theft. It wasn’t something she’d intended to make a career out of. She’d been struggling.

Not that any of it mattered if they didn’t get the oblivion gates closed. There would be no rich, no poor, no souls to speak of such things.

“Blessings of Stendarr upon ye.”

Demivah nodded her thanks and kept walking.

Then, something stopped her. Despite her exhaustion, the tremors wracking her muscles, the desperation for her hard, straw bed, she glanced back.

This beggar was new. Usually Ancus held that spot, tucked into the low brick wall that circled the graveyard, then pressing himself up against the back planks of Methredhel’s house at night when it rained. This was an Imperial woman. A beautiful, young, Imperial woman. What in Anui-El’s name was she doing begging on the Waterfront? She didn’t look to have been on the streets long. She didn’t look like she belonged on the Waterfront at all if you ignored her shabby clothes and shoes.

Demivah kept on her way - half the beggars in Cyrodiil weren’t even really destitute, just working as lookouts for the Gray Fox. With every septim thrown their way Demivah was either feeding the poor or protecting her own squat home from a man who could steal the cloak off Adamus Phillida’s back. Just because she was out of the game didn’t mean she was free of the other players.

She needn’t give this beggar any more attention than any other. Although, if she had the energy to be honest with herself, she already had.

⁞

The woman remained seated by the steps the next morning, and Ancus was most unimpressed.

“-and he said this is my area,” he was huffing and puffing. His faux croak was missing today - Demivah had long had her suspicions he only put it on for those that might pay him for the performance.

The woman was flustered, collecting up her bedroll and a tiny purse that looked to be stuffed with radishes. “I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Present yourself to the Gray Fox if ye want to beg in Cyrodiil,” Ancus sneered. “Otherwise you’ll need to take up a naughty habit if you want somewhere to sleep.”

“I don’t-”

“Move.”

The woman scuttered to the side and Ancus plopped himself in the space. Upon seeing Demivah he called out, “Spare a coin for the infirm?” with a tickle to his tone.

“Ancus,” Demivah sighed. She should not be getting involved. Had she learnt nothing from her trip to the Imperial City prison? Stealing one amulet had put her on the path of being dragged through oblivion gates. The world of the Thieves Guild was not meant for her.

“It’s my spot!” he bleated, defensive. “Armand said so.”

“Haven’t you any sympathy for a fellow-”

“No. She can go to the Thieves Guild and get assigned a spot like anyone else.” He looked Demivah up and down with a sneer. “You know how things work around here.”

Unfortunately, she did.

“I don’t know where to find the Gray Fox,” the woman whispered. As though he were a scamp that might leap out of the shadows out at her if he heard her call his name. “And… I don’t want to be involved in… that.”

Ancus gasped as though struck and Demivah snatched the woman up by the slim arm.

“Come,” she grunted. Over her shoulder, she gave Ancus a dark look and he looked away with a cruel grin.

She dragged the woman and her bed roll to the edge of the mound that the Waterfront residents called home. Out of ear- and harm’s- way, Demivah released her. They stood at the edge of Lake Rumare, behind her house, sandy grit beneath their shoes. The woman was clutching her things to her chest and trembling.

“You cannot talk about the Gray Fox like that here,” Demivah hissed.

The woman cried, “I don’t want to be a criminal!”

“You don’t have to be,” Demivah reminded her on a weary groan. “But at the very least don’t offend the criminals!” Most were still in their sacks at this time in the morning, but that didn’t mean word wouldn’t get around. Demivah rarely had trouble from any of her infamous neighbours and that came from years of keeping her head down and knowing when to be quiet.

The woman nodded. “I’m sorry.” Her bottom lip trembled and a tear slid through the muck clinging to her cheeks. Her hair was filthy, too. It was probably once a gold or copper colour. Underneath the superficial dirt, however, there were signs of a story other than that of a destitute beggar stumbling into taken territory. Her nose was straight as an arrow, as were her teeth - and not one missing. The crown braid, though dirty, hinted at a lot of hair that would have broken off long ago without a decent diet and somewhere soft to lay her head. And finally, sun marks. Around her neck and fingers the soot that had coated her was two toned in the outline of an amulet and rings. If she weren’t wearing long sleeves, Demivah would bet her wrists were the same. This woman was newly impoverished. And clueless, which was worse than being poor on the Waterfront. Everyone was poor on the Waterfront.

“And… don’t take Ancus’ advice,” she said with a sigh. This woman needed good counsel more than coin.

“What’s that?”

“About picking up a skooma habit. Sure, the dealers will let you sleep in their den but only so they can get you hooked.”

The woman fiddled with her ragged sleeves. “I wouldn’t know where to find skooma.”

Demivah was tempted to point out exactly which Waterfront shack offered skooma - and a place to rest after taking it - but the woman’s puffy, innocent eyes told her she would regret it.

“You should try to find work in one of the manors,” Demivah said softly. “Somewhere that includes room and board.” She shrugged and her armour clanked loudly and awkwardly. “It won’t pay well but it’s better than this.”

The woman nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that.” She was lying, but that was none of Demivah’s business.

“Clean yourself in the lake, leave your bedroll behind my shack, and spend the day petitioning yourself to the stewards.” Demivah stepped back to leave. “And get yourself a roof for the night. A storm is due.”

“Thank you.” Before Demivah could get more than three steps away, she added, “May I ask your name?”

Demivah hesitated, letting the lapping water fill the silence for a moment. “Me? Demivah.”

The woman smiled. Very pretty. “I’m Nebia.”

“Nice to meet you, Nebia.” Demivah turned away again, this time she would not be halted. “I hope you understand why I say I hope we don’t meet again.”

Chapter Text

“Only work we have here is bed warming.”

This was not the first, or even fifth, time that Ettiene had received this answer while inquiring after work at the inns of the Imperial City. As fine advice as Demivah had given her, she could not possibly offer herself to a manor. She would rather die than be recognised in the Talos Plaza District.

“Wait a moment,” the inn keeper said slowly, squinting. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Nebia,” Ettiene answered.

“Hmm.”

“Well, thank you for your honesty.” Ettiene backed her way to the door. “But I can’t say I have the experience or skills for… bed warming.” As a customer entered, she darted out.

She was certain she had never frequented that establishment before. The smell would have lingered in her memory. Still, the inn keeper’s suspicion had spooked her. Perhaps it wasn’t such a fine plan to wash the grime off in the lake before offering herself for work. Her disguise had disintegrated with it. After a long day of traipsing the city, however, she probably looked even worse for wear now.

She would retreat to the Waterfront, she decided. Despite the residents making her feel incredibly unwelcome, she knew none of them would know a noble out of dress - and their code of conduct prohibited outing others for their misdeeds. Not that Ettiene was a criminal. And she never would be. She sighed on her way past the Imperial guards standing to attention facing the lighthouse. Not long ago they would have greeted her warmly. Now they attempted to keep from looking directly at her.

 Perhaps Demivah would allow her to sleep behind her shack… She was kind, and she carried herself with a modesty that didn’t fit her appearance.  That appearance was a tad rough-looking. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it was… incredibly charming. Ettiene smiled to herself. Demivah was exactly the kind of woman who would have caught her eye in her father’s house guard. She was obviously strong, her size said that much for her, and her armour of fine quality told of skill as a warrior since living on the Waterfront would imply she didn’t have the funds to be indulging in anything unnecessary. Perhaps she protected a noble house by day, but kept her own home at night.

Ettiene’s tutor had once described the dark elves as ‘deadly as the thorns of the black rose which blooms only in their mother's breast.’ Although Ettiene knew this description was intended to sound fearsome, it had never struck her as a reason to avoid the red-eyed race.

Demivah’s red eyes had looked upon her with care. Maybe not affectionate, not yet, but concerned for her. And they were what she searched for as she wandered the weather-beaten shacks of the Waterfront. There had been no answer at her front door, so Ettiene’s only choice was to waste time and hope she returned.

Ancus or Andus, or whatever his name was, watched her from his seat suspiciously. He didn’t call out to her, and she didn’t utter a word to him. The only person to approach her as she skulked about was an argonian asking if she was looking for skooma. It hadn’t appeared he believed her when she declined, but at least he left her alone to walk the lake’s edge some more.

Finally, as the sky lost its blue hue, an intimidating suit of steel armour clanked over the steps separating the dock from the shacks. Ettiene scurried over, feeling utterly pathetic.

“You again.” A greeting without emotion. Ettiene couldn’t judge at all what the woman was thinking. She craved her compassion, a soft note to her tone, or a concerned tint to her eyes.

“Um, all of the businesses I asked for work told me they only had need for bed warmers.” The words left her in a defensive rush.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t suppose y-you might have need of bed warming?”

Demivah blinked those big rubies at her. In fairness, Ettiene felt as mad as Demivah’s expression accused her of being.

“J-just for one night?” A rumble of thunder punctuated her plea. Demivah had warned her of the coming storm, and now it was rolling towards the bay. She needed cover, and if she was going to offer her body to anyone in exchange for that cover it would be the one person who had showed her kindness. And... perhaps stoic charm and arms that could swing a double-sided axe had some influence in her offer as well.

“I do not need my bed warmed,” Demivah rasped. Ettiene’s heart scrunched itself in her chest painfully. Well, that was humiliating. “But… for one night you may sleep in your bedroll under my roof.”

“Thank you!” Ettiene gasped. She would have thrown herself at the woman’s chest but the armour looked ever so sharp.

“Only until the storm passes.”

A light rain began to sprinkle and those still lingering outside ran for their shacks, even Antus scrabbled from his spot. May it long continue, Ettiene prayed.

“Come inside,” Demivah murmured. It tingled the back of Ettiene’s neck. As she shouldered the stiff door open after turning the key, she asked, “It was Nebia, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Demivah may be nice, but there was no reason for Ettiene to trust her with her real name. Anyway, the lie was already set in motion. Backtracking would only make her seem untrustworthy and you didn’t let untrustworthy people make camp on your floor.

Demivah pressed her back into the door, flattening it to the wall and revealing a single room with a bed, a table, two chairs and a chest. It was decorated with simple shelves, wicker baskets, and a torn rug. “Have you eaten?”

Ettiene slipped past her, blushing up at the towering dark elf as she went. “Today?”

Demivah nodded.

“I had an apple this morning.”

Demivah was unsurprised. “Then let us have something hearty for dinner.”

Ettiene smiled at her filthy shoes shyly. “That’s very kind of you.” She left her bedroll against the wall by the door and took a seat at the fire while Demivah lit it.

“Stoke it while I undress.”

Ettiene had never stoked a fire, but she was fairly certain that meant to prod and anger it and make it bigger. She jostled the poker around, clanging it against the fire guard occasionally. Similar noises came from behind as Demivah shucked off her heavy armour and arranged it in the chest at the end of her bed. Under it, she had a simple cream shirt and lace-up leggings - Ettiene peeked. They clung to her stocky frame everywhere but round the waist, hard-earned muscle straining against sleeves and strings.

A basket of potatoes was dragged up next to her and Demivah sank into the opposite seat with a groan. She handed Ettiene a dagger. “Peel as many as you will eat.”

Ettiene had never peeled a potato, but she smiled gratefully and nodded and plucked out the one that looked the roundest.

“You have always lived alone?” she asked to distract from her immediate bout of slippery fingers. Where she was supposed to begin peeling from wasn’t designated by any marking. The damn thing looked the same from every angle.

Demivah started from the centre of hers, turning it smoothly in her hands and letting the peel reel off like a roll of parchment. “Yes.” Her hands were double the size of Ettiene’s and would look just devastating wrapped around her wrists. Dusky pink and blue-grey, what a pretty pair.

“But you have two chairs?” Ettiene attempted from the middle, too, and almost sliced her palm.

Demivah’s eyes dropped to Ettiene’s potato and her brow raised. “My aunt comes to visit occasionally.”

Ettiene couldn’t hide the tremble in her fingers. Far too close to losing one of them. “From another district or another town?” she asked squeakily.

“From Morrowind.” Demivah tossed her bare spud in a large black pot.

“Oh.” Ettiene was at a loss as to what to say, she knew nothing of their neighbouring land. “Is she close to the border or is it quite the trek?” She needed to keep words coming, though, or risk having to put her full focus on the potato she couldn’t peel.

“Vivec.”

“I see.” Zero clarification there. Ettiene knew of the city, but couldn’t place it on a map. Her tutor had offered a short course on the cantons… and Ettiene wished she had paid better attention. “Have you lived here long, then?”

“In the Imperial City? My whole life.” Another potato hopped into the pot. “On the Waterfont? Only since I had to start fending for myself.”

Ettiene had managed to scrape patches of skin off her potato. It looked like it had been in a grisly fight. “What is it you do?”

“Mercenary work. It’s… not consistent. I’d been going through a dry spell when-” She cut herself off and turned away, hunching over the pot. “Things are getting better now.”

“More mercenary work?”

“Mm.” She threw another peeled potato in. Her face finally turned back. “Do you need some help?”

Ettiene cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

“I can tell.”

Ettiene flushed.

“You were born into wealth,” Demivah guessed. She took Ettiene’s tool from her, and the hacked potato.

“And the wealth decided they wished I hadn’t been.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Ettiene’s potato was skinned and added to the pot.

Ettiene wasn’t sorry. She was angry. And mortified at her lack of basic skills. And then angry again because how had she been raised in such a proud house without commoner abilities? “I’m sorry I can’t even do this much,” she sighed.

Demivah poured a jug of water over the potatoes and hooked the pot over the fire. “You’ll learn.”

“Is everything so simple as that?”

Demivah’s mouth quirked, just a tiny bit, directed at the warming pot. “It won’t feel it at first, but the more you get the hang of things, the more you realise there are far harder tasks ahead.” Next, she withdrew carrots.

“How bleak.”

Demivah chuckled. “Here, run the edge of the blade from top to bottom- carefully.”

Ettiene followed the instructions, and although she was slower than a mudcrab, she contributed a whole two carrots to the stew.

Demivah threw in cabbage and leeks and onion - these were chopped at the table. Ettiene stayed by the fire, warm and safe from the wind roaring outside and the battering of rain against the walls. Safe for one night.

The stew bubbled and filled the space with warm, delicious steam. Demivah moved a second jug close to the fire, warming it just enough to wash.

“Do you need bed clothes?”

Ettiene shuffled in her seat, playing coy. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Just a shirt would do, it would make for a dainty dress.

Demivah’s gaze hesitated upon her. Second-guessing? Or admiring? Ettiene batted her lashes and the dark elf turned away. She offered her a very unflattering set of bed clothes that would have her body almost entirely covered, and they shared what was barely more than five handfuls of water brought to tepid temperature. Wet rags were dragged over grimy limbs, followed by scratchy dry ones. Ettiene took a little too much time watching the flex of Demivah’s arms, the escaping droplets running for the curves of her thighs, the fluctuation in her skin from grubby grey to a stony pink to almost-blue.

“Do you intend to eat tonight?”

Ettiene blinked. “Yes?”

“Then hurry yourself.”

Ettiene flushed, forcing her focus to her own washing. Demivah covered herself and took to dishing out their stew, unflinching from the broiling pot.

Together, curled in their seats, barefooted and cotton-covered, they dined on the finest meal Ettiene had ever tasted. She had never gone so long eating so little, but still she kept her fine table manners. The Divines were always watching - and possibly Demivah, too.  Restraint burned her stomach where she kept from drinking from the lip of her bowl like a beggar. Eventually, slowly, she was sated.

“Will you be warm enough in your bed roll?”

Ettiene gave the folded blanket a doubtful look. “I’m simply grateful to be out of the rain.”

A silence sat between them, interrupted by claps of thunder.

“My bed does not need warming,” Demivah mumbled. “It is already warm.” The look she offered was awkward, but Ettiene adored it. “You will need that on a night like tonight.”

Ettiene beamed back. “You are ever so generous!”

Demivah whipped back the cover. Her face was full of defeat. Beautiful defeat. “Take the wall side or you’ll be knocked out in the night.”

With a giggle, Ettiene skipped to the bed.

Chapter Text

“I don’t suppose y-you might have need of bed warming?”

Demivah’s eyes cracked open. The ceiling stared back at her. Again.

Nebia’s words had haunted her for hours. Why? She took no issue with women that earned their coin from laying with customers. If that was how they liked to earn their coin, that was.

She let her pupils roll, ever so slowly, to the corner of her right eye, to Nebia, curled up against the wall. Young, pretty, charming with her words, she could find herself a wealthy patron looking for exclusivity easily.

Why offer yourself to me? If you were willing, why not take the employment?

Nebia twitched and Demivah stiffened. Had she spoken aloud? Nebia settled. Demivah could not.

Soft, curved calves drawn up and tucked. Knees to tummy. Chin to chest. Lips pressed out in a pout. Her dreams occasionally creased the finger-width space between her brows. When she stirred, Demivah squeezed her eyes shut in preparation to be caught staring, but she never awoke.

There wasn’t room for full breath with both of them squeezed onto the single bed. Demivah kept hers shallow for the conservation of space. The expansion of Nebia’s chest and back dug into her side rhythmically, a reminder that she was resting well. It was difficult to know for certain through the oversized bed clothes if she was warm enough, but Demivah didn’t dare touch her to check. She would have no excuse if she woke, horrified that her host would attempt to enjoy her dainty body as she slept.

When golden light snuck beneath the door, Demivah decided there was no use forcing herself into slumber anymore. She should rise, begin breakfast, shine her armo-

A slim leg flung over hers atop the blanket, bringing the rest of Nebia with it, rolling into her and smushing her cheek into Demivah’s side. When Demivah found the courage to release a shaky breath, the leg hitched higher. The too-large cotton trousers were bunched at pink thigh, baring everything below. She was trapped. Arms stone-like at her sides with one squashed beneath plush breasts. Legs rigid for fear of disturbing that which was strewn across them. Demivah blinked at the ceiling again, but it offered as much help as it had all night. Her skin hummed with an energy without direction, like magic, only it fizzled inside her without outlet. Even with the barrier of cotton clothes, Demivah’s body couldn’t contain its desire for more of Nebia’s warmth. Divines help her if their bare skin were to ever touch. How long had it been since she had known the touch of a woman? The kind of touch that came as a caress? She let her eyelids fall and attempted to think of anything but falling foolishly for her carnal instincts. This woman was not hers to indulge in. And she was not a mindless animal. She would name every arena champion she could remember since her childhood. She would name districts, put them in alphabetical order. She would-

Despite how light the leg was, she couldn’t put its presence from her mind. The feel of it against her groin could have been marked in ink, a permanent addition. Any moment now, the woman would notice and retract it…

Demivah peeked back down to her guest. Nebia’s face, distorted where it was crushed to Demivah’s ribs, remained dormant. She forced her gaze back to the ceiling. It would be best to let her rest just a little longer, if Demivah could bear it.

She bore it until the sun had completely risen and the heat between her legs had reached feverish levels. Her patience broke like she’d been hit with a dispel spell.

“Time to arise,” she squawked. Throat taut and thirst-stricken.

Nebia nuzzled her face into Demivah’s shoulder - it could almost be mistaken for a refusing shake of the head. A soft groan followed and she rubbed at her eyes, it was ever so endearing and Demivah was already on the brink of some very un-host-like behaviour so she had no choice but to break free of Nebia’s body. She edged her hips and shoulders to the side, half of herself landing on the floor, and scrabbled back upright before the young woman could notice. Nebia’s limbs flopped back to the bed without Demivah to prop them. A doll dropped. Copper eyes yet to open. Golden hair tousled.

Demivah turned away. She needed to dress and break her fast. Just as importantly, her gaze needed a rest from Nebia.

⁞

Bread and fruit slices arranged in the centre of the table, armour polished, and coins counted, Demivah was prepared for her meander into the market district. Today she had the task of pretending to be a simple book collector and gathering information from the merchants that sold them. Nebia had reached the milestone of sitting upright in bed, blanket pooled around her hips. Bare shoulder blared at Demivah as she attempted to take her leave. The cotton shirt she had lent the woman was far too large and with every shift it fell into revealing a different piece of her. The slice of hip that peeked free when she extended her arms up in a stretch brought Demivah’s mouth to watering.

“I must leave for work,” she announced. It felt awkward to break the silence in such a small space, but Nebia didn’t seem to notice, she looked over dreamily.

“Take care.” Her arms dropped back to her sides without noise. Every movement so dainty and ladylike.

Demivah nodded her thanks. “I will be in the market district,” she said as she stepped to the door. “I could ask after work for you?”

“Oh, thank you!” Nebia was jolted with fresh energy that sleep had obviously not given her. No more charming daze. For her, at least. Demivah was still lost in the haze. Fresh lake air was required… maybe a dunking of her head…

“Perhaps you could walk with a patrolling guard and check if any inns along the Red Ring Road need help.” They were piddly little places but at least one could have a bed available for a girl willing to serve mead and make idle chat with patrons. Nebia would do well in such a role, she had a sweet tongue.

Nebia faltered. “That… is a wonderful idea.” She gathered the blanket around her as though to cover herself. “Thank you.” Thumbing the edge, she added, “And, thank you for last night, you are a truly noble woman.”

Demivah nodded, shy under the gratitude. “Best of luck today.”

Nebia smiled, warm as the hearth. “You too.”

⁞

Book three secured. Gwinas was most helpful. Demivah often found when she wore her full armour and carried around the long sword that came with her Blades membership, lots of people were far more open to answering her questions than they would be otherwise. She was a big lass, at least, for a Dunmer she was. And her heavy, clunky, steel armour only made her appear bigger.  The one part of her mission she had failed was finding work for Nebia. Not that she was refused. She forgot to ask in the excitement of getting her hands on a third tome so quickly and easily. Hopefully Nebia had found something while she was out.

Back to her success. Tonight she was to meet Baurus at the sewers for the Mythic Dawn meeting. They were crashing - preferably without any crashing noises. This was a mission of stealth and subterfuge. Biding her time before nightfall, she headed home to rest and eat.

“You hear about that Caerellia girl?”

Demivah hid her exasperation form her features, and turned to her side. Jair was following in-step, awaiting her response.

“I haven’t,” Demivah answered. She lengthened her stride minutely.

Jair stretched his legs and maintained pace, although his breaths became slightly strained. “Noble daughter. They say she was cast out from her house. Scandalous!”

Demivah ceased stretching her steps. “How long ago?”

“Days?” Jair frowned. They passed the Ragged Flagon. “Can’t be much longer than that.”

“How do you know?”

He skipped a little, from excitement rather than his struggle to keep up. “The news is fresh, and a noble family would squash out such gossip with speed,” he declared, as though it were obvious or he was just too smart for her.

Demivah was not entirely convinced by such simple logic. “I suppose.”

“Where does a noble girl go without a noble house?” he mused, thoroughly entertained at the thought. “Perhaps into the arms of the lover that drove her out!”

Demivah shrugged, her plates clanking. What business was this of hers? Only that she’d had a strange, once-wealthy, beautiful woman in her bed last night. Any thoughts she had on the matter, she certainly wouldn’t care to share with Jair of all people.

Jair sighed. “You’re no fun to share tales with, you know?”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t.  She broke away from him, turning into the shack-filled patch behind the wall lining the dock.

Waterfront residents milled about aimlessly, waiting for nightfall to do their dirty work. Not so different from her evening ahead. She opened the door, unlocked from the morning, but what she did she have worth stealing? The Thieves Guild weren’t supposed to take from the poor anyway.

A pot bubbled above the fire. Nebia startled at the sight of her.

“I-I wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”

Demivah pressed her back into the door until it clicked shut. She wasn’t the only one surprised. The woman cooking over her fireplace was not the only unexpected sight either, the one-room house had been scrubbed clean, the bed made, and all of her junk lined up on the shelves neatly.

“I… must leave again when the sun sets,” she said after hovering at the door for too long, eyes sweeping the space. “I thought I should squeeze in some rest.” Since I got none with you by my side all night.

“Um, please-” Nebia faltered, glancing away into the fire. “Be careful. It must be dangerous to work during the night.”

“Thank you,” Demivah murmured. She inched further into the room. “Our agreement was one night,” she reminded her. It felt wrong. Still, it had to be addressed one way or another.

“Yes- I’m sorry.” She dusted off her skirts from flour crumbs and stood, full of respect, hands clasped at the waist like a patient and doting wife. The charm of it burned Demivah’s cheeks and neck. “I just thought… until it became night again-”

“Have you found somewhere to sleep tonight?” She sounded strangled. Mortifying.

“Yes.” She was lying again.

Demivah didn’t have time for an interrogation, she needed to be sharp as a needle tonight. And the more she involved herself with this woman, the less focused she would become. “Fine.” She began the weary task of stripping her armour back off. “But… wake me if you intend to leave beforehand.”

Nebia smiled and returned her attention to the meal she was preparing. It smelled good. Not good enough to keep Demivah from falling into a deep sleep when she slid under the covers, her body clawing back the lost hours of the night before.

⁞

When she woke, the sun was setting, and Nebia had packed her things by the door. She had left a clay bowl covered with a cloth on the table, and a note. Demivah watched her from the bed, peacefully soaking in the crackle of the fire and refreshing glow that settled over her after a good rest. Pink peeked through the cracks of the wooden door. Nebia fussed with her dress and her shoes, striped with sunset light, until Demivah interrupted her.

“What is your family name?” There was a slight rasp to her newly-awoken voice.

The question stilled her, although she was quick to pull back a smile and reply, “You first.”

“Romori.”

Nebia nodded with an exaggerated look of respect. “Beautiful, really rolls off the tongue.”

“And yours?”

Nebia sighed. “I suppose… I don’t have one anymore.”

She could press the matter. She could ask if she was in fact the Caerellia girl. She could get the answer. But why unsettle the woman right before sending her off into the dark? It was not Demivah’s place to prod at. Not when she was being so cruel. No, she was being sensible. This woman was near enough a stranger. And she desperately didn’t want her to be.

She dragged herself upright, suppressing a groan. “I apologise.”

“You needn’t.”

They shared smiles. One tender and obliging, the other uneasy and masking misstep.

“Please…” Nebia fiddled with her skirt. “Eat. Before you head out, you will need your strength.”

“I will.”

“Then… I will be on my way.” Nebia collected her things, slinging them over her back and securing them for whatever journey lay ahead of her. She had done a fine job of cleaning them during her stay, but some soiling - even simply from dirt - absorbed too deeply. She grasped the door handle.

“Farewell,” Demivah said.

Nebia started, turning back for but a moment. “Farewell.” She smiled at her filthy shoes. “And thank you again for your hospitality.”

Demivah nodded with an awkward smile and watched her depart with a heavy heart.

Under the cloth was a stew, and it was surprisingly good. Even still warm. She ate well, and armoured herself carefully. The sewers awaited.

Chapter Text

Book four secured. Also secured: grisly hip wound and at least one broken rib.

Baurus left for Cloud Ruler Temple. Demivah would have escorted him, and the final tome he carried back to Jauffre and Martin alongside the one she had procured in the Market District, but she could hardly catch a breath without needing to still herself completely. She would be nothing but a hindrance to him on the road. Her one restoration spell was barely prodding at the problem - and to think she had dismissed her aunt when she encouraged her to put more time into her magic studies. But then, there was plenty else her aunt was wrong about - following Sheogorath for one. You’ve heard of the blind leading the blind, his herd are the mad leading the mad. Demivah shook her head and her leather hair tie flew loose, wet hair slapping her in the face.

Another night on the lake, another storm to soak you through to your small clothes. And instead of hurrying home for shelter - and perhaps a healing potion if she had been smart enough to store one - she was staggering about the Waterfront in hopes of spotting golden hair.

“Nebia!” she called. The force of her voice strained her side, ripping pain through her as though she were being jabbed at sword-point anew. She deserved it and more. She knew that woman had no place to go and still she sent her on her way. So focused on her precious Blades quests that she was able to put aside her empathy and compassion like a necromancer. And now what did she have? No Cyrodiil-saving missions and only her own regrets to stew in.

There wasn’t a soul out to see, even if her vision wasn’t blurred and splattered. Still, she looped every house and bumped along every stone wall. Where would she have gone? Where could she go? Demivah had so little to use as her map, and it was all her own fault. She couldn’t bring herself to read the note before she left. And now she wouldn’t be able to see clearly enough to. Her body was weakening more with every step.

The bay was agitated, swirling, bringing monstrous waves crashing to the shore. Over the raucous noise, she hoped her banging fist would be heard against a wooden door. No other house on the Waterfront would have offered Nebia entrance, only one that could profit from her. She still had something of value, something she could trade for a hit and a hearth to sleep by. Skooma dealers weren’t known for being choosy. Even the velvet of her brocade dress was worth some coin to the right buyer. The rip of fabric filled her delusional ears and tore Demivah’s heart into shreds.

The door opened and Hillod roared, “ what ?”

“Is Nebia here?” Demivah called over the downpour.

“Who?”

“Imperial. Light hair. Beautiful.”

“No, but you send her my way when you find her!” He chuckled heartily and slammed the door.

Demivah stumbled into the frame, releasing the breath she’d had to hold to stay upright. Was it a relief that she wasn’t huddled in with the outlaws? It should be, but it meant she was still out of Demivah’s grasp. Out from her protection. Demivah grunted as she forced herself upright again. What protection? She was an injured mercenary – otherwise known as useless.

She hadn’t the strength to stray any farther. To give up felt as dire as her injuries. For a long time, she stood foolishly in the storm, staring out at the Waterfront as though Nebia might just appear if she hoped hard enough.

Eventually, she had to give in and go home. It took every bit of her strength to walk the almost-straight-line there, her armour growing heavier as she grew wearier. After barging back into her house, she couldn’t bear to twist and turn her body in search of her key to lock the door behind her. Anyone who would brave this storm to rob her deserved what little they found in her shack for having the courage to come in.

She dried her hands before tearing open the letter for fear of blurring a single word of Nebia’s scrawl. They were shaking. From the cold. From the pain. From the fear of what she’d find folded within the parchment. Her eyes fought to find placement on the elegant script, losing focus as pain flashed through her.

Dearest Demivah,

Thank you ever so much for your kindness in hosting me under your roof. You had no reason to help me, but you did, and I shall never forget it. Please believe that I shall be sure to pay back my gratitudes should my fortunes ever change.

Yours,

Ettiene Caerellia

A huff of a breath left her. It hurt. It all hurt. She turned the note over in her hands, hoping for more. Any kind of clue as to where she may have fled to. Where Demivah had driven her to. There was nothing. She wanted to throw the parchment back to the table in anger, but it was herself she was furious with. She placed it back gently, exactly where Nebia- no, Ettiene had left it.

Demivah couldn’t raise her arms to unhook her armour, and what difference did it make anyway? She lowered herself to her bed with a long groan that no one would hear. Clunks and clanks punctured her. Metal dug into her skin. She deserved it all.

She glared at her ceiling until she hadn’t the energy to, until she could only frown pathetically, until her vision fogged, until she slipped into a fitful faint.

Chapter Text

“You’re Demivah’s girl, ain’t ya?”

Ettiene stumbled. Part shock at the man’s bellowing voice, part slippery cobblestones catching her out. The storm may have passed, but the Imperial City remained sodden from its wrath. “Ex-Excuse me?”

“Imperial girl. Beautiful. You’re the one she’s looking for, no?”

Ettiene realised with uncertain blinks that this was the man’s natural volume. She struggled to find a response. “She’s looking for me?” A stumble in her heartbeat. A catch in her throat. A squeeze in her belly. “I- I should go to her.”

The man shrugged. “Be seeing you.”

Ettiene tipped her head in farewell and took off, sliding and stumbling over the wet ground she chased to return to the Waterfront. The scuffs of her once-fine slippers became an advantage in keeping upright. Guards stepped back for her flailing flurry. Sullen eyes tracked her conspicuous clamour, checking for a trail of law enforcement following her. She hitched her skirt messily to climb the stairs that broke the Waterfront’s wall and pitched forward at the top, stumbling back down to the bay.

The shack door was unlocked. Ettiene allowed herself entrance, checking over her shoulder for the sharp eyes of any Thieves Guild members. They looked out for their own, and the Waterfront residents were all under that protection from what Ettiene had come to learn in her short time removed from the Talos Plaza District.

On the other side, a sight stole a gasp from her. Torn from her chest with a brutal rush.

Unconscious. Bloodied. Trapped in heavy metal armour that contorted her body in a way that could not be comfortable. Demivah lay near-still upon her bed. Ettiene fell to her knees, running her palms over grey skin and collecting clammy grime, feeling for her breaths and her pulse. Both were present but weak.

Piece by piece, strap by strap, buckle by buckle, Ettiene released Demivah from her shiny shell. The plain clothes beneath were drenched in sweat and blood and if she wanted to hone in on the source she would have to remove them too. With no cover left, deep purple splotches glowed from Demivah’s skin, marking a winding path from chest to hip where a wound was both oozing and crusted with blood.

Ettiene scrabbled across the scruffy rug to the unlit fire, hands shaking through two attempts to spark a flame. When smoke finally curled from the centre of the log pile she snatched a pot and ran from the shack and back to the bay. The water she gathered was slow to boil, probably because she couldn’t keep herself from searching for bubbles. In between checking the flow of air from Demivah’s nostrils, she prepared rags and fresh bed clothes. Nothing had moved since the morning she departed, even her letter lay a little mangled upon the table.

A burble. Ettiene dove for the pot and hunched over it, watching occasional bubbles turn into a full boil. Grit ringed the pot where it separated from the river water. Ideally she would treat it through a straining cloth too, but there wasn’t the time nor the cookware. After scooping out all the waste she took a towel and wrapped the handle to bring it to Demivah’s bedside. Dipped rags dragged nearer and nearer the gash until the water had cooled some. At the torn edges of skin she dabbed most carefully. Brutality of such kind was novel to Ettiene. It sickened her. Worse, it left her at a loss for how to help.

She had no money for a restoration mage or even a healing potion. Every last coin she’d had was spent surviving the streets since Demivah had her leave. A clean wound was all she could offer. Then, a wash from her dark hair to her calloused feet. Anything to prevent infection. She was gentle, worrying over every spot that could be another cut or bruise. When Demivah was cleansed, the sheets and Ettiene were soiled. More tasks to keep grateful, trembling hands moving.

The day was growing dry again. As was the wound. Ettiene kept watch through her chores, darting out to hang the bedding and back inside to witness Demivah’s breaths once again. Shallow. Still, they were there. Still, she busied herself.

A fever trapped Demivah in a state of delusion and the wound’s top turned slimy. She mumbled about the dead emperor, about a castle in the clouds, about a priest and a dragon. Ettiene dabbed at her face with cool water from the bay and assured her in hushed words that everything would be okay.

“Nebia,” Demivah whispered. Lips and voice cracked.

Ettiene stroked her cheek. “Yes?”

“Ettiene.”

She blinked and leant in closer. “Yes?”

Demivah groaned. Her eyes did not open. She was not speaking to her, only babbling feverishly still.

Ettiene swallowed painfully and dabbed at Demivah’s lips with boiled water. She was sweating out every drop Ettiene could get back inside of her.

Enough.

Ettiene sat back on her heels, head in line with Demivah’s, and blew a breath through her nose. She had said she would never return, never beg at her father’s feet. She’d rather die. Demivah moaned feebly. She wouldn’t rather Demivah die, though.

A damp dress was far more fiddly to fit but Ettiene struggled into it. She practised her pleading with herself. Prepared herself for the shame. All she needed was fifty septims. It was nothing to him. Her friend could be dying-

Cough.

Ettiene spun, heavy sodden skirt following her at a delay.

Dull rubies searched the ceiling before finding Ettiene to their left. Demivah was awake, blearily and wearily so. It was the most wonderful sight. Better than the White-Gold Tower at sunset, better than the Great Chapel of Mara with all the candles lit, better than the Gold Coast with the water hyacinths in bloom. Ettiene collapsed at her side in a puddle of soggy silk and reached to check her temperature. What she was not prepared for was Demivah to reach back.

A much larger and stronger hand passed hers as though failing to catch a shake and snatched the bodice of her dress. Snagged by a much stronger (even in sickness) woman, Ettiene was pulled into the bed at Demivah’s side.

“D-”

Harsh lips took hers. Rough, not careless. Lustful as it was longing. Demivah kissed Ettiene’s soul from her body. Ettiene dangled from the bed, half tucked over the dark elf and half hanging in the air. For a woman who had looked to be on her deathbed, she had no trouble keeping their mouths pressed together.

Ettiene placed her hands over Demivah’s shoulders and pushed. Eventually, she was released to lift up on her elbows. Gasping like a fish.

“You are injur-”

“Stay.”

“Demivah-”

“Stay here. Stay with me. Stay.” The words rushed from her, knocking Ettiene between the eyes.

She opened her mouth. She closed it. She considered letting Demivah have it again so she did not have to find the right speech that would offer both her gratitudes and her romantic affections. How to put into just a few words how elated that offer had her? How to explain the depravity with which she had fallen for a dark elf she hardly knew? How to find something to offer in return aside from her love?

“Please,” Demivah croaked.

Ettiene felt her body melt a little into Demivah’s. Only a thin sheet between her dress and the elf’s naked, broken, torso. “Of course I will stay,” she said on a sigh.

Demivah sunk into the bed, the lines in her brow smoothing. It was the finest compliment Ettiene had ever received. Her presence brought the woman she adored peace. Soon her head would topple her over.

“I’m so sorry I ever let you go.”

Ettiene laughed softly. “Not as sorry as me, I can promise you.”

“You’re wet,” Demivah mumbled.

“Yes.” Ettiene watched her for a moment, concerned perhaps the fever had tricked her once again. “Sorry. I washed my dress.”

“Wear something dry of mine.” There wasn’t much dry left after all the cleaning that Ettiene had taken to. Who said high-borns couldn’t get their hands dirty?

“Mmm.” Ettiene stroked the short hairs back from her face and kissed the still-warm forehead beneath. “You shall have to release me.”

Demivah’s groan in response was negative. Ettiene laughed into her temple.

“I won’t stray from you,” she vowed.

“I would only chase you if you did.” Her grip loosened and Ettiene fell free to the ground.

“First you must heal,” she demanded. “Then we can play cat and mouse.”

Demivah grumbled something to herself but did not resist the rest that Ettiene prescribed her for the weeks ahead. Outside of her shack, Akatosh himself could have landed in the Imperial City and they would have been none the wiser.