Prologue:

15 Second Seed 4E 200

A cold mist fell from the sky. Winter was long over, yet there was a fresh layer of frost that clung to almost everything and the mud was as hard as stone.

Runar grimaced beneath his steel helmet, his cloak soaked from the unrelenting rain that seemed to have followed them all the way from the Reach. By the Gods, thought Runar as he rubbed his eyes, how much further until we reach the fortress? Three nights spent sleeping out in the cold with little rest had seeped all the warmth from the Nord's bones and helped to put the man into an irritable mood—one, it appeared, that was shared amongst the others in the squad.

An indignant snort pulled Runar out of his own misery and he turned his head to see Ameyra, a sorceress from High Rock, staring at him. Like the others in the band, Ameyra was dressed in heavy animal skins and armed with a short sword no longer than Runar's forearm—everyone in their guild was required to have a weapon on them at all times, regardless of preferences—but while everyone else who looked as though they were drowning in layers of steel, leather, and furs and still shivering in their saddles, the Breton appeared immune to the cold around them. Probably enchanted her clothes to resist the cold before we marched out, he concluded.

"What?" Runar grumbled.

The mage shrugged, a smirk on her pale red lips. "I was just thinking about something." Oh, Gods. Here we go, Runar groused. "I thought you Nords were supposed to have a natural resistance to the cold."

Runar sighed, his breath coming out in an explosion of hot air. "It's not so much of a 'resistance' as it is a tolerance for the cold."

One of Ameyra's eyebrows arched. "Then you must've never experienced a true Skyrim winter until joining up with us."

Runar narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Oh, nothing really. You're just shaking so much that you're going to fall out of your saddle and probably not get back up."

"I'm fine," the Nord insisted as he suppressed a shiver. "Worry about—."

"Shut up back there!" barked one of the senior officers from the front. "Stay focused!"

Runar pursed his lips and directed a stony-eyed glare at the smug Breton, anger flashing behind his blue eyes. "Worry about yourself," he grunted in a quieter voice.

Ameyra scoffed, "Suit yourself, Nord." She clicked her tongue and urged her Cyrodiil-bred piebald into an easy trot. Before she was out of earshot, the woman turned in the saddle, "Don't come crying to me when you get bit by a skeever."

You'd sooner let me die of disease than give me a tonic. Runar glared in response and brought up the rearguard, grumbling curses under his breath.

"Why do you let that witch get under your skin, Runar?" questioned Deekan, an umber-scaled Argonian from Eastmarch with ivory horns that started at the back of his skull and followed his jaw, as he rode next to Runar. "I thought I told you to avoid her whenever you can."

The Nord snorted. "Easier said than done, friend." He spared a glance at Deekan. The Argonian was outfitted in a banded iron armor that looked better-fitting than Runar's hand-me-down set of steel armor. "Especially when she seems to make it her mission to make my life a living realm of Oblivion."

Deekan chuckled. "Take it in stride. I'm sure once that Ameyra realizes that her jabs have no effect on you, she'll go sniff around the recruit quarters for someone new to torture."

Runar rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I do that Ameyra finds no fun in tormenting the spineless milksops that Lani and Ravn bring in."

Deekan snorted. "If my memory serves me correctly," the Argonian started, "weren't you one of those 'spineless milksops' not eight months ago?" Runar leveled a lethal glare on his friend. "Ah, yes. I distinctly remember hearing you scream like a little Nord girl when Thalra broke your wrist during weapon's training." He gave a toothy smile. "Never thought I'd live to see the day an elf bested a 'True Son of Skyrim'."

"I'd never handled an actual sword until that day, scale-skin!" Runar hissed. "I grew up on a farm in Cyrodiil, working the fields until my hands blistered and bled. The only weapon I had was an old wood-cutting axe and that was only to scare away thieves and poachers!"

Deekan's yellow eyes gleamed with silent laughter. "It was a wooden sword." He lowered his hand to the hilt of his blade and used his thumb to push the weapon out of its hard leather casing so that Runar could glimpse the polished metal. "Had Thalra used a real blade that day, we'd be calling you Runar the Stump." He pushed his sword back down into its scabbard.

"Piss off," Runar grunted, much to Deekan's amusement. He wiped away rain from his face. "How much further until we reach the research base? I don't think I can take another night in this gods-forsaken weather."

Deekan chuckled. "I think the rest of the squad shares your thought, my cold-intolerant friend."

Runar huffed. "Sometimes I wonder if the gods decided to punish me with your company."

"I could say the same thing about you, land-strider." Runar glared daggers at the Argonian. "But, if it appeases your thinning patience, we're nearly to the stronghold." Deekan pointed to the north. "Treva's Watch is just beyond the trees and across the river."

Runar pursed his lips. "And how do you know?"

"I've been with these guys for almost ten years," the Argonian reminded his Nord friend. "Not to mention Haeric would always send me and a handful of recruits across the province to check in on the others."

"I see."

Deekan stared at his comrade. "If you stick with us long enough, you might just make—."

"I thought I told you to shut your trap, whelp," the senior officer, an Orc outfitted in a set of steel armor, scolded Runar as he rode down the line. The Nord frowned but bowed his head. "Keep your mouth shut and your ears open." The mer grimaced, deepening the still-healing scars that marred his face. "If we're ambushed from behind, any blood spilled will be on your hands."

"Sorry, sir," Runar mumbled. "Won't happen again."

Lorbul gave a curt nod. "See that it doesn't." He yanked on the reigns of his chestnut and trotted back to the front of the group. "Stay alert men!" the mer hollered as he passed the others.

Runar didn't miss the smug smirk Ameyra sent his way.

"Was he always such an ass?" whispered the Nord, ignoring the Breton sorceress.

"Not this bad but, after what happened, he's determined to exact his revenge on those savages for what they did to him and our brothers and sisters," Deekan replied softly. "Our healers had a tough time getting the stubborn Orc to listen to them. Almost had to get Haeric involved."

"I remember that," the Nord mumbled. The realization dawned on him. "Is that why we're going to the fort? To see if there're any survivors?"

Deekan rubbed his face. "I doubt there are survivors. If there was, we would've heard from them by now."

"Then why go at all?"

The Argonian gave an exasperated sigh. "Did anyone ever tell you that, for a grown man, you ask questions like a tiny Nord child?"

"Ask our weapon's master when we get back," remarked the Nord with a faint smile.

Deekan shook his head. "We're going to see if any of Lieutenant Riverlock's notes survived."

Runar made a face beneath his helmet and motioned with a hand towards the others. "All of this for just some notes that probably didn't survive?"

"Lieutenant Riverlock kept his findings very secure," Deekan pointed out. "I'm sure there's something of his research still lying around."

I hope you're right, Runar thought. I'd hate for this trip to be for nothing.

- XXX -

"Gods be praised…" Runar breathed when he caught a glimpse of the crumbling lookout tower that marked Faldar's Tooth as he and the others crossed the stone bridge.

His relief began to wane as they neared the fort. For a ruin that likely swapped countless owners over the course of decades it had been well-kept and tidy. Now, Skyrim had started to reclaim it for herself; vines began to inch upwards, finding cracks in the slate-grey stone walls and weakening the stronghold's fortifications.

"Such a shame," voiced Deekan, sadness evident in his words. "This place was once the pride of our brotherhood now…now only half-a-year has passed and look at what's happened."

Runar scowled but wordlessly followed Deekan and the rest of the group to the portcullis, only to be stopped just before the gates.

"Spriggans," growled one of Runar's guild-mates as he left the saddle and moved his mount away from the old fortress.

Everyone dismounted and quickly (and quietly) moved their horses to a safe location all along the roadway. Gods, I hate Spriggans, Runar muttered to himself as he lead his Skyrim-bred bay to the side of the road. At the command of Lorbul, the older, more experienced members that came on the trip were the first to set foot in the weed-infested courtyard of the decrepit base, weapons drawn, to search for signs of the forest guardians.

"I hate Spriggans," Runar heard Ameyra mutter as she cast a calm charm on her horse. "The only use those wretched creatures have is their hearts."

At least they have a heart, the Nord answered silently as he softly cooed into his horse's ear. Were you always so cold and cruel?

"Have to agree with you there, Ameyra," replied Ciri, an ashen-haired Imperial from some small village in Cyrodiil. The woman deigned to reveal any information aside from she was trained from a young age to hunt and kill monsters and had some talent with magic. That's all Haeric cared to hear before bringing her into the guild. "No better than a daedra."

What is it with mages and their high-strung, egotistical attitudes? Runar wondered as he waited for the all clear. They're no better than some milk-drinker that's too afraid of his own shadow! Although Ciri wasn't half as bad as Ameyra was.

"Looks like the Spriggans moved on," announced Lorbul, his deep voice echoing across the now-deserted road. One-by-one each member emerged from the thickets or banks of Lake Honrich with their horses close behind. "Or they were eliminated some weeks ago."

"Either way," added a veteran member, a stone-faced Nord woman with her hair shaved that showed off five silver scars spanned the length of her face, as she joined Lorbul, "it's going to be a fucking nightmare hacking through those roots over the main door."

Lorbul grunted. "Ameyra!" he barked. The Breton brushed some of her reddish-blonde hair out of her face and over her shoulder and gave the Orsimer a look. "Get in there and see if you can't burn those vines to ash."

Ameyra scoffed as she walked towards the high-ranking officer. "Just so you know, you're wasting my talents on a task that a new-blood could accomplish," she told the grumpy mer, her voice haughty.

"And you're wasting my time with your complaints," shot back Lorbul. He pointed towards the courtyard. "Get to work." When Ameyra was out of sight, Lorbul addressed the rest of the men and women gathered. "I want half of you out patrolling the walls and setting up positions along the battlements. We don't need the Riften Guard to see us and get nosy. The other half will come with me and Aelrica and search for any clues that might've been left behind by our fallen brothers and sisters."

Runar sighed. "Looks like I'm going to be on wall duty again," he complained.

Deekan shrugged. "Who knows? You might get to go inside and see how one of our research facilities work."

"You mean used to work," the Nord corrected. "And besides, I only just moved up from 'recruit' to 'member' not a ten-night ago."

The Argonian frowned. "Yes. I suppose that's—."

"Bergfalk!" snapped Aelrica. Runar flinched and saw the woman marching over to him. Being this close to her, Runar could clearly see the five pale lines that started from her left jaw and traveled across her mouth, nose, and eyes, and wrapped around the right side of her head. Her right eye was covered with a patch and half of her right ear was missing. "You and Deekan are coming with me and Lorbul once that mage burns those roots to the ground." As if she sensed his question or hesitation, Aelrica continued, "If you want to move up in this brotherhood, Bergfalk, you need experience and the trust of your commanding officers."

She's giving me a chance to prove myself, Runar realized, almost too late, as Aelrica stared at him expectantly. Her scarred lips pursed in a tight line. He managed to give his commanding officer a curt nod.

"I trust you not to run me through with those toys of yours," Aelrica stated as she pointed to the iron battleaxe strapped to Runar's back and then the sword strapped to his hip.

Runar's eyes widened. "How did you—?"

"You wear your emotions on your sleeve and your face gives away your questions before you even ask them," Aelrica clarified, impatience clear in her voice. "That's another thing you'll need to learn if you ever want to survive long enough to skin your first vargr."

I don't want some random vargr, Runar told himself. I want her. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now follow me."

Deekan and Runar fell in step behind the Nord woman and waited patiently as Ameyra used fire magicka to tear down the thick, gnarled vines that blocked their entry into the depilated fortress. When she spotted Runar standing among those that were chosen to enter, she sent the Nord a dirty look before returning her attention to the door.

"There," she stated, brushing charred bits of root from her shoulder.

Ameyra made to open the door but her wrist was caught by Lorbul's meaty, armored hand.

"You will stay here with the others," rumbled the mer. The mage's pale eyes widened to the size of saucers. "I have more than enough men to aide me in the investigation."

"I am your best battlemage and you've resigned me to guard duty?" she seethed. "Yet you let the new-blooded whelp in?"

Lorbul loomed over the infuriated woman, unafraid. "I expect no savages, nor do I expect any bandits to be inside. Therefore, your 'talents' are not required, and I am ordering you to stand guard." His voice was calm but Runar could detect the edge in it. He was losing his patience with the sorceress. "Or should we discuss your lack of obedience with Haeric when we return?"

Ameyra averted her eyes. "No. That will not be necessary," she answered meekly and then stepped back. Runar had to admit: it felt good seeing that bitch be put in her place for a change.

Lorbul nodded. "Good." He faced the small group of men and women. "Be careful in there. There are still likely traps from when this place was still in use. No small scrap of information is useless. Whatever you find, you bring to me and only me."

- XXX -

"This place looks worse on the inside than on the outside," Runar mentioned as he and Deekan dug through some old chests. "Never seen so many bodies in a room like that." I've never seen bodies deformed like that.

Deekan snorted. "You clearly haven't been inside one of the many Nordic barrows that litter this land."

Runar frowned. "Well, this one is filled with useless tools." He closed the chest. "What kind of research went on here?"

The Argonian didn't answer right away. "Just…" He shut the chest. "Just research."

Runar moved on to a private room that had doubled as an office. "If it was just 'research' then why did we see a torture table in the inner chamber?" He removed his helm and set it on the molding desk, and then ran a hand through his close-cropped, wheat-blond hair before resuming his search. "And what about all those cages in the room adjacent to the inner chamber?" He dug through the desks drawers, glancing through scrolls dotted with half-formed ideas and hypotheses.

"We needed information, Runar," the Argonian answered. "We still need information on our enemy and, sometimes, torture is the only way to get the necessary information."

Runar paused. "I didn't think the guild believed in that kind of thing. I was always under the assumption that it was 'kill or be killed'."

"It is but, sometimes extreme measures need to be taken."

Taking that as the end to the conversation, Runar went back to looking for anything that Lorbul would find useful. What's this? He wondered as he pushed aside a scroll and discovered a worn, leather-bound journal (multiple, in fact). He flipped through the first journal, sparing the pages a cursory glance, but stopped when a name caught his eye.

"One of the subjects, a Nord woman from northern Cyrodiil that we captured shortly after my men brought in the Savage, has failed to disclose her condition to me. It was only brought to my attention by one of the morning guards that this prisoner is, in fact, pregnant."

A pit formed in the center of Runar's gut and he hastily backtracked to the first couple of pages, where he found the prisoner's personal information.

"No…" he whispered. He dropped the dossier. "No, no, no, NO!" He slammed his fists on the old desk, his anger rising, and sent his helmet clattering to the floor. "He had her. He fucking had her."

Hearing his friend's distress from outside, Deekan abandoned his task to check on the Nord. "Runar, what is—?"

Runar whirled, his eyes bright with adrenaline and fury. "He fucking had her, and she escaped!" he roared. The Argonian took a step back, his hands raised slightly. "That bitch…that whore was here! She was his prisoner and she escaped!"

Having never seen Runar this mad before, Deekan was at a loss on how to calm the man down.

"W-Who escaped?" Deekan tried, his voice even. He stared directly into the Nord's wild eyes. "Runar, talk to me. Who are you talking about?"

Incapable of thinking rationally, Runar tossed the journal to Deekan. "It's all in there." Deekan caught the notebook and opened it to the first page. "I told you about her, Deekan. What she almost did to me."

The Argonian nodded. "I remember, Runar." He started reading the entries and stopped when he reached the entry that his friend had found. "By the Gods." He looked up at Runar and shut the journal. "We need to get this to Lorbul—."

Runar snatched the book away. "No. This will stay with me." He tucked the journal into his belt and hid it with his cloak. "And neither of us will make mention of this to Lorbul or Haeric, right?"

Deekan, seeing that there was no persuading the Nord, relented, "Fine. Just between us."

Runar nodded curtly. "Good." His rage slowly ebbed. "Glad I can count on you." He grabbed his helmet and placed it back on his head. "Now let's get out of here before anyone comes looking for us."

17 First Seed 4E 201

For the last three days Hreir spent every spare moment she had cleaning her home, preparing it for the imminent arrival of friends and family that were coming within the next twenty-four hours. As she worked, Hreir couldn't remember the last time she and her husband hosted so many people but within the span of a couple of years; she had watched as her family grew from herself, her husband, and son to include the Companions in Whiterun.

Hreir swept the last of the dust into a dustpan and then proceeded to toss the dirt into the low-burning fire. I'll sweep one more time before the others arrive, she decided as she set the broom and pan in a closet near the cellar's trapdoor, and then sank into one of the chairs that were situated in front of the hearth. It felt good to have a moment's rest, to get off her feet and enjoy the ever-elusive quiet that spread throughout the home like a blanket. She tucked a few strands of light hair from her face and shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the quiet.

The silence, however, was not meant to last long. Not five minutes after sitting down and giving her entire body a break, three quick knocks broke the quiet followed by the soft whimpers of her youngest daughter waking up from her nap. Hreir, holding in a groan, got up and hurried to the crib that was placed near marital bed and scooped the fussy child into her arms.

"There, there," Hreir crooned as she gently bounced the little girl in her arms. The toddler stared up at Hreir with wide, bright sky-blue eyes and smiled. "It's okay, Synne, I'm here."

Synne gave a little laughed. "Ma!"

Hreir gently pressed her lips against Synne's forehead. "Yes. I'm your Ma." Another three, impatient sharp raps against the door. "Come on, let's go see who decided to visit us, hm? Maybe it's your big sister and her friend," she said as she wrapped Synne in a blanket.

With her littlest secure in her arms, Hreir went to answer the door. Divines, I hope it's not any of the guests, she prayed as she gave Synne her finger to hold on to. Although, if it was her eldest daughter and her friend, Hreir wouldn't mind. Those two were always willing to help with any task, big or small, and did a good job of getting it done…even if they way they completed the chores were a bit unorthodox.

Another couple knocks sounded.

"I'm coming, just hold on," Hreir said, mildly irritated.

She opened the door to see who decided to stop by early and was both surprised and happy to see Herfid standing on the porch, dressed in a mix of chainmail, hunting leathers, and fur pelts. Hreir noted the hickory longbow and a new quiver strapped to the woman's back along with the steel blade attached to her hip.

"Herfid," she greeted, her annoyance gone, as she moved Synne to one arm so she could embrace her friend. Herfid smiled and carefully returned the gesture. "I didn't expect you until later tonight." Hreir pulled out of the hug first and had to readjust her grip on the squirming child in her arms. "Synne just woke up from her nap." She cocked her head to the side. "You cut your hair."

"I did." Herfid grinned and she extended her arms. "May I? I've missed her."

Hreir gladly handed the unruly toddler to the other woman and watched as Synne settled into her mother's arms and calmed almost immediately.

"She knows who her mother is," Hreir noted as she smoothed out her dress.

Herfid nuzzled the top of Synne's head with her nose, much to Synne's delight. "That's good," said the Nord. She stared at Hreir, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. "I-I didn't mean…"

"I understand what you meant," Hreir assured the Nord across from her. She moved aside and ushered Herfid to enter the home. "Come in, come in. Don't need Synne catching a cold out here."

Herfid bowed her head in thanks, strands of her short, dusty-blonde hair falling in her eyes. "I actually came by early to see if I could lend a hand." Hreir closed the door behind them. "You, Hulgar, and Balfhe have been working tirelessly trying to get everything ready for the party tomorrow." She looked down at her child, then her attire, and then back at Hreir. "Do you mind?" she asked, offering Synne.

"Not at all." Hreir took Synne from Herfid.

"The others said they'd be coming in the early morning to help set up," Herfid explained as she removed her weapons and placed them near the door. "Any news from Whiterun?"

"Aye. I got a letter yesterday." Hreir walked over to the table to retrieve a bottle. "Elana said that they're leaving Whiterun today, will spend the night at the Nightgate Inn, and then probably be here about mid-morning."

Herfid shed her furs so she was only wearing a scaled leather vest (not unlike the ones the Windhelm Guard and Stormcloaks wore, Hreir noted) the mail shirt, and a linen tunic underneath. "Then that means your daughter will be here sooner than that," she stated. "And what about Taryn? I thought she was…you know."

"I believe the inn is within the Pale boundaries," Hreir stated. "As for Skadi, I don't think she'll be here as early as you think. Elana wrote that they took horses this time. Too risky with the war—a scout might see them."

Herfid nodded again and, seeing Synne being fussy, held her arms out. "Let me see if I can't get her to eat." She took the squirming toddler. "What's gotten into you, little pup?" Herfid frowned when she tried to give Synne the bottle and the little girl turned her head away. "She's usually not like this after a nap."

"She can be," Hreir admitted. "Especially if her two favorite sitters are visiting. Then she just wants to play with them." She guided Herfid to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and then removed the screen to add more wood. "I was going to ask: where are the others?" Hreir glanced over her shoulder to see Synne finally taking the bottle (with some coaxing from Herfid). "It's strange seeing you without Mynre, Roggar, or Emelia acting as your shadows."

With Synne finally eating, Herfid looked up. "They're still in Windhelm, each looking for a perfect gift for Synne," she explained as she adjusted her arms so Synne could eat easier. "Emelia's been dragging poor Roggar all over the Stone Quarter and Gray Quarter in search of a gift." She giggled. "I think the man is ready to yank his hair out."

Hreir, placed the last log into the hearth, set the screen back in place, and lowered herself into the chair next to Herfid. "I'm surprised Emelia hasn't been having trouble from the locals in the city. Since the war broke out, Windhelm isn't exactly open to Imperials roaming their streets—and the rumor of a murderer on the loose…"

"We were worried about that when we first decided to stay there, I'll admit," Herfid confessed. "But Roggar is a force to reckoned with and the guards wisely look elsewhere when they see Emelia with him." The Nord sighed softly. "As for those rumors…we're back at the Candlehearth Hall by sundown. We'd rather be safe than sorry."

Hreir had a hard time picturing anyone sneaking up on Herfid, or any of the others for that matter, and trying to harm them.

After Synne finished the bottle of formula, Herfid set the empty container down and moved Synne so she could start burping the toddler. "So, Hreir, what can I do to help make tomorrow easier on you?"

- XXX -

18 First Seed 4E 201

Hreir was pleased to see that everything was coming together in a timely manner. Hulgar, with the help of Mendre and Roggar, was moving the long table to the center of the yard; Mynre and Emelia were putting up the last of the decorations; Herfid was inside baking off the last of the sweet rolls and Balfhe was out back with everyone else, keeping Synne occupied with her toys.

I can't believe our luck with the weather, she observed, her eyes on the clear sky, as she walked to the backyard. It was exceptionally rare (at least in Eastmarch) to have a clear warm day in First Seed. Usually it was gloomy, damp, and just cold. Not today, it seemed.

"Ma," Hreir heard Balfhe say. Hreir set a box of dishware on the table and looked back at her son. With each passing day Balfhe resembled his father more and more; the shade of his hair; the set of his shoulders; the firm jaw; the unwavering desire to help. There were traits that he inherited from her, Hreir was certain. The shade of blue in his eyes, the straight nose, and a calmness that was unheard of in a boy only nine summers old. "When is Miss Elana and the Companions coming?"

"I'm sure they'll be here any minute, Balfhe," Hreir assured the young boy. "It's a long ride from the Nightgate Inn to Mixwater Mill."

Balfhe beamed. "Will Farkas or Vilkas be with them? I want to show them how far I've come with my axe training! What about Miss Aela? I wanted her to show me how to use a bow the last time we visited Whiterun!"

Hreir chuckled. I swear, that boy will take after his sister and join the Companions one day, she mused. He'd be a fine addition, no doubt. "I don't know, Balfhe," she replied earnestly. "Elana didn't tell me who would be accompanying her." She paused. "And you know full well that your sister is just as capable with a bow as Aela is."

Balfhe shrugged. "But she was gone on that contract when I went to ask her, and Miss Aela promised to show me the next time we visited!"

"Balfhe Kjarnesen," Hreir warned, giving her child a look.

The boy flinched. "Okay." He went back to playing a game of peek-a-boo with Synne, which the latter enjoyed immensely.

Hreir shook her head and went back to setting the table. They were still waiting on a few of the workers to come by, along with Gilfre, who was working not only her men but herself to the bone with trying to keep up with Jarl Ulfric's demands for lumber. There were some days where Hulgar wouldn't come home until well after dark, exhausted and aching, and once in a while there would be a hushed conversation between the couple about temporarily moving to Whiterun until things slowed down, but nothing ever came of it. It'd be more of a hassle to pack up their belongings and move to another hold. "We just have to weather the storm a bit longer," as Hulgar would say.

But how much longer is "longer"? I wonder, Hreir pondered. She lifted her gaze and watched Hulgar work, the man built like most Nords native to Skyrim; big and sturdy, his arms thick cords of muscles, and a stubborn jaw bordered by a thick beard that was tied with a leather string at his chin. Hreir could see that time was starting to catch up with her husband; how he groaned some mornings while getting ready for work or how he would complain about his knee hurting before a storm—.

"Rargh!"

A squeal of laughter and then, "You came!"

Hreir, jostled from her thoughts at the sound of Balfhe's delighted scream, turned to see him hugging his big sister tightly. The sight brought a sense of happiness to Hreir and, after watching her children embrace each other, she walked over.

"I'm glad you made it," Hreir said as Balfhe went back to watching over his little sister and held her oldest child close.

Skadi returned the embrace and then pulled back. "I wouldn't miss this for anything," she replied easily, a smile lighting up her already bright eyes. Hreir noted that her oldest wasn't wearing her usual armor and instead wore plain traveler's clothes (her sword and bow absent). Even her warpaint was scrubbed clean from her face and her russet hair was left to hang loose. "We would've made it sooner, but someone decided to sleep in another hour." Skadi turned her head just as her friend, Taryn Whitemane, came around the corner (dressed in simple clothes instead of her usual leathers).

Catching Skadi's glare, the green-eyed, dark-haired Imperial stuck her tongue out and replied, "I need at least twelve hours of uninterrupted rest, you know that."

Skadi shook her head while Taryn gravitated to where Synne and Balfhe were playing.

"Couldn't you just use the frying pan?" Hreir was no stranger to the stories of the Frying Pan of Headaches.

Skadi laughed. "I tried, honestly. I convinced the innkeeper I needed it but Elana took it away before I could cause any harm." She grinned. "Wish I'd brought a mace with me."

"I heard that!" Taryn snapped.

Hreir giggled softly. "I guess Taryn still hasn't forgiven you for that, has she?"

Skadi shrugged. "Still brings it up from time to time." She crossed her arms loosely. "Well, we're all here. What else has to get done yet?"

Always so eager to lend a hand—. "Wait," said the older Nord, unsure if she heard her daughter right, "all of you are here? As in...everyone from Jorrvaskr?"

The brown-haired Companion nodded. "Aye. Everyone except for Torvar, Athis, and Vignar. We had to leave some of us to watch over the mead hall and help Tilma."

"Even the Harbinger?" Hreir asked, incredulous.

Again, Skadi nodded. "You honestly think Kodlak is just going to sit idly in Jorrvaskr while we celebrate the little pup's first birthday? He even picked out a present for Synne!"

Hreir was shocked. "He didn't have to do that…" She trailed off. "Thank the Eight for you all. We're almost done setting up but if you want, you can ask your father about finding something to do." Skadi smiled and made to head to Hulgar (who was starting to bring the chairs from the front to the back), when Hreir grabbed her arm. The older Nord lowered her voice, as to not let Balfhe overhear. "And warn the twins about Balfhe. He's eager to show them his progress with his axe." She released her hold on Skadi's arm.

Skadi smirked. "I'll pass along the message."

- XXX -

"...And then your sister, desperate to rescue Elisif the Fair, carved a path of blood and destruction to the ritual tower," Heimdall recited to Balfhe, the boy's eyes wide and drinking in the Companion's overly-exaggerated tale. "Most of the necromancers fled in terror, fearful of the painful death that awaited them, but some stayed and fought; casting spells of fire, ice, and lightning—all of which bounced off your sister harmlessly..."

Skadi, who'd been only half-listening to the amplified version of the contract that put her name on the lips of Companion-hopefuls, tore her attention away from a conversation she was having with Taryn and Brandr. "If I remember that contract correctly, I wasn't the only one there cutting down those mages," she added. "Spells don't just 'bounce off' of me either." She narrowed her eyes. "And when did Torygg send a two score of his elite guards to help us? How did the necromancers slaughter them so easily?"

Heimdall shrugged. "Minor details."

"What happened next, Heimdall?!" Balfhe asked, excited. "Did Skadi banish the evil Wolf Queen from Skyrim once and for all?"

Heimdall chuckled. "I'll get to that," he assured the boy. "Now, where was I?" He made a show of rubbing the blond scruff around his jaw in thought.

"Something about spells not harming Skadi and how she left a trail of blood and destruction in her wake," offered Brandr, ignoring the bone-chilling glare Skadi was giving him as he took a drink from his cup.

She hit his arm. "Don't encourage him, skeever-brain!" she snarled.

"Yeah," agreed Taryn, the archer mirroring Skadi's glare. "You'll just make it a thousand-times worse! Did you forget that Skadi has to live with Heimdall?"

Brandr gave the two women a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I promise to make it up to you."

"Damn right you will," Skadi hissed and then looked at Taryn. "Shut up, right now. There's a kid present."

Taryn wisely kept her mouth shut but the grin on her face only grew.

"Right!" Heimdall took a sip of his mead and then cleared his throat. "Then, with all the necromancers dead or dying beneath Skadi's feet and joining Hircine, she bravely confronted the vile Ritual Master and a grand battle ensued. The Ritual Master was a very powerful sorcerer, one that could command an entire army of the dead, but he—"

"She," Skadi coughed into her hand.

"—was no match for your sister. No amount of power or magic was a match for Skadi's fury and blade," Heimdall continued, undaunted. "The fight went on for a whole day and night—."

Taryn stood and grinned, effectively ending Heimdall's tale. "Look everyone, there's the birthday girl!"

"Thank you," Skadi whispered.

Heimdall closed his mouth and peered over his shoulder to see Herfid with Synne in her arms approaching from the side of the house. "Ah, sorry, Balfhe," he atoned to the boy sitting next to him. "I'll have to finish the story another time."

Balfhe's face fell a little. "Aww..."

"Come on, everyone," Taryn continued, beaming as though she'd just been given Tamriel's entire supply of gold, "Let's sing!"

"Happy Birthday to you!" sang everyone, all eyes on Synne as Herfid sat down and placed the tot on her lap. The toddler, dressed in a simple blue gown, stared at all the excitement and giggled, enjoying all the attention she was receiving. "Happy Birthday dear Synne! Happy Birthday to you!"