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Danica Pure-Spring looked very confused when Rayla dragged a discombobulated Lokir into the Temple of Kynareth at around nine o'clock at night.

"Rayla?" she said, looking up from a book that she read from between two slumbering, injured guards. "Wha—"

"I need your help," Rayla interrupted, pushing Lokir forward. His hood had fallen down, allowing his addled face to clearly show in the bright light of the temple. "More accurately, he needs your help."

Danica stepped forward, analyzing Lokir quickly. "Well, there doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with him, but—"

Lokir's hands began to spark again. He cursed and quickly clenched his hands, and the magic went away. Danica didn't look impressed.

"—he reeks of uncontrolled magicka," she finished.

"Uncontrolled what?" Lokir exclaimed, and his hands began to spark once more.

"Magicka," Rayla deadpanned, crossing her arms. "You know, the thing that fuels spells. For instance, the spell you used to wreck my basement, Lokir!"

Lokir was still tense, but he rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It was just a wall."

"Yeah! A wall that I spent good money on!"

Danica coughed. Rayla huffed and gestured toward Lokir with both hands. "Can you please just…do something?"

Danica patiently nodded and looked over at Lokir. "Lokir, is it? Is this your first time using a spell?"

He blanched at the word "spell," but then he nodded. More of the blue electricity began to crackle on his hands almost immediately.

"Just take a deep breath," Danica told him. "Focus on closing the door to your magicka storage."

"I didn't even know I had that," Lokir grunted, but he closed his eyes and focused on doing what she said.

While he concentrated, Rayla sat on one of the chairs near a stone healing bench and looked around the temple. As always, the single-roomed worship center helped her relax. It was filled with a golden light, along with elaborate carvings on the walls and floor. It also smelled like vanilla.

A few moments later, Lokir opened one eye and peered down at his hands. "I think I did it?" He sounded unsure of himself.

"Open your hands, then," Danica instructed him. When he stared at her hesitantly, she added, "It will be fine. Go on."

And Lokir did. This time, when he opened his hands, no lightning sprung from them. There wasn't even a flicker of light. Rayla and Lokir breathed a sigh of relief almost simultaneously. She would never hear the end of it from the guards if she wrecked the Temple of Kynareth.

"Well done," Danica told Lokir, sending him one of the motherly smiles that Rayla had grown used to. Then, to Rayla, "How exactly did this happen? It's not every day a new mage is discovered, especially not in Whiterun."

Rayla pondered how best to answer that question. "It's a…long story."

"Why don't you tell me, while I get Lokir something a little bit more…practical," Danica said.

Rayla had no idea what the priestess meant by "practical," but it became apparent after a moment, when Danica rummaged through a pile of books near Rayla's chair and withdrew a spell tome. While not a mage herself, Rayla knew enough of magic to know that the spell the book contained belonged to the school of Restoration, and was probably a basic healing spell.

Rayla was surprised to see Lokir's eyes light up when he saw the book. He'd been so freaked out by what he'd done in the basement that she assumed he'd be frightened of another spell tome. Instead, he took the book with an excitement that she found didn't fit with her image of a thief, or of his personality so far. As he opened the book and began to read at an incredibly fast pace (another surprise), Danica pulled Rayla to the other side of the room.

In a hushed voice, and with one eye on the magical thief to make sure he didn't steal anything, Rayla began.

"Remember that dream I had a day or two ago?" she said.

Danica's eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "Don't tell me this is the one?"

Rayla sighed. "This is the one."

When she had first received her dream, or vision, or whatever it was, she had gone to Danica first. After Rayla had restored the Gildergreen, they'd become good friends. It didn't hurt that Danica was an expert healer, either.

Danica looked back at Lokir as he flipped through the book she'd given him. "Well…I must admit, he does seem to be gifted at spellcraft."

Rayla cocked an eyebrow. "You can tell that just from the way he's reading a book?" She'd admit that the rate at which he was reading was impressive, but she wouldn't call it extraordinary.

Danica shook her head. "It was how quickly he gained control of his magic. Usually, at least with the novices I've worked with, it takes them a good hour to get things under control—or until they exhaust their magicka."

Rayla thought about that for a moment. "Couldn't that have something to do with the robes he's wearing? I hear mage's robes are magically charged."

"No," Danica replied. "The robes deal with magicka enhancement, not suppression. Even so, the robes he is wearing are very basic."

Rayla cocked her head and watched the thief as the book he was reading suddenly collapsed into dust. As if that wasn't enough, one of his hands suddenly glowed with a bright blue light. A second later, a large, transparent blue shield burst in existence. It was about Lokir's height and width, and behind the shield, she could see a joyful expression on his face that was almost…boyish.

"It's called a 'ward,'" Danica explained to Lokir. "It will protect you from magical and weapons damage alike."

Lokir's grin only widened. It was actually sort of nice to see. Perhaps there was more to this man than just a thief.

She quickly forgot that sentiment as she remembered her second problem. As Lokir practiced with the blue shield, Rayla pulled Danica even further aside and whispered, "There's another thing that I need your advice on."

"What is it?" the priestess replied.

"Lokir and I struck a deal," Rayla began. "For ten thousand septims, he'll come with me until whatever destiny has in store for us is over with. Five thousand now, and five thousand later."

She made sure her voice was too quiet for Lokir to hear as she added, "And I don't have the other half of the money, Danica. I don't know what I'm supposed to do! He's a thief. Thieves thrive on money!"

Danica looked at Rayla in the motherly way that both annoyed and comforted her. After a moment, she shook her head.

"You're thinking too short-term, dear," she said after a moment.

"What do you mean?" Rayla asked, feeling a bit frustrated that the priestess was taking her problem so lightly.

"Destiny is an inscrutable entity," Danica replied mysteriously. Then, a bit more plainly, "It's not a 'one-and-done' thing, child. And it often reshapes and molds you in ways you don't expect. Never judge a book by its cover."

Rayla scowled. One of the things about priests and priestesses is that they often, and in an annoying fashion, made points like that about destiny and fate. It was even more annoying that they were usually right. But that didn't mean that Rayla had to like it.

"Ugh," she groaned. "Fine. But what do I do about the money? You know I hate welching on a deal."

Danica chuckled. "A woman of your talents? You'll come across the five thousand septims easily."

"Woah!" Lokir suddenly exclaimed from across the room. The shield he'd made had flickered out of existence very suddenly, slightly lowering the bright illumination of the temple. He looked over at Danica, looking even more bewildered. "What happened?"

"You ran out of magicka," the older woman explained patiently. She seemed impressed. "For a novice, you have a surprisingly deep well of it. It will increase over time, with practice."

His eyes lit up. "Do you have any more books?" he asked, looking around the room in an excited manner.

Danica laughed as she crossed over to him, signifying that her secret conversation with Rayla was over. "Yes, but it isn't safe for young mages such as yourself to consume so many spell tomes at once. The instructions will become mixed up in the back of your mind, and you could end up blowing yourself up!"

Lokir blanched. When Rayla saw the fear in his eyes, she found it a lot easier to believe that this man was a thief. "Oh. Okay."

But Danica had better news than that. As she dug through another pile of books, she said, "Here. This is a basic healing spell." She lifted another golden book and made to hand it to him, but then retracted it for a moment. "You can't read it until tomorrow."

Lokir frowned, but he nodded. "Okay." When finally handed him the book, his brown eyes lit up in that strange way again. It reminded Rayla of the time she'd helped the little girl who used to be homeless in Whiterun—Lucia—find a new home in Dragon Bridge.

"Now," Danica said, beckoning Rayla over from the other side of the room. "It's late. You need your rest for tomorrow. I understand that the court wizard has bestowed yet another task on you?"

Rayla blinked. "How did you know that?"

Danica smiled and winked at her. "Word travels fast in Whiterun, even this late at night. Stay safe." She bowed in a traditional way. "Kynareth guide you."

"And you as well, Danica," Rayla replied. She waited for Lokir to jump up from the table he was sitting on and pushed the door to the temple open.

"Urm…where exactly are y—I mean, we going?" he asked her nervously.

Rayla sighed and scratched the bottom part of her scar.

"We," she said, "are going to a wonderful little place called Bleak Falls Barrow."


It took Lokir a long time, but he finally managed to get some semblance of rest in the basement of Rayla's home. He was simply too excited.

For once in his life, he'd found something that he was actually good at! He'd tried farming, and that hadn't exactly been fulfilling work. Even as a thief—which he had to admit had many benefits—he'd felt like something was missing. Now he knew what it was: magic. Never in a thousand years would he have guessed that someone like him would have that sort of gift.

Of course, he still had plenty of questions. Nords were not exactly considered magically apt. In fact, he couldn't remember if he'd ever met a Nord mage. Most Nords shunned magic. Lokir had never really seen the harm in it—after all, thieves used lockpicks, enchanted armor, and potions in order to succeed. Wasn't magic just another tool?

More importantly, he had questions about his childhood. He was literally raised by a mage in Rorikstead, who had been hired as his caretaker. Wouldn't Jouane Manette have noticed some sort of magical sign in Lokir? And if so, wouldn't he have done something, or said something?

It was these sorts of questions, along with an eagerness to read the spell book in the morning, that kept Lokir awake for a few hours in the darkness of Rayla's basement until his exhaustion from the day ultimately won. And then, of course, his mind wouldn't allow him any rest.

In his nightmares, he was back in Helgen. All sorts of horrible things kept happening to him. First, he was marched to the chopping block, and his head was removed from his shoulders. Then he was shot by archers when he tried to escape.

And then came the images of the horrible black dragon. The dragon's roar haunted Lokir's mind, along with the image of fire exploding from its maw. When he finally awoke, he was sweating and shaking all over.

In all the excitement from his newfound skill, he'd nearly forgotten about the horrors earlier in the day. Of course, he wasn't so lucky as to forget it. Fate couldn't be too kind to him.

Lokir sat up on his cot in the darkness and took a few deep breaths. After a minute or two of this, he felt a bit calmer, even if he could still hear the dragon's roar in his ears.

As soon as he was relaxed, the trap door above him slammed open, startling him and ruining the calm he'd managed to cultivate. A moment later, Rayla descended the ladder, wearing a red tunic and black pants. A steel amulet of Talos hung around her neck. She carried a lantern in her right hand, finally bringing some light into the basement.

When she reached the bottom, Lokir could see that she obviously hadn't slept very well either. Her green eyes were bloodshot, and dark bags sat underneath them.

"Awake already?" she asked in a tired voice when she saw Lokir sitting up on his cot.

Lokir nodded as he yawned and stretched, trying his best to put the images of the dragon and Helgen out of mind. How had that only been a day before? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Rayla rubbed her face and pointed at the cot after a moment. "I need you to move that. You're in front of one of my chests."

He blinked. Before he'd laid down the night before, he'd dragged his cot over to one of the corners of the room, for he found that there was a slight draft in the middle of the basement. As such, his cheap bed was blocking several chests, one of which was the chest that had been opened many times before.

He felt the familiar flame of curiosity burst into being as he jumped up and dragged his cot away. What could possibly be in that chest, to warrant Rayla viewing it all the time? From what he knew of her so far, she didn't seem like the kind of person to dwell over wealth—unless, of course, you damaged her basement wall—so he found it unlikely that there would be fabulous riches in the chest. What could it be?

Unfortunately, it seemed that his questions would not be answered today, because the chest that Rayla opened with a key from her belt was the chest next to the well-used one. She set the lantern on top of the mysterious chest in question and propped open the current chest with a small iron latch. Curiously, Lokir watched her extract several golden pieces of armor—armor that he barely managed to recognize as Elven.

Now that was curious indeed. Hadn't Ralof, when they were in line for execution, said something about how the names of Rayla's parents had been Elven names? And that her name was also Elven in nature? And here she was putting on Elven armor.

Now, Lokir didn't know much about the elves. But he did know that, because of the Great War, many Nords resented the elves, especially after the ban of Talos worship. But wasn't Rayla wearing an amulet of Talos around her neck, even as she began to strap on the artful Elven armor? It was almost enough to give him whiplash.

"Elven armor is better than steel armor," Rayla said, glancing over at Lokir as she strapped on her greaves.

Lokir hmmed in curiosity. "Is it? I never knew."

Suddenly, as if someone had just slapped him, he remembered the spell book in his pack. Lokir suppressed a yelp of excitement and turned away from Rayla to snatch his knapsack off the ground. Behind him, he heard Rayla chuckle, but ignored her. He wasn't sure he could explain how learning magic felt to her.

The moment he had his hands around the spell tome, he placed it on top of the mysterious chest, next to the lantern. He hesitated for a moment before he began to read. The energy of this book felt…different, somehow. He thought it was strange that he could recognize the feeling of magicka after only casting two spells. Still, the spell book that the priestess had given him felt similar to the other spell, the—what was it called? The ward.

He opened the book and began to read again while Rayla put on her armor next to him. This time, when he read the book, he felt a strange warm feeling spread throughout his body, rather than a shocking one. The feeling had been the same when he'd read the book for the ward, but nowhere near as powerful.

Lokir wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finished the book, but by the time it crumbled into ashes, Rayla was fully outfitted in her Elven armor. It was strange to see her wear something other than the rusty Imperial armor he'd seen her in the day before, despite the fact that he'd just met her. The armor seemed to fit her perfectly—which he knew was strange, because most armor was made to be used by masses; unless one was rich, in which case the armor was crafted around them. But her armor looked like standard Elven armor, if the examples he had seen in blacksmitheries were any indication. She had also hooked an Elven helmet to her belt, next to a sheath that he assumed contained an Elven sword. On her back, covering her shoulders, was an Elven shield.

Rayla was watching him curiously, looking from where the ashes covering the chest were to the beginnings of a spell glowing on his hands. "That's interesting."

Lokir looked down at his hands and marveled at the strange, golden glow held there. With a thought, he managed to shut off his magicka, just like Danica had told him. Now he knew three spells. It was more than he ever thought possible. Yet he just knew that this was part of him.

"I believe interesting is too light a word," he said with a grin. "Try 'enthralling.'"

Rayla cocked an eyebrow at him. "That's a big word, for a thief."

He bristled at her generalization. "What? You think just because I steal things that I can't be educated? When I was twelve, I read all of the books in the A Dance in Fire series and the Feyfolken series." He didn't tell her that he was forced to read those books by Jouane as part of his education.

Rayla seemed taken aback by that for but a moment before she smirked.

"Eleven," she said simply.

His mouth flapped at her for a moment before he felt a sudden wave of frustration. By Mara, this woman was infuriating!

But then she pursed her lips and nodded at Lokir. "But you made your point. I apologize."

She…did?

Lokir shook his head as Rayla turned back to the contents of the chest. Confusing. Women were completely and utterly confusing. It was a good thing that he was getting paid for this.

"Lydia made breakfast," Rayla said, her head still in the chest. Her voice was somewhat muffled. "I told her to make you some as well."

"Oh, joy," Lokir replied. With his luck, the housecarl had probably poisoned it. Nonetheless, he made sure that all of his possessions were packed in his knapsack and that the bag's arm straps were firm before turning away from Rayla—whose head was still buried in the chest—and climbing up the ladder.

The first floor of Breezehome smelled considerably nicer than the basement. As Lokir climbed up from the cellar, he saw several plates of bacon and eggs set out on the large dining table nearby. Lydia was already dressed in her armor (and he wondered if she ever took it off) and seated at the table, munching on a piece of toast.

"I assume that Rayla will be up in a moment?" Lydia said. She didn't even bother to hide her glare as Lokir stood and dusted himself off.

He nodded and sat down at the table, as far away from her as possible. While he didn't fully understand why she didn't like him, he had to admit that her cooking was extraordinary. He scooped himself a hardy handful of bacon and eggs and began to eat, not realizing how hungry he was until that moment. In fact, he hadn't eaten since the morning of the previous day.

Rayla ascended the ladder a minute or two later, and Lokir looked over just in time to see her stowing away an iron key with dozens of scratches on it. She shouldered her backpack and sat across from Lydia at the table.

"How are you this morning, Lydia?" Rayla asked as she grabbed a fistful of bacon. She glanced out one of the windows and must have realized how late they'd slept in. "Er…well, afternoon, I suppose."

"Fine, my Thane," Lydia replied. Then she frowned. "Are you…going somewhere?"

Lokir felt one of his eyebrows lift. Rayla hadn't told her own housecarl where they were going or what they were doing?

"Oh!" Rayla exclaimed through a mouthful of eggs. One of the yolks dribbled down her chin. While she may have been a capable warrior, she was a bit…of a slob. Lokir had to resist the urge to guffaw. "I'm sorry, Lydia. I was so tired last night that I didn't even remember to tell you we were going to Bleak Falls Barrow."

"We?" Lydia asked. She glanced at Lokir with barely concealed distaste.

"Yes, we," Rayla responded, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. "Farengar asked me to do something for him in light of the dragon attack yesterday."

Lokir choked on his bacon. "Hurmph—what?" He didn't know that what they were doing had to do with more bloody dragons! Why not just throw him on another chopping block if she wanted to get him killed?

"Oh, relax," she said, rolling her eyes. "All the crazy court wizard wants me to do is find some dusty stone that'll tell him where the dead dragons of old are buried."

"Ah," he said, relaxing a little bit. That wasn't as bad. Still, she was paying him to follow her into an ancient Nordic burial site, and he knew that those were often infested with Draugr. He couldn't wait until he got his other half of the money. Who knew? Maybe all destiny had in store for them was to get a strange wizard an ancient map.

"Rayla, are you sure?" Lydia asked. Again, she looked at Lokir. "You've never gone into a crypt with someone else before."

Lokir took that as a good sign. If Rayla had been in other crypts by herself and had come out in one piece, then the work he'd have to do was minimal.

"It will be fine," Rayla replied, though her tone had taken on a slightly more serious tone. She cleared her throat, and it was gone. "Anyway, we have some business to attend to first."

She turned to Lokir, who was in the middle of stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. She plopped her bag on the bench that they sat on and dug around a little bit, moving aside a bag of rations and a small journal before withdrawing two leather bracers and leather boots. "Put these on."

He swallowed his food and grabbed the pieces of armor from her. As he examined them, he realized the similarities between this armor and the Thieves Guild armor he had been given when he was sixteen. The leather was supple but sturdy, and would at least protect him from any glancing blows. There wasn't much that could be said for his torso because of the mage robes he was wearing (which would make any armor strapped overtop very uncomfortable), but it was better than nothing.

For a moment, he considered switching to regular leather armor instead of the borrowed robes he had equipped, but then decided against it. For one, he wanted to honor the strange, bizarre wishes of the undead mage (which was too strange a sentence to even think). But mostly, he wanted the benefits of magicka that the robes would grant him. Even though he was a Nord, he knew enough about magic to know that mages almost always enchanted their clothing.

"Uh…thanks," he told Rayla. "When are…we leaving?" By Arkay, he'd have to get used to saying "we."

"As soon as I finish eating," Rayla said. "I've already packed rations for us."

Rations, Lokir thought. Well, that sounds appetizing.

"But," she added, "you may want to keep your hood up on the way there."

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

"Because," Lydia suddenly interjected with a smirk. "Bleak Falls Barrow is awfully close to Riverwood. It would be a shame if someone were to recognize you, thief."

Lokir felt all the blood drain from his face. He wondered if Lucan would have told any of the guards down in Riverwood about his attempted thievery and if they would be able to recognize him, even after he'd cut his hair and changed his clothes.

"I'm done," Rayla suddenly announced, oblivious to Lokir's sudden fright. She stood from the bench, stretched, and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Lokir said in a voice that was too high. "I've never been more ready."

Oh, if only that were true.