Sorry again about the wait, we've been prepping for exams and I also got a pet who's getting used to her new home.

Many thanks to Bre'lakor for proofreading, and to my little sister for giving me her character, and Bethesda for making Skyrim full of hot assed Nords.

Also thanks to Thuum . org for helping me learn Dovahzul!

Ayra took to Yolah as quickly as Qassanda had.

"The nine themselves couldn't create something cuter than this!" she had cried, which made Yolah shrink back and hide in Qassanda's hair with a little growl. Qassanda finally coaxed him out and allowed Arya to pet him, he even sniffed Vilkas a few times before becoming bored and returning to Qassanda with a little yowling sound.

"Bahlokus," he told his mother, who had to rack her brains for that one, until she finally remembered the word for hungry and laughed.

"After finding Yolah, we didn't end up bringing back any meat."

Farkas smirked.

"We brought back meat," he poked Yolah's soft belly scales, "just make a few cuts here…" he tapped the dragon's hind leg, "…and here…"

Yolah growled loudly at Farkas for that, wrapping his tail around Qassanda's neck as an anchor as he arched his back and bore his teeth.

Qassanda chuckled and turned to Arya.

"I couldn't trouble you for some meat, could I?"

Arya laughed and found some raw rabbit leg.

"We used some this morning, it's still fresh enough to eat."

Qassanda offered the meat to Yolah, who yowled again and began to tear it apart hungrily. Vilkas left the room and soon reappeared with a pack in his hand.

"Here, you can put him in this while travelling through the cities, the flap will hide him from sight and he can still poke his head out."

Qassanda took it and smiled.

"Thank you Vilkas."

He smiled warmly and Arya opened the door at a knock, a courier appeared and spoke in quick words, and left soon after arriving. Qassanda looked over Arya's shoulder to look at the letter and Yolah looked over both of them with his long neck.

"Who's it for?" Qassanda asked, resting her chin on Arya's shoulder, the elf frowned.

"You," she said simply, handing Qassanda the letter. The thief flipped open the yellowing paper and her eyes scanned the page quickly, her expression falling with each word.

"What's wrong?" Farkas murmured. Qassanda bit her lip and Yolah made a curious sound.

"Brynjolf, he's taken ill. He's bedridden with Ataxia, and a fever's set in."

Arya frowned.

"So you're going to see him?"

Qassanda nodded.

"I have to help him, I'm the only decent alchemist in the city." She hugged Arya and Vilkas in turn, allowing Arya to kiss Yolah, which made him shake his head with an annoyed growl.

Farkas looped an arm around Qassanda's waist.

"I'll take you to the stables," he said, helping to coax Yolah into the pack. The youngling's neck was free of the leather confinements, and his head rested on her shoulder, just barely hidden beneath her hair.

Nobody spared her a second glance as the Dragonborn sauntered through Whiterun, and once she and Farkas had reached the stables, he pulled her as close as he could.

"You have a chance to be something great, you know. The mighty Dragonborn and her pet dragon."

Yolah lifted his head and nuzzled Qassanda's jaw as she stroked him.

"I don't want to be the Dragonborn. I'm just a thief, Farkas," she sighed, Farkas tilted her head up and kissed her.

"I didn't say you had to do anything, though," he murmured before their lips met again and again, the pair was finally broken apart by Yolah's little yowl and Qassanda kissed Farkas one last time. She gazed deeply into his pale blue eyes for a moment and smiled before mounting Frostbite and taking off at a gallop, waiting until she was out of sight to free Yolah from her pack.

Yolah immediately crawled to Frostbite's head and perched there, his wings half-extended as the horse trotted along, back to Riften.

Qassanda sat on Brynjolf's bed, Yolah safely in her room entertaining himself with a small gem she had given him.

"You look terrible, brother," she sighed and the thief chuckled.

"Don't try to sugar-coat it," he said, sarcasm heavy in his accented voice. Qassanda smiled at him and kissed his forehead softly, laying a potion on his end table.

"If you feel the need to speed your recovery, drink this. It's a mixture between a potion of curing diseases and a potion of healing." She noticed Brynjolf's bored look. "And it also has a splash of mead, for the taste."

Brynjolf chuckled.

"You know me too well, lass."

Qassanda smiled and rose from the bed, leaving her brother to his recovery and returning to her room to find Yolah trying to bite the ruby she had given him. The silver dragon looked up as Qassanda said his name and yowled in greeting.

Qassanda changed into her thief's armour and allowed Yolah to sit in the hood and hide in her hair. He seemed fascinated by the moving coffin as it opened an exit into Riften and gave a little squawk with each step his mother took.

Yolah nipped at Qassanda's jaw, his sharp teeth pricking at her soft skin.

"Monah," he chirped softly. Qassanda tickled the underside of his jaw and he made a purring sound of enjoyment, ducking beneath her hair as she stepped into the sunlight. A commotion rumbled in the marketplace and Qassanda slid over to look, feeling Yolah poke his head out slightly to see as well. Two men were arguing in front of the well in the centre of Riften's marketplace.

One was a fair haired and skinned Nord man with twin war axes sheathed at his waist, while the other was an Imperial man with skin caressed by the sun, black hair and a single dagger at hand. The blond man wore Stormcloak armour and the other was clothed in recognisable guild armour.

Qassanda lifted her hood; Yolah squawked and wrapped himself around her neck, his long tail dipping into her armour to hide it from sight. The men both raised their voices and seemed about to draw their blades, Qassanda swiftly stepped between them, looking from the Imperial to the Nord and back again.

"Velle, stand down" she said strongly, looking down upon the rookie thief, who scowled at her.

"The Jarl is foolish for siding with the Stormcloaks; they don't belong in this city!"

Qassanda's hand brushed the hilt of her dagger.

"I said, stand down!" she said, her voice adopting the commanding tone which was all that worked with the thieves. Yolah growled, his head by Qassanda's ear, and his wings brushing her neck.

"Monah…krii," he said quietly. Qassanda didn't answer, glaring at Velle until he moved back with a grumble, then she turned to glare at the Stormcloak as well.

"Idiot, Riften is hardly supporting the Stormcloaks, and now you come and intend to kill one of our residents?"

Ralof frowned.

"He insulted Jarl Ulfric!"

Qassanda shot him a flat look.

"And if I hear him insulting someone, I'll punch him, not try and put my dagger in his breast!" She could sense Yolah's growing restlessness. After the days of travel on Frostbite's back, free and allowed to feel the breeze along his scales, he didn't like being cooped up in Qassanda's hood for so long. The thief sighed.

"What did you come here for, Ralof?"

The soldier frowned.

"I…I'm just…here."

Qassanda scoffed.

"Just here? Trying to kill an Imperial simply because he was born in Cyrodiil?"

Ralof fidgeted.

"Maybe…"

Qassanda rolled her eyes.

"Ralof, do you know the major advantage of being an excellent liar?"

He shook his head and she scowled.

"I can smell a lie like a slaughterfish smells blood."

Ralof cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I…I should begin to return to Windhelm."

Qassanda reached into her hood and petted Yolah, seeming to simply fix her hair.

"I'll be joining you," she said with finality, "we leave tomorrow, understand?"

Ralof frowned and nodded, watching Qassanda walk away. He could swear that he saw a little silver tail poking out of her hood.

Qassanda spent the next few hours until sunset playing with Yolah far from the city's gaze and even teaching him how to fly. The youngling seemed to naturally speak the dragon language and Qassanda watched him use dragon shouts as well, almost setting the forest on fire with his fire shout and watching Qassanda put it out.

As dusk fell, Yolah began to flaunt his new skills by darting around Qassanda's head and even landing tangled in her hair once, which had made her laugh. She brought him into the city and sighed as she stepped into the Cistern.

Underneath a city was no place for a dragon youngling, and she knew it. Though maybe Windhelm could be an option…as far as she had read, dragons had no issues in cold weather, and the snowfalls which were hardly rare would disguise the dragon and allow him to fly.

Qassanda allowed Yolah to flit around her room once she closed the door and he glided over to a table layered with silk, beginning to bite at the garnet and the emerald Qassanda gave him.

Meanwhile his mother sat down on the bed with her knees gathered to her chest and opened a book which hadn't been touched in a long time, the old brown cover was worn by small hands and the pages were yellowed.

The faded title was almost completely rubbed away, and Qassanda ran her fingers over the soft leather, tracing the letters; The beasts speak: A language of dragons. She slowly opened the book at the protest of the old bindings, and Yolah darted to her shoulder to look at the paper as well as she began to read the book from her childhood.

Yolah yawned, flashing his sharp teeth and making an adorable groaning sound. Qassanda smirked at him and lifted his little body onto her pillow beside her, while she read, Yolah slept soundly, growling a little in his sleep and snoring quietly. Qassanda read until her candles burned low and then she closed the book and lay with her head beside Yolah's, drifting into a deep, sweet sleep.

The beautiful woman; Sivaas-Jul was lying on a bed, her body cloaked in a rough tunic and pants, and twisted and injured in terrible ways. Her breast heaved with the effort of pulling breath into her aching lungs and bloodstained bandages covered her arms and legs. One leg was twisted the complete wrong way and her hands were coated in a thick layer of blood.

A low moan escaped her lips as she shifted and a man cloaked in black approached her, his hood laying against his back and showing the deep brown hair tied behind his head with a strip of leather.

"Don't move," he said in a low, silky voice, working about changing her bandages and examining her leg with his careful brown eyes.

"Only a fool tries to fight all of Bruma's guard at the same time," he muttered softly to Sivaas, whose expression was blank as she gazed up at the stone roof.

"I don't regret what I did."

The man's eyes fell upon hers.

"I didn't tell you to regret it. I want to know what happened." Sivaas lifted a shaking hand to cover her eyes.

"Nothing special. It was just a stupid Nord saying the wrong things in the wrong company. I killed him for it," a smirk crawled onto her pale face, "or butchered him, is more like what I did."

The man smirked approvingly and patted her uninjured leg with his smooth hands, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into the creamy flesh.

"You should be grateful that I arrived to take you away, Silencer. Sithis smiles upon you."

Sivaas sighed with a little huff, her chest working to take in enough air.

"You know I don't believe in the gods, Lucien. To me, Sithis is just a story." At his expression she smirked.

"I don't believe that there is anything more powerful than freedom, than the knowledge that you do as you please with your life."

The dark cloaked man sighed.

"Yet these are the beliefs of a race bred for slavery," he said simply. Sivaas shook her head slightly.

"No. These are the beliefs of a parentless Ainmhi, who is the last of her kind, has the responsibility of a king on her shoulders and the ability of a rookie."

The man ran a thumb over her cheekbone and held her chin between two fingers tightly, forcing her gaze onto him.

"You needn't be modest, little Silencer. I have seen few with your skill as an assassin. There is even respect among the Black Hand directed towards your abilities," he murmured, lowering his lips to hers as the scene clouded.

Every time I write a Lucien scene, I freak out because I don't know if he's written right!

Also, my bird keeps biting the wiring to my headset and now I can't hear the dialogue right! Thanks Satan!

Zuwuth deykel nau tiidnavir neh koros. NII GJOK KOROS.