The incendiary ghoul lunged at its attacker, the one who dared steal the treasure it was ordered to protect. The resurrected corpse seemed to have the advantage, its flaming body kept the Imperial in a constant backpedal. The human had to lunge to the side in order to avoid its attacks, the brave warrior was on the retreat. Things were looking up for the ancient Nord, for the first time in centuries, an adventurer was going to die by its hands.

The situation was improving, until a silver bolt sliced through the draugr's brain.

“I figured you guys would need some help.” Lynette Jemane held a crossbow in her hands, a smug and sincere grin was plastered on her face. Reman never knew that anyone could make steel plate look attractive, but the Breton woman pulled it off, somehow. “I never figured you'd be rescued by me, but I can't say I don't like the feeling.”

“Well, I’m not displeased by the results.” Reman tossed the corpse to the ground, ready to attack the next draugr in his way. “But, I must ask how you freed yourself.” The Imperial stabbed his steel through a dustman's stomach, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You used a rope as old as this crypt, you should be grateful that I didn't just leave.” The woman all ready had a shot loaded into her crossbow, ready to end another walking corpse. With a quick pull of a trigger, the silver bolt found its target, and lodged itself firmly into a draugr's chest.

“If you two lovebirds are done, I could use some help over here!”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The clouds over Whiterun were still darkening, with the sun nearing the horizon, the time to enter the city was fast approaching. Everypony was doing something to pass the time until the infiltration, every simpleminded task was different from the next. Summer Glade was currently munching on some locally gathered berries, Twilight scanned them to see if they were poisonous, and the Element said they were fine for pony consumption. Actually, eating them gave the lycan a cooling sensation, not unpleasant, not chilling, but like she'd be able to stand higher temperatures. Besides, they tasted amazing, compared to the rations Glade had been forced to eat, and the berries were leagues ahead of that stupid fish.

“Those clouds don't look too welcoming.” Rainbow wasn't scared, her voice didn't hold any of the normal signs of fear, but she certainly didn't like how the weather appeared to be brewing. It was going to storm at some point after nightfall, that was certain. The wind was picking up, the air felt heavier, all classic signs of a rogue bunch of storm clouds, or a heavy rain from the Everfree.

“Ah know what'cha mean, Dash, mah family takes cover when we see weather like that.” Applejack's farm was right at the edge of the ominous forest, she knew how storms looked before they began. The alien world behaved just like the Everfree, so the concepts seemed interchangeable, at least in some respects.

“When we enter Whiterun, we need to get inside as soon as possible.” Luna hoped she would receive some signal from Reman, even the wave of a torch would be sufficient. If the Imperial was in the city, why wasn't he trying to contact the Princess?

@#@#@#@#@#@#

“That's the last of them.” Farkas had worked up a sweat, panting as he observed the carnage set before him. Combining the three humans' collective skills, the draugr were slain with startling efficiency, never had the Companion believed that two werewolves and a Silver Hand lieutenant could make an amazing team.

“Yeah, let me rest before we get out of here, okay?” Reman had been stabbed numerous times, he'd taken worse, but he needed to sit down for a bit. Lynette was using Healing Hands on her ex-fiance, almost amazed at the level of damage the werewolf could take.

“You're lucky I know Restoration magic, otherwise you might be sleeping for the next eternity in this crypt.” The Breton had mastered the use of Healing Hands around the time Reman had learned his first Conjuration spell from Gaston. For some reason, the Imperial grasp the summoning art faster than the use of a blade, it was usually the opposite with Cyrodiil's indigenous population.

“I wouldn't put money on that.” The table in the rotunda had become the unofficial resting point for the motley crew. Farkas really only had one flaw about him: he was too kindhearted. That didn't mean that the Nord was soft or merciful, he was just too trusting. If someone in the Circle said a person was okay, then the lycan had no problems with them. That was probably the only reason he was letting Lynette anywhere near Reman. “I've seen the god-slayer take worse.”

“What?” The woman ceased her work to think, that made no sense, Reman was strong, sure, but calling him a god-slayer was taking things a bit far.

“Long story.” With nothing else, the Imperial hopped off the the ancient table, injuries healed enough to be nothing more than annoyances. The honed draugr swords and axes would make fine weapons, for someone else, because Reman only sold looted items, but they made short work of his wolf armor, though. “Let's get back to Whiterun.”

“Hold up, I want to take a look around, first.” Farkas hadn't come this far to leave empty-handed, and the chest by the table drew his attention like nothing else.

“What could you possibly find interesting in this place?” The Imperial was only sounding impatient because he was in pain, stab wounds made him irritable.

“That seems to fit the description.” Lynette piped in her two septims whenever she felt necessary, which was often. At least that hadn't changed about her. The Breton pointed to a section of the back wall, behind the table. It was obvious, but in the earlier melee, the strange artifact had gone unnoticed. It was a curved, stone wall, etched with odd symbols, perhaps glyphs of some ancient language. “What is that thing?”

“That's a Word Wall, ancient Nords put them up all over Skyrim.” Farkas had lived in the frozen nation his entire life, he was raised on old legends. “They're written in the language of the old Dragon Cult.”

“Any idea what it says?” Reman had changed his mind, this strange Word Wall seemed rare, and rare finds were valuable to the right buyer.

“Sorry, the only ones that can read it are the Greybeards, and that's still a stretch.” While Farkas was wondering about the artifact's meaning or purpose for being in this crypt, the Imperial was wondering how he could use this to his advantage.

“Well, maybe I should take a rubbing of the words, let the Greybeards see them.” It would make the second time that Reman had climbed the Seven Thousand Steps, maybe they would let him into High Hrothgar again. The Imperial couldn't use the Thu'um, the closest he came was the Voice of the Emperor power, and that wasn't really special. Although, anyone could learn the skill, and Reman hadn't known anything about the language used in a Shout, but this might be his way of learning at least some portion of the ancient Nord art.

“Couldn't hurt, I doubt anything could break these things.” With Farkas' blessing, if one could call it that, the Imperial set about copying the strange script, intent of making something truly valuable of the dungeon crawl.

Thirty minutes and twenty rolls of paper later, Reman had completed his task, though he had to use two rolls for the longer words.

“Now, that just leaves you, Lynette.” The Imperial knew that there were only two options, and both of them made him ill. They could let her live, and then she could report to her superiors and attack Jorrvaskr, not good. Reman could have Farkas kill her, but he had promised Gaston to watch after her, and the Imperial always kept his word. “Give me a good reason to let you go.”

“We were going to get married, if you recall.” Farkas quirked a brow at the small revelation, but remained respectfully silent, allowing the two to settle things between themselves. “Isn't that good enough for you?”

“I'm not going to allow personal feelings to cloud my judgment in this.” Reman had learned how to deal with people in a manner that gave him an impartial stance on issues of importance. The Imperial crossed his arms, and gave the woman an expectant look.

“I've never done anything against you.” A lie, and a blatant one at that, but she seemed to believe it. One look in her eyes, and Reman knew that Lynette was telling the truth, at least what she thought was true.

“How so?” The Imperial needed to hear her justification of her actions, just for his own sake. “As I recall, this makes twice that you've tried to kill me.”

“I didn't know it was you the first time!” Lynette took a defensive posture, trying to protect herself from what Reman was saying. “I joined the Silver Hand to find you, so I could help you, I would never try to kill you.” The woman lunged at her ex, neither Farkas nor Reman moved to stop her. Lynette gripped the Imperial's armor, and got as close to his face as she could. “Look me in the eye, is this the face of a liar?”

“Lynette, your father made me promise to look after you, I will continue to do my best in that endeavor.” It took a few moments for the Imperial's word to sink in, but they took root, and the Breton woman understood his meaning. She would be allowed to live, without condition, Farkas and Reman would do nothing to stop her escape. “Now, go home to Kvatch, where you belong.”

“My mother and I moved to High Rock after the incident.” That certainly answered the question of how Lynette managed to join the Silver Hand. Regardless of the details of her recruitment, the woman had a determined look about her. The Breton crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one leg out, a sign of aggression from childhood. “I'll not return to Cyrodiil without you following.”

“Then you'll be waiting for quite some time.” Reman removed himself from Lynette's grip, and went about searching corpses for any loot he mat have missed.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” The brunette had a fair bit of patience for the lycan, he was her childhood neighbor, after all. The Breton knew how the Imperial behaved, and this was a classic sign that Reman was attempting to keep someone from involving themselves in something dangerous.

“I'm not the one being interrogated.” The lycan had never so much as raised his voice at the woman, and he wasn't about to start. Lynette had a few tells, and they were all flashing her distress, though she wasn't worried about either werewolves, something else was plaguing the woman. “If you live in High Rock, go back.”

“The Jarl of Markath sealed the only ways across the border.” Reman knew that, but there were many unofficial paths through the mountains of the Reach. Taking an old goat trail would be grueling task, and take about two weeks if one started at Markarth. “Before you even say anything, I could never avoid Forsworn patrols long enough to enter High Rock.”

“Then ask to be transferred back.” The Imperial didn't want Lynette near him right now, not during this mission. Growing up, Reman had courted the Breton, and a combination of a promise to her father, and his own instinct forced the Imperial to keep her safe. Right now, those very drives were shouting to remove Lynette from the country.

“I can't.” Reman was about to protest, but was unable to voice his opinion.

“She's right.” Farkas had been silent for as long as he could, but things were getting ridiculous, and it was time to move. The simple sentence was enough to draw attention from the Breton, enough for her to speak without interruption.

“The Silver Hand sent me here on a suicide mission.” Lynette's words gave the Imperial pause, if they were true, a number of people would have an angry warrior hunting them down. Reman remained silent, this was the only consent he gave for her to continue. “When you left me alive after slaughtering my team, the senior members of the order decided that I was a liability.” Lynette didn't look like she was mad, rather, she appeared very calm, almost at ease. “Either the Circle member that was supposed to retrieve the fragment killed me, or the Silver Hand would.”

Reman groaned, he did not like how his options narrowed. If he didn't do things correctly, the Breton would die, and he would break his promise to Gaston. The lieutenant was about to get what she wanted, the thing she sought when she joined the order.

“You really haven't given me any other option.”