Author's Note: Hope everyone's holidays were enjoyable. Now that they have passed chapters will be posted. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I am happy to know people are enjoying this. :)

"Sing us a song!"

"Yes, a song!"

A drinking contest had been the start of it all. Djarfskald had arrived in Riverwood on her way to Windhelm, deciding to pay Ralof and Gerdur a visit. She had worn the regalia of the Dark Brotherhood as she slunk across the land but she had a feeling of the repercussions if she appeared in the village dressed as such. Stopping outside of town she decided to change behind the cover of some bushes. Dressing herself in what she had worn to kill Valund was her only recourse. With a smile, though, Djarfskald had a feeling that Ralof wouldn't have discouraged it.

There she was, though, taking standing beside a flushed Sven, who had his fair share of mead, and before a few of the villagers and many of the Stormcloak soldiers who patrolled the town. In any other circumstance Djarfskald would have balked at the idea of singing before a group but the mead had eased her nerves. She looked at Sven and chewed on her lower lip.

"What should I sing?"

Sven glanced at the crowd and smiled, "The Age of Oppression would be a crowd pleaser, I can promise you that!"

Djarfskald nodded at the suggestion and Sven began to play. She looked at the crowd; half were waiting to hear the song while the others were talking and laughing. She spotted Ralof sitting by the man who had started the night's merriment: Sam Guevenne. The Breton was leaning close to Ralof, both eying Djarfskald while he whispered to the Nord. Ralof didn't seem to reply, just raise his tankard and take another drink.

"We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone. For the age of oppression is now nearly done. We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own. With our blood and our steel we will take back our home. . ."

The entirety of the inn's guests joined in the song, voices ringing high with smiling faces. Djarfskald grinned and let her voice soar. In the midst of the other voices she felt free and the joy that the others felt seemed to feed her. Sven laughed beside her, enjoying the moment and swaying with the music. The crowd cheered with the last note. Their voices praised Talos, praised Ulfric, and praised their Dragonborn.

Sam weaved through the crowd, tankard in hand. He stopped before Djarfskald and offered it with a smile. "My treat!" She took it with a grin, downing the brew with ease and raising the empty mug to the cheers of her brothers and sisters. "It seems like the crowd rather loves you."

Djarfskald nodded with a slight smile, "No doubt the mead is helping their moods."

"Ralof more than anyone else."

"Yes," Djarfskald replied. She watched Ralof through the crowd. His eyes were fixed on her before his attention was pulled away by another Stormcloak. "He looks troubled, though. You seemed to have a lengthy conversation with him. Do you know why?"

"The war is getting to him, I believe. A man can only take so much killing before he stops to think about his own life. I believe Ralof wants time to relax, enjoy life, and to be a man once more." Sam followed Djarfskald's gaze, taking a drink from his own tankard. "The easiest way for Ralof to be a man is to have a woman."

Djarfskald looked at her empty tankard as she took in Sam's words. The Breton had wandered away to join a group of soldiers. He laughed with them, his arm snaking around the waist of a woman as he offered her a drink. That was what she needed; another drink.

Moving through the crowd Djarfskald stopped at the bar and put the tankard down, "Give me another."

"I thought you said you weren't going to drink anymore."

Djarfskald couldn't help but smile. She turned to Ralof, "A few drinks couldn't hurt, now could they? Besides, I have you around so I don't have to worry."

Ralof nodded slowly and the shadow of a smile that had been on his face was no longer present. "It's been sometime since we've seen each other. I was beginning to worry that something may have happened to you."

"I've been traveling the country," Djarfskald replied as she received her new drink, "gathering information for Ulfric. I haven't seen much of anyone."

"What brings you back here?"

"Word was sent that I was to return to Windhelm and I thought a visit was in order. Seems like I made the right choice; I never thought that this place would be so busy."

Ralof pursed his lips and downed the remainder of his mead. "A new troop was sent. I've received word that my men and I are to leave for the camp in the Falkreath by sunrise."

Djarfskald cradled her tankard, staring at her partial reflection before looking at Ralof. "We can make the most of our time together, Ralof."

The sound of Sven's lute and voice drifted over the merriment, catching Djarfskald's attention. "Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes." Silence slowly settled over the inn, eyes turning to the bard. "With a voice-wielding power of the ancient Nord arts. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes. . ."

Ralof took the tankard from Djarfskald, placing it on the bar before taking her hand into his and leading her through the crowd. No one seemed to notice the two slip away as the haunting melody carried through the night air. Neither said a word as they wandered to the river that flowed past the town. It was the spot where Djarfskald had first met Gerdur and the place where she had begun to truly think of her family.

Standing at the water's edge Djarfskald felt Ralof's arms encircle her. She welcomed the embrace, leaning against him with a sigh. "This is how it should be," he whispered. He held her tighter and rested his chin on Djarfskald's shoulder. "I've never really thought about settling down, let alone back here, but with you it seems like the right thing."

Djarfskald smiled, "You flatter me. It's hard to believe that I can change your view so easily."

"Perhaps I was looking for someone to settle down with. . . "

"And I just happened to be that person? Some random woman destined for the chopping block?"

"No," Ralof whispered. "You are the woman who is to help us liberate Skyrim and the woman who will save our country from these dragons."

"You put so much faith in me, Ralof."

"Everyone has."

Djarfskald turned her eyes skyward, tracing the unseen lines of the constellations. There was a woman in Whiterun that read fortunes. She had read the stars for her as a child and spoke of grand adventures. Djarfskald couldn't help but wonder if this had figured into the reading. Did that woman know of her destiny as Dragonborn? None of that mattered, though; not now.

"You're quiet," Ralof said.

"What do you see me as," Djarfskald asked, turning to face Ralof in their embrace. "Do you see me as Dragonborn?"

Ralof smiled softly but didn't reply. She hadn't expected him to kiss her and at first didn't know how to respond. It didn't take long before she returned the gesture, her arms draping over his shoulders as he pulled her roughly against him. He pulled away slowly with a heavy sigh, "I see you as the type of woman I have wanted; strong and vibrant, exuding femininity even as she's burying her blade into the throat of an enemy."

Djarfskald couldn't help but chuckle. "I never would have pegged you as a romantic, Ralof. I see you more as the man ready to joke and fight for what is needed. Where did this type of man come from?"

"Gerdur knows how to weave a story," Ralof replied. "I think I listened to one too many as a child."

"I'll have to thank her," Djarfskald smiled, kissing Ralof softly. "Why don't we go back to the inn? I'll buy you another drink and we can enjoy the night while we have it."

Ralof shook his head, "I'm not sharing you this time. The night will be ours alone."

"Such a selfish man."