Chapter 21 – Stolen Power

"Bull shit," Fjornir said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know you have no reason to believe anything I say to you, but I am not lying. I have no reason to lie," Alva said. "You look just like him, and your half-brother. You have my eyes, though." Fjornir raised an eyebrow. "My original eye color. And my cheekbones." She grinned, then continued. "King Istlod and I... we had a nice little thing going on the side. But in the end he was ostensibly faithful to his Queen. Otherwise, he would have accepted you into his family. Raised you as his own. But, the reality is you were merely the bastard son of the High King and an alchemist's acolyte. Since he already had an heir, he wasn't interested."

Fjornir couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Even if this is true," he said, "why tell me now? Why come find me now? Why wait thirty-three years?!" He felt his face redden with anger.

Alva shrugged. "Guilt, I suppose. I may not have a beating heart, but I still have feelings... Sometimes." Her grin was unnerving. "And I had business that kept me for a long time in Morthal, to where I must return soon. And I suppose it's easier to find someone once they're famous. Who knew..." Her voice trailed off.

Fjornir's eyes narrowed. "If what you say is true..."

"You are the rightful High King of Skyrim, yes. At least, if the moot cares about pedigree more than the outcome of wars." Alva folded her hands on her lap. Fjornir noticed that everything about her was graceful.

He sank back into his chair. "I fought in the war. For the Stormcloaks."

Alva laughed. "The gods must be having a laugh at that one," she said. "Perhaps they made you Dragonborn for a reason. Maybe they pitied you, because of me, because of who you are. Or maybe they wanted you to be King."

He shook his head. "I'm no one. Dragonborn, yes. I've come to terms with that." He ran his fingers over his thick beard. "Ulfric can have the throne. I don't want it."

"Oh, I'm not saying you should take it. I merely thought you had the right to know who your birth parents are. And..." she looked away, her body movement suggesting she had something to add, but wasn't sure if she should.

"And?" Fjornir asked.

"Well," she said, hesitant, "by birth, you are not only Dragonborn, you are the son of a King. Therefore..." She waited for Fjornir to see where she was going with her line of thinking. He just shook his head. "Your child, Fjornir. Your child has royal blood. Except for the adopted one, of course." When she saw the confusion on her son's face, she continued. "I smelled your children. And your woman. And your werewolf guard... Congratulations on the newborn, by the way. She smells... unique. Like you. The boy smells like your woman." Alva could see the disgust in Fjornir's expression, and laughed. "Heightened senses," she winked, pointing to her nose. "Don't worry, I'm not about to eat my own kin."

Fjornir felt his stomach lurch. He wanted to run to his family, away from the vampire who was likely lying for some unknown reason about him and his family.

"Unfortunately," she continued, "there is no way of proving any of this to anyone that would care to listen. You can believe what you want. I'm only saying, that your little girl could one day be Queen. It's up to you, or her, to make any claim."

"If you have no proof of my heritage, the claim is useless," Fjornir said.

Alva's gracile fingers ran down the length of her face. Her fingernails were unusually long. "Perhaps there is some sort of magic or... incantation that can determine the veracity of such a claim. Though without any other living blood relatives... I doubt such a spell would do anything."

"Then there isn't much point in having this conversation, is there?" Fjornir grew more annoyed.

Alva tented her fingers and pressed her fingertips together, slowly, in a steady flutter. "I'm sorry, perhaps I should never have come," she said in a quiet voice.

Fjornir felt embarrassed, but he had a right to harbor ill feelings for the woman who may be his birth mother. She did have a point, though. He doubted his life would have been any better with a vampiric mother. He had a sudden urge to open up to her for reasons he could not explain. "I was a werewolf."

The woman's eyes opened wide. "Really? I thought lycanthropy was a familial trait."

"No. It's more... magical, I suppose. Similar to vampirism. I cured myself not long ago."

Alva nodded, then the pair sat in awkward silence for a while.

"What about your parents? Where do they come from? And... why did you become a vampire?" Fjornir finally asked.

The woman smiled. "Dragonbridge. Boring village. They ran the inn. Died of a fever when I was eighteen. I moved to Solitude then, looking for work. The King noticed me... After you came along, he never spoke to me again. Perhaps his Queen found him out... I eventually ended up in Morthal...," Alva smiled at the memory of meeting Movarth, "where I gladly became a vampire after falling in love with one. After that, I traveled to Riften, to the orphanage, and have been in and around Hjaalmarch ever since."

"Doing what, exactly?"

Alva was not sure how to answer. "Odd jobs for a wise old warrior." She smiled.

Fjornir felt a sudden unease and decided not to ask about her business again. And to avoid ever visiting Morthal, if possible.

After more silence, Alva finally asked, "Are you happy, Fjornir? With your life now, your status as Dragonborn... your family?"

Her question threw Fjornir off guard, even if the answer was simple enough. "Yes, very much so."

"Good. I'm glad." Alva's smile was more warm and caring, that time.

I should write to him. Shouldn't I? Writing a letter isn't giving in to him... Lydia tossed and turned in her bed at the inn. Talking to Brynja did nothing for her insomnia, but her sister did encourage her to address her feelings instead of running from them.

"Dear Vilkas," she composed the letter out loud, staring at the ceiling. "Sorry for fucking and running. I'm a coward. Hope you're able to sleep. I can't." She groaned and covered her face with her palms. "Dear Vilkas, let's start over. You be the you before we..." She growled. "Grrraaahh!" She turned onto her stomach and whined. She wrapped her arms around the pillow and turned her head to the night table at the side of the bed. An inkwell, quill and paper sat waiting to be used. "Dear Vilkas," her voice was a quiet mumble, "If I had only known..."

Fjornir picked up his crying daughter and cradled and cooed her, but he arrived upstairs too late, and the baby's crying woke Eirin.

"You were gone a long while," she said groggily.

Fjornir turned, smiled, then walked with Nehenarah and lay next to Eirin. For a while, he said nothing. There was too much to say. Not only did he want to – need to – tell Eirin about Alva, he felt an unstoppable urge to tell her all the things he had been keeping from her for the last few months.

He sighed, holding his daughter against his warm, bare chest. Speaking quietly, he said to Eirin, "I'm about to disclose to you a lot of things... Some of which I kept from telling you during your pregnancy, only because I didn't want to upset you. Others... I should have told you long ago. And more yet that I've just discovered tonight. After I'm finished, do you promise not to yell? 'Narah needs her sleep, after all..."

Eirin was speechless. "Em... alllriiight..."

Lydia read her letter to Vilkas over and over again, deliberating whether not to actually send it to him. She planned on waiting a few days, reading it again, then waiting a few more, just to be sure this is how she truly felt. Her concentration was shot, having not slept much the past week, so she had to re-read the same sentence a few times before moving on.

"Dear Vilkas,

I've waited a long time to meet someone that I could actually see myself with for the long-haul. Most people just piss me off. I know you can relate...

I'm still not sure I'm ready for anything serious. You and I have been friends for such a long time, I wasn't really prepared for what happened between us. With Farkas... it was different. We were just friends with something... extra. I hope that makes sense. Please understand that he and I really are finished. He was never someone I could have been with forever. We're just too combative, the way you are with Aela sometimes.

Anyway... I keep wondering if you had come to me years ago... Did you feel this way years ago? I know, there's no sense wondering about 'what ifs', so I will try not to. But after that night with you... the night before I left... I realized something. About myself. What I really want... I want someone like you, Vilkas. I can't explain it, because I still don't fully understand it all, but I just felt... right, with you. I haven't even slept, really, since I left. I think it's just guilt about leaving everything in Whiterun behind. I don't know. Am I rambling?

I guess the sum of it all is that I miss you. I realize that, now. For whatever it's worth, whatever it might mean for myself, I miss you. I don't want to go back to Whiterun just yet, but if you could sometime stop by Riverwood... I guess what I mean is, it would be nice to see you.

Also, please apologize to Fjornir for me.

Lydia"

The letter took two pieces of paper to finish, and at the end the words got smaller and smaller to save space. She was annoyed with herself for rambling. She was completely incapable of expressing her feelings well. She wanted to crumple the paper and throw it into the fire, but she stopped herself. Just wait a few days, she said to herself. Just wait, lose more sleep thinking about him, that's all.

"Bastard," she said aloud. Vilkas had turned her into an obsessive wreck.

Eirin sat silent next to Fjornir, clinging to every word that came out of his mouth, not believing half of what he said, because it was just too much, too much all at once. When he stopped talking, she waited to make sure he was truly finished.

Fjornir stared at his wife. "That's all." Nehenarah was sleeping contently in his arms.

Eirin realized he may be using their child as a sort of human shield. "Let me just...," she closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and breathed deeply. "Alright, so, werewolves really do exist, and you used to be a werewolf, but you're not anymore. You used to be with Aela, but you're not anymore. Our child is not a werewolf because it doesn't pass on that way. Our child however is basically a princess, and you're the son of High King Istlod and half-brother to the overthrown Torygg. Your mother is now a vampire. You were attacked by bandits sent by an elf in Windhelm because you hurt her business, and fought for the Stormcloaks. The elves dislike Ulfric. Windhelm would not be safe for us right now. You had a one-time thing with Lydia... Did I miss anything?"

Fjornir then remembered one last thing. "I think I now understand one more thing Odahviing said about 'Narah." Eirin waited in silence. "He said something about her fate being foretold, but he would never tell me what that fate was. Said it wasn't time yet, that I wasn't ready. That's all. I have no idea what he meant."

Eirin sighed. "That's all..." She spun the rings on her finger, and had a sudden urge to meet Fjornir's honesty with her own. "Ralof kissed me," she blurted out. "And then I kissed him." She avoided eye contact with her husband.

Fjornir stared calmly at his wife. "When?"

"The day he was injured... He came to the tent. He," she cleared her throat and blinked back tears, "he came to tell me that..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "He never stopped loving me. Before that, though, he kissed me. That's when I thought he was... saying goodbye, in a way. Letting me go, because he knew I was pregnant, and happy with you. I think I told you that part..."

"Yes," Fjornir said.

"And then, when we went to Riverwood, after he put those flowers on our doorstep."

"You kissed him then?" Fjornir recalled her being upset. "Right before we left?"

Eirin nodded. "It was as if... Like I couldn't help myself. He was instigating it, he really was. He refused to take his gift back, that bead, talking about how he knew I still loved him and that-" She stopped herself, wondering if she'd already said too much. She looked at Fjornir, who remained calm, and decided to go on. "He said that we belonged together. That time, it was I who kissed him, but I stopped myself right after, and that's when you saw me. Right before we left." She looked down again. "I felt awful about kissing him. Both times. Sometimes I feel just thinking about him, even in passing, is a betrayal to you." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Do you still love him?"

She looked up at Fjornir. His calmness worried Eirin. "Yes." She looked away again. "If not really him, then the memory of what he and I had. I don't know if that will ever go away."

"Probably not," he said.

More tears rolled down Eirin's cheeks, unchecked by any caress of her husband's hand. Fjornir felt his own eyes filling with tears.

"Do you still love me?" Fjornir asked.

Eirin looked up, shocked by his question. That he had to ask at all hurt her, but she understood. They had kept secrets from one another, which is never the right thing to do in a relationship. She wondered if he was truly not angry, but rather worried.

The words Eirin said were truthful, and came easily to her mind. "More and more, every day."

Fjornir smiled. A tear flowed down his cheek, but Eirin wiped it away before she kissed him.

Vilkas opened the letter he received from the courier. It was short, but said quite a lot.

Dear Vilkas,

I can't sleep.

I miss you.

I'm in Riverwood.

Lydia