It couldn’t last, of course. Sound returned first. It began as a distant whistle and grew over time, as the cart jostled along narrow, rocky mountain roads. A faint breeze, a rushing wind, then a slight pop and she could hear once again.

 

From this crack, her shell quickly shattered and her other senses returned in full brutal force. She couldn’t hold back an audible cry as the pain from her half-healed wounds seemed to lance through every nerve her body contained all at once.

 

The noise must have alerted Borkul because the cart rolled to a halt, but Aithne barely noticed because she realized with growing horror that far more than her senses had returned – she had come with them. Whatever protective inner shell in which her true self had been hiding for these…weeks? Months? Years? She had had no sense of time, but that didn’t matter. What mattered at this moment was fighting off the waves of panic, pain, and revulsion she felt growing in her gullet. She had to pretend she was still his obedient slave – if he even imagined that she was not…she went blind with panic for a moment at the very thought but fought through it as Borkul turned and looked back at her. Stay still! She whispered the words to herself, afraid he would somehow be able to hear her thoughts if not whispered. With heart pounding, she turned her head and met his gaze, keeping her expression as neutral as her shaking body would allow.

 

“Ah, you’re back. It’s about time.”

 

Almost – almost – she slipped by speaking. I apologize for my lapse, Master, her lips wanted to say but she remembered just in time that she wasn’t to speak unless directly commanded to. She bit her tongue and held his gaze with every bit of strength she could muster.

 

“I suppose I’ll have to limit the number of times each night.” Borkul shook his head. “Pathetic. I thought you were stronger than that.”

 

Aithne felt a stab of remorse as her mast…no, as Borkul the aptly named Beast turned back to the road and started the horse moving again. A large part of her was in anguish over the thought of letting him down, of not being strong enough. Another part felt a sense of triumph at breaking through his harsh training. Every part of her quaked at the thought of having to face another night with a “customer.” Men were sadistic bastards. The lot of them.

 

Fortunately, they appeared to be in an area devoid of inns. The cart followed a narrow, rocky path that paced a fast-moving river as mountains soared on all sides. She knew little about Skyrim itself – her study had been of the seas, not the lands – so she had no idea where they might be, though the sun’s last gasp over the mountains directly ahead told her they were heading west and south.

 

Twilight spread quickly, stretching through the narrow valleys like an unchecked plague, and soon only the haziest of shapes could be made out against the shadows. Aithne felt the cart stop and tried to still the fear that quailed in her heart as she climbed down. Though she was back in control of her body, she remembered what was expected of her and went about her camp-building tasks as well as her shaking body would allow, all the time trying to avoid looking at Borkul, afraid that the merest peek would cause her to begin screaming uncontrollably. But she could not, of course, keep that up all night. She made certain she made supper with her back to him, but then she had to turn and…

 

He was watching her. Which, of course he was. It took all Aithne’s will to keep her hands from shaking as she held out his plate. He took it slowly, watching her, and she was certain he knew. She braced herself inwardly as he began to speak, ready to run or fight or…or…something to keep from…

 

“I should not have whipped you.”

 

The words, spoken in a gentle voice, took Aithne off her guard. She blinked as she felt her heart beat a little faster. He cared…

 

“Now those scars will be permanent.” His face twisted in a look of disgust. “You are worth less than before.”

 

She felt her heart grow cold. He didn’t care, except how if affected his profits.

 

A moment later, as she turned to get some food for herself, she frowned. Why did she care if he was truly concerned? Why was she disappointed at his words? She stewed over the thought as she ate and cleaned up, knowing deep in the pits of her yowling stomach that the musing was irrelevant, its only purpose to distract her from…

 

“Enough.” His voice was a growl and Aithne froze. “You are spending more time than usual and I have not been tended to in two days. I should have been your first priority.”

 

Aithne bit her tongue to keep from taking a deep preparatory breath and turned. He had already stripped, his cock already halfway to full. The sight of it froze her, though not because of revulsion or fear, but from a couple unexpected guests to the emotional party – lust and longing. As she eyed his cock, she felt an undeniable thirst to have it in her mouth, to run her fingers over it, to have it inside her, filling her. She realized in growing horror that she was hopelessly hungry for him, yearned somehow even for the pain that massive cock inflicted on her cervix. Her body dragged her forward with eager steps even as part of her mind quailed at the thought of touching him. She nearly dove to her knees between his legs, her cunt already puffed and soaked in anticipation as she reached out and…

 

The arrow appeared out of nowhere – one moment Borkul was watching her with silent lust-filled eyes, the next he was screaming and clutching the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He jumped up and, in his haste, slammed Aithne in the side, sending her tumbling toward the bluff wall. Her head cracked as it rebounded off the stone and everything went dark.

 

It may have been seconds or hours before her senses began to return, though likely closer to the former, since the battle raged on. Aithne levered herself to a sitting position, back against the bluff and one hand over her throbbing head, and tried to make sense of the writhing mass of bodies that made up the battle.

 

Dozens of soldiers, it seemed, filled the narrow space between cliffs. Borkul raged in the center, felling two and three with each blow, and Aithne felt her heart sing as he plowed through them. Then she shook her head, clearing the thought. No – if these people were taking on Borkul, that meant they meant to kill or capture him. Which meant she would be free of him. If she wanted done with the life of degrading pain, he needed to be removed. Her eyes widened as the implications of what she was seeing began to send tendrils of some alien emotion along the tightly packed roadways of her brain. It took several ever-deepening breaths to recognize it.

 

Hope. She had forgotten its existence, had not dared remember it, but now it rushed over her like the first wave from a broken dam. She found herself sobbing as the battle continued.

 

Borkul was hurt. He bled from gashes all over his body. At least a dozen soldiers, probably more, lay crumpled around him, but dozens more continued the fight. Arrows flew from the night air from time to time, added to his injuries, slowing him down step by step.

 

“You can do it.” She hadn’t realized she was thinking the thought until it escaped her lips. “You can DO IT.” She made up her mind that she was directing the words toward the soldiers, but the inner her sounded a brief note of triumph every time Borkul brought another foe down. The battle stretched on as Masser and Secunda danced their eternal tango in the sky above, and each blow, no matter the side, sent another shudder through Aithne’s delphic mind. At last, with a final roar, Borkul dropped to one knee. His skin was more red than green, thanks to the gallons of blood coating him. He lashed out, taking two more unwary opponents down, before someone’s mace cracked against his skull and he collapsed.

 

Aithne felt as if her heart had burst. She was on her feet, running and screaming before she realized she had even moved. She swept through the field of battle, heedless of the sharp edges of the weapons and the broken metal of armor that threatened her bare feet. Nothing mattered except the white hot fear and rage and love that blanked every other thought from her mind. The soldiers were busy congratulating themselves and failed to pay any attention to her until she had twisted her way through them to the one closest to her master. She lept on the man’s back, then pounded his head and shoulders with her fists while screaming, “LET HIM UP! LET HIM GO! NOOOO!”

 

The man cried out at the attack and swung a fist over his shoulder. It only glanced off her head, but that was enough to jar her loose from his back. She fell to the ground then tried to scramble back up, but the other soldiers surrounding her grabbed her and pinned her down. She screamed and struggled against them, trying to reach for Borkul, whose still body she could see through their legs. All her struggles only caused the soldiers to laugh and make lewd jokes. Someone brought out ropes and she was turned like a sack of flour onto her stomach, arms pinned behind her. While her arms were being tied, someone reached toward her head with a balled up cloth and she realized she was about to be gagged.

 

Before she could tell them who she was, what HE had done to her, that she wasn’t really a slave. The thought broke through her raving screams and her insane concern for the Beast like a bucket of cold water, and she stilled her body and shouted, “No, wait! I…”

 

And then it was too late. The cloth was shoved into her mouth and a piece of rope was tied around her head to hold it in place. A rudimentary gag, but certainly effective. She screamed through the cloth as the first tears in months broke out on her face, but her arms were already bound and there was nothing she could do. Her momentary gasp of hope died as hands lifted her and shoved her into the back of their cart. Moments later, she was joined by the tightly-chained, still bleeding body of her former master. She rested her head against his shoulder and wept as the cart began to move.

 

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