(Quick note: for those of you who do not read all my stories, THIS CHAPTER of Trendil's story contains the defeat of Mishi at the hands swords of Trendil, whose uncanny skills learned from her particular sword style allowed her to see through Mishi's trickery. It also would have held a very strong emotional note for Sloan's story had I thought ahead enough to do a little more emphasizing of how Mishi has taken pains to undermine Sloan's feelings of having a family at The Vixen, both to teach her to do away with personal attachments and also because, frankly, Mishi was jealous of Sloan's unprecedentedly fast rise through the ranks, which led to a lot of fear (of being replaced and/or killed) and fueled the suspicion of both Mishi and Kira, as detailed below. But, alas, I built neither Mishi nor Sloan's characters enough for all that to be clear enough, so the emotional payout of Trendil telling Mishi that she is Sloan's family is pretty much wasted and, even worse, I have had to resort to telling you all this instead of showing it, which is what a good author would have done. I am ashamed.)

 

 

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It was roughly 630 miles from Trendil’s Stormcloak camp to Riften. A person walking a normal pace for a leisurely eight hours a day would cover that distance in a little over a month, give or take a few days depending on elevation changes and road conditions. One in a hurry, traveling sixteen hours a day, could make the trip in two weeks, if they pushed it. If one had the luxury of a horse and didn’t care whether it lived or died, the trip could be made in a handful of days.

 

It took Sloan almost nine months to make the trek. It wasn’t that she was taking her time – although she was none too eager to face her former employer – as much as it was the need to keep out of sight.

 

Dragons were everywhere and they had become much less discriminate about their targets. Time was, a solitary traveler would not interest a dragon who happened to be in the same area. Sloan had seen several through her years of travel but she hadn’t bothered them and they hadn’t bothered her.

 

Now, though, they seemed eager to attack anything that moved. Worse, they seemed to focus their attention on the areas with the highest land-based traffic.

 

The upshot of it all was that Sloan spent most of her time picking her way through wild country; through thick forests, over rocky hills, skirting the mountains close enough that she was forced to retrace her steps several times because an unexpected ridge ended up blocking her path.

 

As she traveled, she tried to think of every scenario she might face when she reached the Vixen. Would there be rooms of assassins waiting for her? How should she approach? Try to sneak in? Maybe a disguise?

 

In the end, she decided the straightforward approach was best and simply walked in the front door.

 

Although the city bore the scars of occasional dragons attacks – a few buildings were missing, there was a large scorch mark across the main square – life in the city appeared to be normal. People walked through the streets chatting, the market was full of food, hawkers, and shoppers, the inn seemed boisterous, and the Vixen felt exactly as it had the last time she had been there.

 

In the Vixen, Sloan was greeted warmly by a woman she did not recognize and, as she passed through the doorway into the main room (sparing a glance and a half-wistful smile at the little stage where she had had her virginity auctioned off all those years ago), no one seemed to take special notice of her passing. Even when she turned a corner and entered the staff-only portion of the building, her presence did not seem to cause a stir.

 

She shook her head as a couple of women wearing flimsy and familiar silk garments, laughing and chattering as they passed, walked through the doorway on their way to their shifts. They paid Sloan little heed save a suggestive quirk of the eyebrow from the one who passed closest.

 

It was all very strange.

 

She passed through the apartments, took the stairs toward the kitchens, and turned down the familiar hallway that led to Kira’s office. It was all as she remembered. As if she had never left.

 

Sloan’s heart beat a staccato rhythm that threatened to shove it out of her chest as she approached the door. She could find no signs of traps, no signs that anything was out of ordinary. It scared her more than a thousand traps could have. She reached out a slow hand and gently opened the door.

 

“There you are.”

 

Sloan froze at the familiar voice of the Matron, but Kira just tsked.

 

“Come on in, silly girl. Do shut the door. Thank you. Took your time, didn’t you?”

 

She was as lovely as ever, her stark beauty contrasted by the very-unlike-her plain grey robe. It was the only thing so far that felt out of place.

 

Okay, not the only thing – the corpse of Mallin pinned against the wall by several dozen daggers also stood out. Sloan tried not to stare, but of all the things she had expected, this was…not one of them.

 

Kira noted the direction of Sloan’s gaze and smiled. “I finished the job for you. A dangerous man, and a hard one to find, to boot. It wasn’t until he re-entered Skyrim that we were able to pick up his trail again. Smart, sending him to Hammerfell. But why, I wonder?”

 

Sloan sorted through all the lies she could say but then shrugged to herself and told the truth.

 

“I was hoping he could find my mother.”

 

Kira frowned, apparently surprised by the statement. “What do you mean, 'find' her? You don't know where she is?”

 

Sloan shook her head. “I barely know who she is. I know her name. I know a little bit about her. I know she was alive while I was in that horrible orphanage.” She said the last with a touch of venom she could not hold back. All those years…

 

“Ah.” Kira relaxed a little and it was Sloan’s turn to frown. What had the Matron expected? “So you were looking to connect with her because you didn’t know you even had a mother. That is all it was?” The Matron laughed, delicate chuckles like tiny bells. “You weren’t trying to bring her here?”

 

Sloan frowned at the odd emphasis. “No. Why would I want to bring her here?”

 

“I wasn’t sure. To kill me? Although if your mother wanted me dead, I would have been so long ago. To take over my operation? It didn’t seem her style. But who knows what might have changed over the years?”

 

“Wait…you know my mother?!”

 

“Of course. And I knew who you were the moment you stepped through my doors.” The Matron shook her head. “I hoped you would prove to be pliable. That you would choose me. That, for once, I could have a Shae working at my side. To mold Melissa’s daughter! Ah, it was a dream I had to pursue.”

 

Sloan opened her mouth but no words came forward to volunteer to be spoken – her brain was too busy tearing apart the jigsaw puzzle she thought she had been working on and then piecing it back together in a different pattern.

 

As the pause lengthened, Kira sighed. “I made an assumption which, as we both know, is never safe. I thought you were working for her. That you had betrayed me, at least, if you hadn’t really been working for her from the beginning.” The Matron shook her head, took a step forward. “I wish I had known. I would have done things differently. I’m sorry it all came to this.”

 

Then a flash and movement, and the dagger Kira had been hiding struck true, faster than seemed humanly possible…and glanced aside, skewing to the left along Melissa’s armor, shifting Kira off balance just enough.

 

Even with that, “just” almost wasn’t enough. The Matron caught herself in a blink, began to shift back so quickly, Sloan’s retaliatory dagger missed its mark by a hair. It plunged into Kira’s chest an inch away from the instant death Sloan spot had hoped for. Even a mortally wounded Kira was someone she did not want to face.

 

But, after all, it seemed it might be enough. The matron yanked back, taking Sloan’s dagger with her as she retreated three steps. Her dagger fell from her fingers as she looked down at the one in her chest.

 

“Of course it would be you. I knew you would be my death the moment you walked into the Vixen.” Kira coughed and a spurt of blood splattered from her mouth onto the floor. “What are you wearing?”

 

Sloan pulled open her shirt to reveal the armor beneath, lighter than lingerie, stronger than steel. Kira laughed, sending another spray of blood into the room.

 

“Of course you have her armor.” She shook her head. “No matter what happened, she was always going to win. The bitch.”  Her voice carried no heat – it carried little inflection at all. Her breath had become harsh rasps; after a moment, she crumbled to her knees. She motioned, an aver to approach.

 

Sloan complied, although with wariness. Kira must have noticed her hesitation because, for a moment, the old Matron was there, eyes sizzling as she snapped, “Hurry, girl, I don’t have time for your dawdling.”

 

Years of training flashed through her and Sloan hurried the last three steps, then knelt and held the Matron as the woman’s last burst of energy seeped away. Sloan supported Kira’s body as it sank to the floor. In the last light of the matron’s eyes, she began to whisper. Sloan put her ear next to Kira’s lips to hear.

 

“This gift is not meant for you. When next you see her, give it to the daughter.” A cough and a rattle and the last words stumbled through locked lips. “Seek…Debbie.”

 

A moment later, Kira, the closest thing Sloan had had to a mother, lay still and cooling in her arms. Sloan stroked her hair and wept through the night.

 

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Two weeks later, Sloan sat with the enigmatic Delphine at a table in the Bee and Barb and handed over a paper she had found in Kira's files. An interesting paper filled with interesting names that had not been on the earlier reports; names of missing people and a heretofore unknown (but interesting) prison mine on the border of Falkreath Hold and The Reach. And one very interesting name in particular that caused the Breton to stop, gasp, then stand and run for the door without another word.

 

Sloan smiled, finished her drink , then left as well. Not just the inn, but the city itself. While it was nice that the Dragonborn had finally been found, Sloan's bet was that it was far too late. Even if her long lost sister was still alive, Skyrim was literally crawling with dragons. Whatever came next, her instinct was to keep as far away from large populations of people as possible.

 

Dark days were ahead. She could feel it in her bones.

 

 

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