Death and Madness: Chapter One

Games > Elder Scroll Series > Skyrim
Location and Time:  Skyrim post Helgen 201 4E
Main Pairing: Cicero / Dragonborn - Listener

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26th of Frostfall (October), 4E 201

Empty inside. That was how she felt as the past pressed around her once again. Memories of the priest, his words muffled and meaningless invaded not her flared ears, always hidden away by black braids.  No instead they echoed from within her mind. As she struggled for gasps of fresher air and her pounding heart slowed down at long last.

Her near colorless blue eyes meandered over the walls of the last cave as she came to a stop. They then settled upon a lone skull upon display. Still colorful dried mountain flowers were about it and she reached out to snatch them up, like any other ingredient out of habit. But the painful moment from less than a year ago played on, stopping her short.

What the priest had spoken of life and death during the funeral, Beth formally Beatriz of Bravil had no idea. Even though she had stood right next to her quietly weeping stepfather Feidus, the shock of what had happened struck Beth numb. Her cheeks had remained dry then but everything about her was shrouded in a suffocating yet oddly reassuring fog.

A part of her had wanted to cry with him. But there were simply no tears in her left. For the weeks the illness took to run its course, Beth had spent them in secret as Ysbel tried to rest when not caught in fits of coughing.  

Oh Mother, what good did they do? Beth thought bitterly. They had not helped, no more than the prayers, potions or healing spells. In the end her death had been a relief in some ways.

Worthless! I should have paid more attention to Mistress Dupre's lessons maybe then-no stop. I did everything I could. I had to do it. 

After the priest offered one last condolence, it was just the two of them. Three if the Imperial woman once a lively bard in life but now lying so silent and too still in an alcove still counted. But then there were also far more if they were to take stock of all the other bodies at eternal rest in the Crypt.  

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Beth’s brow wrinkled under her circlet at his soft yet urgent tone but mumbled in agreement, “As you wish.”

The smell of flowers, wax, incense, treated linens and decay of the Barrow had her breathing shallowly through her mouth now. Still lost in the strange haze she felt as if Feildus was pulling her along and leading them outside.

The bright light and cool stiff wind of outside made her sensitive eyes water. Beth brought up a slender arm to shield them till they adjusted. Her buck teeth bit down hard once again upon her now raw lower lip. She had worried upon it too much lately but with good reason.

"Since I pulled you from that wall with the strange writing on it you’ve been looking a little lost. Is the fresh air helping? You’re not going to get sick again now are you?"

Wall?  Wait, that's not Papa's voice…

Beth realized silently and blinked a few times. All in an effort to pull from the past and deep thought, to pay more attention to their current present surroundings.  

A small and playful tug upon her left braid helped. It had Beth turning to give Faendal a weak smile. Absently, she twisted the tip of her other at her right shoulder and blushed over her confusion. She tried to chuck it up to he had a few things in common with her stepfather. He was a wood elf with some age upon his face and bone white hair but the similarities ended there. For starters he was not nearly as old as Feildus or as stoic.  

Over the last few weeks since escaping the destruction and her very execution at Helgen, Faendal had become a dear friend and protector. At least she kept telling herself that repeatedly whenever he smiled. And to think of him only as just an older brother she always wished she had whenever he drew close. Mostly he did so to adjust her grip during target practice. Still it took everything to keep her hands steady in those moments when he would whispered gentle encouragement. His warm breath teasing her ear as he gave his easily two human lifetime’s worth of instructions on how to properly handle and aim a bow.  

Taking his outstretched hand and looking over the edge down the mountain, she reassured him. "Its helping. I’ll be fine. I just-just don't like being among the dead or in places like that. It-it stirs up bad m-memories."

"Or makes new ones," Faendal agreed as he readied to climbed down. Giving a small shiver he mumbled under his breath, "There were things in there I will never forget."

Giving his hand a squeeze Beth gave him a pained look. "I'm sorry but for what it's worth, thank you once again for your help."

"Well, it was only slightly worse than the usual trouble we find ourselves in. And I must thank you too for this newest armor.  Never seen the likes of it before but it fits and works well." He brushed and checked over the red, brown and black leather. It was a little more broken in now. Sporting a few new scratches and rips he knew Beth would happily repair.  

After securing a rope around a bolder, Faendal grinned up at her. As he made his way easily down the short cliff face first he reassured, “Don’t look so scared this is nothing compared to the trees I use to climb in Valenwood.  If you slip and fall I’ll try to catch you, sister.”

Although Beth classified herself as an Imperial, he had started calling her that the moment he learned her step-father was a Bosmer. But mainly Beth suspected to reassure Camilla. Regardless in turn Beth happily practiced the custom as well.

"What do you mean try, brother?" She could not help to grumble but cracked a grin to Faendal's not so innocent one.

"You could jump and find out," he dared in a tone she wondered if he was trying to be flirty or as usual simply joking.

"I-I should. Just to crush you," Beth threw playfully back and started to scoot down the rope.

She blushed as her descent to solid ground was not nearly as graceful and quick as his. It was a kindness he did not laugh. The sound of pebbles landing somewhere, what seemed too far below, had her swallowing hard. The thought of falling was terrifying and made her head swim. Still she forced her way down, kept her mouth tightly shut, listened to Faendal's advice instead of complain. When he plucked her up at the last few feet and carefully steadied her on the firm ground, only then did Beth give a shaky sigh.  

Patiently, he waited as she calmed down. She did so by adjusting and brushing off her brown and lavender mage's robe. Then upon drawing up her matching hood she informed, "R-ready."  

As they rounded the mountain and left Bleak Falls Barrow behind, Beth still shuddered in apprehension instead of relief. Rolling her shoulders did not help as the straps from her pack kept digging into them. Faendal's pack was filled up too with as much as he could carry. They had both found a great number of things of value in the Barrow. But the most important thing of all was they had the Dragonstone. Farengar Secret-Fire could stop whining-well actually chewing them out. He would do so every time they showed up at Dragonsreach without the ancient relic but instead to collect a bounty from the Jarl's steward Proventus Avenicci.  

At first she brushed off his reminders with a flirty joke and he would let the matter go. But since their recent falling out Farengar had no more patience to spare.

"It's been what? One? Two Months since the Jarl has given you this task? What part of 'This is a priority' do you fail to understand? If you're still not up to it perhaps the Jarl needs to find someone more competent after all."

Tongue tied in outrage, in return Beth could only glare at him. The last thing she wanted to admit to was being scared. Nor did she want to struggle to get the words out for someone too arrogant to realize or just simply indifferent in sending her into danger over just a possibility of retrieving something to shed light upon why dragons had returned to Skyrim. Faendal and her were, after all not about to go rushing into danger unprepared. The bandit camps she cleared with him were practice. Their coin from the tiny bounty, their general loot, armor and weapons also afforded them training, better gear, food and drink. Also it allowed her to practice what she loved above everything else, smithing.  

Besides Farengar Secret-Muttonchops, since Helgen there have been no additional sightings of dragons anywhere!  And what was I thinking with-ugh! I can still feel them!  

Beth winced, shivered and only felt the smallest tinge of guilt over putting the task off. It was done and as soon as they delivered the stone, she hoped the business with dragons, Farengar and the undead was settled.  At least for a while so she could put aside exploring this new land and head for Windhelm to reunite with her father.

Yet as Faendal and her slowly made their way back to Riverwood she felt little sense of accomplishment raiding the hall of the dead and living to profit from it. Just the Dragonstone now, weighing heavily upon her. And a feeling of dread over what she experienced when she had gotten too close to the strange wall that chanted at her. Some of the runes on it had started to glow blue. An understanding filled her while everything became blurry and dark.

Fus

What in Oblivion does that word mean?  

Whenever she whispered it upon her lips it felt like something more should happen but whatever it was it could not escape. Instead it locked in her throat much like any other word she struggled with in her youth and occasionally still. A void held it back and for now the word just stirred inside of her, yet to fully awaken, something powerful-violent.  

Beth shivered.  

When she turned away from the wall and the darkness faded, Faendal just gave her a curious look. Noticing her dazed expression his near black eyes had narrowed as he asked, "Are you okay?  That thing that came out of the coffin knocked the both of us around pretty hard. Maybe you should heal yourself more."

She opened her mouth but then thought better of it. Instead she only nodded and tried to ignore the chanting that he did not seem to hear. It was not as if she did not trust him. In fact if it were not for his help and archery training she doubted she would have made it beyond the bandits alone. After dealing with the living Faendal and Beth had worked easily enough in tandem, with careful shots from their bows, to send the dead to a final rest before they could even rise from their alcoves.

No, she just did not want Faendal to think she had gone crazy. Especially since hearing things that others did not was nothing new.  

“Heed my voice child, listen and obey. I take my leave now but if you do not follow you may come to regret your choice to remain innocent.”

The inaudible whisper, that haunted Beth for years finally spoke up shortly after the rioting started in the year of one hundred and eighty-eight. In the fading chaos the rasping women’s voice plagued Beth for days. At first Beth tried to simply ignore her calm yet firm instructions to prove herself worthy by committing murder.

“The prayer has been made. Instructions I have given. Fulfill the contract then seek the Dark Door in Cheydinhal. Give the answer to its question. Greet your brothers and sisters. Show them the blood upon your hands but quickly request audience with my Keeper. Give only to him the binding words and beware of the Speaker.”

The odd orders the woman kept repeating inside of her head had Beth understandably questioning her sanity. Fifteen years old and a mere alchemist’s apprentice to Alisanne Dupre at the time, upon receiving the news of her Mistress's death, Beth was in no mind to listen.

Instead she withdrew from everyone, even her parents. Taking to her room, she privately grieved over the loss of the Breton woman who had been more loving and patient with her than Ysbel had ever been.  Working through her grief Beth ignored the voice and thankfully in time it faded once more to a whisper. Then at long last came the silence and the hope of sanity.

“You will come to regret your choice, my child.”

Beth frowned in remembering the last thing the voice said to her before letting out a yelp of surprise.

“You're doing it again. Drifting off but at least you're not picking flowers and fungus or chasing after a bug this time.” Faendal chuckled good-naturedly and caught Beth by the elbow before she could wander too far ahead.

Giving a shrug Beth sheepishly admitted, “I don't think I can stand to carry any more weight, even if it is just ingredients.”

They kept walking till reaching a shallow part of the White River Faendal wondered, “Why bother may I ask? I've yet to see you make a potion.”

“I just like collecting them. I use to do it all of the time for my Mistress back in-in Cyrodiil,” she stammered a little nervously. Almost slipping in telling him what city she had come from.

“A habit then,” Faendal worked out while picking out the shallowest part of the river before taking her hand and leading the way. “So you worked for her just gathering before coming to Skyrim?”

As usual whenever he asked her anything about her past it gave her pause. In fact she said nothing till carefully deciding to offer, “No. She was my tutor but departed now for over ten years. Still, I miss her greatly as we spent nearly each day together for almost seven.”

Looking back he let out a low whistle. He then pointed out, “A private education? That had to have cost your parents a great deal.”

It was something Beth never thought about before. As the ice cold water reached past the top of her leather boots and started to fill them she winced before hastily added, “Far as I know she just volunteered to keep me out of my mother’s hair so she could work, playing music and singing at the local inn. My Mistress was an a-alchemist and an old friend of my mother's. She didn't have any children of her own so she took me on as an apprentice and tried to teach me how to use ingredients but…” Beth trailed off. All to concentrate on not slipping over the slick rocks in the stream’s bed as she squeezed Faendal’s hand tight.  

Once steadied and when they started to move again Beth next admitted, “I’ve never been very good at making anything with them.  But at least some of the-the other things she taught sunk in.”

Beth hoped Faendal would not ask what those other things were. Since they involved the best places to stab, cut or hit someone one depending on if you wanted to simply disable them, kill them quickly or draw out their pain to get them talking. With a smile Alisanne Dupre would show her how best to handle and apply poison to an arrowhead or blade. Beth recalled how her sage colored eyes would light up as she explained to Beth on what to do on entering a room.

"You must always take note of any space you find yourself in for all possible escapes, weapons of opportunity and their proximity to others as well as yourself."

"W-weapons of op-opportunity?"

"An everyday object you can pick up and use to defend yourself. Take that heavy candlestick holder on the table next to you. Certainly it can be used to hit someone with but also consider it's flame and hot wax. Now say three men are in this room with ill intent.  How would you defend yourself?"

Beth no older than twelve at the time looked about the room for a while before she shyly answered, "T-the oil. I-I'd s-splash it up-upon them-or one of-of them and t-throw the c-candle?"

"Not a bad idea but the candle could go out if thrown. Which reminds me maybe it's time I teach you to cast flames."

"M-mistress why m-must I learn all t-this? N-not tha-that I d-don't- a-appreciate-just w-wondering."

At first Alisanne said nothing and just tucked a lock behind Beth's ear with the saddest of looks.

"Everything I do and teach to you is to help keep you safe. You are very important to me and this world is a dangerous place. Do you understand, my child?"

Beth's eyes burned at the memory as a surge of heartache before the old anger hit.

Gods I wish I knew who killed her!

“If anything Orgnar and Lucan at least seem to appreciate you keeping them well stocked,” Faendal agreed as they reach the other bank.

“Hum? Oh y-yes and I their coin,” Beth mumbled distractedly as they stopped to dumped out their boots and wring out their stockings. Minutes later, continuing on and the Riverwood Trader coming into sight, she could not helm to tease, "So ready to pay Camilla Valerius another visit?"

Faendal grinned widely but said nothing and blushed.  

Beth giving him a little playful push urged, "Come now, Brother. Tell her all about how we got the claw back. Won't that be fun?"

Since they were getting close he lowered his voice and pointed out, "Sven is the better one for stories.”

“All he’s got. Not adventure like you,” Beth reminded once again.

“True but I just look at her and get so tongue tied. Besides,” he paused and shifted nervously from one foot to another. “I would not want to upset her with um-well what we all encountered in there."

Beth hated to give advice but tried anyways softly since Camilla was probably inside.  

"Faendal for the hundredth time, you need to talk with her about something! Or well for starters ask her a question instead of just standing there. If you get nervous just remember how brave you were in Bleakfalls, Embershard Mine, the Valtheim Towers, that Halted Stream-“

“I wasn't so brave there,” Faendal unhelpfully reminded.

Beth however waved the statement off with, “That’s only because it was our first time!  Our first real bounty and I screamed too.”  

He chuckled remembering. “Indeed you did. I swear you can hit a fancy hat off a puffed up Thane from thirty yards but with a one handed sword you can't hit the broadside of a-“ The glare and pout she threw him had Faendal deciding to clear his throat rather than finish that thought.  

Cracking a smile Beth suggested, “Why not simply tell her about all you've been up too? No need for fancy words. What better way to find out how she feels about you?"

"I don't follow how bragging is going to help me figure out if she likes me or not," he grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms.

Narrowing her eyes at him while he scratched at his neck nervously, Beth wondered aloud, “Have you ever…”

To his “don't you dare even think that” look, she sputtered a little but was wise enough to drop the matter.  

Hand on the shop door's ring Beth took a moment before quietly explaining, "I’ll admit, I’m hardly any expert either when it comes to this. But at least I can give you a women’s perspective. Just pay attention to how she reacts to the very idea of you being in danger. If she comes off worried or upset that's a good thing, it means at least she cares for your safety, right?"

Faendal grabbed her hand before she was about to open the door. In fact he looked a little panicked. "Wait! And what if she isn't at all?"

"Then you deserve better or maybe she's so confident in your abilities that she doesn't feel the need to worry. Whatever the reason, you can't just keep going in there and pretending to browse."

"Some help you are! I also do real business in there too by the way," he grumbled but she could tell it was half hearted. She pulled the claw from her pack as she waited patiently for him to ready himself. After a few breaths he sighed, "Oh all right then. I'll give it a try. If anything at least Lucan and her will be happy to get that back."

"True," Beth murmured in agreement. When they stepped inside she ignored Lucan's usual curses about thieves and holding it up declared, "Oh cheer up! We showed them and look we have your golden claw!"

"You found it!" To this Lucan's eyes went wide and he started to laugh in relief.  

It did not matter to her how much gold the Imperial gave them for it. She liked Lucan all the same, even though he could be a bit hard on his sister Camilla for her business suggestions. At the very least he did appear to know what he was doing. For it seemed he always had the best enchanted jewelry and other items. He also had a wide selection of everything, especially pelts Beth could work into leather. Their main source, she guessed were sold to them by Faendal from his hunting.

As he worked up the nerve to start up a conversation with Camilla, Beth happily took on the task of keeping Lucan busy with selling their loot and asking if anything new had come in. After spending nearly all of her share of the gold he gave them on mostly healing potions, she spied a pretty gold and sapphire ring. But it was more than just another pretty babble, it shimmered.  Infused with an enchantment that Lucan said would increase how fast her magicka would return after casting a spell.

"Oooh how much?" She tried not to squirm as she twisted the others upon her fingers.

"One thousand, three hundred sixty-three gold Septims."

She let out a low whistle and dug into her pack, started digging out bits of armor and weapons. Some of it was from the bandits and the rest from the draugr deep inside the barrow.  

Offering a small flirty smile Beth inquired, " One thousand, three hundred sixty-three? Really? So what will you give me for all of this?"

"Well, it’s a good amount of stuff my dear but most of it needs to be cleaned and to be perfectly honest the rest of it is rather… old," Lucan gave on a sly smile back as he tapped an ancient Nordic bow.

“Old?  Why Lucan, these are not old they’re valuable antiques. Collector’s items,” Beth started to haggle back and cross her arms when he started to laugh.

It sounded a little too much like Belethor's to be of any good. After an hour or so later of bargaining Beth found herself alone, out in the dark and cold rain cursing the merchant.  

"Oh of course not enough to get the ring! Grrrr! I need to find an amulet of Dibella or-or something!" She growled and brought the axe down hard. Regardless she still liked Lucan. But the fact he politely turned down her offer to buy him a drink at the Sleeping Giant on top of staying firm on his offer chaffed her pride.

Seeing Faendal at long last chatting up Camilla and it appearing to be going rather well, Beth also did not have the heart to get in the way.  She had left him in the warmth of the Riverwood Trader with Camilla hanging upon his every word, all to chop wood and earn a bit more coin.

As she worked, she wondered what was going to happen next. Faendal and she had agreed to head back to Whiterun to turn in the Dragonstone tomorrow after the Trader opened. Camilla wanted them to check in before they headed off. And since things seemed to be going so well for the two of them, Beth debated if it would be fair to even ask her friend to escort her to Windhelm.

If he wants to stay in Riverwood, I could just hire a sell sword, take the Northbound road to Dawnstar first and from their head to Windhelm.   

It would mean she and the new companion would need to take a wagon instead of buying a horse. The upside to this would be not only would she save herself a considerable amount of gold but the slow wagon would afford her more time to think things over. To be sure she was doing the right thing in joining with the Stormcloaks. That and upon meeting Ulfric mentioned there was a hidden chest near the opening of the eastern iron mine in Dawnstar. A chest filled with what, he was not sure of but had asked Jarl Skald the Elder to fill with items that could be of use in the event of an emergency.

"Weapons, armor, odds and ends I imagine. Sell them or use them in the unlikely event we fall under attack and become separated then join me in Windhelm when you can. Galmar I'm sure will want to see you. You do know how to pull your weight in a fight, correct? If not we could always use more mage healers. Just rest assured we will be far safer soon enough. I have more men waiting to meet us at Darkwater Crossing." His tone had been anything but warm as he looked down his large nose at her in disdain. She was still in her prisoner rags since his men had spared no time for her to change into something else.  

Beth winced under his gaze and could not raise a single word in her defense. He had risked enough sending some of his men over the border to breaking her out of the Bruma. It really was not her fault entirely that his men found her incarcerated. While waiting for them she was arrested for stealing food three days after she spent her last coin. Pinching a sweet here and there was second nature to a child growing up in Bravil. She never took anything but food even though she had watched some of her friends take far more. But hunger had made her clumsy and it galled her to no end that she was arrested over a carrot.  

A stupid and near worthless carrot! Well at least not just a carrot...  

The guard had found a few more things too, such as bread, cheese, a few chicken breasts, wine and apples.  But unable to pay the fine, they threw her into a cell with Lokir. Who at least tried to steal something far more valuable. A horse.  

The utter disapproval in his deep voice still made her cring as she remembered him commanding, "You will now stay out of trouble. Are we clear? I will not have a daughter of Skyrim that will not abide by my laws."

At the time she had not let hardly any emotion show. Simply gave a stern nod, just grateful to be out and free again. Equally thankful he did not press for details. That would have been ever the more mortifying. From there on he ignored her and with nobody else paying her any mind she let her mind drift.

It was a habit she had for as long as she could remember. Or perhaps it had only grown worse after Mistress Dupre's death. Even now it was so easy now for her mind to wander or empty. She would just disconnect from the world around her. Understandably this led to Beth having trouble functioning at times. Before Faendal, thankfully her stepfather was always there for her as he continued to teach her the blacksmith trade.

Things had been at least tolerable after Ysbel’s death and slowly getting better. That was until the day an Imperial soldier came and demanded her stepfather make steel for the Empire. Politely Feildus refused. 

Besides he was never a smith for weapons. He preferred to make nails, buckles, horseshoes and hinges, just simple and peaceful things. The soldier did not want to take no for an answer. When he drew his sword and started to press it to her pleading stepfather's throat Beth saw red.  

Something snapped inside of her and with a roar she snatched up the nearest thing: a rod of metal with a white hot end ready for the anvil and hammer. But instead she slammed it against the soldier's head and kept bringing it down over him until he no longer moved, breathed or had a head.  

The worst thing of all as she stared at the gory mass panting was it had felt so good and satisfying.  For the first time in years she felt alive and no longer scared. As a dark laughter bubbled up and past her cruelly smiling lips, Beth had wondered how she could have killed the man differently, more efficiently with less mess had she a proper weapon.

Mmm like… a dagger. A nice sharp dagger.

It was her stepfather's horse cry which snapped her out of it.

"What! what have you done? Oh Beatriz! What-what have you done!"

Realizing she had been laughing, Beth slapped a hand over her mouth, swallowed then struggled to explain, "H-he was going to... going to h-hurt you.  I-I will not p-permit that!" Still winded she gasped out as the now bloody rod fell from her shock slackened grip.

By the Divines! Why did I start laughing? I must be truly crazy! Beth thought at the time as they stared at one another. At least until Feildus came to terms with what just happened. What she, his quiet, well behaved yet sullen stepdaughter was capable of and he gave a slow nod.  

Feildus then said very quietly, "Pick up that metal. Put it back into the coals to burn off the-that mess.  And then go to your room and clean up. I will…" he pointed to the nearly headless body and swallowed. "I will take care of disposing of this."

"Yes Papa,"

she gave meekly, dropped her eyes to the ground and quickly obeyed. Even though she was far gone from being a child, she suddenly felt like one then. But this was more than pulling some prank or stealing a sweet roll.  

It was some time after nightfall before her stepfather came up the stairs. The same dazed look still in his eyes.  Dirt and sweat clung to his clothes and still shaking hands. What he said next was crushing. 

"I will send word to your father to meet you in Bruma."

Beth stared at Feildus in dismay. The last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere. How would her beloved find her after all?  

The Messenger had promised to come back. Beth’s eyes burned at the thought that perhaps it was time to finally let that childish hope die as well.  

It has been at least what? Thirteen years? Gods where has the time gone!  

Cold shock washed over her as she cried out angrily, "Go? Why? Just because I'm not sorry! He was going to hurt you!  P-please don't send me away!"

"I have to.  The body is gone but in time he will be missed.  For your safety its best you get out of Bravil."  

"I face no more dangers than the usual here and what of yours?"

 

He acted as if she said nothing and kept on with, "Look Beatriz. I have some gold saved to help you get to the Tap and Tack and stay there for a few weeks.  Hopefully by then your father will send someone  to sneak you over the border and help you settle in Skyrim."

"But how will I know it is him or can trust who he sends?  How will they recognize me?  Does he even remember my name or my mother's?"  Beth could not stop the sneer upon her face or in her tone adding, "And since when does he care for his bastard daughter? Why I doubt I'm the only-"

Her step father only had to glare to get her to hold her tongue. "Aye, you would do well to keep doing that. Better to remain silent, listen and think first before opening your mouth. Now given what’s happened recently I best send him a code," he thought for a moment then decided. "I'll tell him you'll only know it is safe and will reveal yourself if he or his men inquire about the health of your mother.  You will tell them, 'She walks with Talos now.' Remember that and if anyone asks for your name give them a false one but keep it consistent."

“What if… will you tell him?”

Beth tried but having no name to give Feildus, dropped her eyes to her clasped tight hands. “N-nevermind I doubt he will ever keep his word.”

Not missing her gaze fall from the carefully dried but now so very fragile wreath of nightshades Feildus sighed. Putting his rough hand over hers, he gently reminded, “You need to stop waiting. All of this time, truly? Gods child, if he’s not dead then he is a fool to have broken it.”

Weakly Beth tried to explain, “I-I just thought I saw him last Sun's Dusk is all.  But you’re right, of course. Either way he should be dead to me.”

The next morning was a gloomy one with her stepfather trying not to cry as he loaded her with a pack of supplies and the gold. He had already made arrangements to have a cart take her to Bruma and had also sent the letter to her father the evening before.  

"Your real father is a good and honorable man," he tried to reassure and squeezed at her shoulders.

"Don't call him that Papa.  How can he be a good man? But then if he had not left…" Her throat closed up as she stared into her stepfather’s wide golden eyes and tried not to cry.

Feildus gave her a wan smile and hugged her tightly, "I love you Beatriz. And will also miss you but this is for the best. At least try to give him the same respect you have given me. Show him how well your mother and I did in raising you."

"I promise. I love you too. Goodbye Papa."

"May the eight or the nine guide you," he chuckled and cracked a smile.

Now pushing the bittersweet memories away Beth gave a wet sniff and stopped chopping. Her small calloused hands from the forge still felt raw. She was also soaking wet but she could at least grin at the huge pile of split wood she had made. Hod was going to go broke and that enchanted ring was as good as hers.