Hours crawled by. Branwe sat, quiet and still, as he watched the embers burn down. The shroud of darkness slowly crept up to him, the rough smell of woodsmoke and cold stone blanketing him in his contemplation. His hand moved automatically, his eyes glassy as he looked... nowhere. A rhythm was established in the faint hum still carrying a tune. It was echoed as he stroked Runa's hair, lulling her.

She looked strange from here. The lines of her face were softer, held less rigid. She looked to be asleep more deeply than usual. But then, Branwe thought with a start, he'd never seen her sleep. His staunch guide, taskmaster, and companion. He had traveled with her for over a fortnight now, spending every night together. And somehow she'd never slept while he was awake. He smirked wryly, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She's been alone in this, he thought. He was her guest on this expedition, not her partner.

It had taken some doing, but Branwe had finally managed to extricate himself out from under Runa's head. He made an executive decision. He was handling the camp this morning. He glanced back at Runa to make sure she had everything she needed. The bear pelt Skoljar had given him laid over top of her. She was sprawled out on her stomach, the line of her knuckles rising up in a teasing arc to hide her mouth. She looked peaceful.

Branwe summoned up his will to turn away. With a deep breath, he faced the kitchen area, and began laying down the kindling for a fire. Runa had shown him the best way, and he mimicked it the best he could. He went to bucket in the corner, and carried it to the fire. From it, he poured enough water to fill the cooking pot. It would take time for that to boil. And while it did, Branwe went to Rielle's entrance, and shoveled more snow into the bucket to thaw for later. He checked through their other rations, and rotated what dried foods needed rotation.

It was by the time Branwe had finally exhausted all his options at productivity, and started chopping firewood that Runa began to stir. She opened her eyes blearily, and crawled along her elbows until she was sitting up. Her face still puffy with tears and sleep. Her hair was a complete mess of frizz and tangles. She looked like she was missing something vital and vibrant inside herself. Like it had been sucked right out of her. Her face was palid, and her smile wan.

Runa looked at him uncomfortably. Like she was trying to figure out how to make herself say something.

"Branwe," began Runa. "I owe you-"

"You don't owe me anything," said Branwe, immediately cutting her off. He shook his head firmly with the gesture, and hefted his axe cleanly through the grain of the wood. It fell with a clatter.

"...I do, though," Runa whispered, though he she had waited until the sound had died away completely. Her silence continued long enough for Branwe to place another piece to chop. "I accused you of-"

"You've been alone on this for a long time," said Branwe smoothly, cutting her sentence at the same time as splitting the log. He flashed her a secret little smile. The kind he might share with only one person, in a room of many. Although they were alone, the smile was their secret. Runa blinked, half to clear her eyes, and half because she was wincing.

"...Yes," she breathed. "I've been at this a long time. That doesn't-"

"You were suspicious. You were afraid. You were insulted by what you thought I was doing. Right?" asked Branwe, once again not allowing her to finish. Runa nodded hollowly.

"And I wasn't doing that."

Again, she nodded.

"And so there's nothing to apologize for. It was a misunderstanding."

"But I still-"

"After my existential breakdown," said Branwe, raising his voice to talk over Runa once again. She bit her lip, his point made. "Which, I assure you, there are gonna be more of them if this keeps up... After that, as far as I'm concerned, you're entitled to a little paranoid breakdown." Branwe shook his head with an eyeroll for effect.

"I mean, remember who we're chasing," he said, his tone lowering with awe. "We're on the trail of Nerella the Calm. She may just be mama to you, but to anyone else in the civilized world, she's a big deal," he said. "It's hard work tracking her movements. And it should be, she's one of the best of the best. People trying to do the impossible – or even things that only seem impossible – end up having breakdowns occasionally. Welcome to life, Runa. Here, have some oats."

He ladled out a bowl and handed it to her, very consciously not letting her talk to contradict him. She took it in both hands, and looked down at it like it was a precious gift from on high. After contemplating her oats for a while, she looked up at him again, tears in her eyes.

"Thank you."

"That," he said, the secret smile warming. "I'll accept."

She paused, and looked down at her oats again. He hadn't seen her blush before, and imagined this was probably as close as she got to it. She was picking at the lip of the bowl with nervous fingers, seemingly unable to free herself from the compulsion.

Runa looked up after a moment, her brow furrowing into a frown of realization. The keen harshness was back in her features. Whatever vulnerability of sleep and tears was gone again, put aside in favour of her usual cleverness.

"Did you sleep at all?" Runa asked, looking around. Branwe chuckled weakly.

"Ah, that would be a no," he answered.

"I thought you seemed unusually brazen," she sneered. But it was chiding, which was a good sign.

"This was too brazen?" he asked, sitting back from the fire to eat his oats. "This, to the man who tracked you down and waited for you at an in you might be at for three days."

Runa looked down at her oats again. A faint smile on her lips. She didn't answer, and just began to eat her oats.

"I'd like to have a look at the directory after we eat," said Branwe cautiously. He watched her for a reaction. She looked up at him, but it was otherwise neutral. "But after last night, I didn't want to... step on your toes."

Runa picked at her bowl again. Her breathing pattern became tightly controlled. Deep, purposeful pumps of air to calm herself. She nodded, firmly enough that no matter how smooth it was, it was obviously forced.

"Here." she said, handing it over. "We can get a clearer etching of it if you need it. The sooner we get what we came for, the sooner we can hand this find over to some guild of mages or historians who would go insane for the method of shepherding they talk about on some of these walls," said Runa. Branwe laughed. It was a little bit of a pity laugh, but she seemed heartened by it all the same.

"Good point. Eat up, then, or we may be stuck in here all winter," said Branwe. "Why did you come here just before winter, anyway? Isn't that, like, the hardest time to get around in these parts? Isn't it also the most likely time we'll get completely snowed in and trapped?" he asked as he laid out the book next to the paper Runa handed him.

"Well... Yes, and no," said Runa. She shrugged a little tiredly as she began to explain around mouthfuls of her oats. "You see, it's one of the most dangerous season for the weather, but I'm from Skyrim originally. Cyrodiil just doesn't have weather that scares me all that much, you see. But the weather scares off bandits, looters, and cut throats who might find the smoke leaving camp, and decide to take our valuables from us. Whether they leave us alive or not hardly matters at that point, if we don't have enough supplies to make it back, or to hunt," she said. Branwe nodded.

"Well, I guess being from Skyrim has its perks, then," he said tiredly. "Thought I'm going to have to admit, I'm not a big fan of these blizzard things."

"Oh, that wasn't a blizzard," said Runa, waving him off.

"It was flurry after flurry of snow, punching me in the face for hours, with the wind howling in the background! What was it, if not a blizzard?" he demanded.

"Snow?" said Runa.

"Snow."

"Well, a fair amount of snow? If it were a blizzard, the wind would have buffeted us down a lot more, and we would have been blind three feet in front of us for hours at least. That was just snowfall in the mountains."

"The saying that you Nords have a hundred different words for 'snow' is starting to seem more and more plausible..."

"They're the same words you have, you just don't use them!" countered Runa. "We have a lot of snow in Skyrim. You don't down here, so I see how you're not as good at talking about it as we are. We don't have nearly as many words to describe how good the asses of our emperors smell."

"Oh, low blow, little miss snow king. You have Jarls, just like we have an emperor. You may have failed in an uprising against us, but your Jarls still answer to our emperor."

"But we aren't brown nosing with him."

"I can't help that my nose matches the rest of me. I've never sucked up to any emperor."

"But wouldn't you, If given the chance?"

"That depends. If he looked like he might buy me a pony, I might."

"I bought you a pony."

"...Are you the emperor?"

"This conversation has gotten entirely too silly now," said Runa, shaking her head in confusion.

"Aww, we were just getting on a roll. We could take this on the road."

"No, I don't—What are you even—Is this what you did with your time before you came along with me?"

"Only when I was in a good mood."

"Gods helps us all if you ever find yourself in a great mood," mumbled Runa with another bite of her oats.

"Oh, I know, right? I intend to write comical summaries in every book in the Royal library if that day ever comes."

"You're an evil monster just waiting to be unleashed."

"Awww, thank you, Runa. That's one of the kindest things anyone's ever said about me."

She shook her head, and turned her attention back to her bowl, stirring it around. She tapped the spoon against the surface of the oats, which made a surprisingly satisfying slapping noise, before she shoveled another bite into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Branwe laughed at her awkwardness with the silence. He ate his breakfast, and translated what few bits of writing were on the map, from one of the areas that he hadn't already drawn.

By the time he'd done most of the work he wanted to, and had some sense of what was what, Branwe looked up to see Runa cooking. He blinked, and looked at his workstation. Somewhere along the line Runa had taken all their dishes, cleaned up, completed the stocking of camp that he'd started, and was making lunch. A growl of his stomach indicated that she was probably doing so because it was actually lunch time already.

"You resurface," remarked Runa when he started to stand up. "So, have you translated all the directories?" asked Runa.

"Yeah, everything on that map," he mumbled. Everything seemed cloudy, and a little unreal after looking at one piece of paper for hours. He smiled vaguely, trying to appear perkier than he felt. "I made a second copy of it, too, so that we could give it to whatever mages or historians without losing ours," he said. "There are one or two pretty unlikely places, but they're possibilities. This place, though," he said. "'The Hall of Secrets.' It looks like it wasn't one of the public record areas."

"So it's going to be a little harder to get to, with traps and the like?" asked Runa.

"I guess?" Branwe answered, wrinkling his nose. He hadn't really thought about anything but the puzzle. This was how someone had organized a library, and where they had put the information he might have been looking for. He didn't think about how he'd find that information actually. "I mean, I don't really know too much about these Ayleid ruins, that's more your department. But this would be more sensitive information, with more protection."

"I just hope it wasn't sealed inside another of the Welkynd-walls," sighed Runa, her voice frayed with preemptive frustration. "Or it'll be another two hundred years before we find it. Unless we just start bashing walls down."

"Oh, it's not going to be that bad," said Branwe, fully aware he didn't know what he was talking about. "The Ayleids had to have some way of getting to that information in at least a little more of a hurry than that, didn't they?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Well, I guess I've been surprised before. No one expected sweetmeats to actually taste good."

"You can't even fathom being serious for more than a minute at a time, can you?"

"Not really, no. It's just not what comes naturally, sorry," said Branwe with a shrug. Runa rolled her eyes, but she was clearly more amused than annoyed.

They rose, and once again broke down camp for the day. Then they were off. The trail they set upon wasn't blazing a new one for almost fifteen minutes of solid walking. Navigating the twists and turns had taken a toll on their conversation at first. Not to mention Branwe's lack of sleep beginning to pass the euphoric stage, and into the exhausted one. But eventually, the back and forth of bickering resumed. As soon as the path straightened out for a longer period of time, they were trading quips between bits of earnest business. Branwe read the map, and told Runa where to go. Runa watched for dangers as she took point, impressively spotting and disarming trap after trap. Any one of which would really have made Branwe's day a lot less pleasant than it had been so far.

He didn't say a word about it. But he hoped that this interaction, this division of labour, was proving clearly illustrating a point to Runa. He was helping her, and she was helping him. Honestly, she was doing more for him that he couldn't do for himself. He was just making her life more convenient, not actually safer. But he felt himself on shaky ground trying to reaffirm that notion verbally, so he simply tried to let it sink in of its own volition.

They were very close to the last few turns the map had described. This place was higher density with booby traps. A spike had nearly taken Branwe to task when he carelessly stepped out of Runa's path. He'd lost half an eyebrow to a fire trap, as well, and Runa had received a good, solid electrical shock for her troubles trying to disarm a trebuchet. They were shaken up from their expoits, but both arrived at their destination in one piece.

"Is this wall safe and free of traps?" asked Branwe, looking over one with some promising looking inscriptions.

"Yes, this one checks out," answered Runa.

"I vote we rest here for a bit. Translate tomorrow," said Branwe, collapsing against it. Runa smirked, and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, dinner. But I don't see how you can be so unexcited to be here."

"I don't have the energy to be excited," sighed Branwe, settling into a position of relative comfort. "I'm used to three square meals a day, not these strange catch as catch can octagonal things you have us on."

"Sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice."

"Sometimes I do. Without more people to talk to, I might forget what it sounds like."

"Well, then sing something. You're a bard, aren't you?"

"Not yet, but a prospective."

"How will you become one if you don't shut up and start singing?"

"By following you around and asking annoying questions, I thought that part was obvious."

"Fair enough, why'd I even bother asking."

Branwe yawned loudly. He was desperate for a sleep. "So this is the place we're looking for," he said by way of changing topic. If for no other reason than to keep himself awake. "I don't see one of the maps we're hoping to find."

"It might be written out. There was a certain era of Ayleid carvings that just wrote everything out," said Runa.

"Sometimes it's nice to have an expert around, I guess."

"I'm no expert, I've just done this before."

"That makes your expertise comparatively... Um, experty. To mine. Compared to... I'm hungry, and incapable of being witty."

"That's no different than usual," said Runa with a grin. Branwe shook his head scolding.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You just wait for these perfect openings I so generously give you, that's all. Realistically, that means of the two of us, I'm the cleverer one, since I leave you the openings."

"Really? Then why are you so desperate to claim credit for them?"

"Because while I may be clever, I'm apparently not very bright. Now give me my jerky before I start channeling my inner four year old," order Branwe.

"Yes sir, whatever you say, mister clever, sir," chided Runa.

"Ah, yes, my proper respect due to me," replied Branwe, swiping the jerky from Runa's outstretched hand and stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth. Runa readied the rest of the meal. He chewed. And further chewed, as it was jerky. "I wondah," he began, around a mouthful. "If weah gon' mak phun of me all day, or if weah gon do some inveshtigahting," he queried. Runa shook her head.

"Because clearly, your presence over-shadows my other concern, which would have driven me to ignore these findings. Thanks for reminding me to do what I came here for."

"No need to be sharcashtic," pouted Branwe.

"Of coursh."

They ate quickly, looking curiously at the carvings as they did so. Despite days of translating these very runes, neither of them could do much more than guess at a few common words. They were mostly silent after the quips, both realizing on some level how close they were to finding the next clue. The clue which would lead them to something new, something closer to their goal. They were more reverent about this meal, than either one would admit. Even more than they even knew one any conscious level. For them, this was the end of an era, short though the era may have been. Their last meal of ignorance.