A/N: Can't say much. I'm in a hurry. The little girl at the end is there to follow the lore that I bended earlier. Thank you to anyone who reviewed the last chapter. Don't expect anything from me for a while. I'll be out of state. Have fun reading.

Disclaimer: Only the characters are mine. Everything else is Bethesda's.


Loredas, 28th of Rain's Hand,

We've been travelling across these lands I once called home for days now and we still haven't reached our destination. As much as my heart wants to believe that Jo'Khar is truly leading us to Melchior, my mind has its doubts. There's been too much betrayal for me to truly trust anyone—even myself.


"The Dwemer? No, Feredir, it cannot be done."

"Please, Arthion, just consider what I say. You know as well as I do that fleeing beneath the surface may be our only chance of survival."

"Survival?" The young Prince whirled around and looked at his companion with rage-filled eyes. "What's the use of survival when we'll only be slaughtered at our destination?"

"You don't know that will happen. We have a chance at living if we have faith in the Gods to bring us safely to the Dwemer strongholds."

"And you don't know that it won't happen. We can both do our own supposing either way." Arthion paced restlessly to the other side of his tent and looked angrily down at his brother-in-law when he found his path blocked. "I suppose you've already talked to the rest of the tribe, then? Gotten their approval behind my back? Because what benevolent leader would deny the hopes of his own people?"

Feredir calmly shook his head, though he was seething at his leader's stupidity beneath his cold exterior. "No, your majesty. I came only to you. This decision rests on your shoulders alone. With your father gone, you, are our only hope..."


"How much farther until we get there?" Feredir asked impatiently, looping an arm around his wife's waist when she stumbled slightly through the deep blood-stained snow.

"Not long," Jo'Khar assured, slowing his pace to accommodate the two Falmer. "But not much closer than when you last asked." He shot his friend a pointed look.

"Forgive me," Feredir apologized with a sigh. "I'm merely anxious to get there. Not knowing if a Nord hunting party may come upon us is wearing on my nerves to say the least."

"Jo'Khar will get you there safely," Their guide replied, moving a low-hanging branch out of his path. "And you will return unharmed as well. With your Prince at your side."

For the first time since the night before, Laietha looked up at spoke, albeit weakly and quietly. "Tell me, Jo'Khar, is my father well? Why was it so urgent that we leave immediately to travel to him? I fear for his life as much as mine."

"Your father is...in a delicate state, my lady," The Khajiit said after a moment of hesitation. "He was wounded in the battle, almost fatally so, but has made a recovery, slow that it may be, and he wishes to speak with you. He says it is most urgent. This one can tell you no more, for I know no more."

That answer served to soothe none of their fears, despite its good intentions, and if anything, their progress slowed, with Laietha walking as if she had the weight of all of Nirn resting on her shoulders. Her worry showed no signs of reprieve until finally, a few hours later, Jo'Khar moved aside a portion of thick brush and foliage to reveal a hidden cave entrance.

"We are here."

Feredir squeezed his wife's hand and gave her a reassuring smile, letting her crawl first after their guide and following behind her when she disappeared into the darkness around them.

Though it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the change in light, they could hear well enough the sound of an underwater stream and the occasional labored breath from what they could only assume was the injured Falmer Prince.

"Feredir? Laietha? Is that you?" He sounded weak and old beyond his years, but the voice was recognizable and Laietha fell to her knees beside the prone form at her feet, weeping loudly in both joy and sorrow.

"Oh, Father! I...we thought you were dead!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly as her husband and his Khajiit friend watched on.

"I know, love, as did I," Melchior replied gravely. "That is what you were made to believe." The tone behind his words made Feredir frown and he crouched down beside his Prince, taking one of his hands in his own.

"What do you mean? Are you saying we were deceived?" He wouldn't doubt it considering who had succeeded the Falmer 'throne' upon his supposed death.

"No..." Melchior coughed and Feredir pretended not to notice the blood that stained his hand when he drew it from his lips. "Merely misguided."

"Was it Arthion?" He couldn't keep the malice from his voice as he made the accusation.

"Aye..." The old Prince sounded sad, and more weary than anything else. "He was always too ambitious for his own good, that lad...too much like me." He coughed again and then took a shaky breath. Feredir and Laietha exchanged a glance. "You, my dear, were much more like your mother. How I wish you could've met her."

"As do I, Father," Laietha said gently, stroking one of his pale hands with tender care. "But the Gods saw fit to take her, as they do for all of us when it is our time. Now please, Father, tell us what Arthion did. How are we to stop him?"

"Stop him?" Melchior sounded surprised, and that made Feredir uneasy. Jo'Khar stayed silent behind them. "No, he mustn't be stopped. There's nothing to stop. You are safe, are you not?"

"For the most part, although our absence to come here may very well lead to our deaths." He tried not to sound annoyed, but as of yet, they'd been given nothing worth the trouble of their escape. Even the Prince himself was a disappointment; merely a shell of the man he'd once been.

"But the others. You are safe with the Dwemer?"

Feredir nodded.

"Then they must help us take back our lands."

There was a moment of silence as Jo'Khar and his Falmer friend exchanged a look and then the latter sighed heavily. "What are you saying? We don't have the strength with or without the Dwemer aiding us in battle. In addition, they have no reason to care. Why risk their lives to earn us back home when we would be all but destroying theirs in the process. The Nords do not forgive easily and if the Dwemer are even our unsteady allies, they're in danger of retribution should we lose the fight."

"You've seen the machines they make, my boy," Melchior responded, seeming to gain strength as he talked about the conquest he had planned. "Even Ysgramor won't stand a chance against such an army."

Feredir cocked an eyebrow and looked briefly at his wife. "Army? Father, you don't understand. They have no army. The automatons they do have in use are merely for service. Laietha and I have one of our own—it would not be able to fight even if given the chance."

The very life seemed to drain out of the Prince and he slumped back down on the cold cavern floor. "Then do we have no hope?"

"No," Feredir said gently, taking both of his frail hands in one of his own strong ones. "The Dwemer are our hope, just not as you see it. They have given us a second chance at life, and while it may not be in our true home, with our true lives, we are alive, something that would not be true were it not for their kind."

Melchior nodded somewhat sadly and tried to raise himself to his feet, eventually raising a hand to his Khajiit companion for assistance. "Then I must go with you. Perhaps with the right leadership, our people can do this on their own."

"Perhaps," Laietha said after a moment, breaking her silence, "but only after you are strong again."

Feredir silently agreed. While Melchior may be their Prince by right, he wasn't sure if he was the right leader anymore. He had lost much of his strength and the only thing that seemed to be keeping him alive was an idea of something that would never come to pass. At the moment, even Arthion seemed a better choice to lead. At least he was willing to admit that they were safe with the Dwemer.

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear," her father replied with a weak smile, supporting himself on her shoulder as he walked unsteadily toward the cave entrance.

"Is there nothing to bring with you?" Feredir asked, though he knew the answer even as he glanced around the cavern.

"No, my boy. Just myself and my dear friend here." He smiled at Jo'Khar and then looked back at his son-in-law. "If it weren't for your old fellow student here, I would be long gone. He was the one who came upon my body after the battle."

The Khajiit nodded modestly, but withdrew his paw from the grasp of the Falmer's hands. "Jo'Khar cannot accompany you, my lord. It is not this one's place to go with, nor my fate. Too many friends have already lost their lives trying to breach the Dwemer city."

Feredir tried to swallow down the sudden sour taste in his mouth. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the blood soaked steps and the bodies of his fallen friends. As much as he wanted to believe they had died for a worthy cause, he wasn't sure anymore.

They exited the cave with caution, Feredir going first to ensure the way was clear before he gestured for his wife and her father to continue. Almost as soon as Melchior emerged, there was a rustling sound from the cluster of trees shielding them from the snowy wastes and a child emerged.

She was a Nord, that much was plain to see, and no more than twelve years old, though the look of hatred in her eyes made her seem older than her few years. Feredir stepped protectively in front of his wife, Melchior's safety fleeing from his mind for fear of any harm to his unborn child.

"Step away, girl," he warned, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew if he needed to that he could end her with an ice spike through the heart, but he didn't want to do anything he didn't need to.

Ignoring him, she kept her eyes on Melchior and then said quietly, "My name is Finna. My mother was Jofrior. She was one of Ysgramor's commanders. You," she pointed to the Snow Prince. "Killed her."

"I had to think of my own people," Melchior replied, meeting her steely gaze with a weary expression. So much death had led to nothing but pain and despair.

"As do I," Finna said quietly, and before anyone could move to stop her, she pulled a spear from the ground beside her and thrust it forward with all of her young might, landing it squarely through the unprotected abdomen of her mother's killer.

It was Laietha's scream of horror that brought Feredir back to the present and he looked up to see that the girl had disappeared. The snow at his feet, once white, now soaked up the quickly spreading blood from Melchior's body to match the color that had seemed to take over the rest of the world since that fateful battle.

"Help him!" She yelled, frantically pressing her hands around the spear still jutting from his body. Melchior coughed and then shook his head.

"No...I'm..." he took a shaky breath. "It is finished." He reached toward Feredir and took the offered hand. "Go, boy, and do what I could not. Please...take back our home...it is my...last...wish..." If he had anything else to say, it went unsaid.

Standing, Feredir looked out across the lands he had once called home and sighed. He now had the dying wish of his leader laid across his shoulders. A wish that seemed to be anything but possible. A wish that would only bring more death.


Sundas, 29th of Rain's Hand,

Laietha won't speak to me yet. We burned his body last night, and she hasn't yet left his grave. We must move to get back, but...now I fear for our safety even in Blackreach. It seems the only options left are death by the hands of the Nords, or execution at the hands of our own people. I can only hope that I am wrong.