Chapter Text
The smell and taste in Vivi’s mouth was almost beef-like in flavor. She had been carrying the taste for several days, before finally giving into disgust. She sat with her back to a boulder taller than she was and wide enough to be considered a wall.
Her fingers were so skinny they looked like dirty chicken bones as they shredded the spiky grass, long nails digging into the red pods to get at the little seeds. They tasted bitter, the salt corrupting the taste as it did the moods of restless sailors and territorial horkers. The strong smell of it, the salty scouring of Vivi’s tongue, made her shoulders fall and the tremor in her hands fade.
As Vivi’s frantic fumbling slowed, her body relaxed back into the stillness she had mastered as a hunter and as a prisoner. The constant peck of guilt gave way to steady breathing. She felt the swirling coolness that she thought of as her magicka, coalesce around her.
It was a little like pissing in a pond, Vivi thought. The magicka spread about the land around her, taking in the small bits of frozen rock and the soft hum of a sabercat’s kitten purring. When it found the bandit, hiding above her, Vivi felt it rush back into her body like breathing in water. It hid somewhere inside her, peeking out from behind her eyes like a bear in its den.
Vivi never knew when her magicka wished to spill, and when it wanted to coil inside her.
Vivi could, however, make assumptions.
Vivi started humming an old Nord tune, one she had heard Balgruuf hum to Nelkir when he wanted him quiet. She felt a deep ache when she thought of her son. It was an ache that pulled her towards Whiterun, even when the city made revulsion shudder through her veins.
“The Smith had a blanket” Vivi’s throat rubbed harshly against itself, neglect and salt refusing her call. “and he laid it before him.” Vivi continued to push through, ignoring how the syllables would skip under the lack of melody.
Vivi stood up. Her left knee complained heavily under the abuse. It was swollen and had been swollen since she dunked herself under the water to hide from the wild-eyed thralls. Her right hip groaned in response, as if to say that it had the greater burden. Her stomach cramped from the rich feast of grass pods. It made her want to ignore the three potatoes, hidden five feet to her left. She hoped the butterfly, with its red wings, would still be floating by the tree stump around the rock, when she got to it.
The bandit was an imperial, shaved. He had not been a bandit long; that or he was a vain bandit. As he crept closer, Vivi tried to conjure the need for alarm. He wished to do violence upon her, and she thought that should be alarming.
Her thoughts had not stewed for more than a blink before the bandit attempted to grab her. Vivi stepped to the side. The bandit’s foot hit a root, causing him to stumble forward. His arms windmilled wildly, until he hit a rabbit trap, which pulled his ankle out from under him. He fell on his own knife. There was not a scream nor sound.
Vivi walked directly to where he placed his supplies, a few hundred feet away. She pulled the drawstring bag open to find a mage’s robe, smelling of moldy apples, and a pair of boots. The boots were tight, supporting her ankles.
Like a frog trapped in a bucket, Vivi continued to sing. “People came up, from miles around.”
Vivi’s magicka was vibrating, streaming out of her and latching onto everything in range.
Vivi’s range was large.
“I need to back track.” Vivi croaked. She headed up the northeast road.
<><><><><>
Her magicka pulled and tugged her to Dawnstar. Dawnstar didn’t have coin, but Vivi didn’t need coin. She needed to replace her furs, she needed arrows, she needed boots, and ice picks. She needed troll fat to waterproof herself, she needed hawk feathers to chew when skeevers bit her.
Vivi had been trained as a hunter, an angevagi, since she started bringing back rabbits to feed the little ones, being barely a head taller than the toddlers she was feeding. She was given ceremonial duties, such as tending the sages and surveying the land. These were the cadoramest, the ritual duties, and they made her nigh untouchable by Reachfolk law. From an outsider’s perspective, it would have been seen as an honorable position. She would roam around the Reach hunting big game to feed the settlements, and she would, in return, get supplies. Without a Reachmen settlement within a hundred miles, she was left with little to do but chop wood and carry water.
Even in one of the coldest areas of Skyrim, fires were still a risk. The trees were densely packed and woven together, to the point the sky could scarcely be seen in the summer. In Dawnstar, where ore had to be continually smelted, a steady water supply was always needed. Even the poorest of beggars, like Vivi, could earn money moving water.
Vivi was one of twelve workers. They were given two buckets, attached to each other with a long metal chain. They were to fill their buckets at the sea, where another two workers broke the ice, and then carry the water two miles uphill, to a giant trough. They would repeat the process until the sun was part way below the western horizon, and they would report back when light was shining from behind the Tower of the Dawn.
When walking down to the sea, downhill with only the weight of the bucket and the chain over her shoulders, Vivi’s chest was tight with anxiety. There was a creeping sense of dread as each step hurt, her breath coming in gasps. Her kneecap rubbed against her legs with a grinding, aching pain. Healing spells, Vivi knew, could only heal, not remove caducity. All the magicka in the world could not give her back the health and years stolen from her.
The other workers were already halfway back up the hill, when Vivi reached the broken ice. Vivi let herself fall to the ground, pain following her despite her lack of effort. She pressed her forehead into her hurting knee and screeched with the frustration gathering between her shoulders, and in the tears falling from her eyes. It was a pitiful sound, her lungs too tired to expand. She reached for her magicka, for it to give her a solution, and she got nothing in return. She didn’t know what to do.
There was a slight kick to her ankle. Vivi yowled like a cat, her chin jerking up to see an old woman standing above her. She held a basket layered with nirnroot and grass, her fingers wet with dirt.
“Are you quite alright, dearie?” The woman’s chin was soft and there were deep wrinkles around squinting eyes. She bent down, putting a rough hand on Vivi’s forehead. Vivi felt slightly ashamed, but in her shame, she felt a petty discontent that made her tongue move without permission.
“I can’t carry the water up the hill.” Vivi said. “and I am unlikely to become stronger, at this time in my life.”
The woman leaned close to Vivi, examining her. Vivi wasn’t sure what she saw, but a hard look came over the herbalist’s face. She looked at the buckets, still empty, and then sighed gently.
She smiled, then, at Vivi. Her teeth were perfectly straight, a pale yellow that seemed white in the sunlight. “Why don’t you try and fill the buckets, old woman, before you worry about carrying them up the hill.”
Vivi scowled, the woman still smiled, encouragingly. Vivi stumbled to her knees, before pushing her up to her feet. Her knee still hurt. She dragged the buckets on the ground before a hand squeezed her arm.
“Liable to break the buckets, that way. Pick them up -- surely an old woman can do that.”
Vivi felt she was being mocked. She dragged the chain over her shoulders again.
She filled the buckets, then stumbled back, the weight feeling like her sister standing on her shoulders once again. She wouldn’t be able to carry these buckets. There was pain running up and down her spine from the weight and her feet felt like they were splitting apart.
“Can you take a step, old woman?” The herbalist asked. In Vivi’s head, she heard her little sister asking “Can you lift me higher?”
Vivi stumbled forward a step.
“Very good.” the old woman said. “Thank you! It’s almost done now!”
“Why don’t you just keep taking steps til you have to come back down?”
“I can’t,” Vivi said, desperately wishing for the stamina that kept her little sister balanced on her shoulders for hours. “I am old and I am tired.”
“I think you can take one step.” The woman adjusted the chain around Vivi’s neck. “And after you are done for the day, you come to the Mortal and Pestle. I’ll get you some relief for the pain in your knee.”
Vivi’s teeth clenched. She was going to collapse before she got to the top of the hill. If it weren’t for the trees, she would hope to roll to the sea and drown.
She took one step, and something lurched in her chest. It burned. There was a sharp sensation of the chain pressing on bone, but Vivi didn’t have the energy to move it. Her stomach was clenching and boiling in panic.
She took a second step.
<><><><><>
With half a day’s pay for a full day’s work, Vivi sat at Frida’s counter, chugging tea. Her knee was wrapped in some netch jelly and some troll fat, slightly elevated. Frida had only stopped calling Vivi “old woman” when Vivi struggled to get to the front door.
Frida poured Vivi some more tea.
“There is another job, at the inn.” Frida said, measuring out the tea. “They need someone to chop wood.”
Vivi, lulled by the warm room and the warmer tea, was slumped over the grey wood of the counter. She was slowly pushing her magicka through her muscles, trying to see if it would help. It didn’t. She looked at Frida with a bleary paranoia.
“Why would I go from one physically demanding job to another physically demanding job?” Vivi asked.
“I didn’t say you needed to leave the first, dear.” Frida pushed a bowl of porridge towards her. It was fluffy and had a steaming mound of butter melting on top. Vivi’s hand trembled as she tried to reach for the spoon. “I think you should spend the evening doing some wood chopping. Too long without work, from the look of you. It will get you a room in the inn, instead of the mine.”
A deep, aching sound came from Vivi’s chest. The little part of her that needed the razor stood up in attention though. Her magicka, silent through her struggles all day, also rose up to listen. She ate each bite of the porridge slowly.
By the time she was scrapeing the bottom of the bowl, Frida was tapping her foot in impatience. Vivi slid off the stool.
And she took another step.
<><><><><>
It was not until she heard “Dead oaths on dead lips.”; that she was able to move. Lit like a clairvoyance spell, the magicka hooked her under her ribs and pulled forward.. Her new shoes didn’t have enough traction to run quickly, each step a slide into muddy snow. The sun was rising over the sea, and sand and salt scoured the rough planes of Vivi’s face.
She only stopped when she saw the young man, dressed in well preserved linen, neatly pressed, that her magicka started to spool out into waves of contentment.
Vivi had spent her forty-fifth birthday in a dungeon, and was fast coming upon her forty-sixth. She had been dealing with fanatics all her life. From the gleam in Silas’ eye, to the way his gaze didn’t take in her ragged appearance, Silas was a fanatic. He was desperately grasping at something to give his life meaning. Vivi looked around her at the house. It was a large house in Dawnstar, he had probably grown up being one of the richest people in town. Vivi watched him move about, a slight hesitation in his step. He had gone somewhere larger, Vivi thought to herself. He had seen how tiny his town was, how tiny his house, and suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of being small. He had clung to something that would give him relief from feeling like a small fish in a very big pond.
Unfortunate, Vivi thought, that the daedra did not appreciate faith. The Reachfolk learned long ago that the best way to deal with daedra was with an iron contract. That iron contract needed an end date. She understood the Imperial would not understand her kind’s worship.
Vivi was barely able to reach the top of the tanning stand with her fingertips when she first heard of the Empire’s Divines. The Pinemoon Cave Settlement, before it was smoked out, had a book, worn and yellowing, explaining the different Imperial and Nordic Divines, and which “virtue” each Divine represented. It was her first schoolbook. The teachers, traders and farmers that went between settlements -- and one sage -- had always handled it like an ill-behaved milking goat. The information kept in the book was less than useless to most of them, but it contained complex sentences and words not to be found in any other book lying around. The divine, Stendarr’s message in the book was faded from hundreds of little children running dirty fingers over the words- but it read “Stendarr says: Be kind and generous to the people of Tamriel. Protect the weak, heal the sick, and give to the needy.”
When Vivi could put her hand on top of the tanning stand, a Vigilant of Stendarr visited. A well-dressed Dunmer, with a golden horn held on a golden chain. It gleamed in the sunlight, but Vivi noticed that no adult warned him to hide it. Someone had noticed her, standing, covered in deer guts, and had sent her to fetch the sage- who had been staying in the inner part of the cave until a replacement Hagraven could be sent.
Sages were never supposed to stay in one place for very long. The judges and the directors of the Reach were to move from one settlement to the next, usually lead by a hunter, an angevagi. They sent smiths to places that needed smiths, and sent women to places where there was less blood-kin to reproduce with. They were the arbitrators of disputes and the keepers of history.
This sage was old, and his left knee wasn’t working anymore. He had lost his partner, his hunter, three summers before. He had been struggling to pull air into his lungs. They were trying to find some powdered Moon Sugar, a pleasant sleep to spare him a long death.
The sage crept out into the sun shielding yellow eyes, with a hand halfway burnt. He let Vivi support him through the cave and down to where the Vigilant stood, his robes reflecting the light. They spoke for a few minutes, the sage and the Vigilant. The sage was leaning, heavier and heavier, on Vivi’s shoulder, until Vivi requested leave to take the sage back to the camp.
The question was still tumbling out of Vivi’s mouth when the sage tumbled from her arms, gasping and clawing at his throat. The Vigilant had a hand raised, magicka gleaming. Vivi had thrown herself at the Vigilant, trying to pull his arm down, trying to break his concentration. Vivi wasn’t strong enough to pull a bow in those days- she was not able to take down a dunmer filled with religious zeal.
Vivi was cast aside, a hollow pound of air pressed to her sternum, as she was tossed into a tanning stand.
Vivi gasped, all the sound in the camp sucked from her mind, except for a slow, dark growl. She lifted her head, to see the sage standing eight feet tall, grey snouted. His claws trembled, and his teeth were bared.
The Vigilant never had a chance to flee.
The sage still died that night.
Silas was a young man, which made him pretty, if not particularly worldly. Vivi listened as he explained his collection of Mythic Dawn paraphernalia. Vivi would have been interested in the page from Mysterium Xarxes, except Vivi was almost sure it was a bucket with an illusion spell on it. The theory seemed more likely after she stared at the Daedric lettering, and it said Buckethead bought this for 600 gold. It brought to mind an empty pedestal in Old Hroldan.
When Vivi and her little sister were hiding near Old Hroldan, a priest of Talos came through the town and gave speeches on war in the Reach. He spoke about how Talos needed the Nords to take their homeland from the barbarous Reachfolk, how it was the will of the god of man to smite the Reachfolk.
That night, she held her little sister on her shoulders, little feet digging into muscles, so her little sister could behead the Talos statue under the large Oak tree. After her little sister had destroyed most of the body, Vivi had taken the stone head, which weighed more than her sister, back to the camp.
That morning, three briarhearts brought in the priest, and as the sages deliberated on his fate, Vivi took a pickax to the head of Talos. She crushed the rock until the largest part remaining was a small brown piece of bone. Thirty-odd years later, the bone was still strung around her neck with a broken arrow string. The priest didn’t let out a whimper, until the sages came with the gelding scissors, and then the priest was very little like the god he worshiped.
When Vivi was able to pull a bow, she was given her own chance for Hircine’s gift. She declined. Not wishing to offend one of Hircine’s chosen, nor her younger sister’s teacher, she hunted down a stag as a sacrifice.
When she arrived at the Hagraven’s altar, stag held over her shoulder’s with magic, she found her sister’s robes shredded amongst the blood, and her sister’s necklace around the Hagraven’s neck.
Vivi did not offer the sacrifice to Hircine, nor did she find any other Matriarchs of Hircine interested in hunting.
Followers chose their gods, poorly. Vivi thought, staring at Silas. Unfortunate, Vivi thought, that the daedra did not appreciate faith. The Reachfolk learned long ago that the best way to deal with daedra was with an iron contract. That iron contract needed an end date.
Always have an end date. Vivi thought to herself. She glanced among the cases, her magicka reaching out and touching each of the items, until it seemed to hone in on a dagger sheath.
Vivi stared, she reached out and examined the dagger with her magicka, running incorporeal fingers over it. The sheath had once contained the perfect dagger. There was a hint of soul’s essence buried in the leather- which was eternal. Vivi had never seen something eternal before. It made her eyes water, like she was looking too long at a bright candle. It didn’t feel like the gentle prodings of her magicka, it felt like the relief of splinters being removed from a wound.
There was something more to it, Vivi thought. This dagger changed things. It poked at the balance of the world. Vivi did not consider herself a good person, or even leader. She was worn, in soul, and spirit. She could barely carry water, could barely cut wood. She would never be able to raise her child or see her people rule the Reach, again. But she knew that the Razor belonged in her hand, just as her hand belonged on her arm. It was the little piece that would send the boulder’s tumbling --- and Vivi knew how to climb boulders, now.
Still, something stayed her hand, a whisper of magicka, coiling like a spring in the fire. She would wait, she decided, she would wait until it was time. Until then, she would chop wood and carry water.
<><><><><>
By the time a year had passed, Vivi had grown strong. Her fingers and hands had lost the chicken bone like shape, and they no longer shook, but could move dexterously and with an easy strength. The robes no longer fell off of her shoulders, but were stretched across broad muscles Vivi had not boasted in her youth. Her thighs and legs were solid, and she was able to stay in a crouch for hours at a time. She had been slowly attempting to hunt once again. Her magicka was slowly starting to respond to her needs, letting her shift in shadows, knowing the moment they would appear.
She started to take days to explore the area around Dawnstar. Snow covered the area in drifts, only broken by trees and mountains.
It was crawling with wolves. Vivi was displeased with how few deer remained, and how the wolves’ ribs stuck out. The fur was falling from the body, even before she was able to take the skins. Vivi made due with leather and no furs.
It felt as if nails were raking up her back, the lack of furs. She had earned her furs young, and she had not lost them, they were taken from her. They were likely ash in cold wind, by then.
Her feet were getting restless. She wished to be off. She wanted news of her son, she wanted to hunt down some healthy deer, maybe a few foxes. There was an aching pulling need to find the pieces of the Razor.
Her magicka drew her back to Dawnstar, no matter how her footsteps tried to turn South.
It was not until late one night, when the snow was blowing in her face an- cutting through her leathers, that her eyes landed on a reason for leaving.
A bundle of furs, too thick to be natural, was letting up noises in Dunmeris. The sound filled the air, turning Vivi’s face red with embarrassment, the language close enough to Daedric that she could parse out the phrases.
“Their fathering took place in Malacath’s arsehole, if they think I am going to let them bitch me like a common s’wit in this weather. Molag’s lost balls are warmer than this forsaken piece of Nirn. I should let Hircine take the clanless bastards and fuck them with his spear, because it will be a better fate than what I am going to do to them---”
Red eyes were glowing from beneath the furs, squinting and unblinkingly staring straight ahead. Vivi knew the soft glow of an inn seemed like a siren’s call after a long time on the road. Lumbering behind the Dunmer were two Nords, almost giants. They seemed scarcely dressed for the weather, compared to Vivi and the Dunmer’s own clothing. Heavy metal skirts and fur boots, but no leggings. Their arms were bare, but for swirling blue warpaint. They clutched flasks, and leaned into each other. They were also arguing, loudly. It didn’t seem as interesting as the dunmer’s swearing.
Vivi could smell the liquor over the pungent smell of her own sweat. She watched as they walked into the inn, before finishing the last four logs on the pile, stacking them under the awning.
Her magicka was bouncing, pulling her towards the inn. She ignored it, heading towards Frida’s shop, where there was a dim light blinking in the night.
Vivi did not enter past the threshold.
“I think I am going to be leaving soon,” Vivi said to Frida.
“I should hope so, you’ve been dragging your heels long enough.” Frida said. “There are potions on the lower shelf for you, if you want them. “
Vivi took the potions, but she didn’t want them.
Frida ignored her as she lingered by the door, starting up her nightly cup of tea- but only bringing out one tea cup. Vivi walked out the door, closing it behind her. She felt a deep well of sorrow, somewhere underneath her chest, break open and fall into nothingness. Empty, she walked towards the inn.
The wind stopped so Vivi’s walk could be silent. She allowed her magicka to roam about the area, letting it spread out. She didn’t feel any special connection to Dawnstar, but the magicka in her bones seemed to like to check every inch of the area as she made a trail in the snow. It never seemed to change anything, it just liked to look.
Vivi wondered, why she needed to refer to her magicka as separate from herself. She liked to look. She wanted to know what was going on. As if in response to the new reality, her magicka spread out further than it ever had before, and Vivi felt dizzy with the amount of information she received.
She had herself under control by the time she arrived at the snow lumps that indicated where the steps to the inn were. It was quiet, except for the locals whispering about the new customers. The fire in the middle of the room was roaring, trying to chase away the last of the chill and to burn away the smell of unwashed bodies. The air was hazy with the heat, but Vivi was able to follow her nose to the smell of the visitor’s liquor.
She found the table where the Dunmer sat, and considered, how to address the elf. He was sitting with his back to the wall. His hat and furs still covered him, despite the heat.
Vivi took a deep breath.
She sauntered to the table, and took a seat across from the Dunmer. She laced her fingers together, setting her arms on the table and looked at him.
The red eyes under the hat blinked.
“I don’t like you,” A raspy voice said. “I haven’t been in your presence for more than twenty-five seconds and I already don’t like you.”
“Heartbroken,” Vivi said. “How does a mer who hates the snow as loudly as you do, find himself in Dawnstar, home of the wet and cold? Did you lose a bet, or are you babysitting?”
As if to answer the question, there was a loud bang. Vivi looked over her shoulder to see the two Nordic companions passed out on the floor. Their beards were wet with beer and were going to be stuck in an awful shape when they woke. One of them had their metal kilt flipped, showing an askew loincloth. The barkeep’s face was twisted as he stood over them, and it was mirrored by the usual visitors to the inn.
“Let me get them,” Vivi said, picking up one of the drunks. “They can stay in my room.” She felt the man on her shoulder spasm, and then there was a feeling of wet slime crawling its way down her back.
The barkeep nodded, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll send you a bath.”
“Appreciated.” Vivi said.
The Dunmer grabbed the other. They were able to drag them both to Vivi’s room, a small forgotten corner. It had two beds and a chest, and was usually only rented for the busy season. The last time was when a Prince up in Solitude had married a lady love. Vivi had shared with some Argonian siblings who were catching a ride to visit family.
She laid her man on the side and shoved him to one side of the larger bed. The dunmer did the same with his drunk. Both started snoring loudly.
Vivi pulled off her shirt, wincing as she felt some of the vomit sticking in her hair. Since her escape from the vampires, she had only gotten her hair to grow past her ears. It was plentiful, but thin and still easily lost.
She felt the Dunmer staring at her as she used the clean parts of the shirt to wipe the vomit off her neck and hair.
“You willing to pay for the peek?” Vivi asked.
“Admiring some hidden acreage,” the Dunmer said, and Vivi didn’t flinch. Already well endowed, Vivi had a complicated relationship with her chest before they had been used for nursing. After the milk had dried up, Vivi had bound them tight and tried to forget the different mouths that had nursed from her breast.
“Ah, a trespasser.”
“And a gentleman.” The Dunmer averted his eyes, obviously. “My name is Athis, information for the trespass.
That did not stop him from stripping and entering the warm water as Vivi sunk into her shoulder.
“What brings the illustrious,” Vivi glanced at the two men laying on the bed, “Companions to Dawnstar. There are no natives to slay, not much ale to drink, and I am afraid you are one of the only elves who sets foot in these parts.”
Skyforge Steel let off a specific glow in sunlight, like a prism half-hidden in snow, that any Reachfolk would know from a mile off, and the glow had saved many settlements, long before.
“There are very few children to sacrifice or goats to fuck either, Reachwoman. Should you like me to ask your business?”
“Ask all you like; I am planning on retrieving the pieces of Dagon’s Razor.” Vivi said. “I have been waiting for you to arrive for some time.”
“You are a cultist.”
“Opportunist.”
“We seek the Silver-Hand,” Athis started, but Vivi waved it away.
“They live in a small Fort, south down the road and then off towards Whiterun to the east. I can show you the way.” Vivi leaned forward, “Or do you plan to kill them? I won’t lead you to slaughter some poor bastards-”
“They killed our leader.” Athis said absently. “They hurt our people.”
“So you will hurt their people? You live in a fortified city -- I doubt their roof keeps the snow out.”
“They stole from us --”
“Death sentence from the Companions.” Vivi noted.
“Aye, they took the pieces of Wuuthrad.”
“A weapon meant to slay elves.”
“Aye, and I have slain many elves.” Athis’ red eyes gleamed at her, face remaining as expressionless as ever.
“Do you need vengeance, or do you need the pieces?” Vivi asked. “There is a greater task ahead of you, I can see it- like footsteps on a beach. The closer to the tides of vengeance, the less secure your feet stand.”
“Prophecies are nonsense.”
“Who said it was something as vague as a prophecy?” Vivi sat forward, letting Athis see the scars around her body through the steam. “If you pursue vengeance, you will lose your Companions, one by one -- til only you face the ghost at the end. If you pursue the pieces of the axe, you will face your demons with your Companions by your side, bolstered by each other.”
Athis glanced over at the two men sleeping on the bed.
“Tell me what I need to do to get the axe.”
Vivi grinned. The coil was set to spring.