Chapter Ten
To beautify a palace

Bam Bam and Birdie led our carriage with a black stallion that had come with the man hired to drive. For hours, they pulled our carriage steadily forward and it wasn't long before the clicking of their hooves became rhythmic, familiar background noise.

Mother had found the carriage in Elsweyr, travelling with a large camp of at least three hundred Khajiit nomads. Its alluring cherry-wood, engraved carvings and its jewelled embellishments which must have glittered in the hot desert sun, had enthralled her into purchasing it, and then she had ordered a second one. She and Lydia rode in the one made new. Runa, Lucia and I rode in the older one. The wear was subtle: the satin was a little rumpled, not as smooth or as bright as my mothers'. There were cracks and scratches in the gold, and there lingered a particular smell that seemed foreign and lived-in. Still, the carriage was luxurious, and Runa seemed to like it well.

The bright red and gold and the glittering of the perfect-cut jewels paraded around in a land of simplicity and plainness must have proved a strange sight for those who saw us pass. I only hoped we would not be subject to bandits or any other jealous citizens of Skyrim. I scolded my mother for not thinking of it; or for not caring.

The road through Hjaalmarch Mountain was rocky, and we bumped along slowly through the snow. I spotted many caves; some I knew the names of and others only geographers, explorers, and Evesa would know the names of.

Hjaalmarch was not known just for Brood Cavern Cave or Fort Snowhawk; here was the only place to find swamp fungal pods and giant lichen in all of Skyrim. But to my disappointment, I could not spot any. They would probably be down by the swamps, but still, I searched each tall pine tree, and decided if I spotted some, I would stop the carriage to collect.

Though I could not find those rarer species, I spotted many Deathbell plants. Hjaalmarch was home to the most Deathbell plants in Skyrim. Damage health, ravage stamina, slow, weakness to poison, I recited. As I contemplated the deathbell's uses, and the potions it was ingredient to, I thought perhaps I would become an apothecary. During my time as a priestess, I had learned the properties of all the basic plants and ingredients. I had enough of a foundation to continue learning the arts of alchemy. Anyhow, I doubted many Temples would be jumping to accept a bastard-carrying Priestess.

I could probably open a little stand in the market and mix potions in the basement of Proudspire Manor. Loralei's Lair, I would call it. Perhaps even, I thought, I could study not alchemy, but the magic of restoration. I tried to imagine myself dressed in mage robes, a golden circlet around my head. Perhaps I'd be one of the wandering mages who worshipped at the Standing Stones, ready to strike those who'd disturbed the peace for a blessing sought in vain.

Runa glanced at me strangely as I grinned to myself and planned my escape to the College of Winterhold, where they would harbour me and give me the name strangers and enemies would know me by. I would leave my baby with someone else. Perhaps Lydia would want it, or some barren woman.

I could make my life anew; disappear into the world of mages and magic, and novices and madmen. And maybe someday I would plan my return, someday many years when I'm not so far from death. Would I find my child, and tell it of my adventures? Would I forget about it all together? Would it look for me instead? Would I even have the courage to leave?

I figured I would. It must not be hard for a mother to leave her child, for short, for long, forever. When it comes down to it, it must be whatever seems more important, more desirable, and easier.

What was more important to me though; making sure this child grew up well, or making sure I grew up well? What did I want? Did I even care for magic or potions? Did I want a family, a husband, a farm? What would be easier? Just stay, and lay in that bed me and a stupid boy made together? Or leave, like that, like nothing. Leave and disappear and make a life built on forgetting?

"This is a nice carriage. Your mom really goes all out." Runa broke my reverie and I had to blink stupidly at her before answering.

"She's quite the extremist."

She chuckled politely but we said no more. In silence, we looked back out the window. I spotted a swamp fungal pod at the trunk of a tree near the end of the mountain. The air felt sticky as the carriage continued on.

On the path towards Morthal, we passed only swamps crawling with slimy crabs and bugs flying close to the surface of the murky water. The grey (which was more of a green-grey), and the stench of dirty water reminded me of the underground flow of water beneath Riften. Something about the gloomy atmosphere and the grimy surroundings was familiar, yet something was off and it all made me feel confused and uncomfortable.

Even Runa looked uneasy in the thick, hot air. She looked out the window, sitting very still, blue eyes empty. She was both a little pained and dreamy, and she must have had a good thought. Or if it was bad, it must have been intense. I wondered what it was. Was she also thinking about what she would do next? Was she thinking of a book or a song or a person? Was she wondering if Solitude would be as gross and swampy as it was here? Or maybe she looked for swamp fungal pods and counted the deathbells. Probably not; she didn't notice things like that.

She turned and I blushed, embarrassed she caught me staring. She only looked back at me in wonder and strange concern when she asked, "Are you scared to go back to Solitude?"

I glanced over to Lucia, who was still fast asleep on Runa's lap. She breathed deeply and calmly and her eyeballs moved rapidly behind closed lids. I wondered what she dreamed about. I hoped she dreamt of nothing.

"No." And finally, I wondered if it was a lie.

The carriage driver said that Morthal was dangerous, and it would be unwise to rest there. "Dragons: day and night! Half the town's nearly gone; burnt to the crisp!" So we went on, and through the swamps of Hjaalmarch, there was more of uncleanly nothingness. For hours, all I saw were shallow wetlands, and all I felt was intense humidity.

We crossed a bridge with an old sign, the paint long ago worn off, and we passed a cabin that was so out of place I forced myself to look away. I noticed as Runa inspected it herself. She was silent.

I remembered the first time I had travelled to Solitude. The silence had been equal, but different. There was an altered kind of discomfort with Lars and Nelkir than with Runa and Lucia. Naivety, innocence or shamelessness… all that was now was weight and heat and grime.

As we pulled up to a stop at Dragon Bridge, I closed my eyes and took a second to remember how my skirts had swirled around my feet.

We stayed only half an hour at Dragon Bridge to stretch our stiff limbs and grab a quick bite to eat for dinner: warm bread, hot soup and a bottle of ale. They all tasted familiar, and I found that I was not okay with that.

"So this is home again…" I said quietly to myself as we walked into Solitude. The city was calm, the sun setting beyond the horizon.

"No," Mother said from behind, startling me slightly. "Your home is Lakeview Manor."

"Then why did we come here?" Lucia asked, covering a yawn.

"Renovations, but everything should be finished before the child is born." Elaira smiled encouragingly, and I tried not to frown. "Now, I've arranged for our bags to be brought up to Proudspire."

"This city is so tall," Runa cooed. "I can't believe the bard's college is here!"

"I don't believe they're taking applicants now, but probably soon," Lydia added, grabbing Lucia, who was about to go off and explore. "It's right beside Proudspire, you could join their little parties any time!"

Runa clapped, and grabbed my arm. I stiffened a little, but I didn't think she noticed. Together, we walked through the city, Runa commenting on the buildings or citizens every once in a while. She seemed to like Solitude, and I wondered if she would want to stay. I watched as she took the city in, and I figured it was better than looking myself.

I never cared much about people or getting to know them. I enjoyed being aloof and exterior of problems and emotions. I did not think of Vittoria often, but when I did, I found myself wanting to know the things I never got to.

I had never really known her. I knew her name and the colour flower she wanted at her wedding. I knew her prayers and that she worked for the East Empire Company. But I knew very little about anything else. Did she cry easily? Did she anger quickly? What would she name her children? Would she shun me for my situation, or would she hold my hand and bring me to Temple? Would I even have liked her, had I not been a child, not yet aware of talent or friendship or anything? Perhaps I had contorted her image, and these years later I did not even picture the right face. Maybe she was just becoming more and more of an idea I only hung onto to remind myself that I lived here, once, not so long ago.

Perhaps though, it wasn't really Vittoria that I clung to. Perhaps she only reminded me of a time where we glued flowers to paper and waited and waited. Maybe she forced me to remember big black boxes, and long, black weapons. Maybe it wasn't her at all. Maybe it was the girl with the red hair and those big ears who prayed to Akatosh. Or even Rorlund. Rorlund.

I saw Vittoria's house before I saw mine. I thought to knock or look through a window, but I didn't want to be reminded it was empty. I didn't want to learn it was occupied by anyone other than Vittoria either. My family filed through the door of Proudspire, but I stayed, and looked at that tall house.

They had left the door open, and they still shuffled inside. A torch at the side of the door blazed on. I thought to call out to my family, but my voice was stuck. Instead, I looked away, and ran down the steps, towards that temple with the tall windows and the man with the bald head and the sermons I'd never remember.

My shoes clicked against the stone pathways, and it wasn't long before my breath grew ragged and desperate. But I wouldn't stop running. I didn't have to go; it wasn't a need or an urge. It was an impulse, a strange vibration in my bones that was telling me, suggesting that this is where I should go. And maybe it would be for nothing and I would be asleep, and then alone in this place called Solitude. But that didn't matter, because I wanted to go anyway. To see, to feel, to remember the temple with a ceiling so high a giant couldn't reach.

I slowed down when I reached the doors, which were so tall and welcoming. The air was still sticky, and my hair clung to my face and my legs felt sore. The coolness of the metal door handle was a refreshing bliss. I expected to find the temple dark, empty, the priests and priestesses saying their night prayers. Instead, I found the temple lit, with men and women in yellow robes either scurrying around or circled at the front of the room.

Confused, I walked slowly towards where everyone was gathered. The closer I got, I realised they were circled around a cot where a frail old man lay. He looked up when I approached, the others following.

"You aren't supposed to be in here," a woman with a long face announced.

"No," the old man said, barely making out more than a croak. "Let her stay, she is an old friend."

I furrowed my brows, and looked at him. Surely I recognised him. I thought to ask him his name, but I resisted. I was afraid I would offend him.

"Come, kneel," I took a step closer and knelt beside him, wordless. The priestess to my right took my hand, and I looked up at her. The ears were the first thing I saw. I took the priest on my left's hand, and we all knelt. We prayed for a long time before the old man had to stop, and the lady with the long face had to finally say it:

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

I opened my eyes and remembered his name.

Rorlund.

It took four days for us to settle into Solitude.

Runa had prospered in the few days we had been in the city. The life of this tall and rich city seemed to suit her, and by the way she looked around her room, and the grandeur of the manor, I knew she thought only of the opportunities that we had given to her for no reason at all. The morning of our second day in Solitude, she took me to look at paintings. She'd brought with her a large pouch of gold septims, and worn a cotton spring coat my mother must have given her. She had many plans for her little room in the manor, and I wondered if she planned to stay longer than my mother.

"Blue and silver," she had decided when we were in a little knit shop boutique. She had paid five hundred septims for the old imperial lady to sew a blanket for her bed. She'd later commissioned silver throw pillows because she'd had a few extra coins to spend.

In the evening, when I felt ill, I'd returned to my room, much to the annoyance of Runa, who had plans of her own, plans which didn't involve a nauseous best friend. Instead, she'd joined the evening party at the Bard's College. I had watched from the window on the upstairs landing as they all made music together. Runa looked up, and smiled as they sang. I could hear their words faintly through the window.

"OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!"

On the third day, the two of us went to the markets and bought fish. She wore a spring coat made of deep grey velvet, and a dark blue hat, one which was in the current fashion. The buttons of her white gloves were bright gold, and they reminded me of Daphne. Mother had asked us to buy some fish for dinner because the meat she had bought had gone bad. Simply a few cuts of salmon and some salt would have sufficed, but rather than do our simple task, we had taken all afternoon. Runa asked all the vendors questions about the quality and weight of their produce. She had tufted at the ones who'd answered poorly, and smiled to the ones who wore coats the same velvet as hers. Even I was convinced she knew what she was talking about.

We lingered for a little after Runa had deemed some fish worthy. She bought a silver ring, and it reminded me of the ring my mother wore on her forefinger. It was simple, silver, but it sent a message of wealth and power. I figured Runa thought so as well.

While we walked back up Solitude, towards the manor, I noticed as she glanced at the tall blue palace at the edge of the horizon. It was only for a moment before she looked away, but I knew she thought of a life she almost had, a life she always wanted. She twisted the ring on her finger. Silver isn't her colour, I thought.

That evening, we ate our dinner on the porch. The trees and leaves swayed in the soft breeze, and Lucia's skirts whirled around her once-bony ankles as she picked the flowers in the garden. It reminded me of those childhood summers spent sitting in the dirt, eating grass and making castles, bees buzzing around me and my brother. I never realised how horrible it was to be the one sitting on the porch, sipping on wine while the children played down below. So much time had been swallowed by grey and memories and people, and I had not even realised.

I had many memories of the hours spent in that yard, playing, and doing, and learning, and somehow growing up. On days mother and father were away, Lydia and I would bring out a soft cotton blanket, and we would lay it down on the grass. We would set up my dollies all around, and drink tea from little cups from the Imperial City that Mother had forbidden us from touching. Hroar and Kayd would play swords with sticks and wear Mother's old leather helmets and boots that she thought had been well-hidden. Eventually, they would throw them ajar, far too big to properly battle with.

There was one night too, when Hroar and Father were fast asleep, snoring by themselves. I had been unable to sleep in the summer heat. Looking out my window, taller than even me, I saw Mother, dressed only in her night shirt, spread out on the grass. Even in the dark, her hair was tangled wildfire spreading through the grass. I watched as she looked up at the sky above and I wondered if she thought, or if she dreamt, or if she had simply been sleepwalking.

It had been our yard; mine and Hroar's and Onmund's and Elaira's. It belonged to Lydia and Critter and those bees that fed our flowers. And I loved Lucia, and there was no way for her to know, but those flowers did not belong to her, and this porch and those walls which were now covered in tacky paintings were not Runa's. This city and this Proudspire Manor were places that belonged to those years and memories and people which were swallowed up by things that shouldn't belong.

I watched Lucia, her naïve laughter, and those ankles which used to be bony, and I knew that I had given her all of it. I looked at Runa though, and how she laughed with my mother, and how she twirled that silver ring, and somehow I knew she'd stolen all of it. Perhaps not physically, and perhaps not consciously, but somehow she had ripped me of my belongings. Somehow that yard and this porch were no longer mine.

A breeze blew, and her golden hair flew into her face. She laughed at something Elaira said, and I convinced myself that I did not mean it.

"So, when shall we visit the Blue Palace?" Runa asked, dabbing her mouth with a serviette. Mother smiled and sat a little straighter as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"We do not visit, my dear," she started, grinning. "We are invited." The two laughed. Runa's thin chortle made me think of an overpriced gold necklace I once bought, and how it turned black when the thin coat of metal began to wear.

The invitations arrived the next day. Mother read it aloud to us before breakfast. Runa smiled when her name was called. She squeezed my hand and sent me pity when mine was not. Even mother lifted a brow, and pursed her lips.

Runa called on the dressmakers herself.

She had a dress made intricately and it had taken her twenty minutes just to put on and show it to me. She looked beautiful and wrong, and she held her neck a little too high, as if the world needed to be reminded that she was tall, and strong, and better. It was a deep green dress with a tall silver collar, the kind I saw more and more frequently among the rich and pretentious. I did not think the green went well with the pink of her cheeks and the colour of her golden hair. Still, I could not help but notice how it made that silver ring sparkle.

I found myself standing outside my door again, staring up at Vittoria's Vici's house. I closed my eyes and sighed as an evening wind blew, and the chain of my amulet shuffled. The shifting metal sent chills throughout me, and when the wind passed, I found myself walking down a familiar path.

Mothers called their children in for dinner, and storeowners locked up as I made my way through the city. Signs rattled softly, and the sun beamed against my face. I wandered silently as the city grew quieter and stiller, and the sun got lower and the sky changed colours.

The door handle of the temple was cold against my palm, and my heart rattled with the store signs as I turned it. Inside, I found an empty temple, with the priests and priestesses eating somewhere in another room. The door shut loudly behind me, the noise bouncing of the walls. Each step I took clung to an echo, and I was scared to disturb the silence. The atmosphere was eerie, and I felt as though the walls and windows, and the temple were staring at me, following each of my breaths with cold, questioning eyes.

Cautious, I walked towards the shrines of the divines. I followed the voice of Kynareth, the strings of natural instinct pulling me towards her. I fell to my knees in front of her, barely noticing the sting sent up my thighs. My hands found their way to my amulet, and I tried to find my voice, and find equilibrium with the hums she sent to me.

"You have come once more." I opened my eyes and stood, turning to a woman in priest robes. She was the woman with the long face.

"I have… I'm—well, I was a priestess…" I tried to explain; only the woman looked at me quizzically.

"I know who you are… Priestess of Kynareth, the Thane's Daughter… a soon-to-be mother." My heart leapt slightly, nervous because it surprised me every time I was reminded.

"Sometimes even I forget," I confessed.

"It matters not," she decided. "The divines have blessed you with a child; we are not to judge their verdicts. Your duties begin tomorrow, Sister Loralei. Pray for longer if you like, just leave before dark."

I nodded as she turned and walked away. I gave a small smile to the shrine and the walls and the temple, and thanked that they would think to watch over me.

It was midnight when they returned from the Blue Palace, and I was reading in my room. It was a forgettable book, probably one that had been abandoned when we'd first left for Riften. The door squeaked as Runa opened it, her green dress slightly dishevelled. She looked tired, and she did not give me a smile.

"Hi," she said, closing the door behind her. "Help me out of this?" I nodded and got out of bed. As I began unlacing her bodice, I wondered at how suddenly her place had shifted in my mind. Before she has been an irreplaceable vessel, one I could not survive without. Somehow she had become a hiccup; a harmless yet unnecessary annoyance.

"How was it?" I asked, hoping it would distract me from these ill thoughts.

"Good. I was glad to meet the Jarl," she responded, and I knew part of it was true.

"The High Queen," I corrected. She blushed and shook her head.

"Right, sorry. That's what I meant," she explained, and I knew part of it was a lie. "What did you do tonight?"

"I went to the Temple."

"To check on the baby?" She slipped out of the bodice, and unlaced the collar.

"No," I started, thinking that perhaps I should have. "I'm a priestess again. I'm going to start working there." Runa nodded and she finished undressing. I handed her one of my own robes, before sitting back down on my bed.

"That's good," she said, sitting next to me. I was content that it didn't seem weird. "I know it always made you happy… You know, I really like the people from the Bard's College; they're very talented. I think we should join when they start accepting applicants."

"You mean the both of us?" I asked stupidly. She chortled thickly and I thought of string taffy, though I didn't know why. I smiled at her and I forgot about gold-plated everything as she took my hands.

"Don't you remember, Lorie?" I cocked my head, waiting. "We're talented women bards." I giggled, and I remembered why she could never steal what I had already given.

"So is everything all right?" Mother asked, as the old Priestess removed her hands from my midsection.

"It is healthy… around six weeks, is that right?" she responded. Her creepy smile proved somehow reassuring to me.

"Yes," I responded, trying not to blush. My heart felt heavy, remembering. Mother squeezed my shoulder, and I was thankful for it. "I think that's right."

There was a disconnect between me and the child growing inside of me. It did not feel real—it didn't feel like anything at all. I was scared because of it. I was afraid that I would have to force a reality upon myself, a reality that was inevitable. Was it not kinder to let me know, and understand the situation beforehand? I forgot so often that I was never alone, and when I did remember, I felt uncomfortable, violated. This person, or this thing, that I was responsible to make into a person, was harbouring inside my own body, and half the time it tricked me into believing it wasn't even real at all.

I thought maybe I should ask my mother, or just a mother. I could read a book, or tried to demand guidance from someone or something. But I couldn't and it was selfish, but selfishness was easy to forgive when the sinner was oneself.

I sighed, and sat up, kissing my mother goodbye before I returned to my duties.

There were six priests and priestesses attending the temple, seven including me. The oldest among them was the Head Priestess, Frier, a Nord woman who served Julianos. I'd recently learned she had been wife to Rorlund. She had a long, bitter face with full lips and long eyes. Her thin white hair was tied back tightly. She was old, though much younger than Rorlund had been. She welcomed me, though I knew our bond rested on unsteady water, knowing it was once her husband who had attended to Kynareth.

I remembered the Priest of Zenithar from when he had stood over my father's casket. His name was Sorik. His dark brown hair was lined with silver, and wrinkles marked his face. Still, his jaw was strong. He had a way of reassuring me that I could belong amongst them, and for that I was grateful.

The Priest of Stendarr was still an elf, though a male gold-skin with long, dramatic and pointed features. He did not speak to me, and judging from his serious expression and those mysteriously compassionate eyes, I was grateful.

Ingen was the name of the woman I remembered most clearly. Her hair was red as I remembered it, and I was half convinced that red hair never turned to grey. Her ears stuck out goofily, and I had to resist the urge to touch my own ears whenever I passed her.

The Priestess of Mara was young, and fresh, and devout. The Imperial woman had beaten, worn skin, but I could still see the prettiness youth had once blessed her with. It was Sorik who told me the temple had saved her, brought her in from the streets. I'd seen her many times sneak away with a basket of bread and fruit, only to return with nothing. I admired it, though it made me wonder why she had to sleuth.

The youngest amongst the ensemble was Ellina, the Priestess of Dibella. She had clean skin and copper hair. Once, her steely eyes had met mine from below her hood, and I'd dropped my eyes quickly, unable to take the blank grey judgement, approval, consideration.

They were a strange cast of people, and I felt weary for the first time inside the tall walls.

"Announcement! Announcement!" the courier ran down the street, holding a thick piece of parchment and waving it high up in the air. The crowd began to assemble, lining the edge of the street until the young messenger grew tired. "With the official ascension of Emperor Tobias the First, and the coronation of his wife, this day: the 10th of Mid-Year; all food, property, and service taxes have been raised by 4 percent. The war continues to rage, though this change will aid the Empire in finalizing the efforts to defend against the rebellion Stormcloaks!" Throughout the crowd, soft mumbling followed with grumbling, and when the protests began, the messenger added: "Official documentation and announcements, as well as the tax collectors will be sent out to your homes throughout the fortnight." Quickly, he left the crowd, afraid of the potential outrage. It was my own Thane Mother who spoke before the outrage could begin.

"Settle down, everyone! I know you have questions and protests, but please hold them. Open court will be held all day starting tomorrow morning at the Blue Palace, so please save your questions and inquiries until then!"

"We've got work tomorrow; we can't waste a day waitin' in some line for some house lady that won't do a thing!" a man from the back shouted.

"If you are unable to attend, send a letter or note to the Jarl's Steward, Falk Firebeard, who will see to it that your requests and complaints are considered, and fixed! Please, go on with your days!"

I looked around the crowd, and saw more than one woman grasp their husband's arm worriedly. A few others shouted back at my mother, who retreated into the inn. The merchants merely returned to their stalls, annoyed and worried. The beggars mumbled curses about war, and probably thanked the Gods for the irony that they paid no taxes.

Soon enough, the crowd dispersed, and I with it. I made my way to the temple, where I found everything as normal. Most Temple figures prayed or cleaned or healed. The Head Priestess was giving blessings to some of the youth of the city, all with clean skin and brushed hair, the children whom probably did not need any blessings.

Knowing I was not needed for anything else, I grabbed a cloth and a bucket of water, and began wiping the shrines from dirt, and dust, and reckless fingerprints. It was when I was about to clean Dibella's shrine when a low rumble of a voice called, "Sister Loralei." It was Sorik who faced me when I turned around. He looked at me calmly as I returned the curtesy.

"Brother Sorik."

"You have heard the news, if I am correct," he began, holding his hands behind his back.

"Yes, if you mean the tax raise. The way gossip spreads here, the whole world must know by now," I quipped. He chuckled politely, and I blushed out of modesty.

"Of course. Well, I assume that means you have also heard of the Mid-Year celebration. I expect you to be here that night. Mother Frier has decided to give free blessings that night, and I expect it will be busy."

I blinked, my mouth slightly agape. I had not realised temples charged for services. My eyes moved towards the crowd of clean children who were beginning to file out. I resisted a frown as Priestess Frier pocketed a bag of septims.

"I hadn't even realised we charged for blessings," I said stupidly, still confused. I didn't realise that it was some sort of business. He raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Most temples do… You haven't been giving free blessings, have you?" I blushed, shaking my head.

"Of course not, I've been taking care of other duties, Brother." He nodded, his brows now furrowed.

"Good. I realise that perhaps temples were not made to be businesses, but without the support, we could not think to host so many Priests and Priestesses, you see. Things work differently in the city."

"Yes, I know. I think I should get back to work now, if you'll excuse me." He nodded and walked away, hands still folded behind his back. I felt dirty as I wiped those shrines until they sparkled.

Only a few days later, I found myself alone with my Mother, sitting in the parlour. She was working, her spectacles on the tip of her nose. I wondered when she got spectacles. I don't think I realised how old she was really getting. With her head bent I could see the roots of her hair, which were turning silver. I wondered if she would dye it once it grew greyer.

Currently, she was flittering through documents, signing them here and there. I wondered only for a second what she was signing. But the thought passed, like I knew it always would. My heart gave a strange flutter when I saw her signature. It was messy, scrawled and pointy, and I smiled at the blue she never ran out of.

"You know, I never knew there was a Mid-Year celebration," I noted. Mother looked up, surprised I'd started a conversation. She pulled off her spectacles and let them drop on the table.

"There hasn't been one in a while… It's not a real Tamrielic celebration—that is, it hasn't been here since Gods know when… the Empire wanted to provide a distraction, but the way I see it, it's just a bribe," she said, grinning like she was the conspirator herself.

"I see…" I reached to take a sip of my wine when Mother reached over and smacked my arm. I pulled away, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Don't drink that… the Bosmer believe it harms the body. Your baby's body," Mother said, pulling my wine glass away.

"That's all made up, Mother. They eat dead people to save plants," I retorted, cocking a brow.

"They don't eat people instead of plants, Loralei. They use every part of the body of those they kill, to honour them." I rolled my eyes, but I didn't reach for my wine glass again.

Sorik had been right. Nearly everyone in Solitude had come to receive their blessing. I felt tired half way through the day, but I continued, knowing they deserved whatever the Gods had to offer. And I knew that these blessings were good, and free, and available. At least for the one day. I hoped they would encourage people to work hard, and hug their family and hold their lovers. I thought the blessings would bring guidance and wisdom. And for some of them, maybe the blessings worked, but for the rowdy men, and the proud women, it did something completely different.

The night of Mid-Year, one hundred and seventy-three Solitude men and women pulled their helmets on their heads, and held their swords in their hands as the divines rested on their shoulder. They hunted down a Stormcloak stronghold, not too far away, and with blessed buoyancy, and vengeful hearts, they wreaked havoc.

The Stormcloaks won that pitiful battle, and it was only the next day that news reached our city. I tried not to imagine their heads on wooden pikes all along those roads as Runa told me the story.

I stormed into the temple, my feet stomping against the floor. They were all on their knees praying. "What are you doing?!" I half shouted, startling them. Sorik stood up, his face strained, and pained. Ellina followed after, taking slightly longer to stand back up. Finally, Mother Frier stood.

"We are praying. One would think a Priestess would know what that looks like."

"Praying won't bring them back!"

"Necromancy might," she returned, completely unamused by me, and herself.

"This would have never happened if blessings didn't cost so much on a normal bases!" I said, hot fury building in me. I had never really been angry, and never had I screamed like this, especially not to someone with such authority. Mother did say pregnancy multiplies how much a woman could feel. Still, I continued, even though I was aware that my reasoning was weak, and it was unreasonable to have such an outburst.

"Even I can admit that the divines do not give us more than we were promised. But they have given us the freedom of choice. Those men and those women abused this gift, and there is nothing but bad judgement and vengeance and taxes that caused that—fight," she said to me, calm resilience as she held her head high. Ingen looked at me worriedly.

"Blessings aren't a business," I croaked, stiffening.

"Loralei—" Sorik started, probably trying to explain, or reason, or argue. But he stopped when Sautar the Altmer sent him a look.

"I am a disciple of Kynareth, and She communicates through me."

"No," Frier said, somehow stretching her neck a little higher. "You're a whore and the only communication you'll have with Kynareth from now on are those stupid little prayers you think she's listening to." I felt my heart rip, and my throat hitch, and if I had tried to say a word I would have burst into tears just then. Instead, I closed my mouth, held my breath and turned around. I resisted the urge to wrap my fingers around my amulet, which felt heavy on my neck.

Tibedetha was a grand celebration in Solitude every year on the 24th of Mid-Year. To celebrate Tiber Septim, the entire town would crowd the long street all the way from the main gates to the gates of the Blue Palace. Though it was not a Nord celebration, with the large influence of the Empire and its Imperials in Solitude, the city would pay thousands of Septims for a party in his name.

Some years before, the celebration had been hosted by the Blue Palace, who had chosen a costume theme. People had spent months making costumes of hagravens and skeevers, and all the beasts of the world. One year, years and years before, Vittoria Vicci had hosted, planning an elegant masquerade festival. In the year 4E 212, it was the Bard's College who hosted, and provided the funds for the celebration. They had chosen to do a rainbow-themed party. Thus, streamers of all the colours of the rainbow had been imported, cakes made of the brightest colours had been baked, and the citizens of Solitude had commissioned hundreds of suits and dresses adorned with fluorescent feathers and beads.

I could understand the city's desire for distraction, but it seemed so soon. Already, by the 24th of Mid-Year, it seemed like the tall, elegant, and wealthy city of Solitude was ready to forget the tragedy that befell hundreds of its citizens. There was a strange scent of blood, and discomfort that lingered in the air after those events and even my body felt heavy as I walked through the city, where all seemed so silent. Still, it seemed like such disrespect for the next festivity to continue.

Despite my moral conscience telling me it was wrong, I put on the bright, feathery frock Mother had bought for me, and I went out into the streets with Runa to celebrate in this festival of colour. By midafternoon, the streets were already crowded, and Runa held onto my hand so we wouldn't separate.

"You know, I heard they're looking for recruits," she shouted, as we passed some people dressed like colourful pheasant.

"Who?" I returned, as the crowd got louder and louder.

"The Bard's College! I swear, sometimes you have the brains of an orc!"

"That's very offensive, Runa!" I scolded, despite that I laughed at her quip anyway. "So, are you going to join?"

"We are going to join, silly!" she laughed, pushing us passed a very tall gentleman.

"That's a nice idea Runa, but I'm not a bard, I'm a priestess," I reasoned, steadying Runa as she lost her balance in the crowd.

"Not anymore you're not," she reminded me, when she steadied. She stopped and I realised we were in front of the Blue Palace. It stood tall and welcoming, and I wondered what all those stories about great, menacing castles had gone on about. "That elf over there is the recruiter, main person."

"The headmaster?" I guessed, and she nodded excitedly.

"Yes, whatever. Anyhow, he is rich, and influential, and if we can impress him, we're sure to get an early spot!" She smiled, and I bit my lip. She grabbed my hands and I saw the plea in her eyes. Her hands felt reassuring on mine, and I nodded.

"Okay," I said. She let go of my hands and stood up straight. She adjusted her silver ring before pushing forward to the Altmer with a lute and a song. It took a moment for me to follow, but I did.

We played with the Altmer the entire night, and when it was over, he said to us, "In the fall, it would be an honour to have you at our school!" I thought Runa would cry, or jump, or hug me. Instead, she smiled like she had a secret, and gave a small curtsy, before telling him it would be an honour. It was only later, when it was just her, and Lucia and me, that she cried, and jumped, and we all hugged in celebration.

The first days of Last Seed were the hottest of my life. The only thing that saved me from nearly dying of heat and exhaustion were Lucia and my boat rides. Runa had come at first, but we had soon discovered that boats and open water were not quite her fancy. Nearly every day, Lucia and I would put on long, floppy hats that were becoming strangely popular, and we would put on our lightest clothes, and head to the docks.

Our small little boat was sturdy, and had cost a small fortune, but every day, when we would row out to the middle of the lake, and swim, we would not think of the tiny little dent we'd put in my Thane mother's savings.

There were days and days of lake water bliss, all until on the 10th of Last Seed, 4E 212, when the East Empire Company banned all non-company related business. Lucia had resorted instead to attending Temple all day, where the tall walls and lack of light brought coolness. She had asked me to join her, but for pride or shame, I said no, and let her bounce off alone. I had been invited to join Runa for tea with Elisif and her attendants, but I knew it would only be an insult to the High Queen to take a seat amongst her. I would have felt hurt or chastened, but it only seemed ironic, and through the foggy, veiled view of my life, it didn't seem to matter to me or anyone else at all.

That was how I ended up, on one of the sunniest days in the past years, at the Solitude Stables, with the stench of manure and sweat flooding my nostrils. I was petting Birdie, who nuzzled into my palm when someone spoke, "Is there anything I can do for you ma'am?"

I turned, and in front of me stood a tall boy, around my age, with broad shoulders. His skin was dark and dirty, and his reddish brown hair was cropped closely to his head. He smiled warmly, his eyes scrunched from the sunlight.

"Are you the stable boy?" I asked calmly, still stroking Birdie's mane. I hadn't realised how long it had been since I'd last seen her. I looked over to Bam Bam, who whinnied softly. I wondered how long it had been since he'd last seen Runa.

"Aye, ma'am." He has a nice smile, I noted. Still, the stable boy's smile was unlike his. I blushed when I thought of those cocky dimples.

Bam Bam's whinny broke my thought, and I had to blink to stabilize. I reminded myself not to think of him.

"Do you ride?" I found myself asking, reaching for an apple to toss at Bam Bam.

"Aye, ma'am. Not too well, but I do alright on a good horse." I laughed softly as Bam Bam caught the apple.

"You'd better take Birdie then." He frowned, and I reached for her saddle. "Okay, so I need you to saddle Birdie and Bam Bam, if you don't mind. And if you have some time, I'd like you to join me."

The stable boy blinked and then nodded. He saddled the horses with ease, and before long, we were trotting up the road.

"What's your name?" I finally asked him when it became clear he would not speak first. It was strange to me, to ask the first question. But I figured I was playing a part of some sort, I was not the quiet, nonchalant, disturbed and shamed daughter of the Thane and Dragonborn. For now, I convinced myself, I was just a girl too hot to stay still, who happened to have two horses.

"I'm Blaise," he said, trotting up beside me. "Who are you, ma'am?"

"I'm Loralei," I told him, turning redder because I'd planned to tell him a false name. "Have you worked at the stables for a long time?"

"A while…" He paused, and I let him. "See, both my parents were in the Legion. There was... an ambush. Katla said she could feed me if I could make myself useful. I take care of the animals, run errands, that kind of thing. I guess it could be worse. I mean, at least I don't have to sleep outside anymore." He laughed a little, and I smiled, and I wondered at how this seemed so simple.

"Did they really make you sleep outside?" I said, turning to him. He looked ahead, simple contentment on his face.

"Never in the winter, but once they got used to me, that made me a little cot in the house." He turned to look at me, and I would have blushed that he saw me looking, but the look he gave me was sincere, innocent, accusing in no way.

"I know this may seem strange to say, but I'm quite familiar with orphans." He frowned, but let me continue, and I was thankful he was not offended. "Well, my best friend Runa, who has lived with me for a few years now, she's an orphan. She lived in the Honorhall Orphanage down in Riften up until they told her to leave… My mother too, she never knew her parents… Oh! And we've taken in this little girl from Whiterun, called Lucia. She was living on the streets, begging for some coin when I found her."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "You like to harbour them." I laughed and shook my head.

"I prefer the term collect."

"So, both your parents are alive and well then?"

"No… my first father died when I was six. And my twin brother not long after …"

"What do you mean by your first pa?" Blaise asked, breaking what would have been a long, awkward silence.

"Well, my mother married twice after," I explained, scolding myself for speaking of my mother. "But it doesn't matter," I added quickly. Before he could say anything, I kicked Bam Bam gently and started forward. "C'mon, let's race!"

Truth be told, I did not think of Lars much. I saw and felt him everywhere though. Little things like laughs or curls or fancy grey-blue tunics, and visions and memories would flash through the back of my mind. And whenever this occurred, I'd be left wondering why he wasn't on my mind more. Sometimes I could convince myself that I never really loved him, or that I loved him no longer. I'd read so many books about heartbreak and distance, that true love never went away, and distance made the heart grow fonder. So it couldn't possibly have been love. But even I was wise enough to know that was not the case. I wondered instead if it was normal to forget those who have seemingly wronged you, or to forget those who are no longer around. But I knew too much from my mother, from my father, to know this was not true either.

No one had asked me either. Not about him and rarely even about what he had left me with. No one even wondered why he hadn't stayed, or why I didn't either. No one asked if I wanted to. And this I could understand from my mother, who wasn't there, and could never be expected to ever be there. And I could understand Lucia, who did not even know what was happening. And still, after so much, I could understand Runa, who never knew which questions she was supposed to ask.

I always figured that when asked a question, the truth would always be the first thing I think, the first thing I let through the barriers of my mouth. And maybe that wasn't the most accurate way to find the truth, but it was what I relied on, because how else could I find what was real? Who could I ask?

I did not have a doting Mother, with wisdom, and guidance and answers. I did not have a best friend who knew all the right things to say, and when to say them. I had a guardian, but it had been obvious that perhaps she was not mine. I did not have a lover or a husband, or a Lars to tell me a joke, and that it would be okay because his family had it all, and I was his family.

It was only when I realised all that I did not have, that I realised that if the only one that I had was the child that was cursed upon my body, that really, I was completely, and utterly alone.

I watched as a rich man called Aquillius Aeresius claimed Vittoria Vicci's home as his own. I wondered why for a moment that veil that had seemed to protect me, was lifted, and I was blinded until I forced it back over the world.

On the 4th of Heart-Fire, I watched as Kayd and Minette announced their betrothal, and I found my hand resting on my swelling child, unable to let it go unnoticed for that one moment. I left it there, though it felt so strange. I left it there because it felt warm, and comforting, and it was for the both of us.

"It's getting big," Lydia noted; helping me slip into one of my more difficult dresses.

"What is?" I asked, distant as I watched us in the mirror.

The scene reminded me of a time long ago, with a silver brush and a song. Except Lydia was old now, with lines and scars she had not had before. She had a new wisdom that came with being old, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed before. I was different too. I had changed far more than she, though it had more to do with the nature of growing up than growing old. My freckles were darker now. The line of my jaw seemed so sharp it could break skin. My hair was short now, cut off quickly, for practical and seasonal reasons. My midsection was swollen. For a stupid moment I thought I was bloated. I wasn't, not really.

"Your child," she responded, making me blush just a little. It was strange how I had not noticed the bump before. It wasn't too large, but it was visible, and I wondered why it still felt like nothing. I moved my hands to its swell, and glided it over the fabric of my gown.

"My child," I repeated, still looking in the tall mirror, wondering and understanding why that was so wrong and so extraordinary.

I met Lydia's eyes in the mirror. This would be the moment for something to happen between us, at least that was what it seemed like. There would be a breakdown or a meltdown, and maybe we would apologize, or maybe we would say something we'd be sorry for later. Or maybe she would hug me, or I would grab her hand and ask her questions. There was supposed to be tears and relief and closure, where there hadn't been in what seemed like years—what probably had been years.

But instead of a revolutionary moment that the two of us thought we were waiting for, we merely stood still. Our eyes locked in the mirror, and that was where they rested. My hand, gliding back and forth over the fabric never stopped. We blinked and we breathed, and this moment that wasn't a moment at all lasted a long time, until my hand stopped, and Runa called for us.

I wondered if Lydia had felt it too—felt that sense of what should have happened. But maybe she just looked at us in the mirror and thought of silver brushes and songs, and convinced herself that nothing had changed.

How would I know?

"Why did you bring me to the Temple?" I asked my mother as we walked up to the tall doors one early morning in the early days of Heart-Fire.

"Don't you want to know the gender of the child?" she asked me, a dark red brow cocking.

"I hadn't really thought about it," I admitted. The tall, heavy doors groaned loudly as she pushed through.

"Well, we have a nursery to decorate, Loralei," she said with a sly grin. It wasn't the first time I decided I did not like this smiley version of Mother.

She led me to Silana and she brought me to a sickbed. I lay down and closed my eyes as her hands touched my swelling bump. I tried to imagine, or guess what gender it would be; whether I had a preference. I wondered what names I liked, whether I would name him or her after my mother or my father. I tried forcing myself to picture it; picture it now, swelling inside of me, and after it's born, lying in my arms.

But those were forced thoughts, and not my own imaginations, and I couldn't even scold myself. I tried to feel shame, but what was I ashamed of? How could I have known Lars would leave me? How could I have known I'd have such a disinterest with this child? How could I have prevented it? It was not my fault; it was not Lars', and even I could not blame the child.

I almost didn't hear Silana when she said it.

"Girl."

"This is so exciting," she said calmly, holding her composure, like a fine rich lady.

"Yeah," I said, slouching in my seat. Runa sent me a side glance, and then looked away.

"Sit up—people will think you're obtuse. Don't embarrass me, Loralei," she warned. I straightened myself as the professor walked in. She was an old, ugly lady who must have been frowning for the past ninety years. "Inge Six-Fingers, one of the most respected bards here," Runa whispered to me.

The teacher took to the podium before looking around the room, meeting each of our eyes, one at a time. When her eyes met mine, her lip twitched into almost a snarl before she settled on my bump. It seemed forever before our flirtation was over.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly hot and uncomfortable as she took her turn with everyone else. I felt only a little shame, though only because she had managed to bother me.

"As some of you here may know, I'm the dean of lute at the Bards College, and no, I don't give private lessons," she began. Her voice scraped like nails against a chalk board. "And don't be fooled, I'm not special, or talented. Talent doesn't exist. The only reason I'm so good with a lute is because I'm old. It takes a lifetime to master. That's why I don't know why any of you even bother! You're all too damned old! Start past four and it's all wasted effort." She grinned to herself, though it was more like a sneer. "But I have the two things all good teachers need… The first is patience. The second is a firm wooden stick for rapping knuckles." She laughed to herself, and I felt Runa shift beside me. She too remembered someone from long ago, who somehow lingered whenever we looked close enough into the flames.

"So, I hear you plan a Frostfall wedding?" Runa asked politely, taking a small sip of wine. I went to pour myself some before Runa tapped my hand and sent me a look. I removed my hand, and sat back in my chair while Minette watched the exchange. I scolded myself for being so placating.

"Yes, actually… but it's going to be very small." She glanced at me only for a moment, before looking away guiltily. For once I did not have to wonder why.

Preparations for Torygg's Ball started the 25th of Heart-Fire. Mother bought me a dress, and when I put it on, it hid my daughter so well that it was even easier to forget.

I had thought to bring Runa with me to Torygg's Ball the first time I'd went, but it was a young, handsome, and wealthy (of course), boy from Dragonsbridge who escorted her.

No one danced with me, and I was a fool to think a mask and a dress would hide my identity—our identity. Perhaps I should have felt ashamed. Everyone else seemed to think so.

The tenth of Frostfall was a cold day. The wind whipped against skin and gusted through hair, left noses red and fingers numb. Still, I could not stay inside my house while citizens dressed their best and their warmest and celebrated in the streets of Solitude, cheering for the bride and groom. I could hear Runa's cheer from the crowd, and though I knew it shouldn't have, the sound of her voice lashed at my body harder than even the wind.

I pulled the hood of my cloak around my head, and held it closer around me as I weaved my way through the crowd.

I should have felt more hurt to be excluded from Minette's wedding. We had been friends and comrades as children. Not to mention, I was wealthy, the daughter of someone famous, rich, and noble. But all things considered, Minette meant nothing to me.

I remembered her as a sweet girl, with good kind parents who loved the divines and loved their city. She was plain, but happy, and I never wished her harm. But she was nothing, to me at least. Perhaps Kayd saw her as the love of his life, the girl next door. And maybe for him she was memories and laughter and even love. And I was fine with that. But to me, she was a familiar scent: untraceable in my collected memories, but not new. She was not however the colour blue, or grey, or white, not a song that seemed to linger in every vibration. She was a girl who didn't invite me to a wedding that I didn't really care about.

If truth be told, as I pushed through the gates of Solitude, she was not on my mind at all. I thought only of the thrashing cold, and a silver ring, and the apples growing heavier in my bag.

I smiled when I saw Blaise, nose and cheeks rosy from the weather. He was brushing a grey horse, slowly, attentively, and I almost felt guilty for interrupting him. "Blaise!"

He turned, smiling when he saw me, and I felt glad to have a friend. Even if it was only one.

"Ugh, History is such a drag," Runa sighed, receiving approving nods from both Aia and Illdi, who had recently taken to hanging around Runa and I.

"I don't see why we need this nonsense, this is a music, and talent, not about dates and lectures," Aia added, adjusting her cap slightly. She was a tired girl, with pale and sickly skin which was stretched over her thin little bones.

"Yeah," Illdi agreed, helping Aia retie her cap. "Dean Giraud gives so many essays too! I never have any time for practice lately."

"Illdi, don't look now, but Ataf is staring at you again." Runa laughed, modestly covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Illdi blushed, shaking her head a little.

"He's always making eyes at me lately!" she complained, keeping her eyes on Runa.

"You should tell him to mind his own business," Aia said stonily, leaning back in her chair. The Dean of History's shoes clicked loudly as he walked in, holding himself with a grace that came with age and knowledge.

Illdi chuckled as she prepared for the lesson, only leaning over to Aia. "You're so mean," she whispered.

"Have it your way then," Aia responded dryly, and Runa smirked.

30th of Frostfall, 4E 212

Loralei,

It isn't actually the 30th, not just yet at least. But I've made sure it arrives to you then.

It is only because you are an old friend, and a noble that I am confiding in you. I just wanted you to know before it's announced today.

But first, I want you to know that I am sorry I haven't written in so long, but the circumstances haven't quite let me. Of course I'm happy and all and perfectly comfortable. My husband Tobias is a fine young man, and he is good to me. I live in a beautiful palace, and the Imperial City has become home. It's huge, and so much different than Whiterun. I don't really miss it, so that's good.

Anyway, the wedding was beautiful, as you have probably heard, and my coronation was a grand event.

So, now that the introduction has finished, I must tell you the news.

I am pregnant. I am a few moons along now, and the child is swelling well.

Cordially,
Dagny,
Empress, first of her name

P.S.I heard Mila had joined the army… have you heard from her?

P.P.S. I hope our children may meet one day, and if you need anything, a place to stay or anything, I'll always be here, for the rest of my life… so you will know where you can find me.

The next few weeks were miserable. I found solace in some places, like school, or at the stables. The lessons were inspiring and instructive, and I was pleased with the growing praises and the receding scolds. The dean of history complimented my fingers, telling me they had been sculpted by the gods themselves to wield a lute. I smiled brightly and broadly, and I was proud when the smile didn't falter in doubt or embarrassment, not even when I noticed Runa check her own fingers slightly, rolling them into a fist when she saw hard, Nord hands.

Even the girls who flitted around Runa learned to send a smile and a wave my way. I felt reassured, stronger when they looked at my face, my eyes, my freckles, rather than the swelling of the child growing beneath my dress. With each smile passed my way, the politeness and the courtesies melted into sincerity. All except Runa's smiles though. She only nodded and patted my shoulder or my thigh in a pretense of comradery, and when we returned home, she would be too exhausted to look at me, much less smile. It made me wonder what game she was playing at. What was her goal? Why did she believe she needed to raise her neck an inch higher than Aia, have skin like porcelain, lighter than even Illdi's.

I wondered how blind or stupid the girls must have been, not to see through it all. I wished Runa wouldn't be that way. She had once had so much to offer, whether it was rudeness and crudeness, or the rashness of a girl who grew up with boys. She'd had spirit and wit, and her blue eyes had once shone like icicles ready to shoot down on your head at any moment. She had once been alert and dazed, and confused and sweet in the purest sense of the word; a childlike kind of honey that was honest and real, naïve and yet so aware.

It seemed sudden to me, how she had changed, but maybe I was too distracted to notice. For a moment I wondered if it was my fault, but I knew that could not have been true. There was no not-paying-attention when it came to Runa, not for me at least. I watched her, and I could not help it. I noticed her blinks, and I tested her movements, which had once been awkward and out of place, yet somehow still pretty. A pretty girl like Runa—a girl with a past and dreams of a certain future; how could I not pay close attention—observe her like she thought she deserved to be observed? So it must have been quick, like a flicker in a flame, a change in the direction of the wind. She must have rebuilt herself from ivory the moment I looked away.

Still, at night she twirled that horrible ring, a satisfied smile on her face as she sat in the parlour, tired and worn, so it must have been enough for her; finally.

I tried to be glad for that. But it wasn't enough for me.

I needed the girl who danced with me; the girl who called my mother bad names just because she said what she thought was true. I wanted the girl with hair like spun gold and a laugh that I never realised would become so rare.

So I found what I believed I needed. And he was a stable boy who stank of horse and asked too many questions. In the long nights when I wouldn't be able to sleep from the sweat or the chill, nausea inflaming my body like I was burning from the inside out, I would wrap my cloak around me, put my boots on, struggling because of the belly that I, and many others, found increasingly difficult to ignore. I would walk out, even in the autumn cold, and I knew he would be awake too. Sometimes we'd say nothing as he'd saddle the horses, helping me onto the saddle.

Sometimes the conversation would roll smoothly, steadily, excitedly. It was nice to have a friend who had nothing on his mind but the wind and the stink, and the roll of my voice. He thought sometimes of his past. I could tell by the way he would look away from me, letting his eyes focus and memorize our surroundings. He wondered sometimes if his parents had walked the same route, he wondered if they had ever seen the strange beauty in the silhouette of a faun running from the moon. There were times when he would stare up at the dark sky and his lips would part a little, and he would wonder if they looked at the same stars, thinking of him and his little mouth.

I looked around me too. I felt my hands as they grazed the ground, frozen dirt gathering between my fingernails. I watched as the trees swayed in the distance, across the river. I listened to the soft, perilous breaths of night. I listened to my own. I breathed lightly, shallow as I took in breath, and I wondered once again at my nonchalance towards life. Runa had always breathed deeply.

Blaise and I sat in a little opening at the edge of a river, whose waters seemed too still for the season. We had never spoken of it, but it seemed the horses, or even we ourselves had been drawn to it, finding ourselves in the same spot several times a week.

On the 15th of Sun's Dusk, my head whirled and I could only breathe thinly through my nostrils. Not even the fresh, biting winds off the river could help me. Blaise rubbed my back rhythmically, and it was comforting.

"You know, there are potions that can help you with that," he said, a concerned look in his dark eyes.

"How would you know that?" I asked, feeling the paleness in my face. Not even the fall cold brought blood back up to my head. Blaise recoiled, blushing softly.

"Sorry ma'am, I just assumed there's a potion for anything." He smiled weakly, still eyeing me nervously. "I heard a traveller who tried to sell us potions of invisibility!" I snickered and shook my head.

"Probably a scam," I said, looking ahead when I remembered my illness. "Still, I'm sure there's a chance. I mean, there's a whole college of Magics, and I've healed hundreds of men and women with my own hands. But I doubt they go around selling potions of invisibility to anyone." I turned; scared I might have offended him. I prepared myself to console him, to tell him that he and his foster family were no less than mine. Instead, I found him apprehensive, nodding. Pride was a strange thing, and I was glad that for Blaise, and for me, it wasn't a flaw.

"I guess you're right," he said, his arm moving from my back to fall into his lap carelessly. "So, what's going on in the big city this week?"

I smiled, and leaned back, letting myself fall slowly into the cold grass. My hands found their way to my belly, exposed to the shield of sky. "Well, actually, the burning of King Olaf is this Loredas… Runa and I were asked to play before the burning." I turned my head sideways. He was looking down at me, friendly, calm.

"For true?" he asked, knowing the answer. I nodded and he lay down next to me.

"You should come," I said, meaning it. He smiled, and I didn't forget to appreciate its candor. You never know when you're going to miss it.

Runa and I sang before the flames, and when she took her praise, I looked away. Maybe she didn't deserve the observation. I remembered Blaise's smile, the way it never changed, and though my amulet still hung heavy on my neck, I prayed for simplicity like him.

I had not realised how I had been neglecting Lucia over the last months, and I felt some shame in my heart when at first she had been reluctant to spend the day with me, clutching on to Lydia's hand. My heart had shuddered when I saw it. And I knew it was nothing, but I couldn't ever forget that Lydia had always held my hand. I had those callused, rough old hands memorised, but I had to blink, and steady my heart when I wondered if Lucia had it memorised too.

I had held back my tears when Lydia told me she would adopt Lucia. I did not keep them long, and it had hurt me deeply. At first it had felt like a stick, stabbed straight through my chest, wounding me heavily, letting me bleed out bare. But later it was clear it was not that at all. It was instead like the cool air slapping against my hand as Lydia finally let it go, after years of me trying to hold on to the warmth, the sweat of her palm.

I still could not speak to Lydia, but Lucia was a child, and one I cared of, one I did not want to let go and forget, like the people who had forgotten me. So, as the weeks passed in Sun's Dusk, I spent my time between school and the stables, and the little alchemy lab I had set up for Lucia and I to play and learn with (Runa was never invited, she pretended not to notice).

"So, Lucia, tell me, what are the ingredients to a restore health potion?" I asked, sitting with her on the cold, stone floor of the basement. Today I had a day off, and I had somehow managed to rebuff Runa's insistence on going for a market stroll. I had been managing quite well at rebuffing her in the past couple weeks.

"Um…" she said, biting her lip. She scanned the bowls of ingredients in front of her, her hand hesitating in the air above them. She moved it around, over each bowl as if it would somehow help. She picked up a blue petal and smiled before blowing it into my face. I scrunched my nose and flicked it away, smiling when I heard her giggle.

"Good… what others?" It was a trick, a nasty little thing on my part. I wondered if she would catch on. I had placed thirteen different ingredients in little wooden bowls I had found at some stall a few months before. However, all of the contents of the wooden bowl contained the correct answer.

Lucia was smart though, much smarter than I had originally thought, if truth be told. And slowly, one by one, she set aside the ingredients.

"And what's that one called?" I asked her, when she reached the fifth ingredient. She gave me a toothy smile, confident she knew the answer.

"Swamp fungal pod!" she shouted, setting it next to the fake Daedra heart I had found (I'd be crazy to let her near a real one).

"And what is special about them?" I asked, smirking at my little prodigy.

"They are only found in Haafingar!" I scrunched my nose again and she giggled, even when I shook my head.

"You're so close, Lucia. It's Hjaalmarch… where we live!" She laughed and shrugged, continuing on with our little learning game.

She's not like me, I thought as I did my best to teach her. Perhaps it was that she had a little ball of light that touched her skin, even when it was dirty. I imagined it circling her bones, leaving a trail of lightness and naivety. Mayhap I had been naïve once, maybe even light and joyful. But it was never difficult to resent my own wisdom, the one that came from seeing grey and green and blue through eyes that were never bare. I thought perhaps my veil of apathy had protected me, but now I wondered what it would be like to see life through the first person, in a naked, young, and dirty kind of way.

Maybe there was a potion for it.

"Have you been ignoring me?" she demanded when we were alone, in some hallway with a name and a purpose I still don't care to remember. The Bard's College was a big and old place, meant for curious girls with thirsty hearts and gold-spun hair.

"Yes." I didn't lie. She didn't deserve lies. I was still undecided if she deserved the truth.

"Why?" It came out aggressive, like a burp in her throat, and I forced myself not to cringe.

"Because I don't like you," I admitted, trying to be smooth, steady. I tried to believe myself. She faltered for a moment, before kneading her ivory mold into a proper girl, with pride and wealth.

"And why do you say that?" Runa whispered, strained.

"Because I like Runa, and you have taken her from me," I explained, surprising myself with the youthful stubbornness she had somehow brought out. She glanced around the room, and I wondered if she was checking to see if anyone heard what I said or if anyone would hear what she would respond. The latter:

"You're just a jealous bat. That stupid girl you call Runa was a poor, helpless little girl. This Runa has earned her right to be a bitch!" She stormed off, and I follow her from far behind. We shared the same classes.

"She actually said that?!" Blaise laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands like a child. I nodded, smiling, knowing the only reason it was okay to laugh about it was because that outburst was not from the Runa that horrible girl called a bitch, it was the Runa with eyes like icicles. Mayhap it was the only sign so far, but it had filled me with a content that made me feel shame like a maiden losing her virginity. I had blushed when the thought crossed my mind, laughing as I placed my hand on my belly. My daughter seemed to laugh too.

I felt her move for the first time at the end of Sun's Dusk, while I lay in a soft featherbed with my mother. She had joined me randomly, bringing me tea for my sickness. We spoke of soft things, things that no one really cared about. Her hair was messy, draped over a pillow at the foot of the bed. The house was quiet, and soft, swaying with the world.

It was a little kick and then a little swerve and I felt it all. My mother jumped up excitedly when I told her and I smiled when she moved to touch my abdomen. Her hand connected and the child moved, all at once. She smiled up at me, green eyes twinkling. I hope she has those eyes. My amulet throbbed against my chest. Or was it my heart.

The snow fell lightly for the first time the day we were officially made bards. It was all joyous and happy and inebriated until Runa approached me. She stood feet away from me and told me she was leaving and I tried not to cry. But I couldn't stop and she watched me while I cried in front of her, in front of everyone, and the only thing that stopped me from falling was that I would not be able to get up. She only looked at me and I didn't want to look up at her because I didn't want to see porcelain or ivory or disgust or pity. My mother took my shoulders and led me away and all I could think of was how she had called my mother bad names and I had laughed and she was left unashamed.

She and the other bards left the next day, off to travel and make music and memories. I spent the rest of the month in my room, looking out at Vittoria's house, pretending I was a little girl, excited and confused as I listened to her stories. I put my cheek against the cold wet window and sighed, knowing winter would never feel the same again.

Somehow I had managed to migrate to the temple, maneuvering through the crowds on the night of the Old Life festival. I ignored the cold as I walked, and I tried not to feel the cool of the tall door's handle. All the priests and priestesses knelt in a semicircle around the shrines, an empty spot between Ellina and Sorik. They must have heard the clacking of my heeled boots, but none of them moved. I walked slowly towards the empty spot. It was only then that the two priestesses beside it looked up, grabbing my elbows to help steady me as I knelt. Ellina squeezed my hand so softly before letting go, that someone who paid less attention would have missed it.

Ellina and Sorik said nothing as they returned to their prayers.

I looked up at Her shrine, the moonstones of the owl's eyes judging down on me. The iron looked solemn and unkempt. I moved my hands to touch my amulet, never looking away from the shrine. Its eyes seemed to widen, the milky white brightening, ready to let me back into Her divine soul, ready to encircle her wings around my body. I resisted a smile as my amulet felt lighter.

My prayers flowed through me like I knew they would. I prayed for Lars, and I hoped he was well. I hoped he touched fine cherry-wood and remembered its value, how maybe it could make a girl fall in love. I hoped he saw the lutes hanging in his house and listen to music and remember how they sounded luxurious, the way honey poured over sugar would sound. I hoped he still had pride and looked at the world like a rich man rather than a greedy man.

For Runa, I prayed she found happiness, contentment. I hoped she would learn to love simplicity like my mother never could.

I prayed for Dagny too, with her child and with her husband. I prayed she got all she ever wanted, and though I knew she hadn't, I prayed she'd learn to be alright with it. I prayed for Mila, and I hoped she'd find a girl that tasted like honey, and made her smile like she was rich.

I even prayed for the dead, who seemed to be so many. I prayed for them, though I didn't know what they would want, if they could want. So I said their names, like it was my fault, and asked for forgiveness. I said their names, one after the other.

Onmund. Hroar. Skeever. Belrund. Matilda. Carlotta. Balgruuf.

Jon. Alarik.

Nelkir. Nelkir.

Rorlund.

Vittoria.

She was born the 22nd of Morning Star, 4E 213, a pink-faced wrinkly babe who looked up at me with my own eyes. She squeezed my fingers in her tiny hands.

Lucia placed a flower with blue petals on my bed and she kissed the top of the baby's head.

My heart ached when she asked it. It ached when I said it. I had said it so many times in my head, and it felt like a dream to say her—their name out loud.

"Vittoria."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! We finally made it to chapter ten! It also beat chapter nine in length, at about 14k words... whoops? Anyway, sorry for the wait, I'll get eleven up when's it's ready. Thank you for all your support. Your reviews keep me going (*heart*)

Published on 13/11/2014

Edited on 06/07/2015