"Oh, that reminds me. Lady Niernen, you might be pleased to know that your fighting companion from Windhelm also survived; the Khajiit, Do'Karth. In fact, he came with us to these islands! I believe he went with our quartermaster into the Dwemer ruins below." 

Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, Niernen turned to face Madura. "D-Do'Karth?" she stammered and wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. "You're sure?" 

Smiling, the Dunmer journalist nodded. "Absolutely. Fear not, lady. He is in good company. I'm going down there now, I'll be sure to tell him that you're alive. I'm sure they're fi--" 

Before he could finish his sentence, Niernen hobbled over to Madura and clutched him by the folds of his tunic. "Brown, striped Khajiit in a robe? Carries a quarterstaff?" she asked, breathless, her face inches from Madura's. Niernen's large, copper eyes, so devoid of life merely an hour ago, were now full of emotion -- disbelief, hope, desperation. Taken aback, Madura's iron helmet slipped over his face and he raised a hand to lift it before he answered. "Yes, yes, that's the one." 

Niernen swayed on the spot. "Great gods of nowhere," she whispered. "I dreamed of him every night. Truly, Azura guides my path." She paused and closed her eyes for a few seconds, mouthing a prayer to the Daedric Prince. "Madura," she continued as she opened her eyes, her voice suddenly forceful. "I have to see him. Take me to him. [i]Please.[/i]" 

It was clear that 'no' was not an answer. Madura nodded and motioned for her to follow him. Without another word to anyone, not even Valen, Niernen set off after Madura, renewed strength flooding her limbs, her heart racing in her chest. What she'd said was true -- every night since her escape from Windhelm, the kind-hearted and agile Khajiit had featured in her frazzled and disconnected dreams, a reminder of all that was good in the world as her situation continued to deteriorate, culminating in her capture by the Armigers and enslavement on the Kamal frigate. Do'Karth had been the only one that had ever showed any compassion for and understanding of her internal struggles after the campaign in Blackmarsh. Not her father, who had only been concerned for her physical well-being and and relieved when she returned alive, nor her brother, Narzul, who had been proud of her achievements and guilty of putting her in harm's way. But nobody had understood that Niernen's worst injury had been her own guilt. 

To be fair, Niernen thought while chasing after Madura towards the entrance to Bthamz, Do'Karth hadn't fully understood her motivations for going to war either. He'd assumed that Niernen had done it for her family. The truth was that Niernen had done it to prove to everyone that her education had been useful for something and that she was just as competent as Narzul, just in different ways. It had been a selfish endeavor, reckless and stupid, that resulted in the horrifying deaths of dozens of Argonians and had almost gotten her killed too. What made Do'Karth special is that he had tried. She remembered how he'd placed a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes with a look of pride and mournful compassion during their talk in Windhelm and she blinked away fresh tears, followed by a strangled chortle. When did she become so sentimental? 

During their descent using the Dwemer elevator, Madura shared some of his provisions with Niernen -- fresh water, dried meats and a small swig of something alcoholic. The food and drink reinvigorated Niernen and she thanked the journalist with a small smile. She fidgeted with the frayed ends of her pale grey cloak and tapped her uninjured, leather-clad foot impatiently on the Dwemer stones as the platform descended. She'd been inside one of their ruins before during her training. The war-wizard Vulthan had thought that testing out her skills on a few Dwemer automatons would make for fitting exercise. That had been... less than pleasant. 

When the elevator finally reached the bottom, Niernen saw two people standing guard -- another Dunmer woman, though one that looked older and that she did not recognize, and a Nord male with a rather vicious injury to his face that looked familiar. A brief exchange between Madura and the pair confirmed that Edith and the rest of the expedition had carried on and Niernen followed Madura deeper into the ruins, limiting her interaction with the injured pair to a polite nod in their direction. 

Niernen carefully sidestepped a few ruined automatons and noticed the splatters of fresh blood on the ground here and there. They had obviously fought the Dwemer creations here. Niernen hoped that none of the blood belonged to Do'Karth. Sounds of combat drifted towards them through the dimly lit and stuffy corridors and her breath caught in her throat. Madura looked back at her, a look of concern on his face, and they slowly crept forward, peeking around a corner in the corridor. 

A scuffle of some size was happening ahead. Niernen immediately recognized several people that had been part of the company in Windhelm taking down and disarming several opponents and there, at the far end of the corridor, his quarterstaff pressed against the chest of a Dunmer in a queer, orange robe, was Do'Karth. She saw the glittering edge of a dagger near Do'Karth's abdomen and gasped. Like a hobbling cork out of a bottle, Niernen rounded the corner and shook off Madura's grasping hands. The journalist cursed and chased after her. "She's with me!" he hollered at Edith and anyone willing to listen. Ignoring the sharp stabs of pain in her leg as she ran as fast as she could, the Dunmeri sorceress raised her hands, fire forming in the basin of her palms and curling around her fingers. Heedless of any danger, she made her way past Roze, Sagax and Sadri. "She's with me!" Madura repeated, urging the group not to turn their weapons on Niernen. 

"Don't you dare hurt my friend, you [i]s'wit![/i]" Niernen yelled at the Hlaalu man, her voice hoarse and trembling as tears ran down her face.