A/N - I realize that I have been woefully neglectful in updating this story, and I will offer no tired excuses of "work getting in the way" or "been too busy" or any of the other mundane but time-consuming tasks that life likes to throw at you. To be rather frank, I began writing this chapter several months ago, and it wasn't up to my expectations, so I shelved it. Last week, I received a much appreciated review from NukaColaQueen that kicked me in the behind and reminded me that there are people who are interested in this story, so I got back on the horse, so to speak, and tried again. I believe the second iteration of this chapter is much better, and I hope you all will too.

P.S. Chapter three is moving along rather nicely, and I have the bare bones of chapter 4 laid out. Hopefully, there will be no more lengthy updates.

Disclaimer - I still do not own Skyrim or any of its characters. They are Bethesda's playthings, I just borrow them from time to time.

She dropped the foolish woman, and she thought for sure that she would scurry away. But, much to her surprise, Lokir stood up, and brushed at her clothes, pulling herself together. Picking up the upset chair, she took a seat, and then turned her hands to the task of straightening out the papers.

Surprise and a tiny amount of shock colored her question, "You mean to continue?"

"I admit to being curious, now, and I finish what I begin, my Queen. Although, I will keep my thoughts to myself going forward."

She nodded, slowly resuming her seated position at the table. She had wished to keep her emotions at bay and her temper in check, but Lokir had crossed the line; she was not sorry, in the least, that she had defended her husband. Feren continued, hesitantly, "Contrary to your belief, there were actual reasons behind the decision to keep our union a secret, and on some level, both of us were unhappy that we had to do so. Neither of us wanted to mislead anyone, but sometimes life deals you a shitty hand, and you have to make do with what you are given. The best option available to us was a compromise."

"A compromise?"

"Yes. I loved Ulfric with all of my heart, but at the time, I could not be his queen."

"Why?"

"There were many reasons, but first and foremost, I had unfinished business to take care of. A duty, if you will..."

Sounding confused, Lokir asked, "What could be more important than serving Skyrim as its queen?"

"A duty to oneself. An oath that one makes when they are at their lowest moment. It was a promise that had to be kept."

The woman raised a golden eyebrow, begging the question without making a sound. She would eventually satiate the scholar's curiosity, but not until she made herself clear. She continued, "But, even I realized that time is short and life is precious, and so we compromised. I would marry him, be his wife, and wear his ring; and he would support me in my greatest endeavor. Just the same as I had done for him."

She stood, pacing slowly over to the window, watching the delicate snowflakes drift past the glass. "Another knot that begs for release. Tell me, Lokir, what do you know of the fall of the Dominion?"

The young scholar began her response, a lecture really, spitting out dates and names, figures and words, like a well-used forge would turn out daggers. She indulged the woman, and when Lokir was finished, she responded. "It seems that you have a good amount of knowledge on the subject."

The spitfire scoffed, "Any lover of history should know at least that. It was a major event of this era, and of all eras past and future."

"And of Valenwood?"

Nodding, Lokir began, and again, the floodgates opened, gracing her ears with names she had not heard in ages, conjuring images from deep within the recesses of her memory. When the words stopped, she interrupted, "Would you like an unpublished, first-hand account to add to your information?"

The girl's dainty mouth hung open like a fish as she barely managed to nod her head in the affirmative. So, she took a deep breath, and recalled moments that she had not spoken of in decades.

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The constant clatter of hooves rung in her ears as they echoed amongst the hallowed trunks of trees that had, for an eternity, stood proud along the border of Valenwood. Long had she dreamed of this land, and yet, its beauty and mystery shamed her feeble imagination. Every fledgling bud, each staunch sapling, all of the towering oaks—everything here screamed of life and freedom, things she could never get enough of, no matter how often she was blessed enough to experience them. Years of struggle, of sacrifice, and the deaths of countless men whom she was proud to call brother, brought her here, and they would carry her onward—until the Dominion was nothing more than a whispered nightmare used to scare petulant children.

Her nerves were frayed, the realization that many months of work were about to produce fruit, and she could only pray that she would harvest much success. True to form, she had accounted for and reassessed every decision that she could possibly have done so, but would it be enough? There was no better time to strike; the Thalmor were on their heels, and vulnerable while Falinesti was at its most northern position. So much planning and such a huge risk, and when it came down to it, all she could do was hope.

Two years ago, when she had arrived in Valenwood, the people were hungry, ready for change and sick of the Thalmor's outward focus. They wanted leaders who would see to their needs, instead of looking for another province to add to the their expansive empire. She recognized the situation for what it was, a ready kindling that just needed a simple spark. It had helped matters that she had not gone there as a Stormcloak or a queen. When asked of her past, she had spoken the truth: that she was an orphaned Bosmer raised on the streets of Solitude; and she had told them of how she had longed to return to the land of her heritage and rid it of the Thalmor.

It had occurred to her somewhere along the way that, while the Nords and Mer both liked to think themselves very different and superior, they were mostly the same. Some were scoundrels, a few were honorable, and most just wanted to be able to live a happy life. Offer the people a chance at that, and they would willingly rally to a cause. So, just as she had done before in Skyrim, she put her shoulder to the millstone, and went about earning the trust and respect of the Mer of Valenwood. Over time, she had amassed an army of natives who wanted nothing more than to see the Thalmor gone from their forests. A force that was supported by a vast network of allies in villages throughout the land, whose members were a myriad of all walks of elven life. Never one to snub a helping hand, she took aid from whomever offered it, whether it be a mercenary, a baker, or a cobbler. A sword could define a man's worth, but so could a hot meal and a sturdy boot—and an army needed all of those things. She was wildly successful, eventually endearing herself to most, until she crossed paths with Eralos.

He was the leader of one of the larger factions of Bosmer, and a rather necessary ally whose trust, she had suspected, would not be easily earned. But she enjoyed a challenge, and his support was requisite to her coup. So, she offered him her blade, and slowly, over time, she became part of his clan. He made no effort to hide his distaste for her background, referring to her as an "outsider" at every opportunity. In fact, it wasn't until she buried her blade in an assassin from a rival tribe that he began to be sufferable. But, he still openly questioned her leadership and loyalties, maybe with just a little less venom.

The subject of her thoughts brought his horse alongside hers, cantering into position. She rode at the front of their party—a dozen men on a mission that was vital to her progress. Eralos spoke to her over his shoulder, "You are certain your contact will meet us?"

"Yes."

"And he will honor our request?"

"He is a man of his word, Eralos. He is well-known and highly respected in his country, and was always kind to me."

The last part of her statement was pushing the boundaries of truth, but Galmar was kind in his own unique way. From the very beginning, she had forbade any offers of soldiers from Skyrim. She would not sacrifice peace in one home for another, and it did not take long for her to see the stubborn pride that the Bosmer had. The natives would not easily accept outside help in reclaiming their homeland. But, she had eventually convinced them that aid, in the form of food and weapons, was not only acceptable, but smart.

"I still do not understand why the Nords would want to assist us."

Time to tread carefully, she thought as she spoke, "It is not necessarily 'us' they wish to assist. I do not think they care who leads Valenwood, provided that the Thalmor are disposed of. The whole 'enemy of my enemy is my ally' idea."

He nodded slightly, "Still, they must owe you a great debt if they are willing to be involved in such things."

"They owe me nothing. I was a good soldier, and fought in the rebellion for the King, but so did thousands of others. My distinction is that now, I chose to hunt the Thalmor, and the High King of Skyrim holds no love for them. He cannot blatantly throw his country into a war in which he has no claim, but he can support those who fight the battle he cannot."

"Maybe so, but I will reserve judgement until I meet this Galmar."

She nodded, and silence set in amongst them. She noticed that the rest of the party was straggling, told, she was sure, to give them privacy. When Eralos spoke, the Mer listened. She stole a glance in his direction, and was surprised to see him returning her stare. The words tumbled out, "Is there something else?"

"When this is over, what will you do? Do you plan to remain in Valenwood, or will you return to Skyrim?"

She shrugged and tried to sound unsure. "I do not plan beyond today, Eralos. It is all that is promised."

"True. But, I want you to know that I'd like you to stay here with us, Feren."

"What?"

Her response was sharp, filled with disbelief, and this man was not used to being questioned. He reached across the space between them, grabbing the reins of her horse, pulling both beasts to a stop. His free hand grabbed her forearm, turning her upper body and face towards him. "Live here, in Valenwood, with me. Become my promised."

Shock left her without words. He was so forward, so matter-of-fact, so bold in his advances, and why shouldn't he be? He was a leader amongst his people, an Elder, and a formidable warrior. He did not rise to leadership by taking no for an answer, and he was a more than adequate suitor in the most logical sense. Any other female amongst his clan, and really all clans, would be thrilled to be his future bride. The sad and ironic part was that, if not for Ulfric, she would have considered his offer. He was handsome for a Mer, but no one and nothing could compare to her husband.

"I cannot. I am flattered, but my heart was left in Solitude."

"Your heart? What does a youngster know of love?"

She had to contain the growl that begged for release. This condescending ageism amongst the Mer had been the worst thing to tolerate. "I know that I have loved my husband for many years…"

He shook his head in disbelief, disgust on his features. "You should have never been allowed to marry. You are scarcely out of childhood, barely old enough to be promised. Only Elders are permitted to wed."

She was a misfit, no matter which country she found herself in. In Skyrim, she had been an outcast because of her race; and in Valenwood, she was an oddity because she had married as a "child." Not that it mattered much; just as she had fought for Skyrim, she would fight for Valenwood. But still, it annoyed her to no end.

"In the people of Skyrim's eyes and mine, I am an adult."

"And yet you make foolish choices, just as a child is wont to do."

"Tell me, Eralos, would a child have been able to save your life?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the group had stopped out of earshot, and now, she had no doubt that they were following very specific orders. She understood, although she barely tolerated, that the Mer had different ideas when it came to age and maturity; they had three stages of life: childhood, adulthood, and Eldership. In their eyes, she was barely past the age of sexual maturity; a heady, brash adult with no real grasp of reality, who still needed council and supervision. But she had been raised in Solitude, where the alleys incubated the youth who inhabited them, and she was a grown woman by all Nordic standards.

"Probably not..." he tersely offered, although she could tell that he was loathe to admit it.

"Well then, I suggest you stop reminding me just how incompetent I should be, considering I am helping you overthrow the Thalmor."

He smirked as he responded, "Your mouth is proof of your immaturity. Your body may be grown, and you are incredibly stunning—the beast that lurks within all Bosmer is strong within you. But your words, they betray your true age."

She held her tongue, though she wanted nothing more than to lash out, and he continued, "If you were my promised, I would allow you to blossom into your true potential. I would teach you the ways of an Elder, and when you were prepared, I would make you my wife."

His hand ghosted down her arm to her wrist, running his thumb along her pulse. His voice was low, guttural and hungry, when he continued, "The union between Elders lasts for centuries, and they are never parted, not even when they pass to the forests of the Void. What kind of husband leaves his wife alone to battle in a foreign land? It is time to reclaim your heart, Feren. Think on what I have said."

Before she could respond, his horse galloped onward, leaving her frustrated and in slight disbelief. She gently heeled her mount, and the beast responded by stepping forward to follow. The accompaniment of hooves behind her meant that the rest of the party had also started moving, satisfied that the discussion was over.

She knew that Eralos was more than a handful, but she had thought that after admitting that she was taken, he would back away gracefully. So much for that idea. Shuddering, she realized how very little she looked forward to their next conversation. No matter who he was, and how badly she needed his support, she would not tolerate such a blatant dismissal of her marriage, nor would she ever consider betraying her vows. Yet, his words had hit an unintended bullseye. She did long for a marriage that could last hundreds of years—but only with Ulfric, and that could never be. The difference in their respective life spans had weighed on her heavily since coming to Valenwood. She had always known that her kind lived longer lives, but it had never been so painfully obvious before. She could count the number of Bosmer she had met in Skyrim on one hand, and none of them had seemed centuries old. Here, it was commonplace, and each face was a painful reminder of her wretched longevity.

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A snort from Lokir interrupted her thoughts, and she paused, waiting for an explanation. The scholar said nothing, keeping her eyes cast down at the parchment. Finally, she grew weary of waiting, "Is something amusing, Lokir?"

"I told you that I was going to refrain from commenting. My apologies."

For some reason, that did not sit well with her. She had hoped that Lokir would only hold her tongue on critical words, but it seemed the girl intended to remain silent altogether.

"That will never work. Your task requires you to ask questions, to prompt me for and receive the facts to make this a detailed account, so that the readers can be a party to history. How can you do your job without speaking?"

Lokir took a huge breath, sighing slowly, "I have already seen what happens when I offer words that you dislike."

"That is unfair. I have tolerated your criticism for years—and actually, you finally saying it to my face is refreshing. I did not threaten you until you turned your tongue to the dead; my husband cannot defend himself."

"So I can only speak freely on subjects that you deem fair? How very liberal of you."

"By the nine, you are an insufferable shrew."

"It takes one to know one."

Laughter erupted forth from her gut, as she nearly doubled over in spasms. When she finally regained herself, the scholar was still sitting with a sour look on her face, but she could see the tiniest lift at the corner of her mouth. "Very true. Then, let's begin anew, Lokir. You can say anything and everything you would like about me, my decisions, my actions...any subject you like with impunity."

"And my concession?"

Sighing, she felt a thousand years old, and she hoped that she would never actually live to see it, but knew that she very well could. "Leave Ulfric to rest in peace. He cannot rebut your accusations."

She nodded, "I can do that."

"So, what was the snort about?"

"This story you tell is almost unbelievable."

"Maybe so, but it makes it no less the truth. Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction."

Lokir hesitated, "But, it also explains why you married in secret. As queen, you could not have easily traveled to a foreign land, let alone conspired to bring down its government—not without involving Skyrim."

She nodded, and she noticed that the woman's smirk was in full bloom. "I also find it amusing that Eralos wanted you. These powerful men seem to be drawn to you, and I cannot see why."

"To be completely honest, I do not understand it myself."

The scholar looked at her wearily, "Really?"

"Lokir..." she sighed, like a mother would at a silly child, "You claim to know the most intimate workings of my mind, and yet you think I would bother to boast to you?"

The Nordic woman looked smug, as if she had found the answer she sought, "Maybe that is it then. They admired a woman who was not able to see her own worth."

Shrugging, she could feel the exhaustion in every pore of her flesh, "I had always suspected that I was my own worst critic, until you came along and gave me a run for my Septims."

A legitimate smile crept across Lokir's face, the first one she had seen since the woman entered her study. "Continue, my Queen. I wish to hear more…"