Chapter 12: Perspective and Liberty

The sky had purpled by the time I left the general store. Not only had I acquired the ridiculously expensive lute, but this time I had remembered to ask about credit and access to my account in Solitude.

Belethor had become more amiable after I'd made a purchase, though naturally, he had his limits. The sleazy man's disinterest in any plight but his own reared its head when he told me credit was being given to nobody on account of the war (I hmphed but was not surprised), but he'd also assured me that he would send my request to Solitude on the evening post, and estimated I would be granted access by return letter the following evening, or the day after at the latest.

I leaned against the door, staring at the changing skies, relieved that that mortification was over. Tiny flecks of ice on the breeze tickled my cheeks, and the cold did much to extinguish my lingering vexation. I heard footfalls from within the shop; a key turned in the lock. It seemed I had been his last customer for the day.

A sudden gust of sharp, freezing air pushed me; ruffled my skirts. I clutched the lute tightly, which I could not see as mine, lest it be blown away and dashed to pieces moments after purchasing it.

As the gale abated, I glanced out to the horizon. The sun had set below Whiterun's walls, though its light still touched the tops of the buildings, washing the roof tiles with an attractive burnt orange.

I drew in a breath at the unexpected, striking sight; it seemed as though the city was lined in pure gold. My eyes watered as I watched the sunlight glittering over the rooftops, and I wondered how this small, central Skyrim town could provoke me to feel such potent emotions - some good, and some not so welcome.

Stepping out from the shelter of the store awning, I made my way across the marketplace; my destination the Gildergreen. I had seen bench seats around it earlier, and despite the nearby Talos worshipper, I fancied it might be a suitable place to eat the meal Sigrid had provided, and prepare for my performance, given its proximity to Jorrvaskr.

The very tips of the Gildergreen were lit up by the sun's last rays, making the whiteness look fiery orange, while the rest of it had already accepted the creeping purpled shadows of twilight. I glanced up to appreciate what it was, and wondered at what it must have once been, before I offloaded my very light pack, placed the lute carefully beside it, and rustled around in the side pocket to locate the wrapped parcel from Hadvar's aunt.

You owe them 210 gold, I reminded myself as I unwrapped it. And a letter, if the Jarl and his court mage detain you for longer than a few days. I didn't want Alvor and Sigrid to think I had stolen their leatherwork and made off with the profits, after all.

Carefully biting into the salmon and leek pie, I savoured the taste - it was delicious, even cold. Immediately I felt better about my situation. Had my short fuse been a product of nothing but base hunger? I hadn't eaten since that morning, and decided it was probably partially the case. But there had been so much to do - to organise - that this had been the first opportunity I'd had to eat.

Another bite of pie; I leaned back and chewed, blocking the ramblings of the Talos worshipper to take in the otherwise serene evening; a calm that I wanted to absorb before my performance. The old lady who had been selling silver at the marketplace wandered home; her arms laden with boxes of precious wares and her face grim, distracted by some internal worry. Another one of the vendors passed by, who I thought might have been selling fresh produce; a slim Imperial woman with high cheekbones and forehead, wearing a dress of similar design to the one I was wearing. She was chatting to a little girl by her side; the one who I had startled earlier in the marketplace, who had told me where the alchemist's store was. The doting smile on the woman's face told me that she was the girl's mother, and I smiled sadly as I watched them. A memory of running around mother with Giselle while she carried a basket of produce from the marketplace through the winding streets of Solitude slipped into their place.

I heard a rustle close by, and turned toward it as the mother and daughter walked away and the memory dispersed. A pair of warm-brown eyes framed by long lashes peeped through straight, ashen hair, framing a small, round, feminine face. She was still, and watching me closely, like a startled fawn.

Confused by the little girl's sudden, ghost-like arrival, my brows crossed as I took her appearance in. Her green dress was dirty, particularly around the hemline, and her feet were bare. She must have been about Dorthe's age, but she was smaller than Hadvar's cousin, and there was a reserved, defeated quality about her expression that made my heart twist.

"Would you like some pie?" I asked softly, splitting my food and holding out half. "It's cold, but it tastes great."

The girl flinched as I reached out to her. I stilled at once. If she was hungry, she could come and take it.

Her eyes darted from the food, back to me. "I can't pay for that, milady," she said in a regretful, quiet voice, but bit her bottom lip as her gaze drifted longingly back to the food.

"Well, that's good. I'm sharing it with you," I explained, urging her to take it. "I didn't ask for any money. I'd like you to have it."

The little girl's eyes wavered as she tore her gaze from the offered pie; her hand twitched subconsciously, half-extended to accept. "Why?"

I placed the half-pie on the paper wrapping between us and left the final decision to her. Glancing across the courtyard, I looked toward the central marketplace and shrugged. "Because it is a beautiful evening, and it's nice to have company while you eat, don't you think?" I turned back to her.

She didn't respond, but she carefully took hold of the pie. She brought it to her mouth hesitantly and nibbled at the crust. Her eyes widened, finally tasting it, and she took a more relishing mouthful.

I turned away again, smiling as the frustration of the day seeped out of me. It was impossible to stay vexed in the presence of this hungry little girl, whose needs were so easily met by simple acts. It was clear that she either had nobody to watch over her, or those who were meant to be caring for her weren't doing a very good job of it.

I continued eating my share of pie, and an increasingly companionable silence carried on until the food was gone. Only when the little girl had licked her fingers clean of all remnants of pie did she seem more at ease, and leaned back against the bench with a much happier sigh.

"That was yummy," she cast me a nervous, but grateful smile. "Your mama is very good at cooking," she complimented cautiously.

I shook my head; my own smile faltered. Mother had cooked several things well, but not pie. "My mama didn't cook it," I explained.

The sadness that crossed her face at my flat pronouncement was enough to tell me that her mother had passed away, too; as though there was only one look in the whole world that could convey such a loss, and it would only be recognised by those who had endured it.

"Oh," she turned her head down, staring at her feet as she lifted them up to the edge of the bench seat, tucking them under the hem of her dress as she rested her chin on her knees. Glancing toward the marketplace, her eyes shone. "My mama's gone, too," she spoke; barely a whisper. "Do you ever stop missing her?" her voice wavered.

My calm wavered precariously, but I found myself unable to tell her anything but the truth. I shook my head, and answered; "No."

She closed her eyes and I heard her breaths slow down. After a moment I realised that she was doing what I did; the deep breath calming technique, to stave off her tears!

Anger flared within me. Glancing around Whiterun, I wondered furiously how this child could have been overlooked by the wealthy merchants and innkeepers and smiths and Companions, or the priestesses of Kynareth?

"Why hasn't anybody-!?" I bit my tongue; closed my eyes; took a calming breath of my own so I could speak more gently, and tried again. "Do you have somewhere safe to go tonight?"

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on nothing ahead of her. "Hulda lets me sleep outside the Bannered Mare-"

"Outside?" I cut her off.

She glanced to me, confusion on her face, and nodded.

The uproar within me strengthened, growing fierce, and I searched for a solution. Any solution.

You don't even have your own bed; you had to barter for one, and your performance begins at any moment, I berated. You're a homeless orphan, lost in Whiterun; just like her.

"Here," I reached into my pack, ignoring the apathetic voice that scoffed at me for being affected by her. I had made a promise to be kind when I left Solitude, so I would not ignore her as everybody else seemed to be comfortable doing. "Rooms at the Mare cost 10 gold. I heard Hulda say so earlier," I dug out some money.

The girl sat up straighter, shaking her head in panic. "You can't give me that. She'll think I've stolen it and make me go away!" she sounded anguished. "Then I'll have nowhere to sleep!"

I faltered - worked over the problem again - but could come to no solution within my power to give. I had no resources, no money of my own, and knew nobody well enough to ask them to take her in.

Lydia.

"I understand. Sorry," I tossed the coins back into my bag. "Could you do me a favour, then, miss-?"

Relieved, the girl dangled her legs over the bench seat more comfortably, and sat straighter as she nodded eagerly. "Lucia," she offered. "Anything you ask, Lady...?"

"Celeste," I told her, lifting my chain, and the Passero seal dangling on it, up and over my head.

"Lady Celeste."

"I'm not a Lady," the corner of my mouth quirked as I held it out to her. "This ring is very precious to me. Could you please carry it to a woman named Lydia, up at Dragonsreach?" I asked. Her refusal to take even 10 gold had made me confident she wouldn't scarper with the heirloom.

Lucia glanced down at the ring, her eyes wide as she bit her bottom lip. "But, I'm not allowed in Dragonsreach," the dismay was evident in her tone.

I shook my head - I wasn't finished, and placed the ring in her palm, closed her fingers around it. "Anyone tries to stop you from going to Lydia, you show them this ring. Tell them that you're on a job for Celeste Passero, and I will be happy to answer any questions they have about your presence. I'll be in the Companion's hall, all night," I pointed to the upturned ship.

Lucia's eyes flickered to Jorrvaskr, then she hazarded me a wary glance. "You're...a Companion?" she asked slowly.

I smiled at her disbelief, unoffended. "I'm not, otherwise I would offer you a bed there," I grinned. "I'm a bard, and I'm scheduled to perform for the Companions at six."

"A bard!" Lucia's eyes shone again, but this time in wonder. "Oh, could you teach me to sing?" she pleaded; more animated than she had been for our whole encounter. "If I could sing, I could earn my keep like Mikael does," she added brightly.

I scrunched my nose at his name - Mikael was not the kind of person to aspire to - and I preferred to keep hold of this fleeting hope than think about him. "I'm not sure I would make a very good teacher, I'm still a student myself," I offered with a laugh. "But I would be willing to try. Another day, though."

"Of course. You can't keep the Companions waiting," Lucia nodded seriously. "I can help you get ready!" she smiled hopefully. The infliction at the end made it feel more like a question.

"Sure, okay," I glanced around, wondering what job I could give her. My eyes fell to the new lute, which I had forgotten about.

I still need to tune it! I cringed, picking it up gingerly, testing the feel, and allowed myself to lament the loss of my beautiful lute to the dragon in Helgen with a regretful sigh.

"I'm actually all set, Lucia," I managed, hurriedly testing the strings and tweaking the tension where required. "It'll be better if you find Lydia before full night is upon us, anyway."

Lucia faltered in the corner of my eye while my fingers continued to test and pluck at the strings. I winced as the practise strings cut into the pads of my fingertips; my hard-worked calluses had softened over the course of a month. I rested my head on the round, cheap wooden body, to better hear the resonant harmonics, and ignored the sting to my fingers. It would only be temporary, as long as I continued playing.

"But I...maybe I...can do your hair, while you're tuning your lute?" she asked in a small voice. "I'm very good at plaits," Lucia added hopefully.

"That's a great idea," I lifted my head. If it made her happy to do so, it would prevent any further delays while she searched for some way to assist me.

Lucia smiled a huge smile, put the Passero seal around her neck, and knelt on the bench, instructing me to turn around. I swivelled so my back was to her, and focused on tuning while the little girl untangled my freely-flying hair with a small comb she must have had in one of her pockets. She hit snarls a few times, but always stopped and untangled them carefully before she continued to run her comb over the wavy tresses.

"Your hair is so long," she whispered as she took up the bulk in her hands, separating it into three sections. "Mama's hair was long, too, before she got sick."

I smiled sadly but could think of nothing to reply with.

Once the lute was tuned, I rested it on my knees and stared at it while Lucia worked. I will need to continue to tune it throughout the night, I thought with a frown. It was always the way with a new instrument as the strings adjusted to the new tautness and loosened while they were played. The slack would be even worse with a practise instrument; the strings were not made of high quality steel but a woven cotton that had a lot more give in it.

I mused, deciding that I could re-tune between each song. Lucia braided my hair, starting high near the crown of my head, and weaving more and more hair into it with each twist. Within minutes, she was finished and told me I could turn around.

"That feels very secure," I complimented warmly, glad that I couldn't feel it pulling anywhere as I moved.

Lucia seemed happier, hopping off the bench seat with a visible spring to her step. "Shall I go to Lady Lydia now?" she asked helpfully.

"Yes, that would be best," I nodded toward Dragonsreach, biting my bottom lip as I wondered what Lucia could tell her without embarrassing either of them. I arrived at a decision swiftly enough, digging into my pack to withdraw a handful of gold. I ran my eyes over it; 26 pieces.

You owe Hadvar's family 236 gold.

"When you locate her, show her my ring then give her this money, and tell her that dinner and a room at the Bannered Mare is on me, if she would care to chaperone you there. The sight of her should keep Hulda, or anyone else, from bothering you," I held the gold out.

She frowned but accepted this time, tucking it into her pocket; her eyes lowering as she did. At first I thought it was to be sure that the gold was secure, but when her eyes remained lowered, I wondered if I had insulted her?

"What's wrong?" I asked gently, standing to put on my pack. I held the lute in one arm, and rested my other hand on Lucia's shoulder. "Hey. It's all right. Lydia is a friend. I'm sure that you'll like her."

Lucia looked up with tears in her eyes and shook her head. "And what happens tomorrow night, and the next?"

"We'll work something out," I met the little girl's eyes with confidence.

Work what out, exactly, I mocked? Don't get involved; you can't solve your own problems, let alone the whole of Whiterun's!

Determined to not stand by and do nothing, I pushed the snide voice down again and smiled at Lucia. Skyrim needed kindness right now.

"You promise?" Lucia asked in barely a whisper.

I nodded, reaching for the ring hanging around her neck, and taking it between two fingers to regard it. "This was my father's ring. It's very old and has been in my family for generations. Take care of this ring for me, and I'll come to the Mare tomorrow morning to retrieve it. Then...we'll talk."

In a beat, Lucia barrelled into me, throwing her arms around my waist. "Thank you!" she gasped.

I laughed, hugging her back, full of bright happiness and hope.

With little more to be said between us, Lucia darted off to ascend to Dragonsreach, and I turned toward the shorter flight of stairs leading up to Jorrvaskr with a smile on my lips, ready for whatever lay within.

A man the size of a bear in a set of heavy, hulking steel armour with a tangle of dark hair brushing his shoulders was blocking the doorway when I tried to enter Jorrvaskr.

I stopped from bumping into his back – barely. "Oh – excuse me," I sidestepped, casting him a grin as he turned toward me. It was time to be charming; tonight, everybody would receive my smiles.

He turned to me - frowned in confusion. He looked very much like Vilkas. They had to be brothers, if not twins.

"You're new," he told me in a low growl that bore less of an accent than his brother's - this brother must have travelled more than the other.

I shook my head, recalling the earlier confusion downstairs, and resolved to be clear with the rest of the Companions. "Nope! I'm your bard for the night. Your brother and Master Whitemane accepted a night's performance in exchange for a bed and breakfast. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

The man offered little by way of reply, shrugging a single shoulder. Muscles bigger than my entire head rippled.

"Then you're on a job for Vilkas," he determined and nodded for me to proceed into the large, open room – the mead hall, Vilkas had named it. I glanced around it, and spotted him taking dinner at the end of one of the tables.

"In a manner of speaking," I gave the brother of Vilkas a perplexed smirk, determined to remain cordial with them all. "I'll report to him."

He mm-hmm'ed as I stepped down into the main room. Why was he just standing there, blocking the entryway instead of taking dinner? I pushed the question away as I drew to a halt beside the smaller sibling.

The table was brimming with roasted meats and cheap ale, and surrounded by a rabble of warriors; some hulking and some lithe, all of whom were still in their armour. It was an intimidating sight, reminiscent of the glory of Sovngarde from the songs and stories that told of the afterlife, and for a moment I wondered if I should show myself out and forget about the performance. It had been presumptuous of me to ask.

No armour at the dinner table.

I smiled at the memory, and as though he could sense when anybody was enjoying themselves, Vilkas noticed me.

"Oh, you are back," his silvery eyes travelled over the lute, and disbelief arched his brow. "That's your instrument?"

I nodded with confidence. Why did it matter to him if I played a lute or a soap box? "Where shall I set up?"

Vilkas half shrugged in the same dismissive manner his brother had moments ago – and stared about the hall for himself. "All right. Let's see," he turned half way around in his chair, waving toward the end of the hall. "The sound travels well enough from over there."

I followed his gaze to the broken table that the Dunmer man had been pummelled on by the fierce Njada. Someone had tried to mask the damage by adding a square of cloth and a bowl of fruit to it. It was in a dark end of the hall, empty of people and surrounded by mead barrels. I felt Vilkas' eerie gaze on me; felt that he was gauging me for some reason. I levelled my expression as I turned back to him.

It will suffice, I told myself in a rush. Bards have played in less pretty buildings, in less pretty corners of rooms.

"As you wish," I spoke evenly, nodding my assent.

The corner of Vilkas' mouth twitched, and this time I was certain that he was trying to stop from betraying any form of amusement. Why did he insist on remaining so grim? Or, was he making fun of me?

It doesn't matter, I reminded myself. Get to work.

"Please, let it be known amongst your fellows," I petitioned formally; "that should they wish to hear a particular song, do not hesitate to request it. I'm well versed in all of the standard tales and ballads."

Vilkas sat back and inclined his head. "I'll make it known."

"Thank you."

I turned and walked to the far side of the hall to the table Vilkas had indicated. For a few minutes I adjusted the scene; shifted chairs either side of the table, removed the cloth and draped it over the second chair, where I then lay the lute I hadn't broken in yet. Idly, I slipped my pack off my back and slid it under the table, my eyes on the lute all the while.

What am I going to sing?

I hadn't thought about a programme yet; there'd been little enough time to acquire the lute. Another thought assailed me in a wave of panic; did I even remember how to play? I had never not played for such a length of time.

Only one way to find out, I prodded my morose thoughts with a sigh.

There was no announcement; no introduction. No reason to delay. I sat and faced the main hall, glancing over the Companions. They were too interested in their own conversations and dinners to take any notice of me.

Cradling the lute, I tested each string. Two had already slipped, and I cursed, tightening the keys hastily.

Once that was done, I started finger-picking gently, idly, warming up my fingers as I took in the sight of my surrounds properly. The ceiling arched upward; the innards of the ship, and the walls were lined with blonde beams of wood, interspersed with darker, stronger support beams. Red banners hung on the walls and across the roof at seemingly random intervals, and the internal heavy beams were carved with all manner of traditional knotwork. The floor was made of grey stone, and worn smooth, with the hearth at the centre casting a shimmering yellow glow over every sword and shield hung on the wall, lining the armour of the Companions who sat around it and making their faces appear mask-like; their features half washed-out, and half cast in shadow.

It was time to begin, I decided, and began plucking the opening notes of a song. At once, my throat clenched, and my voice fled. Why had I started playing that song? It was Matthild Built This Place; the song I had been scheduled to play first for my performance at the Blue Palace.

I faltered, staring down at the strings as my breath hitched and eyes misted. I watched myself play the piece, unable to sing, swallowing a bitter mixture of fear, guilt and shame, certain that this would break me. But I wanted to make music again; I had to do this.

Music is a vessel to the soul.

The words of a teacher, though I could not recall which, drifted through my thoughts, muffling my ill-timed grief like a soft, warm blanket.

My lessons, my training came back to me. Emotions were not to be suppressed and bottled, as I kept insisting on doing. Emotions were the lifeblood of our talent, intended to be felt and woven into our songs, turning the words and notes into something real and raw, and truthful.

I lifted my gaze to look over the Companions. A few of them were clearly listening, though they tried not to show it. Vilkas' larger brother was the only one showing any obvious signs of interest. He'd drifted from the doorway to lean against the main table, next to his brother. Vilkas, on the other hand, was merely sitting straighter, with his back to me, though I could have sworn that his ears were perked in my direction.

I hid a smile and lowered my eyes to the silly practise lute's cheap, woven strings, and eased the melody back to its beginning. When it was time, I cleared my throat, and sang softly;

"At sixty winters she left Skyrim for good; She found this place and made it her home."

My will shifted into focus as I sang about elderly Matthild who had left all she had known for Valenwood, to teach and learn from the Bosmer in turn. For the first time, I sang wondering if my paralleled journey from Solitude, and all I knew, might do the same, with an inkling of hope for the future. I sang for the High King of Skyrim, as I had practised it with Headmaster Viarmo. I sang for my father.

I didn't notice the silence until I reached the final stanza; "At eighty winters she went to Sovngarde; She left this place to all who would teach;" I looked up as I wound the song down, and sat up straight. All but a few eyes were upon me.

"And to all who would learn," I managed, flushing, hurriedly glancing back to the lute.

I picked out the closing bars, wincing as one of the strings slowly but surely slipped out of tune. I prayed that nobody else would notice it.

With Matthild completed, I cast a hasty smile to the room so I could tighten the pesky string, then continued playing. I fell, a little too easily, into the programme I had intended to perform at the Blue Palace. The next song was a simple, lyrical ballad, titled Truths of the North:

"When the snow fades and the rivers run fat; The sun sits like a flower on a young boy's hat."

Wooden chair legs scraped against the stone floor; too loudly, as though intending to interrupt me. I made a point of continuing, as was expected of a bard, though I naturally glanced up to see who had done it.

Two had risen; the hulking bald man, and a lithe woman with fiery red hair and fearsome slashes of dark warpaint across her slim face.

"The wise Nord knows it can never last; He enjoys the day, though it travels fast," I kept half an eye on the pair as I sang, and nerves began to flutter about in my belly. While I determinedly kept my eyes on the lute, and everything except them, I felt their piercing gazes linger on me for longer than I was comfortable with.

One of them muttered something. I hazarded another glance in their direction, trying to remain, at least outwardly, happy and confident.

The red-headed woman was leaning over the table and saying something to Vilkas that I couldn't make out. He must have said something in response, but his back was to me, so I only saw him shrug in response. His brother looked between them with vague interest, then the red-head stood tall, frustrated. Her sharp eyes darted to me and narrowed, full of accusation.

My fingers slipped on the strings. Hastily glancing down to correct the mistake, I flushed through the rest of the song. I tried to focus on the notes and the words, putting all of my focus into it in an attempt to calm my racing heartbeat. But something about the woman's gaze stuck with me; made me feel not only afraid, but guilty of whatever she had accused me of.

"When frost returns and the rivers choke; The sun dips in the sky beneath evening smoke," the seconds ticked by as I guided the song to its end, all the while listening carefully to the noises within the mead hall. There were footfalls, another indiscernible murmur, and then – mercifully – the sound of the double-doors swinging open, and closing. They had left.

I let out a sigh of relief, but kept my eyes downturned until I had played the final note of Truths. Glancing up, I found the room as it had been before - quiet and attentive, minus the two glaring warriors. The Imperial woman who had given me directions earlier had turned in her chair, as had the Dunmer who had been beaten to a pulp upon my arrival. Both seemed interested, though the latter was frowning slightly. Beyond them, I could see an old woman in common clothing holding a broom, though she was leaning on it with her kindly eyes on me, rather than sweeping. The other Companions were eating and drinking but not really talking; several cast each other glances.

Some of them seemed a little uncomfortable, but at least they weren't trying to drown me out - or leaving as well.

For another heartbeat I wondered why my music had offended them - but a lesson from college assuaged my concern. Music was not to everybody's tastes, particularly if it pierced a hard-worked exterior, making feelings surface that they had endeavoured to bury. It was to be taken as a compliment from a troubled soul; a sign that I had reached them. Not reacting to art was the greater offence.

Glancing at the two brothers again, I wondered what the red-headed woman had said to Vilkas, before she had left. Was he in trouble for hiring me?

I cleared my throat; I had been silent for too long. "Do you have any requests, or shall I continue my programme?" I smiled at the larger brother, for he didn't have his back to me. I hurriedly tightened the two strings that had slipped out of tune during Truths.

A return smile appeared, altering the huge man's demeanour entirely, revealing an intrinsically amiable nature. I bit back a startle at the sight of that fierce face with its barriers down. I had been convinced that these men didn't know how to smile, but he did it unhesitatingly, as though it was natural for him to be happy. Perhaps I had misjudged them.

"Just keep doing what you're doing," he rumbled pleasantly across the hall.

A few chuckles were uttered by the other Companions, and I joined them, glancing down to hide my brief, relieved, prideful grin.

Once the bothersome strings were back in tune, I moved onto my third piece; Honor's Rest. A slower, tranquil tune; a memorial to fallen warriors of bygone eras. I was confident that it wouldn't be lost on my crowd.

"In these halls the warriors find serenity; Upon walls names carved for eternity; And shall never be forgotten," the lower notes of the melody had always challenged me, demanding that I sing from the very bottom of my diaphragm if I wanted to be heard. It had been one of the Dean's favourite songs to test ladies of the college with during aural exams.

This time, as the words left my lips and travelled to my own ears, I ignored my technique. All I could think about was my father and mother, laid to rest at the Temple in Solitude before their time.

The song broke something in me, but I was determined to perform it, and rather than shed my tears, I pushed them into my music. The weight of the final threads settled on my shoulders like a shroud, but one that would keep me warm if I let it; "Drink deep of long lost memories; Shed light on faded histories; That must never be forgotten."

When I looked up at the end of the song, and my vision had cleared, a few more Companions had turned in their seats to watch me. Beyond them, I spied Kodlak Whitemane, standing still at the top of the staircase to the lower levels. He was just standing there, at the opposite end of the hall as though frozen in time, with a hand resting on a support pillar. While I couldn't really see his eyes through the gloom, I felt the full weight of his attention.

This is good. They're definitely going to tip you, I assured with some relief. I smiled across the mead hall, addressing their motionless leader.

"Any requests, Master Whitemane?"

Some of the others turned in their seats, clearly surprised by his appearance. Perhaps he didn't join them for dinner all that often?

The old man shook his head and I noticed the old woman with the broom hasten toward him.

"Proceed as you like, Miss Passero," he spoke softly, but I heard him clearly, as though he was standing next to me.

I obliged, confident in my programme now I had been given his leave. Half way through my next song, the old woman, who I assumed was the housekeeper, placed a jug of water and a cup on the broken table behind me. I smiled at her through my song in thanks, fairly certain that Kodlak must have arranged it.

The night wore on and I sang and played, and after each song, I noticed more and more interest in my performance. The Imperial woman, the Dunmer man, and another Nord man with cheeks warmed in flush, drifted to my end of the hall and sat. I grew more sanguine as I let the music sweep through me, catching hold of the emotions I had held back for the past month; all the sadness and fear, anger and injustice, and most recently, the warmth and excitement roused by my fleeting encounter with Hadvar, and the hope inspired by little Lucia. Instead of throttling me, my emotions threaded between the notes, and drifted into the room like a Midyear zephyr.

By my final song, the rest of the Companions - even the stern-eyed grey-haired one who had scowled at Lydia - had drifted to my end of the hall. Only Kodlak, Vilkas and his brother remained at the table. Kodlak was clearly pleased, and murmured to the brothers frequently, though I caught none of what he said.

I finished with Kyne's Tears. Though the words were sad and the melody in a minor key, I smiled as I sang, recalling Dorthe's sweet, hummed rendition that had greeted me as I had been ushered into the warmth of Hadvar's family's home. The memory glided through me, into my fingertips and onto the strings as I plucked, filling me with optimism.

And once I had finished, I lifted my head to my audience and cleared my throat. "Thank you, brothers and sisters of Skyrim, for accepting my offering," I winced at a hoarseness to my voice. I hadn't practised in a month; I would pay for it now.

Those nearest me clapped; the Imperial and Dunmer especially. Most of the Companions merely rose from their seats and turned away, offering me nothing. A few drifted outside through the back double-doors, and a few sauntered to the staircase that led to the lower level. The old woman went back to her sweeping, and a bald Nord man I'd not noticed earlier stepped out of the shadows and began clearing plates from the tables.

I drank the last of the water and collected my belongings. Despite the lack of applause, I felt alarmingly satisfied, and glided to the table where Kodlak and the brothers sat.

I flashed the larger brother a half smile; my thanks for the confidence he had loaned me, early on in the performance; then focussed on Kodlak. "Were the songs to your liking, Master Whitemane?"

His silvery eyes were inspecting me; his face thoughtful, but at my question he sat back, blinked comfortably, and replied around a small smile. "Unexpectedly so, Miss Passero. Your spirit soared high tonight, and you were obliging enough to allow us to take the journey with you."

I glanced down, unable to mask my flush and giddy smile. What a compliment! "Thank you," I murmured, looking up; my eyes flickering to Vilkas and his brother. Vilkas' expression was steady, unreadable, and reminded me of what had happened before Kodlak had arrived. "I fear I might have offended some of your colleagues, with my choice of songs."

Kodlak frowned, confused, and deferred to Vilkas for an explanation.

He supplied one in that strong, accented drawl of his, edged with a trace of bitterness. "Aela and Skjor do not wish to share their journey with any but each other."

"Vilkas," Kodlak reproached, then shook his head with an understanding, if not sad sigh. "Do not take offence," he told me wearily. "Their hearts are bright and their spirits wild; they wish to be affected, and pacified, by nothing and nobody."

"It's all right," I cut in softly; I was not offended. A weariness to Kodlak's tone made me wonder at the hour, and I suppressed a yawn as I added; "Might you direct me to the bed I've secured for the night? It's been...quite a day."

"That it has," Kodlak stood, motioning toward Vilkas' larger, quieter brother. "Farkas will show you the way. I apologise in advance that we can't supply a private room, but you have nothing to fear under our roof. Even the youngest of pups has honour, despite first appearances," his eyes twinkled as he gave me that half-smile again. "Should you require anything throughout the night, seek out Tilma," he indicated the old woman with the broom.

I thanked him and bade them good night, then lifted my eyes up – and up – to settle on the looming Farkas. His eyes were similar to Vilkas', down to the black warpaint around them. Did they ever take it off, I wondered? They must have done – otherwise their pillows would be caked in black kohl.

"Lead the way," I suppressed a laugh as Farkas led me toward the stairs. Kodlak and Vilkas remained at the table and resumed talking in low, rumbling voices.

Farkas, on the other hand, didn't say a word until we closed the doors to the lower level behind us.

"I liked your singing," he spoke flatly. "It was very...soothing."

I glanced toward him, surprised by the lack of warmth to his tone. Was he being facetious? Surely not - I could see no traces of falseness on his face.

"Thank you," I cast him a small smile, assuming that he had meant it. "I enjoyed performing for those who wished to hear me, too."

The large man cast me a smirk. "Aela and Skjor don't like to be calm. They think it dulls their edge."

"Understandable," I replied. "I imagine you warrior types need to be on constant guard; ready to strike at a moment's notice."

"Something like that," Farkas rumbled, stopping in an open doorway and waving his hand into the room beyond. "Here you are. Pick a bed and fall in it."

I snorted at his choice of words as I peered into the room. About eight beds lined the walls of a large dormitory, interspersed with dressers, weapon racks and locked chests. Several of the beds were occupied, and I could hear light snoring coming from one of them.

"Any bed?" I whispered, glancing back to him. "I wouldn't want to sleep in someone else's bed. No one has claim on any of them?"

Farkas shrugged, speaking at the same volume he had before, despite the sleeping forms within. "Doubt it. It all works out in the end."

"Yes, we do," a sharp female voice called from across the room. "This is my bed. Don't touch it or my stuff," she called. I searched for the speaker, and made out the top of a blonde head settling itself back onto the pillow. I paled; it was the fearsome Njada.

"Leave her alone," another voice called wearily. A quick search confirmed the speaker to be the Imperial woman. She looked up from her pillow and pointed to a bed opposite hers. "There. Nobody's slept in that one for a while."

I nodded my thanks to her as relief swept through me, then thanked Farkas for bringing me. Neither replied, so I simply moved to the spare bed, placed my pack on the end, lay the lute carefully on the dresser beside it, and after shucking off my boots, climbed in.

As I lay both under and on scratchy furs, fully clothed, I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep. My thoughts were awash with memories of the performance; how the songs had drawn so much out of me, yet had left me feeling more alert and refreshed. I had felt this way in the past when I had performed, but never with such intensity. It was exhilarating.

I spared a thought for Lucia and Lydia, hoping that all had gone according to plan. I prayed to the Eight that they were both at the Mare right now, and had enjoyed dinner and each other's company throughout the night, unable to bear the alternative; little Lucia, curled up in the dirt outside of the inn, cold and alone.

What, if anything, could I do to ensure that Lucia never slept outside again? I could come to no immediate, workable solution, and she was the last thought I remembered having before sleep finally claimed me.


A/n: Thanks again for the reviews :) so glad that there are some people enjoying this rambling tale that's proving to be much longer than I expected it to be! I suppose that's the way with Skyrim, though - constantly being distracted by the characters you meet and side-quests...would love to hear people's thoughts :)