Chapter 1: How Does It Feel To Breathe When You’re Dead?
Chapter Text
~Oh boy, got so high I forgot what I should have thought of before~
~Sure it ain’t easy for you to let go of the rules cuz they’re so much fun~
~Are you loving it? Feeling it? Touch me and be in it, see what I see in it, untypical~
~Messing around with it, mix it up, go with it, fuck with it, flow with it, please let it go~
~Oh, lord, think I did it again, I said a few things that I shouldn’t have done, well~
~Bittersweet melody, when I dance on your floor~
~Cuz I know what you don’t, it is me you adore~
~How does it feel to breathe when you’re dead?~
~They’ve never seen you out of your head~
~Cut to the bone, it’s broken, I bet~
~How sad~
Discordia pushed past Mercer into the Hall of Stories, eager to reach the end of the maze-like ruin and bring Karliah to justice.
Despite trying to be careful and not touch him, she still felt his hand brush by her side. She shivered involuntarily, doing her best to shake it off and stay focused. Once she was clear of the stone doorway, the lithe woman allowed her boss to pass her, watching him stride forward and investigate the enigmatic door in front of them. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating the door before speaking.
“Ah, it’s one of the ancient nordic puzzle doors,” he mused aloud, “How quaint.”
“Do you ever have anything positive to say?” Discordia sarcastically piped up.
“No, now shut up and listen. This may prove useful, if you happen not to get yourself killed.”
The prodigal thief was silent, watching Mercer mumble to himself and fumble with the door. “Without the matching claw, they’re normally impossible to open. And since I’m certain Karliah already did away with it, we’re on our own.”
“So, what now?” Discordia asked, meandering up to stand beside him.
“Well, fortunately, these doors have a weakness, if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really.”
Perking up at this, Discordia leaned forward in an attempt to better see what Mercer was up to. However, her plans were foiled as Mercer batted her away with his non-dominant hand. “Shoo, you. I can’t have you stealing all my tricks.”
More out of instinct than obedience, Discordia stepped back, waiting for Mercer to unlock the door. Sure enough, the sigils above it slid into place, and the door began to fall into the crevasse beneath it, leaving the inner sanctum beyond open.
“Now, let’s get moving. Karliah’s close now, I’m sure of it,” Mercer ordered, and Discordia gave her boss a mocking salute.
Discordia’s trained eyes immediately fell upon the skeletal body lying in the center of the chamber, haloed in moonlight from the open gate above. She assumed that to be Gallus’ remains. She grimaced.
“Be careful. This looks like the perfect spot for an ambush,” Mercer warned.
As much as she hated to admit it, he was right, and so she carefully stepped into the room with silent footfalls. Her hand gripped the hilt of her orcish dagger, still sheathed but ready to be drawn if the need arose. Her icy eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of danger, and suddenly became fixed on the tiniest shifting shadow in the corner.
Her head whipped around to see the figure that had moved, quickly attempting to draw her weapon.
And then the arrow found its home between her ribs.
She froze for only a minute, her eyes widening in surprise and pain. While she had built up a truly impressive level of tolerance to pain, this was unexpected, and hurt in a way unlike anything she had ever experienced. Crying out, the thief fell on her side in a shivering heap, a horrifying cold spreading throughout her body, starting from the wound.
A curse echoed in her mind. Oh, fuck me, she realized with a seethe of pain, she poisoned the fucking thing.
Sure enough, the perpetrator stepped into the moonlight, her leather armor polished and shining in the dim. Mercer approached, walking right by Discordia’s body with no more than a passing glance.
Knowing she needed to get the arrow out of her body lest the poison continue to spread, Discordia attempted to move her arms, but found them stiff and unusable. She was paralyzed.
Unable to move, she instead watched Mercer approach Karliah and speak to her. She could hear the condescending sneer in his voice. If she had the energy, she would have scoffed. He always was a womanizer.
“Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?” he sarcastically asked, tilting his head.
“Give me a reason to try,” Karliah growled, and Discordia was struck with how smooth and beautiful her voice sounded. Much more appealing than Mercer’s, in any case.
Mercer laughed a bit before responding, despite Karliah having the high ground from what Discordia could see. “You’re a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”
Karliah sheathed her dagger and bit back. “‘To ensure an enemy’s defeat, you must first undermine his allies.’ it was the first lesson Gallus taught us.” She sounded like she was explaining something to a child.
“You always were a quick study,” Mercer said.
“Not quick enough. Otherwise Gallus would still be alive.”
Discordia snapped back into the present. And that simple phrase, those few words, single-handedly confirmed her longtime suspicions about Mercer. She had been reading people for years and was an expert in the art, and even though Mercer was a pretty closed book, she had been able to glean some things from his countenance. She’d had her theories, and now, she had her answer. If she could talk, she would have shouted something along the lines of ‘I knew it!’.
And if Karliah didn’t confirm Mercer’s guilt, Mercer himself certainly did with what he said next. “Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.”
Wow, Discordia mused half-heartedly. Even for him, that was cold.
Karliah grew angrier at his provoking. Her arms spread out. “Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales? Did you simply expect him to ignore your methods?!”
Before Discordia could get an answer as to what she was talking about, Mercer interrupted. “Enough of this mindless banter!”
The guilty man drew his sword with a dramatic flourish, pointing its blade at the elf in front of him. “Come, Karliah, it’s time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”
No, Discordia thought, eyes widening as she tried to move. Her strength slowly returned to her, her dragon blood furiously fighting off the poison in her system and giving her enough freedom to grit her teeth and push herself up a bit. There was no way in hell she was letting this bastard put his filthy, wandering hands on anyone else.
Karliah scoffed out a mirthless laugh and raised a potion bottle to her lips, drinking the lot of it and tossing the empty vial away. In a flash of violet light, her form vanished, only the slightest shimmer giving away her position.
“I’m no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence.”
No, don’t- Discordia thought, trying to make her lips move as icy fear coursed through her at the thought of being left alone with Mercer. Please don’t leave me here! Please stay with me!
Her prayers went unheeded, and the deathly-cold promise in her voice as she spoke up nearly made Discordia tremble.
“But I promise you; the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”
With that, the dunmer lady either left the ruins or simply stayed silent; it was impossible to tell now that she was invisible. But for all intents and purposes, Discordia was now alone. With him.
Her dragon soul roared in fury at being so weak, so vulnerable, and seethed in rage at being near Mercer. But at the same time, Discordia felt as if it were comforting her, cloaking her in its wings and nuzzling her with its head. Don’t be afraid, it seemed to say. I will be right here with you.
She found it hard to find any comfort in this situation, especially when Mercer turned his gaze on her and began sauntering over with his trademark scowl now being laced with something else.
Her dragon’s surge of fury gave her just enough energy to push herself up, supporting her weight with her arms as she glared up at her traitorous boss. The fury in her eyes could vaporize aerogel in moments, and the heat only grew as he looked down at her. She would have bet well over 1000 gold that he was getting off on this.
“How interesting,” the man began, condescension dripping from his words, “It appears Gallus’ history has repeated itself.”
She bared her teeth in response, wishing now that she had the fangs of the form of her soul.
“Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your resting place,” he continued, and Discordia wondered if he ever shut up. “A shame, really. I can tell by that look on your face that you’d much rather have anything else. That, or you want my head on a spike right about now.” He laughed to himself.
Finally mustering up the strength to speak, Discordia let out a low, primal growl. “If I could move, I promise I would make you wish you could die.”
Mercer laughed darkly at that. “Oh, that’s precious. You should be more careful being that cute, raven. You could give a man ideas.”
Discordia nearly screamed in frustration and rage at the implication of his words. Her body shook with the effort of holding in tears- whether or not they were in anger or despair, she didn’t care. She had never cried in front of someone else, not ever. She wasn’t looking to break that streak, and certainly not to someone like him.
Mercer hummed out a cruel laugh at her seething and continued with his stupid monologue, crouching down to be at her level. “But do you know what intrigues me the most, raven?” He spoke smoothly, and Discordia hated how much he was trying to make it sound intimate. “The fact that this was all possible because of you.”
“Think of this as a reward, kid. A quick death is the least I can do, I suppose,” he leered, and Discordia all but hissed.
He was playing with fire, and he fucking knew it, but apparently her earlier theory was correct because there was no way he would have dragged this out for so long unless it was getting his rocks off. “Oh, and don’t worry, Discordia. I’ll be sure to tell the Guild how you confessed your undying affection for me in your final moments,” he sneered with a salacious grin.
The black-haired woman stiffened. For a moment, even her inner dragon was silent, unable to process the sheer rage coursing through her body. She was still quite weak from the poison, but her resistance to toxins (built up over the years; she had been so determined to develop immunity that she’d done shots of the stuff and now most of it hardly affected her) meant that she still had some fight left in her, and so she looked Mercer dead in the eye and spat right in his face.
He recoiled at this, her saliva and blood trailing down his face for a moment before he wiped it off and glared down at her with murder in his eyes. Discordia didn’t back down.
“Go to hell, you sick fuck,” she ground out.
Mercer’s scowl deepened and he unsheathed his sword. “Fine. Farewell, Dia. I’ll be sure to give Brynjolf your regards.”
She didn’t break eye contact with him, not until he stabbed his blade right through her chest. At this, her eyes scrunched shut in agony and she opened her mouth, attempting to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic, choked sob. Her arms trembled as they tried to hold her up. When she finally opened her eyes again, her vision was blurry and fractured.
Unable to battle the poison, the arrow wound, and Mercer’s sword, her blue eyes rolled back and she finally let her arms crumble, her world plunging into darkness.
Mercer stood up, then, at his full height, and stared at her body as a small amount of blood pooled beneath her. He wiped the gore from his dwarven blade and sheathed it. His eyes were nearly black, his jaw clenched.
With a sudden, swift movement, he grasped the body’s shoulders and flipped her so that she was laying on her back. He cringed at the white of her eyes being visible; a moment later, he had drawn her eyelids over them.
He knelt over the body, nearly straddling it. He spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, raven,” he hissed, licking his teeth.
From her place, hidden in a shadowy corner of the room, Karliah stiffened. She had been watching the scene with interest, wanting to get Discordia out as soon as possible. She was unconscious, not dead, however much it might have seemed. Her paralytics saw to that. But Mercer didn’t know that. He thought she was dead. Which meant that there was nothing standing in the way of him doing whatever he wanted with her body.
Karliah felt bile rising in her throat as she watched Mercer begin to undress the body, only barely stifling a cry of repulsion. It seemed that every time she thought he couldn’t stoop any lower, he surprised her. But this was something she didn’t think anyone was capable of.
Unable to bear having to watch what came next, the dunmer woman silently cast a Muffle spell on herself so as to remain unheard, took one last look at Discordia, breathed a silent apology and a prayer, and sprinted as fast as she could out of the Sanctum.
It was almost an hour before she heard Mercer finally leave the ruins. Once she heard him set off for Nocturnal-knew-where, she wasted no time in rushing back into the chamber where Discordia’s body lay to bring her to relative safety. Once she finally looked at her pale form, the elf froze in place.
She was covered in bites, bruises, blood, dirt, and other substances Karliah wished she couldn’t name. Her form was contorted, splayed out in a cruel position; and, of course, she was stark naked. Her armor was tossed to the side, in pretty bad shape, but Karliah had been repairing her own armor for years and would definitely be able to mend it in time for Discordia to wake.
The undergarments were a different story. The thin blouse Karliah assumed Discordia must have worn beneath her leather cuirass was absolutely shredded, as were her linen smalls. There would be no repairing those, and Karliah doubted her new charge would want her to. She had spare tunics and underclothes back at her camp that would fit.
Karliah swallowed back a cry of revulsion and carefully gathered up Discordia’s body (after dumping her water skin out over her and wiping her down in a feeble attempt to wash her of the filth), as well as her armor and clothes, and hurriedly ferried the load back to her campsite.
As she made the short journey, she cradled the body close to her own, and found herself running her hands through her ebon hair. It was cold comfort, she knew, but every little bit helped.
Once they made it to the dwindling fire, Karliah laid Discordia on her spare bedroll and wrapped her in the fur-lined blankets. Being out in Skyrim’s cold in the nude was undoubtedly an unpleasant experience, even for a nord. Rather than dwell on the severity of the situation, and on what she had done to enable it, Karliah busied herself with unpacking her supplies and mending Discordia’s torn armor. She also fished a set of smalls out of her bags and laid them out by the ravenette’s unconscious form.
Once she had finished repairing her charge’s leather gear, Karliah’s purple eyes fell on the sad pile of fabric scraps that had once been Discordia’s underclothes. With no further fanfare, the dunmer woman took hold of each individual garment, tore them into strips, and began tossing them into the fire.
The scent of burning cloth stung her nose. Now with nothing else to do, Karliah sat down on her own bedroll and held her knees to her chest.
Her eyes fell onto Discordia’s face. She looked like she was sleeping now, so peaceful, unbothered. Blissfully unaware of what had happened to her.
Tears began to prick Karliah’s eyes at the sight, but she fought them back, stayed put, and desperately tried to figure out what she was going to say when the naked woman laying in front of her woke up.
Chapter 2: Close Your Eyes (Sleep for Days)
Summary:
Local bisexual has a mental breakdown and pines for fellow traumatized queer, more at 11
Notes:
Hey guys! Sorry I fucking died for half a year, my grandparents are moving house and they’ve been needing all the help they can get to get ready for the move. I’ve been really busy with school, therapy, helping them sell stuff at estate sales, modeling clothes to sell online, and generally working myself to the bone, which left me very little time to write and even less inspiration. Kinktober was a bust, I might type something up for Halloween, but no guarantees. Thank you so much for bearing with me and enjoy!
PS: to my creative writing teacher who is grading this story… I am so sorry
Chapter Text
~Nine, Ten, never wanna see you again~
~Eleven, Twelve, I pull off black so well~
~Shit behind the curtain that I’m sick of sugarcoating~
~Next time you’re alone, think twice when you grab the phone~
~Ashes, ashes, time to go down~
~Ooh, honey, do you want me now?~
~Can’t take it anymore, need to put you to bed~
~Sing you a lullaby where you die at the end~
Discordia couldn’t remember much of her experience after the poison really set in. Just flashes, and the occasional sensation of hands in places they shouldn’t be.
She was glad she was out for most of it. A small mercy, but in her line of work, she took what she could get.
The poison on Karliah’s arrow wasn’t enough to knock her out fully, unfortunately. The resistance she had built up to toxins over the years saw to that. Which meant that every so often, the ravenette’s surreal fever dream world was shattered by reality. In these bursts of consciousness, she couldn’t gather her bearings long enough to fully comprehend her situation, but she had enough brainpower to get the gist of it. Occasionally, the dark ceiling of the sanctum would swim before her eyes, followed by a horrible burning sensation in her pelvis. Other times, she’d find herself on her stomach, registering the cold floor beneath her and a vile, sticky feeling on her face. A cruel hand here, a bite there, and the occasional sounds that must have been horrible curses but in the moment only registered as gibberish.
When she awoke for real, she felt warmer, and far less dirty, than the last few times.
Not wanting to open her eyes yet so as to maintain the illusion of slumber, Discordia focused on her other senses. Now firmly back in reality after the half-world-half-delusion she had been in for the last… Well, she wasn’t sure how long she had been out, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was aware of her surroundings again and her senses were providing a banquet of stimuli for her brain to sift through.
Though her eyes were closed, her ears were perfectly functional, and she picked up the crackling of a fire and the icy whistle of Skyrim’s northern winds. An owl hooted in the distance, followed by the faint howl of a wolf. Ok , she thought, so it’s nighttime. We’re still in the colder parts of the province .
She could smell a variety of things as well. Discordia’s nose scrunched up a bit at the odor of burning cloth, mixed in with the normal woodsmoke scent of a campfire. She also picked up on her own odor, which was unpleasant, to say the least. Following that was the acrid stench of an alchemical alembic working, meaning whoever was with her was brewing a potion.
Her sense of taste was not very useful at the moment, and her mouth felt dry and sore. The only thing on her tongue was a faint aftertaste of salt.
All over her body, different tactile sensations registered. Blankets made from animal furs- that meant whoever had dragged her out of Snow Veil Sanctum had taken the liberty of swaddling her up. She also felt plenty of other things all over her body- the ache of forming bruises, a tingling sensation down south, a burn in her crotch that stung like a bitch, and a general sensation of dirtiness all mixed together to make an overall bad time for the thief pretending to be asleep.
Discordia knew why she felt that way, and where it had come from, obviously. It had been the first concrete thought she’d had upon waking up. But, gods above, why did it have to be true?
She resisted the urge to sigh in frustration and chastised herself mentally. Quit beating around the bush, girl , she sternly mused to herself. Mercer brought you to the ruins. Karliah shot you. Mercer admitted to killing Gallus and framing Karliah. Mercer tried to kill you.
And then he raped you.
Discordia felt bile rise in her throat. She needed to move.
Finally opening her eyes, the thief tried to sit up and untangle herself from the bedroll she was in, only for the stinging cold of the wind to hit her bare skin. Of fucking course , she sullenly thought. It seemed Mercer had run off with her armor. Nonetheless, Discordia forced herself to sit up in the fetal position and stare pensively at the lithe figure behind the fire.
Karliah, hearing Discordia’s movements, swiftly turned her head to see the ravenette staring at her. She breathed a sigh of relief at her charge finally being awake. They maintained eye contact for a moment, Karliah struggling to find the right words and Discordia only watching, expression unchanging.
“Are you alright?” Karliah finally asked, her soothing accent like a drink of fresh water after a hot day to the violated woman. Discordia only continued to stare.
Realizing how dumb a question that was, Karliah cleared her throat awkwardly and turned back to her alembic, diluting a fluid into a small clay bottle. She placed a tiny cork stopper into it and began walking to meet Discordia, who continued to stare.
To anyone else, Discordia’s silence could mean any number of things, but the reasons were simple. She just didn’t really feel like talking at that moment, and who could blame her? She had lost her virginity against her will to a man she thought she could trust in a dismal ruin and was now being cared for by the woman who shot her. Mercer had probably gone back to the Guild by now and told them that she was dead. Or worse, he had spun a tale about her joining Karliah and turning on him and the Guild. Either way, she couldn’t go back. If they thought she was dead, Mercer certainly would have them in a state of mourning- she had grown incredibly close with most of the Guild, and Mercer himself would be there, rendering the Ratways thoroughly unsafe. If he had lied and said she had joined Karliah’s side, the Guild would skin her alive as soon as they saw her. She might never get to return to the strange, dysfunctional family she had built there. She might never again get to laugh and train with Thrynn, or comfort Sapphire in her darkest hours, or drink herself silly with Vex, or go on jobs with Brynjolf…
A deep sadness, like a yawning void, opened up inside her as she thought about that redhead. Everything about him lingered eternally in her mind for whatever reason. The texture of his hair, the smell he carried with him, the feeling of his hand in hers, the crow’s feet he got whenever he smiled, the way the stars seemed to twinkle in his green eyes whenever he looked at her…
Discordia stopped that line of thinking dead in its tracks. Thinking about him will only make all this worse, she told herself. He doesn’t see you like that, he never did, and now that he either thinks you’re dead or a traitor, he never will.
She was snapped out of her reverie by the sight of the dunmer woman kneeling before her, hand extended towards her with the potion bottle in hand. Discordia stared blankly at the offering.
“Please, take it,” Karliah urged, amethyst eyes shimmering in the dim moonlight, “This should help with the pain.”
Discordia obeyed after a moment, uncorking the bottle and downing the mixture inside in one swig. Instantly, she felt her aches (and that accursed burning in her crotch) begin to dissipate. She breathed a sigh of relief, setting the empty clay bottle at her side. The wind didn’t bother her as much as it wished it could; being half-nord was one of the only good things her father had ever given her. Once again feeling awkward, Karliah sat down in front of Discordia, legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. The two stared at one another for a moment, Discordia waiting to see what the elven woman had to say and Karliah trying to figure out exactly that herself.
The elf sighed and decided to address the elephant in the room. “I don’t know how much you’ve gathered thus far, but you deserve to know what Mercer-”
“I know,” Discordia cut her off before she could finish, not looking at her. “I wasn’t entirely out of it, so before you start explaining, I know .”
Karliah stared, at first dumbfounded that her most powerful poison to date had apparently been insufficient at incapacitating this waif of a woman, but then incredibly distressed that not only did she already know what had happened to her, but she had been awake and aware during the event. Discordia could have laughed. “I’m immune to most poisons, Karliah. Did shots of whatever I could find, buy, or brew up. Wanted to build up a resistance. Your little cocktail wasn’t enough to knock me out completely, but it did enough.”
Now that her silence had been broken, Discordia found she had a lot to say. “First of all, why did you even save me? You shot me, for fuck’s sake. You could have easily left me there to die. I know you waited until Mercer was done fucking what he thought was my corpse to intervene.
“So what. The fuck. Is your angle?”
Karliah remained calm, but looked down in shame. “There is no excuse for what I did. I’m so sorry. I’m not strong enough to take Mercer on alone, you saw that. The arrow was meant for him, and that poison took me a year to perfect. I needed to capture him alive, but I didn’t have a clear shot. You were the only target. I knew he’d turn on you, and I knew the poison would save your life.”
“How, exactly , did your drugs save my life?” Discordia ground out.
“The arrow was tipped with a paralytic poison that slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out, preventing your death. I knew that he would try to kill you after I left, but I worried about the dose of the poison I gave you. You’re smaller than Mercer by a lot, and the dose was meant for him. I feared you would succumb to the poison fully, so I didn’t leave. I merely waited for him to exit the ruins so that I could bring you to my camp as soon as I could. I didn’t know… I never expected him to… I- I didn’t know. I promise you, I retrieved your body as soon as I was able,” Karliah explained.
Discordia nodded along with Karliah’s words, still naked. “Well, if you had wanted me dead for real, you definitely would have killed me by now, so I guess you’re trustworthy enough. The name’s Discordia, and I’m afraid I’m in your debt.”
Karliah smiled in relief and reached forward, shaking Discordia’s hand in her own. “Karliah Desidenius. It’s good to finally meet you, Discordia, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
The two women laughed a bit at that. Discordia was thankful for Karliah’s efforts to distract her from what had happened. She could feel the full reality seep in, but pushed it away. She was still very deeply in shock and needed a distraction; she could flip her shit later, preferably where no one would see.
“Enough chit-chat,” Discordia grunted, standing up to her full height. “We need to make a plan of attack.”
Looking down, Discordia noticed Karliah pointedly averting her eyes. “What’s with that?” she asked.
Karliah paused, thrown. “I- wh- you’re nude !”
Discordia looked down at herself, at the fading bruises and other such marks. “And? Didn't you already see all this when-”
“No no no, no ,” Karliah cut her off, face beet red. “I… I couldn’t bear to look at what he did. I ran out of the ruins and waited for him to leave before retrieving you, and when I did, I wrapped you in a blanket before bringing you here! I did not violate your privacy, I swear it.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to eventually. From what I remember he was the one who undressed me, and he probably ran off with my shit, so that leaves me-”
“I left some smalls for you by your bedroll,” Karliah mumbled, now hiding her face in her hands. This was certainly not how she expected her first real social interaction in 25 years to pan out.
Discordia glanced behind her, and sure enough, there was a neatly-folded pile of clothes sitting right next to the bedroll she had woken up in. “Ah. So you did,” she quipped, hunching down to pick them up. As she did, she noticed that the blouse, bra, and panties weren’t the ones she had worn before.
Upon voicing this anomaly to Karliah, the smile dissipated. Karliah stood back up and wrapped her arms around herself. “When I collected your gear, I-... Mercer, he…”
Discordia motioned for her to continue.
“...They were torn to shreds. I found them tossed away and burned them,” she finished quietly.
Discordia nodded solemnly. “I see. I suppose that can’t be helped. Thanks for burning them, by the way. I never want to see them again.”
Karliah nodded assent and went to check her pack while Discordia wiggled her way into the clothes. “Any idea where my armor went?” she asked once she was decent.
“That,” Karliah began, “Was also quite tattered, but I managed to fix it while you were resting. It’s just over there.”
Following where the elf pointed, Discordia retrieved her armor and spent the next few minutes slipping into it and fastening the many buttons and latches on the leather. There was nothing she felt safer in than her Guild armor. Now that she was back in it, she felt a tad less on edge. It wasn’t much, especially considering what had happened to her not even a day ago, but every little bit helped.
Once her armor was securely equipped, she swiveled on her hips to test her mobility. The pain was almost gone, but little pinpricks of discomfort still shot across her body as she moved. Every little thought she had seemed to lead back to what had happened. She hated it. Discordia’s entire life had been spent running away- from her family, from the bandits who kidnapped her, from the guards after the bounty on her head, even from her own problems. And now that she was left with no way to escape what had been done to her, she could feel herself breaking down. She felt that spiral deepening, felt each dark thought lead to a darker one, and felt painful tears sting her eyes. She furiously blinked them away.
No crying. Not now. Not in front of Karliah, not in front of everyone.
She didn’t even realize Karliah had been trying to get her attention until a slender finger tapped her back. Discordia flinched, recoiling from the touch with fear blatant on her face. Karliah’s purple eyes lit up with surprise, then understanding, and then something in between sorrow and pity.
Discordia looked away, hiding her eyes because she wasn’t sure how long she could keep forcing back the tears. She grit her teeth. “Thank you for helping me,” she forced out, clenching her fists. “I need a minute.”
Karliah blinked, and then nodded. “Oh- of course, take as long as you need-”
Discordia didn’t even wait for the elf to speak. The world raced by her as she called upon her Whirlwind Sprint and got as far away from prying eyes as she possibly could, checking and double checking that there would be no witnesses.
Ok , she told herself. There’s no-one watching. It’s time to vent.
She didn’t fight the spiral any more. She let the dark thoughts flow. She let that filthy feeling encompass her. She let the hot tears fall, her lip trembling as she absentmindedly cast a muffle spell on herself as one final precaution. More memories came flooding back. His hands, they were on her again, touching her and touching her and hurting her and burning her, she wanted them off, she wanted them off, she wanted them off off off off off off off off off -
Discordia screamed.
Rage? Despair? Agony? Shame? Even she didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to expel it from her body. Everything blurred together as she let the emotion roar through her veins and out of her, out of her mouth, out of her fingers, out of her legs, her feet, her arms, her eyes. Destruction filled her mind and flames flickered to life in her hands even though she’d barely used them in years, and she blasted the trees and brush around her in fire, choking on her sobs as she set the world alight.
When her magicka reserves, so small, so low, finally ran dry, she ripped her dagger from its sheath on her hip and wildly slashed at the burning trees and bushes, all strategy and training gone from her mind as her only thought was to destroy . Destroy, destroy, destroy just like he destroyed her , and now she was back where she started with the dark thoughts and her rage fired up once again like the blue base of a flame. When her arms failed her Discordia clawed at the melting snow and frozen dirt, not caring about the rocks and pine needles and splinters that bled her fingers dry and did everything always hurt this much? She didn’t dwell on that, and instead continued her rampage, watching the blaze engulf the thicket she was in and send smoke billowing up into the cloudy sky.
She tore at her skin when her rage abated and the self-loathing and the anguish set in. She clawed at her inky hair and scratched the epidermis off of so much of her body that everything felt pink and raw. And then she had an idea. Yes, it was perfect, why didn’t she think of this earlier? She was an expert with her knife but she was sloppy in her haste, and the cuts she made along her own body were deep in places but they served their purpose, and the sting and the blood helped to wash away the sensation of his calloused hands ripping her apart.
Eventually, she could weep and scream no more, and the self-inflicted wounds clotted and the flames around her died out, and she felt as if her inner dragon was delicately licking at her in apology and understanding. She just sat there, and occasionally shook her head or covered her face as the last dregs of fresh, raw emotion seeped from her. Discordia didn’t remember when Karliah showed up, but she remembered being gathered in a pair of strong and gentle arms, and hands running through her hair, and soothing words and the warmth of a fire. She mumbled some garbled gobbledygook that might have been a thank you, or a fuck you, or a get away from me, but whatever it was she said it had the desired effect of having Karliah hold her closer and rock her like a mother to a child. How long had she needed this for?
Once her senses had fully returned, Discordia nuzzled closer to Karliah’s warmth and peered up at her. “Hey,” she breathed, her throat stinging in protest, raw from all her screaming.
Karliah hummed in acknowledgement, looking down at Discordia with a neutral expression.
Discordia smiled, really smiled, for the first time since before Mercer’s betrayal. “Thank you, Karliah,” she said, a hint of blush staining her pale cheeks.
The elven woman smiled sadly. “It was the least I could do, love,” she responded, and felt her own face heat up. How had that slipped out? Thankfully, Discordia seemed on board.
“I like that,” she mumbled, burying her face into Karliah and the blankets. “Y’have a pretty voice.”
Karliah’s blush deepened and she was thankful for her dark skin that hid it. “Go to sleep,” she chuckled.
“Long as y’ keep holdin’ me.”
And the night passed. Discordia’s restless dreams spoke not of Mercer, or her injuries, or his crimes. She was safe in sleep, warm and cradled close, and she had never slept better. When she awoke, the anger, the emotion, was still raw and painful- that was how this whole trauma thing worked, she supposed. It never really stops hurting. You just learn to live with the feelings, learn to love them because they’re a part of you too now. Maybe it was time to stop running away.
When dawn broke, Discordia didn’t move from her spot in Karliah’s arms. She pretended to be asleep when the elven woman (still groggy from sleep and acting on instinct, she figured) planted a tender kiss on the crown of her head. Though the smile that bloomed on her face may have given her away.
She didn’t untangle herself from the embrace, and instead continued to help Karliah formulate a plan of attack. Winterhold, they decided together. There they’d meet up with a contact and find a way to translate Gallus’ encoded journal. As much as the both of them (silently) longed to stay cuddled up together, each enjoying their first positive physical contact in far too long, time was of the essence. But that didn’t mean they had to journey alone.
The walk to Winterhold was surprisingly peaceful, the wind stilled for them and the pastel sunrise beckoned them onward as they made the short journey. Fortunately, the coastal town wasn’t far, and it didn’t take long. Neither of them knew who initiated the hand-holding, but by the time they reached the inn, their fingers were interlocked.
For the first time in her life, Discordia found herself wishing that the trek had lasted longer.
cullywullen on Chapter 1 Thu 14 Apr 2022 09:55PM UTC
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oOSapphicsAndStilettosOo on Chapter 1 Fri 15 Apr 2022 06:13PM UTC
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