Rebecca returned to Felix and T'ariq, who were seated at a table near the fire, anxiously awaiting the sagely advice Player One had imparted. They seemed to sense her weariness, however, and one look at Tom over by the bar told them not to press for answers. Instead, T'ariq slid a bowl of soup towards his friend with a weak smile.

"This one will get another drink." He headed to the bar with a gentle touch of her shoulder.

"So..." 

Rebecca knew the look of pity that was on Felix's face, and didn't want to face him and his probing questions. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the piece of bread she was tearing apart. He glanced at her apprehensively. "No luck, huh?"

"As usual." Rebecca muttered. Her encounter with Tom had left her disheartened, and not just because he had been as clueless as she was. She had seen a glimpse of her own potential in the drunkard at the bar – it wasn't totally unfathomable to think that in a few years time, she too might be living at the bottom of a bottle, pining after some man or woman who didn't know her name. That was, of course, if she lived to see it.

Rebecca's bottom lip began to quiver, but she started as something warm and soft slid across her hands. She looked up to find Felix's fingers interlacing with her own, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

"It's ok, princess." Felix was looking at her with those dumb brown eyes, stirring her insides and pressing pause on her heartbeat. Rebecca found herself captivated by the caramel flecks that caught the torchlight and shone it back at her, like little golden stars.

She tore herself away, pulling her hand from his. She heard him sigh.

"Listen, Felix, I don't-"

The words were barely out of her mouth before his lips came crashing into hers. Her heart erupted in a flurry of erratic beating as his embrace knocked the breath from her chest like a blow. A hand was slid around her waist, tingling against her skin as he reached past the fur lining of her armour and drew her closer.

After what seemed like an age, Rebecca pulled away.

"I've been waiting to do that since Riverwood." Felix chuckled, his breath hot on her cheek. The deep affection with which he beheld her sent shock waves of surprise through her. She knew they'd been flirting, but a tangible infatuation from someone like Felix was...unexpected. Rebecca was a little stunned. For once, she had no witty retort or biting comeback. The blood rose to her cheeks in the absence of his lips, and she looked down in a sheepish attempt to hide it.

Fortunately, she was saved from inventing a response by the sudden entry of a squad of city guards, who came bursting through the doors, weapons drawn. Rebecca's mind was snatched from the reeling kiss and thrown into exasperation. What could possibly be the matter now?

The Silver-Blood Inn had fallen silent upon their arrival, and the guards made no attempt to converse with the locals. Instead they marched straight towards the guest bedrooms, their boots scraping against the stone floor.

T'ariq had returned holding two bottles of wine, oblivious to the exchange between his comrades. He was staring after the guards as they turned a corner, his eyes glowing with suspicion. "What has happened?" he rasped.

The words had barely left his mouth when an angry yell sounded from one of the rooms, proceeded by a dull thud. The next thing they knew, Angmar's unconscious body was being dragged down the hallway, still fully armoured, his legs trailing on the floor.

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Felix had drawn both his blades and was attempting to block the path of the guards. One of them threw a chain-mailed arm to shove him aside as they turned the corner.

"This man has committed crimes against Skyrim and her people," one guard claimed.

Rebecca stood beside the Imperial. "And what crimes are those, exactly?" she asked, more out of curiosity than in defence of her friend. No matter how much she liked Angmar, his behaviour had been more than questionable since they had entered the Reach. At this stage, she would hardly have been shocked if he turned out to be the Forsworn King Madanach's right hand man.

"For inciting violence and instigating an uprising," the same guard grunted, pulling the dazed man to his feet. The inn was silent as they escorted him out of the building, one man in particular staring after them with a look of utter horror. It was Eltrys, perched by the door with a tankard in his hand and a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

Rebecca stomped over to him, grabbing a bottle from T'ariq for good measure. "Alright Eltrys," she began, not registering the look of disbelief on the young man's face. "What do you know about Angmar?"

"How do you-?"

"Nope, not important," she corrected him with an accusatory finger, barely an inch from his face. "Why have they arrested him?"

Eltrys seemed hesitant to answer, until Felix and T'ariq appeared behind her, letting their blades glint in the light of the hearthfire.

"Well, I..." Eltrys swallowed. "A little while ago we started working together to expose the corruption in the city." His voice had dropped an octave, as he cast a wary glance around the inn. But as with every inn in Skyrim, it seemed, silence and intrigue never lasted long while the mead was flowing – the Silver-Blood tavern was already filled with song and drink as though nothing had ever happened. Eltrys continued. 

"We got really close to something too, until Nepos' people chased him out of the city. Claimed he was conspiring against the Jarl."

Rebecca rubbed her temples as a groan escaped her.

"What?" Felix had come closer and was leaning down against her left shoulder. "What is it?"

She glanced at his lips, only inches from her neck. Conscious of his unmoving presence at her side, Rebecca turned around to face her companions and moved ever-so-slightly away from the radius of lavender oil. "We have to get Angmar out of there."

T'ariq looked as tired as she felt. "Out of the jail?" he asked. Rebecca nodded.

Felix tipped his head back, moaning. "Can't we do it in the morning?"

"No you idiot! The mine is crawling with Forsworn, he'll be dead by then." she declared, morbidly. "It's fine, we'll just go and ask the Jarl very nicely to please release our good friend. And if the mention of my being Dragonborn gets dropped into the conversation somehow, then I reckon all will go swimmingly."

*

All did not go swimmingly.

Jarl Igmund was as stubborn by his bedside as he was when seated on the stone throne. Admittedly, his refusal to let Angmar go was likely influenced by their decision to wake him from what would otherwise have been an early night.

"I didn't even know my guards arrested the scoundrel!" he announced from his sheets. "But if they did, then it must have been for good reason."

Rebecca resisted the urge to laugh at the furious Igmund in his bedclothes, shaking his fist from beneath the covers. What a Jarl, she thought. No wonder there was so much corruption in Markarth, if their fearless leader had no idea who his guards were arresting, and couldn't be bothered to get out of bed for matters of state.

"But sir, he's done nothing wrong!" Rebecca protested, ignoring the flash of doubt that crossed her mind. "Can we at least appeal the decision?"

The Jarl blinked at her. "What do you think this is, the Aldmeri High Court?" he roared with laughter. Rebecca rolled her eyes, grabbing Felix and T'ariq as she stormed out of the room.

"What now?"

"We find another w-"

Rebecca had halted in her tracks at a small congregation of Thalmor soldiers and wizards over by Calcelmo's laboratory. She changed course, swerving right out of curiosity more than anything else. As they drew closer, it became apparent that the Thalmor agents were bristling, their voices raised as they confronted three robed elves; Calcelmo, Aicantar, and one familiar face – Feraldur. Their old friend had his hood drawn high, and was standing a little behind the other two mages, hiding his face. Why am I not surprised?

"Well, when did you arrive?" Ondolemar sounded haughty as usual, even speaking to a fellow mer. Feraldur opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Calcelmo.

"Over a week ago." The old conjurer folded his arms. Rebecca's eyebrow twitched at the lie. He had been in Windhelm with them merely days ago, and god knows where since then. Before the Thalmor could interrogate any further, Feraldur noticed the crew with a sly smile.

"Excuse me, Justiciars." He slid away, despite weak protestation from Ondolemar, and drew the group aside. "Hello again, my friends."

Those ivy-green orbs looked semi-precious in a place as dark as Understone Keep, glowing in the torchlight. But behind his joy there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes. Before the company could ask him any questions themselves, Feraldur had started towards the door, beckoning surreptitiously for them to follow.

"What brings you to Markarth?" he asked pleasantly, glancing at the Thalmor guards watching closely from behind.

"Oh, just an Altmer Dragonborn, and a drunkard," Felix put his hands behind his head and grinned at the high elf. "A jailbreak here and there."

Felix looked alarmed.

"Don't worry, we won't drag you into the jailbreak part." Rebecca waved a dismissive hand as they left the Keep and walked along the highest tier of the city, seeking a little privacy. They stopped just beneath a waterfall, eyeing the guards that patrolled nearby.

Felix shook his head, his voice lowered. "No, no...pardon me, but did you say the Dragonborn is an Altmer?"

"Well that's actually kind of up for debate right now." Rebecca murmured, reaching awkwardly to scratch her neck.

Feraldur appeared to be wrapped up in his own thoughts. "But all my sources say the Dovahkiin was a young girl, accompanied by..." He trailed off, slowly looking up to see the crew standing sheepishly in front of him. Rebecca spread her arms in defeat, shaking her head with an amused sigh. Realisation sparked in those almond-shaped eyes and Feraldur broke into a smile. "How foolish of me."

"Listen pal, we'd love to help you out," Felix stepped forward with his usual brazen swagger. He threw an arm around Feraldur, who was significantly taller than him. The gesture stretched the boy uncomfortably. "But we've sort of got a man to spring."

Feraldur raised his eyebrows, looking back at Rebecca as though still in disbelief. "Unfortunately, he's right," she shrugged. "Hopefully we'll see you around?"

They headed toward Cidhna Mine, thankful that the cover of night was upon them as they left the elf in their wake, stunned into silence on the stone perch. Once they had reached the opening of the cave system that made up Markarth's prison, Rebecca hid herself behind a pillar and pointed to the others to follow her lead. She peered around to see two guards covering the entrance. One looked like he was half-asleep, his head leaned back against the wall and his arms flopped down by his side.

"What is the plan?" T'ariq whispered. Rebecca watched as the conscious guard took one look at his partner and walked off, presumably headed for the inn. The remaining man let a monster snore rip through the calm night air.

"We sneak in, avoiding the guards, and try to get Angmar out without a fight." she told them. The boys looked at her with identical expressions of doubt.

"You want to sneak in?" Felix scoffed. "In that?"

Rebecca realised they had a point. She was hardly dressed for the job in a heavy set of clunking steel armour. Besides, she had never tried to sneak in real life – she had strong doubts that she would be any good if it meant squatting in motion for as long as required.

"How about I go in solo?" Felix suggested, puffing out his chest.

"Are you stupid?" Rebecca snapped.

"No, I'm lucky," he smirked. He leaned right into her, lips brushing her cheek. "Remember?"

Rebecca shivered as he squeezed past her, dropping into a crouch as he passed the pillar. She locked eyes with T'ariq for a moment, who watched their exchange with a look of heavy disapproval.

Felix edged along the walls, only breaking for the moonlit path when he was metres from the door. But it seemed the guard was well and truly asleep, and didn't even stir when Felix crept onto the premises, flashing Rebecca a smug smile before he vanished into the shadows.

Now all that was left was to wait, as T'ariq and Rebecca stayed behind cover, their quiet breaths melting into the rushing water and the soundscape of the city. To her relief, he didn't mention Felix, and instead allowed her to listen closely for any disruption inside the mine. The cool breeze kissed her skin as time stretched on, thinning out until it felt as though they had been waiting for hours. 

Eventually, the plodding of footsteps from down the hill drew her attention back to the door. The other guard had returned, and had drawn his weapon, evidently hearing something inside the mine that they could not. He nudged the sleeping man with the butt of his blade, jerking him awake with a snort. Rebecca's pulse jumped into her throat as they headed inside together.

She glanced at T'ariq, who put a finger to his lips and nodded. One after the other, they crept toward the now unguarded door. Rebecca glanced behind them, glad to see that the streets were still as ever while the yellow moon rose above them. T'ariq pushed open the brass door as quietly as he could manage, the orange torchlight flickering on the ground within as warm air spilled out into the night.

There was no sign of the guards, so they hurried down the slopes until they came to a tunnel that led out into a big open cave - Cidhna Mine. There were rusty pickaxes lying around the piles of ore and caged cells, and dust fell from the ceiling at intervals and tickled their throats. T'ariq and Rebecca stuck to the side of the tunnel as their eyes landed on Felix, a level above them, watching the scuffle beneath.

In the open space, the prisoners were gathered in a circle, the torchlight casting long shadows on the ground. They were watching some kind of interrogation, with the guards standing by at the other end, pretending not to notice. Rebecca's eyes widened as she beheld the pair at the centre. Amidst the prisoners armed with shivs, axes and swords sat Angmar on his knees, his face bloody and bruised. And looming above him with a vicious sneer was the King in Rags himself - Madanach, leader of the Forsworn Rebellion.